by Ben Galley
There! A ring of blue light around the well; the first outpost. It bristled with sharp battlements and lanterns, searing away the shadows. Merion tensed his body and raised his head, becoming streamlined. There was a flash of light as the outpost passed. The boy watched it rocket into the darkness above him. Over the roar, he tried to listen for horns or bells, but none sounded.
The more time he spent falling, the more he managed to quell his panic. By the time two more rings of light glowed below him, it had became almost a serene experience. The forts clung to the sheer walls like fat limpets, almost filling the shaft, and there was only a small hole for the rope to hang through. Merion almost yanked, but then he saw Gunderton fly through, and so he clenched his jaw instead. He rocketed past, blisteringly fast. All he could catch were blurs of black steel and glowworms trapped in glass cages.
The tunnel soon became a blurred kaleidoscope of lights and outcrops of buildings and battlements. They were like two cold meteors hurtling through the blackness. If noticed, they would be dismissed as a flicker of the eye, a brief gust of strange wind. Merion found time to smile as he plummeted, even though it made his cheeks flap.
All at once, the walls of the well fell away, cascading outwards to form a mighty cavern, so large they could barely make out its perimeter. Below them, the city of Shanarh sparkled like an inverted night sky, rising like the spikes of a hundred crowns. Tallest of them all was the Coil of Cela’h Dor, built like a needle-pointed conch shell. The Coil’s black and silver sides glowed with countless blue lanterns and specks of light.
Merion began to get twitchy. He looked down to see Gunderton waving frantically. This was it. He wrapped his hands around the knotted cord and yanked as hard as he could. There was an awful rasping noise as the contraption bit down. Merion felt the loops pull at his arms as he stalled ever so slightly. He tugged harder, pushing his shoulders into it, and yet still he fell. The cord was beginning to smoke now. Wide-eyed, he pulled for all his worth, pressing the rope to his chest and bending his whole body into it.
Sure enough, and Almighty be praised, the knots began to slow him. A few more yards and he was sliding at a casual pace. Gunderton had already rolled clear, and was currently prostrate in a deep shadow. Merion tried to do the same, but with considerably less grace. For an old man, Dower Gunderton was surprisingly spry. He’d already drawn one of his swords.
‘Where now?’ he asked.
‘In there, I suppose,’ Merion hissed, pointing to the lantern-lit doorway several hundred yards away. Above them, the Coil towered, sparkling in the gloom. High above that, a lonely speck of light shone through the cavern roof, looking oh so far away indeed. ‘He’ll likely be in the dungeons, or with the Queen.’
They could hear the muted roar of the city beneath them. It sounded just like any other urban centre in the heat of day, except this one had another flavour; the buzzing of wings, earthy smells, the chatter of an ancient tongue, and the distant, riotous rumble of whistles and marching boots. All was not well in the capital of Undering. Maybe London and Shanarh were closer brethren than believed.
A patrol of faerie guards were creeping along on the opposite side of the courtyard. Something had caught their eye, and they were eager to know what it was. They would have to move fast.
‘Give me one of your knives.’ Gunderton held out a hand. Merion flashed him a look. ‘You can grab one of theirs once I’ve dealt with them. Fae steel, as you called it?’
‘Strongest metal in the world, or so Rhin brags,’ Merion whispered, as he handed over his crude knife. They broke into a crouching jog, keeping to the shadows of the immense courtyard.
Gunderton’s plan soon became obvious. Creeping along the wall of the Coil, he tossed the knife out onto the flagstones, catching the attention of the two guards standing either side of the door. They crept forwards, full armour clanking as they lowered their spears. Gunderton struck at them like a rattlesnake, bringing the butt of his sword down on the backs of their necks. Faeries they may have been, but they still had nerves and brains. Merion rushed forward to help stop them from clanging on the floor as they fell. He snatched their blades from their belts and swapped them for his makeshift sword.
Leaving the bodies in the shadows, they moved quickly through the stout door, weaving through grand, arching corridors of white marble and black metal. Merion bit his lip; the place was a warren, but there were even fewer Fae than he had hoped.
‘Left or right?’ said Gunderton.
‘Where would the dungeons be?’
‘Where they always are. Down.’ The Brother pointed. He nodded left and they moved off, Merion behind him, sword out and ready.
‘Remember all those fencing lessons I gave you?’ Gunderton whispered over his shoulder.
Merion pulled a face. ‘You mean with broomsticks?’
‘Yes, those. You weren’t ready for a live blade.’
‘Barely.’
‘Well they’re about to come in handy.’
‘I would have paid more attention if I had known you were training me for actual combat.’
Gunderton wasn’t listening. He had frozen at a corner. Merion took a peek past his knees. Three Fae guards stood at the top of a flight of stairs. It was surreal, seeing them at his height. Like Jake, they were even fiercer up close. Their wings were like sheet crystal and their features were almost as sharp as their teeth.
‘Nothing for it but to rush them,’ Gunderton mouthed. ‘How are you holding up?’
Keeping the shade-blend rushing was now a dull sort of concentration, almost automatic. Merion said as much. ‘It seems to have sunk in.’
‘Good. The moment it becomes noticeable, we need to leave. Ready?’
‘As I’ll ever be,’ said Merion, face fixed into a fearsome scowl, trying not to think of Gavisham.
Gunderton burst forward like a branded cat, swinging his sword in wild arcs as he charged. Merion followed at his heels, charging at the left-hand faerie.
There was a clang and a crunch as the sword-tip pierced the mail of the faerie’s jerkin and found the grey skin underneath. He went down with a howl, dragging himself from the blade as he fell. Gunderton brought his sword up beneath his faerie’s chin, splitting his head in two before he could make a sound. The middle one was already stumbling down the stairs, but a left hook from the Brother sent him flying over the banister and to the stone below with a crack.
‘Come on,’ said Merion. ‘They will find this mess soon enough.’ He didn’t dare dwell for one moment on what he had done, to revel in the success of it. A bloody sword was a minor victory compared to what lay before them. He could not distract himself. He would be like Gunderton; calm and cold to it all.
The young Hark led them down the staircase, managing four floors before coming to its end. A clatter of clanking and hissing grew loud, emanating from deep below them. An open window in the next corridor showed them the source of the sound. They had found another cavern beneath the city, and this one was filled with wooden machinery and activity. The muddy floor far below teemed with Fae workers, porting crates to and fro, or banging things together. A thousand pairs of wings buzzed alongside the clanking of the Coil and the city’s innards.
Merion ran a hand through his hair. ‘And all I wanted was a nice, neat dungeon.’
‘Who knew the Fae were so industrious?’ said Gunderton, as they crept on, deeper into the bowels of Shanarh. It was slow progress, ducking guards and groups of workers. For all the clatter and scale of the cavern, it was quiet and half-abandoned, for which Merion was grateful.
Another stairwell took them spiralling down another five floors, where signs written in Fae script jutted out from every corner. Whenever another pair of boots trod the gantries and muddy paths with them, they kept their hoods up and their faces hidden. Those who passed seemed far too busy to notice wingless strangers in their midst. Only once did a guard question them. They left his body between two barrels.
‘Does that look like a prison
to you?’ asked Merion, pointing down below, where a series of holes had been dug into the brown walls, strung together by wooden walkways.
Gunderton took a look. ‘That it is. I’ve seen my fair share.’
‘A story for another time, perhaps,’ Merion whispered, before slipping down to the next level.
More guards stood at the entrance to the honeycomb of cells, leaning on spears and chatting in their harsh tongue. Merion longed to shout Rhin’s name at the top of his lungs, but it would have been suicide.
‘Afternoon, fellows,’ Gunderton greeted the nearest of them, confusing them just long enough to slice a blade across two of their chests. He let Merion finish a third, which he did a little awkwardly, missing his first swing and narrowly dodging a fist. He brought the blade home on the second attempt.
‘Humans!’ the faerie rasped as he died.
Another guard came at him. Merion ducked a wild slash of a spear, but didn’t see the knee rising up to greet his face. It connected with his nose and sent him sprawling. Fireworks cascaded under his eyelids. He blinked furiously, waving his blade around to fend off any further stabs.
The spear came in again, and he cut it down to size. The faerie snarled, lavender eyes flashing, and charged in hard, wielding the broken spear-shaft like a truncheon.
Merion barely fended him off, blocking only half the faerie’s blows with the sword. The strikes that didn’t splinter struck him hard, and between attacks, Merion found himself grateful for the lack of a blade in those grey hands.
As the wood came down fiercely on the backs of his knees, Merion cried out and stumbled forward. The next blow flattened him before he could roll away. He swung his sword in a low arc and felt it hit bone. There was a scream and he felt the thud of a body as it hit the ground next to him. Gunderton finished the faerie off with a vicious kick.
Despite the pain, Merion didn’t waste a second, dashing along the lines of cells, peering through the bars at their damp dirt floors. They were all fuller than they should have been, sometimes with four to a cell; all dull-eyed Fae looking nervous and confused. The word “human” had been heard through the sounds of battle and death.
‘Rhin!’ hissed Merion, as loud as he dared.
He needn’t have bothered with the caution. A warning bell began to clang somewhere below them. Shouts in the Fae tongue echoed through their corner of the cavern. There was no reason to hold back now.
‘Rhin! RHIN!’
‘Here, whoever you are!’ came a muffled shout. They both sprinted in its direction, slipping in the mud. A guard came emerged from a shadow, spear outstretched. Merion dashed on while Gunderton dealt with him, ripping the spear from his grasp and slamming the faerie’s face against the wall.
‘Here!’ Merion yelled, skidding to a halt in the front of a lonely cell at the end of a row.
And there was Rhin! Looking like hell and skinnier than silverware. Merion could see every crack in his grey forehead; every blemish, cut, swelling, and scar on his body. His short hair was matted into clumps and his purple eyes lacked their fierce lustre. Sift had gone to town and back on him, and yet despite his gut-wrenching appearance, Merion was numbed by the peculiar experience of seeing him on this level for the first, and most likely the last time.
He hesitated, mouth caught halfway in a smile. Rhin sat frozen, aghast, blood draining from his already pale face. He soon recovered himself.
‘By the bloody Roots…’ he gasped, pushing himself along the grimy floor of his cell. ‘I don’t believe it. It’s a trick!’
‘It’s me, Rhin. Real as I’ll ever be. Just a little shorter. Now come on!’
‘How can it be you?’
Another horn rang out above them. ‘Can’t you hear that? We used nimerigar blood. It shrinks you down!’ Merion urged him.
‘It’s not bloody possible!’ said Rhin. He shuffled forwards and pressed his face against the black bars. Merion grasped his friend’s white knuckles to demonstrate his realness. The faerie’s skin was rougher than he had ever realised. Rhin was ever so slightly taller than the boy, and he had to look up to meet his purple eyes, wide as saucers. He stared back, letting the faerie see the fierce truth in his gaze.
‘No trick. Real Merion.’ The boy grinned. ‘I’m here to steal you back, Rhin. Like I promised.’
Rhin was still torn between sense and relief. ‘You’re a bloody fool, Tonmerion Hark!’
‘Well this fool is going to get you out of here. I didn’t come all this way for nothing.’
‘I can’t argue with that, even if you are a mirage.’
‘Merion, time’s wasting!’ Gunderton hollered, grappling with yet another guard.
‘We need to break this door!’ yelled Merion.
‘Look in your hand, Merion!’ said Rhin, grabbing at the boy’s sword. He wiggled it through the bars and began to hack at the door-bolt. Merion chipped at it from the other side with a Fae knife. Eventually, it broke in two and the door was wrenched open. Rhin strode forward with relief in his eyes. He grasped the boy tightly. Merion could feel the tremble in his lean, steel-hard muscles. It was strange that neither of them could bring themselves to mention the bizarreness of the embrace. Not that they had the time.
‘Can you run? Are you injured?’
‘Nothing I can’t handle,’ said Rhin, voice cracking. Merion didn’t believe him, but the faerie was at least standing.
‘Then let’s go!’
‘Does this mean I owe you again?’
A little humour to soften the emotion. Sift hadn’t broken him completely.
‘You’re damn right,’ said the boy with a grin.
Rhin flourished his sword. ‘I’ll take that. The accommodation is not up to my standards here,’ he said, marching to stand beside Gunderton. With a nod to the man, he raised his sword. He was still shaking, but Merion knew it wasn’t just out of fear or relief; it was also the prospect of revenge, of the blood his freedom could spill.
Merion brought up the rear as the other two surged forward, spinning like twin tornadoes of black steel and fists. He saw then how lacking his skills were. He stuck to knocking out any Fae who still twitched with the butt of his heavy knife.
Inch by inch, they carved their way clear of the prisons and tangled walkways. They ran at full pelt, stopping for nothing but murder. Horns blared and bells clanged; booming, hollow sounds that chased them through every passageway.
‘We need a way out, Mr Rhin!’ Gunderton yelled.
‘And let’s not forget our other prize,’ said Merion.
‘Sift’s head, by any chance?’ Rhin could hope.
‘If it presents itself. In any case, we need a faerie.’
Rhin knew why and said no more. On and on he led them, hurtling around corners and sprinting down corridors. They were moving so fast that Gunderton managed to barge a guard clean through a railing, sending him sailing out into thin air with nothing but a whimper. They thundered down any steps they could find, winding ever closer to the cavern floor.
‘RHIN REHN’AR!’ roared a voice. It sounded too close for comfort.
‘Sift!’ Rhin spat, skidding to a halt behind a rack of wooden cogs, stained with grease. Merion crouched by his side, listening to Rhin’s ragged breathing. His crystalline wings were drooping at the edges, and several wounds had opened up and were oozing dark purple blood. There was even a strange symbol carved in his side.
‘Are you sure you’re alright?’ he whispered, but Rhin waved him away.
‘We need to go!’ said Gunderton. They could hear the rising drone of wings and the scrabbling of tough Fae hands on rock and timber.
‘She’s up there!’ Rhin said, pointing to the floors above. His eyes were wide now and the boy heard the tremor of fear in his voice.
‘We don’t have time—’ Gunderton began, but Merion shushed him.
A faerie in black mail swung over the railing and hurled herself at them, wings a blur and sword raised. The Brother managed to seize her in mid-air and bring
her down hard on the floor. Bone met stone with a loud crack and she fell quiet.
‘There we go! We can grab this one.’
‘You do not get to leave, do you hear me? You are mine, Rhin Rehn’ar! MINE!’ Sift’s voice echoed unnaturally through the cavern, driven by magick. Even Merion felt a chill run up his spine.
‘Don’t let her get to you, Rhin. Come on!’
‘This way!’ Rhin broke into a limping sprint. Gunderton hefted the unconscious faerie over his shoulder with a grunt, running alongside Merion.
They hurtled up a flight of stairs and burst into a gloomy open warehouse carved into the cavern wall. Sift and her Fae were several levels above them, behind twisted railings. Merion looked back at the Fae Queen as he ran, curious as ever.
Sift was a slender creature, tightly wrapped in black and silver. Her eyes were a fierce golden orange, burning with an expression of intense rage. There was an intricate bow in her hands, and as she drew it, her shining wings vibrated with fury. She snarled as she met the boy’s gaze.
‘HUMANS!’ Sift roared, releasing the bowstring. Merion threw himself behind a crate. The thick black arrow ricocheted off one of its iron corners, skidding across the floor.
More arrows rained down, thudding into the crates and iron caskets piled high around them. They scurried like rabbits through furrows, crouching low and constantly moving. The arrows kept falling, coming in swarms as the Fae archers found their rhythms. The rest of the guards were bounding down the wall, using their wings and strong limbs.
An arrow slammed into a crate by Merion’s elbow, shattering instead of burying itself in the grey wood. The noise made him turn. The broken arrowhead was some sort of vial, and whatever liquid it had carried was quickly beginning to smoke.
‘Rhin?’ he shouted.
‘Keep moving, Merion! And don’t breathe that in!’ Rhin yelled back at him. The boy needed no further encouragement. He ran on, hearing the smashing of other strange arrows around him.
