A Thread in the Tangle (77 page)

“Left,” Marsais said when they reached a crossroad that looked identical to the last.

“This will be our fourth left, Scarecrow,” Oenghus growled.

“I know where we are,” Marsais defended.

“You always go left when you’re lost.”

“Obviously, I don’t remain lost for long, or I’d still be wandering the Great Expanse.”

“Because I rescued your bony arse.”

“I would have been perfectly fine,” Marsais muttered.
 
Oenghus grunted his displeasure, however, he took the passage to the left.

They filed down the tunnel, and after some time, heard the first signs of pursuit, or rather, an attempt to cut them off farther ahead.

“Hurry or you’ll have no room to fight!” Marsais hissed at his back.

Without question, Oenghus surged blindly forward.
 
The narrow tunnel opened into a bloated crossroad, and Oenghus barreled into the wider passage before the soldiers could claim the strategic ground.

A cacophony of sound echoed in his ears—of charging feet and grating armor along with the labored breath of fear.
 
Oenghus turned towards the echoes, hefting his war hammer with glee.

An ill Fate awaited the first soldier to emerge.
 
With nowhere to go but forward, the first was forced to charge the formidable warrior, swinging his sword in the narrow space.
 
Oenghus easily diverted the chopping swing with his shield, and then slammed his war hammer into the wide-eyed man.
 
The guard flew against the uneven wall with a splintering of ribs.

Next, came the second who had no more choice than the first.
 
Oenghus caught his spear jab between hip and shield, snapping the haft as he brought his war hammer up, and then down, driving it into the soldier’s head.
 
He stepped forward, ignoring the sludge oozing from the cracked skull at his feet, and roared a challenge.

The six soldiers, who remained trapped in the narrow passage, appeared on the verge of fleeing, but the pounding footsteps that echoed from another intersecting tunnel bolstered their resolve.
 
They held their ground, pushing their comrade-in-arms forward, directly into the range of Oenghus’ war hammer.
 
The third fell like a lamb to the slaughter.

“Hold the side passages, and follow after!” Marsais ordered.

The paladins spilled into the crossroad, moving to defend the second tunnel that was about to disgorge a group of guards.
 
Oenghus picked at his own line of attackers, but soon became impatient and bellowed the Lore as he swung—his war hammer crackled to life with raw energy.
 
The air gathered, charged, and he hurled a bolt of lightning into the line of five soldiers.
 
The bolt blasted through all save the last and as the remaining soldier's comrades dropped like charred flies, Oenghus gave him a predatory grin.
 
The lone soldier dropped his weapons, and fled.

“Lucas will bring up the rear—go!” Captain Mael shouted at Oenghus and Rivan.
 
Oenghus saw the wisdom in her words, and left the rear defense to Lucas whose size allowed more maneuverability in the narrow space.
 
His own tunnel cleared of all save the dead, Oenghus turned and charged after Marsais’ limping shadow, leaving Rivan and Captain Mael to follow.

Lucas Cutter sliced one of the soldiers open from shoulder to hip, shoving the man back into his fellows who were trying to push their way into the wider space.
 
The dead man's weight threw them off balance.
 
Blood made the rock beneath their boots slick and hazardous.
 
Lucas took full advantage of their momentary unsteadiness to turn and run, racing after the gleam of his Captain's mail with a knot of soldiers on his heels.

The press of uneven rock soon widened like a stream joining a greater body of flowing water.
 
Captain Mael paused to hold off a third group of soldiers, damming the attempted breach to give the wounded Seer and his nymph a head start.
 
A frustrated line of soldiers, trapped like fish in a barrel, could only wait their turn to engage the gleaming killer at the mouth of their grave.

“I'll bring up the rear, Lucas,” Captain Mael shouted to her Lieutenant as he emerged from the dark.
 
He obeyed her without question, and continued.

The Captain's smaller physique was best suited for the task of rear guard in these snaking passages of rock and earth.
 
Still, it wasn't until the veteran heard her lighter footsteps following in his wake that he fully applied himself to an all out retreat, running for all that he was worth.

As they moved deeper into the featureless maze, Oenghus lost track of the twisting turns.
 
Soldiers continued to nip at their heels, but no one challenged them at the intersections ahead.
 
He risked a backwards glance, looking past the pale face of the young paladin and the grim visage of the older, to spot the quick, efficient blade of Captain Mael flashing in the dark.
 
A soldier fell beneath her blade, and another took his place.
 
With the sure-footedness of a veteran, the Captain kept pace, shuffling backwards as she fought.

A doorway loomed at the end of the tunnel.
 
Oenghus ducked under the lintel.
 
Rivan, Lucas and Captain Mael followed on his heels.
 
Rivan threw his weight against the door.
 
The iron squealed in protest, gaining momentum, and a moment before it slammed shut, a flapping shadow darted through the gap.

Oenghus skidded to a stop, reversing directions.
 
The Lore sprang to his lips, and he slapped his palm against the door, spreading his fingers over the iron.
 
While the paladins wedged a rotting beam into place, he chanted, in low, growling tones, tracing crude runes of warding.
 
The runes flared to life on the iron, and then dimmed, glowing with faint power.

The Imp chortled at the Wise One’s shoddy work, swishing its tail in mockery.

Oenghus glared at the pest.
 
“It will do for now.”
 
But in truth, an apprentice could unravel his wards.

The faint, green glow of ancient everlight flickered in rusty sconces, casting sickly shadows in the deep dark.
 
Far overhead, stalactites poked through the blackness, reaching towards their counterparts on the cavern floor.
 
The gaping maw of stone twisted sounds, throwing voices and footsteps hollowly against its walls.

Oenghus was familiar with this cavern.
 
Every Wise One was.
 
A ring of tall, slender stones was cradled in the cavern’s basin.
 
Fifty standing stones in all, each ten feet high.
 
The air between the stones shimmered like a rippling pond.
 
But there was a gap in the circle, a section between stones that was free of enchantment—a doorway leading into a circle of Runic Gateways.

“This is a dead end,” Captain Mael observed.
 
The only indication of her disapproval was a slight narrowing of her eyes.

“Hold the door,” Oenghus ordered before racing down an uneven set of steps that had been hewn from the rock.
 
Captain Mael left her men to guard the door and sprinted after the Nuthaanian, joining him at the bottom of the cavern.
 
As they approached the ring of stones, they slowed, warily eyeing the shimmering circle of energy.

Where the air was stagnant, Oenghus squeezed between the slender stones, and strode to the center of the circle, towering over the exhausted pair.
 
Marsais was on his knees, and Isiilde was slumped against his chest, studying her surroundings with alarming disinterest.

“Please tell me you’ve suddenly remembered how to navigate the Pathways,” Oenghus growled when he reached the pair.

The Gateways of the Isle had not been used since the Shattering (at least by anyone who valued their life).
 
A few adventurous Wise Ones, who thought they had solved the puzzle of the foreign runes, had entered, but the Order never saw them again.

The Pathways had been so well known when Portal Magic had been common that no one had bothered writing them down.
 
As with many things, the knowledge had been lost during the Shattering, along with the keepers of their secrets.
 
And now the stones sat, a monument to lost knowledge, waiting for someone to remember.

“We need to get her off this Isle, Oenghus,” Marsais answered with an unsteady breath.

“You mean you don’t know where they lead?” Captain Mael asked, sharply.

“It’s Portal Magic,” Oenghus grunted.
 
“These Gateways are easy to activate, but no one can remember how to decipher the runes, let alone control them.
 
Without direction, the Pathways shift like the wind, changing locations from one minute to the next.”

“We could end up in the Nine Halls, or a thousand feet above the ground.”

“Well, at least you’d have plenty of fiends to take out your righteous anger on.”

Captain Mael had no intention of being provoked by the ill-mannered Nuthaanian.
 
Her only reply was a sharp lift of her brow.

Marsais ignored them both.
 
He brushed Isiilde’s forehead with his lips, and at his touch, her eyes sought his own.
 
“I need you to pick one, my dear.
 
You may pick any Gateway, it doesn’t matter, but it must be your choice.”

“I don’t want to.”
 
When Isiilde spoke, it was never with the tone of a spoiled young lady, rather, it was simple honesty, and nothing more.
 
“What if I choose wrong, Marsais?”

“Hmm, then the responsibility falls on my shoulders for listening to you.
 
Oenghus, take her around the circle.
 
Let her look at them—quickly now,” he added as the iron door shuddered on its hinges.

Oenghus gently lifted her, walking over to the first set of standing stones.
 
At their approach, the runes swirled to life, moving like blue fireflies beneath the stone’s surface.
 
Isiilde said nothing, so he moved to the next, and so on.
 
When they had traversed half the circle, he stopped to make sure she was looking at the standing stones.

It was difficult to tell.
 
Her eyes were wide and her gaze unfocused.

The noises behind the door increased—more urgent and forceful.
 
With every echoing thud, stone and gravel pelted the paladins’ heads.

The traitorous Wise Ones would soon join the soldiers, and from the look in Marsais’ eyes in the dungeon, there was more to Tharios than he originally thought.
 
Oenghus would test his metal against any man or beast, but he wasn’t willing to risk his daughter, especially when Marsais could barely stand, let alone weave.
 
As much as it pained Oenghus to admit, the Scarecrow was right—they had to get her out of here.
 
His daughter’s safety was paramount.

“This one.”
 
Her quiet assuredness brought him up short.
 
The stones looked no different from the rest—the same set of indecipherable runes swirled below the surface.

“Why this one?”

“I like these runes.
 
They feel better,” she said with a shrug.
 
Marsais roused himself, and staggered over to join them, leaning heavily on the barbarian for support.

“Well, don’t you want to look at the rest?” Oenghus asked, frowning mightily at the Gateway.
 
She shrugged in reply.
 
For principle’s sake he completed the circuit.

Marsais remained at the chosen Gateway, studying the runes with a critical eye.
 
Familiarity tickled the back of his mind.
 
He turned and called the paladins down.

“I will stay and hold them off as long as I can, sir.”
 
Rivan’s voice echoed in the cavern, but before Captain Mael could answer, Marsais interrupted.

“My dear young man, bravery is overrated.
 
Kindly join us and leave the heroics to the door.”

The two paladins looked to their Captain, who nodded in agreement.
 
At her command, Lucas and Rivan abandoned the door, hurrying down the stairs and stepping into the circle of stones.

“Where does it go?” Captain Mael asked.

“I haven’t a clue,” Marsais mused.

“Wait, Oen.”
 
The nymph’s ears perked up when they stopped in front of another Gateway.
 
“I like this one better.”

Marsais hobbled over to investigate.
 
“Why this one, my dear?”

“It’s very warm.”

Marsais cleared his throat, caught Oenghus’ gaze, and with an arch of his brow, gestured towards her first choice.
 
Oenghus took the hint.
 
Neither of the ancients much cared for the idea of walking into Firˇdum.