the princelings use, to fools the thievers. None of it's real. He ain't gots no real power. His fire ain't gots no heat.’
The rats all started squeaking and scurrying about.
‘My powers may be that of illusion,’ said the rat-mage. ‘But my rats are very real and they have sharp, sharp teeth, eager to tear flesh from bone.’
The rats began to slowly advance towards them.
‘Give up now,’ said the rat-mage, smiling, ‘and they won't hurt you.’
Tark drew his sword and skewered the nearest rat. The rat-mage screamed in pain and staggered back. The rats stopped advancing.
‘How dare you?’ screeched the rat-mage, recovering from the shock.
The rats regained their purpose and again started to advance on Tark and Zyra. The two closest leapt at Zyra. She slashed both with her knives.
Again the rat-mage screamed in pain, this time doubling over, and the swarm of rats lost their sense of purpose.
‘They is nuthin’ without him controllin’ ’em,’ shouted Zyra triumphantly.
Then with a quick nod to each other, Tark and Zyra went on the attack, slashing, stabbing and skewering rodents.
‘Stop,’ screamed the rat-mage. ‘You're killing me.’
‘That's fine by us,’ said Tark, as he slashed three rats with one downward sweep of his sword.
‘Let's get out of ’ere,’ said Zyra.
Tark nodded. He grabbed the cart and pulled it behind himself as he cut a path through the rats with the sword. Zyra followed, stabbing and slashing as many rats as she could.
Without the rat-mage's control, the rodents scattered, disoriented, offering little resistance to Tark and Zyra as they hacked and cleaved, rat innards splattering everywhere. The tunnels echoed with the dying squeals of rats, and the green sludge was soon tainted red. The rat-mage collapsed into the sludge, flailing about helplessly.
‘Which way?’ asked Tark.
Zyra indicated a tunnel that was free from rats. With a cacophony of squealing ringing in their ears, she led the way at a jog. Even though they saw no sign of the rat-mage or its minions, the thought that they might be in pursuit was enough to speed them on. Although Zyra did insist on a brief stop when they came across a pipe gushing relatively clean water. She washed her face and hands, and did her best to clean the muck off her travelling coat. Tark considered cleaning his boots, but since they were still ankle-deep in sludge, it seemed pointless to him.
They made good time on the rest of their journey through the sewers, until finally they reached a dead end – a seamless wall of stone.
Zyra put her hand onto the stone surface. Nothing happened. She nodded to Tark, who placed his hand on the stone as well, one of his fingertips gently touching hers. The stone wall immediately lit up. They pulled back their hands and watched as the wall shimmered and then dissolved to reveal a large metal door. It was twice their height and wide enough for them and their cart to enter side by side. Despite being in a sewage tunnel, it gleamed with untarnished beauty. In its surface they saw all their hopes and dreams as untouchable reflections.
Zyra dug the keys from her coat. She handed one to Tark, and held on to the other. Then in perfect unison, they held up their keys and chanted.
‘Praise be to the Designers.’
The door swung open.
12: Confrontations
Tark and Zyra stepped into a vast, disorienting whiteness. The door slammed shut behind them. There was no discernable floor, ceiling or walls, but it was solid underfoot. The metal door through which they had stepped, and pulled their cart through, was now just one of hundreds that dotted the blank landscape in a vague pattern of expanding circles. The doors were freestanding, with simple frames but no walls supporting them. They seemed pointless. They couldn't possibly lead anywhere. And yet they did. Each door was an entry point into this white limbo. Tark circled the now closed door through which they had entered.
‘There!’ Zyra
The rats all started squeaking and scurrying about.
‘My powers may be that of illusion,’ said the rat-mage. ‘But my rats are very real and they have sharp, sharp teeth, eager to tear flesh from bone.’
The rats began to slowly advance towards them.
‘Give up now,’ said the rat-mage, smiling, ‘and they won't hurt you.’
Tark drew his sword and skewered the nearest rat. The rat-mage screamed in pain and staggered back. The rats stopped advancing.
‘How dare you?’ screeched the rat-mage, recovering from the shock.
The rats regained their purpose and again started to advance on Tark and Zyra. The two closest leapt at Zyra. She slashed both with her knives.
Again the rat-mage screamed in pain, this time doubling over, and the swarm of rats lost their sense of purpose.
‘They is nuthin’ without him controllin’ ’em,’ shouted Zyra triumphantly.
Then with a quick nod to each other, Tark and Zyra went on the attack, slashing, stabbing and skewering rodents.
‘Stop,’ screamed the rat-mage. ‘You're killing me.’
‘That's fine by us,’ said Tark, as he slashed three rats with one downward sweep of his sword.
‘Let's get out of ’ere,’ said Zyra.
Tark nodded. He grabbed the cart and pulled it behind himself as he cut a path through the rats with the sword. Zyra followed, stabbing and slashing as many rats as she could.
Without the rat-mage's control, the rodents scattered, disoriented, offering little resistance to Tark and Zyra as they hacked and cleaved, rat innards splattering everywhere. The tunnels echoed with the dying squeals of rats, and the green sludge was soon tainted red. The rat-mage collapsed into the sludge, flailing about helplessly.
‘Which way?’ asked Tark.
Zyra indicated a tunnel that was free from rats. With a cacophony of squealing ringing in their ears, she led the way at a jog. Even though they saw no sign of the rat-mage or its minions, the thought that they might be in pursuit was enough to speed them on. Although Zyra did insist on a brief stop when they came across a pipe gushing relatively clean water. She washed her face and hands, and did her best to clean the muck off her travelling coat. Tark considered cleaning his boots, but since they were still ankle-deep in sludge, it seemed pointless to him.
They made good time on the rest of their journey through the sewers, until finally they reached a dead end – a seamless wall of stone.
Zyra put her hand onto the stone surface. Nothing happened. She nodded to Tark, who placed his hand on the stone as well, one of his fingertips gently touching hers. The stone wall immediately lit up. They pulled back their hands and watched as the wall shimmered and then dissolved to reveal a large metal door. It was twice their height and wide enough for them and their cart to enter side by side. Despite being in a sewage tunnel, it gleamed with untarnished beauty. In its surface they saw all their hopes and dreams as untouchable reflections.
Zyra dug the keys from her coat. She handed one to Tark, and held on to the other. Then in perfect unison, they held up their keys and chanted.
‘Praise be to the Designers.’
The door swung open.
12: Confrontations
Tark and Zyra stepped into a vast, disorienting whiteness. The door slammed shut behind them. There was no discernable floor, ceiling or walls, but it was solid underfoot. The metal door through which they had stepped, and pulled their cart through, was now just one of hundreds that dotted the blank landscape in a vague pattern of expanding circles. The doors were freestanding, with simple frames but no walls supporting them. They seemed pointless. They couldn't possibly lead anywhere. And yet they did. Each door was an entry point into this white limbo. Tark circled the now closed door through which they had entered.
‘There!’ Zyra
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