Taitenschild

7-2 || Monsters in Cages (Part II)

There was nowhere on the Mountain that Hal loathed more than the Cages.

It was not because they were dark, dirty and claustrophobic, like the gaols the soldier caste threw the helots and menials into when they acted outside of their stations. On the contrary, the Chamber of Cages was large, comparable in size to the pit of the Arena, and paved with marble slabs inlaid with so many aeonite circles and runes, he'd felt like he'd gone blind the one time he'd dared to use his magical Sight.

But bright as it was, there was something about the room that was just so... unnatural. Ungodly, even.

Hal grimaced. Considering the nature of his duties, "ungodly" seemed like a good descriptor. The glowing red eyes of the half a dozen or so hungry Fal'mor watching him seemed to emphasise the fact.

There were no iron bars – no physical barriers. To the unsuspecting Seren, it would simply look like Hal was staring into the iridescent pillar of light that marked the centre of the chamber, and someone had plopped black blobs of slime onto evenly spaced squares on the outer edge of the room.

The "cages" were nothing but smaller, cube-shaped versions of the Arena ward, inlaid into individual squares of the chamber floor: invisible unless touched and designed to keep Fal'mor in, not other people out. More than one unfortunate menial had accidentally stumbled across the threshold of a cage. The Fal'mor went from their innocuous blob forms to monstrous in seconds and sucked their victims dry of aether before anyone could react.

Yet here Hal was, making more of them.

'Ylva is returning soon,' Ove had said. 'Over a score have requested to take the Rite when the Aeren have repaired the ward, and Einar wants a Fal'mor ready for each of them.'

He looked down at the basket beside him and sighed. Leaning down, Hal retrieved a gleaming aeonite crystal the size of his fist. A spell was engraved on its surface, written in vaguely familiar, yet indecipherable swirling glyphs. Not quite Aeren, and definitely not Seren.

Frankly, that worried him.

Regardless, he did his job. Reaching into the light pillar, Hal let the crystal float out of his grasp. With an audible hum, the spell etched onto its surface glimmered to life. The floor lit up as circles upon circles of runes activated in response.

The crystal spun aimlessly in suspension, waiting for the next step.

Reluctantly, the menial reached back into the basket and retrieved a knife. With a grimace, he drew the blade across his palm. Squeezing his hand into a fist, he raised it above the crystal and let the blood trickle down. Instead of splashing off its surface, it soaked into the shard. The bright azure blue turned dull, dark red as it started its transition into a Fal'mor core.

Thirty crystals. Thirty Fal'mor. Far more than they needed, thought Hal.

Einar was greatly underestimating how much blood was going to be spilled.

When the core had drunk enough, he pulled his hand back and drew a quick rune over his palm to staunch the bleeding. The painful part was over. The next, however, was far more dangerous. Exhaling slowly, Hal steeled his mind – and faltered as he was interrupted by a knock.

His eyebrows knitted. He and Ove had been very clear. No one else was supposed to enter the Cages today.

As the double doors began to swing open behind him, he quickly swiped the now-red crystal from the light pillar and tossed it back into the basket with the others. The rune circles on the floor instantly went dim.

Turning, he found Ove standing in the doorway looking puzzled. 'Aren't you supposed to be working?' asked the Marshal.

'I was,' said Hal. 'Then someone opened the doors unannounced. You're lucky I hadn't quite started yet. Menials making Fal'mor for the Titans to fight is supposed to be secret, you know.' Shaking his head, Hal leaned down to pick up the unfinished core once more.