The Fable of Griffon: Book 02 - Herald's Dawn, page 46
“Draconic?” Galeema queried to Seth, glancing back nervously as she said what she feared they were all thinking. The mage nodded nervously, reaching to hold the blade at his back as he started murmuring incantations quietly.
“What was this place?” Griffon whispered as he looked at the long black scars upon the walls surface.
“We had best keep moving.” Phorest muttered, coming up behind him, glancing up ahead with a grave look.
The tunnel finally ended, opening out into a large grotto. The sounds of their steps echoed within the vast hall, pillars of rock standing high around them, slowly being engulfed by the mineral rich water that ran down their sides. A vast pool of water dominated the centre of the room, reflecting the light from their torches and spells. The room was strangely warm, and maintained a quiet dignity about it like some great underground cathedral.
They looked about in awe. At the far end of the room was a large open door, leading into a deep darkness beyond. The doorframe had been carved beautifully from the rock, detailed carvings stretching around it in high relief from the stone, yet even cracked with tremors and age it retained a strong sense of its aged splendour.
Shump edged carefully to the shore of the pool, peering at the reflection that stared back at him from the silvery surface of the still water, surprised and almost dismayed at the myriad of fierce red scars that marked his chest and arms.
“How deep is this?” He asked, picking up a stone from the floor beside him.
Phorest stopped him just as the barbarian pulled his arm back to throw the rock into the centre of the small lake. “Something’s are best left undisturbed my friend.” He nodded to the edge of the hall, a thin pathway extending between the pools edge and the cavern wall. “Look there. We can go around easy enough without upsetting whatever may lurk down there.”
Shump dropped the stone with a quiet nod. “Agreed. No sense in looking for any more trouble.” The rock knocked against the hard floor with an echoing tap that caused many of them to jump at the sudden sharp noise.
“Please.” Dabilo said holding up her hands in protest. “Just let’s get out of this place before you do anything else without thinking.”
Galeema held back for a moment as the others began to move around the edge of the pool, heading for the door at the far side. She held her hand high, trying to shed more light on the passage they had just left as the shadows closed around its edges. She shivered, despite the comfortable warmth within the chamber, feeling the hairs on her spine rise in warning.
“I think we best get moving faster.” She warned, quickly turning to follow.
“Don’t worry.” Leaf told her with a gentle voice. She put away a small shard of wood she had been carrying in a pouch at her side, the sacred bark having long since stopped glowing. “Domorr seems to have given up the chase for now.”
“It’s not just Domorr that worries me.” Galeema answered, glancing back.
The floor around the far door was paved with tough marble flagstones and detailed with beautifully intricate mosaics depicting scenes of eras long past. On them were sweeping vistas of places long since swept into forgotten history, and everywhere marked the motif of the flame enthroned.
Cautiously they passed through the great arch and into the hall beyond. Galeema stopped by the archway as the others continued into the room, holding their torches high as they tried to get a better view of what lay ahead of them. She let them move on ahead of her a few steps, the darkness within the great halled cavern increasing and spreading ominously as their torchlight faded from it.
Quietly she washed her hand in the last of her holy water, wincing slightly as it touched her. It felt hot, as though she had held her hand over steam. Trying to ignore it she wiped her hand against the doorframe, quietly whispering a prayer of protection, hoping to leave at least some kind of barrier in place to cover their backs. When the blessing was in place she hurriedly wiped the last of the water from her hand, looking at it for a moment curiously before quickly turning to follow the others.
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The long hallway continued for some distance, a vast corridor that stretched high above them like some cathedral nave. Pillars of strong stone stood intermittedly along either side, framing withered paintings of ancient glories. Many were still intact, their colours still strong and vibrant, standing out from the dull brown grey of the walls like fiery dreams.
Seth and Dabilo rushed from one wall to the next, inspecting each and every mural for further signs of draconic runes. Their eagerness to find some hint of arcane lore in its original draconic matched only by their thirst for the riches it might bring them. The others ignored them, awed by the sight of the ancient hall around them, perhaps the first to do so for untold hundreds of years. Phorest and Leaf seemed less impressed, looking about at the scenes with blunted interest, as though forcing a distance between themselves and the paintings around them. Griffon decided it best not to comment, noting the dark expression Phorest carried.
Shump had no such care of subtleties. “What’s the matter with you?” Shump asked the Shian bluntly. Leaf gave the barbarian a stern look, as though annoyed for bringing the matter to light.
“I know these scenes.” Phorest answered, acknowledging that Shump was not likely to have been delicate. “Tales from when I was a child in Fal Shian, old histories passed down. These are scenes of the Empire of Flame.”
Griffon glanced back at the Shian with interest. His knowledge of the Empire before its fall was scant, with much of its history already forgotten before Tyran’s scholars had even begun to write the archives; and more before Tyran had even existed.
“The old Empire and Fal Shian share much enmity. We have never forgotten what they did to us.” Leaf explained, looking away from the murals in disgust.
“During the Wars of Succession, the Empire launched a surprise attack on the Shian and then on Fal Shian itself. The forest was burned and the Shian were cast out. That one act left us a broken people at the mercy of the centaurs for almost a century. We never forgave the dragons, and I doubt my people ever will.” Phorest explained, keeping his voice solemn.
“What about Derro?” Griffon asked him, recalling the young bronze dragon.
“Every rule has its exceptions.” Phorest admitted, allowing himself to smile a moment. “Myself included.”
“You know a dragon to-deralla?” Leaf asked him with some horror, taking a step back from him. Griffon noted that she had referred to him by rank rather than by name, a fact that had not passed unnoticed by the elder Shian.
“An old companion, mayain.” He responded a little defensively, returning the gesture of rank. “He showed me not to let myself be blinded by my beliefs.”
“You surprise me to-deralla.” She answered, looking away as though disappointed. “I had not thought it of you.”
Phorest said nothing, but nodded, looking around at the hall. “It was a long time ago.”
“By the gods you people know how to keep a grudge! No wonder Charadon and the Shian hate each other still after so long! If you were Lenatethian you’d be drinking together singing songs of the war you’d missed!” Shump scoffed..
“What about the Geranodorians?” Leaf asked him.
“That’s different.” Shump answered quickly.
“Hey!” Seth called back in protest.
“Shh!” Griffon called out suddenly. “Quiet!” He looked on ahead, his eyes trying to pierce the darkness as he held his torch high. “There was a light up ahead.”
“Funny you say that, I haven’t seen an ooze since we entered the hall.” Dabilo murmured.
“Nor any algae.” Phorest added, looking around as though for the first time.
The group quickly rallied together, drawing weapons slowly and quietly in case of an impending attack. Griffon kept his eyes ahead, trying to scan the darkness for any further signs of movement.
“Keep moving slowly, keep together and keep your eyes open.” He told the others quietly before taking the first step forward. The others followed behind, the only sounds the noise of their breathing and the pounding of their hearts.
Slowly they came to the end of the hall, peering into the great room beyond as the torches flickered in a slightest of breezes that curled through the air.
“The air is fresher here, and a breeze!” Seth observed quietly. “Definitely good signs!”
“I don’t see anything.” Dabilo muttered, looking around the room beyond, staying cautiously in the doorway in fear of what the darkness might have been concealing in its long shadows.
Shump moved the torches aside a little, squinting as he concentrated. His eyes seemed brighter, reflecting the light of the torches in a similar manner to a cat or wolf.
“There is something up ahead.” He muttered, taking a step forward through the doorway. He glanced to one side, seeing an old torch standing in its bracer to one side. It had been unused for a long time, the tinder within it dry as bone. He lit it, moving around the room cautiously.
The others edged in behind him as the shadows retreated from the growing light. The room beyond was octagonal, not much bigger than the size of a modest chapel. Shelves lined the walls, dusty and empty, some distorted under the weight of the hundreds of volumes that they must have once carried. The walls stretched high above them like a great hollow tower for a full two levels, the shelves covering every surface. High above them hung a strange black stone orb almost a metre across. Its surface was polished smooth to such sheen that the light reflected upon it like a dark mirror. No chains or rope seemed to hold it in place, the strange stone simply hanging there as though lifted by an invisible hand. Four doors led into the room, one to either side of the one through which they had entered, and then a further doorway opposite them, a pattern repeated in the uppermost level.
Standing before them were two statues that dominated the centre of the room. They were not based, nor seemed to be in any particular alignment or aesthetic style, merely placed in a chaotic fashion. The first statue was of an elderly sage, sporting a long mane of hair that ran down his back like a waterfall over the cliff. His clothing was of a style unfamiliar to Griffon and he bore no markings that could determine his origin. The old man was reaching out with his arm, his fingers positioned oddly as though a mage preparing to cast a spell at some unseen enemy far above to the side of the room. Beside it stood a taller figure, almost eight feet tall from the bottom of his feet to the crest of his head. Wings like those of a giant bat stood folded against the figures back, his feet ending in three clawed toes like those of a dragon. Again the figure’s clothing was unusual, but it was obvious he sported scaled armour over it. It was heavily stylized, but again bore no markings that might identify who it was. The warrior was standing in a combat pose, his sword held high and a snarl upon his face as though he were about to run into battle against some foe coming from the far doorway.
“There’s nothing left.” Dabilo said, sinking to her knees despairingly as she reached out for the empty shelves, little more than dust and ashes carried upon them.
“Someone definitely liked books, I wonder how many this place carried?” Galeema said looking around, reminded of the library she had found in Domorr.
“Long gone though. The walls are scorched, there’s ash all across the floor and shelves.” Leaf sighed and shrugged. “I guess whatever was here was destroyed.”
“Utter waste.” Seth grumbled, leaning on his blade.
“A crying tragedy!” Dabilo wailed.
“And what of these?” Shump asked looking at the statues. “Does this give any better idea of who lived here?”
Griffon looked closely over the statues, running his head gently over the surface of each, grimly aware of the dust that crumbled from them at his fingertips leaving grooves upon the stonework. They carried no obvious markings or emblems, nothing that stood out to suggest that they belonged to any faction, nor anything to suggest any legend he was aware of. They were too dramatically posed and detailed to be simple sculpted pieces. A dark possibility began to play itself within his mind as he withdrew his hand quickly, glancing down in shame at the marks his gauntlet had left upon the surface of the sages robe.
“Seth.” He said quietly, still looking at the statues and stepping back slightly. “Could they be stone cursed? Could these be the owners of this hall?”
The mage sheathed his blade against his back, looking at the statues with a slight sigh as he considered. “It’s possible I suppose. This is very fragile stone to sculpt with, not to mention with the big wings on that one. It could well be.”
“Who would do such a thing?” Leaf asked, looking at the petrified figures in horror.
“Who knows? This hall is centuries old and we are miles from the city. No one could have known this was even here. Whoever did this is long gone.” Seth muttered, taking a closer inspection.
“Can they be freed?” Griffon asked him.
“You are actually thinking of releasing them?” Seth exclaimed in surprise. He pointed at the winged sword wielding giant. “Have you gone blind? You have seen this monster?”
Phorest intervened swiftly, moving between Griffon and the mage.
“Griffon, the mage may be a dragon, and the abomination beside it certainly is of some kind. If it is we cannot guess whose side they belong to or if they may be grateful we released them. We are in no position to fight. We cannot take this risk.”
Griffon looked at him firmly. “Food is low, even with the pool back there, we cannot survive trapped down here for much longer. We cannot risk missing this chance.”
“You may only see us killed swiftly to save us from a slower fate.” The Shian warned him.
“I know which I would prefer.” He caught Seth’s attention again. “Can you do it?” He asked.
“You’re serious aren’t you?” Seth asked, already knowing the answer.
“We can’t just leave them here like this.” Griffon answered. “Besides I don’t know where we are or how we get out of here, I’m guessing you don’t either.” He pointed to the two figures. “They might.”
“It’s been easy enough to get around so far.” Seth protested even as his stomach groaned its own complaint. The mage glanced to each of the others hoping to find some support. Galeema’s face was largely unreadable and Phorest and Leaf seemed deeply hesitant, if accepting. Shump had nodded strongly in agreement with the young king, Seth should have known better than to find common sense from the barbarian.
Dabilo patted him on the back, motioning for him to lean down for her to whisper to his ear. He knelt down cautiously beside her as she leaned forward. Griffon could not hear much of what she said, but the glances Seth and the halfling made to the empty shelves gave him grounds to guess.
Seth stood up with a resigned sigh. “All right, let’s get to this. I should warn you I don’t do this often.” He rubbed his palms together and moved toward the sage.
“When was the last time?” Phorest asked him.
The Geranodorian stopped a short distance away and held out his palms towards the statue. “First time I think. I only learned it a few months ago.”
A warm glow began to emanate from his hands as he muttered the incantations necessary to purge whatever curse lay upon the statue, if any. Griffon could see it in his face, the doubt that kept lurking at the back of the mage’s mind, whispering discouraging thoughts of how he was wasting valuable energy trying to dispel magic that wasn’t there. The light grew stronger, cascading over the statue before passing away, returning the room to the dim light of the torches. The statue remained standing before them, exactly as it had been with seemingly no effect upon the rock of its form. After a moment Seth dropped his arms and sighed. “Damn it.”
“Could it be delayed? An effect of all the years like this?” Galeema asked.
“Possibly…” Seth started to say before the sounds of dust crumbling snapped his attention back. Colour seemed to spread over the statue in a wash, as though it were a liquid spreading over the surface. The rich blue of the robe rose up through the dull dusty grey, and the man’s dark flesh began to become visible as a thin layer of dust fell away from him. The change was slow, but steady, the room filled with strange sounds as though listening to the thawing of an icy tomb. The figure shivered as he was slowly restored back to the world of the living. His fingers closed upon his outstretched palm as he slowly fell to his knees. Misted breath began to blow from between frosted and cracked lips as he wrapped his arms about himself.
Griffon whipped his travelling cloak from his shoulders, throwing it about the mage as he knelt upon the floor. Galeema rushed beside him, putting her hand against the man’s chest, a dull glow emanating from her fingertips as she tried to warm him. Her spell seemed to reflect off the sage uselessly as though he were protected from it. She withdrew her hand looking at it in surprise.
“Can you hear me? Can you see?” Griffon asked softly as the others clamoured round.
The sage’s breathing slowly seemed to calm, the elder man sitting up straight and raising his head as if thanking the gods for his release.
“Are you all right? Can you understand me?” Griffon asked him again.
The sage didn’t speak save to cough in loud hacking throws. He looked about him as though confused, his eyes unfocused and strangely coloured.
“Wasn’t there a black orb up there?” Shump asked suddenly, pointing upwards.
Dabilo and Griffon looked up only to see the empty dark of the upper reaches of the tower.
“Where did that go?” Dabilo began to ask.
“Redaiya, jou no deminor. Sylvanis erena? Larutiir? Larutiir ho senkin?” The sage asked urgently. Griffon shook his head, not understanding what the old man meant.
