That One Time I Went on a Quest

Rutherford's Wish (2)

As soon as we cross the threshold, the world changes. Seems like whichever little giant that had built the Stone Graves also had a hand in this gateway. The bitter cold turns into humid warmth – humid, even though for the entire night this building had looked to be on fire. We have walked into the middle of a massive and seemingly infinite hallway that stretches left and right into thick grey mist. On the opposite a wall – carved out of pure white marble – are alcoves after alcoves filled with curious-looking debris: ruined helmets, shattered armour, and broken halberds that if intact would stand as tall as the ramparts of Iborus. All made of stone.

'The sentries are long gone,' Kathanhiel says. 'Follow me. We are close.'

Our footsteps make feeble echoes. The winter palace had many such grand and foreboding corridors, but in the Citadel there are no portraits adorning the walls, no murals carved onto the ceiling...nothing but barren stone chiselled in obsessively straight lines.

The grey mist parts at our approach, revealing even more mist in the distance. Does this hallway go on forever? In fairy tales they always do. But soon enough an archway appears on the right, and through it – no strange murkiness this time – there is a massive staircase leading up, giant steps made for giants.

Climbing again.

Not two steps later comes the sound of finality – the entire building trembles with it: huff, puff, the sickly, laboured breathing of something enormous. Rutherford.

At the end of the staircase is another archway, unadorned by so much as an extra brick. Wind is howling through it, thick with the bitter, nauseating stench of flesh decaying and burnt. Huff, puff. That breathing again, halting and uneven, stopping for minutes at a time.

Annnd the shaky hands are back. Fear didn't run away after all; all it took was some loud breathing to wake it up. Every fibre of my being is screaming that going into that archway is a bad idea, the worst idea in the history of ideas, and if I turn back now I'll instantly feel better, so much better, because all this dragon slaying nonsense is none of my business, I signed up to cook and carry stuff and do legwork not this, this kicking on the Maker's shins, in way over my head –

These last few steps.

Most difficult steps of my life.