Written in Blood

by Span, Ryan A.

  When Aemedd opened his mouth again, he sounded genuinely perturbed, something I'd never heard from him before. “I haven't the foggiest idea.”

  “Tell us if you find anything more. For now, our path lies through this barricade, unless Racha says otherwise.” She glanced at the younger woman. Racha shook her head.

  The work began that minute. Every able-bodied man, and the lowborn women, set about pulling and prying at the boards. Ancient bronze nails held them in place, which were more resilient than they had any right to be. Heavy bolts and brackets had been driven deep into the bedrock to anchor the whole mess, now corroded to a deep green.

  We wrenched and kicked and levered for damn near half an hour to make a hole big enough for the horses. Finally, job done, we took a long drink to wash out the taste of dust and old metal, and headed into the pit.

  It consisted of tier after tier of rectangular terraces supported by an intricate latticework of red-stained beams. A large cart ramp wound its way up the sides of the dig, all the way to the top. The pit was twice as high at the far end as by our entryway, and when we climbed to the top, our heads almost touched the sagging ceiling. The supports which held it up were bent and starting to splinter under a glacially-slow yet inevitable collapse. It was another uncomfortable reminder of whole mountains bearing down on us.

  We found a large semi-circular chamber ahead of us, with a dizzying number of passages leading off it. A dozen, if not more. All but one were shored up like mine tunnels ought to be. That one was a cavernous opening, crudely round, which could never be mistaken for the product of human hands. Our lanterns showed only the vaguest flickers of the massive cave system beyond.

  “I suppose this must be Rogald's 'Crossroads,'“ remarked Descard, wandering around to poke his head through all the openings. “Which way do we go?”

  Racha coughed. She looked from passage to passage, and the worried, nervous movement of her eyes told me something I very much didn't want to hear. She said, “I don't believe this is it. My father says we will know it when we reach it. We would recognise it on sight.”

  “My question stands, good lady. Which way?”

  “I... I don't know.”

  A deafening silence plummeted into our midst. All eyes swivelled towards Racha, and she hunched her shoulders defensively. “Say that again, please?”

  “I don't know! There is nothing in my father's notes about a boarded-up mining pit. It just says to follow one of the twin passages to the Crossroads.” She waved the chicken-scratched parchment around as if it meant anything to us. “That's all it says!”

  Descard laughed, as if it was all a harmless joke. “We've followed your directions and arrived at the next landmark. I don't see what else this place could be.”

  “But the other passage is supposed to lead here. Where is it?”

  “Follow one of these tunnels and you might find it. Unfortunately we don't have the time. Milady?” He looked to the woman to back him up.

  “Let us assume for a moment that this is the right place,” the woman soothed. “Where would we go from here, Racha?”

  Racha of Brunoke continued to stare at the floor. “I don't know. The directions are vague. They do not match... any of these.” She made a wide, sweeping gesture at the various gateways around her. “I don't know.”

  Suddenly Descard, Mudden and Sir Erroll were all united in purpose. Everyone began to talk all at once, loudly and with large gestures to help express their unhappiness. I raised my voice in a futile effort to calm people down. Even so, this was a hard blow to my faith in Racha as our guide. I would've screamed at her too if I thought it would do any good.

  However, as a Contractor, my first priority was to keep everyone alive. A few more moments of this and the woman would have a mutiny on her hands.

  She tried to stem the tide, but this time nothing could overcome the explosion of anger and frustration. Fists were being clenched, harsh words exchanged. Racha gripped her sword-hilt to defend herself. Others reached for their weapons, and bared steel glimmered in the half-light.

  “Stop!” My voice boomed out so loud I surprised everyone, myself included. It echoed off the walls and made the ground shake. I shouldered through the press of bodies to stand in front of Racha, one hand resting on the shiny bronze pommel of Adar's sword. Stupid, but the right thing to do. “This woman is essential to our survival and will not be harmed. If anyone wants to challenge me over that, step forward.”

  Sir Erroll howled, “A guide who doesn't know where she's going! These passages carry on for days, Byren. She's as good as no guide at all!”

  “I can fight my own battles, Byren,” said Racha, and she pushed me aside to face the knight herself. He dwarfed her, a full foot taller, but it left her unperturbed. “I'm the only hope you have.”

  “So we should just let you lead us around by the nose until we lose ourselves and die in some underground maze?”

  She smiled. “For you, Sir Knight, I care not what you do or how you die.”

  “We should ask her what the directions say and work together to solve our problem,” the woman interjected. Her voice could've frozen seas and oceans with its cool reason.

  The knight flinched as if struck, as if this was another blow to his chances with her. He still didn't understand that he never had one the first place. He shrunk away with his metaphorical tail between his legs.

  The lynch mob spirit died with him. Most everyone settled down, although the anxious, unreleased tension remained. We hadn't heard the last of this.

  Out of immediate danger, Racha met my eyes and gave a small nod of thanks. She didn't need a champion, that was obvious, but sometimes it was nice to have someone willing to man the walls with you. She gave the rest of the group a long, solemn look.

  “I will tell you what I know.”

  So we made camp, sat in a circle, and listened to Racha read from her parchments. Another bloodbath evaded. But how were we going to stop the next one before somebody got hurt?

  From the brooding look in the woman's eyes, she was thinking the same thoughts. We had to get out of here before we tore each other apart.

  “My father says the Crossroads are a place where all the different mines and structures are joined together.”

  Racha sat cross-legged in the midst of our semicircle. Her strong, solemn face was illuminated by the steady burn of a lantern. “All of them, from Kassareth in the north to the mausoleums in the south. How many of them remain after all these years, no one knows. Most were collapsed deliberately by the Azhar and the descendants of the Brass Men. My father warned me it might be impossible to reach our destination. However, the paths he chose are the ones most likely to be open still.”

  She took one of her parchments, marked with crude symbols and some kind of map of the mountains that didn't make any sense, and tore it from the strings which bound it to the others. She threw it flat in the middle of the group. “This page tells me where to find the Grove of Black Oaks, a place that has not been seen by living eyes in a hundred years. I led you there.” She tore out the second page and flicked it on top of the first. “This describes the path to the Sea of Stones, a place that has not been walked by living souls in centuries. I led you there.

  “And this,” she held up the third and fourth page of the six, “should help me through the Crossroads.”

  The woman hummed politely. “We recognise your efforts, Racha. Now it's imperative that you succeed again. An exact translation might reveal something.”

  Racha held the page out in front of her to catch the most light. Then she began to read aloud.

  “'The Sea of Stones shall lead to a passage of great length and width. Maintain the course. Upon the room of circles, take the fourth door and pursue it to its end.'“ She gave a thin smile. “'Ways shall open to you equal to the number of your eyes. Choose that which shall be most quick to you. All ways lead unto the Crossroads, which you shall know by sight, for it is where all the mines under the mountain come tog
ether. It is the greatest place in the darkness. It is the end and also the beginning. At this great forking of paths, that which is grandest will lead you astray. Follow instead the most humble and you shall find what you seek.'“

  Aemedd began to sputter and gurgle. “By God, ask Rogald for directions and you'll wind up in a ditch!”

  “My father wrote it to confuse anyone but me. He didn't foresee this.”

  “I can see Racha's point,” I chimed in. “The words imply something with a little more grandeur.” I waved to the unassuming mine-shafts around us. “It doesn't seem right.”

  To my surprise, it was Faro who spoke next. “Maybe Rogald meant what he said. If this isn't the Crossroads, maybe all of these passages will lead there.”

  He looked up to see if anyone was listening and, when he noticed my attention, sent me the barest hint of a smile. I hoped it meant he was on the mend. The poor squire had been through enough by now.

  “That's one Hell of an assumption to hang our lives on,” said Descard.

  Now it was Sir Erroll's turn. “It seems obvious to me that we're in the Crossroads. Even a blind man could identify the humblest path. Look!” He stood up and went to the crude cave opening, shining one of our lanterns through. All it revealed was a wet, slimy floor and heavy stalactites jutting from the ceiling. “This must be it.”

  Just then, a hollow, bone-chilling moan echoed through the pit. It seemed to come from all directions at once, and refused to fade away like a normal sound. Instead it grew louder and more insistent with each passing second. Every face in the group went pale. We were not alone down here.

  A heartbeat later we were scrambling to our feet, reaching for weapons, for light. Someone kicked the other lantern by accident and snuffed it out. Sir Erroll came running toward us with his, while I fought to get a torch lit by feel alone. Sparks struck on my flint and steel but the damn thing wouldn't catch.

  These mines are haunted, Racha had said. Cold shivers went all the way up my spine.

  Descard took command without hesitation, bellowing about a defensive ring around our civilians. Mudden, Faro and Racha obeyed immediately. I continued to wrestle the torch. Orders were orders, but if that horrible noise meant danger to us, we were as good as dead without more light.

  I heard Aemedd's horse buck and paw at the ground, shaking gobs of panic-froth from its mouth. The scholar yowled and cursed as he tried to calm it enough to climb into the saddle. Yazizi was inside the ring too, doing all she could to keep our animals from going mad. The beasts could smell the fear around them, and the threat of whatever was making that low, ceaseless whine. They knew something bad was happening.

  Finally my torch guttered to life and I thrust it up over my head. The bronze sword on my belt hummed at my touch. It slid from its scabbard like an oiled viper, and I joined the thin line of defenders, who had to blink the darkness from their eyes. The woman knelt on the floor and tried to get our extinguished lantern burning again.

  It was a breathless, fearful stalemate. Wide eyes and shallow gasps of tension. We didn't know our enemy, either what or where, and despite our disadvantage we didn't dare run. The best thing to do right now was to stand our ground.

  The noise died down at last, but silence was no better.

  “Did anybody see anything?” asked Descard. He and Mudden had bows drawn, arrows nocked. “Did anyone hear where it came from?”

  Nobody replied.

  Suddenly Faro dropped his sword-point and stepped out of the ring. “Where's Sir Erroll?”

  Eight pairs of eyes turned to where the knight had been, on his way over to join us. He was gone. No trace of him remained in the pit, not so much as a boot or a scrap of torn shirt. The realisation jolted us that much closer to full panic. The squire prepared to launch himself over there, to fight for his master's life with the use of one wavering arm, but I caught him by the shoulder and pulled him back into line.

  “He's a knight, lad. He can fend for himself. Wherever Erroll is, it falls to you to protect his charges!”

  He stared up at me. I watched his eyes clear, as if waking up from a dream, and he gave a nod. Not a happy one, but he understood.

  A soft hiss came out of the darkness, like something sailing through the air. Descard screamed and dropped his bow. I turned to look, saw several feet of wood sticking out of the Ranger's stomach... Then all Hell broke loose.

  First there was a loud whinny. Aemedd's horse reared up on its hind legs and lunged forwards. It smashed through our circle, bore Racha to the ground, knocked the torch from my hand, and galloped away into darkness with the screaming scholar still on its back. Our other horses fled in the same direction, all except Zayara, who refused to leave her human.

  I felt my heart sink as I watched our only source of light tumble end over end down the pit. Just before it died, the last few flickers showed at least a dozen shadowy shapes advancing on us out of the shadows.

  “Scatter,” Descard growled between clenched teeth. “Run, damn you! It's our only chance!”

  From that moment we moved by sound and touch, falling over ourselves to escape into the tunnels.

  The darkness was absolute. I tried to follow the anxious clatter of Zayara's hooves but it kept getting further away from me. Faint voices bounced off the wall until they seemed to come from all directions, until they disappeared too. I couldn't hear anything but my own breathing and the heavy footfalls of our attackers behind me.

  I ran until my legs cramped. My lungs burned from too much stale, dusty air. I looked back but couldn't see a damned thing. All I could do was press on with both arms outstretched and hope I didn't fall on my face.

  I slipped through caves and man-made tunnels alike. Without light or any idea of a direction, one was as good as any other. The echoes of my pursuers began to fade. Fear kept me going until I stumbled again, and discovered I didn't have the energy to get back up.

  Propping myself up against a wall, I sat, and listened. Nothing. I was alone in the dark.

  Didn't have much cause for celebration, though. I was God-only-knew where, God-only-knew how far from the surface, with no food, no water and no light. My companions were nowhere to be found. My enemy could apparently see in pitch darkness. The deck was stacked against me.

  But I was alive. I could move, I could fight, and I had a son who lived in a nice holdfast in the South. He had dark eyes and fire in his belly. My only desire in that moment was to see him again.

  And in the gaunt, hollow quiet of the underground, without anyone else to talk to, I could hear Humber's voice offering up more unwanted advice. I was too tired and too lonely to keep pushing him down.

  Why stop at seeing him again, fella-me-lad? Why not take your fantasy a step further? Get yourself a nice royal wife and put another sprog in her belly. Say, if you find a way to move old Lauric and his spawn out of the way, you could be looking at Prince-Consort. Maybe even King.

  He was being sarcastic. Sarcastic and right. It was fantasy, plain and simple. They wouldn't let me anywhere near Calum, and it was stupid to imagine otherwise.

  Knowing I could never have it made me want it all the more.

  You should let it go, Karl. This world has no place for lowborn men with ambition.

  I growled, “If you don't have anything helpful to say, shut your gob and let me think.”

  You want my help? Humber said peevishly. Maybe you should've paid attention when I tried to teach you mountaineering all those years ago. Really, you pretend I don't exist when things are going well, but when it all goes to pot here you come running back. He left a long, indignant pause. Fine. Fine, I'll help you. You'd get lost and die without me anyway.

  “I'm already lost.”

  Heaving myself to my feet, I started to walk again. I dragged one hand along the wall to guide me, and placed every foot carefully in the inky darkness. I couldn't go back. My only chance was to make my way upwards while looking for other survivors in the most discreet way possible.

  I hef
ted Adar's sword and thumped the pommel into the wall three times. The noise carried off in all directions through the solid rock. I waited for an answering tap, but none came. I walked for another few minutes and tried again. And again.

  So you left your flint and steel. Humber sounded more disappointed in me than the loss of any tools. We can get around that. Good news is, there's plenty of stone around. Bad news, you'll have to find the right one by touch.

  “What are you talking about?”

  I'm talking about bashing rocks together. Find a chunk of any hard, smooth stone. Strike it against steel or even a piece of iron ore. There, like magic, you have yourself a spark.

  “Maybe, but I've got no kindling and nothing to burn.” I didn't mention the couple sips of gin in my flask. There wasn't enough for it to matter. That, and I didn't want to waste it on the bright ideas of a ghost.

  Hold fast, my lad, he answered. After a few more turns, he made a critical hum. This wall feels like good granite. Find a bit you could hold and carve it out.

  “Carve it out? With what?”

  A heartbeat later I remembered the sword in my hand. The unusual sword which went through most things like a scythe through wheat. I dragged my free hand up and down the stone face until I discovered a piece that stuck out. Pressing the bronze edge against it, there was a soft scrape, and the chunk came away in my hand. Its edges were thin and sharp as razors.

  To try it, I pulled my knife and struck the chunk pommel-first. A few tiny sparks lit up and winked out again in the blink of an eye. Had to give Humber his due. The man knew of what he spoke.

  I wrapped the stone in my handkerchief and carefully tucked it into a pocket.

  Good. Now follow your nose.

  I did. After a few minutes, an awful smell wormed its way up my nostrils. Something dark and greasy. It made my eyes water, and I covered my face with a sleeve. “What in the name of all that's holy is that?”

  No answer. I kept going as best I could towards the source of the heady, nauseating stench, through several more blind turnings, until suddenly my leg went out from under me and pitched me forward onto my face. I'd stepped in a crack or fissure in the floor, and sunk up to my thigh into a strange, viscous liquid bubbling up from below. It was icy cold and vile to the touch. Once I regained my senses, a bit of pulling managed to free me again. My leg hurt, and it didn't want to handle standing up right now, so I sat down in a puddle against the wall. I couldn't even see what the damage was. Gritting my teeth in pain, I took out my improvised firelighters and prepared to strike another spark.