He tried to read them and immediately felt sick.
‘Demonic runes. Don’t look too long at them,’ he warned those closest.
He turned to the next tunnel and did the same thing. Again, runes flared, and he didn’t know what they meant. It seemed logical that the tunnel on the left would lead him west—west towards Davono—but the spear pulled ever so subtly to the tunnel on the right.
‘Demon tunnels are trickery, like demons themselves,’ he murmured. He decided to trust Velistor and took the right-hand split. After several yards the tunnel sloped down and then turned to the left.
‘It’s turning west,’ said Eiretonne.
Marakon nodded and smiled. ‘Let’s trust the spear from now on.’
They continued and the initial interest in the split tunnel soon faded back to boredom. Being under all this rock and earth felt oppressive. How deep had they gone? Apart from back there, there had been no other decline to suggest they had gone deep, yet somehow he knew they had. Were they nearly all the way to Davono? What if this way led to an ancient demon trap? Were they even in Maioria anymore?
There came another tunnel split, this time into three. Again, Marakon used the spear to scrape each entrance and stared at the meaningless demonic runes. He took the central one when he felt the spear pull and prayed Velistor was responding to his will rather than seeking out demons. Hours passed, and they came to another tunnel divide.
After another hour, Marakon gave the command to rest. ‘Half an hour and no more,’ he said, setting Velistor against the wall. He realised it was impossible to tell the passing of time down here and then grinned when the wizard pulled out a tiny hourglass.
Marakon sat on the ground and washed down his dried fruit and nuts with some water. When the pink sand in the hour glass was half and half he gave the order to start moving again.
Another hour of marching passed when he came to large blotches of blackened walls. He touched them with his finger. It came away black.
‘Demon ash,’ he said quietly.
Eiretonne motioned for caution.
They walked on at a slower, muffled pace, passing the blackened marks and piles of ash dotted here and there. Marakon’s boot clanged against something in the soot. He bent to inspect it.
Brushing the soot off revealed a small, gleaming blade. ‘A throwing dagger,’ he said.
He barely touched the edge and it drew blood. ‘Still wickedly sharp!’ He smarted. ‘But it’s not demon-made.’
‘Here, let me look,’ said Eiretonne. Marakon passed him the blade and the dwarf squinted at it turning it over in his hands. His thick eyebrows rose. He passed it back to Marakon. ‘It’s not dwarven, but Karalanth.’
‘Karalanth?’ Marakon said, equally surprised. ‘What are the deer-folk doing in demon tunnels? They hate the bowels of darkness and anything underground.’
Eiretonne shrugged. ‘Could it have been carried here by something else, maybe even in the wound of a demon?’
‘Anything’s possible.’ Marakon shrugged. Tucking the dagger away, he continued walking.
They passed several more piles of soot and blackened walls but no more weapons or clues as to the battle that had taken place here until they came to another tunnel split.
This one was not like the others. One tunnel was much smaller, halfway up the wall and disappeared into pitch black rather than the muted grey of the demon passage. It was roughly hewn, unlike the relatively smooth demon ones.
‘Now this,’ said Eiretonne, smiling broadly, ‘is a tunnel made by dwarfs.’ He went close to inspect the entrance. ‘See the notch marks here? They were mining. This is a First Tunnel—so called because it is rough. Clearly, they never bothered to smooth and widen it because they tunnelled straight into a demon tunnel!’
‘Demon tunnels, dwarven mines and a Karalanth dagger.’ Marakon placed his hands on his hips. ‘What is going on? Have dwarves tunnelled this far into Frayon? How old is it? Have we reached the Everridge Mountains already or could this even be Venosia?’
Eiretonne shrugged. ‘I’ve no answers to your questions. I’m a warrior not a miner. I was trained from birth for battle and rarely lived inside any rock. Where there are dwarf tunnels, there are mines. Perhaps they were under the commission of an old Frayon King? Such things are common, even today.
‘Things don’t age underground so I can’t tell you how old it is. Here, let me inspect it further.’ He took a torch and motioned for another dwarf soldier to follow. With a leg up, Eiretonne pulled himself level with the entrance and peered into the gloom.
‘It opens up into a cave. There are skeletons and piles of soot, lots of them,’ he said, his voice strained. He pulled himself fully into the tunnel and disappeared before Marakon could stop him.
Marakon walked to the entrance, sword at the ready, followed by several soldiers. He peered over the edge. The tunnel descended steeply, and amongst the piles of rubble and black ash, lay skeletons cast in orange by Eiretonne’s torch. The dwarf hastily moved from skeleton to skeleton inspecting each, his eyes wide.
‘What is it?’ Marakon hissed, not wanting to be loud.
When Eiretonne didn’t answer, he heaved himself up. In full armour, it wasn’t easy getting through the small entrance built for dwarfs, but he clanged and scraped his way through. Thankfully the tunnel widened into a small cave almost immediately and the ceiling was just high enough for him to stand.
‘Dwarfs, all of them,’ said Eiretonne staring at a skeleton, his voice cracking with emotion.
‘For every one felled by a demon, double it for the ones who disappeared into shadow,’ said Marakon with a shiver.
‘Bastards!’ Eiretonne growled, then bent and picked something up from a pile of demon ash. It glinted in the light. ‘Another Karalanth dagger.’
Justenin, Shelley and several soldiers crawled into the cavern. The wizard cast a soft light, illuminating all.
Marakon paused by a pile of bones. The thick short femurs and relatively heavy set skulls of the dwarf were unmistakable. A helmet lay a few feet away, dented and rusted but otherwise whole. Carefully, he pulled at an arrow sticking between two ribs. He barely touched it when the ribs fractured releasing the arrow.
‘These skeletons are old. Very.’ He inspected the arrow, noting the leaf-like head. ‘And these are Karalanth arrows.’ The ancient arrow shaft crumbled when he tightened his grasp. He frowned, it didn’t make sense. What were dwarves, Karalanths and demons doing here?
‘Curse the Karalanths!’ Eiretonne growled and spat.
‘But where are their bodies?’ Marakon asked. ‘Surely one fell. They aren’t that good.’
He rubbed his beard, thinking. ‘No Karalanth bodies, but Karalanth weapons embedded in demons and dwarfs. To me, it seems, the Karalanths came upon a battle already taking place. Karalanths do not leave their injured or even their dead behind. If they came upon two enemies fighting each other, they would have had easy pickings.’
‘Wait,’ said Shelley, capturing everyone’s attention. ‘Look.’ She held up a dented dwarven helmet. ‘Look at the runes on the rim.’
Eiretonne snatched it from her and stared hard. With a grimace he threw the helmet aside where it bounced loudly against the wall. ‘Dark dwarves! Curse their black Tongue!’ He kicked a skeleton causing it to crumble.
As soon as he’d said it, the air thickened. Marakon tensed and the wizard fell back, her hands raised and ready to cast. Justenin jumped in front of her.
‘Prepare to fight!’ Marakon yelled, warning the others back in the demon tunnel. He heard them draw their weapons.
The temperature dropped and Marakon considered his options fast. Should they fight in here or get back into the demon tunnel where there were more soldiers? He turned to the tunnel entrance just as black light shot out of the darkness. It snaked like a living thing on the ceiling and flared around the entrance. Rocks split apart and crumbled in a spray of dust and rubble, sealing the entrance shut.
‘Great.
We fight in here, then.’ Marakon grimaced.
The blackness thickened, and the pressure grew until his temples pounded. The soldiers, ten of them including Justenin and Eiretonne, held their swords ready, eyes wide with fear.
‘Bunch together,’ Marakon commanded, and they drew close into a circle with the wizard in the middle. ‘Shelley, what do you sense?’
‘D-dark, old magic and o-others,’ she stammered. ‘I can’t be sure. It’s not the Under Flow. The dead are here.’
‘Demon magic, once placed, is hard to remove,’ Marakon said. ‘Demon wraiths cannot be killed, only sent back to the Murk. They will not be on our side.’
‘I can feel the evil of the dark dwarven runes,’ Eiretonne said in a harsh whisper. ‘More than one black magic infests this place.’
The pressure suddenly dropped and a deafening noise unlike any sound he had heard assaulted his senses. Marakon released his spear to cover his ears. Adding to the din came a new sound, the thundering of hooves. He focused on it to drive away the other noise and struggled to pick up Velistor. Out of the blackness, a ghostly Karalanth warrior galloped at them. War paint covered his spectral face and his antlers reached high above him.
‘Wraiths!’ shouted Marakon.
The ghost roared, his face contorting in hatred and his weapons raised as it laid eyes on Eiretonne, its most hated enemy.
Marakon saw a flash. He spun Velistor, only just in time to knock the spectral dagger away before it hit Eiretonne. He hadn’t expected the ghost blade to be solid, but it clanged against Velistor like any other dagger. He watched it spin through the air then disappear. Velistor has power in many dimensions, he thought.
Eiretonne caught the next dagger with his blade but not the third. It flew so fast and sunk into his shoulder between his armour plates. He roared and dropped to one knee.
A cruel smile spread across the Karalanth’s face as it bore down upon them.
Marakon howled and rushed to meet it, spear raised. The Karalanth skidded its charge and reared, hacking at him with a short sword. It clanged loudly off Velistor. Marakon pirouetted, lunged, and sunk the tip into the Karalanth’s rump. It bucked and screeched.
Wraith-like howling filled the air. The ghost hesitated and turned around, forgetting Marakon was there, seeing something in the dark the half-elf could not see. With a warrior’s cry the Karalanth reared, bounded forwards and disappeared into the rock wall. The howling faded away.
Panting, Marakon bent to help Eiretonne. The dwarf was pale and sweating profusely. Shelley held a glowing blue hand over his wounded shoulder.
‘I can stop the pain but I cannot heal a wraith’s blade and stop the blood,’ she said.
‘He’ll bleed to death,’ said Justenin.
Marakon scowled, he wasn’t about to let his friend die here.
‘Curse the Karalanths, curse the dark dwarfs, curse them all,’ Eiretonne gasped and tried to sit up.
Marakon pushed him back down. ‘The wraiths are afraid of the spear. It exists in many dimensions. I think it can destroy the wraith’s blade still embedded in your shoulder, but it will hurt.’
Eiretonne gave him a hard stare, brief nod, then closed his eyes. ‘Get on with it.’
‘Help with the pain,’ Marakon said to the wizard and held the spear up. Taking a deep breath, he stabbed Velistor into Eiretonne’s wound. The dwarf roared. The spear flared. He withdrew it in a burst of red blood. Eiretonne passed out. Justenin and the wizard quickly pressed cloth against the wound.
‘I think the bleeding already slows,’ said the wizard after a moment.
‘Cauterised by the spear. Something I remembered from long ago,’ Marakon gave a weak smile. ‘But he won’t be fit to fight this day.’
A raging howl, not made by Karalanth ghosts or human throats, echoed around them. Red eyes, dozens of them, flared in the shadows.
‘Demons!’ the wizard said, her eyes wide.
‘Back against the wall!’ Marakon shouted. Only the spear could protect them from demons. They fell back, dragging Eiretonne with them.
Shelley made light, halting the thickening darkness. Marakon stepped forwards. A demon wraith lunged for him, red eyes split in two by a narrow pupil, but the rest of its body remained as shadow. Marakon stabbed the spear into it. The demon howled and Marakon’s soul shivered. The demon vanished. More came at him and he stabbed and slashed, sweat soon beading his face and stinging his eye.
Light flashed from Shelley, seared past him and flared into a demon. It paused, stunned. The demon drew fully out of the shadows and turned on her. Marakon jumped between them, whirling his spear. Shelley didn’t try again. The other soldiers watched helplessly.
Demon wraiths came from every crevice, filling the cavern, forcing Marakon back with his flaring, angry spear. Issa’s raven talisman flashed in his mind; had it come from the spear? It wanted the talisman. If only she were here, the spear and the talisman would have ended this fight already.
Demon claws bigger than daggers materialised to his right. They swiped against his armour with a grating sound, its shadow fingers reaching beyond the metal. Icy cold touched Marakon’s heart and he fell to the floor. Gasping, he desperately tried to protect the others, plunging Velistor in front of him and striking madly.
Dark red flared to his right. It wasn’t Shelley’s magic, nor was it coming from the demons. The demon wraiths saw it too and huddled together.
Marakon blinked. Someone spoke in a human voice and the strange words stilled the air.
‘…Luf kin damack!’
A thunderbolt exploded past Marakon and smacked into the wraiths. Those not incinerated, fled, howling their demonic noise into the shadows from where they had come. The air became breathable once more and the pressure alleviated.
Marakon stood swaying and panting. He squinted at a young soldier who was in the far corner, on his hands and knees, beside a skeleton. The soldier laughed and held up an ancient scroll he had unravelled.
‘Hah! It worked,’ he said, pushing himself up. The young soldier was no more than eighteen, tall and gangly with a mop of hair under his helmet. ‘I saw it glowing in the dust. Maybe the demons made it glow. All I saw were runes and then I understood them. I don’t know—’ The scroll suddenly burst into flames, and he yelped and dropped it.
‘You fool!’ Shelley shouted, making the young soldier jump. He looked at her as she ranted. ‘You never read dark runes aloud, not ever!’
‘Why?’ asked Marakon not understanding.
Shelley turned her glare upon him. ‘Dark runes are a deception to the uninitiated! They will make themselves known to even non-magic users if it serves their purpose. But their price is great.’
‘So what made the demon wraiths run?’ asked Justenin, his frown matching Marakon’s.
Shelley sighed as if they were all stupid. ‘The demons are enemies of the dark dwarves. The spell was created to kill them. In the presence of the enemy, the spell made its own presence known. When a spell committed to paper is read it will destroy itself and often the speaker unless it is one versed in the magic that made it—in this case, dark dwarven magic.’
Everyone peered at the young soldier and he swallowed. ‘I didn’t know, I didn’t! But I’m still here, right?’
‘But we’re also enemies of the dark dwarves,’ said Marakon slowly.
Shelley nodded, the whites of her eyes vivid. ‘A spell may have more than one effect.’
The ground trembled. Everyone fell silent and looked at each other.
‘What now?’ Marakon sighed, rolling back his aching shoulders.
The tremors came again and everything on the ground began to shake. Fallen weapons and dark dwarven armour rattled against each other and the skeletons they still encased. Dust rose and rocks fell from the ceiling. There was nowhere safe to stand, and soldiers lifted their shields to protect themselves
Something gasped and groaned and then a dark dwarven skeleton sat bolt upright. Shelley squealed. The skeleton turn
ed its creaking head and looked at them through empty eye sockets. Five more sat up, followed by the sound of many more in the darkness beyond the brazier light.
‘Not another skeleton army,’ Marakon moaned to himself and closed his eyes.
‘That cursed spell! It has called the dead to fight,’ rasped Shelley.
‘At least these ones we can fight, right?’ said Justenin stepping forwards in front of Marakon with his sword raised. Other soldiers readied their weapons eagerly, determined not to sit out on another fight.
‘Yes, but how many are there?’ asked Marakon, still sweating from the previous battle.
The skeletons creaked and groaned then grabbed their weapons and stood up. Rusted armour hung off their bones and ancient swords rattled in fleshless knuckles as they advanced towards them. In the darkness he could see skeletons amassing at odds of three to one.
‘Fireball,’ commanded Shelley and opened her palms.
A ball of white fire flared into the nearest skeleton and it burst into flames. The skeleton’s scream raked the air as it crumpled into dust. The skeleton behind it picked up its dropped blade and advanced with two weapons. Another flaming ball flared from the wizard’s fingers and took them down. Justenin pushed her back and advanced. Other soldiers jumped to attack, and the room filled with metal clashing against metal.
‘There are too many!’ Marakon screamed as he shoved a skeleton back and decapitated it. The head disintegrated as it hit the floor, followed by its body.
Another skeleton pressed in to take its place, barely giving him time to parry. Deftly, he switched his sword to his right hand and spear to his left. The spear was mostly useless against the skeletons, spearing them harmlessly between their bones, but he used it to drive them back then swipe with his sword. Two more fell and crumbled but many more pressed forwards.
‘Shelley!’ he shouted. ‘Blast open the tunnel. We can’t fight them all!’ He hoped she heard him over the din. One of his soldiers gave a death howl. Marakon couldn’t even spare the time to look.
There came a boom and flash of light, followed by the sound of rocks falling. Marakon strained to see through the dust but his opponent drove in hard. He sliced his sword, dismembering the skeleton’s sword arm and sending it flying into the corner where it twitched. He swung his sword back and decapitated it, only just managing to block the blow from the skeleton behind it.
War of the Raven Queen: The Goddess Prophecies Fantasy Series Book 6 Page 4
