"Speak your mind," said the paladin sharply, starting to walk toward the wall on the left side of the room from the door. Jacob caught on and began walking toward the far wall opposite the double doors, examining the curtains.
"Lord Garkim explained the nature and powers of the bloodforges to you."
"He did not explain very much," said the paladin. He reached the wall and carefully began to probe the thick red curtains with the head of his warhammer. They seemed normal enough. He pushed in, and the hammer head thumped into the wall behind.
He abruptly looked down at his left hand. The ring given to him by his wife Evaine was glowing faintly. Poison? Where?
"A bloodforge was used to kidnap Lady Eidola," said the voice. "It was not the bloodforge of Doe-gan that was involved in this act. Your lady was taken by the bloodforge of Ysdar."
Miltiades snorted skeptically. He carefully knelt down by the curtain, so that the wall was on his left side. With his left hand, he reached down and picked up the bottom of the curtain. He raised his hammer with his right hand and prepared to strike, expecting a venomous creature.
Behind the curtain was a solid black wall, its surface slick and glossy. Miltiades smelled mildew and must, noting cobwebs were pulled away as he lifted the curtain's bottom. He looked back at Lord Garkim, who watched him intently without moving, arms folded in front of him.
"Who is Ysdar?" said Kern, far across the room. He poked the curtain before him. A low clunk sounded through the room.
"Ysdar is the leader of the Fallen Temple, an evil cult within our lands. We are not sure of Ysdar's present or former identity. The cult preys upon all peoples in all countries here. It has captured or excavated its own bloodforge and now uses it against our imperial domain and all other kingdoms and states in this region. Ysdar is the spirit of annihilation. Were you to destroy the bloodforge that shields our domain from Ysdar's legions, you would doom us and all our subjects. The Imperial Reaches of Doegan would be an eroded wasteland in less than a decade."
Noph spoke up, gazing up at the ceiling. "What is the Fallen Temple? We hardly know a thing about it, no disrespect to Lord Garkim here."
"The Fallen Temple is the twisted remnant of the most powerful of the five Temples of the Southern Clave which joined the Right Armada, the fleet assembled and led by our ancestor, King Aetheric I, from the Moonshae Islands to the shores of our Utter East. As divine punishment for the vile offenses committed by the priests of this temple during the voyage of the Right Armada to the Utter East, all priests of this temple were stripped of their holy powers and spells. As mundane punishment for endangering their fellow voyagers, they were stripped of their right to vote at the last Great Council, and they gained no collective or individual fiefs from the Founding Lords as they divided up the Utter East.
"These heretics, bitter at their punishment, sought out other high powers that would invest them with a semblance of their former abilities. Their descendants found a patron native to this land, a corrupt and ancient entity that has sought to destroy all life here, from ourselfdown to the lowest beggar. The bloodforge of Doegan is our shield against this wickedness. Your plan to destroy our shield would reduce all you see to ruin. You would murder our empire for the life of one woman."
"Miltiades," called Kern. Everyone turned to look. The youthful warrior in the golden armor was holding up the bottom of the red curtain nearest him. Behind it was a wall of mortared stone.
There's a rock wall back here, too," called Jacob.
Miltiades looked up. He tugged the curtain bottom, then stood and jerked. The top of the curtain tore free of several spikes holding it up near the ceiling. Miltiades hauled back on the curtain abruptly. It ripped and fell away in the center, tearing further as he walked backward, still gripping the cloth.
Behind the curtain on the left wall was a vast jet wall, shiny though smudged with dust. The wall seemed to have depth to it, looking less like polished marble than like dark, almost opaque glass. Miltiades dropped the curtain. The whole center of the wall was now revealed in the steady light from the ceiling globes.
Lord Garkim cleared his throat. "That was not polite, nor was it wise," he said to Miltiades, in mild irritation.
Miltiades did not answer. He stared intently at the black wall. Far above him, the globes of light nearest the wall dimmed. The shadows of the paladins lengthened and stretched before them to the shining wall.
Jacob and Kern quickly headed toward Miltiades. Trandon carefully reached up and put his right hand inside his vest again, his left hand clutching his tall quarterstaff. Noph thought about pulling out one of his knives. Something was very strange about this place. He turned, saw that he was near the door out of the room, and moved over to it. He reached for the door handle again, making sure it would open.
As he did, the door gave a low thump, as if something had been moved against it. He seized the door handle and shoved on it hard. It did not move. He threw his shoulder against it, accomplishing nothing. "Locked!" he shouted, a shred of terror flooding into his voice. "We're locked in!"
"Garkim!" Miltiades shouted, tearing his gaze from the wall and spinning on his heel. He lunged for the councilor and seized him by the front of his ship-decorated tabard. "Garkim, what thing is hidden behind that wall?" he roared in the smaller man's face.
Garkim glared up at the larger man. His dark eyes were bright with rage. "You will know very soon," he said quietly. "You are not a wise man, and your manners are barbaric. You are hardly better than your ancestral brothers were when they lost their holy powers and turned their grand church into the Fallen Temple."
"What are you talking about?" the big warrior growled.
Garkim measured his next words. "I am talking about the Fallen Temple. In these lands it is also known as the Temple of the Broken Hammer."
Miltiades suddenly froze. The rage melted from his face. His mouth fell open as his eyes grew wide.
"Tyr's church?" Miltiades whispered. He sounded like a child. "That was Tyr's church?"
Only Garkim's burning eyes answered him.
The warrior's hand relaxed, releasing Garkim's clothing. Miltiades took a step back, his face drained of color. "Great Tyr above," he gasped. His right hand fell open, letting his warhammer dangle from the strap on his wrist. "Great Righteous Tyr, that couldn't have happened. You lied to Kern when you said-"
"I knew you would not welcome the news," said Garkim with disdain. "I was unsure of your reaction and wished to err on the side of caution. After all, your holy church of Tyr brought evil into our land. I did not know if you would do the same."
"Lord Garkim speaks the truth," said the room-filling voice. No one turned to look for it. "Patriarch Justarvis, High Avenger of Tyr's Church of the Southern Clave of the Moonshaes, fell in with the priests of Tempus, the depraved Count Boarswic, and the rapacious Northmen. Justarvis was convinced to take vengeance on every ship and town that would not offer their plague-stricken ships refuge and healing. The patriarch and his followers looted and burned and murdered, calling their acts righteous and deserved punishments for their victims. For his many foul deeds, the patriarch was rewarded by your god Tyr with a hideous death, caught in the arms of a kraken and dragged screaming with his bodyguards into the depths of the Great Sea, mere hours before our shores were sighted and the Right Armada landed."
"That's a lie!". screamed Jacob, wild-eyed, looking at the black wall. His grip on his huge two-handed blade tightened. "The gods damn your lying tongue!"
There was silence for the space of three heartbeats.
"That was no lie," said the voice. "And we are damned already."
A low rumbling rolled through the room, coming from the shiny black wall. It sounded less like an earthquake than the stirring of a great amount of water.