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Owen wheezed, unable to catch his breath. His cheek throbbed as blood ran down his face. With the hunters right behind them, they couldn’t stop long enough to try and staunch the bleeding. He could only concentrate on keeping up with Dilan.
The mountain pass they made their way down cut back and forth around rock outcroppings. High craggy rock faces lined with boulders and thick bush dominated the terrain. Near the foot of the pass, a narrow stream cut its way across a tree-filled gorge. The slope was treacherous, with loose rocks and shale. Several times, both men slipped and skidded before managing to stop. The trail would be worse for their pursuers on horseback, Owen knew. The problem, though, was that on horseback, they weren’t going to tire—Owen and Dilan were.
Dilan, moving faster than Owen, had gotten farther ahead again. Owen couldn’t maintain the pace much longer, he knew. Suddenly, he was lying on his stomach, his face skidding against the rocks. He lay there, unable to move. A moment later, Dilan knelt next to him, helping him up into a seated position. Dilan held him by the shoulders, looked behind them, and then examined Owen’s face.
“It’s a deep gash,” Dilan said. “But it should heal. You’ll need stitches, and won’t be so handsome anymore.”
Owen tried to laugh, but only an unhealthy squeak slipped past his lips. “Can’t… can’t… keep going,” he finally stammered.
Dilan pulled him over behind a boulder so that Owen’s back was to it. He then peered around the edge of the boulder. “We can’t stay. They’ll catch us, flank us. We’ll die before I can get close enough to use this cleaver.” He hefted Sight-Bringer with one hand.
“If I only had a longbow,” Owen said, hearing the slur in his words. “I could—”
“I heard a horse.” Dilan turned back to face him. “Can you move?”
“Maybe… maybe I should stay here. You go on. I’ll have a bit of a rest—have some words with these bastards.” He tried to smile but started coughing instead.
Dilan shaded his eyes with his hand as he examined the valley below. “There’s water down there if we can get to it.”
Water? He was so thirsty. So close, but he’d never get to it. Then he did laugh, smiling at the irony. “Go… go on.”
Dilan frowned at him, his thick eyebrows bunching together. “We’re going together, Horse-boy—you and me. This isn’t so bad. I’ve been in worse.”
Owen snorted, shaking his head. “Go!”
He shoved at Dilan’s arm, trying to push him away, but he had no strength left, and Dilan ignored his efforts, still studying the terrain below them.
“There’s a gorge down there,” Dilan said, excitement in his voice. “I think I see structures. There’s something down there.”
“What?”
Dilan gripped Owen’s arm and yanked him to his feet. “Move, soldier! You can rest when we get down there. It’s not that far.” He flashed a smile at Owen. “And it’s all downhill.”
Despite being certain he couldn’t go any farther, Owen did. Somehow, he got back on his feet and staggered after Dilan. Time became a blur of pain and delirium. His only memory was placing one foot before the other and repeating the effort, as in a dream. When they reached the gorge, their arrival came as a surprise. Owen fell to his knees, gasping for air, his chest on fire, his heart ready to burst.
I did it. Oh, Father Craftsman, I did it!
He lay on his side, only vaguely aware that Dilan was stomping about, looking for something. When Owen finally caught his breath again, he saw the gorge was open and wide, clearly excavated by men—a quarry. They were in a quarry. The ground was rocky, the cliff walls orange and red. The dilapidated frames of wooden huts and buildings, long since rotted and collapsed, sat nearby—including what appeared to be an ancient pulley and frame.
Dilan, having moved farther into the quarry, called out to Owen, excitement in his voice. “The stream comes through here. Fresh water, Owen!”
His thirst empowering him, Owen staggered to his feet and stumbled over. As promised, a quickly moving stream flowed past what looked like an old slag heap.
“Is it safe?” He fell to his knees in front of it.
“Safe enough, I’d guess,” Dilan said. “It’s moving.”
Owen filled his hands with cold water, drank deeply, gloriously, and splashed some of it on his cheek. It burned like fire, and he moaned.
“This is the silver mine.” Dilan knelt next to Owen and pointed at a cave entrance, overhung by a large shelf of orange rock. “We saw the sign for it just before the swamp. Do you remember?”
He did, but the memory seemed a lifetime before.
Dilan gazed at the cave opening. “Owen, we need to go in there.”
Owen stared at it. “How will we see?”
Dilan rooted through the patrol bag and pulled out two torches. He immediately set to the torch with flint and stone, casting sparks at it. The torch, wrapped with pitch and cloth, caught fire with an oily whoosh, casting flames and thick black smoke.
Dilan threw the empty patrol bag down and cast a worried glance behind them. “They’ll be here any moment. We have to go now.”
Owen stared at the dark opening, an unsettled feeling in his gut. “Is there no other—”
“No. We’ll die if we stay out here. Then Serina will move against Stron’s Watch. The others will be taken by surprise.”
Owen nodded. “Go. I’ll be right behind you.”
The two men entered the mine.
Chapter 39
Idwal
Idwal and his two brothers sat upon their mounts just outside the mine entrance. The smell of burning pitch was still thick in the air. They must have just missed their prey. Where did they find a torch? Idwal wondered. Those two soldiers had the luck of Orkinus, the Sea God himself, but their luck had run out. That was the only entrance in or out of the mine. Idwal leaned over his saddle and spat. His horse skittered back a pace, clearly agitated. Maybe it smelled the blood from the one they had wounded.
“Should have come faster,” Irdlin said with a sneer. “Coulda got ’em before they got inside.”
“Shut it,” snapped Idwal. “We’ve lost enough kin chasing these two. Horses trip and fall on steep terrain, break legs—maybe they break our necks when we fall with them.” Idwal fidgeted in his saddle and then swung a leg over and dropped down onto the ground, still holding his short bow. “They’re done. We’ll kill ’em in there.”
Idwal stared at the mine opening, remembering the last time he had gone in, a long-standing dare among the youth of the island. I was what… twelve years old? I think I shat myself I was so frightened.
Agastor joined him. Despite being two years older, Agastor always deferred to Idwal. Bald like an egg, with a long drooping mustache that ran down his chin, Agastor pulled the ends of his mustache, as he always did when worried.
Idwal frowned, feeling his irritation anger rise. “What?”
Agastor paused, staring into the dark mine entrance. “These are soldiers,” he said. “They know how to fight.”
“They’re unarmed,” Idwal said.
“Not true,” said Irdlin, still sitting on his mount behind them. “They’ve got the magic sword.”
Idwal shook his head. “Not a magic sword. That’s just pig-shit lies these mainlanders made up to frighten us. It didn’t kill her, did it?”
“They say it killed her captains,” said Irdlin. “But even if it’s just a sword, it’s still a sword.”
“We’ve got the range,” said Agastor, holding his bow up.
Idwal shook his head. “Might have time to take a shot, might not. There’s lot of places to hide in there, low ceilings. Remember?”
“I remember Naildlin lost her boy in there, what, eight years ago? His ghost might still—”
“There are no ghosts in there,” snapped Idwal, “just two half-dead Wolfrey soldiers. They’re in there now, hiding, shivering in their own piss. We’re going to go in there after them and finish them. Then�
� then I’ll bring her back the sword.”
“We,” said Agastor. “We’ll bring it to her.”
“We’ll bring it to her,” said Idwal. “That’s what I meant.”
“Why don’t we just wait here?” asked Irdlin. “There’s no other way out. Going in after ’em is stupid.”
Idwal shook his head and ran his fingers over his receding red hair. “She won’t want to wait. She’s been waiting too long as it is. No way I’m making her wait anymore. There’s a reckoning coming to these mainlanders, for all their murdering, stealing, and raping. It starts now.”
Agastor bit his upper lip and grunted. Irdlin climbed down from his mount and ran his fingers over his hand axe and hunting knife, as if to check they were still there.
“You carry the torch,” Idwal told Irdlin. Then, he met Agastor’s gaze. “We come behind, with arrows nocked. If you get a shot, take it. Don’t let them get close enough to use the sword.”
Agastor, silent as always, watched with hooded eyes before nodding.
Once they lit their torch, the three brothers entered the mine.
Chapter 40
Owen
The catacombs beneath Greywynne Fortress had been narrow and confining, but the silver mine was far worse. Several times, Owen had to turn sideways to follow Dilan down particularly narrow passages. Dilan held the burning torch at arm’s length ahead of them, the torch’s flickering flames casting moving shadows, adding to Owen’s unease.
They had only come a short way into the mine, but Owen was already worried they’d have trouble finding their way out again. None of its passages seemed to make any sense. Short, random tunnels led off in all directions. Perhaps the miners had followed the silver veins, or perhaps they were just digging at random, hoping for a hit. Several times, they even came upon openings in the tunnel floor, leading down. Some of those openings still had remnants of wooden ladders in them. Without the torch, they’d likely have fallen in and broken their necks. This must be what it’s like to be inside a giant anthill. All along the passages, at regular intervals, were small niches, little shelves dug into the walls, each the size of his hand. Owen ran his fingertips over the surface of one of the niches. It was slick with old wax.
“Candles,” Dilan said from just in front of him, the torchlight flickering over his features.
“What?”
“They put candles in there and then stood in the same spot all day, holding tiny rock hammers, slowly chipping away and looking for silver, sometimes finding nothing at all.”
“How do you know that?”
“Remember Shabsil, the man from this island, in the Rams?”
Owen inclined his head, staring at the hammer marks along the wall.
“Generations of his folk toiled in here, making the Greywynnes rich—before it finally ran dry. I think that’s why Shabsil joined the Rams. He didn’t want to spend his days fishing.”
“So he fought alongside men he hated?” Owen asked.
“Men fight for all kinds of reasons, Owen. Some for adventure, some for money—some just ’cause they like the killing.”
“Why’d you join the Rams?”
“Because my brother signed up and because I like to eat.”
They passed the remains of wheelbarrows and storage bins, long rusted through and falling apart. Farther on, a large pile of rock debris almost completely blocked the tunnel where a portion of the ceiling had collapsed. They managed to climb over the rocks and continue on their way, but Owen worried the rest of the tunnel would collapse. As he dropped down from the rock pile, he saw Dilan was down on one knee, examining something. Owen came closer and saw the mummified corpse of a child, no more than seven or eight. The body appeared to have been a boy’s.
“May Father Craftsman bless him,” said Owen. “Must have gotten lost. What a terrible way to die, all alone in the dark.”
Dilan, his gaze somber, reached out and traced his fingertips over the child’s mummified eyes, the lids forever closed. “May whatever gods you worshiped keep you safe on your journey, little one.”
They moved on, Owen growing increasingly uneasy, a prickling in his scalp. He desperately wanted to leave that place, to get back out into the fresh air and sunshine. He was getting sick of being underground—first the catacombs, then that place.
Several minutes later, the tunnel opened into a large cavern, the first natural cave they had seen in the mine. Then, a stench hit Owen like a punch in the face—acrid and revolting. Dilan extended the torch into the cavern. Long and wide, it was at least a hundred feet across. Its floor was a natural depression completely filled with dark, stagnant water. The top of the cavern was high above them, just barely visible in the weak torchlight. Massive stone pillars, looking like icicles, hung down from the ceiling, with water slowly dripping from their points into the pool and casting ripples across the dark water. Something fluttered above them—and a cold sweat coated Owen as he realized the shadows in the ceiling were moving—thousands of bats, hanging upside down, swayed softly back and forth.
And what is that sound, that chittering—“Father’s breath!” Owen jumped away from the cavern’s entrance.
The stone floor around the pool was alive with crawling insects, each the size of his thumb, looking like a cross between a cricket and a spider.
“It’s all right.” Dilan swept the torch back and forth near the ground, scattering the insects. “They’re cave crickets, harmless… I think.”
Owen glared at them. “You think?”
“Look,” said Dilan, pointing with his torch across the pool “There’s another opening, another tunnel, on the other side of the pool.” He met Owen’s gaze. “This is good. This’ll do.”
Chapter 41
Idwal
Holding aloft a torch, Irdlin led the way, and Idwal followed closely behind. In the narrow passage was only room for one man to walk at a time, so his older brother Agastor took up the rear, but both Agastor and Idwal held their short bows before them, an arrow notched but not drawn. In those close confines, they’d likely have time to loose only a single arrow, and then they’d be fighting hand-to-hand with the axes—but axes might do better than a longsword in those narrow tunnels.
Gods damn these shit-streaked mainlanders! Why didn’t they die in the fortress like the rest of their mates?
“Look.” Irdlin pointed at a small corpse leaning back against the wall.
Idwal sighed, his shoulders drooping. “Naildlin’s boy—must be. Saur, was it?”
“Aye,” said Agastor in a monotone voice. “Why didn’t we find him before?”
“Never came this far,” said Idwal. “This mine is a maze, goes on much farther than you’d think.”
“Should we… should we do something?” Irdlin asked.
“Later.” Idwal reached down and touched the dead boy’s forehead. The skin felt like leather, and Idwal shuddered. “We’ll come back and take him from this place, bury him properly.”
“Shit way to go,” said Irdlin.
Agastor snorted. “Ain’t no good way.”
“We’ll come back for you, lad,” said Idwal. “Give your ma some peace.”
They moved on, watching for signs. Their prey left little marks on the rocks, the occasional scuff mark or boot print, but Idwal could still smell the oily pitch of their torch. At each intersection, he would go out alone and sniff each tunnel, never failing to find the one the two soldiers had taken. He smiled. The smoke smelled fresher, still hanging in the air. They had almost caught up to the two soldiers. He motioned for Irdlin, still holding the torch, to go first.
As his brother passed by, Idwal gripped his shoulder and whispered into his ear. “We’re almost on them. When you see them, drop down on your belly. We’ll loose our arrows over you.”
Irdlin’s eyes grew large, and his lip trembled. “Are you—”
“Just do it.”
Irdlin nodded and moved on, more cautiously.
Soon now, thought Idwal. Very soon.<
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Irdlin reached the cavern entrance first. He paused and thrust his torch down near his feet, jumping back when he saw a living carpet of insects near the edge of the cavern pool. Idwal came up just behind him, trying to see over his shoulder.
“Gods-damned… ugly… stupid… gross… things,” stammered Irdlin as he stamped at the ground, smearing several of the large cave crickets across the rocks.
“Calm down, you idiot,” said Idwal. “They’re just bugs. They won’t hurt you.”
Agastor snorted. “Ain’t marsh ticks, boy.”
“It’s a sinkhole,” said Idwal.
Irdlin turned to glare at his brothers then looked back over the pool-filled cavern. “Look! There they are,” he cried out, pointing across the cavern.
Idwal’s eyes narrowed as he saw a glow of torchlight fluttering from another opening on the other side of the cavern. The two men must have just crossed the pool and were only paces away, down the other tunnel.
“Come on,” said Irdlin as he stamped out into the pool, the water rising to his knees.
“Wait, fool!” snapped Idwal, reaching out for him, but the other man was already out of reach. Idwal exchanged an exasperated look with Agastor and stormed off after Irdlin. Agastor followed.
They were halfway across the sinkhole when one of the soldiers—the one with the sword—jumped out from behind a boulder and started yelling like a fool, swinging the huge sword about in the air. Idwal drew his arrow back, but suddenly the ceiling attacked them, falling upon them in a storm of wings and wild shrieks.
Chapter 42
Owen
When Dilan attacked, yelling and frightening the bats, Owen paused only long enough for the creatures to swarm the hunters. Then, pins and needles stabbing through his legs, he stumbled to his feet from where he had been hiding behind a column of rock and rushed out at the men, coming at them opposite Dilan. In his right hand, he gripped a large stone the size of his fist.
The Vampire Queen Saga: Books 1-3: (The Vampire Queen Saga Boxset) Page 20
