Chapter 36 – Ingold
Jedax lay like a broken toy. His body sprawled, arms at awkward angles. The eyes, so malicious in life, stared at the ceiling in mild surprise. Ingold felt sick. Killing never agreed with his stomach, or any other part of him.
He wiped his face and knelt by the corpse. His blow had cut halfway through the priest's neck, but surprisingly little blood wet the flagstones. Looking to his sword Ingold could see the blade was clean. He examined the wound, distaste giving way to mistrust. The sword had severed Jedax's throat, sliced the arteries, and chipped the bones of the neck. Gelatinous blood filled the wound, thick as treacle, reluctant to spill.
Ingold frowned, shrugged and started to rummage through Jedax's pockets. Gingerly he lifted the ruined hand. He reached inside the crimson robes, where questing fingertips discovered an inner pocket. Ingold pursed his lips and fished down to the bottom. Skin met cold metal. He got a grip and pulled the object out. As he did so Jedax's arm rose with him.
A cry of shock escaped Ingold and he jumped back. The corpse lurched with him, tied to his arm where the laces of Jedax's sleeve entangled Ingold's armband. The laces snapped under the priest's weight and the body slumped again. Ingold stood, trembling and laughing at his own nervousness. In his hand he held an ornate iron key.
The key fitted easily into the lock. As it turned, a series of deep clunks sounded within the door. Ingold pushed and, slowly, the heavy slab of iron swung open. A dim flickering of candles lit the room beyond. Cautiously Ingold stepped into the Blooding Chamber.
Everything remained as his memory held it, the barrenness of the room, the scorch marks on the stone floor, the plinth that the apprentices mounted one by one. Upon the plinth rested the blackened block of stone, where the cups stood. The imposing door, through which the priest bore the Blood, stood in the far wall. At the centre of the massive portal many runes surrounded a round hole. A hole shaped to take the circle-key.
And by the cup-stone, just as in Ingold's time-locked visions, the Gate-Keeper. He waited calmly, hands hidden in the folds of his robes, watching. Ingold's eyes searched the priest's placid crimson mask.
"I'm going through, Gate-Keeper. You don't have to die here. I'll leave the door open and anyone who wants to follow me may do so."
"Give me the key." The man's voice held no trace of fear.
"You priests don't just look alike – you say the same damn things too." Ingold drew his sword, exasperated.
The Gate-Keeper reached down behind the cup-stone. Unhurriedly he lifted something into view. By the hair.
"Dain!" Ingold shouted.
Dain's mouth moved around the leather strip that gagged him. The Gate-Keeper set him on the cup-stone. A knife appeared in his hand, as if from nowhere. The blade sat against Dain's throat.
"Now," he said. "The key."
"Give me the boy," Ingold said, "And I'll give you the key."
"Give me the key, then go, and the boy will live."
Ingold's brain raced. Where were the Arkasians? The servants of the Blue had taken Dain. Gartus said so. Had the Gate-Keeper killed them all and taken the boy from them? Ingold needed to buy time, time for the priest to drop his guard. Time for something.
"I don't believe you, priest. At the least you'll burn him up in these caves, pouring the Blood down his throat. Give him to me. I don't care about the key." Ingold drew the circle-key from his pocket and held it out.
"If I give you the boy, you'll try to take the key back."
"On my honour..." Ingold began. The priest's scornful laugh cut him short.
"Open the door," said the Gate-Keeper. "We will go through together."
At least it bought time. Perhaps more Arkasians would follow and distract the Gate-Keeper... Ingold slammed his sword back into its scabbard. He approached the door, averting his gaze from the runes. The door he had opened with Jedax's key might have been forced given sufficient tools and time. This one could not be forced. Ingold had heard that its magic permeated the rock too and attempts to tunnel around it failed. Disasterously.
A tingle of dread shot through him as he set the quartered iron disk into its depression. The mere kiss of metal on metal proved sufficient. In that moment the door swung inwards. The rough-hewn tunnel beyond came as somewhat of an anti-climax. Ingold looked back at Dain, holding his eyes.
"Go on," said the Gate-Keeper. "We'll be close behind."
Ingold took a torch from the wall and stepped through. The scent of burnt cinnamon grew stronger. Ingold first smelled it in the caves, tracking the Crimbourne. He had thought he imagined it. In the struggle to survive, he forgot the scent entirely, but now as it intensified it reached into his memory. There was something of cinnamon there, but far more than that. A rich and heady tang underwrote the spicy aroma, a strange perfume that picked at his skin and made his vision swim. Ingold last drew a breath like this when he lifted Jamus' cup to his lips. It's the smell of Blood.
Too many lungfulls of this and a man might as well have drained a goblet of the Blood. A walk down this tunnel would prove fatal to a non-blood like King Handelf. Ingold smiled grimly at the poetic justice in the image of Handelf being immolated through his own greed for power. Sudden shock gripped him and he spun on a heel. Dain!
The Gate-Keeper wrenched the boy back, tight in his arms. A thin line of blood ran from beneath the blade at Dain's throat. His eyes were wild over the gag, but he seemed to be breathing with no problems.
Ingold backed away rapidly, "D-don't, I just ... I thought the air might kill him."
"You almost killed him, Ingold Stannith!" the Gate-Keeper barked. "He is marked for the Blood! The scent of it is nothing to him."
They passed on along the tunnel, sometimes climbing or descending by steps. The air grew thick with the scent of the Blood, stinging Ingold's eyes. It grew warmer too. The consistent chill of the caves gave way to a muggy heat. Water dripped from the ceiling, falling in broken curtains where thin fissures crossed the corridor.
The tunnel wound on for two hundred yards or so, then opened onto a void. The dark hole swallowed the light of Ingold's torch. A narrow set of steps led down in a quarter circle around the inner surface of the pit to a second tunnel further down. Below that side-opening the pit continued its plunge into darkness. Ingold glanced back at Dain,
"Careful here. Stay to the wall."
He set off, positioning his feet with caution on the wet steps. Behind him, at the entrance to the tunnel, the Gate-Keeper paused. A blue-white light lit behind his mask, sending shafts of illumination into the misty air. A faint crackling noise caused Ingold to stop a dozen steps down from the priest. He made a slow turn, so as to keep his footing. The Gate-Keeper's mask shone with ruby light now. Dain struggled in his grip, careless of the knife. A fierce brilliance filled the priest's outstretched hand. Ingold tilted his head in puzzlement, failing to understand.
The lightning bolt struck Ingold full in the sternum. He stood on the edge of the steps for an instant, arms flailing. Flames burned along the rim of the charred crater in his chest. Then with a despairing cry he fell and the darkness took him.
Raymell ripped away his mask. Its fixed calmness hid a face contorted with fury. He stepped to the edge, arms straight, hands side by side with fingers hooked into claws. Lightning arcs leapt into the depths, their harsh light revealing a bottomless rocky gullet. They struck time and again until Dain's slight form cannoned into the back of Raymell's knees. The Arkasian started to fall. He hung for a heartbeat then tumbled.
Few acrobats could turn as Raymell did in the split-second before his chance passed. He twisted, cat-like and at the last his fingertips found the edge. With impossible strength he ended his fall in a sudden jerk. Dain moved to stamp on the three fingers hooked over the step. He raised his boot, but then stepped back, his fury breaking. He didn't want to kill anyone, not even Raymell. The Arkasian's other hand clamped over a second step and slowly he hauled himself back up. He clambered onto the stairs and edged himself into a sitting position, his back to Dain.
Dain moved away. Raymell's back shook and Dain could only guess at the rage building in the man. Suddenly laughter boomed out, echoing around the walls of the pit.
"Boy! You have spirit. You remind me of me!" The laughter died. "When Marluk killed my mother I attacked him too. That didn't work either, but you came closer!"
Raymell stood and walked on down the stair cut into the pit's wall. Dain's reply couldn't escape the gag. He stared into the blackness of the hole. He had seen its depth. Ingold was gone. Blinded by tears he followed on down the steps, careless of the danger.
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