‘Be very careful, everyone,’ said Wulfthram. ‘Take your time; I want no one falling here.’
With some trepidation, Ceriana followed Wulfthram and Ulian on to the strange structure. She looked up, left and right, but there was just blackness. She decided to concentrate on her feet and
ignore everything else. The air was getting warmer and more stifling; she was beginning to feel uncomfortable in her cloak and her dress felt prickly on her neck and back. And then the strange
whispering returned, clearer this time, a language she did not understand spoken by someone who felt as if he was standing right on her shoulder. She swung round to confront the tormentor but there
was nothing but the eternal night around her.
‘Are you sure none of you can hear that?’ she hissed. Her voice barely carried in the dead air. Heads were shaken and so, with a sigh of nervous frustration, she carried on.
Eventually (and she couldn’t even to begin to guess the time in the world above ground) the strange pathway ended in a broad landing, which produced a collective sigh of relief. Wulfthram,
however, afforded himself little time to gather his thoughts and continued to press forward. Ceriana found herself rather admiring his singular determination. She was not sure if it was driven by
concern for her or just a desire to get out of this place as soon as possible, or maybe a little of both, but whatever was driving him on she was grateful for it.
‘Ulian,’ he called, ‘we have more than one entrance here. Come and look.’
With his lantern held high, Ulian walked the length of the broad face of rock in front of them. He passed one archway, then another and another. In total, there were five such openings facing
them, five unblinking eyes, darkness within darkness; it was difficult not to feel lost and completely helpless within such stifling confines.
Ulian and Wulfthram started to check each entrance in turn. Ceriana watched them in an almost disinterested manner, noticing how each arch had buckled over time on account of the vast weight of
rock pressing down on them. She wondered if the tunnels beyond were equally damaged and, if so, whether they were navigable or not. It would be beyond infuriating to find their progress stopped by
something as mundane as a rock fall. Maybe they would not even get that far, as Ulian appeared to be having problems.
‘There are no symbols anywhere that I can find,’ he was saying, plainly agitated. ‘Nothing. I wonder if it was deliberate, a final protection against the likes of us, outsiders
who have deciphered the symbols. Those that mattered would know the correct way in. The other four tunnels are probably dead ends, beset by traps of some sort. There are other examples of the Wych
folk doing such things in antiquity.’
‘Well, that is no help at all.’ Wulfthram sounded exasperated .‘So we have a four in five chance of stumbling on some trap or other. Were these traps ever of the lethal
kind?’
‘Oh without exception,’ said Ulian glibly.
Ignoring the ironic laughter and groaning from his companions, Wulfthram slowly went and sat on the stony floor.
‘Let’s rest for ten minutes and have some food and water; we all need to think as to what to do next.’
Ceriana sat next to her husband and nibbled a piece of dried bread without enthusiasm. She took her husband’s arm.
‘I want to thank you,’ she said, ‘for coming here, for doing this when you really didn’t have to.’
‘Oh but I did have to,’ he replied. ‘The current state of affairs cannot be left to continue. Whatever possesses you has to be driven out somehow.’
‘The way I see it is that there are three possible outcomes. The best one is that we return the stone, go home happy and resume our lives as we should. The second is that all of this is
some mad and pointless enterprise; we are in the wrong place and so we go home with nothing changed.’
‘And the third?’
‘We die!’ she said with a soft laugh. ‘It would be an outcome of sorts.’
‘Other things may happen.’
‘Such as?’
‘The amulet protects you and the rest of us die.’
She stirred uncomfortably. ‘That will not happen; I will make sure of it.’
‘Will you?’ he smiled. ‘You had better know: you and your family will take over the majority of my lands on my death. Marry wisely when I am gone; I would not have Osperitsan
in the hands of some drooling idiot.’
‘You will not die here, not if I can help it.’ Her chin was set firmly. ‘And as far as marrying a drooling idiot is concerned, I will just stay clear of the Grand Duke’s
court.’
Wulfthram smiled. ‘Have you heard the rumours about him and you?’
Her back stiffened. ‘What rumours?’
‘Surprised that I have ears in the court in Tanaren City? There are a few actually. One is that the two of you were and still are lovers, though how you can carry on from a distance of
hundreds of miles is a mystery to me. Another is that you both share the same father, the former Grand Duke having had an illicit tryst with your mother. and yet another is that, once your
inheritance is secured in my will, the Grand Duke will use his prerogative to divorce the two of us and take you for himself. That is the only rumour I do not have difficulty
disbelieving.’
She stared at him and, despite her best efforts, her large eyes were shot through with guilt. She hoped the darkness would help hide her embarrassment.
It didn’t. ‘Ah, so you did know something along those lines?’
‘He told me at the feast, at Erskon House, after the wedding,’ she stumbled. ‘He is the Grand Duke and swore me to secrecy. Believe me when I say it has been an agony for me. I
am sorry. My loyalty is to you first and foremost, I swear it.’
He put his arm around her briefly. ‘It is not your fault. He put you in an invidious position. If those are his plans, though, I hope he is aware that there would be many ramifications up
here. As you now know, we in the north are not easy to forget or forgive an insult.’
‘No, it is a folly of his. When my father comes here I will speak to him. I swear I will fight any such move all the way.’
‘You would refuse the Grand Duke for me?’
‘It is the principle. I will say it again, I am a Hartfield and for us duty always comes first. I am your wife and as you are my husband my loyalty will always be to you no matter what the
sacrifice. One day maybe I will get to prove this to you.’
Wulfthram looked impressed. ‘Thank you, my Lady. Are you sure you have no northern blood?’
She grinned, thankful for his response. ‘The only part of the north I have ever had in me belongs to you, my Lord. Now to the present: we have no idea at all which tunnel to
take?’
‘None at all.’
‘I will go and take a look at them.’
‘As you wish.’
Taking one of the lanterns, she moved towards the nearest entrance. Why on earth had she said that to him? What could she possibly see that Ulian couldn’t? She moved from one tunnel to the
next, realising with a heavy heart that they were all near enough identical. This is it then, she thought. The journey ends here.
She was at the fourth tunnel now. She stared at it. It stared back. Her shoulders slumped. She went to move on to the final tunnel when like a wisp of bitter frost floating about her ears the
voice came to her once more. It was little more than a soft echo but there was something in the voice that froze her to the core. It was not anger or even hostility; it was a voice that spoke of
suffering, of an eternity of tormented loneliness, a soul confined to the utter dark unto infinity, never to find peace or a sweet release.
‘It is this one,’ she said, indicating the tunnel. ‘Do not ask me how I know; just understand that I do know.’
‘Then it is through here that we must proceed,’ Ulian said, giving her an understanding smile.
The tunnel itself was lower and narrower than its predecessors. Its floor was littered with loose stones and rubble, causing many stumbles, bruised toes and suppressed curses. There was also an
all-pervading musty smell to it, whether due to age, decay or something else Ceriana did not know. There were also signs that some of the heavier piles of spoil had been partially cleared and moved
to the sides. No one spoke about it but it brought the image of a sepulchral shaven-headed man in black straight to the front of her mind. Ceriana wondered where they were hiding.
Suddenly Wulfthram turned to the others. ‘Strogar, put out your lantern.’
‘Are you sure, sir? Will we have enough light with just your lantern?’
‘Probably not. I am putting mine out as well.’
Strogar looked at his baron as though he had lost his mind. But he obeyed his order and his face was lost to the darkness as his light went out.
‘Now to see if I am right,’ said Wulfthram and followed suit.
Momentarily they were plunged into a blackness deeper than anything Ceriana had ever experienced before, something that she imagined existed at the very depths of the ocean floor. Perhaps her
husband had gone mad after all; she put her hand in front of her face expecting to see nothing. But she could see it! It glowed a faint mustard colour, almost as if it was luminous. Then she looked
up.
Above her the entire roof of the tunnel was coated in something glowing a fluorescent yellow. There were patches of darkness here and there, usually circular in shape, but they were surrounded
by something that reminded her of a macabre type of seaweed. It extended partway down either wall and continued before them for some considerable distance. The soft light emitted meant they could
see far ahead of them and there, maybe a quarter of a mile ahead, was a small black rectangle which could only be an exit from the claustrophobic space they now inhabited.
‘A bizarre type of phosphorescent fungus,’ said Ulian. ‘I have heard of such things but have never seen anything like it myself before. And look, it is moving – ever so
slowly – but if you watch carefully it is inching down the walls. What a strange thing it is.’
‘It is a living thing then,’ said Ceriana. ‘I do not know why, but somehow that makes me feel quite uncomfortable. Let us leave this place behind.’
They picked up speed; everyone, it seemed, was of a like mind. Ceriana stubbed her toe on a loose rock and for the thousandth time cursed her foolish choice of footwear. From behind her she
heard Haelward make a sound of disgust. It was so strongly expressed she turned around to see what irked him so.
She hadn’t been looking up but realised that had been something of a mistake. From the strange mass above them tendrils were dropping – thin milky strands bulbous at their end. They
were brushing the hair of the taller men at the back of the party; Strogar, especially, was shaking his head as these dangling filaments stroked his face and shoulders.
‘Artorus’s beard, these things are sticky.’ Haelward spat his distaste, holding his arm to his face and hair to ward off the assault.
‘Keth take me but they burn!’ Strogar had a note of panic in his voice.
Wulfthram had seen enough. ‘Run!’ he shouted.
Heads held down they bolted as fast as they could, all thoughts focused on getting out of the place. Ceriana stayed close to her husband who held one arm over her. Her eyes were fixed on the
ground and she saw with a sense of shock that it was neither stones nor rubble she was disturbing with her feet.
It was bones.
There were many small animal bones that she kicked or crushed underfoot in her haste, but for all her mind’s attempts to deny the truth before her there were also much larger bones among
them. And then she saw her first human skull. A thrill of fear passed down her spine.
‘Hurry everyone, hurry!’ she shouted, feeling more panicky with every passing second.
She kicked up a cloud of dust as she ran, spitting as it went up her nose. They were nearly out now and she put on an extra spurt to get there. The exit from the tunnel she could now see was
backlit with a flickering red glow. Fire? she thought, Before she could dwell on this further, though, a bellow of fear behind her caused her to twist her neck backwards.
Strogar had been completely enveloped. An enormous man-sized polyp had descended from the roof swallowing him whole. He had been lifted from the ground as the yellow sac slowly heaved itself
upwards again. The strange growth was changing colour, too; a livid green fluid was streaming through it, all of it being pumped into the sac which was now nearly full of it. Inside she could see
Strogar struggling to free himself. He had his short sword out and was stabbing at the thing enclosing him with completely unsuccessful results. The thing was translucent and she could see his
wide-eyed desperate face – the green fluid was up to his eyes and appeared to be choking him.
Drawing his sword, Haelward roared and thrust at the sac, shield held over his head as he held off dozens of other tendrils as they whipped at him, trying to force him backwards. Derkss drew his
sword but immediately it was caught by the spidery growths, leaving him unable to swing it either backwards or forwards. In frustration, he released his grip whereupon the weapon was lifted to the
roof and absorbed under the strange shifting mass above them. Haelward, meanwhile, had managed to force his blade partially into the green sac only to find it had become stuck. He was unable to
pull it free until Wulfthram joined him and the two of them grasped the sword’s hilt and pulled together. Finally, as both men groaned with the exertion, it came free, causing the two of them
to fall to the floor. A spurt of green liquid followed it, splashing to the ground where it smoked and hissed and sent forth a noxious steam.
Haelward’s sword was smoking, too, and they watched as the tip of the blade started to dissolve in front of their eyes. Inside the sac, Strogar was motionless now, the green fluid over his
head. They saw the sac’s contents darken as streams of black blood started to fill it. With mounting horror they saw that Strogar’s face had started to melt. His eyeballs had gone and
blood flowed freely from the empty sockets. The skin had started to shrivel and peel back from his mouth and cheeks, exposing more and more of the dead man’s skull. Above them the yellow
growth was darkening as the man’s life juices were sucked from him, and the bulging sac was now nearly black in colour as the digestion process continued.