The Lightless Labyrinth - Excerpt 2

II

The candles burned low in the back room of The Wayward King, where Jonn sat huddled around a long table with eight others.  Six were men and two were women, and Jonn thought that he had never before been in such varied company.  They differed in size and age, dress and nationality, but there was one thing they all shared in common.  They were all here for a purpose.

Another man stood at one end of the table with the fireplace at his back.  He was tall and well-built, with dark hair and a neatly groomed beard, but his face was drawn in a permanent scowl beneath his heavy brows.  Though his coat was plain, it was obviously well-made, and the sword at his hip was similarly lacking in ornamentation.  Everything about him spoke of practicality; even his movements were purposeful.  Jonn found himself nodding in approval as the man spoke.

"Forgive my bluntness," he said, "but you all know why we're here, and I would waste no time."

No-one spoke, but the reason for this gathering hung heavy over them all.  The Labyrinth.  Only a week ago Jonn had arrived in Tyrest, looking for nothing more than time to rest.  To think on everything he had seen and done in the Northern Reaches.  He could hardly believe it when he had heard the word going around that a knight was seeking to make an expedition into the Lightless Labyrinth.

"You've all heard the tales, I'd wager," the knight continued.  "I don't know if they're true or not.  Fell beasts and fabulous treasure, that's what they promise.  Well, I make no promises, for good or for ill.  But know this: I am going into the Lightless Labyrinth.  Alone if I must, though I would prefer some comrades.  That is why we are here.  For me to measure your character, and make my decision.  Impress me, and you may join my quest.

"You’ve heard me speak," he said. "And now I would hear from you." The knight's gaze slowly swept the room, pausing briefly on each of the people seated at the table.  When Jonn's turn came, he had the distinct feeling that he was being weighted and measured, that every aspect from the stitching of his cloak to the cut of his hair was being assessed.  He found himself sitting up straighter, and averted his eyes in embarrassment.

Finally, the knight's attention fixed on one of the men, a round-bellied, grey-bearded fellow who was calmly leaning back on his chair and sipping a glass of red wine. "You go first, old man," the knight said, his voice cold. "One of your age and girth hardly seems fit for a journey into the labyrinth."

The old man simply smacked his lips and smiled, seemingly oblivious to the knight's comments. "My dear sir, do allow a humble man of the cloth to finish his wine. There are more than enough fine men and women here with stories to tell."

Jonn felt a sudden surge in his chest.  A priest.  His hand strayed to the pommel of his sword.  Once he had believed in the church, but all that had changed five years ago.  A murmur passed around the room, and even the knight stepped back, his lips twitching.

"Do you mean to report us to your superiors, priest?  You would never leave this room alive.  Speak up!"

"Report you?  No, intend to join you my good fellow.  Nevertheless, I cannot possibly speak at length with such a splendid vintage set out before me." The priest raised his glass and gestured towards Jonn. "Perhaps this bold warrior would like to begin?"

Jonn sat up with a start.  Does he sense how I feel?  He paused for second, unable to speak, then simply shook his head.

"No, priest," said Sir Garath. "I will hear your story first, or none at all."

The priest stood from his chair and gave a gracious nod towards the knight. Though his belly was large, Jonn was surprised to see that he stood straight-backed, in such a way that no man would ever describe him as fat.  He stroked his silver-grey beard as he eyed the knight with an amused expression.

"I am known as Father Beren, good sir. A humble man of God, as you may have guessed."

Across the table another man snorted, spilling ale down his chin.  He was a lean, wiry figure, with a wry smile permanently fixed to his handsome face.  Jonn had seen him earlier, examining every item in the tavern as though assessing its value.  A thief, if ever I saw one.  "Few are the men of God who could be described as humble these days," said the thief.

"True enough," said Beren. "Though when you meet such pious men, it would be best to compliment them upon their humility, would it not?  Expecially in days such as these."

"Enough," said the knight. "This babbling gets us nowhere."

"Indeed," the priest continued. "Though I shall be required to babble just a bit if I am to explain what I seek. Have you heard the tale of what lies at the heart of the Lightless Labyrinth?"

"I know it," said the knight.

"Then you know what I seek. The secret. Indeed, the secret. The answer to the very meaning of our existence. That is what King Prias is said to have found there in ancient days, and I would seek it too."

"Why?" said the knight.

"I simply want to know," said the priest with a chuckle.  "Besides, you'll have little luck in entering the Labyrinth without me."

The knight fixed Beren with a hard gaze. "Know this, priest. Your kind has too many secrets, and I have no love for them. I would have it plainly. Do you work for the Priest-Regent?"

"But of course," said the priest, placing a hand on the silver cross around his neck.  "I am a man of the church, after all.  But let as say that in this matter, I am... engaging in some personal research. Are you satisfied?"

"For now," the knight growled.  Jonn loosened the grip on his sword, but he was far from satisfied.  Soon, priest.  Soon you'll give me the answers I need.