Dawn of Wonder (The Wakening Book 1) (60 page)

Osric made no secret of his concern. “I don’t like
leaving this to chance,” he said. “Uncertainty ahead and danger behind make a
poor prospect.”

“And a wound on your thigh,” said Tyne. “Would you
like me to take a look at that?”

“It’s nothing,” said Osric, “Teeth barely pierced
the skin.”

He spoke too quickly. Aedan noticed, and wondered why
Osric looked like he was blushing. Then he understood that a wound on the thigh
would require removing his trousers to have it tended. He grinned at the big
general’s embarrassment.

Tyne raised her eyes from the bloody patch on his
leg and was about to argue when she caught herself, and there was no mistaking
the blush this time.

After oiling and lighting branch-and-cloth torches
that had been made at the last camp, they prepared to leave the chamber. There
were two exits. One was a narrow stairwell leading up, apparently through the
giant’s leg to what Fergal suspected was a network of tunnels within the statue.
The other was a broad slope leading down.

The downward incline was steep, but not too steep
for horses, and the ceiling was high enough for a mounted rider. It was as if
the tunnel had been made with that in mind.

Their torches were not the best. They produced as
much smoke as light, arguably more, but it was enough to reveal the precision
with which the stone masons had built this tunnel. The blocks met perfectly –
no fringes of mortar had been used to compensate for inaccurate measurements. There
were neither dripping leaks nor powdery cracks, but the passing of time was
clearly displayed in an orange fungus that spread out over the walls. Its
shapes, down to the minutest details, were such perfect imitations of the
branches of a tree that it seemed to be a painting. Aedan found the air
surprisingly fresh. He guessed that there was a through-draft, not enough to
cause the flames above his torch to flap and toss, but enough to continuously change
the air over the centuries.

They travelled in single file and in silence –
apart from the clopping of hooves which filled the long passage with a series
of multiplying echoes and sounded like the tread of a hundred horses or more. After
covering about half a mile, they reached an upward slope that led into another chamber,
this one far larger. Here were racks of weapons and mounted torches. Osric
found a sealed pot of tar which he opened. The seal was good, but much of the
tar had hardened. The gummy centre was barely enough to supply half a dozen of
the torches.

After consulting with Culver, Fergal spoke up. “We
will need to leave the horses here,” he said. “It is our hope to reach the archives
as quickly and silently as possible. At least two must remain with the animals.”

Captain Senbert and Holt, the only remaining
soldiers, volunteered quickly, and at a look from Osric, Thormar said he would
support them. He would be more than capable of preventing any cowardly
desertion tricks. He came over to Aedan and Liru, knelt in front of them and
put a big, calloused hand on each of their shoulders.

“You be careful, now. Young eyes and ears are
sharp. Make good use of them and keep those library-dwellers safe.” He angled
his head towards the two academics with a grin. “If it was certain that you’d
be safe here, I’d request for you to be left with us, but there are no
certainties in this place. Staying with the group is probably best.”

Aedan gripped the Commander’s forearm. “We’ll be
back,” he said.

“I know you will.” Thormar hid it well, but in the
clenching of his teeth, the truth was plain. He was deeply worried for them.

Fergal and Culver turned away from the broad
passage that sloped upward and, instead, took a narrow stairway, tightly coiled
and steep. Aedan noticed how Osric had to turn his shoulders to prevent them
from scraping, and he thought kindly of his own small stature as he passed
through the narrow opening.

It was a long climb – very long. Breathing became
heavy, especially from the front. After more turns than Aedan could count, they
finally reached a doorway. The stairs continued upwards, but Culver led them out
into a large room, similar to the one they had left beneath them. Fergal
remained to drop a white pebble at the entrance to the stairs.

“If we need to make a hasty retreat,” he said, “we
don’t want to be arguing over directions.”

They passed through a series of passages and
doorways, marking each turn with a pebble, and found their way into a different
section of the buildings where the passages were wider and the ceilings higher.

A heavy gate, rusted off its hinges, gave them
access to a cavernous hall, well over a stone’s throw across and almost as much
in height. It was clear that it had once been richly adorned, but now silk
tapestries hung in grey rags and thick brown carpets promised to bury any shoe in
dust. A fire pit nearby held a few mounds of powder that would never burn.

Down the centre of the hall, there was a long
table, partly collapsed and riddled with decay. At its far end, another table
at right angles to the first, stood on a dais. It could only be the royal
table. Being made of more delicate wood, this one had been eaten away to a
crumbling ruin. The chairs here had all collapsed except one. In the light of
the burning torches, pure, untarnished gold shone from under this chair’s layer
of dust, and Aedan knew that they were the first to enter this place since its
abandonment. That metal would not have been left behind.

He wondered what else might be lying around.

But theirs was a quest for knowledge, and neither
Culver nor Fergal gave the precious metal a second glance.

Along the hall, windows looked out over a large courtyard.
The light outside was still weak, the chilly blue-grey shadows of a day
awaiting sunrise. They peered out, searching for anyone or anything hostile. Apart
from the unnaturally large arms of the creeper that hung from the central
tower, the only signs of life were streaks of pigeon dung on the walls. But
even these looked to be old stains of long-abandoned roosts, stains that no
weather could remove.

“There’s something unnatural here,” said Osric. “I
can’t name it, but something is wrong with this place.”

“No birds,” said Merter, bringing gradual realisation
to the others. “Very strange for abandoned buildings. They make perfect
rookeries.”

Culver led them away from the hall, through an
arched passage, into a wide foyer. A grand staircase with marble steps and
brass rails led up, presumably to the royal chambers. On the other side, there
was a colossal oak door, now rotten and splintered and held together by its
iron bracings like a pile of leaves in a gardener’s arms.

“This is the part that concerns us,” said Fergal.
“We need to reach the central tower on the other side of a courtyard just beyond
this door. It requires exposing ourselves. We will need to move quickly and
silently.”

“This door will not open silently,” said Osric.

“Can we not get out through a window?” Aedan asked.

Fergal held his palms on either side of his belly,
indicating his size. “The windows that would admit such dimensions are only to
be found five storeys up.”

Osric turned to the door. “We’ll need to lift it
before opening,” he said, taking hold of a prominent horizontal bar. Merter and
Fergal took places beside him, and counting down, they heaved and drew the door
back. It did not scrape along the floor, but the hinges sent out a screech that
shook the building to its foundations and echoed off all the cold stone and
rusted iron in the fortress. They stood in shock for a moment, looking out into
the empty courtyard as the sounds fluttered and died away.

Culver seemed the least affected. His expression
was untraceable as he stepped through the doorway, led them down the stairs and
across the flagstones. The courtyard was enclosed on all sides. Beyond the
surrounding roofs, rose a daunting forest of buildings and towers. Near the
middle of the courtyard, rusted manacles were fixed to the ground, suggesting
that the royal entertainers had catered for savage appetites.

Immediately to the left was a stable and, to the
right, a larger building that looked as if it might be a small armoury, perhaps
dedicated to the tournaments – or tortures – that had taken place here. Aedan
tried to peer through the open door, eager to catch a glimpse of ancient tools
and weapons, but the interior was too dark. He realised with discomfort that
anything within would be able to see him clearly.

Here and there were scattered possessions that
seemed to have been dropped in flight – a barely recognisable shoe, a rusted
spear, a shattered vase, an overturned cart, some ragged shreds of what might
once have been cloth … and a crown!

It was dirty and stained, but that didn’t keep the
torch light flaring in the many-jewelled gold surface. One central stone glowed
so richly it was as if it had a light of its own – a brilliant fiery radiance
that became smoky and bronzed towards the edges. He had never imagined a jewel
like this. Beside it, the other stones and even the gold looked like the cheap
quartz and tin of children’s trinkets.

The dancing light in the stone called to him, drew
him in. It was easy to picture how this could change his fortunes. He would not
need to depend on Osric for his fees or on Borr and Harriet for his mother’s
lodging. Malik would no longer be able to look down on him; and he would have
the resources to put Iver in his place and even to deal with his father. He
would buy his freedom. And he would have standing in society. Even men like Dresbourn
would be forced to respect him …

“Aedan!” Fergal called.

Aedan realised he had stopped and been left behind.

“There will be plenty of that, but knowledge is
our treasure. And remember that the spoils of a commissioned quest belong by
rights to the prince.”

Aedan tore his eyes away from the dazzling gem and
trailed after the group, feelings rioting in his chest.

Why should they have to tell the prince? Was it
necessary to be truthful to a liar? Wasn’t it only fair to deceive one who had
deceived them?

When he caught up, Liru glanced at him, her dark
eyes clear and sharp.

“You are thinking about taking it and keeping
quiet?” she said.

“No.”

She stopped, turned around and faced him.

“Maybe,” Aedan said. “I don’t know. Why do we owe
the prince anything?” They resumed walking.

Liru spoke softly, “For me, it does not matter. My
house is already very rich. For you, I think you would become poorer.”

“Poorer? Have you lost your mind?”

“Poorer because you would give away your honesty.
You would have to lie.”

“But the prince lied to me.”

“And so you would become like him.”

Her words struck like one of Hadley’s blows with
the quarterstaff. He recognised the greed clawing inside him, pleading to have
its way, begging him to justify taking the crown. Burkhart, too, would have had
some means of justifying his actions.

Aedan walked on in silence, embarrassed and angry.

Enclosing the far side of the courtyard was a wall
with a gate standing open, and a gallery where royals had most probably been
entertained. To the right of the gallery was a flight of stairs that led them to
a broad arched bridge. They kept low as they crossed the bridge, pushing aside
some heavy fronds of ivy that dangled from a branch of the giant creeper.

Aedan glanced up at this twisting plant with its
pillar-like arms that reached out over the city. The intricate shapes that its
tendrils formed in the air and against the stone wall were unlike any he had
seen before. They almost looked like symbols. He wondered if this creeper
shared a secret with the pearlnut tree at Badgerfields, though it did not give
him the same feeling. Instead of putting his ear to the thorny bark, he resolved
to keep his distance at all costs.

Fergal stopped at a wide landing before double
doors that were almost a foot thick and stood slightly ajar. These doors led
into the enormous round tower that could be seen from leagues around. It was
easily as wide as the main buildings of the keep and several times as high.
While the men worked at opening the door enough to allow them in, Aedan approached
the wall and looked out into the silent maze of streets.

As with the giant statues, everything here was constructed
on an imposing scale. All the buildings were large and impressive, none
standing under three stories, and some, like the towers, rising to great heights.
The result was that the streets remained shadowy.

In these shadows were many dark objects that lined
the roads. They almost looked like broken tree trunks. In one place he thought
he recognised the white spidery lines of a skeleton, though he was not sure if
he was seeing that with his eyes or his memories – the graveyard images from
his first visit to Kultûhm kept fluttering through his mind. One thing that was
not caused by memory or imagination was the smell. He noticed Merter was also
sniffing the air and looking around.

“That is not the smell of abandoned stone,” he
said.

“Could it be wolf droppings?” Aedan asked.

“I don’t think so.”

“Reminds me of a rat’s nest.”

Merter did not answer but moved away from the door
and peered down into the shadows of the deserted road.

The door shifted with a slight creak and the
others slipped inside. Merter took a careful look around before following.

Culver and Fergal led the way down a broad ramp to
a wide stone door. They looked, prodded, shoved and conferred. Fergal broke the
silence. “We feared as much. There’s a secret to opening this door that we do
not possess. We will need to use a smaller entrance. Unfortunately, the only way
to reach it is by climbing ten floors up to the council room – very deep floors
I might add – and then descending again using a narrow turret staircase that
links the counsel room and archive room.”