by Levi Samuel
The escort came to a stop just inside the gate. Their lead broke formation and approached the right-side corner post which the rope rail had been drilled through. Placing his hand atop the wooden post, a series of clicks began to echo from the hole before them. A moment later, the railing began to descend into the hole, disappearing from sight as a wooden platform filled the gap.
Their escort started forward, marching them to the center. Once in position, their lead took his place on the lift and waited. It began to descend, carrying them into darkness.
Inyalia watched the linkages in the walls around her. She could see the chains moving, carrying the lift between layers. The rope railing began to raise back to its original location once they passed. All light disappeared, sealing them in complete darkness. Inyalia could hear the movement around her, but her vision was useless down here. She was nervous, though being captured and held captive had much to do with that. And now, with the darkness of the pit, she had no idea how she was going to defend herself, if such a basic desire was even possible. Feeling Tylor’s hand wrap around hers brought a mild comfort, though it did little to quell the uncertainty growing inside her.
“Step forward ten paces and turn around.” The lead man’s voice ordered from behind them.
Keeping their hands locked together, both Inyalia and Tylor started forward, counting off their steps. Tylor was slow to keep up, his steps being about half their usual stride. Reaching the count, they released their grip and turned.
Cries echoed in the dark. The underground void was much larger than either of them could have anticipated. It was chilly, but not cold. A slight draft traveled through the air, though it was too subtle to offer direction. The clank of iron bars being drug surrounded them.
Inyalia didn’t need to see to know she was in a cell. Even the temperature around her seemed colder now.
“The magistrate will wanna speak ta ya before yer sentence is passed. I suggest ye get comfortable, ye may be here a while.”
“Wait!” Tylor demanded, suddenly coming to life. It was as if every thought he’d had since their capture was escaping him at once. “What sentence? We haven’t done anything wrong!” He rushed forward, slamming into the bars now entrapping him.
“Save yer breath. Ye’ll get the chance ta tell yer story ta the magistrate.” An audible click echoed in the dark.
Inyalia felt the ground beneath her move. Catching her balance, she realized she was moving horizontally, away from the lift that had carried them here. Hearing a heavy sigh to her left, she turned, finding a set of bars. “Tylor, is that you?” She suspected as much but wanted to be sure.
“Yeah.”
Sticking her arm through the narrow gap, she spoke softly, hoping they were alone, though she knew otherwise. These short men were too cunning to simply leave them to their devices. And considering the number of guards they’d seen in the open, there were probably twice as many around them now. “Tylor?” Inyalia placed her hand on the sleeve of his tunic. She was pleased to feel his hand settle over hers.
“I’m sorry I got us into this. Had I done what you suggested and waited, we wouldn’t have fallen into this trap.”
Emotions swelled inside her. The anger that had initially been present had all but faded. All that was left was a deep desire for survival. Swallowing, Inyalia searched for the words. She was torn between ridicule and comfort. He deserved both. But the situation was too dire to waste it on torment. He knew he’d made a mistake. But this wasn’t his fault alone. She’d been equally as guilty. Nodding, forgetting he was just as blind as her, Inyalia caressed his arm. “Your apology is accepted, though you can’t have all the blame. I knew the risk when I disarmed. Just promise me one thing.”
“Anything.”
“If you have an opportunity to get out of here, I want you to take it. Even if that means you have to abandon me.”
Tylor was silent for a long moment. He knew they weren’t alone. And suggesting a prison break was likely to bring more attention than they needed at the moment. Carefully selecting his words, Tylor spoke to both Inyalia and the unseen guards surrounding them. “Inyalia, I’m sorry, but I cannot do that. I promised your father that I’d do everything within my power to see you safely returned. Besides, with my knee, I wouldn’t make it to the lift before they’d fill me with holes.” He closed his eyes, wishing he could speak openly. He wanted to fill her with hope, rather than submission. These men, these dwarves, he suspected they were called, knew the language of the elves. That meant there was no chance of plotting so long as they were present. Besides, if anyone needed to escape this place, it was Inyalia. And he intended to do everything within his power to make sure that happened. He hadn’t been lying when he made the promise.
Inyalia retracted her arm, feeling his hand fall away from her. If he wasn’t willing to fight for survival, what hope did they have? Turning away from him, she laid on the cold ground of her cell. Using her arms for support she closed her eyes and awaited judgement.
Chapter XIV
An Unexpected Ally
Inyalia’s eyes shot open, unprepared for the sudden jarring of her cell. She couldn’t recall how long she’d been asleep. But that wasn’t saying much. There were many events over the past few months of her life she couldn’t recall, most of them beginning the moment she entered the Hall of Guardians. Picking herself up, she fought gravity to stand. It was then she realized her cell was ascending. If only she could see, she’d be able to grasp exactly how these men had built the prison. There was something to be said about the security of a cell that could transport prisoners without having to remove them first.
A blinding light erupted from the ceiling overhead. Inyalia shielded her eyes, hoping they’d adjust quickly. That had said more than enough. She’d been in total darkness long enough for this sudden light to cause pain. Now, more than ever, she hoped Tylor was with her. If he’d been taken while she was asleep, or even left behind when her cage began to move, she wasn’t sure how she’d react. “Are you here, Tylor?”
“Yes. I’m here. Listen, I counted the guard patrol while you were sleeping. One passes every hundred and twenty-six seconds. I wasn’t able to tell if it was one, or many. But if you have the chance to escape, that’s the patrol count. I’m sorry I couldn’t give you more detail when we last spoke. I couldn’t risk them overhearing and expecting anything other than complete obedience.”
Inyalia smiled. She should have known better. He hadn’t given up. He was just thinking like a tactician, something she needed to do more often. “Do you have any idea where they’re taking us?”
“No. But if I had to guess, I’d say we’re on our way to see the magistrate. Judging from the shouts and cries I heard in the dark, it doesn’t sound like they execute their prisoners. Instead, I believe they use them for slave labor. That may work to our advantage in the long run. We just have to stay together long enough to form a plan.” Watching the opening drawing ever closer, nearly upon them, Tylor rapidly added his final words. “I don’t know when we’ll have the chance to speak freely again. But I promise, I’ll do everything within my power to get us out of here.”
They passed through the opening, light enveloping them. Inyalia blinked several times, letting her eyes adjust. She could see a combination of flame and glowing fungus around the walls of the large chamber. With the light, she noticed their cells were open along the top. That would have proven useful were it not for the glossy metal holding them. The bars were far too slick to climb.
Her eyes adjusting, Inyalia searched her surroundings. A handful of guards were posted around the outer edge of the room. It reminded her of the theater in Camruun City, the center being a large, circular platform that set closest to the ground. The further from the center they got, the higher the seats rose, eventually creating the outer walls. This was no different, except there were only two rows of seats, one at ground level, the other midway up the enclosed wall. There was a wide opening behind them, and another smaller e
ntrance fixed with a closed door straight ahead.
One of the stout men stood at the midpoint between their cages and the closed door. Inyalia studied him from head to toe. Unlike the others, he wasn’t wearing armor, though his posture suggested he wasn’t unfamiliar with it. A set of elegant red robes covered his broad form, throwing great contrast to his thick black beard and long dark hair. His hands were clasped, one over the other in front of him, waiting for the cells to stop moving.
Hearing the door beneath them clank shut, Inyalia watched the man approach. His piercing blue eyes were youthful, but the wrinkles upon his flesh said otherwise.
“Greetings. I am Gailen Stoneheart, Cousin ta our emperor, Gaius Stoneheart, an’ Magistrate o’ Deep Rock City. It’s me duty ta hear all complaints an’ oversee sentencing o’ crimes committed both wittingly and unwittingly, within the confines o’ this fine city and her outlying regions. Ye’ve been charged with trespassin’ in the second degree. How do ye plead?” Gailen paused, awaiting their answer.
“Not guilty!” Tylor stated defiantly, refusing Inyalia the chance to speak. The last thing he wanted was for her to say something that could potentially incriminate her.
A smile came to Gailen’s face, though his beard hid most of it. Casually, he approached the cells, refusing to take his eyes off the outsiders. “Were ye, or were ye not found an’ arrested in the hot pools?” Carefully he studied their faces, searching for any sign of how they’d found their way into the mountain. That was a far greater threat than a simple trespassing charge. They’d sealed every entrance in and out nearly a thousand years prior. Severing all ties to the outside world had conserved their way of life and allowed their economy to flourish. If the way had been opened, mistakes of the past were bound to repeat themselves.
“I refuse to answer that question on account of its nature. There’s no answer I can provide that would be considered anything other than an admission of guilt.” Tylor glared his defiance into the old dwarf. This was going to be a battle of wills. It was a long shot, but if he could twist the words to their favor, perhaps he could clear them of any charges. Though even with a clear name, it was unlikely they’d be released.
“Yer objection is noted. Allow me ta rephrase.” Gailen paced in front of the cells, looking from one elf to the other. There was something familiar about the female. He simply couldn’t recall where he’d seen it. “Two days ago, one o’ our scout patrols responded ta the sound o’ laughter. In one o’ the hot pool chambers, they discovered two elves, one male, one female, engaged in allusive activity. Both were promptly taken inta custody an’ provided their clothes. All other gear, weapons, armor, an’ effects, with the exception o’ a knee brace were gathered an’ delivered fer evaluation.” The dwarf gestured to a table at his left. Every item from Inyalia’s pack had been laid out for inspection. Their weapons rested on one end, and both her, and Tylor’s armors were hanging from a wire stand that was far too large for their slender frames.
Gailen turned his attention back to the elves and continued reciting the report. “Both prisoners were ushered ta the prison block, where they were secured fer trial.” Pacing behind the cells and coming back into view, he paused in front of the male elf, careful to remain out of reach. He doubted either would be foolish enough to attack through the bars, but he wasn’t going to give them the opportunity. He didn’t desire their blood on his hands any more than he desired their presence in his city. There were far greater concerns which demanded his attention. “Is this recollection o’ the report I received accurate?”
Tylor glared at the ancient dwarf. Factually, everything he’d said was correct. How could he find a loophole when every detail had been accounted for?
“It is.” Inyalia stated.
Gailen turned his attention to the female. He wondered when she would speak. Marching to the front of her cell, he studied her closer, hoping something would remind him why she seemed so familiar. “Then ye admit that ye were trespassin’?”
“Inyalia!” Tylor shook his head, warning her to keep quiet.
“I do.”
“I see. And how did you find yer way into the caverns?” Perhaps she’d be able to give the answer he desperately sought.
Inyalia remained quiet for a moment, deciding what she was willing to say. Tylor’s tactics weren’t helping anything, though she knew what he’d hoped to achieve. A subtler approach was needed here. As ridiculous as it would sound, the truth was the best option. If nothing else, maybe these creatures were familiar with the guardians. Maybe they’d be sympathetic to their cause and allow them to go free. Even if they didn’t, they wouldn’t be in any worse position than they were now. “There’s a place at the top of the mountain my people call, The Hall of Guardians. Some time ago, when my friend and I were there, rocks began to fall from the sky. We barely escaped with our lives, but we got trapped inside. We found a room that led into the caves. But we couldn’t spend the rest of our lives there. We set out to find a way back to the surface. And that’s when your people found us.”
A smile came to Gailen. It was the way her mouth moved when she spoke that reminded him where he’d seen it before. And if her words were to be believed, which he did, that meant the way to the outside was still shut. He was familiar with the guardians. In fact, he recalled a time in his youth when the guardians had served as allies of his people. The halls had been a gift, back when their two peoples associated. “Tell me, youngling. Do ye have an ascendant named, Aeldren Soulaire?”
Inyalia stood frozen for a moment. She hadn’t expected to hear that name from anyone, let alone in this place. “My grandfather is named Aeldren. Though I never knew his surname. My father doesn’t like to speak of him.”
“I thought so.” Gailen’s smile grew wider, unable to be hidden behind his black beard. Stepping forward, he got within an arm’s length of the girl. “I’ve got some stories about yer grandpa.” Shaking his head in pleasant recollection, he grabbed the corner of her cell and gave a sturdy twist. It clicked and the bars began to sink into the floor, leaving her unharmed at their center. Turning his attention to the male, he repeated the process, watching the cell disappear. “Now, don’t be tryin’ ta attack me first chance ye get. It won’t end well fer ye.”
Inyalia stood confused, watching the old creature turn away from them as if he’d served his purpose. She wasn’t sure what she’d said, or even if any of this had anything to do with her. One thing was certain though, her grandfather had made a reputation with this guy. If only such pleasantries existed between her father and him. Unsure what to do, Inyalia took a step toward the man, carefully watching the guards around the room. They didn’t seem to care. “Excuse me, but I’m afraid I don’t understand what’s going on.”
Gailen reached the table where the gear had been laid out. Signaling Inyalia to join him, he looked over their belongings. “Long ago, yer grandfather served me emperor well. He was one o’ the few outsiders who was offered permanent residence within the city. He declined. Said the world was too large fer him ta remain in one place fer long. I respected him, as did many o’ us.” Lifting the blackened arrow, Gailen inspected the material. “I knew there was something unique about ye when I saw this. It’s not o’ dwarven make, but it was made on dwarven forge.” He handed the arrow to the young elf, casually making his way toward the armors.
Tylor stepped over the crack in the floor where the cell had disappeared moments earlier. He was just as confused as Inyalia. But apparently something had worked in their favor, even if neither knew exactly what it was. Approaching the pair, he listened intently, hoping to catch anything of importance.
“Like the arrow, this armor is made o’ dwarven ore, but not by dwarven hand. However, if ye look at the sigil on the collar—,” Gailen paused, giving them a moment to inspect it. “—this markin’ hasn’t been seen fer quite some time. Not since before me people explored beyond the mountain, during the time o’ the guardians themselves.”
“What’s it mean
?” Inyalia asked, recalling that Tylor had been unsure of its meaning as well. All other rangers wore the insignia of their rank in the same location. Why was her armor different?
“It’s from a language few speak, an’ even fewer can read. Simply put, it means, champion. Yer grandfather was awarded a similar sigil when he saved our emperor an’ earned his place among our people.”
“What’s this mean for us?” Tylor asked, still uncertain as to what was happening.
“Ye’re free ta stay here as long as ye like. Or if ye wish ta return ta the surface, we can dig ye a way out. But know, once ye leave, there’s no comin’ back.”
“I understand.” Inyalia laid the arrow with the others. “I appreciate the offer, but we need to reach the surface. There are things happening that we need to be a part of.”
“I can admire that, lass. It’ll take about a week ta make the preparations fer yer departure. Please, do me the honor o’ staying at me villa while ye’re here. Ye can stock on supplies and leave as soon as the way is clear.”
“Thank you.”
“It’s the least I can do fer the granddaughter o’ good ol’ Aeldren. Especially one whose earned the favor o’ the guardians.”
Tylor leaned against the stone column, looking out over the subterranean city. Absently, he rolled the cuff of his new tunic between his fingers. The material was thick and extremely soft, gliding against itself like silk. Though this was clearly something different. The slick fibers had been dyed a vibrant blue, nearly glowing in the artificial light. His breeches were of the same material, but black in color. The dwarven clothes felt good against his skin. They provided plenty of warmth in the cool underground, while allowing enough airflow to keep him from sweating. Realizing he’d been fiddling with the sleeve again, he released it and rested his hand on the pommel of his new weapons. The dwarves had been more than accommodating. Aside from the new clothes and daggers, they’d provided him with a pack, replacing nearly everything he’d lost, including a new and improved spice shaker. This one he didn’t even have to grind the herbs himself. He simply put the whole leaves into it and twisted. A grinder inside did the rest. But best of all, they’d built him a new leg brace.
