Sir Erroll's lip curled. “It's a dead place. The bloody Harari probably use it for human sacrifice.”
“It's larger than I expected,” Aemedd whispered. Even his ego was humbled by the sight. “Much larger. My God, what we found in the Catsclaws was nothing!”
I got some distance from their chatter and took one of Yazizi's trembling hands, barely rousing her from her daze. “What's wrong?”
“This is holy ground. We shouldn't be here.”
“Holy ground? To whom?”
She shook her head sharply, not knowing or not willing to say, and went back to drawing runes all over herself in stubborn silence. Then I heard Aemedd shout and I spurred my horse to the front of the column.
“Look there, at the base of the main structure. There's a camp. It must be Eliot's!”
The camel drove forward in an uneasy gallop, spurred on by the whacking of Aemedd's stick. It looked like the beast was constantly falling on its face only to catch itself at the last moment. I held on tight to my saddle, chasing after Aemedd alongside everyone else.
The group dismounted by ones and twos as we entered the camp, walking the horses between empty, lifeless tents. On the inside they were undisturbed, not a bit of furniture out of place. Bedrolls, lamps, half-empty bags of books. Everything looked pristine, without a sign of struggle. But there wasn't a soul to be found.
Sir Erroll emerged from one tent holding an unopened package of dried fish. He cut the string and took a sniff. “No one has lived here in weeks.”
“Sir is correct.” The woman had turned up a logbook or diary of some kind, written in the holy tongue, and she beckoned us to gather round it. “Near enough a month, by their quartermaster's account.”
Aemedd remained at the tent opening, squinting at the ruin, scanning all around as if he hoped to find something we'd missed. Finally he let his eyes drop and asked, “What happened to them?”
“Perhaps it's as we feared. This is Harari land.”
“Then we have to mount a search! We can't leave them in the hands of savages!”
“Calm yourself, Professor,” I told him. “You don't want to go looking for the Harari on their own ground. You don't.”
“I... I...” Aemedd held his head in his hands and took a deep breath. “Of course. I apologise, but I've known Eliot for years. To think he could be being tortured, or dead!”
The woman clapped her hands together to get everyone's attention. Determination in her eyes and her voice.
“Let us not forget we came here for a purpose. Professor, Sir Erroll, help me go through the expedition's books. Perhaps there's a clue about what happened. Everyone else take two hours' rest, then we enter the mausoleum.”
Aemedd nodded dumbly and went to her. Sir Erroll frowned, tugging at his moustache. “You think it could be dangerous inside.”
“We have an empty camp and no one to tell us what happened, Sir,” she replied with a smile. “Reason enough to be wary of everything around us.”
While those three buried themselves in books, the rest of us set about making the camp liveable again. Faro and Adar got a fire going, then threw some food into a pot to boil. Yazizi sat staring into space again. God only knew what was going on in her head.
I decided to make the most of the time and put my head down in the relative cool and comfort of the tents. The threat of a Harari horde riding down on us seemed far away, much too distant to bother me right now. It took only moments for the most peaceful nap of my life to creep up on me.
A hundred colourful dreams fled from my mind, chased away by a hand insistently shaking my leg. I shrugged it off. I didn't want to wake up. Nothing got me out of my stupor until a splash of lukewarm water hit my face. Then I was quite abruptly awake.
“The lady requires your presence, sir,” Faro said, and ducked out of the tent in a hurry. To my surprise I didn't feel angry. Didn't feel much of anything. I simply dried myself off and went to see what was the matter.
She greeted me as I came in. Aemedd and Sir Erroll were nowhere to be found; we were alone. The prospect terrified and excited me in equal measure.
“Thank you for coming, Byren. I require your soldier's advice. These books tell part of the story but not all of it.”
“I'll do what I can, Milady.”
Pursing her lips, she gestured me to sit down on a mat next to her. She promptly laid an open book on my knee. I stared at pages crowded with black ink, all so much gibberish to me.
She said, “This was written by Aemedd's friend Eliot, leader and chronicler of the group, telling the story of their journey up to the disappearance. From his account it seems they spotted a band of nomads several times in their travels. Eliot believed it to be the same group each time, based on their number and dress, but each time the Harari either did not spot the caravan or chose not to attack.”
I smiled mirthlessly. “The Harari have sharp eyes.”
“That they do. I don't believe an expedition of this size would have escaped them. Which brings us no closer to answering our questions.” She sighed. “Perhaps it was the Harari who took Eliot and his men, and we ought to be glad of the sandstorm's cover. Or they could be using this place as a baited trap for Kingdom scholars. Or perhaps all these weeks in the sand just drove the scholars mad.”
“What does Eliot's last entry say?” I asked politely. She gave me a strange look ‒ then, with a gasp, it turned to sympathy. It had never occurred to her that I couldn't read the holy tongue.
“We are today embarking on the last of our great expeditions,” she began. “The final secrets of this stone labyrinth wait to be brought to light. We have found the door to what we believe is the reliquary, as it was in the Catsclaws. The two structures must be connected!
“There has been no reply from Aemedd of Leora but that should come as no surprise, as difficult to reach as we are. No matter. We shall soon have our own trinkets to show him!” The woman took a deep breath. “That's where it ends.”
“They were about to enter the mausoleum?”
“It seems so. They could be down there still. Anything could have happened. No men, no horses, nothing seen and nothing written.”
I stopped short of repeating Yazizi's whisper about holy ground. It didn't seem like something that ought to be said aloud, just pagan babble which could cost me her respect. Besides, I couldn't imagine God would want anything to do with this pile of old stones.
“Caution should see us through,” I said instead. “And... Milady, it's not my place to ask, but I feel I'd be more useful to you if I knew what we're doing here. Last time you said something about destiny, but you never answered my question.”
She gave me a long look, her immaculate eyebrows raised. “Why, we are serving our Kingdom, Karl, and the cause of human knowledge. Do you not trust me?”
“You hold my contract, Milady.”
“So I do.” She looked away, deep in thought. A long, pregnant silence fell while I waited, quiet and tense. It took so long I almost thought she might dismiss me, but no... “Alright. One secret, Byren, for you to keep on your honour as a Contractor.” She watched me from the corners of her eyes, a faint blush on her cheeks. Was she embarrassed? Her?
“I... I had a dream. I was falling from the sky, from a height you can't imagine. In my hands was a spiral made of bronze. It was tightly wound like a spool of wire. I straightened it out into a rod, and suddenly it jumped from my hands. It cut itself into six pieces while I watched. Then there was a man falling with me. I never saw his face. The six lumps of bronze began to dance around him, and he reached out into the air to take one. It lengthened in his hand. It narrowed and sharpened to make a sword. With it he cut the world into six pieces. He smiled, then, and pressed the hilt into my hand. That's when I woke up.” She bit her lip. “The dream haunted me all that day, and I didn't sleep a wink afterwards. The next morning I stumbled on a book which mentioned Adar's village and the sword-worshippers. I knew it was no coincidence. I had to find these six bronze
pieces and bring them together.”
She waited for a response, and when I didn't give one straight away, she let out a nervous laugh. “I suppose that sounds like the silliest thing you've ever heard.”
“Not to me. Although I wouldn't let Aemedd hear about it.”
A smile brightened her face then, something so beautiful and precious I never wanted it to go away. “I am thankful you came, Karl. Not many men listen more than they talk.”
“I am at your service, Milady,” I said, clenching my eyes shut to fight another stab of desire. In my head I was stripping her clothes off, and she climbing into my lap. Futile thoughts. It could never happen. I ought to kill those feelings... Though I didn't really want to.
“My name is Ioanna.”
The voice was too close. My eyes snapped open just in time to watch her lips brush against mine, then pull away again. I nearly fainted.
“That was to show I appreciate your help, Karl, even when I can't acknowledge it in public,” she whispered. Then she motioned to the tent flap, quickly returning to normal. “Please get everyone ready. It's past time we went inside.”
“Yes, Milady,” I managed, and staggered back into the sunshine.
To the surprise of no one, Sir Erroll insisted on going first. The woman stayed a few steps behind him with Aemedd. I brought up the rear, watching over the younglings. Yazizi was there, her wrists chained to Faro's belt, but apart from that happy coincidence she was nervous as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs.
I questioned the wisdom of bringing the less reliable members of our group, but by the same stretch we couldn't leave them unprotected at camp. Anything could happen while the adults were away.
The huge doorway of greenish-black stone looked as foreboding as a Gothic cathedral, festooned on either side with two giant, faceless human heads, decorated with spirals all over. It was exactly like the stone reliefs in Aemedd's collection. We lit our lanterns as we stepped inside, leaving sky and sunlight behind us.
The corridor narrowed from the entrance and sloped steeply downward, which demanded I be careful with my spear. I considered putting it down, but no. If it came to fighting in here, a spear was exactly the tool for the job, no matter which end was pointed towards the enemy.
“Keep your hands on your weapons, lads,” I said to the children. Faro held his bow with the ease of a trained archer. Adar twitched as he gripped his hilt, and drew his blade all the way out of its scabbard. It shone in the lanternlight. I could've sworn the darkness around us actually shrunk back from the glittering weapon.
Magic, said my gut, but my head instantly overruled it. Don't go mad, Karl.
“I wouldn't want to run into a Harari ambush down here,” said Faro. “Not anywhere, but especially not here.”
I could only smile. “If it comes to that, remember the way we came in. Cut through anyone who gets too close and run back to camp. I'll try to give you an opening.”
“Thank you, but no. My place is at my master's side. I couldn't abandon it any more than you could tear up your contract.”
“You've got a terrible sense of duty, lad,” I told him, “and it's going to get you hurt or killed someday.”
I let him go in front of me in the narrowing corridor. We followed left turn after left turn, a squared spiral going into the heart of the complex, and the carved walls closed in so tight they started to scrape my shoulders. Soon we were all shuffling sideways through the choke point, past wide shadowy slits which reminded me too much of murder holes for comfort. Bits of fresh scaffolding and fallen rubble reminded me of the missing scholars, and I couldn't help but wonder if they died down here, trapped alone in the dark.
I heaved a sigh of relief when the tunnel opened out again on the other side. A quick explore turned up two dead-end tunnels branching out to either side, running parallel to the narrow passage. They allowed people to man the spear slits.
Shining a lantern down one tunnel, I said, “This was built for war. Two or three men could hold an army here. Sappers would be no use, the Duke's best could spend years trying to mine through this much solid stone.”
“There were no features like this in the Catsclaw mausoleum,” said Aemedd. He tested the walls with his fingers as if they might tell him something more. “I see no rooms for worship or temple services, no pottery shards or tools. This must have been a different kind of structure entirely. A fort, perhaps?”
“Perhaps,” Sir Erroll put in, “but where would you billet the soldiers?”
Without answers, we pressed ahead, and I first noticed the hundreds of little air shafts drilled into the ceiling by the cool draft which blew through them. Smoke traps. You'd have a devil of a time even burning the defenders out of here.
I was so busy looking around at the fortifications that I missed the massive reliquary until I was standing in the middle of it. Piles of corroded bronze littered the floor, some of which still resembled their original shapes, though mostly gone to unhealthy green and black. The walls danced from top to bottom with carved reliefs, and the strange spiralling lines still hurt my eyes much like they still defied my imagination. All I could see was the bent-backed old man leaning on his cane. He seemed to be on every wall.
And there, at the back of the chamber, was a raised alcove plunging deep into the stonework. A bronze roundshield hung there, blazing with reflected light, as pristine as the day it was forged.
It was a shockingly plain thing: A simple circle of hammered bronze with metal fittings for a man's arm, all crafted from one piece, not a seam or weld in sight. Protruding from the centre was a wicked spike with a point so sharp it made me shiver. Deadly, and beautiful.
The whole shield could've served as a lady's mirror. I could see my whole face in it, crystal clear down to the last detail.
Aemedd was the first of us to unfreeze, as scholarly instincts broke through his awe. He produced parchment and chalk and started to take rubbings of every significant carving in the room.
“It could be trapped,” said Sir Erroll. “We still have no idea what happened to the expedition.”
Aemedd launched into an immediate rebuttal, but I barely heard him. I was turning to watch Adar.
The boy moved forward in a trance. While the adults were caught up in arguments, he started to climb into the alcove, scrabbling his way atop the altar-like construction. By the time we realised what he was doing, he reached for the shield, and we looked on, far too late to stop him.
Faro caught the boy's wrist before he touched bronze. He gently pulled Adar back down and handed him off to the woman, then lifted the shield off its hanger and presented it to his master.
The knight took it reverently. He threw his heater shield to the ground, forgotten. I thought I could hear him whisper, “Thank you, boy.”
Like a dutiful squire, Faro collected his master's old shield and held on to it. It still had value.
“Karl,” Yazizi's voice trembled from a spot right next to my shoulder. Her shaking hands gripped my arm. “We should leave.”
I agreed without even thinking. I didn't want to spend any longer here than I had to. However, when I went to have a word with the woman, she was gazing at the walls with an expression of such rapt wonder that the words died on my lips. It looked like... ecstacy.
“Milady?” I finally managed. “We have what we came for...”
“Hm?” Her voice sounded absent, not really listening. Then she seemed to come back to the moment and her eyes focussed on me with one slow blink. “Oh, yes, you're right. Let's... Let's head back to camp.”
She'd just started to turn when Yazizi gave a shout from the entrance. “Footsteps!”
“The Harari,” gasped Aemedd. His voice trembled with budding panic.
Sir Erroll reacted without hesitation. “Fan out! Cover the entrance!”
The command made sense, so people obeyed it, all jumping into motion. Faro unslung the bow from his shoulder and nocked an arrow, peering into the inky darkness beyond the reach of our
lanterns. Sir Eroll pulled him back into cover moments before something sailed through the air where the squire's head had been. Then the knight dropped down on one knee to cover those behind him with his new shield. I, too, dropped and planted my spear. Even Aemedd was doing something, winding the ratchet on the little crossbow he kept for emergencies, driven by pure terror. The woman kept Adar out of the way, though he pushed against her, his sword up and a disturbing look in his eyes.
I called at Faro, “How many?”
“I counted at least three, could be as many as six.” He bit his lip as he calculated. “If I'm very badly wrong, eight.”
“Can we make it to the choke point we saw a moment ago?” asked the woman, the dreaminess of her voice now tempered by hard concentration.
Distant lanternlight flickered down the tunnel. It triggered something in me, a hot flash of anger at the thought of being trapped like a rat in this tomb. I stood up and said, “There's only one way to find out.”
“Don't be a fool, Byren. There's only room for one man and the Harari will have bows and lances.”
“I was a soldier of the Angian Guard, Milady,” I reminded her. “Killing cavalrymen in or out of the saddle is what I do. Sir Erroll, please lend me your shield a moment.”
He looked at me as if I'd gone mad, his mouth working speechlessly. I didn't have time to argue. However, when I reached for the shield he jerked back and bared his teeth in a snarl.
The confrontation might've gotten ugly if Faro hadn't stepped in. He called my name and threw me the knight's old heater. I caught it clumsily, thanked him with a nod, and held it out in front of me as I charged into the corridor.
The enemy did indeed have bows, and swords, and long cavalry lances ‒ none of which they could wield properly in the tight tunnel. I knocked the first lance point aside, stuck my spear in the throat of the man holding it, and returned my shield just in time to catch an arrow meant for my head. The impact jarred up my arm. The tip of the arrowhead poked through in a nub of splintered pine.
Written in Blood Page 12
