Rebellion: Tainted Realm: Book 2 (9 page)

“What about you, Benn?”

“I can learn,” said Benn, uneasily.

“There’s no time to teach you.” Rix looked up the tunnel, then down at the dark water. “I can’t see any light, though it can’t yet be dark outside.”

“Does that mean it’s a long way to the end?” said Glynnie.

“Could be. Or it could be deep underwater. The lake’s full of churned-up mud; you can’t see far at all. I need to know how far it is to the outlet – if it’s more than forty yards, we’ll run out of air getting there.”

She also scanned the conduit behind them, swallowing. “Can you swim through to check?”

“It’d take too long.” Rix was infected by her unease. How long before the pursuit found them? He frowned, rubbed his jaw. “I can’t take you both at once. If we lose contact I’ll never find you again.”

“Take Glynnie,” said Benn. “I’ll be all right.”

Memories of the time Rix had lost contact with Tali in a lake out in the Seethings still burned him. She had been within seconds of drowning and it had been his fault. “You’re smaller. It’ll be easier if I take you first.”

“Where would you leave him when you get out?” said Glynnie. “You can’t take him to shore; there’ll be guards everywhere.”

“I don’t like either option,” said Rix. “What do you think, Benn? If I take Glynnie first, will you be all right by yourself? It’d only be for five minutes.”

“Of course,” said Benn, thrusting his knife out menacingly, though his arm shook. “Don’t worry about me, Sis.”

Glynnie’s face told a different story, but she said, “All right.” She hugged him impulsively.

They took off their coats and boots and packed them in the oilskin bags. “No, lad,” said Rix. “Keep yours on until I come back. You’ll need all the warmth you’ve got.”

He stepped in and Glynnie went with him. The water, though chilly, wasn’t as cold as might have been expected given the bitter winter outside. Lake Fumerous, which had filled the void created when the fourth of the volcanoes called the Vomits had blown itself to bits in ancient times, was warmed from beneath by subterranean furnaces.

“Take three slow, deep breaths,” said Rix, “then hang on tight. Don’t try to swim – you need to save your air. If it looks to be more than forty yards, I’ll bring us back. Ready?”

She nodded stiffly, trying not to worry Benn, whose knife was drooping. Standing there all alone, he made a small, forlorn figure. Rix swallowed his own misgivings. Had it been Glynnie he would have felt just as bad.

“Now!” he said.

He pulled Glynnie under, holding her against his side, and swam down the drainpipe, following the gentle slope of its top and counting his strokes. The buoyancy of the oilskin bag helped to counteract the weight of the gold in his money belt, though it tended to pull him sideways. The light faded. Was she all right? She held herself so rigidly that he could not tell. Twenty strokes; twenty-five. He must have gone twenty yards by now, surely.

Rix could swim fifty yards underwater, at a desperate pinch, but Glynnie could hardly hold her breath that long. Thirty strokes. Should he turn back? If he went any further he wouldn’t be able to – he’d run out of air on the way.

It wasn’t easy, swimming one-handed. Was that light up ahead? It was hard to tell in the turbid water; his eyes felt gritty. Go on, or turn back? He must be beyond the point of no return now.

Yes, it was light, the faintest glimmer. Rix kept going, fighting the urge to breathe in. Glynnie was making small, panicky motions of her hands but there was nothing he could do for her. The light grew; they passed through a waving fringe of algae and he swam up to the surface. He held her with one arm while she gasped down air, raised himself head and shoulders out of the water, then hastily sank to chin level.

“What’s the matter?” panted Glynnie.

“Guards, all along the shore.” He could hear their boots crunching on the ice along the waterline.

“What are we going to do?” Her green eyes went wide. “Benn —”

“I haven’t forgotten him.”

He turned, turned again. At various points into the bay, huge timber mooring piles had been driven deep into the mud, though all were empty. The ships that had been moored there had either been sailed away, or wrecked in the tidal wave.

The nearest pile was thirty yards away. Rix fixed the location of the end of the drainpipe in mind as best he could in the featureless water, then swam with Glynnie to the pile, which extended six feet out of the water and had a copper cap on top.

“Hang onto the mooring ropes,” he said, and made sure she had a tight hold. “I’ll be as quick as I can.”

He scanned the water for boats and other dangers. Several hundred yards further offshore, wind and currents had collected a mass of timber and floating debris into a loose, bobbing raft at least a hundred yards across. Dinghies were drawn up on the shore but he could not reach any without being spotted.

“Benn’s in trouble, I know it,” she wept. “I should have let you bring him first. I’m so stupid. I can’t do anything right.”

“He’ll be all right. I’m going back now.”

“What if you can’t find the end of the drainpipe?”

“I’ll find it.”

“If something’s happened —”

Now Rix was worried too, but he couldn’t bear to listen. “I’ll be quick. Stay low. Don’t do anything to attract attention.”

He swam back thirty yards, dived and went down with powerful strokes of his left hand, his right flopping uselessly. The bottom was some fifteen feet down, but there were no waving streamers of algae and no sign of the drainpipe. Rix cursed and swam in a widening spiral until lack of air forced him to the surface. He trod water, gasping, eyeing the patrolling guards until he got his breath back, then dived again.

The drainpipe was not below him here, either. How could he be so far out? He swam another spiral, another. Ah, there it was, but he lacked the air to swim all the way back to Benn. Another breath and down he went, into the drainpipe and up. Despite his words to Glynnie, Rix was starting to panic. He’d told Benn that they’d be five minutes but fifteen must have passed by now, and in fifteen minutes anything could have happened.

He swam furiously until he approached the upper end of the drainpipe, then slowed and approached it carefully, just in case. Now he could make out a faint bluish light, coming from the glowstone. It was all right.

He eased his head through the surface and looked around. The air reeked of rotting fish and decaying bodies. He hadn’t noticed how bad it was before. The glowstone sat on a rock by the water’s edge, and Benn’s little pack was beside it. But Benn was not there.

Rix shuddered. Why had he painted that dreadful mural? Was it symbolic – the despised Pale and the disgraced former nobleman collectively destroying their country? Or did it mean nothing at all?

He could feel Glynnie’s gaze on him. No, on his dead hand. Her mouth was open, her eyes huge. He scowled and she lowered her head. A creeping flush passed up her cheeks.

“Why didn’t you leave it up on the roof?” Rix said quietly. “Why did you have to interfere?”

Her reply was barely audible. “You done so much for us. I wanted to help you…”

“But you didn’t know what you were doing!” he cried.

Benn whimpered and scrunched himself in the corner. For once, Glynnie ignored him. “You… you could have told me to stop.”

“I didn’t know you were planning to reattach it. I had my eyes closed. I couldn’t bear to look at the damn, dead thing.”

He raised his lifeless right hand, wanting to be rid of it. Should he hack it off? Rix did not have the courage for such a bloody, final act. And, if he admitted it, he could not abandon hope that whatever had withdrawn the life from it might restore it again.

“Sorry, Lord,” whispered Glynnie, falling to her knees before him. “I’m just a stupid maidservant. Beat me black and blue; I deserve it… but please don’t take it out on Benn. Please don’t abandon us now.”

He wanted to, but he could not abandon a young woman and a child, for any reason. Without him they had no hope. With him, maimed and useless though he was, they had a tiny chance.

“I’m not going to beat anyone —”

Somewhere behind and above them a beast howled, an eerie sound that echoed down the tunnels. It was followed by a frantic scratching, panting and yelping. Rix imagined a shifter’s bloodstained claws tearing at the lid of a coffin, trying to get at the dead meat inside.

“They’ve sniffed us out,” whispered Glynnie. “We’ll never get away now. Lord, please don’t leave us.”

“I’m not going to leave you. Get Benn up.”

Instinctively, Rix reached for Maloch, but his dead hand could not grip the hilt. He drew it left-handed and held it up. The blade, which had a bluish tint, was made from the immensely strong metal titane, the secret of whose forging had long been lost. The very tip of the sword had no point, for it had been melted by magery in the battle with Lyf. Rix would have to grind a new tip – assuming his sharpening stone could grind titane.

He checked the passage outside the vault. There was no sign of a light, but neither the Cythonians nor their shifters needed light to travel underground. The enemy could feel their way, and their shifters could smell it out.

He sniffed and caught a faint, rank odour, like a jackal shifter, yet more dog-like. Whatever kind of shifter it was, a pack of them would have the advantage down here. Rix had defended Glynnie and Benn from jackal shifters a few days back and never wanted to do so again. Had Tobry not eaten that piece of caitsthe’s liver and become one himself to fight them off, they would all be dead —

He forced the memories away. Concentrate on survival; nothing else is relevant. Glynnie and Benn were staring at him, holding their knives. They knew what was coming, and how little chance they had. Even with his right hand, Rix would have struggled to beat a pack of shifters. Without it, what hope did he have?

“Shut that door,” he said, indicating the one through which they had entered. “We’ll go out the other way.”

Glynnie pushed the door closed. “There’s no lock.”

“Damn!” Rix looked around. “Give us a hand with the bench.”

They heaved at it but it was fixed to the floor, and so was the other one.

“Maybe they’ll go straight past,” said Benn.

“They’ll sniff us out, lad.”

They went through the far door and tried to close it but the rusted hinges would not budge. Beyond, a well-made tunnel curved around to the right, then down in a series of long, shallow steps in a sweeping left-hand curve.

“Go ahead, Glynnie,” said Rix. “Hold the light high so I can guard our backs.”

They went down. Rix backed after them, straining to see into the darkness, for the bluish light of the glowstone only extended up a few yards past him. Not nearly enough. The sly creatures would creep down in the dark, attack in a mass, and he’d have less than a second to defend.

“What’s down below, Glynnie?” he said. “Can you see?”

“No, but it’s getting steeper,” she whispered. “Wait, there’s a door going off to the right.”

“Can we lock it behind us?”

“No.”

“Keep going down.”

A minute later, Rix caught a characteristic rank whiff on an air current. Hyena shifters. They were through the vault door, high above. And he couldn’t fight them without light.

“Smelling stink-damp again,” said Benn.

“Me too,” said Glynnie, a moment later. “It’s getting stronger with every step. Lord, if we keep going down…”

Now Rix could smell it. “It’ll poison us. We’ll go back up to that door.”

They turned and went up, but now the reek of hyena shifters was overpowering.

“They’re close,” quavered Glynnie. “Lord, Lord —?”

“Light the torch, quick.”

“But there’s stink-damp! I can’t make a flame here.”

“I don’t think there’s enough of it to explode up here.”

She gave him a dubious glance and handed the glowstone to her brother. Taking out the fabric-wrapped bundle of wood, then a small wrapped lump, which she unwrapped and began to rub into the cloth with her hands. Butter. Rix could smell it. She wiped her hands on her pants then, gingerly, struck sparks with her flint striker. The buttered cloth caught and burned with a sizzling yellow flame.

He clamped his dead fingers around the bundle and held it high. And recoiled. Glynnie gasped. Benn let out a strangled squeal.

The light reflected back from a dozen pairs of eyes, less than ten yards up. Red eyes, though the hyena shifters had black fur that made them almost invisible.

Rix drew Maloch and held it out. “Got your knives?”

“Yes, Lord,” whispered Benn and Glynnie together.

“If one attacks you, go for the throat.”

It might not be enough to stop a hyena shifter, but it was the best they could do. Rix swallowed. His heart was thundering, but inside he was calm, focused. He’d faced death many times in the past weeks. He’d even wanted death at his darkest moments. But not now. It was up to him to protect the innocents.

Taking a step up the slope, he met the eyes of the pack leader.

“I’m going to spill your guts on the steps,” said Rix. “You’re going to die and the other hyenas will eat you. You haven’t got a hope against me.”

Another step. The words were nonsense, but the steely self-confidence he projected was not. To beat the pack, he had to assert dominance over its leader. “I’m the top dog. Come onto me and I’ll kill you, first stroke. Turn away.”

The red eyes blinked but the pack did not move. Rix took another step. Only eight more to the door. He could hear Glynnie’s heavy breathing behind him.

“It’s all right, Benn,” she whispered. “Rix’ll save us.”

The tone of her voice wasn’t convincing. He lowered the torch, holding it out in front of him at the chest level of the shifters. Another step.

“To get to me, you’ve got to pass the fire,” said Rix, swinging it back and forth.

The pack leader’s eyes followed the flame. It double-blinked.

Now! Rix leapt forwards, thrusting out the burning torch with his right hand and Maloch with his left. Up one step, two, three and still the shifter had not budged. If he had misjudged, the children would die. Four, five, six. He let out a furious battle cry and swung Maloch at the beast’s snout.

It ran, and the others did too. But not far. Only ten yards up the steps. Hyena shifters knew how to play this game. Even if it took a day to wear their prey down, they could wait.

He took another step. The door was on his left. He pushed it open. “Glynnie, Benn?”

They came up.

“Go through.”

“But, Lord…” said Glynnie. “What about you?”

“Now!”

They went through. The pack leader was up on its toes, its tongue out. Rix swung the torch back and forth, but this time the beast’s eyes didn’t follow. It was a bad sign. It had his measure and was getting ready to attack.

Now! And if he was wrong, it was all over. He swung the blazing torch around, turned on the balls of his feet and tossed it out and down towards the bottom of the steps. The pack charged. He hurled himself through the door.

“Hold it shut!” he panted, taking hold of the door and forcing it closed.

The pack was clawing at the door when an enormous thudding boom was followed by a blow on the door that burst it wide open and hurled Rix, Glynnie and Benn six feet backwards. Tongues of fire licked in, then a rolling blast of sulphurous heat. The pack leader tumbled past them, its fur blazing, snapping uselessly at the flames and howling in agony. It raced down the tunnel, lighting the way for a few seconds, then disappeared.

Rix heaved the door shut and slumped against it, panting.

Glynnie was staring at him, wide-eyed. “Lord, I didn’t know you could use
magery
.”

“I can’t. Stink-damp is heavy and it pools in low places. I tossed the torch down to the bottom, praying it would be thick enough there for it to explode.”

“And you saved us, Lord.” The light was back in her eyes. The belief that he could do anything.

“Not yet. The enemy will send people to investigate. We’d better get going.”

The hero-worship made him acutely uncomfortable, nonetheless there was a kind of solace in doing his duty by Glynnie and Benn. Without them, he would have hurled himself at the shifters in a suicidal attack.

They crawled through another fissure that appeared to have opened recently, then continued along one passage after another. The air reeked of burnt fur for a while, though they did not see the shifter again.

“Do you think it’s dead?” said Benn.

“Yes, lad.” Rix put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I’m sure it is.”

But there would be others, and soldiers, too. The enemy did not give up.

“I knew you could do it, Lord,” said Benn. “And… and you can save Hightspall, too.”

“Don’t start that again,” Rix growled.

“But it’s true,” said Benn, bewildered. “You’re strong and clever and brave, and Hightspall needs you, Lord. Why can’t you see?”

“Benn!” said Glynnie.

They continued in an uncomfortable silence. Benn was plodding now.

“Anyone smell water?” Rix said after several minutes. “Benn?”

“Sorry, Lord,” said Benn after a long pause.

“I think… the lake is this way,” said Glynnie, pointing to a passage that went left, sloping gently down.

“How can you tell?” Rix did not like being underground and had no idea which way to go.

“It feels colder and danker… and there’s a rotting smell.”

After the tidal wave and the brutal enemy onslaught, the main things rotting in the lake would be bodies. “We’re still under the palace, so it can’t be more than a few hundred yards to the water. Let’s try it.”

Shortly they came to a broad crack running across the passage; the floor on the other side had also dropped a foot. The crack was only three feet across but the bottom could not be seen.

“Jump,” said Rix.

Benn leapt across but Glynnie, so brave in every other way, baulked at the gap.

“It’s only a yard,” said Rix.

“I can’t do it.”

“Come on, Sis,” said Benn.

She tried to jump, froze on the edge and teetered there, her arms windmilling.

“Sis!” screamed Benn.

Rix dived for her, caught her with his good arm, swung her around and, before she could resist, heaved her across.

He sprang over. “Come on.”

Glynnie did not move. She was looking up at him, tears filling her dark green eyes. Rix pretended he hadn’t noticed.

Further down, they entered an ancient drainage line built from neat stone blocks. Puddles of water lay here and there, and scatters of rotting fish.

“This must date to Cythian times,” said Rix, noting the quality of the stonework. “That means it’s more than two thousand years old,” he explained to Benn.

“What are the fish doing here?” said Benn.

“The great tidal wave forced lake water right up these drains, lad. In places, it squirted up through the lawn in fountains twenty feet high. We could find anything down here.”

Benn shivered and took his sister’s hand. Rix wished he hadn’t said anything when, several minutes later, they turned a gentle bend and found a tangle of broken bodies lodged in a collapsed section of the wall.

As they edged by, Glynnie put her hand over Benn’s eyes. He tore it away.

“Got to see everything,” he said. “Got to know what happened.”

Rix did not look, for fear he would recognise people from the palace. Too many good memories had been destroyed in the past few days; he wanted to preserve the few he had left.

“I can hear waves breaking,” said Glynnie. “Lord, we must be near the lake.”

“Carefully,” said Rix. “They’ll have guards along the shoreline, and they may have located all the tunnel exits by now.”

But before they had gone another fifty yards Rix realised that the enemy could not have discovered this exit. The rest of the tunnel was full of water; the outlet must lie beneath the lake. And surely the pursuit could not be far away. The stink-damp explosion would have shaken the whole palace.

“Can either of you swim? You, Glynnie?” Rix could not resist adding, “You said you could do everything.”

“I can swim a bit,” she said, gnawing her knuckles. “Old Rennible taught me when I was little.”

The former Master of the Palace, a gentle and kindly old man. The chancellor had hanged him from the front gates along with the lord and lady, plus all the other heads of Palace Ricinus. Guilty, innocent, it mattered not, as long as the lesson was taken. When a great house fell, everyone who had belonged to that house, or served in it, fell with it.

“How far can you swim?” said Rix.

“Twenty yards.” She faltered. “But I never swum underwater.”