The Lone Apprentice

by I K Spencer

  Having endured the panic attack, he started to take stock of his surroundings. This time he lay spread eagle on his back. It felt as though he were elevated off the ground but couldn't be sure in the total darkness. His arms and legs were held completely immobile, stretched taut by cords at his wrists and ankles. His head throbbed and he felt a painful bump as he turned his head sideways to the right. He felt sick as he realized that his wounded shoulder had been freshly bandaged and the blood-eaters had even wrapped rags under the ropes so he would not chafe and cut his skin, no matter how much he struggled, insuring none of his precious blood supply would be wasted no doubt.

  After a time, he had no idea how long, he tensed as he sensed their approach. He then smelled the unmistakable sickly sweet odor that accompanied them and felt his stomach heave in protest. He searched the darkness, desperately hoping to see something before feeling their vile touch.

  Lifting his head, Anthen was surprised that he actually could see something, unless it proved to be just his mind playing tricks. He saw a cluster of vague shapes approaching, milky gray forms perhaps a few feet tall. They seemed to glow faintly; he could see nothing in the chamber except the moving shapes. As they neared, he thought he could make out faces—large, black eyes and protruding snouts of some sort.

  He shouted and they withdrew momentarily, then moved forward again. His head wagged back and forth as they gathered on both sides, of what he realized was a low bench or table. Slimy skin touched his own and he roared at them to leave him alone. He felt his clothing pushed carefully back to expose more skin.

  In unison it seemed, the skin on the each snout pulled back to reveal a small circular mouth filled with narrow, pointed teeth. Anthen's shouts turned to screams as he felt the tiny teeth pierce his skin in a dozen places and he continued screaming as he felt them draw his blood. Intense pain engulfed him but far worse was the abhorrent feeling of his life's blood being drained. As a fitting accompaniment to the torture, his mind replayed the violent visions of his friends' deaths. His screams, far from silent this time, continued until thankfully, he lost consciousness.

  Far above him in the maze of caves, the small party of travelers heard the distant screams and even the most battle-hardened in the company shivered with momentary terror.

  Chapter 45

  Anthen wondered how long he had been there. Time was lost when one had no way to measure it and even when thick cloud cover hid the sun, you could still distinguish night and day. Here there was only an endless night. He’d lost count of the terrible feedings but he had no idea of how much time had transpired, especially since he lost consciousness each time they came for his blood. He guessed that he might have been a captive for a few days now but had no way to know for certain.

  For a long time he had just wished for death and expended his thoughts on how to end this torture with death. He had tried to goad the mute, gray forms into killing him but they gave no sign that they had even heard him. He had refused to drink the gruel they silently offered but they just forced his mouth open and poured the foul-tasting liquid down his throat.

  After a time though, he gave up seeking his own death. Perhaps his guardsman conditioning would not tolerate such thinking for long or perhaps it just became tiresome, he wasn't sure. The reason certainly was not because the feedings had become any easier to endure. Each time, he screamed until hoarse and passed out from the pain. He still felt no hope either but lately, whatever the reason, his mind had turned toward thoughts of how to escape and how to navigate the labyrinth if he could escape. Maybe the activity was just his instinctive way to keep from going insane.

  But now he’d found a faint glimmer of hope; in the last few hours an escape ploy had actually come to him, though it might be just the crazed musings of his tortured mind. The draugen changed his dressings often and he guessed that they must do so when he was senseless from the loss of blood. If so, it might be possible that perhaps they untied at least his wounded arm to make the task easier. That gave him a slim chance, if he could maintain consciousness and fool his captors into thinking otherwise. Even if he somehow managed to escape confinement though, what then? He would wander the black maze, dead from starvation if not recaptured.

  Something had kept pushing its way into his thoughts though—the inscription above the mouth of the cave. The image of the strange characters carved into the rock above the opening had repeatedly surfaced in his mind while he lay there in the dark and over time, an idea had come to him. At the academy, he’d learned the carving's translation as "This passage holds the secret to Life." The common interpretation was that the inscription referred to the great power and riches protected by the labyrinth. When they had first come in sight of the cavern, however, he recalled that Kyreial had quoted a slightly different translation. Anthen had lain for hours straining to remember the elf's exact words and had finally done so. Kyreial had said, "The secret to Life is the secret of this Passage."

  Could it mean that if the secret to life were understood, one could unlock the secret to the labyrinth? It was probably a foolish idea but to a man dying a slow, lonely, torturous death, the mere possibility was enough for his consideration. He mulled over the riddle for hours. Was there a single secret to a fulfilling life? The guardsman doubted it but perhaps each must answer the riddle only for himself.

  As he lay awake between the agonizing episodes of defilement by the draugen, he had contemplated the question and finally he had settled upon an answer. The single most important factor for him had been his faith in himself. He had always believed he would succeed and so far, he had mostly done so.

  His self-confidence had been the key that had transformed him from a marginal cadet to a superior one. As he remembered the difference between the lesser cadets and those that excelled, it usually came down to their own expectations. Both usually performed to the level of their expectations. Many might believe that their level of self-confidence resulted from their level of performance but he thought that was backwards and certainly not true for him. He knew that he had needed first to believe that he could be a great marksman to become one.

  Thus, if right, by following his instincts and having faith in himself, he would make it through the deadly maze. In his normal state of mind, he might have dismissed this idea but with only torture between himself and eventual death, he clung to it like a lifeline.

  For the first time, Anthen awaited the approach of the gruesome creatures with something besides dread. His greatest concern was that he would not be able to maintain consciousness. He had actually passed out more quickly each time, probably attributing the trend to his ebbing strength. Could he in fact feign swooning while the horrific act was in progress?

  He knew the answer would come soon as he sensed their approach, soon followed by the sickly sweet reek that made him gag. One by one the silent draugen filed into the chamber and took up the familiar positions on either side of the pedestal on which he lived for countless hours and days now. He had long since given up trying to talk to the ghastly things and lay rigid as he waited for the torture to commence. He gritted his teeth and moaned softly, his only defense. He jumped at their foul touch and when he felt their many teeth in unison he screamed, which required no acting on his part.

  Anthen's head shook furiously and every muscle in his body spasmed from the pain and revulsion. He fought to maintain coherent thought but thinking at all through this agony was impossible! He’d been a fool to think he could pretend to lose consciousness! His face contorted in agony and the terrible, gray forms started to blur in his failing vision.

  Come Anthen, leave this terrible place.

  Teya floated above him, smiling and holding her hand out to him. The voice inside his head did not sound like hers, however. The voice was soft but clearly audible above his screams. Was he dying?

  No. Your soul need not endure this torture. Come.

  Teya's shimmering form beckoned him and to his amazement, he somehow took the hand, though his arm must
still be bound. He felt himself float above the table, then the terrible screams seemed to be coming from below him. Was this a dream? Had he lost consciousness after all?

  Perhaps. Or perchance this is your way to survive.

  Teya smiled at him. Though the noise from below was terrible, he now felt only peace and warmth.

  Abruptly the horrible screams below halted and there remained only the disgusting suckling sounds, though they did not bother Anthen at the moment. Then, one by one, the gray forms withdrew and departed; however the last lingered.

  It is time to go back Anthen.

  The words horrified him and he shook his head in sudden terror. Teya touched his cheek.

  Do not fear. Remember your plan Anthen. Remember.

  Teya let go of his hand and he felt himself fall. Then, an instant later he was back on the table, bound once again and feeling the sting of a dozen wounds. He felt weak and very tired. He nearly turned his head to look for Teya, then remembered the plan and somehow managed to remain still.

  A lone creature remained in the chamber. Anthen heard it slithering in the corner, then felt it come close on his right side. He felt the tension on the right wrist loosen but did not move a muscle. The draug worked to loosen the loop and he fought the strong urge to recoil from the foul thing's touch.

  At the moment his hand was loose, it shot upward and gripped the slimy throat. He yanked the much smaller figure to him and crushed its neck in his wounded arm. The creature struggled violently. Anthen felt its teeth on his arm and claws raked his face and shoulder but he only laughed, perhaps maddened from the days of torture he had endured. He did not loosen the death grip until long after the vile thing stopped moving and even then he was unwilling to let go, transferring it to his left hand so he could loosen the loop that held the other hand.

  He was near panic when he finally freed the unfamiliar knots. He felt the sting of blood in his eyes from the thing's claws and knew he must hurry; they would probably smell the fresh blood. He made a promise that he would die before letting them take him again. He sat up and slumped forward, so lightheaded he nearly passed out. He forced a few deep breaths before working to free each leg. He slid off the table and cursed the dizziness that forced him to lean against it for several moments.

  The weakened guardsman searched along the wall and found fresh bandages and a crude knife. He used some of the bandages to wipe up the blood from the cuts on his face and neck. Slowly he felt his way around the room and nearly giggled with giddiness when he felt the familiar material of his cloak, tossed in a corner. He put on the garment and pulled the handbow from its hidden pocket, arming it in one practiced, fluid motion. Holding a weapon never felt so good.

  Hands shaking in fear, he felt his way to the chamber's entrance, wondering if there would be guards posted. He didn't sense anything but wasn't sure in his present state, whether his special skill could be counted upon. He peered cautiously around the corner and saw only blackness in any direction. He turned to the left and moved through the cave, his fingers trailing across the cold rock as a guide in the pure blackness. He could only see the creatures themselves and that was the last thing he wanted to see.

  He did not think about navigating the maze at the moment, only to escape the immediate area. Though not sure why, he always chose caves that moved upward. Whenever he felt himself starting to descend, he retraced his steps and tried another route.

  After some time, at least an hour but he couldn't be sure how long, he sensed he was being followed. He ducked into the first side tunnel he encountered and found cover. He peered back toward the junction, his heart pounding with growing fear. If they caught him again he would surely go mad.

  In a moment he saw several gray forms fly past the junction without pause. This was no search party; they were heading somewhere in a great hurry. Instinctively, he made a quick decision to follow them while he pondered what their mission might be. At the junction he just caught a glimpse of them turning to the left and he raced after.

  Two possibilities occurred to him. Either they were racing to block one of the labyrinth's exits or hurrying to mobilize with others. One purpose meant possible freedom while the other meant sure death, if he were lucky. He decided the first possibility the most likely, partly due to the fact that they followed in the same direction he had been traveling when overtaken.

  Following the draugen blindly proved no easy task. He froze when he caught sight of them, waited for them to disappear, then raced to the point where they left his sight. He risked discovery and also chanced a dangerous fall while running blindly through the black tunnels. He did fall on two occasions and felt the flow of blood from a fresh gash on his forehead and scrapes to both knees. Still, he managed to not lose them or be discovered.

  Though dizzy and breathing heavily from the exertion, he felt new strength when he caught a whiff of fresh air. The scent was there and gone quickly but he drew hope from it. He caught it again and knew they must be getting nearer to the source.

  Anthen saw the shapes disappear around a corner, noting they had slowed. He raced after, fearful of losing them and his way out. He cautiously peered around the corner and jerked in surprise, finding one of the gray devils right there facing him within arm’s reach. He quickly reached out with the crude blade and slit its throat before it could signal an alarm but he it didn’t matter; a number of the shapes were already moving toward him.

  Seeing that his chance might be slipping away, the guardsman howled with mixed fury and terror and charged. Though not really a conscious decision, the instinct proved to be his only option. He must get past them, killing as many as he could in the process, and hope that he was near enough to the exit to find it on his own.

  He felled two with his small bow, then dropped another two after he quickly reloaded. Now too close to reload, he knew that he was finished if he slowed and allowed them to fall upon him in numbers. He ran right through the pack at full speed and they moved out of his way at first. He ran with his hands low, using them like battering rams, one holding the knife he had taken.

  The draugen must have realized his intent and, in unison it seemed, moved to block his path. It felt good when he hit one square and heard the satisfying thud as it bounced into the hard rock. They dove at his feet trying to trip him up and he felt a stab of pain as one jabbed a dagger into his calf. He felt a blow from behind and struggled under the weight of at least one of the creatures on his back. His instinct was to stop and deal with the attacker but he ignored the urge and kept running. He felt the sharp teeth at his shoulder but was oblivious to it, focused only on breaking through their ranks.

  At last Anthen could see only blackness ahead and knew he had broken through their ranks. He ran on, trusting his instincts not to run headlong into solid rock. The draug on his back tried to claw his face but Anthen grabbed the milky arm and bit it savagely, never slowing his stride. He drove the small knife repeatedly into the repugnant form on his back and finally the grip slackened and the foul beast fell away.

  He reached a fork and risked a glance to the rear. There were several dim shapes just a few yards behind. He sniffed the air and then bolted, selecting the tunnel on the right. He ran with his hands out in front to give himself some chance should he hit something or stumble. He blindly ran on, though his head swam and each wheezing breath was a struggle, his terror of being caught far stronger than his fear of falling.

  His fear soon became reality as his shins painfully smashed into some obstruction and he went sprawling, hard to the rocky floor. He stumbled to his feet and wobbled on, dizziness making the ground move beneath his unsteady legs. He slid down a steep slope and felt a cold draft; he must be near to an exit! He followed the cold air and soon realized that he could actually see a little bit. This was disconcerting at first after so long without light, save that emitted by the draugen. He scrambled up a steep section and the light increased once again as he reached the crest. At the next junction, one cave was definitely bright
er than the rest and he raced into it, picking up more speed.

  Suddenly there was a blur of movement in front of the guardsman. He reacted too late and flew headfirst over a trip wire. He was momentarily stunned by the fall but the terror forced him to struggle to regain his feet. Simultaneously figures battered into him on both sides as two draugen tried to prevent him from rising. He rose somehow, despite their added weight, and continued on, knowing he would be overwhelmed if he didn't keep moving. He felt their teeth and fought their claws. He lumbered up another rise and could see daylight at the end of the tunnel ahead. The dim light seemed so bright that he had to look away. Another draug rushed from the side and he kicked it away.

  In a daze, he remembered the weapon in his hand and slashed at one of the creatures on him. Its hold slackened and it fell away as he ran the last stretch of tunnel that lead to what must surely be a passage with an exit. He forced himself to look for a painful instant and could see that the light came from the right.

  In a last desperate attempt, the remaining draugen threw itself over his face. Anthen clawed and jabbed at the slimy form but kept running. Suddenly, it emitted a terrible scream, the first sound he'd heard from the creatures, and it fell away. The daylight hit his face and pain exploded in his eyes, even though they were shut tight. He dropped the bloody blade and lurched forward, covering his eyes in agony. He wobbled forward toward the light and when he felt the warmth of the sun on his skin, though his head throbbed with pain, he howled in triumph.

  Then, the spent and blinded guardsman fell to the ground and curled up in a fetal position, pulling his cloak over his head to shield his eyes.

  Chapter 46

  The sudden appearance of the howling figure from the labyrinth entrance startled the young soldiers posted there. They nearly mistook the bloody, pale form for a Hraedari and one soldier even let a wild bow shot fly. They approached the fallen form warily and a few backed away in disgust. Except for the cloak pulled over his head against the daylight, Anthen was a bloody mess, his clothes reduced to rags.