The Fractured Heartstone Read online

  After twenty minutes, the four city-watchmen had found their way to Temple Gate, so named for the monolithic cathedral that rose like a mountain above them. A huge central arch marked the entrance and above the door five statues which represented the Efealean Gods had been set into deep recesses. Enormous flying buttresses hugged the exterior walls and supported the two towers. Lothram’s gaze turned upward as he beheld the soaring towers that seemed to be scraping against the roof of the sky. The building, much like the White Tower, was erected from smooth limestone and gleamed with the same hue. The cathedral housed the ancient dead; the founders of the city as well as the most famous, or infamous, figures in the city’s long history. Immediately adjacent to this the city wall loomed and a large gate opened up that admitted visitors.

  The four of them stood across the street from the magnificent structure as traffic trundled past them. Ydari strode out confidently and darted between the wagons and carts, a few of the drivers cursing coarsely as he slipped by. His companions quickly followed suit and they were able to cross without mishap. Ydari didn’t break stride as he tramped to the cathedral entrance and, with a lot of effort and some help from Lothram, the mighty door swung open. The vast entrance welcomed them into an imposing hall of worship that was designed to instil religious fervour. At the far end of the building the heavens opened up as the vaulted ceiling gave way to a mammoth rotunda beneath a dome that allowed a vast ray of light to sparkle in. It was as if the Gods had bestowed their blessing in this place. Around the circular space five luxurious altars had been placed in a semi-circle. Azreus’ altar sat in the middle and was the most extravagant example of craftmanship and exultation Ydari had ever seen.

  Two grand staircases bordered the altars, leading to the crypt below. Ydari made a beeline for the left-hand staircase and his subordinates continued to follow him in solemn silence. The Watch Captain had expected all sorts of questions, particularly from Teobrin, but they had dutifully followed their Captain without comment. The four of them descended into the lower levels. This part of the cathedral was a lot less ornate and gave way to darkness, tombs mouldering in almost every corner of the cavernous space. Lost in the gloom, but known to Ydari, there was a doorway that marked the entrance to the old catacombs that the cathedral had been built over. He hastily walked over to the aged door and it opened with a creak. Beyond it a tight stairwell spiralled downward. They made their way down it until they stood in the lowest part of the temple where a single torch burned in a sconce on the wall. The room was cloying and it appeared they had walked into a dead end.

  “We’re on the trail of a dangerous order of assassins so we’re now partying in a dank basement?” Lothram asked sarcastically. He looked unimpressed as he cast his eyes this way and that, observing nothing of note. “I thought we were going to go to the catacombs, not hang out with corpses. Not that I’m complaining, I just prefer my prisoners to be a little more talkative,” he added sardonically.

  “I don’t think dead people talk very much,” Teobrin informed the group helpfully.

  “That’s not what he meant,” Idrahil started. She brought a palm up to her face and shook her head resignedly. “Never mind. While I didn’t find Lothram particularly amusing he does make a point. If we were pointed toward the catacombs what are we doing here sir?” the young woman inquired.

  “We’re here to find the entrance that this temple was built over,” Ydari replied. He ran his fingers along the wall mutely for a moment as he looked for something. “Most of the entrances were paved over as the city was rebuilt again and again over the centuries and while some entrances still survive most are under three storeys of stone. From what Vedile said this supposed group of individuals meet here regularly so it has to be accessible but secret enough not to draw attention. There are no other entrances near Temple Gate so it must…” Ydari trailed off as something caught his attention. In one corner of the room a faint etching could be seen and, after brushing some dust away, he thought he could make out a crude carving in the shape of a dragon on a plinth. He pushed his palm against it and it sank into the mortar with a crunch. “Found it,” Ydari said triumphantly.

  Suddenly a tremendous boom thundered from the far wall adjacent to the staircase. The entire wall trembled and slid downwards, the deafening tumult of grinding stone and the spray of dust causing the group to hack and cough. A monumental gust of air hit the party that almost sent them tumbling and the smell of rot and must instantly filled their nostrils as the torch behind them blinked out. Lothram grunted to himself hotly as he fumbled for something in a small pack that he had brought with him. A moment later a tinkling metallic sound was heard as he struck a flint and steel over the extinguished torch. It roared back into life and he held it aloft. Beyond the wall a passageway opened up. The sides of the passage were lined with thick cobwebs and Teobrin recoiled at the sight of them as he started batting at imaginary arachnids in fright.

  “Oh, joy of joys,” Lothram groaned caustically. “We get to walk along a spider-infested hallway with an arachnophobe.”

  “Don’t say that word,” Teobrin pleaded desperately as he slapped himself a couple of times. A skittering noise caused the young man to stumble backwards and he latched onto Idrahil’s shoulders as he used her frame to guard against any incursions of a spidery nature.

  “Do you mind?” Idrahil exclaimed as she slapped Teobrin’s hands away. “I’m not a doorstop to guard against spiders.”

  “Eeek,” squealed Teobrin. “You said it again…”

  “Spiders!” Lothram blurted out with a mischievously cruel chuckle.

  “Look there,” Ydari said, gesturing with his hand as he ignored the exchange. The rest of the party followed his finger, with the exception of Teobrin who was stamping the ground furiously to fend off imaginary bugs. In the flickering torchlight another carving could be made out. This glyph seemed to have been carved more recently and the wings of the serpent were clearer and more pronounced. “Looks like we’ve found what we’re looking for. Lothram, lead the way,” he commanded crisply.

  Ydari waited a moment as Lothram plunged headlong into the murkiness. Teobrin followed nervously behind and Ydari could hear Idrahil soothing the young man as they walked on in the gloom. Soon the room they had entered was lost in the pitch black of the tunnels they now found themselves in and beyond the confines of the torchlight the murk was all-consuming. Every so often the group would stumble into another passageway that snaked its way into unknown corners of this hidden labyrinth and Teobrin would emit a squeak of terror as they happened upon another creature that dwelled in this abyss. Ydari quickly grew accustomed to the dim light source and his sharp eyes caught sight of the glyphs they were so diligently following.

  A couple of times the party would lose sight of their next marker and they would have to double back to find the path once more. The journey however was more or less uneventful as they wound their way from one passage to the next. Without the markings to guide their way they would have surely been lost in these foreboding tunnels, cursed to wander for hours without hope of finding their way back out again. As they trudged along boredom began to take its toll and they had to remain alert, the sojourn into this dank world robbing them of their perception of time. Just as Ydari began to hope that they were nearing wherever the glyphs were leading them they found another marker, dashing them just as quickly as they had risen. Teobrin had devolved into sobbing miserably in spite of them not having seen anything living in a while; the spiders seemingly given up dwelling this far underground.

  After what felt like an eternity the tunnel walls widened and the space became airier. The claustrophobic tomb they had been in opened up into a vast cave that seemed impossibly huge; the sides were lost in the eternal night. Ydari thought he could spy an ethereal luminescence in the distance. The group continued for a few more minutes until the light became clearer and Ydari was certain that there was something ahead of them. Strangely a song filled his mind, evoking images of battles
fought ages past; the deeds and triumphs of long-dead ancestors as if it were memories exalting their most heroic moments. As they neared a blue opalescence could be seen harkening to them as if it were a siren call.

  Ydari stared intently at the source of the ethereal glow and the images in his brain intensified. Before him a jagged blue gem hovered and he reached a hand up toward it. The Watch Captain was so lost in the gem’s brilliance that he didn’t hear Lothram’s warning cry. As he approached the strange jewel, he could hear it humming softly. Abruptly the gem changed notes and increased in pitch. Ydari withdrew from it as if struck by an invisible pressure wave and he snapped to attention as he heard footfalls coming from somewhere in the cavernous expanse. His hand went to his sword and he unsheathed it in one smooth movement. Ahead of them a silhouette could just be barely made out and was fast approaching. A cold chill went up the party’s collective spine and they readied themselves to face this new foe. Teobrin’s eyes darted this way and that desperately as he searched for signs of more ghosts in the darkness and the figure stopped short; the torchlight only illuminating the figure’s feet.

  “What are you doing down here?” a cold voice asked with a rasp.

  “I am Ydari of the city watch and…” Ydari started.

  “I honestly don’t care. That was a rhetorical question,” the mysterious figure snapped coldly. In the flicker of the torchlight more shapes could be seen and they approached ominously until Ydari could see at least eight different individuals and he was certain there were more. “It doesn’t matter who you are or what brought you here. You won’t be leaving alive.”

  ***

  The curtains billowed as a light breeze rolled into the room and faint sounds from other parts of the keep drifted in as Trelech yawned loudly. He stretched and grunted as he got to his feet. Before him the plush interior of his bedroom greeted him and he sighed contentedly as he cast his eyes about his bedroom. His bed was sat in the middle of a large room and was constructed from rich pine with thick animal skins stretching across the voluminous space. Beautifully crafted bedside tables framed the bed and various knick-knacks and gold coins littered their surface. On the right-hand side of the room a huge window was set into the wall and crimson curtains flapped merrily in the wind that entered through the ornate windows.

  A bearskin had been placed on the floor at the foot of the bed and Trelech enjoyed staring at the dead creature’s open maw every morning. Bookshelves lined the opposite wall and they were swarmed with various books and volumes but all of them appeared undisturbed; save for a couple of tomes that were on the effects of various poisons. The Prince smiled knowingly at this as he stretched a couple more times, his aching limbs creaking in protest. Trelech had been excitedly anticipating this day and, in spite of his position, the Prince didn’t often look to the future. His oldest brother had died days before and the image of his gruesome features replayed in his mind. He smiled happily as he recollected Tuirech’s face contorting in agony and his swollen tongue threatening to burst inside the odious man’s mouth as he hacked and spluttered uselessly whilst the poison had done its deadly work.

  “Today is the day I take the next step. I will have my moment,” Trelech promised to himself.

  Trelech looked at his reflection in a mirror that had been sat on a nearby table and began to admire himself vainly. Many ladies in the court considered him handsome, a fact to which he was not blind, and he used his dashing looks to his advantage when he began his next conquest. He had striking features with high cheekbones and plump lips for a man with shoulder-length black hair which framed grey eyes. This was his most severe feature and when Trelech was annoyed his usually gentle features would turn into a snarl of cruelty and hatred. The youngest Prince set the mirror to one side and set about his daily ablutions. An errant look at the sky informed the man that the day was well into the afternoon.

  After Trelech had dressed he stood in the open window and felt the gentle kiss of the wind caress his cheek. The keep was in a furore since Tuirech had expired and now he was fully alert, he drank in every detail. The servants in the courtyard resembled ants as they hurried this way and that and he knew all this activity was to give his contemptible brother a grand funeral that he didn’t deserve. His lip curled into a sneer and he spat at the memory of him. Noises drifted to his ears and it was as if the entire keep was resonating. Trelech turned on his heel and strode to the door, swinging it open with a flourish as if an audience were waiting to greet his arrival and would clap appreciatively at his splendour. The Prince worked his way through the passages of the keep while servants dashed about, all of them wisely lowering their heads as they wheeled past him. Trelech nodded happily at that, his reputation preceding him.

  After a couple more twists and turns Trelech pushed a grand door open and entered the main area of the keep: the Great Hall. His father’s throne was set on a pedestal which was set at the back wall with half a dozen steps leading up to it with a gigantic window directly behind it so the light shone spectacularly on the monarch and all eyes who stared up at his countenance knew just who possessed all the power in the kingdom. Deer and stag heads and various other hunting trophies had been mounted on every other wall. A forest of heads stared out so thickly there was no available space for any other decorations. Four long tables, with benches either side, were set out in a diamond formation while a magnificent central fire roared fiercely in the middle.

  Trelech looked around as he always did upon entering this hall, the taste of power lingering tantalisingly on his tongue. His father was sat on his throne while three individuals were having a heated discussion just in front of him. King Zoirech was adorned in regal magnificence, his face almost the spitting image of his son Trelech save for a neatly trimmed goatee and moustache that exhibited his meticulous cleanliness. He wore a neat black shirt and leggings with an opulent fur coat, with a rich purple lining draped across his masculine shoulders. His facial features were a mask but his forehead was throbbing and Trelech knew the King was hiding a torrent of rage that was threatening to spill over. As the Prince approached, he could hear snatches of their conversation.

  “This has to be done properly. After all he was the first-born son and he deserves all the respect that is due to a Prince of Akanthir,” one of the men remarked exasperatedly. He was a head shorter than the man he was addressing and had greasy black hair which had been slicked back. He had round eyes over a stubbed nose and pursed lips. His clothes smacked of all the refinery of nobility and Trelech instantly recognised him as Fuirloke, the keeper of the royal purse. “We are not going to desecrate his coffin with these ridiculous allegations Barlech,” Fuirloke whined nasally.

  “You will show respect when you address me or my family you cur! He was my brother and I will know the truth of it!” the other man screamed. He was a mountain of muscle and dwarfed almost everyone who stood around him. He had a long unkempt beard and thick furrowed eyebrows over dark brown eyes. Telvia, the cook, stood her ground confidently between the two men as Barlech reared forwards. “Go back to clinking your coins and leave matters of state to those whose opinion matter,” Barlech snapped furiously.

  King Zoirech raised a hand and Barlech immediately ceased his tirade but his eyes remained locked on Fuirloke; the towering man a roiling mass of terrifying anger. The monarch dropped his arm and rose to his feet regally. Telvia straightened and stood with poise as he walked forwards. The vein still throbbed alarmingly in the monarch’s forehead but the man merely stood frozen with an icy coolness that put a feeling of dread over everyone present. Telvia’s face tightened as the King’s eyes took in her features before he turned to glare at the approaching Trelech. Zoirech raised a hand and beckoned him over. Trelech dutifully took a position between his brother and Fuirloke and they all waited for their sovereign to address them.

  “You’ve served our family well all these years Fuirloke but you have always lacked imagination. As for you Barlech, cool your temper and we will get this matter de
alt with,” Zoirech said coolly. His eyes never left the face of his youngest son and Trelech squirmed under his fierce gaze.

  “Did I come at the wrong moment?” Trelech inquired curiously.

  “You did,” Zoirech responded, his voice low and soft though with an edge of steel. “Telvia, could you please regale us with your tale so that my youngest son may know what you have just told me?”

  “What lies has that guttersnipe been filling your head with?” Trelech snarled indignantly.

  “You will shut up and listen!” Zoirech exclaimed, cuffing Trelech in the face with a thunderous blow that sent him reeling but he remained upright. Trelech wiped a lip with a handkerchief. “Please Telvia, in your own time.”

  “Well your majesty it was like this,” the cook began. “On the day of your son’s death I was preparing the meals as usual when Prince Trelech entered the kitchen and was loitering…”

  “No more of your lies,” Trelech started but he was silenced from a blow by Barlech that dropped him to the floor.

  “Guards!” Zoirech’s booming voice commanded. In an instant two guards clad in thick black armour hove into view and latched onto Trelech and held him like a vice. The Prince squirmed in their grip desperately while Zoirech glowered at him. “That’s enough out of you. If you dare interrupt Telvia or me one more time, I’ll have your tongue ripped out from your filthy mouth,” Zoirech threatened, his voice almost a whisper. He nodded for the cook to continue her account.