Firebrand

Camping outside the walls of a cursed city was not conducive to restful sleep, but it was preferable to being inside. The travellers kept a watch and made their runes of warning; when morning came, their bodies and spellpower had rejuvenated, if not their spirits. They ate a silent breakfast in the sun struggling to illuminate through the thin mist that covered the area. Once complete, they looked at each other; without words, all knew it was time to venture into the city again.

Martel found the quietude eeriest of all. It reminded him of the cavernous city underneath Morcaster, all stone and no life. In some ways, Archen unsettled him even more; the underground settlement seemed a mausoleum, preserved perfectly. Archen was clearly in ruins, and grass grew everywhere, yet when he extended his sense of heat, nothing returned. Not a single mouse made a home in the cracks of the walls. Not even the buzzing of a fly could be heard. It felt like the animals knew something he did not, or simply failed to heed; the living had no place here.

They passed through yesterday’s skirmish with the bones still lying everywhere around the place. In the heat of the fight, Martel gave it no thought; his instincts took over, and he treated all enemies the same. And certainly, he had left slain enemies behind to rot plenty of times. In the woods of Khiva, time had never allowed for even the most rudimentary of funerary rites or respect shown to the dead. He and Eleanor had left them where they fell, hurrying onwards. And those had been living people right until their encounter with the Asterian mages; they left families and friends behind, who undoubtedly would be shaken with grief at not only the loss of someone beloved, but also the thought of their body turning to rot or eaten by wild animals.

The people of Archen had been dead for centuries. None mourned them – except for Atreus, perhaps, who did so quietly. But they had been left to rot, and nobody had shed tears for their bodies decomposing over the many years until only bones remained. They had no faces anymore; it was easy to imagine there was nothing human about them. All the same, Martel felt a twinge of guilt walking past their broken bones, shattered and scattered. Yet the city would hold thousands of dead; the work involved to see them all buried or burnt would take the three companions an age, magic or not.

Pushing such thoughts aside, returning to vigilance, Martel followed the others forward through Archen.

They tied a rope to the largest rock they could find, once Eleanor had pushed it close to the hole. Summoning a flame, Martel let it float down the opening. As could be expected, it illuminated nothing but dirt. “Doesn’t look promising,” he admitted.

“We will have to see for ourselves regardless.” Eleanor grabbed the rope and pulled it taut before she began her descent as her companions leaned forward to watch. It did not take long before she reached firm ground, and she pulled out one of Martel’s lightstones. “More rubble and collapsed tunnels.”

“Let me see.” Atreus followed her example, going down as well.

Figuring he better guard their exit, Martel stayed put for now; anything he could do down the hole, his companions could do just as well.

Atreus took the lightstone from Eleanor and illuminated the debris in front of them. “Yes, the ritual chamber must be beyond this. A shame. But…” He examined the other sides. “Yes, the tunnels extend through here. We should be able to circumvent the obstacle, assuming the destruction is limited to this.” “Possibly,” Eleanor considered. “But we have to be cautious. If we disturb anything, we might bring the structure down on us.”

“I guess I’ll join you, then,” Martel called out from his perch. He took hold of the rope, and with considerably less grace, lowered himself down the twenty or thirty feet. “Let’s go.”

Using Martel’s flame to illuminate the path ahead, the three mages slowly proceeded. The tunnels were narrow, allowing two people to stand side by side at best. It reminded Martel of many other times he had been underground, though there was a difference. Usually, those places had been built from brick or stone; this was simply dug through the dirt, which perhaps explained why it had collapsed. “It’s a rather crude construction.”

“This was not part of the complex officially,” Atreus remarked. “That stretched in another direction. No, this area was built in secret.”

“How do you build a subterranean lair underneath the busiest building in the city without being discovered?” Eleanor asked reasonably.

“With a lot of magic and the right accomplices,” the spellbreaker replied. “Elena – the maleficar we faced in Morcaster and the leader of this conspiracy – was a high-ranking member of the Conclave. She wielded considerable influence to avert attention. Some of her allies were skilled earthmages who did the actual work, I imagine. But you’re right,” he added with a thin smile. “They did not evade discovery in the long term.”

“You and your lot found them,” Martel added.

“We did. The death of an earth acolyte raised our suspicions. My guess is he noticed the hollow underground – the distance to the surface would have been small in some places. Or maybe he noticed his older brethren being furtive and found out what they’d been doing in secret,” Atreus speculated. “Regardless, investigating his disappearance eventually led us here. Just in time to stop the ritual, but too late to save Archen.” He suddenly stopped.

“What is it?”

“The maleficars put up wards on the approach to their lair. If they were cast correctly, they might still be potent, not to mention dangerous. The light?” Atreus received a lightstone from Eleanor and approached the wall.

All of them saw Archean words scribbled onto the surface; unskilled in the language, Martel could not make it out. “What does it mean?”

“Mostly wards that warn of intruders, though some of these will attack unaware passers-by.” Atreus squinted, reading the letters. “They were careful. They even put up wards to protect against undead, just in case, preventing them from crossing.”

“Would have been useful to have that everywhere in the city,” Martel mumbled.

Cautiously, Atreus extended a fingertip. Some of the letters glowed briefly and faded. “That should leave us safe to continue.”

“Should?”

“Only one way to know if I deactivated all the dangerous ones.” He took a step forward. “There we are.” ɴᴇᴡ ɴᴏᴠᴇʟ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs ᴀʀᴇ ᴘᴜʙʟɪsʜᴇᴅ ᴏɴ noveⅼfire.net

Nervous all the same, Martel followed.

After a while, Atreus halted again. “We are nearly there. Around the bend ahead.” He closed his eyes. “I sense nothing – at least, nothing out of the ordinary compared to above ground. Certainly, malevolent magic still lingers, but no different from elsewhere in the city.”

“No fiends?” Martel found himself holding his breath. He had tried not to think about it, but if such a creature stalked the underground, they would be in for the fight of their lives. Maleficars, lindworms, undead of every kind; nothing could compare.

“No.”

Martel breathed a sigh of relief, though Eleanor looked sceptical. “You are certain you would be able to sense their presence? If they are not of this world…”

“Believe me, there is nothing to mistake.” Atreus relaxed into a smile, and Martel realised how tense the spellbreaker had been. “We should still investigate, but our worst fears can be dismissed.”

Good enough for Martel. “Well, you’re the expert.”

“Let’s continue.” The Archean wizard taking the lead, they marched on. Soon, as declared, they reached a bend and followed it, leading back in the direction they came, but now on the other side of the blockage by the hole.

Martel immediately sensed how the space had opened up, no longer in a cramped tunnel. He floated his light further ahead and expanded it in size and luminosity, until it illuminated a vaulted chamber.

“This is it,” Atreus mumbled. “This is where Archen fell.”