by Graeme Ing
“What now?” she asked. “Caradan’s clearly out of the picture.”
I think my mouth made an O with astonishment that she could even speak of him.
“Actually, he’s not.”
While she ate, I summarized the meeting with my mother and Caradan.
Her violet eyes flashed. “I don’t trust the tristak murderer. Don’t let him anywhere near me.”
“I’m still holding out hope he will aid us,” I said. “I think he considers you dead.”
She snorted.
“I managed to sway Master Semplis. We’re going to meet.” I couldn’t put off the question any longer. “Are you still…? I mean…I understand if you just want to go home, now that…”
This rift was killing me. I ached to have her back. I just hoped it was still Ayla.
“Do you think that little of me?” she asked. “We finish this together.”
“And then?”
She scowled and flung the remains of her bread onto her plate.
“There is no ‘then’ until this is over.”
Before she changed her mind, I led her through the huge hall with the immense statues, and out into Temple Plaza. It seemed fitting that Solas was the first thing we saw, blazing through a gap in the growing black clouds. Which was the omen, the gathering storm or the light of Solas? I tipped my head to feel his warmth, but Ayla squirmed, trying to hide from everyone around us. She ducked her head and looked at her feet. My hand sought hers and the connection between us made me tingle. A moment later, she gently pulled hers free.
We walked back to the inn in silence. She was close enough to touch, but we might as well have been on opposite sides of the river. I steered us away from the crowds, hoping she’d regain her confidence, but not once did she look up.
When we left our rooms at the inn, Ayla had swapped the headscarf for one that matched her dress, and had draped a cloak around her shoulders. She’d rouged her face and lips, and darkened her eyes with heavy black liner, but her wrists and hands betrayed how pale she’d become. Like a ghost. She stumbled on a loose cobble and I seized the opportunity to take her arm, but she shook away my assistance.
Talk to me, accuse me, scream at me. Anything besides the tense silence.
I attempted to break the ice by telling her stories of my misadventures as an apprentice, and how poor Kolta had tried to drum some sense and maturity into me. I didn’t know if she cared, but she didn’t tell me to shut up. That was enough for now. I played up my encounter with the mysterious man on the bridge, explaining how I’d wished to have her at my side, hefting a thighbone club to defend me.
Come on, woman. Laugh.
I gave up and we finished the journey entertaining our own thoughts.
Halfway along Pudge Street, before it turns a sharp right toward the waterfront, there stood a pair of grim, windowless buildings. One was a textile mill. I’d never bothered to find out what hid behind the smoke-blackened walls of the other. This morning, a strong breeze blew off the harbor, chasing the smoke away, but when it didn’t, smoke poured out of the rooftop chimneystacks and settled down to fill the street, giving it the nickname Smudge Street. A narrow, dark alley ran between the buildings.
After taking a final look around, I led us along it, past heaps of refuse to a narrow staircase descending into the ground. The city was full of such sewer entrances. At the bottom, we emerged into a dark chamber, its size evident from the distant echo of dripping water. The glow beetle alcove was empty, so I struck a lightstick against the wall and it spluttered to life.
The red-orange glare revealed a long, low-ceilinged hall, about eighty feet across and longer than the light could penetrate. A dark pool of water filled most of the chamber, except for the rotting loading dock upon which we stood. Pillars held up the arched ceiling, their two lines marching into the darkness. Two moss-covered steps descended into the still water, and I could make out another below the surface.
Ayla studied a pair of skeletons chained to the dock but half submerged, green with mold from the waist down.
“We’re meeting the masters here?” The echo mocked her.
She speaks!
“Didn’t you try that?” Her voice dropped to a whisper.
“Yes,” I said. “But Semplis is with us now. He and Kolta will bring as many others as they can.”
She pointed out a boat tied to a far pillar. The angle of the rope betrayed a left-to-right current, though the surface showed no sign of movement. The knot resembled the quick-release ties that the bargees used. I moved along the dock to a cluster of damp and moldering crates. Slats lay strewn about and the lids had been discarded.
Voices echoed on the stairs and the light from multiple sources bounced off the walls. Three men emerged, dressed in Guild robes emblazoned with the runes of a master. Kolta led, carrying a lantern with a handle that creaked at every step. Master Wampor limped behind him, resting on a cane that had seen better days, and Master Semplis followed at the rear. Kolta shot me a warning glance.
“You didn’t tell me the full story, lad,” Semplis said.
Not an auspicious start. “What do you mean?”
“You think that the Prime Guildmaster consorts with evil to destroy the city?” The chamber echoed his words, distorting them into a demonic language.
The ghoul was out of the grave now. Ah well, go big or go home.
“I have evidence he murdered Duke Imarian.” My hand itched to seek Ayla’s.
“He was a fool to frequent such a dangerous place,” Semplis said.
Ayla sucked in her breath and my heart jumped, but she said nothing. The masters glanced her way and I pushed her behind me. I didn’t want them asking questions.
I glowered at Semplis. Was he being disrespectful on purpose or did he not know whom Ayla was?
“The Duke was supplying me with information,” I said. “He wanted to stop the elemental.”
Keep the focus on the creature.
“Which, according to you, our beloved Prime Guildmaster is in league with?”
“I…I don’t know the truth of it. All I ask is that you help us stop the elemental.”
“I can see through your lies, lad. Always have done.”
Semplis leaned right into my face.
“Listen to yourself with such conspiracies. This is why the Prime Guildmaster seeks to apprehend you.” His finger stabbed my chest. “You are dragging his name and the Guild through the sewer muck. Stop this nonsense right now and save your career.”
He turned on Kolta. “You might want to look after your own too.”
“Hear him out,” Kolta said in an even tone.
“Only if I’ll hear something other than childish fantasies.”
I handed Semplis the note that had accompanied the dead Duke. He held it to the lantern and scrutinized it.
“This is the basis for your elaborate theory? I’m sure it’s a fake.” He slipped it inside his robe.
I took a deep breath and looked at each of them in turn.
“I’m asking you to trust me, Masters. That’s all. The coronation is in two days. I beg you not to wait until the last moment.”
“Trust you? You repeatedly ignore orders and act unilaterally. You’ve been passed over for master because we don’t trust you.”
“But that’s why we’re here,” I said. Echoes ran the length of the chamber.
I turned to Wampor, who leaned on his cane and had been scowling at me all the while.
“Master, you taught me Guild order, to consult my seniors. Here I am. I need your help. I’m bringing this before the officers of the Guild. What more do I have to do?” I slammed my hand onto the crate and it splintered.
“Have some respect, son,” Wampor said.
“I’m tired of trying to do this alone. Please believe me.”
“Kolta wouldn’t waste our time,” Wampor said to Semplis, then swept back his wayward hair.
“In my mind, this ain’t about Fortak or some mischief that may or
may not be happening…” He held a hand up to silence me. “…but about stopping this elemental. If the boy has information ’bout that then it’d behoove us to pay attention.”
“So be it,” Semplis said, “if this were solely about the creature, but why is he so determined to smear the Prime Guildmaster’s name?”
“Can’t you drop it, you old curmudgeon?” Kolta asked, taking the sting out of his words with a wink.
“Tell us what you know, son.” Wampor pulled an iskat from his pocket, peeled it, and tossed the rind behind him.
“I’m certain the creature will attack during the ceremony,” I said, damping my temper. “Thousands will die. We think…”
The truth about Caradan wouldn’t sound plausible. I scratched my nose and flashed my eyes at Kolta.
“It’s not up to us,” Semplis said. “The Council has agents searching for any lone Elik Magi in the North. Negotiations are under way with the Sylarians to send sorcerers.”
The idiot! Now I knew why no one had taken action.
“The Elik Magi are dead,” I said. “We have to act now. Speak with the Guildmaster. Persuade him to stop, or ask the Council to speak with him and give…”
It wouldn’t do to reveal I’d overheard Fortak’s conversations about the Council.
Semplis glanced at me and took a long, deep breath. His shoulders drooped. I nodded rapidly. I only had to keep my mouth shut and let him reach the same conclusion.
He took two steps back. “I’ve heard enough of this personal vendetta of yours. Guards!”
A clamor of boots, chinking of metal, and scraping of leather echoed down the stairwell, and a moment later a dozen Black and Reds jogged into the chamber. They wore chain mail over red leather tunics with black undershirts and pants. Swords and axes were already in their hands. Wampor stepped behind Semplis.
I threw the lightstick at the nearest guard, grabbed Ayla, and dragged her behind the crates.
“Arrest them all,” Semplis barked, moving out of harm’s way.
“What is this?” Kolta asked.
While a half dozen guards blocked the stairs, the others surged forward, grabbing Kolta by the arms and smashing him against the wall.
Two Black and Reds rushed us and I shoved a crate in their path, cracking them in the knees. I peered into the darkness. There had to be a walkway, tunnel, or some other exit. Damn Semplis. I wouldn’t go back to the Guild without a fight. The two men recovered and advanced, their axes glinting in the lantern light. I dragged Ayla toward the edge of the dock, glad that she didn’t resist.
“Can you swim?” I asked.
When she didn’t answer, I shoved her from the dock and leaped after her. We plunged into the frigid water, yelping in shock. Our double splash echoed around the chamber.
“After them,” the sergeant bellowed from the dock.
“Take that cloak off,” I told her, my teeth chattering.
After she had squirmed out of it, I balled it up and flung it at a guard cautiously descending the slime-covered steps. He swung his axe, ripping it in two.
“Take a deep breath.” I attempted to swim for the sidewall, but my saturated robe dragged me down. No time to remove it now. “Another, and hold it for dear life.”
Her strong strokes carried her ahead of me. “But there’s nowhere—”
An arrow swished by her ear and plopped into the water. She gulped air and dived beneath the surface. I was right behind her, swimming underwater toward the wall, looking for the outflow pipe I knew was there somewhere. Her feet kicked in front of my face, sending rapid vibrations through the water.
We were in a world of our own. The men’s shouts reduced to a muted drone. Visibility in the dark, freezing water was about a foot. Another arrow whizzed into the water a few inches from my head, and then another on my other side.
I kicked frantically. My hands touched the algae-covered wall and I probed along the slimy surface. If the outflow had a grating or was too narrow then we were done for. Since I’d added a new deity to my pantheon, I prayed to Solas, Belaya, and Lak. Surely one of them would help? My hand plunged into a gap, and I kicked into a pipe easily wide enough for both of us. My waterlogged robe dragged me down, and I could no longer feel my legs in the icy temperature. I pawed at the pipe walls for extra leverage. My lungs seared with the urge to breathe. I fought the impulse and kicked harder, but barely seemed to be moving.
The darkness was total. I had no idea if Ayla was still with me. There had to be an opening, steps, another chamber…something. What if the pipe remained flooded? Another five strokes. My legs cramped and screamed at me. My chest was ready to burst. This had been a mistake. Turn around. Capture had to be better than drowning, but which way was back?
My throat spasmed. I flailed my limbs but they couldn’t find the walls, or Ayla. I was alone in a black void. Must breathe.
I opened my mouth and water flooded my throat.
My jaw scraped on cold stone. Something heavy pressed down on my back, preventing me from catching a breath. I tried to complain but could make only a gurgling sound. The weight lifted and I raised my head. My stomach heaved and I puked water.
With effort, I opened my eyes, blinking against ice that coated my lashes. Frigid water rushed along a storm drain a few inches below my nose, lit by the barest scrap of daylight filtering from somewhere above. I rolled onto my back on the hard surface, groaning and shivering. Ayla squatted on her haunches watching me, likewise shivering. Her violet eyes seemed to glow in the gloom, giving her the appearance of a demonic bikka.
“I thought you were dead,” she said.
It was impossible to read her expression. Her soaked clothes clung to her figure, especially tight across her breasts, while her white hair lay plastered against her scalp, its ends stuck to her cheeks.
Torrents of water poured down the walls and gushed from a grate in the ceiling, the source of the distant daylight. Rain hammered far above us.
“Thank you.” I sat, an awkward movement in my heavy robe. “For saving me.”
“You think I’d let you drown?” She scowled. “You should have taken your robe off.”
We stared at each other, both rubbing our blue arms and clenching our chattering teeth. I risked a weak grin but she didn’t return it. Her lips had a purple tinge and her skin was even paler than before. I edited my impression of her—not a bikka but a ghost. I probably looked worse.
“They didn’t follow.” Her gaze darted to the tunnel we had swam along.
“We can’t stay here. We need to get somewhere warm.”
A third storm drain ran from the rear of the stone landing. We sidestepped the waterfall plunging from the grate and entered the circular tunnel. I set a fast pace to warm us up, and wrung the water from my robe as we went.
“What about Kolta?” she asked as we approached a ladder leading up to a manhole.
A shaft of daylight stabbed from above, illuminating every droplet of rain that splashed at our feet. I thought back to the first time we’d walked the sewers together and I’d played tricks to frighten her. She’d shown such childlike delight at the cling spirits. So much had changed in ten days.
“You ’ear that?” a gravelly voice spoke from the street above. “They’re on foot down there.”
Kristach! I snatched Ayla’s hand and ran as fast as I could with my shoulders ducked in the cramped space, heading toward the next shaft of light. The sound of boots descending the metal ladder rang loud behind us. She tripped several times, and I yanked her up before she hit the brick floor. Our pursuers yelled something about a lantern.
We thudded under the next manhole, getting momentarily drenched by the cascading water. Ayla tried to grab the ladder, but I dragged her on into the black tunnel. The pursuit was gaining. When we came to the first side tunnel, I dived into it without slowing. The next shaft of light seemed an impossible distance ahead.
We blundered and slipped along the narrow storm drain, and it saddened me that she hadn’t as
ked why I had taken the detour. I missed her incessant curiosity. Her conversation had become little more than functional. The old, gutsy Ayla would have relished in the challenge of escaping the guards. Now she followed like a trained dog. That reminded me of her actions in Caradan’s bedchamber, and I couldn’t dwell on that right then.
I wanted to be a long way from the corner before our pursuers arrived, and with luck they wouldn’t know that we had deviated. The echoing voices made it impossible to comprehend what they were doing back there. I didn’t dare look.
A deluge of water poured from a side pipe and soaked us again, but at least it was clean, wholesome rainwater, not sewage. The stream in the bottom of the tunnel had deepened, forcing us to wade through up to our waists. Eventually, we emerged into the drain running beneath the adjacent street.
Ayla was tiring, but we made it to the next manhole. She doubled over, panting and coughing. I put her hands on the rungs of the ladder and urged her to climb. Her face carried a healthy flush from our exertions and I’d begun to sweat too. My clammy clothes pinched my skin. She heaved the manhole cover aside before I had a chance to urge caution, and by the time I had reached the surface, she was skulking in a doorway out of the pelting rain.
The street was empty. Unusually empty.
The buildings on the corner were nothing more than a pile of blackened rubble with burned timbers sticking up like grave markers. The adjoining street was similarly burned out—mounds of broken brick and charcoal on either side of the charred cobbled road.
I joined Ayla in the doorway and surveyed the intact tenements where we stood. No decorations had been hung. Every door and window was shut with drapes pulled closed. We wouldn’t find sanctuary here.
“We need to find a hiding place out of the rain.” I started walking toward the destruction, clutching at the stitch in my side.
Then I recognized where we were and memories flooded back. The men had fought the tomb wight over there. The elemental had exploded from a building on the right. Only a wasteland remained. The rear of the buildings on the parallel street had burned too, clear across a space that had once held thriving kitchen gardens. The woman had jumped from somewhere on the left, though it was impossible to determine where each building had once stood. A blackened ax lay half-buried under a heap of charcoal. I remembered its owner and shuddered. An ashy sludge coated every surface.