Beneath a layer of grass and soil, Solène spotted what looked like wooden planking. It was old, blackened, and rotting, but she could see the hard edges that indicated that the wood had been worked at some point.
She got down on her knees, then started pulling away soil and grass until she’d cleared a panel of boards. Finding a gap, she tugged at one board until she was able to pull it free, snapping it in half as she did, the ages-old timber giving way. Panting from her efforts, Solène found herself staring down into a dark chamber. Just enough light got in to let her see the gloomy cut-stone edges of its walls. She had found it.
CHAPTER 44
Solène cast a globe of light into the centre of the room beneath her and watched in awe as illumination fell on surfaces that had been in darkness for countless years. She could barely believe she had found what she was looking for. Whilst there was probably some safe way to get down, she couldn’t see it, and realised it might be buried under several hours of digging. The drop to the floor didn’t look far enough to cause injury, but getting back up would be a problem. She wondered if she’d be able to magically float herself out, but since she’d never done it before, she wasn’t sure she could. Simply desiring a certain result didn’t guarantee it—at least not without the potential for unwanted side effects.
Aside from that, she was afraid to attempt using magic in the presence of so much energy. If she allowed it to channel through her body, it could burn her out in an instant. As it was, in normal circumstances she still struggled to draw only the amount of the Fount she needed for whatever it was she was attempting to do. With so much around her, to even consider trying something new was madness.
Her horse had thankfully remained close by. She went through the saddlebags the Order had packed for her, to see if there was anything useful. Fleetingly she wondered where Banneret Olivier might be. She hoped that his stomach troubles had settled and that the Prince Bishop didn’t punish him too harshly when Olivier finally owned up to having lost her.
At last she found a length of rope in one of the bags. It looked long enough to reach the floor. The thought of the task before her made her wish she’d been more diligent in attending physical training at the Priory; she wasn’t at all certain she’d be able to haul herself out. Maybe she could tie one end of the rope to the saddle and somehow encourage the horse to back away from the hole, pulling her out.
If she tried that, there would be risks: the horse might wander away, taking the rope with it; its weight might cause it to fall through the old wooden boards. It seemed like her only option, however. Hopefully there’d be something down there she could tie the line to until she was ready to use it.
She tied the line to the saddle, then backed up to the edge of the hole. The horse took a step forward as she lowered herself into the cavern. She dropped several feet before the line went taut and arrested her descent. Swinging in the darkness, clinging to the rope for dear life, she questioned the sense in her idea, before remembering that the drop to the floor wasn’t the issue, it was the getting back out. She shimmied down the short distance and planted her feet firmly on the old flagstone floor. Her magical light was still burning away faithfully, showing no signs of dimming. She could still easily recall when maintaining the focus to create a light had been challenging. Now she could do it with barely a thought. It gave her hope that all of the other things that seemed to pose so great a challenge to her truly gaining control over her magical ability might also one day seem so easy.
When she looked around, her initial impression was one of disappointment. Once, generations ago, the space might have been something impressive, but now it was just a damp room of cut stone. She placed her hand on one of the walls; the stone was smooth, cold, and completely unmarked. There was no ornamentation visible anywhere, which struck her as odd for a temple—even for the remains of one. Where was the decoration? The inscription?
Before exploring any farther, Solène secured her line to an old root that dangled from the ceiling. Then she walked slowly along each wall, running her hand along it and trying to sense what might lie beyond—stone, soil, or perhaps other chambers, as had been the case when she and Guillot had explored the remains of the stronghold of the Chevaliers of the Silver Circle, under Gill’s old home.
She wondered what this chamber looked like when it was still being used, and what might have gone on there. The stone flags beneath her had been worn smooth by the passage of countless feet. She could tell it was an ancient place, but perhaps not the one she was looking for. What if the Prince Bishop had other people searching for the temple? What if they found it before she did? In such a case, all that she could hope for was that there was nothing to find, or at least nothing he could understand.
She continued to walk and run her hand along the wall but stopped when she felt a draft at her fingertips. She could feel the air moving but couldn’t see where it was coming from. Closing her eyes, Solène reached out for the Fount, but the energy was so strong that she couldn’t see any distinct forms—it was like a brilliant, blinding light coming from all directions. Using her regular vision, she inspected the wall, but could see no obvious sign of a doorway. Nonetheless, air was coming from the other side of the wall. Surely there had to be a way through.
Finally, her fingers landed on a groove cut into the stone—perhaps the outline of a door. She shifted position to allow the magical light to fall on that section of wall, but still had to squint to make out a faint etching that must have been exposed to the elements for a long time before the room was covered over. When she looked closely, she could make out fully formed shapes that seemed to represent letters. This dashed her hope that she might have found the edges of a door, but it was the only marking she had found, so perhaps it was significant.
This time Solène opened her mind to the Fount carefully, focussing on the idea of opening a window only a crack to let in some fresh air. In her mind’s eye, she could see the Fount raging on the other side of the window, a great, swirling tempest that would flatten all before it. The pressure on her was enormous, but she fought against it, allowing only a tiny amount to touch her. She could feel her skin tingle as it energised her, as she sought meaning in the words carved into the stone. They remained unintelligible.
She wanted to try again, but she was worried. It had taken a huge amount of strength to keep the Fount from smashing through her meagre resistance and flooding her body. Dal Drezony had thought such a torrent was likely to be fatal, and Solène wasn’t sure of how many more times she could dip into the mass of energy without being overcome. She took a deep breath and visualised the window opening a little farther, then turned her thoughts to the meaning of the writing. The Fount raged and beat against her, but she stood firm. Having to split her mind between keeping it out and achieving the goal she had set strained her to the point of physical pain. When it became clear she was not going to succeed, she stopped, shutting the window and blocking out the surging power beyond. She wanted to scream with frustration.
Already the power she had used was far beyond what she had needed to decipher the texts in the Prince Bishop’s archive. She considered trying again, but knew it was a waste of time. Whatever the writing was, it was old—too old to share enough common ground with her own language to enable her to effect a translation.
Perhaps she was worrying over nothing. This looked more like a hermit’s cave than an important temple … but why would anyone bother putting up—and later, concealing—an unimportant building on such an important site?