5 – The Twelve Who Stand Watch

For how long they descended down the corridor into the hill they could not tell, for the dark that lingered and the stillness around masked all sense of the passage of time.  Only the small orb of bronzed light that bobbed off ahead of them, sending weird, eldritch shadows at dancing, provided them any impression that they were making any progress.  The shadows stretched forth, grasping at things unseen, twisting and shimmering in ways that seemed not in accord with the cast of the light.

Their nerves were strung to a razor’s edge, taunt with anticipation, for along with the shadows came the whispered sound again.  It disturbed the dangling webs, leaving them quivering at its touch, and sent fingers of doubt worming into their minds.

“There is cursed devilry at work here,” Peregrine growled, trying to suppress the fear with a growing rage.  Her keen eyes peered ahead, trying to pierce the darkness for an elusive enemy.  She liked not the touch of the supernatural, or those who would resort to the use of it, fighting against the chill touch that crawled along her spine.  Here was a thing not of flesh and blood, and the darkness that pressed in only served to heighten the superstitious dread of the unnatural that lurked within her.

“It is passing strange indeed,” Blade agreed, cold beads of sweat gathering upon his brow.  No less than Peregrine did he feel it, yet unlike her, for whom it remained but a conjuring of a fertile imagination, he had delved into such matters in his youth, as a part of his explorations of the Mysteries, and he had beheld things that would freeze the marrow of men, and drive them forth whimpering in abject terror.  Such memories were stirred up by the touch of the whispers, memories he had done much to forget about.

“Hraega’s Hammer, give me the open skies, a foe of blood and bone and room to swing my sword,” Peregrine muttered.  “Is that not too much to ask?  Hark to that sound!  There are words upon that breeze, I would swear to it, and yet I would not know them if I could, for they have a countenance must foul about them.”

“They are not of the Icemen, of that much I am ascertain,” Blade added.  “They are maddeningly familiar and yet utterly alien, all at the same time.  There is another that lurks here, besides the Icemen.  I did not expect this when we embarked upon this endeavour.  How do the Icemen factor into this?  What of the Igliq-Nuuaki, the Heart of Forever?”

Peregrine lashed out at a thick bundle of webs that draped before her with her sword, slashing through them to open up a path.  No sooner had she done so than she came to an abrupt halt.

“You may have your answers afore too long,” she told Blade, for there loomed before them another door, this one not of stone but of some form of black metal that appeared to drink in the light, making it seem darker still than the shadows that had plagued their steps.

Ahead Blade sent the bronzed orb to float, nearer to the door so that they could get a better view of it.  Yet as he did so the light began to flicker and fade, pulsing near to blackness.  Blade parsed his lips and whistled once more, the tune that emerged being one of encouragement, pouring it into the orb so as to strengthen it against whatever affliction sought to drain its light away.  It felt as if some unseen presence battled against him, trying to hinder his actions, to extinguish the orb and plunge them into the benighted dark.

Then, of a sudden, the presence was gone, the walls of resistance shattering before his effort.  The orb flared into startling, dazzling light, drenching them with it, almost blinding in its intensity as raw power flooded into it unchecked as the dam walls broke.  Eyes watering, Blade toned down the light, allowing them to see exactly what they had come upon.

As their eyes adjusted and they were able to see the door anew, some part of them wished that they had not.  It was pitted by great age and marked by corruption.  Rust flowed across its surface like weeping sores or tears of blood.  Yet even that could do nothing to mask the horror imprinted in the iron.  A face leered back at them, a grotesque mockery of all living things, twisted and repellent in form.  From a thin mouth that supported rows of slender, barbed like teeth, a long tongue, much akin to that of a snake, flickered.  Beady eyes, four in number, bore a malicious intent, a hunger that had been captured all too well in the metal.  Where once a hairless dome had existed, it now appeared to have bloody tresses thanks to the rust that crept down the door.  Its very nature and appearance assaulted their souls and being, and they felt soiled just by having viewed it.

Down the centre of the face they could see a slender, wafer thin line, marking where the doors swung open, an act which would split it in twain.

Then once more they beheld the sibilant whispers, seeming to emanate from the door itself.  The words were like fingernails scraping across their ears, assaulting them, for they were words that no human tongue could form or utter, much less understand.  They recoiled at the touch of them and the orb flickered as Blade’s concentration wavered, fighting, as he was, to stave off the blind insanity that threatened to overbear him, to drag him down and leave him a gibbering wreck, his mind broken.

No less strongly did Peregrine feel the blighted touch of the evil and horror that radiated from the door, and yet she reacted in the only way that she knew how, regardless of what faced her, with sudden and unexpected violence.  She let forth a fell shout that gave voice to all of her fears and launched forward at the door.  Her foot came up and a solid kick landed, fair in the centre of the face engraved upon the black iron.

The door shuddered beneath the impact before it slowly swung open, a squeal of protesting metal, and perhaps from other sources, accompanying it.  The voice that whispered came to an abrupt end as the two parts of the door separated, right down the middle of the leering visage.

They were greeted by a light coming in through the now open doors, one of a wan, cold light that had a cerulean tinge to it, contrasting sharply with the bronzed light of Blade’s orb.  Looking on through the doors, they could see a vast chamber open up before the, on the far side of which there was a raised dais.  Vague shapes could be made out on the dais, yet they were too far off to make out properly from where they stood.  Ice clung to all parts of the chamber, coating the floor and walls, and hanging from the pillars that supported the ceiling above.  The pillars may even have been formed of solid ice from all that they could tell.  Across the floor small clusters of mounds sat, frozen together by ice.

The light seemed to emanate from above, casting its pallor across the room, yet of the source they could make out none.  Across the floor a faint mist swirled, tendrils curling around the base of the pillars and the mounds as it quested, lending to the whole chamber a vaguely ethereal quality.

Sword at the ready and crouched in a fighting stance, Peregrine crept her way into the chamber, testing the ground with each step.  Her wary eyes searched one way and then the other, ever alert for danger.

Only the reactions of her lighting reflexes saved her.  From the roof there fell silent death, her only indication of its approach being a flickering shadow cast upon the ground.  She leapt aside on instinct, rolling again to her feet with her sword readied to strike.

Across from her, where she had stood but moments before, there crouched a horror that had taken the form of a spider, one as large as a wild boar.  Of frozen ice it seemed to have been made, with eyes like cold sapphires, gleaming with a cunning intent foreign to mere animals.  Dappled azure and ivory shaded its body, allowing it to blend in with the ice that sheathed the chamber.  The air simmered with cold around it, while it misted from its mouth when it breathed.  As its mouth opened, it revealed wicked fangs.  Cold venom dripped from them, to splash to the ground whereupon it froze solid.

It scurried forward on silent legs towards Peregrine, and in its wake fresh patches of ice blossomed like frozen flowers in bloom.  Once more it leapt, springing without sound from a distance and with such speed that few could have matched it, yet Peregrine was one such, growing up as she had in an environ where such reflexes were a necessity to survive.  As she darted aside to avoid the leap, her sword sung out, describing an arc that glittered like frozen fire in the wan light.  The blow struck home, cleaving through one of the legs of the spider, a blow that caused it to shatter into a dozen fragments.  The end of the leg went flying, to land twitching on the ground, while the spider itself fell clumsily.  It righted itself and span about to once more face Peregrine.  Foul ichor dripped from the severed leg, and where each drop landed upon the ground it steamed and froze.

Peregrine’s breath misted as she turned to face the beast once more.  In its passing it had drawn the heat from the air, leaving behind a chill that stung the flesh and the lungs as she breathed.  Across her sword a frozen film had formed, being the blood of the beast.  The cold of it penetrated even her gloved hand.

Removing her right hand from the hilt to try and shake some life back into it, she called out a warning to Blade as he entered the chamber, stalking warily around to try and come at the spider from the other side.  “It carries the chill of the grave about it.  Do not let it bleed on you.”

Beady eyes watched the duo’s progress, judging them with cruel intent.  Then it leapt again, this time not for either of them but for the wall.  Gripping on, it scuttled away up it.  They watched its ascent up towards the ceiling, and there, in the gloom of the mists and the shadows, they saw pale stars begin to blink into existence, like so many frozen lights.  Eyes, dozens of them in number, marked still more spiders lurking above.  Then the stars began to fall, slowly drifting down towards the floor of the chamber.  Lowering themselves on their frosty webs, the spiders came.

Peregrine flickered her gaze from one spider to the next, judging their approach and threat in an instant at an almost subconscious level.  The creatures came on with cunning patience, giving the pair a moment of grace before they would be swarmed from all sides.

Her eyes went to the ground, to one of the clusters of mounds that lay encased in ice not too far hence from where she stood.  With a long stride she was upon it and hammered at the ice with the hilt of her heavy sword.  Great cracks spread across the ice under the impact of the first blow before they shattered with the next, spilling forth egg sacs, each in size larger than a clenched fist.  From above came a sound like fractured ice grating against itself, a protest from the spiders as Peregrine made an assault upon their brood.

Reaching down for one of the egg sacs, Peregrine ignored the chill that lanced through her gloves into her hand from it.  Taking a deliberate aim, she hurled the egg sac with all her might, sending it hurtling through the air, straight and true.  It tore through the webs upon which one of the spiders descended, snapping it in twain, before smashing into a wall beyond and shattering.  The beast plummeted as its support gave way, spindly eggs flailing at the air as it sought for purchase that was not there.  With a despairing wail like the groaning of glaciers grinding across the landscape, it flung out webs in an attempt to halt its fall, bit too late and to no avail.

Slamming into the ground, it shattered like a vase to which a hammer has been taken, leaving behind a steaming pile of broken body parts and foetid ichor that rapidly froze solid.

The remaining spiders, having observed the fate of their companion, hastened in their descent, dropping at a now startling pace.  They landed on the ground all around Peregrine and Blade, encircling them, eyes agleam.  Peregrine laid a boot into one of the egg sacs lying on the ground, kicking it at one of the circling spiders.  It tore through the creature’s fragile legs on one side, snapping them clean off, leaving the beast to topple to one side, twitching as its remaining legs sought purchase, an attempt that merely saw it turning in circles, trailing freezing blood.  The other spiders reacted to the assault, pressing inwards towards Peregrine and Blade.

The pair closed in to support each other, standing back to back, watching with cautious gaze as the other spiders began to slowly circle around them.  As they walked, spiralling with unhurried speed towards the pair, they spun out frozen webs that glittered as they caught a hold of the pillars and the ground, beginning to build up a wall that would leave Peregrine and Blade trapped within it.

“About now would be a good a time as any if you have any tricks you can use,” Peregrine stated, whipping at the air with her sword to ward away a spider that had crept in too close, sending it skittering away.

“Alas, I am much afeared that anything I could do would be of little use,” Blade responded.  “Fire, mayhap, would be of much benefit in this situation, given that these creatures appear to be of ice, but that I can not conjure up, not without a source first to feed upon, and nor without endangering myself by calling upon things that are best left undisturbed.”

Peregrine replied with a grunt, hefting her sword in hand.  “Fair enough.  Then we shall just have to do this the old fashioned way.”

So saying, she bellowed forth an Aedring warcry, full bloodied and bold, sending the words to ringing through the frozen chamber, a sound unlike any that had been heard in its sepulchre stillness for a long age.  As she did so she launched herself forward at a full run, mindless of the ice beneath her feet.  Egg sacs crunched and shattered under her boots as she ran.  The spider that she charged at scrambled in its haste to get out of her way, but too late, for her sword descended like a thunderbolt from the heavens to cleave its head in twain, sending a spray of brains and gore and ichor splattering across the misty ground.  The spider crumbled, yet the blow had not been without consequences, for, weakened by the blood that had frozen upon it from her earlier strike, the sword shattered in Peregrine’s hand, leaving her with a but a hilt and two hand spans of broken blade remaining.

Kicking aside the slain spider, she took to the webs beyond it with the remnants of her sword, cutting at the frozen strands in an attempt to hack a path clear.  They whipped through the air as they were severed.  Blade took up a stance behind her, covering her actions from the rest of the beasts, his rapier describing swift arcs in the air.  He jabbed at the eyes of the spiders as they crept in, sending them hastily scuttling away.  They hissed in incensed response, sending cold breath rolling his way and he felt ice begin to dust across his cheeks and brow as it washed over him, sucking the air from his lungs.

When at last the final strand had been severed and a path lay open before them, they turned and ran through, headed for the far end of the chamber where stairs lead up to the dais there.  The skittering sound of many feet scurrying across the icy floor followed them as the spiders spread out in an attempt to surround them once more.

As the pair drew closer to the dais, they could at last make out the shapes that were upon it.  At the centre stood a raised table of green stone, and upon it a large stone sarcophagus, this one encrusted with the brilliance of lapis lazuli, all frozen in the ice that piled up over it.  Around it there knelt a dozen bodies in supplication, each with a sword in hand, the points of which rested upon the ground.  Their heads were bowed, foreheads against the pummels of the swords, as if they had been in mid prayer at the moment that death had overtaken them.  They were not Navodians, for each man’s skin was black as the deepest night, men of the mighty and wealthy kingdoms to the far south, beyond even distant Metsheput.  The ice that entombed them also preserved their bodies perfectly, allowing the pair to make out each man’s detail in startling detail.  Tall and powerful, they were noble of countenance, their hair dark, some in braids and others hanging loose.  To a man they were clean shaven.  Their armour, comprised of hauberks of overlapping bronze scales, was reminiscent of the armour of the Metsheputi nobility.

Peregrine bounded up the stairs and onto the dais.  She spun about and flung her broken sword at the boldest of the spiders, the one that had drawn nearest.  The sword span through the air unevenly, producing a dull whistle as it went.  The creature stepped aside and the blade clanged away across the floor, to slide to a halt against an icy pillar.

Turning to the nearest of the frozen warriors, a man with a narrow face beneath the mask of ice, his eyes shut and expression one of peaceful acceptance, she tore free the sword from his grasp.  He remained where he knelt, locked in perpetual prayer and his vigil.

Peregrine banged the sword against the side of the stone table, shattering the ice that clung to it.  Bright silvered the sword that emerged gleamed, unmarred by age or the elements, as if it had been forged but the day before.  Along the blade was graved the spider script of Metsheput.  That, and the flawless balance of the sword, told Peregrine that it had been forged by the hands of the inscrutable sage-smiths of Metsheput, men who were said to forge one perfect blade at the peak of their prowess before retiring to a life of solitary reflection and meditation.

With the sword of a master in her hand, Peregrine turned once more to face the spider, laughing as one taken by a fey mood.  “Come to me!” she roared, holding the sword aloft before her face, “Come to me with your fangs and venom, your webs and wiles.  I fear them not!”

They would never know if the spiders understood the words, or there intent, yet they reacted as if they did.  They scurried forward on hushed tread, across the ice, and started to climb the steps towards the dais.  With a laugh that shook the chamber, Peregrine launched herself at them, leaping high from the top step, hewing downwards at the first of them with the blade she held as she descended.  The sword tore through the bloated body of one of the spiders and it stumbled, then fell, the sound of its pained screech like nails dragged across the ice as its innards spilled forth.  Peregrine landed lightly on her feet and then span, the sword arcing about her, cleaving open the face and head of a second spider.

The other spiders skidded to a halt before drawing back a ways, startled by the ferocity of Peregrine’s reckless assault.  Peregrine laughed once more, steam pouring from her body as the air about her closed in frigid, all warmth drawn from it.  She stabbed downwards at the disembowelled spider, silencing the cacophony it put forth. The deed done, and with a moment of respite, she raised the sword to inspect it.

Despite the blows it had struck, it remained without blemish, still gleaming bright.  Not even the blood of the spiders froze to it, instead dripping from it to fall to the ground, there to steam and freeze once more.

“The swords are no mere steel,” she told Blade in admiration.  “Truly, the sage-smiths were men of wonder, for these hold some power to ward off the blood of the spiders.”

“And yet those who wielded them previous still succumbed to this place.”

“That we can ponder later, but for now we have a fight to end.”

So saying, Peregrine stalked forward once more, to carry the fight to the spiders that milled about in some confusion, uncertain as to what to make of the foe that had entered their icy lair.  Blade sheathed his rapier and gathered for himself one of the swords clutched in the grasp of the frozen warriors.  His preferred weapons were ones of precision, able to perform swift and sure strikes.  These were broadswords, heftier than his norm, more of use for hewing and cleaving and strikes of brute force.  And yet, as he tested it out, it sung in his hands, the weight barely noticeable, such had been the craft that had balanced it.

The spiders had clustered all together in one spot.  Without sound of warning, they surged forward en masse, seeking to swarm over Peregrine with their numbers, to bear her to the ground beneath them.  Her sword crashed down upon one as they closed on her, hewing its head half clear from its body.  A ferocious reverse of the blade cleaved through a second one, lifting it from the ground such was the force of the impact.  The body slid clear of the blade, twitching ever so slightly.  Frozen webs spun out, seeking to entangle her, and these she dodged and ducked, knowing that should but one of them touch her then the spiders would be all over her.  Too many there were though, and as she leapt in the air to jump over a web that lashed for her ankles, another whipped about her legs, hauling her off balance.  As she fought to steady herself, one spider, larger than the rest, crusted with rime and eyes burning with malice, reared up and pounced.  Unable to avoid the impact, she instead braced her body, setting her sword before her.  The spider landed full well upon the blade and it slid home, thrusting clear through its body.  Even in its death throes, as it thrashed and screeched, it bore Peregrine to the ground beneath it.

She landed heavily upon the icy floor, the weight of the slain spider atop her.  Blood oozed from its wounds and dripped upon her.  She bit back a cry with a startled oath as it froze, burning the flesh of her legs where it had pooled, the pain lancing red through her mind like molten daggers.

More webs were spun forth, arcing through the air over her prone body, to drape and freeze in an attempt to encase her, to bind her to the floor.  When no more she could fight and resist, then the other spiders would close in for the final kill.

Then Blade was there, having stealthily made his way down the stairs from the dais while the spiders were occupied with Peregrine, sending his sword flickering among them.  The blade slipped home through the body of one spider, as easily as a knife plunging into water.  A spray of icy blood erupted as the sword came out, almost striking Blade in the process.  The spider collapsed, rolling over, its legs twitching futilely in the air.  Another singing blow sliced clean through three legs of another spider, sending the beast to topple over, unable to bear its weight with but one good leg on one side of its body.  It dragged itself away, training a blood that rapidly froze solid, to lick its wounds in relative safety.

With a path clear to Peregrine, he made his way over to her and began to hack through the webs that had started to twine about her.  As she came clear, he reached down with a hand to grasp her arm and help haul her back up to her feet.  Across her legs he could see the wicked burn marks left behind by the touch of the frozen blood.  The pain from it must have been immense, yet not even that could halt her, and indeed it only seemed to spur her on, the pain providing fuel for the savage rage that erupted.  She roared and flung herself upon the spiders, hacking away with hefty blows and volcanic fury, all the while from her lips spilling warcries and oaths, the air ringing with both them and the impact of her blade.  She had stared death in the face and emerged through the other side, and now death came upon the spiders in the form of an auburn haired juggernaut of vengeance.

As her blade rose and fell in savage butchery, the spiders were drawn remorselessly towards her.  With her Aedring blood aflame and the songs of her ancestors ringing through her mind, she fought with wild abandon, all thoughts of defence cast aside.  The spiders sought to take advantage of that, but her blows were like the strikes of a mongoose, too fast to avoid, striking swiftly and unexpectedly.  When they did at last find an opening, they were soon to find Blade’s sword whispering home with deadly accuracy, to end not just an opportunity but their life as well.  He circled the edge of the fight, part overlooked, for Peregrine stood out, primordial, magnetic in her wrath, besides which he seemed insignificant.

As the twitching bodies began to pile up around them, the surviving spiders took pause and then fled, unable to withstand the onslaught any more.  They scurried for the walls and silently clambered up, back into the chill shadows above, there to hide and brood.

Peregrine stood among the bodies, leaning against the sword she had claimed.  Her chest heaved as she took in deep breaths, while steam rose from her body, the air about freezing.  Blade looked to the orb of bronzed light that hovered low overhead, reduced to a bare spark as his concentration had been focused more upon the battle than on maintaining it.  Bringing it back up to strength, he sent it floating slowly upwards, to probe the shadows above.  The spiders cowered from it as the light washed over them, sending them scurrying into nets of thick webs that clung to the corners of the chamber, there to avoid its gaze.

“What I would not give for a strong bow,” Peregrine said, staring up at the nests above.  “We could end this blight once and for all.”

“I do not feel that they will be worrying us again,” Blade told her, “Not after what they experienced.  How are your legs?”

Peregrine grunted irritably.  “I have had worse.”

Already Blade could see blisters forming from where the cold had burned them, and her skin there stood out red against her tanned legs.  Returning to his pack where he had dropped it at the foot of the steps, he rummaged through it, withdrawing a cloth bundle that had been tied together with twine.  Undoing the twine and opening the bundle revealed a small, flat, red ceramic jar.  Unstoppering the lid exposed a pale green salve inside and released a pungent odour into the air.

“Apply this to the burn,” he instructed her as he passed the jar across.  “It will soothe the pain and hopefully prevent too much in the way of scarring, if we have gotten to it in time.”

Peregrine scooped a dash of the salve out of the jar and began to liberally lather it across the burns of her legs.  As she was doing so, Blade took the opportunity to inspect the sword he had claimed from the frozen warrior on the dais.

“Most interesting,” he murmured softly, running a gloved hand down the blade, over the script engraved upon it.

Even soft spoken as he had been, Peregrine’s sharp hearing caught the words.  “What does it say?” she asked, standing back up and replacing the lid of the jar.

“Hat-She-Anak-Su-Marak.  More or less it translates to The Twelve Who Stand Watch.”

Peregrine responded with a grunt, looking from her sword to the twelve kneeling warriors entombed in ice.  “What is that they watch, I wonder.” Handing the jar of unguent back to Blade, she strode over to the sarcophagus.  Taking a hold of the table, she hauled herself up onto it to look inside the sarcophagus.

On to Chapter Six – The Song of Nakhataway