Jovan's Gaze. Aaron Ph.D. Dov
pieces of armor lay upon a fire-scrubbed floor, ownerless and black. To the right, the lair of some minor guard captain, doomed to spend their life sorting through lists of food and such. In those early days, before a storm tore down the room's narrow window and cleared it out, I had absently flipped through the mass of endless reports. Evil was not always the cruelty of the heart and soul. Sometimes, evil was in numbing detail of the everyday and mundane. In this place, evil was found everywhere, in most every form.
My footfalls made very little noise; the tapping of the water upon its puddle masked them. Still, I was as silent as I could manage. My sword was ready, my reflexes taut, my eyes moving about in search of some obstacle or foe. The dead stench of the place, the dryness, seemed to creep across my skin like the death-cold hands of some corpse. I shook my head ever so slightly, as though the feeling would simply melt away. It did not.
My leather coat creaked slightly, and I stopped to loosen the tanned straps which held the sleeves tight for fighting. I was not worried about catching my sleeve on something here, and the creaking might betray me to… what? Still, I was glad to have the armor, though it was only good leather. The coat and pants had saved me several times. They were thick enough to shield me from a glancing blow, though it had been years since anyone had challenged my sword. More to the point, the leather kept away the bramble thorns, and the poisons waiting at their pointed, grasping tips. Better to wash away the poison from the leather after a day passing through the thickets here, than to suffer through those poisons, and find myself a shambling victim of the plague storms' leavings.
I stopped just short of the two doors, slowly leaning inward for some sign of danger. The old guard station was just as I had seen it a month past, when I was last here. The chipped sword still lay upon the floor, while the helm and one glove, both now blackened by fire, lay nearby. The window was long since destroyed, and the sun cast in enough light to deny an assailant a place to hide. The clerk's paper-dungeon was likewise as it had been. The stacks of paper were long gone, as was the table and single chair upon which this tortured minion had done his best, which in turned allowed his comrades to do their worst.
I stepped past the doors quickly and moved onward. The corridor eventually turned to the right, as it followed the outer wall of the keep. I stepped clear of a small hole in the floor where the floorboards had been damaged. I knew this place well enough to avoid causing creaks, and my passing was thus silent. The dripping got louder, each tap assaulting my ears, like some impurity fouling perfection. The utter silence seemed to shatter like glass with each falling drop.
The corner straightened out into another long corridor. Here the floors above had collapsed, leaving a gaping hole that looked down upon this level. I could see the glint of the drops as they fell. Tap, tap, tap. The puddle upon the floor reflected what little light found its way here. It was enough to obscure the puddle itself. Still, the scent was strong. Blood. I stopped cold, and took care to survey the corridor as entirely as possible. What lay bleeding above me? If another wanderer had indeed died here, it was very recent. It was not hard to see that a plague storm had swept this area not three days ago, and it would have claimed whatever body lay here. Recent. Very recent.
I crept forward once more, and felt the sickening-sweet smell of death wash over me. I forced its ravages from my mind, focusing on the danger I began to sense around me. I looked toward the hole in the ceiling. Did I dare approach from this floor? No, that was far too dangerous. The high ground was a fighter's greatest advantage. Three years in the Royal Guard had taught me that much. Always seek the high ground.
I turned back, retreating to the beginning of the corridor. The guard station and Captain's room still sat silent and empty as I passed them on the way to the winding staircase. I slid through the half-closed door that led to the stairs, careful not to allow the door to creak on its rusty hinges. The stairs were narrow and steep, designed with the same intention as the corridors; to slow the progress of unwanted, armed, and likely angry guests. The stairs extended down five floors to the ground, and as many upward.
The floor above was much the same as the one I had just left. The corridors were bleak and empty, though more worn and torn. There were rooms placed here and there, all just as empty, all just as bled dry of any evidence of occupancy. I was careful, but moved quickly, hoping to catch whatever awaited me off-guard. As I turned the corner, I spotted the body near the hole in the floor. A beam of sunlight shone in through a hole in the outer wall, where some fierce storm had sent a lightning bolt to tear at the keep's skin. The light fell exactly upon the corpse.
It was a deer, twisted in its final pose. I moved closer, and saw instantly what had happened. The floors above the corpse were also torn open, and the deer had fallen several floors to its death, coming to a stop here. A simple fall. The deer, far from its home in the forests to the east, had likely wandered in looking for food. A simple slip, and this terrible place, so long devoid of its denizens, had claimed yet one more innocent life. What a waste.
Still, to travel so far in search of food was terribly out of the ordinary, even in a world gone as mad as ours. The forests, despite the ravages of the storms, had managed to provide the wildlife with enough food to carry on. What could drive an animal so far, three days travel at a good run, in search of food? I examined the corpse from a distance, careful not to approach. The corpse seemed gaunt, as though its' last meal had been weeks past. The skin was already cracking, the fur dry and patchy. This animal had not seen water in days before its death..
I started to move forward, slowly, carefully, unsure of the floor beneath my feet. The hole torn down through these various levels, which opened up this terrible place to the angry sky, was large and ragged. I had always avoided this area of the keep before, and had no wish to explore it by crashing through it.
Just as I stepped into reach of the corpse, the air changed. It was sudden, but familiar. The air grew cold, very cold, and it seemed to thicken, as though I could swim through it, maybe even cut through it with my blade. It was mere perception, of course. I knew this change. I had weathered it many times, and I knew how to survive its ravages. A plague storm was coming!
Spinning on the ball of my foot, I dashed back down the corridor toward the stairs. My boots struck the floor quickly, with no regard for noise. Even if a foe really did exist here, they would be hurrying for shelter. Nobody who had survived this long was foolish enough to do anything but seek protection at the first sign of a plague storm. My cloak fluttered behind me, having come free of the leather strap which tied it in place.
As I turned the corner of the corridor, it caught on a metal bracket on the wall. I caught myself before I could fall, but just barely. The cloak tore where it caught the brace, its eternal candle long since fallen away. I pulled to free the cloak, but it would not come. As I stepped closer to the brace to free myself, the air changed again. The smell of death, which so permeated this place, melted away. In its place, an overwhelming surge, was a sweet scent, honey-like. My time was quickly running out! Sighing at the loss of the cloak, well made and well worn, I pulled the string which fastened it around my neck, and let it hang where it was.
I hurried onward, down the stairs as fast as I could without slipping on the steep, narrow stone steps. I took the last several floors in leaps, dashing downward with speed far beyond the safe and sound. My shoulder struck the stone wall of the staircase, but I had not time for such trivialities. This storm felt fierce, and I would not survive without proper shelter. Here, in this terrible place, that meant the throne room.
Despite the terrible evil that had once occupied it, and despite the reek of malignant anger that stained its stone walls, it was the only safe harbor near enough. My pack was in the main courtyard of the keep, and the storm blanket it carried was not powerful enough to stave off what felt like a massive storm. It would have to be the throne room this time. I steeled myself for what was to come. The throne room was indeed safe harbor from the plague storms, but it was a punishment all on its own. Hopefully, the storm would pass quickly.
The ground floor of the keep was open, grand, and intimidating. The staircase opened up into its main courtyard, where the great steel doors were once opened up like a gaping maw to devour fearful victims. The courtyard was massive,