They rested many times to afford Olmar a reprieve, and to listen for sounds of pursuit, although Sadyra and Larina, familiar with tunnels, both knew that with them being underground in such a tight space, it would be difficult to hear anything unless the cause was right on top of them. They would see the glow of an advancing torch long before they heard someone’s approach—as long as whatever pursued them had need of light.
During one of these stops, Sadyra stared beyond the flames’ light, nibbling on a chunk of hardened bread. For some reason, her thoughts turned to Pollard. She wondered how the big lummox fared. It had been hard to leave him back at The Forke in the state he was in.
Olmar’s pathetic voice brought her back to the present. “Pops. Come back to us. Tis me, Olmar. I’ll not let ye be ‘armed again.”
Sadyra patted Olmar’s shoulder. “Come on, big guy. The sooner we get out of here the better.”
They lost all sense of time beneath the earth. If it wasn’t for the food Solomon had provided, Sadyra doubted they would have had the strength to carry on as long as they did. On two separate occasions they came across a partial cave in, but apart from having to move aside some fallen debris, neither constriction held them back for long.
Olmar suggested they would be better off returning to Gritian, but neither archer thought that a good idea, so on they went.
They paused to sleep twice between long stretches of walking. Their food supply was almost spent when the tunnel floor began a subtle ascent—the walls and ceiling riddled with roots.
Sadyra and Larina were forced to hack their way through a thick web of roots that hung intertwined, blocking their passage.
Olmar struggled to follow with Alhena in his arms, doing his best to ensure the thicker roots didn’t come into contact with the messenger’s face.
“Ach!” Olmar cried out, desperately trying to brush a spider off his shoulder on a knot of roots. He stumbled sideways and ran his fingers through his tangle of hair. He pulled his hat free and rubbed it over his head, all the while stepping into more tangled roots and spiderwebs.
Sadyra stopped to observe the spectacle, cringing whenever Olmar’s actions came close to bashing Alhena’s flopping head against a wall.
“Well looky here, Rina. Midge is afraid of spiders. Imagine that. Our tough sailor afraid of a little bug.”
Olmar paused in the middle of his gyrations to glare at Sadyra’s bemused face. He gave her a dark look. “Them’s bitin’ bugs. Just get us out o’ here, lassie.” He pushed into her with Alhena, forcing her after Larina.
Sadyra laughed. “Okay, okay. Just relax. You’re going to knock Gramps’ head off the wall.”
Larina’s voice sounded from farther up the tunnel. “I think I see light.”
Sadyra instantly thought of someone bearing a torch. She tensed. Unslinging the crossbow while fighting through the clutches of severed roots wouldn’t be easy.
“Aye, it’s the moon. Come on, we’re almost out of here.” Larina’s muted voice barely reached them.
Olmar was beside himself with panic.
Sadyra tucked against the wall to prevent herself from being trampled by the charging giant as he crashed toward Larina’s voice.
Following on his heels, Olmar’s frame was silhouetted by a more pervasive light than the torches offered.
The tunnel ended behind a large bank of leafy sedges and tall rushes, upon a tuft of loamy ground. It was difficult to tell in the soft light, the moon partially obscured behind a pervasive fog that clung on top of the water’s surface, but it appeared they had come out in the middle of a reedy swamp. Brackish water surrounded the knoll housing the tunnel’s egress.
Larina, Sadyra, and Olmar gazed about them with a mixture of relief and trepidation. They had escaped the claustrophobic tunnel, but at what cost. They stood somewhere within a region renowned for its dangerous creatures. Stunted effigies of rotting trees stuck out of the water at varying angles, vying for space amongst lofty cypresses.
“Now what?” Larina asked, her voice seemingly detached, as if it floated across the fetid waters.
Olmar gently placed Alhena at his feet and swatted at the insects crawling on his great frame, some imaginary, while others were newly acquired in the close air of Torpid Marsh. He turned a slow circle, taking in the eerie shadows of the nighttime landscape. “How do we get out of here?”
Neither woman spoke for a while, absorbed in their own thoughts. Finally, Larina pointed behind Olmar. “That is the way we came, so it is east. We certainly shouldn’t risk going back that way. Torpid Marsh is surrounded by the Undying Wall to the south and The Spine along its western edge, so I guess that means we head north, which is perfect since Solomon told us to head that way anyway.”
Sadyra and Olmar followed Larina’s gesticulating hand but said nothing.
A loud slap sounded beside Sadyra. She jumped. Olmar grimaced at a large red smear and mangled gossamer wings cupped within his palm. The stain matched the one on his neck. “Och, the bugger got me good.”
Sadyra leaned in for a closer look. “What is it?”
Larina bent in as well and shrugged. “Beats me. Sure is ugly though. Look how big it is.” She reached up to touch the wound on Olmar’s neck. “Ouch, I bet that smarts.”
Olmar’s pout shattered the tense pall that had fallen over them. Sadyra laughed, despite her concern for his hurt. Olmar stuck out his tongue and she laughed harder.
Ignoring her, Olmar knelt beside Alhena to inspect the old man’s robes. If anything had found its way within the voluminous folds no one would be any the wiser. Olmar picked at bits of plant debris clinging to the messenger’s clothing. He nearly leaped into the swamp when Alhena’s strange white eyes snapped open.
“What are you doing?”
Olmar’s eyes misted over. “Pops? Ye’ve come back.” A huge grin split Olmar’s pudgy face. He looked from Larina to Sadyra, hovering over Alhena as well. “’E’s back. Girls, Pops is gonna be okay.”
Sadyra teared up as well. More of a reaction to Olmar’s response, than for Alhena. The old messenger appeared to have overcome the worst of whatever malaise had affected him.
Sadyra kissed Alhena on the forehead and said with a wide smile, “About time you decided to join us. I was worried that poor Midge was going to start breast feeding you soon.”
Alhena frowned.
“He’s sure got the teats for the job,” Larina chimed in.
Olmar shot the women a hurt look.
“Oh, come on Midge.” Sadyra tweaked Olmar’s chest. “You got more than me.”
Olmar batted her hand away.
Sadyra laughed and got up. She paced around the knoll with Larina at her side. The tunnel had led them to a tiny island in the middle of what seemed like an endless stretch of reed infested water. A strange place for anyone to flee to, but then again, it was likely a place that they wouldn’t be found.
Eerie sounds reached them from across the misty waters—some deep and guttural, while others were of a higher pitch. None of the noises were familiar, sounding neither human nor of any kind of animal known to them.
Sadyra scanned the bank of mist floating on the water but couldn’t see anything untoward. Making sure they were out of earshot of Olmar and Alhena, she said, “We need to get outta here. You remember the last time we were down here?”
Larina bit her lips, staring eastward. She nodded. “Aye. You needn’t remind me. That was the last time the Guard conducted training sessions down this way. We lost a lot of good people.”
Sadyra’s sad face nodded at the recollection. She studied her friend’s pretty face—Larina’s brown eyes, distant and aloof. If anyone could navigate a way out of the marshland, Larina was the one to do it, and yet, she couldn’t help the misgivings niggling at her. “I know this might sound dumb, but do you really know where we are? The tunnel wasn’t exactly straight.”
Larina didn’t respond at first. She turned and locked stares. “I have no idea where we are, but I�
��m sure it’ll be easy enough to figure out in the morning. I can pretty well guarantee that way is east.” She pointed the same way she had earlier.
“But?” Sadyra prompted. She knew Larina better than anyone. It was obvious something bothered her more than she let on. Something other than the fact that they were lost in the Torpid Marsh with the Chamber of the Wise more than likely on the hunt for them, and the knowledge that Helleden’s army marched south toward where Solomon asked them to flee.
“Do you not think it strange that the Chamber of the Wise—the council entrusted to oversee the religious law of the land and assist with heavy decisions the crown has trouble dealing with pertaining to, ah, what’s the word…?”
Sadyra nodded. “Not sure of the term, but I know what you’re talking about. The decisions of state.”
“Yes. Don’t you find it odd that the Chambermaster, who has always been a high-ranking religious official, is also the high warlord? Kind of a conflict of interest if you ask me.”
Confused by where this came from, Sadyra said, “Well, yes. I guess it gives him a sense of absolute power, but what made you think about that, out here in the middle of nowhere?”
Larina didn’t respond for a while. When she did, there was a purpose in her tone. “We need to go back.”
Sadyra frowned. “Go back? Where? To Gritian?”
“Yes. We have to stop him.”
“Stop who? High Bishop Uzziah?”
“Uzziah. Jibrael. Vice Chambermistress Gruss. All of them.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Rina. You can’t be serious. Think about what you’re saying. We barely escaped with our lives. Besides, Vice Chambermaster Io instructed us to get to Madrigail Bay. We need to warn Captain Thorr and Master Wendglow.”
Larina clutched Sadyra by the shoulders. “Sadie. Think about it. We went to Gritian to inform the Chamber of your trip to the Under Realm. To let them know we brought allies back with us. What did they do? They jailed us! How is that sane?”
“It’s not, but there’s nothing you, me, Olmar or Gramps can do to change it. I agree there’s something wrong with the Chamber, but it’s not our fight. The vice chambermaster will deal with it.”
Larina let go of Sadyra’s shoulders and slapped her filthy grey leggings in disgust. “Solomon? He’s one man. If they pin our escape on him, he’s one dead man.”
Sadyra raised her eyebrows and blew out a long breath. “If that’s what happens, then unfortunately, that’s what happens. If we go back now, they’ll capture us again, and Jibrael will torture us to discover who facilitated our escape.”
“I’d like to see him try. He won’t break me,” Larina seethed.
“Maybe not, but he might break one of us. When he does, Solomon will surely be a dead man then. Where will that leave us?”
Larina turned away.
A high-pitched screech split the night air from not far off through the mist, causing them both to jump.
After scanning the darkness and finding nothing, Sadyra willed her rapidly beating heart to slow. “Rina, listen to me. Like it or not, it’s imperative we reach Madrigail Bay before Helleden and help them escape the inevitable onslaught. Once we reach Apexceal, we’ll let Solomon’s brother take over. We must strike back with strength. As tough as you and Midge think you are, you’re no match for the entire Gritian militia.”
Larina crossed her arms beneath her chest, glaring into the mist roiling upon the marsh. The three-quarter moon had noticeably dropped in the sky before she sighed and gave Sadyra a look of resignation. “You’re right. As usual. Come on. Let’s get a fire going and try to get some sleep. It’ll be morning soon.”
Sadyra wrapped an arm around the small of her friend’s back and walked with her to the far side of the knoll. Starting a fire in the middle of the Torpid Marsh wasn’t the best of ideas. There was no need to attract anymore attention to themselves than need be, but she wasn’t about to voice that to Larina yet. She was content to have talked her headstrong companion out of doing something foolish and getting them all killed.
On the far side of the knoll, Olmar and Alhena sat beneath the overhang of the tunnel’s entrance, a ring of rocks by their feet. They looked up at the girls’ approach and grinned, pleased with their resourcefulness.
Olmar scraped his dagger upon a piece of flint, preparing to light a fire.
Sadyra was about to tell him not to, but Olmar spoke first. “Me and Pops have something to tell you, don’t we?”
Alhena nodded his white-bearded head, his wispy hair more dishevelled than it had ever been. Sadyra almost fainted when he declared, “We need to go back to Gritian.”
Chamber of Deceit
Rook remembered the Gritian stables as if he had just seen them yesterday. It was actually over twenty years since he had last ridden through the town housing the Chamber of the Wise, but from his first glance as the royal procession crested the northern rim of the Gritian basin, nothing appeared to have changed. Except the faces.
A contingent of Gritian militia had met their entourage yesterday as it approached a side road that branched off Redfire Path and led to the Forbidden Pass hundreds of leagues to the east. The Gritian party, led by Jibrael Fox, expressed the Chamber’s gratefulness for King Malcolm’s welfare.
Rook rode several ranks back from the king, with Pollard at his side and Yarstaff, forever looking about in wonder, sitting behind the big man. The closer they had come to Gritian, the less the effects of Helleden’s firestorm were apparent. As the procession made its way past the northern guard house and amassed about the stable yards, it seemed like the sorcerer’s firestorm had never happened at all.
Rook waited on his horse for those in front of him to dismount and hand their horses off to waiting grooms. A pleasant hopefulness washed over him. The king’s forces weren’t alone. With the Chamber unaffected, Zephyr’s sovereign was able to add Gritian’s militia to his growing army. Zephyr might yet have a chance to withstand Helleden if they kept augmenting their numbers on their southward march.
A crowd gathered along the path leading into the Gritian trench, where the entrances to the underground city were located. Rook craned his neck to see beyond the backlog of mounted people—Olmar should be easy to spot. After everything they’d been through together, he looked forward to seeing Alhena again. The old man had proven a pillar of wisdom and inspiration over the past couple of months. The quest to the Under Realm wouldn’t have fared nearly as well if Alhena hadn’t been there. For an old man, the messenger had accounted for himself better than someone a quarter his age.
Rook absently wondered about Alhena’s age. It was something he had never thought to ask. It never seemed important. There was a mysterious strength hidden behind those strange, white eyes, that was for sure, and that was all that really mattered when their journey became complicated.
Pollard stood on the ground beside him, looking him in the eye. “Any sign of them?”
Rook snapped out of his thoughts. “No, but I find it strange that when we spoke with the Enervator yesterday, he had no idea who we were talking about. How can anyone miss Olmar?”
Pollard shrugged and patted Rook’s mount’s withers, stepping aside to allow Rook room to dismount.
Their small companion was causing quite a stir amongst the locals—more so than Pollard’s size usually did. Pollard lifted Yarstaff from his perch high upon the great Clydesdale and placed him on his massive shoulders. “Come on, little chum. There’s too many people here who aren’t used to you. You’ll be safer up here.”
Despite his growing misgivings about Gritian—a misplaced feeling, obviously, but something just didn’t seem right—Rook smiled at Yarstaff, the Voil’s hands holding tight to Pollard’s forehead so as not to fall off.
Many would have been embarrassed to ride on someone else’s shoulders while in the midst of strangers, but Yarstaff never complained. Instead, the Voil took advantage of his aerie and drank in the strange sights and smells a busy barnyard had to offer. Beyon
d the stables, many smaller outbuildings and pens housed pigs, sheep, goats, and cows, the docile animals watching the activity in the yard with apparent disinterest. Chickens and roosters scooted about in short spurts of cackling frenzy amongst the crowd. The wondrous look on Yarstaff’s face was priceless.
“Come on. Let’s find them,” Rook said, making his way through the crowd.
Approaching the front of the delegation, King Malcolm’s wavy blond locks were visible amongst a clutch of red and blue-robed figures. The entire council had come out to greet His Highness.
“This way.” Rook decided it best not to interrupt the leaders, so he led Pollard down the roadway into Gritian proper. The people lining the road afforded them curious stares. Some nodded, others vocally welcomed them to Gritian, but for the most part, the men, women, and children watched them pass, their faces devoid of emotion.
Redfire Path dropped below the level of the land, descending into a shallow trench lined with many doors on either side of the roadway. Dead centre of the trench, against the righthand wall, a small shed extended partway into the road—the only entrance serving the Chamber of the Wise complex.
Four guards bearing halberds stood in front of the shed watching their approach, their eyes particularly falling on Pollard.
Rook thought he heard the tallest man say, “Is that him?”
A second guard shook his head.
“Gentlemen.” Rook nodded a greeting, eyeing the door behind them.
The three largest men didn’t bother to acknowledge him, but the shorter man, sporting an oft broke nose, nodded back. A knot of white rope on his left shoulder marked him as a captain of the Gritian militia.
“We’d like to go inside and find someone,” Rook said casually. He made to step between the two largest men, but they stepped together, barring him passage; their arm muscles tensed as they gripped their polearms a little tighter.
“Easy guys. We’re with the king.”
“Don’t see no king,” the captain said, and pointed his chin at Yarstaff. “What the hell is that?”
The Wizard of the North Page 21
