The Fall of Ventaris (24 page)

Duchess pressed the hidden lever and Castor pushed back the plinth. He descended a few steps, peered around, and then nodded. The way was clear. Duchess joined him in the stairwell and produced a torch, fumbling for flint and steel. In a moment she had it blazing, and by its light she could see a large metal ring embedded in the base of the plinth, evidently the handle for closing the passage. At her nod, Castor grasped it and slid the plinth back into place, closing them in the passage with the flickering, smoking light of the torch.
 

The stairway descended well into the earth, fifty feet at least, and at the bottom was a long, narrow passage, perhaps six feet wide, lined with the same gray stone that graced most of the city. The Domae who had built Rodaas had certainly been consistent, she’d give them that much. Castor pointed to the floor at a small circular patch of clean in the dust. “Lantern,” he breathed. Darley would need her own light source, and of course she was less worried about stealth. No one else came down here, as far as she knew.

Taking a deep breath, she nodded, and Castor led the way into the darkness beneath the city.

*
 
*
 
*

Duchess did not want to be here. She wanted to be home, or drinking with Lysander at the
Merry Widow
, or — gods help her — even haggling with Hector. Anywhere but here
,
far below the city, buried under an empire’s worth of stone and humanity. Every step took her deeper into the darkness and away from the cleverness and bravery that had brought her to this place of gray rock and shifting light. Castor took the lead, moving with cautious grace, hand near the hilt of his sword, and she followed, clutching the burning brand as if it were life itself.
 

Beyond that light the darkness was complete, and the gods only knew what would become of them if the torches gave out. The tunnel was smooth and gently sloped, sometimes curving left and sometimes right, but always down. Occasionally the way branched, and there white marks, chalked into the gray stone, were their only guide. The blocks that lined the tunnel were all of precisely the same size and hue, and only those marks broke the monotony.
 

Only a fool would rely solely on the memory of a map, and Darley was clearly no fool. Duchess had brought some chalk of her own, to use if there had been no path to follow, but there’d been no need. Castor had caught sight of the first marking, drawn so close to the floor that she herself had missed it...no doubt as Darley had intended. She blessed each one, for without them she would have been hopelessly lost. They’d passed so many side-corridors and passages that she could only imagine the scope of the tunnels. As they went, part of her mind whispered that around the next corner was the wet chill of the fog, impossible this far underground. She wiped sweat from her brow and tightened her grip on the torch.

As they moved more deeply into the labyrinth, the tunnels changed, and they passed long, shallow niches carved into the walls. They were empty now, but who knew what treasures they might once have held? Each one was perhaps six feet wide and half that deep, enough to hold a small chest, or even a human being...

...and that was when she guessed they’d entered the fabled necropolis, where the long-ago Domae had interred their dead. The corpses had either decayed to dust or been removed, but here they had lain since before the founding of the empire. Castor glanced back at her, as if to measure her resolve, but she met his gaze squarely. She would not turn back.

Nor did she. As they pressed on, those niches in the wall became more frequent, and not all of them were empty. She saw a skull here, a ribcage there, and once even an entire skeleton. Those bones had seen the passing of centuries from their stone shelves, and like the keepers, they held their secrets close. She shivered. Castor, seeming to share her unease, picked up the pace, and she followed eagerly.

When she heard the first whispering echoes, part of her thought her fear had finally gotten to her, but when Castor stopped, one hand raised, she knew they were something real. The sound bounced back and forth, from gray wall to gray wall and back again. Voices, she realized. Human voices. She met Castor’s gaze and nodded. This was why they had come. He prowled forward, hand near his blade and she followed with the torch.

The tunnel grew wider and the ceiling higher, and she thought she saw a light ahead. She moved to extinguish the torch, but Castor stopped her with a shake of the head. After a moment she understood his concern. There was no way to tell who was ahead, but it would not do to meet them blind and stumbling in the dark. Best to keep the light until they knew more about what awaited. As they moved on, silent as they could, the sounds became clearer, resolving into two distinct voices.

“...a coward, then? After all this...”

“...even try that...fool enough...”

“...any complaints. Why the change of...”

“...from you either...hardly a one-sided deal.”

The light became brighter, and she sensed the source was right around a bend. A man and a woman, arguing.
 

“I’ll have no part of it. I’m done,” said the gruff male voice. “We’ve disturbed the dead enough.”

“Suddenly afraid of old bones?” the woman answered, disdain dripping from her voice. Duchess decided to risk creeping nearer. She handed the torch to Castor and motioned for him to wait, then sneaked along until she could peer around the corner.
 

The chamber beyond was broad and high-ceilinged, perhaps forty feet on a side and nearly half that high. Slender columns ran from floor to ceiling and marched from one end of the room to another. In the walls were more shallow alcoves, filled with the shapes of bones. The speakers stood in the center of the room, arguing by the light of a lantern. She recognized Darley from the other night, clad in the same dark cloak and dress, but the man was unfamiliar. He was tall, broad and nut-brown, with tightly curled black hair, and she recognized Ulari features. This could only be Finn, Darley’s rumored paramour. He was holding a satchel of tools — shovel, pick and spade.

“Not bones, as you know well enough. There’s worse to fear, above and below the hill,” he said, his Rodaasi perfect and unaccented. Raised in the city, then.

Darley snorted. “You’ve had no problems before, no complaints on the rewards.” Her tone turned suspicious. “Why stop now?” Although she was a full foot shorter than the man, she faced him without fear. He in turn seemed to catch the change in her voice, because he smiled and said nothing. That seemed to catch her off guard. She drew in closer to him, poking a finger into his chest. “What’ve you done?”

He shifted his bag to his other hand, and with his right he took hold of her finger. He drew it to his mouth for a kiss and she snatched it away in anger. He laughed. “You’re not the only game in town, my
love
.”

“You’re a liar,” she snapped, but Duchess could sense the uncertainty in her voice. “A coward
and
a liar.”

“I’m neither and you know it,” he replied, placating. “But we’re done...”

She cut him off, frustrated. “We’ve hardly
started
! We’ve the whole Ossuary to search! You’d no such complaints when we found the dagger!”

Duchess held her breath.

“No complaints from you either,” he replied. “No complaints when I sold it off. No complaints on all the gold, your lovely new clothes and jewelry that daddy never got you.” His hand was near her cheek for a stroke, both tender and mocking but she slapped it away.

She was pacing now, gesturing as she went, the lantern throwing shadows in her wake. “So it’s worked before. It’ll work again. One more trip...”

He cut her off then, touching her shoulder, stopping her in her tracks against the far wall. Duchess risked sneaking a little closer.

“And one more trip and one more trip, and one more trip,” he muttered into her hair. “I’ve had
enough
.”

“Or you
have
enough,” she muttered, pulling her head away, the suspicion clear on her face. “The
other game
. You bastard. What’ve you done?”

Now it was his turn to smile. “What could I have done? Finn’s just a dumb old pack mule, right? That’s what you got him for?” He ran a hand over her neck.

She fairly
screeched
then and let the lantern slip from her hand. It clattered and rolled across the floor, still burning. It threw the two figures into sharp relief against the stone — Darley with her back turned now, slamming her fist against the wall.

“
Bastard!
” she screamed. “What did you
do
? What have you
done
?” Every word was another slam against the stone. Duchess saw the red in her fist as she drew it away from the wall.

And then Finn was pressing against her, grabbing at her arms. She struggled in his grip, her hurt hand straight out, away from him and into the alcove behind her. His voice was softer now, and Duchess crawled the smallest bit further in to make it out. “Stop, just stop.” An apologetic tone crept into his voice and Duchess watched the expression on Darley’s face. The one she knew Finn couldn’t see. “I...found a way to make money off the damned thing again. I’ve got enough now. Enough for both of us. We don’t need to do this any more...”

She’d heard enough. She could see well enough where the rest of this was going. She was slipping back towards the corridor where Castor was waiting when the noise stopped her.

She knew instinctively she’d heard it before, but she could not for the life of her remember where. It had stopped the two lovers in their tracks as well. Finn looked, confused, behind him. Darley was on her knees, scrambling for the lantern. It was then Duchess saw the trail of red the girl had left behind — the blood on the wall where she’d hit it, the floor where it had dripped.

The clattering sounded again, and she saw Finn jump back, eyes wide and white in his dark face. Then there was another clatter, from a neighboring niche, and then another. And another. Darley spun in a circle, holding her lantern high, its light shining upon a face pale and tight with terror. “What is it?” she said in a tremulous voice. “
Who’s there?
” Duchess’ heart leaped, and Finn turned this way and that, as if to keep all of the stone hollows in view. The chattering doubled, then trebled, until the chamber sounded like marbles shaken in a stone cup. The noise was everywhere in the dark, and she was certain it could be heard even in the city far above. It was the sound madness might make. “Mayu save us,” Duchess whispered through numb lips.

As if in answer, footsteps sounded behind: Castor, with the torch. He handed her the light and drew his sword, but there was no foe to fight. Darley and Finn, crowded together, did not notice his arrival. Darley pealed forth shriek after shriek, and Finn’s mouth opened and closed, as if he could not get enough air. Steeled by Castor’s steady presence, Duchess stepped into view and lifted the torch. “Here!” she called. Both of them whirled at the sound of her voice cutting through that terrible noise. “Don’t just
stand
there! Run! This way!”

There was an agonizing moment during which hope and fear warred openly on Darley’s face. Hope won and she ran forward, Finn following, but before she closed the distance a skeleton tumbled out of its niche and crashed to the floor at her feet, blocking the way. She screeched and leapt backward only to stumble over another that fell out near Finn. The chattering sounded again, and four more skeletons fell from their places, clattering one by one out on to the stone.
 

Finn glanced at Duchess, but at that moment the skeleton at his feet moved, seizing his ankle with a bony hand. It made a dry clacking sound as it closed, and now Finn’s screams joined Darley’s. All around there was movement as bone stirred and stood on fleshless feet. Duchess stood rooted to the spot, her blood turned to ice. Finn lurched backwards, dropping his satchel of tools and kicking wildly to free himself. The skeletal arm snapped off at the elbow, but the hand remained attached, clinging to his ankle with lifeless strength. Grasping the forearm with both hands, Finn yanked hard until the hand came away with the sounds of tearing cloth. There was blood on the tattered rags, Duchess saw, the bony fingers raking Finn’s flesh even as they were pulled away. Finn flung the arm with a wail of despair, turned, and ran across the room into the darkness. Darley screamed his name and ran after him, and by the light of their lantern Duchess saw the pair flee through an arch on the opposite wall and disappear.
 

Duchess made no move to pursue, her eyes locked on the one-armed skeleton as it climbed shakily to its feet. The bones boasted no sinew, tendons or muscle, and yet somehow they
moved
. The sockets in its skull were dry and empty, and yet somehow they
saw
. The thing drew closer, but she made no move to run or evade, frozen in the grip of fear. The dagger she had used to drive off Shallows thieves, and all of Castor’s training, were forgotten in an extremity of terror she had never thought possible. It could not be, her numbed mind insisted, it could not. The creature reached out with its remaining arm, and she saw with swooning horror that its bony fingers were sharp as stilettos. It reached for her eyes...

...and then lost the arm in a whirl of motion and a flash of steel. Castor’s sword parted limb from body with one slash, and with another sent the armless skeleton reeling back. A third strike sent the skull flying from atop the naked spine, and then Castor was gone, moving to confront another foe. Her thoughts were still slow, but any doubts she might have had regarding the fighting prowess of the White were forgotten. She watched mutely as two more of the figures moved to flank him, swiping with sharp, bony fingers. Castor jerked back to avoid one blow that would have made a shredded ruin of his face, then stepped fluidly away from another that would have slashed his arm. He kicked out, hitting one skeleton in the center of its fleshless pelvis and sending it flying, then turned to face its companion. His sword flashed and the creature fell to the floor, missing both arms and one leg.