Chapter 39 – Ingold

"Gartus?" Ingold repeated.

"Yes." He sounded impatient. Already he'd turned away again to examine the walls.

"What the in hell's name happened to you?" Ingold shouted. He got back on his feet and crossed the chamber. He approached the man-monster, with a ridiculous grin that was already making his cheeks ache.

"Blasted troll caught me with its first swing." Gartus lifted a hand to his scaled cheek. "Caught me a lovely back-hander. Lifted me clear off the ground. I landed in the lake, practically in the middle of that whirlpool. I spun round twice and that was it, sucked down. Next thing I know I'm on a beach at the bottom of a hundred-foot waterfall."

Ingold touched a hand to the scales on Gartus' back. They felt hot and smooth. He resisted the urge to ask his most pressing question, saying instead,

"How did you get here? You didn't come through the Blooding Chamber?"

Gartus pressed a hand to the limestone wall. His talons glowed briefly and sunk into the rock.

"I don't even know where 'here' is, so it's hard to say." He sniffed, drawing air into his wide nostrils. "I've been following the scent since I washed up. Didn't come through any door that I know of. Might have to leave by one though, unless I can find a way to go back up a waterfall, back through a whirlpool and back through anything else I was washed through in between!"

Ingold slapped a hand to Gartus's shoulder, "Glorious victory or ignominious ducking, it doesn't matter to me – it's good to have you back." He made a conscious effort to wipe the smile from his face; his cheeks hurt.

"If I meet that troll again... " With a grunt of effort Gartus began to climb the wall. His talons bit into the rock like a cat's claws pierce tree-bark.

"Room for a passenger?" Ingold asked.

Gartus grunted his assent. "Hop on. I'm used to carrying you, bard."

Ingold took hold of his shoulders, wary of the wings. "You've ... um ... grown a bit."

The wings flexed around him. Gartus muttered, "The Blood's all around us. It changes a man. Or kills him while it tries."

Gartus reached up, holding himself to the rock with the talons on three extremities. His massive muscles flexed and, with Ingold on his back, he surged up the wall. In less than a minute Gartus hung entirely upside down, clinging to the ceiling of the cavern like a bug. However hard Gartus was gripping the rock, Ingold reckoned his grip on Gartus was harder.

"So," Ingold's voice came out as a squeak. He tried again, "So, do you think you're going to fall off again?"

Gartus's chuckle rumbled through him. "Got me a nice soft landing this time if I do!"

The transition from ceiling to shaft proved tricky. Gartus swung from a ridge, flailing his feet in search of purchase. Several desperate moments slipped by before the claws on his toes found a way into the rock, and they were able to negotiate the bend up into the stone throat. Yard by yard Gartus climbed the slippery rock. Water dripped from an unknown height, hot and steaming.

"We're close now."

A hundred-foot climb brought them into another void. Gartus heaved himself out onto the level floor and lay still, breathing deeply. Ingold stood and looked around. The glow from Gartus's scales lit the floor about them, but light from another source picked out the walls and ceiling. It filtered in from a rocky arch at the far end of the cavern.

The tunnel leading from the arch sported steps where the gradient grew steep.

"We're back on the priests' path," Ingold said.

They walked in silence for a few minutes. The path led them through a long gallery lined by statues. They were carved from neither the granite of the great Rock above nor the limestone of the caves, but from black basalt.

Ingold paused before the first of them, a priest in ceremonial robes. "Like the obelisk on the plains."

"Only not twelve feet tall, cylindrical and covered with runes," Gartus observed.

"Well there is that."

"So, not like the obelisk at all then."

"The stone, Gartus," Ingold said. "It's the same stuff."

The huge man-monster snorted, pluming smoke. "Rocks! The things some people fixate on. Let's move, we've got to find the boy."

Ingold squinted quickly at the inscription on the statue's base then rose to go. He set off at a trot, Gartus pounding behind. Dozens of statues watched their passing.

"I like rocks," Ingold called over his shoulder. "Always been fascinated by 'em."

Gartus snorted. Ingold called back again, "That was Gate-Keeper Stornus Wence. He brought out the Blood that I drank twenty-eight years ago." He gestured to the statues on either side. "We're running back through history."

The statues stood every few yards. The light grew stronger as they continued down the tunnel, illuminating the figures with an eerie red glow. They had passed by a score of statues when Ingold stopped in his tracks. He knelt down in front of an imposing statue; this priest stood taller than his neighbours and held a black staff.

"What! What is it?" Gartus sounded angry at another delay.

"This is Grenaroth," whispered Ingold.

Gartus's eyes widened. "The Grenaroth?" He stooped to peer into the statue's face.

Ingold stood up. "That's what it says. Gartus my friend you're face to face with the founder of our order. The man who first decided to offer some poor sap a cup with the immortal line, "This will warm you up."

Gartus ignored the joke. He shook his head slowly. "We're running back through myth rather than history! Who's going to be at the end of the line? Arthur Bloodbane?"

Ingold made to go, but paused, watching Gartus.

"This," growled Gartus, balling a fist and pulling it back, "is for all those apprentices that never made First."

The statue's head flew from its shoulders and hit the wall behind with enough force to crater it. The head itself merely fell in two halves when it landed on the ground.

"Ow!" Gartus pressed his knuckles to his mouth. "That black rock is hard stuff!"

"Igneous you see. It used to be molten lava that spewed..." Ingold trailed off under look Gartus gave him.

The statues ended thirty yards further on, where an archway opened onto a huge cavern. Neither man gave pause to the carvings now, what lay before them demanded their sole attention. The floor stepped down toward the centre, like the seating tiers of an amphitheatre, each step populated with stalagmites in glorious profusion. These stone spires, standing sentinel, threw long shadows toward the walls. The light came from centre stage. A pool of the Blood had formed in the bowl of the cave, twenty yards across, darkest crimson. Inches above the surface of the pool a blanket of wraith-fire burned. From this glowing bed, will-o-wisps of luminescent gas rose intermittently. Each shone brightly, sending the shadows swinging, before fading into nothing.

A thin stream fed the pool in a trickle, falling in miniature cascades down each step. It issued through a large opening in the side of the cavern, fringed with stalactites that hung like teeth, pointing down toward a reciprocal row of similarly vast stalagmites, none of them smaller than Gartus. A forest of thick basalt pillars supported the roof of this side chamber from where the blood ran.

Toward the back of the side chamber a fierce fire, hidden by the pillars, threw out light and heat.

"There's so much..." Gartus murmured, staring at the pool. "They said it took weeks to fill a single cup..."

"Demand and supply, checks and balances. The priests control the supply." Ingold looked grim. "Besides, there are few suitable candidates. If the Blood Lords knew how much Blood there was they might burn half the population of their cities to gain a hundred new Blood Guard."

He looked away, scanning the chamber's stepped sides.

"Dain!" The echoes of Ingold's shout took several heartbeats to die away.

"There!" Gartus pointed, "Half-way up."

Ingold caught the faint glow of Dain's aura, visible even though the rock hid him. Without hesitation Ingold raced toward the spot. He ran surefooted between the rock spires, leaping down the tiers, then vaulting up them on the far side. Gartus kept a good pace, but fell behind, not able to make all the tight squeezes.

Dain lay behind a huge boulder that had fallen into two halves. At the sight of him, incredible relief surged through Ingold, as if a huge weight were lifted. Though bound hand and foot Dain had managed to inch-worm almost to the edge of the step. He struggled to rise but couldn't find purchase. Ingold drew his knife and knelt to cut the strap of the gag, pulling it clear.

"Ingold! You're alive! You fell in the pit..."

Ingold cut the ropes at Dain's feet, then hands. The boy threw himself at his waist, wrapping his arms around him. It was a simple act but Ingold felt unexpectedly overwhelmed by it. Smiling again he laid a tentative hand on Dain's head.

"There lad. I landed in the water, didn't hurt a bit."

Dain looked up, "Raymell's here somewhere. He said he was going to drink the Blood."

The scaled wedge of Gartus's head thrust into view over the step as Ingold helped Dain to his feet. For a moment Ingold's heart was in his mouth. He worried that Dain would be terrified, and he feared the blow such a reaction would strike to the man sworn to guard him. Propelled by massive arms Gartus heaved his bulk up over the edge of the tier.

"Gartus!" Dain shouted. He appeared blind to the changes wrought in him. He catapulted himself into the giant and hugged his leg, unable to reach his waist. At least a dozen hitherto unseen teeth were revealed in Gartus' broad grin. He ruffled the boy's hair with one huge paw.

"You left without saying goodbye, lad. Couldn't be having that!" He hoisted Dain aloft in two hands. "So, been keeping out of trouble?"

Dain giggled, then a serious look came over his face. "The man who took me – Raymell – he said Ingold would come here." He turned to look at Ingold, "So why are we here? What did you come to do?"

Faced with the simple question, from someone who had earned the right to ask, Ingold felt lost for words. He glanced down at his feet, but found no inspiration there.

"I came..." he glanced at the pool, "I came to say goodbye to somebody. And, to find the power I needed to bring justice upon King Handelf."

"Say goodbye?" Gartus asked. He sounded puzzled. He set Dain down gently between them.

"You've heard the Song of Tinuvel and the burning of Portic?" Ingold asked.

Gartus frowned, thinking for a moment, suddenly he opened his mouth, clamped it shut, then said softly, "It's just a song Ingold. The dead are dead."

Ingold shrugged. "If a bard can't gamble his life on a song who can?"

Gartus turned sharply, reaching for his hammer. Ingold followed Gartus's stare. A man had emerged from the cave that sourced the Blood stream. Even at this distance Ingold could see something was wrong with him. He seemed ... distorted.

"That's the Arkasian who took Dain," Ingold said. He turned to face Dain. "Stay here. Don't move until we come back for you. Don't stick your head over this rock – you'll get it burned off, or blasted off, or worse!"

Sword in hand Ingold started down toward the figure. Gartus made to follow, then turned back and added, "Dain. Let me protect you as I swore. Please stay here. It won't be much of a victory if you get hurt."

Ingold and Gartus worked their way toward the centre, jumping down each step. They gave the pool a wide berth, skirting its edge. Raymell stopped his advance some ten yards from them, looking down at them from the lowest tier.

Raymell had drunk of the Red. The changes in him spoke clearly of the battle between the Red and the Blue. A war had raged across his flesh, harrowing it. His face could no longer be called handsome. Mottled purple ridges marred the skin of his cheeks. The same ridges scored his neck, above straining tendons. His eyes were sunk to dark pits above cheekbones from which small barbs of bone protruded through the skin. He seemed wasted, twisted. His clothes were charred and shredded, barbs of horn jutted from his elbows. His unwholesome smile revealed black teeth. The nails on his hands had become dark and glossy.

"It is a rare man who survives his first Blood," Raymell said as they approached him. "Rarer still is the man who survives the mix. The Bloods of power were never intended to be mixed."

"Then why do it?" Ingold asked.

Raymell pointed to the bracelet on Ingold's arm. "The power is in the mix. The blacksmith alloys metals to combine their strength and erase their weaknesses. The Red and the Blue are alloyed in me and with their power I will have my revenge. Marluk sent me to get a key – but I will bring him much more than he bargained for. He planned to return with an army to use the key. He'll have other use for that army when I return to the Court of Kas."

Raymell jumped lightly from the step to stand level with Ingold. Looking the man in the eye Ingold found himself drained of the desire to fight. He had thought he would relish skewering the man who cast him into the pit. But instead he had found a warped reflection of himself. Another man wronged and doing wrong in order to have his retribution.

He sighed, "Go then. Have your revenge. Hurry, and I'll see if I can hold Gartus here back a while."

Raymell cocked his head to one side, stretching his neck. His fingers constantly knotting and pulling, one hand against the other.

"You are of no consequence, bard. You and your pet may live. But I will take the boy. He is important."

With a roar Gartus burst into flames and launched himself at Raymell, fire streaming off his scales. Raymell's hands ceased their restless tug-o-war and snapped apart. The timing proved perfect. The back-hand blow looked as though it should have as much effect upon Gartus as a willow wand striking a charging bull. The shock of the impact staggered Ingold. The force catapulted Gartus back with such speed his flames were extinguished. His massive body reduced two substantial stalagmites to rubble as he described a flat trajectory across the pool. The step to the first tier halted Gartus's flight. He fetched up against it with a bone-crushing crunch.

"You can't stop me." Raymell smiled. "You can only die trying."  

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