“The walls here are like trying to see through heavy fog,” Aiden added. “Don’t know whether it’s just part of the type of stone they used, or something the monks built in, but the good part of it is that no one outside should be able to use spellcasting or scrying to see what we do in here—assuming we stay.”
Trent and Ross had gone to stand guard outside. Polly and Elinor examined the cabinet, pushing and pulling to no avail. Corran and Calfon put their backs into it, trying and failing to find a way to move the piece of furniture to one side or swing it open.
“Other ideas?” Calfon asked as he stepped back.
Polly frowned, studying the cabinet. Six shelves evenly spaced on the top might have once held dishes or cookware, maybe supplies. Beneath the shelves was a broad wooden counter, now damaged from neglect and weather. The base of the cabinet had two sections of additional storage, each one covered by doors. Polly got down on her hands and knees, pulling open one of the doors. She blinked and choked at the dust and wrinkled her nose at the evidence that generations of mice had lived, bred, and died on the warped wooden shelves.
“Maybe we won’t be staying, after all,” Corran mused. “There’s not enough of a roof left in what’s standing for us to be able to live here, and any repairs make it obvious that it’s not deserted anymore.”
“Don’t be in such a hurry,” Polly chided. She pulled at the wooden shelves, which came away fairly easily. They rested on boards on either side of the cupboard, instead of being nailed in. Polly batted away mouse nests and a few small, desiccated corpses, and then crawled partially inside the enclosure. It smelled like dust and rodents.
“I think I’ve got something.” Her voice came out muffled, but the click as she pressed a hidden catch was loud enough for them all to hear. The back of the lower cupboard swung away, revealing darkness.
“So the monks didn’t take on any new brothers who were overly large, I’m guessing.” Corran stared at the opening. He and Ross had the broadest shoulders of the group, and Corran eyed the doorway as if trying to decide whether he could get through. “They could climb through into the tunnel, put the boards back up, and then swing the door shut and bar it on the other side. Clever, but not a quick way out.”
“Might have been intentional for the opening to be small,” Rigan mused, coming up behind them and squatting down to have a better look. “Soldiers in armor aren’t getting in there, and neither is hired muscle.”
Polly shimmied backward and sat on her haunches. “I’m guessing there’s a narrow staircase through there, going into a cellar. I found it: someone else gets to do the honors and lead the way.” She brushed cobwebs and dirt out of her hair and off her shoulders.
“I’ll go.” Rigan was the slimmest of them other than Polly, and while he was tall, his shoulders were not as broad as his brother’s. Polly scooted out of the way, and Rigan crawled forward. The air coming from the opening felt cool and damp, and it smelled musty but not unpleasant.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if there were caves underneath, like in that other priory,” Rigan said. “Given the river below, I’d almost expect it. Let’s see.”
“You want a lantern?” Corran held out one he had pulled from his pack.
Rigan shook his head. “Don’t know what the air is like in there. Let’s let it breathe a bit before we put a flame in there.” He conjured handfire, a cold tongue of blue-white light that illuminated without burning.
“Wish me luck,” he muttered as he crawled toward the opening. Corran grabbed his ankles.
“Just in case,” Corran said. “We didn’t come this far for you to fall head-first into a hole because the stairs rotted away.”
Polly fidgeted as Rigan wriggled into the opening. “There are steps… and they’re stone,” he said. “I think I need to go in feet first. And Elinor was right—the steps are very narrow, so some of us are going to have to go down sideways.”
Reluctantly, Corran let go of his grip and Rigan moved into position. “There’s a decent-sized landing at the top, probably exactly for this purpose,” he said as he eased himself into the passageway.
“I’d feel better about it if you had a rope,” Corran muttered.
“The stairs go on pretty far; I’m not sure we’ve got one long enough,” Rigan called back. “But the air isn’t too bad.”
Once Rigan had disappeared into the hole, Corran squirmed in far enough so that his head and shoulders were inside as well. “Tell me what you see,” he called to Rigan. Polly and the others crowded close enough to hear.
“The stairs are man-made, but it looks like there’s a cave at the bottom,” Rigan yelled up. “Give me a few minutes to explore. I won’t go far.”
The group up above passed the time nervously until Rigan’s face appeared in the opening and Corran hastily crawled backward to let him out.
“The stairs get wider—I’d say there are about fifty steps,” he reported. “At the bottom, it looks like the monks started with what was a natural cave and ‘improved’ on it. Much like what we found at the last monastery—several rooms, one which has a fireplace.” He coughed and brushed dust and worse from his clothing. “We need to clean it and see where it comes out, but at least we can cook. The air smells pretty fresh, so I’m betting there might be a way out at the bottom down to the river.”
“If we all go through the door, how do we put the shelves back in?” Corran mused. “We need to make sure there’s another way in and out so we only use this for emergencies. Otherwise, nice as the tower is, we aren’t going to be able to stay.”
“Too hard to get us all out in a hurry,” Rigan agreed. “Maybe the monks thought so too.”
Trent poked his head into the room. “We found a place where we can hide the horses and the wagon, at least for tonight,” he said. “If we’re staying.”
“We’re staying,” Aiden replied. “Can’t think of anywhere easier to defend than a solid rock tower.”
Trent and Ross drew water from the well outside using the buckets they carried in the wagon. Elinor, Polly, and Calfon formed a relay line to unload their belongings. They handed them through to Corran after he maneuvered himself into the tunnel, and Corran passed them down to Rigan. They traveled light, so it didn’t take long to unpack.
“Tomorrow, we’ll scout around, set some snares for dinner,” Trent said once they were back inside. “I’m betting that there’s a tunnel that leads to the basement somewhere between the stable and the river, too.”
“If Rigan’s right and there’s a path to the river, we might be able to do some fishing,” Ross said with a grin.
“Always thinking with your belly,” Polly teased, but she was tired, and the prospect of even a cold meal and some hot tea made her rumbling stomach settle.
Corran hung lanterns on metal hooks sunk into the rock, lighting the way. At the bottom, they looked around at the long-empty rooms.
“Not the worst place we’ve been,” Polly said, hands on hips. “Trent—you brought in the brooms from the wagon?”
“I wouldn’t dare forget them,” he said.
Polly leveled a glare, then grinned. “All right everyone—you know what to do. The sooner we whip this place into shape, the sooner we can put our feet up and drink.”
It didn’t take long for them to find a doorway leading to a rough-hewn rock passageway enlarging into a natural cave tunnel. The tunnel led away from the tower and down past the stables, coming out hidden by carefully-positioned rocks and a tangle of trees and vines. Polly grinned when they reached the opening.
“Damn, that’s hard to see,” she said, taking several steps back and trying to find the mouth of the tunnel. “Glad we decided to go from the inside—it’s a lot less hidden from that direction!”
Ross and Calfon went to clean out the fireplace and make sure the chimney drew. Trent went back outside through the tunnel to gather wood. The others pitched in to make the rooms livable, and scrounged ramshackle furniture, or swept away the dust and cobwebs.
“Rigan and I found another set of steps,” Corran announced when they finished. “We’re going to see where they lead. If they do go down to the river, we want to make sure we don’t get any surprise guests.”
“I can help get dinner,” Aiden said, and Elinor followed as Polly led the way to the room with the fireplace.
“It won’t be much,” Polly said with a sigh. “Not until they get the snares up. Fish would be nice for a change, too. But we’ve got bread and cheese and some sausages, and there’s whiskey. So we won’t go hungry.”
Corran and Rigan reappeared after a candlemark, flushed with the exertion of climbing the steep steps. “The stairs go all the way to a cave on the riverbanks,” Corran reported. “The cave is deep, and the steps are in the back, so even if anyone did venture in, the stairs are easy to overlook.”
“Handy to know, in case the area around the first tunnel opening isn’t safe. Anything else?” Trent asked, stretching to loosen sore muscles after the ride.
“Hard to tell if anyone’s been in the cave,” Rigan added. “The floor is rock with very little loose dirt to show footprints.”
“You’re thinking about those smugglers we ran into a few towns back,” Calfon said.
Rigan nodded. “We didn’t see any evidence that people had been in the cave. And we’re a good ways upriver from where we saw the smugglers. But still…”
“We’ll be careful.” Ross looked up from where he knelt, trying to start a fire. “But for now, let’s have someone go outside and make sure the chimney vents far enough away not to give us away. I’d hate to go through all this only to get caught by a smoky flue.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
“Tell me about the raids.” Sarolinian Crown Prince Neven looked out over the vista from the covered walkway that ran along one side of his manor house. Brice Tagar, his spymaster, kept pace with him out of necessity.
“We leave the populated areas to Nightshade’s monsters,” Tagar said. “My men go under cover of darkness, set a field afire or burn a warehouse, and leave. It’s not enough to cripple the towns, but plenty to set them on edge. They have no idea who’s behind it or why it’s happening.”
He smiled coldly. “I’ve got to say; it’s been interesting hearing them speculate at the pub. I’ve gone back a night or two later, never to the same place twice, to hear what’s being said.” He shook his head. “Amazing what people will come up with when they’ve got no information at all to go on. They’re quick to blame the Guilds loyal to the other Ravenwood Merchant Princes, or chalk it up to old grudges, local dimwitted boys or roving gangs of troublemakers.” He laughed and shook his head. “Anything but the truth.”
“Make sure it stays that way,” Neven replied. “We can’t afford any evidence pointing our direction. Sooner or later the farmers and townsfolk will demand that their Merchant Princes do something, and they’ll send out their guards, who are easy enough to evade. Inflict enough losses, do enough damage, and Ravenwood will not only be in chaos; it won’t be able to meet its trade obligations.”
“I don’t believe we’re far off from that point, m’lord,” Tagar said. “Tempers grow short in the villages, between the increase in monster attacks, and the raiders.”
“Good.” Neven tented his fingers and leaned back. “What of the smugglers?”
“Kadar’s kept his guards away, as he promised.”
“And the outlaws? The hunters? What of them?”
Tagar shook his head. “No problems since that one time, although they’re still at large. The stories grow with the telling. They’re becoming heroes to the farm folk, an unfortunate turn of events.”
“Quite,” Neven said. “What do you hear?”
“Rubbish, for the most part. Tall tales. It’s said they’ve killed ghouls and higani, and those bat-faced black dogs Nightshade is so fond of summoning. Those undertaker brothers are the leaders, and one is said to be a witch of some power.”
“And still, Kadar can’t find them, when they’re practically under his nose. Pathetic.”
“I’ve sent a few of my men across the border to keep an eye out for the Valmondes and their companions,” Tagar said. “They’re to insinuate themselves into Jorgeson’s trust, and steer him toward the outlaws. And report his movements back to me, of course.”
“Naturally.” Neven fell silent for a moment. “What do you hear of the impact of the smugglers? Kadar is pleased, no doubt, at least for now. Has it affected their League obligations?”
“You’ll have to ask Ambassador Lorenz how things are going in the city,” Tagar said. “I doubt the Guilds pay a lot of attention to the rural areas, but by now even they must know someone is undercutting their trade.” He smirked. “Their own Merchant Prince.”
“Who believes he is making quite the clever deal,” Neven replied, shifting in his chair to reach for the snifter of brandy on the table. “Light enough fires, and sooner or later, it’ll all go down in flames.”
He swirled the amber liquid before he spoke. “I received a letter from Lorenz. It was in code, of course. Ravenwood is verging on chaos—and it’s not improving, despite Aliyev’s efforts. It’s bad enough that it’s reached the ears of the other League members. There’s talk that Ravenwood can’t be counted on to fulfill its obligations. The Guilds are still angry about Machison’s tactics, Aliyev is trapped being Lord Mayor as well as Crown Prince until he has the city under control, and the ship captains who come into the harbor complain more about pirates every week.”
“Aren’t you concerned that King Rellan will get involved?” Tagar asked. “He’s distracted, but not stupid.”
“Aliyev is the immediate problem, still another reason to have so many things on fire he doesn’t know where to turn first. Does he worry about the monsters? The Balance? Rumors of smugglers and pirates? Try to keep peace with his Guilds?” Neven shook his head. “No matter what he chooses to focus on, it will be the wrong thing because there is too much going on at once. And when it all comes crashing down, Garenoth will break the agreement for cause, and we all get to move up.”
The next morning, Neven intentionally lingered over his breakfast, loathe to move on to the first appointment of the day. Having to deal with Nightshade always put him in a bad mood, no matter how useful the blood witch was to his ambitions.
Two bodyguards strode after him as he left his manor and climbed into the waiting carriage. One of the guards would ride with the driver, while the other rode behind, keeping watch. They gave Neven little comfort since he knew that the real danger came from the man who would be waiting for him.
The carriage stopped in the middle of a field deep within Neven’s private reserve. Here, they could be assured they were far from the prying eyes of farmers or passersby. Neven looked around as he alighted from the carriage. The blue sky and sunshine amid a clearing of tall grass seemed a strange place to keep an appointment with a blood witch.
“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” Nightshade said as Neven walked up.
“I said I’d be here,” Neven snapped. “What do you want to show me that was important enough to drag me out here?”
With his blond hair and white robes, Nightshade hardly looked like a man whose power rose from blood and death. He led Neven down a worn pathway. All of the land Nightshade controlled had been turned into gardens, though Neven knew that every plant had been selected for its poisonous properties, and the plants thrived in part because of soil made fertile with the burial of a continuous stream of fresh corpses, those the blood witch did not deem “interesting” enough to turn into one of his sculptures.
“I’m making a sacrifice this morning,” Nightshade said, “a very special one. To Colduraan. And to He Who Watches, one of his First Beings. I thought you might want to be present.”
“What’s so special about it? You kill people every day.”
Nightshade gave him a censorious look. “Show respect for the magic. And the Elder Gods. Colduraan is the Lord of Chaos. I will ask h
is favor for the chaos we intend to create within Ravenwood.”
“Seems like you’ve been doing a pretty good job on your own.’
“My lord is too kind,” Nightshade inclined his head with false humility. “We bring monsters from beyond the Rift to serve our purposes. They are Colduraan’s creatures. It would not be wise to take his bounty without showing our gratitude.”
Nightshade led them to the high hedge that bounded his garden, and then through a gateway into the clearing beyond. This land had neither the careful plantings nor the sheep-trimmed lawns, remaining high with wild grasses.
“I thought you needed to do this sort of thing at midnight,” Neven said.
“Midnight and noon are equivalent times of power,” Nightshade replied. “Darkness is of importance only if one needs to hide one’s work. I do not.”
In the middle of the field, a stone altar held the bound, naked body of a panicked man. A gag and ropes secured him, but his struggle and muffled screams made his terror clear.
“What makes you think an Elder God is listening? Or might deign to respond?” Neven regarded the Guild gods as mere figureheads which lent a false sense of importance to the trades, and the Elder Gods as little more than legends embellished over the centuries by those who stood to gain from the fear and awe of the gullible.
Nightshade chuckled. “Oh, the Elder Gods exist. And they are hungry for devotion. Colduraan is a jealous god, and he rewards those who pay him his due. He Who Watches is also aware of the monsters we draw from beyond the Rift. A First Being is a powerful creature of ancient magic. He favors us with his attention.”
“Then get on with it,” Neven snapped, hiding his apprehension behind impatience. Employing a blood witch was much like making sausage: nice to have, but best if one did not look too closely at it.
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