Shadowrun - [Earthdawn 05] - Shroud of Madness

by Carl Sargent, Marc Gascoigne (v0. 9) (epub)

  "We'll need light now," Cassian said, hearing the youth already rummaging in his pack. "We may be seen—but then anyone approaching will also need light, so we aren't likely to be taken by surprise."

  Unless there's a wizard about, of course, Cassian thought; we could be sensed and some attack made upon us. He fished out his pocketed scarab and laid it on the stone as Jerenn lit a lantern, hooding it to keep its circle of light as small as possible while still being of use to them. The boy noticed the beetle when he heard its soft scratching, and lowered the lantern to look at it. For a moment he thought it real. Cassian, concentrating hard, simply put a finger to his lips and waited for the impressions the scarab could convey.

  There was magic at work in the distance, to the west; elemental magic shaping the place. Looking that way, Cassian could see only a disused passageway, long unrepaired, with crumbling stonework. But the floor looked safe enough, at least. To the east, the view looked exactly the same, but there was not the same aura of magic that beckoned to the west.

  "This way," Cassian whispered, picking up the scarab. Jerenn prodded the elf and handed him three twists of leather thong and some ragged cloth. The elf remembered the boy's suggestion during their planning, and fastened the cloth under the soles of his boots, tying it fast with the thongs. With footing seeming safe, this would help silence their footfalls. When they were done, they edged westward. After twenty yards of travel, the passage abruptly changed appearance. There was a point at which some rockfall or obstruction must have been cleared away, for marks of stonework were evident on the walls and what looked like the chipping of mining axes was visible on the floor. Beyond that point, the walls were clean and looked far more recently excavated than the passageway they'd just navigated.

  “New work," the boy whispered, craning his neck to speak into the elf's ear. Cassian smiled and laid his scarab back on the ground again. Shortly he knew what had been fairly evident anyway; new work, indeed, but not crafted by hands and tools alone. The aura of magic was stronger here.

  "Be careful," he said softly, drawing his own long knife—virtually a short sword—and repossessing the precious scarab before striding very cautiously forward.

  Afterward, Cassian was angry with himself for making the obvious mistake. Intent on the danger ahead, he'd given no thought to something approaching from behind. In fairness, his senses were still re-attuning after being locked to the scarab's detections, but before he was fully aware of what was happening he heard screams and shouts in the distance to the east and spun around sharply. Jerenn's eyes were brilliant with fear in the lamplight.

  "Something coming," the boy said wholly needlessly. They moved forward, almost at a trot, as swiftly as they dared. Running was out of the question; a snare as simple as a pit could mean a broken limb or neck. Behind them, the furious yells got louder and the sounds of running were growing near.

  "Nowhere to hide," Jerenn said wretchedly. He gripped his knife and readied himself.

  Cassian laid a hand on his shoulder and said firmly, "Press yourself against the wall. We may be unseen even if they run right past us. Put that lantern out!" He touched something about his neck, something hidden by the gloom and his garments.

  Jerenn was panicky, but realizing the elf must have some magical defense, he obeyed his command. Knowing little of such things, but having seen illusionists earn considerable sums by entertaining the curious and superstitious in Bartertown, he pressed himself as hard as he could against the wall and prayed for the magic to work.

  "Just don't move. Not an inch," the elf hissed into his ear as a rumbling, shambolic horde appeared from the east, the light of lanterns creating bizarre shadows as they swung in the hands of the approaching retinue.

  A single ork was a few yards in front of the pack, his face perspiring. He carried no weapon, and the dirty right arm of his jacket was covered in fresh blood. His eyes rolled in his head, and he was clearly on the point of collapse. He ran crazed, jerkily, like some poorly made mannequin. Behind him was another creature, as filthy and shambolic as the ork, and Cassian at first took it for a man also running ahead of the pursuing group of orks. The orks bore a variety of hand weapons, from swords to crude clubs, and they screamed and cursed in fury.

  The lead ork was a few yards away from them when everything happened at once. Cassian saw in a horrified glance that the thing pursuing him was not human at all, though it probably had been once. Neither did all the shadows come from the illumination of the lanterns; Cassian needed no wizard's sense to feel the palpable aura around the undead thing. Arms shot out from the animated corpse, and they seemed impossibly long for those of any real body. Filth-encrusted talons sank into the ork's spine, just below the vertebrae, and the ork screamed piteously. He staggered straight into them as the cadaver leapt onto him.

  Cassian could not maintain the illusion of invisibility, his absorption broken by the physical contact. He heard Jerenn groan with pain; the ork had struck him full in the guts, while the elf had taken only a glancing blow from the ork's outflung arms. He readied his knife and hoped that the protections of his amulet and the girdle he wore at his waist would be sufficient.

  The pursuing orks were obviously confused and paused for a split-second. Where there had been a wall, they could see an emergent elf with a long dagger and their companion fallen. Undisturbed by such matters, the cadaver-thing clawed at the ork and, with impossible strength, wrapped its hands around his neck. Iron claws dug into him so hard that the back of the ork's skull split like a rotten fruit. Convulsing, the body began to fall. The cadaver held its grip and, further demonstrating its power, whipped the ork's body around and flung it into the mass of other orks. Two of them fell, blood and spattering brains showering over them.

  One ork stood shivering with terror, his sword held before him like some relic of protection. The corpse-crea-ture shambled toward him, the impetus of its movement carrying it forward. Reflexively, Cassian pointed between its shoulder blades, and his enchanted dagger bit deep into rotting flesh and putrid bone. The stench of the thing, now that he was close to it, was overwhelming and he nearly gagged.

  Unbelievably, it almost ignored him. It paused for a fraction of a moment before it bore down on the ork and smashed the weapon from his hand, breaking the ork's forearm in the process. The ork recoiled with a scream of pain. Behind him, the fallen orks were blocking the way of any help. Cassian hung on tight and drove the blade upward to the vertebrae.

  The corpse's claws were on the ork's torso and Cassian could hear him screaming. He summoned up all his strength and drove inward and upward, until he gave a final twist that almost sprained his own wrist. The blade tore through the side of the monster's neck, ripping away half an ear as the enchanted blade arced round to the throat and dug into the windpipe. Now the thing had let go of the ork and was thrashing about madly. It began to fall, and Cassian released the blade with a final skewering stroke. Black blood gouted over the stone as the creature howled, kicking its legs in a demented frenzy, the shadows around it dancing crazily. The elf leapt back as the thing hit the stone, still howling and thrashing wildly. The ork it had gripped was staring down stupidly at his useless arm, shaking and disbelieving. After what seemed an endless instant, the gruesome thing jerked in one final, stupendous spasm and then lay still.

  Cassian had no idea what the creature might have been. It was certainly stronger than the cadaver men he had once faced in those distant Myternean caves, and the shadows flickering out into the light now were like those of a demi-wraith, but there had been none of the deathly chill of such a creature about this wretched monster. He looked down and behind for an instant, seeing that the first ork was beyond any hope of help. Not relaxing his guard, he returned his gaze to the wounded ork before him. The ork spat nervously to his left.

  "It would have killed me," he said simply, nervously pushing a boot at the stinking corpse.

  "'ere," came a growl from behind him, "I know that elf. I've seen him in the city."


  "So what? He--"

  "e's snooping, 'e's a Theran."

  Six pairs of eyes stared at Cassian, and someone spat out a curse of hatred. Weapons were raised. Cassian gripped his blade hard, and in that instant realized Jerenn had deserted him. The boy was nowhere to be seen.

  Six to one. Not good odds, he thought with sinking heart, and nowhere to flee. If he had to die, he'd surely never have chosen a place as miserable as this.

  23

  Everything went instantly dark as Jerenn fell. There was no resistance behind him, suddenly, and he landed on his back, arms flailing behind him. He heard something crunch, perhaps break, in his pack. In pitch blackness, he felt carefully for the lantern and found to his intense relief that it was still sound. He could see or hear nothing, the furor around him having suddenly vanished. Not even muffled sounds could be detected.

  Where had everyone gone?

  Fumbling to light his lantern, he found himself at the end of a passage cut perfectly and recently. Rubbing at his guts, trying to get his breath back, Jerenn got painfully to his knees and hunched himself up against the pain. His eyes had closed against the impact of the heavy ork tumbling against him, and now everything seemed to have disappeared. In a brief instant of hope, he wondered if Cassian's magic might have moved them both away from danger; then he realized there was no sign of the elf and when he risked whispering Cassian's name, there was no reply.

  Suddenly he heard a muffled sound, a hideous screaming yowl from his left. He pressed his ear against the wall and the sound grew a little louder, then all was silent. Mere moments later, he heard animated voices and an ork's voice unmistakably saying, "Kill him."

  He scrabbled frantically at the wall, looking for the sliding panel or door that must surely be there; how else could he have fallen into this other place? He was about to bang on it when there was a silence on the other side, and he realized that discovery could mean instant death. But there had been no sound of a battle or slaying after those ominous words, and he wondered whether Cassian might somehow have survived, though he would surely be in great danger.

  I've got to do something to help him, he thought frantically, his scratching hands unable to find any sign of a door, hinges, or other means of access.

  Trusting to the footing, for the stonework of the floor looked safe enough, Jerenn raced along the passageway, not caring in which direction it led him. His breath came in ragged gasps, his abdomen still painful and bruised. He ran as if for his own life, and finally found a shaft leading upwards from the otherwise endless straight passage. To his immense relief, there was an iron-rung ladder set into the side of it. He scrabbled up as fast as he could and pushed hard at the grating above. It had a rock laid above it, and he groaned as he pushed with all the force he could muster. Managing to wedge it open just a little, he pushed it agonizingly slowly to one side. When he had a couple of inches space to work with, Jerenn risked both his hands in the crack, and pushed the grating far enough for him to squeeze his narrow frame through.

  There was a very faint scent lingering around, as if someone had waited there and only just abandoned a vigil, but the musky aroma did not impress itself on the youth's senses. He looked around in all directions, gulping in the warmer air beyond the subterranean coolness. Though he didn't recognize this exact spot, he knew the gates of Vivane lay not too far to the west and south of him and he sped toward them, praying he wouldn't fall and twist an ankle on the way. He ran straight through a bunch of drunken orks squatting by a fire among their tents and, still running full-pelt, left their curses to enrich the cooling night air. By the time he reached the gates, Jerenn could hardly breathe. A pair of amused ork guards looked down at the ragged youth gasping to get even one syllable out.

  "Bugger off," one of them said with a leering snarl. "Go back to whoever wants your backside, you little runt."

  Wheezing, the boy showed his pass and managed to get the word "spy" out.

  "You're a spy, are you? Well, it's good of you to tell us," the ork laughed unpleasantly. "That's worth fifty lashes or maybe even a beheading, if you're lucky."

  Jerenn looked at him with all the hate he could muster. "If you don't"—gulping for air—"let me in. . .Ilfaralek will. . .have your guts." He added a medium-offensive insult just for measure. If he'd hoped to intimidate the ork, Jerenn was quickly disillusioned. The ork grabbed him by the collar and lifted him off the ground.

  "Listen, you little squirt," was the snarling response. "We're paid to know who is who coming in and out of these gates. You ain't one of them." He dumped the boy on the ground and was about to lay a kick into his already-aching ribs when Jerenn managed to roll to one side and came up showing the glint of gold in his hand. He had saved some money from his day's purchases, and having to enter the Broken Quarter by night had deprived him of the chance to spend it. It was now his only hope.

  The second guard, less angry than the first, tapped his fellow on the shoulder and grunted. Jerenn's assailant restrained himself.

  "Why don't we just kick the hell out of him and take the money anyway?" the guard said reasonably. The first ork hadn't thought of this, and looked as if the idea was very pleasant to him. His features creased up in a malefic smile.

  "Look, just take it," Jerenn said wearily. "I've come from a Theran praetor. He's in big trouble. I've got to get to Ilfaralek to tell him what's happening." No subterfuge or bribe was of any use now. The boy had to hope the truth would work. It didn't, usually.

  At the mention of the word praetor, the expression of the orks changed. They muttered a few words in an ork-ish dialect Jerenn couldn't understand. They were obviously undecided, and Jerenn knew that making up their minds on any matter requiring thoughtful consideration was often a time-consuming process for orks. The same was true for soldiers, so for ork soldiers it could take forever.

  "Every second I'm late is another second he may be killed," the boy pleaded.

  "Better not take any chances," the less aggressive of the orks muttered.

  "Look," Jerenn said, on a sudden brainstorm, "I've got to get to the Southern Barracks. Fast. Put me on a horse with a lieutenant or somebody. Then I won't be running around free in the city, so you won't have anything to worry about, will you?" The orks stared at each other. "Look, even better," continued the emboldened youth, "I'll say it was your idea. You could get a commendation."

  "Cheeky little bugger, ain't he? Bit too smart. Could be a spy we don't know about," the friendlier ork said. To his immense relief, Jerenn saw the paw-like hand of his fellow held out, and he dumped the gold into his palm.

  "'Ere! Grundertz!" the ork yelled over his shoulder, into the shadows behind the huge gates. "Get an 'orse out and look sharp about it!"

  Jerenn stood his ground doggedly, faced with the ork officer. He feared that an underling might not alert anyone of importance until it was too late, and the officer's assertion that Ilfaralek was dining and could not come in person worried him even more.

  "It's the praetor," Jerenn repeated. "If we wait any longer he'll be cut into pieces. He told me," he lied fluently, "that I must see Ilfaralek and no one else." Summoning up all his courage the boy stood as tall as he could, challenging the overweeningly greater stature of the ork. The ork's reply was to grab him by the collar and push his face into Jerenn's. It wasn't a pleasant sight.

  "Now you look here," the officer growled, virtually hauling the boy off the ground, "you tell me what all this murder and mayhem and nonsense is or I'll—"

  "What's going on?" came a sharp query from behind the knot of soldiers surrounding Jerenn. By fortunate coincidence, Ilfaralek had decided some fresh air would do his digestion—never one of life's more reliable processes—some good after an over-rich meal. His temper was not of the best at such times.

  "Nothing, sir, just a slave lad," the officer said casually. "'Night to you, sir."

  Ilfaralek was just about to turn away when Jerenn cried out after him.

  "Are you Ilfaralek, sir
?" He thought—hoped—that he recognized the man from the evening entertainments at the Rose Villa the night Cassian had arrived. It was dark, and by the torchlight outside the barracks buildings he could not be certain. The figure paused in mid-stride and turned around, staring at the youth.

  "It's Cassian, sir. He's been captured. In the Rat Circus. Sir, he'll be killed!" Jerenn tried to add a decent touch of drama without being too excessive about it. The man's jaw dropped a little and he marched over to the gathering of soldiers.

  "There are tunnels there, sir, and orks with armor and swords and a dead thing and—"

  "Cassian sent you?" The man was incredulous.

  "Yes, sir. I had to show him how to get into the Circus, sir. Please, sir. He'll be killed!" The boy's voice was plaintive, and Ilfaralek was not inclined to doubt him. When the boy showed him his gate pass, which no slave would be likely to obtain—such things cost a considerable sum on the black market, being a passport to escape, and this lad would never have such money—he was persuaded to believe him.

  "How many? How many orks did you see there?"

  "A dozen or so, sir," Jerenn exaggerated.

  "Your name, boy?"

  "Jerenn, sir." Ilfaralek frowned. Earlier that day, Cassian had despatched to him a note that was meant to be opened and read only if a slave from Tarlanth's household should fall afoul of the authorities for any reason and if Cassian himself was not able to act on that person's behalf. Curious, Ilfaralek had read it and learned the lad's name. Now he had to take his claim seriously.

  "Darisharg, get twenty men now and we will ride. There's no time to lose. And you, boy, you will stay here and, if this is a trap of any kind, you'll die under torture. Very painfully indeed," Ilfaralek threatened. "Oh, and dig out Harrishaz. We'd better have some magic with us in case matters get stickier than we expect."

  "You must take me, too," Jerenn protested. "I must show you where we got in so you know where to look."