20. Chapter 18
Chapter 18
Tanead
I began to feel my body again as I was marched below. A blessing and a curse. I’d taken a few hits to the face, which were nothing—or would be, once I could rub the dried blood and pus from my swollen eyes. Everything hurt, but that had more to do with being hung like a dead animal than it did with my wounds. The tear that damned eagle had gouged in the back of my neck throbbed and itched. I flexed my legs and the responding zing of pain assured me that my cuts there weren’t deep enough to force an alteration in my plans.
But still, it was going to be a hell of a painful climb into the pit.
I shook my feet out between steps as they took me down. Three men were before me and three behind, all armed to the teeth. I was surprised Prince Caelan didn’t escort me his damned self, but then, he was awfully distracted. The delicate charms of the priestess never had been to my taste, but I supposed I could see the appeal.
I hummed to myself as I went. With each step, shooting pain and tingling began in my toes and skittered up my leg.
“I don’t suppose I could get some water,” I asked politely.
“Fuck off,” was my answer. It’s a good thing I was from the desert, I’ll say that. It wouldn’t be the first time I’d have to drink my own piss.
Down and down and down, we traveled. The tunnels carved in this fortress were tight, hardly allowing two men through at once. Whoever had carved them was lazy, or concerned only for security rather than comfort. I noted everything I could for later. I’d need to remember the way to make my escape. And then I’d need to remember again on the day I came back with an army to shatter this place and send its pieces back to the Crust.
There were few doors and branches in the tunnel. The ones we did pass, I suspected of being armories or other storage. It was obvious the personal chambers allocated to royals and high-ranking soldiers were higher, above the entry gate rather than below. But below was right where I wanted to be. I was a buck led happily to the slaughter…at least, I was until we got to the dungeon.
Through a door and there it was, a long and narrow room. A walkway ran down the center with cells on either side. Each cell was a bubble carved in dragonstone. Iron bars ran from ceiling to floor. Doors were iron, shackles were iron.
I grinned widely.
It was dark. This whole cursed place was; dragonstone drank light. They hadn’t bothered with many torches down here, so only one of the men saw my grin. I got to watch the blood drain from his face at the sight of it. His arm went to his sword and his eyes darted around. He wondered if there was something he didn’t know. Did I have demons waiting inside these cells already? Was he about to die?
I chuckled, striding down the hall with long steps. The stretch felt good in my calves. Until we got to the end of the line.
This cell was not like the others. The bars were not iron. Instead, they were dragonstone. My eyes tracked up to the ceiling and saw the place where they seamlessly became ceiling. Whoever had carved this cell had made sure it was entirely a single piece of dragonstone.
But the door, surely the door must be iron.
It was damned hard to see in the dark. Rider eyes were better in the brightest of daylight.
But no. Dragonstone bars were set in a dragonstone frame. Even the heads of the nails looked like the stuff. Another time, I would have been fascinated, leaning close to study the artistry of the creation. Techniques such as this had been lost in the thousand cycles since this place was carved. But at the moment I was less awed and more disturbed. The builders had known what my family could do. This cell was built for containing Tajawls.
Which meant it was now or never.
I dug into myself for the pool of rage that lived in me, always. I brought its simmer up to a boil. It was only moments before the metal restraints on my hands began to grow hot, then red and weak. I tugged and they came apart.
The guard next to me looked towards the clang when they fell to the ground. He died with his head down as I yanked the scimitar from his belt and shoved it through his chest. The others drew, but the prison was small and tight; it favored me. I slashed the next one and held back a whoop. Sound might echo here and I could not afford to be found out.
The hilt of the scimitar in my hands was already deforming. I needed my weapon with its dragonstone hilt—what had Caelan done with it? It was not being carried by any of the guards. I hated to leave it behind…it was a family heirloom, named Wingspan by an ancestor of mine during the Age of Dragons. Perhaps I’d try to steal it back on my way out.
I dropped the ruined blade and picked up another.
The next guard drew his dagger. A smart choice in close quarters. But I was still burning. He swung and I dodged, then I touched his face and he fell to his knees, screaming.
Ah, but I wanted quiet. I slit his throat.
The man who’d seen me grin was a coward. He began to run. I switched my second ruined blade for a knife, which I threw through the back of his head.
That left only one more, a young man whose throat bobbed up and down as he swallowed. He backed away like he was eager to retreat into the cell. Well, alright then. He stumbled over the threshold into the open cage and I shut him in. An amusing irony. But he’d shout. I reached through the bars and took hold of his chin. He screamed as his skin burned. I reached for his tongue and cut it off quickly with a dagger from his belt. He threw up blood into my cell as I made for the door at the far end of the prison. It was unlocked. No danger came from this direction, after all. There was nothing down here but stagnancy and death.
The tunnel was even tighter here than before. This was no man-carved tunnel, but the dragon’s natural bowels. It curved down as the priestess had said it would.
There was no light, and the air tasted wrong. There wasn’t enough of it. Panic tightened my throat and I wondered if this was how my mother had felt when she quested for Asherah. It brought forth a feeling of closeness between us that had never been.
“Tell me of the Rebirth,” a little voice said. It was my own, when I was a child with horns as small as my thumbs.
“Every night, you want to hear this story,” scolded my mother. But she tucked me in and prepared herself to tell it.
I scooched down into the folds of the blankets until I almost disappeared. Only my red eyes and fledgling horns and the curls of my brown hair peeked out.
“Good boy,” she said, rubbing the blankets with her palms. Her touch was comforting but her gaze, as always, looked away, as if she could see her mission sketched on the horizon. “Hear of the day the dragons will return.”
I closed my eyes. Blackness replaced light, but I populated its wasteland with my imagination. I’d seen the Fortress of Archeon once, from far away across the black glass. I imagined him coming to life again, his stone shattering like a fragile eggshell, living dragon scale revealed glittering beneath. That wasn't how it worked, but it was a beautiful picture.
“You know, of course, that when a dragon dies, they turn to stone. But what few know—only our kind, the secret-keepers of the gods—is that this stone statue contains the seed of their rebirth.
“It is a long road to birth a dragon. The seed must be harvested, planted, nurtured. Dragons measure time in eons, not in short mortal cycles. And the Dragonslayers have taken possession of our corpses. They have desecrated them, hollowed them, squatted in them. Many seeds were destroyed. But it is said, my dear boy,” my mother brushed a hair back from my forehead, but I did not open my eyes at her touch. I was in the land of the dragons reborn and I did not dare let it fade. “—it is said that one day, our bloodline will bring the dragons back. That day will be the Rebirth, and it will make us once again what we were always meant to be: Riders.”
She kissed my forehead as I drifted deeper into my fantasy, and then into sleep. I made her tell the story every day I was with her, and when she was gone, it became a promise I used to soothe myself when the anger became so fierce, I might’ve burned alive with it.
Someday.
Today.
I must banish all thoughts of future and past. There was nothing but the moment. Just Archeon and I, the only beings in all the world. That was how it felt as his corpse smothered all else. Gone was light, sound and air. I stumbled and fell. I tried to stand but fell again, disoriented by the nothingness that robbed me of the use of my senses.
I walked into a wall I couldn’t see. The skin over my nose split open and I smelt iron. It was better than the staleness that caked my tongue before. I licked my own blood, craving moisture. My hands felt along the walls.
Ah, this must be the first fork. Guiding myself with my hands, I avoided smashing my face at the second fork. So far the priestess’ directions had proved true. But would I find Archeon’s egg at the end?
I hummed quietly to banish the tickles of insanity that crept like insects along the edge of my mind, skittering visions of being trapped down here forever. A corpse inside a corpse.
I stumbled when the walls disappeared. I dropped to the ground and crawled like a humble servant. This must be the cavern. My knees scraped the dragonstone as I crept forward, feeling with my hands.
I almost fell into the pit. The stone before me, which had been angling downward, suddenly was not there. I put out a hand and touched nothingness. My head spun, dizzy from the black blankness I saw even with my eyes open. Once again, it was a memory of my mother that centered me.
“Archeon was king of the dragons. At least, that’s what the stories say. It was he who led the others against Anu. After Anu, Archeon was the greatest of the dragons, and the largest. That, you can see for yourself, my son. Just go to the edge of the river.”
“But Ma, I’ve never seen any other dragon but him. How do I know if he’s big?”
“Ah, you’ve never seen others because it is heresy and wrongness to keep a corpse intact after a dragon dies. But the invaders enjoy disrespecting us. Their fortress mocks us from across the river. But it also reminds us of what power we once Bonded, and what power we will Bond again.”
Triumph surged through me. Suddenly nothing bothered me. Not the lack of light, not the air that made me take shallow breaths. None of it mattered. There was life beneath me. All I had to do was climb down and get it.
My feet found a foothold and settled onto it. My fingers felt along the wall until they discovered a jut I could grasp. The priestess had told the truth again. Interesting. It would be slow going, but I could do it. My back wasn’t already screaming with pain or anything. Not at all. My hamstrings were fine. They enjoyed being slit in half.
The dragonstone was sharp and it cut my fingers. I smeared my blood, leaving it behind me like a trail. That was fine, just fine. I’d need it soon to initiate the first step of the Bond.
I hit the bottom too soon.
Deep, the priestess had said. I wasn’t deep yet. I’d hardly started.
I felt about in the darkness for the way through. This must be just an unexpectedly large outcropping, perhaps shifted during a quake. I’d get by it and keep going down.
But there was no way past it.
“Archeon!” I shouted down the pit, but it didn’t echo and bounce. It was swallowed up immediately by the solid rock beneath me. Maybe there was still an egg down there or maybe the damned priestess was full of shit. Either way, there was no way to clear this stone to find out.
The climb out was worse than the climb in. My muscles burnt. The pain licked up and down my arms and my legs shook like a boy at war.
The agony became transcendent. It elevated my mind until I flew. Or perhaps it was only exhaustion making me spin again. My hope was gone; my fury burned so fiercely, the blood on my hands sizzled and evaporated.
I’d left Asherah to kill a Slayer, and then failed to kill him. I’d not attempted escape so that I could be brought inside this fortress to retrieve Archeon’s egg, and now I couldn't reach him. The pit was caved in.
There was only one thing left to do. Walk backwards into the old plan. Two Slayers slept somewhere above me and so did the priestess, who could no longer be allowed to live. I’d kill them all and escape back to the Mother’s Womb. I’d Bond Asherah and this whole little side venture could be forgotten.
I retraced the steps I’d taken to reach the pit. Up rather than down, though the same dark oppressiveness surrounded me. The same thin air filled my lungs and made them scream for more. I hurried. It was almost certain they’d discovered my breakout by now. If they had, what would I do when I reached the dungeon? They’d have guards stationed there in the dozens. I would never make it through them.
When I reached a fork, I took an unfamiliar path, thinking of the pictures in the old books of the shapes of dragons' bodies. When another fork presented itself, I chose a direction on instinct.
Time existed only in the pulsing of my wounded fingers. With each beat of my heart, fresh blood leaked out. If the Vaharilarans had hounds, they could track my trail, but they’d have to figure out I was in the bowels of the fortress first, where I hoped they would shudder to go. It went against the instincts of a man to bury himself so deep in stone.
Gradually, I realized the tunnel had grown brighter. I held up my hand and could see its outline. Light was filtering in from up ahead—I'd reached the surface. There must be ways out of this fortress besides the main gate. Windows a thin man could squeeze through or secret doorways to allow royals to escape in the event the fortress were ever seized. That these exits had never been found and exploited by my people did not concern me. Throughout the thousand-cycle history of my people’s attempts to take this fortress, there were few times we’d ever gotten close. My mother had, once. She’d crossed the river and fought Emperor Calathan VIII on the glass sands just outside. But the fighting was too thick to allow for a leisurely search of the fortress’ perimeter.
I found a narrow spiraling staircase and began to climb. A wooden door appeared—I listened but heard nothing through it. I tried the handle but it was locked. Another door. This one allowed me entry into an empty bedchamber. I had to walk through a tapestry hanging on the wall to get in. Dust coated the sparse furniture, but the furnishings were rich. A silk coverlet covered a vast bed and an old carpet warmed the floor. This was a room for royals and lords to stay in, and I'd entered through a hidden door.
With quick steps, I went to a window. Yes, I was in Archeon’s neck. I’d come a long way since his bowels. I should turn around if I sought escape. But maybe one of the princes had a chamber nearby.
I stepped back into the stairwell and hovered, undecided about my direction. And then, like the Mother’s gift to her favorite son, I heard the priestess’ voice. It was coming from just above me. Caelan spoke after her and I grinned. There was someone at their door.
“How did you know about this passage, Priest Farad?” Caelan asked him.
“Nothing is more important to a Priest of the Temple than the safety of the members of the royal family,” the man said. A clever non-answer. This must be a secret back passage; I'd suspected as much.
“Its use is for emergencies only.”
“Indeed it is. I’ve come to inform you that the demon, Tanead Tajawl, has escaped the dungeon.”
Caelan swore and I tried not to make a peep.
“Has an alarm been raised?” Caelan asked.
“Yes. Your brother and all our troops are already looking.”
“Why wasn’t I informed immediately?” Caelan’s tone was so sharp, it could cut glass.
The answer from the priest came smooth as water. “I believe your brother thought you should not be disturbed. Perhaps the prince now understands why I chose to use this passage this evening.”
“Yes,” Caelan said stiffly. “Thank you, Priest Farad. I’ll go after him right away.”
“I’m not sure I can be of further use to you,” the priest said.
“You’ll stay here with my companion. Ensure she remains in the room, and the guards posted outside the door of the chamber stay there. Lock both doors as soon as I leave.”
“Shall I restrain her in your absence?” the priest asked smoothly. “Only I ask because I am aware that your highness requested shackles earlier this evening.”
Oh, I hoped Caelan said yes. I’d like to slit her helpless little throat while she wore a Slayer’s shackles. It felt like justice.
“That won’t be necessary,” Caelan said. Sounds of rustling filtered into my ears; he must be donning his sword belt.
After he had it on, would he come this way through the passage? If so, he would pass me right by. A grin twisted my face and I wiggled my fingers, summoning heat.
“Come in, then,” Caelan said impatiently to the priest, who entered the room. The door swung shut behind them. No one descended the steps.
A shame.
Oh well.
The priestess would soon be alone in that room with just a priest to guard her. I never thought there would be anyone I’d feel a deeper yearning to kill than an Havard. But tonight, there was.