Within another hour, he reached the feet of the crags themselves. Despite the cold and his aching body, he grinned. Kora had spoken truly, for between the tallest peaks, the pass opened like a secret gateway. Had he not scaled this far, he would have never spotted it.
Daniel looked over his shoulder. Behind him, the vast expanse of the Untamables rose and fell like waves of the ocean. Few were the peaks that rose as high as the Howling Crags. Somewhere out there, Ram wandered the forest. Daniel missed his company. Suddenly, he felt very small and insignificant under the lordship of the wilderness.
He turned back and ventured on. The width of the pass was about double that of his arm span, and the way rose so steeply that he feared he’d have to clamber on his hands and knees. The terrain itself was a thick layer of loose gravel and shale. With each step he took, his feet sank down and he constantly slid back, making his progress agonizingly slow. Jagged rocks pierced the shifting layer of gravel all along the pass, and Daniel used these to his advantage, both as a means of hauling himself through the shale and as stopping points to catch his breath. To his left and his right, the Howling Crags blotted out the sun, and the icy wind wailed through the pass like a specter. He understood now the origin of the mountain’s name.
To make matters worse, the higher he climbed, the more ice and snow layered the already slippery terrain. Before long, his worries were fulfilled, and he found himself forced to drop to all four. If he lost his footing here, he would be dashed to pieces against the rocky protrusions that had been his allies on the way up. With no gloves, his fingers numbed as he groped his way further up, plunging his hands into the ice and stones and heaving himself up. Every time he moved, it seemed, a miniature landslide formed, and on more than one occasion, he lost his grip and slid back several yards in a spray of pebbles and ice shards.
At one point he dared glance down to see how much progress he had made. His stomach lurched at the void beneath him, and his limbs momentarily locked in place. He forced himself to ignore the vertigo and carry on.
A thought crossed his mind. Once Litty was safely with him again, it would be impossible to come back this same way, even when Ram rejoined them. They would have to go the long way around…once they knew where it was they were going. He swallowed his worry—they would figure that problem out when the time came.
At long last, after hours of arduous clambering, sliding, and bone-freezing ice and wind, he reached the top of the pass. From here, he felt he could see the whole world splayed below him in muted greens and blues. Clouds rolled far below him. The sun was blinding, even as it began to set behind the far peaks.
He collapsed to his knees, but even more overwhelming than his exhaustion was the relief that swept over him. He had conquered the Howling Crags, and now, in the valleys below, Litty awaited him.
This side of the crags was far less dangerous than the pass behind him, and his descent, though not easy, at least wouldn’t be life-threatening at every step. Whereas the mountain flank had previously funneled the wind into the pass, it now shielded him from the biting cold. He rubbed his frozen, bloodied hands back to life.
And then the snapjaws came. They emerged from unseen crevices like guardians of the pass, clicking, hissing, and trilling. Two, three, and then four of them circled around him, their deadly beaks snapping at him.
Daniel’s heart sank. “Are you serious?” It was as though the mountain itself refused to be defeated. He had never known snapjaws to venture so far from their forest nests, and yet here they were, ready to bring him down like wolves to a sheep.
The insects tightened the ring. Their claws clacked on cold stones.
Then Daniel felt a raw urge blossom in his chest. Instead of fear and hopelessness, a hot anger boiled inside him, and as the snapjaws eyed him hungrily, he stood his ground. He had escaped Preceptors, crossed half the Untamables, and survived the very nests from where these blights came. He had thwarted Akorites, evaded the jaws of wolves, faced rushing rivers, and traversed impenetrable mountains. He would not let these miserable creatures stand in his way.
He drew the gun.
The snapjaws lunged forward, their screeches echoing off the crags.
Daniel fired at the lead insect, then spun and shot at the one clawing at his back. The insects thrashed and fell. Knowing he had but one round remaining, he cast aside the weapon in a rush of adrenaline.
Now facing him together, the two remaining snapjaws pounced. Daniel flung himself out of the way, bashing his shoulder against the boulders. He groped for a stone and flung it. It struck its target on the snout with a solid thwack. The beast shuddered and shot its sticky tendrils at him.
Daniel cried out and dodged the projectile with mere inches to spare. If the snapjaws pinned him down with their webs, he would be done for.
They came at him again, seeking to pierce him with their vicious claws.
Daniel retreated until his back pressed against a rocky outcrop. He desperately launched more stones at them, though they did little to dissuade the insects. Not wanting to be hemmed in, he darted to the side, back towards the pass.
The snapjaws lunged at him. Just as they were about to overtake him, his foot slipped on a patch of ice, and he fell on his chest in the gravel. The snapjaws flew over him—one grappled and clung to a boulder; the other plummeted to the depths bellow, where it crumpled in broken heap.
Daniel seized the opportunity, and, before the last insect could regain its footing, he slid down to it, and with a solid thrust of his leg, sent the creature tumbling after its partner.
The beast hit a jagged stone with a crunch, twitched once, then lay still.
Daniel collapsed against the wall of the pass, his chest heaving. The mountain returned to silence.
* * *
Tess stared with hard eyes at the flagstone under her. The gag around her mouth forced her to breathe slowly through her nose. On her knees in the middle of a primitive dungeon cell with her arms extended over her, manacled to chains hanging from the ceiling, she waited. For how long, she did not know. The burning in her arms had long turned to a numb throbbing. Her throat was dry, her neck stiff, and her spirit broken. Even if Maravek bothered to search for her beyond the boundaries of his convenience, he wouldn’t find her. No one would find her. Though blindfolded during her march with the Akorites, they had led her down such twisted pathways that she had no doubt Nikolai spoke the truth—the Akorites were in utter control of the mountains. Though Maravek thought himself a lion, in truth, he was the mouse in this game.
She had already studied the layout of her prison. Escape was impossible. Not only was she in chains, but a wall of bars separated her cell from the circular chamber around which other cells were lined. There was no door, and the only light came from the flickering torches mounted along the walls of the round chamber. The Akorites had dragged her down a circular stairway before locking her in here; thus, she had to be a good ways underground.
The only way Tess had to pass the time, other than imagining what fate awaited her, which she preferred to avoid; was to speculate as to the identity of the prisoner in the cell across the chamber from her. The torchlight did not penetrate that far, and the only way she knew there was someone there was the sudden fit of muffled screaming that had erupted from the darkness of the far cell some time ago. Since then, the prisoner’s cries had weakened, and now, only the occasional rattling of chains and faint groaning could be heard. Tess could not speak, nor did she feel the need to communicate with the other prisoner, and so she remained silent.
Before long, she was forced to face the immediate future. Though she loathed the thought, she was at the mercy of the Akorites. She reminded herself that Maravek was the end goal, not her. For whatever reason, Nikolai and the rest wanted him dead, and if they intended to use her as bait, they would surely keep her alive until they either had their hands on him or changed their plans. If that happened, she would deal with it when the time came. For now, she would endure.
&n
bsp; Footsteps slapped on the stone stairs that led down to the dungeon. Tess straightened, and her chains clinked above her. From across the chamber, the other prisoner went deathly silent.
Two figures stepped into the flickering torchlight from the recesses of the dungeon passageways. The first had a permanent grimace on his face, and an ugly scar ran from his jawbone down his neck. The second gripped a lantern in an outstretched hand, and his bowed shoulders bobbed up and down as he limped into the chamber. The light of the flames and his lamp cast a gleam into troubled eyes that peered out through a tangle of matted bangs. Though he held the lamp, he strayed not from the side of his companion, and seemed to follow his lead at every step.
The scarred one issued a hushed command, and the one bearing the lantern shuffled over to a panel of rusty levers on the wall to the far left, which Tess had not been able to see before without the lantern light. His hand hovered over the levers for a moment, and then he pulled down on one of them. The floor shuddered, and with a grating of metal on stone, the bars of the other prisoner’s cell retracted into the floor like iron teeth.
The scarred man pulled one of the torches from its clamp on the wall and clomped into the cell with the prisoner. Tess finally saw who her companion-in-chains was—a girl, young, half kneeling, half hanging from her manacles, gagged as she was. Her blond hair hung in her face, and her olive-green top was soiled and torn. To Tess’ relief, the prisoner was not a Preceptor. She had never seen this girl before.
As the scarred man approached her, the girl set up such a struggle, writhing and scrambling to back away, that for a moment Tess wondered if she might yank the chains right out of the ceiling. The Akorite pulled a key from his pocket and, completely ignoring the girl’s flailing, released her wrists from the manacles.
The lantern-bearer scuttled over to them, and together they hoisted the girl to her feet and dragged her towards the staircase. Her strength ebbed, and her feet kicked weakly. For a moment, as they led her past Tess’ cell, their eyes met, and the girl pleaded with her gaze. Then the Akorites hauled her up the stairs. Her faint cries echoed down into the dungeon chamber. Tess shuddered. Whatever cruel fate awaited that girl, she pitied her.
The dungeon returned to cold silence, and once again time slipped into a frameless passing, like a trickling of water.
After some time, the two men returned, and the lantern-bearer opened the grating in Tess’s cell. She drew in a sharp breath and braced herself. The scarred Akorite approached her as he had the other girl, arrogance plain on his face, but instead of releasing her from the manacles, he stood over her and roughly yanked the gag cloth from around her face.
Tess gasped and coughed as she breathed in stale air. A bitter taste coated her tongue, and the cold stung her raw throat.
While the lantern-bearer remained outside the cell, the scarred man crouched before her, eye to eye. He stared at her for a long moment before saying, “I wonder, Preceptor, if I cut off one of your fingers for each of my people you’ve murdered, would you have enough?” His voice sounded like gravel in a blender. He flashed a curved blade in her face. “What’s the count, then?”
Tess recoiled, disgusted. She couldn’t bring herself to look him in the eye, but in her peripheral, she noticed the lantern-bearer watching them with wide eyes.
The scarred man cracked his knuckles together. “On second thought,” he said, “We’ll have our share of screams from the back-stabber upstairs.” He ran his thumb across her throat and dangled the blade in front of her face. “Been too long since I stuck metal in your kind.” He tapped her collarbone with the tip. “Preceptors are heartless, but do you bleed?”
Tess struggled to maintain her composure. She twisted away, but the scarred man grabbed her chains and yanked her back around to face him.
“Back off, Barin,” said a commanding voice from the dungeon chamber. Nikolai stepped past the lantern-bearer into the cell. He crossed his brawny arms over his chest.
Barin growled like a wolf, gave Tess a tap with the blade, and retreated from the cell. Nikolai fixed his eyes on him until his footsteps echoed from the stairway.
When his thudding steps could no longer be heard, the lantern-bearer heaved a sigh and hurried unbidden to Tess’s side, where he fished out a key of his own and hastened to unchain her. She dropped to the flagstones, and after he had helped her up, she rubbed her chafed wrists. The lantern-bearer stepped back, a mix of worry and relief on his thin face. Up close, Tess could see that his left eye wandered slightly, and a ropy scar, not unlike the one on Barin’s jaw, ran down the side of his head under his long, matted hair.
“Tarvin,” said Nikolai, “Food and hot water for the Preceptor.” He snapped his fingers twice. “Don’t drag your feet!”
Tarvin dipped his head and scurried towards the stairs.
Nikolai kicked the chains away with a curled lip. They rattled across the flagstone. “Barin has snakes in his veins instead of blood,” he said, “You may be in the viper’s den, Preceptor, but my men know well that I’ll clap their blocks if they so much as lay a finger on you without me telling them to.”
Tess watched him warily. Her throat was too parched for her to muster a response. She wasn’t sure if to be grateful for his intervention or even more afraid of what true motive lay beneath his reassuring words.
Nikolai handed her a flask. “Drink.”
She took it, and after a moment’s hesitation, put it to her lips. Water trickled down her throat, and after coughing up the first mouthful, she drank until the flask was empty. When her throat was soothed, she asked, “What do you want with me?”
“I think you already know,” said Nikolai. “Your fourth ranker sounds the alarm, Maravek comes to save your skin, and when he does, I’m going to put a gold one between his eyes.”
Tess studied him. This was not a man driven by madness, but behind the mask of confidence, she detected a stirring of emotion. “Why?” She said softly. “Why take the life of someone who has done you no wrong?”
Nikolai’s eyes flashed, and he opened his mouth to speak, but at that moment, Tarvin returned, hastening down the stairs with a bucket of hot water, a hand towel, and half a loaf of bread. He presented these things to Tess with the friendliest grin she had seen in months. She almost smiled back.
Nikolai didn’t answer her question, and the surge of emotion had left him. “Clean up,” he said to her, “And eat.” He turned to Tarvin. “When she’s done, bring her to me. Fourth level.” He spun on his heel and disappeared up the stairs.
After offering her another smile, Tarvin silently retreated to the depths of the chamber, where Tess lost sight of him. However, she could hear him softly mutter to himself, and occasionally he would exclaim and smack his lips, and she wondered if he might be in possession of the other half of the loaf.
For the moment, she set aside her confusion at this turn of events. The warm water felt glorious on her face, and she washed streaks of dirt and dry blood from her brow, hands, and arms. She set the bucket to the side and consumed the half-loaf. The bread was mildly stale, but it was the first bit of food she’d had since the previous day, and she made quick work of it.
Tarvin appeared at her side from a completely different direction than where she had last seen him, the smile still on his face, and he guided her up the spiral staircase. It was there that Tess understood what Nikolai meant by ‘fourth level’. Every two rotations, an archway opened up into a corridor, and numbers were etched into the brown stone above each opening. The dungeon chamber and its adjacent cells were on level six, and they skipped over level five. At level four, Tarvin stopped and gently prodded her through the opening.
Tess took several tentative steps into the torch-lit corridor, which wound to the right within ten or fifteen steps, and looked over her shoulder. Tarvin stood in the archway, smiling back at her. Apparently, she was to go on alone.
As she continued down the narrow hall, she kept her eyes and ears open. Though for the time being Nikol
ai seemed bent on protecting her from his more aggressive counterparts, she knew she could trust no one in this place, and so she proceeded with caution. The corridor remained silent, however, to the point where she felt suppressed, as though she were walking towards some morbid end.
She rounded the bend, and after descending a quick set of steps and ducking under a second low arch, she found Nikolai. The bare-armed Akorite stood like a statue in a wide chamber with a natural stone ceiling in the midst of rows and rows of simple gravestones. Somewhere in the recesses of the chamber, water trickled down the walls and splashed into a pool.
She stopped at the entrance, hesitating. In contrast with the dim dungeon and corridors, this chamber was well lit with a good number of torches set in iron rings along the uneven walls. On the gravestones closest to her she read the names of those that lay beneath. Many of them shared family names. She felt a sudden weight on her shoulders, as though her mere presence in this hall were taking its toll on her spirit.
Nikolai stirred from his unmoving posture and glanced at her over his shoulder. “You can trust Tarvin. He’s as docile as a dove, and though he acts like a child all too often, he has a good heart.” He paused. “Didn’t use to be that way.”
Tess remained where she was. “What changed?”
“He got into an argument with a short fuse and ended up thrown against a wall. Cracked his skull. He survived, barely, but since that day…well, wars don’t just claim lives.” He motioned Tess to join him and led her through the rows of tombstones towards the center of the hall. “You said Maravek did me no wrong. I want you to see this.” He pointed at two twin gravestones before them. “My son. He was twelve, and he wanted to be a doctor. Maravek shot him in the back even as he ran.” His voice caught in his throat. “My wife. Young…beautiful. Maravek murdered her too, with his own hands.” A bitter laugh escaped him. “Where was I when this happened? Fighting Maravek’s men while he snuck around, torched our village, and slaughtered our loved ones.”
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