He shook his head, realizing now wasn't the time to quiz the construct. Instead, he waited for the Chalk Destrier's response.
The cliffs brightness dimmed over many heartbeats, then waxed once more. The voice came, "You have given me a gift of knowledge previously unknown. I respond in kind: When the swordswoman Kiril, the geomancer Thormud, and the dragonet Xet came before me, a passage to the new lands fused to the world that lie across the western seas was requested of me. I provided that portal. They left this continent years ago for Returned Abeir."
The monk's stomach lurched. He had no idea what or where Returned Abeir was, whether a land across the sea or another plane entirely. Regardless, it seemed clear the quarry he'd thought he was on the brink of discovering was gone. Kiril and her blade could be anywhere by now. A black feeling of defeat and anger threatened to shred his calm focus.
Cynosure said, "A mighty gift must have been given for you to open such a far-reaching portal."
"Indeed. A soul shard, naked in a shaft of sharp steel."
Raidon exclaimed, "Angul? They left the sword with you?"
"Yes. A grand gift I treasure still."
"May we see it?" requested Cynosure, interrupting Raidon before he could demand the blade. "We've heard much of this storied sword and would look upon your great treasure."
"Treasures such as Angul should be displayed to admiring eyes," agreed the Chalk Destrier.
A grating vibration tried to knock the monk from his feet as the cliff face simply rotated upward. White dust plumed. The screech of stone on stone was like daggers in Raidon's ears. When the face stopped its movement, a hollow was revealed. The gap opened onto a passage leading back into the cliff face. The white walls of the tunnel glimmered with the same moonlike radiance as the exterior.
Raidon darted into the opening and down the smooth corridor beyond to get away from the dust. The air within was thankfully clear. The passage was slightly curved, so that even after only twenty paces, the entrance was obscured behind him.
The passage deposited the monk into a great arched hall decorated like a mad king's treasure vault. Giant shields, glowing swords, gem-crusted staves, sculptures of all shapes and materials, and panoplies of magical garb were displayed on both walls and suspended from the ceiling. A clear space ran down the center of the hall, some thirty feet wide. Raidon started down it.
As he walked, he noted many of the shapes he had first thought to be sculptures were actually trophies of the hunt, stuffed or otherwise bodily preserved. He saw a tiger, an ettin, an amulet-wearing mummy, and other vanquished threats. He also saw a man in wizard's robes, a woman garbed in form fitting leather wielding a glowing punch dagger, and other humanoids similarly preserved.
The monk came to a wider space, circular, and fronted by several alabaster pillars. A creature claimed the opening's center. It glowed with the familiar radiance of the cliff face. The creature's shape was like a centaur, but sleeker. He had expected its skin to be stone, not flesh… though its surface was eerily milk white and fluid. Perhaps it was chalk of some enchanted variety after all.
"Welcome to my fortress," said the centaur-thing. "Would you look upon the soul shard?"
"Yes," replied Raidon, "but are you the Chalk Destrier? I at first thought the cliff we addressed answered to that name."
The centaur said, "What an impressive girth I could claim were that true, but no. I am as you see me." It leaned in and confided, "I tell you that without expectation of a gift."
"You are most kind," spoke the monk, though he wondered what kind of creature this Chalk Destrier was to expect payment for every exchange of words.
"Now then, look upon the Blade Cerulean, Angul, which shelters a splinter of a human soul. Afterward, I shall claim my last gift from you,"
"What do you mean?" asked Raidon. He glanced at the stuffed trophies.
The Chalk Destrier did not answer-it gestured with one milky palm. Light blazed like the rising sun, washing away Raidon's visual perception of the chamber.
Raidon blinked against the brilliance. Tears rolled down his cheeks. He wiped them away and saw a boulder, nearly five feet in diameter, now lying on the floor in the space between the monk and the pearly hued centaur. A long sword was plunged tip first into the boulder. The weapon was unblemished, the lines utilitarian, but the hilt was set with a cerulean-hued stone. The faintest of glimmers sparkled in the stone's depths.
"Is the soul extinguished?" asked Raidon. The last time he'd seen the blade, in its owner's hands some twenty years earlier, it had blazed with cerulean light and pulsed with righteous potency.
"It sleeps, that is all," replied the Chalk Destrier. It continued, "You have looked upon my treasure. Now I can claim my gift in return."
Even as the centaur spoke, the floor trembled. A sound identical to that which had accompanied the opening of the tunnel into the outer cliff face echoed in the chamber.
"You are sealing the entrance?" Raidon asked. He doubted it was opening wider.
"You are the gift," the Chalk Destrier announced, moving forward. "I wouldn't want you to scamper off." The creature raised one of its hands. The digits melted and flowed, becoming a long, thin blade, a skinning blade. "Please stand still; I do not like to reconstruct my trophies."
The monk loosed his concerns, reached for his focus that allowed his body and mind to become one. He hurdled the boulder pinning Angul, spinning so he only touched the stone with his palms. His time perception slowed. As he topped the rock, he pushed off with all his strength and training, feet toward his foe. He hammered the Chalk Destrier high on its humanlike chest with his feet.
The crack of contact jolted through Raidon's soles, calves, and knees. A network of fine cracks bloomed at the point of impact. He kicked himself away from his foe in a spray of rock chips, somersaulting back through the air. He landed, out of reach of the oversized creature's long arms, even the one that had become a blade.
The creature's milky pallor warmed until the Chalk Destrier was the color of freshly spilled blood. It leaped.
Raidon dived, avoiding the flashing ruby hooves and at the same time ducking beneath the centaur's slashing blade. As he dodged, he unleashed a punch of his own, striking the creature along its right flank. The impact punished his knuckles, and worse, seared him. The creature's red color was not mere show-it was red hot!
"Raidon, take the sword," Cynosure's voice urged.
"Angul can't help me against the Chalk Destrier," Raidon breathed as he avoided another charge. "As odd and amoral as this creature seems, I detect no aberrant hint. My own Sign remains quiescent."
"You must take the sword soon, or I'll not be able to extract you. The edifice in which you fight is receding, whether in space or time I can't discern. My connection with you is stretching. In another few heartbeats, it will snap. You'll be sealed in with the Chalk Destrier, perhaps forever, as one of its trophies."
The centaur reared, and then fell forward, its front legs kicking. The monk sidestepped, but the handblade sliced across Raidon's forearm. The creature was impossibly fast, hard as stone, and as hot as a forge fire. The monk flipped backward as if to flee, but it was a feint; while still standing on his hands, he heel-kicked, catching the creature in one flaring red eye as it leaned forward and down. A crunch like breaking crystal was music to Raidon's ears.
But the creature didn't react like a living thing would. It bore down with one hand and one blade, and very nearly skewered the monk. He reversed the back flip he'd initiated to draw the creature in, and flashed past the creature, trying to get behind it. Back on his feet and another five feet behind Destrier-