by Alex Lang
He passed a few smaller tunnels with only room for a single person to walk through at a time and decided to stay within the larger ones.
Trudging up the new tunnel, he saw light and shadows playing off the curves of the walls ahead. Covering his crystal again, he stuffed it into his tunic pocket, then crept forward.
A group of armsmen, holding position at an intersection.
He stopped and listened, hoping he might overhear some useful information, but they spoke little and appeared anxious.
Kyris backtracked and entered one of the smaller branching tunnels. He hadn’t gone far when the flickering of a torch from behind warned of approaching armsmen.
The narrow passage he was in was straight and bare of anything to hide behind. He would be easily spotted if anyone were to look down the tunnel. Unless he could run far enough into the dark, out of the reach of the torches.
The water that flowed in this passage only came up to his ankle, but it was enough that any running would be made obvious. He walked as fast as he dared, then, judging it was far enough, crouched and waited. The light grew brighter and brighter, and the sound of stomping boots seemed to be just around the corner. If he was spotted, he would have to shift to the Gloom.
An armsman walked past, then another, then two more. Two had spared a glance in his direction but showed no outward signs of seeing him. They marched on, their stride never slowing.
Waiting until there was only a hint of light left from their torches, Kyris readied to move back into the large tunnel but froze. It was just an outline in the poor light, but there was no mistaking what it was; a leasher’s black hound. It traveled the same direction as the armsmen, trailing behind.
The light from the armsmen’s torches faded completely.
Left in the dark, Kyris fought down his panic. Had the hound stopped? Had it looked his way? Perhaps it would walk past as the armsmen had done. Shutting his eyes and opening his mouth, Kyris strained to detect any sound that would indicate the large predator was entering the passageway. The thumping of his heart sabotaged the effort or worse, would alert the animal of his presence.
Should he shift again and risk the wraiths? He was struck by a moment of indecision before a ripple of water lapped against his hand.
Kyris shifted and yanked his light crystal out at the same time. A blurred, snapping jaw closed harmlessly through him, but he still stumbled back onto his rear in surprise. The animal looked more menacing within the Gloom, if possible; hazy, like a shadow creature. Instead of running away from the Gloom-fear, it pounced and thrashed at the water where Kyris had just been.
A figure stood at the mouth of the passageway. The leasher, no doubt.
Scrambling to his feet, Kyris ran through both animal and leasher to enter back into the main sewer tunnel. He went left, the opposite direction from where the armsmen had gone. He’d made it maybe ten paces before the screech of the wraiths reverberated through the tunnel.
Kyris pushed it another few paces, then shifted back and kept running. Whether it was his light or his noisy movements, the growls and splashes that echoed from behind stated that the hound had noticed and was in pursuit.
Once again, it seemed he was in a situation of having to choose between two horrific ends.
His foot slipped on some muck, and he stumbled and fell. On his knees and hands, he panted. It was all too much. He was drained, and there was no chance of him killing a hound with his bare hands. But he would not give up. Struggling to rise, he startled at the presence of something watching him. He had fallen near the mouth of another small passageway, and a pair of beady red eyes set within an elongated, fur-covered face stared at him.
It was a ratkin. Kyris recognized the face, the gray fur, the scar across the left eye. The prisoner from the last artificer cell. He’d found his way out.
The man-rat hybrid held out a small, furry hand in an offering… of help?
Kyris reached out and grabbed it. Immediately, and with surprising strength, he was yanked onto his feet and into the passageway.
He was about to object that the narrow passageways led straight and offered neither places to hide or room to maneuver when the ratkin disappeared.
Kyris was at a loss, then the furry head popped out of the wall. Moving closer, Kyris saw a hole, little more than a gashed opening within the brick. He crouched low and squeezed through. Once inside, the space opened up a bit so he could stand. He looked back at the hole he’d just come through and a giant paw shot in, almost raking his legs. He flattened himself as much as he could, crushing the ratkin against the back wall. The paw patted around, searching, just shy of reaching him. Kyris gave a delirious laughed at the absurdity of it all.
A low, menacing growl brought him back from the edge of hysteria. It was followed by a snarl; a canine curse if such a thing was possible.
He turned to find the ratkin eying him, the concern and question of his sanity clear even on a rodent-like face.
“I’m fine. I’m fine.”
The ratkin gave a slow nod, gestured for Kyris to follow, then proceeded down a bend in the narrow passage.
Kyris did; walking when he could, crawling and wiggling through cracks and spaces so tight he feared being trapped. They entered into a small cavern of sorts, the size of a hut, where they sat in silence while Kyris relished the rest.
Kyris studied the creature. It wore tattered trousers, the only remnant of clothing left from the artificer prison. It was short, made more pronounced by its stooped posture, but it wasn’t fragile or weak, as Kyris had assumed upon first seeing the thing buried in rags. Uncovered, its musculature could be clearly discerned despite the gray fur. It also had a long, hairless rat tail.
Kyris suppressed a nagging thought that he was at the mercy of the ratkin. Certainly, it meant him no harm. But what was it even doing here?
“Thank you,” he ventured. “I truly am grateful for your help, but how did you find me?”
The ratkin looked at him, its nose twitching as it sniffed.
Kyris was beginning to think that it either couldn’t speak or didn’t understand him.
“Not you,” the ratkin finally said in a stilted manner. “Was called by eldest Druee. Ko-han.” The speech came out raspy and slow and distinctly male.
“You were looking for Kohan?” A spike of guilt stabbed him. “I… I think it’s too late.”
“Too late?” The ratkin tilted his head.
“Yes, he’s either dead or… captured.” It would be the same with the others. It was the thought that he’d been able to put aside as he ran for his life but not anymore. Caldir, Grunul, Ellse, and the rest. Dead or captured. Rexam and the armsmen would have tried to take someone alive, in order to question them about the relics and the vanishing nightspawn. They’d be tortured. If it was Ellse, would she become a subject of the artificers’ experiments, suffer through the same treatment Grunul and Kohan had?
The ratkin made no reply, instead tilting back his head and sniffing the air.
Kyris pulled his legs in and buried his head against his knees. Now that he was not moving, the cold caught up with him. He was soaked and freezing, and he couldn’t stop shivering.
Kyris had questions about the ratkin and Kohan. What was their connection? How had the old man summoned the ratkin? What had been the plan… but it all seemed pointless now. All he knew was that Kohan had indirectly saved his life, and he had… abandoned them all.
The silence stretched, the ratkin seemingly in no hurry.
“What now?” Kyris asked.
The ratkin shrugged his slouched shoulders. “You stay down here. Or go back above.”
“Above. I need to get back above.”
The ratkin nodded and stood. “Then we go.”
He led Kyris through another series of tight spaces, but they eventually emerged into the constructed tunnels of the sewers again, one end of which ended in a large grate. The sound of the flowing waters of the Ryles was unmistakable, just below them.
Kyris looked back at the ratkin. Freedom had changed his demeanor from a scarred, scared prisoner to confident rescuer.
“My name is Kyris. Thank you, again.”
The ratkin sniffed and fixed him with its red orb eyes.
“Lo,” the ratkin said, patting his own chest.
Kyris nodded, then squeezed through the bars onto the muddy banks of the Ryles.
Kyris arrived back at their latest lodgings, an apartment on the second floor of a building near the river. It was far bigger with four rooms and more comfortably furnished than their usual fare, and perhaps it was an apology of sorts for the harrowing ordeal they’d been through that night on the bridge. He’d chosen the lodging for its proximity to the Ryles, and this time, he had a boat tied in the canal a street over. The curtains were drawn and as usual, Tasi had left a light on for him.
It had taken Kyris longer to get home than the distance would have warranted. His appearance would have caused him trouble given that his clothes were torn and bloody, though by Shar’s blessing none of the blood was his. He’d had to enter the Gloom in a few places, in order to get onto a bridge, to get past a barricade manned by city watchmen, and to avoid a patrol just a street over from the lodging. The wraiths had appeared on his last shift, so it was fortunate that he arrived back when he did.
Once away from the Old City, he’d still taken great pains to avoid encountering anyone, watchmen or citizen. Now, across the street from his destination, he looked long and hard down both ways of the street, making sure he hadn’t been followed, before dashing to the front of the building.
Inside, he climbed the stairs to the apartment, dreading what he would tell his sisters. He’d omitted plenty of what he had done over the years, either because the danger of it would worry them or because the gory details might upset, but he’d never considered it lying, not truly. At least, not the kind of lying that was harmful or intended to cover up a shameful act, like what he was contemplating doing now. He didn’t think he could bear to see the disappointment on Tasi’s face. And he might have lied, completely and fully, if he wasn’t too tired to come up with something that would explain away his condition and why, yet again, they had to leave their lodging in the middle of the night.
Kyris eased the door open and almost sagged to the floor, right there in the entry hall, in exhaustion. But the night wasn’t over yet. He’d need to rouse the girls and set out on the boat, just to be safe. He’d find another place for Jahna and Tasi in an outer district, then after a short rest, set out for Kathmor.
Kyris was surprised to hear Tasi’s voice. It sounded as though she was reading. He shook his head in disbelief. Given the party and the hour, he’d have thought his sisters would forgo the usual routine this night.
He dragged himself to the study and opened the door.
“I can’t—” Kyris started but drew up short.
He saw two men with his sisters, and it took a long breath for him to recognize them as the huntsmen; one sat on the couch next to Tasi, an arm wrapped around her while the man’s free hand held a crossbow trained on him. The other, the big one, stood, dragging Jahna to her feet at seeing him enter. A dagger was held to her throat, and her veil was gone.
A slight movement caused him to notice a black hound laying obediently, though somehow no less menacing, behind the couch, and his heart dropped as a terrible situation just became hopeless.
“Hah, I told you he’d get away,” the big one behind Jahna said. “The Curunir assassin. It seems you’ve had a hard night.” At this, both men laughed. “Come inside, slowly.”
Kyris did as instructed, closing the door behind him. He remained silent, his eyes darting between the girls.
“Sit there.” The big man indicated a plush armchair.
Kyris complied with the order, as though he was in a trance.
“Good. On the bridge, I promised we would find you.” He sneered. “You didn’t think those were just idle words, did you?”
Kyris remained silent, barely hearing the man over the racing of his mind, thinking of all the ways this scenario could unfold.
“You aren’t carrying any weapons, are you?” the big man asked.
It took a Kyris a long moment to realize this was a question that required a response. He shook his head, then added, “I left my weapons in the sewers.”
“Good. Now, I don't know what these young ladies are to you, but given your reaction, I would say they are of some import. More than just a couple of tarts to keep your bed warm, wouldn't you say, Treven?”
“Oh, perhaps this one.” Treven stroked Tasi's face with his free hand, then glanced at Jahna. “Not her. Who would want to see that face every day if they didn't have to? We could toss her in a hound cage, and no one would ever know the difference.” He snorted in laughter.
The big one holding Jahna didn’t laugh. Instead, he studied Kyris, measuring his response to the cruel remarks by the one called Treven. “I remembered these two from that night,” he said. “Imagine my surprise when they were spotted at the barricades, attempting to leave. I knew you would escape the tinkerers’ trap. Were you the only one?”
Kyris remained silent.
“Answer me. Did the one called Caldir escape, too?”
“No. Only me.”
The man seemed upset to hear it.
“Very well. There will be no rescues this time. Now, we’re going to go for a little stroll around the corner where a wagon is waiting to take us to the Curunir estate.”
Kyris’s face must have registered some surprise, as his stunned mind only then remembered who Caldir had said was the men’s employer.
“Oh, you didn't think they would let a little thing like murder of their kin go unanswered?”
“Jahna, do you still feel it?” Kyris asked.
The two hunters shared a glance.
“You talk to me,” the big one said. “If you say another word to anyone else, I'll gut—”
“Always,” Jahna answered.
Kyris saw the man tense. He knew that something was going to happen but obviously couldn’t fathom what it could be. “Don't try anything stupi—”
Then the man and Jahna disappeared in a blur.
Treven, whose focus had been on Kyris, startled, then glanced at where the pair had been with wide-eyed shock. The hound bounded up, either by command or alarmed from Jahna shifting.
Just as Kyris leaped out of the chair, Treven turned back and pulled the trigger of the crossbow. The bolt struck the cushioned-back of the chair, as Kyris was already in the Gloom.
Mannahar gasped as a shiver shot through him, and fear gripped him to a degree he hadn’t felt in a very long time. This sense of dread spoke plainly of his death if he didn’t reverse whatever had been done. A sharp pain blossomed in his forearm, and he recoiled, pushing away the scarred girl.
He pulled the thing out of his arm, then tried to comprehend what it was. Not a weapon but a tool of some kind, for carving, perhaps.
He looked up wondering why everything was so dark, and he saw a blurry shape of a man coming at him before it came into focus as the assassin. Blurry one moment, then sharply clear the next.
Mannahar was so transfixed by the strangeness that he was slow to react as the assassin charged him with rage blazing on his face. A hand gripped his wrist, holding the dagger in his hand at bay. The other hand wrapped around his neck, choking him.
The violence was good, it focused him, cleared the fog. He didn’t understand what was happening but fighting he knew.
He closed his hand into a fist and pulled back to pummel the assassin, but the hard impact of a knee to the groin gave him pause. Then another and another. The pain radiated out through his abdomen. He sagged to his knees, and the assassin twisted the dagger out of his hand. A sharp kick to his face sent him sprawling to the floor.
Through the cloud of pain he
saw the assassin run to the disfigured girl, who stood by the window.
Mannahar struggled to stand, swayed from nausea and fell to his knees, leaning against the wall. A shadowy figure that he recognized as Treven had risen from the couch, a sword in hand, waving it at the blonde. Only now did he realize that he couldn’t hear Treven or the girl. The only things that made any sound in this darkened place were him, the assassin, and the scarred girl.
“Are you okay?” the assassin asked the girl.
“Yes, I’m fine.” Despite her words, she appeared shaken. “I’ve forgotten how it feels. How this place makes you feel.”
“It'll be okay.”
“What about Tasi?”
The assassin reached for her hand. “You stand here. On my word, go back.”
She nodded.
Whatever they were planning, Mannahar would not allow it. As they spoke, he had struggled to his feet using the wall as support, but as he prepared to charge the assassin, the sudden appearance of a figure stopped him. A thing with a face of teeth and overlong limbs and fingers, shrouded in black mist, stood where nothing was before. It vanished, only to reappear a moment later and two steps closer. It let loose a screeching cry at Mannahar, the likes of which he had never heard. The unearthly noise sent chill after chill down his spine, then the thing was gone again.
Mannahar scrambled along the wall to get away, towards the other two, all thoughts of attacking them gone. Surely they all had a greater threat to contend with now.
But the assassin seemed not to have heard, or if he did, he didn’t care. The scarred girl reacted, though, so Mannahar knew it was not just an imagining or his own madness. She clutched her disfigured head, as if the sound had struck her physically.
“Ignore it!” the assassin yelled. He then ran between the shadow figures of Treven and the other girl, passing a newly appeared mist-thing without a glance. “Now!” he shouted.
The scarred girl blurred and became indistinct and shadowy like Treven and the blonde. Treven whirled to face her. The assassin gave him one last look, then he, too, blurred out.