Darkin: A Journey East (12 page)

“It’s true. But now Vesleathren has returned, from the grave it seems. And he has already been offering his dark magic to those who will take it. Bulkog certainly accepted, and he had already become Feral when you came upon him in the tower.”

“That explains the fire blast he used on us,” Erguile realized.

“Vesleathren will aid those who assist him, granting them great power through his black magic; even Grelion will be deeply fearful at his return,” Slowin foretold.

“Black magic? Is that not Vapoury?” asked Adacon.

“No. Black is the name given to magic that has a purpose selfish and destructive. That is why Vapours are known separately; they wield magic to righteous ends. Though they use the same source, they use it for good, and so it is Vapoury.”

“Good wizards against evil ones?” Erguile surmised.

“Precisely. Valiant Vapours against black mages. Vapoury against Black Mana.”

“But, as Krem said, all magic comes from Gaigas. Why then doesn’t Gaigas restrict those wishing to do harm with her energy?” Adacon quipped.

“Because Gaigas has no control over how living creatures use her force; she is not a conscious entity, as Krem might have you believe.”

“This is all very grand, but I am tired from battle. Grateful I am to be heading east and no longer confined to slavery, but alas, I need rest before we continue—and before my head is filled with more dark lore,” grumbled Erguile.

“Indeed, even silver golems require rest, though I prefer treetops to beds of grass,” said Slowin, and he left them for a nearby maple tree. After Slowin had climbed the tree to an astonishing height, he called down good night, though early dawn was breaching in. Adacon made a spot for himself and gave up trying to make sense of all that Slowin had told him; he truly was exhausted, and felt at least some comfort being in the company of Erguile and the golem. Flaer was useless however, until his bond was broken. Adacon shut himself down before thinking further, and fell fast asleep.

*                  *                 *

They hadn’t slept long before a loud chatter of birds woke them all up. First up was Erguile; he stretched and looked about. They had come off the plains and were now upon the Rislind Plateau—the plateau was mostly flat with bright green grass that ran high and intermingled with flowers of white, purple, and gold. Trees were clustered here and there—maples, oaks and pines. The trade road had led them southeast, but it looked to soon turn back north by cutting left ahead, back down the plateau. Erguile saw a fork where the road cut north; a smaller dirt path in the grass remained on the plateau and climbed higher up, east and toward the far precipice. In the direction of the dirt path was a stream, just visible between a burgeoning line of trees. In the direction of the trade road was another tower, faint in the distance, very far off, appearing identical to Ceptical.

Before long the entire outfit was up and moving. Erguile had prepared a small meal for breakfast—mainly bread, water, and stew. After eating, Slowin told them to follow his lead, and they began a slow pace toward the fork ahead. The sun was cooler than before, and it seemed that autumn was approaching faster each day. Nobody spoke, but both slaves felt cheery in their new fellowship; it hadn’t been long, after all, since they had been alone and locked out of the tower.

They followed the gravel road and came to the dirt path that curved up and away toward the southeast. The new tower, a twin to the one they had rescued Flaer from, now stood largely in the horizon to their left.

“The
Brigun Autilus
is there,” Slowin said. Flaer nodded at the mentioning, and the four set off down the trade road, away from the dirt path, off the plateau and toward the tower.

“What’s the Brigun Autilus?” asked Adacon.

“Flaer’s sword. It was Krem’s sincerest wisdom that we reunite Flaer Swordhand with sword,” Slowin hooted, and Flaer winked. “And best to do so now before Feral Broodlings come to claim these towers.” The four hurried on toward the tower until they were within several hundred yards. In front of the tower they could see a single guard pacing. Behind a squat of bushes and small trees, the four huddled.

“What’s so special about a sword that they’d want to guard it?” asked Adacon.

“Can’t be much better than mine,” Erguile remarked, sun glinting off his blade as he drew it from his sheath.

“Ah, but how mistaken you are Erguile,” Slowin chuckled. Flaer looked over, and Adacon caught what he took to be a smile.

“What do you mean by that, Slowin?”

“I mean that the power of the Brigun Autilus is so great that it will destroy those black bonds—” Slowin said, pointing at Flaer’s cuffs.

“Impossible, how could his sword be that much more powerful than any other?” Erguile cried in disbelief.

“Think of what we’ve already seen, Erguile—how is it you are shocked to learn that a sword can possess great Vapoury within its steel?”

“Wish
I
could have had a shot at those cuffs, either way,” Erguile moped. 

“Stay here, both of you,” Slowin said to the slaves, ignoring Flaer. “I will return shortly.” And with that Slowin took off at a blinding speed; the crazed sprint looked quite unusual for a creature of his size. The silver golem gleamed, reflective sheen glaring in every direction as he motored toward the front door of the tower.

“What’s he doing—in broad daylight? Sticking out like a sore thumb; he’s going to get himself killed!” Erguile said, about to run after the golem. Flaer grabbed him on the shoulder to stop him from chasing after. Erguile looked to Flaer, and Flaer merely winked, nodding toward the tower.

Slowin approached the confused guard in front of the tower. The guard paused in shock before finally drawing his sword, but Slowin smashed right through him; in one motion he trampled the guard and smashed through the entrance, rending it open. The front door had appeared made of iron, but with a tremendous clank Slowin had broken right through with his charge. The guard was motionless on the ground, appearing dead.

“Why couldn’t he have done that for us last night?” a bewildered Erguile said in awe.

“What power,” Adacon gasped.

The three waited in relative silence, watching the balcony atop the tower for any sign of activity. Finally, two guards flew over the side of the balcony as if heaved by a cannon. With violent screams they crashed to a soft thud into the earth below. Slowin suddenly appeared on the balcony, waving something bright in his hand; it was a glowing sword. To the slaves’ astonishment, at the next moment, Slowin heaved himself over the rail of the balcony and began to plummet straight down to the earth.

“No!” Adacon shouted, and all three of them ran toward the tower.

Slowin landed with an enormous clap that sounded like thunder. The ground quaked under the runners’ feet as they approached him. Slowin appeared unfazed.

“My god, I would wager you are no ordinary golem,” exclaimed Erguile. Slowin raised the throbbing sword above Flaer, and Flaer knew to turn his back; the bright sword glared as it contacted the black cuffs. The figure eight sparked and broke apart. Flaer grinned wide; he turned to Slowin and took the sword from him. Suddenly, the throb and glow left the sword and it appeared as ordinary steel. Flaer bowed in thanks to Slowin, and Erguile and Adacon went to examine the shattered pieces of the black bracelet on the ground.

“Amazing,” Adacon whispered in awe as Flaer slipped the sword into his leather belt, sheathless. The sword was longer and thinner than a broadsword, and its ricasso was wrapped in faded leather. The handle was grey and leather-bound, and the side of the steel blade had a black engraving that formed runic symbols.

“Why couldn’t you have done that last night, golem,” said Erguile; he was half-amazed, and half-angered.

“Krem thought it would be best you experienced combat to gain experience,” Slowin retorted. “Although had I myself known Bulkog to be Feral I would have intervened, I think.” Flaer appeared in the best spirits Adacon had seen so far, and soon the four were marching back the way they had come, toward to the previous fork in the road. 

“The sword shone brightly in your hands Slowin, then it faded when Flaer took it,” Adacon mentioned.

“Yes, the Brigun Autilus can be focused only by its rightful owner. Had I held it much longer it would have scalded me to no hope of recovery.” Slowin showed them his hand where it had gripped the sword. His gloves had been burned through at the spot where he had held the handle, and his silver skin had become black and charred.

“I thought I smelled burning ore,” roared Erguile, and at that all four of them laughed, though Flaer inaudibly so.

Morale was high as the party followed Slowin. He led them back to the fork in the gravel road, and this time they took the eastern way onto the dirt path, leaving the slave trade route behind.

“What course is upon us now?” Erguile asked eventually.

“We travel tirelessly east now, through Rislind and on to the Saru Gnarl Cape,” Slowin proclaimed.

They marched long hours without stop on the dirt path, all the while alongside a stream that had grown to become a river. In the distance beyond the meadow they walked through was a small mountain range. It was a dwarfed cousin to the Angelyn Range, but still the sight excited Adacon.

“Is the ocean grand?” he asked curiously.

“Indeed. It is ferocious as well. Once across the Kalm Ocean, however, we will find refuge and counsel, and then I will be relieved of my task, and set free to return home to the Red Forest.”

“What of Flaer’s failed speech? Is there no remedy?” asked Erguile as Flaer issued a sidelong glance.

“We shall find a cure as soon as we are able to; the mana of Vesleathren runs deep in that curse, and I alone can do nothing against it,” Slowin answered.

“Surely you possess some magic Slowin; this orb saved our lives against Bulkog,” Adacon said, pulling the orb from his pocket. The orb was without brightness in the light of the sun.

“I possess some unique power—though if I use magic not even Krem can say,” Slowin replied, confusing the slaves.

“What’s that mean?” Erguile asked.

“I am not like other golems. Truly I am not of their race, though it is more like them than any other being I appear. True golems are made of stone and tree, plant and rock. I am different as such, I am a metal golem.”

“And there are no others?”

“No.”

They carried on, resisting the urge to continue an unending line of questions. Finally they reached the mouth of the river, a vast lake that ran into a waterfall at the precipice of one of the first mountains in the small Rislind range. The mountain range was tree-covered and sprawled in a circular fashion; shades of deep green shone brilliantly in the midafternoon sky. A mist clumped about the mountaintops, thick and wide. The lake was surrounded by burgeoning forest of a great many earth-shades; a mix of blue pine intensified amidst cedar and maple, covering thickly the lake edge and the slope of the nearest mountain. The group went along the side of the river toward the birth of the tree line. They stopped suddenly before entering; Slowin addressed them:

“This is the way into Rislind Village, whose eastern gate will take us by road to the Saru Gnarl Cape,” he told. “Be wary of the frightful things that make this forest their home.”

“But you’re here to protect us,” Adacon said.

“I am, and so is Flaer—but even we do not see all the spies of Vesleathren. Dark things abound this age of our world. Let us make haste toward peaceful rest in the village.”

They pressed in through the forest wall, leaving any remnants of the dirt path behind. Once within the forest shade there was no proper path, and Adacon questioned how they would find their way without getting lost—then he remembered Slowin was a forest golem.

“Rislind Village is hidden to passers, nomads and spies alike. No trade routes run this way, and Grelion knows not of its existence. There is a secret way into the valley within the mountains, known to but a few who are still friends to Krem. This pass is what we seek now.”

Slowin led them up a path that seemingly had never before been trodden; hazardous thorns and jagged boulders sprouted amidst massive trunks of birches, maples and pines. Scattered about the forest floor were trickling streams running between the boulders. Eventually the party tired, and panting they sat to have a drink.

“Ah, how refreshing,” piped Adacon, drinking his fill on all fours. They drank heartily until each was satisfied. Erguile broke out a stale loaf and passed it around.

“Slowin—you eat and drink the same as a human,” remarked Erguile.

“It is true; I need the same sustenance as you,” replied Slowin, “and I assure you that I need rest just the same too, though it may not seem so.”

Adacon looked up at the steep incline of their intended path. It appeared to grow more technical, giving way to bare-faced rock that went nearly vertical amidst the trees and shrubs.

“This path grows treacherous,” Adacon thought aloud.

“It is not much farther to the entrance,” Slowin remarked, and then he turned to lead the trek upwards. Flaer seemed in happy spirits for the climb, though being unable to talk seemed to weigh on him now—often would a look overtake his face when conversation began, as if he wanted to add his thoughts; too long had he wasted away in the rusty confines of Ceptical, deprived of merry conversation.

They climbed farther up over bare-faced rocks, and even Slowin, whose size belied his agility, climbed with grace. As he reached a higher ledge he unearthed a small tree and sent it hanging over down toward the others. Holding fast, Slowin called them to climb up; one by one, each made his way up to Slowin’s ledge. In front of them now was a vast wall of vines and dense thorn.

“This is the Plant Wall of Rislind, enchanted by none other than Krem himself,” Slowin told them. “Use caution even after we have silenced it.”

Suddenly the wall of vine tendrils began writhing in offense at their presence. A vine snapped out and then another, sharp thorns scraping the air in a deadly frenzy. Adacon and Erguile backed away. Flaer pulled out his sword, and he appeared ready to dismember the mass of livened vines and bramble when Erguile suddenly spoke up: