The Flame Weaver

by Elicker, Tania

  By halfway up his shoulders were on fire and his hands had cramped into rigid claws. The bottom of his feet were raw and torn, and his legs threatened to melt beneath him. Still, as the exit to the shaft grew nearer and nearer, and as the light grew stronger, hope of escaping the foul-smelling pit brought him new strength.

  He hoisted himself up hand-over-hand, until the first touch of temperate air brushed his cold cheeks. Above him he could see yet another gate covering the portal. Melded together into a tight grate, there was no amount of wiggling that would see him through these iron bars. Holding in a desperate cry of bitter frustration, he grasped the gate with his free hand and pushed with what little strength he had, to no avail. Clinging onto the gate, he propped his feet on the opposite wall of the tunnel and wedged his shoulder against the iron bars. Heaving with all his might, he was actually able to lift the heavy gate a few paltry inches. He peered through the bars, and there he could see that the gate was set into broad hinges, but he simply did not have the leverage to move such a cumbersome bulk.

  Before he had time to consider how he was going to get back down to the bottom, nearing voices sent him clinging to the wall.

  “Alls I know is this ain’t what I signed on for,” came a rough, hardened voice.

  “I’ll say,” answered a second man. “We was promised gold and women, and alls we seen, day in and day out, is slop and more slop!”

  “I can tell you,” griped the grizzlier of the pair, “when this war is done and said, I best get my fair cut, or me and the mastah is gonna have it out.”

  “Bite your tongue!” hissed the other man. “The mastah’s got shadow-spies all ovah this keep! Complainin’ is one thing, but you’ll get yer head cut off for talkin’ like that!”

  “Bah!” grumbled the harsh voice. “Don’t know what yer so afraid of, you ain’t nevah even seen the mastah! Now take a few pails and go scrape out the privies!”

  “Oh, no, you don’t!” challenged the other man. “It’s your turn for gong scouring! I did it last week! I’m takin’ food scraps today!”

  “You was drunk all last week,” the gruff man scolded. “You can’t remembah one week from another! Now pick up them pails and get outta here! Them privies ain’t gonna clean themselves!”

  After a long battle of harsh words, Kazen heard the rattle of wooden buckets and then the sound of one of the men stomping angrily from the room.

  “Who does he think he’s dealin’ with?” Kazen heard the remaining man scoff to himself. “I been here longer than him, anyways. I done my share of the nasty work. He can move up to food scraps when I’m dead, and not before.”

  With a loud and sudden groan of metal, the gate to the tunnel was abruptly flung open. Waste bucket in hand, a grizzled-looking man stood frozen, a perplexed look fixed on his face as he stared curiously at the shivering figure clinging to wall of the shaft.

  “What’s this?” he muttered.

  Digging his fingers into the rocky wall, Kazen shot his arm up, grabbing the man by the belly of his shirt and yanking with all his might. With a startled yelp, the scruffy man tumbled head first into the dark shaft, almost instantly disappearing into the blackness. A frantic scream echoed up from below, but it was quickly silenced by the sound of a booming thud and the ringing of shuddering iron.

  Kazen pulled himself up and over the lip of the pit, tumbling limply onto the stone floor. Exhausted and nearly frozen to death, he dragged himself nearer to the black, iron brazier, which burned warmly in the center of the small room with a fresh shovel of coal. Curled up alongside the glowing embers, he struggled with trembling hands to pull the sopping shirt from his back. Half naked and coated in black sludge, he collapsed into a pile of empty sacks, covering himself in the scratchy burlap and laying his head to rest for just a moment.

  The “moment” had long past by the time Kazen finally opened his eyes again. He didn’t know how long he’d slept, but it had been long enough for his hair to dry and for the sticky slime to cake like dried mud on his face. Thankful that he had not been discovered, he quickly put the small room back as it was, tossing his wet shirt down the dark well and closing the iron gate.

  Still shivering within the cold stone walls of the windowless room, Kazen picked through bundles of rags and scraps of cloth, which were piled in a near corner, finally coming across a hooded gray shirt, worn thin but with only a few holes in it. Slipping it over his head, it came with a terrible stench, but it was warmer than naked skin, and baggy enough to conceal his sword.

  Spotting a large pail of food scraps, he hesitantly made his way over to it. Peering inside, it was mostly a stew of animal bones and uncooked, spoiled meats. But on the top was a half loaf of moldy bread, the bottom of which had soaked up quite a bit of blood. Grimacing at the initial thought of consuming such a thing, he turned away. But he was so terribly hungry, perhaps just a nibble from the center, where the mold hadn’t gotten to yet. Picking up the bread, he shook off the excess liquid and began peeling off the wooly crust.

  “Oy!” an angry voice came from the stairwell behind him.

  Kazen froze where he was, squatting over the pail of rotten food.

  “Where’s Farlan?” the man demanded, taking large strides across the room toward Kazen.

  Keeping his back to the man, Kazen simply shrugged.

  “Prolly off sleepin’ somewhere,” grumbled the man. “Who are you, then?” he demanded. “Come on! On yer feet, you laggard!”

  Tugging his hood down to his brow, Kazen slowly stood and faced the man.

  “You here to replace Wallace?”

  “That . . . that’s right,” Kazen answered in as crude an accent as he could manage.

  “’Bout time they sent someone else down here,” the man grunted. “But you can just keep yerself offa them scraps! I got priority here, and I says you’ll be takin’ over gong-scouring. And today’s yer lucky day on accounta I already done the first level for you. You just gotta collect them pails and bring ’em down here for disposin’. You think you can manage that?”

  “Aye.” Kazen nodded, anxiously making his way to the stairs.

  “Hold on!” the man called, following after him. “You won’t get much done without these.” With a yellow grin, he shoved a bucket filled with rags into Kazen’s chest.

  Snatching the bucket, Kazen turned and hurried up the long stairs.

  Slopped over with spilt human waste and curdled sludge, the stone stairway was narrow and slick. Winding round and round, it was steep and treacherous, made without consideration for those who had to travel it every day. Eventually it came to a stop at heavy wooden door. Peeking out a tiny window carved at eye level, Kazen saw a wide open hall with many corridors to choose from.

  Pushing aside the creaky door, he slinked out into the hall and darted down one of the darker corridors, desperate to find a passage that seemed less traveled. The passage seemed to go on forever like an endless maze, bending this way and that, branching off into more and more channels. Dimly lit, the darkness was the only cover in the long stretches of bare passageways.

  The passage finally opened up into a large corridor. Staring across the hall at a large wooden door, Kazen quickly realized he had come back to exactly where he had started. Cursing, he looked both ways and listened carefully for any approaching footsteps before making a dash down the large corridor, hoping it was this main passage that would lead him to another stairway or a recognizable room.

  There were no windows in the corridor, perhaps none on the whole level at all. Still, the cold wind seemed to find its way through the stone walls, chilling Kazen’s bare feet, and adding to the gloom of the faintly lit halls. Without banners or adornments, only empty stone and starving yellow torches, it seemed more the likeness of a dungeon than Kazen had ever hoped to see.

  Seemingly as endless and pointless as the passage before, the large corridor snaked through the belly of the stronghold, not offering even a door or another passage to escape to. Just about the time Kazen
had begun to consider turning back and trying another direction, the sudden sound of approaching footfalls echoed through the hall. Not knowing whether to run or fight, or even which direction the footsteps were coming from, he clutched his wooden pail and froze against the wall.

  Long shadows emerged from around the corner, followed by voices and the sound of pattering claws on the stone floor. Six men, brawny and brutish, strained behind short leashes tied around the necks of two massive shadowhounds. The men, garbed in fine leather armor and shining steel, were clearly of one of the more respected and well-rewarded ranks. And it was little wonder, considering the strength it took to control the ravenous beasts, which tugged relentlessly on their restraints.

  Eyeing Kazen distastefully, the men were forced to tighten their grip on their hounds as they passed him by. Whining and snarling, the beasts clawed wildly at the floor, snapping their vicious jaws just inches from his face. Fighting the itch between his shoulders and his instinct to reach for his sword, Kazen bowed his head submissively and hurried on his way, thankful his presence had not been questioned.

  Then: “Come here, boy!” one of the brawny men shouted, nearly stopping Kazen’s heart.

  Cursing under his breath, Kazen kept moving, pretending he had not heard the summons.

  “I’m talking to you, gong master!” the man mocked, riling his mates into fit of booming laughter. “Don’t make me ask you again!”

  Glancing back from beneath his drawn hood, Kazen reluctantly made his way back down the hall to the waiting soldiers. Stopping just out of reach of the shadow beast’s nipping jaws, he bowed awkwardly, keeping his eyes to the floor.

  Stepping uncomfortably close to Kazen, the bulkiest of the men glowered down at him, sneering as he spoke. “The dogs don’t seem to care much for the smell of you,” he growled, sniffing into the air. “Can’t really say I blame them.”

  Yanking the wooden bucket from Kazen’s hands, the man abruptly pulled down the front of his pants and relieved himself into it. After finishing, he shoved the pail roughly back into Kazen’s chest, splashing its contents over his hands and arms.

  “How does it feel,” the man hissed with an evil smirk. “to know you’re worth less than the excrement of these dogs?”

  Unable to hide the fire in his eyes, Kazen forced a gracious smile to his lips. “Anything to serve the cause, m’lord.”

  Chuckling, the man gave Kazen a rough shove, sending him on his way. “Go do your groveling somewhere else, maggot!”

  Hurrying down the hall, Kazen looked back only once to make sure the ruffians had moved on. Rounding the corner, he finally came across an open archway, which marked the entrance to a long flight of steps. Tiptoeing up the winding stairway, he could hear the sound of voices just on the other side of a large wooden door at the top of stairs. Carefully, he cracked the door open to sneak a quick peek, when suddenly the door was flung open, nearly knocking him back down the stairs. An entire garrison of lightly armored men burst through the doorway, shoving Kazen aside with disgust on their faces.

  “Step aside, scum!” they barked as they marched their way down the long stairway.

  Thanking his luck for the second time, Kazen scrambled hastily out the door, and right into a crowded corridor. Dozens of armored soldiers loitered about, puffing on long pipes and talking boisterously. Kazen, tucking his head between his shoulders, waited for someone to take notice of the intruder. But no one ever did. In fact, very few seemed to notice him at all, and those who did dismissed his presence with a disdainful sneer.

  Smiling to himself, Kazen realized he was nothing more than a face in a crowd to these people. After all, what notice would anyone take to a scruffy gong scourer in tattered clothes and bare feet? He was probably safer here, mingled among the enemy, than he had been since entering the shadowlands. Tucking his bucket under his arm, he made his way discreetly through the crowded corridor.

  Chapter 29

  Moving freely through the stronghold, it was still a difficult task finding any logic to the long passages and numerous flights of winding stairways. He found smithies and sleeping chambers and armories, but nowhere could he find a meeting hall or chamber where one would think to find the master of such a place.

  As he neared the door of yet another room, the smell of cooking food wafted over him. His stomach grumbling, he crept slowly to the door, cracking it open and peeking inside. Only ten or twelve paces wide, the room was much too small for a main kitchen. It was likely a private kitchen for the higher ranks. Along the wall in the back of the room, three flagstone hearths glowed with hot coals, large black cauldrons bubbled in each. Dried spices hung from small hooks on the walls, the mix of their sweet and pungent smells made for a potent aroma that made Kazen’s nose itch.

  In the center of the room was a long wooden table, piled with mounds of cabbage and dead fish. At the table’s edge, with his back to the door, stood a fat man with stubby fingers and scarcely a hair left atop his head. Sweat poured from his reddened neck and onto his chopping table as he grudgingly hacked away at the fish. The floor beneath his feet was a swamp of fish blood and scales.

  In the corner nearest the door was a pale of scraps, carrot nubs, and wilted cabbage leaves as far as Kazen could tell. His eyes darted back and forth between the busy cook and the pale of food as he carefully pushed the door open wide enough that he could slip through. He could feel his mouth begin to water as he reached for the bucket. Though he normally loathed carrots, he would welcome them right now as sure as if they were bread and honey.

  “Whattaya got there?” the cook suddenly grumbled, turning around and pointing with his long knife at the privy bucket in Kazen’s hand.

  Clutching the bucket to his chest, Kazen eyed the foul yellow liquid pooled at the bottom.

  “You got leftova broth there?”

  Shrugging without a word, Kazen nodded.

  “Well, dump it back in the pot with the rest! Next ship don’t come in for a week. Can’t afford to waste nothin’”

  Casting a longing glance back down to the bucket of food at his feet, Kazen sighed and walked to the back of the room where the iron pots were bubbling. Though disappointed that another meal had slipped through his fingers, he couldn’t hide his smile as he emptied the bucket of that repugnant soldier’s urine into the pot of stew. He hoped that the same soldier would be having seconds tonight.

  With his bucket under his arm, Kazen nodded obediently to the cook and started for the door.

  “Hold up!” the cook barked. “Don’t forget to take them scraps down to the main kitchen. Orders are, nothin’ else gets washed down the drain. Toss it in the stew for the lower ranks.”

  “Aye.” Kazen grinned beneath his hood, eagerly snatching up the food scraps and stepping out the door.

  Like a thief having just made off with a treasure, Kazen scurried from shadow to shadow until finally finding a secluded corner where he could eat without being discovered. Digging into his bucket of scraps, he was surprised to find that as hungry as he was, carrots still tasted awful. So, picking past them, he gobbled down every last leaf of cabbage and the few half-cooked potatoes that had settled at the bottom. Not completely filling, but it was enough to bring a bit of strength back to his legs and keep him moving.

  Continuing on, he wandered aimlessly though the passages, discreetly checking each room as he came to them. The tight passage he traveled eventually opened to a larger hall, much busier than most of the others. Armored soldiers marched this passage, with broadswords on their hips and shields on their backs. From across the way, Kazen could see a very tall pair of double doors, unguarded but more grand than any other entrance he had seen. Skulking in the shadows, he waited for the last of the soldiers to pass by before darting across the hallway. He could hear their footsteps nearing once again as he hurriedly pushed one of the tall doors open and slipped inside.

  The chamber was vacant. It was a vast hall of kingly design, plush with red carpets and velvety streamers of red
and black, hung high upon the roughly cut walls. A large iron brazier in the center of the room cradled the tired yellow flames that brought the only light to the sizable room. Two long and polished gathering tables, carved of unusual stone, black, and marked with knots of red and gold, were set to either side of the chamber. Stately chairs were lined precisely at the tables’ sides, and a silver goblet was placed at each setting. At the far end of the hall, a short rise of steps led to a narrow stone dais, and atop it a pillowed throne that was positioned to face the only window of the chamber, which overlooked the beaches below. Nearly every flat surface, from the tabletops, to the stone steps leading to the throne, was etched with the mark of Gregore, a sun smothered by a dark moon.

  If ever there were a chamber made for the lord of a keep, this would be it. But the inches of dust on every surface told differently. This hall had not been touched in months, if not more. The goblets were dry and draped in spider webs, and the lavish pillows of the throne were gray with dust. Even the floor runners were dulled by neglect. In the thick dust, Kazen could follow the footprints of the servants who entered the room each day to light the torch, though why they bothered to light an empty chamber, he could not guess.

  Following the dusty trail of footprints, Kazen found the servant’s entrance in the far corner in the back of the room. From there he entered another kitchen, as abandoned as the lord’s chamber, and from there the way led to an unused scullery. The last door led Kazen back out into an open passage. Turned around, and unsure whether or not he had traveled this passage before, he had little choice but to wander on.

  Roaming the endless corridors for what seemed a very long time, he eventually found himself standing at the bottom of another spiral of stairs. With a frustrated sigh, he trudged his way up the steep steps.