‘Me neither. Although they’d probably be nicer than the scorpions. That gave me the creeps like you wouldn’t believe.’
Sarius can’t help wondering whether he knows Aurora. Outside of Erebos.
‘Did you hear the growling? Up top, I mean. On the hill.’
‘Of course,’ she says.
‘Do you know what sort of animals they were?’
‘They weren’t animals, they were zombies. I had to do two of them in before I made it onto the ladder. It made me want to throw up – they crumble away when you whack them.’
Sarius is secretly glad that he didn’t see any zombies. It was definitely the right thing to head downwards, if only because of the quest. Although now he thinks he can hear something. Many legs scuttling on the hard, stony ground.
‘You’re only a Two, hmm?’
‘Yes. So? What are you?’
There’s a rumbling above them, like an approaching storm. ‘I can’t say. You know the rules.’
The scuttling is coming closer. Can’t Aurora hear it? Or doesn’t it mean anything?
‘Can you at least tell me who’s down here apart from us?’
‘You’ll find out soon enough. A few people I don’t know, and a few who are always around. I saw Nodhaggr and Duke and Nurax before, as well as someone called Samira I’ve never met before, and some vampire or other.’
‘I know Samira,’ Sarius says eagerly.
‘So? In any case she cleared off when —’
The black scorpion that comes flying around the corner behind Aurora is gigantic. The clacking of its legs is unmistakable now. Sarius dodges sideways from the up-curved stinger and raises his sword. He could try to hack off one of the creature’s claws if it comes closer. But it doesn’t; it stops at Aurora, who sees it far too late, then gets itself into position and attacks. Aurora falls to the ground. Is there still some red on her belt? Sarius has no time to check, and no desire to waste life energy on the cat woman again. He thinks he hears another scorpion approaching from the other side. It would block his path, and then he’d have to turn round . . .
Sarius doesn’t think twice. He swings his sword and hacks at the left claw. It sounds like metal striking metal. The scorpion draws back a little. Sarius aims for its tiny head; the animal thrashes at him with its claws and cranes its stinger up into the air again. Something is dripping from the tip onto the ground – blood, poison or both – making a steaming puddle on the stony ground.
Now Sarius takes aim at the stinger, which is swinging back and forth not far above his head. He hits it on the second attempt. The scorpion recoils, does an about-turn and runs off. It disappears in one of the dark shafts of the labyrinth.
Sarius takes one last look at the motionless Aurora and makes off. He helped her once; that will have to do. He keeps a watchful eye on his surroundings. Why didn’t Aurora hear the scorpion? He has a vague hunch. She was injured and wanted to spare herself the painful squealing in her head. Big mistake.
He listens all the more intently now for any sound. He’s not going to be caught by surprise. He’s not going to die a Two.
A scorpion is behind him; Sarius can feel it. Oh, and hear it, of course. But he’s not going to make the same mistake as Aurora, and forgo one of his senses. And apart from that he still doesn’t have a strategy for getting out of the labyrinth in one piece.
When he’s got some distance behind him, he stops for the space of a second and listens. No sounds of fighting. And he can’t hear the running sounds of the scorpion pursuing him any more. It worries him. Sarius walks on slowly. He follows the passage to the right and is faced with a fork in the path. Could he starve to death in this labyrinth?
He obeys his instinct and goes to the left – and sees a scorpion clinging to the wall like a spider, its black back plates reflecting the light of the torches. It’s even larger than the last one. The creature swings its stinger as if it’s trying to hypnotise Sarius with it. Before he can think about it, he’s raised his sword above his head. He doesn’t swing it, he just stabs with it, aiming somewhere around the middle of the armoured body, the bit where the back plates meet . . . There’s an ugly grinding noise, and the sword disappears deep into the body of the creature, which is now frantically trying to strike Sarius with its stinger. But it can’t move – the sword has it pinned down. Sarius’s arms are shaking – hanging on to the scorpion is more arduous than running up a mountainside. He doesn’t want to think about what will happen when his stamina runs out.
Die, he thinks, will you just die.
At some stage – it seems to Sarius like hours – the creature’s movements cease. It goes limp, its stinger-wielding tail falls to the side. Finally he can pull out his weapon. What he hasn’t reckoned with is that dead scorpions aren’t in any state to cling to walls. By the time he realises, it’s almost too late – he only just manages to leap aside so the creature doesn’t bury him under it when it falls. It lies still, with only the occasional twitch of one of its legs.
Sarius sits down with his back to the wall and stares at the dead scorpion. He listens for the approach of any more of its kind, strains his ears but can’t hear any scuttling. Instead, slowly and almost imperceptibly music starts playing again. It is new, but at the same time familiar, and it convinces Sarius that he is not in danger at present. He can take his time to study his defeated adversary more closely, and he discovers that he can dissect it without much trouble. Remove the claws, for example. Sarius stashes them away, and a portion of the back plate as well. He hesitates over the poison stinger. Who knows – maybe just touching it will do him harm. He could do without the nerve-racking injury tone right now.
He touches the stinger very cautiously, at the wide end. Nothing happens. With the greatest care he removes it and packs it in his inventory.
When he stands up again, a dark elf is standing only a few steps away from him, whom he recognises at first glance. It’s Lelant. He’s evidently earned himself some new equipment in the meantime. He’s swinging a morningstar with alarmingly long spikes.
The two scrutinise each other briefly. Neither lights a fire. As far as Sarius is concerned, he doesn’t want to make the first move. He still feels like a newbie – he’s only a Two. Anyway, there’s only one thing he would like to find out from Lelant: whether he’s Colin. No, that he is Colin. And Lelant would never give that away to him, even if he lit ten fires.
The scorpion looks disgusting in its half-dissected state. Sarius doesn’t want to touch its moistly gleaming greyish-pink flesh. He takes a couple of steps towards Lelant, who is standing against the wall like a motionless shadow.
What is he waiting for? Does he want to continue on together with Sarius? That wouldn’t be bad, because there’s another fight in progress somewhere nearby. The sounds of jangling, crashing and metallic blows echo through the passageways of the labyrinth.
Sarius checks on his life energy. Looks okay. Most of what it cost him to heal Aurora has been restored. He’s survived the fight against the scorpion pretty much unscathed. Right – time to go find the next battle. He takes one last look at Lelant, who has moved away from the wall and is strolling towards the dead animal. He’s welcome to stock up on disgusting rations if he wants. The scorpion yields seven meat units, and Sarius doesn’t want a single one of them.
The sound of fighting is claiming all his attention. He follows the noise, finds an alarmingly low passage that’s pitch black, then reaches a wider passage with sides that look furry, as though they’re covered in dark blue mould. At the next fork he turns right and finds himself in a dead end. Bloody labyrinth. He suppresses his annoyance and turns right again at the next opportunity. There’s not even a single torch lighting this corridor. If there’s a scorpion lurking, Sarius will only find out about it when there’s a stinger sticking out of his back.
But there’s a lot to suggest that this fork is the right one. He can hear the fight more clearly than before. And the click-click-click of scorpion legs. He
takes a step into the darkness, senses a pervasive threat. He raises his sword and turns on the spot. Is there something near him, behind him? No.
There’s nothing for it – if he wants to get further, he has to go through here. He holds his shield close to him and his sword at the ready, then he feels his way step by step into the darkness.
The walls seem to be getting closer together the further he advances into the passageway. A long way ahead he makes out a tiny glimmer of light. That’s where he must go. Feeling happy that he’s nearly made it, he quickens his step – and falls. Panicking, he thrusts his sword into nothing, expecting an attack at any moment, an injury, the excruciating tone, but none of that happens. He gets to his feet again. What light there is tells him he’s alone here. Apart from the something that he stumbled over.
He bends down. Makes out bones, a few tufts of red hair, a longbow and two broken arrows. The skull that belongs to the body has rolled a bit further and is lying up against the rock face.
Is it one of us? Who cares, he has to get out of here. He takes one last uneasy look at the skeleton before he continues on. To where it’s brighter and louder. There’s a fight up ahead – it’s better than uncertainty, and much better than solitary darkness.
Where did the light disappear to? He can’t have gone the wrong way; how come he’s facing a wall again? He turns round – he’ll never get out of here again. He can’t help thinking of the blood-soaked shirt he found in the grass. If he’d stayed up there he would have been fighting zombies, but in daylight, at least.
Now there’s something flickering again, throwing a shadow on the wall. He only realises the shadow is his own when he strikes at it with his sword. The echo of his blow fades away in the dark passages.
The sounds of fighting are so near – the others must be right behind the next wall. He gropes his way along the wall, his harness squealing as it scrapes against the rock. Suddenly the wall has disappeared. Sarius stumbles into a recess where – at last – he sees a door. Closed, of course. He investigates, finds a latch, pushes it up. Braces himself against the wood with all his strength, and manages to create a chink that lets in loads of light. The sound of fighting is louder than ever. Legs in leather-trimmed boots come into view, and straight after them come clicking black scorpion legs.
A part of him – a large part – wants to shut the door again and wait until everything is over. Nobody has seen him, have they? Apart from the messenger perhaps, who sees everything, knows everything . . .
The thought of those yellow eyes is enough. Sarius pushes the door open and dashes forwards. He sees three scorpions and six, no seven, fighters. Does he know anyone? No time to have a closer look. One of the scorpions is turning away from his adversary and running towards Sarius.
He draws back and makes sure that his sword is pointing in the direction of the attacker. Its stinger is raised right up, swinging backwards and forwards, searching for a target. Sarius lunges, hits the body of the scorpion from the side, there’s a grinding sound. He directs his second thrust at the poison stinger. That drove the first scorpion away – but unfortunately not this one. Perhaps Sarius’s aim was poor; at any rate his adversary only draws back briefly before attacking again at twice the speed.
Sarius leaps to the right and the stinger misses him. He seizes his opportunity and strikes the stinger again with his sword. Finally the creature is swaying a little. With any luck Sarius can run it through like the specimen on the wall before. One of the sharp claws whooshes past him, alarmingly close. He cowers in anticipation of the terrible tone, but the scorpion has missed him. One thrust with his weapon, and the armour gives way. The animal buckles over to the right, and Sarius pursues it, stabbing at its unprotected belly. Bull’s eye. Suddenly there’s someone next to him, slashing at the scorpion with a halberd.
However much Sarius wished for company a short while ago, at this moment it’s most unwelcome. Some stupid dark she-elf is getting under his feet – now, after he’s managed the hard part, and the rest is a walk in the park. His fellow fighter won’t be pushed aside. Her weapon must be stronger than his – after only three blows the scorpion is lying motionless on the ground.
Deep down inside, Sarius feels hot. His sword is smeared with grey slime, to which he’d like to add the blood of the dark she-elf who pushed in and took over the easy part. As if he needed her help. As if he wouldn’t have managed it by himself.
He checks her name. Feniel, aha. Stupid cow. What’s she doing now? Throwing herself on the dead scorpion and making mincemeat of it. She doesn’t have her eye on the stinger or the claws, as Sarius did. Instead she’s literally rummaging through the carcass. That’s sick.
‘Victory,’ a voice breathes in Sarius’s ear. He looks around. The battle is fought, but the other Erebos fighters are still fully occupied. Like Feniel they are dissecting the dead scorpions into the tiniest pieces, and Sarius gets the feeling that maybe he’s missed something.
When he hears the hoof beats, he already knows what’s coming. The next moment the messenger’s armoured horse trots up. Its rider raises his hand in greeting.
‘You have done a good job, and will once more be rewarded. I think I will start with Drizzel.’
The vampire, who still has both his arms stuck in the stomach cavity of one of the scorpions, stands up. Sarius is trying not to think about what’s actually stuck to Drizzel’s hands.
‘You have fought well, albeit not outstandingly. I will give you a new shield. It is also good. Not outstanding.’
Drizzel takes the shield in his sticky hands and throws his previous one into one of the passages of the labyrinth. It lands with a clang.
‘Feniel.’
The dark she-elf pushes past Sarius.
‘It gives me pleasure to see that you don’t show any misplaced consideration, and that you take for yourself what you wish to have. It follows that you should also do that with your equipment. Here are fifty gold pieces for you. Decide for yourself what you will buy with them.’
It takes all Sarius’s self-control not to clobber Feniel with his sword. She pushed him away and gets rewarded for it? What a joke. ‘Sarius.’
He steps forward. I was fantastic. Come on, admit it. Seriously good for a Two, man.
‘You emerged unhurt from the battle. Congratulations. However you only arrived late in the piece and didn’t kill the scorpion yourself. Nevertheless I would like to reward you. I will increase your healing magic. You will now be able to give others more of your strength.’
There’s a quiet hiss, that’s it. That’s it? Sarius stares at the messenger incredulously. What sort of reward is that supposed to be? If he heals someone, he harms himself – and now he’ll harm himself even more? There’s no way he’s going to use this idiotic magic again – he’s not that stupid.
‘Blackspell,’ the messenger calls the next name.
A vampire whose praises he sings, and whom he presents with a sword that is deep red, and translucent like dark wine. Sarius would like one like that too. But oh no, he got a new one today – and of course this wonderful increase in healing magic. How amazing.
Why is he so mad? He’s mad at Nurax too, the werewolf to whom the messenger is giving a special pair of endurance boots – and at Grotok, the first human he’s encountered in Erebos, who receives some sort of scrolls.
The next to be rewarded is someone who, like Nurax, is known to Sarius: Arwen’s Child. She’s been slightly injured, and is supplied with healing potion and ten gold coins. All of that is better than the rubbish Sarius got.
‘Gagnar!’ the messenger calls.
A ragged, seriously wounded lizard creature crawls out from behind one of the dead scorpions.
‘That was close, Gagnar. If you remain here, you will die. Come with me.’
Gagnar tries to get up. Sarius can clearly make out the number One on his torn doublet and also on the stained cap. It’s seared on the material like a brand. He can’t take his eyes off Gagnar. Finally – som
eone who has even less idea than he has. The lizard man allows himself to be helped onto the horse.
‘You have permission to light a fire,’ the messenger announces, then he rides off.
Sarius’s fire is already burning before any of the others has reacted. Arwen’s Child and Blackspell approach slowly. The others have turned back to the carcasses and are grubbing around in them.
‘What are they actually looking for?’ Sarius opens the conversation.
Blackspell says nothing, but Arwen’s Child answers readily. ‘Wish crystals, of course.’
‘In the dead scorpions?’
Sarius is dumbstruck. That’s the last place he would have looked. That explains all the effort that Drizzel and his lot are putting in. Sarius is almost tempted to join them.
‘Have you found one yet?’ he asks the dark she-elf.
‘Not yet. They’re very rare – and the most valuable thing you can get here. I was there once when BloodWork got one out of a giant spider. It was a blue one. No idea what Blood did with it.’
Sarius looks pensively at the flames licking up from the campfire. When did the music start playing again? He hadn’t noticed, but now it’s there, giving him strength. He could already face another battle – that’s how strong he feels. And this time he wouldn’t let himself be driven off by Feniel.
‘Do you know what you can do with the crystals, exactly?’
Arwen’s Child takes her time to answer.
‘They say they can fulfil your greatest desires. Except for waking people from the dead maybe. And they won’t get you into the Inner Circle either.’
‘What is this Inner Circle?’ Sarius asks. His ignorance doesn’t even trouble him. That’s the effect of the music – it makes him feel like a king. He is the most important person here – the others are just extras.
Despite that he still doesn’t get an answer, because now Blackspell barges in on the conversation. ‘Find out for yourself – we all had to.’
‘Never mind. I was only asking.’
Drizzel and Nurax have given up. They abandon the scorpion bodies and come over to the fire.