They passed some sort of checkpoint in the tunnel where one Sunken with a large crest was looking closely into the face of everyone who passed. He kept waving the prisoners forward, disappointment on his face. When a prisoner halted to ask him a question, he snarled and backhanded him. The other Sunken guards dragged the man away, his mouth smeared in blood. Cal kept his eyes forward as the Sunken studied his face, feeling a surge of relief when he was waved forward. Whoever they were looking for, it wasn’t him.
The group arrived at a hollowed out basement with a watery hole in the floor. Then the Sunken barked out orders for the captives to get in the water. Chaos broke out. Many of the women were quietly weeping, the men loudly demanding the attention of their Sunken guards, who ignored them. Some appeared ready to fight rather than go into the water, thinking the Sunken meant to drown them.
The loudest dissenter was pushed into the water, a Sunken jumping in with him. The Sunken pulled him under. They didn’t reappear. The crowd fell silent, watching the water in the hole settle. Another Sunken stood near the hole, collecting attention. In a deep voice, he said, “You have a choice. Get in the water and swim to the next chamber. Or stay here and die in this room. We will not help you. You have grown soft atop the Plate. It is time for you to face what we face daily. In the water. Any who remain in this room in five minutes will have their throats cut.”
Now that the challenge had been laid out, Cal could sense the crowd seeking leadership. There was a silence, an opportunity for someone to speak up and take responsibility. Cal waited it out, not wanting to draw the attention of their captors. Not yet. After a few long moments, a stern-looking older man stepped up to the Sunken spokesman, drawing the eyes of the crowd, and said in a confident voice, “As we have been given no choice, describe the process of swimming to the next chamber.”
The Sunken looked at him. “Once you go under, you will pass through a small opening. After you pass through, on the underside of the Plate you will see a path of glowing lights above you. They lead south. It is a short swim and then there is a chamber where you can surface and find breath. More guards will be waiting there. Those who make it will be escorted to cells. We have done this before. Most who do not panic survive, even the old and young.”
The man approached the watery hole and looked down into it. He was thin and well-muscled, with a tightly trimmed mustache of mixed grey and white. He showed no fear. He reached a hand back without turning and a woman took it, his wife. She stood next to him beside the dark water as he looked at the Sunken.
“May I return to help the others?”
“You may not. Four minutes.”
The man briskly turned and faced the crowd. “Despite what this creature says, when I look at the citizens of the Plate, I do not see softness. I see strength. They build them tough in Surdoore. We have been dealt a foul hand today, but it appears we must play it through. I suggest we go in pairs. My wife and I will go first and be there to greet all of you on the other side. Who will go last?”
There was a painfully long silence, no one stepping forward. Finally Cal spoke. “I will.”
They locked eyes. “Good man. I am the General Michael Rouse.”
Cal, unwilling to provide his own name, simply nodded.
“Three minutes.”
The General looked at his wife, raised her clutched hand to his lips, then they jumped into the water together. A panic broke out in the room as the crowd realized they were all going in the water. Cal kept quiet, giving it a few moments to calm. The General’s speech appeared to have some effect, however, as people began pairing up. A sort of a line was forming at the hole and Cal heard another splash as another pair entered. He scanned the crowd. Nalani had the arm of a tough-looking youth, maybe part of Club Diamond’s security staff. Cal didn’t really know anyone else. The rest of the card players he’d spoken to were collecting their wives or otherwise pairing up.
The crowd was removing boots and shoes. Cal followed suit, glad no one was disrobing more than that. It would make the swim easier to shed his shirt but he wasn’t eager to expose his marks to the Sunken.
More and more of the crowd was disappearing into the hole. The splashes were coming frequently, people recognizing that they wanted to be able to see those in front of them and not leave gaps where they could get lost. A single older woman was crying quietly next to the line, standing alone. Cal slid up next to her.
“I don’t mean to be forward, but could I have your arm?” he said.
She gave him a grateful smile through her tears. “I suppose I picked a bad night to come to the club by myself.” She slid her arm into his and firmly gripped his sleeve with her other hand. “Will the water be cold?”
“It doesn’t matter. It will be dark. But I’ll be next to you. I’m told I’m a strong swimmer. Are you familiar with the Bay of Castalan?” When she shook her head, he said, “Well, I’ll tell you all about it on the other side.” He looked around. The crowd had acquitted itself well, the General’s words fair. They were the last. “Quickly now. In we go.” They jumped into the water.
Cal could immediately see the opening below them. Locke had told Aaron to find a gate. This must be one of those. It was ringed with a glowing light. Cal swam towards it, ignoring the salty sting in his eyes. He spared a look for the woman clutching his arm in terror. Her eyes were closed but she was at least kicking, helping to push them down. Cal pulled them through the gate and pivoted to follow the glowing trail above them on the underside of the Plate. There were still ripples in the water from the pair in front of them. A Sunken guard glided through the water with ease, monitoring them. They must need air, but it looked like they could hold their breath a long time. A requirement of survival here in this dismal place. Cal doubted the woman next to him could go much longer without panicking, however, and he began strong strokes, kicking and pulling with his free arm. They moved towards a larger glow ahead of them. Moments later he could see the lights sloping away, dancing on the dirty water’s surface, and they broke through, gasping for breath.
In the confusion of the woman’s head breaking the surface and Cal pushing her away, he ducked back down and surveyed the layout. There was a slow rolling motion to the blackness, the only impression of life and motion down here aside from the group of Sunken rear guards coming up behind them. There were glowing pockets of light in the distance, presumably other chambers, as the Sunken had called them. There was some sort of trap set nearby, a cunning device of wood and netting, baited but empty.
Cal quickly turned back and raised his head out of the water. The roof sloped up and away. There was a cluster of people and Sunken at the far end. Some were offering support, helping the swimmers climb out of the water onto a gritty shelf that led back into what looked like caves. The Sunken were ushering the group back into one of the tunnels, lit by the same green light. Cal gave a nod of gratitude as a man helped him out of the water. He had only a moment to look around before the Sunken at his back prodded him forward. His companion from the swim was already moving into the tunnel, having immediately found the arm of another once Cal had let hers go.
He was marched down the tunnel, the last of the crowd. No sign of the General or Nalani. The tunnel curved and winded, sometimes branching off. The ceilings were low, in a few places the white of the Plate shone through. Mostly it was hidden by the rocky green coral that made up the tunnels. The floors were fairly smooth, ground down and shaped by the tides, but the coral walls and ceilings were viciously sharp. Cal saw fresh blood on some of them where the crowd before him had stumbled or put up their hands for balance.
Cal was dripping wet, a prisoner in a miserable hive in the hands of a new enemy. But he felt alive in a way he hadn’t since arriving here. The sting of leading a losing war to the Borhele was firmly in the past. He was being forced into a new challenge, something which may have seemed small at first but was shaping up large.
They soon came to a deep chamber, dark under a low ceiling. The Sunke
n were placing the crowd into a series of cells, iron bars running from floor to ceiling. There was a foot or so of water on the ground. Cal sloshed forward and was led to a small cell off to the side. Others were scattered throughout the room. The light was dimmer than in the first chamber, and Cal couldn’t see how many of the crowd were being held here. He was pushed into his cell and the Sunken guards shut the door behind him, locking it. Cal turned to watch them leave.
He took a quick inventory. He had his knife. He knew little about the Sunken, only what Jon had told him about the original Sunken being under the rule of House Gale. A House legendary for its cruelty. Cal had Locke’s name, but no idea if he was aligned with this group.
He decided to take a chance. There wasn’t much value in sitting in a cell when they were on such a tight timeline. Cal sloshed to the back of his cell and, after making sure no one was watching, he removed his knife and hid it in a crack in the crumbling wall.
Then he returned to the cell door and began calling the guard over. Since none of the other prisoners were talking, keeping their heads down, the guard came over after a minute or two.
“I need to speak with Lord Gale. Tell him Cal Mast of House Mast, rulers of Castalan, seeks an audience with him.”
The guard gave a dismissive snort, but moved away to deliver the message, legs cutting through the water as if it wasn’t there. He spoke with another Sunken at the mouth of the tunnel. That one turned and left. He returned a few minutes later and both guards came and collected Cal. It looked as though he was getting his audience, for better or for worse.
Chapter 12. The Court of Lord Gale
Cal noticed that the tunnel walls grew more refined as he was led away from the prison area and towards Lord Gale. There were intricate carvings on them, swirls and patterns that glowed with green light. One guard walked in front, the other behind. They’d already searched him, making him glad he’d left his knife back in the cell.
They came to a large opening in the tunnel. A bright green glow emanated from within. Hanging on each side of the opening, like a curtain, were chains. Each ended in a large hook. Each hook held a skull, the hook’s point angled through an eye socket, giving one the impression the skulls faced upwards. Almost as if they sought a path back to the surface, out from under this hellish Plate. Cal was pushed between them, the rattle of the chains announcing his entrance into the court of Lord Gale.
It was vast, its floors smooth and level. Small pools had been carved into them, many of which were full of lounging Sunken warriors. The pools encircled a raised dais. On it was a massive throne of green coral. The throne was surrounded by long chains which hung down from the high ceilings. As with the entryway, each held a savage-looking hook. Most had skulls mounted on them. Far worse, from many dangled bodies. And Cal had thought the decorations at the Club Diamond were bad.
The Sunken who sat on the throne turned regally at the sound of the chains in the entryway, moving only his head to regard Cal. All the other Sunken in the room did the same. The quiet conversations in the smaller pools ceased as Cal was led to the throne. The bodies on the hooks around him swayed as though pushed by an imperceptible wind.
As Cal neared, he saw one of the dead slowly rotating. It was the General Michael Rouse, the blood which had poured out of his neck covering his front, his eyes lifeless. A puddle below his feet. His reward for speaking up and doing his part to help the prisoners survive their abduction. Cal fought a surge of disgust.
He didn’t recognize any of the other bodies. They looked as if they had been here longer, their blood and clothes dried. He had an idea he was looking at what remained of the Laurent House, taken two nights ago.
“This is Cal Mast of House Mast, rulers of Castalan?” the throned Sunken asked the guards who accompanied Cal. He put a mocking tone on Cal’s name and title. This could only be Lord Gale, the whole room hanging on his words. He wore a black crown on his head. His clothes were better preserved than the other Sunken, though they were still frayed and worn. The half of his face that Cal could see was harsh, sharp lips and contemptuous eyes. The other half was covered in green coral, carved into elaborate patterns. There was a weight to the carvings that drew Cal’s eyes. Something of a story hidden in there, told with care. Equal parts vanity and shame. A House which had once ruled in wealth and strength, now just strength.
Since the return of the dragons, Cal and Aaron had spoken often of the strange new order they’d seen emerging. The marks which covered their skin were recognized by the dragons. There was a peculiar symmetry with the markings the Chalk used to reward accomplishments. The Borhele held jointed sticks, marked with their deeds. Now Cal was face to face with a leader of the Sunken and he was seeing another type of markings. Every race, if that was the right word, had their own path, their own way to speak to the dragons. Cal had no idea how these parallels seemed to permeate the dark corners of this world. No idea whether this act was old or new. Whether the dragons would respond to them. But he had a feeling it would be a very poor outcome if Lord Gale brought the Sunken into contact with dragons and they were rewarded with their services, the way he and Aaron had been. This creature surrounded by enemies and victims, all dangling from hooks.
“I know of Castalan.” Lord Gale cocked his head, looking at Cal with curiosity. “But that is not why you have been granted an audience. Many use their names to seek an audience. Many plead, imagining their influence extends below the Plate. It does not. You are in my domain now. It has been a long time, however, since an updweller has used my name.” He stood, the whole room seeming to rise with him. He was more than a head taller than Cal. From his position on the dias, he towered over the room.
Gale turned slightly as he approached Cal, moving down the steps with a liquid grace. As he turned, Cal saw the ornate sail of coral carvings which ran the length of his back. Projecting several hands-widths out from his spine, the green was a flat line of woven branches, something that brought to mind the strength and detail of a wrought iron fence but possessing a more natural growth pattern, like the roots of a great tree or the antlers atop a stag.
Now that he’d seen a true Sunken sail, he could see that they were being cultivated by all the warriors in the room. His guards’ were barely noticeable, but nevertheless, they had some carvings on the coral which lined their spines and the area around them had been cleared of coral. It looked as though Lord Gale held the highest honors in the room, as if that wasn’t clear from the throne and crown. The others chased the tail of those honors.
Gale drew close. “He was with the latest group?” When the guards nodded, he squinted at Cal, looking deep into his eyes for a long moment. Then he turned back to the throne, forcing Cal to slide back as the sail turned behind him, and walked back up the stairs.
“Tell me, little fish, Cal Mast of House Mast, rulers of Castalan,” Gale tossed the words back over his shoulder, “what do you know of House Gale?” Gale reached the throne and sat back down. He picked up a thick hook with a long stem and a dark, wooden handle, what Cal would have called a longshoreman’s hook back in Castalan. Gale scratched the mean-looking instrument along the coral on the back of one hand. The grating noise filled the silence. “Before you begin embarrassing yourself, let me warn you. I am Lord Grinwell Gale VII. You will speak with an appropriate tone of respect. The one who led you did not. He has learned. As all who dwell on the Plate will soon learn.” Gale used the long hook to gesture towards the dangling body of the General. “Was he a friend of yours?” The comment was almost playful and he punctuated it by reaching out and using the hook to push the body so that it swung back and forth.
Cal watched it swing. “No,” he said tersely. “He was brave though.”
Gale gave a dark smile and Cal could see he had his teeth filed to points. “Bravery he had,” Gale said. “He did not beg for his life. Respect was what he lacked. I have no problem teaching further lessons, but perhaps you will be more interesting than the rest of this garbage we’ve colle
cted under the Plate. Begin. What would House Mast have of House Gale? Besides your pathetic life spared for an appropriate ransom?”
Cal was forming his response when they were interrupted by the entry of another group of Sunken. Several guards pushed aggressively in, surrounding a Sunken with keen eyes and the largest coral sail in the room short of Lord Gale’s. It was the one who had been studying faces on the surface, looking for someone. He took one look at Cal standing in the center of Gale’s court and his eyes filled with alarm and fury. The look was quickly quelled and the new arrival made his way to Lord Gale’s side.
“My Lord, you demean yourself to speak directly to an updweller.”
“I hold audience with whomever I choose, Odell. This group’s leadership proved lacking. This one knew my name.”
“There are many above who remember and fear the name of House Gale, as it should be.”
There was something to the way this Odell looked at Cal. An intensity. Cal opened his mouth to speak, but Odell cut in.
“My Lord,” he said quickly, leaning in close to draw Gale’s attention away from Cal, “all the men have returned. None were discovered or slain. We have eighty-four prisoners. We left twenty dead updwellers.”
“Add that one to the toll of the dead.” Gale pointed to the General, still swinging, the chain creaking as it went back and forth.
Odell barely looked at the body. “I had anticipated you would wait for me before speaking with any of the captives.”
“I do not wait on others, Odell, even you.” Gale gave him a dark look.
Odell was immediately all subservience. “No, of course not, my Lord.” He half-bowed, waiting with his head down as though for judgement.
Instead Gale turned away. “Wine!” he called out loudly. “We must toast to another successful venture. Your men did well, Odell.”
While Gale briefly looked around for his servants, Odell gave Cal a glance. Cal saw the menace in the look. This Odell didn’t want Gale to speak to Cal. He had cut off Cal when he tried to speak. Cal had a feeling Odell would find a way to get him up on a hook before he had a chance to say anything more to Gale. Cal needed to choose what few words he would get wisely.
Alliance of the Sunken (Spies of Dragon and Chalk Book 3) Page 9