by Scott Rhine
“How do they know it’s still there?” asked the prince, his voice almost squeaking.
“Even from the cattle, it saves the heads as souvenirs,” she explained. “When the Pretender put the Obsidian Throne into the mine, the men carrying it didn’t return. Imperial wizards warded the opening with their strongest spells and recharged the defenses every day. Twenty-one guards man the outpost. They work twelve-hour shifts, ten men at night and five during the day. It’s one of the most grueling posts in the northern empire. Suicide and alcoholism run high. If a man stays here more than three years, he sometimes starts to hear voices coming from the caves.”
“Any good news?” asked Legato feebly.
“They shipped two-thirds of the men south to try to intercept Queen Lavender before she reached Semenea, the capital. This is the best chance at the throne we’re going to have in decades.”
Legato seized this information to rally his men. “You heard the ambassador. This is the safest it’s ever going to get. She even volunteered to go with us.” She nodded when the men looked to her. “So grab your gear. We leave at dawn. The rest of the caravan will catch up with us. We need to strike while the metal’s hot. The horned one has prepared the way for us!”
When the small group of trusted advisors was all that remained of the twenty-five, the smith added, “The beast sounds like one of the Dawn race. It’s probably wild with hunger. The other gods probably put the beast in this pit because they couldn’t kill it, and it was crazy enough to scare them.”
Pinetto asked, “When was the last sacrifice?”
“Almost seven years ago,” Sajika said in a monotone.
“Theoretically, we have a week to go till it wakes,” the astronomer said to encourage the others.
The smith laughed at the optimism.
Legato said, “And butterflies will float out of my ass and carry us home.”
Pinetto was shocked. “You’re not going?”
The prince met his gaze solidly. “Oh, I’m going. I’m just leaving the keystone for my heir.”
The astronomer refused to give up. “But we have the Defender of the Realm, carried by the last in the line of the messengers, sent on a mission from Kiateros himself.”
The smith laid a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “In the last letter I wrote to Anna, I released her from our vow and signed everything I had over to her. I’ve been a walking dead man since Innisport.”
“Then what the blazes have we been doing this whole time?” asked Pinetto.
“He wanted a decent wake,” said the prince. “That’s the party I threw for him last week.”
“But you’re Baran Togg, the last word!” the astronomer insisted.
“You know the history. They always kill the messenger,” said the smith.
“We can do this!” said Pinetto. The others left silently. But he couldn’t face sleeping the same tent as Sajika just yet. He stared at the flames for a long time.
Instead of going to bed, Pinetto grabbed Kasha and four other members for a night strike. “The prince says we need a morale booster. We’re going to sweep the enemy garrison and have it ready by the time the others arrive. A gold bonus for each kill.”
“New money,” said the knifeman.
For their final member, the astronomer chose an extremely ugly little Kiateran that the others called “Sin.” He’d be good for crawling through small gaps into the enemy sleeping quarters.
****
With Pinetto’s wolf spirit, night sight, and the greedy killers, the men of the garrison didn’t stand a chance. They only lost one of the archers, and that because he tried to stand in front of a man running away. “Use their own swords to decapitate them. Put the heads in this bag,” he ordered. “When their relief shows up, the Pretender’s troops will assume the beast got them.”
When the adrenaline faded, the astronomer stared at the sunrise, hugging his knees; his stomach ached like something was trying to claw its way out.
Sin plunked down next to him. “You’re not the usual Imperial. You’re helping my people.”
“You’re not the usual Kiateran,” Pinetto replied. “My best friend is the Defender. My girlfriend is the ambassador to your kingdom. One of the Pretender’s men did things to her I don’t want to think about. I needed to punish someone to feel better.”
“Do you feel better?”
“No. Does the killing get any easier?”
“It’s not supposed to. If it ever becomes just another job, or the begging of the victims merely irritates you, then you’re the monster.”
“What else do you know about monsters?” Pinetto asked casually.
“This one is female. Her name is Eutheron,” said the twisted, little man. “Her only weakness is during the moment of feeding. When she gets to seven, she slows down briefly. It takes a lot of energy to project a physical body into this realm, but it’s like a shadow puppet to her. If you disrupt her form, she’ll just gather another. Distract, redirect, or confine her. In a body, she’s subject to physical limitations.”
He suspected this was really the same dwarf who’d reforged his friend’s sword—Kiateros. However, Pinetto concentrated on getting as much information as he could while it was flowing. “How?”
The dwarf shrugged. “She’s quite vain. But be careful; she hates the children of Osos more than I do. You can fool her if you think about one thing while doing another. Your friend the sword-bearer will also confuse her; the smell of my blood will mask some of the other traces.” He had other, seemingly random advice. However, Pinetto didn’t dare move, didn’t risk speaking. He felt a tad unhinged by what awaited them.
At last, the fallen god asked him, “What can I offer you for your service?”
The idea rose in his mind like a bubble from the bottom of a sauce pan. When it reached the surface, the size and heat surprised him. “I want to have a child with Sajika. I’m Imperial and she’s from Bablios.”
The dwarf grunted. “Not my area of expertise. Your best chance is on the border of the three kingdoms. On one side, there’s a plum orchard; on the other there are apricots. In between is a new fruit, partaking of both natures. Give your woman this fruit and she might bear you yours.”
“I’ll do my best to get your throne.”
The dwarf leaned over and whispered one last instruction in his ear. “Tell no one else what we discussed tonight.”
Pinetto was still sitting there like a statue when the twenty other volunteer spelunkers arrived. He couldn’t tell them about the dwarf or the prediction that seven more would need to die before they had a prayer.
Chapter 37 – The Shaft
Sajika didn’t have her brown hair up in its typical knot; rather, it’d been hurriedly bundled, with shorter hairs poking out. Over the previous weeks, she had grown accus
tomed to Pinetto fixing it. When she found out he had gone ahead, the ambassador frog-marched men out of the mess tent to arrive in time to save him.
“Thank the gods,” she gasped when she saw him sitting on the rocky outcropping. She ran to him and checked him over.
“Don’t worry; none of that blood’s his,” said the surviving archer.
“How did junior do?” the smith asked clapping Kasha on the back.
The knifeman bragged, “That boy is trying to pass your record. He was a bloody terror last night.”
“Twenty-four,” was all the Imperial said, staring at the sunrise.
“We lost a man,” explained Kasha. “Wrong place, wrong time. The kid blames himself.”
“If you broke him . . .” Sajika began.
Legato stepped between her and his man. “The wizard wanted to do some killing. He needed to feel in control.”
“Is this because you’re not showing him respect?” she accused.
“Hey, I made him one of my advisors,” replied the prince.
While they argued, Pinetto opened her pack and pulled out her small, expensive, silver-backed mirror. He made faces into it and smile
d. When Sajika tried to grab it from him, he stood up and held it out of her grasp. “Don’t make me hurt you,” she threatened.
The smith placed a firm hand on her shoulder. “Shh.” She almost stomped his instep, but the burly man’s look of concentration and compassion stilled her. “Pinetto, why did you take the mirror?”
“Life or death. The pot’s still boiling. I have to keep stirring or there’ll be red sauce everywhere.” Pinetto didn’t blink. Without the cover of the dwarf, the creature might read the plan in his thoughts. He focused on astronomy.
“O . . .kay . . .” Legato said. “He can stay up here.”
“No,” said Pinetto and the smith at the same time.
“He’s been touched,” the smith whispered in the ambassador’s ear.
“I’ll say,” agreed the prince.
Pinetto turned and hugged his friend. Earnestly, he whispered, “Sidereal, everything is turning so fast. Listen for the time. Together we can.”
“Stay close,” the smith admonished. To everyone else, he announced, “He’s good to go.”
Last to enter the mining cave, Sajika lay a hand on his face and whispered, “Are you really?”
The Imperial smiled. For an instant, she saw the love crystallize in his eyes. “The stars for now. But I have some fruit I want to share with you when this is over.”
She wrinkled her brow at the babbling but the message of affection was clear. Sajika pulled out her best bolo and began weaving the cord of the weapon with broken bits of sesterina wire from Pinetto’s cape. She hoped the traces of spirit metal might make the weapon effective against the monster in the depths. Worst case, it gave her hands something to do.
As they passed though a storage cave, the team supplemented their own food and torch supplies with what they found there. After Kasha took his first bite of the cheese, he spit it back out. “Mold,” he said with disgust.tronomy.
“It’s a delicacy,” explained Legato. However, the other men put their samples back. The prince stocked up. “Strong cheese makes you virile.”
Pinetto grabbed a chunk and rubbed it under his armpits and on the tops of his boots. He crumbled more of the potent-smelling food and rubbed it behind Sajika’s ear. “Ugh, that’s vile,” she objected. As she pulled away, he smeared the rest in her hair band. “What?”
The smith considered this for a long moment before placing a gob of the fragrant delicacy in his own waist pouch. “Have a little faith, Ambassador.”
The entourage meandered through the most worn tunnel and up into another cave. At the very back, they found a two-man guard shack that had a little bell on a string. Beside the shack, there was a giant spool of rope, sitting in a cradle, with a crank handle on each side. The smith asked, “Is there a giant well bucket on the end of this?”
“Close,” said the prince, pointing to an overgrown dumbwaiter. When he lit the torch in the wall, they could see a big, wooden sign proclaiming the maximum weight limit in red. “Ten men at max. On the way down, we’ll send eight people plus equipment each run. The last two men stay up here to guard our backs and listen for the bell. Since you two made the raid last night, you’ve earned a rest. But take turns sleeping. When that bell rings, crank like blazes.”
Kasha stayed near Pinetto who was softly singing a children’s nursery rhyme. The smith and Sajika fenced him in on opposite sides, lest he fall down the shaft.
The prince and seven others piled into the cramped elevator. Two men held torches in addition to their weapons. The trip down took ten bits. When the bell rang to tell them the box was cleared, the smith and Kasha lowered the next set of eight men. The quiet at the top was ominous as the last six entered the elevator. Sajika took a deep breath of cold, damp cave air, and lied, “Ready.”
In the tight quarters, the descent seemed to take forever. Pinetto held one of their torches, and a man with a long mustache held the other. When the shaft opened up into the main cave, the view was breathtaking. From forty feet up, every surface, top to bottom, was studded with sparkling crystals. The other explorers had formed a defensive perimeter around the landing pad. Torchlight made even the most mundane surface shimmer like the night sky. Even the hardened Sajika gasped at the beauty unfolding. The only person not enjoying the ride was a soldier with a bad hangover. “I don’t want to hear another verse about a blasted spider,” he muttered.
When they reached the bottom, Pinetto ran to the perimeter with as much of the gear as he could carry. Sajika followed after him like a mother after a rogue toddler. The irritated soldier complained, “You need to put a leash on that . . .”
The tiny bell rang high above. An odd, whirring sound filled the air above them. Pinetto dove for the ground, and the smith followed suit. An incredible heap of rope struck the complaining soldier hard enough to snap his neck. No one noticed the mist rising from his mouth as on a winter’s day.
“The elevator’s still safe. That was the just the rope for the signal bell,” the smith said, examining the appartus.
The men at the top of the shaft began cranking, taking most of the equipment from this load back up. The man with the mustache dove back into the elevator. The prince shouted, “Tell them to tie the bell to the ain cable. We’ll strum on that to signal. If that fails, test for extra weight every few hours.”
The smith asked Pinetto, “How did you know to take cover?”
“Twenty-three,” was all the astronomer would say. With men at the top, there were twenty people still in the party underground, five carrying torches.
“How do we know which way to go?” asked Kasha.
The prince pointed to mine carts that had worn ruts in the stone floor. “Follow those tracks.”
However, the tracks soon branched off in five directions. “Split into groups of four,” barked Legato. “Stop if you get to a tunnel. Measure how deep the grooves go and meet back here. We’ll choose the one with the most wear first. Does anyone have chalk?”
Several minutes later, Ninua, the translator, shouted, “Over here! This is the way.” He waved the torch to attract more attention. Translators were necessary when dealing with isolated tribes that refused to speak Imperial, but they were also handy for sending and receiving secure letters from the Prefect. In particular, this one sent back coded progress reports on the Obsidian Throne mission.
“How do you know?” the prince bellowed back.
“The sign says ‘Danger’.”
When he got closer, Legato yelled, “How can you be sure?” The men standing around pointed to the headless skeleton slumped in the opening to the tunnel.
“It could be a trick to mislead us,” said Legato.
“Quiet,” Sajika said, hushing them all when she arrived. In the stillness, they could hear the faintest susurration. “Water. Didn’t the grotto have water?”
“Acid—that’s completely different.”
Pinetto was the last to arrive and the only one tall enough to reach the crude, wooden sign. He handed Sajika the torch and tore the sign down. Underneath was another piece of wood labeled “to Crystal Grotto.”
Prince Legato mouthed an obscenity. They lined up in two rows of ten and started marching. Ninua took the lead because it’d been his find. Last to leave the main cave, Pinetto stuck the plank under his arm like some sort of souvenir.
The farther they went down the eight-foot-wide tunnel, the louder the burbling sound became. After half an hour, the translator remarked, “Sounds like someone talking.”
At the hour mark, Ninua called back, “We’ve hit water!”
The cave resembled a piece of toffee that that been pinched off at both ends. A low spot in the center had filled with icy fluid. Only a thin walkway skirted one wall. All of them crowded around the pool, gawking. “Those fish are hideous,” said Kasha. “It’s like they have leprosy or something.”
“Cave fish are blind,” said Pinetto.
“Then why did someone leave a lamp in here?” Kasha asked, pointing to a crystal-encrusted globe hangin
g over the pool. A cool breeze rippled through the room.
“Still hear the water moving?” asked Legato.
The translator concentrated. “The whispering is louder now.”
“What’s it saying?”
“It’s the old tongue. The accent is strange, but I can make out one word—pets.”
Sajika guessed, “The fish could be her personal koi pond?”
Ninua’s lips moved as he formed the arcane words. “Fete?” Slowly, the meaning dawned on him. The translator plugged his ears. “No!” But he could still hear the whispering. “Stop!” He leaned over gripping his head with both hands. “I can’t . . .”
Then Ninua lost his balance and splashed into the water. It wasn’t too deep, but he had to move his hands to stay on the surface. His blue lips opened wide as the voices hammered at his unprotected ears. “Help,” he whispered. His life-force leaked out his mouth as steam.
The nearest man took off his pack to jump in, but the smith shouted, “Don’t! It means ‘feast’.”
Then the fish began to feed.
“Twenty-two,” declared Pinetto.
“Move along. Stay clear of the water,” Legato said, numbly. “And don’t listen to the voices.”
Sajika turned to the smith. “How did you know?”
“I had to go to one of those parties once. They made me wear awfully tight hose. Guys kept staring me.”
“You wore the cup, right?” the ambassador asked.
The smith cursed. Sajika laughed for the first time in days.
