Touch of Honor

Touch of Honor: Debt of the Dead - Chapter 2

     The base of the stairs, its path lit by Casset's lamp, opened into an oddly shaped chamber. The walls and ceilings were made of many stone bricks, most of which had crumbled to the ground revealing a dirt substitute behind them. On the sides of the room were the etchings of ledges within the left over stone, servings as tables. Two burnt out oil lamps sat in niches on either end of the room.

     At the far end from where the companions now stood, was a fresco on the wall depicting a member of every race of the world standing beside each other, their hands intertwined. The oily paints of green, red, brown, black, yellow and gray dripped down from centuries of standing, disfiguring most of the humanoid races beyond recognition. Some of which Spruce hadn't recognized in the first place.

     "Looks like the art has seen better days. Mildew and water damage will do that." Jeri said, admiring the piece as he handed Casset back his lamp.

     Spruce admired it as well, though he did not notice he was doing so. So many walks of life. Do one of these peoples have a warrior that could test me? Likely not. Still. I'm sure whoever they are, they have long lost ballads of their own.

     "So how do we access the lower level Casset?" Jeri asked, turning from the wall's oil painting.

     "Oh, I don't really know. I've just been told by my uncle that it's locked away and forbidden to enter. Maybe I could go back and he could help us."

     "No need." Jeri replied quickly. "We can look for the entrance ourselves." He took his torch and lit the two oil lamps, allowing Spruce to resume his examination of the wall art. "Is one of them going to tell us how to pass?" Jeri asked, referring to one of the people depicted.

     "Likely not." Spruce said, only slightly turning away to respond.

     Jeri rolled his eyes. "Like I should expect your help anyway."

     As the others looked around the walls for a switch, lever, or other means of entering the lower floors, Spruce continued to lose himself in the work.

     Are they warriors? Miners? Friends? Lovers maybe? Now that would be something. Do they even know each other? Have they lived honorable lives? What have they accomplished that was so great to deserve being painted on a wall? Are they even real? He looked to his side at the sound of crunching gravel and dirt.

     Skamos had begun to appreciate the art as well.

     Spruce watched him carefully to see his reaction, as Skamos was an odd man and was subject to many interesting reactions to Spruce. Maybe he'll do something funny or say something overly verbose.

     The redling did neither. Instead he outstretched his two fingers and placed them against one of the people on the wall. He took a step closer.

     Spruce looked intently. There were no tears but no smiles either. Skamos looked at the depiction of what Spruce had gathered to be a redling on the wall with a sort of mourning. His black eyes were wide open, his lips having been parted ever so slightly.

     "Do you have any family Skamos?"

     Skamos blinked rapidly, coming back to his senses. "Why of course I possess relatives. We all do. I have a mother and a father."

     "Ah yes. We all have those. Do you miss them?"

     "Yes."

     "I take it they aren't alive?" Spruce asked, digging at his friend's short reply.

     "No. My father passed away many years ago. My mother was cut down rather recently."

     "Cut down? My that's a way to go. Who got to her?"