The Fable of Griffon: Book 02 - Herald's Dawn, page 25
Phorest followed carefully. He stepped past the border, finding himself standing upon the cold sandy floor. He shivered suddenly as the chill bit into his flesh, the harsh wind blowing strongly around him and Griffon. The young man nodded over his shoulder back toward the others.
Phorest turned to see that the horizon seemed to have suddenly changed, the entire sky was a terrible dark shadow of stormy clouds. It was as though they had walked a mile in a single step. Far behind him, outlined like dark silhouettes on the far off horizon, stood the others, watching curiously as Phorest and Griffon looked back at them.
“Care to try and explain that?” Griffon asked the elf as Shump stepped forward, seeming to dissipate from the distant group and reappear beside them, shuddering suddenly as the cold hit him.
“By Uillime’s glow.” Phorest whispered as he wrapped himself in his arms for warmth.
#
“After you.” Dabilo smiled to Seth pleasantly as Balix and Galeema stepped into the border.
“Oh no please, ladies first.” Seth countered, stalling as best he could to avoid having to enter. They both sighed loudly, looking up at the marker nearby before closing their eyes and walking in.
“Gods damn it! It’s freezing!” Dabilo exclaimed loudly, causing all the others to grimace at the sudden noise, twisting around to hush her. A long moment seemed to pass, hanging in the air as they waited to see if anything reacted to the noise. The wind was the only sound to greet them, a forbidding low howl but little to fear. Even that was enough to keep them on edge, alert to every hiss of sand, every whistle of wind.
Domorr stood before them. A long low wall and a single tall gate left invitingly open. To either side stood twisted demonic like figures of stone, ancient gods wrought by the artificers of the once great city. Beyond the low wall stood hundreds upon thousands of dusty crypts and memorials, ranging to either side of a great central road. Sad and sorrowful buildings, they formed a maze of broken cobbles that stretched onward for miles. Some were linked in great clusters whilst others stood neglected and lonely, only statues and grim monoliths to keep them company. The vast cemetery formed a wide moat of ornate buildings around the city proper, itself little more than ghost haunted ruins of broken masonry. They had fallen into such disrepair that they seemed like a range of broken teeth, jutting from the sands. The central road cut through them too, leading directly to the great wide expanse at the centre. Beyond that, dominating the cityscape could be seen a magnificently tall and wide tower, four stepped pyramids ranged around it like age old and darkened sentinels. The central edifice was marked by a vast spiral rampway that curled around its outside like a stone serpent. A parapet of ornate black stone crowned its peak, a forbidding mountain over watching the lost city.
“There is no sign of them. Nor any fighting.” Shump observed, looking around.
“Then we find them before there is.” Balix answered, clearly shaken by the sight before him.
“By the Raven. What happened here?” Galeema whispered as they began to walk to the outer wall of the city. Carvings of ancient kings and lords lined the outer wall like the ranks of an army, each standing sullen, leaning upon their swords in grief, their faces gaunt and expressions hollow.
Phorest glanced to her before retrieving Raphaniel from the pouch at his side. The wind seemed to have little effect upon his pages, as the ethereal face upon the book awoke. It looked to her and at their surroundings as Phorest repeated the question it. After a pause, the book began to answer in dulcet tones, as though in memory.
“Long ago, before the Sealing, Domorr was among the greatest of mortal lands. It was a proud marble city enjoying the luxury of its rich mountains and fertile fields.” It explained as they walked into the city itself. The wind continued to howl through the crypts, between the saddened statues and rusting fencings. “The lord of the city was a proud and greedy man. When his nephew died from an illness his brother, a poor nobleman, asked for his aid to give his son the burial he deserved. The lord of the city gave him an unmarked grave, unwilling to pay anything.” Tentatively they stepped through the vast gate, the broken paving stones beneath their feet shifting as they pressed weight upon them. “And so the lord’s brother left the city ashamed, and cursed them for their disrespect. Slowly, the signs of a disease appeared upon the villages that had fallen under the cities protection. The signs were ignored, deemed to be just another minor outbreak, just another fever that would quickly die away again.” Galeema glanced around the crypts nervously as Raphaniel spoke, watching the crumbling masonry and cracked marble. It was as though the very stone watched them, as though drawn to the breath of the living. “The lords were wrong, the plague continued, striking fear into the villagers, sending thousands fleeing for the city walls for its protection. The city tried to close its gates, fearful of what the villagers might bring with them, but it was too late, the plague soon gripped the city itself and within months over half the populace lay dead or dying in the streets. The lord was among them, his own body left to an unmarked grave among thousands of others.” Galeema shuddered suddenly, hearing a child’s voice echoing on the wind that whispered among the crypts.
“Eager to try and seek forgiveness from the curse the surviving tribunes decreed that the dead be given the burial rites of the highest of noblemen, and so the grand cemetery began. The plague slowed but did not die. With time the people of the city became obsessed with their task, creating vast networks of crypts, and finally the Necropolis itself. The city of the dead quickly became larger than that of the living. Families that had died would have their home converted into a mausoleum where it stood. Finally the last of the city’s people was said to have finished his own grave in time to fall into it.”
“What happened then?” Galeema asked, glancing around at the rows of crypts. She could not shake the feeling of being watched, the chill of the wind made matters only worse, numbing her senses. She could swear she could hear other whispers within its howls, terrible harsh voices; angry.
And hungry.
“When Isthameer arose, his brother was said to be the first he tried to convert. Legend says his brother was already dead, and the Dark ones refusal to accept this turned his brother into a creature of hate and death, something resentful of all life. When he was unleashed upon the world he searched first for a home and found here, a place that matched his hatred and jealously of the living.” Galeema noted Phorest too seemed nervous. He held Raphaniel loosely, as though ready to snap him shut at a moment’s notice should his voice be heard too loudly.
“You are too young to remember. The last war, my grandfather told me the tale.” Balix explained to her. “You should have seen his eyes, I have never seen such genuine fear in a man’s eyes. This is a dark place, and I had hoped never to see it.”
Galeema could understand his hesitance; part of her screamed for her to run away and hide, to jump at every shifting shadow. She steeled herself against the thought, finding encouragement in the knowledge that she was one of the first people for millennia to walk among the city’s lost secrets.
#
Griffon kept close watch on his amulet, the strange eye in its centre shifting from one side to another as they worked their way through the myriad of crypts and mausoleums. They had abandoned the central road, its passage too open and too eager, and left it for the maze of winding streets that ran through the vast cemetery. The very air of the city reeked of malicious intent, a constant looming menace like a storm waiting to break from its sleep.
“I hate this place.” He muttered, shuddering slightly.
“Yes well, just remember who brought us here.” Seth reminded him, glancing around at a suspicious looking shadow on the wall, obscuring a leering statue that matched his gaze from within its alcove.
“Up ahead.” Griffon said, looking past a long row of crumbling crypts to a turn to the left ahead of them. They moved quickly, following the path to find a dead end waiting for them. Before them stood a large and grey mausoleum, its entrance long since broken open, leaving a looming darkness beyond the doorway that seemed to eerily beckon to them. Looming in the distance beyond it the great Necropolis and its stepped sentinels dominated the skyline.
“It was broken from the inside out.” Galeema remarked, looking at the gaping dark abyss of the doorway into the crypt. They stood watching the doorway for a moment, unable to see through the darkness within.
“In there then?” Seth asked for confirmation, swallowing slightly. Griffon checked the amulet, nodding after a few moments.
“Seems so.” He answered.
“Good.” Dabilo added. A long pause echoed over them, none of them daring to move toward the crypt. “Well. Right then.” She said, hoping it would spur someone into action. She looked at Shump. “After you.” She offered politely.
Shump shook his head a little despairingly before lighting a torch and entering with proud and wide strides. The light of the torch showed them a cold and lonely room of modest size. It carried spartan decorations and only a few faded murals left upon the walls remained. Four alcoves stood to either side, standing lonely and empty. Strange scratch marks had been left on the marble floor leading from and around a central sarcophagus whose lid lay wide open. A small barred window let in a thin stream of light at the back, and afforded a view of the towering dark Necropolis to the North.
“It’s empty.” The Lenatethian remarked, surprised at how loud his voice seemed suddenly.
“Empty?” Griffon asked, wandering in behind him, looking around carefully. The others followed gingerly behind save for Dabilo and Phorest.
“I don’t see anything resembling one of the artifacts. What does your amulet say?” Seth asked the young king. Griffon checked it again, frowning as he realised the eye had suddenly closed. It needed to be charged again, the blood sacrifice it required preying at the back of his mind. Griffon tapped the pommel of the dagger at his side, but the thought of letting even a drop of his blood in this place filled him with dread.
Suddenly he stopped, turning to look at Shump and Seth.
“Did you hear that?” He asked, looking to each of them in turn before looking back and around them.
Phorest and Dabilo suddenly rushed into the crypt with great urgency. “Get to the back of the room! Quickly! Into the corner!” The elf warned, indicating the corner nearest the window.
“What’s the matter?” Griffon asked as they quickly followed the Shian’s instructions.
Phorest snapped his attention towards Griffon, breathing hard. The look of terror in the Shian’s eyes set aside any doubts over the wisdom of his advice. Griffon nodded in agreement, moving to the back of the room as the others complied at Dabilo’s urging. Phorest quickly took hold of his cloak, billowing it out in front of the group as much as possible before sprinkling the contents of one of his pouches over it. The small inch long slivers of wood scattered over the cloak like rain, lending it a strange honey like scent. Not wasting another moment he stepped upon it, urging the others to do the same.
“What are these?” Seth whispered, looking at the splinter of wood he held in his hand, retrieved from the floor where it had fallen.
“Shianic shards. Pieces of the ancient trees.” He answered hurriedly, keeping his voice hushed.
Griffon leaned forward to him, placing his hand upon the elf’s shoulder to turn him. The Shian was cold to touch, as though the vitality had been drained from him. “What did you see? What happened?”
“We found them.” Dabilo said, herself shaking as she sat upon the cloak, clutching her knees to her chest. “We found them.”
“Who?” Seth asked her, kneeling beside her and placing his cloak about her shoulders.
“The Badlanders. We saw one. It moved, even without a head. It still moved!” Seth glanced up to Griffon who swallowed. He turned back to Phorest, the elf nodding in agreement. Phorest’s eyes wide with fear.
“We were too late. It’s begun.”
A bell suddenly tolled loudly over the landscape from atop the peak of the Necropolis. The single deathly note echoed among the streets of the city like some ancient, terrible call. A few moments passed and the wind dropped completely, leaving a terrible silence in the air. The bell tolled a second time, lonely and overpowering in the dread quiet. After a moment, strange scratching could be heard, the sound of creaking iron hinges, of moving stones and the sound of soft footsteps. Gingerly they looked out of the door of the empty crypt, peering from their hiding place in horror as the doors to the other crypts nearby were swung open.
From within they came, nightmarish horrors, the long dead, still clutching ancient weapons and worn and battered armour. They moved with peculiar silence and horrible grace into the cold and silent streets, only the sounds of their footsteps and of the continued tolling of the great bell echoing through the air.
Following them came the shadows themselves, formless and terrible, tearing themselves from the dark places with almost silent moans. Slowly they rose, from the graves of the thousands that lay within the city. With them moved ghostlights, strange and cold wisps that moved like fireflies amidst the ruined cemetery, shining like lanterns for the lost souls.
They recoiled back in horror as whispering wraiths suddenly rose up from within the sarcophagus before them with barely a sound. The creatures rose up through the thick stone of the sarcophagus with ease as their black and tattered forms fluttered in some ethereal breeze. Four of the fell shadows came forth. They moved silently, gliding over the floor and into the open.
The last stopped for a moment, its hooded head turning slightly toward them. They felt a terrible cold shiver rush down their spines as its gaze fell upon them, unseen eyes deep within a shadowed cowl. Galeema whispered a prayer under her breath as she looked on in terror at the cloaked nightmare before her.
Seth swallowed, clutching tightly onto one of the shards as the splinter he held turned from its rich golden hue to a rotten black. He shivered uncontrollably, watching his breath mist in the freezing air. At last the creature turned aside, joining the ranks of thousands of others outside.
The bell tolled again, and again, becoming a terrible slow rhythmic beat, summoning all manner of evil from the halls of the dead. Griffon stood gently and slowly from the cloak, keeping tight hold of a few of the remaining shards as he chanced a look through the window at the great Necropolis itself.
He could feel his limbs shaking uncontrollably as his hands gripped both the splinters and his amulet with the strength of a mad man. He could feel the eye open, and for a moment his mind drifted, seeing things he should not see.
In his visions he could hear the bell tolling above, as his mind’s eye wandered about a great dark chamber high among the howling winds of the rumbling storm. Statues of kings and lords long forgotten stood sentinel among long hanging chains that clanked eerily in the breeze. Beneath them, arrayed about room were twelve sarcophagi; each a black marble edifice that devoured the light that touched them, each slowly creaking open. Griffon felt the shudder spread as he gripped tighter. He struggled to pull his mind’s eye away from the scene, not fully understanding why he could see it so vividly. He could hear Seth and the others calling to him, could feel someone grasping his arm as though to stop it from shaking. Though he could feel it, he could not tear himself away from the vision. He watched as the sarcophagi slid open one by one, dark shadowy smoke pouring from within as long thin skeletal hands reached outward.
Something rose from the first, black robes falling about its frail form. They bulged unnaturally around an armoured chest and a steel mask, the metal shimmering through the cloth with unhealthy light. The figure turned, pushing aside the robes as it leant back. With a sudden scream it roared, a monstrous noise of a thousand violent deaths. Griffon felt his knees buckle and give way as he slid to the floor. A flash of pain went through his leg as he knee connected with a bit of jutting stonework and in a flash the vision suddenly cleared from his mind.
“Griffon!” Seth hissed, nervously glancing about him as though expecting an attack at any moment. “What happened?”
“I saw him.” Griffon let go of the amulet, the red metal clattering upon the floor. His fingers ached where he had gripped it so tightly, thin lines of blood running from within his silvered gauntlet. The amulet had taken its price after all. “The window!” Griffon said suddenly, forcing himself to his feet. He clutched at his head, the visions still haunting him.
With a slow and dreadful grace it moved to the far end of the room, roused from its slumber and eager to greet its subjects. From alcoves around the great chamber other shadows followed. Twenty in all, lost souls every one. They were but twisted mockeries of their former selves, but no less deadly for it. Shrouded in darkness, they glided over the floor silently, the Hands of the Shadows.
Griffon felt the image in his mind, he could feel the chill wind pulling through the crypt, brushing past him as it fled through the window towards the great citadel. He glanced about him, noting the others felt it too, a kind of strange haze that forced its mark upon their thoughts. He could ‘feel’ the great chamber, see it and taste it – as though he were there himself. Something terrible had stirred, and its presence made reality scream.
The great iron door at the end of the chamber swung open with a wave of his skeletal claw as the Lord of Shades moved onto the balcony beyond. His form became more solid with every step, his strength growing with every toll of the ancient bell. His metal clad footsteps crushed the bones upon the floor into dust as the sweeping darkness about him brushed them aside like windblown dust. His raiment’s seemed to have a will of their own, a hungry darkness that flowed in ethereal tides and devoured the light around their master. Finally he stopped at the edge of the balcony and the bell tolled once again as lightning played across the sky. Ranged far beneath him stood thousands upon thousands of the damned; long dead warriors and spirits standing in serried ranks that filled the vast open forum before the great tower with a sea of bone and chill. Each and every one stood silent, only the thunder of the storm and the ceaseless tolling of the bell echoing in the streets. Surveying the force before him, the monster that had woken drew his long and ancient blade, holding it high as the shadow about his head fell away but a little, the edge of ancient and bloodstained bone outlined by the flash of the angry sky. Wychlights blazed in empty sockets, piercing through the gloom. The bell tolled again, its every beat echoing through the city.
