“Varis tortured Kian near to death,” Hazad said hollowly.
“We have little time,” Azuri added grimly.
“Where is he?” Ellonlef heard herself ask, afraid to know. The answer was beyond her worst fears.
“The Pit,” Azuri said, after Hazad made the attempt and choked on the words. “We have it from men we know and can believe that priests of Attandaeus loaded him into a cart just before dawn, and delivered him to the Pit soon after.”
“Gods good and wise,” Hya rasped.
Ellonlef’s blood went to ice. “We must free him before—”
She cut off, unable to voice the atrocities that he would surely be facing already. The Pit was a place for lawbreakers condemned to death, though not a clean and swift death promised by the headsman’s blade. Those sent to the Pit were unrepentant beasts at the least, and insane, often as not. In that underground warren, in the absence of light, the darkness of their souls compelled them to acts vile beyond words. Most did not survive long—and Kian, doubtless insensible from his wounds, had been there for hours.
“We have a means to get in,” Azuri said hesitantly. “A man who has owed Kian a favor for some years, serves as a guard.”
“Then what are we waiting for?”
“You could die … we all could,” Hazad cautioned. “Varis has soldiers scouring the city for all of us. The standing order is to see us to the Pit as soon as we are found.”
Ellonlef did not falter or balk. “Tell me your plan on the way.”
Hya’s face was grim. “Whether he lives or not, you must return here. Like these Izutarians, I know those who walk the shadows, those who can get you out of the city and to safety.”
Ellonlef impulsively hugged the old woman, then followed Hazad and Azuri out into the black alley. The air was colder than any she had ever felt, and low clouds shoved east by strong winds obscured the stars.
“Snow will fall before first light,” Hazad predicted, as they hastened toward the heart of the Chalice, carefully keeping to the deepest shadows. As promised, patrols were out in full force.
“A good snowfall may serve us,” Azuri said. “Folk hereabout have blood thin as wine, and the colder it gets, the less they will want to be away from a warm fire.”
“Then I hope for a storm, even the White Death,” Hazad said.
“What is that?” Ellonlef asked, the mere name chilling her heart. She did not really want to know, but neither did she want a prolonged silence to fill her mind, allowing considerations of what Kian faced.
“The White Death is a fierce storm that blows out of the Whitehold,” Hazad said, creeping along. “Like the godless savages who live in those icy wastes, the storms that come out of their lands are deadly. Winds come first, cold enough to shroud a man in hoarfrost and turn his flesh black. Snow follows, stabbing at you like small daggers, and building to the height of a man. If you are caught outside without shelter, death falls swiftly.”
Ellonlef shivered, trying to reason out how cold could blacken flesh. Distractedly, she noted that the normal crowds of the Chalice had vanished. The only people about besides them and the sporadic mounted patrols, were a few enterprising sorts who had brought wagonloads of wood down from the mountains. Doubtless, they would fetch considerable profits for their effort.
Looking skyward, Ellonlef said, “I’ve heard that the Whitehold is naught but endless plains of ice and snow, even in summer, when the sun never sets.”
“That is true for the far north of Izutar, as well,” Azuri said. “Too, the night of winter lasts months.”
Ellonlef kept any further questions to herself. She simply did not want to hear anymore. And besides, trying not to think about Kian was a useless endeavor.
It took longer to reach Ammathor proper than it should have, for the nearer they came, the more often they had to duck into alleys to avoid soldiers. Ellonlef counted it a blessing that to the last, the soldiers seemed more interested in staying warm than finding their prey, and were generally busy complaining loudly about the cold, and adjusting their thin garb in a vain bid to cover bare skin.
In due course, Azuri turned them into a lightless alley down the road from their destination, and began rooting through a pile of litter. After a moment of searching, he drew out a sackcloth bundle and unrolled it at his feet. In the gloom, Ellonlef could just make out a pair of saffron-trimmed green cloaks of the City Watch and two round, bronze helms, one adorned with a plume of white horse hair, the other bare. A smaller bundle held two thin, wooden dowels, a ball of tacky resin, and a set of wrist shackles linked by a crude chain.
Azuri glanced at Ellonlef regretfully. “To get in, we need a prisoner—one of extreme value.”
Ellonlef held out her hands, pleased they did not shake. “I wish Kian had listened to us, instead of his damnable honor,” she muttered, even as she found her admiration for him growing.
“And if wishes were sheep flop,” Hazad growled not unkindly, “we’d be up to our necks in it.”
Azuri slipped the shackles over her wrists, careful not to scrape her skin. Instead of bolts, he secured the shackles with the small wooden pegs, which in turn were held in place with daubs of resin made pliable by the warmth of his palms. “Do not jiggle these too much, we cannot have them fall off before we need them to.” He looked in her eyes, then spoke with deadly assurance. “And I should warn you, we will give no mercy to those who resist us.”
Ellonlef could only imagine what would come, but had little pity in her heart when she said, “I am ready.”
Azuri donned the garb of a Captain of the City Watch, while Hazad was left with that of a common legionnaire. Lastly, he wrapped his discarded cloak around Ellonlef’s shoulders, the great bulk and length of it ensuring that her sheathed dagger was covered.
“Your costumes are adequate,” Ellonlef said, “but it is quite apparent you are both Izutarians.”
“During your time in Krevar,” Hazad said, “it has become more and more common for Izutarians to serve in the ranks of Aradan’s legions, especially Ammathor’s City Watch. These days, Aradaners simply refuse to take on the mantle of soldiers—especially when our brethren will do it for half wages.”
“Forgive me for any pain you might soon feel,” Azuri said to her, but offered no further explanation.
With her nod of acceptance, he took hold of the back of her neck, drew his sword, and propelled her onto the main road. From there, they moved toward the high stone wall surrounding the grounds guarding the entrance of the Pit. As they walked along, Ellonlef wondered if they would ever get out after they gained entrance. She told herself they would succeed, that all would be well, but she could not quite make herself believe it.
Chapter 40
When they reached the wooden gate that led into the most feared place in Aradan, a grizzled solider opened the peephole and stared out. His fierce countenance fell on Ellonlef, then took in the others.
“What do you want?” he demanded, his sudden wide smile ruining the ferocity of his voice.
“Good evening, Durrin,” Hazad said quietly. “Is all in order?”
“As much as can be,” Durrin whispered. “But us standing here jabbering will not help matters. Get on with it.”
Azuri showed smiling teeth in the cold air, but called in an angry shout, “You know why I am here, you poxy wretch! I’ve come with a prize sought by King Varis. Open the gate and let me through, or find yourself spitted and roasting for his pleasure!”
Durrin hurriedly swung the gate inward, whispering, “Take care. The head gaoler, Ixron, is a vile snake at the best of times—which these are not. The rest of these dogs are little better, but they are friends after a fashion, made all the friendlier with your promised gold. Try not to hurt them too much.”
Azuri produced a clinking leather purse the size of his fist. “If you cannot fully turn the hearts of your friends with this, then they will die,” he warned, tone heavy with dark promise.
Durrin weighed the purse
in his hand, eyes going wide. “More than promised … this will do. However, Ixron will never yield. Oh, he’d take the gold, but just as soon as you turn your back, he’d stick a knife in it.”
“We’ll deal with him when the time comes,” Azuri said, guiding Ellonlef through the open gate, even as the head gaoler emerged from a small mud brick building built into the wall and strode toward them. He halted them while Durrin was busy closing and barring the gate. A few guards striding along the wall walks glanced down, but showed no more than a cursory interest. Durrin had bought their apathy with the promise of precious metal.
“So, the City Watch has found one of the traitors already?” Ixron said, his steaming breath thick with the stench of sour wine. His dark eyes fell on Ellonlef’s face with a lecherous gleam.
“Yes,” Azuri answered, giving no indication he would say more.
Ixron tugged Ellonlef’s hood from her head to get a better look. His grin was vile and greedy. “Might be we need to interrogate this wench, before we dump her in the Pit.”
“Indeed,” Azuri drawled. “Perhaps, as well, you would like to see your stones hewn off and presented to the king for disobeying his commands?”
“You bloody damned Izutarians have no humor,” Ixron said with a scowl, and waved an angry hand for Azuri and the others to follow.
Staggering a little, he led them to a squat mud brick building in the center of the yard, unlocked the heavy wood door, and pulled it open. Sooty smoke puffed out on a gust of stuffy air. Once the smoke cleared, Ellonlef could make out a narrow, descending stairway lighted by a long procession of guttering torches.
“Well, take the slut down,” Ixron growled. “I have better things to do than stand here freezing my backside.”
“Be ready for my return,” Azuri said. Ixron snorted disdainfully. Then, after a closer look at Azuri’s flat gray stare, nodded in agreement.
Making a show of it, Azuri then prodded Ellonlef through the doorway, and followed after. Hazad came last. The door slammed shut as they made their way down into the hazy confines. The constricted passage, combined with an overpowering stench, made Ellonlef’s chest tighten. No man who had ever entered this place as a prisoner had come out again, not even his bones.
After a hundred steps, the stair let out in a wide chamber hacked into the granite many centuries before. Here the air was warmer, and damp besides. The very rock smelled of horror and death, ages thick. Ellonlef felt as if she could feel the ghosts of thousands of damned souls closing in around her, greedily seeking the heat of her life, wanting to steal it away.
“Are you well?” Hazad asked, scrutinizing Ellonlef.
“Fine,” she said curtly. “I just want to find Kian and escape.” She refused to heed the voice in her head telling her that he was already dead.
Azuri’s nose wrinkled. “This place smells of the grave.”
His statement did not help Ellonlef’s resolve to ward against the living memories buried in the surrounding rock, that of doom and creeping insanity. Those sent here, if they did not die straight away, first wasted away in body, then in mind.
Azuri moved across the chamber to a door of rusted iron. “Open, in the name of the king!”
There came a jangling of keys, then the door squealed ajar to show an emaciated guard who looked to not have properly eaten, or bathed, in years. “Gods cursed fool!” the man snarled at Azuri. “No call to yell. I can hear fine.”
“Shut that rotten hole in your face,” Azuri said, “and lead me to the man brought in at dawn.”
“What?” the guard asked, bemused. “Why would you want to see that scum?”
Azuri narrowed his eyes. “I said lead me to him.”
The guard growled a curse and reached for the battered hilt of his sword. Hazad pushed by Ellonlef and Azuri, closed a great fist around the guard’s throat, and slammed his head against the wall. “When you are commanded by a captain of the City Watch, worm, you obey without question,” Hazad rumbled, and threw the groaning man to the ground.
Blinking dazedly, the guard rubbed his bleeding head. “One day you Izutarian bastards are going to pay for treating trueborn Aradaners this way!”
“Are you as witless as you look, and deaf besides?” Hazad demanded, relieving the guard of his ill-kept sword. “Perhaps I should clean your ears with steel? No? Then shut your mouth and take us to the prisoner. We have something special for him … from the king”
The fool started to mumbled another curse, but Hazad dragged him to his feet and shoved him down the passage. Having no choice, the guard led them along a low corridor, bemoaning his split scalp the entire way.
The first passage, lined with doors of rotting wood, ended at another iron door. The guard unlocked it, then faced the trio. “Beyond here, prisoners are free to do as they will. Mayhap they’ll cut out your stinking tongues and eat them! While they’re at it,” he sniveled, glancing at Ellonlef, “mayhap I’ll take that pretty piece there for myself.”
Hazad’s open-handed slap ruined his lips and knocked loose a tooth.
Azuri pointed into the waiting darkness. “Lead,” he commanded
The man looked ready to balk once more, then thought better of it. He locked the door at their backs, then did as bid with hatred in his stare. He would prove dangerous, if the opportunity arose.
The way was lit by a few flickering torches set in holes in the walls, their smoke adding to the black cones of soot that ran to the ceiling. After a sharp turn took them beyond sight of the last door and the handful of torches, all was darkness. Prisoners of the Pit did not need light.
Azuri strode back the way they had come, took a torch from its place, and held it as high as the low ceiling would allow. The wavering glow did little more than remind Ellonlef of the passage’s narrowness. As they moved deeper into the now winding passage, the fickle torchlight showed more things she did not want to see. Bones of all sizes shared ground with dried excrement. Frequent alcoves ended at blank walls, into which were set rusted manacles and chains. All of the bindings were free of living prisoners, but a few held old skeletons.
The guard did not pause, or even seem to notice the bones. As he led them deeper, the air grew closer, more oppressive. Ellonlef observed signs left from the days when the Pit had been a mine. Occasional beams and rafters, now dry-rotted, shored up the walls, but more often than not the walls had crumbled into drifts of loose rubble.
“Do you know where you are going?” Hazad demanded, after what seemed hours of shambling on.
“Indeed,” the guard responded harshly, peering into the dancing shadows. “I can smell him ahead … fresh blood.”
“If he dies before we reach him,” Azuri said, “your life also ends.”
The man hunched his shoulders and scowled. “You sound like you want him to live.” Then, as if just piecing together what was afoot, the man spun, his face a mask of fury. “You bastards mean to free him!”
Before anyone could react, he sprinted ahead, vanishing quickly into the darkness.
Chapter 41
“Damn!” Azuri swore, and wrenched Ellonlef’s shackles off her wrists. The game was up, and there was no use keeping her bound. “We must catch him, or we will never find Kian.”
The trio ran after the fleeing guard, and moments later they halted in another circular chamber, their eyes wide with confused revulsion. Ellonlef recoiled as wasted men scrabbled, like misshapen spiders, away from the torchlight, throwing hands over sunken eyes, crying out against the glare. Most were naked, their bones pushing grotesquely against thin skin covered in running sores. Their bony feet waded through swarms of rats. Amid the living dead, the guard hid in plain sight, only the glint of a long dagger giving him away.
“You cannot have him!” the guard shouted, cowering behind two gaunt men with eyes afire with madness. “I’ll see you dead before—”
Hazad bowled aside the two prisoners and struck the guard, knocking him senseless with a huge, knotted fist. Those around Hazad and the
fallen guard scattered, their overlarge eyes bulging, as Hazad took the man’s keys. The fearful prisoners muttered among themselves, creating an unpleasant droning noise.
“Quiet!” Azuri roared. Silence fell immediately, and he stood with his head cocked.
Ellonlef imitated him, even as she kept a sharp eye on the prisoners. From far away, the echoing sounds of an argument came to her. Hearing it too, Hazad plunged down another passage, with Ellonlef and Azuri hard on his heels. The passage soon led to a open chamber. Two prisoners, more robust than the others they had yet seen, were hunched over an unmoving figure. One held what looked like an blood-crusted arm in his boney hands, the posture of someone about to eat a goose leg.
“Gods good and wise!” Azuri breathed.
The second prisoner lurched to his feet, wielding a crude weapon. It took only a moment for Ellonlef to see that the weapon was a sharpened leg bone.
Hazad lunged forward, roaring like a lion. His sword swept up and down in a blurring arc, shattering the leg bone and splitting the fellow’s head like a withered gourd. With a screech of bone on metal, Hazad wrenched his sword free. The other prisoner scuttled out of range, making strange mewling noises low in his throat.
Kian lay on the floor, the few visible patches of his pale skin surrounded by layers of dried blood and caked dirt. He looked dead, but Ellonlef would not let herself believe it. Nearly overwhelmed with grief, she went to him. Gingerly, she placed a palm against his chest. His flesh was still warm, his heartbeat weak, erratic.
Joy, tempered as it was by his appearance, filled her heart. “We must leave here now,” she urged.
Kian groaned at the sound of her voice and rolled his head toward her. A flicker of recognition lit his slitted gaze and his mouth moved, but Ellonlef hushed him with a gentle finger to his lips. Tears she had not know were there fell from her eyes, dripping over the ruin of his body.
A sharp curse drew her attention, and she twisted to see a gathering of prisoners crouched at the edge of the torchlight. The prisoner who had been about to taste Kian’s arm squinted, his cracked lips twisted into a feral curve. He murmured hungrily, his eyes black slits above a crooked nose. Slaver dribbled over his chin. As if of the same mind, other prisoners crept forward. It was impossible to discern how many there were, for they seemed to be twined about one another, all arms and legs and distended bellies. Glints from their bulging eyes reflected a madness of hunger and incomprehensible suffering. These few men were the strong, Ellonlef realized, while those in the last chamber were the weak … the prey.
The God King (Heirs of the Fallen (Book 1)) Page 30
