The Black Shriving (Chronicles of the Black Gate Book 2) (16 page)

"Thank you, Magister. You have helped clarify the matter greatly."

Audsley looked distinctly unhappy. "I'm sorry. I wish -"

"There is nothing to apologize for. Such is the state of the world." Tiron smiled bitterly. "And to think, I had imagined myself a cynic, a realist, bereft of illusions."

Audsley went to respond, but Tiron raised his hand, cutting him off. "Enough. Save your platitudes about love or whatever else you were going to say. We need to rest. Sleep well, Magister."

So saying Tiron leaned back and closed his eyes. He sat still, waiting, and after a few minutes he heard the magister slowly slide down. He cracked open an eye and saw the man lying on his side, breathing deeply, his firecat curled up in his arms.

There was silence but for their soft breathing. Tiron felt the vast expanse of Starkadr stretching out in all directions around him. For the first time, its stark coldness and brutal architecture matched his mood.

His eyes closed again. He thought of Iskra, of how she had felt in his arms, then carefully, deliberately, locked that memory away.

Nothing awoke him other than his own internal clock. He opened his eyes refreshed but with a crick in his neck. The food had given him strength, and with some wonder he observed that the wine had failed to pain his head. His side ached, but upon inspection did not seem infected.

Audsley was lying on his back, an arm draped over his eyes. Aedelbert was padding around the remains of their dinner, sniffing at different pots and cups.

"Magister," grunted Tiron, rising to his feet. He stretched carefully, felt the stitches pull at his side, and then relaxed. He kicked Audsley's foot as he passed him. "Get up."

He located a room with a toilet hole, and then moved into the living area, where Bogusch and Temyl were snoring. He roused them with kicks to their boots as well, and then felt a pang of remorse. Poor Meffrid had held the guard post all this time while the others had snored away the hours.

"Meffrid? Come get some sleep," Tiron called out, though he doubted the young man was still awake. He'd find him slouched over in the hallway, he was sure. He'd give him a tough time for the sake of principle, then send him to rest.

He strode through the small complex and out into the empty tunnel. Meffrid had apparently chosen to watch from the hub. He walked out into the central room where the iron platform lay, but there was no sign of the guard there either.

"Meffrid?" His call was sharp now. It was one thing to fall asleep on post, another to desert it altogether in search of a bed.

Scowling, he considered the other two tunnels. "Meffrid!"

No response. He'd be damned if he'd search through warrens of bedrooms for the sleeping guard. Instead, he returned to his own men. Temyl and Bogusch were wincing and drinking from their water skins. Judging by the empty bottles of wine by their sides, they'd clearly managed to stay awake long enough to do themselves some damage.

"Meffrid's gone into one of the side tunnels to sleep." Tiron tried to keep his annoyance from his voice. "Go search them and bring him back." A thought caught him as the two men turned to go. "But if the tunnels lead into anything other than living quarters like these, come back first to get us."

Temyl nodded dumbly, clapped Bogusch on the back, and the pair of them limped off.

Tiron sighed and went back into the kitchen. Audsley was up, his face freshly washed and his hair combed somehow, and was finishing off a plate of cheese and jam.

"Good morning, ser knight," he said brightly. "And how do we fare today?"

"You're damned cheerful," said Tiron, then moved to the pantry to search the shelves. He pulled down a container of what turned out to be salted fish.

"And why wouldn't I be? We've found water, provisions, comfortable quarters, a means of transportation, and so many mysteries to explore over the coming month that I can't even begin to decide where to begin. This almost feels akin to a holiday."

Tiron grunted and decided some salted fish was just what he wanted. He grabbed one of his water skins, sniffed at its neck, then took a swig. "So, what do you intend for today? Research?"

"Indeed." Audsley smeared a little honey over his cheese. "We must learn the secrets of the Portals in that chamber below. With so many of them, I'm sure a few must lead to Agerastos. If I can divine how to open them, then we'll not only be able to provide Lady Iskra with the means to contact our potential allies, but also a means for us to return to Mythgræfen Hold before the month has passed."

Tiron raised an eyebrow. "You think you can do that? Open a Lunar Gate before its appointed time?"

Audsley shrugged. "Perhaps. After all, I doubt the rulers of Starkadr would have contended themselves with having to wait a month each time to use their own Portals. The means to doing so may be located in the library next door, and if not here, perhaps elsewhere in the complex."

"That's good. That's very good." Tiron bit down on the fish and found it delicious.

Audsley smiled, set his plate aside, and rose. "In fact, I'll go take a quick peek at the tomes right now. Just browse their titles, if you will. See if I can read the text. The Ascendant willing, they're not written in ancient Sigean."

Tiron realized that was a joke of some kind, and gave Audsley a fish-filled grin with no humor in it. Audsley made a little face and disappeared down the side tunnel.

Food was essential to healing. Even though he wasn't that hungry, he methodically ate several fillets of the fish and had begun working on a thick slice of cheese when Temyl and Bogusch hurried back in.

"Ser! We've looked everywhere. There's no sign of Meffrid."

"What do you mean? You didn't find him?" Tiron stared from one man to the other. The two men shrugged helplessly. "There's nowhere else that he could be. Audsley!"

The magister ran in, alarmed by the sharp bark in Tiron's tone. "Yes? What's wrong?"

"That platform of yours. Could it have ensorcelled Meffrid?"

"Could it have... No? I don't think so? He'd have had to grip the sword for it to even try to connect with him. Where is he?"

"Gone," said Tiron. "All right. Let's do this again. I want every inch of this level searched. Audsley, you're with me. Bogusch, Temyl, no nonsense. Let's go."

Fifteen minutes later they all stood in the hub by the metal platform. There was no sign of the young guard. Audsley was wringing his hands. Temyl and Bogusch looked distinctly unhappy.

Tiron stared at the floor, trying to think. "Temyl, grab the sword hilt. Bogusch, get ready to knock him over the head if he does anything strange."

"Ser?" Temyl's face went pale.

"Now!"

His battlefield roar sent the guard scurrying onto the metal platform, Bogusch at his heels. Audsley and Tiron followed.

"Is this wise?" Audsley kept his voice to a whisper, as if loath to enrage Tiron.

"We need to eliminate possibilities. Now, Temyl."

The guard knelt and reached out. He bit his lower lip, jaw working, and flexed his fingers several times before turning his face away and gingerly touching the hilt.

Nothing happened. Temyl looked at the sword out of the corner of his eye and closed his hand around it. Again, nothing happened, and he visibly wilted in relief.

"Now, Audsley. Your turn."

The magister nodded and replaced Temyl in front of the blade and took hold of the hilt without hesitation. He stiffened, clenched his jaw, then released the sword. "The same as before. The presence is there."

Tiron rubbed at his jaw. "Damn it. Bogusch, you try."

In short order they'd determined that only Audsley could sense the presence in the sword.

Tiron fought the urge to pace. "Talk to me, Audsley."

"I, ah, I don't know. Perhaps only I am connected to the blade? Perhaps it only responds to Noussians, or those who have undergone rigorous academic training?"

"And Meffrid?"

"Well, the presence is still within the blade, so it clearly didn't take control and transfer into him. Given the unlikelihood of it's being able to communicate with him, and my serious doubt as to Meffrid's desire to seize the blade, I, ah, I mean -"

"Enough." Tiron cut him off with a sweep of his hand. "So, we can rule out the platform for now."

"Maybe he jumped, ser." Bogusch's voice was quiet. "Couldn't take the pressure of what we're going through. Got drunk, got desperate... and leaped out into the shaft."

Tiron felt an immediate sense of negation. "I very much doubt that." Yet what other explanation was there? "However. Audsley, take us down. We're going to make sure."

They all climbed onto the platform. Audsley took hold of the hilt, and the platform rose smoothly into the air, then sailed toward the moaning airshaft and out into the blackness. Down they went, swiftly but smoothly, past a dozen great tunnel entrances, each perhaps fifty yards below the other. The gloom grew ever deeper, until finally Tiron could barely make out his hand before his face.

They came to a stop, but not on stone, as before; instead, they seemed to lower with a crunch, sinking into something brittle and uneven.

"What did we land on?" Temyl's voice was tight with fear.

Tiron didn't bother answering. He rose from his crouch and strode to the edge of the platform. He had to lean down to see through the dense murk, and immediately reared back when he made out what lay beneath them.

Corpses.

Hundreds of them, covering the floor. They were the same sort of dried bodies Tiron and the others had seen already, withered by the passage of centuries, broken and muddled together so that it was impossible to make out whole forms.

"They must have fallen here during the fight," whispered Audsley in horror. "How many? How many died down here?"

"Search for Meffrid," said Tiron, reining in his own horror. "Now. He'll be easy to spot amongst this lot."

It was ghastly work. They waded through the bodies. They were piled about a yard deep, Tiron discovered, as bones snapped and ancient robes tore beneath his boots. Stumbling and lurching, the four of them quartered the base of the shaft. Tiron felt a brief burst of elation on finding his family blade, but he sheathed it and kept searching.

At his command, Audsley lifted the platform so that they could search beneath it. Then, after spending a good hour fruitlessly combing the mass grave, they climbed in silence to the quarters they had slept in and stepped off the platform into the hub.

Nobody spoke. Their eyes were glassy with shock at what they'd seen. Audsley looked to be on the verge of tears, while Temyl was shaking and refused to meet his eyes. Tiron kept his focus sharp and fierce. He didn't need anybody to spell it out to him, didn't need to tell the others what was painfully obvious.

Meffrid hadn't jumped. He hadn't used the platform to escape. He'd simply vanished into thin air.

CHAPTER NINE

Tharok regarded the Red River kragh whom he had invited to join the war council. A few steps away, the fire leapt and burned and spat cinders into the air.

"You threatened to kill Nakrok of the Crokuk," said Kharsh at last. "Our ally and leader of five hundred kragh who are camped in a circle around us."

"Yes," said Tharok.

"If you had killed him," said Barok, "and his kragh, then the Crokuk would have attacked us."

"Yes," said Tharok. "Eventually."

"Five hundred male warriors against two hundred Red River males, women and children."

"I would not have stood passively by until they attacked," said Tharok. "But there is no need to go into my back-up plans. I was correct. They weren't necessary."

"What is to stop Nakrok from attacking us now?" asked Rabo, who was staring into the fire.

"Nakrok is more intelligent than he looks," said Tharok. "We have provoked his curiosity. First we angered him, then we tired his kragh, then he came to our fire, where we established our dominance. More importantly, we gave him new information for him to digest. That is why he was quiet and pensive when he left. He'll not attack. He will think, and then will either leave in the morning or follow us. To attack in the dark when our kragh stand armed and prepared invites only senseless slaughter."