Our morleth’s hooves ring out like stone-sharpened blades against the pavers of Dugorim’s streets, echoing eerily off the walls of the vacant buildings. I lead the way, despite Hael’s protests that I should allow her to venture ahead and make certain all is safe. I already know it isn’t safe.
Holding the reins with one hand, I rest the other on the knife hilt at my belt. I didn’t bring a sword, not for a journey like this, not for meeting and escorting my bride. Neither Sul nor I travel armed, though Hael has her sword and a big trolde club strapped across the cantle of her saddle. We make our way down the main village thoroughfare. Every door of every building stands wide open. I peer into dark passages and front rooms as I ride by, searching for some sign of life.
Nothing. Not even a whisper. Not even a flickering shadow of movement.
We reach the Upper Round, a place of gathering and ceremony in the heart of town. From here, my view sweeps from the council house to the humble village temple, and on down to the river docks. I see the miners’ road as well, leading up from the primary digs. When I passed this way mere hours ago, that road was busy with workers traveling to and fro, hauling loads of stone and silt on their backs or in pushcarts. Those pushcarts are now abandoned. Some lying on their sides, contents spilled.
A wind blows across the back of my neck, prickling my flesh. I shiver. “Dismount,” I say, swinging down from Knar. “Check the buildings. There must be someone here, someone we can ask where everyone has gone. Perhaps they’ve fled some foe and need our help.”
“Your Majesty, allow me to urge we stick together,” Hael says.
“Why?” I spread my arms. “There’s no one here.”
“You think that,” she answers grimly. “You think that right up until the moment there is someone. Someone you aren’t prepared to meet.” She shakes her head. “We shouldn’t separate.”
“Gods save us, Hael, you’ve convinced me!” Sul declares. “I’m positively trembling in my boots. Will you hold my hand?” She gives him a look. “What?” He shrugs and blinks innocently. “I’m susceptible to the spooks!”
“Enough,” I growl. “Sul, go check the docks. Make certain our barge is still there and have a look for our bargeman. Hael, you search the council house. It’s the largest building around save for Lady Xag’s; perhaps folk are hidden inside. I’m going to the temple.”
Hael looks as though she wants to protest. Instead, she says, “Will you take my sword, Your Majesty?”
“No, keep it.” I draw my knife. “I’ll be fine. Quick now!”
The Dugorim temple is neither large nor impressive, being little more than a cave. I cannot stand up fully in it but am obliged to bend almost double, feeling my way with care. The light of the lorst crystals cannot penetrate beyond the opening, and there are no lanterns inside. But that’s not unusual; the priestesses of the Deeper Dark prefer to dwell in dense shadow.
My fingers, trailing on the walls and ceiling, pick out the secret and sacred carvings hidden in the stones, marking the way. I meet no one. Ordinarily, there would be a dozen or more priestesses deep in their va sitting like statues just inside the mouth of the temple. I should have stubbed my toe on at least one of them by now. But the way is clear.
I venture all the way to the inner sanctum. My breath echoes hollowly in that empty space. I open my mouth, intending to call out, but cannot bring myself to do so. This cavern should be alive with the hum of holy women pursuing their va-vulug, the sacred songs of the Dark. This silence feels wrong. Sinful.
I back out again, trying to ignore the creeping shudders running up and down my spine. The lorst glow is too bright as I stagger out into the broader cavern. My chest is tight, and when I force myself to draw a deeper breath, I taste something bitter on the back of my tongue.
My vision is just clearing when the silhouettes of Hael and Sul appear, approaching down two different streets. Sul reaches me first, returning from the docks. “All the barges are there, including ours,” he says. “No sign of the bargemen. No beasts either, not even a fluttering water olk.”
“It’s the same in the city center,” Hael says. Her face is lined and tense. “I saw signs of a meal in the inner chamber. Food and drink, still fresh, but disturbed. Chairs overturned, dishes smashed on the ground. I think there was blood on one wall.”
I try to swallow, but my throat is too dry. I know where we must go. But I don’t want to. Drawing a long breath, I tighten my grip on my dagger. “Come on,” I say, and turn on one heel, leading the way out of the Upper Round and on to the edge of town. My steps are swift and confident, even as my heart quails.
We pass the place where the avalanche had buried several homes, now half-excavated. Digging equipment lies strewn all around. Four wrapped-up bundles of sackcloth lie in a neat row. I know what they are—the dead pulled from the rubble. One of them is small, achingly small. Were any others found alive? If so, where are they now?
I glance back at my two companions. They meet my gaze, silent and solemn. With a quick shake of my head, I continue, leading the way past the small disaster and on to the greater one. To that place where the ground is torn apart, a jagged crevice ripping right through homes and streets. It’s a good fifteen feet across at the broadest point, and extends for half a mile, reshaping this whole portion of the Dugorim Cavern. But it’s not the size of the break that makes me halt in my tracks, my heart suddenly plunging.
It’s the clothes.
All those bits and pieces of clothing—miners’ hoods, smocks, undergarments, vests. Tunics, cloaks, belts, jewels, rings. And shoes. So many shoes. Even a pair of small mushroom-leather booties that would hardly fit my big toe, lying close to my feet. All scattered along the length of the chasm in random piles. All leading to that edge.
My blood runs cold.
“Morar-juk.”
Sul’s voice breathes close to my ear. I glance to one side. His face is drained of color, almost pure white. Hael stands on his other side, her expression a mask. She lifts her chin and sniffs suddenly. “What’s that smell?”
I inhale and choke on a curse. “Raog,” I say. “Quick, cover your faces. Try not to breathe deeply.”
Hael reacts at once, tearing a bit of cloth from her sleeve and wrapping it across her nose. Sul, however, merely snorts and crosses his arms. “If there’s poison in the air, a little bit of silk over our faces isn’t going to make any difference.”
I don’t force the issue, though I do rip a strip of fabric from the hem of my own tunic and tie it around the lower half of my face. He’s probably right; if the poison has dissipated enough, we’ll be fine. If not, we’re dead already, even if we don’t know it yet. Still, it feels better to take some precaution, even a useless one.
My half mask in place, I step through the piles of discarded garments, trying not to bring my foot down on any of them. A skirt, a bodice, a tunic. A small, white nappy. I don’t look at any of them too closely, but creep to the edge of the crevice and peer over.
My stomach convulses.
The drop is deep. Endless. Dark. But the walls are not smooth. Jagged rocks and outcroppings jut like savage teeth. And straight below me, a good fifty feet down, is a body. Pale and broken. Contorted in death. Naked.
I turn, searching along the crevice wall, both on this side and the other. There are more bodies. Not many, but a few. In one place, several have piled on top of each other, all grossly angled limbs and lifeless flesh. The lorst light only just reaches deep enough to illuminate them. Another yard down, and all is lost in shadow. Ravenous shadow.
I back away. With an effort, I swallow, tasting bitter raog poison on the back of my tongue. Gods on high! It’s already permeated this far. How quickly will it spread? Is there still time to turn back this tide? Is there still—
“Vor! Help me, brother!”
I pivot just in time to see Sul off to my right scrambling over the edge of the crevice. “Wait!” I cry and break into a run. His face is uncovered. Has he already breathed too much poison? Is he succumbing as well? “Sul, don’t!”
His head disappears. I skid to a stop, drop to my knees, and peer over the edge of broken stone. There’s a ledge. Some twenty feet down, sharp and uneven, protruding from the craggy wall. A figure lies there, her naked body weirdly contorted. Her head is thrown back, blue blood matting in her braided crown of hair. Her expression is twisted into something horrible, almost demonic.
Lady Xag.
Sul scrambles down the side of the cliff, quick as a skittering insect. Stone and earth crumble beneath one of his feet. My heart catches. But my brother adjusts his hold and continues. He reaches the ledge, finds his balance, and crouches over the lady. With unprecedented gentleness, he gathers her in his arms, puts his head close to her mouth.
“She’s breathing!” he calls up to me. “She’s alive!”
“I’m coming down,” I answer at once and start to swing my legs out over the edge.
A hand falls on my shoulder, gripping hard. I look up into Hael’s face, her eyes stern above folds of protective cloth. “Don’t,” she says. “You are our king. We need you in one piece.”
I shake my head. My brother is down there. “I’m going, Hael. I want you to find something we can use to pull Lady Xag up.” Her eyes narrow. I fear she’s going to protest. “At once, captain. That’s an order.”
She releases my shoulder. The muscles in her throat spasm. Then she nods, turns, and strides back into the ghostly village, making for the mining works.
“Hurry, Vor!” Sul calls from below.
I turn and lower myself over the edge, my hands and feet finding holds. I’m a trolde—rock climbing is in my blood. Even so, that yawning darkness is enough to reduce me to piteous trembling. So I shut my mind off, refuse to think of it. The stench of raog poison is stronger down here. How old is it? How potent? How much do I even now draw into my lungs? My arms shake, but I close my eyes. Breathe in. Breathe out. Then continue, down and down, one careful handhold after the other.
I reach the ledge a few feet away from Sul and Xag. His back is to me, and I cannot see the lady’s face, but I hear her groan. Painfully aware of the drop on one side, I step toward them. She groans again. Am I wrong, or is that a garbling attempt at words?
I reach my brother, rest a hand on his back, and peer over his shoulder. The lady lies with her head thrown across his arm. Her eyelids flutter, open. Her pale eyes look out, spinning and unfocused.
“Xag?” Sul says, bending over her. “Xag, it’s me. I’m here. I’m here, you great hulking terror of a woman. You’re going to be all right, do you hear me?”
Her head turns slightly, her eyes struggling to focus. She stares at Sul, blinking slowly. A thin inarticulate sound ekes through her colorless lips.
“There, don’t trouble yourself,” Sul says. Her hand reaches up, trembling, grasping at air. He takes hold of her fingers and presses them to his chest. “Vor’s here too. Our noble savior king. He’s going to get you out of this, and he might even convince me to help a little.”
She grimaces, closes her eyes. “Sssssssuuuul.”
“Yes! Yes, that’s right. It’s Sul. Come on, Xag! Pull yourself together. If you get up out of this trench, I’ll let you kiss me. Did you hear that? You’re never going to get a better offer.”
I look up the side of the wall I’ve just descended. It’s dizzyingly sheer. Grimacing, I address my brother. “Can she be moved safely? What about her spine?”
Sul shakes his head. “I don’t—”
Her hand rips free from his grasp and latches hold of his throat. Sul chokes, eyes goggling. He grapples with her arm even as she sits bolt upright. Her eyes flare open. Only they aren’t the silvery eyes of Lady Xag as I know her. They’re green. Glowing.
With a cry, I lunge and grab her arm, fighting to pry her free. She elbows me in the throat, and I fall back against the wall, gasping for air. Stone breaks under my foot, crumbles away into darkness. I manage to catch the wall, find firm footing.
Sul gags, his face turning blue. Xag has him bent out over the drop.
I lunge again. This time, I bring my fist down sharp on the weakest part of her arm. Bones snap. Xag screams and lets go so abruptly, Sul nearly plunges. I’m just quick enough to catch him, to wrench him back onto the ledge beside me.
Then Xag’s arms are around my neck, and she’s ripped me off my feet. I twist, jab an elbow into her stomach, and manage to wrench around to face her. She grips my shoulders, whirls, and slams me against the rock wall. Sparks explode in my vision. I can see nothing but Lady Xag leering at me, green foam dripping from the corners of her mouth. She raises her arm, a black stone gripped in her fist. Survival instinct surges, and just before she can brain me, I get my own arm up to deflect the blow. Then I slam the heel of my other hand into her nose. I feel it crunch. She steps back. I slam her again. Blue blood flows over her upper lip, mingles with spittle and foam.
She steps back again, one hand still clutching the front of my shirt. She teeters. She’s going over the edge. And she’s going to drag me with her. I drag in a breath, my feet skidding on stone.
Then Sul hurtles into the two of us, knocking us off our feet. Xag’s grip on me breaks as she falls, slips, slides. I’m too stunned to do more than try to catch myself on the ledge, but Sul surges, both arms reaching. He cries out. Shaking my head, I pull myself upright to see my brother, his body half extended over the drop. He grips Xag by one arm.
“I’ve got you!” he cries. “Hold on! Hold on, Xag! I’ll get you up!”
Her head is lolling, her body limp, lifeless. She’s too heavy. Sul is nearly broken in half trying to hold her.
I scramble, catch my brother around the waist, struggling to haul him back. “Let her go, Sul!”
“No! I can get her! Help me!”
“You can’t save her.” I adjust my grip, clinging to his shoulders. The inevitable pull of gravity drags a cry from my throat. We won’t last much longer. “Sul!” I roar.
A sob breaks from my brother’s throat. I feel the terrible pitch as the fall prepares to claim us. I squeeze my eyes shut.
Then—relief.
The terrible weight is gone.
I open my eyes. Sul hangs out over the edge, staring into the void. His empty hands still extended.
“Gods save us!” I breathe and pull my brother back toward me. He’s trembling so hard, I swear I hear his bones rattle. “Sul! Sul, are you all right?”
He shakes his head slowly. “I could have saved her.” Slumping, he rests his forehead in his palm. “I could have saved her, Vor.”
“No, Sul. You couldn’t. She was already gone.”
“You don’t know that. She may have been able to come back.”
I exhale slowly. What can I say? Across my mind’s eye flashes the image of a savage woggha spewing foam as it strives to tear my face off. Foam the same green as what I saw flying from Xag’s lips just now. Is it possible for anyone to come back from such madness?
I bow my head heavily. Xag. Poor Xag. I’ve known her my entire life. There was a time my father even talked about a betrothal between us, and in my boyhood, I’d harbored a youthful infatuation for the older, beautiful woman. Those feelings long since faded, but I’d always held her in highest esteem.
I glance at Sul. My brother’s face has gone slack. “We’ve got to get out of here,” I say. “We don’t know if the poison is lingering.”
“Yes.” Sul passes a hand across his forehead. “And you’ve lost your little kerchief in the scuffle, so you’re probably as doomed as me now.”
I grunt and pull him to his feet. Sul cranes his neck, peering again over the ledge. “Do you think it was all of them?” he says. “The whole village?”
I nod. I feel sick, helpless. This is far worse than any of the rumors that have reached Mythanar. Far worse than I’d dared imagine.
“I don’t understand.” Sul looks at me, his brow puckered. “Did they jump? Were they driven here? All the children and the animals too?”
I shake my head. “We’re not going to get answers down here. We need to get back to Mythanar. It’ll take magic to seal this crevice.”
Trolde magic won’t be sufficient. I know that already, all too well. Neither will fae magic be any use, even if I could get a fae mage to travel all the way to the Under Realm. Such magic will only shrivel up and disintegrate the minute it touches the foul raog-infused air.
We need the Miphates. We need written magic.
“Come, Sul.” I gaze grimly up the sheer face of the wall. Grunting, I take hold of the stone and begin to pull myself up.
Before I’ve climbed more than a foot, Hael appears overhead, her face still half covered in her cloth. “Your Majesty?” she calls down. Though I’m fairly certain her gaze has fastened on Sul.
“Don’t worry, Hael, my sweet,” Sul calls up to her. “I’ve managed to keep my pretty face mostly intact. Give us a hand now, will you?”
Hael vanishes, then reappears and lowers a harness of woven hugagug rope, no doubt taken from the mine works. “Send the king up first,” she says.
Ignoring this, I put Sul in the harness. Both my captain and my brother try to protest, but after a stern reminder that I am, in fact, their sovereign, they shut their mouths. Hael’s powerful arms strain as she hauls Sul up, using knots in the length of rope to aid her grip. Sul is uncharacteristically silent. I watch until he reaches the top and Hael hauls him onto stable ground. Then I turn and look down the chasm once more.
I can feel it down there. Deep, deep down, beneath that impenetrable darkness. Down to where darkness gives way to heat, and the pressure at the fiery heart of the world burns like living hell. Down to where something lies coiled upon itself. Vast. Endless. Enduring.
Waiting.
I close my eyes, still my mind, still my senses. Feel that heat, feel that pressure. Feel . . .
. . . breathing . . .
A scream rings out, echoing against the stones. Distant but clear.
My eyes flare open. The blood in my veins surges with sudden fear. I know to whom that scream belongs. “Ilsevel!” I gasp.
