Stillborn 1 - The Dark Kingdom: Chapter 15

 

15.

One of the guards waved his hand as a sign to the warriors, the hunt had finally begun. Everyone ran into the tunnel, some of them as fast as they could to get ahead, while the others progressed slower, vanishing into the shadows like nocturnal predators.

Aniceth was jogging until he got out of vicinity of the watchtower, then he slowed down to walking. He stayed close to the walls, feeling his senses sharpening as the dangerous phase of vision adaptation begun. The brief state of blindness forced him to halt until his eyes began to sense thermal light, which ignited the cold stone into faint, blue glow.

The tunnel seemed silent and empty, but assuming anything based on how it looked would have been a grave mistake, for these caves and tunnels were lethally deceptive. Aniceth knew how well the Sin'Garath warriors were able to remain unseen in order to stalk their prey. Keeping this in mind, Aniceth tried to figure out how to find his way into the Darfin territory.

His thoughts were harshly interrupted as he saw movement in the corner of his eye and turned around just in time to see one of the prisoners charging at him.

The slave growled, maddened stare in his insane eyes. He tried to whack Aniceth with a primitive club, which was nothing but a large piece of root, found hanging from ceilings and sticking out from the walls everywhere in this vast stone maze.

Dodging his clumsy attack easily, Aniceth drew his weapon while still in motion. After failing to kill his target, the slave turned around and attempted to escape, but a skilled warrior, like Aniceth, had no problems staying on his tail. He leaped forward, kicking the slave hard in the ankle, causing him to stumble and fall. His training served him well, for he felt nothing as he approached his helpless victim. As the staggering slave struggled to maintain balance, Aniceth's strike came hurling down, nearly decapitating the man. A thick squirt of blood jetted from his sheared neck, following the rhytm of his fading pulse until his legs refused to carry him any further. The slave was dead by the time his body fell into the dust.

Aniceth cleaned his blade on the dead man's clothes and moved on swiftly. It would have been dangerous to stick around after causing so much noise. He was not alone in the tunnels, and he was sure that the sounds of battle would attract unwanted attention.

While rushing through the narrow tunnels, his sharp eyes continued to observe the corridors ahead, for he was not the only one with a cloak wrapped tightly around him. Almost every hunter was wearing a similar piece of cloth, which made it almost impossible to see them, but the slaves and other prisoners were shining brightly in the darkness. Scared and confused, hanging on the edge of sanity, they were an easy prey.. A slight draft created by his clothes caused many slaves who were already scared to moan and whimper in panic, but they never saw a thing, Passing them quietly like a ghost, he was looking for a certain kind of slave. The second part of his plan was to find a way out of the Dark Kingdom, but since he had no clue about the layout of Everdeep, he required some help. A Darfin slave would meet his needs perfectly, but those were hard to find as the Mountain Folk rarely allowed themselves to be caught alive.

Before leaving Sindh'Morrow earlier that day, Aniceth had stolen as much bluedust fungus from the warehouse as he was able to carry without being noticed. He was sure it would help him to negotiate with a slave, but so far he had seen only other Arathans and some Gibberlings, but no Darfins. For a moment he considered of trying his luck with a Darkhand Gibberling, but he quickly gave up on that idea. The Gibberlings were known to be lying and cheating scum of the deeps. Surely one would gladly offer help to save their own skin, but Aniceth could never trust the direction they were heading at, and betrayal would lurk behind every corner. The Darfins, on the other hand, had a solid reputation of being honorable folks, even in the depths of the Sin'Garath kingdom. This reputation had never suffered as a result of the wars these two nations had fought against each other, mostly over the valuable veins of brimidian ore.

It was a true possibility that he would never find what he was looking for. Aniceth had to be prepared for traveling alone and to trust on his own skills to make it through somehow. Whichever path was his to walk, he swore that he would never return to Gelendras, or any other Arathan city again. He would rather give his life for one chance to taste freedom.

His thoughts were interrupted as he saw movement in the dark, something barely visible against the cold wall. It was exactly what Aniceth had been afraid of. Some students wished to eliminate competition first, and then go after the slaves and slay them in big numbers. Usually only the best warriors chose to walk this path as it required solid confidence in their skills to win all encounters. This one was obviously one of the few, and he had picked Aniceth for his victim. An ambush would be just a matter of time, but Aniceth was aware of his presence now, which gave the stalker far lesser advantage.

Pretending that he had not noticed his follower at all, Aniceth moved around in the labyrinth of caves while trying to find a good location to confront this threat. After dragging his stalker around for a good while, he selected a small intersection where two tunnels crossed. Twirling around faster than a snake, Aniceth charged at the prowling man.

The warrior stood aghast by the sudden fury of his presumed victim. It took him a second too long to realize that his presence was no longer a secret. The two-handed sword broke easily through his barely existent defenses, sinking deep into the warrior's chest. The wide blade caused mortal damage by crushing the ribcage and rending through his heart and lungs. Retching out blood, the warrior collapsed to the ground, desperately struggling to prevent the liquid of life from running out through his fingers. Aniceth ended his suffering fast by landing another strike, this time the blade went through his throat, quickly ending the twitches of the dying body.

After a deep sigh he cleaned his sword again. Even though he had no sympathy for these men who had accepted their role in the cruel society, he still considered every death as a wasted life, a sorrowful detail that bothered him from time to time.

Navigating was a difficult task for him to do, but Aniceth was quite confident of his heading being the Weaver nests, like he had planned.

The Weavers, basically spiders that had developed intelligence over the aeons spent in Everdeep. Extremely dangerous with their entrapping webs and fangs filled with lethal venom, they formed one of the strongest nations colonizing this particular level of the cave complex. All Weavers of the same nest were related to each other, hatched from the eggs of the same queen. They shared one collective mind, which provided great awareness of anything unusual happening in their area. Besides the queen there are two different types of Weavers - workers and warriors. The warriors are larger ones, normally dwelling nearby the queen, but once alarmed, the warriors moved with incredible speed in the tunnels, reaching any part of the nest within minutes.

These giant spiders had been the arch enemies of the Arathans ever since they had founded the Dark Kingdom, and they would instantly slay Aniceth as an intruder, or capture him as a potential slave. The venom of the Weavers served two different purposes; slaying the enemies with a high dose, or breaking their will with a small amount. The neurotoxins betray the victims to believe they are part of the community, which drives them to attack other Arathans as if they were enemies. The Arathans were not able to do this as these creatures were immune to the bluedust fungus. The Weavers were commonly considered too ugly to fill the role of a slave, but there was one reason why these black, hairy monsters were wanted alive; prolonged and persistent torture, which was not performed so much to make the victim suffer, but to greatly irritate the queen. Every single torn limb and a pierced eye was felt by the queen of the nest, and sometimes the excruciating pain drove her mad, luring the queen to send all of her warriors out at once, while the Sin'Garath awaited in the tunnels. After the entire legion of spider warriors was destroyed, the queen was defenseless against the attack. This way the Arathans sometimes wiped out an entire colony, but such a task was extremely dangerous to execute. Mapping out a Weaver nest was a deadly risk for the Arathan spies, who had to sneak in, pretending to be one of the slaves. Many of those brave men failed and suffered a terrible fate in the hands of those horrid, black monsters.

Aniceth tried to avoid thinking about it too much as he would have to sneak through the nest somehow. There was an option to go around, but that meant a long and dangerous detour in the lower tunnels. A nameless evil5 dwelled down there. Ancient, demonic creatures, sleeping their neverending dream. No one dared to descend that far; where the waters are cold enough to kill, and the silent lights shine upon the still surface. They had been there since the beginning of time, and they would still be there on a day when the world collapses.

 

* * *

 

Aniceth halted as he realized that someone was sitting on a low rock right in front of him, staring quietly into the darkness. He was able to see the stranger's body shining bright yellow and red against the blue and green shades of the cold stone, which indicated clearly that he was a slave. But then he noticed something else in the shadows behind the figure, a slight movement near the wall. He smiled to himself, another predator was silently sneaking behind his prey. Whoever was sitting on the rock, suspected no danger. Aniceth could have just waited until the warrior killed the slave and moved on, but he saw a slight chance that this slave could actually be a Darfin. The figure was significantly shorter than any Arathan he had ever seen, and while it could be that he was just another Gibberling, he could not afford to ignore the obvious chance.

He sneaked closer to gain better position and waited. Apparently the slave had no thermal vision at all, because he turned his head every now and then, looking straight at the hunter who was stalking him, but Aniceth saw no reaction, which strengthened his hopeful intuition.

The confused slave sitting on the rock was indeed a Darfin, completely lost in the endless maze, given up all hope to survive in the darkness. The freedom that was granted so suddenly had quickly revealed the true nature of the gesture. He was nothing but a target for the Sin'Garath warriors to practice on, and he realized it did not matter whether he ran or stood still, he would die all the same.

The unknown Arathan warrior prepared to attack the Darfin. Raising his blade, silently stepping behind his clueless victim, the warrior was seeking easy victory. Aniceth followed the Arathan, appearing behind him like a ghost, ready to step in when the time was right.

Without a warning the warrior pushed down his exposed blade, planning to pierce the Darfin's neck, but he was about to be greatly surprised. Instead of feeling his blade sinking through the victim's skin, he heard a bright sound of metal sliding against metal. His blade was directed away from the Darfin as the flying sparkles revealed a dark figure standing next to the warrior and the confused victim.

The Darfin was fully alarmed now by the sudden flashes of light and the eerie sound coming from behind his head. He jumped up and stumbled away toward the wall. Without being able to see anything, there was not much he could do, but he was not going to give his life away for free.

”Who goes there?” he asked with a shivering voice, but received no answer. He heard a very angry voice speaking in the dark instead.

”What do you think you're doing, fool?” the warrior snarled as he saw Aniceth, a fellow Arathan - or so he assumed.

”I won't let you kill this Darfin,” Aniceth said calmly, knowing the Darfin was nearby, able to hear what they were saying. This was his chance to make the Darfin to understand that he was not going to hurt him. Perhaps this way he could gain at least a little trust to get started with him.

”Then you'll die,” the Arathan whispered. He could not understand why exactly this man was saving a worthless slave, but he knew this warrior stood in between of him and his prey.

”You are most welcome to try,” Aniceth replied, sounding slightly amused. The Arathan warrior did not require any further provocation, he attacked with intense fury.

He was a good fighter, but nowhere near Aniceth's level, who parried the first strike easily. They engaged deadly dance where only the winner would walk out alive. The confused Darfin was listening to the sounds of battle and watching the random flashes in the dark, generated by the two blades hitting furiously against each other. Aniceth's words echoed in his mind as he followed the odd play and a tiny spark of hope kindled in his heart.

Foregil's enchantment was working well, the aura of fear surrounded the enemy, discouraging and weakening him. Aniceth did not really need help like that, but it served the purpose by making the fight much shorter. Performing a couple of distracting moves and using his own body weight he leaned forward, pushing his opponent out of balance.

That was all he needed to win. Taking advantage of the hole in the Arathan's defense, Aniceth thrust his sword forward and felt it sinking deep into his enemy. The warrior dropped his sword and pulled his hands back to hold his bleeding stomach, where the blood fountained out along the blade, painting his hands crimson. A wailing scream slipped from his lips as he dropped down to his knees. Aniceth saw a chance for quick finish and used it. A crushing strike hurled down, gaining the full strength of his weight. The scream was cut as the warrior's head dropped on the floor with a thud and creepy silence landed over the tunnel.

The Darfin could not see who won the fight, so he was gazing around nervously while trying to be as quiet as possible. Aniceth saw his figure clearly in the dark and smiled.

”Do not worry, Darfin. Your stalker is dead,” he said calmly. He needed to win the Darfin's trust fast because there was not much time.

”You're really going to let me live?” the Darfin whispered as loud as he dared.

”That's my plan, Darfin. I need a little help to get out of this place myself.”

”These tunnels?” the Darfin sounded puzzled.

Aniceth smiled to himself. ”No, out of the entire Everdeep,” he then said.

”Well, I always knew the Arathans were a little strange,” the Darfin mumbled to himself, but still loud enough for Aniceth to hear.

”I'm not really an Arathan either,” Aniceth corrected, interrupting his thoughts.

”What do you mean?” the slave's voice sounded suspicious again.

”It's a long story,” Aniceth sighed, ”I may reveal it to you one day, assuming we'll make it out alive,” he added.

”Mind if I come a little closer?”

The Darfin shrugged. ”I don't think I have too many choices here because I can't see a thing in this cursed place.”

Aniceth smiled again as he approached the Darfin who remained alert still. ”We'll have to figure out something about that,” he said quietly, thinking it had been a promising start so far.

But then, suddenly, a searing pain shot through his whole body, forcing him to cry out in pain. The tunnel was lit by a strange, white fire coming from behind. A robed figure carrying the fire was slowly walking closer, and before long, Aniceth recognised the approaching man.

”Garaz,” he hissed, trying to recover from the blast.

”That is correct!” the old mystic confirmed after halting just a few steps away from him. The light was coming from the crystal mounted on the head of his staff. His white, unseeing eyes gazed at their direction.

”I have observed you, Aniceth,” he then said with restrained anger in his voice. ”You really thought I would not be able to do that without my eyes, now did you?” The words dropped off from his lips like venom from the tongue of a snake.

”I must say I'm not too surprised, Aniceth. You seem to have this odd affection for slaves,” the mystic continued with sarcastic voice. ”Your heart is weak and that will lead you to your end, I can see that now.”

Aniceth stood up, his eyes were glowing dangerously red.

”My heart may be weak, and it may bring me to an early end,” he whispered, and a terrible grimace twisted his face as his last words echoed in the tunnel.

”But at least it'll be free.”