The Black Shriving (Chronicles of the Black Gate Book 2) (15 page)

A call from Temyl caused Tiron to straighten up from the body he was inspecting. "What is it?" he called back.

"It's gone!" Temyl was casting wild looks about him. "That ugly statue thing. Where'd it go?"

The others converged on him. There was no sign of the black rock pillar.

Tiron rubbed the back of his head. "You sure it was here?"

Audsley nodded. "It was. I remember quite clearly. But, ah, it seems to have... well. Vanished."

They stood around, an air of uncertainty hanging over them. No one seemed to know what to say. It had been a massive hunk of stone; Tiron remembered that much. No one would have been able to move it without causing a ruckus.

"No matter. Nothing we can do about it now. Keep searching."

The eventually met back at the base of the entrance balcony. Bogusch had found a well-preserved dagger, and all of them had refilled their water skins and drunk deep of the cleaner pools. Still, the water sloshing around in their stomachs served only to remind them how hungry they were.

"What next, ser?" Meffrid was clearly fighting to remain alert, but even his eyelids were beginning to droop.

Tiron rubbed his face roughly in an attempt to invigorate himself. "We need to find a place to rest."

Already the great command room had filled with bright morning sunlight. The glass overhead proved to be iridescent, and gleamed with chromatic hues in a way that was startlingly beautiful but also contrary to any attempt to find sleep.

"Audsley, do you feel capable of wrestling the platform down one more level?" Tiron asked.

The magister looked distinctly unhappy at the prospect, but nodded. "I think I have its measure."

"Good. We'll go down one floor. If these Sin Casters followed basic hierarchies like all people, then that will be where their elite had their quarters. We'll find some rooms to camp in, get some sleep, and then reassess from there."

Tiron paused, searching the faces around him, but saw little sign of emotion. Their eyes were dull and their shoulders sagged. If they got into trouble they'd not put up much of a fight. He almost changed his mind and ordered them to hunker down in one of the room's corners, perhaps to sleep under the table, but the air was growing brighter and the dull howling of the wind coming through the broken glass made him think he'd never rest easy in here.

"One last push, men, then we'll rest. Let's go."

He climbed the curving staircase up to the top, and paused to grip the railing so as not to sway from exhaustion. He felt a wave of nausea pass through him. If they didn't find food soon, they'd be in serious trouble.

Calling on his years of discipline and self-control, he pushed away from the balcony's edge and stalked back into the tunnel and out onto the platform. He was the first onto its iron surface, and hunkered down as the others assumed their positions.

Audsley took a deep breath, flexed his hand, then gripped the sword hilt. Nothing happened at first, though Audsley's face grew stern with effort, and then he gasped and opened his eyes and Tiron relaxed a fraction. Aedelbert licked Audsley's cheek and the platform lifted, eased back out into the dark shaft, and descended gently about fifty yards till they reached another tunnel entrance. They floated across the shaft and into the tunnel, but Audsley didn't set them down immediately; instead, he directed the platform to continue floating into the tunnel, taking them deeper and deeper into the gloom until they reached a room that was small by Starkadr's standards, with many tunnels leading off from it, and there he set them down.

"A hub," said Audsley, releasing the blade. "And look. The walls are carved with something."

Tiron could barely summon any interest to look closer, but he stepped off the platform and followed Audsley to one of the walls. The room was shaped like a hexagon, with three tunnels extending into the darkness beyond the fourth through which they'd entered. The black walls were inscribed with deep and cunningly wrought etchings. Not runes, Tiron saw, but pictures. They were massive and intricate, and seemed to depict some manner of story or scene; to be honest, Tiron didn't care enough to look deeper.

He picked a tunnel at random and strode into it, dagger held before him. The others followed suit, and after only a dozen steps he emerged into what appeared to be a small warren of low-ceilinged rooms. The lighting here was different, not gloomy like the rest of Starkadr but rather soft, as if small, invisible candles had been set in random corners. Living quarters, Tiron realized, and felt a small and pathetic surge of triumph. They were sparsely furnished, but one room held a low bed, while another had several padded seats along the walls and cushions on the floor.

Audsley gave a little cry of delight, and Tiron poked his head into one of the neighboring rooms to see the magister eagerly reading the titles of ancient tomes lined up on black stone shelving – hundreds and hundreds of books. He almost cursed in annoyance, but another excited yell from Temyl caused them both to leave the library for what appeared to be a small dining room, with a pantry filled with preserved foodstuffs. They found cured strips of beef, bottles of wine, hard nut brown loaves, tureens of butter, and bags of seeds, all of it fresh.

"How can this be?" Meffrid broke a loaf in half. To Tiron, it looked stale but edible. "Do you think... Nobody could have stocked this recently, could they?"

Audsley glanced around the edge of the pantry door. "I see small runes carved here. How very strange. Perhaps they preserve the food?"

"Doesn't matter," said Tiron, then he took a savage bite from a wedge of waxen cheese. He washed it down with the wine. It was sharp, almost bitter, but tasted delicious. "I'm going to eat all of it. If I die of poisoning, I don't care. I'd rather die happy with a full stomach than waste away over the course of weeks."

As if that had been a signal, the others dug in, and soon they were all chewing enthusiastically and occasionally moaning with delight as they discovered a pot of fig jam, or a little jar of wildflower honey. They each opened a bottle of wine, and Tiron thought of commanding them to watch their drinks, but he was too damn tired and in too much pain to care. Soon his head was swimming, the pain had receded, and his belly was happily filled with a mixture of different foods, all of them once fine, now stale or old, but there was nothing that didn't seem to be settling well.

Meffrid pushed his plate away. "Magister. I've been wondering."

"Hmph," said Audsley, spraying crumbs.

"These Sin Casters. They built Starkadr. The portals. Everything. How did anybody ever defeat them if they were so powerful?"

Audsley gulped his mouthful down and set his plate before Aedelbert who began to lick up the smears of jam. "Well," he began, wiping his fingers surreptitiously on the hem of his tunic. "To understand the answer to that question you must grasp a simple but crucial fact: though it depends on which historian you choose to believe, almost all agree that the Sin Casters were apolitical. They stood aside and did nothing when ancient Agerastos turned against the other city states and began the War for the Republic. Nor did they intervene thirty years later when the Chaos Years began and anarchy and blood was the rule of the day. When the Ascendant rose to power with his kragh, still they stood by."

Temyl burped quietly behind his hand. "Why's that then? Why didn't they waggle their fingers and fix everything?"

Audsley leaned back, lacing his fingers over his stomach. He looked perfectly content. Tiron realized that he was smiling. What more could Audsley ask for then to be asked to lecture about history with a full stomach in the heart of Starkadr?

"Why not, indeed?" asked the magister. "It is said that there was a time when they were active participants. The Age of Wonders. When they did indeed meddle with the affairs of the world, ruled and strove against each other. It ended in the Cataclysm. Thereafter, they swore to never interfere with politics again. A code of strict neutrality."

"Yes, but - still." Meffrid stared earnestly at Audsley. "Even if they stayed out of the wars, it doesn't explain how they were defeated."

Audsley nodded approvingly. "Yes, quite so. They were untouchable right up until the third Ascendant performed his miracle of closing the Black Gate. As soon as he did, in one stroke he rendered them helpless, unable to resist the Order of Purity and the Ascendant's kragh."

"Oh..." said Temyl. He looked to Bogusch, who had been listening quietly. "See? There you go. Ascension. The Ascendant did it."

Meffrid nodded slowly, chewing it over. "Right. It's all so strange. To think that such evil people could create such beauty..." He looked around them, at the strange architecture, then subsided, picking up his plate once more.

Everyone stared morosely at their plates. Tiron thought of the glass panels that had shimmered as the morning sun had lit them with the colors of the rainbow. He'd never seen their like. Sarah would have loved it, he thought, and smiled fondly. She'd always wanted to reach the foot of a rainbow, would take off running and laughing across fields, leaving him behind to grin and shake his head. That room above them would have suited her perfectly.

When they finished eating the floor around them was littered with the remains of their meal, and a sense of contentment suffused Tiron. It was such a basic, primal thing, to fill one's stomach. Place a man in an alien floating evil castle, and then hand him a bottle of wine, and all was well once more.

Bogusch and Temyl rose to stagger into the room with the cushions, and there they collapsed, a bottle in each hand, to laugh and jest in slurred voices. Audsley was blinking owlishly, breaking up strips of dried meat for Aedelbert and pushing his glasses up as they kept slipping down his nose. Meffrid's head was already nodding.

"We should have a guard," Tiron said, though he didn't expect anybody to pay attention. Truth be told, he wanted nothing more than to sleep. To drift into a deep and dreamless slumber so as to regain his strength. "Meffrid?"

The young man rubbed his face and nodded. "Guard. All right." He took a deep breath and practically climbed the wall to stand. "I'll be at the entrance. Come check on me in a few hours. Ser." And with that he walked off.

Tiron and Audsley sat in silence, the Magister stroking his firecat's head distractedly and staring at the carvings on the wall. Then Tiron shifted his weight, suddenly uncomfortable. He hadn't realized he wanted to speak with Audsley alone until this moment had presented itself.

"Magister."

"Hmm?" Audsley turned dreamily toward him then blinked. "Yes?"

Tiron felt a wave of helplessness pass over him. Give him a sword and a foe and he'd prove himself as brave as the next man, but conversation such as this? "I have a question."

"Oh?"

Tiron scowled and looked away. "A foolish question. I don't know why I'm even asking it."

"Ah," said Audsley. "Yes. Would it be about our Lady Iskra, perhaps?"

"What?" Tiron felt his face flush. "Why would you think that?"

Audsley continued stroking his firecat. "Oh, a hunch. A wild leap of intuition, one might say. I was also present when you saved her life and held her close."

Tiron glared down at his hands. Hard, strong hands. Flecked with scars and heavily callused. "I'm a fool."

"You are many things, my good ser, but I would not list fool as one of them." Audsley's voice was mild. "Your question?"

Tiron forced himself to swallow. When had his throat become so dry? "Lady Iskra. What do you think are the chances... No." Another wave of helplessness passed through him. "I'm a penniless knight. My lands were confiscated. My honor destroyed. She is a Sigean, a lady -" Tiron clamped his mouth shut. The futility of his hopes galled him. "Never mind. I shouldn't have broached the subject."

The silence was precarious. One wrong word from Audsley and he'd leave. But he strained, waiting, hoping for some form of reassurance. He was about to snap at the magister and demand that he speak when Audsley set Aedelbert aside and leaned forward. "My dear Ser Tiron. Lady Iskra is a strikingly independent woman. If any woman of her status were to break with custom, it would be her. I cannot speak for her affections, but I know she holds you in high regard."

Tiron felt a surge of emotion. "So - do you think -?"

Audsley shrugged. "Yet for all her independence, she strives to accomplish fiendishly difficult goals. She has few weapons at her disposal. One of those weapons is marriage. To forge an alliance with another powerful lord. I don't know if she plans to do so. But the day may come when she has no choice. Such is the world in which she lives."

Tiron leaned back against the wall. His frustration melted away into resigned exhaustion. "Of course. You speak sense."

Audsley shrugged again. "I wish I could assure you otherwise. Were this a minstrel's tale, I am sure love would conquer all. But alas. The question, then, might not be whether she will have you, but rather for how long the world would permit you both to enjoy each other's company."

Tiron grunted and stared down at his hands again. Of course Audsley was right. Marriage for one of Iskra's station was a priceless tool. Even if she were to return his... affections, the day would come when she would have to set him aside and take the hand of some Ennoian warlord so as to cement an alliance. And what then? Would he step aside, glad for his moment in the sun? An old knight with no future, dependent on her largess to support him in the final years of his life? What point was there in a dalliance that was fated to end, in a romance that could never be more than a brief tryst? It would only bring pain and humiliation.