Hundreds of jeweled sarcophagi filled the cavern, surrounded by caches of gold, silver, and bronze. Each sarcophagus was covered in images depicting the owner buried within; some of the art was skillfully rendered; some less so. The burial boxes were arranged in groups according to family, and in the center of each assemblage was a giant statue of stone.
“These are so old,” Aully said.
“They are,” her betrothed answered.
“But why didn’t they build the crypts in the old lands? Why here?”
He laughed. “Because the first generation of elves decided that the land above the crypts should be unsettled, that it would be an insult to live right on top of them. So they chose a swath of forest just outside Kal’droth and dug beneath the earth. But when Celestia changed the world, this is where my father decided we would live. Hence, Dezerea.”
“You don’t seem so upset by that.”
“I never saw Kal’droth. I’m happy here. There’s so much beauty up above, and down here there’s so much to learn.”
“Like what?”
“Do you see those statues?” Kindren asked her, pointing.
Aullienna nodded. They were frightening-stone faces forever expressionless, their khandars, staffs, and bows looking ready to strike dead anyone who dared enter this sacred place. Somewhere down here would be her own legacy, she knew, her own family heritage. She thought about asking him to take her there, but she decided there would be plenty of time later. Dezerea was her new home. Time for her was a plentiful commodity.
“Those statues represent the founders of each particular family,” Kindren said. “They stand vigil over the remains of their children, grandchildren, and so on.”
Aullienna was overwhelmed by the sheer number of sarcophagi and statues, and all the more so because according to Kindren, the crypt before her was just one of hundreds beneath Dezerea.
“It would take a thousand trips to see them all,” Aullienna murmured as she slowly made her way through the statues, taking in the various names and images.
“Two hundred and seventeen actually,” Kindren replied, and he smiled at her when she narrowed her eyes at him. “Trust me. I’ve seen every single one. And you will too, if you wish.”
She gazed up at Kindren with adoration. The last few weeks had been without a doubt the best of her short life, though they hadn’t been without their own special sort of irritation. After breakfast with Noni, her nursemaid, her mornings were spent with the Thyne handmaidens, doing everything from trying on clothing and learning the intricacies of court etiquette, to mind-numbing studies that included learning the names and physical attributes of all the elves in the courts of both Dezerea and Quellassar. Why she had to know that a two-hundred-and-twelve-year-old lesser minister named Q’leetho Coresan had a nose bent slightly to the left was beyond her. Yet she suffered through the lessons, dutifully listening as the handmaidens laid open dusty book after dusty book, because she knew lunchtime came next, when she would be awarded with smoked bacon sandwiches and delectable plum pies, washing it all down with the tastiest lemon sour she’d ever drunk.
Of course, lunchtime also meant she was only a single short hour away from spending the rest of her day with her betrothed. Ever since the tournament, the two youths had become inseparable. Aullienna was enthralled by Kindren’s sense of humor and chivalry-never was there a puddle he wouldn’t carry her across, a time she slipped when he didn’t catch her before she fell. Of course, Kindren would always poke fun at her for it afterward, telling her if she watched the ground as carefully as she did him, she’d stumble less. They were always wandering about the streets of Dezerea, exploring the palace grounds and the tree huts of the surrounding forest. They chatted with anyone who was willing to give them the time of day, and it seemed as though much of the city was taken with them.
Some of the Dezren began calling them The Common Royalty, a nickname Aullienna, who came from Stonewood, where people were on equal footing regardless of their station, much appreciated.
Aullienna and her parents were staying in the East Garrison, an elegant structure that looked like a miniature version of Palace Thyne. Aully’s window overlooked the forest and the hilltops bordering the Rigon River, and on many a morning she sat at that window in rapt attention, watching as the sun slowly rose over the rounded, grassy peaks. The consulate from Quellassar was also staying in the East Garrison, which meant she spent several hours in the same space as Ceredon Sinistel. They often passed each other in the Garrison’s jade halls, and over the span of a few days they had taken to conversing lightly. Despite the irritability and general unfriendliness Ceredon had displayed on the day of the tournament, Aully began to see a different side of him. Although he was a bit uptight and full of himself, he seemed to mean well. As they began to warm to each other, she decided that his heart rang nearly as true as Kindren’s. Aully excused his previous behavior as that of an uncertain son who felt pressure to live up to his demanding father’s reputation. Besides, he was beautiful, his features as flawless as the rest of his family’s, which made him agreeable to look upon.
The sound of something rapping on hollow metal wrested her from her daydream. Kindren gazed at her with excitement in his eyes, the tips of his fingers brushing the bare portion of her upper arm, and Aullienna’s insides melted.
“Aully, look at this,” he said, pointing to a giant, round brass shield that stood as tall as she did. The words Ambar e Fuin were engraved on it, The Fate of Darkness. Aully felt another of Kindren’s stories coming on, and she leaned her elbows on the pedestal nearest her, cradling her chin in her palms. “This shield belonged to Jimel Horlyne,” he said, “the honorable warrior who, legend has it, fought the demon kings that laid siege to Kal’droth a thousand years ago. He was the tallest elf ever born, towering over his brothers and sisters by at least a head. That’s him right there.”
Kindren pointed up and Aully followed his finger, gasping in horror at the behemoth that seemed to be bursting out of the cavern roof. Its enormous head contained a mouth that was opened in an eternal scream, bellowing down at her in pained silence. Unlike the rest of the statuary, this one was just a face and a sword arm. That face was appalling, cheeks lined with creases, nose withered away, teeth chipped and broken. It was beyond her why anyone had decided to embed the partial statue up there, nestled among the stalactites.
As if sensing her question, Kindren said, “According to the tombs, Jimel is the elf who banished Sluggoth the Slithering Famine from this world. During a great battle, he allowed himself to be swallowed by the beast, which stood a hundred feet high. He slowly hacked away at the demons inside with his sword, slicing through its underbelly. He slayed it so that Celestia could banish its poisonous presence from the realm.” Kindren’s expression appeared reflective, almost sad. “The statue reflects the last any saw of him: Jimel, the great warrior, appearing through a rain of blood and entrails, sword leading, his face shriveled, his body rife with infection. He made the ultimate sacrifice for his people so that many more could live.”
“You respect him.”
Kindren bowed. “I more than respect him, Aully. Of all the stories, his is the greatest. When I was younger I dreamed of being him, of giving my own life to protect my sisters and parents. Then it would be me memorialized like Jimel up there-it would be me about whom the stories are told.”
“When you were younger,” Aully snickered. “As if you are old now. But why would you want to be him? That’s stupid.”
Kindren looked over at her suddenly, seemingly shocked by her words. “It is? But why?”
She pointed at the carved figure. “Because he probably had a wife and children, and when he was gone, they were left alone. But you’re alive, and you’re mine. You’d do me no good as a stone statue, Kindren, remembered in fairy tales. I want you by my side, now and forever.”