Dark Paths

by Markus Heitz

  That will be best. The alternative means wrecking my dream. He turned on his heel, went back to his room and tried to sleep. It did not work. He stayed awake and troubled until Tungdil knocked.

  ‘Half the sand has gone through the time-glass. Get up, Black-Eyes! The others are up already.’

  Tirîgon leaped out of bed, put on his armour and left the room. Theoretically that information was evidence she had spent the night with his brother. Or maybe it wasn’t. I didn’t actually see them in bed together. She could have slept elsewhere.

  Esmonäe and Sisaroth were at the door, armed and ready to go.

  ‘My brother the Sleepyhead,’ Sisaroth joked. ‘Firûsha and I have been discussing how best to carry out the Zhadar’s mission.’

  ‘Welcome to his army of unwilling servants,’ the groundling said bitterly. ‘But it should be worth your while because I’m making you the most perfect weapons and armour you can imagine. The dwarves have always been the very best smiths, and I am the best of them all.’ He stomped off and the trio followed him to the lift.

  ‘Did you make your own armour?’ Tirîgon enquired, exchanging a loving smile with Esmonäe; he pretended not to have noticed that she had left his bed.

  ‘Of course. And I’m currently working on my most advanced project. The Master has shown me some magic formulae for strengthening the armour. You can do it during the forging process. I’m still perfecting the technique, but I’ve had quite a bit of success so far.’ He stepped into the cabin, waited for the others to get in and then sent the lift downwards. ‘He thinks he’s the only one to get the benefit of my skill, but I’m not having that. He should come up with his own ideas and sweat at the anvil like I do. He’s not short of free time.’

  Tirîgon was astonished at how the groundling spoke so openly of his dislike. ‘Aren’t you worried he’ll kill you if he finds out how you feel about him?’

  ‘No. He needs me. Like he needs you. We are better at certain tasks than he is.’ They had reached the bottom level now. They stepped out of the lift to head across the rough ground to the other gate.

  From time to time Tirîgon turned round. Not to watch Esmonäe and Sisaroth but to look at the towers from the new perspective. The groundling was not the only one to have rebellious thoughts. But it must wait. It would have to be carefully planned.

  They went through the defence ramparts and Tungdil led them to a broad tunnel on the other side. ‘Keep straight. You know what you have to do.’ He turned to go.

  Sisaroth caught him by the arm. ‘Not so fast. How are we going to get back in?’

  ‘We’ll see you coming.’ Tungdil’s one eye glared at the hand on his sleeve. ‘Touch me again, Black-Eyes, and Bloodthirster will split your arm from the shoulder down to the little finger. We may all be obliged to serve the same master, but that doesn’t make us friends. I hate your race for what you have done to us in the past and I don’t trust you.’ Then he left.

  Well, he made his point. Stubborn. But straightforward. Tirîgon looked at his brother. ‘Tell me the plan the two of you came up with while I was asleep.’

  ‘The Zhadar is testing us with the task he’s given.’ Sisaroth seemed to want to change the subject. ‘We don’t really need a plan as such.’

  ‘We get to the area, sneak through their defences and steal the barbarian leader’s chain,’ Esmonäe said. ‘All we have to do is bring it back and we’ve shown the Zhadar that we’re reliable.’

  Tirîgon forced a smile. You weren’t discussing anything at all. You were all over each other. ‘And that’s why you got up so early? I thought you were sorting out all the details.’ It was meant as a joke but it fell rather flat. Now that Tungdil had gone, he could not help himself. He went up to his companion and embraced her, kissing her tenderly on the mouth. ‘I missed you when I woke this morning,’ he said, twisting a shining strand of her hair around his finger.

  ‘I hadn’t been gone long,’ she replied, pressing her body against his. ‘We should get going. The sooner we complete the task, the better the Zhadar will like it.’ She ran off.

  Tirîgon deliberately avoided looking at his brother, so that Sisaroth would not catch the jealousy in his gaze. He did not want proof that they were going behind his back, that she was lying to him. ‘She doesn’t take the mission seriously.’

  ‘Nor do I, really. It’s not much of a challenge, is it? The barbarians won’t be expecting us.’ Sisaroth moved off. ‘It’ll be a walkover.’

  ‘Do we know anything about this chain we’re supposed to steal?’ Tirîgon was looking for snags. ‘Tungdil said nothing.’

  ‘It’s just some chain or other,’ Esmonäe called back blithely. ‘Probably some frippery dedicated to the gods. Or perhaps it’s a gift. Stop worrying.’ She ran her hands over her breastplate. ‘Do you think the Zhadar will let me keep this if I ask nicely?’

  Sisaroth laughed and moved to catch up with her, touching her elbow as if by accident.

  Tirîgon had a different view of the Zhadar’s intentions. There’ll be a reason behind this thievery. The chain won’t just be a piece of jewellery. The self-appointed overlord of all Phondrasôn was cruel and kept an army that could sweep away all resistance and force others to do his bidding. If he really wants that chain, he has a wealth of resources to get it. He could even send the barbarians one of his exploding brooches. But no, he’s sending three älfar he doesn’t know. There’s something fishy here. Tirîgon determined to stay vigilant. ‘In my opinion, we do need a plan. Let’s see what it looks like when we arrive.’

  It was a long march; they slid down inclines and crossed fields and forests before climbing a stairway of a thousand steps. At the top was a broad corridor with a sharp right-hand bend an arrow’s flight ahead.

  Before they got to the corner they heard voices: men talking quietly to each other.

  ‘Guards,’ mouthed Esmonäe.

  Sisaroth crept forward to spy round the corner, then waved the others up. ‘It’s very odd,’ he whispered.

  Tossàlor would love it. Tirîgon saw five barbarians standing in front of a primitive grating. They were armed to the teeth. The only vulnerable point would be their heads. They had circular hauberks over the shoulder, neck and lower face, but from the eyes up they were unprotected.

  But the men seemed to have scalped themselves! The skull was bare bone from the top of the ears. Somehow they had removed the skin and prevented it from growing back.

  Perhaps they used some kind of alchemical tincture. Tirîgon noted metal inlay, painted sections, and symbols carved into the skull bone, presumably indicating the wearer’s status. We’re used to tattoos but this is new to me. Must be a special Phondrasôn thing.

  ‘It’s a good thing Tossàlor didn’t come, too. He’d walk straight up and invite them all back to his to find how they’ve done it.’ Sisaroth checked them out again. ‘Armour is simple enough. Bronze, I think. Soft metal. Should be like butter to cut through.’ He looked at the other two. ‘Who wants to go first?’

  Esmonäe put herself forward. ‘Let me show you what I’m capable of!’ Drawing both of her daggers from the scabbards on her back, she ran forward, enveloped in a cloak of älfar darkness.

  The barbarians were leaning on their spears, chatting away, obviously not expecting trouble.

  One of them was telling a story of some kind, gesticulating wildly. Esmonäe confronted him, slipping out of the shadows she wore as if emerging from black water that pearled off her, reluctant to let go. Plunging one blade horizontally into his neck and the tip of the second dagger through his companion’s ear, Esmonäe released her hold on the knife hilts and snatched the soldiers’ own daggers out of the sheaths they wore.

  She smiled and stepped forward to deal with the remaining three barbarians. She cut the eyes of one, rammed a dagger into another’s open mouth, and kicked the third so hard that she sent him flying into the wall. Whipping around, she killed the barbarian she had blinded by pushing the sharp blade through a gap in his ar
mour.

  She picked up a spear and flung it at the last survivor.

  The weapon crashed through the hauberk and left him dead.

  Unbelievable. It had all happened so quickly; Sisaroth doubted he could compete with her speed. Not even Tirîgon could have outperformed her. Not one of the guards had been able to utter a shout of warning. The only noise had been the sound of the armour on stone as they fell. The brothers hurried over.

  Esmonäe withdrew her own daggers and wiped the blood off on her victims’ clothing. As she did so, she checked the corpses for valuable items. ‘Satisfied?’ She gave a happy smile, her eyes gleaming with excitement at the success of her deadly mission. Her soul thirsted for further bloody deeds.

  ‘Very,’ replied Sisaroth, giving her a kiss on the top of her head. ‘You make an excellent sister for us.’ They both laughed.

  It should have been me giving her the praise. And the kiss. ‘Well done,’ Tirîgon muttered. He stared straight ahead through the railings. There was another stretch of corridor behind it that led into a brightly lit cave.

  He opened the gate and stole up to the entrance.

  After all the time he had now spent down here, he thought he had seen everything Phondrasôn had to offer in the way of caves, caverns, hollows, tunnels, shafts, corridors and holes.

  But what he saw now was completely new.

  An uneven floor of basalt tiles dipped away at his feet. The spaces between the mosaic-like stones were as fine as horsehair. A trodden path indicated the way the barbarians were wont to take.

  Animal carcasses and barbarian corpses lay scattered everywhere. At the lowest point of the cave, in the centre, there was a pile of decomposing remains emitting a foul stench.

  On the opposite side of the mass grave, a good half-mile from the entrance, winding paths climbed the steep incline and led to a village with houses built of stone. So the only protection they had for their settlement was that fencing? Tirîgon was astonished. Perhaps the heaps of dead bodies were intended to deter invaders.

  ‘Well, what have we got here?’ Sisaroth came up to him. ‘More cadavers to de-bone. Tossàlor would have been a kid in a candy store.’ Esmonäe joined them and stared at the pile of corpses and then up at the steep path. ‘Can’t see any other guards. They’ll never notice who’s come visiting. Shall we do them all in? They’re not old, but killing is still fun.’ What difference does the age make? Tirîgon quashed the thought. ‘No, it’s not what we were sent to do.’ He restrained her with a hand on her hip.

  ‘But if we kill them, we don’t have to worry about them coming after us on our quest,’ Sisaroth butted in. ‘I think it’s a good idea.’

  ‘And I say we do what we were told to: we get the leader’s chain and we go back. If the Zhadar wanted a village to be slaughtered, he could have sent his army.’ Tirîgon thought the area was strange. ‘So no more mass killings. And if one of you tries, I shall stop you. We don’t need to be concerned about them pursuing us if we do this right.’

  Esmonäe turned away from him and held out a pig’s bladder. ‘I found this on one of the barbarians. In a bag on the belt.’

  ‘I don’t want to imagine what they do with that.’ Sisaroth took it and tossed it aside. ‘Probably keep something revolting in it to eat. Don’t you think?’

  Tirîgon caught the item in mid-air and examined it. It stank of alcohol and resin and there was a layer of fine powder on it to prevent it sticking to itself. A thin wooden pipe allowed the bladder to be filled. With water? With air? What was the purpose of it?

  Esmonäe had already set off across the hollow wrapped in a shadow; she wouldn’t be seen by anyone in the settlement watching the plain or the hill paths.

  Tirîgon did not like her aggressive approach. I’m sure she’s determined to go against the Zhadar’s explicit instructions. ‘We’ve got to stop her committing indiscriminate wholesale slaughter,’ he warned Sisaroth.

  His brother nodded in agreement. ‘Let’s hurry before she gets to the village and starts a massacre.’ Like Esmonäe had done, he wreathed himself in a robe of shadow. As he stepped forward, the strap accidentally came loose from his belt and his sword touched the ground.

  A loud hissing sound issued from between the basalt stones.

  ‘Did you hear that?’ Sisaroth looked enquiringly at Tirîgon.

  ‘Is it gas of some kind?’ He crouched down and sniffed carefully. ‘There’s no perceptible odour.’ One of the characteristics of his race was the ability to leave no footprints. They could even run through the snow without leaving a mark, unless they dropped something – like this sword, for example – or carried a heavy load that increased their natural weight. Perhaps some mechanism under the stones had been activated.

  Tirîgon pressed his hand against the black stone and a constant hiss ensued. It did not cease until he removed the pressure. It made him feel giddy. So it is a gas.

  ‘I see,’ Sisaroth said. ‘As soon as you walk on the stones, the vapour is activated.’

  ‘I would think it’s more likely to be a natural phenomenon.’ Tirîgon stood up and took lungfuls of fresh air. In his left hand he still held the pig bladder. They must fill them with air and use them to breathe when they have to cross the plain. Otherwise they would die. Like those animals back there, and any enemies that arrive unaware of the danger. Esmonäe would be fine, as long as she did not drop anything. ‘That will be why the Zhadar sent us. We can get over to the settlement safely.’

  ‘But why wouldn’t his army be able to do the same as the barbarians and use the pig bladders? I think his mission has another purpose.’ Sisaroth secured his weapons belt anew and set off.

  ‘Didn’t he say he didn’t want to be noticed? If he sent an army, that would not work.’ Tirîgon pocketed the pig bladder and ran after his brother.

  ‘Dead bodies always attract attention,’ was the reply.

  They reached the steep paths without hearing any more gas escape.

  Esmonäe was already making her way swiftly up the incline. However much they tried, they could not catch up with her. They had to call out softly to her and when she finally stopped to wait, they saw the blood lust in her. The brothers explained briefly about the toxic gas before they entered the village together.

  The streets seemed deserted. Tirîgon assumed everyone was at home asleep. Good. They won’t provide Esmonäe with temptation.

  Under the cover of their shade, the älfar swept past the few barbarians who were up and about. They considered the men and women ugly, with their crude features. Esmonäe struggled to control her desire to kill. It would be so easy to take these humans by surprise.

  They moved into the centre of the village without making a sound. A large, decorative building covered with symbols was presumably where the chieftain lived.

  Let’s find out if this is the leader’s house, and get what we’ve come for. Tirîgon was afraid there might be further surprises ahead. He led them cautiously through an open window to find four children asleep. They could hear men and women moving about in the next-door chamber.

  ‘Where will the chain be? What did the groundling say?’ Sisaroth whispered to the others.

  Don’t! Tirîgon grabbed Esmonäe sharply by the arm. He had noticed her sidling up to the bed where the barbarian brood were sleeping. ‘No killing!’ he hissed. ‘We leave no dead bodies unless we’re forced to defend ourselves.’ He gestured to the ceiling. ‘Upstairs. Where the guilds meet.’

  They crept out, climbed the stairs and searched through the upper chambers.

  It was Esmonäe who found it. ‘The Zhadar can’t have been serious, surely?’ She was amazed and stepped aside for the brothers to take a look.

  In a room furnished with a long table and many chairs, a long chain hung from the ceiling beams, its links as thick as a finger, entirely made of the purest gold. A sword was suspended from the end of the chain, its pommel welded to the final link.

  The brothers exchanged glances, aware that it would ta
ke all three of them to carry the heavy prize.

  And this would increase their weight. The basalt stones would register their presence and release the poison gas, threatening their lives.

  ‘The Zhadar is a . . .’ Sisaroth clenched his fists. ‘He can kill us with that!’

  It’s more than a test of courage or strength. He wants to see if we are clever enough to get round this trap. Tirîgon checked the stairs: it did not sound as if the barbarians were intending to leave the downstairs room.

  A scroll on the long table bore over thirty signatures and several wax seals. Is it a proclamation? A treaty of some kind? What is being decided?

  He skimmed through the text and found a reference to Black-Eyes.

  Does this mean us? I’d better take a closer look. He pushed the roll inside his breastplate to peruse later.

  ‘Well?’ Esmonäe urged.

  ‘He doesn’t want to kill us,’ said Tirîgon. ‘He wants to see if are bright enough to master the challenge he’s set us.’

  ‘Of course we are.’ Esmonäe jumped up onto the table and released the chain from the hook in the beam overhead. ‘But I want my fun with the barbarians!’

  The sword plunged down, its tip burying itself in the wood by her feet. The chain crashed noisily onto the table.

  Esmonäe giggled with delighted anticipation. She had been hoping it would make a lot of noise.

  Voices were raised in the room below and footsteps sounded on the stair.

  Tirîgon sent his companion a furious look; now the älfar would have to fight.

  Phondrasôn.

  Firûsha, Crotàgon and Tossàlor sat opposite Marandëi at the table in the simple dining room. They had chosen the meeting place deliberately. From her long wanderings inside the second palace, Firûsha was relatively confident that there was no entrance to it from this room, and thus no easy escape route for Marandëi. Although she couldn’t be sure

  ‘What’s this game you’ve been playing with us?’ Firûsha touched the pile of fragments on the table, the remains of the skull alleged to have belonged to one of the gods of infamy. An artefact of immeasurable power and worth but destroyed by a strike with a candlestick.