The Lightless Labyrinth - Excerpt 9

IX

The barbarian followed Sir Garath into the darkness with little hesitation, battleaxe in one hand and shield in the other.  Myrio was close behind him, her sinuous gait betraying no fear or nervousness.  Beside her walked Father Beren, his stout frame clumsy in comparison.  His staff dispersed the darkness, revealing a rough-hewn passage that continued as far as Jonn could see.  The priest took another step inside, and the darkness closed behind him like a curtain.

Jonn stepped up to the threshold.  A sudden panic gripped his stomach, a wave of nausea that threatened to buckle his knees.  The Lightless Labyrinth.  The source of all evil, or so he had been told as a young boy.  Five years ago his father had ventured into this place, and had never returned.  He was but one of thousands.

Jonn glanced beside him, and saw the archer grinning deliriously, his face flushed and shining as though with a fever.  The light in his eyes could have been eagerness, or it could have been madness.  Jonn didn’t know, and he hoped never to find out.  The archer turned and strode forward into the shadows.  Jonn breathed one last lungful of clean, crisp air, and followed.

It took some time for his eyes to adjust, and he stumbled blindly forward.  Outside there had been a cold wind, but Jonn's cloak had been enough to ward off the chill.  In here the air was still, but the cold was deeper.  It seemed to radiate from within him, like cold stone in his veins.

Footsteps echoed around him, mingled with creaking leather and clanking armour.  Jonn reached out a hand and his fingers found the stone wall of the passage. He used the wall as a guide as he stepped forward.  Something crunched under his foot, and a smell like rotten fish assailed his nostrils.

A hand rested on his shoulder.  "Never fear," said a rich voice.  It was Father Beren.  "In this place, the darkness is stronger than the light.  Remain still for a time, and the light will win out.  Ah, it seems to be coming already."

The priest was right; the tip of his staff was beginning to glow dimly, growing brighter with every second.  The light danced and flickered along the walls, and Jonn had to cover his eyes until they adjusted to the brightness.

The passage walls were of rough-hewn limestone, but the floor was fitted with smooth cobblestones.  Everywhere Jonn looked he could see bulbous white insects hunched on the walls and floor. They did not scurry when the light touched them, nor did they move at the muffled sound of the party's footsteps.  Near his boot was a smear of white carapace and black ooze where he had stepped on one of them.

"Do you think they're even alive?" Jonn whispered.

"Best we assume they are," said Beren.

The rest of the party had entered the passage, with the mercenaries bringing up the rear.  The sorceress was glaring at the priest with a smug expression.  The ball of flame that hovered over her shoulder had barely dimmed when she crossed the threshold.

Beren chuckled.  "A proud one, that girl," he said. "She thinks her sorcery more powerful than my prayers. In this case, it is merely that her powers are closely aligned with the darkness, while mine come from a more pure source."

Jonn scowled at him and pushed past. "I doubt there's anything pure about it," he said.

"Have it your way," said Beren with a smile.  He turned and moved back towards the front of the column.  "Come on fellows!  Time is wasting! Let us move on!"

"Quiet, priest," hissed the knight. "And all of you. We move with as much silence as we are able. Speak only if necessary."

"Wait," said the thief uncertainly.  "Why can’t I see the entrance? It should still be daylight outside."

"He’s always been afraid of the dark," said the barbarian.

"It is as I explained before," said Beren. "Here, the darkness rules, and daylight may not enter."

"Wonderful," the thief laughed bitterly. "And how will we find our way out?"

"Perhaps we will navigate by the light of the piles of gold we’ll find?" said the barbarian.

"Enough," said the knight.  "If you wish to leave, now is your last chance. The rest of us move on."

The thief grumbled, but moved back into formation as the party filed along the passage.  Jonn could hear the mercenaries sniggering at the thief’s expense, but when he craned his head backwards to look he could not see which of them it was.  Instead he saw the one-eyed giant, his face glowing a ghastly red by the sorceress’s mystic light. He averted his eyes, not wanting to know whether the man was staring at him.

As he averted his gaze from the giant, he saw the dark-skinned southerner bend down to place a copper coin on the floor.

"What are you doing?" laughed Artis.  'That is good coin you waste."

"Just a superstition of my people," said the southerner.  "It's said that if we leave a coin behind us when entering the Dark Place, the crimson howler will take it instead of sneaking up behind us."

"I suppose you can always pick it up on the way back..." said Artis doubtfully.

Jonn shuddered.  He did not want to know what the crimson howler might be, so he turned his attention elsewhere.

He saw Gam looking stricken and pale, his eyes darting from side to side.  Beside the lad the squire looked even paler, his sour lips drawn tight.  Jonn paid the squire no heed, but he flashed Gam a reassuring grin.  The boy barely seemed to notice, and Jonn gave him no further comfort.  He had too many of his own fears.

Had it truly been five years? He tried to remember the last time he had seen his father, on the day the king had summoned him back to court.  Just five years, but he could barely remember his father’s face. His memories of the following years were more vivid, memories of his mother retreating into herself, beset by illness and a growing religious fervour. It was the way of things, he thought; that which you want to remember most slips away, and the things you wish to forget remain indelibly in your mind. He shook his head bitterly, and forced his attention on the tunnel ahead.  It would do no good to die while lost in memory.

The moss-walled passage continued on, sloping downwards. Occasionally one of the party trod upon a fat white insect, releasing the smell of rotted fish, but there was little else to break the monotony.  For an hour they travelled in this manner, and Jonn started to wonder if the Labyrinth was little more than one long tunnel.

"At least we won’t have any trouble finding our way out of this place," he heard the thief mutter from behind him.

The knight gave a sharp hiss, and motioned for the party to stop.  They halted in the tunnel, but Jonn could see the archer getting agitated beside him. He rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, whispering to himself in a foreign tongue as he plucked at his bowstring. Jonn opened his mouth to talk to the man, but thought better of it.  The archer made him nervous.

"There is a chamber ahead," said Sir Garath. "Our front six will enter and spread out. The rest remain in the passage."

The message was passed backwards, and Jonn was sure he heard cursing from the mercenaries.  He paid it no heed, and moved up the passage.  It would be the knight, the barbarian, the priest, the swordswoman, the archer and himself, while the rest waited in case anything happened.

The passage widened into a circular cavern. Jonn drew his sword and moved around the wall to the left, and the archer came with him, holding an arrow to his bowstring. The walls were smoother than those of the passage, and carved with swirling patterns that wrenched his eyes towards them. Four large tunnels led from the chamber, but at least a dozen smaller holes lined the walls in various places, about large enough for a man to squeeze through.

"This place is a deathtrap," Jonn whispered.

"Yes," said the archer with a hint of relish in his voice. "That it is."

Jonn turned his head, and saw that Garath and Beren were approaching a raised platform in the centre of the chamber.  Upon the platform was a large copper bowl, and inside the bowl skulls were piled in a neat mound.  Jonn edged back towards the platform, keeping watch on the exits, and the bore-holes in the walls.

Sir Garath stepped onto the platform and reached towards the bowl.  From the top of the mound he pulled forth a skull.  Those that Jonn could see in the pile were scorched black, but looked like normal human skulls.  The one that Garath held aloft was blackened as well, but strangely elongated, with sharp tusks and a broad, flat forehead.

"What is it?" said Jonn quietly.

"I don’t know," said Garath.  "But there is more than one of them here.  A lot more."

"It is interesting," said Beren.  "I wonder why they are piled in this manner?"

Jonn glanced over to the far side of the room.  Myrio and the barbarian could be seen just at the edge of the staff-light, fading in and out of the shadows.  She held her thin sword loosely as she walked, her gait almost casual, but her eyes gave every sense of alertness.  The barbarian was much more tense, holding his axe as though ready to strike a blow at every flickering shadow.

Jonn was about to turn his attention back to the passages on his side of the room when he saw a pale gleam in one of the bore-holes, just over Myrio’s shoulder.  It was gone an instant later, but Jonn did not turn away.  He placed a hand on Garath’s shoulder, and directed his attention toward the hole.

The gleam returned, two round orbs that hovered in the darkness.  In the bore-holes nearby, two more pairs of gleaming orbs appeared.

"Behind you!" Jonn cried.  Sir Garath glared at him as his voice echoed around the chamber.  Three pale-skinned figures darted from their holes, skittering sub-human things with large eyes and long, tapered heads.  Their mouths opened to display wide rows of fangs as they closed around Myrio.

Jonn stood frozen to the spot, his breath cold in his chest.  Garath, Beren and the archer were like statues, and the barbarian was oblivious.

Myrio moved, like water flowing in a creek bed.  As the first creature opened its jaws to tear at her throat, she calmly stepped around it and plunged her sword through its back.  It sprawled to the ground, but before it had even stopped moving Myrio removed her sword from its carcass and brought it around in a fluid arc, slicing another of the beasts across the neck.  Without stopping she continued her stroke, severing the arm of the creature that was trying to sneak up behind her.  The beast-man opened its mouth to bellow in pain, but no sound came out; Myrio’s final thrust went between its jaws and into its brain.

Jonn let out a sharp breath and raised his sword.  Garath was already looking around the room, while Beren looked perplexed.  The barbarian looked at the bodies lying around him, dumbfounded.

The archer stared at Myrio, his mouth agape.  "Amazing," he said quietly.  "Never before have I beheld such beauty.  Such beautiful murder."

Myrio wiped her sword on the back of one of the fallen beast-men.  "It seems that this place will be good for a tale indeed," she said.