Dark Paths

by Markus Heitz

  Wènelon froze. ‘I see. Well, you’re not having that pleasure.’ He reached under his robe, extracted the fragile container and hurled it against the rock wall. Acòrhia made a flying leap into the air to intercept it. She landed hard on the stones and her ribs cracked under her, but in her upheld hand was the little bottle, its precious contents unscathed.

  Holding her ribs gingerly, Acòrhia got to her feet, carefully stowed the valuable flask and picked up her rucksack. She extinguished the lantern Wènelon had brought and hung it from her belt. Working in silence, she sorted through his provisions and took everything she could use.

  Wènelon protested loudly but could not prevent what she was doing. No point in trying to attack her – she was quicker on her feet and more agile than he was.

  That should be enough. She heaved the overfull rucksack onto her back; it was a weighty burden but would see her setting off on her Phondrasôn adventure extremely well equipped.

  ‘You’re really going to leave me here?’ Wènelon whimpered. ‘After you’ve taken all my food?’

  ‘I shall leave you your pathetic little life, you traitor. Enjoy the rest of your time and don’t forget about your infection,’ shot Acòrhia cruelly as she strode off. ‘I’ll let you keep the knife as a souvenir.’

  She stepped out into the corridor and gave no further thought to her one-time co-conspirator. It was vital she find the triplets.

  And not just to guarantee her own safe return to Phondrasôn.

  Chapter XI

  I shall always love you,

  the älf-woman swears.

  I shall never deceive you, my beloved,

  but I beg you:

  Always tell me the truth.

  I shall, replied her lover.

  Because she was precious to him

  and because he wanted to keep his promise,

  he told her

  he no longer loved her.

  Then he stabbed her.

  ‘Insights’ from the epic poem Young Gods

  composed by Carmondai, master of word and image

  Phondrasôn, some time after the 5427th division of unendingness.

  Sisaroth sprinted up the thicket path in the dark, sword and shield to hand, until he reached a clearing.

  He saw his sister lying motionless, eyes closed, at the edge of the open area.

  ‘Firûsha!’ He squatted over her and shook her by the shoulder but there was no reaction. The skin was warm to the touch and he could feel a pulse at her neck. She is alive! Praise be to the infamous ones!

  He stood up to ascertain what the giant älf and two barbarians were doing. The savages had revolting, grimacing old heads on their young bodies. What sort of creatures can they be?

  Marandëi reached him, holding her staff in the air. ‘You have found your siblings?’ she asked.

  ‘This is Firûsha, but I don’t know the other älf.’ He was amazed at the älf’s height and broad-shouldered stature. I wonder if he was born like that or if it’s what Phondrasôn has done to him? He could not think of another instance in which one of his race achieved such physical proportions. The spear that his sister was still holding, which she must have pulled out of the nearby corpse, looked as if it belonged to the tall älf. He ought to be able to down his foes with his bare fists, the way he is built.

  The two barbarians had noticed Sisaroth and Marandëi approaching and could not make up their minds whom to deal with first; one turned on the two of them and the other went for the giant.

  ‘Watch out!’ warned the älf. ‘Make sure they don’t get close. These ukormoriers are lethal. They destroy everything with their mere touch.’ He dodged his opponent’s attack.

  Ah! So that’s the answer! Sisaroth saw the enemy running up, toothless mouth agape. He was uncertain about using his sword. ‘Does that hold for metal as well?’

  ‘Everything means everything,’ came the sarcastic comment.

  What’s the point of having a magic cîanai in my service if not for moments like these? Sisaroth glanced over at Marandëi. ‘I wonder if you could spare the time to get rid of these guys for me?’

  ‘Does that include your titan over there?’ She did not move a muscle.

  ‘No, of course not. I mean, for now.’ He decided in favour of the huge älf, though her question had been justified. In Phondrasôn the only älfar you were likely to come across would have been vicious outcasts expelled from decent society. We haven’t met any älfar who just lost their way in the maze on a legitimate adventure. Only the hardiest criminals can survive here.

  Marandëi lifted her staff and pointed its silver tip at the barbarians. She recited a few syllables.

  The dull buzzing sound reminded Sisaroth of what had happened in the tower; a black ray the diameter of a finger shot across at the attacker with a hiss.

  As soon as the dark energy struck the creature’s breast, the blackness spread, eating into the skin and burning its way through flesh and bone, so that the blood turned to steam and the internal organs shrivelled and fried. The ugly barbarian was transformed into a pile of ash within seconds.

  ‘That was impressive,’ Sisaroth said in admiration.

  ‘I can do better than that. Watch.’ Marandëi lowered her staff and put her hand in the air, with the palm directed towards the second barbarian.

  This time a bright white ray of light shot out from the gemstone on one of her rings. She wore the ring with the jewel turned inward; Sisaroth understood why now. The light enveloped the human. The cîanai transformed him into a single flame that then consumed itself within the blink of an eye. Neither ash nor bones remained.

  Sisaroth congratulated himself on his choice of companion. I wonder what else I can do here in Phondrasôn with her at my side? He gestured to the perplexed älf, who was staring at the vacant spots where the barbarians had been. ‘Come over here!’ Then he knelt at his sister’s side. ‘Wake up!’ he urged, stroking her face.

  ‘She’s been in contact with one of the ukormoriers,’ the älf explained, leaning to collect his broad-bladed spear, which was big enough to use as a shovel.

  But Sisaroth prevented him from doing so by placing his hand firmly on its shaft. ‘Tell me your name.’

  ‘Crotàgon.’

  ‘You’ll get your weapon back as soon as I know what happened here and when my sister can tell me how she is.’ He glanced at Marandëi and received the silent indication that he should be wary of this stranger. She was bound to be able to hold him back with her magic powers. He knew that he stood absolutely no chance against this älf on his own. He could pick me up with one hand and throw me through the air. ‘What happens if one of the monsters touches you?’

  Crotàgon made an apologetic face. ‘You decay. Everything decays. Metal. Plants. Everything except for stones.’

  Sisaroth’s heart was gripped with fear for his sister and his mouth went dry. I can’t have found her only to lose her immediately, forced to watch her die! Crotàgon passed him a flask of water, and he dampened Firûsha’s face gently.

  Her eyelids flickered, but that was all.

  ‘This is a new phenomenon for me,’ said Marandëi. ‘But I do know this creature over here: a karderier. They hunt anything magic.’

  ‘He was their leader,’ said Crotàgon. ‘He called himself Hopiash and made no secret of the fact he wanted our innate magic powers.’

  Sisaroth noticed that whole clumps of hair were falling away from Firûsha’s scalp. Is that one of the first signs of decay? He ran his hands gently over her and found that her skin and bones still seemed to be intact. Oh ye gods of infamy, what can I do? What do you expect of me? ‘Marandëi, have you any ideas?’

  ‘Not off the top of my head,’ she said, ‘but back in my palace I have a number of books I brought with me when I fled from Dsôn. I might be able to find some remedy. It must be some kind of magic process, so there should be something we can do if I find the right spell.’

  ‘How long would it take us to get there?’


  She looked unsure of herself. ‘Trying to work out any timings in Phondrasôn is an illusion. I thought we would have got to my palace a long time ago. But as you see we have ended up in this cave instead.’ She looked questioningly at Crotàgon. ‘Do you know your way about this area?’

  The älf nodded. ‘I know of a palace. Maybe it was yours. But I haven’t been there for some time.’

  ‘You’re sure to have been there more recently than myself.’

  ‘It’s decided, then: Crotàgon shall guide us.’ Sisaroth got to his feet and lifted his sister onto his shoulder.

  ‘Best let me,’ offered the giant älf. ‘I’m stronger than you.’ Sisaroth agreed and Crotàgon took the älf-girl in his arms.

  Their little group made their way along the well-trodden path, with Sisaroth in front and Marandëi bringing up the rear. Sisaroth carried the giant’s spear.

  As they walked, Crotàgon filled them in on how he had found Firûsha in her cage and took her to his house. They also learned the reason for his banishment: he had been accused of inciting a rebellion against the Inextinguishables.

  ‘Firûsha persuaded me to return to my own people,’ he told them, finishing his tale. He wasn’t even out of breath, in spite of the extra weight he was carrying. ‘I have done my sentence and I want to go back to Dsôn.’

  Sisaroth, listening attentively, thought it was amusing that his sister had won them an ally with the magic of her singing. I got a cîanai companion and Firûsha got a warrior who must be twice as good as any in Dsôn. If we get home safely, this outing might have been well worth the trouble. I ought to be grateful to the enemies that got us exiled. His high spirits soon departed, however, when he remembered his sister’s parlous state of health and the fact that he had no idea where his brother was.

  ‘Firûsha and I agreed to take a friend of mine with us,’ Crotàgon continued. ‘I don’t want to abandon him here.’

  ‘Is he a warrior, too?’ Sisaroth asked, taking the path the broad-shouldered älf indicated.

  ‘He’s an artist. He is wonderful at carving bone and he will be a great asset back in Dsôn. He knows his way around these mazes better than anyone else here, and he will know a route back to the surface.’

  Marandëi laughed incredulously. ‘Sure he will. And that’s why he’s still down here in Phondrasôn. Too fat to crawl through a tunnel?’

  Crotàgon grinned. ‘He’s an artist, like I said. His mind works a little . . . differently.’

  The group left the round tunnels and came to a rectangular corridor where walls and ceiling were decorated with marble tiles. The three of them stepped over fallen marble chunks, which must have come from a more recent excavation.

  ‘This is starting to look familiar,’ Marandëi muttered, looking around. The runes on her staff were starting to glow more strongly, shedding light on the scene. She went ahead a few paces, leaving the others behind.

  Perfect! This is getting better all the time. The warrior claims to be bringing us a map on two legs. But Sisaroth wasn’t entirely convinced, having noticed a slight hesitation in Crotàgon’s voice when he spoke about this unknown friend. ‘What name does he go by, your friend?’

  ‘Is that important?’

  ‘If he was banished to Phondrasôn, yes, I’m afraid it will be important.’

  ‘Tossàlor.’

  Tossàlor! Of course Sisaroth knew the sculptor’s story. Aïsolon had talked about it. ‘Did you tell my sister who it was you wanted to take home with you? Did she realise what sort of crimes he committed? He never repented at all, I understand.’

  ‘Yes. And I know you are the children of the Governor of Dsôn,’ said Crotàgon, looking at him intently. ‘If Tossàlor can get us out of this labyrinth and I can bring you back to your father, he’ll be sure to agree to a pardon.’ He placed a hand on Firûsha’s back. ‘You’re not stupid, Sisaroth. Marandëi may be a cîanai, but she can’t be at your side at all times for protection. Am I supposed to be intimidated by you, the little warrior cadet?’ His voice took on a sharp edge. ‘This is what I propose: we collect Tossàlor, find your Tirîgon and head back to Dsôn. Your father lets him stay. Leave it to me to make sure there’ll be no more älfar sacrificed for his art works.’ The powerful muscles on his chest and upper arms rippled as he transferred the weight of Firûsha to his other shoulder, his hand on the nape of her neck in a gesture that was at once tender and threatening. ‘I can assume you are in agreement?’

  ‘Over here!’ called Marandëi, pointing to an opening. ‘I know where I am now.’ She waved her arms in delight. ‘Come on! My palace is round the next bend. This new tunnel has saved us an awful lot of walking.’

  ‘So? What do you think?’ asked Crotàgon, slowing to a stop. ‘I wouldn’t take too long to decide: the sooner we are in the palace, the sooner we can get help for your sister. I saw the ukormoriers turn a dagger to dust and a sword to a rusty splinter of metal. Imagine what that can do to . . .’

  ‘I agree, I agree,’ Sisaroth acceded with frustration, consumed with impotent anger. The other älf had him pinned! Without him, he would struggle to get his sister to the palace in time, and there would be no Tossàlor and no way home. He was sure the mad artist would refuse to show them the way without Crotàgon. It’s sheer coercion! ‘I shall ask my father to do as you suggest.’ He strode off.

  Crotàgon did not move a muscle. ‘Asking won’t be enough.’

  ‘I shall see to it,’ he shouted angrily. ‘I swear by Firûsha’s life.’ And I vow that you will receive a special reception when we get back to Dsôn.

  ‘That’s all I needed to hear.’ Crotàgon walked on without further ado, overtaking Sisaroth and catching up with Marandëi.

  They stopped in front of a closed gate of rusty metal which showed signs of having been hammered with a battering ram, mallets and other tools.

  The dents and scrapings in the decorations and ornamental symbols were not new. It appeared that nobody had bothered with it in recent times; the besieging force had left broken handles and useless bits of equipment scattered around.

  This is getting us nowhere. Sisaroth’s bad temper did not improve. ‘Marandëi, I thought you told us this was the answer?’

  The cîanai said nothing, but she lifted her staff in the air. With the silver tip she traced the symbols and the reliefs on the gate, muttering incantations under her breath. When the point of the staff reached the eye of a carved beast, it pushed through.

  The door suddenly glowed and gave a crash, dust rising off in a cloud and flakes of green patina peeling off to shower the four älfar standing below. The doors creaked noisily open.

  A corridor appeared with a glass bridge at the end, spanning a sea of liquid glass that seemed to have the properties of ordinary water.

  A wave of searing heat swept towards them, making Sisaroth break out in a sweat. ‘And this is where you lived?’

  ‘Nothing wrong with warmth when you’re getting on a bit, my boy,’ replied Marandëi with a happy sigh. ‘I do believe we are in luck.’

  They went through the gates.

  Ahead of them was a lake containing a mountainous isle, washed by the waves of glass. As the molten glass cooled on the shoreline, bizarre shapes were formed, reminding the älfar of frozen waterfalls in winter. On the headland they saw a small palace. Sisaroth noticed two bridges that connected with the island.

  ‘So this is your home,’ commented Crotàgon. ‘No, I’ve never been in here before. Will that bridge take my weight, do you think?’

  ‘It will bear your weight because I shall instruct it to do so. Otherwise it would collapse under you and send you into the molten waves. Nothing can survive down there.’ Marandëi wore a seraphic smile. ‘I rather thought my security measures would function.’ She turned round and motioned for the gate to slam shut behind them.

  ‘Not entirely.’ Sisaroth caught sight of a ship sailing in the sky above, heading slowly down towards the palace. Magic symbols glowed on the mast and sails and presum
ably were responsible for the craft’s ability to fly. Is there no end to the wonders of Phondrasôn? ‘Are those people yours?’ he asked.

  The cîanai wheeled round, furious. ‘Certainly not! Who dares . . .’

  ‘Elves,’ Crotàgon said. ‘They’ve hoisted their banner over your palace.’

  So the elves have invaded. Sisaroth looked first at the giant älf and then at Marandëi. Oh well. Perhaps it’s all for the best. Samusin has brought us our deadliest enemies so we may defeat them and destroy them with zeal. ‘They stand between me and saving my sister. I need those books that are in your library,’ he said firmly.

  ‘Then we all know what we have to do.’ Crotàgon laid the unconscious Firûsha gently down on the ground, cushioning her softly with her own mantle. He twirled his spear, tapped it once against his armour to give a metallic clang and aimed the point at the palace. ‘Tell your bridge thing I’m about to cross, cîanai.’

  Marandëi touched the first of the planks with the silver staff tip and lightning flashed the length of the causeway. ‘We can cross.’

  ‘Then let’s chuck those elves out of your palace.’ And let us save my beloved sister. Sisaroth ran ahead with Crotàgon at his side; Marandëi followed closely and kept up a continuous recitation of spells.

  It took some time to cover the four hundred paces between the two shores.

  Hot waves crashed, hissing against the support posts, and glowing spray spurted occasionally onto the bridge, making them dodge.

  By now the elves’ ship was hovering low with its bow over the roof of the palace. A trapdoor opened and a cage was let down. They saw a captive sitting inside.

  ‘I can hardly believe my own eyes, but I’d recognise that figure anywhere. Tossàlor!’ Crotàgon cried out in surprise. ‘They’ve taken him, even though he was safe in the Valley of the Beast!’

  It gets better and better. This’ll save us some time. Sisaroth did not bother to ask what the Valley of the Beast meant. He was clear on one thing: this palace now housed two items he desperately needed and he was not going to leave them to the elves.