"There it is," Mjen waved his torch through the cavern's opening burning off a number of spider webs that had gathered over the millenia. "I told you we would find it." He looked back over his shoulder to where Lhiren was still crawling over the edge of a damp rock formation that had made the last few hours of travel exceptionally difficult. Her face, lit by the small sphere of magic fire she had conjured, was bright pink from the effort. She got to her feet and wiped the cave scum onto the green fabric of her robe where it immediately lit and fell to ash.
"This is where they put it?" Lhiren pushed her dark hair out of her face.
"Undoubtedly," the Orc smiled and his lower canines gleamed in the firelight. "It's your map," he waved a tattered scroll toward the warlock.
They had been exploring the cave on the far side of the ancient, Orc fortress for more than two days, sleeping in the wet darkness and encountering everything from cave bats to shoulder-deep rivers of water. Some of the cavern rooms had pits that seemed impossibly deep and rock formations that seemed to move like shadows.
It had been one of the most grueling physical journeys Lhiren had ever embarked on. Even the final tests, the proving ground for those who chose the path of the warlock hadn't left her as tired as the cave had. There were cuts and bruises she would have to address with magic later.
"Come," Mjen grinned, "let us gather your prize." He stepped into the cavernous room and waved his torch back and forth.
"Yes," Lhiren waved her hand and the little spark of fire that floated beside her flared brighter, "my prize." She stepped into the room and knew immediately that the map had been right. Along the walls near the door were markings and small wooden structures that looked like single rooms. She stepped over to one and saw a small meditation mat, some clay vessels, and smudges of black smoke from the empty oil lamps that hung against the walls.
"This is where they came to meditate," Mjen stared around the room and Lhiren could see that the place meant something to him, to his people. The ancient fortress, once the stronghold of the Orcs, was an almost mythical place. The beginning of the Orc's greatest heroes began in the fortress above them.
Mjen started toward the center of the room. "The sky once poured through those crystals," he pointed to a place along the ceiling where massive blue and red stones had been set into the walls. A few were missing, broken by the collapse of the fortress above, but the light from Mjen's torch and Lhiren's fire was enough to lend the chamber some of it's old luster.
Lhiren almost couldn't believe it. She had done it. The great Orc's spellbook rested on a simple stone altar in the center of the room. Everything was exactly like the legends had said.
Surrounded by piles of wax - the remains of long dead candles that once stood vigil around the sacred text - the book sat atop a pillar of carefully placed and glyphed stones. She swallowed hard and glanced at Mjen.
"Still think you can break the spell?" Mjen stood a few feet away looking examining the glyphs and guessing that the spells would be even tougher than Lhiren had thought.
"I believe so," Lhiren stared at the small, wooden-bound book and the symbols engraved around it. "We are going to need a few things," she toward the dilapidated huts that had once housed the most powerful warlocks in the land.
"Fetch me a shard of the topaz, the blue stone, from over there," she pointed toward the far wall, "I'll get a scrap of cloth from one of the mats." She started across the room and it felt like she was floating.
For three years, she had sought the ancient text. She had wandered north beyond the great ice castle of Kal and south of the barren wastes but only to hear the stories, or gain some tidbit of knowledge - never to find anything real. Over the past months she had begun to doubt herself, to wonder if finding the book was even possible.
Across the Great Sea, she had wandered the forest of the Dark Elves and the Ogre plains, sought out the mighty shaman Gh'lur, and then the witches of Falls Vail. Scraps were all she had ever gained, the next leg of her journey, a torn map, a story, a whisper about the legendary Orc and where his followers had hidden the book.
Now the exhaustion and frustration melted away. She had made it, had found the book, and soon, she would hold the secrets of the mighty warlock.
Lhiren tore a scrap of fabric from one of the mats and stared down at the Orcish pattern still visible beneath the grime of a thousand years.
"How big a piece?" Mjen's voice echoed across the milky darkness.
Lhiren sighed, "The size of your fist is plenty." She thought of the spell she had written to break the ancient glyph magic the warlocks used. She was confident, but unsure. The spell had never been used on something as large as the altar or with bindings so old. Some of the glyphs she didn't know and legend warned that the highest warlocks ever taught by the mighty Orc had protected the book of spells so that it couldn't fall into the hands of anyone with nefarious intent.
The Orcs did well. Lhiren looked back towards the stones and the book. Even from across the massive cavern, she could sense the protective barrier, the magic that had been imbued upon the structure were impossibly strong.
"Will this do?" Mjen stepped across the cavern and opened his hand. He showed the warlock the chunk of topaz he had retrieved from one of the shattered sky stones, a large blue piece the size of a knife blade.
"Yes," she glanced at the tattered bit of cloth in her hand.
"What else? You said you had a list?" Mjen's eyes glittered in the torch light and Lhiren thought back to their first meeting.
She had been sitting outside at the only inn in Riven, a small affair run by a couple of Dwarves who did nothing but bicker and snipe at each other, when one her contacts, a thief by the name of Anha brought the young Orc to her table.
"This is the guy," Anha had sat down and motioned for Mjen to do the same.
She had looked the Orc over carefully then. There was no way to be sure Anha was right, but she had never known her to be wrong. "You're sure?" It still seemed like the appropriate question to ask.
"I would bet my left tit on it," Anha had kicked her feet up on an empty chair before looking around at the empty tables of the inn and shouting. "What's it take to get an ale around here?"
"Sure about what?" Mjen had looked confused, "whether or not I am a good guide?"
Lhiren had glanced at Anha then. "Yes, are you? The place we're going has not been visited in a very, very long time."
"You'd be hard-pressed to find a better guide through the old Orc capital." Mjen had smiled and his face had almost disappeared his mouth was so big.
The Orc hadn't been wrong. Mjen had led her through more cave tunnels and passageways than an Undead capital had streets. But that was only part of the guide's responsibilities.
She slipped the small leather satchel over her head and started toward the altar. "We're going to need one more thing, but let me get everything ready first."
Mjen followed her to the foot of the altar. "My ancestors were taught in these caverns," his voice was soft. "I come from a long line of locks that goes back further than anyone can remember, but I don't have the gift."
I can't wait until you stop talking. Lhiren tuned the gravel-toned voice of the Orc out and set the little patch of cloth on the ground, before she laid the piece of topaz on top. "You're related to the great one himself."
"Me?" Mjen laughed, "no, not quite, but I am an Orc and my great, great, great grandparents were warlocks so there's a good chance they learned the craft from Gh'den himself."
As soon as the name was uttered, the stones of the altar changed. The gray, moss-covered stones transformed into what looked like polished emerald. Mjen's eyes went wide and he took a few steps back. "Did I..."
"Yes," Lhiren pulled out a small knife and set it beside the stone and cloth, "the magic knows it's master."
"I'm sorry, I didn't know." Mjen apologized.
"Quite alright," she pulled a small, leather pouch free, reached inside, and pinched a small amount of earth in between her fingers. "Mjen?" She looked over her shoulder, "I want you to know that you have done what no one else has been able to do."
Mjen smiled. "Thank you, I thought it was a great adventure. Your map did most of the work, I mean, I got us past a few tricky spots, but..."
"You did well," Lhiren pulled her hand from the pouch and blew the white dust toward the Orc. "Thank you." She drew a strange symbol through the dust's haze and looked into the Orc's small eyes.
"It was really no trouble, I mean..." his nose tickled and he sneezed. "Sorry about tha..." Now his lips felt numb and everything seemed a little blurry. "Oh, wow, no really, it was such a great..." He felt a chill move over his body. He rubbed his thick hands along the green skin of his forearms. "What is...?" His tongue felt cold and then seemed to stop working. His eyes, usually small, went wild with fear. He took a step but only landed one foot before he couldn't lift the other.
His breathing slowed. His eyes glazed over. And he stood as still as a the altar he stood near.
