16. Sixteen
sixteen
The first thing Erqis noticed was that the only thing he could hear was the ringing in his ears.
The second thing was the low, dirt ceiling of the corridor above him when he opened his eyes, half-obscured by coiling black smoke. The third was the ground under him, more lumpy than he remembered – and then it shifted, pushing him off.
Qavor groaned and sat up, dust covering his head and shoulders. "What in all the hells did you do, Erqis?"
"Wish I could tell you." Erqis picked himself up carefully, hissing when something in his back painfully cracked back into place. "Shit. All right. We're alive. That's something."
The Farn carefully peeked into the study, his head ducked low beneath the clouds of dark smoke. The bookcases lay in splinters, the scattered books smouldering on the floor. The glass equipment were now nothing but shattered shards, and the table they had been so meticulously arranged on had been blown back against a different wall.
"It's a fucking miracle we weren't buried under debris from above," Qavor stated. What he could see of the ceiling was covered in black scorch marks. "What the fuck were you thinking?"
Erqis shrugged. "Honestly? I didn't."
"Think?!"
"Yeah."
Qavor ran his hands over his face, leaving dark streaks of soot. "I am not even all that surprised."
"And yet you keep yelling at me when I succeed. Unconventionally." Erqis grinned at the deep, exasperated groan he got in response. "Cheer up! At least now we can leave."
Qavor refused to leave until he had inspected every nook and cranny, hunting for any remaining trace of that source of magic while simultaneously waiting for any sound or crumbling dust that might suggest the structure of this place was compromised and about to cave in on top of their heads.
“If the ceiling of a secret room under a castle in the middle of a lake collapses, do you think you die from the cave-in or from drowning?”
Qavor shot his king a dark look.
“What?” Erqis was the picture of innocence. “I’m just curious. The obvious answer would be that you die from an entire castle falling on top of you, but what if you survive the initial cave-in and end up trapped, and the lake rushes in – no, the lake trickles in, a bit at a time–”
“I’ll kill you myself if you don’t shut up and stop tempting fate,” Qavor hissed.
“Did you say something? I can’t hear you, my ears are still ringing. What if—”
“Erqis!”
“All right, all right. Gods, Qav, you’re such a bore.”
With Qavor at last satisfied and both of them carrying a few of the more useful or interesting bits of paper they had found, at least the ones that had survived Erqis, they finally began the long, treacherous walk back.
Erqis found he had no more smart comments to make. For the first time in his life, he could feel every bone in his body.
Especially his cracked ribs.
Qavor was likewise favouring one leg over the other, in stoic silence until they reached the steep stairs that led up to the dungeons. He hissed, then, with each step, his fingers grasping at the wall for what little help it offered.
It was a strange relief to at last step back out into the clammy cell block – until it dawned on Erqis that the silence was more absolute than it had been. There was an absence now of something that had been here before, as unnatural as it had been.
The cells were empty, and the straw floor was now covered with the same odd, brownish debris they had found in the prince's bedroom.
Ice lanced through Erqis' veins. It was the same sticky dust, he realised, that had clung to their boots after they had made their way through the Dread King's undead army – after they had sunk him into the moors.
“Do you think…?”
"Why would he bother with actual, live subjects if he had the option of controlling them all once they were dead?" Qavor replied, tonelessly. "Yes, I do think that. Gods below."
"But we killed him. Days ago." Erqis turned to his huntsman. "Please tell me I didn't dally with a dead woman."
"You what ."
Erqis didn't know what to think, to feel. If Neira was a small heap on the floor now, too – would he feel loss, or disgust? Or something else entirely?
“I have to find the princess." He strode from the dungeons, Qavor on his heels. The moment they crossed through the door back into the palace proper, Erqis could hear shouting, half-panicked, coming from the front gates. Torn between racing to the royal wing or checking on his soldiers first, Erqis stood in indecision before motion caught his eye.
Relief punched him in the gut so viscerally he almost doubled over.
Neira was striding down the stairs, her hair a sleek curtain on a phantom breeze behind her, her brows drawn close. "What is going on? Why is there so much noise?" Her eyes landed on Erqis. "What did you do?"
It was all he needed to burst into motion again, meeting her halfway. He cupped her face in both hands. Her skin was cool to the touch, but then again he supposed it usually was; even so, Erqis could almost see it crumbling under his fingers into the brown, chunky debris – but then Neira jerked her head back impatiently. Her cheeks remained unmarred, aside from a small smudge of soot.
"Come with me."
"Erqis. What did you do?" Neira repeated, softer, as Erqis grasped her wrist and pulled her along.
They passed a heap beside to a feather duster, where a servant, evidently, had crumbled. Neira stared at it in confusion.
Erqis didn't know how to explain. Instead, he gently squeezed her wrist and kept it in his grasp when they at last came to a stop by the gates, where a handful of his soldiers had gathered. "Report."
"Sire." The eldest of the soldiers bowed his head. "Reports from the village." The man eyed one of the younger men dubiously, a boy of barely twenty with wild brown hair. He looked like he’d seen a ghost, his eyes wide and his face pale.
"Sire, the village – the villagers.” The young man swallowed hard. “They're gone."
Neira pushed past him before Erqis could stop her, and the young soldier took a step back at the stormy look on her face. "What do you mean, gone ?"
"Y-your Highness." The soldier bowed shakily. "We were keeping an eye on the village. See, the people, they… they hadn't moved since we got here. Just stood inside their houses, with those blank looks on their faces, no matter what we did."
"Like the regiars," Qavor murmured at Erqis' side. His blue eyes were firmly fixed on Neira – Neira, who was seemingly the only one who hadn't succumbed.
The only one alive.
"They were probably terrified," Neira snapped, hands balling into fists by her sides. "Where have they gone? How did you not see them leave, if you were 'keeping an eye'?"
"There was this scream, and then… and then…" He looked like he was about to be sick.
"They turned into dust, Highness," said another, barely older than the first and trembling just as much. "I saw it with my own eyes. Tilted their heads back, all of them making that terrible sound, like wild dogs howling or something… then they turned to dust and bones.”
The older soldier looked a cross between horrified and furious. He had not been with Erqis in the marsh, but the story of fighting off the undead was well known by now. “If you’re wasting his Majesty’s time with fanciful nonsense-”
"No," Erqis said quietly. Neira turned back to him, her stare weighing the heaviest amongst them. "No, it's not fanciful nonsense. There was something under the castle. It must have kept them animated. It's gone now, so they are gone, too."
The way she looked at him made his insides squirm. That horror, that despair.
He turned away before guilt could settle too deep. "We will begin our journey back to Duskport in the morning. Begin making preparations."
"Hold on now-" Neira began, reaching for him. Her hand hovered in the air when he glanced at her, and then fell slowly.
"You better pack anything you want to bring, too."