“There’s a cavern,” he answered. The rift wall ends about seventy metres below where you are now. Sir Owen, you’d best hammer in another horseshoe or two on the way down to secure the rope.”

“I will,” Sir Owen called out.

“Can you see the bottom below you?” Gerrin asked.

“It’s a hundred metres, Gerrin. What do you think?” He glanced down. “I see some luminous lichen and moss, some trailing vines and growth on the ceiling and walls. But not much else. When I reach the floor, I’ll call out again. Hopefully you’ll be able to hear me.”

There was a short pause. Then Gerrin spoke. He sounded uncertain. “A hundred metres is a long way, Jonik. Down is one thing, up another. That’s not an easy climb without a wall to steady you.”

He wasn’t wrong, but Jonik was not about to turn back now. “No one ever said this was going to be easy, Gerrin. I’m going to slide down now. I’ll shout when I reach the bottom.” He did not want to linger here, above the abyss, thinking about it too much. Without further delay, he clutched a little more tightly at the rope, let his legs swing back off the wall, and slowly…ever so slowly…eased his grip and slid down.

The air changed almost at once as he escaped the narrow space between the chasm walls. He could feel it, the way it opened out, the way the sound spread and echoed. His leather glove ran smoothly along the hempen rope, warm from the friction, his pace steady. The mist thinned as he went, and the darkness began to recede. Less than halfway down, he could see the faint outline of the chamber beneath him, vast and open, given shape by the light of the moss. More of it grew in patches on the floor, and he saw glow worms too, and the flicker of fireflies, drifting in red and purple and blue. It was beautiful, otherworldly. Further off, he could hear the echo of rushing water, and on the floor of the cavern he saw darker scars and pits where it went deeper, down into the very bowels of the earth.

Many rocks lay scattered across the cavern floor and there were some large outcrops too, jutting up in distorted shapes, their bases and walls clothed in bioluminescent fungi. The rope trailed down onto one of them, a large, flat-topped block of rough stone, and that was where Jonik landed, on a perch some six metres above the ground.

He let out a breath as his feet reached solid earth; they felt a little shaky, tremulous from the descent. He turned a full circle, awestruck, searching for where the cavern ended, but not all of the walls were visible. On one side it bled into darkness beyond his sight, stretching away in a field of broken rock. Some formations were colossal, as big as tumbled towers. One looked like the peak of some huge mountain, poking up from somewhere lower, and he could see a thin waterfall hissing down out there, appearing from the mists above and vanishing through a pit.

How big is this place? he wondered, astonished. Through vents and shafts warmer gusts of air blew up from below, coming from places much further down. He could see almost directly down one of them from atop the rock. Down it went, down and down to darkness. If the Mistblade fell down one of those…

The scale of the task was dawning on him, even if it hadn’t already. One step at a time, he told himself. Just take it one step at a time.

It did not take long for the others to join him. First Gerrin appeared from the gloom, sliding down to land on the upthrust of rock, then a short time later Sir Owen followed, reporting that he had hammered in two more horseshoes to better secure the rope. That was good. It was their only lifeline, their only way out of here. They were some two hundred and twenty metres beneath the surface, Jonik had to remind himself, and he could feel it too; that weight of rock above him. Through the drifting mists, he could just about see the thin line of the rift opening far above, faint as a torch flicker in a black storm. Harden would be up there now, already wary Jonik did not doubt, and not much liking being left alone. Three days, he thought. We have three full days to explore.

The others were looking out through the cavern in awe. Their expressions reflected how Jonik felt. “So…what now?” Sir Owen asked. He looked around, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, peering at the tunnels and caves and pits and shafts that led beyond the cavern. “There are two dozen ways out of here. Which route shall we take?”

Jonik only had one answer to give them, and it wasn’t one they were going to like. In the back of his mind he could hear the faintest of whispers, no more than a breath across a field, dimly heard, calling out to him. Calling for help.

He looked at Sir Owen and gave answer. “Down,” he only said.

44

“They stole away during the night,” Sunrider Tantario informed her. “I would think they returned to the lake, Serenity, to take the barge back across the water.”

Saska took the news calmly. In fact, she took it well. Far too many of Tantario’s men had turned sour and bitter these last weeks, and it served her to see them gone, lest they cause her any problems. “What do you mean to do, Alym?” she asked.

The Sunrider was not one to suffer such insubordination. “I have their names,” he said. “Desertion is as firmly dealt with here as it is in the north, especially so for men of high birth. These men abandoned their charges. When caught, they will suffer the penalty.”

Death, she thought. In the north, desertion meant death. “They don’t deserve that, Alym,” she said. “Can’t you show them mercy? They’ve helped get us this far, haven’t they?”

“Would that I could, Serenity, but that is not my gift to give. When caught they will be returned to Aram, and if your grandmother or Lord Hasham should wish to grant such clemency, they may. My duty is simply to deliver them.”

Then it’s death. Her grandmother might grant a stay of execution, she supposed, but she might well be dead by now, and that would put Lord Hasham in charge. He certainly wouldn’t.

The Surgeon withdrew a scalpel from his cross-belt of knives and instruments. He turned its edge against the sun, inspecting it. “When a cancer infects the body, it must be cut away,” he declared. “These men need to die, Sunrider Tantario. At once. We cannot wait for them to be caught and returned to Aram. They carry too precious a secret to be spared.”

Saska vented a sigh. The Surgeon was nothing if not dedicated to keeping her secret from spreading, for which she was grateful, even if it all made her skin crawl whenever he spoke about it. But these men? Moan as they had, and mislike her as many of them had come to, she did not believe they would go that far. “They’re not going to speak of who I am,” she said, trying to dismiss it. “They know the price, and they swore their oaths.”

“They swore oaths that they would escort you to Eagle’s Perch as well,” Sir Ralston reminded her. He stood above them all in his scarred and scratched armour, all in steel from head to heel but for the greathelm he held in the crook of his arm. “An oath they broke last night.”

“One broken oath oft leads to another,” the Surgeon added, casually spinning the scalpel between his fingers. “An oathbreaker is not a man who can be trusted. He is a weak man, a rotten man, who must be cut free lest he infect the healthy flesh.” He stabbed the scalpel back into its sheath. “I will do this. Give me leave to chase them down, and I will bring you back their heads.”

“No,” Alym Tantario said. “This is not of your concern. You are not Aramatian.”

“No,” the Surgeon agreed. “I am a man of the world. And it is the world I seek to protect. The deserters hold knowledge that can hurt us all. They must die, and soon.”

The Sunrider looked exhausted. His skin was wan, his eyes shadowed and bloodshot, and the ruts in his forehead had turned chasm-deep. Saska felt for him. These men had been honourable once, chosen for her escort for that reason, but a rot had got into their souls. He did not want to see them killed, and certainly not like that, hunted by some sellsword. That they were so close to Eagle’s Perch, close to the fulfilment of their duty, only made it all the harder. “You are a cruel man, Captain,” he said to the Surgeon in a small voice. “You have travelled with these men, broken bread with them, set camp with them, fought with them…and yet you would speak of taking their heads so casually.” He gave a dispirited sigh, shaking his head. “If this is to be done, my own men must do it. I will speak to my captains, and…”

The Baker cut him off. “Your men cannot be trusted, I regret to say. They are friends with these deserters, and may only join them, or show them mercy. If they’re to die, and I agree, they must, then godsteel will see it done.” He looked at the Surgeon in a moment of solidarity, and perhaps in that Saska could salvage something from this misfortune. A common foe, Rolly had said, as a way to bring the sellswords together after all that foul business with Merinius. Perhaps these deserters were just that. “I will go as well,” the Baker said. “Umberto will come with me, and the Surgeon may choose one of his own. The four of us will make quick work of these cowards.”

The word coward only made Alym Tantario cringe. “They were not cowards, once,” he murmured sadly. “They were good men, gallant and noble. The Ever-War has brought them to ruin.”

The Surgeon did not think much of that excuse. “The Ever-War shows a man for what he is. It is a torch in the dark, shining the light of truth upon him. Your men have proven themselves craven, Tantario. They will be well rid of. We will see it done.” He looked at the Baker with a nod, and the Baker nodded back.

Alym Tantario had no further fight in him, though the last word would have to be Saska’s. Such as it was when they gathered for these councils and made these decisions. And now the lives of over a dozen men rest with me, she thought. Well, she had no choice. “See it done, then,” she told them. She took no pleasure in giving the command, but they all knew it was the only option. “Surgeon, take the Tigress with you. I would see you mend your rift on the way.”

The Baker’s jaw was tight. He did not want to ride with that woman, but that was the point. Saska had some naive hope that the Tigress would save the Baker’s life in battle, and that would put an end to it, but doubted the gods were so kind.

“You had best get moving,” Sir Ralston boomed, before the Baker might conjure a complaint. “They have a two hour head start and will be riding hard. Ride harder until you catch them. And harder still when you’re done. We’re not going to wait around for you.”

The Bloody Trader captains nodded, turned and left them, moving toward the small lake beside which they had camped for the night. The horses had been hobbled there, where the grasses were thick, and they could take a drink. Beside the placid waters, their small campsite was being struck beneath the glow of the rising sun, the men moving about listlessly as they took down the tents and readied to leave. The gleaming company that had left Aram had become a beaten, broken thing, dragging its bedraggled bones down the road, step after weary step. It made Saska sad to see.

She returned to her own tent to find Leshie putting on her armour. “What’s happening with those deserters, then?” the Red Blade asked, as she pulled on her gauntlets. There were tiny rubies in the knuckles that twinkled as they moved. If Leshie should live through the war, that armour alone would make her a very rich woman if she ever had a mind to sell it.

“The sellswords are hunting them,” Saska answered.

“Which ones?”

“The Baker, Umberto, the Surgeon and the Tigress.”

Leshie made a whistling sound. “Nice team. They’ll probably kill each other on the way, but nice.” She clicked her gorget about her neck before fixing her crimson cape at the shoulders with clasps of plain ornamentation. Last of all came her swordbelt, oiled red leather with her dagger on one hip and shortsword on the other, sheathed in scarlet scabbards. “They’re going to kill them, then? Or bring them back?”

“Kill them,” Saska said.

Leshie understood. “Shame, but needs must.” She stepped out into the sunlight, brushing the door flaps aside. Her eyes roved the camp, the sparse trees, the little lake and shore beyond. Saska was not certain what she was searching for until she asked, “No princess, then? She still hasn’t returned?”

“No.” Saska’s voice was dull. Princess Talasha Taan had not been seen since she led away that dragon, the day they reached the northern shore of Eagle Lake. A part of her feared she was dead. A bigger part would not let herself believe it. “She’ll come back when she’s ready,” she made herself say. Fate brought her to us. Why bother if she was only going to die? “It’s only been a few days.”

Leshie’s eyes showed doubt, but she knew better than to express it. Instead she grinned and said, “She’d better. That woman owes me a flight, Sask. I’ll be damned if she dies before I get one.”

That made Saska smile. Leshie always knew how to make her smile.

The company was soon ready to leave, the tents packed and loaded on the horses. The sun rose to gild the cobbles of the Capital Road as it wended up the coast. To the east, the seas swelled treacherously upon the horizon, though closer to shore it looked calmer. It was prone to change quickly, they all knew. One only had to look away for a moment and look back, and all of a sudden the tranquil waters would have churned into a frenzy of white caps and waves, and who knew what lurked beneath.

Sometimes, when the road was right up near the shore, they would see pods of greatwhales prowling about, looking for trouble, their water spouts spurting high and angry. Who they were so angry with, or why, no one could say, but all the same the victims of their rage were in great evidence. Every day they saw ships beached in bays and coves, or snagged on shoals further out to sea, and it seemed no one was to be spared. The waves and the whales and all the other beasts beneath the water did not seem to care which ships they attacked. They had seen trading cogs washed ashore, and fishing carracks with their bellies torn open, and strong war galleys shattered and smashed, and even massive, bulky galleons, triple-decked and four-masted, lying broken in the surf.

Some beaches were so crowded with wrecks that they had become more wood than sand, and on one island out to sea, a ship had even seemed to have been thrown from the water, to lie in ruin on the side of a jagged hill. What creature had done that no one could say. It was not a big ship, but still. Could a leviathan throw a boat so high like that? Had the waves grown so grand as to deposit the boat up there?