“Deep breaths, big guy,” said Ned.
Chapter 7 — The Four Relics. Mark of the Shadow — Book 1 of the Phantom Lord Saga.
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Ned lay flat on his back, clutching the bloodied axe in his hand. A cool night breeze caressed his face, while the stars shone brilliantly above, like silent sentinels watching over him. The clamor of battle still echoed in his ears, but it gradually faded, giving way to the gentle whisper of the wind and the rustling of leaves.
He sat up, surrounded by the lingering scent of soot and soil. As he surveyed his surroundings, he realized immediately where he lay. It was all too familiar. The decimated town of Eradad lay hauntingly quiet, just as unnerving and unsettling as it had been a week prior. The charred remains of buildings cast long, dark shadows, and the distant cawing of crows added an ominous overtone to the desolate scene.
Nyra was in front of the portal. Eyes closed, feverishly chanting. Ned watched as the portal in front of them flickered and ebbed, and finally snapped away, like smoke in a high wind.
“What is she doing?”
Ned turned to greet the panic-stricken voice of the chef. The chef was nurturing a bloodied cut on his arm. His entire body tensed, as if he was readying for another attack.
“She’s closed the Gate,” said Ned.
“Wait, wait,” cried the chef, stumbling over to Nyra. “What about the others?”
“Sorry,” said the girl. “They will have to find their own way. We can’t risk getting captured or killed.”
“But those people–Adeline–” he said. “Hell, even the mage!”
“Dornton is dead,” said Ned flatly, rising to his feet. “Killed by Brahm.”
The chef paled.
“We need to clear this away,” said Ned, gesturing over the Shadow Mark–which had been rebuilt since him and his men had parted from this place. Which meant Brahm had been aware of their presence in Eradad—had maybe even been lurking in the mist that day…
It was only then Ned noticed that Ivel had come up and stood behind him. How could someone that large move so silently? Ivel’s eyes darted around the scene, his breath quickening in an unsteady, panicked rhythm.
Ned quickly pressed a hand on his arm.
“Deep breaths, big guy,” said Ned. “In fact, why don’t you go sit down for a minute? Me, the mage, and the chef will handle it.”
The giant nodded and walked toward the edge of the courtyard. Instead of sitting, he stood there, taking long, drawn out breaths with hands on his knees. Ned approached Nyra and the Chef.
“What do you need us to do?” he asked Nyra.
“We need to stamp out the runes that draw the magic circle,” she said. “Scrub the runes from their heads and lay their bodies to rest.”
“Why are we worrying about this?” snapped the chef. “We should be heading back to Quillendell. There’s people that need our help!”
“It’s a three day ride on horseback,” said Ned. “Even longer if you’re on foot like we are, by the time we got back, everyone would be long dead.” He shook his head. “No, we need to destroy this damned thing as best as we can. Brahm will be coming after us now, and we can't afford to give him any advantages. So do what you're told and let's get the hell out of here.”
The chef huffed but, to Ned's surprise, complied, moving towards the nearest body. Nyra was going around the circle, scrubbing runes. Ned approached the body farthest from them, grimacing. These were not the same bodies as before. Had Brahm stashed away bodies of the townsfolk, or had he found fresh victims for the ritual?
Ned pushed the thoughts aside. He could speculate on the matter later. He bent down and rubbed the blood rune off the dead man’s face, careful not to look too long at the body. There was something unnaturally off about it. A corpse exposed to the elements for this long should have shown more signs of decomposition. Another question to add to the many that threatened to engulf him.
It wasn’t long before the deed was done. Each rune stamped out, each body moved and laid out gently on the burnt out porch of the remaining buildings. Once they were done, the small party gathered around the building. Nyra knelt down, removing her bag from her waist. She set it on the ground, opening up the flap. Ned watched in surprise as a hairy, snuffling shape crawled out of it.
“Is that…the Otter Day otter?” asked the Chef.
“It is,” said Nyra. “She’s…special. I’ll explain later. Right now, I need her for purification.”
Nyra lifted the creature up over her head, facing the building that held the bodies. She spoke firmly, chanting, holding the creature aloft, swaying it from side to side.
All three men watched in surprise as the beast’s eyes began to glow an incandescent white. Pure light filled the creature’s frame, growing brighter and brighter until Ned found himself forced to look away, eyes stinging. There was a brilliant flash.
Ned looked back. The bodies had vanished, and the air had become less chilly.
“There,” said Nyra. She knelt back to the ground. The otter hopped from her arms and darted back into the bag. She pulled it over her head. “That spell should keep the area purified for a while.”
She wiped away sweat that beaded on her brow.
“We need to leave. Dornton’s next task was to have us get to Inkholme. We need to tell them about what happened in Quillendell, and they need to know about the Phantom Lord,” she said.
“Do you think they’d believe us?” asked Ned. “Quillendell and Inkholme aren’t exactly on the best terms.”
“I’m not sure,” said Nyra. “But even if they don’t, it doesn’t matter. We have to get to Inkholme. They have something that we need so that we can defeat the Phantom Lord.”
“And what is this thing?” demanded Revilo.
“I’ll explain, once we’re further away from here,” said Nyra. Even in the dim light of night, Ned could tell she looked unwell–her face had gone rather pallid.
“No way,” said the chef. “I want answers. Now.”
Ned couldn't deny that he wanted the same thing, but judging by the mage's expression, she wasn't likely to provide any tonight. In fact, she looked on the verge of vomiting.
"We're leaving," said Ned. "Eradad isn't safe. Brahm could have easily left Ragelings behind, and we're in no condition to fight."
“I’m not leaving,” said the chef, expression mulish. “Not until I can get answers.”
“Fine,” snapped Ned. He turned to Ivel. “Hey Ivel, do me a favor? Grab this idiot so we can get going.”
To his surprise, the giant man did exactly as Ned demanded, plucking the lanky chef from off the ground, despite the chef's cries of protest.
“What? No–I will not–”
Ivel tucked the chef under his arm, like a spindly doll.
“I don’t want to stay here,” said Ivel. “I want to go.”
“We are, my friend,” said Ned. “Alright Nyra, where to?”
She pointed off, northwest. They headed off, led by the small mage, Ned directly behind, still clutching the axe in his grasp, eyes out for any potential danger that could be lurking in the night darkness. Ivel came up behind him, holding the struggling chef, who continued his struggling protests to be put down. Soon, the small, desolated city disappeared behind them, vanishing into the mist.
After traveling in the dark for just over an hour, Ned finally called for a halt in a small clearing. Nyra gathered a few pieces of dry wood from the ground and etched a rune onto one of the pieces. With a single word, a flame flickered to life, and soon the logs were ablaze. Ned squatted down near the fire, finally laying down the axe in front of him, while Ivel gently placed the chef on the ground—who had ceased protesting a while ago, resigning himself to the undignified carry. The chef scowled at everyone before reluctantly joining them by the fire.
“I could have walked by myself,” said the chef flatly.
“Sorry, chef,” shrugged Ned. “We had places to be.”
The chef squinted. “It’s Revilo. Not just chef.”
“Fine. Revilo,” Ned said, extending a hand in fellowship. “I'm Ned.”
The chef refused, turning away with a curt shake of his head. Ned carefully withdrew his hand, feeling a twinge of awkwardness. Thankfully, Ivel flopped down between them, kicking up a small cloud of dust, and drawing all eyes to him. Ivel grinned sheepishly averting his gaze.
"It's alright, big guy," Ned said with a reassuring smile. His eyes then turned to Nyra, who was preoccupied with straightening her cloak. "So, Nyra, what exactly did Dornton have in store for us?"
Nyra fidgeted with her cloak, smoothing it repeatedly as if seeking courage in the fabric. She glanced around the fire at each of their faces, her expression somewhere between hesitant and resigned. Ned noticed that much of the color had returned to her face. Finally, with a deep breath, she began to speak. "Dornton..."
Her voice immediately caught on the mention of her master's name. In the firelight, Ned could see her eyes gleaming with tears, which she hastily rubbed away before turning back to them.
"Dornton," she continued, "Didn't have a lot of time, but he managed to tell me what we need to do next," she said, her eyes flickering nervously to Ned and then down to her hands. “Thank you for following me so far. I know you have questions, and I’ll try to answer them as best I can. Where do I begin... Dornton would have been much better to explain all of this."
"Just start at the beginning," Ned said, attempting to infuse his voice with a calming tone, though he wasn't sure if it would have the desired effect. Ned wasn't exactly known for his soft side.
“Yes, right. The beginning... well, first, we should probably talk about the Eight Affinities,” she continued. “It is what all magic is based on. Long ago, each of these Affinities boasted a champion, someone who was particularly adept with that affinity of magic. Now, many Champions came and went, until–
“We know this,” said Revilo impatiently. “We heard most of it tonight in the Feast Hall. The Dark Mage became the Phantom Lord and tried to take over the other magics. The other Champions turned into mystical creatures to stop him, and they became known as the legendary heroes. Is that what you were waiting to tell us?”
“No,” said Nyra. “Because there is more to the story than what gets told to the commoners on feast day.” She shot Revilo such a disdainful look that he wilted under her gaze.
“Once you reach a certain level as a Mage, you’re allowed to read the Incam Nirvata. It goes into more detail about what happened at that time–and it says that the Phantom Lord unleashed a dark power that transformed the heroes into creatures.”
“He transformed them?” said Ned. “I thought Inari did that.”
Nyra shook her head. “No, it’s the Phantom Lord. Now, the text doesn’t state why–it’s implied that it would make the Champions subservient to him somehow, but no details are given beyond that.”
“But if that’s the case, shouldn't the Phantom Lord have won, if he was the one that turned them into beasts?”
“Should have, but he didn’t succeed because the legendary heroes were able to stave off the spell with special creations–the Four Relics.”
Ned stifled a snicker, but Revilo outright scoffed.
“The Relics? That’s just made up treasure-hunter crap,” said Revilo.
“You think it’s made up ‘treasure-hunter crap’ because that’s what you’ve been told to believe,” said Nyra. “The High Mages thought the information was too dangerous to be out in the open, so they played it off as some kind of joke. They actively discouraged any doctrine related to the Relics.”
“Why do that?” asked Ned.
“To keep the Relics safe from prying eyes,” said Nyra. “Could you imagine if someone had something belonging to one of the Legendary Heroes? How powerful they could be?”
“Anyway,” she said. “The Relics helped seal some of the Phantom Lord’s power. Unfortunately, as beasts, the legendary heroes were unable to perform the magic needed to destroy them. Which is why the Chosen are supposed to gather the relics and finish what the legendary heroes were unable to do–perform a ritual with the Relics and destroy the Phantom Lord once and for all.”
“One of the Relics is in Inkholme. In order to find it, we need to get to Dornton’s study in Inkholme–it has all his research about the second Relic there.”
“What’s it look like?” asked Revilo.
Nyra shook her head. “I’m not sure.”
“And how does a Court Mage have a study in Inkholme?” demanded Revilo. “We’ve had terrible relations with Inkholme since it broke off into its own country.”
Nyra looked at him, somewhat smugly. “He was the Court Mage. Whether King Richard was happy about it or not, it was tradition to make trips to all of the different territories–and even though Inkholme isn’t happy with the King, they still respect the old ways.”
“So we go to Inkholme, warn them of the danger, look for the Relic. There’s still three more,” said Ned.
“Just two,” said Nyra. “We have one already.”
She paused, placing her hands to her neck. Attached to a thin, silver chain was an amulet, carved to look like a seashell.
“Hold it,” she said, passing it to each of them.
Ivel grabbed it first, eyes wide. He quickly shuddered and handed it back. Revilo was next, touching the amulet and grimacing. He tossed it to Ned, who caught it in his hand.
It didn’t seem like much at first, but then a cold chill flooded through his body. As he continued to hold it, he could feel a pulsing–like a heartbeat. With each pulse, his hand trembled. He shoved it back at Nyra.
“That’s horrid,” he said.
“It is,” she said. “But it helps us. Dornton’s laid the groundwork for our quest. We only need to complete it.”
“You make it sound easy,” chuckled Ned.
“I know it won’t be,” she said. “ But we do have a headstart, traveling through the Gateway. A three days advantage, unless some dark power works against us.”
“Even then,” said Ned, scratching his beard. “It’s still two weeks away by foot. There’s a few different paths we could take to make it easier…”
“And hidden paths too,” said Nyra. “Dornton knew of some, and Marzana can guide us to the rest.”
“The Lady Marzana? The legendary hero?” asked Revilo.
“Well yes and no,” said Nyra, now somewhat sheepish. She opened her bag again, and the otter crawled out. “This is Marzana. I mean, you know they got cursed into beasts, right?”
They all stared at her. She lifted up the otter.
“Well, this is her.”
Revilo snorted. “You’re kidding.”
“I’m not,” she said. “I know it's hard to believe. Why do you think we’ve kept that silly tradition of Otter Day around for so long? It’s to preserve the otter lineage–so Marzana can keep being reborn. It’s one of the duties of the Court Mage to help preserve her life–and now that duty falls to me.”
“Oh?” said Revilo. “And how do you know that’s her? And not just a normal river otter?”
Nyra’s face went red.
“She talks to me.”
“She…talks to you,” said Revilo. “Talks to you. I can’t believe this. You’re crazy. This whole thing is crazy.” He turned to Ned, then to Ivel. “Doesn’t this all sound crazy?”
Marzana hissed at Revilo.
“It won’t be the craziest thing that happened in the last twenty-four hours,” said Ned, though even he had to admit he had a hard time believing the creature that he saw licking its own ass while sitting on a puffed up pillow at the Festival was one of the heroes of Legend, a Champion. Hell, a God. He looked at each of the faces that surrounded him. Nyra’s hopeful, Revilo’s skeptical, Ivel’s blank and unreadable. Everyone was looking at him—to him.
Sometimes he really, really hated being the Champion.
“I know it’s been a crazy night. We’ve experienced major loss, and there’s a lot to do,” said Ned. “I’ll be the first to admit, I don’t know everything. But we’re going to have to lean on each other to make it through this. For now though, the most important thing is we regain our strength and rest. I’ll take the first watch.”
“I agree,” said Nyra. “I have some maps we can go over in the morning, so we can chart out our course.”
“Then it's agreed,” said Ned. “Let’s rest.”
The mismatched group settled in, far enough to spread out but close enough to still enjoy the warmth of the fire. Ned stared outward into the darkness, body turned away from the flame, though he could feel the warmth against his back. Soon, he could see Nyra’s small frame moving in small rhythmic patterns. Ivel’s frame twitched in a deep sleep, only interrupted by his own, loud snores. The chef did not sleep, though Ned could tell he pretended to be.
As he looked out into the darkness, he couldn't help but feel the weight of the events that had transpired. So many were dead and gone now. Their plans to overthrow King Richard dashed away in a moment. Dornton was dead, Rodney and Darnell probably were too…and so many of his fellow soldiers, cut down like wheat before the scythe.
Like Caius.
All that preparation—for nothing. No doubt the entire city had been destroyed, along with any evidence of Caius's murder. Well, not all evidence. His hands reached for the dagger he had taken from Revilo and the secret note from General Stone. He breathed a sigh of relief; both were safely tucked away. No, he couldn't give up on Caius, but it was clear that this new quest took precedence: locating the relics and warning Inkholme of the impending doom.
Ned glanced down and suddenly realized his axe was no longer in his grasp. It lay on the ground, its double-edged blade gleaming menacingly in the firelight, still stained with Dornton's blood. He picked it up and swiftly tore a strip of fabric from his tattered cloak to clean it, concerned that the sight of the mage's blood might distress the girl. Why had Dornton insisted he keep it? He thought. The axe was purely ornamental, having hung in the Feast Hall for years. The King, in a particularly drunken moment, had even used it once to slice blocks of cheese.
That, and he had Havashal, though he had to admit the blade never felt like it was truly his. In his mind, it still belonged to Caius. It always would. But the blade represented what he was supposed to be–the stalwart champion of Quillendell.
More like traitor of Quillendell, he thought.
And he was. Traitor to his King, certainly. Traitor to Caius for failing in his mission to find his murderer. Traitor to so many others that depended on him for support.
And it was those dark thoughts chased him into an uneasy, unsettled sleep.
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