The Cursewright's Vow

Chapter 14: Below Munazyr, Part 7

Carala's hood was thrown back and there were strands of dust and cobwebs in her midnight hair. Casimir looked downcast. "It's not good news," she said.

"Just tell me."

Casimir answered, glowering over his shoulder for a moment. "The ceiling keeps getting lower and lower. It doesn't come all the way to floor, I don't think, but, well -- "

"We would have to slither on our bellies to get through," Carala sighed. "And even then I don't know if all of us would fit." Barthim and Denisius were the obvious problems, but Ammas himself wasn't exactly a slender willow.

"There's our supplies, too," Denisius said unhappily. "No way we'll get them all through. I suppose we're not exactly a day's stroll from Autumnsgrove when we get out of here, are we?"

"We are not," Ammas replied, cursing the luck. "This is my fault. I assumed this tunnel was still intact. Either it was never meant for soldiers, like Denisius said, or it's just sunken over the years. All right. Back to last night's campsite. Fast as we can." He traded Casimir's lamp for the trapped spirit, bracing it once more on the top of his walking stick.

Backtracking was easier than the initial progression had been, for the siege tunnel had been built on a grade, and they were no longer climbing. Soon they found themselves in the clearing beside the towering aqueduct, the blackened remains of their cookfire still visible. They set their gear down, Ammas kneeling by the fire and unrolling his map, scowling over it for many minutes. After a while, Vos lit up a fresh cigar. Ammas held out a hand. Surprised, he nonetheless passed one to the cursewright, who lit up and began puffing away with obvious relish.

"Been too long since I smoked rieldo," he murmured with a grin at Vos. "I usually can't justify buying it."

"I don't know how the two of you can enjoy that stuff," Denisius muttered.

Casimir was eyeing the cigar speculatively. "It's a disgusting habit you don't want to start," Ammas muttered out of the corner of his mouth. Casimir sighed and settled for studying the map at Ammas's side.

Both Ammas's and Vos's cigars were nearly half smoked when Ammas at last looked up and sighed. "I only see two options. We can backtrack and try one of these other routes, none of which I am sure actually lead anywhere near where we need to be. Or perhaps we can go all the way back the way we came. If Mielle Thalia finds out we're still in Munazyr, though, the situation might become worse than it is."

"What if I -- erm, I mean, if Vos and I were to negotiate with her? Or the Argent Council itself? I mean, I am supposed to be working under an official Imperial writ." Denisius sounded more than a little aggravated, although a good deal of that was due to fear. He did not like these tunnels, all these ancient ruins, and he liked even less the idea that they might be stuck down here for days.

"It would just get Ammas arrested all the more quickly," Carala said with a frown. "They do not have anyone who knows how to cure me, I think, not the priests of the Graces or the Madrenite sisters. They'll know why you and Vos came to Munazyr. Why I did, for that matter."

"Well, if he wants to cure you, maybe he should be willing to be arrested," Denisius snapped. "I don't see why he can't let you go to this Doyenne Sulivar with an Imperial guard instead of sneaking to her through these damned holes."

"If you are so eager to see a woman in her eighties burned at the stake, Lord Marhollow," Ammas said through clenched teeth, "then by all means go to the Argent Council and show them your letter. I believe the reward for turning in an Academy Doyen to the Malachite Throne is quite substantial, even all these years later."

The silence that followed these words was thick and frigid.

"Ammas," Denisius stammered, "I didn't mean to say -- that is -- don't want any reward -- "

"There is another option," Ammas said briskly. Denisius was blushing red as a beet. "That door leads into the underground fortress that was part of Kyrantine's Wall when it was still manned. The tunnel system that leads into the monastery crypt was part of that fortress originally, rather than the Sultan's siege mine. The route is a little more roundabout, but it should still take us to the Chalk Hills sooner or later, without losing too much time."

Another silence followed this pronouncement, albeit more of a disbelieving one. Barthim broke it. "Ammas, you are mad. You said the Yellow Death is behind that door. We cannot be going that way."

"We can," Ammas insisted. "Do as I say and I can guide you through it safely." Rolling the map up and tucking it away, Ammas reached to one of the many pouches on his belt. This one, like the spirit salve and his skymetal dagger, was something he kept on him at all times. He imagined he was far from the only marginally legal figure in Munazyr to do so. 

"What you must understand is that the Yellow Death's danger does not come from infection. That was a problem solved long ago by my fellowship and the healers working together. Here." From the pouch he drew a pair of capped tubes containing a pale blue liquid. One of these he gave to Carala; the other to Barthim. "This will protect you from the Yellow Death, and it stays in the blood for a full season. You may have some troubling dreams, but that's the worst side effect." He took a moment to size up each of them. "Carala, you share yours with Denisius and Casimir. Barthim, split your dose with Vos. It should be more than enough."

"What about you?" Casimir looked distinctly worried.

"It can't affect me anymore than the wolf's blood sickness, Casimir. Don't fret."

Not terribly soothed, Casimir swallowed the contents of the tube after Carala had taken hers. It tasted strongly of tula berries, but its aftertaste was bitter. Ammas instructed them all to wash down that bitter taste with water from their skins.

With a final nod to each of them, Ammas drew his dagger, striding toward the door the Argent Council had ordered sealed over thirty years ago. After a moment's hesitation, he sliced away the rotted length of rope. The doors slowly creaked open, their hinges groaning like restless ghosts. One by one they disappeared into the darkened passage, following the dancing light of Ammas's airy spirit.