“Athena is on her way to the palace now,” Edmund replied, lifting his scrying crystal and peering at it. “She has a scroll attached to her foot, explaining our predicament. A Gryphowl flies pretty swiftly, and the Celestial Corps will be even swifter. Perhaps at midday tomorrow, if all goes well.”
“What do you mean, if all goes well?” Zacharias groaned.
Edmund bit his lip. Prince Harold answered for him.
“If my father is not there, she’ll have to search Corcillum until we find him … or one of our parents … or a general,” he said.
Arcturus looked at his feet, wondering what it would be like to have a parent, someone who would do anything to protect him. He felt the sudden urge to summon Sacharissa. She was the closest thing he had to family.
“It could take forever to find someone,” Alice whispered.
“Can the rebels get in if the dogs lead them back to it?” Sergeant Caulder asked, wincing slightly as he stood. “Through the secret entrance, I mean?”
Edmund floated the wyrdlight toward the stone tablet that covered the hole they had come through. There was a strange mechanism built into the rectangular tablet that covered the entrance, all cogs and hinges.
Arcturus peered closer, and saw a word engraved in the side. THORSAGER. A dwarven name …
“My father hired a dwarven smith to build it,” Edmund said. “It will only open if someone presses the right places in the right order—but a few blows with a sledgehammer and they’ll be through. It was designed to be hidden, not to hold back an army.”
“Dwarves?” Zacharias spat, incredulous. “You’ve doomed us all. A dwarf would sell its own mother for a bent penny!”
“Oh, Zacharias, you’re so bad,” Josephine giggled.
Alice shook her head in disgust at her twin sister.
“We should get moving,” she said, summoning her own wyrdlight and sending it down the passageway. “The dogs could bring them back here eventually; let’s not make it easy for them.”
The tunnel yawned ominously as the blue ball of light floated deeper, before disappearing around a winding corner. Arcturus couldn’t help but feel a sense of dread. Somewhere on the other side lay the wild jungles of the orcs.
He set his jaw and forced himself to step deeper into the darkness. He could not show weakness in front of the others—they would abandon him if he slowed them down.
“What do we do with this pair of idiots?” Sergeant Caulder asked, pointing at the two rebels lying unconscious on the floor.
“We should…,” Prince Harold began, but Sergeant Caulder held up a finger.
For a moment he peered at the pair, then picked up the spear that lay on the ground. He prodded the nearest rebel, and was rewarded with a yelp of pain.
“Cheeky bugger.” Rotter grinned, kneeling beside the rebel and tying his hands with a strip of cloth.
“Help! Hel—”
Rotter clamped a hand over the rebel’s mouth, and together with Sergeant Caulder they succeeded in gagging the struggling man. Rotter followed suit with the second rebel, and then the pair were lifted onto the soldiers’ shoulders—one wriggling like an eel, the other a motionless sack of potatoes.
“Right, let’s get out of here,” Rotter growled.
The nobles released a stream of wyrdlights from their fingers, illuminating the passageway in ethereal blue light. The new glow did little to calm Arcturus’s nerves—the gloom still wavered in the moving light, and the stalactites and stalagmites that pierced the air reminded him of the maw of a giant beast. Worse still, the path angled downward, as if they were descending into the bowels of the earth.
He hesitated as the team moved forward, his earlier courage dissipating as quickly as it had arrived, but soon fear of being left alone in the dark stirred his feet, sending him stumbling forward over the uneven ground.
Finding himself shrouded in darkness at the very back of their band, he released his own wyrdlight, and guided it ahead of him. He concentrated on keeping it steady, distracting himself from the walls that seemed to close in on him with each step.
For a moment he was tempted to summon Sacharissa to keep him company, but after his foot slipped and he found himself knee-deep in a pool of water, he thought better of it. Why subject her to the same, for no more than a modicum of comfort?
Moreover, the others might see it as a weakness—the only other summoner who still had their demon out was Elaine. Better to push on ahead, and only summon Sacharissa if he needed to swim. He shuddered at the thought.
“How much farther?” Prince Harold’s voice echoed from up ahead.
“An hour or so, if I remember correctly,” Edmund replied. “In truth, I have never come this far, or seen the exit on the other side. But the dwarves mapped it out for us.”
“Are you serious?” Zacharias moaned. “What if they lied? What if we’re trapped down here?”
“Better than being trapped up there with the rebels,” Alice snapped. Clearly, the blond-haired noble had worn her patience thin.
So they walked. It seemed a never-ending procession of warped walls and undulating ground, coupled with the echoes of their footsteps and the ceaseless trickle and slosh of water. It was a wonder to Arcturus that the entire place didn’t flood, for the drops of water from the porous rock above soon left him bedraggled. As for his boots and trousers, they were soaked through—the group had been forced to wade up to their waists more than once. Every step then had been a moment of terror, as Arcturus imagined plunging into a hidden pool below.
On and on they went, any attempts at conversation forced, and soon cut short by the gut-churning dread of their predicament. It seemed they were now as deep beneath the ground as Vocans was tall, and Arcturus felt as if the ceilings could collapse, swallowing them in a jumble of jagged rock and creeping water.
Only Rotter seemed in good spirits, though if it was just an act to calm the others, Arcturus could not tell. Whatever the reason, the jaunty tune he began to hum halfway through their journey was swiftly silenced by a cursed order from Zacharias.
Just under an hour later, the tunnel began to bend upward, and Arcturus was not the only one to thank the heavens out loud. It was a blessed relief to begin their ascent, away from the oppressive darkness and the walls that seemed to shrink toward him with every step.
Even so, it soon became hard going, the angle so acute that it became almost a climb. More than once, Arcturus found himself using a stalagmite as a handhold, heaving himself up another steep incline, his hands slipping against the smooth limestone.
Elaine had to be hauled up by Edmund, and Arcturus could see even her little Mite, Valens, tugging at her collar valiantly as he hovered above her.
“Is that light?” Prince Harold called hoarsely.
It was. Barely more than a dim glow, filtering through a crack in the wall of the passageway. And beyond, a solid wall of rock—the end of the line. They had made it.
CHAPTER
25
THE TEAM COLLAPSED ON the ground, careless of the scattered puddles, groaning with relief.
“I tell you what, I’m not looking forward to going back,” Arcturus panted. “The Celestial Corps can pick us up on the other side of that crack.”
“Agreed,” Edmund said. “I’ll have Athena guide them to us when the time comes.”
He tugged forth his scrying crystal, and peered into it. Within the image, Arcturus could see rolling green hills, as the young lord’s demon flew over Hominum’s landscape.
“Guide us where?” Alice asked. “We don’t know where that comes out.”
She sent her wyrdlight to hover beside the crack, a jagged tear in the rock, where Arcturus could see the first signs of life—plush moss living off the meager light from outside.
“Those dwarves did a shoddy job,” Zacharias said, still breathing heavily. “An orc could fit through that gap.”
“My father said it’s well hidden,” Edmund vouched, though his voice was laced with doubt. “And how would an orc kno
w where it leads? If one wandered in here, it would look like this goes down into the depths of the earth.”
To illustrate his point, he threw a stray pebble down the way they had come. There was a faint rattle as it fell, fading but still sounding as the rock bounced deep into the earth.
“One word from those dwarves to the orcs…,” Zacharias muttered.
Arcturus ignored him and turned to look at the others. Rotter had been forced to leave Elaine to her own devices as he dragged the rebel he had been carrying into the darkness to tie and gag him. There were groans coming from where the soldier was hunched over, and Arcturus realized the second captive must have regained consciousness.
He scooted over to Elaine, who had wrapped her skinny arms around her knees and was rocking back and forth. Even little Valens could do little to distract her, though he buzzed to and fro in front of her, as if he wanted her to play.
“Hey, you okay?” he asked.
“Yeah,” she replied in a small voice. “Just thinking.”
“We’re going to be fine,” Arcturus said. “We’re miles from the rebels by now.”
“It’s my brothers,” Elaine said, shaking her head. “Our estate is even smaller than Edmund’s, and my parents were away too. This might be happening in my home right now.”
“I’m sure they’re fine,” Arcturus thought aloud, putting an arm around her shoulders. “They attacked us here because it’s so far from civilization, and there are half a dozen noble children here, including the prince. I doubt they’d split their forces to catch a few sons of an impoverished noble family.”
Elaine smiled at that.
“Sometimes being poor has its advantages,” she said. Arcturus thought she didn’t know what poverty was, but kept it to himself. After all, she would have some idea if they survived the night, when hunger gnawed at her belly and the next meal was nowhere in sight.
She was cold, and he wished he had a jacket to keep her warm. Instead, he pressed his side against her and they huddled for warmth as their wet clothes sapped the last of the heat from their bodies. The dim glow of sunlight from the crack beyond looked so inviting.…
“Right,” Sergeant Caulder said, breaking the silence. “I think it’s safe to take this off now.”
Arcturus turned to see the sergeant tearing away the gag from his own rebel—the same one who had tried to disembowel Rotter with his makeshift spear, and who had been pretending to be unconscious earlier.
“What’s your name, son?”
The rebel took a deep breath, then spat in the sergeant’s face.
“You little…,” Rotter growled, lunging for the rebel, but Sergeant Caulder held up his hand.
“Full of vim and vinegar, aren’t ye?” Sergeant Caulder growled, wiping his brow. “No need for any unpleasantness. You just tell us what your friends are after, and Prince Harold over there will put in a good word with his father when we’re rescued. Maybe you’ll avoid execution, eh?”
“Ye don’t have the guts to kill me,” the man yelled, struggling against his bonds. “Ye would’ve done it already.… I won’t tell ye a thing.”
“Just give me a few minutes with him,” Rotter growled. He was holding the cleaver from the other rebel, twirling it in his hand. Arcturus gulped—surprised at the sudden change in the happy-go-lucky soldier.
“I don’t think…,” Edmund began, but Sergeant Caulder held up a hand.
“Ask the other one first,” Sergeant Caulder said, his voice low and dangerous. “Maybe he’ll be more obliging.”
He left the spitting rebel wriggling on the ground and snatched the other trussed-up captive’s feet.
“What do you reckon, Rotter?” Sergeant Caulder asked. “Do you reckon he’ll talk?”
“Oh, he’ll talk,” Rotter said, licking the back of the cleaver with an evil look in his eye. “They always do.…”
With that, the pair dragged the other rebel into the darkness of the tunnel, rolling him down until all Arcturus could hear was the frantic moaning from their captive, his attempted screams muffled by the gag.
“Dominic … Dominic!” the rebel near Arcturus yelled. “Leave ’im alone, you monsters.”
“Let’s take this off,” Arcturus heard Rotter say.
“Help me!” bellowed a voice. “Hel—”
The voice was cut short. Then … a bloodcurdling scream, one of a man suffering unimaginable pain. It tore at Arcturus’s heart, but he could not bring himself to put a stop to it.
“Stop,” Elaine cried. “Stop it!”
“I say, that’s enough now,” Edmund called out.
But they went on. Behind him, Arcturus heard Zacharias retch, the sound of liquid splattering on the stone. The acrid stench of vomit filled the air.
“Who do you work for?” Sergeant Caulder barked.
Another scream, higher pitched than the last. It went on and on, so long that Arcturus thought the rebel’s lungs would burst.
“Give him some more encouragement,” Sergeant Caulder yelled. “Again!”
But there were no more screams now, just a raw, throaty sobbing, punctuated by the occasional animal yelp of pain.
Arcturus turned to look at Edmund; the boy seemed frozen in place, his face white as a sheet in the ethereal blue glow of the wyrdlights.
“He’s not going to talk,” Sergeant Caulder said. “Put him out of his misery.”
Arcturus heard a final, desperate yell … that swiftly devolved into a terrible, spluttering gurgle. Finally, silence reigned once more, but for the dripping of the water and the horrified breathing of the nobles.
He felt sick. He had respected the two soldiers. But … they were monsters. Worse than monsters—they seemed to enjoy the torture they had inflicted upon the poor man.
Sergeant Caulder reappeared, climbing back out of the darkness. There was blood on his hands, and even a stain on his forehead where he had gone to wipe his brow. He tugged the red-stained cleaver from his belt, and put it against the remaining rebel’s throat.
“What’s your name?” Sergeant Caulder said, hunkering down beside the man.
“Tim,” the rebel stuttered, his eyes glazed over with fear.
“Who are you?”
“I … nobody. I’m just a shoemaker. I went to a few meetins, down the pub. Complainin’ about the king and the like. His damned taxes were killin’ me business, ye know? They said to wear a black hood, come by one night, armed. I thought it was gonna be another riot. But then they put us on a bunch o’ carriages, said we were gonna change things. I didn’t have anythin’ to lose.…”
Arcturus’s heart twisted. This rebel was no soldier. He was just a desperate man, pushed to breaking point.
“Who’s ‘they’?” Sergeant Caulder snarled, digging in the edge of the blade.
“I don’t know, I swear it,” Tim cried, trying to squirm away. “They always hid their faces. But they came up from the south, I saw ’em arrive one night.”
Vocans. Vocans was to the south. Arcturus knew for sure then. Crawley was involved.
“That doesn’t help us,” Sergeant Caulder growled. “Give me something useful.”
“They’re after the common boy!” Tim said frantically, his eyes rolling into the back of his head with terror. “Him and Prince Harold. The rest of you were just a bonus.”
Cold fear pooled in the base of Arcturus’s stomach, trickling down from his spine.
“I’m a nobody,” he whispered. “What could they want with me?”
But Tim had no answers for him. He had passed out from sheer fright, his head lolling to the side. This time, Sergeant Caulder didn’t try to prod him awake. Instead, he sighed and got to his feet.
“All right, you can come back now, Rotter,” the sergeant called.
“About bloody time,” Rotter replied from the darkness. There was a grunt of exertion; then Rotter emerged from the dark incline, dragging Dominic’s body with him.
But … the body was moving. Struggling in fact, with Rotter’s ha
nd clamped firmly over Dominic’s mouth. At the sight of the unconscious Tim, Rotter released his grip, and the rebel unleashed a tirade of curses.
“Better make use of that gag again, eh, Rotter?” Sergeant Caulder grinned.
“Blimey,” Elaine said, amazed at the endless string of swear words emanating from the rebel’s mouth.
“Wait…,” Prince Harold said, staring at the rebel as Rotter gagged him once again. “You didn’t kill him?”
“Cor, what he must think of us, eh?” Rotter said, shaking his head with a rueful smile.
Arcturus felt a wash of relief flood through him. Yes, these rebels had wanted to capture him, maybe even end his life. But after hearing them speak, seeing they were real people … he could not have wished such a fate upon them.
“Rotter makes for a great actor, don’t you think?” Sergeant Caulder laughed. “We used to do this with the new recruits, only we’d pretend it was punishment for falling asleep on watch. Works every time!”
“’Course, the blood was a new addition,” Rotter said, grimacing as he rolled up his chain-mailed sleeve to reveal a shallow cut there. “I drew the damned short straw.”
“You scared the living daylights out of us,” Harold said. “We thought you were…”
“Slaughtering a man in cold blood?” Rotter asked, his eyebrows raised.
“I thought it was revenge,” Arcturus said, feeling a twinge of guilt. “Your friends … the rebels killed them.”
Sergeant Caulder twisted his hands, his eyes downcast.
“I blame nobody but myself for that,” the man said. “Maybe if I had—”
“There was nothing you could do, Sarge,” Rotter interrupted, “There were too—”
“Silence,” Sergeant Caulder said, holding up his hand.
“I’m sorry, I…,” Rotter began, a hurt look on his face.
“Quiet, I said,” Sergeant Caulder snapped, standing. He cocked his head to one side and peered into the darkness.
“Can you hear that?”
Arcturus strained his ears. There was a sound beyond, deep in the black interior of the cave. High pitched. Almost like … howling.
“We have to go,” Sergeant Caulder growled, snatching up the cleaver. “We have to go now!”