Chapter 14 Beneath The Keep #2
“There,” Lark said finally, sweat beading her brow despite the cool evening air. “It’s open.” She severed her bond with Nix and removed her hand.
Hardin groaned like he’d been put under an enormous amount of pressure.
“What’s wrong?”
He pulled his hand away from the wall with strenuous effort. A purple flash zipped from his fingers, spreading into a fine mist and evaporating.
Lark stepped back, blinking rapidly. Venrick braced her, his brows pointed together as they stared at Hardin.
“It’s not what you think,” he said. “Just a lingering effect from what Joc did to Quin.”
“Is that why you had trouble with how much magic you were drawing?” Lark asked.
“We don’t have time for a lengthy explanation,” Venrick said.
“Ven’s right, you need to move. I can already tell that the old wards are not going to remain open for as long as the newer wards.”
“How long?” Lark asked.
“I don’t know, they’re more resistant to change,” Hardin said.
“Lark, are you ready?” Venrick asked, stepping toward the servant’s entrance and adjusting the pack containing supplies they might need.
Lark met Hardin’s eyes and said, “Are you sure you’re okay and there’s nothing wrong with your bond?”
“I promise, Quin and I are fine. I’m still very new to the bond and having trouble channeling the power.
That’s all. I’m okay, I promise. And I’ll be waiting here for you two when you return,” Hardin said.
“The stones will let you communicate with Yarla, and she’ll relay your position to me. But remember—”
“Once we’re in the innermost parts of the Keep, the stones might not work,” Lark finished. “We’ll be on our own.”
Hardin clasped Lark’s arm, then Venrick’s. “Find what you need and get out. Don’t try to be heroes.”
Lark smiled faintly. “Isn’t that what we’re already doing?”
“All the more reason not to overdo it,” Hardin replied, his expression serious. “Quinthara has only just found me. I’d rather not lose either of you so soon.”
The gap in the wards flickered slightly. “Go,” Hardin urged. “Now.”
Lark went first, stepping through the opening with a sensation as though she were walking through a waterfall without getting wet.
Venrick followed close behind. The moment they were through, Lark hesitated, waiting to see if they’d really done it.
No warning bells sounded. No Knights or Paragons rushed to the servant’s entrance.
No magic gripped them to hold them in place. She checked herself over, no injuries.
“It worked,” she whispered.
Venrick gave her a brazen smile. He and Lark were safely inside the Vermillion Keep.
They stood in a narrow passageway that sloped downward, clearly part of the Keep’s drainage system. The walls were damp, and the air carried the musty scent of centuries-old stone.
“According to the maps, we need to follow this passage until it intersects with the old water cistern,” Venrick said, his voice barely above a whisper. “From there, we can access the lower levels through the maintenance tunnels.”
Lark nodded, calling forth a small mage light to illuminate their path.
The soft glow cast eerie shadows on the stone walls as they descended.
Modern mortar gave way to older construction techniques, and soon they were walking past stones that had clearly been placed centuries before the Vermillion Keep was built.
“Do you feel that?” Lark asked after they had been walking for several minutes.
Venrick paused. “The air feels different. Heavier.”
“Not just the air.” She placed her hand against the wall. “The masonry. It’s vibrating slightly.”
“We’re getting closer to the original sanctuary,” Nix’s voice whispered in her mind. “I can feel it, too.”
The passage widened suddenly, opening into a vast circular chamber with a high domed ceiling.
At its center was a pool of dark water, perfectly still despite the small stream that fed into it from one side.
Ancient columns supported the ceiling, their surfaces carved with the now-familiar dual script of dragonrider runes and fae symbols.
“The cistern,” Venrick whispered, though his voice still echoed slightly in the cavernous space.
Lark moved to one of the columns, studying the carvings. “These are the same as in the Northern Sanctuary. Here’s the dragon wing symbol I saw before.”
Venrick joined her, pointing out more recognizable symbols. “Isn’t that the Concordat emblem we saw in the mosaic.”
A sound echoed from somewhere above them. Footsteps, too rhythmic to be anything but a patrol.
“Hide,” Lark hissed, extinguishing her mage light.
They ducked behind one of the columns as a beam of lantern light cut through the darkness from an entrance high above them. Lark held her breath as two figures appeared on the stone walkway that circled the upper level of the cistern.
“I don’t see why we need to check this area,” one guard complained, his voice echoing in the chamber. “No one’s been down here in years.”
“We never ignore the Archmagus’ orders,” the second replied tersely.
“After what happened in Red Lodge with Marcel’s return and his directive of the rimeshade, General Ashbrook, the Duke, even Hierro have all explicitly directed us not to take any chances.
Every part of the Keep is to be patrolled, no matter how unused or remote. ”
The first guard snorted. “As if Nordraven would send a rimeshade to attack here, during the festival.”
Lark felt Venrick tense beside her at the casual mention of the rimeshade.
They had the details wrong, of course. A few corrupt Nordraven elite and members of the Magi Order were working with the rimeshade, not all of Nordraven.
But that these guards in the Keep knew of them, things were worse than they had feared.
Perhaps the Archmagus, the General, and the Duke are in on this plot as well, and this web of lies has spread beyond just the Kings of Lamar, Skol, and Wintermire, she considered.
“Just complete the sweep,” the second guard said. “Ten more minutes and we can get back to the barracks. I hear they’ve got a barrel of southern wine open tonight.”
“Did you hear the Squad Boss tell the other patrol to divert to the offices?” the first said.
“Yeah, I thought that was odd.”
“He said something about not wanting the propaganda spreading through the rest of the Keep?” the first said as his voice faded.
The lantern light moved across the cistern’s upper walkway, then gradually receded as the guards continued their patrol. Only when the echoes of their footsteps had completely faded did Lark dare to breathe normally again.
“They know the tales about the rimeshade aren’t just fables,” she whispered. “They spoke of them openly and they think all of Nordraven is allied with them.”
“Well, half of that statement is true,” Venrick said.
“Not for the people, for my people. The choices of a few of people in control do not reflect the choices of the many. If the people of Skol and Wintermire found out what their leaders were really doing, there would be all-out civil war.”
“You’re right, it’s the same here. The King is trying to warp everyone’s perception so he can take more power,” Venrick replied grimly.
The idea that the Keeps would openly acknowledging that rimeshade existed gave Lark cause for concern. Cheyanne’s mission to plant seeds of doubt in Lamar’s leadership could be more difficult than they realized.
Lark relit her mage light, making it dimmer than before. “We need to keep moving. The maintenance tunnels should be on the other side of the cistern.”
They skirted the edge of the dark pool, both instinctively avoiding its still surface. Though it appeared to be ordinary water, this pool was eerily similar to the one from which the Entity had arisen and attacked her in the Northern Sanctuary.
At the far side of the chamber, a low archway led into another passage, this one narrower and older still. The stones here bore strange discolorations, almost like burn marks, though they felt cool to the touch.
“These are sacrifice marks,” Nix said, suddenly appearing beside them in a spiral of flame. Her usual vibrant colors were muted, as she conserved her energy. “From the old rituals when the sanctuary was first built.”
“What kind of sacrifices?” Venrick asked, his voice tight.
Nix’s flame flickered nervously. “The original Concordat used symbolic sacrifices. These were personal treasures, memories, and oaths. Magic was different then, more about exchange than domination.”
“Unlike now,” Lark murmured, thinking of all those who were hungering for total control over the magic of the various realms.
They continued down the passage, which began to slope more steeply. The air grew noticeably colder, carrying a scent that reminded Lark of the Northern Sanctuary. It was that same icy musk that had heralded the Entity’s presence.
“Lark? Venrick?” Yarla’s voice came through the communication stones, fainter than before. “Can you still hear me?”
“Barely,” Lark replied. “The signal’s weakening.”
“You must be approaching the original sanctuary core. Hardin says the older magic will interfere with the stones. Be careful. We’ve detected unusual energy fluctuations throughout the city. Something is happening.”
“What kind of fluctuations?” Venrick asked.
Static crackled through the stone, Yarla’s reply fragmented: “...rimeshade sightings...increased activity...preparations for...” Then silence.
“We’ve lost her,” Lark said, removing the now-useless stone from her ear.
Venrick did the same, his expression grim. “Sounds like the opposition is mobilizing. We need to hurry.”
The passage ended abruptly at a blank wall of stone, seemingly a dead end. But Lark’s enhanced senses detected the faint flow of air from behind it.
“There’s something beyond this wall,” she said, running her hands over the surface. Her fingers found subtle indentations. Not random imperfections but deliberately placed.