Art by Clea Harris

Chapter 7

The Lower Levels

BENEATH CLARANEL CAVES

West Æshorenth, Æshorenth, Vol’Tyr

Caliz breathed deeply and quietly as they descended the ladder. It was a long way down, and he was feeling the strain on his arms. I’m in no shape to fight, let alone venture down into these fucking lizard’s native place. Shit. What if they are Vok Archons. No. Angels can’t be that easy to kill, or we’d do it all the time.

He felt the heat of the lantern bounce against his thigh as he climbed down, lighting up the thin tunnel up. The warmth gently radiated across his leg with every bounce. Light of Aatua, what have I gotten myself into?

Once again, he breathed slow, careful breaths, trying to steady himself. Please, Lightbringer, shine some of your light down upon me. I shine your light in these dark caves, and I shine it in your name. Protect me from… whatever awaits in this darkness.

His feet found purchase on the ground, and he pulled the lantern from his pack, holding it up to see what was around him. It was a tunnel, carefully and smoothly carved, more of a hallway. No lights. Just his lantern.

Aatua, watch me in these darkened passages. Watch my back, and warn me of the dangers that lurk behind me.

“Hats’ik,” Faelana broke the silence with a whispered name, and he looked at her like a moth at a flame. She made a hand sign at him, and he responded in Gorenyan Sign Language that he did, indeed, “speak” it. She nodded, and signed to stay in party order, draw a blade, and follow her.

They stalked down the corridor, peering down each hallway, unsure of where each led. The halls were perfectly smooth rock, and each turn they found continued the same way. No signs to be found, no décor, just long hallways.

As we walk into the unknown, watch my soul in this time of need. Don’t let me die down in these darkened halls, for I know not what these folk would do with me.

They continued down the passage until a room opened up. The ceiling stood high above, and blocks of stone sat in the way before them. His light reached up to see something above them, but he couldn’t quite tell. He looked to Faelana.

What is this place?

Why would I know? We need a brighter light.

I’m on it. I think I see a brazier.

He slunk to his right and found an iron brazier filled with coals. Carefully, he poured some lantern oil on the coals, and lit them with his lantern. Upon lighting, the oil dripped down into the coals, carrying the fire with it.

Suddenly, a red light flashed at the bottom of the brazier, and fire erupted from it in a pillar of flame. The fire dripped onto the ground from under the brazier and raced like a tiny river across the ground in two directions, and further down the room, another brazier exploded in fire, and another, and another, and another.

“Aatua’s Light.”

“Caliz.” He turned, and Faelana was looking up above the giant stone blocks. He followed her gaze and stared at a statue towering to the rocky domed ceiling. Easily fifteen meters high, he was enormous statue of Aatua, in all her glory. Depicted as a Gold-Eye Milar, just as she had been in all the temples Caliz had visited, she stood tall and proud, nude with flowing hair, shoulders straight and hand held up with a lightning cloud floating in her palm. It was unmistakable.

“My lady.” He fell to a knee and was filled with an odd sense of dread. Why do you tower above me so far in the shadows? What is this place, and why have you brought me here? For you surely have brought me here. Surely. Why else would I be in this damned place, only to find your visage staring down upon me. Was it the light? The fires? Are they holy? Did I fulfill a ritual, bringing light to this dark and dreary cavern? Do the lizards worship in your name? Are they bringers of light? By the light, have I betrayed your will by killing them?

“Boss,” Osa spoke loudly, and plainly. “Caliz.”

“What,” Faelana whispered, eyes still upon the statue. “What do you need?”

“Look.” The two broke their trances to follow Osa’s gaze. She pointed a clawed finger further into the room, and as they looked up further in, they saw matching fifteen-meter statutes lining the room flanking two wide passages on either side of Aatua, leading further in. As Caliz moved closer to the pillar of fire, he saw gods flanking the passage. He saw Ilaz[1], Ik’thar[2], Zaain[3], Jal’r[4], and… others he didn’t recognize. All in classic posture, all nude, all with totems, objects, holy symbols.

As he returned to Osa to look down her side, he saw the other side of a few he’d seen, as well as more he didn’t recognize. Except for Dossi. He saw Dossi.

The Mariner towered high further down the corridor, towering as a Ril, but not like Osa. A smooth Tree-Ril, elegant scales lining his body, his muscles bulging more lifelike than he’d ever seen a statue. He stared forward with a smirk, and a wave of water seemed to careen from his hand like a waterfall. Chains hung around his neck, and rings decorated his face, all carved just as carefully as the rest of his body.

“Gods. I haven’t seen a statue of Dossi in… ages.”

“Dossi?” Faelana turned to him and followed his gaze.

“The Mariner. The Sealord. The Drowned.”

“Yes. The God of the Ocean.”

“God of water. All water. Oceans. Seas. Bays. Rivers. Ponds. Fountains. Drinks.” He paused, thinking on it. “Small statues to Dossi sat in most houses in my hometown. They hid them every time the guard came around, but we all had them. Some had his body. Some had his bust. Some had a simple wave with some chains. But everyone had something.”

“You come from Chifundo region, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said, transfixed.

“These are old,” she changed the subject. “Real old. Surprised they’re still standing.”

“Must,” Osa agreed. “Dead gods.”

“I haven’t…” Faelana walked to a statue a few over of a man painted like a Nojern, in black with starbursts and nebulas throughout, with two bright stars at his eyes. In his hand rested a single large eyeball staring down at the walkway.

“I’ve never seen a statue of Scoat,” Faelana scoffed, “let alone anything so big. Shit, I see gods I don’t even recognize. These must be ancient. Before the War of Gods.”

“Old gods.”

“Very old gods,” Faelana agreed. “Do you see… your old god?”

“Shaadrizahg,” Osa reminded, and followed it with a point. Caliz broke his gaze to follow Faelana’s eyes to a towering statue of a Mera[5] woman in the dead center of the room, standing on a taller and larger block than any other god. Her hyena-like face stared forward with determination, her upper arms locked and ready for combat, her lower arms down in a running position, ready to shoot forward, back legs with hooves dug in ready to launch. A bear’s paw was emblazoned on her upper chest like a tattoo.

“God of beasts,” Faelana muttered. “Figures she’d be an Mera.”

“Is it just me,” Caliz offered, “or is she… bigger than the rest?”

“Atroks are big, Caliz.”

“Yeah, so are Ril, and she’s bigger than Dossi.”

“She’s also the only one on all fours.”

“Fair. But she’s also in the center. I think she’s the focus.”

“But all of them are here. This is obviously a holy site.”

“Definitely. But there’s no tapestries. No decoration. This isn’t a place to worship. So… what is it?”

A noise rang out through the hallway behind them, and they all shot their eyes to where they came from. “We should get moving.”

They moved through the room, eventually finding another hallway that led further out. The corridor led further and further in, eventually ending in another room, much smaller than the last. Tables populated the room, and chairs lined it, some neatly pushed in, others pushed out recklessly. The walls were decorated with curtains, tapestries, weapons, and more.

Caliz approached one and dragged his finger across it. “No dust.”

“Shit,” Faelana looked around the room. “Guess we’ve found their home. Damn it, I was hoping this was a ruin.”

“All the signs pointed to this being the place.”

“I know. But those statues. Shit,” she muttered. “We need to leave. Now.”

“We can’t return the way we came. We all heard it, right?”

“Yeah, we have to find a cross-tunnel. Come on. Let’s move.”

They moved down into another corridor, passing doors at this point, most of them more curtains than doors, made of heavy tanned leather. Peeking past the curtains, they found various decorated rooms of what Caliz supposed to be sleeping quarters, a common room, a training ground, an arena, and a couple storerooms.

One room in particular caused the trio to stop in their tracks. Another large room with a high ceiling and a smaller statue of the Mera god. This one was mounted to the ground, still towering above them and down in running form, but she held a spear aloft, pointing it forward like she was commanding an army. The spear pointed down a hallway decorated with intricately carved stone vines, leaves, and tree bark. The hallway continued in the dark, but Caliz was relatively sure he saw it quickly turn to dirt.

“What’s down there, you think?”

Faelana stared down the tunnel, seemingly transfixed. “I don’t know.”

“Is it the escape?”

“I somehow doubt it.” Faelana spoke slowly, as if in a trance.

“You okay, ma’am?” Caliz put a hand to her shoulder.

“Don’t touch me,” she shrugged him off with a hint of scorn in her voice. “I’m fine.”

“You’ve been acting strange the whole time we’ve been down here, just asking.”

“It’s nerve-wracking, of course I’m acting odd. So are you two. We’re…” she breathed slowly, “we’re in unknown territory here. Everything is alien and strange. I feel deeply unnerved, and if you don’t, then I’d worry.”

“Should we try the spooky plant tunnel?”

“No. I can’t believe that would lead to anywhere we’d possibly want to be. Come.” She led them down another corridor, like the others, and quickly found themselves walking into a room through an ornate fur curtain. The room was intricately decorated with tapestries, strange furniture, a large, curtained bed, and several stone chests.

“Is this… their leader’s room?”

“It must be,” Faelana agreed, “it’s fancier than the other rooms, that’s for damn sure.”

“No here,” Osa murmured.

“What,” Caliz turned to her.

“No here. Leave.”

“She’s right,” Faelana cut him off, before he could speak. “We shouldn’t be here. Bet you a drink there’s an emergency exit somewhere. Every leader has a secret exit in their room.”

They dug around the room, careful not to disturb too much, and Osa called to them as she hauled a wardrobe out of the way, showing a hidden passage.

“Perfect. Go on. Move.” They bolted through and quickly found themselves climbing stairs. Caliz climbed behind them for stair after stair after stair after stair. They seemed to go on forever without a change in the walls. No light other than his lantern, and only darkness behind and before them.

But after an eternity, with pained legs, they finally reached a door. Osa threw it open, and a breath of air hit Caliz. He breathed deep and pushed through to find a sight of trees, grass, and a night sky above. The crisp autumn air hit him and he smiled. “Thank the gods.”

“Where are we?”

“Pss,” Osa called them. Moving to her, they found an open view of a huge field several at least forty meters below them. They stood at the top of a cliff-face.

“Shit,” Caliz said stepping back from the ledge. “We’re above the caves.”

“Above,” Faelana corrected, “and to the side. We’re at least a hundred meters east of them.”

“So,” Osa plopped down into a coil, “what do?”

“What do, indeed,” Caliz sat in the grass. “We going back in for that shield?”

“I’m loathe to,” Faelana sighed, leaning against a tree, “but you promised them. It’s got to be somewhere in those caves.”

“We gonna chance running through those caves again, maybe finding an army of fucking lizards, just to find a shield? We got their bottle, and their axe. That’s got to be enough.”

“I want to agree with you, Hats’ik. But a job’s a job.”

“And fuck I hate to use arguments that were used against me just a sleep ago, but the job was to get the culture, with a bonus if we got the axe, shield, and bottle, and an extra bonus if we killed them all.”

“Well, we’re not killing them all,” Faelana breathed, taking a swig from her waterskin, “that’s for damned sure.”

“Then we got half of the bonus objectives, right? Let’s call it. They’ll get started back up in town, then maybe this place will clear out eventually and they can come back.”

“Yeah,” she sighed, passing the waterskin to Caliz. “Might be the best plan. After we catch our breath.”

“Maybe we can talk the Khan into coming in with her soldiers and wiping them out.”

“That’s God Khan, Hats’ik. I know you’re not local, but you’d be careful to remember that. The Veritasi are sensitive about that.”

“We’re not in Veritas.”

“Lotta folk are from there. Best to get the title right.”

“Right. God Khan. It’s still Karuur, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Isn’t her kid supposed to get the throne soon?”

“Yeah, on her two hundred and fiftieth birthdess. There’s a mock combat and the kid has to slay the God Khan to prove themselves worthy of ascending to the new one. It’s been that way since Ubax, back before the Arcane War.”

“Weird.”

“Her kid’s almost two hundred, I think. From what I’ve heard, he’s a shit fighter. God Khan Karuur’s a crazy good spear fighter, she pulls tournaments all the time, but the bards sing that Chibuzo’s more a peacemonger. She threw him in a tourney once, and he only picked up a shield. Blocked every hit, and managed to knock out his opponent with a shield bash. They’re already calling him the Khan of Peace. Who knows, maybe his reign won’t be so bad.”

“Is Karuur so bad?”

“Ask anyone in Unalon what they think of the Veritas troops that come through town. They act like they own Æshorenth, despite it being independent land. Just ‘cause the Queen’s buddy-buddy with the God Khan, their troops think they can get away with goddamn anything.”

“Guess I don’t have to ask anyone.”

“Sorry, I get… annoyed. Look, what are we doing? Are we hiking down to camp?”

“I think that’s the wisest option. Call the caves a loss. It’s theirs now. Who knows, maybe a few turns down the line, and we’ll have new allies in the Lizardfolk.”

“’Ey,” Osa cut him off, “hear.”

They paused, and Caliz heard an echo from the stairwell. He crept closer to the door and listened carefully, and heard heavy footsteps coming up.

“Shit, someone’s coming.”

“Run?”

“No time, they’re close.”

“Trees.”

Faelana and Caliz leapt up nearby trees, and Osa looked around exasperatedly before hauling herself up a tree awkwardly. Just as she got into the tree itself, the door burst open and a Lizardfolk stepped out, garbed in a leather kilt with bracers to match, decorated with teeth and beads. A necklace of fangs hung around their neck, and in its center a green gemstone almost glowed in the night.

Their scales shone against the subtle light of Faeia enough to let Caliz see dark cobalt scales over bulging muscles. Their jaw was loose and shifting as they glanced around, their teeth showing through as a forked tongue licked about. Cobalt spines lined their back and head, and iridescent green feathers coated their head, back, arms, and feet. Their toe claws sunk into the dirt as he looked around, and the light shifted to show warpaint across their scales all over. As they cracked their shoulders, spikes seemed to grow out of the darkness of the scales. Or did the light just shift right to see them?

Caliz stared down at the Lizardfolk, staying as silent as he could, not a muscle moving, as his eyes bore down on the giant blade resting on their shoulder, and the towering wooden shield strapped to their off-arm, emblazoned with the Claranel family crest.

Shit.

[1] Pantheonic God of magic and arcanics, as well as time and death.

[2] Pantheonic God of war, life, and the souls of the dead. Osa’s patron god.

[3] Pantheonic God of labor, workers, and in some cases darkness and the earth.

[4] Pantheonic God of pleasure, music, revelry, travel, and more.

[5] A species of folk mostly native to Milakria, the south-eastern continent. They are known to be less cosmopolitan, more rural, for the most part, only joining large metropolitan cities in recent wends. They have an additional set of limbs that allow them to functionally have either four arms when standing, or four legs when down and running, able to switch between stances at will.