Weremage: A Book of Underrealm (The Nightblade Epic 5)

by Garrett Robinson

  The boys edged towards her slowly. There was an inner wall opposite the ramparts behind which Loren and the others had ducked and now Shiun poked her head over it, looking about. When she crouched again, she spoke to Loren and Niya. “I cannot see very well, for the wall blocks vision, but I see only another half-dozen guards atop the wall. It is a light guard, for I would guess that the wall is many hundreds of paces long. Below us, the courtyard is entirely empty. If we are fortunate, they will not notice this one missing for a long while.”

  “We are not fortunate,” said Chet harshly.

  “Chet,” said Loren, meeting his gaze. He lasted only a moment before looking away. “Go on, Shiun.”

  But Niya spoke first. “We should leave one lookout here, and the rest of us will enter Yewamba. We will find Damaris and bring her up, then carry her down the way we came.”

  “Carry her down the cliff?” said Loren. “How can we manage that?”

  “I have rope,” said Shiun, patting a large leather pack that hung at her hip. “We can bind her and gag her, and with one on the ground to guide her descent, the rest of us may lower her down.”

  “Good enough,” said Niya. “Chet will remain here, while the rest of us—”

  “No,” said Chet. “I will go with Loren.”

  Niya glared, but Shiun nodded. “I will remain. The boy only came to keep her safe, and he is no warrior. He will be useless here if he is discovered.”

  “That is why he should not be here at all,” snarled Niya. “But very well, if we are resigned to this foolishness, then let us carry it out.”

  With Shiun remaining behind, Niya led the rest of them down a stairway and into the empty courtyard. Not far from the bottom of the steps was a door. Niya paused there for only a moment, pressing her ear to the wood to listen within. Then she pushed it open and stepped through it, with Loren only a pace behind her, and Chet and Gem at her heels.

  They were at the top of yet another staircase landing, except that this one descended to both the left and right. Both directions turned almost immediately, deeper into the mountain. Loren ran down to the corner of the one on the left, and saw that it turned away right almost immediately, away from the other stairway.

  “This one turns to the right.”

  “And this one to the left,” said Chet, who had gone in the other direction. “Two different paths, but which to take?”

  Loren thought hard. Yewamba was a fortress built from a mountain, formed from a great pillar of rock that was shaped like an arrowhead. Yes, an arrowhead, or the prow of a ship. And on a ship, where did the captain reside? Always their quarters were towards the rear—or in this case, deeper into the mountains.

  “This way,” she said.

  “How do you know?” said Chet.

  “It is a guess, but I think it is a good one. We can argue about it if you like.”

  He grimaced, but Niya ran down the steps after Loren. “Listen to her. If she says she knows where to find Damaris, I believe her.” She vanished almost at once around the corner and was lost from sight.

  Chet and Gem ran up to Loren, and Chet’s face was full of concern. “Did you see this in your dreams as well?”

  “No,” said Loren. “It is a guess in truth. And my dreams do not show me the future.”

  “They have guided us well enough so far,” said Gem. “We would not be here without them.”

  “They are—” She stopped short. There was no need for them to know how she saw them die, over and over again. She had seen that in Dahab first, and it had not happened there. “I know nothing of this pace. I only think that we will find Damaris in its deepest, darkest hole. Now let us hurry, for Niya has already left us behind.”

  They took the steps two at a time until they had caught her. She had paused where the stairs ended, opening into hallway that stretched ahead, left, and right. Torches lit the place, as they lit the stairwell. Niya glanced over her shoulder. “Nightblade?”

  “Straight ahead,” said Loren, and took the lead.

  The craftsmanship of the fortress was nothing so grand as the High King’s Palace, and yet in its own way it seemed grander, more powerful. There were some pillars and beams that looked as though they had been brought here, but much of it was carved out of the rock of the mountain itself, and they did not appear to have taken much effort to make it beautiful. It was as though whoever built Yewamba had done so long before the decorative refinement that gave birth to the Seat, and Underrealm itself. The stronghold had a sense of lurking, of ominous presence and malice, a long-forgotten and long-sleeping threat that only waited for the right time to wake and sweep all its enemies away into the darkness below.

  That menace weighed more heavily on them the deeper they drove. The halls all turned exactly left and right, so that Loren was able to remember the way she was going easily enough, and led them always west, deeper into the heart of the Greatrocks. But all the while, they never saw another soul, nor any sign of them—save for the lit torches on the walls.

  “Where are they?” growled Niya. She stopped and ducked through the open doorway of some of the rooms as they passed. “There are tables in some of these, and dishes, and weapons in others. But where are the people?”

  “Mayhap they have already heard we were coming,” said Gem. “Maybe they fled. They—they must have heard I was with you.” But even his customary bravado could not withstand the creeping silence, and his smile faltered.

  “Hush,” said Loren, stopping suddenly. They all froze where they stood. Loren listened harder, and then she heard it again—the clink of metal on pottery.

  She turned to the rest of them. “A kitchen?”

  “Food,” said Gem, licking his lips.

  “Be silent, Gem.”

  “I do not smell anything,” said Niya.

  “I think sound carries farther in this place than scent,” said Loren. “And worse, I cannot tell where the sound came from.”

  “Then what do you propose to do?” said Niya harshly.

  “To press on. Only now we know that we are not alone down here.”

  They moved slower after that, careful to let each step fall silently, their ears always alert for the sounds of others. And then, at long last, they heard one. Shuffling footsteps, the sound of soft leather on stone, and moving towards them from the right.

  Loren pointed to one of the rooms, and they leapt through the open doorway to hide themselves on either side of it. Loren risked leaning out slightly to look back into the hall. A young woman in a plain brown dress, her skin as dark as night, walked past them. She carried a broad silver tray in two hands, and upon the tray were several platters of food with gold covers.

  She and Niya looked at each other after the girl passed. “Did you see it?” said Loren.

  “I did,” said Niya. “Fancy food for fancy people. Let us follow our little songbird.”

  They waited until she had turned the next corner out of sight, and then ran after her. Two more hallways they followed her like this, until she rounded the final corner and ducked into the first doorway in the hallway there. Peeking around the corner, Loren saw a guard at the door. She looked to Niya.

  The Mystic pounced silent as a striking wolf. Her hand caught the guard by the throat, choking his cry of alarm to silence. Her dagger was in her hand, and Loren’s heart leapt—but she only brought the pommel crashing into his temple, and he collapsed. Loren ran past them both and into the room, where the servant stood looking at the door, her eyes wide with alarm. When she saw Loren, she tried to scream, but Loren covered her mouth with a hand and seized the tray to keep it from falling. Chet took it from her and set it on the ground while Loren pressed the girl back into the wall.

  “Silence! Be silent,” said Loren. “We will not hurt you.”

  But the girl’s gaze went over Loren’s shoulder, and she screamed into the hand that kept her quiet. Loren turned to see that Niya had dragged the guard into the room and, now that he was out of the hallway, was slowly sli
tting his throat with her hunting knife.

  “Niya!” cried Loren in a harsh rasp.

  The woman glared up at her. “Every one I kill now is one I will not have to fight when I escape. I say that for myself, since it seems plain you will not fight at all.”

  “I will not kill,” said Loren. “Darkness take you, Niya. Get into the hallway and keep watch. Warn us if you hear anyone coming.”

  Niya’s nostrils flared, but she stood and did as she was bid. Loren turned back to the girl and shook her by the shoulder to get her attention.

  “Where are you taking this food? I am removing my hand so that you may talk. Do not scream.”

  Cautiously she lifted her hand, no more than a finger’s breadth. But the girl shook her head. “I will tell you nothing.”

  Loren sighed. “Tell us, girl. Do not make this difficult.”

  “Who are you? What do you want? Why did you kill him?”

  Glancing over her shoulder at the dead guard, Loren remembered what Uzo had told them in Dahab: the Yerrins were family, and none but the family were allowed inside. Doubtless the guard was some cousin of hers. She cursed Niya anew in her mind.

  “My companion killed him because she is a madwoman,” said Loren. “We are seeking someone. Help us find her, and you will not be harmed. I swear it. But if we take too long in our conversation here … well, my companion will grow impatient, and then she will speak with you herself.”

  Fresh terror filled the girl’s eyes. “I am only a servant. I know nothing of the stronghold.”

  “I would wager you know enough. Where are all the soldiers stationed?”

  The girl only shook her head. Loren glanced back over her shoulder.

  “Gem, fetch Niya.”

  “No!” cried the girl. “No, no, please. The soldiers are all in the eastern chambers of the stronghold, far from here.”

  “And who resides here,” said Loren.

  She looked all around, desperate for some escape, but there was none. “The wealthier members of the family. The caravan heads and accountants, the highest scions.”

  “For whom do you bring this food?”

  The girl’s throat bobbed up and down as she swallowed. “The … the lady of the fortress.”

  “Is it Damaris?’

  She did not answer, but her eyes grew wider with fear, and her skin went a shade paler than it had been. It was all the answer Loren needed.

  “But there is no one in this room,” said Loren. “Where is she? How did you mean to bring her food to her?”

  Gem ran up beside them, where there was a small door built into the wall. He turned the latch and opened it outwards into the room. “This way, I would wager.”

  Chet pressed in behind him, and Loren leaned over to look. There was a small wooden platform there, affixed to a rope that ran up and down in the pitch blackness beyond.

  “What is it?” said Chet.

  “I think …” Gem leaned in and pulled on one of the ropes. The wooden platform moved down slightly. “Yes, I think this is some device that brings things up and down in the fortress. If the kitchens are up on this level, this would be how they send food down to those on the lower levels.”

  “She is below us then,” said Loren, focusing on the girl once more. “How many floors down?”

  “Please, no,” said the girl. “You cannot reach her. She is well guarded. And if it is known that I helped you …”

  They heard footsteps at the door, and Niya reappeared in it. “What is taking so long?” she snarled. “Will she not speak? Give her to me.”

  Loren turned back to the girl and raised her brows.

  “Fifteen,” squeaked the girl. “Damaris is fifteen floors down.”

  “You have done well,” said Loren. Then she shoved the girl back so that her head slammed into the wall. She fainted at once, and Loren caught her before she reached the floor.

  thirty-six

  “I WILL GO FIRST,” SAID Gem.

  “Let me,” said Niya. “If there are foes on the other side, you will be little use against them.”

  “I am smaller, and if there are foes, I will see them first,” countered Gem. “I will be able to tell you, so that the situation may be resolved with stealth rather than alerting the whole of Feldemar to our presence.”

  Loren looked up from where she and Chet were tying up the servant girl in the corner using the cloak of the slain guard. “Let Gem go first. He is craftier than you would believe.” With her dagger Loren cut a strip of cloth from the girl’s dress and shoved it in her mouth, and then used another strip to tie it in place.

  “I do not doubt it,” sneered Niya, glaring down at him.

  The boy slipped into the dark hole in the wall and crawled over the edge of the wooden platform, clinging to the rope in the darkness. “I cannot see how far it goes down,” he said. “But the rope is sturdy, and if you hang on to it, there are many rough patches on the wall where you may place your feet. It will not be too difficult a climb.”

  “Still, you may wish to rid yourself of the chain shirt, Niya,” said Loren. “Doubtless that will only make things harder.”

  Niya arched an eyebrow. “I will keep it, though your concern is touching. I think it will come to fighting before we leave here, and I would not be defenseless when it does.”

  Loren arched her eyebrow. “Suit yourself, then.”

  One by one they entered the darkness behind Gem, first Loren, and then Niya, and finally Chet. The rock pressed in close on all sides, with a few hand’s breadths to either side of them as they slower lowered themselves down. Gem had said the climb was not difficult, but that was because his tiny body fit far more easily than any of theirs. The air grew stuffy and hard to breathe, and it was worse the farther down they went, so that Loren guessed the only source of fresh air must be above them.

  “Sky above, it stinks here,” said Chet.

  “Can you imagine how terrified Annis would be if she had come with us?” said Gem. He snickered, but then went silent. “Still, I wish she had.”

  “Still your prattling,” said Niya. “There could be foes less than a pace away from us even now.”

  Indeed, they passed several more doors like the one they had used to enter the shaft. There did not appear to be one on every floor, but almost, and from the edges of each came thin shafts of light. It was the only illumination they had, and barely enough for them to see by. Loren wondered what would happen if another servant came to use the dumbwaiter and pulled on the rope. Would they all go plummeting into the darkness to land in whatever dark hole lay below them?

  “Go faster, Gem,” she hissed.

  She guessed that they had gone halfway down now. But then, as they kept passing floors, the air grew sweeter. They could breathe more easily, and she felt a draft upon her arms. And far, far below them, there came the sound of rushing water.

  The stream, thought Loren. It must be the same stream that ran out to skip beside the main road. It ran out of the mountain itself. Of course. What better way to dispose of the stronghold’s waste? No doubt there was some station at upriver where they could collect fresh water, which would let Yewamba withstand a siege of almost any length of time, and then using this shaft, and others like it, they could throw their refuse, their unused food, and even the contents of their chamber pots.

  But Gem had stopped, and she almost stepped on him as her thoughts wandered. “Fifteen,” whispered the boy. “This is where she meant to send the food.” He paused there a moment, listening. “I do not hear anything on the other side.”

  “Then give it a push,” said Loren.

  He tried, but in the dim light she saw him shake his head. “It is shut.”

  “Climb down a bit farther,” she said. “Let me try.”

  Gem slid further down the rope, and she took his place at the door. From her belt she drew her dagger, and slipped it into the crack between the hatch and the wall. She probed up and down, searching for the latch. At last she found it and lifted i
t, and the hatch jerked open. It sounded loud as a thunderclap after the long silence, and they all froze. But there came no sounds from the other side.

  She stuck her head through the opening. The room beyond was another servant’s room, and it was empty. Carefully, silently, she slipped out. Niya followed her out quickly before Gem could climb back up, and then came the boy, and then Chet.

  “The air is even worse here than it was in the shaft,” said Chet. “I think I might choke.”

  “We can but hope,” said Niya. Quickly she stole to the room’s door and looked both ways down the hallway outside. “No one. But I hear sounds from that direction.”

  Loren went to the door and heard them, too—voices, far enough to be only a low murmur, but still close enough to be heard. They were to the left, which was west, and deeper into the mountain.

  “It seems the right direction,” she whispered. “Let us go, but be cautious.”

  The hallway now was more natural rock than cut stone, and every surface was rough to the touch, so that they could not brush too hard against the walls without scraping their skin. It was harder to muffle their footfalls, and so they had to move even slower than they had before. Here, too, there was a channel cut into the floor, and an iron grate was laid over it to sit flush with the floor. In the channel there flowed a thin stream of water, hardly enough to dip a hand in, though there was room for much more. Another strange feature of the stronghold, though this time Loren did not know what might be its purpose.

  At last the hall turned and opened into a wide room beyond, with a domed ceiling carved in great designs. Loren caught a glimpse of horses and men cut into the stone, but her attention quickly went to the soldiers in the room instead. They dove behind the edge of the room’s doorway before they could be seen.

  There were not many of them, perhaps only two dozen, but that was far more than they had any hope of taking in a fight. There was a long row of tables against either wall, and there the soldiers sat, eating a meal. All of them wore shirts of chain and greaves of iron plate, and they all had helmets, though they had removed those while they ate. Loren took a second glance and cursed—the helmets were open-faced.