3 – Descent into Darkness

They ran, heedless of where it was that they were headed, seeking simply to put distance between themselves and the assassins by the time that the dust that Blade had flung into their faces had been cleared from their eyes.  Beyond the altar they plunged into the dark chambers in which but scant traces of light seeped, the gloom obscuring anything that they might contain.  In the very last chamber they entered, a set of broad stairs led down, into a profound darkness that lay beneath the feet of the temple.

Once more Blade reached into the pouch at his belt and brought forth another pinch of dust.  Again he whistled a short snatch of a tune, this one different from before in that it was light and airy.  A pale bronze light blossomed at the sound of the music, the dust drawing in on itself to form a small ball of bronze light that hovered just above the palm of Blade’s hand.

With not a backward glance, Blade plunged down the stairs into the dark, with Peregrine at his side.  Beneath the temple, they found themselves entering a world of the dead, a place of ancient catacombs almost as old as the city above.  Niches in the stone walls were filled with the long bleached bones of the ancient dead who were interred within, or crammed into nooks or shelves.  Skulls were sacked in grim, grinning piles.  Webs lay thick upon them, and the air was heavy with dust.  Beady little eyes gleamed in the light Blade carried, and the skittering of rats sounded loud in the silence as they darted away from the approaching pair.

The tracks in the dust that they had been following led away down one of the tunnels that branched out from the chamber they had descended into.  Blade followed after them, holding aloft the mystical light so as to provide illumination along the labyrinthine tunnels and chambers that extended out around them.

Hushed words spoke of the catacombs that spread beneath the Inner City, reportedly vast, a near endless expanse of tunnels and vaults and sepulchres in which the dead of the city had been laid to rest, deep beneath the earth, beneath even the broad man-made lake that occupied the heart of the city.  Dark rumours abounded of what lay within, and seldom did any venture into them but for the Keepers of the Dead, those priests for whose task it was to see that the dead were laid to rest; and that they remained undisturbed.

Down dingy tunnels, tight packed near to overflowing with the bones of the departed, the pair made their way, brushing through the webs that clung to the walls.  Rats dared to and fro at their approach, scattering away or slinking down behind the piles of bones, to watch and wait until the pair had left before venturing out once more.

For how long they walked, they could not tell, and nor exact where they were headed, only that whoever had preceded them had been bound for somewhere.  In time, in the depths of the catacombs, they came to a chamber wherein a hole had been knocked through the wall, leading into what they could only imagine to be yet more tunnels that laced their way beneath the city, separate from the catacombs, yet just as vast; Lower Qaiqala many called it, or Qaiqala Below, and many names besides, a den of thieves and smugglers and other malefactors, in parts a city unto itself.

Blade ducked his head and stepped on through the hole, leaving behind the catacombs.  He held high the small ball of bronzed light so as to inspect where it was they had emerged out into.  A small chamber, lined with bricks, many of which were crumbling with age, existed on the other side.  Sturdy pillars supported an arched roof overhead.  The tracks they had followed through the catacombs continued on across the chamber, to where an old set of stairs led up to a solid door set high up in the wall, near to the ceiling.

If it had not been for the tracks in the dust, they would have thought that the chamber, which sat still and empty, had been long forgotten.

They looked to each other, the daughter of the wild hill clans of the Aedring, and the son of the civilised cities of the plains.

“We have come this far already,” Peregrine stated  “We know what lies behind us, and the danger that would arise should we turn back that way.  Ahead may yet be just as grim, but now is the time for boldness; let us risk the unknown and see what lies yonder.”

Blade drew forth his rapier, the slender blade singing in the air with foreboding elegance.  “Onwards, to whatever may befall us.”

Peregrine took the steps up to the door first.  It was an ancient thing, yet sturdy sill, and bound in bands of iron that had become pitted with age.  Blade released the small ball of bronzed light, waving it forward to hover above Peregrine.  He bounded up the steps on long legs to join her.

The sword maiden set her armoured shoulder to the door and gave it a testing shove.  Much to her surprise, it swung open easily, and silently, evidence of much recent use.  Cautiously pushing it open further, she readied her broadsword and stealthily crept on through, stalking like a great wolf on the hunt.

A small alcove lay beyond the door, separated from a much larger room by a soft silk curtain that swayed gently in the lightest of draughts.  The larger room that opened out on the other side of the curtain was magnificent in its opulence, a place of dark green marble columns rising to an unseen roof above, while elaborate mosaics spread out across the floor.  Of more immediate importance were the two men that were in it, one corpulent and clad in expensive silk robes, sitting up a carved marble throne before a smoking brazier, and the other tall and bearded, and all in black.

The small orb of glowing bronze light flickered out of existence as Blade closed his hand around it, falling to dust that seeped through his fingers.  Across his brow a frown formed as he studied the pair.  Turning to Peregrine, he silently mouthed a name; Black Iridh.  Peregrine nodded, and over her face there settled a steely expression, a promise of fell deeds to come. Slowly, silently, she edged forward, her sword held high before her, ready to plunge through the curtain without hesitation, should the need arise.

Out in the chamber, Black Iridh turned and looked directly through the curtain, towards the small alcove where the pair were concealed.  “There is a draught when the door is opened,” he announced in a dead, emotionless voice that made the flesh shiver to hear.  “Reveal yourselves.”

Peregrine darted forward with a panther-like grace, brushing aside the curtain with her sword as she burst out into the chamber.  She levelled the heavy blade she held towards the assassin.  He displayed no surprise at her appearance, nor any other signs of concern, his hands remaining calmly clasped behind his back.  Of the other man present, his response was entirely different all together.

“This can not be!” he shrieked as he beheld the fierce Aedring sword-maiden standing before him, his voice a high pitched whine.  He leapt from his throne unsteadily, his vast bulk unbalancing him.  “Iridh, your men have failed!  They have come hither, to slay me!”

Blade made his own grand, almost theatrical entrance; a sweep of the blade, an elegant bow and a wave of the hand.  “Sheikh Fidir ad-Rassa, so it is you that is behind the attacks of the Brotherhood who set upon us.  This has me most vexed; fair recompense we demand for our endeavours, and not knives in the back.”

No response did Fidir make at first, for indeed he seemed almost beyond rational words, his eyes bulging in his corpulent face and his lips working, though no words came forth.  The four stared at each other, waiting for a reaction, or movement, and the air hung heavy with the tension of an expectancy of violence ready to erupt.

Fidir it was that broke the tableau, flinging upon the burning brazier a handful of some substance that neither Peregrine or Blade could properly discern, and from his heavy lips there issued a tune both dark and grim, a sound that rasped across the very souls of those who hear it, a thing of discordant edges and bleeding resonances.

The brazier flared bright in response, flames blossoming far into the air, almost to the dome of the roof high above, while tendrils licked about, appearing as if they were alive and seeking out purchase. From within the flames a shape began to emerge, a being of dark smoke in which bleak orange flames burned. It stepped forward, out of the fire, swelling in girth until it towered above them, fully twice the height of a man. For the most it had the form of mere nebulous smoke, if roughly akin to the shape of a man, yet its head had definition, and was a vision of horror. The skin had the appearance of coal, blackened, yet cracked so that a fiery glow appeared from within as a web of burning veins. Eyes like molten iron glowed with intent sinister, while twisted horns crowned its head.

“O creature of the Slumbering Flames and Thousand Darkness, I compel thee to smite down these, foes to our cause,” Fidir commanded, jabbing a pudgy finger towards Peregrine and Blade. “Rend their very souls from their flesh for eternal torment, and thy pleasure.”

 The smoke monster opened its mouth and let forth a roar, the air rippling before it with the heat of its breath, fuelled by the fires that burned within.

“You are a great fool, Fidir,” Blade retorted. “Such as these are not to be trifled with.”

Fidir laughed, and within the laughter were traces of madness, the sheikh tripping close to the edge of insanity. “This is but a servant to my master, and it answers to me, to my wishes and commands.”

“Enough of this conjuring of smoke and shadows,” Peregrine snarled, settling into a two handed grip upon the hilt of her broadsword. “This ends here and now.”

 “Peregrine, wait!” Blade called out in warning, yet already the words were too late, for the sword-maiden had launched herself full at the smoke monster, letting forth a challenging shout to drive down the fear that lurked within her breast. Creatures of flesh and blood she was not afeared of, yet conjurations such as that which stood before her were enough to unnerve any, even a fierce sword-maiden of the Aedring, and only in facing those fears head on could they be defeated.

The sword slashed through the air with all her iron strength thrown behind it, a swing straight and true. Strong enough it struck to fell man, or beast, yet that before her was a creature of smoke and flames and the stroke had as much effect as if she had merely been hewing at water. But scant resistance met her as the blade passed through the smoke monster. Expecting more than that, she overbalanced and stumbled, leaving herself wide open.

A lashing fist of smoke and flame smote down upon her, and across the chamber she tumbled, sliding across the floor with its mosaics done in golden stones and precious jade. Fidir laughed like a crazed man, spittle flecking upon his lips, as Peregrine rolled back to her feet. Her lips had been split open and her hair left in disarray. Settling down into a crouch, her eyes blazed with cold, focused rage. She wiped the back of her hand across her cheek, brushing off some of the soot that clung to it that had come from the blow.

“Hold, Peregrine,” Blade called out, his hand fishing once more into the pouch at his side. “This is not a threat that your steel can match.” Fidir cackled again, exulting in his apparent triumph. Beside him, Black Iridh watched on, impassive, his hands folded behind his back. No traces of the contents of his thoughts were on display across that dead, sardonic face.

Blade brought forth from the pouch another scattering of dust, and this was cast towards the smoke monster. Once more he called forth a tune, a soft melody that set the heart to soaring at the very sound of it and smote aside fears and doubts, lending renewed vigour to the limbs. From the smoke monster there arose a howl as the drifting dust settled upon it, and its smoky form rippled in response, no longer mere ephemeral smoke but now physical.

“No!” Fidir screamed, eyes bulging in a face made crimson with rage and the ominous sense of dread. “Kill them! Kill them, kill them, kill them, kill them!” he babbled, wits broken.

A wolfish smile crossed Peregrine’s face and there was contained within it not a hint of softness, but instead an intent both fell and grim. She stalked forward again, towards the smoke monster, lightly balanced on her feet and ready for the attack. The smoke monster roared, slashing a fist towards her. She ducked beneath it, lashing out with a strike of her own in reply. The edge of her blade bit deep into the creature of smoke’s side, and from the wound poured a sooty black dust. The monster’s enraged cry shook the chamber and set the curtains to flapping.

Fidir grabbed a hold of the front of Black Iridh’s shirt, pulling the assassin close. “Do something!” he screamed, all reason having fled him, for while sane he would never have manhandled Iridh in such a fashion. Iridh took hold of Fidir’s hands and pried open the grip they held upon him.

“Something shall be done,” Iridh promised. A knife flashed into being in his hand and he stabbed with it, plunging it deep into the black heart that beat within Fidir’s chest. “Our schemes are compatible no more, and thus our arrangement is terminated.”

The sheikh staggered back, hands going to the hilt of the knife, a look of supreme shock on his face for the moment he had in which to register what had happened. Then he fell, crashing headlong onto the brazier, upending it so that the glowing coals were scattered across the mosaic floor.

As if unconcerned by the clash taking place in the chamber, Iridh calmly retrieved his knife from Fidir’s body, cleaned it on the fallen man’s robes and tucked it away once more before turning and strolling off, clasping his hands behind his back.

Blade’s intention to chase down the assassin was interrupted by the feather light hint of a sound from behind him. Turning, he was just in time to see a black clad figure of the Brotherhood pushing his way through the silk curtain to emerge from the very alcove by which he and Peregrine had gained entrance to the chamber. Blade’s rapier whistled up, barely in time to deflect aside the knife that came stabbing towards him.

The second knife the assassin held in his off-hand came in low, a slashing blow that forced Blade to step back in retreat. The tip of it just caught him, opening up a minor cut, barely a scratch across his thigh. There were those that poisoned the blades, though Blade could feel none of the indicators that would apply if used in this case.

His rapier snaked out in response, a gleaming blade thrusting for the assassin. Back and forward the pair danced silently, with parry and thrust, neither able to break through the other’s defence, while behind them the clash between Peregrine and the lumbering smoke beast roared on.

In the end, it was the reach of Blade’s rapier that proved most telling, the weapon providing a distinct advantage over the short blades that the assassin wielded. A whispering thrust battered aside the knives and darted forward to run the man through. A gurgle sounded and Blade whipped the blade clear, allowing the assassin to sink to the ground.

With long, strident bounds, Blade went through the curtain to the door that led below, slamming it shut and bolting it tight in case any further assassins were forthcoming.

The battle between Peregrine and the smoke monster had not yet reached its conclusion, though the beast was heavily beset by the flashing blade of the sword-maiden, rent in many places by the touch of the sword. Peregrine’s auburn hair hung in disarray and the heavy blow of blackened fists had touched her more than once. Bruised and battered though she was, she still stood defiant.

Blade hustled forward cautiously so as to lend her his assistance, rapier dancing through the air as it sought out an opening. Circling around behind as Peregrine pressed the beast, he lunged. The thrust whispered home in the back of its leg. A bellow echoed through the chamber, so fierce as to rock the curtains that hung around. The smoke monster spun savagely about to smite him in response, fists raised on high. Taking advantage of the momentary distraction, Peregrine hammered a blow towards the beast’ back, screaming defiance as with all the strength of iron thews hardened by a life in the wilds she swung her heavy broadsword home.

The blow struck deep in the smoke monster’s back. Its legs crumpled out from beneath it as Peregrine’s blade bit, and it collapsed, a distressed call torn from its lungs. Slamming into the floor it burst apart like a vase tossed upon stony ground, scattering soot and ash that billowed up and into the air before beginning to slowly settle again.

Peregrine leant against the hit of her sword, taking deep, steadying breaths. Brushing aside a stray lock of auburn hair that had fallen across her eyes, she shook her head. “What manner of affairs have we found ourselves ensnared in? The sheikh, it would seem, did not appear to be interested in the Jewels of the Kahani.”

“That he did not,” Blade agreed, dusting off soot that had landed on his fine crimson shirt. “Whatever it was that the sheikh feared, and whatever the reason behind the attack, it is at an end now.”

“The assassin still lives,” Peregrine pointed out, even as her eyes appraised the worth of the chamber they stood victorious in.

“By the manner of his departure, it would appear that he sees us as of little concern to him, and that is for the best. Come, let us dispose of these gems, lest once more we become a target.”

“Aye,” Peregrine agreed, “And once that is done, we have a revel to attend.”

The End

Back to Peregrine and Blade