Chapter Forty-Four: To Mor’Gravar

“Perhaps the greatest of all underground kingdoms is the city of Mor’Gravar. Built during the Age of Legends, it was said to be the most technologically advanced city of them all, the epitome of dweor engineering. When access to the city later fell into the hands of the Uldans, they spent centuries trying to uncover its secrets with no success. It was as if Mor’Gravar had a mind of its own.

“Then, that which we only know as the ‘Master’ took over, and the mining tunnels leading to the city were closed. Even I dare not venture into the City of Sorrows, as experienced as I am. There are some secrets in this world that should be buried and forgotten.”

—Dagus Adem, The Adventurer’s Guide to the Continent

The carriage rolled along the Royal Road, leaving behind the eastern gates of Aldoran. Talberon flew above them in sparrow form, scouting the land for relicts, while Ein, Aeos, Garax and Rhinne sat within. In the distance were the white-tipped spires of Lauriel’s Spine, their tips poking through the clouds.

Marc brought the stalnags to a halt as the wind began to pick up, several hours since their departure. Night had fallen fast, sweeping the distant mountaintops under the cover of darkness. Aldoran and its surrounding Blight was out of sight now, over the hills and far away, and winter’s frost was once again creeping across the land.

They set up camp by the side of the Royal Road, next to a rugged bluff. The path had eased them into the highlands, a series of low-rolling peaks and troughs littered sparsely with trees and large clusters of rock. They jutted out of the slopes in all shapes and sizes, wet with moss and fresh snow—imperfections in the wintry waste.

Rhinne and Ein were tasked with starting the campfire while Aeos went to find firewood and Marc and Garax unloaded the carriage. Talberon had left an hour ago to scout ahead. The last Ein had seen of the Druid was a dark shape flying off towards the mountains.

“Move over here and help me block some of this wind,” Rhinne instructed, pointing to a spot beside her. Ein obeyed and found himself squatting beside the flame-haired girl, just as a strong gust of wind buffeted them both. The miserable pyramid of frozen sticks rocked in place.

Rhinne brought her face closer to the pile and began to exhale. Her breath smelled faintly of smoke and spice, lighting up their surroundings like a candle-flame in a dark room. Yellow sparks bounced off the pyramid and into the snow, fizzling. One of the sticks caught fire and soon enough the entire structure was alight. Warmth licked at their fingers through their woollen gloves.

“Where does your fire come from?” Ein asked. They sat beside the flames with their knees to their chests, staring into the darkness. No matter how many times he saw it, her fire-breathing still amazed him.

“From our bellies,” she replied, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. She was fingering the scale around her neck again, the heart-shaped disc of crimson that wasn’t quite a metal or a gem. “Every time we dragons breathe fire, the fire that burns within dims a little. Like a flame in the wind, if we shelter it and nurture it, it will eventually grow strong again. But if we neglect it and it dies, then so do we—and our bodies will return to the earth.”

“Are there Songweavers among the dragons?”

Rhinne turned to him, the red and orange of the firelight flickering across her face. “We dragons do not sing like you do, no.”

“In a way,” a voice said, “your fire is your Soulsong.”

Ein and Rhinne looked back to find Garax peering down at them, a waterskin in his hand. He passed it to Ein, who drank his fill and then handed it to Rhinne.

“Your description of dragonfire and fire-breathing is awfully similar to Spirit and Songweaving, don’t you think?” the storyteller asked, sitting down. “In essence, breathing is just another form of singing. Perhaps dragons are just different types of Songweavers.”

“Perhaps.” Rhinne shrugged. “I don’t particularly care. Our race is doomed, anyway.”

“Come now. Are you still upset over that?”

“The one treasure that could have saved our race… It is now gone and lost, forever without a trace.” Rhinne’s eyes flashed in anger. “How flippantly you act.”

“Rhinne,” Garax said. “Don’t admit defeat so easily. There’s a purpose for everything. If it weren’t for you, young Ein here would be ten feet underground, pushing up daisies. The wind brought you to us, I’m sure of it. And the wind continues to push us towards our destinations.”

Rhinne folded her arms, sulking.

“Is this about…?” Ein broke off, a puzzled expression on his face. Garax glanced around them, noting Aeos’s absence. Marc was also out of earshot, rummaging through the supplies.

“Do you mind if I tell him what happened?” the old man asked softly. “We might not get another chance. I think Ein would keep your secret.”

Rhinne sighed and poked at the fire with a sick. “Do what you will. Nothing matters anymore.” She stood up and went over to where Marc was tending to the caravan. The driver gave her a handful of vegetables which she quietly began to feed to the stalnags.

Garax and Ein turned back to each other.

“I suppose I’ll tell you then,” Garax said. “You must be dying to know.”

“Did you really try and break into the Vault?” Ein asked.

“We didn’t try, boy. We did. Do you know what guards the King’s Vault?”

“Traps,” said Ein. “Mazes. Animated statues from the Age of Gods. After Althur Uldan emerged victorious from the Rondo of the Three Kings, he had the dweor build him a Vault to store all manner of precious artifacts that had been raided from the other Kings and the lesser families. It’s said that there are pieces of history all the way from the beginning of time hidden there, things that the King doesn’t want the people to know exist.”

Garax nodded. “I’ve taught you well, it seems.”

“And you’re telling me you fought through all that to find the Dragonstone?”

“Nay. I’m telling you the stories are a lie, and that the King’s Vault is just that—a vault. We broke in easily enough by melting the doors. It was a large underground room filled with nothing but bags of coins and precious gems. Don’t look so surprised, Ein.”

Ein realized his mouth was ajar and hurriedly closed it. “None of it was real? There were no traps or golems? No magical weapons?”

Garax shook his head. “Rhinne and I were disappointed, too. When I heard she was going to steal the Dragonstone, I knew right away what she was planning.”

“Couldn’t the Dragonstone have been hidden among the gems?” Ein asked. “You said there were precious stones there, didn’t you?”

“No, no.” The storyteller shook his head. “It’s not like that. The Dragonstone, the Source, the First Flame… it’s not something you can mistake for an ordinary gem. You would be able to feel it just by standing in the same room.” He looked up. Aeos was approaching in the distance, lugging a bundle of frosted firewood under one arm.

“Anyway, now you know what happened. Just remember, don’t tell anyone if you can help it. I daresay that quest has been fuelling the girl for a while now, and with her only lead lost, she doesn’t know what to do anymore.”

Rhinne looked up at them from the distance and their eyes met. Ein realized the storyteller was right. The fire was gone from her eyes.

It was early the next morning, when the grey skies had brightened and the worst of the night’s frost had melted, that they reached the fork in the road.

It was a threefold fork nestled between the hills, with the worn dusty brown of the Royal Road curving into the distance, two smaller paths branching out from it. A beaten signpost stood at the intersection, leaning at an angle to the ground. The party alighted from the carriage and gathered around the sign.

“Mor’Gravar,” Marc read, looking at the path that broke off to the left. “Knife Edge Pass. And Siraph. Which way do we go, Druid?”

“Not Mor’Gravar, that’s for sure,” Aeos muttered. “That would be a deathwish.”

“Mor’Gravar?” asked Ein.

“The underground city of Mor’Gravar was our greatest asset back in the Age of Magic. We sourced our metals, gems, even Rhinegold from the mines around it. Then something happened and they had to close it down.”

Talberon fluttered atop the sign. -An ancient evil reclaimed it,- he said, projecting his thoughts towards the group. -The Mines of Mor’Gravar were not originally the property of House Uldan. Mor’Gravar was a dweor city, and when the dweor left, the terror in the dark which had been imprisoned was released. I regret to inform you of this my Prince, but it is the City of Sorrows which we will be passing through.-

“You can’t be serious,” Aeos growled. “The Mines haven’t been open for millenia. Half of the tunnels have probably collapsed by now, and even if we reach the city, there’s no telling if we’ll be able to navigate it.”

-I will take responsibility and lead the way,- Talberon said firmly. -The other option would be to cut through Knife Edge Pass, which will throw us out in the middle of Lauriel’s Spine. The terrain will be tougher there, and we’d have to circle back to reach Darmouth. Crossing through Mor’Gravar would cut our journey in half, maybe even more.- The Druid chirped. -Don’t tell me you’re afraid of some old faerie tale, Your Highness?-

Aeos crossed his arms. “Faerie tale or no, you run the risk of us losing our way. There’s a reason my father’s stayed away from that place, despite all the treasures it promises.”

“Mor’Gravar,” Rhinne suddenly said, and everyone turned towards her. “I’ve heard that name before.”

“When wise men fall and bid goodbye,

When traitors reign beneath the sky;

The Master claims the throne of steel

In Mor’Gravar where widows cry.

A place where eagles cease to fly,

Where death doth sing its lullaby;

Shadows leak from broken stone

In Mor’Gravar where sorrows lie.

A will no mortal can defy,

A hunger none may satisfy,

It feeds upon the fear of men

In Mor’Gravar where all things die.”

A chill ran up Ein’s spine. “Are you sure we should do this?” he asked. “What sort of creature is so terrible that even the dragons fear it?”

“Man,” said Rhinne, and laughed loudly.

-It has been three weeks since the villagers of Darmouth sent the Lachess girl up the mountain,- Talberon said. -It has been three weeks since Raginrok has stopped shaking. Assuming the girl has something to do with that, there’s a good chance she’s somehow managed to survive without food, water or shelter. But she couldn’t possibly keep it up for long. Every day we tarry is a day she could die.-

“And what if she does die?” Aeos asked.

-Then we are all doomed. Because I can tell you now, your mother’s Celesite bomb will not solve our problem.-

The Prince shook his head in frustration. “Do what you will, then,” he said, throwing his hands up in the air. “This is folly.”

-You do not have to come with us, Prince,- Talberon replied, taking to the sky once more.

“Oh, please. You know as well as I do that Father hopes I won’t come back.”

“Why’s that?” Ein frowned.

“You saw it didn’t you? My memories.”

“I saw them, but I don’t understand.”

“Then you’re a thickhead.” Aeos gave an exasperated sigh. “Perhaps I’ll tell you another time, my Kingsblade. When we’re away from unwanted ears.”

It began to snow as they followed the winding path through the highlands. The carriage bumped and rattled, making Ein nauseous. They’d slowed to a trot, the landscape far too rocky and slippery with ice to traverse, and several times the entire party was forced to disembark and push the vehicle past a section of difficult terrain.

Marc spent the journey singing bawdy songs, to which Garax heartily joined in. Rhinne continued to brood, while Aeos read a book he’d packed. When they stopped to rest, Ein would cross stick-blades with Garax a few times, loosening his shoulders. It took a while for him to grow accustomed to his abnormal strength and speed, but he quickly learned that good technique surpassed all.

Then they would be on their way again, leaving behind nothing but the charred remains of a campfire and deep ruts in the fresh snow.

The transition of the mountains from the background to the foreground seemed instantaneous. Ein couldn’t quite pinpoint when they’d left the highlands behind for the alpine, but the slopes were significantly steeper now, the bluffs towering high above them, piercing the winter sky.

Talberon screeched above, and they came to a halt. They’d stopped by a large opening in the side of the mountain, a yawning cavity framed by rickety wooden scaffolding. A warning sign had been thrust into the snow, labelling the entrance to the mines.

“They don’t try too hard to deter people, do they,” Garax said. “Any old codger could wander in. There isn’t even a door.”

“Anyone foolish enough to wander in deserves their fate,” Aeos said.

Ein approached the cavern and peered into the gloom. “It doesn’t look very special,” he remarked. “I’d expected more from a place that spawned so many legends.”

“This is but many of the entrances to Mor’Gravar,” Aeos replied. “There is no majestic portal or gate. The dweor were a reclusive race; the mines were a last resort in case they needed to flee to the surface. When man stumbled across them, they traced the tunnels to gain access to the city.”

Talberon touched onto the ground and took on his human form. “You know much, Prince.”

“Only of history. It is useful to learn from the mistakes of our ancestors. Though that doesn’t stop some from repeating them,” he added bitterly.

Talberon ignored the jibe and walked to where Marc was unloading their baggage. The scraggy man wiped the sweat from his brow and looked up.

“You have our thanks for taking us this far,” the Druid said. “Not once, but twice.”

“My pleasure.” Marc flashed a toothy grin, though it was more at the pouch of coins Talberon was holding than anything else. “If you ever need us again, my darlings and I would be happy to serve. You’ll probably find us wandering around Aldoran somewhere.”

“I will keep that in mind,” Talberon nodded. “Something tells me we may yet meet again.”

Marc shrugged. “It will be as the wind wills.”

He stepped onto the carriage and nudged the stalnags, breaking into verse yet again. The two beasts grunted a farewell and then began to descend the mountain. Ein continued to hear Marc’s song long after he’d disappeared from view.

“So,” he said, looking around. “I guess this is the last of any daylight we’ll see for a while yet.”

“Indeed.” Talberon took a few steps into the opening, until the shadows had all but swallowed his cape. He uttered a low word and a ball of flame burst to life beside him.

Looking back at the rest of the party, he gestured for them to follow. The darkness engulfed them, one by one. Rhinne was the last one through, and she let out an audible shiver as the mountain swallowed her whole.