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Chronicles of Arborell, Copyright Wayne Densley 2008 All Rights Reserved
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 Within the expanse of the Molgoth's lair the two men set off, the way before them a ruin of broken rock and lingering dust. Ahead the rift in the cavern wall gaped wide and they made for it at the run. Neither spoke. Since their altercation over the Molgoth there was now a distance between them, one that could only be healed with time. Anger and distrust had replaced what had been a growing friendship and Mallen felt the split keenly. Gremorgan took the lead, finding a path through the fallen stone that lay shattered upon the floor of the cave and then, without a word, plunged into the rift and the claustrophobic confines of its crumbling walls.
Mallen followed. In the dull-red illumination of his nightglasses he could see little except the vague outline of the passages before them, and the barely visible form of Gremorgan, always a few steps ahead, his huge frame bent forward, focused on the path and its many pitfalls. The Kalborean needed the Dwarvendim, he knew that now, and their altercation in the cavern had placed more than physical distance between them. He could not believe that he had hit the man, and had done so just a few minutes after Gremorgan had saved him from the Molgoth. He would need to rebuild a few bridges, and as he carefully followed the Dwarvendim's lead he confessed to himself that he had no idea at that moment how to do it.
Doggedly Gremorgan picked his way through the remains of tunnels and chambers, delving into a part of the labyrinth that was far older than anything they had travelled before. Here the passages were truly ancient. Cut deep into the rock by hands that had long since past from the memory of the world, these works shifted and crumbled with their passing. Most were in a state of partial collapse and Mallen found himself on more than one occasion flat upon his stomach, pressing his way through fissures in the stone barely large enough to squeeze through.
As they crawled deeper into the rock Mallen could see that Gremorgan was searching for something. He trusted that the Dwarvendim knew exactly where he was going but he could see in his companion's expression that something had eluded him, something important. It was not until they had come up against a seeming dead-end that Gremorgan found what he was looking for. In the right hand side of a collapsed passage he pulled away at a pile of fallen stone and uncovered a narrow crack just wide enough to get through. Without a word he forced his way into the opening and disappeared from sight. Mallen followed and found himself sliding down a narrow slope of loose dirt and scree. At the bottom of this incline lay a small chamber, a dome of vaulted stone that had no visible exit except for a single crack in its northern face. Here Gremorgan stopped and pulled a small device from a pocket in his trousers. Mallen kept his distance, and from the shadows watched as the Dwarvendim held it before him, studying it carefully. It was metallic and fitted easily into the palm of his hand, a flat face of glass and a few small buttons on its side all he could see of it. What it was he could not say but Gremorgan seemed more than happy with what it appeared to be telling him. Once the device was back in his pocket he climbed into the crack, gesturing for Mallen to follow.
The fissure opened into a long broken rift in the bedrock, one that could only have been created by a great shifting in the stone itself, splitting and separating the rock in the same way that one might tear a loaf of bread. The floor of the rift was strewn with rubble, in places it was no more than a long pile of boulders and debris, over which they were forced to scramble until they reached its end.
At the edge of the rift the Dwarvendim came to a halt. Beyond the last rise of boulders lay another large cavern, not as huge as the Molgoth's den, but just as open. It took only a moment for the two men to clamber down a short slope of loose rock to reach the more solid floor of the cavern itself. This time Gremorgan did not make for the opposite side, instead he kept to the edges of the cave, picking his way slowly around its crumbling border until he found a large crack in the floor, one that split the stone at its edge before falling away into darkness below. It was only as he looked down into the gaping maw that he finally spoke to Mallen.
"Of all the passages and chambers we must traverse, this crack is the only part of the labyrinth that requires the use of rope. At the base of this chasm lay a straight path that will take us as far as Trebett's Gorge. It is there that we will find a way out of the domain of the Hra'gora. To reach it however, will require that we climb down into this darkness. I trust you do not have any trouble with heights."
Before Mallen could protest fully that he had no head for heights at all Gremorgan had already set to preparing his gear. From one of the three bags slung from his shoulders he produced rope and two flimsy leather harnesses that Mallen assumed where designed for climbing. One of these harnesses was thrown to him and he followed Gremorgan's lead as the Dwarvendim strapped himself into the other. By the time he was secure within its embrace it had become obvious how the harness was to be used. Such knowledge did not dispel a rising sense of trepidation however, that Mallen found difficult to control. Prior experience had shown him that he was never at his best where heights were concerned, and the flimsy nature of the harness provided him with little solace. As he watched, Gremorgan carefully fed one end of the rope through a series of looped metal rings that were attached securely to the front of each harness, and then tied the other to an outcrop of hard stone. Once he had tested that the tether would indeed hold, he hoisted the remainder over the lip of the chasm and let it fall into the darkness below.
Whilst Gremorgan busied himself with his bags Mallen tested the rope for himself. It was thin but strong. He could not help but wonder though, if it would be strong enough to hold two bodies on their descent. Gremorgan did not seem concerned, Mallen would find out soon enough that both men descending the rope together was not his plan at all.
"You will go over first Mallen Cael. The metal rings through which the rope is woven will slow your descent, but you will have no ability to stop until you reach the bottom. It is a sheer drop, one that affords no opportunity to pause until you hit the floor below. Keep upright and bend your legs as you reach the end. Do this and you will survive the fall without harm."
Mallen stared at his Dwarvendim companion, but was given no opportunity to voice any concern for what seemed an overtly reckless method of reaching the base of the chasm. Before he could speak he was grabbed by the harness and dragged to the edge. In one powerful movement Gremorgan lifted him by the armpits, and then threw him out over the precipice and down into the all-embracing dark.
Mallen found he could not scream. In a turmoil of rushing air and hissing rope he tried to steady himself as he tumbled into the darkness. To his relief Gremorgan proved as good as his word. In a whiplash he was jerked upright by the harness as the rope engaged within its metal rings. Only then did he begin to slow. From the rush of free-fall his descent eased until he could sense that he was dropping at a rapid but steady rate. He could not touch the rope as it slid through its metal holdings so instead he looked down, searching for the bottom of the chasm and readying himself to absorb the shock of landing. Too quickly the ground loomed up from the darkness beneath him and he had only moments to prepare. With a thud he hit a sloping incline of loose dirt and scree which exploded with the impact of his fall. In a cloud of dirt and tangled rope Mallen rolled down the slope until he came to rest upon a flat piece of ground at its base. Even before the dust had time to settle he had disconnected himself from the harness and stood in the gloom cursing the Dwarvendim for every insult he knew. Gremorgan followed quickly.
As the Molgoth had descended from its lair, so too Gremorgan fell to earth, his harness straining to keep his huge bulk from plumetting into the ground below. In a cloud of grit he hit the unstable slope but he did not stop. With one practised turn of his hand he unfastened the rope from his harness and turned towards Mallen. He did not need his nightglasses to see the anger in the Kalborean's young face.
"You threw me off the edge of a cliff? And I was worried how I might make amends for my outburst before. By the Gods Gremorgan, I swear if I had a crossbow I'd shoot you down where you stand."
Gremorgan shook his head but did not reply. Instead he looked up towards the lip of the chasm far above. In the gloom Mallen could not tell if he was trying to stop himself from laughing or if he was frowning instead. His eyes however were searching upwards, and there was no mirth in his gesture as he waved Mallen to his side. Suddenly from far above a number of ropes fell, slapping into the incline ahead of them and raising small gouts of dust with each impact. Someone had found them and in the dark was coming for them.
"I think young Master, that there may have been a small amount of revenge in my actions, and I am prepared to apologise for that at some future time. It seems however, that we now have a far greater concern to expend our energy upon, one that will not wait until we have aired our grievances."
Mallen followed the Dwarvendim's gaze to the lip of the chasm far above. In the gloom he could just make out movement upon its edge.
"What is it?" he asked.
"It appears that our encounter with the Molgoth has brought unwanted attention down upon our heads, literally. The movement you see above are Hresh, about fifty in number I would imagine, and they have our scent."
Gremorgan waited no longer. Hurriedly he removed his harness and motioned for Mallen to do the same. When both were unfastened he stuffed them back into his bag and pointed out into the gloom.
"There can be found the path we must take. If we are to keep out of reach of the Hresh then we will need to put great distance between ourselves and the Hordim. It will not take long for them to reach our position here."
With that they set off, hurriedly re-shouldering their packs as they ran. Mallen could hear the sounds of movement clearly in the air behind them, the slapping of ropes as more hit the ground, and the clatter of weapons swinging loosely from bodies being lowered from the lip above. It was the sound of shouting, of commands being given that rang out most loudly in the darkness.
For the next hour the two men kept up a hectic pace, charging forward as they tried to outrun the Hordim. Gremorgan had taken them into a dark, open corridor, one that extended as far as his nightglasses could penetrate. Within this open space the two men ran, and as they did so Mallen felt the air change. The corridor was wide, he could see neither side nor anything but open space ahead, and as they pressed on he could not help but notice the passing of many thick pillars, strangely marked, that extended high overhead. In the chill Mallen ran onwards, desperately trying to keep up with the Dwarvendim, but he was finding it a difficult task. His legs were starting to weaken, the weight of equipment and supplies taking their toll upon him.
"How long must we keep up this pace? I can hear nothing of the Hresh behind us. Can we not stop for rest?"
Gremorgan came to a halt and bent over, his hands resting on his thighs as he struggled for breath. The run had not gone lightly for him either.
"I fear that the Hresh have taken up our trail in the worst possible place. Even though we cannot hear them they are there, somewhere in the Hall behind us, and they know that this corridor goes only in one direction. They need only keep up a steady pace and they will overtake us eventually. We will need to move on very soon."
Mallen looked back into the gloom behind them and could see no sign of the Hresh. He did not doubt that they were there though.
"Where is it that you take us?" Mallen asked.
"This corridor is unknown to Men, but to the Horde is known as the Caer'nar'dorum; the Hall of Whispers. It is neither the making of Man nor Hordim but of something far older. In a straight line it travels due west for more than thirty-two kilometres and has only one exit in its entire length. If we can make that exit we will be safe, on this you can be sure. Once the Hresh have given up the chase we can return to the Hall and make our way out of this place. At its end we will find fresh air and blue sky. I don't know about you but I could do with some. But quickly, I feel movement in the Earth, the Hresh are coming."
With no further chance for conversation Gremorgan heaved himself to his feet and turned to the west once again. As he picked up his pace he shouted back at Mallen and took off his nightglasses.
"You won't be needing these anymore! Make sure you secure them in your pack."
As he ran Mallen did as the Dwarvendim had directed. In the ruddy glare of his glasses he could see little of the Hall of Whispers; for some reason they did not seem to be as effective here as they had been in the chambers above. When he took off his glasses however, a new world opened up to him and in that moment of revelation he came to a grinding halt once again.
Instead of the dull visage provided by his nightglasses the Caer'nar'dorum was revealed as a treasure far beyond his imagining. The uniform pillars that they had been running between revealed themselves in their true majesty, and in their unveiling took his breath away. Here he found before him the perfectly carved forms of ancient forest trees, massive pillars of stone that shone yellow in the light of the Hall, their trunks lifting up to the roof high above as trees might intertwine in the deep woods. Huge boughs sprung from these trunks, radiating out to encompass the limbs of their near brethren in great arches of stone, and all were unique. No two of the carved trees that made up the parade were the same. To bark and leaf and bough, each was unique and all shone out, sparkling yellow in a world that Mallen had come to believe was lightless.
In his wonder he turned to look back at where they had come. Sure enough the trees fell back in that direction as well but the yellowish glow faded quickly to their rear. They had crossed a boundary of some kind, and in that crossing had stumbled into a different world, one of light and beauty.
"Gremorgan! Stop!" Mallen cried out. The Dwarvendim had kept up his pace and was a good hundred metres ahead before he could utter the words. Quickly Mallen ran to him and grabbed his arm. "What is this place? It is incredible!"
Gremorgan smiled and nodded his head. "Aye, the Hall has been seen by few men and I for one could not tell you why it is here. But its beauty is not its only attribute. Stand for a moment and look down its length, and in doing so focus your eyes to the end of the way."
Mallen did what the Dwarvendim said. The Hall spread nine trees wide, a distance of almost one hundred and fifty metres, evenly spanned in eight huge arches formed by the limbs of each row of trees as they came together above. Ahead of them however the arcade of stone extended out as far as their eyes could see. Gremorgan had said the Hall of Whispers continued for more than thirty kilometres and Mallen saw no reason to doubt it. The Hall disappeared into the distance, a huge boulevard of shining stone glittering in the brilliance of its own light.
With his eyes fixed as far ahead as he could into the distance he waited, and it was then that he saw the true secret of this place. The trees were moving. Solid in their trunks the trees were swaying imperceptively as if a breeze was rustling their leaves, turning their boughs gently as it went. In waves the movement rippled through the trees, each bending slightly as it was brushed by the next, and as they did so he began to hear the almost imperceptible whispers of wind and leaf, rustling quietly in the cold air. If Mallen had not known he was deep underground he could have sworn he was within a great forest, witness to the first hints of a coming storm. It was mesmerising in its vastness and its subtlety. It was Gremorgan who broke him from his contemplation.
"Is it not strange the secrets that can lay unseen beneath our feet? Imagine Mallen Cael, we have travelled the lands above for nigh on four centuries and yet had no idea that such a marvel existed. You can be glad in the knowledge that less than five men have ever seen this and you are one of them."
"Who could possibly have built a wonder of this magnitude? It is beyond anything I could have conceived possible."
Gremorgan frowned and turned back towards the way they had come. "As I said before this is not the artifice of Men or Hordim, indeed even the ancient Trell could not put together something of this size. Other powers were at work here, powers that have long since left our world. All that is left for us is to marvel at what they have wrought."
A noise far off in the gloom at their backs turned both their attentions away from the Hall. Gremorgan grabbed Mallen by the shoulder and started off again at the run.
"I will tell you all that is known of this place at another time, for the moment we have other concerns."
Mallen ran with all the remaining determination he could muster, keeping pace with the Dwarvendim as they charged through the endless arches of stone. Behind he could see nothing of the Hordim, but there was a feeling creeping into the air, a hint of malice and danger that he could sense building around him as the Hresh got closer. Then, amongst the echoes of the vast chamber he heard them.
Above the muffled footfalls of their passing another sound echoed in the Hall. The Hresh did not run as individuals, their discipline would not allow it. Instead they moved as a unit, each step measured against the warrior next to them as they ran. From somewhere in the distance Mallen could hear their feet pounding into the dusty stone of the Caer'nar'dorum, like a drumbeat in its regularity, fifty iron-shod boots crashing into the ground in unison. They would not be travelling as fast as Gremorgan or Mallen might but he knew they would be able to keep it up for days at a time. Within such a long Hall they would slowly, but surely, be overtaken. He looked at the Dwarvendim and could see the concern etched upon Gremorgan's face.
"What will we do? Is there no way we can get out of the Hall before they reach us?"
Gremorgan shook his head and instead pointed to the right-hand side of the archways ahead. "There is only one other exit here and that is still six kilometres ahead. It will be the only place we can escape our pursuers. It is there we must make for."
Mallen nodded his understanding and both men increased their pace. The sound of the Hresh was clear now, a resonating beat that vibrated through the pristine arches as they raced for the only exit that might give them sanctuary from their pursuers. Ahead lay six kilometres of open hallway, a space large enough to accommodate an army within its breadth. Within this subterranean world the Dwarvendim and the Kalborean ran with all the strength they could muster, keeping to the right-most set of arches as they charged forward.
The pursuit proved quickly to be a trial Mallen was ill-prepared for, a grinding rush that sapped the strength from his legs, and left him heaving for breath as he attempted to keep up with Gremorgan. Both men could not keep the pace fast enough to evade the Hordim. With each few hundred metres they both had to rest, and at each stop the sound of the Hordim grew closer, a rhythmic pounding that was becoming clearer and more defined with each pause. It was a situation that could have only one outcome if they did not reach the exit quickly.
Gremorgan's huge bulk remained a few steps ahead of his own, and Mallen found it easier to focus on his back, measuring his own pace against that of the Dwarvendim, rather than worry about how far they might have travelled. The Dwarvendim knew what he was doing and Mallen could no longer doubt that both their fates were bound together. Regardless of the argument they had had previously he was all too aware that the success of his quest, and his own personal safety for that matter, depended completely on Gremorgan. The Dwarvendim's knowledge and talents had been all that had stood between himself and failure, and it was hard to see how he could have possibly continued on his quest without him. It was a point upon which he took the time to ponder, and in doing so an idea began to form in his thoughts about who his unlikely companion might actually be. It was an idea he decided would be worth testing if ever they emerged from this labyrinth alive.
The Caer'nar'dorum spread before them as a seemingly endless parade, one that ebbed and flowed as it if held a life-force of its own. Mallen could not conceive of the work that must have been needed to create such a marvel and even as he ran he began to realise that there was far more to this boulevard of stone than Gremorgan had given voice to. Its huge arched canopies were only a small part of its wonder, and as he struggled to remain in step with the Dwarvendim he discovered that the arches held other secrets. At first he had noticed that the walls of the Caer'nar'dorum were carved in the same intricate manner as the tree-pillars and the canopy above. These carvings wrought a perfect representation of the forest floor, its undergrowth and its wild-life, and all were set in sculptured relief, a permanent record of the forests of old. In the ongoing passage of these sculptured walls he began to notice something else.
Just as the trees above swayed in the breeze of an imaginary wind, so too the denizens of the forest floor moved beside him. From the corner of his eye, small animals and birds scurried about, climbing the trees or disappearing into the shadows of the forest's thick undergrowth. Every time he attempted to gain a clear view of one of these creatures he found nothing to see, just the exquisite sculpturing of the walls as solid as the ground beneath his feet. If he had not been running for his life it could have been considered both wondrous and thoroughly disconcerting.
With the Hresh in pursuit the men ran on. As the wonders of the stone forest spread out before them they kept up their pace, the sounds of the Hordim clear and imminent at their backs. Neither turned to see how close the Hresh might be. There was no need. The footfalls of their passing were drowned by the encroaching rhythm of their pursuers, and now they could hear them calling. Out into the wide spaces of the Caer'nar'dorum Mallen could hear them shouting curses at those they pursued, oaths and commands cut through the air, exhorting the Hresh ever faster in their pursuit. The chink of weaponry and the stomp of boots filled the openness of the arches, and Mallen could not help himself, he looked back.
The Hresh were close and they were far more numerous than Gremorgan had estimated. A black line of warriors fanned out across the breadth of the Hall, no more than three hundred metres behind. He could not tell how many were after them but it could be no less than two hundred, and they could see him. With cries of anger and blood-lust the Hresh surged forward, leaving the ordered ranks that had brought them so close they broke into a sprint, swords and fists waving in the air as they charged forward, quickly covering the distance that remained between them.
In this moment of danger Mallen felt his body failing him. The colour drained from this face as he looked forward and saw Gremorgan a good twenty metres ahead of him. The Dwarvendim had not looked back, instead he had kept up his pace and had pulled ahead of the Kalborean. He was sure his companion was not aware of the danger and his energy was now spent. Mallen needed his help.
"Gremorgan, Wait!", he yelled, and as he did so the Dwarvendim turned and came to a halt. In that moment he also saw the number of the Hresh and dropped one of his bags from his shoulder.
"Come on young Cael. It is no time to be dawdling!"
Mallen reached him in a matter of seconds, out of breath and sick to his stomach with the exertion of the chase. His chest heaved as he tried to recover some measure of his strength.
"What will we do, they will be upon us within minutes. How far is it to the exit?"
Gremorgan searched the walls ahead and frowned, "We are still at least a kilometre from sanctuary. We will need to slow down the Hresh or they will have us."
Carefully he pulled a small globe of black metal from the bag at his feet and threw it out into the centre of the Hall. Gremorgan hoisted the bag back upon his shoulder and turned again to run.
"That should keep them busy for a short while. Now hurry, if we can make the exit we will find safety."
Together they ran on. The break had done nothing to ease the leaden feeling Mallen carried in his legs, but he staggered on. Gremorgan had said nothing about what the metal globe was supposed to do, but with the Hresh getting closer his entire being was focused on the last stretch that would see them to safety. He had no choice but to trust that Gremorgan knew what he was doing.
Suddenly from behind the two men came a series of shattering explosions that sent waves of sound resounding through the Hall of Whispers. In an instant they were hit by a shockwave that swept both Dwarvendim and Kalborean off their feet, throwing them forward in a pounding wave of dust and debris. Both hit the ground hard, unable to stop until they barrelled into one of the stone pillars. In a flurry of gravel and debris they came to a halt, their bodies enmeshed in a tangle of bags and spilled equipment. Gremorgan roused himself first, and shook gouts of powder-dust out of his hair and clothing as he tried to put himself into some semblance of order. Mallen struggled to get to his feet but old wounds made it difficult. His ribs were still sore from the fight with the Molgoth and the fall had done nothing to help. With Gremorgan's assistance he was able to stand and both men quickly began to recover their equipment. Of the arches behind nothing could be seen, a solid wall of dust, roiling and twisting in the concussion of the blast, moving quickly in their direction, swallowing everything in its path.
Gremorgan rubbed his face and shook a drift of dust from his beard. "Well, that's a surprise and no mistake. Wasn't supposed to go off like that."
Mallen looked at the Dwarvendim, "What was it? A blasting powder?"
"No Mallen Cael, nothing but a simple concussion device, designed to create a large bang and enough noise to stun anything within range. Should have done nothing more than raise a bit of dust. Just enough anyway, to get us away from here and out of the sight of the Hresh. A miscalculation on my part, although I do not know why it should have been so powerful. Still, I think we should move on, the Hresh will wake up soon enough."
Mallen watched the wall of dust moving down the Hall towards them and tried to shake some of the dirt from his clothing as he did so. He hoped fervently that the explosion had not damaged the exquisite carving behind them but he had no time to worry on it. With legs aching he turned to the exit ahead and again the two picked up their pace. Behind them the cloud of dust had obscured everything, and amongst the echoes of the blast Mallen could hear screams and curses rising beyond the roiling cloud. Desperately they ran on, weighed down by their equipment but determined to find the only way out that might provide safety. It was only after a further twenty minutes hard effort that Gremorgan found what he was looking for.
The exit was cunningly enclosed within a field of intricate carvings and sculpture that hid its wide opening effectively from view. It could not be recognised at all unless a person was standing directly before it. When he came to Gremorgan's side Mallen found himself before the threshold of a wide archway, carved as a rainbow of ivy and spreading branches. The archway was just as intricate in nature as any of the other surfaces in the Hall of Whispers, but it struck him immediately that there was something different about it. There was a power here, Mallen sensed it as soon as he came to a halt before it. Beyond this leaven arch something was waiting, watching everything they did. It was not malevolent, Mallen was sure of that. It was more a brooding dormancy, waiting for its opportunity to come to life. It prickled at his skin and he could feel a soft wind caressing his face as he waited at the threshold.
Gremorgan had found what he had strove for and did not hesitate. Through the arch he ran, and Mallen followed him into a large chamber that opened up beyond. The chamber was no different to the arches through which they had been travelling, every inch of its surface a carved masterpiece of stone trees and animal life. At its far end however, was set a doorway of clear crystal some fifteen metres high that glistened in the light as if it was on fire. Its entire surface was crowded with symbols and incantations long lost to those who built it. On either side of its open maw stood two immense hooded statues in black stone, robed in long cloaks and set in postures of greeting and quiet prayer. Whatever lay beyond was shrouded in darkness. Gremorgan paused for only a second then spoke quickly.
"Beyond this stone entrance lies the Kora'gef, the Crystal Cascade, that will take us out of the reach of the Hresh. Do exactly as I do Mallen Cael, for here can be found wonders the like of which you will never see again."
Mallen went to ask what he meant, but the sounds of the Hresh somewhere out in the Hall brought any possible conversation to an abrupt end. Although weary the two men hoisted their packs and ran again for the far end of the chamber and the beckoning doorway. As they stepped over the threshold Mallen could see only that it opened into a wide natural cavern that wound downwards in a series of tight curves before disappearing into the darkness below. The Kalborean looked to Gremorgan and wondered what they would need to do next to escape the Hordim. In such a place they would need more light if they were to successfully make their way.
At the threshold of this great cavern Gremorgan stood with his arms raised and began to chant. Mallen recognised it as the same dirge he had used in the battle against the Molgoth, but the result he obtained proved completely different. As Mallen stood next to the Dwarvendim he could feel the same power building in the air about them, a charged energy that spun itself tightly about the Dwarvendim before disappearing into the air above. This time no orb of light materialised. Instead the walls themselves began to glisten, then shine forth as if a great flame had been brought to life, illuminating them from within. Piece by piece the walls, floor and ceiling of the Kora'gef burst into life, a great fountain of colour and brilliance that advanced down the wide spiralling cavern as it fell away into the distance below.
Against this backdrop Mallen could see the true nature of the Kora'gef. It was a staircase, a huge stairway of carved crystal more than thirty metres wide, wrought as a waterfall, frozen in time as it flowed down into the root of the world. Gremorgan stopped his chant and looked at Mallen. He could see the impression the cascade had made upon the young Kalborean.
"Impressive isn't it? I can only assume that it was artificed by the same power that made the Caer'nar'dorum. Under other circumstances I could tell you quite a bit about it but we do not have the time. Come, we must get to its base to be assured of safety from the Hresh."
The Dwarvendim pulled at his companion's arm and then started down. It was a descent the like of which Mallen could never have imagined. About him the crystal rock flowed and ebbed as he might have seen a stream cascade down a rock-strewn slope. In its frozen, captured form it wound its way downwards, a solid spiral stairway that twisted tightly, following the natural curves of the vast cavern as it went.
For some hours the two descended into the Kora'gef, each series of stairways and landings a new revelation to the Kalborean. The staircase itself lay as a perfect piece of carved crystal, but the walls and vaulted ceilings were as the builders had left them, in their natural state and just as magnificent as the stairway itself. Huge stalagmites and stalactites crowded the edges of the crystal stairs, and in the brightness of the cavern they shone in a glittering display of colour and reflected light. In this place of wonder it was easy to find time slipping away and it came as a surprise to him when he realised that he had heard nothing more of the Hresh. It seemed to the Kalborean that they had indeed evaded their pursuers. When Gremorgan finally stopped to rest, they both fell upon the smooth surface of the steps and lay still, exhaustion gripping them forcibly.
"Surely we have come far enough," said Mallen eventually. "Such labours must be rested from. I hear nothing of the Hresh behind. Is it not time now to eat and take rest?"
Gremorgan did not need to be convinced. "Indeed it is time to rest. My plans for our quick passage out of the domain of the Hra'gora have well and truly been altered now. Nothing can be lost by taking time to eat."
Without another word he threw open one of his bags and fished out two of the small loaves of Nahla bread. Mallen took one of them and broke it between his fingers. Immediately he was surrounded by the heavy scent of spices, and in his state of fatigue it made his head swim. It was a smell he could not resist and slowly he began to eat. As he chewed at his food he took the time to appreciate the artistry of the Kora'gef and in doing so did not notice the subtle regenerative power of the Nahla working upon him. In a matter of moments his head had cleared and his breathing stabilise. Legs that had cried out for rest became strong once more and his shoulders lost the terrible ache that had left his neck stiff and sore. Half the loaf had been consumed before he also felt the heavy hand of fatigue pressing down upon his body, telling him that he had done enough. With a large piece of the bread still in his mouth, he fell into sleep.
In a swirl of images and sound Mallen slept. Oblivious to the dangers that may have laid upon the steps of the Kora'gef he fell into a deep slumber that completely enfolded him in its embrace. Upon the crystal cascade his dreams came quickly, and with the power of the Nahla still working upon him, took on a clarity that left him twitching in his sleep. Deep he ventured into his memories and it was there that his dreams began. His journey moved before him as a series of emerging and dissolving images; the attack on Callenfrey, his pursuit of the Hresh, his meeting with the Dwarvendim, all a montage of sight and emotion. Then, from somewhere within it all came new images, strange places and creatures that he had never seen. Citadels that reached for the clouds and wide lands of deep forest and pristine lake. He travelled across vast plains as quickly as the wind might presage a storm, and crossed snow-capped mountain ranges in the space of a single breath. Then, before he could make sense of what he had seen, he found himself back upon the steps of the Kora'gef. But he was not alone. Beside him lay Gremorgan, also in sleep. In a sharp instance of consciousness Mallen recognised where he was, but he was sure that he was still asleep, and in a moment of panic he tried to wake himself from his dreaming. He found he could not. Something else was holding him there, and as he watched the form of Gremorgan faded away. He was now alone on the Kora'gef.
Held in the grip of an insurmountable power Mallen felt himself being pulled to the side, away from the main stairway and in behind a wide spray of crystal that hid him from view. He had no control over his movements but the force had not harmed him. Instead, he had simply been moved aside, as if to make the room available for something else. Mallen could not help but wonder what that something might be.
There he waited, huddled behind a wave of crystal, wondering what terrors lay ahead, desperately fighting to raise himself from sleep. Then a movement caught his eye. From the threshold of the Kora'gef high above he could see vague figures moving down the stairs, hundreds and then thousands of forms that filled the breadth of the crystal stairway and then advanced down towards him.
Hidden within his alcove Mallen waited as the procession drew closer. He could see clearly that all were hooded, all dressed in black robes lined with silver and red. As they descended the line grew longer, more of the beings emerging from the threshold of the Kora'gef as they went. By the time they had reached Mallen's hiding place they numbered in their tens of thousands and still they came. Not until the vast number had reached the base of the stairway below did they stop, and then all was silent.
Mallen peered out over the vast assemblage and wondered at their multitudes. Hooded and silent the figures stood quietly waiting for some unseen command. Then from the silence a murmur began to run through them as the wind might unsettle a field of long grasses. Far out of sight, in the depths of the Kora'gef something was happening and it was quickly being carried up the winding stairway, an unspoken call that had all upon the steps alive with expectation. Then as one the figures removed their hoods. Mallen gasped as he saw that these were no human pilgrims. Their features struck him immediately. With long flowing silver hair and dry olive-hued complexions they had the air of beings as old as the march of time itself, and as they stood in quiet expectation he could see a strange resemblance forming, of faces not quite human but not quite alien either, a haunting mixture of all things sentient that had lived in the world. Then they began to sing.
As one the unearthly choir let forth their voices and Mallen found himself overwhelmed by it. From somewhere deep in the Kora'gef arose a thousand deep voices, an outpouring of sound that resonated in the stairway, capturing everything within its grasp. Mallen could feel it vibrating within the stone at his finger-tips and sending tremors deep within his bones. A throng of voices then joined the first, a series of higher notes that swept up the stairway until all where enmeshed in the song and then, once the crystal cavern was resonating like a living thing to the outpouring, the song changed.
From within the choir a new rhythm arose. Here Mallen could hear human voices intoning a chant as old as the earth itself, and in the rise and fall of its melody came a single voice as clear as crystal. It came to Mallen in words he could not recognise, but its meaning was unambiguous. The song rang true, both subtle and evocative, a celebration of all things living in the world, and a reaffirmation of the power of life itself. In its complex cycle it grew in energy, until above the voices there could be heard the sounds of the natural world gathering in the vast cavern.
At first Mallen could hear the hint of a wind blowing through the canopy of a forest, moving as a wave up the long staircase. Then came the uncanny echoes of rain slapping against the unyielding stone of a mountainside, tempered then by the soft lapping of water at a lake's edge. From within this tranquil mosaic a new theme insinuated itself. Far away the first hints of a summer storm reverberated, a rumbling growl in the distance that provided a backdrop to a chorus of human voices that rose and fell before being overtaken by a wild chant that grew ominously in the air above. Mallen recognised it as the sounds of Hordim, but these in turn were supplanted by an even more alien dirge that wormed its way out of the depths. Horns blared in time to great drums that clamoured forth in an attempt to drown out the rest until all was thrust aside by the sounds of the earth, of shifting rock and exploding magma. From above it all rose again the same deep voices from the depths of the cascade, resonating within the stone and full of power.
Together the song cycled over and over, each time being weaved and metered in a different pattern until Mallen began to feel the air charge with energy. Even in his sleep he smelled the heady odours of wet grass and soil, of the static tingle of a lightning strike and shuddered at the pure chill of ice-water. Only when the Kora'gef was saturated with these sensations of the wild world did the figures begin to move once again. In a steady procession they replaced their hoods and moved down the crystal stairway. Then in a wave of energy they were gone, dissolving into dust as a hot wind blew from the depths below. It was only then that Mallen was released from the grip of the strange power that had held him so effectively. He shook himself awake to find Gremorgan standing over him. The Dwarvendim had a wide smile upon his face, and Mallen could see he was flushed with excitement.
"Did you see them?", he cried excitedly, "Did you see the Hra'gora?"
Mallen shook his head and tried to clear senses still dulled by the hand of sleep. But he had seen them, it had not been a dream, or had it?
"They were the Hra'gora? I thought you were talking about creatures of flesh and bone. I had no idea you were talking about dreams."
Gremorgan laughed and dragged Mallen to his feet. "My friend, the Hra'gora do not allow themselves to be looked upon openly. They pick where they are seen, and do so at a moment of their choosing. But we have beheld them and heard the wonder of their song. It is a great day!"
Mallen could not help but marvel at Gremorgan's change. All the tension that had festered between them had disappeared, his demeanour now that of a child excited by what they had both experienced.
"Who are the Hra'gora?" asked Mallen.
"They are Earthkind Mallen Cael, spirits of the bedrock of the world, and subjects to the Shan'duil itself. Along with the other Earthkind they keep the balance that gives life to everything in Arborell, and it is their song that binds us all in the eternal cycle of life and death. I cannot believe I have seen it for myself. Truly it is a great day for us both."
Mallen looked back up the now empty crystal staircase, remembering the multitude that had covered its every step, and then wondered at the Hresh and where they might have gone. In truth they had fallen asleep at a time when the Hresh should have easily been able to overrun them, yet they were nowhere to be seen. Gremorgan saw where the Kalborean's eyes led and reassured him.
"The Hresh cannot follow us here Mallen Cael, we are too close to the source of EarthMagic. It is not in their nature to follow where we must now go. But we must move on. I do not know how long the Song of the Hra'gora lasted, and we must get back to the surface if we are to catch up with the Warband that has your brother. First though we must make a short detour."
In the majesty of the Kora'gef Gremorgan shouldered his bags and then started down the steps. It was not what Mallen had expected. "Hold on Gremorgan. Why are we still going down? The surface lies far above and this stairway will not take us there."
The Dwarvendim halted on the steps and turned to face his companion. "Do you forget that the Hresh still wait above? They may not follow us down but they know there is no other way out of this place. They will be waiting for us at the threshold of the Caer'nar'dorum, knowing full well that we must return that way. If we are to get back on our proper trail we must first find the bottom of these stairs. Only then will we have what we need to get past the Hordim."
"What can we find so far below that can help us?", asked Mallen.
"At the base of these stairs lies the solution to our immediate problem. It will require some quick talking though."
"Talking? To whom?" replied Mallen.
Gremorgan turned back to the stairs and continued on. Mallen barely heard his reply. "We are going to seek an audience with the Shan'duil, Mallen Cael. Soon we must talk with the source of EarthMagic itself. It would do well if you would clean yourself up a bit."
Mallen shrugged his shoulders and followed the Dwarvendim. He had started his quest with only one intention at heart, to find his brother and return him safely home. Whatever lay ahead was unknown, all he could be sure of was that he now trusted Gremorgan, and with his help would not stop until Tomas was safe.
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