Paul Collins - Swords Of Quentaris

All right, he reasoned. This path has been closed. With his foot he inscribed an 'x' in the dust and drew a circle around it. He hoped

that he wouldn't see it again.

He turned and strode purposefully down the cave. Death Bringer sang sparks as she skidded from rock to rock.

8. The Map Strikes Back

TULCIA dusted herself down with trembling hands. If the heaving ground hadn't toppled her, she would have been crushed like a bug between thumb and finger. She unsheathed her sword and outlined the gap between the two walls. They were solid all right. No point what-soever in trying to cleave them apart.

She glanced up. Odd how the lighting eman-ated from the cavern roof. Since the flames were

steady, they couldn't possibly be beeswax candles. What then? All magic knew limitations, and none of it was inexhaustible. Her mind struggled to comprehend that which she had never learnt.

Every bit of magic needed someone to feed it.

Since every real threat she had encountered was imaginary, therefore not solid, nothing here could be refuelling the candles. Which meant they must be otherwise fed.

With nothing else to work from, Tulcia decided to follow the line of rock-encrusted ceiling lanterns. Could it be that some giant sun fed them? No, if that were so, then surely the worm-like holes of this rift would be exceedingly hot.

She grappled with the illogicality of ancient magic. Surely earthenware lamps would suffice!

She backed away from the newly formed block-ade, fearful now that it might somehow open up and change direction to snap her up. The walls had reminded her of gnashing jaws, especially in the way that they grated so fiercely.

She wondered too if the walls had eyes, that they were perhaps sentient. How else would they know when to close, or send marching skeletons

to intercept them? She backed further away, pondering the nefarious ways of dark magic.

Although her mind was preoccupied, caution implanted itself in her. She steadied her feet, but it was not the ground that gave rise to caution.

What then? That faint grinding sound, as though a thousand slaves were pulling stone slabs across uneven ground?

Perhaps it was the charged atmosphere that caused her to act, or perhaps the slightest irregu-larity would have given rise to flight. Whatever it was, something propelled Tulcia to roll over her left shoulder and regain her balance in a fighting stance — weight resting on her back leg, her front leg ready to push off and fight or flee, sword at pointe position.

The displacement of air pushed her back. A fetid smell reminiscent of dead rats shot from the cavity that now yawned in front of her. A slab of flooring sank into darkness a footstep away.

Cautiously she peered down and shrank back, repulsed by the wretched smell rather than the danger of being swept into the pit.

Clearly other adventurers had happened upon

the Scar and paid the ultimate penalty for their carelessness. Was this what all the rifts had in store for swordsmen and adventurers? she wondered. Dark and lonely deaths, orchestrated by long-dead Hamilian demons? Yet some returned from the rifts, burdened with gems and treasure, while others wandered aimlessly out, insane, or fleeing otherworld creatures.

Tulcia straightened, unconsciously tightening her grip on the pommel of her sword. She saw no point in pitting her strength against the newly closed tunnel wall. It would open of its own accord, or to the wish of its demon owner.

Her mind decided, Tulcia placed the tip of her sword against the jagged wall and strode off purposefully. Somewhere in this monstrous place there dwelt a guardian, either human or inhuman, who controlled her destiny. And that of Rad's, if he was still alive.

To slay the guardian, she would need to locate it.

It was easy to lose track in the tunnel, even though he had the map. After a while, Rad paused to wonder whether he was ascending or

descending. It didn't matter, really, although if he were unable to find the cave mouth, he might be trapped in here until his meagre food and water supply ran out.

Then, as though by magic, he heard the rumbling of water. Rounding a bend, he saw a magnificent sight. The sheen from the cavern roof was cast by thousands of fireflies. The rippling water beneath reflected their eerie light. Rad looked down at the map. Indeed there was a swirling pattern lit by a blue glow. In the centre of the swirl was an icon that looked like an oblong piece of parchment, but Rad struggled to decipher its meaning.

Clearly it was something he needed. The inces-sant flashing of the icon gave no doubt to that! He rolled the map and returned it to his tunic.

He stood as though in a trance, watching the spectacle before him. The raging torrent of white water tossed and turned like a whirlpool. Surely no-one could enter that fury and survive!

Rad looked further out to the middle of the river. A silver pedestal stood like a lone sentinel.

Upon it was a spherical object — made of glass?

— which encased ... something. He snorted.

Judging by the speeding water, he would never make it to the island in the first place, much less be able to swim back with the pedestal's treasure.

Maybe he could make a raft? He smacked his head in mock anger. Out of what?

Again Rad heard sounds behind him, above the roar of the river. The moment he returned his attention to the gushing water, Vindon Nibhelline sneaked up behind him and wrestled him to the ground.

'Not so cocky now your friends aren't here!'

Vindon snarled.

'Friends?' Rad wheezed. Vindon's forearm was tight around his throat.

'Don't play the dolt with me, ratface!' Vindon cuffed him across his scalp. 'Where's the map?'

he demanded.

Rad gurgled a reply.

Vindon shoved his hand down Rad's tunic and snatched the map from its hidden pocket. He pushed Rad away and pointed at him to stay down. Vindon squinted at the map and looked up. 'The treasure's on that island,' he said, staring at the raging torrent. 'And there's only one way to get to it.'

'If you're a good swimmer,' Rad muttered. His ears were still ringing from Vindon's cuffing. Had Vindon found Tulcia? The thought made him feel sick.

'Good swimmer?' Vindon was saying. 'Better than you, Raddy — unless you're a cave diver, which I very much doubt.' He shrugged off his clothes and unlaced his buskins.

'I have an idea,' Rad said.

'Keep it to yourself,' Vindon replied. He dived in and ploughed through the water. Rad watched apprehensively. He had no love for Vindon Nibhelline—even less now that it seemed that he might have harmed Tulcia, and that he would claim the treasure of the rift cave. Even so, he would have advised the idiot that he could have swum with the current, which would have taken him in a huge circle and back past the tiny island.

According to the map, that was.

Rad's thoughts seemed prophetic. Vindon was only halfway across the turbulent water when he began to struggle and the current slowly drew him under.

Rad began to undress. He knew he'd be powerless

to rescue Vindon, but with luck he might be able to drag him ashore if the current washed them over a shallow shoal. Rad waded in, but the ledge dropped alarmingly and very quickly he found himself in water above his shoulders.

Vindon went under for the third time. Rad judged where the current might take him and struck forward. He swam with long strokes, fighting against the strong tug of the current.

Rad stopped to tread water. Vindon had disappeared. Rad took a deep breath and dived. It was almost impossible to see through the churn-ing bubbles and white water, but he caught a glimpse of something dark tumbling over and over. He kicked out toward it. Then the object slammed into him, almost knocking the breath from his lungs.