by Jon Sprunk
They passed a smooth stone face set into the tunnel wall. Josey paused a moment, and Hubert stayed with her. It took her a moment to grasp that it was a grave marker. Dust filled the indentations of rigid characters carved into the stone. Hubert brushed away the accumulation, and Josey recognized the script as old Nimean. It listed a score or so names, and a number had been chiseled at the top of the stone-816. Josey reached out to trace the date. So much history, lost for centuries. What other secrets hide down here in the dark?
“Stirring, is it not?” Major Volek asked, standing beside her. “To think that on this spot, more than three hundred years ago, men and women who didn’t know if they would live to see another day gathered to mark the passage of their brothers and sisters into the Prophet’s arms.”
“Are you a religious man, Major?”
“Without the Light, how could we find our way in this dark world?”
Josey was surprised to hear such words from the stoic soldier. Sergeant Merts watched the exchange without reaction, as impassive as the stone around them. Josey and Hubert continued on, followed by the heavy trod of the soldiers’ boots.
The tunnel split again, and then again fifty paces or so after that. Each time, Hirsch chose the right branch, and Josey began to worry that the adept had lost his sense of direction. No. He’s gotten us this far. Have faith. But faith was an expensive commodity down here.
A few steps farther the tunnel widened, and Josey heard a sound in the darkness. A rhythmic plinking.
“Water.”
Hubert turned his head. “What?”
“Listen. It’s dripping water.” She reached out to the wall. The stone was slick with moisture. “We must be under the river.”
Hubert tapped his toe in a small puddle on the floor. “How far do these catacombs extend? Majesty, we should send a team down here to search for hidden ways into the city.”
Josey gave him a short nod, hiding her smile as she looked down the tunnel and began to hope that they were coming to the end of it. She stood on her tiptoes to look over Hubert’s shoulder. For a moment she thought she saw something in the shadows. A brief flicker of movement, too quick for her to be sure. She was about to forget it when a loud yell echoed from the front of the party.
Josey tried to push past Hubert, but she jumped when something from the ceiling bounced off her shoulder. She looked down to see a small rock on the floor. She looked up and didn’t have time to shout a warning before the world collapsed.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
The corridor zigzagged as Keegan shepherded his men through the castle. He waited until the last person entered the hallway before hustling back to the front.
You’re not fooling anyone, Keegan. They all know you’re not the leader type. They’re just humoring you, but when the shit storm hits you’ll be left all alone holding your pecker.
For the life of him, he couldn’t understand why Caim had chosen him to lead this mission. There were plenty of fighters here with more experience, like Vaner or Taun. Even Malig could do a better job, and he hardly talked except to complain.
Keegan thought about Dray, staying back with his brother. Would he do the same if it had been Liana? Just the thought of his sister shoved a burning spear point through his heart. He nodded to the men as he passed. Act like you know what you’re doing.
He was almost back to the head of the group when a shout reached him, followed by a fierce war cry. Keegan pushed through the press until he burst into a small room furnished with little more than a wooden table and chairs. One chair lay on its back beside the sprawled figure of a large man in a dyed cloak. The rest of the outlaws held back, looking in all directions. Only Vaner had the guts to approach the open door on the other side of the room, torch in hand.
Keegan went over to the fallen man. Blood leaked from a puckered gash across his cousin Gaelan’s throat. Even knowing he was too late, Keegan tore off his cloak and tried to stanch the flow, but it seeped through the material and kept running.
“What happened? Bring me more light!”
Men clustered around. They tried for more than a minute, but by the end Gaelan was dead. Keegan sat back on his heels. His arms were drenched up to the elbows in blood.
“Damned thing just came out of nowhere and cut him down.” Yosur pointed across the way. “Then it flew out that way like the Dark One himself.”
Vaner hadn’t moved during Gaelan’s ordeal, but kept staring through the open doorway. Keegan snatched his sword and stood up.
“Was it one of those shadow men?”
“Maybe.” Vaner raised his torch higher. “I think I see it. There. Standing against the wall.”
Keegan couldn’t see anything down the dark hallway, but he backed up to the others while keeping his eyes on the doorway.
“Okay. Caim said don’t stop for nothing. When I give the call, everyone rush through that door. If you see something that ain’t us, kill it. Otherwise, keep moving.”
Everyone nodded. Keegan was surprised no one argued with him. His forearms itched. The urge to scratch was almost overpowering, but he pushed the thought aside. Caim was counting on him.
Keegan raised his sword. Just before he gave the signal, something detached from the gloom in the corner of the room, like a black cloud with arms and legs sheathed in black metal. He started to yell a warning, but his voice froze in his throat for a fatal heartbeat. That was all the shadow man needed to slip his sickle-shaped knife across Yosur’s stomach and rip out his guts. Lumel was the next to fall, split open like a side of beef. Then old Taun collapsed near the back of the group. Keegan spun as another figure in black darted through the darkness.
The clansmen backed away, but Keegan stood his ground. The sickle glinted dully in the torchlight; the shadow man swung a length of thin chain in his other hand. Keegan took a wide stance as Caim had taught him and tightened his sweaty hands around the handle of his sword. When the spiked end of the chain rushed toward him, he expected to die. But something urged him not to give up. He stepped out of the way and smacked the chain with the flat of his sword. An awful tone rang from the contact, but Keegan got the satisfaction of seeing the chain fall limp to the floor. Before he knew it, he was running at the shadow man, who seemed a little confused himself. At least Keegan hoped it was confusion, but he didn’t have time to think about it. He launched an overhand cut with all of his strength. The shadow man slid out from under the attack as neat as anything he had ever seen. The sickle came up and across in a slash that would have sliced out his liver, but Keegan shoved his heels into the floor and fell straight back, not gracefully by any measure, but the sudden change in direction saved his life.
He rolled onto his stomach as the chain swung over his head. He pushed himself up, knowing this was it-he was about to die-and hoping it wouldn’t hurt too much, when a quiet gasp sounded from above him. Keegan jumped up to find his enemy standing like a tree, head tilted oddly to the side.
Vaner stepped from behind him, bloody sword in hand, and the shadow man collapsed. Others ran forward to chop at the slumped body, spattering the floor with dark ichor. Keegan’s legs shook as he tried to comprehend that he wasn’t going to die. Don’t speak too soon. We ain’t out of this yet.
“Where’s the other one?” he asked.
A few men looked around.
“Gone.”
Vaner’s left arm hung limp at his side, the sleeve drenched in blood, but he was alive. Keegan started toward the man, but stopped when he noticed a wedge of darkness bulging from the wall behind Vaner. As Keegan opened his mouth to warn him, something ice-cold wriggled down the collar of his tunic. He looked up, and the cry lodged in his throat.
The falcata fell from his hand as thousands of tiny black leaves rained down from the ceiling.
Nine bodies lay on the floor.
Silence reigned in the gloomy chamber. The seven men and two women sprawled across the floor were a medley of soldiers and common folk, but all had met with the same savage
violence. A few had bite marks on their faces and necks. He had come too late to find out which side they were on, if any.
The shadows swarmed nearby as Caim walked to an archway on the other side of the chamber, so close he could hear them chittering. The black sword thrummed, warm in his hand like a living thing. The point hovered over the corpses he passed as if sniffing for new foes to battle. The sword craved blood, and while he held it he shared its dreadful lust.
Before he reached the archway, Kit emerged from a wall. Her outfit had changed to a chiton of hunter green belted with a silver sash to match her flowing hair.
“What did you see?”
Her eyes narrowed to purple slits as she floated before him. “There are a few bodies scattered about. It looks as though the people living here went mad and started killing each other.”
He glanced around. Blood was everywhere.
“I think she’s here, Caim. I can’t be sure, but there is something ahead. I can feel it, but I can’t get close.”
Caim started to walk through her, but stopped himself when they were face-to-face. The touch of her nose played like foxfire along his lips.
“Get away, Kit. This is only going to get worse.”
She laughed. It was the most beautiful thing he could imagine right now. “What? And miss the chance for you to finally get what you’ve got coming?”
Same old Kit. Never misses an opportunity to kick me where it hurts.
“You ready for this?”
She drew back to arm’s length. “Are you?”
He strode through her, savoring the sensation as their bodies melded, and passed under the archway. The sword pulled him through the corridors beyond. The shadows crept in his wake. Every so often he would see a flicker of Kit’s luminance ahead of him. He followed, hoping she knew where she was going.
A staircase appeared on his left, spiraling upward into the dark. As he turned toward it, a dark blade slashed at his face. Caim jerked back and swung his sword up to meet the attack. The black blades met and rebounded in a clash of phosphorescent sparks. He riposted… and the shadow warrior was gone.
When the Beast shadow-jumped away during their fight, Caim had been able to see a wispy residue that gave him something to follow. But these fighters just vanished. No, hold on. Looking closer, Caim saw a web of filaments-no wider than strands of hair-shimmering in the dark. They faded before his eyes.
Caim put his foot on the first step and spun around as something disturbed the air behind him. The thrusting black knife got past his sword. Only a quick jerk of his suete kept the point of the curved blade from piercing his chest. As silent as death, the shadow warrior lunged with a second knife. Caim deflected it and counterattacked with a slash to the neck. But the shadow warrior had vanished. Like before, only a handful of gleaming skeins gave any evidence that the shadow fighter had ever been there.
“Kit.”
She appeared beside him. “What? I was trying to find you a way out, but this place is a labyrinth.”
Caim grunted. That was a good word for the warren of corridors running through the palace. It had become evident that the rulers of Liovard had added new passages and chambers to the castle, probably over the course of a couple generations. The result was a royal mess.
“What did you find?”
“The stink of sorcery is thicker on the floor above you,” she answered.
That made sense to him. The great hall would be on the next level, with the residential chambers above that.
“Will these stairs get me there?”
“They’ll get you to the second floor, but you still have a bunch of halls to cross.”
The sword jerked in his hand, in the direction of the staircase. Caim followed the blade’s lead, and Kit followed him up the winding stairs. The steps ended on the next floor, opening into a dark corridor. He turned left. The pressure grew stronger inside him as he moved down the drafty passage. He didn’t fear it anymore. The feeling was a part of him, as familiar as the fit of his clothes or the weight of his knife.
The shadow warriors struck again at the intersection of two hallways. The sword-staff slashed back and forth, lightning-quick, blocking his way. Caim started to meet the attack, but Kit’s sudden cry alerted him to the second threat. He fell to his chest and rolled as twin blades cut the air above him. Caim regained his footing with his back to a wall. Kit floated over his attackers’ cowled heads, then flew up through the ceiling. The shadow warriors came at him side by side, eerie twins in matching suits of black armor. The sword shook in his fist. Yes, I agree.
Caim catapulted himself at his foes. The shadow warriors split apart, smooth as watered silk. Caim feinted at the knife wielder on his right, then pivoted and blocked a thrust from the sword staff. He used his suete to tie up the longer weapon long enough for him to dart underneath. The black sword dipped under the warrior’s breastplate and met ebon mail underneath. Caim shoved harder, extending himself to his full length, knowing he presented a prime target to the foe at his rear. The blade’s point bit into black steel links.
And the staff wielder leaned back, disappearing into a cloud of shadows.
Biting back his disappointment, Caim threw himself forward. Not fast enough. Two lines of blazing fire cut across his lower back. He rolled and came up on his feet and deflected a black knife inches from his throat. The second blade came in low. Caim kicked it away and slashed high. The shadow warrior ducked under with both blades whirling. Just what I would’ve done.
Caim should have retreated and regrouped. He was tiring fast, and defensive actions would only preserve him for so long. Instead, he charged. Black knives cut into his arms and shoulders. He ignored the stinging cuts, hooking his sword arm around the warrior’s wrist and pulling him closer. His suete slashed upward, not at the adamant black armor, but across the eye slit of his enemy’s helmet.
The shadow warrior lurched backward, tearing free of his hold, but Caim jumped after him. As a dark portal opened behind his foe, he lunged. Hardened mail burst open, and his sword bit into flesh. Dark blood bubbled forth. Caim didn’t pull up. He kept pushing and sent both of them stumbling through the gateway together.
Into darkness they went, as the portal snapped shut.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Beams of light swung back and forth as the ground pitched beneath Josey’s feet. Colliding with the tunnel wall, she clung to the stone with both hands as chunks of the ceiling rained down on the men in front of her. Hubert fell against her, his lantern almost bashing her in the head, and they tumbled to the ground. Huddled beneath him, she shook with the fear that threatened to overwhelm her. The cave-in seemed to last for several minutes as cries of pain were cut off by the crash of falling stone, and then…
Silence.
Hubert crawled off her, holding his elbow. Josey coughed as she sat up.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
She glanced at the ceiling, wondering why the river hadn’t deluged the tunnel, but it looked like only a portion of the rock above their heads had fallen. Then she saw the heap of dirt and rubble filling the passageway. Hirsch and Captain Drathan had been walking just a few paces in front of her, along with Sergeant Merts and her guardsmen. Now they were gone. Josey crawled to the rock pile. Shards of stone ran between her fingers as she started to dig. They might still be alive underneath, trapped in a pocket of air.
Hubert’s hand settled on her shoulder. Josey tried to shake him off, but he pulled her away. He was saying something, but it took a moment to sink in.
“They’re gone, Josey. They’re all gone.”
She leaned against him as heavy sobs shook her body. More people dead, because of her. Life had been so simple once; she longed for those days with a thirst like she’d never known. Wiping her eyes, she stood up straight. They weren’t out of this yet.
One lantern remained, sitting upright on the floor. A minor blessing. She picked it up as Volek climbed to his feet. The major’s armor was dusty and poc
ked with dents, but he seemed unhurt. Another piece of luck, but she would have traded a score of Crimson Tigers to have Hirsch back.
“All right, gentlemen.” She forced her voice to steadiness. “This is what we’re going to do. We’re heading back to the last fork and taking the other tunnel. We’ll keep working our way back until we find the other side of this blockage.”
Hubert glanced at the major. “Majesty, what if there is no way around?”
“There is. And we’re going to find it.”
Volek picked up his sword and brushed the dirt from its guard. Hubert nodded with a sigh of resignation.
The major led them back down the tunnel. The silence seemed more oppressive without the others, the darkness more ominous. Josey couldn’t keep herself from glancing over her shoulder every few steps. The emptiness behind her pulsed like a living thing. At any moment she expected an ambush.
When they reached the split, the major turned into the unexplored branch, but Hubert drew Josey aside with a glance. His left arm was pressed against his side.
“Majesty, I believe we should leave. We can return later with more-”
“No. We are going to find the others, and then we’ll all leave together.”
His eyes searched her face. “They’re dead. No one could have survived.”
“We’re going to make sure, Hubert. That’s the least we can do.”
With a small nod, he followed after the major. Josey quickened her pace to keep up. Major Volek waited at the next fork. Josey pointed to the right-hand tunnel, hoping it led in the right direction.
After a few dozen paces, Josey caught a whiff of an unpleasant odor, faint at first, but it grew fouler the farther they walked. Wrapped up in her thoughts, Josey didn’t notice Major Volek had stopped until she and Hubert came up beside him at the entrance of a long cavern. The floor sloped away from the entrance, its contours smoothed as if by the passage of countless feet. She looked down where the major’s gaze had settled.