Blue Moon Rising (Darkwood) Page 14

  Rupert shot a quick look at the Champion, but he seemed to have finished. The Champion’s face was mostly lost in shadow, but it seemed as calm and impassive as ever. Rupert looked away. He didn’t know why the Champion was telling him these things; it wasn’t as though they were close, or even friends. Rupert studied the mine entrance before him. It was hard to think of the Champion as a boy; a child who laughed and cried and ran away from a darkness he couldn’t bear.

  “Sir Champion …”

  “We’ll check the buildings first,” said the Champion evenly, and moved away to give the orders.

  Light soon flared from a dozen torches set around the main entrance. Guards moved silently through the darkness, searching for traces of the missing townspeople. The buildings proved to be empty, but strange scuff marks were discovered in the tunnel leading down from the main entrance. Rupert entered the tunnel and knelt beside the marks, studying them as best he could in the dim light from his lantern. They weren’t tracks as such; it looked more as though something indescribably heavy had lain briefly on the tunnel floor, crushing and packing the earth tightly together. Rupert frowned; whatever was responsible for those traces, it definitely wasn’t demons. The Champion came back out of the tunnel darkness, and Rupert rose quickly to his feet.

  “Have you found anything?”

  “Not yet, Sire. They’re in the mine somewhere.”

  “We can’t be sure of that, sir Champion.”

  “I’m sure,” said the Champion flatly. “Something called to them. Something called to the townspeople, and they left their houses to come here, to the mine. Men, women and children; so many they must have had to wait their turn to file through the main entrance. They’re down there somewhere, in the dark, waiting for us to join them.”

  Rupert glanced at him sideways. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear the Champion was cracking up. The man had always been a little unstable, but. … Farther down the tunnel, a guard cried out in horror. Rupert ran forward, the Champion at his side, and the guard came out of the darkness to meet them, his face drained of all color. He’d lost his sword and his lantern, but he was carrying something in his hand.

  “What’s happened?” snapped the Champion. The guard stumbled to a halt. His mouth worked, but he couldn’t speak.

  “What have you found?” asked Rupert. The guard shook his head wordlessly, and handed Rupert a red shoe. Rupert frowned. It was small, too small to be anything but a child’s. It seemed strangely heavy in his hand. He looked into the shoe, and then fought back the urge to vomit. The child’s foot was still in the shoe, neatly severed at the ankle. The shoe was red from dried blood. Rupert passed the shoe to the Champion, who studied it calmly.

  “Did you find anything else?” Rupert asked the guard.

  He shook his head. “I couldn’t … I couldn’t see much; it was too dark. But the smell … the smell’s pretty bad.” He swallowed dryly and stumbled away, heading for the surface.

  “He’s young,” said the Champion absently. “First tour of duty. Never struck a blow in anger, like as not. He’ll get over it.”

  “Yeah, sure,” said Rupert. His stomach lurched as the Champion casually threw the bloodstained shoe to one side, and he quickly looked away. “Quite a few of my guards seem equally young, sir Champion. I take it they’re all equally inexperienced?”

  “Pretty much, Sire.”

  “No wonder the King let me have them.”

  “You’re learning,” said the Champion.

  Rupert smiled tiredly, and for a moment they stood together, staring down the tunnel into the darkness.

  “Well,” Rupert said finally, “There’s nothing more we can do here. Let’s get back to the town.”

  The Champion frowned. “Back to Coppertown?”

  “It’s better than being trapped out in the open,” said Rupert. “If there are demons here, we’ll be safer behind stone walls.”

  “They didn’t help the townspeople much,” said the Champion. “Aren’t you curious about what’s down there in the dark?”

  “Not a lot,” said Rupert.

  “There could be somebody still alive, deep in the mine,”

  “It’s not very likely.”

  “No, Sire. But it is possible.”

  “Yes,” Rupert sighed regretfully, “It is possible, sir Champion. What do you think we should do?”

  “We must go down into the dark,” said the Champion calmly, “And either save the townspeople, or avenge them.”

  Rupert felt a sudden surge of empathy for the Champion. In his own way, the Champion was as scared of the mine as Rupert had been of the Darkwood. And like Rupert, the Champion wasn’t going to be stopped from doing what he felt was right, just because was afraid.

  “All right,” said Rupert. “Tell the guards what’s happening, and get me four volunteers to come with us. Have the rest set up a perimeter and mark it with torches. If there are any demons prowling, they’ll steer clear of the light.”

  “Four volunteers, Sire?”

  “This is going to be a scouting party, sir Champion, not an attack force. Time for that when we know what we’re up against. And I want real volunteers, mind.”

  “Of course, Sire.” The Champion smiled slightly and headed for the exit, to talk to the guards.

  Rupert grinned, and then stared down the tunnel into the darkness. The darkness stared back, giving nothing away. Rupert drew his sword, and hefted it. The Rainbow Run seemed a long time ago. I don’t have to do this, he thought slowly. It’s stupid to risk my life for a few hundred missing townspeople. My mission to the High Warlock is far more important. He sighed regretfully, knowing he didn’t really have a choice. No, I don’t have to do this. But I’m going to. As long as there’s a chance we can save somebody, I can’t walk away and leave them to the dark. He studied his sword thoughtfully. If there were demons in the mine shafts, he could always call down another Rainbow.

  The Champion came back with four guardsmen, each carrying a sword in one hand and a lantern in the other. The extra light served mainly to emphasize the narrowness of the tunnel. Rupert noticed that the Champion had left his lantern behind, in order to have both hands free to carry his massive war axe.

  “Ready, Sire?”

  “Ready, sir Champion. You know this mine, so you’d better lead the way.”

  “Of course, Sire.” The Champion strode calmly down the tunnel, into the dark. Rupert followed close behind him, lantern held high, and the four guardsmen brought up the rear. Rupert stared worriedly at the Champion’s back; the man was too determined not to let his old fear of the mine rule him. That kind of singlemindedness could lead to him doing something foolhardy and get them all killed.

  The tunnel sloped steadily downwards, and Rupert hunched forward a little to avoid bumping his head on the lowering ceiling. The walls were pitted and scarred, supported here and there by thick timbers disfigured by moss and rot. Fat clumps of white fungi gathered where the walls met the floor, and a faint sickly sweet smell tainted the air. Rupert scowled. The smell bothered him; it seemed strangely familiar. The Champion’s confident pace soon slowed, and he peered about him almost hesitantly, as though troubled by unwelcome memories. Rupert could hear the guards muttering behind him, and every now and again there was a muffled curse as they lost their footing or forgot to duck their head. Rupert glared into the darkness before him, but the lantern’s pool of light didn’t extend more than a few feet beyond the Champion.

  The tunnel suddenly widened out into a cavern, a good hundred feet in diameter. Set roughly in the center, a wide shaft fell deep into the earth. Positioned over the pit was a heavy duty windlass, from which hung a thick sturdy rope that disappeared down into the shaft. The Champion gestured for the guards to work the windlass, and Rupert realized he was looking at a simple elevator. He moved over to the shaft’s edge, and peered gingerly down into the pit. The sickly smell was immediately stronger.

  “Smells like something died down there,” muttered one of the guards disgustedly, as he sheathed his sword and helped take the strain on the wheel. The rope snapped taut, and then slowly began to wrap itself around the overhead windlass as the elevator rose reluctantly from the bottom of the shaft. Rupert moved back from the edge, frowning unhappily as he finally realized why the smell had seemed so familiar; it was the same stench of decay he’d found in the Darkwood. He watched the rope gather on the solid steel spindle for several minutes, and tried to visualize how far down the shaft must go. He gave up after a while. The answer disturbed him. He moved over to join the Champion.

  “Is this the only way down?” he asked quietly.

  “Aye, Sire,” said the Champion. “One of the guards will go down first, to spy out the situation. Once he’s given the all clear, I’ll send back for more guards to work the windlass, and then we can follow him down.”

  Rupert scowled. “I don’t like leaving one man down there on his own.”

  “You’re a Prince,” said the Champion. “You have no right to risk your life unnecessarily.”

  Rupert raised an eyebrow at him, and then looked away as the elevator platform finally lurched into view. One of the guards cursed softly, and another blessed himself. The solid oak platform was scarred and burned as though with acid, and the last few yards of the rope were scorched and discolored. The guards hurriedly made fast the windlass, and then everybody froze as a sound drifted up out of the shaft; a long, sliding sucking sound, culminating in a deep bass grunt that seemed to shiver through the very stone of the cavern.

  Rupert moved forward, and stared grimly at the battered wooden platform. “Stand ready, sir Champion. I’m going down.”

  “No, Sire,” said the Champion firmly. “It’s too great a risk.”

  “That’s why I have to go. Whoever sank this shaft let it fall too far; they’ve woken something deep in the earth that should never have been disturbed. Cold steel isn’t enough against creatures of the dark, sir Champion; you need a magic sword. Like mine.”

  The two men stared steadily at each other.

  “You swore to follow my orders,” said Rupert softly, and the Champion bowed slightly.

  “Step aboard, Sire. We’ll lower you a few yards at a time. Sing out if you hit any trouble, and we’ll bring you straight back up. If you’re too far down to be heard, slap the rope twice with the flat of your sword.”

  Rupert nodded, and stepped gingerly onto the platform. The rope creaked, but the scarred wood felt solid enough under his feet. “Lower away, sir Champion.”

  “Aye, Sire.” The Champion joined the guards at the wheel, and the elevator sank jerkily into the shaft.

  Rupert carefully placed his lantern on the edge of the platform, so as to have one hand free. The walls of the shaft moved slowly past him, gleaming dully in the pale golden light. Rupert sniffed the close air, and grimaced. The stench of corruption was growing stronger. He remembered the red shoe, and tightened his grip on the rainbow sword. The platform descended steadily into the pit, and the lamplit cavern above was soon nothing more than a shrinking circle of light. Rupert shifted nervously from foot to foot, and tried not to think about how much farther he still had to go before he reached the bottom of the shaft. He glanced into a shadowed cavity in the left hand wall as it rose past him, and then yelled for the guards to stop the elevator. The platform sank another few feet and then slammed to a halt. Rupert grabbed the shuddering rope to keep from falling, and then looked for the cavity, but it now lay just beyond his reach.

  “Are you all right, Sire?” The Champion’s voice seemed faint, and very far away.

  “I’m fine!” Rupert yelled back. “Raise the platform a little; I’ve found something!”

  There was a pause, and then the elevator rose gradually back up the shaft. Rupert snatched up his lantern and waited impatiently as the wall cavity fell slowly within reach.

  “Hold it!” The elevator jerked to a stop, and Rupert moved forward to peer into the cavity. A human skull, broken and distorted, gleamed yellow in the lamplight. It could have been a recent death, or it could have lain there for centuries; Rupert had no way of knowing. Either way, it was a bad omen. Rupert hefted his sword uncertainly, and then yelled for the Champion to continue the descent.

  The elevator fell for what seemed like hours. Rupert clutched his sword so tightly his hand started to ache, and he had to force himself to loosen his grip. The air grew thick and moist, and the cloying sweet stench turned his stomach. Again and again, Rupert told himself there was no chance any of the townspeople could still be alive. But he had to be sure. He glanced back up the shaft, but no trace of the cavern remained, save for a dim speck of light far above him, like a single star on a moonless night. And then the platform slammed into solid rock, and Rupert was thrown to his knees by the impact. The elevator had finally reached the bottom of the shaft.

  Rupert called up to the Champion that he’d arrived safely, but there was no reply. Rupert shrugged, and looked about him. A series of tunnels led off from the base of the shaft, each opening barely four feet high. Rupert chose the largest tunnel mouth and crawled gingerly forward on hands and knees, holding the lantern out before him. Moisture beaded the dark stone walls, gleaming brightly in the pale golden light. Rupert scrambled awkwardly on into the darkness, and tried not to think about the vast weight of rock hanging over his head. His back ached from the unaccustomed strain of moving on all fours, and the sword in his hand seemed to grow heavier and more of a nuisance with every bruise it earned him. The tunnel floor was suddenly wet under his hands, and Rupert stopped as a horrid thought struck him. His stomach lurched as he looked down, suddenly certain he’d find the stone slick with freshly spilled blood, but there was no trace of crimson in the thick, viscous slime that lathered the floor. Rupert frowned, put down the lantern, and rubbed a little of the stuff between his fingers; the slime was clear as water and very slippery. He brought his fingers to his nose, sniffed cautiously, and then snatched his hand away. The slime stank of death and decay.

  The tunnel seemed suddenly full of the stench, and Rupert scrubbed his fingers on his jerkin until he was sure they were clean again. His breathing was harsh and unsteady, and his knuckles whitened as he clutched his lantern and his sword. The familiar stench and the dark crowding around him had thrust him back into the Darkwood, and once again fear threatened to overthrow his reason and leave him lost and alone in the darkness. He flailed out with his arms as panic took him, and they slammed into the tunnel walls. The solid unyielding rock was strangely comforting, and he drew strength from its inflexible reality. His breathing gradually slowed to normal, and he even manage a small smile at how close the dark had come to sending him back to the edge of madness. He might still be scared of the dark, but it couldn’t break him. Not just yet, anyway.

  He stared down the narrow tunnel before him, and held up his lantern. The floor was covered with glistening slime for as far as he could see. Rupert gnawed his lower lip uncertainly. He wanted to go on, if only to prove to himself that he could, but when all was said and done this was supposed to be a scouting party, and he ought really to go back and tell the Champion what he’d found. The slime worried him. Demons left no such trace to mark their passing. Rupert started to edge slowly back down the tunnel, and then froze. Far ahead in the tunnel darkness, someone was singing.

  The voice was male and female, both and neither, and it called to Rupert. It promised light and love, friendship and protection, all he ever wanted and more besides. The voice was sweet and smooth and slick, and Rupert trusted it. The voice called, and Rupert crawled slowly forward, into the slime. His hands slipped and he fell forward, the hard impact driving the breath from his lungs. He gasped for air, and the sweet stench of decay filled his nostrils, shocking him awake.

  Rupert froze in horror as he realized what he’d been doing. The voice still sang, beckoning and cajoling, but Rupert fought it, refusing to believe its lies, even when it offered him his most secret dreams. And in the end he won, possibly because he had been lied to so many times before, and no longer believed in anything much; not even his own dreams. Rupert lay stretched out on the tunnel floor, covered in evil-smelling slime, and finally understood why the people of Coppertown had left their homes and descended into the depths of the pit.

  The voice rose and fell, roaring and wailing as it realized its failure. Rupert clutched his sword, and lay perfectly still. He knew he ought to blow out his lantern and hide in the dark, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. The voice squealed and gurgled and then died away to a horrid sucking sound, ending in the short bass grunt Rupert had heard earlier. The sudden silence seemed to ring in Rupert’s ears as he strained to hear more clearly. Far off in the distance, a little girl started to cry.

  Rupert swore softly, letting his breath out with a rush. It had to be a trick, and a pretty damn obvious one at that. But there were children missing, and if by chance one had survived, and was wandering lost in the tunnels, looking for help … Rupert shook his head helplessly, trapped in an agony of indecision. He remembered the red shoe, and shivered, and then he remembered the child’s doll he’d found, still tucked inside his jerkin. He could feel it, pressed against his chest by the tunnel floor. He sighed resignedly, knowing he didn’t really have a choice. If there was even the slightest chance the child was still alive, he had to find her, or he’d never forgive himself. He edged slowly forward into the darkness, grimacing as the cold slime oozed between his fingers.

  The slime glistened dully under the golden lamplight, and Rupert noticed uneasily that the walls and ceiling of the tunnel were also coated with the stuff. He struggled on, slipping and sliding, and holding his sword blade carefully clear of the slime. The little girl was still crying; a lost, lonely sound. Rupert stopped for a while to get his breath back. Crawling on his hands and knees was awkward as well as tiring, and his back was killing him. He’d been crawling for what seemed like ages, but the crying hadn’t drawn any closer. He glanced back the way he’d come, but the tunnel entrance was lost in the darkness. He looked ahead, and frowned; he had to be close to the main workings by now. He suddenly realized the child had stopped crying. He waited, listening, and the silence dragged on. She could be anywhere, thought Rupert. I’ve got to find her before the voice does.

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