Shades of Truth: Path of the Wielders 2 Read online

  “I feel…I feel something is wrong; there is something cursed and vile down those stairs.”

  “Different than the cursed we have already fought?” Seancey asked.

  “Aye,” Kerad said. “Now I feel it as well; this cursed is different, much more powerful.”

  A tormented moaning rose up from the dark stairway behind the statue, a terrible, longing sound that chilled Kaxen to the bone. “What is it?”

  “Something dreadful,” said Asrion in a whisper.

  The moaning became louder, and Kaxen grew more uncomfortable as it did. “What must we do?” Kaxen asked anxiously.

  Gondrial held his sword at waist length, and Seancey positioned himself for battle.

  Kerad sighed. “I fear conventional means will be of little use. Everyone step back and get behind the nearest pew.” Kerad fumbled with one of the rings on his left hand anxiously.

  “Shouldn’t we run or something?” Gondrial asked.

  “Too late for that,” Kerad said. “It approaches.”

  The same putrid green fog began to roll up ominously from the depths of the stairs. A stench stronger than before filled the room. Kerad stepped back one step as the otherworldly light of the creature fell in on the edge of the statue. “Whatever happens, do not run, for to do so would be folly. I know this creature; if you run, it will have you.”

  From behind one of the pews, Kaxen watched in horror as a white, ethereal creature began to appear on the steps beyond the statue. Aurelie squeezed his arm, and he could hear her whimper as it rose to the doorway. The creature had no flesh left on its face, and it wore white robes that were torn and flowed behind it without being blown by any natural wind. In its hand, it held a black sword with a black mist flowing off the blade as if it were a smoldering stick fresh from the fire.

  “A Spectre,” Kerad exclaimed. “Stay hidden. If it catches sight of you, it will put a fear in you that you won’t soon forget.” He heaved a readied breath. “I think I can hold off the fright, but should I fail, run and don’t look back.”

  “But you told us not to run!” Gondrial said, alarmed.

  Kerad held his hands up cupped in a praying depiction and cast the same spell he had used against the townspeople, but it seemed to have little or no effect on the Spectre. Only mildly stunned by Kerad, the creature struck back, but by some miracle, it missed as Kerad dove to one side. The foul blade merely graced a loose portion of Kerad’s robe, and it decayed and disintegrated in a large patch.

  Kaxen noticed Asrion seemed to be in a great deal of pain to his left. Clutching his head, Asrion recoiled from the Spectre in fear.

  He had to do something. Kaxen stood and threw his sword, in a panicked fear, at the creature. The sword passed through it as if it were merely air. The vile thing turned and focused on him; it moved silently toward him, and unrelenting fear welled up in Kaxen’s soul.

  Kerad recovered from his fall and cast a prayer again on the Spectre, and this time it screamed a deafening, unnatural scream but did not seem to be damaged in any outward or recognizable way. It swung its black sword blindly at the old cleric, only to slice air and nothing more. “We cannot win this fight!” Kerad shouted. “Another option is needed.”

  Asrion stood straight up behind the pew he shared with Gondrial and Lady Shey. Gondrial tried to stop the young cleric as he moved into the aisle, but his fingers slipped through Asrion’s cloth robe. “What are you doing, fool cleric? If Kerad cannot defeat this Spectre, you can’t.” Asrion ignored Gondrial and moved out into the aisle anyway.

  The Spectre had pinned Kerad to a pew and held its black blade high to strike him down. The air was still and the moment hung suspended in time. Kaxen was sure Kerad was doomed until a melodic, feminine voice came from Asrion’s mouth. “Do not fear the light, foul Spectre, it is time to feel its warmth once more.” The creature turned its head to Asrion, and its skull-lined face contorted in shock. Asrion held his hands high and together as if in prayer, and a golden light came from within and surrounded him. The Spectre moved away as quickly as it could, but the golden light left Asrion and followed it at an incredible speed. Kaxen watched as Asrion prayed and Kerad dropped to his knees and bowed to the floor. The Spectre screamed as the light engulfed it. In an instant, the silhouette of the Spectre burned away, its blade falling to the floor with a clang. A man stood in its place, wearing the white and yellow robes of a follower of Loracia. Asrion walked to the man and put his hand on his shoulder. “You will rebuild Signal Hill and free its people. The time has come.” Then he collapsed onto the floor. Aurelie and Kaxen hurried to help Asrion back to his feet. “I am okay,” Asrion said.

  The man in the robes of Loracia reached down and helped Kerad to his feet. “Who are you? How have you freed me of the curse?”

  “Who are we? Who are you?” Gondrial asked.

  “I am called Esperdahl, and I am the keeper of the armory and high priest of this temple.” He looked around at the ruins in puzzlement. “Although, my temple has seen better days.”

  Kerad slowly raised his head. His eyes fixed on Asrion. “Did you not see her? It was Loracia come down from Mount Venifyre! I know now how Asrion survived his ordeal with the Dramyds. I had nothing to do with it. The visage within Asrion was that of Loracia herself.” Kerad put his hands on Asrion. “You are visited by our goddess. Young cleric, you are the chosen vessel of Loracia.”

  “Me?” Asrion said, putting his hand to his chest.

  “I saw her with my own eyes.”

  Esperdahl bowed to Asrion. “Praise to Loracia.”

  Asrion stood stunned.

  “Aye, the boy is very feminine, now how do we get out of here?” Gondrial asked.

  A noise from the stairs behind the statue set Seancey back into an attack stance. “Another comes up from below.”

  “Another Spectre?” Aurelie said, grabbing a hold of Kaxen’s arm.

  “Oh no!” the voice from below said. “I am not a Spectre.”

  Esperdahl went to the statue. “I remember now. I held a thief prisoner within the armory.”

  Enowene produced a crystal, which she affixed to her staff. She muttered at the crystal and it shined brighter than any torch they carried.

  “Why didn’t you bring that out earlier?” Gondrial asked. “It might have been useful.”

  “I forgot I had it with me,” she replied.

  Gondrial rolled his eyes. “You, forget! That’s not likely.”

  “You must think you are very clever, don’t you Gondrial?” She said acidly.

  The glowing stone brightened the room as the thief appeared at the top of the stairwell. He was well dressed in green cloth pants and tunic, and he wore a light greenish cloak. His face was pleasant, and he smiled widely with excited admiration. He appeared to be elven despite the fact that he was a head and a half shorter than Kaxen. “Welcome to Signal Hill,” he said.

  “Kyrie!” Lady Shey said. “What are you doing down there?”

  Kyrie ignored Lady Shey.

  “Don’t you know who I am?” Shey exclaimed.

  Kyrie squinted and looked at Lady Shey intently for a moment. His face suddenly brightened in recognition. “Sheyna? Sheyna Namear, is that you all grown up?”

  “It is, Kyrie, although I prefer to be called Shey or Lady Shey. I have left the name Sheyna behind.”

  Kyrie nodded while bowing. “As you wish. Aye, I do remember you.”

  “You do not appear to be cursed,” Aurelie said.

  “Oh, I was not cursed with death as the others of this village. I was cursed with life.” He lowered his head. “I was in the armory when the city fell.”

  “And I kept him there,” Esperdahl said.

  Kerad cocked an eyebrow. “How is it that you escaped the curse of the city, and how did you survive all this time?”

  “I am not entirely sure. I suspect the armory itself protected me. I ate whatever I could find, and I conjured the rest.” Kyrie sighed and sat down on one of the pews. “As best as I
can figure, time has abandoned me in this place. What will you do with me now that your curse has been lifted, Esperdahl?”

  “You will refer to me as your grace, thief.”

  “Forgive me, your grace,” he said bowing.

  “I will charge you with assisting me as your penance for your crimes.”

  “What, being trapped here was not penance enough?”

  “There is much to be done.”

  “Wait a moment,” Gondrial said. “All this makes no sense to me. Signal Hill was cursed because it is…well…was a village of weapon smiths and armorers, and the wielders were losing the War of the Oracle, right?”

  “Aye, that is the story I know,” Seancey answered.

  “That war ended a thousand years ago. Where are your loyalties now, uh, your grace?”

  “Where they have always been, my son, with the will of Loracia. I will free the peoples of Signal Hill, and we will once again prepare for war. As I understand it, a new war is coming.”

  “That’s where I have a problem. How do you know a new war looms on the horizon? You have been a ghost for a thousand years. Do you see my dilemma?”

  “I only follow that which Loracia commands, and she commands me to rebuild Signal Hill. The war I knew is long over, but we are needed once more.”

  “But I…”

  “Let it be, Gondrial,” Kerad said. “He is a high priest, and as such he does have the power to know Loracia’s will and do her bidding. It is our way.”

  “Are you saying that Loracia has filled him in on the particulars somehow? He knows things just because he knows them!” Gondrial said. “Didn’t you say something about not being a disciple of Loracia if you are cursed to that other priest? You know, when you got all angry and started swinging your mace and slinging golden light on him.”

  Asrion stepped up. “I know it is not something you will accept freely, but you must.”

  “I did say that earlier when the priest invoked the name of Loracia upon his cursed lips,” Kerad said. “But this man is a high priest of Loracia and he responded to Asrion. He is touched by Loracia’s light. He is one of our order.”

  Oh, that clears that right up!” Gondrial said.

  “The last I saw you, Kyrie, you worked for Toborne. And worst of all, you stole from me,” Lady Shey said.

  Kyrie looked hurt. “Aye, but it was Toborne who trapped me. He hired me to sneak in this village during the War of the Oracle and steal away their weapons just before the curse. I am a Kylerie elf, curses do not taint my people easily, but I could not leave. The Spectre trapped me down here, not allowing me to pass. I could not defeat it, but as long as I stayed in the armory it did not bother me. I tried twice to leave and both times it attacked me.”

  “Likely story, Kyrie. I do not believe you,” Lady Shey said.

  “Sheyna, I do not lie to you. Remember long ago, I never lied. I am not too fond of Toborne either.”

  “I have my eye on you,” Lady Shey said.

  Esperdahl bowed to Kerad and Asrion. “I have been guarding this armory for one thousand years because it contains weapons and armor from the forgotten times. I think it is time for the armory to give up its secrets. Follow me down below and I will do Loracia’s will.”

  Gondrial drew his sword and nodded to Seancey for him to do the same.

  “There is no need for your caution,” Esperdahl said.

  “Right,” Gondrial said nodding. Esperdahl shook his head and led the way to the stairway.

  The stairway, made of carved stone, spiraled slightly downward to the left and entered a large room at least as large as the temple above. Lining the walls were racks filled with armor and weaponry. Kaxen could see the area where Kyrie must have lived. It was in a corner of the massive room and contained a fire pit, a makeshift bed, and several odd knickknacks. Esperdahl led the party to a particular rack of rusty armor, and Kaxen frowned as Kyrie pulled one of the sets down. The decaying breastplate was not of high quality, but since Kaxen had no armor, he decided to say nothing.

  “Here you go, friend,” Kyrie said as he handed the rusty armor to Rennon.

  “Thank you,” Rennon said, looking at the armor as if it were about to crumble in his hands.

  “What? No, no, I’m not giving you that to keep.” Kyrie laughed. “Get rid of that old rust bucket. Set it aside,” he said as Esperdahl pressed on the rack. It toppled into the wall behind, revealing an opening.

  “I managed to conceal this doorway not long before the curse.” He pressed the doorway open and entered. The sconces on the walls lit up immediately, alerting Kaxen that Esperdahl was indeed more than he seemed.

  Inside the room was a treasury of armor and weaponry. The racks and the room were small, making the treasure seem larger than it was.

  “Welcome to the hidden armory of Signal Hill. A place designed to hold unique arms and armor of the age.” Esperdahl picked up a broadsword and handed it to Seancey “This is Elvander, a most powerful sword. I present it to you.” He also gathered up a suit of combination chain mail and plate armor. “This is the companion armor to the sword. It is the pride of the elven kings of old. It is said no arrow, spear, nor any weapon of piercing can penetrate it.” Seancey set aside the sword and took the armor, holding it as if it were a poisonous viper. “Take it, Ranger of the Vale, it has no curse upon it. Surely you can see it was crafted by the skill of the elves of old?”

  Seancey feigned a grin and nodded.

  Esperdahl opened an overly large chest and pulled out something wrapped in cloth. He handed it to Kaxen. “Here you go, something fit for a wielder.”

  “I am not a wielder,” Kaxen protested.

  “Oh, aren’t you? I sense it all about you.” He paused. “Here, this is Dranmalin, forged by the dragons. It is light and deadly to creatures of shadow. Its name translates to dragon hammer in the tongue of the drakes of Draegodor.”

  At first, Kaxen was reluctant to take the sword, but he couldn’t resist. It was familiar to him somehow. It was a broadsword with the head of a dragon at its pummel as if it were biting down on the grip, which was wrapped in a strange leather. The guard was a single, double ended talon complete with a claw at each end, and two talons extended a ways down the blade from the hilt with claws curving inward to the blade. He took the sword and it felt natural to his touch like it had belonged to him all along. He studied it intently for a moment and then realized why it seemed familiar. It was the sword from his reoccurring dream!

  “Curious sensation, is it not?” Esperdahl commented. “That sword chooses its master and binds itself to him. If you handed the sword back to me now I would not be able to hold it, nor anyone for that matter. As you become familiar with it and bond with it, you will discover its true power.”

  “What did you call it again?” Kaxen asked.

  “Dranmalin.”

  Kaxen felt a chill run up his spine. It was the sword from his dream of the girl falling through the trees.

  Esperdahl removed a set of silver and white armor from another rack and gave it to Rennon. “This is the armor of Adjent Amar. It will not interfere with the magic you wield, and it has no helm to obstruct you. It is truly the armor of a mindwielder.”

  “What did you call me?” Rennon asked in horror at being called a wielder in front of the party.

  “Mindwielder.” Esperdahl dismissed Rennon’s protest with the wave of his thin hand. “It is no matter, friend, I meant no offense. Please accept the armor in good faith.” Rennon took the armor, already developing a dislike for the high priest.

  Kyrie spotted something on a nearby wooden table. “Oh and here are the daggers I planned to steal. They will never lose their master if you treat them with respect.” Esperdahl moved with haste, almost knocking the little rogue off his feet. He grabbed the daggers off the table and glared at Kyrie with contempt.

  “I wasn’t going to take them right in front of you,” he said defensively.

  “I should hope not!” Esperdahl handed both of the
daggers to Rennon, who smiled in spite of himself. The daggers were beautiful, golden-jeweled and carved with strange creatures Rennon had never seen before.

  Kyrie appeared disappointed.

  Esperdahl disappeared behind a canvas draped over a collection of swords and returned a moment later with a breastplate made of blue dragon scales and handed it to Aurelie. “This is the armor and weaponry of a dragon knight who lost his life in the battle for the Sacred Land. Just before his final moment, he asked me to give this armor to one that could wear it with pride. The broodlord seemed quite determined that I swear to do as he asked. He also felt compelled to tell me that the dragon master he was sworn to serve is called Amadace the Blue. He told me that I must see that it is worn again.”

  Sylvalora spoke up. “Excuse me, kind sir, but I have never heard of a woman donning the armor of a dragon knight. Are you certain you honor the broodlord’s wishes correctly?”

  Esperdahl’s face contorted into a malicious scowl. “As clearly and correctly as your own words. I follow the will of Loracia and that armor goes to the young woman by my goddess’ order!”

  Sylvalora raised an eyebrow, “I did not mean to offend.”

  “Mean or no, you offended.” He retorted.

  “Forgive me. high priest.” Sylvalora said.

  “I am no warrior,” Aurelie said, turning up her nose to the armor. “Why not give it to one of the men?” She inspected the breastplate. “This armor is crafted for a man.”

  “I have sworn to give it to you, and now I have given it to you. It is yours. I have fulfilled my promise. Female or not, it is no longer my concern. Do with it as you wish.”

  Kyrie pulled a long, slender sword from a plain green and blue scabbard. Seancey reached for his sword but stopped when he realized Kyrie did not intend to wield the weapon. “The dragon knight’s sword is called a dragon fang by the way, and his shield and armor are made of dragon scales.”

  Esperdahl took the sword from Kyrie and handed it to Aurelie. “This too belongs with the armor.”

  “All right, how is a suit of armor useful to me when I am not to fight in battle alongside men?” Aurelie lamented.