“They are in the tunnels. The places that were to be our salvation have become our tombs.”
- found in an ancient tome.
11.
Ferran led the way inside the ruined tower. The fog remained and the frustrated growls of the Nightstalkers carried on the air. Sophia had securely tied her horse to a broken column that was jutting out of the ground. The animal stamped its feet and its eyes were wide. It knew the Fell Beasts were out there. Sophia whispered into the animal’s ear in an attempt to soothe it. She pulled a sugar cube from a pouch on her belt and the horse ate it greedily. It stamped its feet one last time before proceeding to munch on the grass growing on the ruins. The rune stone would keep it safe.
The Nivonian ruins were examples of an architecture long since lost to the world. What structures remained were made of sharp abrupt angles; unlike the buildings of the kingdom, they had no visible curves. Ferran had explored many of the ancient sites and never recalled seeing anything resembling an archway or a dome. Pitch blackness greeted them as they stepped through the damaged rectangular doorway. The Nightblade focused his magic and created a magical orb of light that he threw inside. The light lit up a small square room which marked the entranceway. A staircase made of cracked stone led downwards into the depths of the earth.
“This place must have been a network entrance,” Ferran muttered.
“Network entrance?” Sophia asked as she used a firestone to light a torch.
“The Nivonians built a vast network of underground roads that run the whole length of the continent. There are whole cities built down there, the perfect nesting grounds for Goblins and other foul creatures. No one knows how vast the underground network is. Most scholars that dare to explore them never return. We must be cautious.”
Ferran drew his Tourmaline sword from his belt before beginning the descent. The stone steps were chipped and broken, making the walk dangerous. The flickering light cast by Sophia’s torch was little use in penetrating the darkness. They descended the staircase for what felt like an eternity before finally reaching the bottom. Adding to the eeriness of the place was a deep silence that stalked them. Every footfall sounded deafening in comparison.
Sophia reached the last step and gasped as the light from her torch revealed a statue stood in the centre of a long corridor. The statue was of a man dressed in a kind of armour that she had never seen before. The face had been damaged, but the crown carved onto head signified that the man had been an important figure.
“An emperor, perhaps?” Ferran said as he studied the statue. He had seen many such sculptures in ruins all over Delfinnia but none like the one before him. A strange runic writing was engraved on the statue’s base. He ran a gloved finger over the markings.
“It’s Nivonian, obviously. Let me see if I remember my lessons.”
Sophia stood next to him and held the torch closer to give him a better view.
“Here stands Festis the fourth Emperor to bear that name. May his reign be long and glorious. May the earth shield his people from the horrors unleashed above, and may he find the strength to vanquish them,” Ferran translated.
“Horrors above? What does that mean?” Sophia asked.
Ferran whistled in surprise.
“It means that this place is nearly ten thousand years old. It was probably built at the height of the Void Breach. Fell Beasts swarmed the surface in such numbers that very few could survive. In response, the Nivonian Empire built deep into the earth to protect itself. It wasn’t until the rise of the Nightblades that the empire rallied its strength and reclaimed the world above. Come on, we’d best find somewhere to set up camp. I don’t know about you but I’m knackered.”
They walked deeper into the darkness until the corridor opened up into a wide plaza. The roof of the underground chamber was so high that they couldn’t see it. Several small structures lined the plaza’s edge. One still appeared to be intact, and the rest had been damaged by rock falls over the millennia. Like the corridor, the plaza was silent save for the sounds of their breathing and footsteps. Ferran checked the structure for any signs of life. Satisfied that it was empty, he waved for Sophia to join him.
“It must have been a house,” Sophia said as she entered the structure.
Stone furniture stood undamaged and drapes hung from the wall. Even after ten thousand years the house’s contents were perfectly preserved. A thick layer of dust covered every surface, but aside from that everything else was intact. Sophia placed the flickering torch into a slot built into the wall before finding a place to sit. She reached into a pouch on her belt and pulled out two thin pieces of bison cheese. She offered one to Ferran before sitting in one of the stone chairs.
“It’s incredible how everything is so well preserved. It’s as though the residents of this place only moved out yesterday.”
“It’s the thin air down here,” Ferran explained through a mouth of cheese. “I’ve seen bodies of people that looked as though they had been dead just a few hours. Still dressed in ancient Nivonian clothes and everything. It makes these ruins doubly creepy.”
“I wonder if Hanser stayed here,” Sophia muttered as she looked around.
“Shouldn’t be hard to find evidence of that. We can use the dust as a guide. If it’s been disturbed, then someone has been here recently.”
He moved to the entryway and took a piece of chalk from his belt pouch. Carefully, he drew a sigil onto the ground. Once done, he stepped back, closed his eyes and muttered an incantation. The drawing shone brightly for a moment before returning to normal. Sophia arched an eyebrow at him.
“A warding sigil, just in case this place is not as empty as it looks. If anything crosses the sigil, we’ll know about it.”
Ferran yawned. “Now, though, I need to get some sleep. It’s been a long day. We can search in earnest in the morning.”
* * *
It was impossible to tell the passing of time beneath the ground. Sophia tried to sleep, but the strangeness of their location made her imagination race. She knew that a few hours had passed and that the dawn was still a long way off. The only light was cast by the flickering embers of the torch. She looked across the room to Ferran; the Nightblade was snoring softly. As a Witch Hunter, she had been in some scary places – witches tended to hide out in forests or swamps. But others preferred the comforts of civilisation, often choosing to reside within towns and cities. Nightblades, on the other hand, had a reputation for going to the foulest of places to hunt the Fell Beasts. Studying his face, she could see that he had been through a lot. It wasn’t the face of a young man who’d had a carefree life. She guessed that he was only in his late twenties, but the lines under his eyes and scar on his cheek suggested that his body had been through many trials.
She held her breath as she heard a faint scratching noise coming from outside the structure. Ferran’s eyes flickered open. He sat up slowly and gestured for her to stay still. The scratching sound was drawing closer. His hand tightened around the hilt of his Tourmaline sword as the sound stopped just outside. Ferran rose into a crouch and edged towards the doorway, and Sophia drew her dagger. Whatever was outside was intelligent enough to not step on the warding sigil. After a few moments, the sound came again, but this time it was heading away from them. They waited in tense silence until Ferran was satisfied that the mystery intruder had left.
“What was that?” Sophia whispered.
Ferran cast a dispelling spell on the ward before returning to the room and picking up the torch. Sophia followed him outside.
“The dust has been disturbed,” the Nightblade replied, pointing the clearly visible footprints on the ground. “Our visitor walked on two legs, which means we’re not alone down here. If we’re in luck, the people Hanser met are still here.”
“They know we’re here now. I don’t like this. Why didn’t they attack?” Sophia said.
Ferran scratched his chin.
“I don’t know. Let’s get moving; we can follow our my
stery person’s tracks.”
Sophia hurried back inside the structure and picked up her bow and quiver. They packed up their gear before heading deeper into the black abyss of the Nivonian ruin.
“The Fell swarmed through our underground realm. We had no choice but to flee back to the surface. As we fled, we emerged back into the light of the sun. A man before us stood; he said, ‘Fear not, for this is the beginning of the end.’”
– an excerpt from The Chronicle of the Fell.
12.
Heading deeper into the Nivonian ruin was an unnerving experience for Sophia. Statues of long dead lords and ladies appeared out of the darkness, their faces distorted into strange shapes by the flickering light cast by her torch.
Ferran walked in front of her, his eyes focused on the ground before him. She watched him. The way he moved suggested that he was a man confident in his abilities, but the slight sagging of his shoulders and the cold attitude that he gave off suggested that his life had not been an easy one. She had saved his life twice, but aside from a cool “thank you,” he had not shown her much in the way of kindness. She wondered if he was so aloof to everyone, or if it was just her.
She swore loudly as she walked into his back; her attention had drifted and she hadn’t noticed that he paused. He turned his head to glare at her and placed a finger to his lips.
“Sorry,” she mouthed.
At first, she couldn’t hear anything save for her breathing, but as she focused she could hear faint voices. Ferran grabbed her hand and pulled her after him. They kept low and moved quickly but quietly towards the voices. Together, they moved down a long corridor that was lined with more of the Nivonian statues until they reached an open doorway. Through it, there was a wide staircase that led down in an open plaza. Stood in the centre, around a small campfire, were three figures. All of them wore hooded cloaks the colour of crimson. The voices were too quiet for Sophia to understand it sounded like whispering, but coming from far away.
Ferran pointed to the doorway and Sophia moved into position against the stone frame. She hefted her bow and notched an arrow to the cord. Ferran, meanwhile, took up position on the opposite side of the doorway.
His eyes took in the scene and scanned the darkness for any more of the mysterious figures. As he leant through the doorway, the whispering stopped. Sophia felt fear.
“Come to us, Nightblade. Come to us, Witch Hunter,” a voice whispered from the darkness. Ferran’s eyes widened in surprise. He looked at Sophia.
“We wanted answers and they know we’re here. We might as well ask them who they are,” he said. He raised his hands above his head and stepped through the doorway and onto the steps, all pretence of stealth now lost. Sophia sighed in exasperation. Was he mad? She followed him but kept her bow ready to shoot.
“You seem to have us at a disadvantage,” Ferran said, his voice echoing through the empty chamber.
The space they now found themselves in appeared to have been some ancient theatre. Just visible in the darkness were rows of seats that encircled the open space in the centre. It reminded Sophia of the old Arena in Balnor. She had spent her youth learning at the academy there and the arena had been a place where she and her friends had spent many an evening watching the duels between warriors, and the speeches given by the cities scholars. She wondered if this place had been used in a similar way.
The three figures faced them.
“Your snooping has led you to us. The priest did his job well,” the central figure said in a soft, almost ethereal voice.
The hairs on Sophia’s neck stood up. Suddenly the place had become icy cold. The voice sounded as though the figure was far away; it was like a faint echo. Ferran lowered his arms and pulled his Tourmaline sword from his belt.
“So … this is a trap,’ Ferran said, shrugging his shoulders casually.
“What?” Sophia blurted “You knew this was a trap and you made us come here anyway?”
Ferran nodded. “Asper’s story didn’t add up,” he said. “For a man whose life was in danger, he was a bit too willing to spill the beans, which means he wanted us to go looking for clues here. I’m guessing our new friends here have been expecting us for a few days. They’ve probably got spies in Ridderford, and marked us as soon as we arrived in town.”
He faced the figures and summoned his blade into life. The white light of the magic lit up the arena, casting them all in a ghostly glow.
“Before we get down to business, tell us who you are,” Ferran demanded.
The centre figure took a step forward. Two lethal daggers appeared in his hands.
“We serve the dark one,” the figure hissed “His time is at hand. Your snooping cannot be allowed; nothing will stand in our way. Life through death!” The other figures began to move menacingly forwards, daggers in their hands.
“Now die.”
As one, the three figures darted forward, their crimson robes billowing behind them. Sophia cried out at the speed at which they moved. Before she could even notch an arrow, she was sent flying backwards as an armoured boot connected with her stomach. She lost her grip on her bow, sending it clattering to the ground. She staggered and desperately reached for the knife at her belt. As her hand closed around the hilt, one of the figures lunged at her with his own dagger. The blade narrowly missed her head as her Witch Hunter training kicked in. She dodged another swipe and cart-wheeled out of the way of another.
Ferran, meanwhile, was parrying and battling the two other figures. The Nightblade’s sword flashed and whirled as the combatants danced their deadly ballet. The skill and speed in which the Nightblade fought was breathtaking. Sophia tore her eyes from Ferran and focused upon her attacker.
“You are no match for the Crimson Blades, girl.”
Sophia’s eyes widened at the name. The Crimson Blades were an order of assassins so deadly and mysterious that they were considered a myth. What had she gotten herself into? She drew her knife and whirled it with a flick of her wrist. She was a Witch Hunter, skilled in the art of killing Magic Wielders. What was an assassin to a witch? The Crimson Blade leapt at her, his blade whooshing through the air. She leapt backwards into a flip, landing several feet away. Her eyes glanced at her discarded bow.
With a hiss, the assassin was on her again. Somehow, he had crossed the distance in a blur. She desperately parried his thrust. On the next attack, she darted forwards, grabbed his wrist, rotated her body and drove an elbow into the assassin’s face. It connected solidly, and the killer staggered backwards. Flicking her knife into the air she twisted her wrist and caught it in a reverse grip. With a savage cry, she thrust the blade backwards. To her surprise, the blade did not find her target. Instead, it found empty air.
Pain lanced up her side as the assassin punched her in the ribs. He had moved at an impossible speed. She gasped as the air was forced from her lungs. This time, she fell to her knees.
Raising her head, she saw Ferran dancing through the attacks of the assassins. His Tourmaline blade batted a dagger aside and stabbed deeply into one of the Crimson Blade’s chests. The assassin crumpled to the ground. Without pausing, Ferran whirled about and unleashed a blast of magic at the assassin who had raised his dagger for the killing blow on Sophia. The telekinetic blast sent the assassin sprawling, and bought Sophia enough time to scramble back onto her feet. She still gasped for air, but the pain was beginning to subside.
“That’s one you owe me,” Ferran laughed before he forced back his opponent with a flurry of cuts and slices.
Sophia turned her attention to her attacker, who was scrambling to his feet. She stalked towards him, picking up her bow as she did so. With skill that comes from years of practice, she quickly notched an arrow from the quiver on her hip, pulled back the cord and loosed. The arrow punched into the assassin’s throat, dropping him to the ground permanently.
She notched another arrow and aimed at the final assassin who appeared to be more skilled than his colleagues had been. Ferran’s forehead w
as covered in sweat; he couldn’t find a way through the assassin’s defences. Casting a spell would give the killer a chance to strike.
Sophia loosed. The assassin did the impossible and swatted the incoming arrow out of the air, but that split second of distraction was enough for Ferran. The Nightblade darted forward and plunged his sword deep into the assassin’s chest. They fell to the ground in a heap with the momentum of the thrust.
With a groan, Ferran rolled off of the dead assassin. They had survived.
* * *
Ferran winced as Sophia bound a nasty cut on his arm. The fight had left both of them battered, bruised and shaken.
“I can’t believe they were Crimson Blades,” Sophia muttered. “What do they have to do with all this?”
She reached into her bag and took out a small bottle of yellow ointment. She popped the cork and poured some over the wound on Ferran’s arm.
“There are tales that say the Crimson Blades are servants of the N’Gist,” Ferran said softly. “I guess those tales are true. If that’s the case, then perhaps what Asper said was also true. Perhaps they have found Danon’s remains.”
Sophia stepped back to admire her handiwork. The wound was now cleaned and bound.
“You’ll live,” she said. She wiped her hands on her tunic and packed away the bottle and bandages. “How can you believe Asper? He knew that they would be waiting for us.”
“The fear,” Ferran replied. “He was genuinely afraid. They probably threatened to kill him if he didn’t send us out here. The question is, what were they doing out here at all?”
The Nightblade_Tales of Delfinnia Page 10