The Blighted City (The Fractured Tapestry)

by Scott Kaelen

  Jalis placed her hands on her hips, cocked her head and fixed him with a disappointed look.

  Noticing her scrutiny, Oriken shrugged apologetically and replaced the hat onto his head. “They make my skin crawl!”

  Dagra sighed. “We know!”

  Jalis couldn't keep her smirk away as she said, “You've missed a bit.” She reached up and pulled a strand of web from his stubble, then wiped it onto the wall. “There. It's over.” She pursed her lips, then added, “Will you try to be a brave freeblade now?”

  “I said we should’ve brought a few torches instead of that stupid lamp,” Oriken muttered. “We could have fired up the whole damned ceiling as we went.”

  Dagra shook his head and turned to stare at the black archway. He moved forward slowly, trepidation weighing on his every step. His focus was once again on his own fears.

  I’m in no rush to find out what’s beyond there, he thought. No one’s been in a burial vault in centuries. It’s unnatural! We’ve come this far though, and I guess we’ll be bringing home a good story if nothing else. Pull yourself together. We’re almost there.

  He reached the arch and steeled himself. “In for a copper, in for a silver,” he growled. Taking a deep breath, he stepped through the portal into the darkness of a high-ceilinged hallway, considerably wider than the cramped corridor. All was silent and still. Too quiet. Too still. He peered into the gloom for a long moment. The hairs pricked on his scalp as he stepped aside for the others to enter.

  Oriken ducked beneath the arch with a grin and stretched to his full height. “Ah, that’s much better!”

  “I’m glad you think so,” Dagra said, “but do you think you could express your pleasure with a little less noise?”

  “Ah, come on, Dag. That cave incident was years ago.”

  “Aye, it was! Seven, to be precise. And I don’t need you reminding me about it yet again, thank you very much.”

  Oriken scoffed. “Never mind collapsed ceilings and blocked entrances, you carry on shouting and you’ll be waking the dead.”

  Dagra shivered, clenched his teeth and cast Oriken a seething glare.

  “All right, children,” Jalis said sternly. “Save the games till we’re back out on the heath. You can play the whole way home if it pleases you, but let’s pretend just a modicum of decorum while we’re here, like professional freeblades.” She looked at Dagra. “Lead on.”

  He set a wary pace into the hall. The lamp guttered as he swung it from side to side to peer into recesses set within the walls at periodic intervals. Shadows quivered everywhere like spectres shrinking from the light’s reach. Assorted chunks of gemstones caught the lamplight within the alcoves and upon podiums set along the centre of the walkway; he recognised obsidian, starstone, lapis, cat’s eye, thunderglass, and various other pretty but not so precious pebbles. A crimson-streaked sunstone caught his attention at the rear of one of the alcoves. He ventured inside for a closer look. The gem was set waist-high into the centre of a granite slab that reached from Dagra’s knees to his chest, twice as wide as it was tall, its sides wedged tight against the pillared corners. He took hold of the sunstone to twist it free, but it was firmly embedded into the granite.

  Words and dates circled the gem. Dagra leaned closer, but the chiselled lettering was in Old Himaeran and barely legible. With a shake of his head, he returned to the walkway.

  As he passed a central podium, the lamp-light fell upon scuff marks in the dust several paces ahead. He approached and squatted to peer at the marks in the dust-laden floor. Oriken and Jalis hunkered down to either side. “Looks like we’re not the first ones down here,” he said.

  “Probably just rats,” Oriken said, receiving a raised eyebrow from Jalis. “Really large rats?” Dagra cast him a withering look. “All right!” He shrugged. “A nargut then. Likely has a warren down here some place.”

  “Not rats.” There was a note of concern to Jalis’s voice. “And not a nargut, Orik, but thanks for the suggestions. Whatever it is, it has to be two-legged. Maybe a cravant. But I think we all agree that’s unlikely since the graveyard is closed off.”

  “Less likely than a nargut?”

  Jalis closed her eyes. “Forget about your nargut. I’ll catch you one later if you like. You can tie a rope around its neck and keep it as a pet for the journey home.” Pursing her lips, she added, “It’s probably worth mentioning that these prints are far from fresh.”

  “How old do you reckon?” Oriken asked.

  “Considering this crypt isn’t likely to have been cleaned since your Great Uprising… When was that? Early four-hundreds?”

  “Close enough,” Dagra said, keeping an eye on the darkness all around them.

  Jalis rose to her feet, and Dagra and Oriken followed suit. “In that case,” she said, “we’re looking at two or three centuries of dust down here.”

  “Huh,” Oriken said. “Wouldn’t the dust have covered the prints after so long?”

  “Not necessarily. The layer in this crypt isn’t particularly thick like you would find in an uncleaned house after so many years. The footprints could be decades old.” The corners of her lips curled in a mirthless smile. “Dagra, by all means start praying that the so-called burial jewel is still here. Orik, you can wish upon the stars and the moons if it pleases you. For my part, after our long trip into this grim end of nowhere I’m looking forward to securing us a bounty. But if someone’s beaten us to it…”

  “Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Dagra said. And I was just starting to get used to the idea that maybe we’d find the jewel after all.

  The silvers from the contract would ensure hot meals and full cups for a whole year, for all three of them. Even Maros’s cut as Guild Official would pull him a tidy profit. It was a job none of them could afford to pass up.

  They resumed progress deeper into the hallway. Dagra once again took point with the lamp, following the faded dust-trails, checking the alcoves as they passed. He gave each a quick search for signs of the burial jewel, but they contained nothing but similar slabs of granite and gems of little value.

  “You know,” Oriken said, giving his stubble an idle scratch, “I’ve noticed one thing about this vault. Since that corridor back there, I’ve scarcely seen hide nor hair of a cobweb. Unless the ceiling up yonder is filled with them; thankfully we can barely see it to find out.”

  Dagra looked at Jalis. “The man’s got a point.”

  “It’s almost as if…” Oriken’s face fixed with inner concentration.

  Dagra shifted his weight. “Yes?”

  Oriken raised his hands in defeat. “I don’t know what it’s almost as if. Something, anyway.”

  “Thanks for that insight,” Jalis said. “Who needs an oracle when we’ve got an Oriken?”

  “Forget it.” He pulled the brim of his hat down a fraction, falling into silence as they continued into the crypt.

  For Dagra, the oppressive gloom steadily became even more stifling the further they went. He wiped the back of a sleeve across the sweat that sheened his brow, and gave a tug on his already loosened shirt-collar. The ceiling was barely visible here; just a few grey lines and smudges that suggested rough-cut stone and crossbeams high overhead, but the open space crushed in on him more than the cramped corridor had. The last thing he wanted was to be trapped on the wrong side of a rock-fall, nowhere to run as phantoms of the long-deceased seeped from the walls, their ghost-lights drifting ever closer…

  “Unholy place,” he grumbled, suppressing a shudder.

  Still, he was glad to be the one holding the lamp. He imagined Jalis taking up position at the rear, and he silently admired her bravery. Trusting in him to be her eyes, that took something uncanny, that did.

  You’ve got more guts than me, lass. I’ll give you that.

  His eyes were on the dust-sprinkled flagstones when something moved at the upper edge of his vision. He froze, a gasp lodging in his throat. The reach of the lamp-light fell on a cluster of shadowy, twitching shap
es that crept onto the walkway from an alcove to the left. He fumbled for his sword, his fingers forgetting their years of training, but the gladius was half out of its scabbard before he recognised the shapes for what they really were, and he let out a rattling sigh of relief.

  Gods, I didn’t need that. It was only debris, a shattered slab of granite fallen from its niche, neither crouching nor lurking. Just a trick of light and shadows. And imagination, he added in reproof. The shapes weren’t moving in the slightest.

  As he neared the rubble, he noted with concern that the scuff marks they’d followed led right up to the smashed stone and gathered in a cluster. He glanced back to Jalis. She nodded in acquiescence to the unspoken question. Bolstered by her quiet courage, Dagra stepped into the alcove, the scattered fragments of granite crunching beneath his boots. His eyes scanned the small area, drawn to the niche at the rear, from which the slab had fallen. In its absence was a thick wall of cobwebs. Spiders could have lurked deeper within, but it was impossible to tell; the densely-bunched threads seemed to absorb the lamp’s glow, sucking it in, giving no secrets away.

  His attention was drawn to the upper right corner of the oblong cavity. A dark patch of brittle-looking fungus clung to the stone, just like the stuff that covered the trees in the graveyard. A cluster of pale cysts with thin, crimson veins nestled atop the mildewy stain. Dagra leaned closer to inspect the curious growths. Lifting a finger to the largest cyst, he gently touched it. With a muted pop, the dried membrane burst in a puff of dust. He flinched back as a pungent odour filled his nostrils, but the cloud had already faded. He sneezed and hastily rose to his feet. Stepping backwards, he scowled at the wall of webs, the fungal growths, the scattered debris and disturbed dust.

  It’s no way to spend the afterlife, he thought, nauseated at the prospect of being left in a hole to rot rather than first being burnt to the bones. They were savages during the Days of Kings, they truly were. Bodies should be burnt, had to be burnt to free the spirits for their journey to Kambesh.

  Spirits…

  A faint, musty odour drifted from the web-filled cavity. He shuddered and rejoined his companions.

  “Anything interesting?” Oriken asked.

  Dagra cast him a pointed glance. “Nothing you want to know about.”

  “Spiders.” Oriken grimaced. “If it’s spiders, just say it’s spiders. I’d rather know than not.”

  “I didn’t see any spiders.”

  Oriken looked reserved. “Fair enough.”

  “But…”

  “But what?”

  “You know how there are no cobwebs in here?”

  Oriken narrowed his eyes in anticipation of Dagra’s next words.

  “I think I found them.” Dagra poked a thumb over his shoulder. “They’re all gathered in that hole. Seems so, anyway.” Oriken groaned, and Dagra shrugged innocently. “Hey, you asked.”

  “Yeah, but there’s information and there’s too much information. You couldn’t resist adding the but, could you?” Oriken jabbed a finger at him. “My turn next time.”

  Dagra forced a tight smile. The banter helped a little to combat his current state of mind.

  A pebble of bloodstone caught his eye in the strewn rubble. He bent and picked it up, rubbed it on his trousers. A smooth, dark-green oval, covered in bright scarlet flecks.

  No value, but a nice-looking piece. It’s not part of a tomb any more, Dagra reasoned, justifying the morality of taking it. Maybe I could get the smithy to set it into the old gladius’s pommel. Something to remember the trip by, he thought sourly, stuffing the bloodstone into his trouser pocket.

  “These baubles are next to worthless,” he said quietly, “but what sort of common thieves would leave so many behind? Have either of you seen signs of tampering other than this slab?”

  Oriken frowned. “Now that you mention it, no. But if someone was down here, they could’ve been after the same thing we are. Might even have been freeblades. You never know.”

  Jalis shook her head. “Except no one’s crossed the Deadlands in centuries.”

  “Allegedly,” Dagra said.

  Oriken shrugged. “Maybe our client hired someone else before us, and this grave is where they found the jewel.”

  Jalis kicked at a piece of rubble. “The slab housed a gem the same size as the others around here.” She cast Dagra a quick, knowing glance. “None that we’ve seen so far are large enough to be the jewel we’re looking for.”

  Oriken nodded sidelong to the alcove. “Maybe it was buried with the body instead of being fixed to the granite.”

  Jalis looked doubtful. “These people went out of their way to cover this place in gemstones. What would be the point of sealing the jewel away where no one can see it?”

  Dagra shook his head and said to Oriken. “Even if the jewel were in there, you haven’t taken a look at that web. It’s undisturbed. And thick. Whoever removed the slab didn’t bother going any further. Or, if they did, it all happened plenty long ago, like Jalis said.”

  Oriken’s eyes were pits of shadow beneath the brim of his hat as he risked a glance into the recess. “I can hardly blame them for not going in there. That web would be a deal-breaker for me as well. You just try getting me to crawl into a hole full of spider webs. Not going to happen. Not even for a sackful of golden dari.” He tucked a thumb behind his swordbelt. “Not for all the dari in Himaera. No chance.”

  “Gods!” Dagra blanched. “I hope the jewel isn’t stashed at the back of one of these holes, with some poor sod whose corpse has been left to rot and whose soul is trapped in limbo, and we have to clamber inside and rummage around…”

  Jalis clicked her fingers in Dagra’s face. “Snap out of it. Carry on with that nonsense and I’ll help you expedite a cure for your phobia.”

  “Huh?” Dagra frowned in confusion, then followed her gaze to the web-filled hole. He glanced sidelong at her, and she nodded as he stepped further away from the recess. “You wouldn’t.”

  She held a finger to her lips. “Then shush, Dag. Both of you.” Glancing from Dagra to Oriken, she lowered her gaze to the scuff-marks in the dust. “I hate to mention it, but I’m realising something else about these footprints.”

  Dagra sighed, “Is there a chance this could be good news for a change?”

  Jalis cast him the expected sardonic look.

  “Go on then, spit it out.”

  “You were on to something when you said we haven’t seen signs of looting. That got me thinking. If someone had been here, there ought to be at least two sets of footprints. One leading in, one going back out. But other than ours, I’ve seen only one set of prints.”

  Oriken looked sceptical. “You think whoever was down here didn’t leave? That they… what, died down here? Oh! You mean there must be another way out!”

  “That was my first guess. But if there’s another entrance to this place, it’s not indicated on the map. That’s beside the point though. Look.” She pointed along to the far side of the debris, and Dagra swung the lamp across to illuminate the area. “The tracks stop here,” Jalis said, sombrely.

  It was true, Dagra saw. The dust beyond lay undisturbed. He rubbed a thumb into his beard as a grim suggestion began to plant itself into his mind. He regarded Jalis with a cautionary glare and a shake of the head. “Don’t say it.”

  “This wasn’t somebody coming down here,” she said. “It was something leaving.”

  “You had to say it, didn’t you?”

  Oriken crossed his arms. “This just gets better and better.”

  Jalis gave an apologetic shrug.

  “For the gods’ sake,” Dagra growled. “We’ll be scaring ourselves witless before we even find the damned jewel. Let’s just keep looking.” He pressed his lips together and regarded his companions as he drew his gladius from its scabbard.

  Oriken inclined his head and unsheathed his sabre.

  Jalis checked the daggers at her thigh and hip, though she left them in their sheaths. “Agreed,” sh
e said. “But knowing what we might be facing can only give us an advantage.”

  Dagra grunted. “You won’t be saying that when the advantage is me shitting my pants.”

  They continued deeper into the burial chamber, giving each alcove a cursory check as they passed, until finally they came to the end of the crypt. Before them a tall rectangle of granite was set into the centre of the wall, reaching from the floor to higher than the crown of Oriken’s hat. A line of waist-high pedestals ran to either side along the wall; on each rested a collection of dusty gemstones.

  His jaw dropped as he saw the central feature. Set within the granite at Dagra’s eye level was an exquisitely-cut jewel, twice the size of his fist. By the Dyad, old Cela wasn’t fooling us. And she wasn’t exaggerating, neither.

  A silver band encircled the circumference of the jewel, holding it fast inside its stone casing. Soft pinks and greens flitted across the jewel’s many-faceted surface; reflections of the flickering oil lamp.

  “Sweet Khariali,” he whispered, invoking the name of the primal goddess of gems and metals.

  “Sweet Khariali, indeed,” Oriken echoed. “There’s our baby!”

  “It’s beautiful,” Jalis whispered.

  Dagra set the lamp on the nearest pedestal, pushing aside the gemstones it held, then stood back. It might have been his imagination, or it could have been how the light gleamed from the jewel’s myriad faces, but it seemed to emanate a warmth that was in no way physical, more a calmness that touched not the skin but the soul. It may have been used as a burial stone, but it didn’t belong in this crypt any more than Dagra himself belonged here. He’d be happy to take it with him.

  “I was expecting something like a diamond,” Jalis said reverentially. She stepped forward to trace her fingertip across its angular surface. “But this is no mere diamond, or I’m a fishwife.”

  She has the right of it, Dagra thought. The jewel made the few small diamonds he’d ever seen look as plain as glass.

  In heavy, ornate script above the jewel, the words Lajdie Cunaxa Tjiddarei were engraved, along with the dates 152 and 225. Ancient symbols were mixed with Old Himaeran and Middle Sosarran text surrounding the jewel in concentric circles. Dagra guessed the words might be a prayer or possibly a recitation of the lady’s achievements.