‘You won’t take us any further?’ Joss asked.
‘You’re looking to completely bankrupt me, aren’t you?’ grumbled Zeke.
Crimson shuffled backwards. He looked like a different person from the cocky youth they’d met only moments ago. He looked frightened. ‘Don’t worry, mister,’ he said with a shiver. ‘There ain’t enough crowns in the world to make me go down there.’
‘Then that just leaves us,’ Joss replied. He balled his hands into fists, and marched through the archway.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
A LIVING SHADOW
THE tunnel plunged deep into the bedrock. The further down Joss and the others went the more skeletons they saw, encountering thick columns of rock that had been decorated with intricate sculptures made of femurs and finger bones.
‘All that remains of the weredragons,’ Hero whispered, gesturing to the walls that had been stacked with fanged skulls, as well as the open tombs that displayed what could have been mortal remains if not for the skeletal wings that stemmed from their shoulderblades. Joss tried to swallow and found his throat too dry.
Ragged figures haunted the corners of the tunnel, curled up in balls and shying away from any attention. They were little more than wraiths, these people, whose lives had left them with nowhere else to go. They didn’t speak, didn’t look up, didn’t move. They were the forgotten of the world, and they wanted to remain that way.
‘We shouldn’t be down here,’ Zeke said, keeping a close eye on the shadowy figures as he inched through the darkness alongside the others. ‘We’ll be lucky if we don’t get our throats cut! Again!’
Hero shushed him through gritted teeth. Though he frowned, he nevertheless remained silent. The further they trudged down the tunnel, the fewer people they encountered. When they’d finally lost sight of any other living being, Zeke erupted for a second time.
‘This is ridiculous. There’s nobody down here! Nobody but lowlife fogheads! We should just give up and head back to Tower Town. I’d rather take my chances with the grandmasters than spend another minute in this dank pit!’ he spat, and this time both Hero and Joss simultaneously shushed him. Seething, he opened his mouth again – but Joss clamped his hand over Zeke’s lips and pointed down the tunnel.
Voices could be heard echoing towards them, dim at first but rising in intensity. While it was impossible to make out what they were saying, their heated tone was unmistakable. Zeke’s eyes widened as he looked first in the direction of the voices and then at Joss. He nodded his head slowly, deliberately, and Joss pulled his hand away. Together they stepped lightly, nearing a bend in the passageway around which the voices resounded.
‘I’ve got it, all right …’ the Grim Rider clearly growled. ‘But whether you got the coin for it is another matter.’
‘Nonsense,’ replied another familiar voice, and even though he’d only met him the one time, Joss knew as a shiver ran through him that it was Thrall. ‘We agreed on your price when you took the job. It’s too late to change the terms now. And that’s without mentioning the notable trinket you look to have acquired for yourself.’
‘That’s a bonus for services rendered, and it doesn’t address the bigger issue. Because you’re working at a distinct disadvantage if you think the words “too late” apply to me, friend …’ the Rider said, going on to list his new demands.
Joss leant over to whisper to Hero and Zeke. ‘Sounds like just the two of them. And that the Rider still has the Champion’s Blade.’ He noted the last point with a distinct sense of relief. Now all he had to do was somehow get it back.
‘Reckon we can take ’em?’ Zeke asked, unshouldering his shock rifle.
‘Not without a plan …’ Joss shook his head.
‘I don’t know about a plan,’ Hero replied as she held up one of her saddlebags. ‘But I do have explosives.’
Joss could feel the smile spreading across his face as he asked, ‘How fast can you set those up?’
The three of them set to work as quietly as they could. Not that there was much chance of being overheard. The argument was growing increasingly fiery, the Rider shouting at Thrall with the fury of a stricken spinosaurus.
‘I don’t care what your hag of a mistress says!’ he roared, having clearly grown tired of Thrall’s unwavering insistence that the Stitched Witch would tolerate no alterations to the deal. ‘It’s an extra hundred grand or it’s nothing! Do you hear me, ye stone-faced fool?’
‘I see there can be no reasoning with you,’ Thrall said, and Joss stole a glimpse around the corner just in time to see the masked man shoot his hand out and grab hold of the Grim Rider. The bandit didn’t get the chance to utter a single word before Thrall’s glove spat bolts of green energy, frying him where he stood.
A small whimper escaped the Rider’s lips as he tumbled to the ground. Flexing his hand, Thrall edged forward to rifle through the Rider’s pockets. Joss watched him closely, the stink of burnt meat making his eyes water. Grimacing through the tears, he waited for his moment to strike.
He didn’t have to wait long as Thrall arose with the Constellation Key in his clutches. Holding it up, he inspected it as much as he could in the darkness of the catacombs. But if he needed a little extra light, Joss was more than happy to give it to him.
‘Now!’ Joss shouted, and Hero jumped around the corner to lob her stun grenades at Thrall. They hung a moment in the air before exploding in a blinding white light, popping everyone’s ears with the force. Thrall howled as he spun away, hiding his eyes behind a gloved hand.
‘Zeke, now!’ Joss ordered. Zeke pumped his shock rifle to lay down covering fire, giving Joss the chance to rush Thrall and snatch the Constellation Key from him. It was warm to the touch, same as it had ever been, filling him with a tremendous sense of relief as he gripped it tight.
The Grim Rider lay before them, the sheathed Champion’s Blade pointing up at an angle from the rest of his body. Acting quickly, Joss moved to retrieve the sword while Thrall was still off-guard. His fingertips were just within reach of it when he felt a sudden force grab his sleeve.
It was Thrall, blinded but on his feet, his hand as tight as a manacle around Joss’s wrist. It took Joss everything he had to wrench himself free, spinning clear of Thrall’s grasp. Now the masked man stood between him and the Grim Rider, blocking him from the Champion’s Blade. Joss’s eyes flickered between the sword and Thrall, who was growing steadier on his feet by the second.
Knowing he had no other choice but to leave the sword behind, Joss ran. Lumbering forward, Thrall gave chase.
‘Quick!’ Joss told the others as he held the Constellation Key aloft to show them he had it, and together they rounded the corner of the tunnel just steps ahead of their pursuer. This time, Hero didn’t need any prompting. As soon as they were clear she pulled a handheld trigger from her coat and pressed the button.
PHWOOOM!
The tunnel collapsed in a blizzard of dust and debris.
‘Unh!’ Joss grunted as he tumbled across the packed earth floor of the catacombs, the force nearly throwing him off his feet. Steadying himself against the nearby wall, he took a moment to catch his breath, his thoughts consumed with a sliver of sharpened gold that was now entombed and lo
st forever.
How many Blade Keepers had come before him, all of whom had ensured its safety? And now here he was, Josiah Sarif, to forever be remembered as the foolish youth who had broken that chain. His stomach coiled tight as he wished for the tunnel to crash down on his head and put a quick end to his suffering. Of course, the roof remained where it was. But the surrounding shadows did not.
It started with a twinge of movement so small that Joss dismissed it at first. A small flicker at the edge of his vision which grew larger, bolder, as the shadows stirred and started to take form. And though he didn’t dare believe it, he swore he could see Thrall’s face emerging from within them.
The shadows were alive.
‘Run!’ he yelled to the others, leaping away from the rubble behind him.
‘Why? What’s –?’ Zeke began to ask, then gaped as he caught sight of the congealing pools of shade. ‘Oh. My. Liege.’
Grabbing both Zeke and Hero by the shoulder, Joss hauled them along with him as he sprinted down the tunnel and up the winding stairs. The baroque displays of skulls and bones had lost all their ghastly fascination now, made unremarkable by the threat that gathered strength further down the tunnel.
Every shadow Joss passed seemed to eddy and harden, with solid shapes growing from their centres. Though he had no explanation for what was happening, he knew enough that it posed a terrible danger. His lungs burning and his stomach riddled with stitches, Joss pushed away the pain and kept running.
Bursting out of the catacombs, the Bladebound emerged into the chokehold of the alleyway. The vagrants by the flaming barrel hardly looked up as the three prentices went tearing past the stalls and the various black-market dealers, not stopping until they arrived at the other end.
Drake was sitting on a stack of crates, the three sets of reins wrapped around one hand and the ignition rod to Zeke’s cycle in the other.
‘What happened? Did you get the key back?’ he asked, dropping down onto his feet.
‘We have to go,’ Joss told him, holding up the key just long enough for Drake to see it before slipping the chain over his head and tucking it away. There was no way he was throwing it about or letting it out of his sight now. Not after it had just cost him the Champion’s Blade.
‘Where’s Crimson?’ Hero asked, climbing up onto Callie’s saddle as Joss clambered onto Azof ’s, the raptor chittering in confusion and alarm.
‘He ran off not long after you all left,’ Drake replied, mounting up. ‘I was worried he’d led you all into a trap.’ ‘He may as well have,’ Zeke grumbled. His cycle’s jet glowed hot as it rumbled into the air.
‘What do you mean?’ asked Drake.
‘Look, we can stand around explaining or we can tell you all about it later and not be horribly murdered. Your choice,’ Joss told him with a crack of Azof ’s reins.
‘Well, when you put it like that …’ Drake replied. Together the prentices flew from the mouth of the alleyway and onto the streets of Dragon’s Tail, pedestrians scattering at their approach, shadows lingering in their wake.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
A TINY GLIMPSE OF FURY
THRALL emerged from the catacombs in a cloud of dust. His mask was cracked and his right arm hung limp. Taking it in hand, he wrenched it back into its socket without ever breaking his stride. A fire was sputtering in the corner of the alley. Like a moth he found his way to it, ignoring the gawping faces of the two vagrants hunched beside it.
‘Move,’ he ordered, and they scuttled off without question as he once again untied the pouch of dried blood from his belt. Tossing a pinch of it onto the fire, he watched the flames explode. The witch’s face materialised before him, her displeasure unmistakable.
‘What has happened? Why do you rouse me?’ she demanded.
‘The key, my lady. It has been … misappropriated,’ Thrall replied, choosing his words carefully.
‘What?’ the witch yowled, the flames raging around her. ‘How could you let this happen? Is your feeble mind incapable of grasping the importance of the ceremony I must conduct? Rectify this, Thrall. Immediately. I won’t stand for any more failure. My patience has its limits.’
The face in the fire disappeared, and the flames receded into the embers. Still Thrall stared at it, the crack in his mask exposing a tiny glimpse of the fury that consumed him.
‘As does mine,’ he said, and stomped the fire to ash.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
AN END TO CIVILITY
THE lush valley below them dipped and rolled like the shroud that hid the Sleeping King’s face. Countless lakes shone as brilliantly as drops of mercury in the thin sunlight, while a woodland thicket curled towards the horizon. The sky here was different, purple and swirling, the grass a shaggy coat of emerald.
The Bladebound took in their surroundings from the cliffside, their mounts panting beneath them. Their flight from Dragon’s Tail had been a desperate one, with every shadow a threat. Now, gathered by the undercity’s eastern outlet tunnels, they took the opportunity for a brief rest.
‘The Eastern Wilds,’ Drake said, watching as a fog of clouds parted before them, cleaved by a slice of sunshine. ‘Hard to believe we’ve made it after all this trouble.’
‘We haven’t made it yet,’ Joss replied, and steered Azof towards the path that led down the mountainside and onto the wilds below. The others quickly followed, and together they set a punishing pace for themselves, hoping to outrun Thrall and whatever dark magic he commanded. Not that safety was guaranteed upon reaching the Ghost City. Far from it. But if they were riding into a trap, Joss preferred to end the suspense sooner rather than later.
Clearing the Backbone Ranges, they pressed on through the rolling hills and beyond, passing villages scattered among marshes and dark woodlands. Roadside vendors hawked trinkets and good-luck charms outside countless High Chamber temples, more than Joss had seen in all his life. It left him wondering if the eastern folk were more pious or simply more superstitious than those in Thunder Realm.
At night they camped beneath clear, sparkling, starry skies, with the moon hanging over the distant Spires like a sickle waiting to strike. And each morning they would wake to a thick fog that engulfed the landscape and didn’t clear until they stopped for lunch. That meant there were only a few small hours each day for them to see the Spires on the horizon, ensuring they were still headed in the right direction along the Eastern Wilds’ winding roads.
One evening, long after everyone else had turned in for the night and Joss was left alone to take the first watch, he sat by the fire they’d made and took out the Constellation Key. Pulling the chain free from his neck, he slowly spun the silver rod around and around in his hands, examining it from every angle. It looked both precious and unremarkable, a small oddity upon which all of their futures happened to rest. It was this one little object that had cost him the Champion’s Blade, and any chance of winning back Sur Verity’s respect.
Knowing that it wouldn’t take much to have it ripped from their possession for a second time, Joss looked around the campsite in the hope of finding a safe place to hide it. After all, if nobody else knew where it was, how could it possibly end up being stolen?
He considered stowing i
t in the bottom of one of Azof ’s saddlebags, but that seemed too obvious. Instead, he tiptoed over to where Pietro had hunkered down to sleep. Sifting as quietly as he could through the supplies that had been strapped to Pietro’s harness, Joss found the medical kit. He popped it open and pulled out a pack of bandages, inside which he hid the key.
Stowing the kit where he’d found it, Joss retreated to the fireside. As he settled back down, he looked over to see Zeke staring at him. He’d been awake and watching the entire time. Without knowing what else to do, Joss raised a finger in front of his mouth, silently imploring Zeke to keep his secret. Zeke pulled a hand free from his bedroll and returned the gesture, before closing his eyes and rolling over. He lay still after that, and eventually began to snore.
Will he say anything to the others? Joss fretted as he watched the flames, but Zeke’s response had been resolute. He could be trusted to keep the Constellation Key safe, Joss was sure of it.
The next afternoon, after more than a week of hard travelling, they came upon a small inn. The hand-painted sign out the front named it as Civility’s End, with two figures positioned back to back. One was stiff, formal and dressed in military garb, while the other was curved and prancing, with vines wrapped around each of its limbs.
‘T’aint nuffin further east of here but untamed wilderness, beasts that are best avoided and the ruins of the dead,’ the innkeeper explained about the name of his establishment from behind the reception counter. After sleeping rough for too many nights in a row, Joss and the others were all eager to spend at least one night in a soft bed. Not even the pervasive odour of mildew and rot was enough to deter them.
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