by Dave Morris
‘Loyal and brave champions,’ he said, ‘you stand on the brink of the greatest adventure of your lives. Somewhere in the catacombs below our feet lies the Emblem of Victory. If you can find it and return it to the magus who has employed you, your reward will exceed the bounds of avarice. Other than this, the contest has no rules. Alliances and betrayals, stratagems and lies, duels and ambushes—all are fair game. Whether you live or die is written in the stars. So go down now and face your destiny.’
Kalugen lowered his arms. The wind returned, keening across the barren landscape, flattening the dry grass and whipping at cloaks and hair.
Altor and Caelestis looked at Magus Balhazar where he sat in his carriage. In a gesture of urbane disinterest, he extended his hand towards the entrance to the underworld. Then he turned away and signalled to his coachman to take him back to the city.
‘I don’t think he rates our chances,’ said Caelestis.
Altor spat. ‘Who cares? I’m not doing this for him. Are you ready?’
Other champions were already descending into their respective mounds. Altor led the way under the lichen-stained lintel and down stone steps into the darkness of the underworld.
Five:
The Gift Giver
They entered a chamber lit by torches flickering in brackets around the walls. Other than an alcove lined with sparkling mosaic, the rest of the room was of drab grime-encrusted stone. At the far end, a tunnel stretched off into the gloom.
Caelestis took one of the torches and handed another to Altor. ‘We might need these. Balhazar didn’t say whether the catacombs are illuminated throughout.’
Altor shook his head. ‘You carry one if you like, but I’m a warrior. I prefer to keep my hands free for fighting.’
Caelestis shrugged. As Altor moved off towards the tunnel, he pointed to the alcove. ‘Don’t you think we ought to take a look at this first?’
‘What for? There’s nothing in it.’
‘Take a look around you. Notice anything in particular?’
‘It’s just a plain stone chamber.’
‘Precisely,’ said Caelestis, nodding. ‘Cold, dark, dingy—not out of place in your average dungeon. So why is that alcove decorated with blue and gold mosaics that obviously cost a small fortune? A clue, perhaps? A secret door?’
Altor gave an impatient sigh. ‘Go on, then, take a look. But make it quick.’
Caelestis stepped over and examined the alcove by the light of his torch. It looked as if it was supposed to hold a vase or life-size statue, but there was nothing in it now. The mosaics were cut into delicate interlocking shapes and threw back spangles of colour from the flames. Deftly Caelestis ran his fingers around the edge, feeling for a hidden catch...
‘Hurry up,’ said Altor.
‘All right!’ Caelestis snapped back. Abandoning caution, he climbed up into the alcove.
There was a blinding flash of light. The floor fell away from under him as though it had suddenly turned to liquid. The glittering mosaic spun in front of his eyes, painting blurred colours of blue and gold.
After an instant of dizziness the ground steadied. He took a deep breath and was surprised to find himself tasting clean air and not the musty atmosphere of the Battlepits. As his vision cleared, he saw he was now in a garden under a high roof of coloured glass that filtered the light into rainbow shards. In front of him was a bubbling fountain, and perched on the edge of this was an elfin girl clad in a swathe of green silk.
Caelestis opened his mouth to speak, but for once his silver tongue was tied. ‘Who..? What..? Where..?’ he said, then realized that for the sake of his dignity he would do better to keep quiet.
‘I am Larisha,’ said the elf in a voice of honey and fine fragrances. ‘By the ancients of Krarth I was called the Gift Giver. Now that you have stumbled into my little bower, I am obliged to render you one gift.’
Caelestis had recovered his wits enough to make a courtly bow. ‘Miss Larisha, I am charmed to make your acquaintance. Merely to look upon such beauty is a gift in itself.’
Larisha turned away, her hair falling across her face but not quite concealing a smile of pleasure at Caelestis’ words. She reached into the waters of the fountain and held up a silver sword. ‘This is the blade used by Vislet, the Prince of Asmuly, who once bested a hundred foes in the space of a single day.’ She allowed it to fall back into the water and then pulled out another item. ‘And this golden ring belonged to Shormiano the wizard, and this—‘ she dropped the ring and took a large gem from the water ‘—is the frozen last breath of Astarandel the Dragonlord.’
Caelestis noticed a flicker of light in the orange depths of the gem. Somehow, although faint, it seemed to suggest the roaring heart of an inferno. ‘What does it do?’ he asked. ‘That and the other items?’
Larisha lifted her slender shoulders in a careless shrug. ‘It is not for me to say. I am here merely to dispense one of these things as a gift.’
‘Well, thank you...’ said Caelestis, peering down into the waters of the fountain as he struggled to choose.
Larisha waved her hand dismissively. ‘Do not trouble to thank me, for I am a creature without a soul, without free will. I merely perform the duty assigned to me by the Fates.’
A crafty look came into Caelestis’s eye. ‘Why, that is absurd,’ he said quickly. ‘How can you describe yourself as soulless, you who are more lovely than any earthly woman? Behold your exquisite reflection in this fountain. Can you possibly deny that it is the face of a vibrant elemental soul, a passionate beauty who laughs in the face of the cruel Fates!’
Larisha looked startled for a moment, then turned to regard herself in the crystal water of the fountain. A laugh bubbled up from inside her, and she tossed her head in delight like a proud mare. ‘Why you speak truly,’ she exclaimed, smiling into her reflection and becoming even more pleased by what she saw. ‘Let us spite the Fates, then—those horrendous crones! I’ll give you all three gifts, not because I must but because I freely choose to do so.’
Caelestis concealed his grin of triumph with a flourish of his sleeve as he bowed again. ‘Then, since it is by your own will and not the dictates of destiny that I receive these gifts, I need show no restrain in thanking you.’ So saying, he stepped forward and planted a kiss on the elf girl’s brow.
Startled, Larisha stood up, trailing her silk toga like a green shadow, and thrust the three gifts towards him. Caelestis was disconcerted to find her several inches taller than himself. He had always imagined elves would be small creatures. Taking the sword and ring and gemstone, he stepped back.
‘Return now to the magi’s labyrinth,’ said Larisha, lifting her hands to weave a spell. ‘And you may take another gift with those three, if it is of use to you—the gift of my good wishes in your quest.’
Colours and sounds jangled and swirled. Caelestis was again jerked off his feet, then just as abruptly the ground solidified under him. He was back in the alcove.
Altor was staring at him open-mouthed. ‘Where did you go?’ he asked. ‘And how, come to that?’
‘It’s a bit difficult to explain, seeing as how I’ve got no idea myself. But I met an elf that gave me these.’
Altor took the silver sword and first tested its edge on the hairs on the back of his hand, then swung it through the air with approval. Not only was it finely forged and razor-keen, but it was perfectly balanced for his hand.
‘You keep that, then,’ said Caelestis. He slipped the golden ring onto his finger. He had hoped for a sudden surge of power or at least an inkling of some magic it might contain, but to his chagrin there was nothing.
He looked up to find Altor regarding him suspiciously. ‘What?’
‘Did you steal these things, Caelestis?’
‘Of course not. It’s a magical place, this, isn’t it? That’s the sort of thing that happens around here. You get whisked off to mysterious gardens and meet elf maidens who give you things.’
‘Oh, it was a female elf, was i
t?’ said Altor.
‘A good job you weren’t the one to meet her,’ said Caelestis scornfully. ‘I don’t think an apprentice monk like you would’ve known where to look! As it was, I gave her a compliment for the sword, a kiss for the ring, and a heartfelt thank-you for this gemstone. I consider it fair exchange, and therefore not thievery.’
‘Well,’ Altor admitted, ‘I certainly needed a sword.’
‘Pardon me?’ Caelestis cupped a hand to his ear. ‘Did I hear you correctly? It sounded almost as if you think I’ve done something right.’
Altor flung up his hands. ‘Yes, yes, all right. You did well, Caelestis. You were right about the alcove and I was wrong. Thanks for the sword, but now—don’t you think we should be getting a move on?’
Caelestis gave him a broad smile. ‘Lead on, my friend. I’m right behind you.’
They advanced into a red-tiled corridor whose walls were lined with gold-framed mirrors. The torchlight hovered in multiple dim halos to either side, reflected in the mirrors beneath a thick layer of dust. The sound of their footsteps on the cold tiles echoed obtrusively in the silence. Altor, in the lead, felt a sense of unease that grew with each step.
At last they reached the end of the corridor. Vast double doors of bronze stood ahead, stamped with ancient symbols from the days when Krarth had been ruled by the True Magi, the superhuman wizards who were the forerunners of Kalugen and his ilk.
Caelestis wiped a smear of dust from one of the mirrors and adjusted his hair in the winking torchlight. ‘Which way now?’ he mused.
‘Have we got a choice?’ said Altor, looking back over his shoulder. ‘And haven’t you got anything better to do than preen yourself like a cock partridge?’
‘A man should always strive to be well turned-out,’ replied Caelestis, unruffled. ‘And since you ask, yes, we do have a choice. See the catch?’ He pointed to the frame of the mirror. ‘This mirror conceals a secret door.’
‘I think we should—‘ Altor began to say.
But Caelestis had already prised open the catch. As he swung the mirror away from the wall, they saw that there was indeed a narrow passage beyond.
The weight of the heavy mirror tugged at hinges weakened by age. Slipping out of Caelestis’ hand, it fell to the tiled floor and smashed into jagged fragments.
The noise reverberated along the corridor and, at this, an eager wailing rose in the air.
Caelestis looked around in alarm. ‘Great God, listen to that! Where’s it coming from?’
Altor pointed to the other mirrors. The glass bulged outwards as though something was pushing its way out from behind. The wailing grew until it was a single sustained note—a tortured scream drawn out to the limit of hearing.
The mirrors burst outwards in a shower of broken glass. From the walls on either side reached hulking grey arms with ragged fingernails like shards of mica. But, unlike the mirror Caelestis had opened, behind these others there were no secret passages. By some sorcery the grey creatures had been trapped inside the glass itself.
‘Watch out!’ cried Caelestis.
Altor whirled and slashed at one, severing its wrist, and found himself staring into a face with hollow eye-sockets and a leering cyanide-blue slit for a mouth.
With horror he realized that the creature had once been a living man.
Six:
The Faltyn
Altor turned to shout a warning, but it was not needed. Caelestis was already diving into the passage behind the mirror he had opened. ‘Come on!’ he called back.
Altor paused briefly, not liking to run from a fight, but discretion soon got the better of his martial instincts. There were too many of the creatures for one man to fight, and in any case he wasn’t sure his sword could kill things that were no longer truly alive. He squeezed along the passage behind Caelestis and was relieved to find that the cadaverous grey monsters were too big to follow.
The passage was rough-hewn and very weathered, as if tunnelled into the bedrock of the Keep aeons before the coming of mankind. After a while it widened a little, but they still had to crouch as they worked their way up a twisting flight of slippery rock-cut steps and then down a long pebble-strewn ramp.
At last they reached a small cave with a metal grille set into the floor. A pale shaft of light stabbed up from below. Peering through the grille, they saw a corridor of grey marble lit by oil lamps on ledges along the walls. Caelestis lay down full-length on the floor of the cave with his face pressed to the grille. By craning his neck he could see that the corridor ended in a bronze-bound portal.
‘Can we prise it up?’ said Altor, crouching to examine the grille.
‘Ssh,’ warned Caelestis. ‘I can hear someone coming.’
There was the sound of a key being turned, loud and ominous in the empty corridor. The bronze door swung open with a screech of corroded hinges. Three burly barbarians strode forward, slamming the door behind them without concern for whether or not they were heard. Not thinking to look up, they stopped directly under the grille and took out a scrap of parchment.
‘What’s it say, Erek?’ muttered one.
‘I’m not sure, Snorri,’ said the man with the parchment, idly plucking a flea out of his hair and crunching it in his teeth. ‘I can’t read, can I?’
‘By Muninn and Huginn!’ bellowed the third barbarian, a red bearded ox of a man. ‘Have you no learning at all, Erek?’ He snatched the parchment from his comrade and peered at it. ‘Well, it says... it says... Damn this light, it’s too dim to read by! Well, I reckon it says one of the passages ahead is a dead end. But what do you want to listen to a bit of ink and parchment for? The only way to find out is to see for ourselves...’
The three swaggered off down the corridor, loudly discussing the ale they would buy with their reward money after winning the contest.
Caelestis smiled wryly. ‘A clear case of counting one’s chickens...’ he said when the barbarians had passed out of earshot.
‘Did you get a good look at them?’ said Altor. ‘Were they Magus Tor’s champions?’
‘No, those were from the Gnawing Waste, weren’t they? I think this lot must be Mercanian. And none too bright either.’
‘You don’t need to be all that bright to chop a man down with a sword.’
This provoked a gleeful grin from Caelestis. ‘You said it, warrior, I didn’t!’
Altor was not too pompous to laugh at himself. ‘Okay, you do the thinking and I’ll do the chopping, deal? Give me a hand with this grille.’
It pulled free easily and they were able to squeeze through. Caelestis dropped the torch to Altor before joining him in the marble corridor.
‘We won’t need this any more,’ said Altor, nodding at the oil lamps.
Caelestis stroked his chin thoughtfully, but hung onto the torch. ‘Maybe I’m being a pessimist, but I don’t want to toss it away and then find we have to find our way across an unlit cavern.’
‘Fine, since you’re the one who’s carrying it.’ Altor led the way along the corridor until they reached a junction. One passage was paved with black marble, the other with white. Above the junction, a carving decorated the wall. It showed a man’s head in outline, a profile view looking to the left. A series of lines radiated from the head like spokes from the hub of a wheel.
‘It looks like the barbarians’ map was accurate. Which way?’
‘It’s Sorrisday, so right is lucky.’
‘Left, then,’ Altor decided.
After a short distance the white-floored corridor ended in a heavy oak door studded with bosses of burnished copper. Caelestis was about to suggest they stopped to listen when Altor, hearing the clash of metal from the other side, wrenched it open.
They stepped through to a scene of carnage. Two of the barbarians lay writhing in their death-throes on the floor, glistening spikes protruding from livid wounds on their necks. The third was still on his feet although he too had a poison dart in his shoulder. Swaying as though drunk, he was struggling with
two black-robed assassins wielding crescent-shaped swords. Just as Altor and Caelestis burst in, one of the assassins aimed a scything cut at the surviving barbarian’s wrist. Hand and sword dropped to the floor, but instead of falling the huge barbarian roared and thrust the bleeding stump of his arm into the nearest assassin’s face.
Altor crossed the room in two paces and impaled the other assassin on his sword. He withdrew the blade on the backswing, reversed it and drove it through the other assassin’s neck from the side.
Seeing his foe go limp, the barbarian gave a deep groan and slumped to a sitting position on the floor. His severed arm continued to pump bright scarlet blood, and his face was now the colour of wet chalk.
‘I’m done for,’ he said thickly. ‘Take our map. We got it off Magus Xon and it’s been right this far.’
Caelestis paused to check that both assassins were dead and then crouched with Altor beside the rapidly weakening barbarian. ‘Anyone you want us to take a message to?’ he asked, adding: ‘As long as it’s convenient, of course—can’t promise anything.’
‘My wife’s waiting up above,’ gasped the barbarian. ‘Tell her... tell her...’
The huge frame jerked and went limp, all the muscles suddenly like clay. Altor laid the body to the floor and closed its staring eyes.
‘Guess we’ll never know what to tell his wife,’ said Caelestis.
‘I do,’ said Altor grimly. ‘He wanted her to know he died in battle.’
‘That’s a pretty fair bet in a place like this, isn’t it!’ snorted Caelestis. ‘I think she’d guess he didn’t die of old age.’
Altor glared at him. ‘Have you no respect for men of honour, Caelestis?’
‘Sure. Respect, Olaf, or whatever his name was. But I’m not convinced by this palaver about ‘glorious deaths’. I think it might be that some people prefer the idea of a quick death in battle to real life.’
‘Pah, you understand nothing.’
