Chapter 12

Per the OneGod’s instructions, the dead will be guarded as assiduously as the living.

~ Kar’ruk High Shaman Velkar

They didn’t descend the wooden rungs into darkness as far as Kaylina expected. A scant six feet down, she landed on a flagstone floor similar to that on the main level of the castle. Vlerion had to stoop to keep from hitting his head on the ceiling.

Kaylina wrinkled her nose at the dust, the air damper and mustier down here than in the keep. Her brother would have been sneezing already.

Shifting her lantern around revealed a root cellar with wooden shelves lining one earthen wall and cask racks on the opposite. Surprisingly, they appeared to be in decent shape.

“That’ll be handy when we increase our mead production and need more storage,” she said.

Vlerion took a couple of steps, which opened up a view of a stone archway in the back wall and a skeleton on the floor in front of it. Rat droppings and gnawed pieces of clothing suggested whoever it was hadn’t died as long ago as the people upstairs.

“That’ll be less handy,” Kaylina murmured.

Vlerion only grunted as he plucked a torch from an iron sconce mounted on the stone of the archway. When he lit it, the flickering mix of illumination and shadow emphasized the hard lines of his face. The flames reflected in his eyes, reminding her of the dangerous sparks she’d caught in them, and she wondered if she was crazy for coming down here alone with the man.

For a moment, he gazed at her, as if he could guess her thoughts. But if he did, he didn’t comment on them, only turning toward the tunnel.

“Given the curse, people aren’t inclined to enter to remove the bodies.” Vlerion stopped in the next room and knelt to look at a scuff mark on the floor. Left recently by someone’s boot?

Unlike with the dirt walls of the root cellar, time-worked stone lined the room and formed arches that supported the ceiling. More shelves and racks were inside, but they weren’t part of the original construction. They might have been added later when someone had tried to expand the root cellar and had discovered the catacombs entrance.

“History tells us,” Vlerion said, “that the druids who placed the curse didn’t share a lot of details about how exactly their magic would plague the inn. Over the generations, people have come up with their own hypotheses and created rules that are supposed to help you avoid being affected. It’s said that you might become cursed yourself if you handle the bones of those who die here.”

“Oh.” Kaylina didn’t mention that she and Frayvar had moved the bones in the hearth. They hadn’t wanted to burn them when they started a fire. It had seemed respectful of the dead. Hopefully, the cursed castle agreed. “You don’t believe that?” she asked before remembering that he’d skirted the skeleton on the floor without touching it.

“I don’t deny that it’s a possibility, but I’m only aware of a couple of specifics about the curse, those that were recorded by the scribes of the time. Their writings are archived in the king’s castle—and the family libraries of those people who were affected.” His voice had turned grim at that last.

Vlerion continued toward another archway on the far side of the room that led into a wide tunnel. Kaylina paused to look at narrow chips in the stone support. It looked like someone had struck the archway with axes or swords, and she envisioned castle defenders fighting shoulder to shoulder to keep enemies at bay.

In the tunnel, towering stone statues depicted cruel-faced beings with horns that scowled down at them. The Kar’ruk.

She’d only seen a few of the warrior people and only at a distance. Sometimes, their ships sailed past the islands, or one would be spotted with a human pirate crew, but the Spitting Gull didn’t serve their kind. The Kar’ruk had no respect for human laws or belongings—or lives—and they were rumored to kill and eat men when game was scarce.

“People were cursed?” Kaylina pulled her gaze from the unsettling statues. “Not only the castle?”

“King Balzarak and his descendants.”

Kaylina remembered the name of the king as one of many in a list in chronological order that she’d been compelled to recite in school.

Vlerion crouched to touch the floor again. “People have been in here recently. When did you hear the clanks?”

“The first night and last night.”

He eyed the walls, then walked to one that was empty save for the relief of a tree. He pushed on one of the branches, and a hidden door swung open with a grinding noise that made Kaylina jump.

Behind the wall lay a cubby with crates stacked inside, crates newer and less dusty than anything else around. There were also kegs that at first made her think of wine casks but, at a second glance, reminded her of the explosives the Virts had used on the jail walls.

Vlerion drew a dagger and used it to pry open a lid. “Powder and shot for muskets and blunderbusses.”

There was also a crate of cannonballs, though not a cannon. Maybe they were what had made the clanks.

Vlerion tapped one of the kegs. “I’m tempted to use their own munitions to blow up the stash, but it might bring down the ceiling—and the castle and street above.”

“Given the curse, I’m surprised someone hasn’t already blown up the castle.”

“In this part of the kingdom, we don’t wantonly destroy historical structures.”

“I was thinking more of controlled demolitions than wanton destruction. To get rid of a problem in the city. I’m glad they didn’t, mind you,” Kaylina hurried to add when Vlerion frowned back at her. “Where else would we have gotten such a deal on a lease?”

“Nowhere.” Vlerion stepped back, leaving the door open. “I’ll return with some men to commandeer this stash.”

“What else are you expecting to find?” Kaylina asked as he continued down the arched tunnel.

He didn’t answer.

She remembered she wasn’t supposed to talk, but it was hard. She was curious to learn what she could about her new home—and the ancient passageways under it. Besides, the silence was unsettling, the stone statues disconcerting.

As they walked down the tunnel, the sound of trickling water grew audible. Kaylina thought of the river as well as the canals that sliced through the city.

Two more Kar’ruk statues loomed, built into the sides of the tunnel. These were even larger than the first pair with extra arms she was fairly certain the belligerent people didn’t have.

When she and Vlerion walked between the statues, the eyes glowed red, and a hiss of vapor blew from the mouths.

Startled, Kaylina sprang closer to Vlerion and his sword. Her lantern bumped against him and tumbled from her fingers, hitting the floor with a clink. The flame went out.

The vapor expanded, clouding the air, and dimming Vlerion’s torch—their only remaining light. Kaylina caught herself gripping his arm and shifting behind him. Her free hand strayed to her sling, but what would she do? Hurl a round at a stone statue?

“These figures represent Kar’ruk Defenders, powerful minions that serve their god.” Vlerion showed no alarm, not even drawing his sword. He did arch his eyebrows at her grip, or maybe that she’d pressed close and half hidden behind him. His solid muscular form was reassuring, even if he was haughty and uptight.

“They serve their god by spitting steam into the air?” Admittedly, the glowing eyes concerned her more than the steam. She’d never seen such a thing. Until arriving at the cursed castle, her main experience with magic had been with edible altered plants that the bees foraged and that Grandma and Frayvar used in some of their recipes.

“They were built when the catacombs were and guard this entrance.” Vlerion’s torch hissed, the flame battling the mist in the air, bringing out the scent of the pitch mixture it burned. “They used to spit poison in the steam, a potent vapor that could kill humans as well as their own kind within a few minutes of exposure.”

There had been a good reason to hide behind Vlerion.

“They… don’t anymore?” Kaylina assumed he would have run if the steam was poisonous.

“Their reservoirs ran out long ago. There are other statues deeper in the catacombs that haven’t been depleted. The traps are designed to protect the sarcophagi in the lower levels. Those passageways are rarely disturbed, even by the criminals who use the catacombs to avoid the law.”

Kaylina made herself step back. “That’s good information to know.”

“Indeed.” Was that amusement in his eyes?

Better than warnings and dangerous glints, but it made her bristle.

“I wasn’t scared,” she caught herself saying. “Just startled.”

“Of course.”

She scowled at him.

Vlerion lifted a hand and touched her arm. “Were you easily scared, you would not have spent the last few nights in the castle.”

“That’s right.” Kaylina attempted to lower her hackles. Maybe she was being defensive without reason. She wasn’t even sure why his opinion mattered, though the light touch on her arm was appealing, his skin warm through the fabric of her blouse. She caught herself tempted to step closer again.

“I apologize for snipping at you upstairs.”

She was so surprised to hear the words—were aristocrats allowed to apologize to commoners?—that she didn’t know what to say.

“I was worried when Crenoch went missing, then disgruntled that he’d disobeyed my command.”

“You care about him.”

“More than he cares about me.” A rueful smile accompanied the words.

Kaylina didn’t know what to make of it. Did humans typically bond more closely to their taybarri mounts than vice versa?

The cloud of steam dissipated, and Vlerion squeezed her arm lightly before lowering his hand. Only then did she realize she had stepped closer to him, inexplicably drawn by his gaze. By him.

Silly. A few moments ago, she’d been questioning her decision to come down here with him.

Shaking her head, Kaylina picked up her lantern. It had gone out, but Vlerion lowered his torch so she could use his flame to relight it.

“How come you know so much about this place?” she asked him.

“Port Jirador is my home. I’ve lived in the area my whole life, and my family knows its history well.”

“I thought you spent as much time as you could in the mountains, away from pesky people who irritate you.”

Vlerion gazed at her, and she thought he would state that she fell into that category. All he said was, “I know the mountains well too.”

With her lantern relit, he headed off down the tunnel again.

“I’ve been sent down here to hunt criminals before,” he added. “The graycoats—the Kingdom Guard—are always reluctant to come down here, but Captain Targon isn’t one to let a bad element lurk below the city. Periodically, he sends rangers to clear out the catacombs. There are a lot of levels and warrens for people to hide in, so we don’t always get them all. And the criminals make traps of their own. It’s dangerous down here for all.”

“Nice of you to think I’d like to see the place.”

“You are a fan of adventure, are you not?” Vlerion looked back at her—or maybe at the pack with the novel she’d mentioned.

“When it happens to fictional heroines in books, it’s wonderful. As I told you before, I’m just here to grow my family business and—” she almost added prove myself. But she didn’t want to open up to him. He wasn’t a confidant. “What’s the deal with the rangers and the castle? All the nightmares I’ve had while sleeping in there have shown your people and—I think—allies of your people being horribly killed by vines and branches and nature. Violent nature.”

“Yes, when the druids set the curse, they were particularly displeased with the rangers.” Vlerion kept walking as he spoke, the sound of running water growing louder. “Generations ago, Stillguard River Inn was owned by a family who’d always supported the rangers. It was a place where they could drink and relax, almost an alternate headquarters. That is why it was targeted by the druids when they decided to punish humanity. The rangers were only obeying the king’s orders, but the druids didn’t care. They took their ire out on them and their favorite destination.”

“What were the druids pissed about? And why didn’t they go after the king instead of the rangers?”

“They punished the king as well. Trust me.” Vlerion slanted her a long look laden with significance. “As to the crime, humans poached in the sacred forest preserve east of the city. A millennia ago, when the druids agreed to leave this land for our kind, part of the deal was that humans would never hunt there. But after seven years of famine, King Balzarak was in a difficult situation. His people were starving, and the preserve was the only place teeming with game. The druids hadn’t been seen for centuries. He believed there might not be repercussions and was willing to accept the responsibility if there were. He sent the rangers to hunt, to find enough game to feed the people. Had he foreseen that the consequences would be widespread, that rangers would be killed even as he was cursed, Balzarak might not have made the decision. But he might have. As I said, there was little choice.”

“Sounds like a rough time.”

“The northlands can be brutal.”

They passed between two more Kar’ruk statues. Again, they hissed steam and the eyes glowed.

Knowing their reservoirs were devoid of poison didn’t keep Kaylina from jumping at the noise or flinching at the cloud of vapor that caressed her cheeks. If anything, it made the catacombs scarier. How many people had died coming this way before the reservoirs had run out?

“You visit Ghara in her apartment yet?” she asked, blurting the first thing that came to mind in an attempt to distract herself.

Judging from the cool look Vlerion angled back at her, it wasn’t an appropriate thing to ask a lord. She didn’t know why she’d thought about it.

“Is that the intelligence the Virt girl sought?” he asked.

“No, I’m making conversation.”

“As I recall, Ghara and I did not include you in that discussion.”

“No? That’s weird. I remember it really well.”

“Do your kin find you exasperating?”

“Is that your way of saying you do? My kin like challenging women who speak their minds.” Well, that was an utter lie. Her tongue had gotten her in trouble plenty of times at home.

“Interesting.”

“Yes, I am.”

They rounded a bend, and light came from an opening ahead. Vlerion paused and fell silent.

It wasn’t the creepy red glow of the statues’ eyes but the warm yellow of torchlight. That wasn’t that much more reassuring since it meant someone was down here. Even with a special pitch blend that burned a long time, thanks to altered cinderrock powder mixed in, torches rarely lasted on their own for more than a day.

Vlerion held a finger to his lips before continuing on.

“You’re the one who was doing all the talking,” Kaylina whispered.

He gave her another cool look over his shoulder. She nobly and respectfully resisted the urge to stick out her tongue at his back. Hopefully, his back appreciated that.

As he advanced, Vlerion drew his sword. Had he heard someone?

Kaylina pulled out her sling again. She couldn’t attack a statue, but she would have no trouble pelting a thief or pirate.

Would she attack one of the Virts though? Someone from the working class fighting for better conditions in the factories? Even if their methods were illegal—and deadly—she had a hard time condemning them fully. She let herself fall a few steps behind Vlerion.

They passed a deep alcove with a Kar’ruk statue guarding a squat stone sarcophagus against the back wall. The eyes on the statue didn’t light up, nor did it emit steam. Vlerion went by without commenting on what triggering its defenses might once have done.

He paused at the end of the tunnel, prodding broken boards lying on the ground. A wooden frame had been built against the stone wall, and more broken boards thrust out of it, nails bent or jutting out.

“Last week,” Vlerion said softly, forgoing his no-speaking rule again, “this was barricaded.”

“So whoever delivered those crates came through this way?” Kaylina hadn’t seen any other exits along the way.

“They must have. They could intend to use the castle as a staging area for an attack.” Vlerion leaned around the corner into the lit area.

His broad torso blocked Kaylina’s view. She resisted the urge to crouch and peer under his armpit or jump to see over his shoulder, but her curiosity made restraint difficult.

Vlerion looked back at her. “You may return to your work. I did not want to endanger you, only for you to see what goes on down here so you would understand the threat—and perhaps drag heavy furniture onto the trapdoor in the pantry.” He stepped aside to give her a view.

The tunnel opened into a natural grotto around a large pool with a placid river flowing away through a wide passageway on the far end. An ancient clay pipe jutting from under the mouth of a stone lion poured water in from the opposite end. A pathway carved in stone ran around the pool, passing a stubby wooden dock built near the river.

All around the grotto, torches burned in wall sconces, the flames reflecting yellowish-orange on the surface of the water. The dock held stacks of crates and kegs, as well as a sack slumped open to reveal thick books inside. How odd to find reading material among explosives.

“There’s enough black powder there to destroy half the city,” Vlerion said grimly.

“And instructions on how to use it?” Kaylina leaned past him, squinting in an attempt to read the titles on the book spines. Did one say recipes? Surely, a bunch of rebels weren’t toting cookbooks along on their campaign of destruction.

Vlerion eyed her, and she reined in her curiosity and leaned back.

“The Virts know well how to employ their explosives.” His tone was disdainful, but his eyebrows crimped as another expression entered his eyes. Pain? Loss? Regret? If his duty was to fight the Virts, he’d probably lost comrades to them.

“Then those must be romantic adventures to keep them entertained when their buddies can’t muster scintillating conversation.”

“That is doubtless what they are.” Vlerion surveyed the river passageway, the stone walkway continuing past the pool and down it on one side.

Since it was less than a foot wide, it would be easy to fall in. The Virts probably carried their munitions up in boats.

“I must stay and deal with them. You will return to the castle.” After a moment’s hesitation, Vlerion bowed his head to her. “I should not have brought you down here. I didn’t expect criminals to be in the middle of unloading cargo.”

“It’s fine,” she said.

“They must also have broken through the barrier Targon’s men placed between the end of that river and the harbor where it flows out underwater. There’s supposed to be a ranger’s apprentice keeping watch on that area. I hope he hasn’t been killed.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay and help?” Kaylina held up her sling. “Given how much cargo we’ve seen, there could be a lot of guys.”

“I will be able to handle them sufficiently without the assistance of a neophyte rock thrower,” Vlerion said dryly. And insultingly.

One minute he was decent… and then got haughty.

“They’re lead balls.” Wishing he would need her help and that she could save his ass, Kaylina bared her teeth at him the way the taybarri had. Except with more fierceness.

“Go back to safety,” he ordered, undeterred by her teeth-baring. It had to be her lack of fangs.

“The safety of the cursed castle? That place is at least as creepy and dangerous as these catacombs. Poison-spitting statues notwithstanding.”

Vlerion hesitated again. “Since you are not a ranger, and the curse hasn’t bothered you yet, you may not be in danger there.”

The curse hadn’t bothered her? Kaylina balked at that notion but wondered if he meant it hadn’t killed her.

“In the visions, we saw it murder people who weren’t rangers. There was a girl serving a tankard of ale to one of your people, and she got killed. Horribly.” Kaylina almost mentioned the gaunt man who’d been strangled in the forest—the preserve Vlerion had spoken of?—but realized that might have been a ranger who hadn’t been in his armor.

“The curse has struck those who’ve worked for the rangers or proven themselves allies,” he admitted.

“I thought so. And you keep showing up at the castle, so if it’s smart, or if the curse is smart, it might decide we’re on the same side.”

“Are we?” His brows rose.

“Thanks to your boss making sure we can’t go home, and bribing us with furniture and mead-making supplies, my brother and I don’t have any choice but to be.”

Not unless she ran away and joined the rebels. That didn’t sound appealing though. Why couldn’t these people have a nice negotiating session and make peace?

“Perhaps you should stay at the Headwaters Inn.”

“Our money is for launching our business, not vacationing at competing inns. Perhaps you shouldn’t come by to visit.”

“I wouldn’t have to come visit if you hadn’t lured my mount to your door with your honey.” Though Vlerion hadn’t raised his voice, his body tensed, and irritation sparked in his eyes. Irritation and something more. That dangerous glint she’d caught a couple of times.

“I didn’t lure him,” Kaylina couldn’t keep from saying, though her instincts warned her to shut up and let him have the last word. Somehow, she’d touched on a tender spot. Maybe someone had suborned his taybarri before. But she didn’t want him to believe she’d tried to do that. Forcing calm onto her face and into her voice, she added, “He came of his own accord. Probably because he has good taste.” Unwisely and impulsively, she added, “And your protein pellets look like pulverized dung.”

His jaw tightened. Though he didn’t move, he radiated coiled tension that made her wish she’d listened when he told her to leave. What was she arguing for? Beyond having some understandable curiosity about those books, she didn’t want to stay in the catacombs.

Several long seconds passed with Vlerion as motionless as one of those statues, except that he was making a faint noise. Was that… humming? A tune?

She stared at him, but he’d closed his eyes. Finally, he stepped back and exhaled a long slow breath.

He opened his eyes and started to say something, but his head whipped around. He peered down the tunnel in the direction they’d come and raised his sword arm.

“What—” Kaylina started to whisper, but he stepped forward, wrapped an arm around her waist and hefted her from her feet.

She barely kept from gasping in surprise and only because she heard what he must have heard. Footsteps. Running footsteps heading their way.