Solace Lost

by Michael Sliter

  It was, as both had surmised, Baron Erlins. The man, known among the courtiers for his physically-imposing appearance, seemed to have folded in upon himself, diminished far more than even ten days of imprisonment could have accounted for. Chained by the neck, he sagged back against the wall, head hanging forward. The stump at the end of his arm—now a blackened mass of dried blood, burned tissue, and singed bone—was resting unsupported on the rough, damp stone floor. Based on the vile stench, Emma could only imagine what was saturating the stones around him. He let out an occasional groan, still unaware of their presence. Emma’s heart ached for the poor man. Brave fool or not, he didn’t deserve to be treated this way. No one did.

  Escamilla moved forward and crouched just in front of the motionless body.

  “Erlins. Baron Erlins,” Escamilla said firmly. He didn’t respond, so she reached out and shook his shoulder. He flinched back from her touch and slapped her hand aside, legs pushing himself back into the wall. He averted his eyes, looking down and away, his greasy, stringy hair covering his face as he cowered.

  “No! No more… No,” he moaned, and Emma could hear the weary anguish in his voice. The sound of a man who was resigned to his fate.

  “Erlins. This is Lady Escamilla Breen. We are here to help you. We will leave this place together.”

  “No! No, please not again,” he mumbled.

  “Erlins! Theran! Look at me.” Escamilla shifted her body so that she was now facing him, but he adverted his gaze to the other side. “Look at me!” Escamilla grabbed his chin and forced his head upward, brushing his hair out of his face. His eyes were wild, rimmed in red and darting left and right, his face covered in deep scratches. Escamilla gazed into his eyes, apparently trying to calm him with sheer force of will. Remarkably, it worked.

  “Es… Escamilla? Escamilla Breen? This can’t be. You can’t be here,” he stuttered, voice low and cracking.

  “I can be anywhere I wish. And I am here.”

  “You can’t be her. You’re…” He coughed. “You’re a serving woman.” Emma was surprised that he was coherent enough to recognize that Escamilla’s outfit was out of place. Strange, the details people focused on when they were under duress. Emma remembered, quite strongly, how long Fenrir’s hair had been that night. How it had covered his eyes as he’d restrained her, and how she’d wanted to brush it off his face so that she could see him without obstruction. Of all the things to recall…

  “Clothes do not make a person. I assure you that I am Lady Escamilla Breen. Now, are you enjoying your current accommodations or would you like to leave?”

  “Will you hurry this up?” growled Fenrir. “Usually, when lamps are left burning, the occupants do not plan on being gone for long.”

  “Please… Escamilla. Help me,” he said as a sob wracked his broken body. Erlins had often contradicted Escamilla in court, and Emma had thought her mistress resented this man. And yet, here she was, willing to risk her own life to free him from his tormentors.

  “I… can’t take anymore. They hurt me, so badly. Dark eyes, red eyes. They were stealing my soul. Gods, no!” The man sounded fevered.

  Morgyn ran over to Emma and Escamilla at that moment. “The other man. He’s dead.” She sounded rather callous about it, Emma thought. Emma herself had only ever seen one dead body up close. Her mother’s. With her mother having died of a stomach flux, it had been a very unpleasant death. Emma had been repulsed by the reek of it all. The blood, the vomit, the feces. And she’d felt intensely guilty for not wanting to linger at her mother’s side, for just leaving her body outside for the corpse collectors to gather. But that had been the way of it during the outbreak.

  “Morgyn, can you use your tools to free this man?” Escamilla asked, gesturing toward Erlins. Morgyn crouched, silent as always, and examined the collar.

  “Give me a few minutes.”

  Emma watched the girl work for a moment and then walked over to the desk, glancing at Fenrir. He was standing attentively a few steps away, flanking the doorway. He must have closed the door, and his hand was again resting on the hilt of his sword, absently fingering the silver pommel. Emma was glad to see him betraying his nerves. She hoped he choked on his fear.

  She examined the books on the desk. Most of them were in languages that she did not recognize, but there were two that were in the Ardian tongue. The Complete Histories of Sardonia (a country Emma had never heard of) and Expanding the Nerring (a word she did not recognize). She flipped through the Histories book for a moment, but found little of interest.

  Shifting the books around, she found a set of keys on a ring.

  She spun about, holding them aloft. “Escamilla! Keys!”

  “Well done, dear! Quickly now,” Escamilla said, waving Emma forward. Emma inwardly smiled as she pushed Morgyn aside, knelt down, and inserted one key, then another, and then another until she heard the click of the lock being freed. She pulled the collar apart and lifted it from Erlins’ neck and shoulders as gently as she could, touching his skin and feeling that he was somehow both clammy with perspiration and somehow unnaturally hot. Only then did she realize she was kneeling in his watery leavings, and she jumped to her feet.

  “Erlins, can you stand?”

  Erlins struggled to his feet, with Emma supporting him, grabbing his intact arm and heaving him upward. He immediately slipped from her grip, falling forward to his hand and knees, nearly hitting his head on the floor.

  “Get up, Theran. Or are you going to let them come back for you? To continue hurting you? Maybe they’ll take the other hand next, or maybe they will peel off your skin, one square inch at a time. Do you want that?” Escamilla demanded of the man.

  With a great moan of exertion, he pushed himself back to his feet. He was breathing heavily, as though he had just shifted the very world. Emma thought that his eyes contained a madness, but a madness tinged with resolve. He took several staggering steps toward the door, but again, he began to fall.

  He would have hit the ground, too, had Fenrir not darted forward to catch the diminished Erlins.

  “Let’s keep moving,” said Fenrir gruffly, hefting Erlins over his shoulder before heading toward the door.

  Chapter 13

  With Morgyn again at the forefront, the group continued through the ruins. They found another exit from the great, dark chamber and proceeded on their journey, coming across yet another ramp to continue their descent. Emma was completely disoriented, but continued to push down her fear, knowing that her struggles were not nearly as bad as Erlins’.

  She watched Erlins as his naked form dangled from Fenrir’s broad shoulders, swaying limply with each step. He moaned and mumbled to himself, occasionally shouting “no” and “his eyes, his eyes!” He was still being tormented in his mind, even as they carried him away from his tormentors.

  Fenrir, despite being burdened by fifty or sixty pounds of armor, continued to carry Erlins as if he were little more than a sack of flour. Four times now, he had set Erlins down and then shifted him to his opposite shoulder, Erlins being entirely non-responsive during these brief rests. Escamilla tried to talk to him, to learn what had happened since he’d been tortured in front of Duke Penton’s guests, but the man would say nothing. Soon, Escamilla gave up, and everyone focused on their forward momentum.

  Once, they heard some shouting voices in the distance. Sound was so distorted here, though, that they were unable to determine whether the guard was ahead of or behind them, above or below them.

  After another hour, the entire party was growing noticeably weary. Fenrir was beginning to limp on his weak knee (Emma recalled that he’d often complained of his knee, it having been the reason she’d been on top more often than not). Escamilla was using her spear much more like a walking stick, leaning heavily for longer and longer bouts. Watching, Emma was worried for her lady, but didn’t dare offer her arm in support. Morgyn, however, was tireless, the restless energy of youth coupled with the responsibility of being the guide propelling her
forward like an eager dog.

  “Perhaps we should rest,” said Emma. “My feet are beginning to burn, and I’m not even carrying another man.” She hated to use Fenrir’s burden as an excuse, to even hint that she might give a damn about the man’s feelings, but she wanted Escamilla to rest and regain her energy. And she wasn’t lying about her feet. She expected that her blisters had formed their own blisters by now.

  Surprisingly, no one objected. Fenrir set Erlins down more gently than she would have expected, and then he, himself, slumped heavily to the floor, armor ringing dully with the impact. Escamilla followed suit, albeit with much more dignity. Emma tried to do the same, though she was clumsy as a drunkard in comparison. Morgyn simply leaned against the wall. The group shared several minutes of silence then, and Emma found herself drifting off to sleep. She started at Fenrir’s deep voice.

  “We are running low on fuel,” he remarked to no one in particular. The statement was greeted with further silence for a long moment. And then, Morgyn snuffed out the lantern. Utter darkness instantly blanketed them like a stifling woolen cloak.

  Emma tried to slow her now rapid breathing, recalling that anything down here was likely long dead, and that the darkness held no monsters. That she had it better than Erlins, who continued to moan like an alleyway dog begging for a scrap of meat.

  “No!” Erlins again shouted. “No more.” Emma jumped at the sound of his agony, and felt as if she would cry. She heard someone shift and move over to Erlins, though. Escamilla? Morgyn? Not Fenrir—there was no creak of armor. She heard Erlins’ frantic breathing begin to slow.

  “We are on the right level,” said Morgyn, suddenly and softly. It almost felt wrong for any of them to breach the deep silence of this place. They were alien to this ruin. They did not belong. “We just need to find the exit. We’re close.”

  The feeling of hope was almost too much for Emma. She wanted to both dance and curl up in a ball. They were so close. But Emma had caught the fact that Morgyn hadn’t sounded absolutely certain. These ruins—they were so large. The Plateau above catered to thousands, and yet it was only half the size of the ruins upon which it sat, maybe even less than half. They were looking for a single exit from this place and wandering around nearly blindly while doing so. What were the chances that they would find it?

  “We should keep moving.” Not Fenrir. Erlins? She heard some shifting and heavy breathing. “I can walk.”

  “Welcome back, Theran Erlins,” said Escamilla. “I agree. We should get going. We want to leave this place while it is still dark. This is only the start of our journey.”

  “Aye, Lady. I… must thank you.” His words were strained. Whether because gratitude was unfamiliar to him or because of the pain, Emma was uncertain.

  “We will discuss the terms of your gratitude later. For now, we must be going.”

  Morgyn again lit the lantern, the rekindled light showing Erlins standing unevenly, cradling the stump of his wrist with his other hand. Emma wondered whether the man was missed yet. Whether his captors were looking for him. Erlins began walking, slowly, and Morgyn darted in front of him to lead the way. Again, they were on the move, though their pace was slower, hindered by both Erlins’ lumbering gait and their collective fatigue.

  After maybe a quarter of an hour, with Morgyn leading them seemingly at random, Erlins stopped without warning. He was bringing up the rear, barely within the light of the lantern, and the group almost left him behind. They would have if he hadn’t begun speaking.

  “No. No, please, no. Not now! They are coming for me,” he said with a whimper, sounding as if the madness was again taking control.

  “Theran, we need to continue,” said Escamilla. “Unless you want them to catch you, you had better resume walking.”

  “No, it’s already too late,” Erlins said in a hushed whisper. “They know we are here. Blessed Yetra, no…”

  Goosebumps took hold of Emma’s flesh at his words. They livened her fears of being trapped, alone, in this temple abandoned to the old gods. Being stalked and hunted by whatever lived down here. She tried to convince herself that he was simply feverish and rambling, but his words held such terror, such conviction, that she knew he was not.

  As if on cue, there was a howl in the distance, echoing through the abandoned chambers and hallways, ricocheting off the stone. Not like a wolf would howl. Wolves had intent and would seek to communicate with their pack, to coordinate their hunt. No, this was an uninhibited scream. Of pure aggression, pure hate, pure hunger. Emma covered her ears and closed her eyes tightly, feeling her legs shake at the discordant, soulless sound.

  Fenrir ran back toward Erlins, grabbing the stunned man by his good arm and yanking him back toward the group where Escamilla was white-knuckled, gripping her spear, and Morgyn was crouching and hugging her knees.

  “Girl, get up and lead us out of here. I don’t know what is out there, but I’d rather not run into it,” Fenrir said in a hushed, hoarse voice. “How close are we?”

  “I think we’re close. I don’t know this place, but I know directions. And we are moving toward the exit,” Morgyn said, her voice a whisper.

  “Go, as fast as we can. Stay together, hands on weapons. Help Erlins. I will take rear guard.” Fenrir’s voice was shaking.

  Another scream tore through the air as the group resumed moving at a stumbling jog, Morgyn leading with the lantern and Escamilla flanking her, spear at the ready. Emma was next to Erlins, ready to help him if he stumbled. Looking over at him, she thought that it seemed his fever was refocused as a mad energy. He was moving at a quickened but awkward pace, mouth turned in a grimace, brows narrowed and with his eyes squinting at the light in front of him. It was as if that light was the only thing keeping the man sane, pulling him forward in a fit of blind intensity.

  “Almost there!” shouted Morgyn from up ahead, her voice drowned out by several screams released in unison so that the strength seemed suddenly to be melting right out of Emma’s legs. She managed to continue, pure self-preservation and instinct managing to combat the vacuum of terror a little bit longer.

  “Stop! I need to unlock it. The locks are complex and I will need some time,” said Morgyn. They were in a hallway, just like the rest, but Morgyn had stopped at some steel rungs that must have been recently installed, as rubble still littered the floor.

  “For the love of Yetra, hurry!” said Emma, feeling panic set in.

  “Morgyn, get up there,” Fenrir ordered weakly. “Erlins, start climbing behind her. Emma and Escamilla, keep your weapons drawn, but stay behind me. With luck, we’ll be out of here in time.”

  Morgyn left her lantern on the ground and flew nimbly up the ladder while Erlins slowly attempted the rungs, hampered by his weakness and missing appendage. Fenrir drew his sword, holding it at his side, resting the point on the ground. Emma knew, from speaking with him, that a novice would hold his sword at ready long before a battle. A veteran would conserve his strength. Emma drew her own curved sword and tried to emulate Fenrir’s easy stance. But, her dread seemed to force her sword up, her arms already shaking. Escamilla was flushed in the dim lantern light, though she held her spear steady.

  With a great piercing shriek, something pale and humanoid sprinted into the light, straight for Fenrir. He braced himself, his sword instantly up in the ready position, held two-handed in front of him. The creature launched itself at him, impaling its body upon his sword and pulling Fenrir to the ground with the momentum of its charge. Emma could see the creature continuing to flail its limbs at Fenrir, despite having been completely run through—the blade going in one side of the thing’s stomach and out the other. Emma lurched forward to help, but immediately stepped back as two other creatures ran into their circle of light, each naked thing taller than Fenrir. One was little more than a white streak as it launched itself at Escamilla, only somewhat slowed as it jumped over Fenrir, who was still struggling with his own opponent. Escamilla lunged forward with her spear, targeting the man-like
creature.

  Emma had no time to focus on Escamilla, however, as the third creature approached. This one was not as madly heedless as the other two. It approached her warily, and was holding a large plank of wood for a weapon. It was also not as pale as the others, some color tinging its bare skin, and it was clearly male. The creature wasn’t exactly emaciated, but was thin in a powerful, sinewy way.

  She couldn’t make out its face. It was entirely covered with long, stringy hair and the lighting was too low. She thought she caught a glimpse of a limpid, unfocused eye for a moment, but she couldn’t be sure. The creature was breathing loudly, and she could almost feel the dampness of its breath. She heard more screams echoing in the distance just as the creature closed in on her, swinging the plank wildly in her direction.

  Emma stumbled backwards, her sword moving into a parrying position. The plank connected with the curved blade, launching it out of her hands as the force swung her around and knocked her to the ground.

  Sobbing, she scuttled away, dimly aware of the sounds of the struggle nearby. Escamilla was calling something out and Fenrir was roaring in his deep voice. More creatures had arrived. She heard the heavy breathing coming closer and closer to her as she cast blindly about for her sword. She felt the cold metal blade of the weapon just as it was pulled away from her, slicing into her flesh.

  “Dear Yetra, protect me,” Emma whispered a prayer to the goddess she didn’t believe in even as she raised her arm to ward off the inevitable blow from the creature that held the plank above its head in a two-handed grip.

  Emma felt a heavy weight hit her body then, and warm liquid run over her face. She didn’t feel pain as she had expected. It just felt like she was being smothered. Breath was harder to come by, and she felt herself drifting away, lost in the darkness that permeated these ruins.

  All at once, the weight was pulled from her.

  “Emma, get up! I can’t hold this up forever,” shouted Escamilla, dragging the headless corpse of the creature off of her. Emma scrambled to her feet.