Lost Tales I

[Tobias Stalt]

Orville made no effort to hide his obnoxious yawn. "I don't see no sun," he grumbled as the group trudged on. "We could have slept two, maybe three more hours."

"Could have lost that much travel time, too," Tobias returned. "The sooner we make the ruins, the sooner we can get back to the wagon."

"And off these wretched plains," added Rosco as he wrung his sleeve and dumped more water into the mire. "These clothes weren't made for such conditions."

The two mercenaries exchanged glances. "You had other clothes," Tobias reminded the merchant. "Why did you decide on silk when you knew we were headed into a downpour?"

Rosco glared at Tobias and pursed his lips venomously. The younger man raised both hands. "Just a thought," he relented. It was hardly worth an argument with his benefactor to him.

The road forked abruptly a yard from a steep drop off, and beyond Tobias made out the silhouette of a settlement. "That must be it," he pointed as thunder resounded overhead. Constant flashes of light replaced the intermittent stains in their wake.

The ground shook suddenly, and sparks sprang up within arm's reach of the three men. "Gods be good!" Rosco shouted as Orville let out a shrill cry. "What was that?"

"Lightning strike," Tobias observed as he pulled his hood over. "From here on, they're a very real threat. Move quickly and stay to the path." The mercenary quickened his pace and gestured toward warped metal structures that jutted forth from the ground. "The path is lined with lightning rods. They're old and worn, but if we don't deviate they should keep us safe."

Rosco blinked. "You really did your research, didn't you?"

"The tale of the Sixth King recounts the storm that swallowed these plains," Tobias explained as he led them along the spiral path downward. "It's vague about what actually created the storm, but the way that the author and his contemporaries navigated the valley is explicit."

"Who would have thought children's tales could be so useful," the merchant sneered.

"Useful enough," Tobias retorted as the treacherous incline slipped beneath him. He righted himself with a hasty effort, one hand to the rock face. "It's going to see you to your treasure, isn't it?"

"That remains to be seen," Rosco snapped back. When Tobias slid, the merchant quickly grabbed hold of the nearest foothold. Orville let out a yelp at the unexpected contact and jumped nearly a foot in the air. "Calm down you ninny!" he chastised.

Orville opened his mouth to respond, but another crack of thunder pealed and the white light arced to a metal post within a meter of them. The molten iron glowed red. "Let's focus on getting to shelter," Tobias reminded the two.

"Should've stayed asleep," Orville muttered as they descended into the valley.

The walls bore rust and moss as badges of honor, though their tattered tops had crumbled. When they were close enough to see the wear, Rosco snorted. "Some palace this is," he whined. "It's not gold or silver or decorated with fine fabrics."

"It's also been abandoned for some three thousand years," Tobias drawled. "What we're looking for won't be found within lavish halls or in the care of a living, breathing being. You wanted ruins, Rosco? These are ruins."

"So long as there's a payout, I don't give a damn if we wrest treasure from the bones of the Dead." Tobias flinched when the merchant said that. He turned a haunted gaze on the simple minded man.

"Be careful what you wish for," the mercenary muttered after a moment of silence.

Rosco trembled under the weight of Tobias' gaze even after it passed. "So," he shook off his malcontent. "What actually happened to the Sixth King?"