04 - Rise of the Lycans by Greg Cox - (ebook by Undead) Page B

that the courtyard was just as
quiet and deserted as he had hoped. The only sign of life was a scrawny kitchen
scullion darting back from the well with a fresh bucket of water. Lucian watched
as the boy disappeared back into the keep, leaving the inner bailey all but
deserted. No one would be coming in search of a blacksmith anytime soon.
    Or so he prayed.
    He looked about one last time, just to be certain that no one was watching,
then retreated to the rear of the smithy. The fire was dying in his furnace as
he crept around the back of the forge to where a scorched hide hung against the
eastern wall of the castle. A rusty metal grate was embedded in the floor.
Taking no chances, Lucian glanced back over his shoulder before kneeling beside
the grate. His fingers dug into the edge of the grille and pried it from the
floor, revealing the open mouth of a narrow drain. The malodorous reek of a
cesspit wafted up from below. He placed the grate aside, taking care not to bang
it against the wall or floor.
    Lucian recalled an Arabian folk tale he had once heard from a Saracen trader.
    Open sesame, he thought.
    The drain was intended to carry away the water Lucian used to douse his forge
at the end of the night, but Lucian had furtively worked the metal grate loose
some time ago. The chute beneath was barely wide enough to accommodate a grown
man, yet he managed to squeeze through the gap and slide down the sloping
passageway, which led to a maze of fetid drainage tunnels winding far beneath
the castle. Slime coated the clammy stone walls, which hemmed Lucian in as he
navigated the tight, constricting sewers. His lycan eyes needed a moment or two
to adjust to the near-total darkness, yet he did not hesitate. It would be easy
to get lost in this subterranean labyrinth, perhaps never to taste the open air
again, but Lucian had groped his way through these tunnels before; by now he
knew the route by heart. He waded confidently through the raw sewage, which
lapped sickeningly at his ankles. Algae floated atop the stagnant waters, whose
polluted contents did not bear thinking about. Heaps of human skulls and
scattered bones, tucked away in carved stone niches, revealed that these
catacombs had once been used to bury the castle’s dead; now that the immortals
resided within its walls, however, such funereal practices had long since been
discarded. Lucian suspected that he was the first person to explore these depths
in countless generations.
    Rats scurried away from his approach. Something slithered past his leg.
Lucian kept his jaws tightly clenched, to try to keep from inhaling too much of the foul miasma filling
the air, but the reek of the sewers was inescapable. Not for the first time, he
wished there was a cleaner, less revolting way to get where he wished to go; no
civilized being would take this path unless he or she had a very compelling
reason to do so—which is exactly what Lucian had. His pace quickened at the
thought of what lay ahead. He would have gladly walked through hell itself if
need be.
    Certain things were worth any risk.
    Starlight filtered through a vertical crack in the wall ahead. The narrow gap
was barely wide enough to squeeze through sideways, and the rugged masonry
scraped across his back as he did so, but Lucian emerged from the drains to find
himself outside the castle walls. Peering upward, he saw the forbidding exterior
of the fortress looming above him. A cold winter breeze came as blissful relief
after the suffocating stench of the sewers. He filled his lungs with the crisp
mountain air. His hot breath frosted before his lips.
    He was free—at least for the moment.
    The open spaces, as well as the sight of the moonlit forest in the distance,
stirred something deep in his soul. His fingers tugged at the stinging collar
around his neck, which he had worn for two centuries now. Part of him was sorely
tempted to turn his back on the castle forever and seek out a new