Echoes

by Christine Grey

  Shanks put his shoulder into the cover that hid the access to the tunnel and eased it aside. If it hadn’t been for the thick layer of leaves, the Breken would surely have noticed the hollow sound beneath their boots every time they stomped over the hidden door. It was a good thing there wasn’t any snow to speak of, or they never would have been able to get through at all. Of course, had there been snow, there would have been no need to get to the river.

  They came out of the tunnel, one at time, cautious to not draw attention. Once clear, they slipped like deadly shadows to their chosen targets and dispatched each of them with ease. The one nice thing about the Breken was that they didn’t give a damn about one another. If they had, they might have at least thought to work in pairs.

  “Water bearers,” Shanks whispered into the black tunnel, “go ahead and light the lanterns. No light above ground—we don’t know who will be watching. The light from the Breken fire will have to serve.”

  The volunteers, mostly women, covered from head to toe in warm cloaks, emerged from the tunnel carrying an assortment of jugs, skins, and tightly woven baskets. They spread out in two lines to the nearby river. One line passed along the empty containers, while the other passed the filled ones back.

  Every hour or so, they switched off, so that the ones who had been moving the empty containers could take over for those who’d had the burden of the water-filled ones. Shanks kept circling the area, keeping his ears open for trouble.

  It was all going quite well, until a man suddenly flew past him shouting, “Breken! Breken! Get to the tunnels!”

  His shouts ended abruptly when Darius crashed into him and clamped a hand over his mouth, sending both of them tumbling to the forest floor.

  “Be quiet!” Darius warned in a menacing hiss.

  “Darius? Is that you?” Shanks called in a loud whisper.

  “Of course it’s me. Lucky thing for this one, too. If it had been anyone else, he’d be dead by now.”

  Shanks chuckled, and extended both hands to help the men up.

  “Sorry, sir,” the man mumbled, clearly embarrassed.

  “Don’t be,” Shanks said. “You did exactly what you were supposed to do. We should have come up with a signal of some sort.”

  “How’s it going?” Darius asked.

  “Good. Better than we’d hoped. We’ve seen no sign of patrols. It’ll be dawn soon. We’ve gathered about all we can. I’ll let everyone know to finish with the containers they have now. They can all fill what’s left, and then we can go back through the tunnels and drop the ceiling. It’s a pity we can’t leave it open.”

  “It’s no good wishing,” Darius said. “Even if we could manage to hide the bodies of the guards you killed, the evidence that we’ve been here is too strong. The ground’s trampled in a straight line all the way to the river, and the Breken could follow that line back to the tunnel blindfolded.”

  “I suppose, but it’s still a shame.”

  ***

  The last of the Mirin Tor were making their way cautiously down the ladder when the Breken came bursting through the woods. The first rays of dawn were stretching across the sky and there was no hiding.

  “Go! Drop the water and run! Shanks! Get them through!” Darius ran toward a few stragglers who seemed to think they could flee and still carry the heavy water jugs. He knocked the vessels from their hands, and shoved them roughly to get them moving.

  One by one they disappeared down the tunnel, running with heart-pounding speed. Darius was right behind them. He looked nervously over his head every few feet, as dirt filtered down from above. The way it was looking, they wouldn’t have to do more than breathe hard to bring it all down. There were lanterns every ten feet or so, which made finding their way along the path a lot easier. On the way to the river, they had not lit anything for fear that when they’d open the tunnel, any glow, no matter how faint, would draw the enemies’ attention.

  About midway back to the capital, Darius saw the perfect spot to destroy the tunnel. The ceiling there was in especially poor shape, and planks and supports had been erected years ago to keep it from collapsing. Ten feet farther up the tunnel, the ceiling was solid stone. It was the only safe section in the whole place. A few, well-placed ropes were all they needed to yank out the supports. Once that section went, Darius had no doubt the rest of it would as well, and they would remain protected under the roof of stone.

  He met Shanks at the spot where the wooden ceiling turned to rock. “I’ve got this, Shanks,” he said. “Get the rest of them up.”

  “You sure? I could stay with you, just in case.”

  “No time and no need. I can handle this. Besides, what’s the worst that could happen? Even if I fail to bring it down, the Breken can only come out of the tunnel a couple at a time, and you can all be waiting at the other end to take them out as they come through.”

  “The worst that can happen,” Shanks shot back, “is that you can die down here. I’ve grown fond of you, man of Maj. Also, I don’t want to tell Dearra that I was the one to leave you behind.”

  The sound of voices carried down the passage, and Darius clapped a hand onto the man’s arm. “Go on, my friend. I promise not to get lost.”

  Shanks smiled and turned to go.

  Darius grabbed hold of the ropes, and the muscles in his arms strained. It was more difficult than he had thought it would be, but then he felt the braces begin to give way. He saw the light of the Breken torches as they came from further back, and then, as the roof began to go, his heart froze in his chest.

  A woman stumbled from around the corner. She was holding her arm over her head, trying to shield herself from the falling rocks. She looked up and their eyes locked.

  “Darius!” she cried out.

  “Queen Marianne,” he breathed. He didn’t stop to think, but rushed, headlong, down the tunnel. He reached her just as the timbers gave way with a creaking groan.

  The world went dark.

  Chapter 28

  The darkness was complete. Dirt filled the air making it hard to breathe. Darius could feel the large beam resting on his stooped back. He shifted, trying to get out from under it, but when he did, more rocks and dirt sifted down onto him. He couldn’t see anything, but he guessed that his body under the beam was the only thing that kept everything from crashing down and burying him completely.

  There was a small coughing noise coming from somewhere in front of him. “Your Majesty? Are you all right?”

  “I—I think I’ve broken my leg,” Queen Marianne said. “I can’t move it.”

  “Your Majesty, I want you to feel along the leg, gently now. Start at the top, and reach as far down as you can. Feel all over, and tell me if you feel anything wet or sharp.”

  “Sharp?” she asked. “Like a knife?”

  “No, Your Majesty. Sharp like a bone poking through the skin.”

  “Oh,” she said, her voice quavering slightly.

  “Don’t think about it. I can’t have you going into shock. I want you to imagine that you’re in your garden, Majesty. It’s dark. The moon has gone behind the clouds, but it doesn’t matter, because you know this place better than anyone. Now, reach your hands down to your leg. It isn’t your leg you feel but the earth of your garden. I want you to sift through very carefully, and look for any sharp stones that would dare to invade your glorious flower beds. Do you hear me, Majesty?”

  “Yes, I hear you.” Her voice shook as she spoke, but she sounded reasonably calm under the circumstances. “I feel something wet! Darius! It’s wet!”

  “Majesty, stop! It is but dew on the ground. Tell me, where it is wet, do you feel anything else?”

  “No, just the wet and a tear in the skin, but nothing sharp.”

  “Good. Very good.” Darius grunted and shuddered as the weight of the beam continued to press down upon him. Stones rolled lazily down the sides of the walls, and the queen screamed. “Majesty, feel the wetness again. Put your hand right over the wound, and then be ver
y still. Do you feel anything? Is the wetness still, or does it flow freely?”

  “Still. It’s still. What does that mean?”

  “It’s a good thing, Majesty.” Darius breathed a sigh of relief. It sounded like the break was closed, and the wound was likely only a cut. If she had cut an artery, the blood would have continued to pump from the wound.

  “I’m frightened, Darius.”

  “I’m not, Majesty. Brin knows we’re here. He will tell Dearra, and she will have half the capital digging us free in short order.”

  “That’s right! I had forgotten about the dragon.”

  “Yes, Majesty. Even if Shanks thought we were dead, Brin would be able to tell him differently. We just have to hold on until they can get to us.”

  “Darius?”

  “Yes, Majesty?”

  “Please call me, Marianne. When you call me Majesty, it reminds me that I am queen, and I have a duty to be strong and brave, and right now I want permission to just be a woman who is in the dark, in pain, and terrified.”

  Darius actually managed a laugh. “All right, Marianne.”

  “Can you light a fire?” she asked him. “I am starting to get cold, and the light would be comforting.”

  “I’m afraid not. I don’t feel any air movement, which means we are likely completely sealed in here. I don’t know how large the area is that we’re trapped in, but the air won’t last forever. We can’t risk using up what we have with a fire.” It worried him that she was cold. To him, it felt stuffy and warm.

  He could feel his legs giving way beneath him. He wasn’t going to be able to stay standing much longer. “Marianne, I want you to lay flat on the ground, curl yourself into a ball as much as you can with your injured leg, and cover your head with your arms. If you can pull yourself nearer to me first, do so, but if you hear or feel anything start to collapse, stop.”

  He heard her drag herself forward. Pebbles and loose dirt shifted as she moved, but nothing seemed to come from overhead.

  “I’m as close as I think I can get,” she said. “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m pinned under a beam. It’s resting on my back. I can’t hold it anymore, so I’m going to slowly lower myself to get out from under it. When I do, I’m hoping it will come to a rest on the ground and still keep up what is above us. I don’t know what will happen, but if I keep standing here until I collapse beneath the weight, then the sudden drop will likely be the end of us both.”

  “I understand,” she said, sounding determined.

  “Are you ready?”

  “Yes.”

  Darius lowered himself gingerly, and a great deal of dirt and several large rocks came raining down on them. The beam was nearly to the ground when something struck him on the back of the head. His ears rang as he struggled to remain awake, but then he couldn’t tell which way was up, and he lost all sense of where he was. He sagged to the ground and lost consciousness.

  ***

  “Darius? Darius, can you hear me?”

  He fought his way clear of the fog and tried to make sense of what he was hearing.

  “Majesty?”

  “Oh, thank the gods! I thought you were dead.”

  “How long was I out?” he asked, trying to sit up.

  “I don’t know. Time is funny in here, but it seemed like a long time. I couldn’t even hear you breathing. Are you hurt?”

  Darius started on one leg and then on the other, his hands working over himself as he had had the queen do earlier. When he reached his chest, there was no mistaking the sticky wetness that covered him. He reached beneath his shirt, but the skin there was intact, which meant it could only be coming from one place. He probed the side of his head tenderly, and he felt the wound there. The bone of his skull was intact, but there was a deep laceration that was still bleeding, but sluggishly so. He tried to adjust his position, and a wave of dizziness hit him. Unable to do anything else, he leaned over and allowed the contents of his stomach to come up.

  “Darius! Darius, what is it?”

  “I bumped my head is all, Majesty.”

  “You said you would call me Marianne,” she scolded, trying to think of something to say.

  “Sorry.” His eyes began to drift closed. It seemed so much trouble to keep them open. There wasn’t anything to see, and it was no lighter or darker one way or the other.

  “Darius?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Tell me a story.”

  “What?” he asked, forcing himself to speak. He was so incredibly sleepy.

  “I said that you should tell me a story.”

  “I think you’re trying to keep me awake, and I appreciate your trying, but I just can’t do it any longer.” Darius leaned his head back against the wall in an effort to get the small space they were in to stop spinning. He felt as if he might be sick again. It wasn’t that he was embarrassed, he was past that, it was just that when he had been ill, the force of it put tremendous pressure on his head. It was difficult to scream while you were throwing up, and he didn’t care to have a repeat of the sensation.

  “So, you’re refusing to assist a lady?”

  “Yes,” Darius’s voice was nothing more than a strained whisper.

  “Fine, then, as Queen of Mirin Tor, I command you to tell me a story.”

  “I thought you were just Marianne.”

  “I’ve changed my mind.”

  “Majesty, I can’t.”

  “Nonsense!” she scolded. “With all of the words you’ve wasted telling me how you can’t, you could have been half way through the tale by now.”

  “Your logic is charming, Majesty, but I really don’t believe that I can think clearly enough for a story. How about we just talk. You ask questions, and I will answer them.”

  “Your proposal is acceptable. What type of questions am I allowed to ask?”

  “Whatever you wish, Majesty. You are the queen, after all.” Darius forced his eyes to open. Even though, whether open or closed, it looked no different, the simple act of opening them seemed to bring on another wave of nausea. He clamped his eyes shut once more, and took slow, deep breaths, in through his nose and out through his mouth.

  There was a stifled groan of pain, and Darius heard the queen dragging herself closer. He felt her move beside him, and after some searching on her part, she found his hand, took it in hers, and held it firmly.

  “Are you all right?” she asked him.

  “I don’t think so. I really, really don’t think so.” He felt the world around him as though through a veil. Even the queen’s voice seemed somewhat muffled.

  “I have to keep you conscious, you understand that don’t you?”

  “Yes, Majesty,” he responded weakly. He felt her patting his hand, but it felt as though he were wearing gloves. He felt it, but it was far away, and not really touching him at all.

  “To my questions, then. What shall I ask first? Oh! I have it! Are you and the Lady Dearra sleeping together?”

  Darius snorted a laugh, which seemed to split his head in two. “Majesty?”

  “Everyone is dying of curiosity, what with you going to her chamber each night. I simply must know, and you did say I could ask you anything. When will I ever have another opportunity like this?”

  “Never, I hope,” Darius said, easing his head back again. He winced, and sucked in his breath when he touched the wall behind him.

  “Why do you lean back like that if the stone hurts you so?”

  “Because if I don’t rest my head against something, I lose all sense of position and everything starts spinning.”

  “Here. Let me help.”

  Marianne shifted slightly away from him, and he felt the brush of her cloak as she slipped it from around her shoulders. He’d expected her to fold it and use it as a pillow behind his head, but instead, he felt her tugging at his sleeve.

  “Majesty?”

  “Lie down here with your head in my lap.”

  “I couldn’t do that, Majesty!�
��

  “Do not argue with royalty, Darius. It’s rude. If I try to put it behind your head, you will end up leaning too far forward and you will likely pass out.”

  “But—”

  “Darius, I never had children. I’m quite barren, you know, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t still have some motherly instincts. You saved my life. Had it not been for you, I would be dead. Let me offer you what little comfort I can.”

  He sighed in defeat. The thought of being able to lie down on something other than stone sounded heavenly.

  “Be mindful of the other leg,” she said, and guided him to her lap.

  He moaned as her cool fingers stroked his forehead. “There now. That’s better, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, Majesty.”

  “I think that when one puts one’s head into someone’s lap, they may again be on a first name basis.”

  “Yes, Marianne.”

  “Better,” she said. She continued to stroke his forehead.

  “Now, back to my question. Have you and the Lady Dearra been intimate?”

  “No. No, we have not.”

  “Good. I’ll not have any brother of mine acting inappropriately.”

  “What?” Darius tried to sit up, so profound was his shock, but her hands held him still.

  “Certainly you understand that I owe you a debt of kinship. Aren’t you and William brothers due to something similar?”

  “But, Majesty!”

  “Marianne, dear,” she corrected him patiently.

  “Marianne, then,” he said, not even trying to hide his frustrated growl. “This is wartime. I was led to believe that such…customs were not honored during times of war, or everyone would quickly find themselves in much larger families.”

  “True,” she said calmly, “but I am not a soldier, and this is not a battlefield, so therefore, it is what I say it is. Truthfully, if I were anyone else, I would adopt you as my son, but alas, that I cannot do. It would put you in line to the throne, and there are strict rules in place to prevent that. However, there is nothing that stops me from taking you as brother.”

  “The king will never allow it,” Darius said taking a strange sort of comfort from that thought. Him, brother to the queen—the thought was preposterous.