Rutain was jarred from the crash. But he slowly rolled onto all fours, and then stood and looked back up at them. Maurious was relieved beyond measure, but also astonished. He had been traversing the tree mazes for centuries. This branch was meant to fall to the bottom under the weight of a traveller. It was a deliberate trap set by those who came before him. Yet there it lay among the branches below. Maurious could already see what Rutain was now pointing to. It was a new path that he had never seen.
Maurious turned to Kienten, finally understanding. “How did you know?”
Kienten timidly lifted his head. He was trembling slightly.
“Why did you not tell me of this? Why did you defy me, and ... and frighten me so?” Maurious demanded sternly, as he would to his own child who had put his life in danger.
“Your ears were not ready,” Kienten answered, and again put his head down in submission.
Maurious looked down to Rutain. Rutain met his gaze, and again pointed down the newly revealed path, and beckoned them to follow. Maurious knew they were correct. A moment ago he had been certain that the branch was a trap. Now he realised it was only meant to appear as a trap, when in fact it was an ancient short-cut for those brave enough to take the fall.
Maurious looked back to Kienten. He was touched at the young man’s humility, and was reintroduced to his own. “You have nothing to be ashamed of Kienten. The wise man understands that he still has much to learn, sometimes even from the young and inexperienced. Come, let us climb down to Rutain.”
~Æ~
Liam and Lyra were the last to leave the room. The group had been discussing their strategy, and their future, until there seemed to be nothing left to say. They would wait for Travis as long as they could, then Richard would help them find their way out of the city. Filos and Lyra had explained to Liam that people were already headed to the ruins of Sarhani. Liam tried to conceal his wonder at the events taking shape around him. Richard Ban’hoen had thoughtfully described the incredible ancient ruins that had been abandoned for years, and rarely visited because it was so remote. It was defensible, and far enough from civilisation to possibly give them time to gather more support.
Now that they were alone, Lyra voiced the opinion no one wanted to utter before. “It seems hopeless, doesn’t it?”
Lyra’s candid observation allowed Liam to relax for a moment, to set down the weight of the unwanted responsibility that was upon him. The truth, and the understanding that he was not alone in seeing it, was somehow refreshing to hear. “It’s hard for me to believe we have a chance, but I have been feeling like that for some time now, and still the fates are with us.”
“Perhaps that is what this is all about. Perhaps the fates are calling you.”
“What would the fates want with me?”
“You are a good man. You are a great warrior, and you have a blood claim to the throne. The people respond to you, and now they believe you have the protection of the fates.”
Liam’s first instinct was to mock the idea that he was so important, that the fates would endeavour to protect him. He knew the sacrifice Rhedmond Ban’hoen had made. It was Rhedmond, not the fates, who had saved him.
After a moment’s silence, Liam responded, “I don’t pretend to know the will of the fates. I never knew I had a blood tie with Tobias. It seems impossible, but perhaps if any bloodline were traced back far enough, all would connect. There is a part of me that rejects the possibility. I dislike being linked to that man. I helped to bring him down, and of that I am proud. There is a part of me that is angry at the forces pushing me in this direction, and involving other innocent people, like you and the Mikraino.
“But so it is. There are those who believe I am something more than I am, those who have made sacrifices for me. For them, I will carry on fighting as long as I am able. I owe them that.”
“That is what could make you a great king,” Lyra replied.
Liam looked back at her. She did not speak of kings in a manner of flattery, or of awe. She merely stated the fact as she saw it. This tone, more than anything, troubled him. Going from a tavern keeper to a king was unfathomable; yet there were some, perhaps many, who not only saw this as a possibility, but who expected it of him. There must be another, he thought. He would fight. He would fight for his people, but it surely should fall to another to rule Jeandania, if by some miracle Arconus was defeated.
Liam closed his eyes and leaned his head back against his chair. “Let us not speak of kings tonight. Let us not speak of plans, or obstacles, or expectations. Just for a little while.”
Liam sighed, and felt a warm kiss on his forehead. He opened his eyes to find Lyra standing over him. She put her soft hands on his face and caressed his neck. Then she leaned down and kissed him on the mouth.
“Let us not speak at all,” she whispered.
Liam nodded softly, and reached up to her, returning her kiss. After a moment of warmth in each other’s embrace, Lyra standing over him, Liam sitting in the chair, she took his hand and led him to her room.
~Æ~
The hour was late and Gastious was still troubled by his conversation with Argus and the King. He could never bring himself to trust the old warlock. He entered the doorway into the lower reaches of the castle. He lit a torch as he walked through the dank cellar where carpets and raiment’s and broken furniture were stored on mazes of shelving. He touched his fire to another torch on the wall and watched the flames struggle for life on the damp cloth, and then burst to full blaze, lighting the passage to the wasp pits. It was time to visit his captives. Perhaps they could give him some insight into this Liam Foster. Gastious was a warrior, not a politician, but being so close to Arconus these many years had taught him a number of things, among them that everyone had their own agenda. No one could be trusted unless his true motives were known, but it was not difficult to determine the motives of a man in the wasp pits. Some of the stronger men would sometimes tell lies in order to save their friends, their family, or their cause; but eventually their reasoning would be reduced to one of two desires; the desire to live, or the desire to die. Once this point was reached, this desire took precedence over all other priorities, and the truth could be known.
~Æ~
Very little light made it to the floor of the wasp pits at night. Tonight the moons and the stars offered enough illumination to outline Verkleet’s slender figure sitting on the ground in front of him. The old man was tending to the nasty wound in his own belly where the wasps had laid their eggs. It looked hideous, but the healing agent seemed to be working. Blade’s own injury looked far worse, but Verkleet’s ministering may have saved his arm. The old man finished tending to his wound, dropped his shirt back over his stomach, and sat down against a stone near Blade.
Blade had grown accustomed to the darkness and the dampness, and was glad to be free of the horrible webbing the wasps had confined him with. He feared the wasps, but he forced himself not to flinch when they came near. Verkleet had been right. The wasps seemed to sense that he was an unviable host for their wretched offspring, but they apparently had very short memories, because once or twice per hour one would descend from the heights of the cavern to hover over and inspect them. Occasionally one would alight on his head or on his back.
Blade could hear one descending now. As had become his habit, he leaned over and put his head between his knees, protecting his stomach, chest and face, and also muffling that infernal buzzing sound. As thankful as he was to hear that sound with the knowledge that a feeding was not imminent; the long, winding descent was almost unbearable. The wasp was never as close as it sounded. As loud as the buzzing grew, it seemed to always become louder still.
After what seemed an interminable time, the wasp finally reached them. Blade could feel the spindly legs brushing against his back. He cringed at the touch.
He heard the thing fly over to Verkleet to investigate the old man, and then buzz back over to him again. He fought the urge to flail his arms at the giant
insect. He had come to trust that it would not use him as a host, but he knew that it would not hesitate to sting if it felt threatened. This was one of those times when the wasp decided to investigate very closely. Blade shuddered as its spiny knees hooked into the cloth of his shirt and pricked his skin. The wasps were half the length of a man, but weighed very little. The weight of the wasps had become a very distinctive, all too familiar pressure on his back. Blade could feel the vibration of the insect’s wings reverberate through him. And again the feathery tendrils searched his neck and ears. He remained as still as he could, pushing back the fear that the wasps might change their minds about his viability as a host. He could picture the stinger which he knew was hovering over his lower back.
Finally the wasp rose and flew away. Blade breathed a long sigh of relief as he heard the buzzing gradually rise through the heights of the cave.
“We really have to get out of here,” Blade said to Verkleet.
“As soon as bloody possible!” Verkleet answered.
Blade smiled. All things considered, he was feeling much better. Verkleet had found some strange fungus that was edible. He took a bite. It tasted awful and damp, but it nourished him.
They had laid their traps, and were awaiting their opportunity. Over the last day and a half, they had endured several interrogations. They had mumbled and moaned, and Blade tried his best to act the way he had during the previous sessions. Gastious had only been present once, and he had been accompanied by two of his underlings. On another occasion there was a lone interrogator, but Verkleet had assured him that only Gastious was bold enough to enter the pits alone, so once again they were forced to feign weakness and lie completely still. They were deep enough in the shadows that an interrogator could not see whether they were still bound by the wasps’ webbing, but it was imperative that they did not betray their secret.
“Do you think it will be tonight?” Blade asked.
“I believe it will be, and soon,” Verkleet answered.
Blade looked back at his new friend, and felt a little uneasy. Blade did not like or trust those who claimed to sense things others could not, yet this man had almost certainly saved his life. Now he began to wonder what the old man might really want.
“So, I’m beginning to lose your trust, eh, young man?” Verkleet asked without looking up. “Tis a good sign, I think. You’re gaining your strength and your wits.”
Blade did not answer, he merely chewed his fungus. After a moment, Verkleet again voiced what was on the younger man’s mind.
“Right now it shouldn’t matter to you who I am or what I want. We need each other to stay alive.”
Blade nodded, and before he could consider any further reasons to doubt his new companion, he saw the light dimly flicker through the narrow interrogation window. He and Verkleet slowly, quietly, assumed the position of captivity.
He could hear the faraway footsteps. He felt the cold familiar stone on his back as he lay there, and heard the ever-present buzzing above. He had become conditioned to listening to their sound, trying to determine how close they were, how near he was to a confrontation. The buzzing grew softer, giving him confidence as the footsteps grew louder. Now he was anxious. He became more certain that it was indeed Gastious, and he began to hope that his suffering here was soon to end. Verkleet had told him that Gastious was the only one willing to come into the pits when the subjects were dead. For some reason he loved this place, and in order to preserve its usefulness to the King, he would come inside himself to cast the dead into the corners to make room for more prisoners.
Finally, their wait ended with Gastious’s bellowing taunts, “What stories have we today, my pretties?”
The shadow of Gastious’s enormous head flickering on the walls was unmistakable. Blade listened closely for evidence of any others with him, and heard none. He remained quiet, and would take his cue from Verkleet.
“Your cellmate has escaped, old man. Foster survived his execution and found a way out of the city, or so we think. What do you say to that?” he goaded.
Blade and Verkleet remained silent; but Blade felt a cold, vengeful satisfaction at the news.
“Did you hear that?” Gastious shouted. “Are you able to hear me?”
Neither of them answered. Gastious did not seem to be bothered by this, merely distracted. Blade heard him mumble softly to himself, and he could hear the beast’s breathing.
“Are you dead?” he called into the chamber.
After a moment, he began to chortle softly to himself.
“Pray, tell me. Are you dead?” he repeated, now chuckling a little louder. “I’m a busy man, you know. I have duties to perform for my King. I’m just asking you a simple favour, so I can be on my way. If you’re dead, just speak up!” Then he lost himself for a moment in deep, malevolent laughter.
He continued speaking to them as his laughter died down, but obviously believed that they could not hear him. “So I guess you’re dead, then. You fellows held out for quite a while, I must say. Blade, I’d have liked to have seen you in a fair fight. Pity you were on the wrong side.”
His voice trailed off in volume as he spoke, but he continued, and began walking towards the entrance to the cavern. “And old man, I didn’t expect you to last as long as you did.”
Blade heard the cavern door open. It would all be over in a few minutes, one way or the other. The first trap had been set above the door. Blade heard the door open, and waited for the sound of falling rock. For a moment, he thought the trap had failed, that he had not set it properly, or that Gastious had somehow spotted the trap before it could be triggered. Then he heard the door creak open a little further, and he heard one lone stone fall to the floor.
“What’s this?” Gastious inquired into the cavern. Gastious carried a torch with him, and now the bottom of the cavern was well lit. As soon as Gastious saw that they were free of the webbing, he would know that something was amiss and would close the door on them, or attack. Blade risked a turn of the head to see the man-beast lean over to pick up the large stone that had just missed hitting him. The door was not yet completely open.
“Ah, my lovelies, be careful you don’t harm your master. I’m the one who ensures that the water runs in your stream, and the enemies of the King lie upon the floor for your nourishment,” he broke into a soft, almost affectionate laugh. He stood up again, and pushed the door open a little wider, causing a torrent of heavy stones to fall upon his head and shoulders.
“What?” he growled. “A trap?”
Blade and Verkleet sprang to their feet to attack. Gastious proved even stronger than they had anticipated. The small avalanche seemed a minor distraction to the angry beast. He growled and flung his arms, one being not an arm at all, but the strange wooden prosthesis, which he used to shield himself from the brunt of the stones. When Blade and Verkleet reached the flailing monster, Verkleet dived at Gastious’s legs. Gastious groped for Verkleet, who moved much more quickly than Blade thought possible. Then Blade darted behind Gastious, climbed the uneven wall as if it was stairs, pushing against the wall with all the strength of his legs, and sprang at Gastious’s back.
~Æ~
The small avalanche had just about ceased, and Gastious was beginning to gain his wits and mount a counter attack, but too late. He had seen the old man scurry beneath him, and he had seen the petulant boy running behind him, but it was impossible for him to avoid the attack and protect himself from the falling stones at the same time. His breath left him as the young man thrust his full weight and strength into his back. The force knocked him over the old man, and he fell to the ground. He turned and managed to land on his side. He tried to roll directly to his feet, but there was more to the trap that his captives had set.
As he tried to roll, he could find no purchase on the ground. Rocks from the first part of the trap were lying all around. As he tried to gain his feet, he slipped on them and fell again. He now saw the prisoners scrambling for the door. He lunged at them from
the ground and slipped further. The captives escaped through the door, the door that he had designed, closing it behind them. Gastious could feel a clenching in his chest. He was afraid. His mind naturally began the process of figuring a way to open it. Of course, this was a thought he had mulled over a thousand times before, in the safety of his quarters, or just on the other side of this door. He remembered all the times he had actually solved the problem, devised a solution, discovered a way that one might open the door from the inside, and all the times he had altered the design to prevent that very thing from happening. With a screech, and a thud, as if a punctuation to his thought, he heard the latch close on the other side. It would be morning before his guards came to check on the prisoners.
Gastious dropped his head, eyes still open, and found himself staring at the odd oozing substance that he had slipped in moments ago. It was getting sticky under his hand and knees. It was a dark, reddish colour, with a clear liquid that seemed to float on top, and mix with, the thick red. The clear liquid ran past only one side of his hand, which was becoming numb. The realisation set in before he looked to confirm it. He balanced himself on his prosthetic arm and used his hand to grab his torch. He saw some strange thread trailing from the door, fashioned from the old man’s clothes perhaps? No, it was threaded together with the wasps webbing. He moved the torch around to illuminate the twine, as his eyes followed it across the wall of the rock and then down to the floor, quite close to where he knelt. At its end were four long, sharp, tooth-like objects. His fear swelled as he recognised that they were not teeth, but stingers.
He lifted his torch higher and saw, hanging above him, the carcasses of four of his precious pets, their blood and their venom dripping onto the walls and down to the floor. The old man was not a man at all. He must be a warlock, like Argus. His anger now rose to meet his fear as he fitted together the final pieces of the puzzle. The trap was triggered by the opening of the door, which pulled the rocks loose from the ledge. These four wasps must have been dead. They hung on the wall with a tether around their stingers. The falling rocks had yanked the stingers out. Their blood and venom poured onto the floor, making it slick and further hindering him. The blood was now thick and sticky, and the venom was already making him feel faint, as it was absorbed through his skin.
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