Chapter 6: The Path to Tristram


The tunnels were dark and damp, utterly devoid of heavenly light. Several corners within the whispering chasms were flooded—the rain had done what light could not; it had found its way into Nerheid's belly. The chilly air felt evil; tainted with the stench of darkness, death, and blood. Stalagmites and stalactites protruded from in dangerously sharp angles from above and below. The darkness enshrouded the caves, as a starless-night sky would the lands.

He was only vaguely aware of the repetitive drip, drip, dripping of water onto the moistened ground—there were other things on his mind.

Cordelia nowhere to be found. He'd slewn those in his path; the undead, the demons, the corrupted mages—yet, the carvers that he so desperately sought remained hidden. Where could they be?

Every inch of his body ached in protest of his pilgrimage. Waves and waves of nausea plagued his swimming head, pleading mercy. It was all that the druid could do to place one foot after the other; to cast spell after spell, to slay demon after demon. He would not allow failure—Cordelia needed him.

He'd sworn to endure the endless darkness to save her—and endure the darkness, he would.


"Is he sleeping?"

"Yes. With his face buried within books—I doubt he meant to rest, though."

He forced his eyes open, and, almost immediately winced in discomfort; the sun had chosen a most unfortunate day to shine—the shafts of sunlight shone even through the shade of his sleeping tent. The open tome upon which he'd lain his cheek was a source of great discomfort—the pages were crisp; dusty. The ground felt unusually hard beneath him, and his arms were stiff. And yet he lay still; he was in no mood to engage in conversation.

"He's been back two days. Has he spoken to anyone besides Akara?"

"No, Captain. I—I'm beginning to worry for him. He tries to hide them, but I can see his tears."

"The issue will resolve itself in due time. Do not worry, Liene."

It became increasingly difficult to remain still—an itch had presented itself within his jumbled mass of once-handsome locks. He wished the two women would go away. Why were they concerned for him? Where was the concern for Cordelia? It was her life that hung in the balance—not his.

"The Inifuss Scroll—it has something to do with the sorceress's disappearance?"

"Yes. Akara has translated it for him, but it speaks in odd circles. There is no way of knowing what useful information lies within it."

He narrowed his eyes in protest—there had to be a reasoning beneath the riddles of the scroll. The words within it would lead him to Cordelia—he was sure of it.

"We can only hope the mystery is solved soon—before he, too, falls from the grasp of life."

The druid flinched in slight distaste. More than ever, now, he wished that the two women would disappear. There was work to do—the mysteries within the scroll needed to be solved, and solved soon. Before Cordelia ran out of time.

The silence that filled his ears was startling for a minute—for a moment or two, he'd wondered if the women had taken their conversation elsewhere. He allowed himself several heavier breaths, before slowly, and discreetly lifting his head. He peered about.

They are gone.

With a soft rustling of feathers, Ceres landed upon his bunk. She gazed reproachfully at him for several long seconds.

You look terrible.

He shook his head quietly, and shifted slightly. His back ached—he'd fallen asleep the night before with his upper body strewn over the edge of his bunk bed, which he'd used as a makeshift table. "I'm fine."

She narrowed her eyes slightly, before rustling her tail feathers importantly.

If you say so. Have you broken the riddle within the Inifuss Scroll yet?

"Not yet." He muttered, straightening. "Shut the entrance flaps, Ceres. I need to stretch."

The hawk beat her wings impatiently; half a second later, she took flight towards the entrance of the tent. In two easy pecks, she'd severed the cords holding the flaps up. Then, in the relative dark, she returned to the side of the druid. He stretched gratefully, nodding once in thanks.

What does the Inifuss scroll say again?

"Read it yourself."

The Inifuss scroll lay open upon his bed, beside a stack of heavy-lidded tomes. Atop it lay a crisp sheet of parchment; the translations of the original runes upon the scroll written neatly within it. Ceres hopped towards it, eyeing it dubiously for a moment or two.

When have I ever given you the impression that I could read? I am but a bird.

The druid blinked once—in mild surprise, he looked from the scroll, to the bird. "Oh." He said. "I'm sorry."

--

"Er bendicht tres er amonde cre;

Er summaneya tres er duien arnya.

Vir tae ammon; cuira lea tae annurach;

Sillen vou er aldunya tres meinyara.

--

Er bendocht udun, tae eayranh ahcue;

Ir caer, dano duis ir ven,

Er aladon sillena van tae druich baston,

Er dundae, ai nefrah tae enoch;

Ir amonde n'hella caiore hier andun."

--

Ceres pecked him hard upon his hand.

Not in the M'arroc tongue. Akara translated it, didn't she?

Saul rubbed at the mark upon his hand; he glared at the bird.

--

"The spirits of the earth arise;

The magic of the skies descend.

Awaken thy souls; let soar thy hearts;

Bring forth the wisdom of old.

--

The spirit strong, thy greatest ally;

And fire, both light and dark,

The air brings hither thy gentle breath,

The water, it cleanses thy soul;

And earth binds together these four."

--

He'd recited the riddle several hundred times; each time, hoping, but failing to gather an answer for its contents. Even Akara was at a loss—she could not break the mystery of the riddle. The meaning remained as obscure as ever.

Ceres rustled her tail feathers impatiently; she hopped upon an ebon-bound volume, clicking her beak. She stared hard at the title, before decidedly beginning to peck at the cover from below—it flew open with a heavy thud.

"Why are you doing that? You can't read." Saul frowned; he was scribbling feverishly into an empty sheet of paper.

The hawk eyed him reproachfully.

I asked where you got the impression that I could read. I never said I couldn't.

The druid lifted his head—his eyes were narrowed as he looked the hawk up and down. A bird was making fun of him.

Wonderful.


The shaman was strong—it was no mere demon. It hurled fireball after fireball at the druid, who jumped to and fro in a futile attempt to avoid them. It laughed gleefully at the druid's actions—such weakness in one so powerful. With a shrill shriek of joy, it took aim once more; and the fireball flew from the grasps of its cerulean claws.

The druid released a grunt of exhaustion as he ran, his staff held rigidly within his right hand. Several of the carver minions jumped at him, weapons held ready. He gritted his teeth—the sickening crunch of breaking skulls filled his ears as he bolted past them. The shaman laughed once more, its shrill curses ringing heavily through the caves.

Beads of sweat rolled from his face, where ebon soot and crimson blood mingled in various designs. He was exhausted—it showed in his sluggish reflexes. The shaman had sensed weakness the second it'd set eyes upon the druid—this was an opponent awaiting death.

Nonetheless, the druid refused to flee—he could not, would not.

He leapt behind a stone, landing on his knees. A carver-corpse lay on the ground beside him—its eyes were widened in a mad, almost frightening stare. Blood seeped from its broken neck onto the ground, staining the gravel and rock. The druid exhaled softly—the shaman was taunting him. He could feel its breath of fire upon the hard stone.

Silently, he reached towards the corpse—its buckler lay upon the ground beside its severed arm.

The druid jumped to his feet, the buckler held over his face and chest. With an almost feral cry of rage, he darted at the shaman, his staff raised. The buckler, he used against the fireballs; by sheer chance, it withstood the heat of the licking flames.

The shaman stepped back, shocked. It lifted its barbed club just as the druid lashed at him with his staff.

Wood met wood in a series of aggressive and defensive stances. They locked eyes—the druid's greys boring hatefully into the demon's golds. It broke the stare first, screaming abuses in the languages of hell. The druid hissed, jumping aside as yet another blast of fire came towards him.

He darted about the next few fireballs; behind the shaman. It bared its teeth, crying shrilly as it lifted its barbed club to strike at its enemy. The druid gritted his teeth—even as the cerulean one raised its clawed hands, he jumped forward, grunting in pain as the club hit him squarely on the chest. And yet, he did not stagger backwards—in one swift movement, he drew his blade from his boot, and took aim.

The cerulean shaman wailed piteously as the dagger found its sheath within its heart. Ebon blood ebbed onto the ground—it stared into the druid's dirt-stained face, and growled a last growl.

And then, it collapsed. It was dead.


"—could be anywhere, Liene, we can't go barelling into the wilderness just like that!"

"But if we could just solve this mystery, and find the sorceress—"

"No!"

Saul groaned—how long had it been since he'd fallen asleep once more? It was true that he was exhausted to the point of collapsing—but he could not rest. It would not be fair to Cordelia; she needed him.

He lifted his head, peering about the empty tent. Ceres was nowhere to be seen—she'd left the flaps of the tent shut.

Intelligent bird.

"So what? Are we going to leave him to his own devices?"

"I'm not saying that—and I'm not saying that we should run around screaming for the sorceress. We need more information. We cannot put ourselves at risk, Liene. There are few enough of us as it is."

"He could die!"

The druid swore under his breath—night had fallen. The conversation going on outside his tent did not bother him much. He had more pressing matters on his mind.

Grumbling slightly at himself, he lit a candle. And then, pressing his hands against his ears, he began to read once more—he would not allow the rogues to intrude upon his research.

Nor would he allow himself rest.


He could not breathe—surely, his lungs would collapse under the added stress of his sprint. His arms flailed helplessly from side to side, and his eyes—his eyes were focused upon but one thing.

Cordelia lay in the midst of seven muscular carvers—they held her up from below. She stirred feebly as they ran, one arm dangling limply over the edge of a clawed hand.

The druid noted, with a tinge of fear, that she was deathly pale.

It happened in a flash of ebon orbs—one second, the carvers were there. The next, they were gone—gone in a myriad of sparkling explosions in shades of black and grey. The druid cried out in shock—he could not believe his eyes.

If he hadn't known any better, he would've thought that they'd disappeared into the cold, stony wall.

Instead, as he'd slammed himself heavily into the rock, he'd noticed but one tiny detail—carved delicately into the greyish backdrop.

A tree—a giant tree with wide-spread, but bare branches.

Great roots the size of barrels protruding the ground at its feet.

The Majestic tree of Inifuss; one that made its home deep within Nur'durain. And beneath the tree, barely visible save to those of careful gaze—

—an odd arrangement of menhirs; five in number, and great in magical energy.


"The Cairn Stones!"

Saul bolted upright, his eyes widening. The five stones—the five-point star. Gritting his teeth, he rummaged hastily through the bits of parchment and scrolls upon his bunk; and came up with the Inifuss Scroll, along with its translation.

"Spirit—fire—air—water—" He muttered feverishly. "—and earth."

All at once, the answer to the puzzle became clear to him. The riddle within the Inifuss Scroll was solved; broken.

"The spirit—our life-force. A strong spirit is always—" Saul paused, exhaling heavily as he sketched the star into a sheet of parchment. "—at the very top."

He marked the tip of the star with a large 'I'.

"Fire—fire burns beneath the earth—beneath the seas." He paused; he could feel his breath beginning to quicken. "Air lies above the earth—and above the seas."

His fingers were trembling as he marked the star with 'II' and 'III'—onto the bottom right point, and the top left point.

"The earth rests between fire, and water—" The druid bit down hard upon his lower lip as he wrote. "And water lies above both fire and earth."

Saul jumped to his feet, all exhaustion forgotten as he emerged from his tent, the little piece of parchment crumpled within his hand. His staff lay at Charsi's forge—his cousin had taken it upon herself to repair it. In a matter of mere seconds, he'd strapped all his armour onto his body. He caught his staff in his hands, and bolted towards the waypoint.

He was only mildly aware of the footsteps that followed in his wake—let them come, whoever they were. He no longer cared.

All that mattered now was whether Cordelia breathed still.

His feet thundered heavily across the grassy fields—it was with sheer luck and determination, that he'd avoided the stones and pebbles in his way. Several demons crossed his path, though they were easily shot down by those on his tail. He did not stop; did not consider fatigue, until he'd reached the familiar outcropping of boulders.

The Cairn Stones stood proudly before him, majestic in height and powerful in magic.

He ran from stone to stone, touching the tip of his staff onto the engraved symbols in turn—they began to glow. The excitement began to build from within him; his heart pounded within his chest, and adrenaline rushed from the tips of his fingers to the soles of his feet. Even as his persuer caught up with him—Liene, a loud rumbling echoed through the skies. Bright white sparks of ivory lightning sparked from stone to stone, crackling with energy.

Saul clasped a hand over his eyes—and then inhaled.

A shimmering, burgundy portal had opened within the very center of the Cairn Stones—wisps of screams and demons' taunts echoed from beyond its chasms.

The druid took but a second to breathe—then dove headfirst into the crimson mists.


Author's Note: Its definitely best to write all that I can write before I succomb to writer's block again. Honestly.

Anyhow, I hope ya'll enjoyed this chapter. Remember to drop me a review! I love having your thoughts on my story—critique and ideas are very welcome.

Many thanks to Ophelion for the review!