“Keep behind me, if you please, Honored Deacons.” He gave Merrick and Sorcha a little bow. “We shall use a little of my skill.”
She rolled her eyes, and ick tilted his head, neither happy with this change of circumstances.
Together they pushed through the lush jungle foliage, following the disturbed path back to the buildings. The trail did not lead to the exit they had tumbled out of so recently—and Raed was grateful for that. The idea of a crazed murderer or a possessed innocent rampaging among the frightened women was not one the Young Pretender wished to contemplate.
Instead, the signs led them toward a door that was obviously meant to be barred. When Raed had snuck into the palace, it had been over the undulating roofs—someone else had taken a far more direct approach.
The three of them there stood there and gaped. The wrought iron gate lay with its thick lock askew and hanging off its hinges as if kicked by a great horse—except no creature on four legs, or indeed one on two, could possibly have twisted and destroyed it in such a way.
Raed turned and cocked an eyebrow at the remarkably silent Deacons. “Still think this is the work of a madman?”
“Point made, Your Majesty,” Sorcha replied tightly.
They slipped into the corridor, and Raed managed not to make any further comment. Once beyond the loose white pebble paths, there was still a possibility of tracking the offender. The dry, soft mud walls and floor of the Hive City still held a faint impression that even the most careful foot could not avoid. It was a good thing they were not trying to do this in the Imperial Palace with its much-admired marble flooring.
Sorcha and Merrick followed behind him, and Raed was pleased he was able to show some of his skills—he had witnessed theirs often enough.
Why the younger Deacon was unable to sense the flight of the murderer remained a mystery, but he looked none too pleased to be stripped of his powers. As Raed knelt and examined the signs at a corridor junction, he glanced over his shoulder at Merrick. “Anything?”
The younger Deacon pushed his hair out of his eyes, even as they dipped away from reality again. “It’s like”—he waved his hand, searching for a word—“a shadow of something in here. Not a geist—something else.”
It was easier by far to see the press of a foot and the brush of a cloak against the walls than to understand what Merrick was going on about.
With a gesture, Raed urged them to follow him. They were moving off the main corridors and into dustier rooms. These appeared to have been abandoned long ago. The shapes of sheet-covered furniture and stacked boxes were eerie in a palace so packed with people. What could have caused them to abandon perfectly habitable looking rooms?
A strange odor permeated the air; not just dust but something almost sweet, as if an incense bearer had just passed by. Raed’s heart began to race at the air of menace in these rooms. Nothing warm or welcoming lingered here, and he found himself hurrying through them.
Apparently he was not the only one feeling it.
“I didn’t realize the Hive City went so deep.” Sorcha shot Merrick a look as if she expected him to say something, but her partner was fingering his Strop and completely distracted. Raed was glad he was not the only one with flesh rough with goose pimples.
Still, it gave him a chance to show off something else—his education. “Orinthal is called the Hive City because it is modeled after the red flame termite—the one that builds those red earth towers in the desert.”
She blinked at him.
“I think you need to get out more,” Raed chided as he paused to examine the floor leading to a set of stairs spiraling down. “Unfortunately, it won’t be tonight—this person is going even deeper.”
“I still can’t feel anything human ahead of us.” Merrick sounded both troubled and annoyed at the same time. “Insects, small mammals, but nothing larger.”
Sorcha pulled her Gauntlets out of her belt. “Nice to know the Prince is not above having a vermin problem.”
“Shall I try the Strop?” With shock Raed realized that the Deacon was asking him, not his partner. It was frightening how easily the three of them slipped into roles, just as they had beneath Vermillion. Something in the gaze of both Deacons told Raed that they also remembered their time together in the ossuary.
Raed cleared his throat. “We can’t afford to let this person get away—stay here if you want.” The empty place on his belt where his sword should have been suddenly felt even greater. Like every other person in the Hive City, he had been forced to surrender his weapon before entering—everyone, that was, except the Order.
Sorcha unhooked her sword and handed it, sheath and all, to him. “I am already armed enough.” She put on the Gauntlets. The brown leather with the faint flicker of luminescence made her point.
Her tone was light, as if she didn’t know the implications of lending her sword to someone not of the Order. It was this trusting gesture, a surrender of control, a placing of her reputation in his hands, that stopped Raed in his tracks.
He would not question her trust, however—to do so would be to sully it somehow. Instead, Raed buckled the sheath onto his own belt, then, taking a sputtering bare flame torch from the wall, he lead the way down the stairs.
The Hive City was naturally cool, thanks to its thick soil walls, but as they went deeper underground it actually became freezing. The thin clothing they all wore was inadequate—but no one was turning tail at this point.
“I sense running water.” Merrick pointed down, his eyes slightly unfocused. “It is interfering with my Sight a little.”
“Water—down here? I don’t hear it.” Sorcha stood between the two men, her voice an unintentional whisper.
“The Hive City only survives because it sits on a huge network of underground channels.” Raed, though he didn’t particularly feel like a history lesson, was glad to have something to add. The pressing atmosphere had nothing to do with the water supply and everything to do with the churning feeling in his chest—a sure sign that the Rossin was hovering on the edges of awareness.
Yet Merrick had said that there were no geists about. Raed repeated that to himself, trying not to think that Merrick was also not able to sense a person whose blatant trail they were following.
And then there was a noise. All three of them froze on the stairs. It was a dragging metallic sound—and not very far ahead.
Carefully, Raed led the Deacons forward, his hand locked tightly around the pommel of Sorcha’s sword. They were now so deep that there was even faint moisture in the air, and the long, low corridor that they were in was becoming more and more like a tunnel.
“Still nothing!” Merrick now sounded really annoyed.
Sorcha, who had taken a place at Raed’s shoulder, looked back. “Certainly there is
Her partner had just reached for his talisman when the tunnel began to shake. The sudden wild movement knocked Sorcha back against Raed, and he in turn actually came off his feet. The sound was now the angry roar of a disturbed beast. Small stones came loose and bounced off them even as the Young Pretender threw his arms around Sorcha, protecting her head.
Merrick, by some act of luck or grace, had managed to stay upright—at least until the floor abruptly gave way beneath him. Raed caught the distinct impression of his wide eyes and shocked face before he tumbled out of sight.
“Merrick!” Sorcha screamed and crawled on her hands and knees to the gaping hole, even though the edge looked anything but stable. The earth’s shaking subsided as quickly as it had come, and now her calls were more desperate.
“He’ll be all right.” Raed grabbed her around the shoulder and peered down into the void. “It’s one of the channels I told you about.” When he thrust the torch in, he fully expected to see Merrick staring back, perhaps nursing some bruises, perhaps a little embarrassed. The drop was not a great one, and the running water below must have only been enough to cover his ankles.
And yet, once his eyes became used to the even greater darkness, there was no sign of the young Deacon.
