Chapter Twenty-Three Ruhlin
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Ruhlin
The days following the slaughter in the Vortigurn’s wuhltra took on a monotony that grated on Ruhlin’s nerves more with each dawn.
No more Kelven were summoned to do combat, but Silvahk insisted they practise every day.
Ruhlin usually found himself matched against Tremyn.
His brother had never returned from the healer, Silvahk stating one morning that Hulyk’s injuries were beyond even the most skilled care but they should rejoice for he had honoured the Vortigurn with that most precious gift: his life.
Given the wrathful enthusiasm his bereaved sibling now displayed in the circle, Ruhlin concluded Tremyn no longer saw any reason for joy.
Mostly he maintained a dark, glowering silence, except during practice when he would hurl himself at Ruhlin with uncaring ferocity.
His wooden stave was only ever aimed to strike and never parry, any blow he received bringing a fierce grin to his lips.
Ruhlin did his best to fend him off, acquiring a new swiftness with his wooden blade that Guthnyr’s lessons had never quite managed to instil.
He also tried to quell the monster’s ire whenever Tremyn’s stave pierced his defence.
It wasn’t always possible and Ruhlin suffered the stagna’s icy flare with doleful regularity.
By contrast, since surviving his visit to the wuhltra, Delryk hadn’t suffered a single punishment.
This wasn’t due to any merciful impulse on Silvahk’s part, but the young Kelven’s new-found enthusiasm for acquiring all the deadly lessons his tutors were willing to impart.
He dedicated himself to practice with unstinting focus, shrugging off the blows he received from sparring partners and, with increasing frequency, began to deliver some of his own.
Even when not in the circle, Delryk could be seen running around the garden or performing the sword scales he had learned.
“I’ve decided not to die,” he told Ruhlin when asked about his change in demeanour. “Having come close enough to death to taste it, I found it very unappetising. And, while my ability can cause confusion, even pain, unlike you I can’t kill with it.”
The only inmates of the Kelvengyr spared continual practice were Ohtera and Fernhyld.
Ruhlin wasn’t sure why Silvahk no longer compelled Ohtera to take part, but noticed how he avoided her gaze.
She and Fernhyld spent most of their time alone, either keeping to their cell or wandering the garden.
Every night, Ruhlin could hear Fernhyld’s sobs ebb into sleep, counterpointed by Ohtera’s soothing words.
It became part of his own nightly ritual.
He would lie awake until their voices faded, taking a curious comfort from such stark evidence of mutual devotion, although it often made him ache for Aleida.
It was to her that his dreams inevitably turned most nights.
Sometimes they were ugly, especially after days when he had felt the stagna’s touch.
Something about the iron ring’s influence always soured his slumbering mind, leaving it open to horrors.
Other nights were far more pleasant, like tonight when he found himself drifting into sleep with his mind filled by those wonderful hours together in a half-ruined hut in Tahrim Kyrn.
So it was with no small measure of annoyance that he found himself jerked from Aleida’s company by a hard insistent tug on his foot.
“Calm now,” Ohtera said, hands raised as she backed away from his bed. Ruhlin felt the vestiges of a growl tingle his throat and realised that the monster also disliked having its sleep disturbed.
“What is it?” he asked, voice edged with irritation.
“Quiet,” she hissed. Moving to the doorway, she crouched and peered out at the darkened practice ground. “Fewer Ventra and archers now. Always the way when the Meidvang looms closer. They need them to guard the captives. There’s a shift change soon, so get ready.”
“For what?” Pulling on his clothes, Ruhlin donned his shoes before joining her at the doorway. He entertained only the faintest hope she might be plotting an escape, having left him in no doubt she considered the mere idea an absurd impossibility.
“I think there’s something you need to see,” she murmured, holding up a hand when he started to speak again.
She waited several more minutes before exiting the doorway and making for the archway leading to the garden.
The iron gate covering the entrance was always locked at night but Ohtera vaulted the aged wall with ease.
Ruhlin required considerably more effort before he followed her, all the while fearing both a thrumming bowstring or flare from the stagna.
Neither came and Ohtera sprinted away the instant he dropped to her side.
She kept to the edges of the garden where the shadows were deepest, Ruhlin following in a crouching run.
“Here,” she whispered, skidding to a halt where the wall met a kehlgruin buttress.
Sinking to her knees, she began to scrape grass and soil away from the base of the wall.
“Dug this out when I was younger,” she explained, her partially extended claws swiftly uncovering a wooden surface.
“Haven’t used it in a while.” Removing a short timber plank from the ground she revealed a hole.
“It’s a bit tight for you,” Ohtera said, scrambling into the opening.
“If you can get your legs through, I’ll pull you the rest of the way. ”
Without waiting for his agreement, she disappeared from view.
Ruhlin spent a few seconds staring at the constricted channel before climbing in.
A long interval of squirming followed, Ruhlin managing to sink into the hole up to his shoulders before becoming hopelessly stuck.
He began pondering a means to free himself and return to his cell when he felt Ohtera grip his ankles.
In her partially transformed state, dragging his bulk through to the other side was easy for her but hard on him.
He emerged sputtering dirt and wincing from numerous scrapes and scratches.
“Where are we…?” he began only for Ohtera to turn and lope away into the gloom.
Ruhlin followed as best he could, hampered by the steep bank he had to navigate.
It seemed the garden abutted the gorge separating the Kelvengyr from the Vortigurn’s wuhltra.
Making his way along an incline of tufted grass and rocks, Ruhlin did his best to ignore the depthless void on his left.
He halted when the arching majesty of a bridge loomed out of the dark, one of the spans leading to the great arena.
Spying Ohtera’s sleek form silhouetted beneath the bridge, Ruhlin feared she was about to clamber the full length of its underside, no doubt expecting him to follow.
His blank refusal to do so died on his lips when she moved instead to the stone casement securing the bridge to the bank.
Drawing closer, he saw her pushing aside a number of rocks to reveal another opening.
To his relief, Ruhlin found this one would easily accommodate his size.
“I think it was built as a secret entrance,” Ohtera explained as she continued to shift rocks. “But got forgotten about. They did a poor job sealing it up when they built the bridge. I hoped it might lead outside. Instead it goes deep into the foundations of the Kelvengyr.”
Sliding the last stone aside, she rested on her haunches, regarding the tunnel mouth in evident reluctance. Her nostrils flared in distaste, though Ruhlin could detect only the mustiness of a space rarely touched by fresh air.
“What’s down there?” he asked.
“A great deal of ugliness.” Ohtera sniffed and wiped the back of her hand across her nose.
“So ugly, I haven’t been back here in years.
” She turned to Ruhlin, eyes seeming to glow as they fixed him with an intent, needful glare.
“I show you this because you need to understand your fate. Don’t mistake it for kindness, for I learned long ago that such things are dangerous here.
I do it to cement our alliance so that when that beast within you decides it wants free of the Kelvengyr, it will not see me as an enemy. ”
“So, you’ve decided you want to escape after all?”
“I have always yearned for release from this place. And always known it impossible. But now, I am compelled to entertain even the impossible.”
“For Fernhyld.”
She didn’t reply. But Ruhlin concluded she didn’t need to. “Stay close,” she said, slipping into the hole. “It’s very dark and we can’t risk even the smallest light.”
He followed her into a void as devoid of illumination as any he had yet encountered throughout many months of peril.
Taking his hand, Ohtera placed it on her shoulder and began a slow descent.
The surface they traversed wasn’t overly steep but lacked any form of step or handhold.
As they went deeper, the musty taint to the air increased, as did the number of cobwebs.
After a while, Ruhlin abandoned the chore of peeling them away.
When they eventually halted, he felt a thick coating of spider silk upon his skin.
Now utterly blind, he could only hold fast to Ohtera’s shoulder as she moved, displaying a fluency that meant her eyes had no difficulty piercing such absolute gloom.
“Lighten your steps,” she whispered after a journey Ruhlin estimated at perhaps three hundred paces. “We’re close.”