Chapter 8: Of Golden Ruin
"I don't see why we can't just take the antidote by force."
The three women stood in grim shadows before the roaring bonfire—the sorceress, the Captain, and the Lieutenant. Akara had returned to the druid's side—he required constant attention, should something fall amiss. It had been but hours since Gheed had made his offer. Five thousand gold pieces, for the tiny vial of antidote.
Five thousand gold pieces for Saul's life.
Cordelia thinned her lips impatiently. Never in her life had she met such a villian—one to hold an antidote over the head of a dying man; all for the sake of a sack of gold. She folded her arms, throwing a look of greatest disgust toward the merchant's tent. He stood beside his caravan, and, having caught sight of her, smirked, and lifted his goblet in a faraway toast.
"And bring dishonour to our sisterhood, Captain?" Liene replied—she was, by far, the calmest of the three. "We cannot."
Kashya threw her hands in the air, growling in frustration. "What can we do, then? Leave Saul to die?" She turned her back to the fire, one hand clasped over the nape of her neck.
Liene exhaled, and then rolled her shoulders back with rather a tensed air. "We're going to have to pay him."
"With what?" The Captain scowled. "We barely make do here—there is nothing of value to give him."
"We'll just have to find the gold somehow." The Lieutenant shifted her gaze momentarily towards the sorceress—and then returned her eyes to the other. "There is time, yet."
Cordelia inhaled silently, allowing her hands to fall to her sides. Mixed emotions raged within her being—guilt, and fear being the most prominent. She could not allow Saul to die—she would not.
It would taint her conscience forever, to know that he'd given his life to save her.
She watched the rogues argue for the briefest of moments—then turned away, and made towards Akara's clearing. Perhaps the High Priestess required aid; she would only be too glad to offer her service. At any rate, the sorceress did not quite feel as if she should remain idle much further—she required work, at the very least, to keep her mind off the druid.
The High Priestess stood at the entrance of her tent—her expression was grim, much like the one she'd worn when Cordelia had first awoken. She inclined her head gently towards the sorceress in greeting.
"Hello, Tia-aldyn." She smiled slightly—and her forehead creased somewhat, the wrinkles forming vaguely upon the pallid skin. "Have you come to seek solitude from my fiery-tempered sister?"
Cordelia offered the faintest of smiles towards the High Priestess; she shook her head. "I came to see if he'd—" She paused, biting down upon her lower lip. "—that is to say, if Saul had awoken."
Akara shook her head briefly; the sorceress thought she saw a trace of sympathy flashing past the Priestess's eyes. "I do not believe so. You may enter if you wish—but try not to awaken Deckard Cain. He is resting."
Cordelia blinked once, and then twice—she'd quite forgotten that such a person existed, in between feeling guilt and concern for Saul. She chuckled faintly; and then nodded.
"I'll—" She smiled in spite of herself. "—try not to knock any pots over."
The High Priestess laughed—and then waved the sorceress away.
For the most part, the High Priestess's tent was devoid of light—the flaps had been kept shut, to allow its current inhabitants peace and darkness in which to recuperate. A single, diminutive candle, kept within a jar of stained-glass offered what light it could—a mild beam of golden glow.
The sorceress tiptoed silently across the tent—to a corner, she could see the grey-robed figure of Deckard Cain, deep in slumber upon a faded jade divan. She could only guess the true extent of his injuries, both in body and in spirit—yet, she did not worry much for the old man; Akara had deduced that he would, in time, heal.
Cordelia lowered herself upon the stool beside the druid—and then clasped her hand over her mouth to stiffle the gasp of surprise that consumed her throat.
The druid's eyes were wide open—the grey orbs watched her fondly for several long seconds.
And then, the faintest of smiles graced his pallid lips.
She sat in shocked silence, merely content to stare upon his face. It seemed an eternity later before her voice returned to her. "You're—awake." She whispered; it was somewhat difficult to keep the quavering of her voice at minimum.
He chuckled weakly—and then coughed. "Did you think I was going to die?" His voice was hoarse—she'd supposed he was thirsty.
"I—" She began, stiffly. And then, having found nothing better to say—"You worried me."
The druid reached out to take a hold of her hand—gently. He seemed to have little strength, though he bore his ailment with the gallantry of a prince. "Hush, Cordy. You look as if you would cry over me—I am not quite dead." He paused, and then added—"Not yet, at least."
Cordelia squeezed his fingers. "You've been poisoned. We need to get the antidote." She felt like crying—but she knew better. It would not do to distress the druid in such condition. "And don't be silly." She grumbled, frowning slightly. "I'm not going to let you die."
He chuckled slightly—and then nodded. "I know."
"Saul—"
The druid smirked just a touch; for a moment or two, the sorceress wondered at his ability to remain optimistic, even in the face of death. "Should I assume—" He murmured. "—that Gheed is lending his alchemy expertise to our High Priestess?"
"Yes, but—"
He shook his head slightly, and then continued. "—Then he will want payment."
Cordelia blinked. "Yes, but—"
"How much?" The druid asked, grimly.
"You really shouldn't ask." The sorceress muttered, quietly. She gave his hand another gentle squeeze. "We'll get you better. Don't ask, and don't worry."
He smiled weakly; and then, unclasping his hand from hers—"There's a big chance—" He began, dark grey orbs watching the sorceress intently. "—that I won't awaken, the next time I fall asleep."
Cordelia shook her head furtively—a thin layer of mist had begun to form over her eyes. "Be quiet." She hissed. "I don't want to hear this."
The druid exhaled softly—then shut his eyes. "I never said I was going to die. I simply said that I wasn't going to wake up—at least, not until you manage to pry the antidote from Gheed's gold-starved hands."
She stared blankly at him for several long seconds—and then chuckled softly, rather against her will. "How—" She muttered. "—do you know so much about everyone and everything?"
He did not answer immediately—it was almost as if he'd fallen asleep. And then, catching the sorceress quite by surprise, he mumbled. "Magic." He paused, and then continued—"Don't let me die, Cordy."
The sorceress bit fiercely down upon her lower lip. "I swear to God, you fool—if you die, so help me, I will slap you so hard, your past life will hurt."
She thought she saw a flicker of a smile cross his lips—and then, with a quiet exhale, he was still once more.
"The Forgotten Tower." Cordelia crossed her arms firmly over her abdomen, her stance firm. "If there's any hope at all of finding the lost treasure—any hope at all, I am going."
Kashya lifted a crimson brow—clearly, the idea itself was revolting to her. "That place is accursed."
The two stood at the edge of the Adura river—gazing out into the darkened moor beyond the grey-stone bridge. Cordelia had found the Rogue Captain, alone on guard duty at the riverbank—silent in solemn thoughts. She, too, seemed perturbed at the druid's imminent doom.
The sorceress thinned her lips. She'd expected such an answer. "I don't care."
"Many have gone." The Captain threw a scathing glance towards the sorceress—teal orbs locked upon those of blue with glints of distaste and mistrust. "And they have not returned. Evil lurks within those catacombs—you will not live to tell the tale."
Cordelia tossed her hair irritably over her shoulder. "I don't care." She repeated her words.
The Captain looked her up and down—as though appraising her, for several long seconds. "Where, in all the realms, did you hear of the Forgotten Tower?"
"There lies a tome within the Stony Fields. Saul and I happened upon it whilst searching for the entrance into Nerheid's Belly." She said, simply.
Kashya rolled her eyes—and then shrugged. "A mere dream. It is but a trap for fools seeking riches and glory." She gave the sorceress a rather pointed sneer, and then continued—"It is naught but golden ruin."
"It may be Saul's only chance." Cordelia gritted her teeth—her grip of her staff tightening somewhat visibly. She had little patience for the Captain. "I came to tell you because I thought it was something you should know. If that is all you have to say, Captain, I must bid you farewell. I have a friend to save." She scowled, before turning and striding away.
She'd barely walked two steps, however, before—"Hold, Tia-aldyn Ciryx. I will accompany you."
It seemed as if half of forever had passed before the derelict walls of the Forgotten Tower became visible. Many centuries had passed since the tower's greater days—it stood in collapsed heaps of moss-covered stone. Various sorts of thorny vines and bushes had, in time, grown wild over these stones; and the greenery served only to emphasize the ominous atmosphere about the ruins.
They had, for the most part, maintained a steady pace through the Blackened Marshes—for whatever reasons, the demons were few in these parts of Entsteig. They were not fool enough to question their good fortunes—it had been with severe determination, that they'd pressed onwards.
Cordelia bit her lip—and then glanced about for several long minutes. The sun had long since settled within the west; night had fallen. "I don't think there are any more of them." She said, after a moment. "We should hurry."
The Captain nodded stiffly. They had not spoken much, though the hours had taught the sorceress the true extent of the rogues' skills with the bow. "I agree." She seemed troubled—perhaps it was the stench of decay that lingered thick within the air; perhaps it was the odd sensation of approaching shadows.
"In there. Let's go." Cordelia muttered. She could hear murmurs beneath the ground—almost as if the dead were calling out to her from within the collapsed tower.
And yet, she would not relent, would not give in to fear, nor trepidation; gritting her teeth, the sorceress gripped her staff, hard, and ducked her head through a broken archway—the entrance into the tower of forgotten darkness, itself. She was vaguely aware of the Captain's presence behind her.
"Down there."
The rectangular trap-door had been built into the ground—it lay surrounded by blades of dark green grass, partially hidden beneath centuries of mud, soil, and roots. Cordelia knelt—she could just make out the shape of a single silver loop built into the wood; a means of pulling the trap-door open.
She gave it a stiff tug. "It won't budge."
Kashya pursed her lips slightly; and then waved the sorceress aside. "Move."
"What are you thinking?" Cordelia frowned as she straightened.
The Captain wrinkled her nose as she stepped right up to the trap-door. For a moment or two, she stared thoughtfully at the moss-covered wood—and then, almost as if she'd meant to do it all along, drove her boot heavily through it with a resounding crash.
It fell quite easily apart; splintered pieces of broken wood fell in every direction as she shot a look of triumphant smugness towards the sorceress. Half a minute later, she'd leapt through the broken door, into the darkness.
Cordelia rolled her eyes as she lowered herself into the murky chasms. The Captain was sure to be unbearable for the rest of the journey.
Kashya stood by a flight of descending steps. She'd been gazing downwards, but looked up as the sorceress approached her. "They await us below." She hissed. "We have to take them by surprise."
The sorceress wrinkled her brow slightly—and then held up her palm, where a brightly-burning orb of crimson and amber flames crackled. Even the simplicity of light brought new warmth to the hitherto cold entrance chamber; it illuminated darker corners and chased at the shadows.
"I doubt we'd surprise them. After all, you created that din with the trap door. They probably heard you all the way in Aranoch." She tossed her hair over her shoulder—and was pleased to see the Captain scowling.
They crept down the stairs—the sorceress at the head of the party. The flames flickered, still, within the palm of her hand; it lit their way along the crumbled steps. Once or twice, Cordelia found herself slipping—but almost instantly regained her footing. She would not allow herself the luxury of making clumsy mistakes; Saul's life depended upon their return.
The croaking sounds of demons' cries penetrated the walls and filled their ears long before they reached the bottom. Cordelia bit her lip—her grip of her staff tightened somewhat, as the ball of flames crackled merrily within her palm. She could hear Kashya's uptight breaths behind her; clearly, the rogue, too, anticipated the coming battle.
It happened in a flurry of demonic shrieks and flashes of serrated blades—the hellspawn came upon the sorceress and the rogue in waves of chalcopyrite and crimson. Cordelia never saw her companion's arrows—she'd found herself deep in battle amidst a clan of goat-headed, bold-bodied men.
She grunted heavily as she sidestepped the cleaving blow of a large scythe—her opponents could only be described as gruesome. The goat-men stood several feet greater than her in height; and the entirety of their bodies had been tainted with crimson blood. They reeked—of death and decay.
Jumping aside to avoid yet another fatal blow, the sorceress lifted her staff, and shrieked—"Caer dyoniatche!"
The sparkling explosion of fire brought several goat-men to their knees—they cried out in fright and in pain.
Cordelia narrowed her eyes, lowering her staff slightly. And then—"Durque dyianatche."
Crystalline shards of scarlet ice rained upon the ground as a sudden silence enveloped the chamber. The sorceress winced distastefully—the ice had begun to melt, forming puddles of crimson blood upon the cracked floors. She spared herself but a mere second's breath—and then whipped around to meet Kashya's steely gaze.
"Nice job." The Captain muttered—rather grudgingly.
Cordelia smirked slightly, but nodded. "You too."
"Yes, well—" Kashya cleared her throat stiffly; then looked about. "We should get moving."
The sorceress shook her head. Wrinkling her nose in disgust, she knelt upon the ground. The crystalline remains of the goat-men had melted away to reveal several pieces of gold upon the ground. "We should search the corpses."
Kashya lifted a brow. "What?"
"They might hold things of value—" Cordelia muttered. "Like this." She winced slightly—and held up a blood-stained diamond of minute proportions. "Small, but—Gheed sounds like the sort to take anything of value at the worst of times."
The Captain rolled her eyes—though an-ever-so-small smirk graced her lips. Perhaps it was the closest thing to a smile, that she could manage. For the first time since leaving the Rogue Encampment with her, Cordelia felt at ease; and it was with a rather faint smile that she returned her gaze to the diamond.
Perhaps their journey would not be so bad, after all.
"So—why do you worry for Saul?"
They sat side by side upon the last flight of steps—the threshold through to the final battle. Four floors worth of battles had wearied the women; the demons had been fierce, and the skirmishes, difficult. They were in dire need of a good, long breather.
"What do you mean?" Kashya winced slightly as she spoke . She'd suffered a long, deep gash along the length of her arm—the cut was bleeding copiously.
Cordelia wrinkled her nose. Reaching into her pack, she withdrew a crystalline vial of crimson potion—one of their very last, and uncorked it. "Here." She handed it towards the rogue. "You need it more than I do."
"Thank you." The rogue muttered, before taking a swig. Lifting her arm gingerly, she made a face—and then spat the potion onto the wound.
"Most people just—drink those." Cordelia observed mildly.
Kashya gave the sorceress a rather exasperated look—then lifted the vial to her lips, and drank the rest in one gulp. "I daren't attempt pouring it over the wound. I might pour the whole lot out—and that won't do."
Cordelia rolled her shoulders back into a slight shrug. "It helps the wounds externally, yes?"
"Yes. But it hurts—" The Captain muttered through gritted teeth. All the colour seemed to drain from her face as she clasped a hand over the afflicted arm. "—like all hell. That is why we don't use the potion this way—" She paused, releasing a low moan. "—very often."
The sorceress watched grimly as her companion shut her eyes. For a moment or two, she considered the benefits of sending the Captain home—then almost instantly disposed of the idea. Somehow, Kashya did not seem the kind to fall back at the very end of a task.
"Just a moment longer." She whispered, having found nothing else of comfort to say.
Kashya winced slightly—then murmured. "I think—" She began, stiffly. "—that Saul is a good person. I am concerned for him because of the vision he upholds—a world devoid of darkness and death."
Cordelia found herself smiling just a touch. "That is true."
"But that is not your true question." The Captain muttered, through gritted teeth. "You want to know why I came with you."
"That, too." The sorceress chuckled briefly—and then stretched her arms out above her head.
"I care for him."
Cordelia blinked—once, and then twice. She'd not expected such an answer. With a faint, almost amused chuckle, she shook her head. "I don't find that difficult to believe."
The Captain had opened her eyes—she watched the sorceress for several long moments, her icy-teal orbs searching. "Why did you come, then?"
"Same reason you did, I think." The sorceress crooked a tiny smile. "—but not that similar." She thought she could see the Captain's brow furrow at her answer, however faintly.
"How so?"
"I think—" Cordelia began, awkwardly. She did not quite know how to put her thoughts into words. "—I think that Saul reminds me of—the brother I never had. Or my favourite cousin." She massaged her temples gently, before releasing a softened snicker. "You needn't worry, Captain Kashya."
Kashya watched her solemnly for several long seconds—and then nodded.
The next few minutes passed in sheer silence; each of them absorbed within their own thoughts. Finally, the sorceress stood—brushing herself off, she gazed down towards the rogue, and tilted her head slightly. "Shall we be on our way?"
The final depths of the tower cellars spoke of centuries of torment—marble fountains of crimson blood lined the walls of the center-room, from corner to corner. The foul stench of death and decay lingered within the air, mingled amidst the heavy, oddly-cloying scent of flowers—perfume.
Cordelia frowned slightly—it was a most suspicious scent. "Captain Kashya—" She began.
"It's the countess." The other hissed. "Didn't you finish reading that tome in the Stony Fields?"
The sorceress chuckled weakly—and then shook her head. "Saul read it out loud, but I wasn't paying much attention."
"Very smart." Kashya smirked. "Just—expect a fight."
They crept alongside the walls, wary-eyed and stiff-footed. From beyond the corners of the deserted center-hall came the sounds of screams—wails of torment and cries of pain. Amidst these shrieks, low, and yet piercingly sweet whispers echoed through the chambers; most likely the product of the same being.
Cordelia flinched slightly—the heavily-fragranced halls were causing waves of nausea to wash over her—it was almost unbearable. She gritted her teeth, steeling herself. She'd have to brave the source of the sickening scent, to save the druid's life.
Would perfume suffice in the murder of a sorceress?
She smirked slightly—and then shook herself to seriousness; they stood, now, at the doorway of the back-chamber. From within the dimly-lit chamber came the sounds of laughter—joyful cackles of a sweet-sounding evil.
Cordelia rolled her eyes—she turned to the Captain; together, they nodded in unison, and in understanding.
"Care for a blood-bath—?"
And then, as the shrieks of laughter pierced the halls in infinite volumes, they took their stances—and charged.
Author's Note: Hello again, everybody! I really enjoy tormenting Kashya, as y'all probably can see from this chapter. Hah, bet y'all never saw her little crush on Saul coming! –Or, maybe you did.
Anyways, I'd like to give credit to a friend of mine, Sharyl for the sentence: "I'll hit you so hard, your past life will hurt." I love this line—I've used it for two fics, to date. Heh!
Also, I want you guys to know that:
Caer dyoniatche is pronounced 'Kai-ay-er die-oh-nee-atch'. Kai as in Bye, and Atch as in Hatch.
Durque dyianatche is pronounced 'Dew-urk die-a-natch'. Natch as in Hatch.
Many thanks, also, to Ophelion for religiously (so to speak), reviewing this tale of mine! I really appreciate your reviews and comments, and many's a time you've pointed out some error or another that I've failed to detect. Thank you so much! And yes, I'm glad I'm hurting my characters too—only, I feel sorry for poor Saul. Heh—also! I want you to know, (not that you don't already) that I am, indeed, not much of a solid-graphic-blood kind of person. Sorry—I hope I don't disappoint you!
Thanks again! And remember to R and R, you other readers!