by Sandell Wall
At Holmgrim’s direction, they abandoned the highway and set out across the empty farmlands. The mountain range was invisible in the darkness, but Aventine knew the foothills were not far to the southeast.
Both women were exhausted, having not truly slept in two days, but Holmgrim wanted to reach the mountains before stopping to rest. He insisted that the First Legion would still be searching for them, and that the soldiers would be hesitant to enter the forbidding tunnels that led through the heart of the Brokenspire Peaks.
Two hours later, the foothills swelled out of the flat plains. Soon, they were hiking up the steep incline of a mountain trail. Holmgrim called a halt. He rummaged in his pack.
“I know I packed torches,” he said.
“The moon’s out,” Aventine said. “I can see fine.”
“It’s not for light. Rock crawlers hate fire.”
“Rock…crawlers?”
“Aye, nasty critters. About as long as your arm, a hundred legs and a stinger like a dagger. One’s just a nuisance, but they hunt in swarms. Two or three stings pack enough venom to knock a man senseless. Then they feed.”
“Wonderful. You didn’t mention those when you suggested going through the mountains.”
“They don’t attack groups of people. At least, I’ve never heard of it happening. They’re mostly scavengers.”
“What else aren’t you telling us about?”
Holmgrim found the torch. Instead of answering her question, he fished out flint and a steel and set about trying to make a spark. Annoyed, Aventine put one of her rune-powered daggers near to the torch and activated the runestone. The blast of heat ignited the pitch easily, bursting into a hot flame that would burn for several hours.
“Neat trick, that,” Holmgrim said. “We’ll need to find a place to camp and get a proper fire lit before this goes out. And to answer your question, the rock crawlers are all I know about. I was stung by one when I was in the Legion. Still have the scar.”
With Holmgrim leading the way, his torch the only source of light, they entered the mountains. The trail narrowed, and the sheer rock walls closed in on them until they were walking along the bottom of a cramped ravine. No verdant valleys laid hidden between the Brokenspire Peaks. Shattered by some cataclysmic upheaval, the terrain was a jumbled sprawl of sheer cliffs, broken rock, and crevices whose murky depths were fathomless. Whatever forces worked deep below the earth had not been gentle in forming the jagged mountain range.
Soon, they reached the mouth of a cave. Holmgrim paused at the edge of the black portal. His torch guttered in the breeze sighing out of the darkness.
“The breath of the mountains,” Holmgrim said. “If you get lost inside, follow the direction of the wind. It will lead you out.”
Apprehension gripped Aventine. There was something odd about the hole, something unnatural that set her nerves on edge. The opening looked like it had been carved from the rock with a tool, not eroded by wind and water for a thousand years.
“You’re sure about this?” Aventine said. “You’ve traveled this route before?”
“Aye,” Holmgrim said. “I prospected these tunnels when I was in the Legion, searching for ore. The route through to the other side is marked. We’ve just got to find the first marker and then it’s a simple thing to pass under the mountains into the central empire.”
Aventine glanced at Saffrin, who looked as skeptical as she felt. But they had no other option.
“After you,” Aventine said, nodding toward the dark cave.
Holmgrim stepped through the opening and started his descent. Aventine and Saffrin followed close behind. Aventine expected the cave to widen the deeper they went, but the passage stayed cramped and confined—like the burrow of an animal, she realized with a start. The torch in Holmgrim’s hand almost brushed against the ceiling. She inspected the walls as they walked and was surprised to discover how smooth they were. Her fingers trailed along the cool, unblemished stone.
This can’t be natural.
At the first intersection, Holmgrim took the rightmost tunnel without stopping. After a hundred more paces, he passed through the middle of the next junction. Every intersection looked exactly the same, and Aventine was hopelessly lost within an hour of entering the cave system.
“No wonder you don’t think the First will follow us in here,” Aventine said. “This place is a labyrinth.”
“Aye,” Holmgrim said. “But there’s a trick to it. You just have to know the route to the first marker. After that, it’s only a two day journey to the other side.”
“It’s only two days travel if you make it out alive,” Saffrin said.
“I grew up in the Wilds,” Holmgrim said. “There’s nothing hiding in these tunnels that I can’t deal with.”
Despite her anxiety, Aventine smiled. A month of fighting alongside Saffrin had changed Holmgrim. He was actually trying to impress their new companion.
I guess barbarian heathens have feelings too.
For her part, Saffrin did not seem to mind Holmgrim’s bravado, choosing to be amused rather than annoyed.
“But it’s been so long since you were home,” Saffrin said, a smile in her voice. “Maybe you’ve lost your edge. Perhaps you should give Aventine the torch.”
Holmgrim harrumphed. “Lost my edge? I’ll show you an edge. I’ll bury my axe in the hide of the first monster that rears its ugly face.” He grumbled as they walked on.
Aventine glanced at Saffrin, who winked at her.
Their descent was gradual, but soon the tunnel carried them to a vast underground cavern. The feeble light of the torch could not penetrate the gloom, and the ceiling soared high over their heads, lost in shadow. Holes littered the floor, which Aventine first thought were pools of water, but when she stepped to the edge of one and looked down, she realized she was looking into nothingness. She kicked a pebble over the edge and waited to hear it hit the bottom—it never did.
“Watch your step,” Holmgrim said. “You’ll land in the abyss if you trip into one of those pits.”
Every so often, a faint skittering noise echoed through the huge space. Once or twice, Aventine saw a darting shadow scurry away from the torchlight.
“Rock crawlers,” Holmgrim said when they spotted the first one.
They did not get a good look in the darkness, but Aventine saw the flash of an insect-like carapace and the blur of a hundred spindly legs. She shivered.
“I just won’t sleep for the next two days,” Aventine said.
“We’ll light a fire when we stop,” Holmgrim said. “With a proper flame, the crawlers won’t bother us.”
“Speaking of sleep,” Saffrin said. “If I don’t rest soon, I’m going to drop where I stand.”
“The first marker’s just ahead,” Holmgrim said. “We’ll rest there.”
They set out across the massive chamber. After fifty paces, Aventine glanced over her shoulder. The wall behind them was gone, swallowed by the darkness. Aventine, Saffrin, and Holmgrim existed in an island of light as they wound their way through a maze of bottomless pits. The absence of torchlight reflected on the stone floor was the only warning they had that the next step might be their last.
Ahead of them, a weak blue light winked in the gloom. Holmgrim appeared to be making for that faint glow. When they drew near enough for Aventine to make out the source of the light, her jaw sagged open in astonishment.
Embedded in the stone, a metal pole rose three feet from the floor. Its silver metal surface was covered in complex patterns and rune carvings. At the top of the stake, housed in an intricate silver lantern casing, an ethereal blue flame flickered in the vast emptiness of the cavern. The thing looked ancient.
“This is the marker?” Aventine said. “There’s no way this is imperial, or even human.”
“I never said it was,” Holmgrim said, sounding defensive. “Legion explorers discovered these markers hundreds of years ago. Without them, we’d never have found the way through. They’re not really
a secret, but so few people come down here that almost no one knows of them.”
Holmgrim unshouldered his pack. “We’ll rest here for a few hours.”
Saffrin moved close to the blue flame and then dropped heavily to the floor. Before Holmgrim had finished digging through his bag, she was asleep.
Holmgrim produced firewood from his satchel and set about making a small fire.
“You came prepared,” Aventine said, keeping her voice low to not disturb Saffrin.
“I figured these tunnels were the only option,” Holmgrim said. “So I gathered what we would need to make it under the mountains into the central empire. I’ve never traveled this path alone, but I learned how to survive.”
As they talked, Holmgrim’s efforts produced a small but bright blaze. The wood crackled as the smoke wafted up toward the ceiling high overhead.
“I’ll take the first watch,” Aventine said. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep at all in here.”
“As you wish,” Holmgrim said. “Wake me if you tire.” He laid back on the cold stone, shifting around to make himself comfortable, then closed his eyes.
Aventine sat down, wishing she had something to rest her back against. In the silent darkness, she imagined the massive weight of the mountains pressing down on top of her. Her mind wandered as she tried to force herself to focus on something else. Inevitably, her thoughts were drawn to the empire.
In the month they had spent fighting the First Legion in the mountains, no word or sign had come from the emperor. When she had stood before Governor Wranger in his throne room, he told her that Emperor Pontius had either fled or been killed, and that the empire was finished. At the time, she had refused to believe him. But as days turned into months and Wranger’s growing defiance remained unchecked, she found herself expecting to find the worst when they descended from the mountains into the central empire.
She wondered what would happen if they found Emperor Pontius slain. Would she no longer be a Rune Guard? Would that release her from her duty? She hoped her father had survived the turmoil. He would know what to do, if she could find him.
To Aventine’s surprise, her eyelids soon felt impossibly heavy. Sleep beckoned to her, pulling her into its blissful embrace before she could resist. She slumped over onto the floor, thinking that she should wake Holmgrim, but unable to summon the strength to speak. Right before she closed her eyes, she noticed a strange haze in the air. It made the light of the fire appear a sickly green.
That’s odd.
And then she slept. She dreamed. Her feelings of unease followed her into nightmare. Paralyzed in darkness, she was helpless as an ancient and hungry presence hunted for her. She could not move, could not scream. Whatever it was drew ever closer, snuffling across the ground. Patient and cautious, it lusted for her blood.
Aventine’s eyes snapped open. Her terror was slow to recede. Several feet from where her face pressed against the stone, the fire had burned low. At least an hour had passed.
I need to stoke the fire and wake Holmgrim.
She tried to move but nothing happened. She tried to speak, but her jaw did not even twitch. The panic of her nightmare returned in a rush. On the edge of her vision, something moved in the shadows. Aventine redoubled her efforts to sit up, but it was useless. She was completely incapacitated.
From out of the darkness, a pale figure appeared. Aventine held her breath, not sure if she was awake or still in a nightmare. The creature could not be human. It was too thin, its lanky limbs too long. The pale skin seemed familiar, but Aventine’s terrified mind did not dwell on this. Its face was covered by a white, featureless mask with only two slits for sight. Behind the mask, she could see the glint of firelight reflected in the thing’s eyes. The creature was watching her.
Aventine struggled to move, to shout a warning, to do anything, but she was frozen.
The pale creature darted forward to kneel by Aventine’s face. It placed an open palm by her head, letting her see what it held in its long-fingered hand. She saw two fibrous cylinders—they looked like the root system of a small plant. Then, without warning, the creature jammed first one, and then the other into Aventine’s nostrils.
Tears flooded her eyes as the barbed roots dug into the soft skin inside her nose. At first she thought she would suffocate, and panic surged through her. But after a few heartbeats, she realized she could still breathe. Not only that, but Aventine’s mind began to clear and feeling flooded back into her limbs. She looked around, trying to find the strange creature, but it was gone, vanished back into the shadows.
With a groan, Aventine rolled over to make sure Holmgrim and Saffrin were okay. Her mind struggled to make sense of what she saw. A massive fungal blob oozed from the nearest pit, stretching toward their small camp. It flowed forward in slow undulations. Holmgrim and Saffrin were already completely engulfed, their bodies only lumps under the creeping fungus. Pustules bulged on its yellowish, slimy skin. As it crawled across the stone, the blisters swelled and burst in puffs of hazy green mist. Aventine’s legs were already covered, and it was slowly slithering up her waist as she watched.
Her mind went numb—but her body reacted. She grabbed her runebound daggers and slashed into the fleshy mass, activating the runes in panicked desperation. The rune-powered blades sliced huge, dripping chunks out of the thing. It recoiled, the pain and injury causing every inch of the gelatinous body to quiver. It jerked away from her, collapsing in on itself.
“Holmgrim!” she screamed.
When her legs were free, Aventine surged to her feet. Having tasted her blades, the fungus had no desire to be struck again. With surprising speed, it retreated into the pit, disappearing into the darkness like a slurping tongue being pulled back into a hungry mouth.
Aventine rushed to Holmgrim’s side. He was covered in sweet-smelling slime. Red and raw, his skin looked sunburned. Desperate to know he was alive, Aventine shook him by the shoulders. As the green haze faded from the air, his eyelids fluttered. Groggy and slow to wake, Holmgrim opened his eyes and stared at Aventine.
“What…in…the…” he tried.
“Some sort of fungal monster from beneath the ground,” Aventine said. “It poisoned the air, knocking us out and paralyzing us. It would have devoured us while we slept.”
“Saffrin?” Holmgrim asked in alarm.
The two of them turned to look at where the woman laid. She had not woken and looked worse off than Holmgrim. Lying closer to the pit, the fungus had reached her first.
“We have to move,” Aventine said. “Now.”
Holmgrim lumbered to his feet, still struggling against the effects of the fungal toxin. When he was able to walk, he staggered over to Saffrin and scooped her up into his arms. Together, they stumbled away from the marker behind them toward the next blue flame far in the distance.
Chapter 8
AFTER PRICKER’S ASTONISHING CONFRONTATION, Goregash locked Remus and his men in the fort barracks. Apparently, making the blood pact with the Drathani only meant that the barbarian leader would not kill him on the spot. Remus and his squad had spent the night confined without food or water. Pricker seemed bemused by their situation, but the rest of the men were angry and afraid. They were scared of Pricker and worried that Goregash was going to punish them for the Drathani’s outburst.
The next morning, when the barracks door was unlocked, Pikon was standing on the other side.
“Promost Lister desires your presence,” Pikon said.
“I’m not going anywhere until you get my men out of here,” Remus said.
“I’ve no control over their confinement,” Pikon said. “But I can see about breaking their fast.”
“That’s something, at least,” Remus said. “Bring food and I’ll come with you to speak to the promost.”
Pikon closed the door without answering. Remus heard the bolt slide into place. He turned toward his frustrated men. “He can’t get us out, but he’ll see about getting us fed,” Remus said.
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br /> “And after that?” Ellion said. “Goregash doesn’t forgive, and he doesn’t forget. We’re at his mercy locked in here.”
Remus glanced at Pricker, who was sitting cross-legged on a cot at the back of the room. “I think we’re safe from any sort of retribution,” he said. “Once Goregash thinks of a way to use this to his advantage, to make it look like it was his idea all along, he’ll let us out.”
“I saw how he looked at you,” Grotius said. “He thinks you’re behind Pricker challenging him. He’s not going to let that go.”
Outside, someone pounded the door once to indicate that it would open. When the door swung inward, two Volgoth laborers lumbered into the room carrying a cauldron from the kitchen between them. Wisps of steam and savory smells rose from the giant pot.
One of the Volgoth, a misshapen hunchback, slapped a wooden ladle into Remus’s hand. “Stew. Eat from helmets,” the man said, and then shuffled out.
Remus’s squad crowded around the huge kettle. Remus handed the ladle to Grotius. “They’re not bringing us any bowls,” Remus said.
“It’s like I’m back in the Legion,” Grotius said.
In the doorway, Pikon waited for Remus.
“You better save some for me,” Remus said. “I’ll be back after I’ve talked with Lister.”
Grotius grunted in affirmation.
Remus followed Pikon out of the room. He stopped to wait while the Ethari locked the door behind them.
“Is that really necessary?” Remus said.
“It’s not a matter of keeping them contained,” Pikon said. “It’s for your own safety. Goregash is furious. He wanted to slaughter the lot of you in the night. Only Promost Lister stayed his hand. You are our prisoners again, and fortunate to be so. The other option was death.”
“Goregash thinks I orchestrated this somehow? That I had a pet Drathani hiding in Delgrath? That’s absurd.”
“What it is remains to be seen. You’ve brought a monster among our midst. No more talk, Promost Lister will explain.”
