by Greg Curtis
After that it was just a long slow march down the stairs. Ten flights of them that wove their way down through a solid stone shaft. As a child she'd sometimes played here. It had seemed like a fun place to explore, and the cavern at the bottom had been a wonderland for her, full of curiosities. Now it seemed oppressive. Perhaps even dangerous. The walls felt like they were closing in on her and the air was too thin. All the hairs on her neck were standing on end, telling her she was walking into a trap. And there was a smell. She didn’t know what it was, but it was sickening. And the further down they went the more overpowering it became.
But they reached the bottom landing without springing any traps and Dariya breathed a sigh of relief. Had they had enough torches they could have looked out from the landing over the entire underground cavern. As it was, the few they carried barely pierced the veil of darkness. Certainly the circle of light extended no more than a few yards in front of the them.
One of the Fae waved his hands and a series of brilliant white balls of light shot from his fingertips to hover in the air above them. The light was so bright that it almost blinded her.
Wasn't it dangerous to cast in the way he had, she wondered? She was sure that the wizard had told her repeatedly that there were no wizards like those described by the bards, because casting your magic from your fingertips would likely burn them off. It was why Baen enchanted everything. Then again, these were Fae and she knew almost nothing about their magic. Maybe it was safe for them?
In time Dariya’s eyes adjusted to the brilliance, and she gasped in horror at what she saw. Around her others did the same. Many lost the contents of their stomachs as they suddenly caught sight of the source of the smell.
A mix of bodies, body parts and rubble! Thousands of bodies! Many, many thousands. It was a slaughter house!
Dariya stood there and stared at the scene in front of her, just like the others. And she didn't know what to think or say. She didn't know whether she should shout or scream, or just weep for the death of so many innocents. Because these weren't soldiers. They were normal people. Some of them were children! And she knew that they had been murdered horribly. That was the horror she had seen in the faces of the ghosts.
Behind her, she could hear the others doing the same. Gasping when they caught sight of the slaughter. Gagging when the smell overcame them. retching too. They weren't the actions of trained soldiers. But maybe, she thought, they were the right actions for people to take when they came across such a nightmare. She wanted to do the same.
Slowly, the soldier within her began to take over, and instead of just standing there like a statue, she started to study what she was seeing.
The cavern had been blown up using explosive devices attached to the supports. It had taken out the massive stone columns and archways that had once graced the cavern and brought half the roof down. It was a wonder that the entire cavern wasn't open to the sky. And when her uncle – it could only have been him – had blown up the cavern, he had killed hundreds if not thousands of people with it.
This was not the result of the army’s attack. She knew that because most of the roof above them was still intact save for where the wall had collapsed. Even the mighty war machines had not broken through so many yards of solid stone. But all of the massive stone columns, the gigantic archways and the stone walls of the underground temple underneath that roof had been turned into dust. By high explosives. The smell of their burning was still strong. Dariya guessed that the horror before her had been caused by explosives being strapped to the columns and archways and then detonated. That was why most of the columns had their bottom six or so feet intact.
Looking further across the cavern, she saw that in places the blood, dirt and rubble had mixed together into a disgusting slurry that was almost a lake of red. How many people, she wondered, had needed to die to create that thing?
“Sweet Lady.” She whispered a prayer to the Goddess, forgetting just then that she had never really believed in her.
How could someone do this? The question kept running around in her head in search of an answer. Her uncle was a monster – she had always known that – but this? And her mother? Had she known? Once more Dariya found herself wanting to be ill. But she held it back somehow. She had been sick enough already.
“Brothers, sisters.” Their leader gestured to some of the other Fae with them, and immediately they started intoning prayers.
How they could do that when the smell was so strong, Dariya didn’t know. Perhaps they had a spell on them that dulled their senses? Dariya only wished she had the same as she finally succumbed to her horror and rushed to one side to be sick.
They were blessing the underground graveyard, Dariya realised, when she had regained a little more control over her body. But how could they bless something like this? Mass murder on a scale the likes of which she'd never even imagined possible. And what was the point? The ghosts or restless souls had already escaped and were now presumably wandering the world, killing and terrifying. Driving people mad.
But the trained soldier in her understood the crime even when the woman didn't want to. This was where the ghosts had come from! This was where her uncle had built his army of restless souls.
“He brought them here”, Dariya quietly explained to the soldiers as the Fae worked, “the Duke.” “Hundreds, perhaps thousands of people. He trapped them down here in the darkness as the Elder said. He then cursed the very ground and left them for a time to despair. And when the time was right, he murdered them using explosives strapped to the temple walls and columns.” She outlined the crime for them, not sure why. Maybe because she had to say something. Anything rather than simply stand there in silence and stare at the scene of carnage in front of her.
But why? Had this always been his plan? From the moment his attack on the Hallows failed had he known that his castle would no longer be his protection? That he would be attacked? Had he then prepared for the attack? Or had he done this even before that?
“It will be alright,” Nyri told her, trying to find a little comfort in the face of unimaginable evil. “This will be fixed. This cavern will be blessed. The curse lifted. In time the restless souls will return to their bodies. And when they do they will find themselves free to move on.”
“No.” Dariya turned to her. “This will never be alright,” she said quietly, as certain of her words as she had ever been of anything else in her entire life. And then she turned her back on the grizzly mess in front of her and headed back to the stairs.
It was time to go back to the outpost and report what had happened. And then to start the hunt for her uncle. He had already been breathing for far too long. She could not allow that to continue.
Chapter Fourteen
Life was good when you had a wheeler. You could simply get on it and race out of the city whenever you wanted. Find a nice quiet little spot where no one would come across you, and play with your magic. At least that was Baen's view of things as he drove back into the city after spending a sunny weekend doing just that. There was only one problem with that view, he quickly realised as his store came into view. You eventually had to come home – and people knew that.
In this case the people were his family. He could see his sister leaning over the railing of his roof, waving to him. And there were more people behind her.
Was this the day of the garden festival, he wondered? He couldn't remember. Had she simply ignored his refusal to show off his roof garden and invited people in? She wouldn't! Would she? But as he rode his wheeler around into the narrow alleyway behind his store and then into the back yard, he couldn't be sure. Normally she was considerate of his opinions, but the damned garden festival was important to her and there was now absolutely no chance that Aunt Martha would be hosting any part of it. Not when she was now confined to the convalescent home by several burly guards stationed outside her room. His father had made certain of that after a second trip to the central gaol in the middle of the night.
Baen got off his wheeler and hurried inside as soon as he'd damped down everything, then rushed up the stairs to find out. But at the top, just inside the housing at the top of the stairs, he stopped. A garden festival wasn’t taking place on the top of his roof. Instead, it seemed his family had come to call.
In fact it was nearly his entire family. And they looked to be enjoying themselves. Some were standing, others sitting, but all of them were out there enjoying the afternoon sunshine, eating his food, drinking his wine and ale and generally making themselves at home. They'd grabbed some of the chairs from his dining room and a few more from the living area and carried them up so they could be more comfortable. They'd grabbed a whole bunch of cushions too, none of which were meant to go outside where they could get dirty.
Had he missed an invitation to a family gathering, he wondered? One that was being held in his own home?
“There you are!” Aribeth rushed over to him as he stood at the entrance to his roof, grabbed his arm and then started dragging him over to where most of the family were standing. “The man of the moment!”
The man of the moment?! Baen stared at her in disbelief. What had he done to earn that honour? He usually stayed in the background at family functions and let the others talk while he planned on escaping as soon as possible. And those were the ones that he couldn't manage to find an excuse to avoid completely! But even as he was asking himself that he found himself right in front of his father – and he was smiling! Something was definitely amiss.
“Son!” His father suddenly grabbed him up in a hug. “I'm so proud!”
For a moment Baen didn't know what to think. His father was hugging him! He never did that He just wasn't that sort of father – though to be fair to the man he wasn't that sort of a son either.
“What –?” But even as he tried to squeeze out the question his father let him go and his mother grabbed him to do the same. But just before she did so she cast her eye down his clothes and asked why he was dressed like a tramp and carrying a stick! But then she promptly forgot her concern with his wardrobe and kissed him on the cheek before she passed him on down the line to the next family member.
By the end, having been embraced by surely twenty members of his family and feeling more than a little uneasy, he still knew nothing more than he had at the start. But at least the hugging and kissing had stopped. Unfortunately, his family were now calling for a speech!
“What about?!” He finally managed to squeeze the question out. “What's happening?!”
“What do you mean?” Aribeth asked, looking a little bit confused.
“I mean what's going on? What am I supposed to have done?”
“You mean you don't know? The man came this morning. He gave us the good news. You have a Royal Appointment!”
“What man?” And then the second part of what she'd said registered. “A Royal Appointment?! To where? When? And why?”
“To the Friends of the Golden Concord of course. The King himself has named you as an advisor! The King!” She seemed almost giddy with excitement as she said it. “I mean we didn't know! We'd never heard of these people! We had to ask around! And of course it's only a small Order. But still – the King! King Richmond himself!” She kept repeating that last as if it was somehow important.
It probably was important – to her. But all he could think as he found the arm of a chair to collapse onto, was his shop!
“But I sell books!” He kept repeating that, but naturally no one was listening to him. To them this was finally proof that they were arriving in the world. That they had been accepted within the upper strata of the society. And they were already making plans to not just frame the letter when it arrived, but to then host an event to celebrate it. The Walkertons were on their way up in the world!
“Well not anymore,” Aribeth told him. “You'll have to sell this dust laden mausoleum. Before next Monday I should think.”
“Next Monday?”
“When you're expected in Helmsford!” She hugged him once again for good measure, like a school girl giddy with excitement.
“Now we'll have to get you a new wardrobe. Something in keeping with your new position. Mother, one of those hats with a feather in it? Don't you agree?”
“Absolutely. We have to get rid of that thing on his head. And calf skin boots, proper trousers and double button shirts. And no more of these coarse leather coats.” His mother took over just as excitedly.
Meanwhile Baen just stood there, and let the talk flow over his head. He knew there was no point saying anything; no one ever listened. Still, he kept telling them one thing over and over again regardless – he sold books!
Chapter Fifteen
Dariya was in the attic of the Order’s lodgings when she heard the wheeler in the courtyard and realised that their new wizard had arrived. No, not a wizard, she reminder herself. Hadn’t he told her enough times that he wasn’t? He was just a man with a gift. And now an advisor to the Order. An advisor with magic!
Her first thought was to rush down and greet him as he headed over to the hall, but she quickly squashed that thought. It wasn't her suggestion that had seen him welcomed him to the Order. Or rather though she had initially suggested it, it had been to help her hunt down her uncle. She thought a wizard – or a man with a gift – might have a spell that could help. The Order had quickly outvoted her on that. While that might be her reason for wanting him in the Order, the Order were not of the same view. Their role was to watch the border and enforce the terms of the Golden Concord. They wanted riders to help them with that. Duke Barnly was only of interest to them in that he had violated the Concord. But that was in the past. The Order had many other more pressing matters to deal with. And when she had insisted, she'd been given duties to keep her too busy to continue pestering them. Making up lodgings for the new recruits who were on their way.
It was ironic then that they had turned around and asked for him to be welcomed, themselves. Not because he could hunt down the Duke. But rather because he seemed to have an especially good relationship with the Fae. In fact, they had been fascinated when she'd told them that he was almost family to some of them. The Order concluded that he would not only be able to advise them in the ways of the magic folk, but that he would also make a useful conduit between them and the Fae if one was needed. She sighed to herself. Sometimes life just didn't go as it should!
Dariya headed over to the window to see the wizard pulling up below. And then she sighed again, knowing instantly that he was going to be difficult. If he was wearing that long, workman's coat and had his staff over his shoulder, it wasn't a good sign. The Order expected more from their wizards – not that they had any. Still they had standards!
Once they had had wizards. But then once the Order had been bursting with members. Not just a dozen riders and twenty recruits. Not just a single outpost either. Times had changed as the centuries had passed. Things had grown quiet. One by one the outposts had closed down. Now, suddenly the Order was needed again. The Fae were in every city, setting up their Trading Missions. The King was surely desperately trying to make sense of what was happening. And the Order had plenty of gold and recruits falling over themselves to join up. It was why she was presently making up beds in the attic. Twenty more beds by twenty more dormer windows. And they were putting the beds in the attic because the two floors below were already full.
She wasn't looking forward to their training. Because as one of their trainers she would be sharing some of the hardships of their new lives. That would mean getting up at first light every day. Going for a run before breakfast. Taking them through weapons drills and riding in the mornings. The afternoon she thought she might have free as someone else would undertake their education. But then at night she would be one of those supervising their tests in the evening and directing what chores needed to be done. The trainees would do that for five years. And all the training would have to be done while still trying to regularly patrol the border. Someone had once said you co
uld have too much of a good thing. She hadn't understood that until now.
The wizard however wasn’t be responsible for any of the training. He probably couldn't hold a sword, and though he carried pistols with him, she doubted he was a marksman either. Nor would he patrol the border. She doubted he could ride. He probably couldn't hold a sword, and though he carried pistols with him, she doubted he was a marksman either. And yet, as she had to remind herself, he could be a very dangerous man to cross. And looking down on him as he was being greeted by Brother Reginald, she gathered he wasn't a happy man. The stiffness of his shoulders attested to that.
Still, it wasn't her fault she told herself as she returned to her duties making up beds. He couldn't blame her! Though he probably would.
In time she finished her work and headed downstairs and out into the courtyard – past his monstrous machine which was still smoking. Then she walked over to the hall, wanting to see how things were going between Baen and her fellow members of the Order.
Not well, was her thought as she found a place at the back of the hall and watched from a safe distance with a few of the others. The wizard looked distinctly unhappy. He had a face full of thunderclouds and there was clearly no chance of him smiling any time soon.
