Red Tsonia & The Witch In The Dark

"In, m'Lady, yes. Only the most vile and depraved dare the horrors below The Cairn, and the guardsmen are happy enough to be rid of them."

"What does that make us exactly?" asked Joras.

"Or those desperate enough to seek the services of said vile and depraved souls, m'Lord," Shaskar quickly amended. "Getting out again is more difficult, though. The guards are inclined to let anyone who seeks the darkness rot in their self-imposed exile forever. Criminals are often sentenced to the depths and sent below. The guards will bar the way for anyone trying to leave, unless they prove pure enough of spirit... or fat enough of purse."

As the trio reached the source of the cascade, they found two guardsmen standing vigil beside a heavy bronze gate through which the torrent flowed. The mouth of the ziggurat arched overhead the entire height of the tier, but the water flowed at only half that depth. A bridge served for crossing from one side to the other and on either side of the coursing river a walkway extended as far back into the blackness as they could see.

Tsonia crossed the palms of both guards with coin. She told them to pass the word that Red Tsonia would be returning, and the guards who made her exit easy would be rewarded. With reluctance, and many a wary glance at Shaskar, the guards unbound the gate and allowed the trio passage below.

The slam of the gate behind them rang with an ominous echo as they started in.

***

Inside the ziggurat it was much brighter than Joras had dared to hope. A strange glow emanating from the marbled green strata within the light-devouring black stone of The Cairn's monolithic building blocks offered enough viridian twilight to see by. Once Shaskar, Tsonia, and Joras had navigated the narrow walkway beside the torrent of water heading for the sunlight, they emerged upon a latticework of brick-built platforms and walkways, its construction much newer and far less sound than the monument surrounding them.

Joras spied movement in the shadows, as if malevolent specters were quietly marching along with them. Below, he heard the rush of water, much fainter now than the thunderous roar of the flood tumbling down the ziggurat's side, more the constant rumble of titanic forces at work. He made the mistake of glancing downwards as Shaskar led them across a narrow bridge, barely wider than Tsonia's hips. He only saw distant specks of green reflected in a bottomless pit of black as if stars in the infinite night.

Cool air caressed his sweaty brow. For a moment, he was reminded of that one fateful day fleeing from the guards atop the rooftops of Thelyria and how he had stepped on a loose shingle, only to slip and nearly fall to his death. While he managed to catch the roof's edge, he in turn was caught by the guard and spent a fortnight in prison. Only his quick tongue convinced the Justiciar to spare his right hand and instead change the sentence to a dozen lashes. Joras had vowed to never steal again that day. And to avoid high places like the plague.

He never had been very good at keeping vows.

"What is this place?" he rasped, quickly looking ahead once more. Tsonia's confidently swaying hips were a much more reassuring sight than the nothingness below.

"It is called the Cistern," Shaskar wheezed. "A braver Overseer than DuFrain once tried to contain and harness the ziggurat's water. He never got farther than the skeletal frame we are walking upon now, but at least it provides us a safe way into the lower levels." His good arm pointed towards another bridge arching over a vast gulf. "If you would."

This overpass was wider than some main roads in Thelyria, with sturdy banisters along the sides and built with a robust stability that was lacking in the narrow, trembling footbridges they crossed earlier. The shadows beneath the banisters seemed to churn and roil and the moment they set upon the bridge proper, a chorus of groans and hoarse whispers assaulted their ears.

It dawned on Joras that there was a throng of creatures on either side of them, barely more than shapeless rags even more destitute than the rabble they had staved off what felt like a lifetime ago on The Cairn's main road. Their voices begged for food or succor or simply uttered incoherent ravings. Stick-thin extremities reached for them. He caught glances of gaunt, sickly faces, tinged a purulent shade by the all-encompassing twilight.

Tsonia reached for her blade, but Shaskar shook his head. "These ghouls are but men, hungry and desperate, m'lady. They have no fear of death; indeed some would welcome it. But perhaps they can be bargained with in their own tongue." The cripple snapped a strange sound at the mob, his good arm arcing in a dangerous, slashing motion. The shapes encircling them shrank back, hissing in what Joras thought to be dismay. A narrow gap appeared in the throng and Shaskar ushered Tsonia along.

As Joras followed, a clawed hand closed around his ankle. He tried to shake it loose, but more hands grabbed him, sharp nails like talons digging deep into his vest and breeches. The hiss and screech of the starving ghouls around him swelled like an unholy tide.

"Kaela!" Joras called, swatting at the emaciated limbs dragging him down and away from his companions. For every claw he dislodged, three more seized his garb. Suddenly, a lithe shadow pounced from below, toppling him backwards. He screamed as he fell. The last thing he saw was Tsonia's blade gleaming in the twilight.

***

Hearing Joras' desperate cry, Tsonia wheeled around, blade flashing from its scabbard. The mob had swamped the artist like a shadowy tide, dragging at his clothes and limbs. She snatched a handful of rags and hurled the first featherweight body aside earning a pang in her bad shoulder for the effort. Another she grabbed and tossed, but by that time, Joras had been pulled to the ground.

Like a shapeless, singular mass, the mob flowed away from them, dragging her screaming companion along with frantic speed. As she watched in horror, the mass of rags and limbs tumbled over the side of the bridge and down the sheer wall into the darkness below. The sound of Joras's screams was lost in the distant roar of water.

Tsonia vaulted the banister, swung her legs out into the empty darkness, and clung to the smooth stone floor by her fingers. She clambered with rising desperation for any notch or foothold to scale down after her friend and the mob of ghouls that had abducted him.

"You can't save him, m'lady" Shaskar entreated from above.

"Do you think me a craven traitor? Joras has been a faithful companion for many years and I won't abandon him to a mob of flesh-eaters!"

"The drop is ten men's height or more. Only their skeletal fingers are delicate enough to find purchase on this wall," Shaskar explained, leaning over the railing to look down at her, his feet dangerously close to trodding on her fingers. "They fled over the side knowing many would die. Even if your companion survived the fall... they will have already started eating him. They would not stay their feast once they had escaped immediate danger."

"I must try!" Tsonia insisted, but her feet had failed to find any purchase and already her wounded shoulder ached from the effort of clinging to the perilous edge of the abyss.

"There is no hope, m'lady," Shsakar whispered, and offered his hand to pull her back to safety.

Tsonia hesitated, torn between loyalty to her companion and the need to finish her own quest. Shaskar watched her stoically, his face an unreadable, passive mask, his hand extended. She looked down once more into the darkness and saw no motion, no sign of life. She listened and heard nothing but distant water, no cries for help, nor rending of flesh.

Disgusted, Tsonia reached for Shaskar's hand without looking up. "May the gods keep your soul, Joras," she muttered in Thelyrian. "You deserved a far better fate."

There was a moment, fleeting only, when her weight shifted from her own hand to Shaskar's, when Tsonia felt her guide's grip falter, and for a moment she felt as though she would tumble off into the darkness behind Joras after all. But Shaskar found his strength, and hauled her back over the banister to the solid safety of the bridge.

"We should move on before more arrive, m'Lady," Shaskar suggested.

"Let them come and woe be unto them," Tsonia spat, balling her fists. She was furious and grief-stricken and eager to slake her thirst for vengeance on whatever pitiful soul should cross her next. "This quest has cost me dearly now, Shaskar. Lead on and be quick about it."

"By your leave," the cripple said with a somber bow. He headed to the far end of the bridge. The sturdy brickwork suddenly ended like a stony tongue lolling from a gargantuan maw, nothing but blackness in the distance. Enormous chains held the bridge's end in place.

"This is the safe way down?" Tsonia eyed the pitted links, each taller than her, with suspicion.

"Most certainly. The corridors and cracks in the walls are perfect for ambushes. Upon these links, you can see anyone ahead and anyone behind." With a nimbleness belying his mutilated form, Shaskar mounted the chain and made his way down.

Tsonia grasped the pitted metal and followed, albeit slower. She dearly regretted trusting the stranger, but by now it was too late to change her plans. A sharp ache in her shoulder reminded her why she was down here, precariously dangling over an unfathomable abyss. She needed to learn why her strength had fled her, leaving her a pale shadow of her usual self.

The metal the chain was wrought from was unlike anything she had seen before, ancient beyond her ken and despite being exposed to the eternal moisture saturating the air, unaffected by rust. Someone had managed to carve crude hand-holds into the immense links, shallow troughs just good for the tips of her fingers but better than none at all. Five links she climbed down, wary of Shaskar below, but when next she looked for him, he had vanished.

"Over here," Shaskar softly called.

Tsonia found his lanky frame on a narrow ledge, a hop away from the chain and carved between the towering blocks making up the ziggurat. She gauged the distance and leapt, clearing the gap. Her feet slipped on the smooth black stone and she fought for balance, the darkness sucking at her back, her heartbeat roaring in her ears.

Shaskar's long-fingered hand snatched her wrist, arresting her fall. Only her toes touched the narrow ledge, leaving Tsonia precariously overbalanced, teetering on the edge of the abyss. She marveled at Shaskar's strength. She was by no means a dainty wisp of a woman and yet, he held her as if she weighed nothing.

Her gaze met his. In the gloaming light she saw something flicker in the bald cripple's sunken eyes, a rat-like cunning she hadn't seen there before. Slowly, a triumphant smirk tugged at Shaskar's mouth. Tsonia had seen smiles like that before, plastered on the lips of those opponents confident they had her at their mercy. Tsonia felt a shiver of fury run up her spine as she realized that Shaskar, if by his own agenda or someone else's, sought to see her dead.

Before he could let her tumble into the emptiness below, Tsonia clawed at his arm and pulled herself fully onto the ledge, gasping for breath as she finally achieved steady footing.

"You've wasted your last chance for an easy kill," she hissed, her hand going for her blade again. Fighting on this narrow ledge would be perilous, but she'd be damned if she gave the traitorous stranger any advantage.

"Stay your blade. I won't harm you... yet." Shaskar said calmly. "Your blood is demon-tainted, and you seek Amalthra's wisdom to heal your wound... or else I miss my guess. This is knowledge I wish for myself, and therefore I need you alive for now. And knowledge is more valuable than the coin I'm paid for your death." He slid along the ledge, into a barely visible tunnel.

"You think I would now trust a single utterance that fell from your maw?"

Shaskar stopped, offering a wry smile over his mauled shoulder. "I am a man of my word... when it suits me. Killing you now won't sate my curiosity. And killing me won't get you any closer to Amalthra. So, shall we?" His hand beckoned her closer.

"Before we leave, answer one question: Did you sic those ghouls upon us?"

"On the contrary. I told them to spare you."

"Spare me and take poor Joras, you mean?" Tsonia growled.

"I passed them today without a suitable sacrifice. They would have attacked us all."

"You could have warned us. We could have fought them off!"

Shaskar snickered. "If we had fought we'd all be ghoul-food now. The toll was due and the flesh-eaters have little patience for conversation. What's done is done. Raise a glass in his memory and carry on." Shaskar ducked into the gash between two stones and merged with the shadows. Blade in hand, Tsonia followed.

She could run the man through here and now and be done with it, she thought. But then she could wander The Warrens for days without ever finding Amalthra, and then Joras's loss would have been for naught. No, she decided, the man would live for now, but once Amalthra was found, his life was forfeit. Damn his curiosity, Shaskar would die unsatisfied.

There were fewer strands of green glowing in the black stone here and his shadow almost vanished in the gloom. Whenever Tsonia thought he had abandoned her, his long-fingered hand would touch her wounded shoulder, drawing attention to another nook or cranny to slip through. By now, she had lost all sense of direction. Even the flow of time seemed distorted somehow. The only way to measure its passage was her own quick gasps of breath.

It felt like hours skulking the lightless depths, earning scrapes on her arms and elbows for every sharp corner Tsonia didn't see coming, her sandal-clad feet throwing faint echoes. The ever-present walls had receded, leaving her and Shaskar in a wide tunnel. Ahead, there was an arched doorway lit by madly dancing flames in the brazier above.

To either side, four skeletons, stripped of every ounce of flesh, stood at attention. Long, wicked spears with serrated blades pointed at the ceiling and the remnants of leather armor clung to their bones. The sentries watched their approach with empty eye sockets lit by pinpricks of viridian fire.

***

The scar on Amalthra's palm throbbed, just the way she intended it to whenever someone passed her warding runes. She had carved the intricate sigil there herself with a jagged shard of steel broken from a righteous man's blade while muttering the ancient words of power. It had taken all of her will and mettle to complete the spell. Several times she nearly passed out from the pain and ruined the monotonous incantation, but in the end the ward was set, and none approached her lair without her knowledge.

She scuttled to her scrying pool, whispering the spell is a hoarse gasp, and in the still waters she saw through the gaze of her sentries. How they had screamed when she cut away their eyelids and drizzled paraffin oil over their naked orbs. How their unblinking eyes had hissed and popped in the flames as they burned away. How the men had cursed and thrashed in agony as she ground the green powder with a pestle into their charred eye sockets. How they had wailed and begged for death as she peeled away flesh to etch the magic runes into their living bone.

Her sentries stood quietly now though, with a phosphorescent glow in their hollow skulls, ever watchful, ever vigilant. They saw the approach of Shaskar and the scantily-clad woman, and through their gaze, Amalthra saw too.

By her crimson locks, Amalthra presumed Shaskar's companion was Red Tsonia, the woman DuFrain craved so desperately. Interesting that she should end up here on Amalthra's doorstep. She had warned DuFrain that the Fate Spiders do not take lightly to having their webs rewoven. But DuFrain had insisted, and he had paid with a piece of his soul, so she had crafted a spell to twist the woman's fate and entwine it with the Overseer's. In response, it appeared that the Fate Spiders had seen fit to cross Red Tsonia's strand with Amalthra's own.

Curious.

How best to meet the woman then, Amalthra wondered. As a crone, stooped and gnarled with age, emanating deep ken and ancient wisdom? As a queen, regal and imperious, intimidating with confident authority? As a child, innocent and vulnerable, with simple and obvious answers to complicated questions? As an abomination bearing secret knowledge from beyond the veil?

Amalthra considered her options as she contemplated the scrying pool.

***

"As promised," Shaskar gestured to the flame-lit archway, "The lair of Amalthra, Witch of the Warrens." He knew there was no need to knock. Through whatever arcane method she employed, Amalthra would know of their arrival, and when she was ready to receive them, the door would open of its own accord.

"Then here your journey ends, cur," Tsonia spat. "Arm yourself or don't, I shall cut you down either way for your treachery."

"Stay your blade, m'Lady," Shaskar replied with a sneer, all pretense of obsequiousness dispensed with. "How will you find your way out again without a guide?"

"I shall manage!"

She waited no longer and launched her attack with a lighting slash of her sword to his crippled right side. Hardly an honorable gambit, he thought, but then, he was hardly worthy of honor. Nor was his right the impotent flank that he'd led her to perceive.

With reflexes like a coiled snake, the monstrous limb that hung from Shaskar's shoulder whipped from under his cloak and snared Tsonia's sword arm, arresting its swing with the blade a mere thumb's breadth from his neck. Almost as quickly, his left hand seized a pair of darts and cast them at his adversary. Her wits held where most foes failed and she stepped inside the arc of his throw, leaving the flying blades to clatter off the stone behind her.

"Vile demon-spawn," she growled at him and the moist tentacle wrapped again around her wrist. "Your tricks and secrets won't save you."

Tsonia grabbed at his throat with her free hand, but such strength did Shaskar possess that he cast her away, flinging her weight across the antechamber with that vile, oozing limb alone. With a yelp of pain she rolled over her wounded shoulder and came skidding to halt on her feet, ready to strike anew. She would not find him unarmed again though. Shaskar's demonic arm stretched out and snatched a spear from the clutches of the closest skeleton, leaving it to topple over, its bones scattering across the stone floor with the sound of discarded dice.

"Wouldn't you rather do this once you are healed, m'lady?" he asked, moving the spear to his human hand and crouching defensively. "Your demon strength pitted against mine? Would that not be a contest worthy of song?"

"Who would write it?" snapped Tsonia. "You fed my bard to the ghouls."

Launching herself forward in a frenzy of whirling steel, she struck and he parried once, twice, and again before his tentacle seized her ankle and sent her sprawling onto her back. He lunged with the spear intending to pierce her good shoulder and hold her impaled in place, but she knocked the blow aside with startling reflexes and planted a sandaled foot firmly in his groin, sending him reeling backwards with a grunt. A sharp ache seized his guts and Shaskar abandoned his curiosity and his mercy.

"Then it seems one of us shall die here on Amalthra's threshold," he conceded, shifting his grip on the spear and taking an offensive stance as Tsonia kipped up to her feet. "Shall I feed your corpse to the same ghouls as your friend when I go back to collect his heavy purse?"

The taunt had fueled Tsonia's fury as he had hoped and she charged recklessly, sword raised overhead in a two-handed grip for a brutal down-stroke. Shaskar side-stepped the blow and with a flick of his alien muscles entangled both of her wrists in his unearthly grip, binding them together as tightly as any cord.