Soul Forge

by Richard Stephens

  Alhena grabbed three more unlit torches from a rusted iron basket sitting beside the ladder, leaving a couple for the next person who might come this way. He handed one to Rook and raised his eyebrows as he brushed past him into the darkness ahead. “Well, here goes nothing

  Rook called after him, “You’ve been this way before?”

  Alhena stopped at the edge of the torch light and turned halfway around. “Aye, a couple of times.”

  “Then you know where you’re going?”

  Alhena gave him a half smile. “I would not say that, exactly.”

  “You wouldn’t say that, exactly? Great.”

  “Those torches will not last forever.” Alhena set off down the roughly hewn tunnel.

  Rook swallowed and started after him. As he strode to catch up, he strained to hear Alhena’s shaky voice muted by the closeness of the passage walls.

  “We’ll be lucky to find our way out of these catacombs as it is. I don’t envy trying to do so in the dark.”

  Rook stopped short, not sure he was meant to hear that. He swallowed again and scampered after the wizened old man.

  The tunnel swerved back and forth, always descending, seemingly winding underneath itself. It wasn’t until after they had lit their third torch that a distant roar sounded ahead of them. A damp breeze buffeted their hair, and the rock surface became increasingly slippery underfoot. The noise sounded like the roar of the falls.

  Neither man had spoken much since entering the catacombs, wrapped in their fear that escaping the labyrinth might prove to be a serious issue, but the thunderous noise of falling water and its accompanying wind boosted their spirits.

  Rounding a sharp left bend, the roar of Splendoor Falls assaulted them in the tunnel’s close confines. Natural light, muted by thousands of gallons of plummeting water, illuminated the tunnel from a gap in the right wall. The tunnel passed directly behind the falls.

  Farther ahead, the tunnel snaked left again, out of sight—a faint glow emanating from beyond the bend.

  They held onto each other as they made their way along the slimy passageway, keeping close to the back wall for fear of slipping through the gap.

  The floor levelled beyond the hole in the wall and began a slight ascent. Ahead of them, daylight infused the tunnel’s end. Passing beyond the break in the wall, their pace picked up.

  At the tunnel’s end, Rook reeled as vertigo threatened to topple him. They stood upon a ledge, a thousand feet above a lush green landscape that stretched off into the distance, terminating at the foothills of the iron-grey monoliths of the Spine. He dropped into a shaky crouch and steadied himself against the wall. He pulled back into the dimness and safety of the tunnel. Trying to catch his breath, he frowned at Alhena who lowered himself against the adjacent wall.

  The old man appeared flummoxed. They had travelled for most of the day, expended three of their four torches and hadn’t passed a single passageway. “My memory seems to have slipped me,” Alhena said casually. He pushed aside the scraggly wet hair from his dripping forehead and attempted to dry his staff with the hem of his sleeve. “These passageways were engineered to thwart an attack on Songsbirth.”

  “You don’t say?” Rook muttered. “The town of Songsbirth? Nestled somewhere safe, high in the Muse?”

  “Aye, that is the one.” Alhena unsteadily gained his feet, readjusted his shoulder sack and walked back into the mountain, protecting their last flaming torch as he approached the hole in the rock.

  Rook jumped to his feet, conscious of the open ledge beside him. Adjusting his gear, he scrabbled after Alhena, trying to keep the fading glow of the torch in sight.

  Alhena waited for him on the far side of the fissure. “If I remember the intricacies of the catacombs correctly…” Alhena eyed the walls and reached out to touch irregularities in their surface. “There are many cleverly concealed exits along this first section of the tunnel.” He poked and scraped at something.

  Rook couldn’t see anything but roughly hewn rock. “You’re just remembering that now?”

  Alhena broke a nail. He stuck his filthy finger into his mouth and spoke around the injured digit, “Some of the hidden tunnels lead higher into the mountain, while others will take us into the bowels of the earth. If I am not mistaken, there is only one tunnel that leads to the valley below.”

  “Oh, great.” Rook rolled his eyes. “A fine time to remember an insignificant piece of information like that.”

  Twinges of anxiety crept into Rook’s psyche. How were they going to find their way out? They had one torch left and were still a long way from the bottom of the falls. He inspected the wall opposite Alhena, not sure what he was looking for. What if the plunge into the lake had made Alhena delusional? It had been a long time since they actually had any rest, or for that matter, decent food. Thinking about everything they had just experienced, it was a miracle they were alive at all.

  Panic prickled his skin. The last thing he wanted was to die here. It felt as if he had been buried alive. He wasn’t claustrophobic, but the deeper they ventured, the more he imagined the weight of the mountain pressing down on him. Just when he thought he couldn’t stand it any longer, he heard a ‘snick.’

  Farther up the tunnel, Alhena exclaimed, “Aha.”

  The sound of rock scraping upon rock reverberated through the tunnel. It stopped, and then started again. The sound made Rook’s teeth ache. He rushed up to Alhena.

  Alhena looked pleased with himself. “I found a hidden nook in the wall.” He had triggered a small section of the wall to open, and then closed it again. He placed his fingers within a hidden crevice. “There is a small lever in here. Try it.”

  Rook probed the nook with his fingers. Sure enough, he felt a lever the size of his little finger. “Humph.”

  Alhena pushed on the wall.

  At first nothing happened, and then a small, circular section of heavy stone receded inward. Alhena paused long enough to raise his eyebrows and stepped into the breach.

  Rook followed him through and moved out of the way as the portal slowly sealed itself, leaving behind no trace of its existence. They were in a tunnel no different from the one they had just left.

  The tunnel appeared to travel in the same direction as the previous one. Gone was the distant roar of Splendoor Falls from the breach in the tunnel wall—the atmosphere replaced by colder, stale smelling air. He didn’t know if that was a good thing or not. What he did know was that he needed to get out of the mountain as quickly as possible. Alhena’s puzzled expression did little to alleviate his anxiety.

  “Which way?”

  Alhena shrugged his stooped shoulders and started right, following the tunnel’s downward slope. It made sense. In the previous tunnel, this direction would have taken them to the cliff edge.

  A short while later the tunnel ended.

  Rook’s shoulders slumped. Standing face-to-face with the dead end, he dropped his belongings to the ground, turned about, and slid his back down the granite barrier. They were going to die trying to unravel the mystery of the labyrinth. Perhaps they should locate the trap door that had led them to this tunnel and head back to the lake?

  Alhena stared at the rock face behind him. “Well, I guess it is not this way.”

  Rook studied him. “Do you honestly have a clue how to get us out of this forsaken hole?” When Alhena didn’t reply quickly enough, Rook shouted, “Do you?”

  Alhena dropped his eyes to the ground. Unkempt wisps of thin grey hair dangled in front of his face.

  “I’m sorry, Alhena. Please…” Rook said, angry with himself. He stared at the ground in shame. “I have no right to take this out on you. Forgive me.”

  An awkward silence settled between them. Alhena’s gentle voice in the dead stillness nearly gave Rook a stroke, “I have travelled to Songsbirth but twice in my life. Both times were with a Songsbirthian guide, and both times were a long time ago. However, with each wrong path we choose, I am slowly recalling the route.” With a grim
smile, he added, “And this is not it.”

  Rook forced a smile. He couldn’t help but notice their last torch was more than half spent. “No, probably not.” He accepted Alhena’s hand and got to his feet.

  “I am afraid it is going to take a lot of trial and error,” Alhena said, waiting for Rook to gather his stuff. “Hear me not wrong. There are small signs along the passages that show those in the know what to search out. All I know for certain is they are not in this direction.” He offered Rook a sad smile and walked up the tunnel.

  A short while later, Alhena discovered one of those signs, but when the circular slab of granite slid inward, they were greeted by the distant sound of Splendoor Falls. They had found the original tunnel. They discussed going back to the surface, but with Alhena’s assurances, decided against it.

  Time slipped by, marked by the lessening of their torch’s life. The only thing they had managed to achieve so far was to stub, scrape and rub their fingers raw as they probed the imperfect rock surfaces. Weariness and hunger had them swaying on their feet, addling their thoughts.

  Rook was about to give up when a small stalactite caught his eye. Stretching on tiptoe, he reached up to grab it. He couldn’t believe his luck. He wiggled it and a small crack appeared in the granite roof—the sound of sucking air caused them to catch their breath.

  Alhena pushed up on the ceiling with his staff and a small oval section disappeared into the tunnel above.

  Grabbing hold of the edges, Rook pulled himself into the hole. Once through, he turned upon his stomach and hoisted Alhena’s belongings and the sputtering torch through the gap. With some effort, he hauled the frail man after him.

  Winded, he asked, “Do you remember coming this way?”

  Alhena picked up the torch and waved it about, searching the darkness. “Honestly? I do not know.”

  “How can you not recall dropping through a floor?” Rook asked, trying not to let his frustration get the better of him.

  Alhena sighed. “It was so long ago. I am sure we must have.”

  Rook glared at him but said no more.

  The third passageway was no different than the previous two in appearance, but a strong smell of stagnant water reached their nostrils. Instead of pushing the ceiling slab back into place, they left it open in case they were forced to return topside.

  The passage sloped down to their left and up to their right, both ways disappearing into impenetrable blackness beyond the wavering torchlight. Down was the way they wished to travel, so they set off left, both men conscious of the little life remaining to their torch.

  Soon afterward, they left the stale air of the narrow passage and stepped into an enormous cavern, its height and depth imperceptible in the limited light of their dying brand.

  Alhena stopped and cursed. “I don’t remember passing through a cavern this size.”

  Rook’s shoulders slumped. He didn’t have to ask. They had gone the wrong way and wasted their last torch.

  Alhena dropped his provision sack to the floor, the sound echoing off cavern walls unseen. He sat on the dank ground and released the butt end of the torch before it burned his hand.

  The licking flames sputtered briefly, hissing loudly in the all-consuming silence. As the faint glow collapsed in upon itself, they came to realize the grim reality of their fate—lost and alone, in the absolute darkness of their living tomb.

  Treacher’s Gorge

  Thwart! Of all people, Avarick Thwart was the last person Silurian wished to bump into at the moment.

  He hadn’t asked for this. Nor did he care to shed the blood of a knight, but if the Chamber thought they were going to deny him his freedom, they had another think coming. If the Enervator itched for a fight, Silurian was prepared to give him one.

  Surprisingly, Avarick manoeuvred his horse sideways, giving Silurian space.

  He admired the beauty of Avarick’s majestic animal; a finer horse he had never seen. It would be a shame to harm such an exquisite beast. Stepping free of the Chamber entrance shed, he kept his back against the wall lining Redfire Path, his sword poised to defend himself.

  The Enervator’s visor was down, his eyes unreadable in the shadow of his helm. As cocky as ever, he hadn’t even drawn his serrated, black sword—nor was that nasty crossbow in his employ.

  A whinny on his right took his focus away from the dangerous man. Tethered to an iron eyelet, fully outfitted with a black saddle matching the Enervator’s, and complete with black leather provision bags, another black destrier pulled restlessly at the lead restraining it.

  Avarick’s throaty growl puzzled Silurian.

  “I’m thinking we don’t have all day, Queen Killer.” Avarick nodded toward the riderless horse.

  Pounding footsteps and clanking armour sounded from within the entrance shed. The high bishop’s angry voice barked orders to stop Silurian at any cost.

  Silurian cast Avarick a bewildered glance.

  “Any time now, would be good.”

  Not taking his eyes off the Enervator, Silurian slashed the leather thong restraining the second horse. He slid his sword into the baldric strapped across his back and mounted the large animal. “What are you up to, Avarick?”

  Shouts rose up from the stables. The barnyard crawled with militiamen scrambling to respond to the crisis.

  Avarick positioned his mount in front of the entry shed’s door, preventing the soldiers from exiting. “Just shut up and ride.”

  Silurian pulled hard on his horse’s reins and heeled his mount into a gallop, heading southward toward the Undying Wall—away from Madrigail Bay.

  As soon as he passed Avarick, the Enervator spurred his own horse in his wake, its pounding hooves churning up chunks of Redfire Path.

  Approaching Gritian’s southern rim, the two guardsmen stationed there stepped out to confront them but leapt out of the way when Avarick yelled at them to move.

  The sound of pursuit was lost to them after cresting the rim. The only sounds left in their world were the pounding cadence of their horse’s hooves and the jangle of equipment flopping rhythmically about their saddles.

  Twilight cast Redfire Path in long shadows. Flashes of orangey-red light made it hard to see in the dimness of the forest as the setting sun flickered through the trees.

  Silurian functioned on adrenaline alone. He hadn’t slept in two days. As far as he knew, neither had Avarick.

  He eyed Avarick from time to time. The Enervator had removed his helm and pulled level with him shortly after departing Gritian. He rode silently alongside him, his expression unreadable, his dark eyes focused on the lengthening shadows ahead.

  He wondered at the man’s motivation. The Enervator had left the secret Chamber meeting at a signal from Solomon, presumably to marshal the militia to defend the town and to ensure the high warlord made it home. Avarick was supposed to be looking after the defense of Gritian. Why had he helped him escape? There had to be other forces at play here. Perhaps he acted under the secret orders of the high bishop.

  They travelled in the wrong direction. Was that also by the high bishop’s design? Whatever the reason for Avarick’s actions, Silurian was grateful to be free of the accursed council and out upon the open hills where he could look after himself.

  Trying to keep his weariness at bay, Silurian pondered how to get where he needed to be. There weren’t any good routes to Madrigail Bay this far south. Doubling back along Redfire, or attempting to skirt Gritian to the east, risked capture by the warlord’s men, or running across the rumoured Kraidic warriors—neither scenario desirable. To track west toward the Torpid Marsh and hazard the creatures lurking there wasn’t a great idea either.

  There were southern routes to consider, but they all had their own drawbacks. He knew of a mountain trail, high above the world on the shoulders of the Undying Wall, winding its way westward to the Spine where it picked its way along Niad’s Course all the way to Madrigail Bay. That certainly wouldn’t be his first choice as Treacher’s Gorge lay
along that route. Once experienced, Treacher’s Gorge was best left forgotten.

  He could travel beyond the Undying Wall and take the Nordic Byway through the Gulch, but that was another place he’d prefer to avoid if given the choice.

  As they passed the Farrier homestead, he briefly thought about holing up there for some much-needed rest, but the thought of facing Mr. and Mrs. Farrier was too much for him to bear.

  They pushed on into the night. The Undying Mountain Pools were too far away to reach before daylight, but the more leagues they put behind them, the safer Silurian felt. He surmised the pursuit would only last so long given their knowledge of the Kraidic warband’s approach. Gritian’s lack of a military leader, with the warlord injured and Avarick gone, left the militia in a bad way.

  If they reached the foothills of the Undying Pass, they should be okay, but the rocky crags were still a long way off.

  The moon had descended into the early morning sky before they trotted into the fringes of the Undying Wall—its great peaks black against the predawn sky.

  They stopped beside a small brook well east of Redfire Path, utterly exhausted. Not bothering to post a watch, they took only enough time to tend their horses before collapsing into the bedrolls Avarick had packed.

  They awoke before sunrise, their breath visible in the predawn light. They had only slept for a couple of hours, but it was enough to shake the bleariness from their minds.

  Mountainous clouds scudded swiftly across a greying sky. A storm front swirled in from the north, promising unsettled weather. With the proximity of both mountain chains serving to pen in low-lying cloud cover, weather patterns in this part of Zephyr had the occasion to be severe. With any luck, the storm wouldn’t be as bad as the one they had lost Alhena in.

  Silurian sat astride his new horse, the animal not showing any lasting effects of having raced halfway through the night.