Chapter Nineteen #2
She then gave them directions, and they learned that the residence lay a day’s journey away from the Observatory, on the island’s western shore. As they made to leave, the astronomer addressed Alenia directly.
“We know who you are, sister of our queen.”
Alenia leaned away with sudden wariness. “How do you know that?”
“The season of your destiny is upon you,” the astronomer said.
Alenia paled. “My destiny?”
“Yes. But I see that you are prepared for what is to come.”
“Prepared?” Alenia’s apparent suspicion turned to open hostility and anger. “How could I possibly be prepared? I don’t even know what—”
Donan took her hand. He did so without thinking.
He knew only that despite Alenia’s outward anger, he could sense her fear, and he wanted to reassure her.
She looked down at his hand, but he held on to hers with a gentle grip.
Her weathered and calloused fingers reminded him of his mother’s.
“Come,” he said. “She has no answers for you.”
She allowed him to lead her from the tower, back outside and away from the Observatory. As they departed, he let go of her hand and glanced back. The astronomer stood in the doorway, her face etched with confusion and worry.
“I hate them,” Alenia said. “Seers. Astronomers. I hate them all.”
Donan said nothing, thinking it better to give her space as they traveled southward across the island’s forlorn landscape.
Eventually, they passed through the outskirts of the empty city, down streets lined with fallen buildings.
In that place the echoes of their footsteps somehow sounded louder, and though all signs suggested they were alone, Donan feared their presence would draw the attention of…
something. They hurried through as quickly as they could, and Donan kept an eye on the road behind them to make sure they had not been followed.
They made no fire that evening, huddling close together for warmth in the crook of a rock cleft, far off the trackway and out of sight.
Donan fell asleep easily, but he was awakened later in the night by Alenia trembling next to him.
At first, he thought she was shivering from the cold, but then he realized she was awake, and she was crying.
Later the next morning, they arrived at the location where the astronomer had directed them, but they discovered it was little more than a whitewashed stone hut squatting on a grassy bluff overlooking the sea.
Skartara raged to the west like a winged demon sitting on the horizon, the faint glow of its inner fire now visible near the crater at its summit, while ribbons of molten rock curled down across its livid face.
It made sense the Horadrim would dwell here, in sight of the island where their vault lay hidden.
Donan knew the hut would be empty, just as the fortress on Philios had been, but he also suspected it held more secrets.
He went searching around its foundations until he found an inconspicuous door to a root cellar.
It had no lock, and he lifted it open, releasing the smell of loam and decaying potatoes.
“Do you still have your torch?” he asked.
Alenia pulled it from her pack and struck a flint to light it.
They descended a steep set of steps more ladder than staircase and found a single chamber at the bottom.
The shelves still held a few jars of preserved fruit and pickled vegetables and a few sacks of rancid barley.
Shriveled and blackened potatoes lay in a corner heap.
Donan walked slowly around the room, studying every inch of all four walls with methodical care until he found the hidden latch he was searching for.
When he pulled it, a secret door popped out with a hiss and a squeal of rusted hinges as a section of shelving opened, revealing a passageway.
Donan took the torch to go through the door first, and they followed the tunnel, which seemed to have lain undisturbed since Sho-Ren and her expedition had been there years before.
The narrow corridor eventually led them to the entrance of a ritual chamber, where a pair of mammoth stone doors barred the way forward.
Sigils and symbols covered the portal in a complex pattern of interlocking circles, producing layers of magical protection.
No one without the proper Horadric spell-keys would be able to gain entrance, and they would likely find the experience of failure extremely unpleasant.
“This may require some time,” he said, taking a seat on the floor before the doors. Then he began working through the proper sequence, unlocking each layer in turn, attaining an almost trancelike state before the final seal broke and the doors yawned open.
“I almost feel as if I don’t belong here,” Alenia said.
“I suspect the Horadrim who built this place would probably agree with you.” Donan gave her a smile. “But I don’t. Come.”
When they entered the chamber, glass orb lanterns ignited, glowing with a gaseous light, suspended from chains like fishing floats in netting.
The first room held tables and workbenches against its walls bearing alembics, other alchemical equipment, and tools for occult craftsmanship.
Subsequent chambers contained cabinets, reliquaries, and shelves, all of which held a small quantity of curious objects, but nothing that struck Donan as being particularly unique or powerful.
He also saw nothing to indicate what had happened to Sho-Ren and the expedition.
“This is incredible,” Alenia said. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Hmm,” Donan replied.
“You seem disappointed.”
He sighed. “I still have unanswered questions.”
“Such as?”
“What happened to them?”
“Let’s keep looking,” she said. “Maybe you’ll find another sign or clue.”
One of the bookshelves did contain a decent collection of volumes, and Donan decided to examine them more closely.
Some were chronicle texts, including a brief account of the Mage Clan Wars and others on the history of Skovos.
There were books of magic spells and rituals, a copy of Gerhard’s herbal compendium, and a few collections of potion recipes, none of which were especially rare.
Altogether, a lackluster library for a Horadric workshop.
But then Donan noticed a book of Xiansai lore, and he pulled it off the shelf, thinking perhaps it had been put there by Sho-Ren.
As he flipped through its pages, a sheaf of paper fell out, and when he bent to pick it up, he saw that it contained a cipher, apparently based on an ancient Xian language unfamiliar to him.
A thrill raced up the back of his neck, and in the next moment, he pulled out the journal he had bought in Kingsport and hurried to one of the desks.
“Did you find something?” Alenia asked as she eased into one of the chairs.
Donan noticed she winced, and once she was settled, she began rubbing her knees. “Are you okay?” he asked.
She shrugged. “I’m not a young woman anymore. All this island hopping is catching up to me, I think.”
Donan scanned the nearby shelves for anything that might be of help to her, and he found an amulet of healing. A common but effective magical relic that should work as well on swollen joints as it did on battle injuries. “Here, put this on.”
She looked at it skeptically as she accepted it, but she put it on, and Donan watched her for a few moments.
“Better?” he asked.
She cocked her head, then gave a nod with a spreading grin. “Yes, I do believe that helped. Thank you, lad.”
“You’re welcome,” he said, and then returned his attention to the journal.
It was not a complicated code in the end, merely a highly obscure one, but with the proper key to its decryption, he was soon translating passages of the journal.
The record belonged to Sho-Ren herself and began at the inception of her expedition to Skovos, detailing the assignment Tyrael had given to her, just as he had described it.
There would be time later to make a study of their journey’s beginning, but in this moment, Donan felt a more urgent curiosity about the end of their mission and how the book had quite improbably come to wash up on the southern shore of Westmarch.
He skipped to the last few entries and began to translate them.
Anders has returned. He was unsuccessful in retrieving the scepter.
That is most disappointing, but I’m more troubled by his suspicion that he was being followed.
He can’t say who it was, but he was worried enough to spend a few days in the wilds on Lycander just to lose his pursuers, so as not to lead them back here.
I’m very grateful for his precaution. I’m glad I followed my instincts when we first arrived and the Amazons remain unaware of who we truly are.
The astronomers know we are Horadrim, but I’m confident they can be trusted.
Still, we must be more careful going forward.
A titan—created by the Firstborn—has been released.
I can’t believe I am writing these words.
I can’t believe anyone would be foolish or desperate enough to do such a thing, but Anders saw the empty cell with his own eyes during another attempt to recover the scepter.
I had deep reservations letting him go, but our desperation outweighed the risks—unfortunately, he returned empty-handed.
I can only hope he’s wrong about the titan, but I have a hard time doubting it.
He’s levelheaded, not given to panic. The situation here is becoming untenable.
I wish I had Tyrael’s counsel to guide me.
We are being watched. We still don’t know who is spying on us, but I suspect someone in the palace may be involved.
I doubt our adversaries are simple bandits or smugglers.
That’s why I have made the decision to depart from Skovos.
I fear our continued presence will only draw attention to the vault, and the relics contained within it are simply too powerful to risk them falling into the hands of someone like Captain Myrina.
It grieves me to leave Skovos, but I cannot see another way.
The titan is pursuing us. We hear it everywhere.
It shakes the timbers of our ship. We’re close to Kingsport, but I’m not sure we can make it.
I only hope that if the monster sinks us, the few relics we carry will be safe at the bottom of the sea.
I don’t know if anyone will ever read this account, or if they’ll be able to decipher it.
I’ve placed a charm on it to guide it toward friendly hands.
That is all I can do. So, if you are reading this, I trust in your good intentions and would ask that if you should ever encounter a man wearing angelic armor, give him this book.
Beyond that, I will say only this: Avoid Skovos.
A Firstborn monster swims in its waters.
Danger and corruption fester in its courts.
Stay away from those islands until the Askari have recovered their virtues.
Donan closed the journal and sat back in the chair, saddened and bewildered.
It seemed clear to him that Sho-Ren and the remaining Horadrim had drowned at sea, shipwrecked by a beast she referred to as a titan, likely the same beast he and the others had encountered during their own crossing.
He could now guess why Horadric relics had been washing up at Kingsport for the Harbormaster to acquire.
But the journal had also posed many questions that it left unanswered.
Donan thought perhaps the earlier entries would provide more information, but they would take time to translate.
For now, he thought it best to return to Tyrael on Temis and convey this information.
When he looked up from the book, he found he was alone in the chamber. He called out to Alenia but received no reply. Assuming she must have left the workshop to get some fresh air, he made his way back down the passage and out of the cellar.
A company of Askarra Guard waited for him in the blinding daylight.
As soon as his head emerged from the ground, a dozen of them drew their bows, aimed at him.
Two of the warriors held Alenia. Bound and gagged, she looked at him with bulging eyes, her face flushed with desperate fear.
The leader of the Amazon troop stepped forward, sword drawn.
“You are under arrest, Horadrim.”