Journal of Kalen Avanir
TE 6051, Orhan 4, day 47
Nomikos Library, Ormian Island
Off the southern Jaiman coast
Randae has returned to Nomikos – from wherever he has been for the last month or so -- and called a meeting for tonight. Presumably he has some important news for us, though we have heard little from the mainland regarding the war.
Otherwise it has been an interesting time here. Most importantly to me, I have virtually confirmed that indeed the pendant I carry is the legendary Phoenix Pendant of Rhakhaan. My dilemma now is: what to do with it? I feel as though I should offer it back to the Emperor, as it is supposedly his to grant to whom he believes worthy. When I first mentioned this to Randae, however, he scoffed and said that since the Emperor had been so careless as to lose the pendant (whether or not the wearer at the time was lost as well), then he had no claim to it. Further, Jerrin had declined the privilege of wearing the Phoenix Crown when he had the chance, and so abdicated any right to the ancient artifacts. And finally, as a Loremaster, a member of the order that originally granted the items to the kings, Randae said that he had the authority to absolve me of all responsibility to the Emperor regarding the pendant. (I thought he was being at least a little bit facetious in this last assertion, however.) He said that if anything, the pendant had found me and not the reverse; that those items were capable of independent initiative. I find this concept to be mind-boggling.
I see the logic in his arguments, and yet I feel unworthy of such an item. Lady Usa has told me that it has already granted me several powers since the attunement, most of them latent defensive abilities that I need not even worry about. It is also a powerful Essence enhancer, granting me the power to cast many more spells every day without exhausting myself. Finally, I have begun to master that incredible ray of fire that we first saw the Phoenix deliver back in Sel-kai. I need to practice more with my aiming, but it is an amazing weapon indeed.
Jad is hoping that at this meeting Randae will tell us that we can leave Nomikos, at least for a short time. While I enjoy this setting, I know my cousin craves more social outlets. And though I know Jad holds Kim in great reverence and greatly values the Monk’s knowledge and training -- and is grateful that he is willing to teach my cousin the coveted Changramai arts, my cousin I think desires other physical challenges than sparring with Kim.
We shall see what Randae has in store for us. I must admit to mixed feelings about this meeting. While a change might be in our best interest, I find myself becoming comfortable with the isolated, academic atmosphere here on Nomikos.
“If my father knew where we were, he’d have a fit.” Nelvana Baragon surveyed her surroundings with disdain. The Navigator obelisk, centered on a stone platform, was the only sign of civilization in sight. To the south and east, the land dropped away swiftly. A lush rainforest rose up out of the valley on the south side, while far below them to the east churned the sea. Northward rose a sheer, rocky cliff. Only to the west lay an easy route: an overgrown stone path perhaps ten feet wide with the rising rock wall on the right and ravine on the left.
They stood on the Watching Isle, sister to Ormian off the southern coast of Jaiman. At least the weather was nice: a warm breeze from the south and sun shining down between patches of cloud. The sky to the west did not look promising, however; Nelvana suspected that a storm was on the way. Nelvana had agreed to join Lukas Austrenos on this journey for reasons that were not yet clear even to her.
Her recent adventure with the Loremaster Luronen Moje had without question stirred a longing for excitement and adventure within her, and Lukas offered an opportunity to pursue that desire. She reluctantly owned up to herself that Lukas’ personal magnetism and charm had also played a large part in her decision to join him, though she refused to admit that she had any more serious emotional ties to the handsome youth than friendship and a shared yearning for adventure.
There was one other aspect of this trip that intrigued her, and she had no trouble acknowledging it: the redhead Dia Khovaria Monk Patrick O’Kiran. There was something intriguing… and yet disturbing… about him. He was handsome enough, though with his pug nose, freckles, and auburn hair it was more of a boyish look than Lukas’ almost Elven-pretty features. But there was something strange about Patrick that Nelvana could not put her finger on. He seemed distant sometimes… even alien. Though she wasn’t even sure what she meant when she thought of that word. It wasn’t as if he was from another land… or was it? He just seemed like he didn’t belong here somehow.
The Navigator who brought them here was an Elven woman in a diaphanous flowing white gown, holding in both hands a jewel-encrusted golden rod about foot and a half long. She was a member of the Cypharia, the all-female Navigator Guild. Her long blonde hair, held back in a golden tiara-like band, and shimmering gown slit up the sides to the thigh, furled in the sea-breeze. Holding the rod across her chest like some royal scepter, she addressed Lukas. “We have arrived at our chosen destination, Lord Austrenos. Should you wish further assistance, simply touch the Obelisk.” A golden whirlwind enveloped her, and she was gone.
Lukas turned back to Nelvana. “My first Cypharia!” He grinned.
Nelvana did not miss the fact that Lukas had shamelessly looked the beautiful Elven Navigator up and down as she faded from view. “I hope she was worth the fee.” She retorted.
Meanwhile Patrick had already started down the western path, his brown robes furling out around him. He was holding something in his palm and waving it around in front of him.
“We’d better hurry or he is going to leave us in the dust.” Lukas shouldered his pack and started after the redhead.
Nelvana hurried to catch up, glad that she’d chosen sensible breeches for this trip rather than a skirt. Maybe the Cypharia can afford to wear glamorous, impractical gowns because they just stand around and cast spells all day, but I don’t think I’ll regret wearing these if we have to start climbing around on these rocks. “You don’t really believe we’ll find Andraax’s Tomb here do you? Don’t you think that every treasure hunter on the planet has already looked for the resting place of one of the founding Loremasters?”
“Perhaps, but every treasure hunter on the planet didn’t have him along.” Lukas nodded towards the Dia Khovaria Monk, who was trotting along the path, his eagerness obvious.
The path, though the tiles were cracked and broken, and many were overgrown with the short springy grass that seemed to dominate here, was still easy to follow as it led them westward for about a mile before splitting into a ‘T’ intersection. One route went south, winding downward into the forest, while the other turned north, extending for about a hundred paces before ending at the base of a stairway carved right out of the rock.
“Now what?” Demanded the Viscount.
But Patrick was again waving the thing in his hand back and forth, like it was some kind of diving rod.
“What is that, anyway? Some sort of magic item for detecting things?” Lukas moved up, determined to finally get a closer look at the strange little ovoid object. It seemed covered with inexplicable blinking lights and it made odd little bleeping noises the like of which Lukas had never heard.
“Something like that.” Patrick swept the thing under his robe, its lights and sounds suddenly extinguished as he did so. “Our route is up the stairs.” Then again without waiting for the other two, he bounded up the steps two at a time.
Several minutes -- and seven hundred steps, by Nelvana’s count -- later, they arrived at the top. And it was certainly obvious when they got there: it was as if the hill had been sheared off, leaving a completely flat plateau. Covered with short springy grass, it stretched for a mile or so north and east.
Lukas, panting from his exertions, threw himself down on the grass. “I need a rest!”
Patrick, meanwhile, was wandering seemingly aimlessly across the plateau while peering at that thing in his hand again. This action was especially strange now, since to Nelvana their goal now seemed obvious: at the far end of the plateau stood a small structure. It was the only thing here that she could see.
The Baragon heiress sat on the ground near the Viscount as gracefully as she could, uncorked her waterskin and took a few swallows before offering it to Lukas.
“Thanks, but I’ve got some; I won’t deplete yours.” He sat up and fumbled for his own bottle.
“Doesn’t this seem awfully easy?” Nelvana frowned, watching the monk. The apparent obviousness of the tomb nagged at her.
“We’re not in the tomb yet. We don’t even know for sure if this is it, as you pointed out. It could be a decoy.”
“Or there could be traps. I’ve heard of tombs having deadly traps to protect them.” Her dark hair blew into her face; some of it had come loose during their climb. She busied herself with re-fastening her long locks into a ponytail.
Patrick, seemingly tireless, trotted up to join them. “There is a complex of rooms underneath us, but it appears that the only way in is through that small building.” He turned and stared towards the white structure, his monk’s robe furling wildly out behind him. A shadow passed over the plateau. It was just a cloud passing in front of the sun, but Nelvana worried that it was an ill omen. She shivered in the suddenly cool breeze.
By the time the trio had reached the structure, clouds covered much of the sky, and they seemed to be darkening. The wind had increased and the temperature had definitely dropped.
“Looks like we could be in for a storm.” Lukas observed the obvious. “Good thing it looks like this could provide some shelter.”
The building did look like it would shelter them, though it was certainly a rather modest edifice for its supposed honoree. It was a circular, domed structure with four columns across the front, and a few more spaced around the outside supporting some kind of roof buttresses. About twenty steps led up to the entrance, which was open and seemed to not even have any doors. The interior was surprisingly light; Nelvana guessed that the dome must be made of some translucent material. At the far end of the chamber stood a statue.
While the mausoleum looked to be in fairly good repair, as they started up the steps it became obvious that it was quite old, the white marble worn and stained from the elements.
The wind gusts increased, one nearly knocking Nelvana over as she reached the top. To the east, the sky looked very dark. Lightning flickered behind the black clouds.
Patrick hesitated only a moment before striding inside, that little device in his hand once more. Lukas gently took Nelvana’s arm and guided her in, though she shot him a glare intended to let him know that she could manage just fine on her own, thank-you. As they passed the portal, the sky rumbled with thunder. Large drops of rain splattered across the marble.
Inside, the wind was much more muted, but by some trick of the architecture, it created a low moaning sound in the chamber that rose and fell in pitch. Nelvana and Lukas approached the statue, though at first Patrick seemed to practically ignore it, instead paying attention to the doorway. He made a little grunting sound before turning back to join his fellow travelers.
“So, this is Andraax?” Patrick looked up at the statue. It stood on an oval pedestal about two feet high, and the statue itself was larger than life, maybe eight feet in height. It appeared to be of the same white marble as the rest of the place, depicting a youngish man with wild spiky hair in long hooded robes. His race seemed a bit exotic to Nelvana, similar to the Nuyan in some ways, yet different.
“He doesn’t look very happy.” Lukas said with a nervous laugh.
It was true: Andraax’s face wore an expression that to Nelvana seemed to convey something between fear and dread. Though as she paced back and forth, from different angles it seemed different. From one side it looked like pure anger, from another, almost a sadness.
It also occurred to her that there was no apparent way down to these underground chambers Patrick had mentioned: no stairway or doorway at all. Must be some secret door somewhere; I’ve heard of tombs having such things. It was then, while walking about the chamber, that she realized that there was no writing anywhere in the room. Nothing engraved on the walls, the floor, or even at the base of the statue: no indication that this was actually the tomb of Andraax. “No inscriptions?” She ventured.
“Yes, that is curious.” Patrick nodded, as if he had already noticed the unusual dearth.
Nelvana was finding the Monk’s reticence increasingly annoying, but then she noticed something else. “Look at his hands!” She pointed almost accusingly at the statue’s right arm.
Both of the statue’s hands extended from the full sleeves of the robe, and the fingers were splayed out. There were six fingers on the hands. They looked just like normal human hands, with an opposing thumb, and the other digits were long and slender so that it was not an immediately obvious feature. The pinky fingers did seem to rotate away from the others slightly though.
Patrick’s brows furrowed. Could it be? “What races have six fingers on their hands?” He asked softly.
“No one… no one except…” Lukas paused. “The Essænce Lords supposedly had six fingers.”
“Really. Isn’t that interesting.” Patrick was no longer looking at the hands though. Instead he had walked up close to the statue and was examining something on the chest. Carved as part of the statue, the figure wore some kind of a medallion around his neck. Patrick climbed irreverently up on the pedestal to get a closer look at it. He’d spotted a flicker of red on the amulet, something perhaps set in the marble.
“What is it?” Lukas demanded earnestly. The native Kultheans crowded behind him.
“Perhaps the way in.” In the center of the hexagonal marble medallion was inset a small gleaming red disc. The disc was recessed slightly and shimmered with other colors as the Monk examined it. The size and appearance of this inset was quite familiar to him, though he hardly expected to find it here on this backward world. He pulled the Integrated Signet ring off his finger and pressed the flat round crystalline face of it into the recess. He felt a vibration in the statue and leapt off the pedestal. Even with his reflexes, however, Patrick would not have been able to escape, because a pair of previously-hidden doors slid out of pockets on either side of the doorway. They came together with a loud clang and sealed the chamber.
“We’re in trouble now.” Lukas mumbled in the silence as the echoes died.
They had gathered in their common room as directed: T’tania, Sten, Jad and Kalen. At the evening chime, there was a knock at the door, and Randae and Kim entered. As usual, the Loremaster was all smiles, while the Changramai Monk looked serious.
“The snow from the great storm over Jaiman has largely melted; more importantly, the Essænce disruptions have subsided for the most part. However, the conflict between Jerrin, the king of Rhakhaan and self-proclaimed ‘Emperor’ of Jaiman and the also self-proclaimed king and emperor Frelik continues. The Northern Frontier continues to be dangerous, and Kalen I am confident that your father would prefer that you remain out of that region, where you might be a target. However, I would like to see your training and education proceed, and the best thing now would be some further experience out in the field, as it were, There is a limit to how far you can advance in a protected environment like this without going out and gaining some real-world experience. With that in mind, I have a little mission for you; more of an errand really. I need to you return to the mainland of your home continent, though to a land far in the Northwest.”
“What land?” Jad asked when Randae paused.
The Loremaster glared at him. “If you would mind not interrupting me, I’ll get to it. Not that you would know what I was talking about anyway; I have a feeling your knowledge of geography doesn’t extend to the lands beyond Saralis.”
Jad’s brows furrowed and he pursed his lips. He wasn’t exactly sure where Saralis was.
“I want you to go to Xa-ar, a peninsula that lies west of Saralis, though not as remote as the isles of the Mur Fostisyr.” Randae slid a document out of a wooden tube, unrolled it and spread it on the table. They all reached for objects to weigh down corners of the document, which proved to be a large map of Jaiman. “Here is Xa-ar,” Randae pointed to the north-curving landmass on the far side of Jaiman from Rhakhaan and Tanara.
Kalen had never seen a map with so much information about the western kingdoms on it: there were tiny dots all along the coast, each labeled with a name. They seemed strange and exotic to him: Xara-tapar, Rumaru, Naxor…
“Once that land was part of Saralis; it was also at times occupied by forces of Lorgalis, the Lord of Ulor.” Randae indicated an island, seemingly caught between the pincers of land that were Xa-ar on the north and Ly-aran in the south.
“I’ve heard of Lorgalis.” Kalen ventured. “Wasn’t he the reason the Crowns were made in the first place? But that was thousands of years ago, in the Second Era.”
“Just so—although, while the Lord of Ulor was the primary threat at the time, the kingdoms were fighting amongst themselves, and the continent was always in turmoil. And Lorgalis was immortal, either an Elf or… some other undying race. We do not know whether he still lives, though some Loremasters suspect that he does. While Ulor has been quiescent for many centuries, and Xa-ar has largely become a land of independent villages, there are a few towns under the control of Quaidu who still call themselves ‘Viceroys of Ulor,’ descended from the occupiers of a long age ago.”
“What are… ‘Quaidu’?” Sten asked hesitantly.
“A mannish race; some say they are native to Ulor, but I believe they came from somewhere else, perhaps further north and west. They are tall and strong and very pale; they cannot tolerate much sunlight. Their eyes are completely black.”
Kalen shivered then, though he wasn’t sure why. Something about the look on the Loremaster’s face when he was describing the Quaidu…
“I wish you to deliver a message to one of my fellow Loremasters, Vena Nascharath.”
“Why are you sending us up there? Can’t you just ‘Jump’ yourself up there, say hello, and ‘Jump’ back here?” Jad asked, then immediately regretted it when Randae shot him a withering look.
“It’s not as simple as all that, Master Hurok, a concept that I would have hoped had gotten into your thick skull now that you have had some rudimentary Essænce training. Unfortunately, it seems that I have been disappointed once again.”
“Why do you think the Navigators charge so much more to Jump people directly somewhere than to just go along on a sea voyage that takes weeks of their time?” T’tania smirked condescendingly at the squire.
“I don’t know!” Jad snapped back. “Maybe all of them don’t know how to do the Jump spell!”
Randae raised an eyebrow. Jad had guessed at something that few others had: the reason behind the apparent paradox of the Navigator fees. Not as dim-witted as he looks. He cleared his throat. “If I may continue? Thank you. Loremaster Nascharath has also requested some assistance on a developing matter in that region, and frankly we have no one else of our order to spare at the present time.”
“So now we’re doing the Loremasters’ dirty work.” Jad whispered to his cousin. Though Kalen thought that Randae must have overheard it, he showed no sign.
“Kim will accompany you to make sure that you don’t lose your way, and hopefully to keep you out of serious trouble—though I expect that trouble will find you here and there; the Xa-ar region can be a bit of a rough place. Oh, and there will be one more member of your party. Her name is Liria Serinen, a Sister of Eissa. She’ll be along just in case something goes horribly wrong.” The Loremaster smirked wickedly then, an expression that Kalen found a little… disturbing.
“We’ll be employing a Navigator to deliver you to your destination. Once your task is completed, Kim has a token for credit that will pay for your return Jump. There’s a Navigator Obelisk in the town of Rapata, right on the border between old Saralis and Xa-ar, and you’ll be Jumping there directly. Loremaster Nascharath’s home is on the outskirts of Rapata, here, right on the isthmus between Xa-ar and Saralis. Vena’s house is in the hills about a half-day’s ride to the west, in the foothills of the Saral March.
“You lot are going to stand out where we’re going so discretion is going to be necessary. Kim won’t look too out of place because the Lotan people are an offshoot of his Y’nar race. There are a few Jaimani-Elves still living in the region, and while you, Kalen and Jad, don’t really look like that Elf-race, but most mortals don’t really see past the ears. Sten, wear a hat on that blond hair. T’tania, keep the jewelry to a minimum. These are poor, rural towns where jewelry is rare and crude. And all of you keep your hoods up when in public places just to be on the safe side. Pack some necessities and get a good night’s sleep; you’ll be Jumping to Rapata at the chime of the morning Quintar tomorrow. Wear your most simple and warm travel clothes. Oh, and don’t worry about outerwear; I’ve had coats appropriate for the region and culture made for all of you.”
A cool breeze carrying just a hint of Autumn sharpness wafted through Kalen and Jad’s bedroom. They’d added a down comforter to the bedcovers a few nights earlier, but still agreed that it was nice to feel the outside air in their chambers. Orhan was waning but still a fat ovoid well past half, and its light cast the garden outside in bright steely light.
“Kalen are you awake?” Jad whispered from a couple of feet away on their large feather-down bed.
“How did you know?” The Marquess replied tartly. His cousin did seem to have an uncanny ability to know when he was also having trouble sleeping. Perhaps it was their years together… though there were many nights when he lay awake while Jad slept in blissful oblivion.
“I can tell by the way you’re breathing. And the way you have been twisting around and pulling on the sheets.” The squire propped his head up on his hand, elbow on the pillow.
“Sorry.” Kalen snapped.
“That’s not what I meant.” Jad paused. Kalen had obviously interpreted the observation as a criticism. “You don’t really want to go on this errand tomorrow do you? We don’t have to. Randae doesn’t own us, even with his gifts of pretty swords and special lessons. We can stay here, or go wherever you want.”
“I know.” Kalen sighed. He was angry at himself for being short with Jad; and worse, embarassed that his younger cousin had once again somehow figured out his anxieties and tried to offer a solution. “Thanks for saying that. I am anxious about it, even though I think Randae is actually doing this at least as much for our good as for any help we could offer a Loremaster.
“He’s got plans for us, that much is pretty obvious.” Jad said as he dropped his head back on his pillow.
“What do you mean? Obviously he wants us to be more prepared because Rhakhaan isn’t as safe as it was, an he seems to want to train us in the Arcane arts…” Kalen trailed off. Deep down he also suspected that the Loremaster had an ulterior motive, but he hadn’t dared to voice it to anyone, even Jad, who he felt closer to than anyone else in the world. He thought he was being paranoid, since the Loremasters were not supposed to meddle in events or do more than advise.
At least that is what he had heard.
It also occurred to Kalen that he and Jad had not talked as much as usual over the last couple of months. It was partly because they were separated for much of the day, and when together they were often in a group with Kim and T’tania and Sten, and sometimes others. He wondered if there was something more behind it though, something that had caused them to drift somewhat apart. Maybe this trip would be a good opportunity.
The gray, pre-sunrise morning was even a bit chilly as the group tramped from the refectory -- where they’d just had breakfast – through the courtyards and gardens to the Navigator Obelisk in the center of the Inner Court. Kalen could even see his breath in faint plumes of steam. He wondered how cold it would be in Xa-ar, eight hundred miles to the north; he was grateful for the long coats that had been left for them in the common room the night before. The garments were somewhat coarse and rough-looking and obviously well-used, but they were sturdily made, and with large deep hoods for shelter from the wind that Randae said could be fierce along the coast. The hood would also, conveniently, help to conceal the wearer’s appearance. Kim led the four of them in silence along the Nomikos colonnades, and they met no one along the route except for a few Changramai monks on guard duty. As always, they all nodded perfunctorily to Kim as they passed, and ignored the rest of the party.
Fog enveloped the Inner Court, shrouding the ornamental trees and cloaking everything in a preternatural quiet. The three-sided ebony needle of the Navigator Obelisk loomed ahead out of the grey, so smooth and angular compared to the soft plantings and the rustic marble slabs that made up the paths. Kalen could just see the statue of Andraax trough the mist, a dark shadow amidst the stairway to the Library. He wondered if he would ever return to this place.
“Randae should be along any time now.” Kim said when they’d stopped at the edge of the Obelisk platform. The obelisk itself was surrounded by a raised area about twenty feet across; It was forbidden to linger on this dais because it was where arriving Jumpers would appear.
Jad dropped his pack on the ground and began rooting through it.
“Forget something?” T’tania asked in her teasing voice.
The Squire glared at her. “I’m just making sure that I haven’t forgotten anything, thank you.” He snapped.
Everyone was anxious; Kalen was and he sensed it in the others. Even Kim seemed a bit pensive.
The clock bell rang out across the complex, and the Marquess jumped a bit. He was tense. As the clock struck the second low note to signal the Morning Quintar, he felt a tickling on the back of his neck. A breeze stirred in the court, and it seemed as if the obelisk had acquired a slight bluish hue along the edges.
A gust of wind furled their long coats and rustled the tree-leaves. The obelisk emitted a low thrumming sound as three shapes outlined in blue appeared beneath it. In the space of a couple of breaths the forms solidified into their former Navigator Sulfean, Randae, and a blonde woman. Sulfean of course wore his black, gold-trimmed uniform of the Guides of Vurn-kye. The woman wore a coat similar to the ones they had been issued, but it was open and under it Kalen could see that she wore garments all of white except for a silver belt. She carried a white wood staff with an ornate gold head. That she was not a mortal woman was immediately obvious: in fact with her perfectly proportioned features, golden-blonde hair – and already apparent aloof demeanor -- she looked like she could have been kin to Sulfean, the Linær Elf standing next to her. Once again as he looked at these two, Kalen was struck by a strange, subtle resemblance to Jad…
“Greetings, my friends!” Despite the gloom, Randae Terisonen was his usual ebullient self. He stepped off the platform in unison with the two other Elves., then stepped to the side and gestured towards the woman with a little bow. “May I present Liria Serinen, Elder Sister of Eissa.”
Liria, this is Lord Kalen Kyrethan Irellion Avanir, Marquess of Endar, his squire Jad Hurok from Rhakhaan, and also T’tania Al-Nirak and Sten Kadeson of Tanara.”
“Greetings. It is an honor to join you in assisting Loremaster Terisonen.” She said with great formality. The Elven woman nodded very slightly to each in turn, her deep blue eyes locking on them as if to burn the memory of their appearance into her mind. Kalen and Jad each bowed; T’tania nodded her head very slightly, and Sten bent over awkwardly.
“Well, now that we have that taken care of, let’s get you on your way.” Randae rubbed his hands together. “Kim you have the map and your instructions?”
“I do.”
“Excellent, then all of you up on the platform and Sulfean will work his magic.”
As they gathered on the dais, the Navigator drew out his ornate golden Compass, a device of levers and sliders and tubes that vaguely resembled a sea-captain’s sextant. He turned northward and peered through one of the tubes while adjusting some of the tiny jeweled screws. “Flow activity is almost back to normal, but I’m still seeing some flare-ups from time to time. And of course in this case we are Jumping right through a major Essænce Focus beneath the isle of Ghosts…”
“Could you do it in two Jumps then and bypass the Focus?” Randae ventured.
Sulfean slowly lowered the Compass and gave the Loremaster a stare that Kalen thought for sure could have frozen water. “That won’t be necessary, but thank you for the unsolicited advice.” He said in a voice devoid of emotion.
“Just a thought!” Randae smiled and stepped away from the platform.
The Navigator slipped his Compass back into its black leather holster and raised his hand. “Whenever you are ready.”
Kim looked around at the rest of the group for confirmation, then nodded to Randae before turning to Sulfean. “Ready, Navigator.”
A blue glow rose around them, and Kalen felt a sensation as if he was falling through the stone dais; his stomach lurched.
As quickly as it began, it was over. The glow faded and they were standing around another Navigator obelisk, but the setting could hardly be more different.
They were on another stone platform, this one circular and perhaps fifteen feet across. Just a few feet beyond it on three sides rose almost vertical sheer rock walls, stretching up twenty feet or so before giving way to a lesser slope. A cold wind whipped through the cleft, blowing leaves around in little whirlwinds. Over their heads, low grey clouds tore across the sky in shreds.
In the one open direction Kalen saw a rough stairway descending away from them, and beyond a path leading towards clustered slate rooftops.
“Welcome to Rapata, ladies and gentlemen.” Sulfean intoned.
