The Black Shriving (Chronicles of the Black Gate Book 2) (5 page)

"Starkadr. The fabled Starkadr! The Sin Casters' stonecloud!"

Temyl blanched. "That's but a children's tale."

"Is it?" Audsley actually managed to sound coldly mocking.

The Sin Casters' stonecloud. Tiron had heard of that, all right. He fought down a reflexive spasm of fear. It might be a children's tale, but he was no boy. "Where are all the Sin Casters, then? This place is supposed to be crawling with them, each just waiting to corrupt us."

Audsley turned to survey the mist-filled room and gestured at the corpses. "There they are. The black robed corpses. Centuries dead. Killed by the Order of Purity. Left here in their floating fortress, forgotten and forbidden, their magics lost, their legends reduced to nursery tales."

The four men stared out across the vast room with new appreciation, their silence solemn.

"You sure?" asked Tiron.

Audsley scowled. "No, not completely, but it fits. It all fits. The Order of Purity was short-lived. I assume, of course, that you've never even heard of them. They were created by the third Ascendant after the second was murdered -"

Temyl gaped. "The second Ascendant was murdered?"

Audsley ignored him and pressed on resolutely. "The third Ascendant, blessed be his name, responded by forging the Order of Purity, which was to evolve shortly after their great victory over the Sin Casters into the Virtues. None of this resonates?" He paused, searching their faces. "Amazing. The Sin Casters' greatest fortress was their infamous stonecloud, Starkadr. Once the third Ascendant closed the Black Gate and deprived them of their magic, the Order launched its final attack, annihilating the Sin Casters forevermore and expunging them from the empire – and, apparently, common history."

"All right," said Tiron, breaking the silence that had followed. "Good. So, now we know where we are. What do you know about Starkadr, then, that can be of use to us?"

"I - well." Audsley blinked rapidly. "As in, of practical benefit? It confirms my theories about the nature of the place, their usage of flight, and is astounding in and of itself! Starkadr!" Audsley waved his arms. "Nobody has visited this place in centuries! Who knows what wonders we shall discover?"

"Details, Magister. What do you know about the men and women who fought here?"

"Details? Let's see. The Order of Purity. Um, it was composed of men and women who wielded the power of the White Gate like the Virtues do today. There were rumored to be hundreds of them, which we can now corroborate from the white robed corpses." Audsley stopped suddenly. "You said that white-robed individuals fought on the defensive side as well?"

"So it would seem," said Tiron.

"Fascinating." Audsley cocked his head to one side in thought. "A schism? More took place here than was preserved in the histories. There was no mention of the kragh taking part, for example. And why... hmm."

Tiron watched him long enough to decide nothing more of use was forthcoming. "Right. How are we doing on that rope?"

"Well enough," said Meffrid, who extended it between his hands and gave it a sharp tug. "It's old and liable to snap if we jerk it too hard, but it should hold if we can tie it to something up there."

Tiron nodded. "Audsley, get your firecat down here and give it instructions. We need to keep moving."

In short order they had a good length of frayed rope coiled in Meffrid's hands. Aedelbert winged his way down and landed on Audsley's shoulder. Tiron left the magister alone with his firecat and stood to one side, hands on hips.

The Sin Casters' stonecloud. There was supposed to be no eviler place in all of existence. He gazed somberly up at the twisted pillars of Portals, then at the hunched corpses in the mist and the devastating and unnatural gouges in the rock. It was impossible to imagine the battle. Had they thrown magic through the air as a normal army might fire arrows? How long had it lasted? From the layout of the bodies, it had been a grinding retreat, each foot of territory grudgingly relinquished. Somewhere in the expanse of this room there'd be a hill of corpses where the last of the defenders had fought back-to-back before being slaughtered.

Tiron shivered. He had to stay strong. Meffrid was a good man, but Temyl would crack if given the chance and turn Bogusch in the process.

He'd not get it.

Tiron glanced at the others, crowded at the base of the wall. Aedelbert was sniffing at the rope. Taking advantage of their distraction, Tiron slid his hand under his breastplate and probed at his wound. A spasm of nausea roiled through him. The wound wasn't bad, but he couldn't continue to ignore it.

"Meffrid."

The young soldier hurried over. "Ser?"

"Help me with this wound. I want it stitched and bound before you can finish the Ascendant's Prayer. Let's go."

Meffrid nodded and began to unbuckle the straps that held Tiron's armor. He lay each piece down on the ebon floor, and then helped Tiron shrug his way out of his chainmail. It took less than five minutes. Tiron allowed nothing more than a couple of grunts to pass his lips, though twice he nearly swayed as the pain washed over him.

"Your undercoat, ser?"

"Fine. Take it off."

Meffrid undid the side and peeled it away, exposing Tiron's bare torso. The air was cold, and the entirety of his left side was crimson. Tiron and Meffrid stared at the puckered gash. It was as long as his hand and seeping slowly. It wasn't the worst wound he'd ever received, but it was plenty bad. Tiron was an old enough campaigner to know what a practiced field doctor would order: stitches and a month's bed rest without exertion, along with regular bleedings and who knew what medley of foul concoctions. Tiron set his jaw. He'd not be getting that here.

"Ser?" Meffrid was looking pale.

"It's just a cut," Tiron said tiredly. "Not my first, not my last." He took a deep breath, and as his chest expanded, the wound pulled open just enough to pulse another wave of blood. "Get to work."

Each soldier carried in his pouch a curved needle and thread. Meffrid dug his out, frowned at the wound, and set about stitching it with clean, firm movements. Tiron stared out at nothing, jaw set, inhaling slowly through his nose as he fought to ignore the pain. The procedure took another five minutes, and by the time Meffrid was done, Tiron's entire side smoldered with new pain.

"Done?" He forced his voice to come out smoothly.

Meffrid nodded, leaning in to examine the wound. "Yes, I believe so."

"It still bleeding?"

Meffrid hesitated, then shook his head.

Tiron grunted. "Good work." Exhaustion rolled through him. He wanted nothing more than to pass out. How much blood had he lost? "Work on the rope situation. I'll be up soon."

The wound in his side throbbed and ached right down to his bones. All his life he'd fought, and with fighting came injury. With injury came pain. He'd reconciled himself to a bloody end long ago. He had weathered wounds, including one long winter when a cut to his arm had gone bad and he'd nearly died. Pain was of the body and good for the soul. He focused on his breathing and allowed the pain to become part of him so as to be able to ignore it.

An excited cry roused him. Audsley was applauding wildly, and even Bogusch looked momentarily cheered.

"He did it! The rope's secure."

Meffrid took Tiron's hand and helped him sit up. Pain sloshed around inside him like wine in a half-filled skin.

"Wrap some bandages around me and then help me into my chain."

Tiron could make out Audsley cooing and cuddling Aedelbert as Meffrid tore his cloak into broad strips and wound them tightly about Tiron's waist, tucking the final end under the rest to keep it cinched tight. They buttoned the padded undercoat on, and then Meffrid picked up the chainmail.

"You sure you want this on, ser?"

Tiron tried to imagine wrestling his way back into it and shook his head with regret. "No, I suppose not. I'll come back for it later. Come. Let's get out of this damned room." He moved to where the rope hung. "Good work, Magister."

"Oh, I'm not the one who deserves the praise," said Audsley proudly.

"Yes, well. I'm sure your firecat be rewarded with Ascension for his aid. Meffrid, you're up first. Temyl, Bogusch, position yourselves below to catch him if the rope snaps."

The group moved into position, and Meffrid gave the rope a couple of good yanks before reaching up to haul himself off the ground. With both feet on the wall, he walked his way up, pulling himself up the rope. Ominous creaks filled the air as it took his weight, but it held. With Temyl and Bogusch standing anxiously beneath him, Meffrid soon disappeared into the gloom. They heard a few grunts of exertion, and then the rope went slack.

"I'm up," Meffrid called down. "Big tunnel. Can't see the end of it." His voice grew faint. "Looks like the firecat wrapped the rope around something here." His voice came back clearly as he moved back. "All clear."

Audsley stepped in close to Tiron and asked quietly, "How are you going to get up?"

"I'll go last," said Tiron. "I'll tie the rope in a loop and have you haul me up. You'll see. It won't be a problem."

Audsley nodded slowly, clearly unhappy. "Very well. Do you think...?"

Tiron sighed. "Sure. We'll have the men haul you up too."

Audsley ducked his head in embarrassment. "Thank you. It's just that I'm not particularly suited to this manner of escapade."

Tiron considered the man. A part of him, the part that had grown cruel and twisted in the Kyferin dungeon, wanted to twist the dagger. Instead he thought of Lady Iskra and reached out to squeeze Audsley's soft shoulder. "Think nothing of it. That's why we came along."

Bogusch had already disappeared up after Meffrid, and soon Temyl followed along behind him. Then Tiron tied the rope into a noose which he slotted around Audsley's arse. The three soldiers up above hauled him up, cursing and groaning, lifting Audsley's bulk in fits and starts until he too disappeared and Tiron was left alone.

He considered his stacked armor and chain shirt. Useless. He'd barely be able to move with all that on, much less fight. Better that he stayed light and mobile.

The rope tumbled back down into view, and he stepped up and took hold of it. Coarse and fibrous, it was a mixture of twisted shirts and old belts. Good enough for this short ascent and little else. Tiron stepped awkwardly into the noose, pulled it tight, and then gave the rope a tug.

It went taut, and he was hauled two feet up into the air. Tiron placed his feet on the smooth wall and walked up as best he could, the strain in his abdominal muscles causing the pain in his side to flare viciously. Sweat drenched his face again. Up he went, the floor disappearing from view.
So this was how old men scaled castle walls
, he thought. He inched up, and finally the edge of the tunnel came into view. He reached up to take hold of it, Audsley took hold of him by the arm, and together they all pulled him up and into the tunnel.

Tiron bent over, hands on knees, and stared stonily at the floor till the pain subsided. Then he straightened with a grunt to take in their new surroundings.

The tunnel was huge, strange and geometric, shaped like a hexagon and constructed of the same black rock as the walls below. No seams. No sign of it being built of distinct blocks. Rather, it looked hollowed out, as if the original builders had carved their way through. The rope extended to a fragmented mess in one side, a ruinous hole that had been blasted into the wall by some ancient magic. Aedelbert had wrapped the rope around a fang of black rock, over and over until it had cinched tight.

Smart firecat.

Tiron stood straight and forced himself to smile. "Good work. Now, let's find a hot bath, some good food, and a comfortable place to sleep."

Nervous smiles appeared on the soldier's faces.

"No talking," he said. "Swords out. Move quietly and keep your wits about you. Ready? Meffrid, Bogusch, take the lead."

Meffrid finished coiling the rope over his shoulder, drew his blade, and moved forward, Bogusch just a step behind him. Audsley followed right behind, Aedelbert on his shoulder, and Tiron and Temyl came last, both with their swords drawn.

The same diffuse, ambient light illuminated the tunnel, allowing them to see a good twenty paces before them before it faded away to gloom. The tunnel dwarfed them, devoured their footsteps so that they moved ahead silently.

All right, Starkadr
.
Let's see what else you've got in store for us.

The group moved forward slowly. Meffrid squinted into the gloom that draped the hexagonal passage in shadows, kept his steps short and his sword held out before him. Temyl began to crowd in close, continuously swallowing and making a dull gulping sound that would have aroused Tiron's ire had he the energy to spare. When Temyl's shoulder finally brushed against his own, however, he cut the guard a sharp look and the man ducked his head in apology and stepped out wide once more.

It was hard for Tiron to wrap his mind around the construction of this place. He had seen wondrous buildings in his time, from the great curtain wall of Kyferin Castle to the soaring arches of Ennoia's Portals, but this tunnel felt unnatural. The black walls seemed to hold green tints to them that fled when he focused his eye on any given area. The floor, the hexagonal walls and the ceiling overhead were impossibly smooth. He detected no seams, no indication that humans had built this with their hands.