“One of the ancient races, about whom only legends exist,” Ryana said. “I have heard tales of underground cities and ruins, but I have never known of anyone who actually saw one.”
“It is said that spirits inhabit such places,” Korahna said uneasily.
“Perhaps,” said Sorak. “And yet, we were led here to find this place. I think we may have found the sanctuary of the Sage.”
“We shall lose ourselves forever in this maze of rock!” said Rovik.
“We shall do no such thing,” said Torian. “I have marked the way, and the trail leads through here. What is more, they cannot be more than an hour or two ahead of us, at most. This kank spoor is still fresh. They came toward that fire we saw last night.”
“But there is no fire now,” said Rovik. “Whatever it was, it has burned itself out. There is no longer a beacon to follow.”
“No, but it is almost dawn, and the trail will be easier to follow,” Torian said. “Hand me another torch.”
“That was the last one,” said Rovik. “The rest have gone with our supplies and those miserable deserters.”
“I shall deal with them when we return,” said Torian, flinging the sputtering remnants of the last torch to the ground with disgust.
“What could they have found to burn out here?” asked one of the other mercenaries.
“That was no campfire,” Torian replied. “It was much too bright a flame.”
“And did you mark how it burned blue and green?” the other mercenary said. “It was a witch fire!”
“I doubt a witch would survive out here any better than anything else,” said Torian wryly. “Doubtless it was a volcanic fire, and that was why it burned as it did.”
“A volcano?” said the mercenary with alarm. “You mean like the Smoking Crown?”
“Calm yourself,” said Torian. “If it was a volcano like the Smoking Crown, we would have seen the cone of the mountain rising up from miles away. And if it had been a full eruption, the entire sky would have glowed red. Doubtless it is but some minor fissure or a sulphur pit that occasionally belches forth some flame. We shall be safe enough.”
“As safe as any man can be in this forsaken land,” the mercenary said.
“Are one elfling and two women braver than the lot of you?” asked Torian sarcastically. “The princess has lived the pampered life of a royal aristocrat, and she has made it this far, amazingly enough. Has she more fortitude than you?”
“If she lives, perhaps she does, indeed,” the mercenary said. “More likely, she has died, and they have merely abandoned her body somewhere in all these rocks.”
“If they had, I would have seen some sign of it,” said Torian. “No, she lives. They would have no reason to bear her corpse along. And we shall come upon them soon. The chase is almost ended.”
“What will you do to the elfling when you find him?” asked the mercenary.
“I will cut him to ribbons,” Torian said, “and take his head for my trophy.”
“And the priestess? Will you kill her, as well?”
“I care not what happens to the priestess. You may have her, if you wish.”
The mercenaries smiled.
7
The span of the stone bridge arched high over the lake and was constructed in such a manner that it could be easily defended by anyone in the keep. The bridge was narrow, allowing only two abreast, and there was a barbican at the opposite end. The arch of the bridge had been designed so that any sort of shield carried in advance of an attacking party would be rendered useless, because archers on the barbican could fire over it as the attackers started down the slope of the arch. However, there was no sign that anyone had passed this way in years. The mortar was old and cracked, badly in need of repair, and the low walls on either side of the bridge had lost a number of stones to the lake below.
Sorak started slowly across, testing his footing as he went, unsure how much the structure had weakened over the years. It seemed incredibly old, and there was a thick layer of rock dust on the surface of the span—However, it seemed solid. Sorak was followed by Korahna, then Ryana. As they approached the barbican at the opposite end, they could see that part of the structure had crumbled. Bats nested in the barbican and a flock of them streamed out on their approach, wheeling around in mad arabesques and emitting high-pitched shrieks as they spiraled up toward the roof of the cavern.
Ryana remained on the alert, her sword held in her hand. Sorak simply held his staff; Galdra hung in its scabbard on his belt, beneath his cloak. Korahna’s tension was evident in her bearing. She was clearly frightened, but she said nothing as she followed Sorak, taking care never to fall more than several steps behind.
There must have been, at one time, a thick wooden gate in the barbican, but the wood had long since rotted away due to the moisture in the cavern, and only pieces of it still remained. Sorak used the staff to brush aside several large cobwebs as he went through, followed by the others. The keep was built on solid rock that jutted from the surface of the lake. It was uneven, and the walls had been constructed to accommodate its shape.
They passed through the barbican and approached the outer walls of the keep, which were about forty feet high. The walls, too, had crumbled in places, and the topmost portion of the tower had fallen, but most of the structure still stood. Sorak led them beneath the arched entryway and into a small courtyard set with mortared stone. Inside the courtyard was an old well, from winch the residents must have drawn their water, and several smaller structures that may have functioned as guardhouses or small outbuildings separate from the keep itself. The tower of the keep loomed over them—dark, silent, and foreboding. All was hushed, save for the chittering of the bats.
“I suppose that we must go inside,” Korahna said.
“You may wait out here if you wish,” said Sorak.
“Alone? I think not,” the princess said quickly.
As with the barbican and the outer wall, there was no longer any door to the keep itself, and Sorak mounted the stone steps and went through the arched entryway in the darkness. Korahna followed uneasily, and Ryana brought up the rear. They came into a great hall that was dark and covered with dust and cobwebs. There were small droppings on the floor from some creatures that could be heard scurrying away at their approach, and guano was everywhere. The place smelled of decay.
“I cannot see a thing in here,” Ryana said, knowing that Sorak’s vision in the dark was as good as hers in the daylight.
“There is nothing much to see,” he replied, his voice echoing in the darkness from somewhere to her right. “If there were any furnishings in here, they are long since gone. The hall is square-shaped, with a raised stone dais on the side to our left, where the lord of the manor sat during meals or when court was held, hard though it may be to imagine such convocations in a dismal place like this. There are sconces in the walls for torches, and an arched gallery that runs around three sides of the chamber on the upper floor. Looking up a the ceiling, I see rotted beams. The floors, for the mos part, are now gone. No one has lived here for countless generations.”
No sooner had he spoken, however, than a flickering light suddenly appeared, illuminating the walls of the stone steps leading up to the tower. It was as if someone were coming down the stairs, carrying a candle, except this light was blue.
“Witch light!” said Korahna, her voice scarcely above a whisper. She took hold of Ryana’s arm.
As they watched, the light grew brighter, and down the steps, around the curving wall, a figure came. Korahna gasped and drew back fearfully behind Ryana. Ryana’s fingers tightened on the sword hilt. As the figure came toward them, descending the stone steps, they could see it was a man in robes. He was not carrying a candle or a lantern. The blue glow emanated from his very body, rendering his features somewhat indistinct.