I almost wonder if I imagined that glimpse of her, high up on her balcony. The way she leaned over the rail with her pale white shoulders bare and her golden hair tumbled across her bosom. It’s too much like a dream, too much like the deepest longings of my heart to be real.
I turn away, face the road ahead of me. I cannot let my thoughts dwell on Faraine right now. I cannot wish I’d marched up to her room, to speak with her before venturing out. There is no time. Not for Yok, nor for Toz and the others. Besides, what could I say? I can make her neither promises nor apologies. To apologize for the time we’ve had together would be like apologizing to an angel for receiving a blessing bestowed. I can never regret what she gave so willingly . . . only what I could not give in return.
But we are not destined for one another. Fate or the gods or both have conspired against us. The price has now come due on those beautiful moments we so joyfully took—a price neither of us is prepared to pay.
Better to focus on the mission at hand. I will find Yok. I will make certain he’s all right and safely returned to his family. I sent the boy on this mission. If something happens to him, I will never forgive myself.
“Drag-hrukta!” I cry and spur Knar forward. My beast leaps from the cobbled road and the other morleth surge into flight behind him. Together we soar above the city, pass over rooftops and roads, over the domed temple and the hovels, over Market Rise, and all the familiar sites that make up Mythanar as I know it. I find myself looking for Sul and Hael on either side of me. But my brother remains in Madame Ar’s infirmary, and my captain stands outside Faraine’s bedchamber door. I am bereft without them. As though both my right and left arms have been hewn from my body, and I’m left maimed and alone to face whatever dangers await.
We fly over the high city gates, out to the chasm bridges which connect the city to the cavern walls. I turn in my saddle. “Lead the way!” I call to Lur, who rides on my right.
She looks gray and strained following her ordeal. Worried for Toz and the others, no doubt, and guilty for returning without them. Bravely, she turns her morleth’s head downward. We follow her, plunge into the chasm below the city, down under the bridges. Down, down, and deeper still, until the rising fury of the fiery river makes our armor heat and sweat break out across our skin.
I’m just starting to think we cannot safely venture lower, when Lur pulls on her morleth’s head and guides it into level flight. Down here in the dark, far from the cavern lights and the glow of the city, the morleth are much happier, fluid and graceful, like inky black smears, only just holding onto their physical form. Lur gives a whistle and points to a crack in the stone wall.
I narrow my gaze. She cannot be serious! Is this the opening to the lair she reported? Did Toz and the others pursue the woggha trail all the way down here, under the foundations of the city itself? Somehow, until this moment, I’d not believed it truly possible.
Our morleth fly in a holding pattern, circling on the hot updrafts of air from the river below. That cavern entrance is much too small for a morleth. We’ll have to leave our mounts behind. I signal four of my riders to follow me, including Lur. Then, guiding Knar as close to the wall as I dare, I gauge the distance and spring from the saddle. For a terrible, weightless instant, I hang in the air above that death-plunge. Then I hit the wall, grapple, catch hold of the ledge. In a few quick, heaving breaths, I haul myself into place and stand in the opening of the cave.
The darkness is deep. And hot. Even with the lorst crystal on my helm ignited, I feel as though the shadows will crush me. Nevertheless, I step into the cave, making room for Lur and the other three to join me. “Where next?” I ask once they’ve caught their breaths and stand in the darkness with me, eyes bright in the crystal glow.
“Straight ahead,” Lur says. “The tunnel curves and takes a steep plunge in about twenty feet, but it does not branch.” She hesitates a moment before adding, “I should lead the way, my King.”
But I shake my head. If there are indeed a hundred woggha waiting for us at the end of this dark path, I won’t send anyone ahead of me to act as my living shield. “Stay close. Stay wary,” I say. Then, drawing my sword, I set out down the narrow path. It’s difficult not to imagine the too-close walls are closing in. But despite my human blood, I am trolde at heart. I will not give in to such weakness. The dark under stone is where I belong.
I angle my head to let the lorst light illuminate my path, choosing my footsteps with care. While I’m no expert, I suspect this cave is a relatively new formation caused by one of the recent stirrings. A perfect hiding place for any number of woggha.
The lorst gleams on a wall ahead of me, revealing a smear of blue. Blood.
I stop. Lur steps close behind me, “We’re getting close,” she whispers.
“Do you recognize this way?” I ask.
She shakes her head, her face uncertain beneath her helmet’s brim. “I don’t remember these landmarks, but . . . that blood . . . One of the beasts grabbed Hud and dragged him off. That’s when Toz and Yok went after him, and the ground gave way under their feet.”
I nod. Glancing back, I look into the wide eyes of the others, crowded in the narrow space behind me. I give a signal for silence. If there are indeed cave devils near, the least sound could disturb them, draw their attention. We progress again, more cautious than ever, our footsteps nearly soundless as we inch our way along.
Suddenly, my light gleams on an edge of stone at my feet. Beyond is nothing but pitch-black emptiness. We seem to have found the pit. I lift my head, try to see beyond the black. My circle of light can just reach the far side where the path picks up again. Sheer walls rise on either hand, and below . . . Well, below might as well be a mouth straight to the deepest of the nine hells.
Lur inches up behind me, her voice a faint hiss in my ear. “That’s where they fell,” she said. “Toz. Yok. And the others.”
I nod. Then, cautiously, I creep up to the edge of the break, put my head over, and shine my lorst light down inside. At a single tap of my finger, it brightens, extending its light over a wider radius.
I drag in a sharp breath.
I was right. This is the mouth to hell. And all along the walls of the pit are hell’s devils, clinging to the stone. Their eyeless faces are tucked under their hairless arms. They dangle, suspended by their great hooked claws. There’s more than a hundred. A lot more. Two hundred, three hundred . . . I cannot see them all. I never imagined the solitary woggha capable of congregating like this. And not so far up. They are Deep Dwellers, belonging in the low country, down among the fiery rivers. Yet here they are.
I swing my head silently, trying to take in everything that I see. A flash of silver, and I turn sharply for a second look. Armor. A backplate. It’s one of my men, nearly fifty feet below. Could he have survived such a fall? Perhaps not. But I must discover for certain.
I turn, catch Lur’s eye. She shakes her head, unable to speak for fear. “Wait here,” I mouth to her. Her eyes widen, and I know she would protest if she dared. Thank the gods I didn’t bring Hael with me. She would never allow me to attempt what I’m about to do.
I swing out over the edge of the drop, taking care not to disturb any of the sleeping devils. At least when woggha sleep, they sleep soundly. Little enough can disturb them. Using the spines protruding from my forearm braces to help me cling to the wall, I begin my descent. It’s tricky business, navigating around the inert cave devils. I move with care, make as little sound and disturbance as possible. One of my men starts to come after me, but I shake my head, and he stops. I won’t have them adding to the risk.
Looking down to check my next foothold, my light flashes across something. I stop short. A face, a trolde face. My blood jolts with recognition. Hud. A brave fellow who has served in my guard for some years.
His head, neck, shoulders, and part of his torso are all held in the upper arms of a sleeping woggha. Where the rest of him is, I do not know.
I swallow back bile in my throat. Then I climb down beside the sleeping devil, draw the knife from my belt, and plunge it into the base of its skull. A little shiver goes through its body. It drops, carrying Hud’s remains with it as it falls. None of the other devils stir.
Heart throbbing, I continue. I’m close to the fallen man now, close enough to realize that he lies, not on the floor of this pit as I originally thought, but on a ledge. The pit itself goes on much deeper. Down lower, the woggha are more densely gathered. Gods spare us! My initial calculations were far too conservative. There are more devils here than I ever imagined dwelt in the whole of the Under Realm. Something must have driven them up from their habitat to seek shelter in the upper regions. Something . . . I don’t have to guess what.
I test my weight on the ledge before letting go of the wall and hastening to the side of my fallen guard. He lies belly-down and seems to be stretching one arm into the darkness below. I kneel, catch him by the shoulders. With a heave, I roll him over in my arms.
It’s Yok. Thank all the gods above and below!
With an effort, I swallow back his name. Instead, I search his body for signs of trauma. His leg is broken, bent at a terrible angle. Much of his armor is savaged, great chunks ripped away. He bleeds from numerous gashes. But he’s alive. By some miracle, he’s alive.
Gently, I pat his cheeks. Yok stirs. His young, boyish brow puckers, and his teeth flash in a grimace of pain. Slowly, he opens his eyes, his gaze unfocused and strange. Then he sees me. I clap a hand over his mouth as he sucks in a sharp breath. Shaking my head, I flick my gaze around us to indicate the sleeping devils. Yok’s eyes widen. He nods his understanding.
Carefully, I ease the boy into a seated position. Yok winces, but swallows back all whimpers of pain. Then he turns suddenly, points down into the dark below us. When I don’t immediately respond, he grips my hand hard, urging me to look. I lean over the edge, cautiously angling my lorst light.
Toz lies another twenty feet lower. He’s dead. His armor is stripped away. Cave devil claws have penetrated his tough stone hide, ripped his torso wide open, spilled his guts. He looks gnawed. Savaged. I’m thankful I cannot see his face from this angle.
I draw back. Sickness roils in my gut. Toz was my friend. As was Hud.
What happened to them must not happen to the people in the city above.
I firm my jaw. I won’t let it happen.
Leaning over Yok, I place my lips close to his ear. “Let’s get you out of here. Then we’ll deal with these guthakug devils.”
Yok nods. Silent tears course down his face. I cannot blame him. A lesser man than he would have perished of sheer fright by now. I motion for the boy to stand, but he cannot manage it, not on his leg. He grabs my shoulder, draws me to him, and gasps into my ear, “Leave me, my King. I’ll only slow you down.”
As if I would even consider such a plan. “Get on my back,” I answer. “Put those scrawny arms of yours to use and hold on fast, do you hear?” Yok shakes his head, but I add a growling, “Now.”
Yok shudders, nods. He’s gray as stone under the lorst light, but I’m relieved to feel strength in him yet when he grips my shoulders. I don’t know if it will be enough. But I won’t leave him. Hael would never forgive me if I did.
I begin to climb. At first, I’m not certain I can manage it—not up a sheer rock face, navigating between sleeping devils, with Yok’s dead weight on my back. From deep inside, I summon the strength of my ancestors, the ancient trolde kings, to aid me. Slowly, slowly we make our way up. Now and then, as we pass too near a devil, the scent of Yok’s blood seems to rouse them. One or two stir slightly. I see curled lips, flashing fangs. If one awakens, that will be it. Its savage snarls will soon alert the others, and there will be nothing I can do but pray we are devoured swiftly.
But our god of darkness must see us in our plight, for somehow, we reach the top of the pit. The relief when Lur’s strong hands grip Yok’s arm and take his weight from my back is so much, I nearly lose my hold. But Jork, a stalwart warrior, catches me by the hand and hauls me up beside him. “You’re a gods-damned lunatic, Big King,” he whispers almost reverently.
I grin back. Then I glance into the pit once more. We’ve not brought enough warriors to dispatch that lot. Not by a long shot. I give the signal to fall back. We need to regroup, come back with a real plan. Perhaps my chief engineer can rig an explosive, and we’ll find a way to safely bury them. A tricky business considering this lair lies directly under the city, but if anyone can manage it, it’s Ghat.
I take Yok back from Lur and nod for her to precede me back up the passage. She doesn’t like it, but none of them dare protest. Yok and I follow after her, dragging a little behind the others, while Jork guards our rear. When we’re far enough away from the pit, I whisper, “What happened?”
“I’m not sure.” Yok breathes out through pain-gritted teeth. “We were pursuing one woggha, and Hud was up ahead. Suddenly he screamed. There was . . . blood . . .”
His voice trails off. At first, I think perhaps he’s fainted. Then I feel it—a tremor under my feet. I stare down. Small stones and pebbles begin to vibrate and move. The walls on either side of us shiver, dust and debris crumbling over our heads.
“Brace!” I cry to the others.
They don’t need my warning. They flatten themselves against the stone, holding hard. Someone cries out, struck by a falling rock. One man loses his balance and tumbles into Lur. I manage to press Yok against the wall, shielding him with my body. With every flash of lorst light, I believe the walls are caving in, crushing us.
It doesn’t last long. Not a large stirring, possibly not even strong enough to be felt in the city above. Lur struggles to get to her feet, but neither she nor any of the others seem to be harmed. “Is everyone all right?” I call.
One by one they answer, ending with Jork, a few paces behind me. “Alive and in one piece, Big King!” he growls. “Only hope that we—”
He breaks off as a terrible shriek echoes up the passage behind us.
We freeze, stare at one another.
Another shriek follows the first.
Then another.
And another.
I turn my head slowly back down the path. My lorst crystal, still beaming bright, casts a wide swath of light through the dense shadows.
I see it. The first of the writhing forms. Charging up the narrow way behind us.
A single word bursts from my throat: “Run!”
