The Children of Urdis (Grimwold and Lethos Book 2)

by Jerry Autieri

  Forward was the only direction. Besides, Avulash wouldn't hesitate to pursue him down here. It was his damned ark, after all.

  The cloying scent of blood was thick here. Every time he thought he had grown accustomed to it, the stench would slap him hard. He coughed as he moved through the hot, vaguely lit room. No blue fire here, but actual flames from real lamps guttered along the walls. The room was nowhere as large as the space above, but it was still large enough for its edges to be lost in gloom.

  Sitting off-center on a table lay Grimwold's body. He was just as Lethos remembered, but stripped down to his underpants. The spot where the arrow had struck him was now a shade of black-green that had crawled like a spiderweb across his chest. Various tools and vessels of strange shapes glittered on a table next to him. A door led out across the room.

  Lethos shoved all the tools off the table, sending them clattering to the wood floor. He laid Valda on it, examined the swelling bruise on the side of her head, and then adjusted her arms across her chest. He turned to Grimwold, glad to see his friend again.

  "I'm not really the planner of our team, as you can see. I think I may have gotten us killed. Sorry about that. I really was hoping to impress you with a great rescue story."

  Tears were hot on Lethos's face. He wanted to tell himself they were for leading Valda to death and letting Grimwold die at the hands of a madman. In part they were. But the tears were mostly for himself. Not only was he feeling like a failure, he was going to die.

  The sound of footfalls on the steps he had just descended warned him the moment of death was not far away.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Syrus jumped when Thorgis broke the water's surface with a gasp. It echoed off the rough stone walls and up the shaft overhead. The light from the glowing sword unsheathed and strapped to his back was all they had to see, and its dim radiance was suffused in the clear water. Thorgis shook the water from his eyes and blew it from his beard. Syrus scrabbled to the rocky edge, the cold and slimy stones biting his flesh.

  "I found a way through," Thorgis said, struggling to catch his breath. "There is more than one path, but one goes too long, and I fear I cannot hold my breath to the end of it."

  "But you found a passage to a dry place?" Syrus asked as he extended a hand to Thorgis. Syrus hauled him onto the rocks with a grunt, and Thorgis rolled onto his stomach. He gasped for a several minutes before continuing.

  "I did not dare go too far, but there's another large room. The air is not stale. You have to scale another small shaft to reach it. But rocks in the wall make it easy to climb. It's like the builders wanted a man to be able to climb out. I suspect the shaft above us might be the same if we could only reach it."

  "The water level of this well has gone down," Syrus said, looking up into the dark. The light from Eldegris's sword seemed weaker. It did not reach the beyond the ceiling where the shaft entrance was a darker spot in the gloom. "Perhaps it has flooded away into another room. All I can say is if we can't climb back up this shaft, the best we can hope for is to continue deeper into Tsaldalr."

  They sat quietly while Thorgis caught his breath. Syrus could not swim, and Thorgis would have to carry him through to the other side. All the complicating factors arose in Syrus's mind. Would he hold his breath long enough? Would he panic and cause Thorgis to slow down? So many other thoughts crowded his thoughts, but he beat them all back with an image of his starving to death at the bottom of this well. Even more horribly, what might Thorgis do with a sword if they were both trapped and starving? Syrus shuddered to think that he might not starve after all. Whatever horror awaited him in the water was better than remaining trapped.

  Once Thorgis felt recovered, he sat upright. He was only an outline in the yellow light. He had stripped off his shirt, which had been so ruined that they now kept it for bandages or ties, and the light revealed a strong body. Syrus would have to trust Thorgis, despite his cowardice. Eldegris had sent him as a protector, and so Syrus had to accept the gift as such. However, he felt as if the roles were entirely reversed.

  Syrus prepared himself for the plunge. Thorgis jumped into the water first and gave instructions. "Just hold your breath and do not struggle no matter how fearful you become. Close your eyes as well. Trust me to guide us to the right place and we will both be fine."

  Syrus nodded without a word. His fingers and toes were like ice as he faced the water. The sword glowed on Thorgis's back, making the water seem as if it was yellow fire. He held out his arms and gestured Syrus to jump in. "I'll catch you. Don't worry."

  He dove without hesitation, for to wait another moment would collapse him in fear. The water braced him like a cold hand closing around his body. He thrashed and struggled, but Thorgis's arms surrounded him in a powerful grip. "Relax," he said and waited for Syrus's panic to subside. Syrus did not trust the feeling to the water, but he had to trust Thorgis. He slowly stopped kicking, then Thorgis warned him. "Now take the deepest breath you can. It will take to the end of your breath before we surface again. Do not be afraid and we will live."

  Panic overtook him the instant he submerged. The world sounded of air bubbles and the roar of water. Thorgis was incredibly strong, not like Grimwold and Lethos in their supernatural power. Thorgis was just full of a youthful strength. He held him tight, dragging him through the cold darkness. Syrus tried to open his eyes, curious what the world would look like beneath the surface. He briefly saw confusing darkness lit only with wavering yellow light. The world swayed and blurred and air bubbles rushed over his face in ticklish lines. He closed his eyes and let Thorgis work.

  His relaxation succeeded a short time, but as his chest began to burn and air slipped from his lips in small bursts, he began to panic. He felt himself twisting down then up, then down again. He had no orientation and his lungs were threatening to burst. He began to struggle, even after a reproachful squeeze from Thorgis. At last fear defeated him and he began to wrestle. At what felt was the last possible moment, his head broke through to air and he sucked in the cold, soothing air.

  He drew in a mouthful of water that set him coughing while Thorgis held him up. He felt the young man rocking and swaying as he treaded water. At last Syrus regained himself, cold water flowing over his face. He opened his eyes.

  Inches above him a man-made ceiling pressed on him. Thorgis angled him toward a darker hole that brightened as the faint sword light approached it.

  "I'm going to lift you up into that hole. There are stones that stick out like a ladder. Just climb to the top. I will wait down here in case you slip. Go on."

  Before he could protest, Syrus was lifted into the dark hole. He felt for the stones that protruded from the wall, grasping them easily. The first few were hard to ascend, Thorgis needing to push him from below. Yet once he had his footing the climb went smoothly. The shaft up was short and tight. Despite the slimy residue over the stone, he managed to climb out without falling. He rolled off a raised surface to thud to the floor, dust clinging to him. He had just realized how refreshed he had felt having washed the sea salt from himself in clear water, and now he was muddied again.

  Thorgis followed, the telltale approach of the yellow light from Eldegris's sword announcing his arrival. He leapt out of the well with far more grace.

  "You've got a lot of strength," Syrus said. "To carry me through that plus a sword."

  "The sword weighs nothing at all," he said. "And water carries whatever it holds. It wasn't so bad."

  Syrus nodded, still catching his breath. At last they looked around and found a small chamber with two exits. The light revealed ancient carvings in smoothed stone walls. He wished he could be interested in examining them closer, but survival was paramount.

  "There's an air current from this one," Thorgis said. "So maybe we should head that way."

  Thorgis held his sword aloft like a torch, but it fell to Syrus to lead the way. It bothered him to call Thorgis a coward after he had saved them by swimming through flooded tunnels. The idea
had been Syrus's, but Thorgis had taken to it without protest. Yet with him casually at the rear, Syrus could not help but feel this was unseemly for a prince and warrior. Unarmed and tattered clothing clinging to his body, he led them through ancient corridors and galleries.

  He had no sense whether they traveled up or down. They followed a straight path, never veering off into side passages or rooms. Not many of those appeared for exploration in any case. Syrus regretted that he was likely passing up long lost wealth of both knowledge and treasure.

  At last they came to a larger chamber and his regrets vanished.

  The thin yellow light of the sword, now barely a glow better than a dying campfire, showed row upon row of what were undoubtedly stone sarcophagi. These stretched out into the darkness beyond. A thin layer of dust spread out on these stone vessels, but they seemed as complete as if newly made.

  "A burial chamber," Thorgis said, his voice weak and trembling. "We must be going deeper. Let's turn back."

  "No," Syrus said. His voice echoed into the black distance of the chamber. He stepped to the closest sarcophagus and brushed the dust aside. The stone was cool and smooth, a sandy tan color that was unlike any stone he had ever seen before. "We cannot. If this is truly a burial chamber, then these are the First People--the Tsal."

  "All the more reason to leave," Thorgis said. "It is unwise to disturb the dead."

  Yet all Syrus could think of was his chance to see the First People. Here were bodies of men that walked the world along with the gods. Just touching these sarcophagi connected him to that time. The age of this place began to sink into his mind. He had been so busy with survival that he had not paused to consider the trove of knowledge and history he had found. He was seeing what possibly no other man had seen since the First Age.

  He walked the rows, studying the runes engraved over the lids that shared so much in common with his own language. Most appeared to be names and some descriptions of the deceased. Soon he walked out of Thorgis's sphere of illumination and it was like the yank of a leash about his neck.

  "We are not disturbing anything," he said. "I will not become a grave robber, if that is your fear. Your father was clear on my task, which was to discover what mysteries were buried here and if they posed a threat to his kingdom. It is not good enough that we simply escape without at least answering that question."

  He continued past the light, but Thorgis did not follow immediately. Instead Syrus turned to the walls, figuring there must be a way to light the room. He found a system of lamps that appeared interconnected with a stone gutter. Oil might have flowed between them, but this was now gone. At last Thorgis spoke again.

  "I don't think whatever is buried here is as dangerous as what arrived in the storm, or those men who chased us into this hole."

  "We do not get to change the king's orders to suit our own hopes," Syrus said, walking the length of the wall in the gloom. At last he found what he expected might be near, a stone jug with dark stains running from its stoppered spout. He pulled the stone stopper and felt inside, his fingers swabbing oil.

  "He didn't want us to die down here." Thorgis's voice was growing more desperate.

  Syrus lifted the jug and poured it into the lamp. It was heavy, but he supported it on his shoulder. The oil splashed onto the remains of his shirt, until the last of it chugged away. It was not enough to light more than a few lamps, and he still needed a spark. He continued to search deeper in the dark, and at last Thorgis moved with him. His face was tight with a frown, but once he saw the emptied stone jugs he smiled.

  "Fire is necessary for survival," Syrus said as he poured another jug into the track. "As is light. Your sword could provide the spark to ignite these. Perhaps it will show us a way out, or it may not. No matter what, I have a duty to the High King to answer his questions. Here is as good a place as any to both seek his answer as well as a way out."

  Thorgis joined in, and after fumbling in the darkness around the sarcophagi they had covered a large section of the left-side wall. Oil flowed again in the tracks. Unlike the animal or plant oils familiar to Syrus, this carried a faint and foul scent. He could not place it other than it pulled at the pit of his stomach and made his nostrils flare.

  "Run your blade along the edge of the gutter and we will be sure to get sparks," Syrus said. Thorgis did as asked, his metal blade screeching on the rock and sparks spraying out from it. It took only a short scrape, and with a muted whoosh the oil ignited.

  The fire sped along the track, each lamp flaring to life after countless millennia of darkness. In a blink the tracks they had filled were glowing with burning flame. But then more lit. A line of fire seemed to crawl up into the darkness and then lit another row of lamps unseen above. Then a line repeated and lit another row above that. Up it went along the left side wall until it had traveled five levels and ignited lamps high above them.

  Syrus stood with his mouth agape. The thin line of fire crawled around the room and began to light lamps on other walls. He craned his neck back to see what the light revealed. The walls seemed to be lined with small doors all engraved as the sarcophagi on the floor. Syrus turned in a circle as the room bloomed into light. All around them, high into the room, were row upon row of what could only be tombs.

  "We are surrounded by the dead," Thorgis said. "This is their house."

  "Perhaps this is all that Tsaldalr is," Syrus said, still watching the line crawl to the wall from where they had entered. Not every lamp lit, some rows remaining dark, but it was already bright enough to see all he needed.

  Finally Thorgis grabbed Syrus's arm and spun him around without a word. Both stared at the front of the chamber where a drizzle of now flaming oil dripped into a pan. At first the fire in the iron pan only flickered, but then it shrieked into a blaze like a phoenix reborn from ashes. The room now glowed with light, and Syrus stepped back with his heart racing.

  At the distant end of the room a massive statue dominated the wall. It sat above the floor on a room-like structure. In fact, below it was a huge set of doors covered in green patina where patches of bronze still showed. Intricate, crowded carvings decorated the entire structure.

  "Urdis the Deceiver," Syrus said. That was the statue. It was a huge man, naked to the waist where his body became that of a lion. Urdis's face was that of a man wearing a mask. He had no hair and his nose was wide and flattened almost to his face. His mouth was severe and his eyes were two pools of shadow that glowered at them. The statue's arms were folded across its chest.

  "This cannot be good," Thorgis said.

  "No, it is great," Syrus said. Beneath the statue the largest inscription was given both in the ancient runes and a variant that Syrus read easily. He read these aloud for Thorgis's benefit.

  "Sleep my children, upon the wonders of your kind. A deathless dream of time unseen, when all fetters unbind." Syrus licked his lips. "This is it, Thorgis. Here is what your father sent us to find. Here is what we want, and it is beyond those doors. I'm sure of it."

  "Nothing good can come from Urdis. We should head the other way."

  Ignoring the tug at his ruined sleeve, Syrus wandered up the aisle between the sarcophagi to the bronze doors. The metal was cool to his touch. The bas-relief of the doors showed scenes of the First People, some he recognized as depictions from legend and others things he did not recognize. He gave the door a shove and gasped when it swung soundlessly into more darkness. The rush of air was cold and smelled vaguely of the oil that burned in the room. Inside he saw a small chamber with scattered bits of wood, but more important was a wide stone staircase leading down. Over the archway a carving showed a stylized Urdis herding his people through what seemed a gate.

  "We can make torches from this wood, if only our clothing were dry. Still, we can get by with just the wood for now." Syrus handed a length of wood to Thorgis, whose face had become pale and slack. "There is an air current, too. We are fulfilling your father's command and finding a way out."

  After Thorgis hand
ed him back the burning stick, he descended the stairs. All worries of traps, crumbling construction, or other enemies abandoned him. He trotted down the stairs into yet another chamber that stretched off into the dark. Here he found the lamps already running with oil. He touched one to flame and soon another huge room illuminated. Here was row upon row of collapsed shelves all covered in dust. Books and scrolls of incalculable age were heaped atop and buried beneath the rubbish. More were contained in the sides. The sour notes of burning oil did not deter him.

  "A library!" His voice echoed off the walls. "They buried their knowledge with themselves. Thorgis, this is unbelievable."

  Thorgis inhaled to doubtlessly offer some glum pronouncement, but his words were cut off by a distant echoing thud. It was as if a giant rock had plunged from a ledge into a deep pit. It shook the hall, dislodging dust from the shelves that still stood.

  Both remained still, staring at each other in the fluttering light. The wood of the burning torch grew hotter in Syrus's hand as it burned down. When nothing sounded again, Syrus let his breath go. "Something must've dislodged in this old place."

  Another thud, and Thorgis leapt forward. Syrus's heart fluttered.

  The ceiling rained down dust and flakes of stone.

  "We're not alone down here," Thorgis said.

  Syrus looked up and swallowed hard. Something like metal on stone grated from above and shook free more debris upon their heads. A sound of a chain rushing across stone vibrated down to them then abruptly stopped. All went silent but for the pelting of stone flakes still falling to the floor.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Grimwold had never experienced such cold. He knew darkness, isolation, uncertainty. These things did not frighten him. But the cold did. It was an icy hand around his heart, a hand that threatened to squeeze, yet for now only lingered. He wanted to shiver, but his body failed to respond. He wafted through a blankness, feeling nothing. A wind might scatter him into oblivion forever.