Chapter Eight Ruhlin #3
“There’s no way out, boy,” the grating voice said.
“Even in your… altered state. A dozen Ventra patrol this wuhltra and the tunnels below are guarded by doors even your other self couldn’t break.
” Something shifted in the shadow, Ruhlin discerning a figure moving closer to the light, accompanied by a waft of air bearing the taint of corruption.
The newcomer’s face was concealed by a hood, though the stench he exuded identified him as the decrepit old man who had argued with Silvahk when he brought Ruhlin to the Vortigurn’s hall.
A thin, mottled hand emerged from the darkness, beckoning.
When Ruhlin didn’t move, the old man spoke again, “Talk to me, or perish. You have no other choices.”
Ruhlin considered simply walking away, but the strangeness of this meeting, and the means by which it had been orchestrated, piqued his interest. Another crack in the chain?
he wondered. Or a something else to bind me here?
Reasoning there was but one way to find out, he moved closer to the arch, halting when the old man’s pungent aroma itched his nostrils.
“Silvahk doesn’t know you’re here, does he?” he enquired. “You bribed the guards to bring me to you.”
“Heh.” The old man’s hood twitched, Ruhlin catching a glimpse of the boil-encrusted paleness of his skin.
“Not stupid. That’s good.” He stepped closer, revealing more of his ravaged features.
The drooping flesh swayed in concert with his cloak as Ruhlin heard him sniff.
The sound put him in mind of a rat inspecting a fish scrap in the harbour back home.
“You have met one of them, haven’t you?” the old man asked. “I can smell it on you.”
“One of them?”
A harsh, sibilant grunt. “Don’t play games with me, boy.
I don’t like it. And my displeasure can be a dangerous thing indeed.
” He paused to sniff again. “You have ventured close to a veil. It leaves a mark, a blemish upon the soul, you might say. Where is it? What did you meet there? And, more importantly, how did you survive?”
The old man’s eyes gleamed bright in the recesses of his hood, the only aspect of his appearance absent of decrepitude.
Ruhlin saw a great hunger there, need coupled with jealous desire.
Once again, he was tempted to just leave.
He could even tell Silvahk of this meeting.
His reaction would, at the very least, be interesting.
“Tell me!” The ancient, raddled features loomed closer, the stale gust of this creature’s breath adding another stain to the air.
When Ruhlin continued to regard him in silent refusal, the face retreated, Ruhlin hearing resentful concession in the words it uttered next.
“It will be to your advantage, if you truly wish to escape this place.”
“I have only your word for that,” Ruhlin said.
The hood swayed again as its wearer let out a guttural gasp that might have been a laugh. “Are you so replete in allies, boy, that you can afford to refuse one now?”
Ruhlin allowed a full minute or more to pass before he replied.
Every instinct warned against trusting this man, if man he was.
Yet, what did it cost him to relate his experience among the Morvek?
“There was a place,” he said. “It sat within the great forest the Morvek call the Teyracha. The clan elders called it the Vikra-sah, the Hollow Path.”
“Was?” The gleaming eyes loomed into the light once more. “It is no more?”
“I burned it to ash, along with the creature that dwelt there.”
“You vanquished it. How?”
“You want knowledge from me, share yours. Does the Vortigurn know you’re here? You’re keen that Silvahk not know about this meeting. Why?”
Another wet gasp, this one more an expression of annoyance. “Ever the way with you children. A brush with the arcane and you think you can match wits with me, one who was old when no Ascarl had ever set foot upon this land.”
“I have seen the old and the powerful perish just as easily as the young. You don’t scare me, old man. Tell me, what does the Vortigurn want of me? He must know I would rather die than ally myself with his conquest.”
“What a child you are, to comprehend so little. You think mere conquest is all he wants? No, he wants to put a crack in this world…”
The old man fell silent as a faint echo sounded through the vast structure.
Looking around, Ruhlin saw nothing. However, even this slight disturbance had alarmed his odorous companion enough to force him back into the shadows.
Ruhlin thought he might have fled until his harsh rasp came again: “We will talk again, boy. And have no thought of keeping anything from me.” Something flickered in the gloom, Ruhlin jerking in alarm as a small, shiny item impacted his chest. He stepped back from it as it fell to the flagstones.
Closer inspection revealed it as harmless, just a small silver knot attached to a short length of cord.
“Wear this close to your skin when you sleep,” the old man rasped.
“Why would I do that?”
“Because you want to escape, don’t you?”
“Wait!” Ruhlin said, hearing a faint scuff of shoe leather. “I require your name. You know mine. And I know the Vortigurn’s: Velgard, the Exiled King of ancient fable. So, if we’re to be allies, I’ll know which fable you hail from.”
Silence, unbroken by footsteps, then a soft, fading mutter: “Call me Moyirn.”