complain.
“Ready your torches,” Tylar said.
They each carried an oiled brand. Rogger also had a lantern hanging at his hip, flame flickered low. The giant had a cask of the oil under one arm, ready to be cracked opened, spilled, and set to flame.
One by one, they lit their torches from the brazier.
Tylar nodded to two knights at the chained mechanism for the gate. The pair began hauling on the wheels, drawing up the barrier. Another knight ran forward and cast a lantern through the widening opening, splashing oil and fire down the mouth of the steps. They dared not risk an ambush outside the gate.
Brant hunkered down and searched the lower stairs. The way appeared empty, free of any black ghawls.
“We stay together,” Tylar said. “No more than an arm’s length apart. Understood?”
Nods all around.
The regent led the way, with Rogger a step behind him, and Sten flanking his other side. Brant went next. He had two guards: the dour-faced Dralmarfillneer and the woman in black ash, the Flagger whose name Brant learned was Calla. Or was it Carra? His heart had been pounding too hard to truly note it.
Behind them trailed Krevan. The large man stood nearly as tall as the giant, though not as bulky. Despite his misgivings about the man’s trade, Brant was still happy to have him at his back.
They headed down the stairs, skirting the fading flames from the broken lantern. As they continued, wending round and round, Brant risked a glance behind him. The fires above were only a distant glow.
Brant had never considered himself a coward, but only one certainty kept him descending into the deepening darkness. He clutched the stone at his throat. It lay as cold as granite against his heated skin. No matter the risk, he would find the end of this path that started with this stone.
“Where are these daemons already?” Rogger grumbled.
Sten glanced to the smaller man with a frown. Brant shared the captain’s distaste. It was like whistling among gravestones. There was no telling what such sentiment might conjure.
They spiraled farther down in silence. Brant peered past Tylar, who still led them by two steps. The blackness seemed to stir away from his flames. It was as if the darkness had turned to oil and feared to be ignited.
But nothing worse arose.
“Here is the level of Gerrod’s study,” Tylar said, stopping at the next landing.
They all closed ranks a bit tighter.
“What’s that smell?”
Brant sniffed. But he stood too near the bearded man. He smelled unwashed and ripe. Then a skittering sound reached his ears. It rose from below. He remembered the rustle when he had been with the wyld tracker and Dart. This was something different.
“Back!” Tylar ordered, low and urgent. “Against the walls.”
His warning came not a moment too soon. Brant flattened against the stone as darkness flowed out from below, swallowing the gray stairs.
“Rats,” Rogger said with disgust.
A horde burst up to them, jammed together, climbing over one another. They whisked through the group like so many stones in a flash flood. One rat leaped, landed on the lip of Brant’s boot, and bounced to the next step and away. As suddenly as they had arrived, they were gone again, streaming up the stairs.
Brant shivered all over. Not so much at the number of rats as their silence. Not a single squeak. Only the scrape of tiny, frantic claws on rock. Brant knew the sound would haunt his nights-that is, if he lived to have more nights.
“Those rats can’t seem to find a safe place to roost this night,” Rogger said, glancing meaningfully at Tylar.
“We’ll heed their instinct this time,” the regent answered. “Especially as there’s no reason to traipse deeper.”
“Thank the silent aether for that,” the man answered.
Tylar lifted his torch toward the passage that led off the landing. “This way. Keep alert. By now they must know we’re down here.”
Brant followed, but he stared down the spiraling stairs one more time. Was that the message from the rats? That something stirred once again in the bowels beneath Tashijan?
He hurried after the others.
Dral hunched next to him, all but filling the passageway. Calla- or Carra -was forced back with her leader.
“How much longer?” Dral whispered, sounding like boulders rubbing together. “Those rats reminded me that I didn’t get to finish my dinny. Did you see how plump some of them buggers was? I like them roasted with their own giblets. Mal says-”
“Dral,” Brant finally barked out louder than he intended, earning a glance back from Tylar.
“Apologies, Master Brant. It were just that my belly was growling and I thought-”
He turned a hard glance to the large man.
The giant slowly closed his mouth.
Brant felt a tad shamed at his outburst. He read the edgy twitch to Dral’s eye. Despite his size and strength, he was plainly rattled, too. And the cramped quarters of the passage only squeezed his fears closer to his heart, loosening a nervous tongue.
He touched the giant’s hand, acknowledging both his forgiveness and his own apology.
At last, Tylar halted before an arched doorway. “Here we are.”
“I got it,” Rogger said, slipping a large iron key from a pocket. “Not that I really need this.”
He touched the door-and it creaked open on its own.
Unlatched.
Even Brant knew this was not good.
Rogger backed away.
“Stay here,” Tylar said. “But be ready.”
The regent edged the door open with a toe and thrust his torch through the gap. Brant cringed as Tylar followed the flames into the room. The regent’s torchlight reflected off a pair of iron braziers at the back of the room. They cast monstrous shadows on the back wall. Tylar’s movement set them to dancing.
Brant had a horrible feeling about what was to come.
Tylar crossed to another door in the back wall, some inner chamber, the alchemist’s study. It stood ajar. The regent approached, kicked the door wider, and stepped to the threshold.
He paused for a moment, his back to all of them.
“Tylar?” Rogger whispered.
The regent swung around, his cloak billowing out. He rushed to the door. “Gone,” he said, his voice stiff and angry. “We’re too late. Only by moments, I suspect.”
He waved them back to the stairs. “We must get out of here.”
They retreated, in reverse order as before, mostly as the giant blocked Tylar from passing. Krevan led them back to the stairs.
Still, Brant could not escape that horrible feeling he had had only a breath ago. It remained with him as much as the stink off Rogger. But it grew worse with every step. He felt something building. The very air seemed to suddenly weigh more. Each breath took effort.
Somewhere on the back of his tongue he tasted a hint of spiced oil, a whisper of scent, more memory than real, of pompbonga-kee.
Oh, no…
Dral cleared the passageway and reached the broader stairs. Brant stepped after him, glancing back to warn the regent.
Too late.
The torch tumbled from Brant’s fingers. Both hands grabbed for his throat. Fire ignited his chest, burning through his skin, turning bone to ash.
