The Bone Mask Trilogy: (An Epic Fantasy Boxed Set), page 50
Flir charged. Mere feet from the wall, she leapt into a flying kick. Her foot smashed through the mask, dust and bricks crashing around her as she stumbled into a wide passage. Scrambling over the rubble, she retrieved her torch and ran on. Shockwaves travelled her body from the impact, but they were as water sliding away.
Light flickered ahead. The time for stealth was long past – since she’d just kicked a wall down, Alvetti would know someone was coming for him.
Inside a large chamber set with a single torch, the traitorous Shield bent over a trail of dark powder. Acor. It led to a stack of barrels nestled against support columns. He spun, one arm wrapped with a bloody, makeshift bandage.
“So. The little girl.”
“So. The little idiot.” Flir dropped her torch and stomped it out. Alvetti glanced at the torch on the wall.
“Ready to die?” Flir asked.
“If you’re not, this might end badly for you.”
He watched her. His trail led to an open passageway, beyond which lay more flickering light. And faint voices.
Flir darted forward, but Alvetti was fast – too fast? – he intercepted her, swinging a blow from his good arm. She blocked it with her forearm, throwing a counterpunch, but he’d already skipped away, closer to the torch. Flir hesitated for half a breath. She felt his strike – he was stronger than he should have been. But then, something had to have dented the honour guard’s armour, and the traitor wore no mace, no hammer.
She leapt after him, dragging his shoulder back. Instead of casting him across the room, as she should have been able, Flir found stiff resistance. Alvetti dipped, attempting to use her momentum against her. He flung his elbow back, but she was already pivoting, kicking high and hard.
Her foot cracked his jaw. Blood sprayed from his mouth as he crumpled to the ground.
“What are you?” She stood over him, blocking the torch. She couldn’t douse it yet, not without being sure that he was done. Who knew where he’d get to in the dark?
He reached his knees. Blood ran down his chin and his jaw hung, words distorted. “I am the future, bitch.”
“You don’t have a future.”
Blood bubbled. “And I’m not the only one.”
He swung, but she batted his fist aside. Another kick, this one shattering ribs. He screamed, the echo ringing in the chamber.
Flir knelt and lifted his head by the hair. “What does that mean?”
A hand whipped up to her wrist, pulling at her, but she ground her teeth. He was too strong for a normal man, but not strong enough. She broke his grip and another bone cracked, the snap buried in a second scream.
“Someone opened the back door.” Alvetti’s voice was a shriek of laughter and pain.
Footsteps thundered up the passage. Many footsteps. Flir swore. The doorway was empty yet but at any moment – steel flashed. She flinched back, but something tore into her thigh.
She lashed out, backhanding her captive with a shout.
A knife protruded from her leg and Alvetti lay still.
She ripped the cloak from the body and tore it into strips, before pulling the blade from her leg with a grunt. She wound a bandage tight and ran for the passage, kicking and breaking the trail of acor as she did. The wound impeded her movements, but the pain wasn’t too bad. And she was on top of the bleeding at least.
Two figures appeared from a bend in the passage, paused, then charged with torches held high. Dressed as Shield. Beyond, four more men crowded the passage. Wide as it was, they’d be able to flank her if she wasn’t quick. Flir met them with a crash, flinging the closest into a wall. The second slashed at her but she parried the blade with Alvetti’s knife, following up with a heel to the breastplate. The man flew into the infiltrators, his curse lost in a clatter. Flir knelt by the first man but he was dead.
She paused.
His hair was wet, why?
It didn’t matter. More men piled up behind the first group of tangled limbs. Flir spun, grabbed the man she’d smashed into the wall and hurled him at the newcomers, scattering them. His torch spluttered where it had fallen onto the stone. She snatched it up before it reached the trail of acor running up the middle of the passage.
She froze, torch in hand. What if one of the other – fire bloomed.
Chapter 20
Someone shouted in Renovas, the panic in their voice filtering down through the darkness. And stone. Flir blinked grit, shifting her arms and legs. The grinding and tumbling of rock followed as she raised her torso. Light hurt her eyes. What the hell happened?
“Dilar, you are safe?” Pevin stared down at her, his eyes wide. Dust caked his skin and his hands bled. He dropped a brick. It clinked amongst more bricks. Flir shrugged off a pile as she stood. Much of the passage had collapsed, the edge of the debris covering her. An ache lurked behind her eye and her neck was sore, but her limbs responded well enough. Even the wound in her thigh was a bare twinge.
“Dilar, what happened here?”
“An explosion.” She dusted herself off. “I guess even a small amount of acor can be serious. You saw how much is back in that other room?”
“I did. Half the palace might have gone up.”
“Someone tried to do just that and get away.” She put weight on her thigh. Not bad. “Only it didn’t work.”
“There are black marks on the ground. They stop before the chamber.”
“Show me.”
He led her along the passage. Uneven gouges, running in a line and blackening the floor, stopped before the chamber. “Maybe it would have worked.” She said. But Alvetti would had to have been some distance away – or the trail of acor was awfully long. So why the big explosion? Unless, one of the men in the passage had been carrying more? Laying the rest of the trail.
“I need to see the other side of the blockage.”
“I have no idea how that could be accomplished. It was hard enough finding you here.”
“You followed the trail of blood?”
He frowned. “Actually no. I always know roughly where you are.”
“You’re a Heart-Hound?”
“No, not that. I only know where you are, dilar.”
Flir closed her eyes. Even in a land distant from home, she was not free of the lies, the cruel trick played upon her by the Gods. “Wonderful, Pevin. Let’s go find Seto.”
“Of course.”
She strode along, Pevin struggling to keep up at first. “You’re upset, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“I hope I haven’t angered you.”
She stopped. “Pevin, who are you following?”
He opened his mouth then closed it. “I’m not sure how to answer this question – I mean, I’m following you, dilar.”
“Who?”
“You, the dilar.”
“You’re not, Pevin. You’re following Flir, the mercenary.”
His face broke into a serene smile. “Of course, dilar.”
She resumed walking, skipping up the stairs. “Don’t call me that.”
“Sorry –” A slight pause, as if he’d omitted the word, but still thought it.
Halfway up the spiral, Flir ran into Luik and Seto, along with half the Honour guard. Or Luik at least; she bounced off his frame and even though he winced, he caught her shoulders before she fell back into Pevin.
“Flir, you all right?”
“I’m fine. I found Alvetti. He was trying to blow the palace into the heavens.”
“Show me,” Seto said.
Flir took them to the chamber. Alvetti’s corpse rested some distance from the passage opening, mute beside the trail of acor. She gestured to the rigged barrels. “We can probably find another use for that.” Then to the rubble. “There were maybe ten of them, maybe less. I’m guessing Alvetti let them in somehow, and they brought the acor with them.”
Seto nodded, eyes roving the pile. His expression was hard.
“So where are we, Seto?”
“No idea. The Mascare passages do not lead to this place.”
“There was a symbol on the brickwork in the storeroom. A mask. Someone, Alvetti I guess, had moved a lot of crates to get to it. As if he knew exactly where to look.”
Luik kicked a shard of stone. “Know where the passage led?”
“I think I can guess,” Seto said. “Come with me.”
“Wait.” Flir pointed to Alvetti, speaking to the Honour Guard. “Put his body somewhere, can you? I want to examine him later.”
“Why?” Seto asked as two of the Honour Guard stepped forward.
“There’s something strange about him. He was too strong for a regular man.”
“Hmmm.” Seto took them back up the stairs and into the ways, setting a line of single file torches. Cobwebs glistened in the torchlight, footfalls echoed. They twisted and turned through the passages and finally, after she’d lost her sense of direction, emerged into a room lined with armour. Suits from different periods of Anaskar history, each with a plaque explaining its use.
“Where now?”
“We should be directly above the cave in.”
Luik whistled. “I’ll be impressed if you’re right.”
“Impressed? Don’t forget whose palace this is, Luik.” The old rat nodded to Flir. “What do you think?”
“You want me to put a hole in the floor?”
“If you’re not strong enough...”
She snorted. “You don’t need to goad me. Now get out of my way. All of you.”
Luik chuckled as he backed against a wall. Seto joined him, waving for the Honour Guard to do the same. “If I fall through, you’re in trouble.”
“You’ll be fine.”
Flir grunted and Pevin skipped aside when she snatched a steel armour stand and gave it a shake, armour sliding off with a clatter.
“They’re antiques, Flir,” Seto said.
“Really?” She grinned, then thumped the base onto the floor. A deep rumble followed. She smashed it down again, then switched her grip. With a low roof, she swung an abbreviated arc, pounding the same piece of stone. Again and again she swung, each crash rattling the armour stands. Shards of stone sprayed the room.
A significant hole had appeared, but beneath was more stone. “Thick floors.”
“Built to endure,” Seto said.
Flir kept working until the base caught. Wrenching it free, she paused. A small opening lay in the floor.
“One more I should say,” Seto observed.
“Nice to have your help.” Flir heaved the stand again. This time the base crashed through. She tossed it aside, knocking over another suit of armour, and bent by the larger opening.
She looked up at Seto and gestured. “It’s dark down there, but I think I see rubble.”
“As I said.”
Flir waved him back again, then took the edge of the flooring. Straining a moment, she tore a piece free. Choosing the next piece with some care, she tore up another flagstone and kept on until an opening wide enough to climb down was revealed.
One of the honour guard stared at her. She winked and he flinched. “All right, who’s going down first?”
“Is it safe?” Seto asked.
“I hope so,” she said.
Seto gestured to a guard. “Find us some more torches. Flir, why don’t you lower Luik and me down?” Seto said.
The senior officer of the Honour Guard moved forward. “My King, it may not be safe.”
“True enough. Let’s move into the next room and throw a torch down there.”
Luik raised a hand. “Won’t that risk another explosion?”
“Exactly. And if anyone is lurking below, it should give them a nasty surprise.”
Flir took a torch from a guard as Seto herded everyone from the room. Flir joined him in the entryway to the passage and leant out, tossing the flame into the hole. It flew with a whoosh.
Then nothing.
No explosion. No sound but Luik’s breathing and the tap of Seto’s foot.
“Down we go then.”
Flir braced herself over the floor, then took Luik’s hands. “Ready?”
“Lower away.”
She let him down the hole, bending her knees. She scratched her ear, holding Luik with one hand.
“I’m close enough now.” Luik’s voice floated up.
Flir stretched her arm then let him go. His feet clapped to stone. In the torchlight he hulked, casting great shadows. “Anything?”
He shook his head and the shadow shook with him. “Not much. There might be some hints of armour, and further along the passage just extends into the dark.”
Seto tapped her shoulder. “My dear?”
Flir lowered Seto, then one of the guard. By the time a man returned with torches he was the last, as she’d just dropped off Pevin. She lowered him, then caught the ledge and dropped down herself.
The new torches were lit and a line formed. The passage was long. At its head, Luik and Seto were crouched around another mask-symbol, this one on the floor. “How did you open the last one?”
Flir waved them aside and brought her knee up. “Like this.” She stomped and brick crashed, her foot bursting through.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Seto said.
“A little.”
Flir cleared a section of the floor, revealing a stair. Luik joined her. Once they’d opened the way, Seto motioned them in, handing over a torch.
The stairway led down.
And down.
Down into darkness that dampened and dripped until she heard Luik’s stomach grumble. “We should have brought food.”
“It hasn’t been that long,” Seto said.
“It’s been close.”
“Captain, I’d wager that we’ve neared the harbour?”
The Shield nodded, scratching at his moustache. “I would agree, Sire. The landings have been growing longer. We must have passed the Antico Gate some time ago.”
“And you’ve all marked the footprints?”
Flir pointed. “They’re the only sets. Before the traitors, I’d say no-one else had been here for a long time.”
“How are the torches?”
“We have enough,” the Captain answered.
“Then onward.”
The echo of their passage continued until the stairs ended, delivering them beneath an arch. Once again, the Mask symbol graced the brickwork, but this time there was no door.
Beyond, a massive chamber swallowed the sound of their footfalls. Torchlight strained at the edges of the dark.
“Spread out,” Seto said. “Be alert.”
The rasp of steel followed.
Flir raised her own torch; keeping close to Seto. Luik flanked the King as the Shield spread across the floor. They crossed a wide space, slowing when large shapes loomed. Flir put a hand on her knife, but it was a pair of tower-like stone staircases. Several Luiks, standing end on end, would have reached the top. She raised her torch. Spanning the stairs was a steel bridge and underneath, almost hidden beneath the scuff of their boots, a lapping of water. Its surface reflected the torchlight.
“What is this?”
“I’ve no idea, Flir.” Seto placed a hand on a stair. “There seems to be a regular opening here.”
Luik stood on tiptoes, torch high above his head. “Can’t tell how far the water stretches.”
“It feels big.”
“So we’re under the harbour itself?” Flir bent by the water’s edge. Only black at the edge of the stone. Underground lake or underground pool? No way to tell.
Seto joined her. “Possibly.”
“King Oseto.”
One of the Honour Guard waved them over. He stood by the water’s edge, something shapeless in one hand. “I found these by the water.” He held some sort of smock. Small puddles surrounded a heap of other bag-like shapes, and evidence of splashing covered the stone beneath the soldier’s feet. “A staging area, My Lord.”
Seto glanced at the wet ground. “I see.” Next he took the bag from the soldier. Flir moved her torch closer. The cloth was multi-layered and had been sliced open. “It’s like a big wineskin.”
Seto rubbed the surface between thumb and finger. “Heavily oiled.”
“Acor,” Luik said.
Flir nodded. It explained the wet hair on the men she’d met in the tunnel. “So they swam down beneath the harbour, dragging their powder behind. Found this lake and waited –”
“– for Alvetti to let them in,” Seto finished.
“How did Vinezi know about any of this? The entry in the storeroom, how to open the passages, the lake here?”
Seto threw the skin down. “I don’t know. But I am fed up.”
“So what now?” Flir asked.
“Now some unlucky Shields are going to have a new guard duty and a cold swim, and the rest of us are going to sweep the palace. Again.”
“Right.” Part of her sweep would have to include Mayla’s rooms. How did Bel fare? She waved Pevin over as she fell into step with Luik, Seto ranging ahead and directing his men.
“What did Mayla have to say?” she asked Pevin.
“That your patient was making progress. She wouldn’t tell me much.” He gave a rueful smile. “I don’t think she trusts me.”
“Pevin, I don’t even know if I trust you yet.”
His smile faded. “Even after my devotion?”
“We’ve had this argument before, haven’t we? You’re not devoted to me, you’re devoted to a lie.”
“Then I hope to prove myself.”
“Can I stop you trying?”
“No, dilar.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Of course.”
Chapter 21
The trapdoor inched open and Notch hid his hands and the frayed rope.
New light fed into the cellar, a suggestion of moonlight in the room above, barely enough to cast whoever had opened it into silhouette. Sofia had succumbed to the fever again. At least the way she’d slumped covered her wrists.
But he was no-where near free. Efran and his torturer would have some fun.
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