Orb Sceptre Throne

fire before a leading edge of the cloud caught an updraught and the smoke was sucked deeper into the complex. Antsy eased out a tensed breath.

Corien led the way. Round the first corner it became almost instantly dark. Even for Antsy, trained and experienced sapper that he was, comfortable in any mine, it was unnervingly close and black. Like feeling your way through ink. He resisted the urge to call for Corien. The lad was just ahead, he could hear him: the scrape of the bronze end-cap of his sheath, his slightly tensed breathing, his gloved hands brushing the stone walls as they advanced like blind fish through the murk.

Beneath Antsy’s fingers the cut and polished stone walls were as smooth as glazed ceramic. He kept stumbling as the passage not only tilted upwards but canted a good twenty degrees. The walls slid by slick and cool under his fingertips. He glanced back and could just make out a slight lightening of the absolute black — a hint of the fire far behind. ‘How far on does this go?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know.’

‘Can’t you see? I thought you had that unguent thing.’

He believed he glimpsed a bright grin in the gloom. ‘I do. I just haven’t used it yet.’

‘So we’re both blind as bats?’

‘Looks like it.’

‘This is useless — not to mention damned dangerous. We should stop here.’

‘I agree.’

Antsy slid down one wall. Examining the dark, it appeared that an intersection lay just ahead. Corien was a shadowy shape on his right. He pulled out a scrap of dried meat and chewed for a time. He felt as disheartened as he could ever remember. And for him, a career paranoiac, that was saying something. ‘So … this is it. The Spawn.’ He spoke in a low whisper. The darkness seemed to demand it. He wondered where Malakai had gone off to. He speculated, briefly, that the man had simply abandoned them all as useless baggage. But probably not yet. Not before getting his fifty gold councils’ worth.

‘Indeed. The Moon’s Spawn,’ Corien echoed after a time.

‘So … why’d you come then? No insult intended, but you look like you got money.’

‘No offence taken. Yes, the Lim family’s been prominent in Darujhistan for generations. We practically own a seat on the Council. But money? No. Over the years my uncles have bankrupted us. They’ve pursued all sorts of reckless plans and political alliances. I think they’re taking the family in the wrong direction.’ He sighed in the dark. ‘But … if I’m to have any influence I must have some sort of leverage …’

‘So … the Spawn.’

‘Quite.’

‘I understand. Well, good luck.’

‘Thank you. And you? The same?’

Antsy shrugged, then realized neither of them could see a thing. His personal reason for coming here to the Spawn was just that, personal. So he fell back on the obvious and cleared his throat. ‘Pretty much. I never expected to get old. Didn’t think I’d live long enough. Hood’s grasp, none of my friends have. Anyway, a man starts to think about his final years. Retiring from soldiering. I need a nest-egg, as they say. Buy some land, or an inn. Find a wife and have kids and be a cranky burden to them. And-’ He stopped himself as he seemed to sense something close, watching them, though he could see nothing in the dense murk of shadows.

‘Hear that?’ he whispered. He listened and after a moment’s concentration began to hear the background noises of the Spawn. Groaning seemed to be emerging from the very stone — the conflicting strains and forces of tons of rock held somehow in suspension, as if waiting, poised, ready to drop at any instant. Antsy suddenly felt very small. A roach in a quarry and the rocks are falling.

Or was it his sense of not being alone: that this darkness was no ordinary lack of light? After all, the Spawn had been an artefact holy to Elemental Night. He’d heard stories that Mother Dark herself lingered on in all such shrines. He cleared his throat, whispered, ‘You don’t think there’re any spooks ’n’ such, do you? Here in the dark?’

‘Well, now that you mention it, Red … of all the places I can imagine being overrun by your spooks ’n’ such, this would have to be it.’

Antsy shot the young man a glance and saw his teeth grinning bright in the gloom. ‘Burn dammit, man! You really had me going there.’

‘I agree with our fancy friend,’ said another voice from the dark.

Corien flinched upright, his long duelling blade coming free in a swift fluid hiss. Antsy’s hand went to his pannier. He squinted into the murk; the voice had been Malakai’s but the hall seemed utterly empty. It wasn’t just that he couldn’t see, it was that the hall felt vacant. ‘Malakai?’

Then he saw it against one wall: an oval pale smear that was Malakai’s face, seemingly floating over nothing, so dark was his garb. Eyes that were no more than black holes in the oval shifted to glance up the hall.

‘What’s this?’

‘We’re all wet and cold,’ Corien offered. ‘I thought that called for a fire.’

‘The girl?’

‘Presently availing herself of it to dry her clothes.’

The face grimaced, perhaps at the delay. ‘Fine. I’ll continue to reconnoitre.’

‘What have you found so far?’ Antsy asked.

Malakai answered slowly, as if resenting having to share anything at all. ‘This area has been emptied of everything. All valuables, all possessions. Even every scrap of furniture. Fuel for fires, I imagine.’

‘Any lanterns? Lamps?’

The ghost of a smile touched and went from the pale lips. ‘What need would the Children of the Night have for those?’ Then he was gone in the dark, utterly without a sound.

Snarling, Antsy fell back against the wall. ‘Hood on a pointy spike! No lamps at all? Nothing? What am I supposed to do?’

‘There are other people here. They’ll have lanterns and such.’

Antsy eyed the youth, who was grinning his encouragement. He shrugged. ‘Yeah. I suppose so.’

They sat for a time in silence, Antsy’s vision gradually adapting to the dark. He caught Corien waving after Malakai. ‘Your employer seems one to prefer working alone.’

‘Yeah. I get that feeling too.’

‘Then, may I ask … why did he hire the two of you?’

Antsy cleared his throat while he considered what to say. ‘Well, me he hired as a guard. An’ Orchid, she’s a trained healer and says she can read the Andii scribbles.’

After a time Corien said, ‘If she really can read the language then I can see how she would be valuable. And you are this fellow’s guard? In truth, he strikes me as the sort one should guard against.’ And he chuckled at his witticism.

Not wanting to dig himself in any more, Antsy added nothing. Corien, ever polite, refrained from further questions. They sat in silence. As the time passed, Antsy became aware of more sounds surrounding him. He could hear the waves of the Rivan Sea shuddering up through the rock like a resting giant’s heartbeat. Other noises intruded: the fire crackling and popping, and faintly, once or twice, what sounded like voices from far away, further into the maze of halls and rooms ahead.

He heard Orchid coming up the hall long before she called, tentatively, ‘Hello?’

‘Yes?’ Corien answered.

She walked up to them with the ease of one completely unhindered by the dark. ‘All done. Or good enough, anyway. Help yourselves. The embers are hot.’

Antsy let out a thoughtful breath. ‘I’m thinkin’ I’m gonna dry my footgear. You should too, Corien. We could be facing a lot of walking, and believe me, there’s nothin’ worse than blisters and sore feet on a march.’

‘Very well. I bow to your superior experience.’

Antsy wasn’t sure how to respond to that; he didn’t detect any hint of sarcasm. The lad seemed to be one of those rare ones who could actually take advice without resentment or sullenness. Maybe he wouldn’t be such a burden after all.

They dried what gear they could while the embers lasted. Corien re-oiled his weapons. Watching, Antsy thought him too liberal with his oil: it was damnably expensive stuff, but the lad could probably afford it.