Both saw that the fey and disguised ghuls were indeed jogging toward them.
“And while we're at it,” Ambrose whispered, a second before the others were in earshot, “you can tell me why that card’s got you all in a tizzy.”
17
A Lie
After explaining the events in the tunnel sans Ambrose’s death and revivification more than three times, neither the fey nor the ghuls had much of anything useful to say.
“I have never heard of such a thing,” Imrah said, sounding almost offended at having to make the confession. The situation was the same for the fey, and as though determined to be even less helpful, Fazihr used the opportunity to express his previously dismissed opinion.
“I told you this was foolish,” he spat, crossing his arms and throwing an eye toward Imrah, who only sniffed.
“Last I checked,” Ambrose rumbled, “you weren’t the one that almost got eaten, so don’t go getting your snout out of sorts on my account.”
Fazihr opened his mouth to object, but seeing nothing but unsympathetic gazes around him, he wisely decided to close it with a dull clack of teeth. He turned toward the surfaceward tunnel and kept a fretful watch, rocking from foot to foot.
“The question is, what should be done now?” The contessa looked Ambrose over speculatively. “Not to be insensitive to your modesty Mr. Ambrose, but we’re remarkably lucky that the only damage done was to your clothing. Things could have been much worse.”
“Not to argue, but it wasn’t just my clothes,” Ambrose explained, his eyes cutting almost imperceptibly to Milo before he continued. “That nasty jelly also ate my rifle, my knife, and my pack, which included my best tobacco tin.”
The fey stared, their expressions inscrutable, while Imrah looked at the bodyguard as though he was being obtuse.
“I’m sure there will be opportunities for you to outfit yourself appropriately once we get to the human camp,” the she-ghul said archly. “But there is still the matter of what to do next, and despite what just happened, I remain determined that we should push forward.”
“I think what Ambrose is saying,” Milo cut in with a nod to the big man, “is that first of all, he is unarmed, second, that this thing can break down metal as well as flesh, and finally that when we do reach the German camp, we need to have a good explanation for why he is in such a state.”
Imrah narrowed her eyes at Milo, then slid her glance to the nodding Ambrose and back.
“Very well,” she said slowly, as though sensing something amiss. “The Jurhumidon can stay close to the contessa’s retainers for protection, and we can say he was the victim of a trap left by enemy forces, an incendiary of some kind. You did say your people were scouting the area to reach the enemy armies beyond.”
Milo looked at Ambrose, who gave the slightest shrug.
“That will do, I suppose,” Milo said. “Though we better hope it is not a long trek from the exit to Bamyan.”
“In that, our luck holds out,” Rihyani said with a smile at Ambrose. “As I understand it, our exit from the mountains will bring us out very near Shahr-e Zuhak, an old ruin that is not much more than ten miles from Bamyan. I am glad to see your boots survived, though, because it is rough ground.”
Ambrose wiggled his toes in a gnawed patch of the boot’s toe.
“They’ll serve well enough, I suppose,” the bodyguard said, then blushed at Rihyani’s beatific smile. “Which means we should get on our way, eh?”
“Suppose so,” Milo said, turning back toward the tunnel, gripping the cane so hard his knuckles popped.
“This is insane,” Fazihr whined. “For all we know, that thing is waiting for us to stumble into it again, only this time, it will be ready.”
“We’ll be ready too,” Milo said, raising the skull and compelling just enough magic to make the sockets flicker.
“That’s far from comforting, Magus.” The retainer sneered and turned to his mistress. “Imrah, please! I know you are strong-willed, but this is beyond stubborn. We must turn back.”
Imrah eyed the disguised ghul with an intensity at odds with her human form, and the force of her glare had Fazihr shrinking back.
“Your cowardice is becoming obnoxious,” she growled, the sound no less predatory for her human throat. “If you are so determined to return to Ifreedahm, why don’t you scurry back?”
“By myself?” Fazihr gulped, then, seeing the hard gaze of his mistress, looked at the fey. Contessa Rihyani and her companions stared back, faces so still they might have been phosphorescent statues.
Impossibly and hilariously, the cringing ghul glanced at the two humans, his blunt teeth grinding as oily sweat sprang out on his brow.
“Sorry, Fazihr,” Milo said flatly. “This Magus has business in Bamyan.”
“Don’t look at me, friend. I’m naked,” Ambrose shrugged and nodded at Milo. “Besides, I go where he goes.”
Seeing there was nothing for it, Fazihr swore bitterly under his breath and turned to the tunnel stretching back toward Ifreedahm.
“I hope—” he began, but Imrah’s patience was at its end.
“Start running!” she snarled, fingers curled so the tips began to bulge and distend with her hidden claws. “Run, or I will tear out your eyes so they can watch me eat the rest of your face!”
Like he’d been scalded by a jet of boiling water, Fazihr yelped and tore down the passage in the direction from which they had just come. Only once he’d rounded a curve and the slap of his feet could no longer be heard did Imrah turn stiffly to the rest of the company.
“I’ll take point with the magus,” Imrah said, her tone brooking no argument. “Now that we know the creature fears fire, we should be able to keep each other safe.”
There was a rustle in the oversize jacket she wore, and she drew out a small parchment envelope. She took out a pinch of brick-red powder and snorted it up both nostrils, then drew in a heavy breath. A fiery glow shone from within the hollow of her throat. Curls of black smoke slid out of her nostrils, and as she spoke to Milo, tiny tongues of flame licked from her lips.
“Shall we?”
The tunnel was as bare and noxious as the passage before, resulting in more of the grinding, expectant marching Milo loathed.
For hours, with hardly a word between them, Milo and Imrah marched, peering between the shades of darkness granted them by the sight-salve. Nothing emerged to challenge them, and they didn’t see any more signs of the gelatinous monster, though its stench was ever-present throughout the corridor. The only thing noticeable was the utter lack of mort-scalp, and at this point, it just seemed an insult to Milo that the predatory slime had to not only threaten their lives but also complicate their travel plans. As the miles unfolded in their perpetual slog upward, Milo tried to remind himself that as a conscript in a line infantry regiment, he should have expected long marches to be the norm. He quieted the thought by deciding that expecting and accepting were two different things.
Pressing into four hours since they’d moved away from Ambrose and the fey, they came upon a place where the tunnel opened into a wider, taller chamber. A few feet into the chamber, walls of packed stone were visible, connecting at off angles. A single narrow lane passed between two sections. Walkways and platforms festooned the tops of the walls a dozen feet above.
“This is the sentry post,” Imrah breathed, throwing up more licks of flame. “Now, where are the sentries?”
There wasn’t a sound except the scuff of their feet on stone and the occasional crackle of Imrah’s burning breath. The silence was so complete and Milo strained so hard to hear anything that soon he felt he had gone deaf to all but the scrape of his feet.
“That slime creature,” Milo whispered, desperate to hear something. “Could it have killed them?”
The sacrilege of the whispered words hung in the still air, but when nothing struck them down, Imrah shook her head and looked around.
“I don’t know,” she murmured, her human face looking
frightened despite her draconic countenance. “I’m not sure I know anything anymore.”
Without warning, she headed down the lane, and Milo scrambled after her. Within five steps, they were among a labyrinthine series of twists, turns, and intersecting lanes between the looming stone walls.
“It certainly smells like the thing was here,” Milo spat as the stink closed around them with the nearness of the walls. “Like someone started to clean a latrine and decided to burn it instead.”
“It is peculiar, isn’t it,” Imrah said distractedly, pausing at a nexus where several lanes crossed. Without explanation, she took the leftmost lane, which led to another circuitous route between the fetid walls.
“Please tell me this convoluted design is intentional,” Milo requested after losing track of how many turns they’d taken for the second time. “Is this a defensive measure to trap intruders?”
“Trap? No,” Imrah said, pausing to sniff the air and wrinkle her nose. “It is a defensive measure, though. All these corridors lead into side tunnels to the surface. All except one.”
Milo, having made the foolish mistake of trying to smell what the ghul had smelled on the air, bit back a retching cough after a noseful of the putrid air.
“Oh,” he wheezed, finally mastering his gag reflex. “Not a trap, but a diversion.”
“Yes, of course,” Imrah said distractedly.
They emerged from between the walls in a small chamber that narrowed into another tunnel. The chamber felt different to Milo, and with a start, he realized that his enhanced eyes noticed dust on the floor. He could also taste a difference in the air. It was a refreshing relief after the oppressive stink of the creature, even though it only smelled of sunbaked earth.
Sunbaked earth? Milo thought. Dear God, we must be close to the surface.
Milo, having been raised in cities, had never been the type to thrill at the thought of the open sky and the wide, wild world, but he felt a sudden desperate yearning for sun and sky. If Imrah hadn’t been there with him, he was certain he would have pelted down the tunnel until he felt Sol’s kiss on his cheeks.
“Where are they?” Imrah snarled, turning this way and that in obvious confusion. “It couldn’t have taken all of them. There should have been half a dozen sentries stationed here!”
“If some escaped, wouldn’t we have met them in the tunnels?” Milo asked, forcing himself to hide the giddy and anxious urge to race outside.
“There might be side passages, secret burrows, and tunnels,” Imrah said, though her tone conveyed that she wasn’t convinced. “Perhaps one is hiding somewhere. Maybe they’re all hiding. Besides their absence, we have no reason to think they’re dead.”
The last words came out as a statement, but Imrah still turned to Milo with a pleading question stamped on her face. This was not the ghul princess he knew, and her obvious discomfort at the death of the sentries struck him. It might only have been because she was wearing the veneer of humanity, but despite himself, he felt pity for her.
“When the thing attacked us,” Milo began searching for the proper, delicate words, “I think I might have seen...remains inside it.”
Milo remembered the dark, tortured shapes twisting within the layers of slime and shivered. He hoped the movements were only the spasms of sinews and tendons coming undone bit by bit. Such extenuating torture was a fate no creature deserved, not even a ghul.
“Oh,” Imrah said, seeming ready to crumple into the fetal position. “Well, I suppose that seals it then.”
She turned toward the outward-leading tunnel, head hanging on listless shoulders.
“Did you know any of the sentries here?” Milo asked, still shocked by Imrah’s downcast features.
“No,” she said tightly, not looking up. “But I’d hoped the thing hadn’t murdered more of my people.”
Milo nodded and stepped up beside her. He felt as though he should put an arm around her, though with the Imrah he knew, he feared doing that would ensure he never got the arm back. Instead, he stood quietly as something scraped and gnawed at the back of his mind until he finally fished it out.
More of my people?
“Come on,” Imrah said softly, the flame on her lips having diminished to thin wisps of smoke. “Let’s go confirm the way up is clear, and then we’ll go get the others.”
Milo nodded but said nothing.
The afternoon sun, just beginning its reddening descent, was a welcoming sight, even with the somber silence they’d adopted as they left the sentry post for the final push.
For several long, pulsing heartbeats, he stood basking in the light. The oppression of the long dark was over, and though the heat soon prickled on his pale cheeks, he savored the burning kiss. He felt the sight-salve peel and crumble away from his lids, but he’d made enough to last him for some time before he’d left Ifreedahm. Nothing seemed able to intrude on that singular moment of communion with the world above.
Then Imrah gurgled with disgust in the back of her throat and spat across the sun-warmed stones. Where the spittle landed, a flash of orange flame went up.
“Ugh,” she grumbled, squinting under the hands cupping her brow. “The world above is such a wasteland.”
Milo held his pose—chest out, eyes closed—but it was no use. The moment was spoiled, so with a heavy sigh, he looked at the land cooking beneath the late summer sun.
The country was rough—primeval almost, with bare rocks jutting up like spines of stone segregated from the lower, flatter tiers far below where tough grasses, rugged shrubs, and stunted trees grew. A scrabbling path, little more than a track worn by goats and hinds, led from the cave mouth to a ridgeline that wound its long, meandering way down to a collection of crumbling stone walls that seemed to perch on a cliffside.
“That must be the ruins,” Imrah noted, skulking back into the shadow of the cave. “If the others followed the pace we set, we can go back and lead them here and make for the ruins just after nightfall.”
Milo nodded, turning slowly from the light of the sun to the yawning dark within the cave.
“Assuming they weren’t eaten by that thing,” Milo muttered darkly, more discouraged by the thought of returning to the dark than fearing for their companions.
“Yes, assuming,” Imrah acknowledged, her posture wilting in a manner Milo wasn’t accustomed to seeing from her. Milo again noted how much talk of the creature seemed to affect her, but before genuine pity or concern could take root, that nagging question reemerged.
More of my people? Milo thought. She’d said she had no idea what it was, but then how could the sentries not be the creature’s first victims?
None of this was helping him work up the nerve to go back down under the mountain. Quite the opposite, but it roused his mind and senses, and he felt his eyes narrow as he watched Imrah shuffle back into the dark.
There was something more going on that she wouldn’t tell him, so he had to stay ready in case that secret ended up trying to kill him. Given what he’d seen of ghul society so far, he was pretty sure it eventually would.
“Let’s get this over with,” he muttered, fishing in his pocket for the snuff box that contained his sight-salve.
After anointing his eyes with the dark paste, he joined Imrah in the dark to fetch the rest of the group.
They did not make it out of the cave until well after nightfall, though thankfully, there were no further sightings of the gelatinous monster.
They emerged from the darkness of the cave to the striking world of the shadows of a cloud-speckled moon dappling the mountainside. Without preamble, the contessa and her fey companions took the lead and guided them down the path, which turned out to be far more treacherous than Milo had imagined. In places, it narrowed or widened with the terrain, but the adjustments were not always welcome to those who walked it. Too far out on a wide path and you’d risk sliding halfway down the slope, and too close in would see your ankles snapping between hidden seams and clefts in the rock.
E
ven with his enhanced sight, Milo was certain that he’d have been injured, possibly even crippled, if it hadn’t been for the well-traveled fair folk giving them directions as they went. He wasn’t the only one.
Just before the goat track met the ridgeline, Imrah had skirted the inside of a boulder rather than the outside. Some treachery in the ground saw the boulder shift inward as the she-ghul passed, and as wiry and agile as she was under her human guise, she wouldn’t have been able to jump clear. Luckily for her, the bronze titan had been behind her, and with one hand, he steadied the boulder, sparing Imrah from being pinned to the wall by a few tons of rock.
Imrah had muttered a half-hearted thanks, at which the towering fey laughed, a sound that sang across the heights and down the hills. Milo might have winced at the sound revealing their position to possible enemies in the area, but it sounded like nothing a human voice could produce. It was like something an ancient god or spirit of the mountain might have emitted, and Milo very much doubted that any living man would have gone looking for its source.
The going was easier on the ridgeline, apart from the stomach-churning vertigo one experienced when looking to the right more than two paces. The expanse below might have been beautiful to see in the day time, the sun-painted cliffs plunging downward before blooming into pools of greenery in the valley below, but not moving along them at night. A low, hungry wind groaning along the edge reminded you how close to a fatal plummet you were, and it seemed that all it would take was a sudden storm to sweep you from the ridge to your doom.
When they reached the tumbled-down walls at the edge of Shahr-e Zuhak, the Red City, Milo thought he would feel incredible relief to be finished with such a perilous trek, but that was not the case. Even with his alchemically-enhanced vision, the ruin seemed to be a desolate and haunted place, especially in the feeble moonlight.
Witchmarked (World's First Wizard Book 1) Page 20
