SilverBrand. Part 1.

The clamour of hooves on stone echoed through the valley like the footsteps of a giant. Quite how the old foul tempered mule could cause so much noise escaped Arcene, but she held her tongue from complaining. The rider she guided would only make more of a ruckus in telling her to be quiet, for his own crude humour more than anything.

The girl breathed out and poked a wiry tendril of thorns out of the way with her crude walking stick, wary for loose stones under her sandals, a change in the winds, or the scuffling sounds of some beast or savage in the humid hills. The outlying hills of the Halberd range were a dangerous enough place for a youth like her, and they were already deep into the dry valleys. Tabitha had told her stories of these places- savage Wriggans who pulled travellers below, a Soradren knight with the pelt of a bear who patrolled ancient crumbling roads, or titanic giants who sat still so long that they were indistinguishable from hills.

She glanced back at her patron. Hektor looked bothered; his bald head was sweaty, burned and gleaming in the sunlight. Blue eyes, unlike the browns of her Denarran tribe, were slightly bloodshot under dark brows, and the great breastplate and heavy clothes the huge man wore only made the heat worse for him. It almost made her proud of her simple cream tunic and short hair.

But then, she was not a sorcerer, and even if he did not look it, she had seen his staff crack with thunder and fell a vulture from the sky. Big, loud and dangerous, it was hard to believe he knew the secrets of reading and writing. Before meeting she had always assumed Sorcerer’s to be like her tribal elders- scrawny and bent, with many winters of experience hidden beneath wrinkly hides and shaking hands.

“How long lad?” His voice was like flint, hard and deep.

“Not long I think, sir, by sunset for sure.” She answered, wetting her lips. It seemed about right, though this route was not what she had desired.

The journey to the cave was only a couple of hours on foot, with a few bits of rock scrambling over the Axe Ridge to take a direct route. Hektor’s insistence in having the blast-blooded mule forced her to follow old game trails that meandered through the lowest parts of the hills and stretched the journey on and on through the hottest parts of the day. She almost wondered why she had taken his offer, but the answer was simple even to a nestling; you needed coin to eat.

Her stomach growled at the thought, loud enough almost for her to stop in fear of an animal, and she felt the mule bray at her.

“Eat! I’ve no patience for you collapsing further down the trail, lad!” the brute chuckled and she turned to receive a small loaf of the bread to the chest. It tumbled to the dirty earth, almost towards the foul mule, and she dived to grab it away before the beast, drawing more guffaws from Hektor, “Yes, better stay out of reach- if Herthal gets too hungry she’s liable to nip your fingers off lad.”

“Thankyou sir,” Bread filled her mouth, but the sorcerer waved his hand to keep moving.

The sun reached the ridgeline before she spotted the pillar, hidden in the great shadow cast by the peaks. Apparently that was sunset enough to frustrate Hektor, and his mule nearly ran her down as soon as she pointed the ancient monolith out, his pale skin all too eager to return to the shadows. By the time she caught up, the mule was tied up, and he was crouched over a boulder, an ancient rough chunk of masonry like so many that were scattered in this hollow of the mountains.

“This is the place you asked about, sir?” Arcene asked gently, pointing towards the craggy mouth of a half collapsed tunnel in the nearby stony slope.

“Well I’d hope so after cooking for a day! Wouldn’t you, brat?” Hektor smirked, pocketing some strange spoon of glass and metal he had been holding, “It certainly seems Wriggan, and matches up with what I’ve read of the hold, but depends what I find. Have you ever gone inside?”

“No, sir. The elders say it’s haunted.”

“Huh, of course they do, bunch of half savages,” He stood up, tugging his iron and wood stave and a bag from the back of the mule. “Set up camp, bring water, if I’m not back out when the moon rises then you come in with that rope tied to… tied to the boulder there, you see?”

Arcene nodded, stepping back warily as the man strode forwards and examined the maw of the earth. Next to it, he seemed a giant, needing to bend down under fallen stones to struggle inside and out of sight. Only an angry bray from the donkey sent the girl rushing about her chores, cautiously retrieving firewood and a bucket from the beast’s saddle, and setting off towards the stream that wove along the very bottom of the gulley.

She kept her walking stick close, ears pricked as she worked, forever trying to beware for any beast more dangerous than the steed. Apparently the mule was sufficient to scare off anything though, and other than small lizards and fowl, they were alone. She returned with water eventually, filling her canteen and leaving the bucket with the eager noisy creature, before her eyes fell on the remaining saddlebags.

Hektor had left lots here. Pouches of small eldritch rune-spheres, weird tools, food. Even his purse of coins, still heavy looking, with a tiny bit of gold glinting in the dying sunlight. The child glanced around for a second, as if expecting a watchful elder to peer over an ancient boulder, but no, she was alone. Just her and enough food, coin and supplies to get to the lowlands. The mantle of a sorcerer left in her trust.

Flames burst as she stoked the fire, letting sparks consume the small pieces of tinder. People didn’t normally trust her tribe. Denarrans were as good as savages in the eyes of most of the populace, so it wouldn’t exactly be against character would it? If everyone thought you were worthless, why try to act in a worthy fashion?

CRACK!

The girl squealed and leapt behind a boulder; stick held close as the booming note of thunder echoed across the gulley from the cave. Hektor’s runic staff, demolishing some obstacle inside the ruins. She shuddered; he was dangerous. This was all dangerous. Hadn’t she best ensure she was paid for it? You needed coin to eat.

She was careless as she could be, pulling the sorcerer’s blankets from the saddlebags. Fingers fumbled fearfully, ready to leap away should the old mule try to snap off any digits, and so a few silver coins tumbled out accidentally into her hands. They felt cold and heavy to the touch, marked with runes she couldn’t read and the elaborate features of some Soradren Sovereign whose baleful gaze tore into her.

“It’s my due, I’ve guided him, I need coins to eat,” She murmured, stowing them inside a small rag inside her tunic, close to the thundering beat of her heart.

“LAD! Oi, brat!” His loud voice sent her spinning and her staff thrust forwards as she turned, right into the meaty fist of Hektor. Still alive, speckled with blood from something, and a slight amused look. He moved fast, and tore the stick away, snapped it asunder, and threw the fragments into the small campfire. “Turning to banditry, Arcene?”

“Hmm? No, n-no sir, I-I just, I…”

“Jumped like a little lass, mind your head next time you do that.” He chuckled, wiping blood into the sweat on his brow, “Tch, don’t worry, you’re harmless, and small, which is useful for the moment. Come along, I could use a midget in these caves.”

“In there?”

“No, just stand in the correct spot and the weight of a bald child will open the way.” He grunted, noticing her confusion, “Sarcasm… blasted pebbleheads. Yes, we’re going inside- it’s mainly safe I swear”

She wavered, watching flames lick over her walking cane, “This isn’t guiding.”

“No, it’s archaeology- means exploring old stuff- and archaeologists get paid more than guides do. Come,” he urged and she paused only to scoop up a flaming brand as a makeshift torch, before she chased him into the darkness beyond the ruins maw.

The flickering orange light served little comfort. If anything it revealed all of her fears- the architecture felt alien and oppressive, triangular tunnels feeding down into the hills. Little of the original stonework remained, but a few panels showed strange lithe figures wrestling monstrous reptiles, below which piles of dusty bones rested.

A corpse waited at the base, some creature Arcene didn’t realize but reminded her of an oversized fox with curling horns and little fur on it’s grey putrid flesh. A neat round hole had been burned between the eyes, and Arcene swerved clear of it, hissing at the stench.

“Are there any more?”

“No, just one Chimera. Don’t fear, child.” Hektor muttered, apparently unconcerned as he turned and lead her through another triangular passage, deeper into the mountains, his staff held ready. Arcene crept in his weight, eyes wide, torch held high. Her silver coins felt a lot heavier now.

The passage wound downward, many half collapsed so that the huge man had to crawl through one opening. Weird things glared at them from the darkness- statues of short plate armoured warriors, serpents of rust that slithered from floor to ceiling, hissing steam as they did. Now and then, other bones were present, some even reminding her of the elders’ long fingers and rigid legs.

It was a relief to stop in another warmer junction, scattered with pieces of broken mosaic and several upturned stone chests. A flicker of orange light from around the corner of another joined the halo of fire on her torch as she scanned around, before Hektor pulled it from her grip and set it on boulder. “Get over here; I want to spend no longer here than you do.”

He had thrown open a chest, the contents inside sparkling as he lifted up… a shirt? No, like a tunic, but made of metal, overlapping leafs like scales glinting in the light.

“I don’t follow… sir? What am I for?” Arcene murmured. Was this a trap? Had he seen her take the coins? Soradrens were tricky folk, and sorcerers only moreso.

“Hnn, of course you don’t. Open your ears Arcene, listen close.” She stilled. Why was her heart so loud? There was sound of breathing, the jingling of the scale shirt, and past that… crackling and hissing? Like the torch but, not, louder, different, and coming from around the corner of the passage.

“There’s a fire there?”

“A defence or a flaw, I can’t tell. But either way, great flames fill that corridor, and so neither of us can pass by, except…” he lifted the shirt and draped it over the side, followed by a weird pointed helmet, “The Wriggan were once skilled metal workers, very protective ones. They needed ways to work in fire itself to achieve the craftsmanship they did, and we are in luck. They left behind this, woven with magics to combat the heat and protect the wearer.”

“That’s magic armour?” It seemed almost too simple to be true, certainly in comparison with the brute’s weighty complex weapons and defences.

“Yes, and it’s too small for me.” He grumbled, holding the shirt up before his barrel of a chest for comparison, “Needs to fit properly or the heat can sneak in and roast you from the inside out, which is what you’re for, lad. You should fit safely up in this, and find out whatever is beyond that tunnel.”

Arcene stepped back a foot, “You’re sure it will protect me? And I get more money if I do this? Lot’s more?”

“Indeed, indeed, trust me. Sorcerer’s honour, you keep your mouth shut and you’ll get at least twenty Moons at your village, maybe more if we find something amazing. Now come on, lift your arms up, and…”

The chain shirt weighed enough to shake the girl’s legs as it hung down to her calves, scales clattering and jangling against one another like a dozen wind chimes, while the cold metal stung her exposed skin. More followed, intricate pieces forged of metal shells that reminded the girl of lobster shells, all dark and dusty from however long they had been held in the stone chests of this world below. Gloves he called gauntlets proved so large she could only squeeze them barely, large metal shoes and split pieces wrapped around her legs and hooked together, rattling all the while, while more rings went around her arms, shoulders and neck.

“Is this all necessary?” the youth groaned, struggling to stay standing with all of this pulling her shoulders down, and yet clamping her legs straight.

“Do you want to burn to a crisp because I half-assed this? Eh Arcene? Better err on the safe side.” Hektor had found another weird belt to lynch the scales close to her waist, and a small chest-piece, “Bright side, even another chimera couldn’t crack open a nut with this thick a hide.”

“Uh…I’m not sure I can walk though.”

“Come on, quit whinging! How old are you?”

“Thirteen.”

“Crown’s Cuts you’re a tall child, I took you for fifteen….Here, last touch!” He lifted the helmet and thrust it down over her head, locking into place on the neck of the scales and Arcene blinked as she suddenly found herself peering through numerous small slits in the beaky front of the helmet. “Impressive! Try not to damage it neither.  Good old suit like this could fetch a good price for some lordling. Uh… try and take a step?”

The armoured girl breathed deep, feeling the warm smoky air rush into her lungs, before wobbling forwards. The metal felt too heavy, her leg didn’t quite rise high enough, and she stumbled, clattering like a cart of pots over the floor until thick hands grabbed her and set her upright once more. It took several practices of mounting frustration for both before she could manage a straight line and then it came more and more easily, fitting her legs movement until Hektor gave a shove, and she found herself careening down the hottest corridor, towards orange light.

“Remember, be careful, take it slow, and ensure you’re not being burnt!” His voice came, and she nodded grudgingly.

“Yes, sir,” was about all she could manage before turning the corner and peering through the helmet’s slits.

Brass round tendrils, like strange regular tree roots filled this corridor, crisscrossing past one another like serpents, many snapped and broken, and spewing transparent flames and hissing steam like infernal fountains. A deathtrap worse than any mule or monster she had heard of, but still… was there gold glinting beyond?

Clank.

Clank.

Clank.

The heat grew as she approached, sweat drenched her beneath the now warming metal, and the scent of strange gases, like the salts Tabitha had once bought off of a travelling merchant, filled her nose. It wasn’t painful. Was it? Doubt rocked her but she kept going, nearly at the first pipe, at the first gout of bright orange flames.

Clank.

Clank.

Her arm extended forwards, scale mail glimmering as the gauntlet touched the roaring air and shone a bright orange as if in a forge. And yet, it felt solid. Hot, terribly, horribly hot sure, but solid and not painful. Her arm slid closer, deeper into the blaze as she kept moving, eyes screwed shut lest any embers dart into the helmet to tear at her face.

“It’s working,” she rasped in disbelief, stumbling over a brass root consumed by heat, and yet untouched. Another leg stepped over, then she bent under the next, crawling beneath a low hanging beam that spewed crackling fire. The next she sidled by, back to the sloping wall and so she progressed, little by little, clanking and creaking and occasionally stumbling, but not burning in the heat.

Finally she slowed, breathing hard with a roaring chest before a wall of flames, several streams crossing like a net. Impossible, dangerous, lethal, all of her instincts returned as she shuddered, eyes wide and staring. Sure this was magic armour, but what if it wasn’t enough? What if it ran out? Or found a tiny crack to slip through? She’d be left as nothing but ash, another set of crisp bones on the floor. The dead didn’t eat.

“That’s it lass! Almost there! See if there’s any way to halt the flames!” Hektor’s deep sharp voice sounded behind her, over the hissing, over crackling of the fires and gas. She glanced back over her shoulder, eyes wide to see him holding his staff ready, one end against his shoulder, the other pointed towards her.

“Sir?! What are yo-“

CRACK!

The thunder filled the tunnel, overwhelming boom making her head spin as something hit the tube before her. It burst open, scattered flames spreading everywhere, and yet thinner, less focussed than the previous breaches. She charged in her fear and confusion, one foot down, the other one catching the old metal and tearing through it as the armoured youth sprinted through the flame, a gleaming orange figure like a knight of pure sunlight.

Unlike a knight, she spun head over heels in the darkness, tumbling over solid stone with an utter cacophony of clanking. Finally her ears stopped ringing and she found herself lying on her back in the darkness, steeped in sweat and boiling all over.

Alive.

A nervous giggle burst from her pained chest, born of sheer relief and exhaustion. Her limbs felt leaden from the day’s walk combined with the exertion, and it took several moments to sit up, eyes peering into the darkness.  This room was larger, strange and hollowed with a sloping triangular ceiling like the other corridors, though again broken and half ruined, with vast chunks of masonry scattered across the cracked floor. Here and there were rectangular shapes like benches or chests, as well as a couple of gaps hinting at hole in the hard floor. It was hard to see in the darkness, for one source of light drew her gaze.

It gleamed the shade of blood, a spot of red wreathed in golden flames. The glow barely highlighted the pillars around it, some weird curved and pointed shape- a fulcrum of the brass pipes. The source? She groaned as she rose, every lurching tired step resounding loud as a gong in the darkness. The red shape grew as she approached, and… yes, she was certain now, fire spiralled from it into the shrine that held it, past gleaming runemarks and intricate golden filigree, and no doubt into the pipes behind her.

“Hektor! Sir, I think I’ve found how to halt the fires!” A touch of pride tinted her muffled cry as she reached out, hefty sharp gauntlets passing through the cyclone of flame to gently grasp the great shape. A ruby was it? A ruby like a star perhaps, overcome with light and heat and engraved in all manner of runes that drew the eye from one side to the next in an endless chain of mystery. Her leg pushed, elbows bent, and the child of the Denarrans pulled it free, the whole thing about the size of one of the great melons they grew in the lowlands.

WHUMF! A vacuum seemed to spring within the shrine, suddenly cold, suddenly empty of fuel the last of the fire spilled out through the ruins. What light the flaming passageway had brought vanished into black within an instant.

And the ruby flared like the sun on a new dawn. Arcene cried out as she screwed her eyes shut, the molten core now unleashed in her grip, pulsing through the armour like a titanic heartbeat. The armour seemed to scald her, metal hissing against skin, while underneath silver coins melted into a burning thieves brand across her heart.

She never heard the heavy footsteps approach, only the sudden absence when the ruby was torn from her grasp. Heat and light vanished from her senses, leaving her panting and hissing on the ground at his feet. The light was dimmer now, a ruddy red that streaked across the vast hall and painted Hektor a dark figure towering overhead, ruby clutched in some weird rune covered glove.

His lips moved but the pain deafened her, and she could only fumble weakly as he bent down, a solemn frown crinkling his sweaty brow. The ruby was laid on the floor and he reached out, gripping the helmet with a scowl to pull it off.

“Argh!” she cried out as her body lifted, pulled by the tight helmet. His release and the impact against the ground was hardly better, her spine jolted and shuddered, and for a moment she felt him fumbling, pulling at pieces of plate and scale. There was no give, no matter what, just jostling and pulling with increasing desperation. Then she found herself being lifted up by strong arms, close to his breastplate. Safe and sound, for a single instant she felt like a tiny child, comfort, pride and pain rendering her only dimly aware of the man’s deep bass voice muttering something.

Then he bent and threw her into the darkness of the pit.