The path twisted and turned seemingly at random up into the black stone of the spire, the trail ominously narrow and in places barely wide enough to allow passage. Up and up Vorador pressed, continuing on determinedly but keeping his large ears pricked up and forward. He would not be taken by surprise again.
As he rose up through the crags of the spire the environment around him seemed to change yet again. It grew lighter, as if dawn were encroaching on night, hastened by every step he took. The threatening forest surrounding the spire had been drenched in shadow, but the heights of this black spire had its own rules and here, light prevailed.
Several hundred feet up from the grove’s floor, perhaps halfway up the spire’s length, he came across a small entrance. It was a narrow crack in the face of a massive black rock, its edges encrusted with strange oyster-like plant life. Vorador took a long moment to consider the opening and then plunged in without any more hesitation. The tunnel was not very long but it curved back and forth so often that it would have been easy for the less observant to get lost. When the tunnel finally came to an end the Vampire stepped out into a strange cavern, a large cave with an open hole in the ceiling. A shaft of sunlight lanced down from that opening onto the direct centre of the cave where sprawling out across the floor was a carpet of lush green. There were plants of all kinds; shrubs, trees, long grasses, exotic flowers from some unheard of land. Fireflies and other bright insects, the first animal life he had seen so far in this sub-realm conjured by some magic of the Circle. The walls were covered in simple drawings, like those painted on the wall of some primitive Human’s cavern dwelling, depicting many scenes of animals which had long ago become extinct, mostly hidden by a thick mixture of creeper vines and moss.
This grotto somehow seemed more real than the strange world he had traversed to get here, its outlines and colours more normal and defined. It was here that the strange powers of the grove were most acutely concentred. He could not see them for they remained as invisible as ever, but the centre of power was so close he could sense it now, almost strong enough to vibrate his bones.
In the centre of all this greenery was a stone ruin; a set of primitive, squared off standing stones set in a tight ring. It was from here that the power of this entire place seemed to emanate, from a strange circular pool of water in the middle of the ruins. The water was icy calm, perfectly still like a pane of glass or a mirror, but the ripples of power coming from it were even stronger.
Sitting on top of one such stone, facing him as he entered, was the Druid. Bane’s face was drawn down into a frown of intense irritation, his bearded face drooping and eyes fixed on the Vampire. He sat cross-legged with his staff across his lap, both hands resting upon it. At a moment’s notice he could bring the staff up to be used. But he had been chased to the very heart of his private domain now. There was nowhere left to run.
Vorador paused and stood there, staring right back at him with a purposely blank expression. He kept his hands by his sides and did not even attempt to position them so as to make it easier to draw Marrow or the axes. He was not expecting violence this time. The Druid glowered and then leaned back.
“You’re tenacious, Vampire; I’ll give you that.” He said with frustration, the fingers on his left hand drumming on the length of his staff. “You must be desperate if you pushed in this far.” Vorador just shrugged in response.
“I have goals to achieve, the same as everyone else.” He replied. The Druid seemed almost enraged by the casual answer. He slapped one hand down on his knee.
“Why can’t you just leave me alone?!” He demanded and gestured wildly with one hand. “Go find the Lost City some other way!” Vorador almost rolled his eyes at that but stopped himself before he could make such an unguarded gesture and took a few steps forward.
“Believe me, if I had a viable alternative I would pursue it with pleasure.” He said, keeping his own annoyance out of his tone. “But you are the only lead I have.” Then he smiled somewhat ironically. “And besides, you owe me.”
Bane blinked.
“I, what?” He asked incredulously, raising one of his large, shaggy eyebrows. The Vampire raised a hand and gestured at him negligently.
“Had it not been for my murder of the previous Guardian of the Pillar of Nature, you would not have been chosen as his successor.” He reminded the Druid sardonically, raising a talon. “You owe not only your position but your life to my actions.” Bane’s expression turned comically quizzical as he tried to follow that thread of logic.
“What a perverse view to history.” He remarked with a shake of his head. He kept his eyes on the Vampire and was silent for another long moment. Vorador read frustrated anger in his eyes but then a sort of weary resignation seemed to join it and the man’s shoulders slumped.
“Very well, since clearly my research is not going to be kept secret and if it will get you to leave me alone then what do you want to know?” He demanded bluntly in an exasperated tone of voice, his dear headdress tipped forward so his eyes were hidden. Vorador came further forward, right up to the edge of the circle of stones.
“Where is the Lost City?” He asked.
“Somewhere.” The Druid replied. The Vampire’s expression darkened considerably.
“That’s not helpful.” He kept his tone deliberately neutral.
“It’s not meant to be.” Bane lifted his staff from his lap and holding it in one hand, he pointed it down towards the pool at the centre of ruins. The pearl at its end emitted its faint aurora-like glow and in response, the pool began to gently stir. As the waters awakened, so did the powers latent in this strange place almost in the same manner.
Slowly an image began to form in the water and looking down, Vorador realised it to be a map of the world. He recognised it from that other map he had glimpsed once in the caverns beneath Nupraptor’s Keep. Strangely, even this summoned map conjured by magic was inferior to the one in the caves.
“I do not actually know where on Nosgoth the city is located, or even if it is located on Nosgoth at all.” Bane was saying and across the map showed places that faintly emitted a pale red light, which Vorador assumed were the locations Bane had already searched. Most of the mountains and forests of Nosgoth itself had been marked this way. “For all I know the city was built on the moon.” The Druid added, glaring down at the map with some contempt. He shook his head. “But knowing where the City is would do you no good.”
Vorador looked up at him sharply, a quizzical expression on his face. Bane grunted and flicked his staff down. Immediately the sluggish turning of the pool’s water stopped and was calm once more.
“A vile enchantment surrounds the place, denying physical passage to any but its creators.” Bane continued grimly. “Such a barrier prevents me from pinpointing its location and entering it even if I could.”
Vorador considered this intelligence with a frown causing his face to crease. If this was indeed true, then no wonder none had ever located the Lost City. But this also meant that his quest was fruitless, for what good was finding the city if he could not enter it? There had to be some way to get in he reasoned, or Bane himself would not be so interested in this strange place either.
“Then how can one enter?” He asked intently. Bane considered him for a moment, perhaps rethinking his decision to elaborate on what he knew about the city. Vorador fixed him with a pointed stare, silently reminding him that if he did not disclose what he knew then the Vampire would just keep coming until he did. The Druid grunted in response and looked away.
“There is a series of arcane gateways scattered throughout Nosgoth, hidden away in various remote and isolated locations.” He finally began. “These gates circumnavigate the barrier.” Then he looked down at the Vampire before him. “Such gateways were commonly employed by your ancestors, so I am sure you are familiar with the technique.” Vorador only nodded once in response. “But this particular set is unique and the only way for anyone, other than its builders, to set foot in the Lost City.”
A gate to cross this supposed barrier would indeed be useful, Vorador thought to himself looking down at the pool before him contemplatively. But when Bane added; “I even know where one such gate is located.” His expression turned sour once more. He knew his luck well enough to know that such a thing was too convenient. Grimly he turned his head up to face the Druid once again.
“I am sensing, as the Humans would say, a fly in the ointment.” He said. Bane’s face creased and he titled his head to one side.
“What an odd phrase.” He remarked in thoughtful consideration. “But apt nonetheless.” He uncrossed his legs and let one of them hang over the edge of the stone, raising his staff upright with one hand and resting it against his perch. “The gates are all blocked from the other side.” The Guardian continued and his tone turned characteristically sour. “The Lost City has been occupied by the black Werewolves of Romulus.”
Both of Vorador’s ears twitched at that name and his eyes narrowed speculatively. Suddenly he recalled his earlier conversation and some of the references that white alpha male in his anger had made which had not made sense.
“Remus’ brother?” He asked.
“Yes, I see you had a little talk with my savage friend.” Bane replied but without any amusement in his voice, still cantankerously sour. “And he is not the only one quite bitter about that.” He took a moment to collect himself, running a hand down through his beard to crush it down. “The two brothers came across the Lost City together, through such a gate.” He said. “Remus assumed they would share in their good fortune, but it would seem that Romulus was not the sharing type.”
Vorador compared this to what Remus had told him. He had referred to his brother wanting to keep ‘Wyrmheim’ to himself. The name Wyrmheim linguistically referred to a den or home of snakes but if this was indeed the Lost City, just what did the use of such a name say about its creators and original inhabitants?
“Somehow Romulus has prevented any outside gate from opening into the city.” Bane was still saying. “I can only assume the means to do so are within the city itself.” Vorador paused in his contemplation and frowned.
“And so Remus believes you can help him breech those gates?” He asked rhetorically, already sure he was right. Bane did not answer but the sour lines that tightened were all the confirmation that the Vampire required. “What do you get out of this cosy arrangement?” He asked.
“I have my own reasons for wanting to enter that place.” Bane snapped. The Guardian stood up to his full height, his form etched in shadow by the glow of the pearl in his staff. “The origin of the taint of Mankind is there. I want to know its secrets.” His tone was adamant but Vorador suspected instantly that there was more to his desire than such simple curiosity.
“And what taint is this?” He quickly asked, pressing the issue. Bane twitched and pressed his lips together as if reluctant to continue, but that didn’t last. He finally shrugged with a grunt of albeit reluctant acceptance.
“As the Guardian of Nature, it is my duty to know when things are perverted from the true course of the macrocosm.” The Druid began in a subdued tone of voice, sounding strangely resonant. “And Mankind itself screams of such a perversion.” He kept his voice low as if he were afraid he might be overheard by someone. Vorador raised an eyebrow at this remark. He remembered what he had discovered Bane doing at the standing stones on the outskirts of his grove, peering into the vapours emanating from a sample of his own blood for some telltale trace. “Something was done to our species a long time ago, diverting us from what we were intended to be into what we are now. A terrible perversion.”
Vorador’s eyebrows raised even higher at such sentiments, that Bane would think that the current state of his species was somehow wrong or corrupt. He had come across similar sentiments in the religious from time to time, lamenting that Mankind was not perfect in every way and therefore needed ‘saving’.
“And if my hunch is correct, the same was done for your ‘ancestors’.” Bane added, giving Vorador another dose of surprising information.
Something about this seemed to fit together with the murals he had seen in the caverns where he had obtained the ability to turn into a serpent, where representations of all three races of Human, Hylden, and Vampire had been lorded over by some other creature. This seemed to be more confirmation that the builders of the Lost City had created those ruins as well. The puzzle was slowly coming together but the final picture was still not clear. This explained why and how Remus and Bane cooperated with each other, but not why the white Werewolves had sought out and killed most of the invading army’s royal family. But by now, Vorador was beginning to form his own opinion on that. He did not know enough yet to be sure, but it was becoming more and more likely that what he half suspected was the bleak truth.
“It would seem everyone wants to get to the Lost City for whatever reason they have.” He mused as if to himself, looking down at the pool again. He had known from the start that the Seer had omitted many important details when she had sent him on this quest, but the Lost City’s true importance seemed even greater than he had imagined. Still, what did that matter so long as the Seer fulfilled her promise and restored Umah to him?
“Apparently so.” Bane muttered bitterly and then fixed the Vampire with a stern glare. “Well now, I have told you all there is to know about that place.” He said and waved his free hand dismissively in the direction of the exit. “So kindly, be gone.” Vorador paused there as an idea came into his mind. He had no other leads aside from Bane and nowhere else to go to find them, given what he had told him. If he wanted to progress and find a way into the Lost City he would need to improvise something.
“Do not be so hasty.” He said, looking up at the Human with a purposely sly smile crossing his face, showing his fangs. “Perhaps, Druid, you might be willing to make a similar deal with me?” Bane stared down at him with wide eyes at the suggestion. Vorador continued. “I will help you get to the Lost City as long as I am allowed to go there without restraint as well.” It was a gamble to make the offer but he was out of options. Only Bane knew where to find such gates that would allow access and he was possibly the only one to make to them work.
“Remus wishes to go there to destroy his brother.” Bane mused grimly. “I wish to go there to unearth the mystery of a lifetime.” He fixed Vorador with a stern, suspicious glare. “What possible reason do you have for such a journey?” The Vampire’s returning look was steady.
“Family.” He replied simply. Bane grunted, sounding very much like a warthog and leaned on his staff with a disgusted expression.
“Cryptic.” He muttered. “But I would expect nothing less from your kind.” For a long moment he was silent with a reluctant expression. Apparently he was still hesitant to bring someone in on his work that he did not trust, but Vorador knew the Druid was at much of a dead end as himself. Without more aid themselves, neither Bane nor Remus would be able to enter the city. The Druid himself seemed to perceive as much and with distaste he nodded once.
“Very well, then.” He decided. “As long as what you say is truly all you desire.” The Druid did not bother hiding the suspiciousness in his voice as he eyed the Vampiric intruder to his realm.
“And so long as what you say is all you want.” Vorador replied, throwing his own suspicions back in his teeth. The two of them looked at each other in mutual suspicion but both aware of the need for one another’s aid. Bane grunted and broke eye contract.
“The gateway I discovered is hidden inside a large cave, just to the north to the Dogma city of Zwergstadar.” He said. “To make it open from this end I intend to channel energy from the full moon, as such power is the most adaptable for the purpose.” Vorador twitched. While he had no knowledge of the particulars of such a procedure he did intimate knowledge of a substance that performed the same function. As such he was expecting it when Bane carried on; “But to focus such energy I require a small amount of a rare mineral.”
“Eclipse-ka.” Vorador said flatly. The Druid blinked in surprise.
“Then you know of it?” He asked.
“I am familiar with the metal.” The Vampire replied, remembering the weapon wielded by Enlil, the newly appointed leader of the Hylden House of War. The spear, the Gáe Bolga, she had employed had been composed of Eclipse-ka and it had made the young Hylden a formidable opponent in the duel on the Forum floor.
“It is very scarce.” Bane said. “I have been looking desperately for enough to achieve the energy connection necessary to open the gate.” Vorador knew that of course. The metal itself was a native resource of the Demon Realm and was present in Nosgoth only because Hylden, before and during the ancient war, had transported some quantity of it to this world. “There were once artefacts carved from the substance.” The Druid carried on, watching the Vampire intently. “But they were confiscated by the extinct Sarafan Order during their crusades. I have searched but have yet to find even one.”
“And I suppose if I find one of these artefacts, then you can open the gateway to the Lost City?” Vorador asked in a resigned tone of voice.
“That’s my offer, Vampire.” Bane confirmed cantankerously. “You want to be part of our arrangement, those are the terms.” Left with that ultimatum Vorador was left with no other alternative.
“So be it, then.” He remarked. Bane nodded once and then held up his staff. The pearl at its end began to emit its glow and the powers latent in the chamber began to respond. The pool in the centre of the stone trembled, a shockwave of ripples spreading out from its epicentre. Then the water peeled back and an opening came into being, a dark hole with walls of mist similar to the tunnel which had brought him to this strange location Bane chose to call home. This was clear enough, a dismissal and in his own way, Bane’s polite and final request for him to leave.
“When you have one of the artefacts, journey to the cave north of Zwergstadar.” The Druid told him, still holding the staff out with one hand. “We will be waiting for you there.”
“How courteous.” Vorador remarked flatly and stepped into the opening.
-0-
“So my quest took another bizarre turn. Now I was to hunt down an obscure relic made from an even more obscure metal. If nothing else this journey was teaching me to be more tolerant of Raziel’s apparently random fluttering.”
-0-
Leaving Bane’s domain did not take as long as it had to enter. The tunnel around him swirled like water flowing down a drain, carrying him with it. In the space of a few breaths, the Vampire found himself standing on the edge of a cliff staring out over a sea filled with small icebergs. A cold wind blew off of the sea and ruffled his clothes. He was back on Remus’ island, in the real world. He could hear the sound of the water breaking on the rocks below and even the distant howls and growls of the Werewolves as they continued to search for the intruder which had spilt so much blood.
He took a few moments to breathe in the air to reacquaint himself with reality after being submerged in that queer place. But he did not have time to waste. He had a very real method to enter the Lost City now. All he had to do was to find the key that opened the door.
-0-
“But how was I to find such a relic if Bane had been searching without success? I needed help; someone with connections to provide information.”
-0-
Brought out of his calm reflection by that thought, he frowned deeply and turned to look off at the horizon. The sun was beginning to rise to his left which told him where to find the east.
-0-
“There was only one such person I knew of in this time. I would need to speak with that young upstart, William.”
-0-
It was logical. William was now a king and would have many sources of information, especially as he waged his campaign to conquer the East. If there was such a relic here or anywhere in Nosgoth, he would know or at least would have the means of finding out. The idea, however, of going to William for this information left a sour taste in his mouth. The young monarch’s cavalier attitude grated on his nerves, and he disliked having contact with Humans to begin with.
Still, what choice did he have? It was not as if he could approach any other monarch without the certainty of being riddled with arrows, much less be allowed to speak. William was the only Human ruler with whom he was on speaking terms in any era. He had no way of finding these relics without William. But he was closer now and had taken a great step forward. He had to keep up momentum.
Quickly he got out the map that William had given to him back in the mountain pass. He had last seen his army marching east after he had conquered Weirstein. His plan, according to what Vorador had overheard, had been to circle east through the swamps to come at this region’s capital city by surprise. Two towns lay in that direction; marked down as Festuverborg to the direct east and Vatnormur to the southeast. William’s plan was to avoid major conflict until he could quickly march on the capital at Zwergstadar. He would have marched through the central mountain range by now and come down onto the plain on the far side. Running up to the southern foothills of those mountains and north of the swampland was a large stretch of water, ominously noted by the map as the Lake of Fallen Bones.
An army on the march would be limited by the speed of their supply wagons, so it was probably safe to assume that William had gotten no farther than the lake by now and was preparing to venture into the swamps. He would have to catch him there.
Putting the map away, Vorador took to the air. Within a moment he forced his body into the most familiar shape of the raven, wings snapping out wide as he dived forward off the cliff. Caught in a powerful updraft from the sea he soared high, leaving the island behind. Within moments Remus’ lair and the domain and home of his pack was behind him, a white smudge amidst a lake of drifting blue ice.
He flew high, soaring on the winds and using their flow to carry him away from the sea and back over to the mainland. As the sun rose higher in the sky Vorador pressed on. By the time he left the coastline far behind the sun was high at late morning but he continued on without pause, flying towards the rising smudge of darkness on the horizon that was the mountains. They were not as a high range as compared to those to the west, but tall enough to have a permanent snow cap atop them.
Flying on, he saw that the signs of the passage of a large number of men were more than evident. As William’s army had passed they had churned up the snow into slushy mud, a thick trail leading southeast into the foothills. Vorador followed the trail on the wing, watching as it ascended into the mountain passes.
Here Vorador had to descend, flying lower to avoid being buffeted around by the erratic winds that always encircled mountain ranges. The trail led on through several tight ravines and gorges. There was little mud and snow here to churn to make a definite sign of passage, but there were discarded items here and there; a torn leather scabbard, a broken horseshoe, and large piles of manure both Human and horse. All told of the coming of many Men and animals within the early hours of this morning.
The ravines came to an end and the trail led around the central peak of the mountains and then directly south through a small highland and then down some steep hills.
The second of this region’s massive lakes lay before him, far larger a body of water than the Spirit Lake to the west. The Lake of Fallen Bones was fed by many rivers and streams that came down off the mountains and ran many miles to the south, where it turned into a wide river and its massive delta formed the vast Fens.
To the south, almost within the Fens themselves, was William’s army. The force was clearly visible, backed up to the very edge of the swampland. They had formed up into a tight defensive circle, swordsmen out in front with their shields raised. The cavalry were behind, encircling the middle where the royal banners waved.
They had good reason for such a defence. Surrounding them on nearly all sides was a massive, seething pack of black Werewolves. William’s army had clearly been ambushed.