Seeds of Virtue, Dark Descent, Book I

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  “Something’s not right,” Ristil said for perhaps the sixth time in two hours. Thorstar only nodded, continuing to move boxes out of the way. He neither saw nor felt anything out of the ordinary, but over the years, he had learned to trust in his half-elf companion’s instincts. So he moved obstacles out of his friend’s way in the hopes of finding whatever it was they were looking for.

  They had been combing over the lower levels of The Fount for almost two hours, searching for signs of the thief’s passage. So far, they had found nothing, but as soon as Ristil had come to the lowest level, four floors underground, he felt a faint aura in the air, a wrongness that many would think just came from being under tons of rock and earth. Since the others had not yet come to find him, he knew that they were having just as much luck as he was, so he continued to search, feeling that he had finally found something worthwhile.

  Most of their time had been wasted moving cases of food, boxes of clothing, and chests of supplies so they could search the walls and floors. The rest was examining every loose stone, every inch of mortar, trying to find the way the thief got in. Ristil’s original feeling, heightened by the odd sensation in air when he had entered the basement, was that the thief had come up from below. Ristil didn’t think the man could have gotten in any other way for the tower was well warded, inside and out, by a powerful wizard. The problem with those wards though, with many wards he and Vistalas had gotten past, was that there was always some place, some tiny section that was always overlooked.

  “I know you’re here,” Ristil said, getting on his hands and knees, peering intently at the floor.

  He rubbed his hands over the rough surface, feeling for any imperfection, anything that did not belong. In some instances, he closed his eyes, letting his skin completely take over, hoping to find the trail. Thorstar continued to move boxes out of his way, watching intently. The quiet man had neither the skill nor aptitude with finding secrets. Elves were particularly good at find things that people did not want found and even though he was only half elf, Ristil shared that quality. Thorstar had gone along for one purpose: as muscle. But he didn’t mind. Everyone in the group had their role, and played it well.

  After ten minutes searching the far corner of the room, Ristil was about to give up and go to the upper levels with the others, but just before he stopped, his hand brushed over something jagged.

  It was the tiniest of imperfections. Most people would have thought it a loose rock or sliver of wood and ignored it, but to someone like Ristil, it was a shining beacon.

  He leaned close and saw a small patch of mortar, no larger than the tip of his finger, sticking up from the ground. It could have been there for years, curled up from moisture or a dropped box, but Ristil wasn’t taking any chances. He took out his dagger and cut around the large stone. The bounding was hard, but not as hard as it should be. It felt like this was recently replaced.

  When he carved a good-sized groove from the floor, he flipped his dagger around so the hilt was facing the floor. He inhaled deeply then slammed the pommel into the stone. The stone sunk into the floor. Ristil growled and hit it again, thinking perhaps he had been mistaken. After three more hits, the stone fell away.

  “Gotcha!” Ristil said with relief, looking into the gap. Thorstar walked over to see what had so excited his fellow Knight.

  Before them was a hole, leading down into the darkness. Though Ristil had only removed one stone, the others around it looked to cover up a larger opening. Ristil peered closer and saw some type of net pushed up against the backside of the stones.

  “Clever,” Ristil said, realizing that the net was meant to brace the floor and make it stable. It appeared the thief had come through, set up the net, replaced the stone on top, and resealed it with mortar. A heavy person could jump on this and never feel a difference. It really was ingenious, and not a single speck of magic had been used. That helped to explain why Graeak had not sensed anything.

  “Tie off a rope,” Ristil said to Thorstar. The big man took a length of rope from his pack and went to tie it off while Ristil widened the hole. Now that one stone was gone, the rest were easily removed. In mere moments, a rope was hanging down into the darkness.

  Ristil went down first, slowly, using his elven heritage to see into the darkness. Though not as good as his full elf cousins, he could still see a good ways without a torch. Luckily, he didn’t have far to go. After about twenty feet, he hit bottom, which was covered in a layer of water. As Thorstar descended, he lit a torch to get a better view of the area. His night vision was good, but nothing beat a simple flame.

  His was standing in a small chamber with a low ceiling and close walls. There was hardly three feet of room on either side of him. A small stream of filthy water flowed between his feet and the smell of mold and mildew filled his nostrils. The stone walls were covered with algae and other forms of growth.

  At first, Ristil did not see how the thief could have come to be in this small space. The water flowing below him entered and exited through a tiny crack in the walls around him, but then he stepped to his right and brought the torch up before him. In the wall was a tunnel, about four feet in diameter, leading away from the chamber and into the darkness. As far as he could see, the tunnel was at last five feet thick. The torch light and his enhanced vision picked up nothing but darkness after that.

  “How did you find this?” he said, referring to the thief. The walls around him looked old, perhaps a few hundred years and did not appear to be part of the current system of tunnels and sewers that ran underneath Atlurul. Either the thief had extensive knowledge, or someone had helped him.

  “Wait here,” Ristil said to Thorstar, who stood right where he landed. His bulk was barely containable in the small space and he fidgeted with discomfort. Ristil knew his large companion did not like enclosed spaces so he moved quickly yet with caution.

  Ristil climbed into the tunnel and slowly examined the walls as he shimmed forward. It appeared that the old stone had been craved away by a combination of magic and good old-fashioned hard work, and it was done recently, which meant the thief had made this hole. As he scooted forward, he saw brackets and braces set against the stone, helping to secure it place. The devices were more commonly associated with a stonemason than a thief, which helped to further Ristil’s thinking that the slippery man had assistance. Ristil continued forward, intent to find the end of the tunnel.

  As he moved along the floor of the tight space, he felt his elbow hit something. He looked down and saw some kind of device appear and suddenly felt a surge of magic all around him.

  “Stupid!” he cursed, realizing that he had just set off some kind of trap. He had just a few seconds to realize that whatever the thing was it had been invisible and he had moved right by it. Should have known better, he told himself. Of course the trail would be trapped. Any novice thief would have done the same, and the man they were tracking was no novice.

  The braces all around him suddenly cracked and crumbled away, leaving nothing to keep the tunnel from caving in. The walls started to rumbled and chunks of stone started to fall on top of him.

  “Hells!” he spat and tried to crawl back the way he had come, but his clothing snagged on something sharp near his waist, something he swore had not been there before. He was caught and he knew it. Fortunately, he only had a few seconds more to be upset.

  Something strong suddenly clamped down on his ankles and he was yanked back. Whatever had pinned him down tore away and as the ceiling fell around him, he crashed to the floor of the tunnel, falling roughly into the small stream of water. A loud crash filled the air, as did dust and bits of rock. When the noise and debris finally cleared, the tunnel was gone, replaced by a wall of crumbled rock and stone. Ristil looked up from the floor, into the stoic face of Thorstar, who had pulled him to safety.

  “Thanks,” he said while rising to his feet. “Couldn’t have thrown me to my feet, eh?” His clothes were wet and now smelled of
dirty water. Thorstar just shrugged his shoulders.

  “Come on,” Ristil then said while gripping the rope. “We need to tell the others.”