by Jordan Rivet
He stayed at a distance as Dara and Berg made their way through the street. He didn’t want them to notice him until it was too late to turn back. They talked in low voices, and he couldn’t make out their words. Dara would fill him in eventually, he was sure.
They walked for a long time, leaving the more populated side of Square behind. Siv hoped Pool hadn’t discovered he was missing and raised an alarm. He’d have to tell him about the tunnel, and then he’d never get away with something like this again. Siv may be the king and Pool may be the guard, but that didn’t mean Pool wouldn’t put his foot down and insist on blocking the tunnel to protect him. He didn’t want his stairs to the kitchens sealed off either. That thing was useful when he wanted dessert in the evening. No wonder his father had had trouble losing weight!
They approached the outskirts of Square. The houses scattered the slope at sparse intervals here, but the rocks were numerous, making it impossible to decipher anything resembling a true road. Footpaths and winding steps connected the structures seemingly at random. This left plenty of places for Siv to hide as he followed the pair through the darkness. He had to duck beneath the boulders with lightning speed whenever Berg looked around, which was often. This was turning out to be a decent workout. Dara would be proud.
Berg finally stopped beside a humble shack. Siv crouched behind another rock, waiting for something to happen. The rustle of ponies sleeping in a nearby paddock was the only sound. When he peeked out from his hiding place, Berg and Dara were gone.
Siv swore under his breath and approached the shack. It was empty, apparently abandoned. The moon provided just enough light to reveal a pile of branches leaning against the decaying wood like an overgrown crundlebird. Sure enough, when he pulled the branches back there was an entrance to a hidden tunnel. He glanced around one more time then ducked into it and followed Berg and Dara underground.
8.
The Caverns
THE pitch dark of the tunnel hovered around them, unnerving in its stillness. Dara stuck close to Berg, his shuffling footsteps her only guide. He hadn’t brought an Everlight to illuminate the way, but he seemed to know this passageway well.
They crept through the darkness. Sometimes Berg had to stoop to squeeze through narrower spaces. Dara ran her hands along the rough earthen walls, which eventually gave way to stone. Every once in a while a draft or sudden emptiness indicated more tunnels heading off from their path. Some must lead all the way out to the mountainside, because little pockets of mist flowed through them, moistening their faces.
As they crawled deeper into the mountain, Dara noticed a strange sensation in the rock. She had become increasingly sensitive to the Fire that seeped through the stones of Vertigon, runoff from the channels leading to each access point. It was especially noticeable near Fireworker shops. But here, the fiery residue almost didn’t existent. It was as if every drop of Fire had been pulled from these stones. If there had ever been Fire veins running through these tunnels, they were now as cold as a mountain lake.
How was that possible? The Fire Warden’s system controlled the flow of the Fire, but you could always find some hint of it. Dara shivered as she trailed her fingers over cold stone, feeling nothing but the rough texture of rock and sifting dirt knocked loose at her touch.
“We are almost there,” Berg whispered. “Silence.”
Dara nodded, even though he couldn’t see her. A few steps later they heard it: the ringing of steel against steel and the tapping of boots, sounds both of them knew well.
A few of the tunnels they passed as they crept forward had lights installed in them. Dara followed Berg’s hulking shadow as it formed and dissolved each time they encountered one of the lighted outlets. They still hadn’t seen anyone, but they could be discovered at any moment. Passageways deep underground would not be illuminated unless they were used regularly. Dara swallowed, keeping a tight hold on her nerves.
They got closer and closer to the familiar sounds. Berg stalked onward, imperturbable as ever.
At last the tunnel opened up, and they entered a vast cavern. Cheap Firebulbs blazed, casting shadows like daggers from the stalactites and stalagmites. The clash of blade against blade was louder now, along with shouts that were all too familiar.
They exited the tunnel at ground level, but a large rock formation blocked their view of the cavern floor. Hopefully no one could see them sneaking out either. They crept to the edge of the formation and peeked around it, staying as concealed as possible behind its bulk.
It was an enormous underground dueling hall. Dozens of duelists squared off against each other on the smoothed-out floor. Some engaged in partner drills while others sparred, their shouts echoing off the walls. They used blunted sport dueling rapiers, but Dara spotted a long row of wickedly pointed swords in a rack across from their hiding place. She had a sneaking suspicion they were Fire Blades like the one their mystery swordsman had used.
The duelists training on the floor wore protective masks, of course, and the ones waiting their turn to spar wore strips of cloth wrapped around their heads to disguise their appearances. When a pair of duelists removed their masks to shake hands after a bout, they too wore sweat-soaked cloths to hide their identity.
Dara knew many of the duelists on the mountain by their styles alone, but she didn’t think she’d ever seen these swordsmen compete in tournaments—and she had spent a lot of time watching those. Some of the mysterious duelists were very good. She would remember them if she’d ever seen them before. They all used a similar style, the mark of athletes who trained with the same coach. Their movements were efficient, brutal. This coach didn’t care about racking up points. Most of the hits would have been killing blows.
The pair of duelists nearest to their hiding place was faster than the rest. Their uncanny swiftness suggested these two were using Fire Blades, probably with blunted tips. Dara would need to get closer to find out for sure.
Berg caught her eye and nodded toward another large outcropping of stone. A gap between it and their current location had only small rocks, offering less cover. Berg flattened himself on his belly and crawled toward the next outcropping, surprisingly spry despite his bulk. Dara waited until he was safely concealed before preparing to follow him.
She crouched, adjusting her Savven blade so it wouldn’t scrape along the ground. Plenty of noise filled the cavern, so a few additional footsteps shouldn’t matter. She held her breath and started to slink out of her hiding place.
Suddenly, a hand covered Dara’s mouth and she was yanked backwards into the shadows. She struggled fiercely, clawing at the hands holding her tight. Fear flashed through her. She couldn’t reach her blade, and when she pulled frantically for the Fire, there was none to be found in the stones around her.
“Shhh,” a voice murmured in her ear. She struggled harder, trying to twist out of the iron grasp.
The grip on her mouth and arm tightened, crushing her back against the broad chest of her captor. Dara was about to bite the hand that held her when two men strode directly into the space where she had been about to crawl.
The swordsmen sat on the smaller stones Berg had hidden behind a moment ago.
Dara stopped fighting. As soon as she was still, her captor released his hold on her mouth.
“It’s me,” the voice breathed in her ear.
Siv.
Dara bit back a powerful urge to swear at her king for scaring her, even though he had saved her from being discovered. He didn’t release her arm, and his other hand now rested beneath her chin, his fingertips brushing her throat as he clasped her against his chest. The duelists on the rock were directly in their line of sight. They could look over any second and wonder what was in the shadows. Even though she was practically sitting on Siv’s lap, Dara didn’t dare move.
They must have stayed like that for a full five minutes while the duelists rested on the rocks, sharing a drink from a canteen. There was no sign of Berg. He was astonishingly stealthy for such a large
man.
As they waited for the duelists to move on, Dara became more and more aware of Siv’s breath in her ear and his heartbeat against her back. He still hadn’t released her. She felt dizzy at their closeness. She couldn’t help remembering the dance they had shared at the Cup Feast, the night when Siv had pulled her close in the darkness near Fell Bridge. Dara forced her breathing to remain steady. She had to stay alert. They were both in danger here.
Finally, an unseen figure came over and barked at the duelists to get back to training. When they returned to the center of the cavern, Siv finally loosed his hold on Dara.
“What are you doing here?” she hissed, scrambling off his lap and turning to face him.
“Thought you could use some help,” Siv said. “Where’s Berg?”
“I was following him until you pulled me back.”
“There’s another way around over there,” Siv jerked his head in the direction they’d come from. “Want to check it out?”
“I’ll check it out,” Dara whispered. “You need to go back to the castle. It’s not safe here.”
“It’s not safe for you either,” Siv said. “You almost got caught. Besides, isn’t this more efficient than you having to repeat everything you see to me?” He grinned and crawled back in the other direction before she could answer.
Dara gritted her teeth and followed. They couldn’t risk attracting attention by arguing, but she needed to get the king out of here as quickly as possible. How could he be so reckless? If they got caught . . . Well, she just wouldn’t let that happen.
Siv led the way along the edge of the cavern in the opposite direction of where Berg had disappeared. They passed the tunnel they had come from, creeping forward on careful feet. Taller rocks provided better cover on this side. Other passageways led out of the cavern, some large, some barely big enough for a cat. Dara hoped they’d find Berg eventually. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to get out of here on her own.
They discovered an alcove where they could wedge themselves in and have a decent view of the dueling floor over the top of a massive rock. The mysterious swordsmen worked hard, occasionally calling out to each other, but they didn’t talk about anything except the moves as far as Dara could hear. A row of stuffed dummies was visible from their new position. Five duelists were busy riddling them with holes with the help of sharpened blades. Again, Dara noticed the efficiency of their movements. Sport duelists fought bouts to ten points. Hits landed on the hand and the knee as often as the chest or gut. Simultaneous hits counted as a point for each competitor. It didn’t necessarily matter if your opponent’s hit landed as long as you got one too. These duelists didn’t settle for simultaneous hits, though, and they both sought and defended against killing blows with every touch.
“Something tells me this secret dueling club isn’t focused on winning tournaments,” Siv whispered after a while.
“I agree.”
“Assassins?”
“Could be,” Dara said. “There are a lot of them, though. How many assassins does one kingdom need?”
“There aren’t enough of them to threaten the army, though.”
“True. But they’d be more than a match for the Castle Guard.”
Siv nodded. Dara didn’t say the word “coup” aloud, though they were probably both thinking it. He studied the scene intently, and Dara realized this was the most animated she’d seen him since the day of his father’s death. The set of his jaw and the light in his eyes suggested he was rather enjoying this despite the danger—and the magnitude of the threat they had discovered.
“We’d better move,” Dara said. “Someone’s coming this way.”
They climbed out of the alcove and continued along the edge of the dueling hall. Dara wanted a good look at whoever was coaching these duelists. A smaller cavern opened off the side of the hall ahead of them, and something about it drew Dara forward. She picked up her pace. Why did she feel compelled to enter that cave?
Siv stopped her suddenly with a hand on the arm, his face pale.
“That’s Pavorran,” he breathed.
“What?”
“Pavorran, the general of my father’s—of my army.” He pulled her down behind another rock and pointed out a stout figure striding into the hall from a tunnel on the opposite side of the smaller cave. General Pavorran was around forty-five years old and powerfully built. He carried himself like a soldier, reminding Dara of Telvin Jale.
Pavorran was deep in conversation with a rail-thin man with dark skin and foreign clothing. If Dara wasn’t mistaken, the man was from Soole.
“Think that might be why Berg didn’t go directly to the army?” Dara asked. So Pavorran was training a secret army or attack force down here in this cavern. How could the treachery against the Amintelles run this deep?
“Could be,” Siv said. “You sure Berg’s on our side?”
Dara didn’t hesitate. “I’m sure.”
She peeked over the rock for another look at Pavorran. He wore his uniform openly here, every crease ironed and button polished. If the army itself was compromised, the purge of the Castle Guard might not have gone far enough. What was he going to do with all these swordsmen?
Something tugged at Dara’s senses, and she looked toward the smaller cave that had drawn her attention earlier. Something was going on there, and she was starting to think she knew what it was.
Fire. Someone was using an incredibly strong current of Fire in that cave. She could feel it now, and it explained the strange coldness she had noticed in the tunnel earlier. It hardly seemed possible, but someone had found a way to pull every drop of Fire in this section of Square Peak to a single location. The pull was so strong that nothing was left over in the cracks of stone further away from it.
She edged closer to the cavern.
“Wait,” Siv whispered. “Recognize the fellow Pavorran is talking to?”
“Huh?”
“You’ve met him before.”
Dara studied the figure with the foreign clothes, a long silk vest and boots that went over his knees. He wore his dark hair long, an unusual style for men in these parts. Yes, she’d seen him before, but not at any dueling competition. She had played a game of mijen against him once in Lady Atria’s parlor. Chala Choven of the Below Lands Trade Alliance. He had mentioned at the time that he supported her father’s views on loosening the Fire regulations.
“I remember now,” she whispered. “Isn’t he your friend?”
“Bolden’s friend,” Siv said through clenched teeth. “It wouldn’t surprise me if we can trace this right back to the Rollendars.”
Dara frowned. She didn’t understand how all the threads fit together. Was this part of her parents’ work with the Fire Guild or not? As far as she knew, her parents didn’t have ties to House Rollendar. Could this be a completely separate plot? She felt as if she knew less and less with every discovery. With this small army training here—connected in some way to the real army—their problems were bigger than they first realized.
That strong current of Fire still called to her. Dara wanted to see what kind of Work took so much strength. Her first guess was a forge for the Fire Blades, but she was less certain the closer they got. What if her father was in there? There would be no hiding the truth from Siv then.
He must have seen enough, though, because he tugged on her arm before she could get much closer.
“We’d better go,” he whispered.
“I want to see what’s in that smaller cave.”
“There’s not much shelter the rest of the way,” Siv said. He was still watching Pavorran, a grim set to his jaw.
Dara looked back at the cave one more time, feeling the incredible pull of all that Fire. He was right, though. They couldn’t sneak over to it without some of the duelists seeing them. Their luck might not hold much longer. With a final glance, Dara turned, leaving the pulsing river of Fire behind.
As they started back toward the tunnel, a voice called across the cavern. With a f
lurry of footsteps and muted conversation, the duelists finished up their bouts and began packing their gear. As Dara and Siv hurried back through the shadows, some were already starting to leave. They all headed off in different directions through the dozens of outlets leading away from the cavern. Some crossed right in front of Dara and Siv, forcing them to lunge for cover every few steps. This was taking too long. Soon the tunnels would be full of these strange swordsmen. They were going to be seen.
“Quick,” Siv whispered as a trio of masked duelists started toward their latest hiding place. He pulled her into one of the smaller tunnels leading off from the cavern.
“This isn’t the way we came in,” Dara said.
“Doesn’t matter. We can’t get caught.”
Dara fought down a stab of claustrophobia and followed Siv into the tunnel. It was smaller—and hopefully less trafficked—than the one they had used on their trip in. With any luck, none of the duelists would come through it on their way home.
They hadn’t gone far before they reached a crossing. Voices drifted up the nearest tunnel, coming closer.
“Here.” Siv ducked down another passageway to escape the approaching voices.
Dara followed him into the darkness, feeling more and more disoriented the farther into the mountain they got. At every turn clamoring voices and thudding footsteps advanced toward them, the swordsmen oblivious to Dara and the king lurking in the shadows.
The atmosphere grew oppressive. Dara couldn’t tell where they were anymore. The drafts and bits of mist and moonlight she had glimpsed earlier were nowhere to be found. Old, dusty air pressed in on them.
When they had walked for almost ten minutes without hearing anyone, she reached out to stop Siv. She kept her hand on his arm even after she had his attention.
“We’re lost,” she whispered.
Siv didn’t answer for a minute. His pulse raced beneath Dara’s fingertips.
“I know,” he said. “We had to move before they caught us, though. They will kill us without hesitation.”
