Chapter Eight Ruhlin #2
The physician was a stoop-backed old man who peered at them from behind a pair of thick glass lenses fixed within a heavy wooden frame.
He offered no words of greeting, merely clicking his tongue and jerking his head at one of the dozen beds occupying half of his chamber.
The rest of the space was taken up by tall shelves laden with jars.
“Anything broken?” Ohtera asked the old man after they set Tremyn down on the nearest bed.
The physician spent a few moments peering at the young man before extending a long finger to probe his limbs and torso. When a poke to Tremyn’s ribcage provoked a groan, the old man clicked his tongue again and held up two fingers.
“Sorry,” Ohtera told Ruhlin. “No feast for you today.”
“Will he be all right?” Ruhlin asked the physician. His reply consisted of only an irritated flap of his long-fingered hands before he moved to the shelves and began adding the contents of various jars to a mortar bowl.
“Best to leave him to his work,” Fernhyld said, gently tugging at Hulyk’s arm.
“I’m staying.” Pulling away, Hulyk perched himself on the neighbouring bed, casting a sullen glare at Ruhlin. “He would’ve beaten you but for that thing,” he said before shifting his glare to Ohtera. “Like I would’ve beaten her.”
“But you didn’t, did you, you little arse wipe?” Ohtera responded. Ruhlin thought she might well have had more to say if Fernhyld hadn’t taken firm hold of her hand.
“We should go,” she said as another loud click sounded from the physician.
Hulyk still refused to leave so they left him and returned to the passage.
It snaked through the lower tiers of the Kelvengyr in haphazard fashion, its kehlgruin walls rough hewn and streaked by the water trickling through the many cracks in the ceiling.
While much care had been taken to craft an impressive exterior for this structure, it clearly hadn’t extended to its hidden interior.
Ruhlin was no builder, but the more his gaze lingered on the cracks, the more it reminded him of the musty darkness of the mine at Tahrim Kyrn.
So, when they came to the iron gate covering its exit, he breathed a sigh of relief when the guard stationed there swung it open.
“Silvahk wants to speak to this one,” the guard said, causing Ruhlin’s lightened mood to evaporate.
The guard’s face was unfamiliar but the way he stared at the stagna made it plain that he was also a Ventra.
He jerked his chin at Ohtera and Fernhyld. “You two, back to the arena.”
“We’ll steal you some food,” Ohtera promised in a whisper before they set off.
When they were out of sight, the guard stepped aside, gesturing for Ruhlin to head in the opposite direction.
They were in a narrow, curving space between two high walls, a grey winter sky visible above.
The enclosure was too tall for him to scale, but it occurred to Ruhlin the monster might find it an easy task.
Judging by the sound of his footfalls, the man at his back was following at an unwise proximity. If Ruhlin moved quickly enough…
“Stop here!” the guard ordered.
They had arrived at an arched gateway sealed by another iron grille.
The guard stationed there exuded a surprising pitch of tension as he opened the gate, features flushed and his gaze never wavering from Ruhlin’s stagna.
The man at his back exchanged no words with the gatekeeper, instead ordering Ruhlin through the arch, his voice curt with urgent impatience.
A short tunnel led to a bridge spanning the gap between two walls, the one ahead far taller than the one behind.
A narrow river traced along the floor of the gap.
Unfortunately, Ruhlin reckoned it too shallow for him to cast himself over the bridge’s edge and ride its current to freedom.
Another short tunnel awaited them at the far end of the bridge, enveloping gloom broken by a sunlit opening through which he saw a broad expanse of sand.
As they drew closer, Ruhlin realised he was looking upon another arena, far greater in size than the sand pit where the Kelven practised.
Tiered rows of seating rose to create a vast bowl, its topmost level lined with statues.
This, he realised, was the Vortigurn’s wuhltra, a far more impressive structure than any Ruhlin had seen before.
“Stop,” the guard instructed when they were perhaps a dozen paces short of the arena.
Turning to him, Ruhlin was surprised to find the man’s gaze no longer on the stagna, but on the dark void of a tunnel off to their right.
The veins in the guard’s jaw stood out in stark relief and a bead of sweat traced over his forehead.
Ruhlin could have taken him in that moment, plucked the dagger from his belt and opened his throat.
That left the issue of escaping the Kelvengyr, but if he could find a way to stoke the monster’s rage…
“Leave us.” The words issued from the tunnel in a grating wheeze, the frightened Ventra promptly turning about and marching back the way he had come. Regarding the gloomy opening, Ruhlin’s nascent schemes of escape vied with his curiosity.