“It could work.” Corran liked the idea of fire traps in the drains much better than trying to hack their way through a pile of giant flesh-eating maggots.
“You think your brother and Aiden would help us?” Trent asked. Corran shook his head. “Sorry, but they just left with Polly to go scout the ruins for more books. The sooner they can figure out the magic behind the monsters, the sooner we can stop whoever’s summoning the creatures. Elinor’s agreed to stay here so we have someone watching out for both groups.”
“Same fight, different battle. All right, then. It’s daylight Above.
We don’t want to attract attention, and sending smoke up out of the drains will definitely do that. So we wait until after curfew, and go out when there are fewer people to see the smoke,” Trent said. “And hope that the guards figure they don’t get paid enough to check out the drains, if they do see something,” Tomor added, raising an eyebrow.
“Beautiful thing about that is, any guards we kill in the drains get blamed on the lida,” Illir replied. “That’s a bonus, if you ask me.” The hunters chuckled.
“Get some food and sleep,” Calfon said. “We’ll let you know when it’s time to go.”
That evening, when the night was darkest, Corran and Dilin slipped into the drain. Corran paused, listening. The street overhead was silent, as was the tunnel before them. Corran nodded to Dilin and they moved forward, sticking to where the shadows were deepest. The entrance from Below opened into one of the catch basins underneath the street. A grate in the roadway above him gave Corran the first glimpse of stars he had seen since the night of Kell’s death.
Another grate on the floor of the catch basin led into the storm drains. Corran paused over the grate to examine the handholds carved into the stone wall. There was a landing about six feet below him, past which the drain dropped off into darkness. He hoped with all his heart that Trent’s information was correct about the lower drains being large enough for a man to walk through. I’ve got no desire to get wedged down there, with or without lida.
“Let’s go.”
Corran and Dilin bent and lifted the iron grate. It was heavy, even with both of them to bear the load. Getting it back into place once they were inside was going to be a challenge.
Corran went first. He set a small, tightly-shuttered lantern inside a pot to hide its light, and let it down with a rope until it settled on the landing. Dilin handed him their rucksacks, and Corran lowered those as well. The lantern gave just enough of a glow for Corran to see the handholds as he climbed. Dilin eased himself into the hole after him, and they leaned against each other, one foot splayed against the opposing wall of the pipe, as they drew the grate back into place over their heads. Inside the rucksacks were several torches made of wood and rags, extra candles, and the small oil pots Calfon had given them. They each carried wineskins of lamp oil as well as flint and steel, in case the lantern went out. They had staves and long knives, and both of them carried coils of rope.
“Down,” Corran said. He handed Dilin the rope for the lantern pot and gently lifted the pot over the edge of the landing to light his way. Dilin let out the cord so that the pot hung a few feet below Corran, letting him see a little of the pipe ahead of him. More handholds were carved into the stone walls, and Corran wondered how far down they would have to go before the drains leveled out. The bottom was closer than he expected, a little more than six feet below the platform. As he felt his boots touch solid ground, Corran took the pot and gave the rope a tug, signaling for Dilin to begin his climb. The pipe they’d just come down looked to be twice as wide as Corran’s shoulders, and the tunnel was about half a foot higher than his head. Trent was right so far. Let’s hope the rest of the drain looks like this.
Within a few minutes, Dilin landed beside him. Corran wound up the rope they used to let down the pot and slung it over his shoulder.
The pot they would leave behind, in the hope that they might use it when they returned—if they exited the same way they entered.
Corran withdrew the lantern, and opened the shutters. “Bigger down here than I expected,” Dilin murmured. “I never even knew these drains existed before the other night.” “Ravenwood is full of surprises,” Corran replied. The lantern gave them their first good look at the drain tunnels. They were wide enough for two men to walk abreast with their arms outstretched, and at least six and a half feet high. Walls made of old brick, with barrel vault ceilings, stretched as far as they could see, dry except for a trickle of water down the center. The drain smelled musty, but much better than the sewers.
“Plenty of food for the lida,” Dilin said. They picked their way around rat skeletons stripped clean. Occasionally they passed larger prey, an unfortunate cat or dog that had wandered in or whose body had washed down with the rains.
Corran spotted a human skeleton, picked bare. “Wonder if that poor bastard was dead before they found him?”
“Listen,” Dilin whispered. Corran froze, focusing on the darkness beyond the lantern’s light. He heard a faint scuffling sound, then nothing.
They lit torches, and Corran set the lantern on a brick outcropping to light the way back. He and Dilin slung their rucksacks over their shoulders and followed the tunnel as it sloped downward. The smell of spoiled food and rancid ale hung in the air. Corran guessed that some of the buildings above them dumped their refuse into the drains instead of the sewer. He strained to listen for the creatures.
A few feet before the tunnel branched, Corran raised an arm for Dilin to stop, and pointed into the darkness. An odd rustling noise sounded ahead of them, growing louder. Brandishing their torches, Corran and Dilin moved forward, shoulder to shoulder, staves at the ready as they turned a corner.
“Shit!” Corran yelped. Black slime coated the wall and floor. Lida feasted on the slime, their corpse-white segmented bodies pulsing.
Each lida stretched at least two feet long, as thick around as a man’s arm. The creatures swarmed over one another, forming a writhing mass. Corran forced back the urge to retch. Whether the lida heard them, smelled them or felt the vibration of their approach, Corran did not know; but all at once, the tide of creatures surged forward. “Gods above and below!” Corran thundered, his shout echoing in the drain. “Use your torch!” he ordered, lowering his own brand to keep the creatures at bay.
Dilin held his ground, alternately thrusting his torch at the lida and pushing them back with his staff. Corran held his staff under one arm as he grabbed an oil pot from his pack and lit it. “Fire!” The pot smashed on the brick floor just ahead of the tide of lida and burst into flames. The creatures reared back with eerie squeals.
Dilin held his ground, still ready with torch and staff in case the lida were bold enough to brave the flame.
To Corran’s horror, the wave of creatures parted around the flame and slithered up the walls. They stank of rot, their toxic mucus glistening in the torchlight.
“Fall back!” Corran yelled, laying a wide line of oil across the floor and up the walls. Dilin swept his staff across the walls, knocking the creatures from the walls and ceiling to fall into the fire. Corran lobbed one pot after another, striking the floor, walls, and ceiling, before igniting the oil. Flames roared, incinerating the front line of monsters and forcing the others back.
One of the huge maggots dropped onto Dilin’s shoulder and he screamed as its acid burned into his skin. He tore at it, blistering his hands, and managed to tear it free. He hurled it into the flames. It hit the floor with a wet smack, writhing amid the flames. It hissed and sizzled until it popped like an overstuffed sausage, spewing blood and a thick pus that stank like a corpse left to ripen in the sun. “Are you all right?” Corran shouted. He struggled not to retch at the smell.
“I can move my arm, but damn, it hurts like it’s on fire,” Dilin said.
The rustling noise came again, seconds before more lida swarmed into view from a nearby passageway.
“Fall back behind the oil line!” Corran ordered.
Dilin and Corran dipped their torches to the oil, and a fiery ring blazed up, nearly blinding them. The lida roiled, hissing angrily.
Corran lit more pots and threw them against the ceiling and walls to cut off pursuit. As the two men retreated, Dilin splashed the floor and walls with oil from his wineskin. “That’s all I’ve got—it had better work.” He favored his damaged arm. The acid had eaten through the cloth of his shirt and the first layer of skin, leaving a swath of bloodied tissue over most of one shoulder.
Corran’s torch set the oil ablaze. Corran threw more and more pots past the flames, aiming for the rear of the mass of creatures, leaving them no quarter. It was growing hot in the tunnel, and he hoped they didn’t end up roasting themselves alive with the monsters. “Is it working?” Sweat beaded on Dilin’s face, and his hair hung limp across his forehead. His eyes looked glassy from pain. “Well, they aren’t advancing. That’s something.”
“Fire’s dying down,” Dilin replied. Their torches guttered; the replacements in Corran’s bag would have to do them to get out. He had no desire to be trapped here in the dark with the monsters. Seeing Dilin’s wound painted a vivid picture of what it would be like to die beneath the squirming mass of those creatures: dissolving slowly, awake to know it.
“I think we got them all,” Corran said. The floor of the tunnel was covered with the blackened bodies of the lida, charred and split open. “Let’s get out of here,” Dilin said in a tight voice. “My arm’s useless.
And I don’t feel too good.” They retreated, with Dilin watching the rear, while Corran led the way back to the grate where they entered. “Wait!” Corran stopped so abruptly that Dilin bumped into him.
“Do you hear that?”
Rustling sounded ahead of them. More lida, between us and the way home. And we’re nearly out of oil.
“I’m not going to be much good if it comes to another fight,” Dilin said. “I’m going to be lucky if I can haul myself back out of the pipe.” The strange shuffling noise echoed from the old brick walls.
Corran’s heart sank. There must be huge numbers of them. “We’re going to make it. Stay back-to-back and we’ll keep them at bay with our torches.”
More rustling, closer now. Corran’s torch guttered. “We’re almost to the grate.”
“We’re not going to get out,” Dilin said bleakly.
A wave of corpse-pale lida flowed down the tunnel toward them, cutting them off.
Corran grabbed the remaining torches from his pack, lit them and threw them to the ground. They blazed, halting the creatures. “I’ve got a few oil pots left,” Corran said. “I’ll use them to drive the creatures back. Once it’s clear, you run for it.”
“What about you?”
“Just go!” Corran ordered.
“But—”
“Go!” Corran roared, and threw a lit pot. The bomb exploded and the creatures shrieked. Dilin dropped his spent torch and picked up a fresh replacement, running for his life toward the entrance. He’s not going to make it. Lida filled the tunnel, heaving and shuddering across the floor. They surged forward, cutting Dilin off from the pipe and forcing him against the wall, climbing over each other to get to him. Dilin screamed.
Corran flung his torch into the midst of the huge maggots. The monsters drew back, and Dilin collapsed, sliding down the wall of the tunnel, bleeding. Corran grabbed the other torch and charged forward with a reckless battle cry. I am not going to die cowering before a bunch of slugs.
A wave of flames blasted out of nowhere, and the creatures shrieked. The fire swept in a sheet from side to side, hot as a forge, scattering the monsters. Corran pushed Dilin down and shielded him with his body.
The corridor in front of them became a tunnel of flames as the entire stretch of floor, ceiling, and walls blazed so brilliantly that the brick glowed red. Corran threw one arm over his nose and mouth as his lungs protested and his eyes teared.
As quickly as the fire came, it vanished.
Corran blinked, trying to readjust to the dark after the blinding flames, and glanced down at Dilin, who lay pale and unconscious, breathing shallowly, blood seeping from burns deep enough to reveal muscle. Corran dropped his staff and unsheathed his knife. Footsteps sounded ahead, and Corran drew back into the shadows. The tunnels offered no good hiding places. I might not win, but I can make it expensive.
A dark form appeared in the torchlight, kicking its way through the charred corpses of the lida. The newcomer stopped several paces away, within the glow of Corran’s nearly spent torch, and lowered his hood.
“Let’s go home,” Rigan said.
CORRAN HELD HIS questions until they were back at the building they’d claimed as their home and he had handed Dilin off to Aiden for healing. “I thought you weren’t going to be back until you’d gotten into the old monastery,” he said. “Not that I’m complaining.”
Rigan snorted. “Polly got us to the building, but we realized we’d need different tools to get in. Looks like more of the walls collapsed since the last time she was there. Lucky for you, we came back and Elinor told us where you’d gone.”
“What made you decide to come after us?”
Rigan raised an eyebrow. “Besides the fact that your plan was breathtakingly risky?” He shrugged. “Since we were back, it seemed like a good idea to see if you needed some backup. Aiden went to check on two groups, and I took the other two. Mir and Tomor were already heading back when I got to their drain, so I kept going until I found you and Dilin.”
“You’ve got good timing,” Corran replied. “I didn’t think we were going to get out of there on our own. I’m not sure how badly Dilin’s hurt, but it looked awful.”
“Well, you’re out. And I’m still in pretty good shape; I think I’m getting the hang of grounding my magic.”
“Do you think the magic was enough to call attention to us?”
Rigan shrugged. “No way to tell. I guess we’ll know soon enough.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
“AT LEAST IT’S not hancha,” Rigan muttered. Decaying flesh littered the ground, letting them know they were on the right trail.
“Looks like they were dragging someone,” Trent said, bending to examine the marks. “And we seem to be heading in the same direction.”
Only two days had passed since Corran and the hunters had gone after the lida. Rigan and Aiden had postponed returning to the old monastery to help with the aftermath of the fight, and stayed close just in case the monsters returned. Dilin would not be fit to travel for a while, Aiden cautioned. The lida’s acid would leave ugly scars, and he’d find moving painful.
By the time they were ready to go back to the monastery, Polly returned from the market with the rumor that ghouls were slinking around the more deserted stretches of Below, including the area near the house they had claimed for their own.
“It’s too dangerous, going into the ruins,” Trent protested, when
Rigan and Aiden raised the suggestion.
“You’re going to go after the ghouls anyway,” Rigan countered.
“So while you’re there fighting them off, Aiden and Polly and I will see if we can find anything. Elinor will be ready to patch us up when we get back.”
“I don’t like it.” Corran glared at Rigan. “What if you run into ghouls inside the monastery? We won’t be able to help you.” “Unlikely,” Rigan argued. “Ghouls need to eat. They’re not going to find any fresh bodies in a half-buried library.”
“Except yours.”
“Aiden and I can hold them off with our magic, and Polly’s good with a knife. You’ll see—we’ll be in and out before you’re even done fighting.”
Rigan watched Corran struggle with his thoughts. Going into the ruins would have been dangerous enough without the ghouls. But the ghouls had to be stopped, and if Rigan and the others stood any chance of bringing the monster-summoning witch and their sponsor to account, they needed all the arcane knowledge they could get. “I’m in,” Corran said eventua
lly. “But I don’t like it.”
THE OLD MONASTERY was a long way from the busy marketplace, and a half-candlemark’s walk from the house they shared with Polly and Elinor. The once-handsome building was the best preserved of the dozen near it, which were little more than heaps of stone. Parts of the old façade still stood. None of the walls looked sturdy, and three had partially collapsed. Polly scouted a way through the rubble to get to a stairway and into the lower chambers, where the old building was better preserved. It was a fine plan, until the ghouls showed up.
Aiden’s limited foresight provided a good idea of where the monsters nested in the nearby ruins, but he could make out nothing farther below. Corran and the hunters spread out across the handful of blocks where the ghouls had been sighted, after a careful sweep around the old monastery to ensure that none of the monsters were in the upper floors of the ruin. Despite the careful preparation, Rigan’s stomach knotted. Hancha were bad enough. Ghouls are worse.
Hancha might not have enough awareness to notice approaching footsteps, but ghouls were far more clever and significantly more dangerous.
Aiden carried two knives and a staff. Rigan brought along two long knives, saving his magic for when it would be most effective. Polly gripped a wide, wicked-looking knife, and a hardness in her eyes assured Rigan that she knew how to wield it.
A recent memory flashed in Rigan’s mind. Kell, returning with a corpse that had a single knife wound through the ribs. His brother had insisted the man be cursed, buried where the soul would never rest. And the corpse was clutching strands of hair in one hand, hair the color of Polly’s. Rigan eyed the girl with new respect. Damn, you picked yourself a spitfire, Kell. He felt a stab of loss that made him look away. Aiden glanced at him, worried, but Rigan shrugged and moved a step ahead so the healer could not read his expression.
They descended the stairs into the cellars of the monastery. Rigan forged ahead, acutely aware that the lantern’s glow illuminated only a small area, leaving the rest of the cellars in darkness.
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