Chapter 5 - The Ruins in the Air
Swords-Sergeant Grevin called down to the ground below as he let his rope uncoil from the thick limb it was attached to. The black-haired, rust-winged soldier stood, taking the chance to survey his surroundings. Grevin couldn't see inside the massive stonework from his position, though he knew his Pike-Marshal, Rynsor, had a better view from his crumbled corner. He grumbled to himself; he'd have to wait until the rest of the scouting party came up to see inside.
The rope finally started quivering, signaling another scout climbing the ancient tree. After checking the rope to ensure it was firmly secured, Grevin crouched down against the wall. He began figuring in his head: for the ruins to be lifted off the ground by the trees, then... jera! That would mean this was built while they were just saplings, or even before. These trees could not be less than two thousand years old. How ancient were the ruins, then? He was rather shocked, too, that the ruins had not simply crumbled to the ground. The foundation had long since fallen through to the forest floor, but the walls, and some of the flooring, had remained suspended. The trees seemed to have grown around portions of the walls over the ages, trapping them forever in solid wood.
But even with all that could have caused this, there were other problems he could not lay a finger on. How had the walls survived the blasted rains for so long? Surely it would have eventually eaten away every stone long before the trees claimed it. But the remaining stone seemed untouched by the constant moisture. Grevin suspected it could weather even the wildest tempests from the Orthean Seas without so much as a crack forming. His back was not even wet from laying against the wall, he realized, and as he looked more closely at the wall, he realized what had caught him as odd from the start, yet still managed to escape notice. Rain fell onto the surface of the ruins, but, as it touched the stone, it seemed to... slip was the only word he could think of. Instead of running along the cracks and grooves in the stonework, the water slid smoothly down the side, dripping off at the bottom. Something stronger was at work here. Could it be the Black Magicks at work, or was this some Harmonist trick?
"Fascinating, isn't it, Sergeant?"
Grevin turned his head quickly in surprise, and gave a slight yelp when he realized Lance-General Darte himself had climbed up the rope, and was now staring at the ruins as well. He had to put out a leg quickly to catch himself from tumbling off the limb. "Y-yes, Sir," Grevin stammered, "v-very much so. My apologies, General." He shut his mouth: he was nervous, and that stammering of his always led to trouble when he was nervous. Darte simply looked slightly bemused, waving away the Sergeant's reply casually. "Oh, don't concern yourself, Sergeant. I don't expect you to salute me up here: it's a bit precarious for that, don't you think? Now, let's see what we have to work with."
Grevin stood to grip the nearest limb as Darte moved alongside him to feel the wall. "It's just the same, Sir; I can still feel the wall, but the water just slides right off. I think I can still grip it, though..." Darte nodded slowly in agreement, still probing the rough stone. Grevin simply stood silently. Whatever the General had in mind, he had no more information to offer. At last, Darte turned to face him. "Swords-Sergeant, do you think you could make it over this if I hoisted you up? It's a bit of a climb, but higher up, there seems to be more footholds and cracks." Grevin looked up, and bit his tongue in exasperation. Why hadn't he looked at that before? "I think so, General. I made it up here, after all." Darte grinned, crouching down on the limb to let Grevin onto his shoulders. "So you did, Sergeant. Up you go, now!"
Inside, the ruins were little better than outside. Floors crumbled with every other step, small pieces of stone falling to the distant underbrush, and clattering down the hillside. Doorways opened to empty space where entire rooms had collapsed. Yet there were still some rooms that were practically intact: one even held a scarcely recognizable weaponry rack, obviously not shielded from time's grinding as the rest of the ruins were. Darte tasked Grevin to search on the lower floor; he had a head on his shoulders, and he could most certainly climb. Little chance of him falling from an unexpected crack.
Darte himself scanned one of the central layers. It was slower work than Marshal Lubris would have searching the uppermost parts; not much flooring remained up there. He ducked through an empty doorway, folding withered wings tightly to prevent them from catching on the narrow frame. The room seemed to be solid enough, but he stepped warily just the same. Except for piles of dust in the corners, it appeared to be empty. Darte knew what he was looking for, though. He moved towards the closest pile, crouching to brush it aside. The water hadn't touched this particular clump, and moving it set off a choking cloud into his face. After a couple moments coughing and wheezing, he glanced into the corner, and jumped back, startled. A shard of richly black endertium nestled in the remaining dust. Darte had seen enough sigil shards by now to know them by sight, but finding one out here... Ka'ghain's heart, what if he had touched it? The thought left him breathless and shivering for a couple of seconds. This far, and almost dead from a stone. The dangerous crystal would earn him some extra Ryi when he returned, though. He briskly removed a pair of thick, leather gloves from his pockets, and gently lifted the shard out of the pile. Wrapping it in thick, fur-lined cloth, he placed it in his satchel, in a compartment already containing two more similar shards: one slightly larger endertium piece, and a second smaller one, made of adarbium: white, nearly seeming to glow, with similar grey veins streaking through it. This expedition was proving to be quite fruitful for his purse.
He stood from the corner, gently dusting his officer's coat, and proceeded to check the rest of the room for any other potential finds; however, the most he found was a spider's nest in one pile. He was grateful he still had the gloves on; the little beast had quite the pair of fangs, and his day would likely have been cut short by a trip to Liure had its fangs reached him. He shuddered at the thought of one of the Heron's horrible antidotes. The next room held little more, except for a hole that opened beneath his feet as he first stepped in. He was about to enter the next room when he heard a faint call from somewhere below: "General, Marshal, I've found it! Come down to the bottom." Darte grimaced; Grevin had beat him to it, it seemed.
Turning, he moved back to the hole he had stumbled into minutes before. A couple harsh stomps, and the hole was widened enough to fit his bulk. Clutching the edge, he swung his legs through, wings dipping in under his armpits. Directly below, he could see the forest's floor, but if he swung a little... he concentrated on not looking down as he began to pump his legs rhythmically, back and forth, gaining momentum until he released, arcing gracefully to the stonework below. He landed flat, arms lashed out clumsily. The wind was knocked out of him for a moment. Spreading his weight evenly had been necessary; his sheer weight could have easily broken through the flooring if he had not. Standing stiffly, he began moving towards where he had heard Grevin's call. The floor was trickier to navigate in the lower ruins, and he was glad he had not volunteered himself to do search down there. A couple minutes of holding tightly to walls and cracks, and he found Grevin staring wide-eyed at... something. It wasn't a hole, and yet a sense of nothing, of dry emotionlessness, emanated from the blackness. Darte nodded at Grevin approvingly. "Well done, Swords-Sergeant. I'll have to mark your name down in the records, you've done fine work today." Grevin broke his eyes away from the empty black for long enough to look moderately pleased, before returning to a vacant stare. Darte found himself staring, too. This was the first time he had actually seen a Revolved object, and it defied even the most descriptive picture the Songbird poets could paint.
Clattering and a mumbled oath from the room Darte had just exited signaled Lubris' arrival. Darte winced -- profanity had no place in the army -- but he let it pass. Lubris must have been right above Grevin when he called, to have come so quickly. The Marshal stooped into the room, rubbing his calves gingerly, and muttering to himself, thankfully under his breath. Darte gestured at the brick-shaped blackness. "I'd be willing to bet this is our prophecy, Marshal. Would you care to bring it down to the twins? They can do the rest." Lubris flinched as if one of those cursed spiders had bitten his feet. "I'm not touching that thing, sir, with respect," Lubris exclaimed, even emphasizing with a sketchy kneel. Darte rolled his eyes. If you want the fields sown, you need to pull the plow yourself, Darte mused. Walking over to the wall, he used a small belt knife to chisel away the surrounding mortar from around the hole, until it loosened enough for him to extract it from the surrounding wall. Dull light and droplets of rain began splashing through the new hole in the wall. Darte hefted the mass of nothing. It seemed light, much less than he'd expected a brick that size to. Turning to Grevin and Lubris, he grinned mischieviously. "See, now? It's not as bad as all that." He tossed the mass to Grevin, who gave a small shriek before it hit his hand, falling soundlessly to the floor. Grevin crumpled, back slamming on the ground. Darte leapt face down, leaning up against the wall. Lubris ducked behind the doorway he had just entered, bellowing loudly. "Attack! Soldier down, keep low!"
Darte looked blankly at Grevin's neck. A long, needle-like dart protruded from the back, blood dripping from the tip. It seemed Liure and Rynsor hadn't been far off when they said they were near Kairn territory. He clutched the knife tightly, standing with back to the wall. This was going to be a rough fight.
