The Price of Freedom

7: TREASURE

Another tunnel ran deeper into the earth, twisting sporadically left and right. This one looked like it had been dug out from the rock. Its walls were crude and lined with thick, wooden beams that supported the ceiling, often split and rotten, leaning crazily. It was probably a mining tunnel, excavated by the satyrs. As if to confirm his theory, he saw a bronze-headed pick sheltering in a small niche. As for what was being mined, chunks of raw quartz protruded from the tunnel sides, their many facets glittering with multi-coloured light. Pausing, he lost himself momentarily, staring in childlike wonder. They reminded him of the Bloodcrystal Caverns, where he and his kinfolk retreated to every Isryn.  

Next he emerged into a wide cavern dominated by a series of colossal, translucent pillars sunken into pits of boiling mud. Like all crystals in Belanyr, they gave off their own luminescence. The ceiling was high up, hidden by an immense stretch of darkness and the walls to either side were equally veiled. A slender, stone bridge closed the gap between the tunnel exit and the top of the first pillar. Fifty metres below, the mud bubbled and spat like the contents of a witch's cauldron.  

Looking down, he carefully made his way across the bridge. He could tell it was ancient, having been built hundreds of years ago, but it was firm beneath his boots.  

Once across, he stared down at the crystal beneath him. It was strange. He could see right through it to the lake below. Continuing on to the next stone bridge his gaze flickered about the vast, shadowy cavern. It had a sense of emptiness, of loneliness. Far off, almost invisible in the gloom, something with glowing, orange eyes and large, leathery wings flapping gently moved back and forth along the wall. The great weight of the earth above seemed to press down on him, reminding him of the dangers of being deep underground. For others, this wasn't the sort of place to venture alone.  

But for him, it was nothing. If anything, it was exhilarating. He was used to venturing into the unknown on missions for Phoenix Claws and always relished it. In that respect, this was no different from any other mission. He enjoyed the solitude, the tranquility and the opportunity for adventure. For many of his missions in the employ of Phoenix Claws he had worked alone; but if there was one thing he'd learned it was that working alongside another elf was much more preferable. Being able to experience such wonders with someone else was both rewarding and practical.  

Suddenly he was gripped by a strong yearning for his friends: Jaewyn, Layla and Zephyrle. He missed them. What were they doing right now? He pictured their faces, laughing and tittering amidst the branches and leaves of his Trelacylon home.  

Before long he came to a forked pathway. Choosing the left path he followed it until he came to a smaller crystal pillar. On it lay a crumpled, leather satchel, discarded. Wondering why such an item had been abandoned, Aefion skirted the bag and peered down into the bubbling mud. Another pillar leaned precariously against the pillar he stood on to create a makeshift ramp down to the mud lake. A short distance from where its end sank into the mud was a number of ovular rocks. They were partially submerged, forming a series of stepping stones.  

Aefion's eyes narrowed as his gaze traced a path to the far wall. The stepping stones led to a small cave, the shadows driven back from around its mouth by a burning brazier. This was too intriguing to ignore. He wanted to investigate, so he quickly made his way over to the cave, Fyr'Akharyn at the ready. Inside it was cramped and dark, and reeked of something rotting. A cluster of red crystal sat in the centre of the floor for a makeshift campfire, and a battered roll of parchment lay beside it. He shuddered as he saw the corpse in the gloom.  

It was wearing an emblem he recognised: the king's historian.  

Unrolling the parchment he gazed at what looked like a map. Written in common Alathaic were the words 'Caves of Carandar.' Beneath the title was drawn an elaborate sketch of what was obviously a complex cave system. Various details had been noted in black ink, indicating the positions of certain chambers and important passages. Folding it squarely and tucking it into his jerkin, he retraced his steps back to the pathway. Ahead of him he could see another burning brazier.  

Materializing from the gloom like a primeval monster was an elaborate, ornate doorway, edged in sigils of bronze and silver, a circular, wooden door set into it. The portal was open a fraction and Aefion could see a flight of steps leading down into shadow.  

The map he had found was treasure: a weapon with which he could fight the labyrinth's disorientating confusion of tunnels. Checking his location on the map, he entered.  

Following the downward spiralling stairway, he passed through three more mining tunnels. Shortly he came to a circular chamber lit all around by wall-mounted braziers. A titanic, bronze statue stood beside the far doorway, at least four metres in height. Its eyes of sapphire twinkled and cruel horns swept upwards from a thickset brow. It had the head of a massive bull, and a double-headed axe was clutched in its claws.  

'I wonder if this too was once real,' Aefion murmured as he sidestepped the Minotaur. The door beside it was bordered by glowing, white runes. They were written in Alathaic, but were meaningless, simply a random jumble of letters positioned pleasingly around the doorframe. Confused, the elf stepped forwards, onto the flagstone directly in front of the doorway. It was a pressure pad; as soon as Aefion put his weight onto it, the stone sank slightly into the ground.  

There came the deep rumbling of stone on stone and Aefion turned to see a panel opening in the wall behind him. Something was standing just out of sight, a shadowy blur before it emerged into the hellish glow of the braziers.  

Walking on huge, goat-like legs, with cloven hooves that left a path of blue flame, the thing's appearance echoed that of the statue but had a hide covered in shaggy, black fur. Twisted horns glinted and sapphire eyes blazed with the fires of demonic possession. Clad in baroque, bronze armour, the creature carried a heavy, double-headed axe in both hands. A bull's swishing tail completed its hideous appearance. Aefion knew this was no ordinary minotaur. With a lion-like roar, the daemonic brute thundered towards him.  

Aefion was instantly on the move, springing backwards and unleashing two bright darts from his Fyr'Akharyn. One of the needles missed, shattering into pieces on the wall but the other slammed into the minotaur's right pauldron. The missile shattered but knocked it back slightly. Then its massive stride had brought it close to the elf. It roared again, bringing the axe down in a huge arc. Aefion rolled aside. Leaping swiftly to his feet, he moved in front of the bronze statue. In the second its axe came again he dodged, feeling the heat emanating from the beast's hooves. Then the heavy weapon stuck fast, lodged in the statue's chest. Aefion ran past the monster, his Fyr'Akharyn spitting crimson darts. Most of them bounced off or shattered on the beast's armour but several shots hit flesh, causing the minotaur to grunt as if irritated by an insect. Then its axe came free with a spray of metal shards and it turned to face its elven adversary. But again Aefion had gone, confusing his foe as he dashed between the minotaur's legs. Unleashing a cry of rage it kicked backwards, sending Aefion flying against the wall.  

For a moment pain flared inside him where he knew bones had snapped. He had to get up: it was either that or die. Quickly, he regained his wits and dragged himself aside as the giant axe cleaved the flagstones where he had lain. Spinning, he fired up at the minotaur's body. But the breastplate the beast wore deflected many of his darts. Its axe came shrieking at him again and this time he barely dodged it, the blade nearly slicing through him as he fled. Slightly closer and he might've lost his entire arm, he thought, circling and looking for another opening.  

The minotaur was one big block of solid muscle. It had brute strength and physical toughness on its side. Aefion had agility and skill, but he would have to end this fight soon. It was wasting his time. Cassandra needed him. The axe descended with the force to stop a charging knight and he evaded it, rolling painfully across the floor. He knew he couldn't keep ducking and weaving forever. If he misjudged just one attack he'd be finished. Just one hit from that weapon of mass destruction was all it would take.  

His side was throbbing badly but he didn't have the time to heal himself. Then, a spark of inspiration flared in his mind.  

Skirting around, he got his back to the doorway and reached out with his left hand.  

'Come on, minotaur. Come get me then.'  

Sensing the wounded elf's fatigue, the minotaur threw back its monstrous head and issued a final war cry. Aefion could see bits of undigested meat between its dagger-like teeth. Bowing his head slightly, he raised his arms as the bovine juggernaut pounded towards him.