New moon.
But she could still see in this small, rocky cavern she’d stumbled into. It could be the Unseen or it could be…she noticed the dim glow flickering behind the turn in the wall the same moment she heard the sound of chipping stone. Striking metal, rattling of rocks.
Sucking in another breath, she crawled forward to peer around the corner. Beyond reached a long tunnel full of jagged rock and haunting echoes. A few torches cast fingered, grasping shadows down its length. Scattered in the shadows were carts, picks, shovels…and people. Bent, broken people.
There was one not ten feet away from her. A more miserable manifestation of life she’d never seen. In another reality, he might have been middle-aged, but here time had given rule to death. His back arched, his bones jutted out from his lacerated skin, his body was covered in dust and sweat that matted his beard.
She stared in horror, and without any intention, let out a small whimper.
His head jerked up and his red-veined eyes swiveled around. Alarmed, she pulled back out of sight. But with a slight scuffle, his head peered around the corner to stare down at her. Biting her lip, she made sharp, shushing motions with her hands, eyes wide and pleading.
He just kept staring in incredulous disbelief. “What are ye?” he rasped.
“Tellie,” she whispered. “I’m Tellie, please don’t sound an alarm.”
Muttering something under his breath, he said, “Are they sending little girls into the mine now? But ye can’t have been here long by the looks of ye.”
“I’m not supposed to be here at all. I’m escaping.”
His haggard face drooped, and he placed a quivering hand on her shoulder. She forced herself not to flinch away as she saw his fingers were all swollen and smashed. “There’s no escaping this place, little lass,” he murmured.
“Actually…” She studied him hard, considering her options. So far he hadn’t given her away. And despite all the horrors wreaked upon his body, some kindness still lingered in his eyes. “Actually, I’ve escaped before. This is my second time out. It’s easy as a choice, really, though I suppose the decision itself can be hard.” Heavens, give her time and she’d be spouting riddles like Rendar.
Throwing an anxious glance over his shoulder, he crawled nearer. “Are ye an insane little thing?” he asked, almost sounding curious.
Would I know it if I was? Aloud, she said, “I…I’m a follower of Ayeshune. This prison can’t hold me.”
He only stared, a stupid animal look on his face.
Struck with a sudden idea, she asked, “Do you know Errance? He used to work in the mines. Tall, brown-hair, blue-eyes, pointy-ears, scars through the right eye?”
The miner drew in a sharp breath, and before she could blink, he’d grabbed and pulled her deeper into the shadows, away from the prying eyes of the torches. “Ye know the Prisoner?” he growled. “Ye have seen the Prisoner?”
“If he matches my description, yes, I assume so,” she gasped, astonished by the strength in those broken hands.
Slowly, he let go of her, relief and hope illuminating his wearied features. “He was taken from us,” he muttered. “Our last hope. What have they done to him? Is he yet alive?”
Somehow, she had taken the impression from Errance that no one existed in Tertorem except to hate and punish their elven prisoner. But she should have known there would be other captives who’d been inspired by him, for had he not affected her the same? She wondered if he even knew or if he’d become that blind to any kind of love.
At the sight of the strange, loyal love, she poured out in brief the tale of their escape and adventure and then how he was caught again. “Now,” she finished, “I don’t think he has much time left. And he wouldn’t come with me. He’s lost all reason to fight. If I can get out of here, I’ll find our friends, and then…I don’t know what I’ll do exactly.”
The man leaned back against the rough wall, a spark in his once vacant eyes. “Do ye think he might fight back one last time if…if given the right push?”
“Well I—”
“He was the only one of us who ever fought more than once. He fought for himself, he fought for us…he fought. We did nothing.” The already puffed and reddened whites of his eyes turned yet redder as they pooled with tears. “If we fought for the first time…would he stand with us?”
Tellie stared, hardly able to hear her own thoughts over the thundering of her heart. “But. What could we do?”
“Nothing!” The old man threw back his head with a cackle. “We shall all fail and perish miserably in the attempt.”
“Oh.” She hunkered against the wall, wondering why she’d let hope get piqued by a raving skeleton.
“But,” the man said, and he spoke low with reverence, “we shall do it nonetheless.”
“How?” she protested. “What do you mean by ‘we’? Do you mean you and me?”
Without an answer, he grabbed her wrist with that terrifyingly strong grip and tugged her forward. “Come—come, girl! He merely held onto memory, but you are the memory itself…they must see you!”
She started to dig her heels into the ground, but the man’s bewildering passion tugged her heart forward and the rest of her could not help but follow. Though the man’s back was crooked, he gave every effort of standing straight as she came alongside him. And together they stepped out of the shelter of the shadows and into the center of the tunnel.
Here, she could see them all clearly. Not men, not women. Ghouls toiling into the oblivion of a mountain’s throat. They were not alive, their bodies merely moved. And they moved, one by one, to turn and stare at the young girl standing before them.
They stared without understanding. She, a mortal young maid with bright eyes and vibrant life, could be no more believable or beautiful than a celestial. Yes, she was grimy, clothes torn, eyes deepened by sorrows more profound than her innocence at first suggested. But there in that forsaken place, in a ruin between worlds, many saw more—they saw brightness and beauty that no darkness could dim. A candle that no wind could blow out.
An answer to forgotten prayers.
And she watched as light returned to their eyes.
They stood, stumbling towards her. None of them dared come too close, as if she was a rainbow that would flit further and further away. Perhaps nothing was more grotesque or out of place than the hope and eagerness in their broken-down bodies.
Instead of fleeing in fear, she stood her ground and looked over them, pity pouring into her heart. Errance might have kept some trace of beauty, but in his core, he was no different from them. Just as she had been no different.
“It’s a lie, you know,” she whispered. “This prison, these chains. There is no darkness that light cannot overcome. You only need the courage to believe it.”
The miner stepped alongside her, snatching up a pick and shaking it above his head. “They’ve taken our hero. They’ll crush him like they’ve crushed us all. Enough! Enough, I say! They may own our lives, but they won’t decide our death!”
“Here now!” a harsh voice shouted on the borders of the mass. “What’s this about, refuse?” An overseer shouldered his way through, and as he caught sight of Tellie, he staggered in shock and reached for his sword.
His fingers never touched the hilt.
Like an ocean wave, the slaves moved as one, silent in their onslaught. The overseer vanished underneath their bodies.
Tellie jerked away, even though she couldn’t see a glimpse of the killing, not sure how her stomach could threaten to be sick even while her blood thrilled at retribution.
The overseer’s death, something only before accomplished by their hero, ignited a horrific fire within the miners. There was no turning back now, only charging ahead, and they exchanged their silence and murmurings for wild, animal cries. As they stormed down the tunnel, the sparks of their fury ignited every slave they passed, till the very mountain shook with roaring rage.
Tellie and the old miner followed at their he
els, and as they broke out onto the open mountainside, the man turned and gripped her by the shoulders. “Go find the Prisoner,” he panted. “Tell him of what we’ve done. Let ‘im see. Make ‘im fight.”
Rendar had made it very clear she was to escape and that Errance would need to make a choice on his own. But well, she had escaped, and he never said what she was supposed to do afterwards. As for Errance, maybe this was the fateful turn for his decision. Surely it could not be wrong for her to try.
oOo
Coren sat upon the sharp ridges of the mountain peaks, watching as the elves and chemas alike climbed the robes anchored by The Daisha and her passengers. There was a passage through the mountain here, but the wall to it had been far too slick for anyone to find. Now those who had reached the crest gathered in the chasm, tensely listening to their lord’s plan of attack for another time.
The captain’s eyes wandered to where The Daisha waited with the two figures upon her back. Even now, he questioned his support in bringing Kelm along. But as a smuggler he’d learned to take whatever chance, whatever hope, though this was indeed the most daring rescue he’d undertaken yet. It was more than a rescue. It was a war, and neither Tryss nor Kelm were warriors.
Neither was Zizain. His thoughts drifted back to her with a sigh. If the last image he would have of her was such an indignant scowl, he’d never forgive himself. But, as he’d explained, she could have no place in the main battle as she’d never killed a man before. Of course she’d pointed out that he hadn’t either, but Coren was convinced he wouldn’t have a qualm once engaged. She was used to helping those rescued find relief and recovery and so would be better waiting with the elves and chemas who stayed behind in a healing camp for the aftermath of the battle.
Or this was the reason that he’d given her.
He didn’t dare tell her that his heart would never recover if she died in the battle.
Focus. There was a fight ahead, and it was to save the heir of his country. He had to focus.
He wondered if he’d have the nerve to tell Zizain the truth of his feelings if he survived.
oOo
The horrors of Tertorem dwelt in layers, some known only to a few, some changed only by one. The chambers and secrets within were limitless, and the Voice of His Darkness knew them all. Each had its own specific purpose, and the one he came to now was called the Well.
By first appearances, it was simple. A small circular room lit only by a sputtering torch bracketed to the wall. In truth, he would have done away with the torch all together, but the wretched mortals did need to see their own steps. The sickly light perished the instant it touched the opening void of the Well in the center of the floor. And in that deepness dwelled the very essence of every despairing dream.
The Voice waited, leaning against the post upholding the bar from which the chains dropped into the pit. He smiled when the guards at last arrived with his prisoner. “Oh dear,” he said with an apologetic chuckle as he appraised Errance’s sagging, battered body. “It looks like the guards got a bit carried away.” He reached out and lifted his face upwards, running a finger along an open cut in his cheek. “Can you tell they missed you?”
The elf’s eyes remained utterly blank.
For a moment, the Voice felt a twinge of fear. Had his infiltration proved too much after all? He dug his fingernail deep into the cut. Errance flinched, and his eyes refocused with a sparkling anger. It was gone the next second.
Satisfied nonetheless, the Voice gestured to the guards to begin shackling the chains wound around the pulley to Errance’s wrists. “Something I want you to remember, Your Majesty,” he whispered. “The more you resist, the greater your destruction. When I return, I am holding nothing back. It’s your decision whether you will be yourself or a slavering imbecile at the end of it.” He looped an arm around Errance’s torn shoulders. “Now then…sweet dreams.”
With a thrust of his arm, he shoved the prince off the edge into the Well. The chains rattled violently as they unwound and then seconds later jerked to a halt. Casting one last glance into the consuming darkness, the Voice turned and left the chamber.
And it was in that moment, that he felt the breech.
33
oOo
Killing should not be so easy. Coren felt a tad of guilt as he withdrew the blade from the belly of the first Tertorem guard he encountered.
The assault of their greatest enemy’s fortress should also not be so easy. But perhaps in years of success against invasion, the Darkness had grown lax and arrogant, his men lazy and incompetent within the walls. For the army had crossed the high mountain pass and picked their way to the very foot of the castle without a single encounter.
Now, as soldiers and guards and servants poured out of their barracks to defend against the attack, they were cut down by arrows or blade hardly before they knew what was happening.
Almost sad, at least if the men here were not the crop of the world’s wickedness, only caught off guard because they had felt secure in enjoying the fruits of their evil. The surprise would only last so long, and then Coren was certain the battle would become far more intense. Who could say what manner of secrets and powers the Darkness kept within his nest? They had hit a stone against a hornet’s lair and were only yet facing the first stings.
“Pull back,” Leoren called, signaling to the crags from where they’d climbed. “We have to draw them out, keep his attention away!” His green eyes snapped in vicious brilliance, and he suddenly sprang behind his son with a shout, flashing out his sword to cut down an attacking soldier.
So much for my meek and mild-mannered father, Coren thought with another surge of guilt.
So far they had a good chance keeping the upperhand as long as they kept the higher ground, the rocks providing shelter. If the Darkness thought this was the focus of the attack, he might be blind to other movements.
But somewhere, high up in the clouds, their true hope waited for the opportunity to strike.
“A bit stuffy up here, isn’t it?” The Daisha called.
Neither Kelm nor Tryss answered, trying not to smell even as they struggled for breath. The atmosphere above Tertorem was thick with grey clouds, filled with an acidic mist that stung the skin, the eyes, and the lungs when one dared inhale.
“Please,” Tryss wheezed. “It’s poison, we can’t stay much longer…”
The Daisha dipped beneath the cloud cover to study the ground and Tertorem far below which looked little more than a child’s castle from such a distance. “A few moments more. The elf army has entered the edges of the fortress, but there’s mass confusion amongst the men of the Darkness and they haven’t engaged yet.”
Thunder rumbled far too near overhead, and Kelm hunkered deep into her fur, eyeing the brooding cloudscape for a strike. He couldn’t have chosen a better time to hunker, for it was then that The Daisha dove. He squeezed his eyes shut in the glorious rush and when he dared peel them open again, the spires of Tertorem flashed by.
Tilting her wings, The Daisha started to circle, looking for any suitable place to land on the fortress itself, which showed little sign of access.
“There.” Tryss pointed to where a branch of the wall met the side of the mountain. A narrow path ran along the edge.
An arrow zipped past with a shrill whine.
“Quick to catch on, aren’t they?” The Daisha remarked. “Ha, poor little fellows, arrows aren’t strong enough to pierce my hide.” She evaded the next two that flew past with ease. “When I land, you two will have to run, all right?”
“Right.”
She swooped down, her claws grabbling on the cliff that ran alongside the narrow path, and Kelm and Tryss jumped for the ledge. Shoving against the stone, The Daisha launched off and dashed away from them, disappearing down into a lower level with a fell screech.
The distant sounds of battle could be faintly heard over the howling wind. Shuddering, Kelm looked around at the sharp rocks, wondering if they would suddenly come to
life and attack. Now that they were here, the fortress loomed larger than life, and the fact he had never once seen the outside weighed even worse on his mind. He hadn’t stayed unconscious as long as Tellie, but had been blindfolded, and while he remembered a great deal of walking and talking, he’d been in too much stress to recall anything of use for finding a way inside.
Tryss took his hand and placed it on her arm. “Don’t lose me,” she said. “I’m disappearing.” Her image melted away, leaving Kelm seemingly all alone on the cliff edge. The feeling of her warm fingers on his arm did nothing to abate the terror. “Come on!” she shouted and tugged him forward.
The path along the mountain to the fortress was narrow and unstable. Kelm had never been afraid of heights before, but it took all his willpower not to shake as he edged against the mountain wall and refused to look down at the steep drop of shale below. The wind was no help, constantly buffeting against the rock and then sweeping away with a tug at the limbs. He’d never felt quite so alone and small.
Part of the path crumbled and gave way before him, sending rocks skittering down. Tryss let out a sharp cry. “Careful! This road isn’t stable!”
Sucking in a deep breath, he clung tighter to the rocks and focused on their destination—where the trail along the mountain ended and turned into a battlement walkway of the fortress.
A brilliant flash of lightning blinded his sight and the crack of thunder that immediately followed seemed fit to bring the cliff down on top of them. With a yelp, he flinched away…and then he was overbalancing, teetering on the edge, the ground crumbling beneath his feet.
“Kelm, no!”
Two hands grabbed his arm and jerked him back to safe ground, but even at the moment, more of the path gave way. Tryss’s hands slipped from his arm, followed by a small scream. That scream was lost amid the shriek of storm and stone.
He dropped to his knees, hunkering against the rock. “Tryss? Tryss!” Nothing but the storm answered him. Inching forward, he stared down the slope, trying to see what path the rocks had fallen along, but the wind had swept away all the dust. And he could see no sign of her.
Moonscript (Kings of Aselvia Book 1) Page 40