by Greg Curtis
Abel continued to watch as the barbarian Prince's soldiers finished their work. Because when they were done he knew, they would presumably leave, and then he could leave. Without the soldiers noticing him. And that was what truly mattered. Not a bad smell.
But then when the last wagon load of bat dung and barrel of oil had been emptied into the sewer grate, he realised that he might have miscalculated. Because the Prince was handed a torch which he lit with a flint. And judging by his cruel smile, as he held the burning brand up before him, Abel knew what he was going to do with it.
They were going to burn the wolves out!
That frightened Abel. Mostly because half the city had already burnt to the ground, and he didn't want the rest to burn as well. There would be nothing left! If that happened he would have to begin a march out of here on his crippled leg whether he wanted to or not. Not that there was anything he could do about it. Not when he was a lone unarmed cripple against at least sixty soldiers below. They would slaughter him in a heartbeat. All he could do was watch – and pray to Lord Sylvennia to protect him.
Then with a flourish the Prince threw the lit torch down into the sewer and it was too late to stop him even if he'd seriously considered trying.
What followed was a rumbling sound that started shaking the ground softly like distant thunder, which Abel assumed was the fire catching hold underground. The Prince and his soldiers assumed it too, and began laughing as if it was a victory of some sort. Maybe a few wolves were burning, Abel didn't know. But as the rumbling continued, he began to fear the sound. Surely whatever it was should stop? The city's shaking should end?
But it didn't stop. It continued. It grew louder. And in time even the Prince and his soldiers stopped laughing as he realised things weren't going according to his plan.
Suddenly the distant grain silos exploded! Abel turned hurriedly as he heard the cracks of thunder and then watched in disbelief as the two massive silos that held most of the food for the city detonated a good five hundred yards from where he lay on the rampart. Then a huge ball of fire rose up into the air and smaller balls of fire rained down on the streets. Some of them even made it all the way back to the Imperial Quarter, and to the Prince himself.
Next it was the turn of the Industrial Quarter to explode. A series of explosions that he knew came from the dust cyclones. Everyone who had ever worked in a carpentry workshop knew that wood dust was dangerous, especially in an enclosed space. It was why the cyclones which ran day and night to remove the dust from the workshops were kept apart from the workshops. Now though, as fireball after fireball rose into the air, Abel realised that even though he was some distance from the dust cyclones, it wasn’t far enough. Not when he could see more streaks of fire rising up into the air, then beginning their descent to the city. He would have thought them almost pretty if he hadn’t realised how deadly they were.
When Abel finally tore his eyes away from the sight it was to see that the central square below was emptying fast. Soldiers were running for shelter, the Prince with them. They ran for the walls that surrounded the castle. Presumably they'd decided that the castle's heavy walls and solid roofs were their only safety as the city was being destroyed around them.
But it wasn't their safety after all. Instead there was another massive explosion and the walls that surrounded the castle, turned into showers of rubble, flame and black dust. The courtyard behind them exploded into fountains of black fire and dirt, while the castle suddenly detonated and fire burst out of its windows. Seeing the soldiers run, Abel realised it was his turn to do the same as not fifty yards along the wall he was lying on began to shake violently.
He tried to get to his feet and run as best he could, but yet another explosion caught him even as he made to do so. The blast threw him back into something hard, and though he could see nothing as his eyes were closed, the light of the fire coloured his eyelids. After that he felt himself falling, followed quickly by the sudden impact of the ground. The pain was excruciating. He would have thought it was the worst thing he had ever felt had it not been followed up by even worse pain as bricks and mortar from the wall landed on top of him. Knowing that he had just fallen at least twenty feet to the ground, he thought the chances were that some of his bones were broken. Maybe badly broken. He just had to pray to Asbeth that it wasn’t so, and that he would recover.
Still, he had survived. At least for the moment. Abel realised that as he lay there in the rubble covered in still more rubble and the pain slowly eased. The city though might not. Because everything was still shaking and rumbling, and thunderous cracks were echoing across the entire city. And when he finally risked opening his eyes it was to see that the sky had become a vision of the underworld. A scene of black smoke and orange fire.
The disaster kept unfolding. Explosion after explosion tore through the ground and the air. Fire surrounded him. And he knew that he was witnessing the death of the city. This once great city was in its final hours. Like a great beast fatally wounded it was in its death throes. But all he could do was lie there and pray that his own death would be merciful.
Still, there might be some good news in this he thought as he lay there The barbarian Prince might just have succeeded in killing the wolf mother and her army. He might even have succeeded in killing himself. Abel could but hope. Because it seemed unlikely that anyone was going to get out of this alive. Not even him.
Still, he decided when the pain in his back and everywhere else subsided enough for him to move and he started to try to push some of the pieces of rubble off himself, he had to try. He didn't want to die. Least of all here, in a pile of rubble. So he uttered a few silent prayers to Lord Sylvennia and continued in earnest. He thought Asbeth must already have granted him some of her healing since he was alive. Maybe the Lord of Magic would grant him a new shape to cast in turn? Something that would blast away the rubble, blind the soldiers, heal his wounds and let him fly to safety.
Unfortunately, he doubted it. The gods had never favoured him.
Chapter Twenty Nine
Abysynth was not as Briagh remembered it. He knew it the instant the party crested the gentle rise that overlooked the distant city. But then they'd received word of what had happened long before they'd reached the city. It was why they'd chosen to leave the road and travel through the woods. The roads would have been quicker and Briagh would have fallen less, but with what they had heard, caution seemed more important.
Most of the reports had come from the refugees fleeing from the city. Though they were confused all had told a similar tale. One of barbarian soldiers from Grole arriving unexpectedly in the city and their Prince somehow declaring himself king. Of those same soldiers in their full armour patrolling the streets. Battling wolves day after day as the city guards had before them. Of cannon being set off at all hours of the night, fires burning out of control, and magic too being unleashed. And then the sky turning black in the middle of a sunny afternoon as the ground shook and trembled in fear. And finally a story of how half the city had been turned into rubble.
That had been the end. That had been when these last refugees had fled. Because as they said, there was nothing left. And they were right.
Looking at Abysynth he could see the truth of it. When Briagh had fled the city after the attack by the wolves, the city had been in a bad way. Now it was worse. Much worse. Looking down at the city there appeared to be only a few pieces of the city walls still standing. The castle too was all but gone, as were many of the buildings. The heart of the city had been destroyed. And what was left of the rest of Abysynth was mostly blackened rubble.
Abysynth had been destroyed.
No one seemed to know how it had happened. All that those leaving could say was that suddenly parts of the city had begun exploding. That the sky had turned black in the middle of the day, and that orange fire had punctuated the darkness. Some claimed that it was the armouries that had gone up in flames for some unknown reason. Others that the gods had grown angry
and brought down destruction on the city.
What Briagh did know though was that his home of the last three years was gone. His shack too in all likelihood. He truly had become homeless.
Having arrived outside the city Briagh was at a loss as to their next move. They had come to pick up the globe which they had hoped would have now been found and waiting for them in the castle. But there was no castle. The notes Father Argen wanted along with his fellow priests, would have been in the temple of the Great Sage. But he doubted that stood either. And if any of those things or the priests still survived, there was no way to find them. Their journey had come to an unexpected end.
“So what do we do now Father?” That from Captain Hillaren.
“We wait until nightfall and then send in our thief.”
“What?!” Briagh was shocked when he heard him say that. But more than that, he was worried. He so did not want to go into the city. Especially not when he could hear the sounds of wolves howling in the distance. Obviously not all of them had been killed. “Father?”
“I'm sorry child, but this is something only you can do. We can't ride in as a patrol to a ruined city that may still be filled with wolves and barbarian soldiers. If the rule of law still existed it would have been fine. But it clearly doesn't and we would face a battle. We are outnumbered. But we still have to go in and search for the globe. Some of my brothers are still alive and can be found in the temple. I can feel them. And if they live and the temple still stands they will have the notes we need. Maybe even the globe.”
“Luckily it is not so dangerous as you might believe. There is a secret way in and out of the Temple of the Great Sage that others do not know about. It is a way in and out of the city too. But my brothers and sisters have not taken it. I can feel them still trapped inside. The Great Sage speaks to me of their plight. They need our help. Your help”
“You will need to go in and lead the priests out through the hidden ways if you can. Or else find out what you can and report back to us so that we may make plans. I will explain the route you must follow.”
“Father –.”
Briagh wanted to object. He thought it only wise. No one with any sense would ever want to go into what remained of the city. And surely he had already done his part for the mission by entering Oster alone! But then he saw the look in the priest's eyes, and the same one in the Captain's, and he knew there was no point. The decision had been made. They expected him to go in and they would demand no less. And if he refused and then went back to Wynde Par he would no doubt end up in a labour camp. While if he ran, he would be left with nothing. Not even the clothes on his back since he would have to run on four legs to have any chance of escaping.
“Dung!” This just wasn't fair!
Chapter Thirty
The entrance to the sewer was exactly where Father Argen had said it would be. Hidden behind a small copse of trees abutting the outer wall of the city. Carefully he tried the door. It was an ancient oak affair that looked like it had come off a very small barn, but nonetheless opened easily. Briagh wasn't sure whether that was a good thing or bad.
Still, he opened it and then changed into his panther form before stepping inside. The others were watching him from a safe distance. The Captain had a spyglass with him and Briagh knew he would be upset if he saw him run away. Briagh knew he had no choice but to go through with this. And anyway, the Father had said it was safe. He had promised him!
The priest had been wrong though. That was Briagh's immediate thought when he stepped into the sewer. Nothing about this place looked safe. The water slowly flowing past him was foul. It smelled like a mixture of effluent and sulphur, bad enough to make a man ill. And he had no idea at all what might be swimming in it. He certainly didn't plan on swimming in it himself.
Fortunately, he didn't have to. There was a narrow raised brick path running alongside it. But those bricks had been covered with filth over the years as the water level of the channel rose and fell, and his feet felt unclean just standing on them.
The air was bad too. Though it had been many days since the city had been destroyed and the sewers had a great many holes in them, it still tasted acrid on his tongue and stung the throat. He could breathe it, but not happily.
Worse though were the creatures floating in the sewer. They were all dead. And by the looks of things they had been for some time. Long enough for their bodies to start rotting away. Briagh could see that the water was filled with decomposing frogs, dead birds and bats, and here and there, people – their corpses bloated and burnt. Some of them were not so much corpses as pieces of them. They were, he guessed, a part of the reason for the smell that was befouling his nose and making his eyes water.
But what truly bothered him was that the path wasn't intact. Father Argen had promised him a safe path running all the way alongside the sewer channel to the Imperial Quarter. That wasn't the case. Instead, every so often along the sewer there were blockages where the roof and the walls had caved in. If he'd had to guess he would have said that someone had blown up the sewers, even though that didn't make any sense. Who would want to blow up a sewer?
Still, they were a source of fresh air and light and that was important to him. Without them he suspected, people would choke to death.
Briagh soon decided he should at least begin his journey. If only so that he could say to Father Argen truthfully that he'd tried. So he padded silently on all fours along for the first hundred yards until he reached the first cave in.
There was at least one thing the priest had been right about he realised. There was enough light for him to see by. At least while he walked as a panther. It was night and the only light coming through was from the small narrow grates in the ceiling that he knew led to the streets above and of course the collapsed roofs. And most of that light was moonlight. Evidently whatever had happened in the city had destroyed the street lights which should have been shining down on him. But that was enough for him. Anyone else would be nearly blind, but he could see well enough.
The cave in proved to be much as he'd thought it would be. A massive pile of rubble. It looked as though someone had set off a bomb in the sewer and brought down the ceiling and part of the side wall. That explained why the red bricks were blackened as if charred. But it wasn't as bad as he'd thought, and the air there was fresher. After checking carefully for any sounds, he climbed over the pile of rubble, pushed a few bricks into the water, and jumped over to the other side safely.
At that point Briagh paused for a moment to listen to the world around him. He could hear the sounds of wolves howling, but none sounded like they were close. And oddly the few soldiers he could also hear clanking above in their armour as they patrolled what remained of the city, didn't seem excited by the sound of the wolves. Perhaps the wolves and the barbarian soldiers had reached some sort of understanding? A truce? He doubted it. More likely it was simply that there weren't many left of either. Of course, the other possibility – and the one he didn't want to think about – was that the soldiers had been bitten and were slowly transforming into wolves.
At least the soldiers sounded like they were some distance away and weren't waiting for him to emerge from the sewer to the street above. Then again, it wasn’t as if he could have emerged. Even at the top of the pile of rubble he'd still be a good ten feet or so beneath the street.
Finally satisfying himself that no one was coming, he continued along the path. It still seemed dangerous, but perhaps not quite as dangerous as before. Maybe he could do this after all? Clearly though, his mission would take some time.
The next pile of rubble proved much the same as the first. More blackened bricks which had once formed the arched ceiling, now blocked the channel, leaving a gaping hole overhead. But he made his way over it without any trouble and continued on.
The pattern continued. He could hear the wolves and the soldiers in the distance. Sometimes fighting, sometimes not. But they were never anywhere near him. And as he came ever closer
to the entrance to the temple that didn't change. Nor did he spot any wolves at any of the intersections where the sewer line he was following met up with others. That seemed odd to him. The criers and bards had always said that the wolf mother and her pack had made the sewers their home. It was also how he understood they'd launched such a devastating attack on the city. Maybe whatever had destroyed the city had destroyed them too? He could live in hope.
In time as Briagh’s nerves settled, he found himself wondering as to how someone had blown up the entire sewers. It couldn't be just one bomb that had done this. It had to be hundreds. And why would anyone do such a thing? It didn't seem like much of a target after all.
Eventually Briagh caught sight of the small round chamber ahead in the distance that Father Argen had described. The chamber apparently housed the secret door to the temple's basement. He did wonder though if the door still existed, and if it did, whether it would lead him to the basement or just to another pile of rubble. After all, there was so much general damage to the sewer system that the basement along with the temple might have been destroyed.
