I slip away from the happy gathering and into one of the corridors leading from the great hall. Giggling to myself, I march into the dim tunnel, but after two turns and one passage leading through a linen closet that connects two corridors, I pause, unsure.
This is the way to the communal baths. Isn’t it?
The shortcut through a linen closet leads from our room to the baths, I’m sure about that, but I don’t think I’ve ever tried to take the route to the pools from the great hall, only from our room or the infirmary.
“Damn it,” I mutter, glancing this way and that. “Why couldn’t they have put up signposts?”
Still, I have my map for a reason. I can figure out the way from the instructions I’d written on it.
Only the map is not in my pocket. A sinking feeling settles in my chest as I realize I must have left it in my work dress when I changed earlier today. And it never occurred to me I didn’t have it on me because I had memorized the path from our room to the infirmary, finally. I’m not that dim, after all. I walk it every day, often multiple times. And from the infirmary onward, I was with Taris the entire time.
I return through the linen closet and take the right, because that’s where I came from. I’ll backtrack to the great hall and ask someone for directions. The last thing I want is to get lost in the warren of the Hill’s hallways.
But after two turns, that seems to be my reality. I could have sworn I’d taken this exact path until I come up to a double door with a beautiful, patterned carving on it. I think I’ve seen it before, but not recently, which means I couldn’t have taken this particular path. Yet these corridors all look exactly the same, with a rounded ceiling, earthen walls, and many wooden doors leading into various chambers.
“Damn, damn, damn.”
I face the opposite direction again and try to figure out where I went wrong, but now nothing seems familiar. I stop to listen, waiting for any sign of life surrounding me, but the thick walls are excellent at damping sound. I must be far from the great hall, though, because I’d surely hear the noise from hundreds of voices.
I’ve never felt alone in the underground palace, with so many orcs always milling about. But now that everyone is…away, I feel like a very small ant lost in a very big Hill. Biting my lip, I force myself to keep still and not run around mindlessly. I’m terrible at remembering which direction to take, but maybe there’s someone around here who isn’t.
I face the door closest to me, take a deep, bracing breath, and knock twice. I wait, shuffling nervously at the thought of disturbing some strange orc in their home or at work. I have no idea what the rooms around here are used for, so they could be living quarters, storage spaces, or the armory, for all I know.
No one answers, though. I try the handle, but the room is locked, so I continue to the next door. And the next. I get no answer, nor does anyone reply when I call out a “Hello?” My voice sounds reedy and weak, so I try again, but the cry gets swallowed by the earth. I wonder if even orcs with their good hearing would be able to hear me from a distance.
The first lick of fear threatens to close my throat. Rationally, I know Korr will realize something has gone wrong and come searching for me if I don’t show up at the baths soon. Or someone will pass by if I only sit tight and wait for long enough. The lanterns in the corridors here are lit, after all, which means the tunnels are in daily use. At least that’s what I tell myself as I pace this way and that, trying to calm my nerves.
But there is a lantern at the far end of this section that has guttered out. I notice the darker part of the tunnel, and my heart thuds louder. Now that I’m paying attention, I think that the lanterns are spaced farther apart than in the busier corridors, too. I can still make out my way, but shadows gather between each pool of light, playing tricks on my eyes.
Suddenly, I become aware of just how deep in the Hill I am. Korr’s issue with being shut in never seemed so reasonable as it does now when I don’t know the way out. Living underground all the time isn’t natural for humans, but I figured I could make my way outside whenever I wanted. Now I cannot even find the way to the great hall, let alone escape the Hill completely.
My breaths grow shallower and quicker, and I know somewhere deep inside that this is bad, that I should remain calm and composed. But all my instincts are suddenly screaming at me to flee, to leave this cursed place and find safety elsewhere.
Twisting my head this way and that, I try to decide where to go. The darkened part of the corridor, with the spent lantern, is definitely the worse choice, but the fact is that I’d just come from the opposite direction, and that had got me nowhere. It feels completely silly to be walking into the dark, though.
“I’ll just take a look,” I tell myself, whispering as if someone could hear me.
I tiptoe forward, feeling as if I’m trespassing for some reason. I pass the ornate wooden door and the last lit lantern, and step into the dark. I walk slowly, letting my eyes adjust, but after several steps, I can barely see my feet anymore. Glancing back, I note that last lantern, which now seems like a lifeline.
“Hello?” I call again. “Is anyone here?”
For the first time since I arrived at the Hill, I pull on my otherwise useless gift. It’s only a tiny glow in my hand, all I can conjure up, but it gives away enough light for me to take another step forward. And another. If there is a turn in the corridor here, maybe it will lead me somewhere I recognize.
But the only thing I find is a heavy iron fence, set in the walls of the corridor so there is no way around it, not even at the top. I lift my glowing hand to inspect it, surprised to find something like this in the depths of the Hill. I’d only seen wooden doors—and no blocked corridors. But wherever this tunnel leads, someone wanted to make sure it would remain sealed off.
The light from my palm falls on a heavy iron lock, and when I inspect it, I realize a door is built into the grate. I give it an experimental tug, just to see what it does, but it doesn’t move even half an inch.
I’ve almost forgotten that I’m hopelessly lost, but the realization returns when I conclude that this is a dead end. There’s no escaping down this route, so I turn around and start making my way back toward the lamplight.
But my light falls on a pair of long legs encased in leather pants. On brown boots, which should have scuffed along the corridor floor but didn’t make a sound.
I shriek, jumping in fright, and my light gutters out.
And a deep voice says, “What the fuck are you doing here?”
