The Lightless Labyrinth - Excerpt 3

III

Jonn was awakened just before daybreak by the sound of cursing. The barest hint of sunlight peered through the black branches. An old tree root had worked its way into his back during the night, and he groaned as he rose from his bedroll.

The camp was mostly still. Here and there he could see sleeping figures, some stirring as they prepared to wake. Nearby, Jonn saw that Garath’s bedroll was empty. Jonn was an early riser, but he was unsurprised to discover that the knight was even more so.

The sound of cursing came again, from somewhere further down the road towards the entrance to the Labyrinth. Throwing his cloak around his shoulders, Jonn started walking towards it.

There were three fires in the camp-site. Two of them burned low, but one flickered with life, and the smell of cooking meat led Jon in that direction. One of the peasants, a boy just a few years younger than Jonn, was sitting by the fire, roasting a pair of sausages on a stick with a blank stare on his acne-scarred face.

"You’re going to burn those if they don’t come out soon," said Jonn.

The boy started and looked up at Jonn, blinking his red-rimmed eyes. "Sorry, milord," he said, pulling the sausages out of the fire with a start. "I am ever so sorry. Would milord like these sausages for his breakfast?"

Jonn sat down on the log next to the boy. "I’m no lord," he said. It was a lie; he was a lord, albeit a very minor one, but it was not something he told people about. "Just call me Jonn. Though, I wouldn’t mind a sausage if you can spare one."

The boy’s wide face split into a relieved grin, and he pointed the stick in Jonn’s direction. Jonn took a steaming sausage with his fingers, juggling it from one hand to the next before it was cool enough for him to take a bite. It was a bit gristly, and burned besides, but it was still beef, and settled his growling stomach.

"Thanks. Your name?"

"I’m Gam."

"You’re up early. The rest of your fellows are still asleep."

"I been up most o’ the night. I ain’t never been this far from home before. An’, you know. The Lightless Labyrinth, just a bit down the road."  He shivered.  "It makes me feel mighty queer."

"I know what you mean," said Jonn. "Soon enough I expect I’ll have passed beyond the doors, and gone below."

Gam's eyes were wide, his face solemn.  "You’re brave. Much braver than me, I reckon."

"No," said Jonn, smiling sadly. "I just have a job to do."

"They say there’s a lot o’ gold in there," said Gam, sighing. "I’d sure like to get some of it. For me mam."

Jonn’s eyes were drawn to the fire, where one of the logs split, sending a shower of sparks into the air. He had not seen his own mother for three years, and they had not spoken for months before that.

"Still, Lord Garath is payin’ me well. Just for carryin’ some things and mindin’ the horses, he’s payin’ us all pretty well. I just hope it’s enough."

"Don’t worry, Gam. I’m sure Sir Garath will be generous. And it’s very brave of you to come even this close to the Labyrinth. You’ll have a tale to tell when you get home, that’s for certain."

"Yes," said Gam smiling weakly. "I suppose I will."

Another round of curses and epithets came from vicinity of the Labyrinth’s entrance. Gam gave a start, and Jonn chuckled.

"I’d better go and see what’s happening," he said as he rose from the log. "Thanks for breakfast. We’ll talk again before you go."

Gam was giving his own farewell when Jonn noticed a figure sitting at a fire on the other side of the camp. It was impossible not to notice; the man was a hulking brute, close to a foot taller than any other man Jonn had ever met. His face was overgrown with a bristling black beard, but by the firelight Jonn could see that he had only one good eye. The other was gone, and all that remained was an empty red socket that seemed to glare balefully.

The hulking figure was one of the mercenaries. Jonn had never exchanged a word with him, did not even know his name. But the man was staring right at him with his one-eyed gaze, teeth bared in a sinister grin, face glowing red in the fire-light. Jonn shivered as he gripped the hilt of his sword. He quickly said his goodbyes to Gam and hurried down the path towards the Labyrinth.

As he neared the bend the stream of curses grew more audible. It was the thief, growing more hostile and inventive by the second. Jonn's nerves eased as he got further from the camp, but the strange man still weighed on his mind. He wondered if Sir Garath knew anything about him.

Jonn followed the path around the bend. Garath nodded to him in silent greeting from where he stood just a little way off the path. Father Beren stood opposite him, his eyes twinkling with amusement. The red-bearded barbarian held a lantern over the entrance to the Labyrinth, where the thief was hunched in front of the great door, working by the flickering light.

"This lock," said the thief, "is tougher than a northman's arsecheeks." He threw his tools to the ground in disgust.

"Should I be disturbed?" said the barbarian. "I am the only northman you know."

"Enough," said Garath. "I should have known you would be of no use."

"You’ve had no luck then?" said Jonn as he reached Garath’s side.  I have to go in.  There must be a way in.

"None," Garath replied. "Priests sealed these doors, and it will take more than a bent wire to gain us entry."

"Perhaps, then, I may be of assistance?" said Father Beren. "That is, if our friend thief has exhausted himself."

The thief waved for the priest to approach the doors. "Remember, I softened them up for you."

"I will say as much at your eulogy," said Beren as he studied the doors, running his hands over the time-worn stone.

"It is said that the priesthood holds knowledge of the secret word that can open the doors," said the knight.

"A word known only to those who were present on the day the Labyrinth was sealed," Beren said as he inspected the door.

"And were you?" The knight's jaw tightened as he grimaced the words.  Jonn felt his own muscles grow tense, and his fingers twitch.  No.  No, he couldn't have been there.

The priest gave no answer as he leaned back and stroked his beard. Then with a sudden exclamation he pointed his finger in the air. He opened his mouth and a voice rolled out, cavernous and deep. Jonn could not make out the words, even though he stood but a few feet away. They echoed in his head just beyond the edge of his comprehension, but they filled his mind with shadows and blackness.  He was reminded of the long nights in his room as a child, after his candle had gone out.  Don't think of it.  Not yet.  Not now.

The great stone doors split with a resounding crack, and swung slowly inwards. A blast of fetid air issued forth from the shadowed opening, and Jonn had to cover his mouth and nose.

Garath drew his sword. "Then—"

"Yes, yes, I was," said Beren, cutting him off. "And now I am here again. Let us gather the others, and prepare. The Labyrinth is open, and we must descend."