Nathel poked Torrin and pointed off to the left of the city where the surrounding trees were the nearest. Torrin nodded, remembering the entrance to the city they had discovered long ago. The trees were dense and Torrin was relieved to see there were few Raken in the area. He scanned the possible routes, hoping the tunnel entrance was still open.
King Cerebus was truly trapped. Even if the secret tunnel remained secure, there was no way to smuggle a sizable army through a cramped space meant for small parties or single messengers at best. They could never hope to bring enough soldiers through fast enough to oppose the vast number of Raken surrounding the city. Any gathering force would be detected before it could properly stage.
He thought of Rowan down at the bottom of the hill with the others, holding the horses to keep them quiet. Her message had to get through; somehow it had to get through.
The main army of Raken was still and focused on the city, but as they watched, small squads of Raken moved along the edges of the immense host. The companions would have to circle wide and approach the tunnel with the utmost stealth to avoid the Raken patrols. Any attempt to reach it would have to wait until dark.
Torrin, Nathel and Arynilas slid carefully back from the ridge until they were out of sight and scrambled back down the steep slope to where the rest of the companions waited. The group retreated silently back into the trees.
They stripped the horses of all gear that jingled, and smeared mud over anything pale or metallic, then settled in to wait. They would try for the tunnel before the twin moons rose. Torrin’s biggest worry was cave-ins. The tunnels were barely big enough to lead a horse through, and he had a vision of trying to back their steeds all the way back to the entrance.
Darkness fell slowly. The wind died and the companions waited. Borlin dozed intermittently; Arynilas sat with his legs crossed, bow across his lap. Rowan rested with her back to a sapling, her green eyes occasionally opening, contrasting starkly with the mud she’d smeared over her features. Dalemar sat reading, squinting in the near darkness. Hathunor was next to him on his haunches, only his glowing red eyes moving. And Nathel reclined next to Torrin.
The distant boom of the surf was almost more like a pressure than a sound. Torrin closed his eyes and envisioned the crashing waves, letting their ceaseless assault upon the vertical stone of the cliff wash away his tension. He could smell the salt tang in the air; felt the hardness of the tree trunk at his back; the currents of air moving over his exposed skin. His senses stretched as they always did before a possible battle.
The shadow deepened. Soon Torrin could no longer make out the forms of his friends, their mud covered faces blending with dark.
A Raken patrol moved past their hiding spot. Nathel and Borlin carefully took hold of the horses to keep them quiet and everyone soundlessly drew weapons. But the small patrol did not detect them and the black Raken disappeared into the dark.
Torrin could sense Rowan’s growing restlessness, though she didn’t move from where she was. Once the darkness was complete, and it was finally time to leave the trees, she was the first one ready.
Torrin gathered the reins of his horse and led him after Arynilas. He moved carefully, testing his footsteps. They wove through the tree trunks and foliage leading the horses like a line of silent wraths. Hathunor moved parallel between the company and his kin, listening.
Shadows and Stealth
Rowan watched in awe as Arynilas began to shimmer before her. His form, what she could see of it in the darkness, shrank from the slim framed Tynithian into the form of a large fox. The shimmering dissipated and the fox settled into focus. He wagged his long fluffy tail and turned to trot into the surrounding trees.
Torrin stooped to retrieve Arynilas’s clothes and weapons and stepped after him as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
Rowan shook herself and stepped after Torrin, Roanus following in her wake, the horse’s breath warm on her neck.
Torrin’s black horse all but disappeared in front of her and she had to be careful not to walk into him. They stopped frequently as Arynilas trotted silently ahead to scout the way; they waiting quietly until his black shadow materialized again. The night wore on and the companions gradually closed in on their goal. Rowan was tense, her neck and shoulder muscles pulled tight, her senses straining in the darkness.
A faint rumble sounded beside her. She turned and saw Hathunor looking back the way they had come. Everyone froze. Then the shadow that was Arynilas trotted to Torrin and placed a paw upon his knee. Torrin looked down and nodded then returned his attention to the right.
The sound of many feet was heard now, coming from behind. A large group of Raken moved through the clearing to the right of where they hid. The Raken drew level with them and continued onward. She could only see the glint of starlight on their scaled skin. Her chest began to hurt and she realized she was holding her breath. Soundlessly she released the air from her lungs.
Movement to her left – Torrin’s horse tossed its head, its eyes rolling in fear at the Raken so near. Rowan divided her attention between the Raken and Torrin’s horse. She reached up and placed a steadying hand on Roanus’s smooth neck, hoping he wouldn’t pick up young horse’s anxiety.
Black was quieting. Torrin’s hand gently stroked his horse’s head, and he was whispering softly into Black’s ear. What was he saying that had such an affect on the young horse? Black had grown completely still, one ear cocked to his master’s voice.
Rowan’s skin prickled. This was a part of Torrin she had not seen before – the part she suspected was there but was kept locked away in the cage of his grief. Rowan found herself leaning toward him, straining to hear, her heart pounding in her chest. She realized with a start that she’d forgotten the Raken, and she closed her eyes, forcing her thoughts away from Torrin, willing her heart to calm.
She was not prepared for this.
Into the Tunnel
Torrin handed his reins to Borlin as he and Nathel moved silently away from the group. He judged it had taken about three hours to reach the thicket where the tunnel was located. “Do know the exact location?” he whispered. “I just remember the boulders and that it was at the base of them.” The fact they had actually found the outcrop in the dark was a wonder.
Nathel pulled on his arm. “This way.”
They found the iron doors set into the ground at the base of the rocks. An ingenious spring and beam system held a clump of dead bracken over the doors. Nathel held the beam and Torrin reached down to pull on the handle. Nothing. He heaved and it moved a little with a loud screech. Torrin swore and released the handle.
Borlin found some cleaning oil in his saddlebags and passed forward. Torrin unstopped it and drizzled some over the rusted hinges. He reached for the handle again and this time with Nathel and Borlin assisting, managed to pry first one, then the other up. The hinges squealed in protest but not as loudly as they had.
A black hole gapped before them. Although disturbed at being forced into such a tiny space, the horses moved quietly forward as the companions led them down into the tunnel. Hathunor was the last to enter. Torrin stood in the pitch dark looking back toward the opening with the others. The huge Raken stood silently, listening for a moment before he stooped down into the blackness of the tunnel. Torrin and Nathel closed the heavy doors and heard the scratching of the bracken hide as it slid back over the iron.
The clicking of Borlin’s firestones filled the enclosed space. Then light bloomed from his small lantern. The companions blinked at the sudden flare. There was barely enough room for two people to walk abreast, and the horses certainly wouldn’t be able to turn around. As Torrin squeezed past the horses to the front, he once more fervently hoped the tunnel had not collapsed anywhere.
Arynilas stepped out of the blackness as Torrin reached the front of the line. He was once more in his Tynithian form, his skin gleaming palely in the light. Torrin pulled Arynilas’s clothes and weapons from his saddlebags and handed them ov
er.
Nathel had another lantern out and was lighting it from Borlin’s. The twin lights pushed back the oppressive blackness as they set off through the passage. Torrin looked back along the line of his friends to see Hathunor hunched over. The tops of the horse’s ears brushed the ceiling where tree roots dangled down and the damp smell of earth was strong.
Torrin set a pace that matched the horse’s strides. He slowed a little as the tunnel floor began to rise gently. There was a quiet weight to the air in the tunnel and his friends spoke in subdued tones. The lantern he carried showed nothing beyond the gradual twisting and turning ahead. It was hard to gauge how long they had been walking.
Torrin slowed as his lantern light fell on something different. A giant tree root grew horizontally through the tunnel at hip height. Torrin stopped at the root and reached out to touch the wood, considering.
Nathel and Borlin squeezed forward, their shoulders scraping along the dusty wall and pulling loose pebbles and debris from it to land in piles on the uneven floor.
“I could cut it away wi’ me ax.” Borlin’s voice sounded loud after the long silence.
Torrin looked at the huge root. He judged the height of the obstruction against the level of the horses’ bellies. The steeds might be able to scramble over it with some pushing and pulling. In the open the horses could all have easily jumped it, but not here. He sighed. “We will have to cut it out of the way. The wood is dry and hard. If it takes too long, then perhaps Dalemar can help somehow.”
Borlin went back for his axe but before could return, Hathunor shouldered forward between the wall and horses. He stooped over the root, wrapping his enormous arms around it. His spiked back strained as he heaved upwards. A dry cracking echoed through the tunnel as the thick root began to split. Again the big Raken heaved and with a loud ripping the root splintered into two. Hathunor pushed the shorter end down, removing the sharp spikes of wood that might hurt the horses. Then he lifted the longer section and pinned it against the other wall. The Saa Raken held it there and motioned them to lead their animals through the gap.
As Torrin led his horse forward past the root he looked closely at it. Its girth measured almost as wide as his torso. He shook his head and eyed Hathunor.
They trudged onward unimpeded for quite some time before the lantern cast up against an iron grill. Torrin reached out to test it and found the metal rusted. He looked back down the line. “Nathel, was this here when we were exploring?”
“I think so,” said his brother. “But it was open.”
Torrin turned back to the grill. Well, it was locked now which means someone had been in the tunnel after Nathel and him all those years ago. “Anything you can do, Dalemar?” Torrin asked over his shoulder.
The Rith came forward and laid a hand on the lock. A pale blue nimbus surrounded his palm. With a squealing shudder, the door swung away from his hand. Dirt sifted down onto their heads.
On the other side of the grill the tunnel became rough-hewn stone. The passage was wider now and water seeped from the stones, dripping in the darkness. They were passing under the city itself. Torrin’s lantern revealed another path entering the tunnel ahead. As he approached, he found a crumbling stone stairway leading downward into darkness. He stopped and looked back at Nathel for confirmation. He saw Rowan looking forward over the backs of the horses. Her expression was grave and intense.
“There were no stairs after we came down from the first cellar,” said his brother.
Torrin nodded, turning away from the stairs, and they moved onward. Twice more they came to intersections and he paused to consult his brother. Both he and Nathel had a fairly clear memory of what they had seen the last time they had traveled this tunnel. Some of the openings off the main corridor were completely caved in, but the passage that led where they wanted to go was clear but for a few fallen stones.
The next intersection presented a cluster of different corridors. Torrin cast the glow of his light into all the openings, which radiated outward in different directions – one passage was level, one plunged into darkness and one climbed steeply upward.
“Time to start climbing,” said Torrin, as he and Nathel looked around at all the various options. His brother nodded but then stopped as he was about to return to his horse. Nathel indicated a descending spiral stair. “Do you remember going down there, Tor?” he asked.
Torrin looked down into the blackness and a chill settled over him. He remembered it well. Two full days he and Nathel had been lost down there searching for a way out. When they had finally found the marks they had been making on the stone walls to keep from losing their way, they were down to a single guttering torch. The pair of them had vowed never to come down here again – a pact which lasted for as long as the punishment they received for being away from the keep with no explanation for so long.
Torrin led Black up into the sloping tunnel. The company followed with the sound of hooves on stone. It soon levelled off and finally they came to another door. Its rust-pitted surface gleamed dully in the lantern light and, unlike the first grate, this door was solid and heavily reinforced.
Torrin waited for the others to slide past the horses and gather around the door.
“Where are we?” Rowan asked, her voice echoing.
“We are outside the cellar of a guard outpost. Likely it is used now as a garrison, so there will be soldiers. They will think us the enemy at first.” Torrin cast a glance at Hathunor. The Saa Raken was bent over double, his huge fists against his knees.
“Perhaps we should just knock then,” suggested Dalemar.
Torrin shook his head. “I doubt we’d be heard.”
Dalemar nodded and moved to place his hand upon the door.
“Wait!” Torrin gestured at the faces of his companions. “We should remove the mud first.”
Nathel grinned, white teeth in a dark face. Borlin pulled out rags and Arynilas doused them with water. They wiped the worst of the now-dried mud from their faces.
Dalemar replaced his hand on the door and closed his eyes. With a hollow boom and a metallic squeal, the lock gave way. The iron shuddered.
Torrin and Nathel placed their shoulders against the door and pushed. It moved only slightly. Hathunor waded forward and his huge clawed hands wrapped around the edge. The bottom of the iron door grated against the stone floor as he shoved it inward. Loud clatters and metallic clinks echoed in the room beyond, drowning out the sound of the squealing metal. A table piled with supplies and weapons had been placed directly in front of the door and it tipped, tumbling armour and swords onto the floor.
Nathel dusted off his hands. “Well they certainly haven’t used this in a while, I’d say.”
Hathunor helped them move the table out of the way. Then he reared up to his full height and Torrin felt dwarfed again. Looking at his mud-smeared friends, he wondered how in Erys’ name they could avoid being taken for spies and enemies.
Shouts echoed above. Booted feet sounded loudly on the stone steps that led up out of the cellar room. Torrin moved to stand next to Rowan. She looked up at him and he nodded once in encouragement. She took a deep breath and turned expectantly to the stairs.
Borlin began to pull out his sword but Torrin held out a hand. “Be easy, we are among friends.”
The Pellarian soldiers reached the bottom of the stairs, swords drawn and shields donned, shiny helms on their heads. There was a moment of stillness as they registered the odd collection of invaders. Then they raised their eyes to Hathunor.
Battle oaths reverberated off the stone walls and the soldiers launched themselves into an attack.
Torrin leaped to stand in front of them, his arms outstretched, palms empty. “We answer summons from King Cerebus and escort the Messenger from Myris Dar. We are not your enemies! Please put up your swords.”
The soldiers arrested their attack and warily looked at one another, but did not lower their weapons.
“My name is Torrin, son of Ralor. King Cerebus will know
that name. We are here to answer his summons and to bring him a message.”
Rowan stepped forward then, tossing her long braid over her shoulder. “I am Rowan Mor Lanyar of Myris Dar. I have an urgent message for King Cerebus.” The soldiers blinked at her. Hathunor loomed behind her, ready to snatch her back out of harm’s way.
The captain in front scowled at them. “You say you are friend to King Cerebus, yet you bring a Raken spy with you. Explain yourselves or you will understand what it means to be an enemy of King Cerebus.”
Rowan reached back and grasped one of Hathunor’s huge hands. “This is Hathunor, a Saa Raken, and unlike his brethren before the city, he is free.”
“Hathunor friend to Cerebus,” said the Saa Raken and he brought his other hand up to his black chest in salute. The soldiers gaped in surprise.
“Send a runner to the king, Captain,” said Torrin. “We will wait here under guard until you hear word.”
The captain appraised them speculatively for a few more moments before sending one of his men running back up the stairs.
Pellaris
Rowan wiped her brow. She was hot despite the cool air in the cellar and the smell of the horses was strong in the small space. She curbed the urge to pace, focusing her attention instead on the armour and weapons collected in the room. They were of competent craftsmanship, simple in line and function.
The silence had grown awkward. Borlin and Nathel had tried unsuccessfully to engage the remaining Pellarian soldiers in conversation, finally subsiding to seat themselves against the wall with Arynilas and Dalemar. Borlin lit his pipe and smoked.
Hathunor crouched on his haunches close to Rowan, his red eyes wary, and Torrin remained standing near her, arms crossed over his chest, exchanging guarded stares with the captain. The rest of the soldiers were too intent on Hathunor to spare much attention for much else.
Messenger from Myris Dar (The Stone Guardians Book 1) Page 27