Firebrand

Chapter 197: Close Encounter of the Cold Kind

Chapter 197: Close Encounter of the Cold Kind

Close Encounter of the Cold Kind

Martel had a new strategy for exploring the sewers. Remembering that both hostile wizards and scared homeless people might live down here, he did not light a flame to follow him around permanently. If he met the former, Martel would like to have the element of surprise; with the latter, he did not wish to frighten them away. Instead, he only ignited his light when consulting his map, ducking into an alcove each time to limit who might see. Should he be unlucky enough to meet inquisitors again, this would also let him avoid detection and slip away.

Otherwise, he travelled in the dark. He kept one hand on the wall to ensure he stayed on the ledge and did not stray near its edge. On occasion, whenever reaching a new tunnel, he reached out with his magic to sense any heat. Nothing bigger than a rat met him.

He moved northwards, marking new tunnels as he went along. He assumed after a while that he stood underneath the temple district or perhaps the nobles' quarter, even if all the tunnels below looked the same. It cost him some confusion at times, trying to reconcile a crossing or path with his map; he suspected that he might not always have read it right. But it did not trouble him; he used his chalk marks to find his way back, after all.

When he had walked yet another while, perhaps an hour since he left the Lyceum in total, he reached another place causing him to doubt his navigation. Several tunnels met, with the usual grate bridges connecting them across the waters. As Martel lit his flame to inspect his map, he noticed a doorway on the ledge nearby, which did not have any flow of water beneath. Instead, it led to a solid road beyond.

Scrutinising his map, Martel could not reconcile this. Nothing on the parchment indicated such an entrance next to several other tunnels converging. Perhaps it was simply an entrance to the upper city and therefore not marked on the waterways. Regardless, Martel considered it encouraging. A dry area would be a suitable place for someone to have their hideout. Furthermore, it led north, which was the direction Martel favoured. Extinguishing his light, Martel stepped beyond the doorway. In the dark, he did not notice the wooden planks on the ground that had once boarded this entrance up, nor the strange symbols inscribed on the walls around him.

~

Walking without light, on unknown ground, Martel's progress was slow. Even without the danger of falling into the water, he kept one hand on the wall just to steady himself. After a while, he began to notice the ridges of the stonework. Usually, the walls of the tunnels were perfectly cut by Asterian precision, fitting together perfectly, and feeling smooth if damp to the touch. Now, he felt all sorts of irregularities. Curious, Martel finally risked a small light, just to understand why the stonework had changed.

To his surprise, the uneven surface did not come about from lack of craftsmanship, but the very contrary reason. Figures had been carved into the stone, depicting a scene that might be a hunt of some sort. Delightful, but Martel wondered who would have put such effort into creating ornaments when none would see. Stranger still, he found a series of symbols etched into the walls above the figures. These looked cruder, as if done by a different hand. Martel did not recognise them, even if they seemed familiar. Perhaps he had seen similar at the Lyceum; he knew enough to say they could not be Tyrian runes.

Interesting, but not important. Martel extinguished his light and continued. He had not come much further when another anomaly occurred. The wall, which he still followed with his hand in the dark, disappeared. His hand flailed about, and he had to take a quick step to keep from stumbling. Fumbling around a bit, he realised there was a kind of alcove, but not as big as those in the other tunnels, back in the sewers. This was not a separate room, but simply a small opening in the wall about one foot deep. Curiously, it was also about one foot tall; then a layer of stone and another opening above, like shelves in the wall.

What seemed oddest of all, something lay upon these shelves. Elongated and firm, maybe like hardened wood. Though it had a strange shape, thin in the middle and bulging at the edge, like a shillelagh for a child. Unable to restrain his curiosity, and after using his heat sense to ensure he was alone, Martel ignited his magelight.

A grinning skull greeted him. Shocked, Martel almost fell backwards. He did not need to see or feel anything more to understand. The alcoves were primitive tombs, with each shelf holding the bones of someone long dead. This was why the area had not been on his home-made map of the sewers. He was in the catacombs.

Martel quickly killed his light. No need to attract attention. Now to make a hasty retreat. He had no desire to find out if either of Father Andrew's warnings about Sol's curse or the traps were true.

A creaking, scraping sound of eerie movement reached his ears. Standing completely still, Martel stretched out his magic to sense any heat around him. Nothing returned, not even the smallest of rats. Yet he heard the sound again, coming from the same tunnel where he stood. Swallowing, perhaps against his better judgement, Martel ignited a glow of magelight to see.

As the tunnel became illuminated and Martel saw the source of the sounds, he finally understood. The letters scratched into the walls, he remembered where he had seen them before. At his trip to the Stone of Archen, they had been engraved on the entrance to the labyrinth, acting as wards to prevent the escape of a creature most sinister. He realised they served the same purpose here. The catacombs of Morcaster did not require curses or traps; the dead guarded the dead. Straight ahead of Martel stood a skeleton, animated by foul magic.

Acting more on instinct than anything else, Martel hurled a bolt of fire straight at the creature even as its empty sockets turned towards him. His magic, strong enough to ignite fabric or even wood, struck the hollow rib cage and flared out. If a skeleton could still feel, Martel got the impression he had just made this one mad. Sapient or not, the undead creature began to move towards him.

Martel turned and ran.