Erebos (13 page)

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.

‘You could at least get cleaned up; you look bloody disgusting,' Arwen's Child says, and moves away from them.

Drizzel ignores her. ‘Well well, Sarius. I thought you were done for. So those giant blue females at the river didn't finish you off after all?'

‘Obviously not.'

‘And was it a total massacre?'

‘If you hadn't nicked off, you would know.'

‘You've got a big mouth for a Two.'

Sarius doesn't respond. The others can see his level, but he can't see theirs. Suddenly he feels naked.

‘Leave him in peace. Otherwise I'll tell him a few things I know about you,' Arwen's Child puts in.

‘Go for it. You know how much the messenger loves big mouths,' Drizzel retorts.

At this moment Lelant comes round the corner. He stops abruptly and in a flash pulls his morningstar from his belt.

‘Oh shit, it's an elf invasion,' Blackspell groans.

‘Shut your face,' Sarius responds. Lelant is one of the people he's most pleased to see here. I know who you are, mate. He moves over and gestures an invitation so Lelant will come and join him. But he doesn't seem to want to. He's keeping a distance from the fire. Then he sees Feniel and Grotok, who are still busy with the dead scorpions, takes a step towards them – and changes his mind yet again. Finally he comes over to the fire, but stays as far away from Sarius as possible.

‘Hi, Lelant,' Sarius greets him.

‘Are the two over there looking for wish crystals?' Lelant asks in place of a greeting.

‘Yeah,' Blackspell says. ‘But they're not having any luck. The critters haven't got anything in them.'

‘Oh, that's too bad. Because I did quite well.' Lelant reaches into his bag and draws out a crystal that gives off a green light. ‘Wicked, isn't it?'

‘Where did you get it?' Arwen's Child asks.

‘None of your business.'

Sarius stares at the glowing stone and gets a hot feeling inside him. He doesn't have to ask where the crystal is from. It was
his
scorpion, his prize that he left Lelant with, and he's taken advantage of that. That's just plain mean.

‘I guess you realise that the stone belongs to me?'

‘And why would that be?'

‘Because I finished off the scorpion by myself, that's why. If you're fair, you'll hand the thing over.'

‘Dream on. I'm not that bloody stupid.'

Sarius draws his sword before he's even had time to think. Now he stands there, at a loss. He doesn't actually want to attack Lelant; he just wants the crystal that he's entitled to. If you knew who I was, you would just give it to me.

‘Hey, no duels outside the cities,' Drizzel yells.

‘Oooh, I'm so scared. The Two wants to have a go at me,' Lelant sneers. ‘One stroke with the sword and the messenger will come and take you away. Go for it. Do me a favour.'

As a matter of form Sarius keeps his sword pointing at Lelant's chest for a few more seconds, before he puts it away again, secretly happy to have got out of it without a fight.

‘You know perfectly well you have no claim to the stone.'

‘Why not? Can I help it if you nick off and only take the stinger and the claws with you? Guys, you should have seen it! Cuts the claws off the brute and stuffs his inventory full with them. What are you going to do with them? Play dress ups?'

Sarius stares at Lelant. The dark brown skin, the stubbly black hair, the gleaming dark eyes. I'll get you back for this, you bastard. ‘Then keep it. You're a bloody coward.'

‘Yeah, a bloody coward with a wish crystal. Does anyone already know what direction the city is?'

‘Why don't you ask your wish crystal?' Sarius snipes. ‘Or do something for yourself for a change.'

He doesn't wait for Lelant to respond. Instead he turns his back on the fire and marches into the first passageway of the labyrinth he comes across. He would actually rather continue on by himself than hang around with idiots like them.

He was so close to finding a wish crystal – so close. It's still dark in the passages, but the thought of that damned Lelant propels him on. If a scorpion gets in his way right now, he'll make mincemeat out of it. He keeps going, and going. He still has plenty of time to reach his destination, and tells himself that the others will soon be eating his dust.

Unfortunately all the passages here look the same again. There's nothing that hints at the White City. He wanders on, meets no-one, no-one attacks him. After what seems like forever he halts. His anger has shrunk to a small glowing kernel inside him.

What now? He could kick himself for his impulsiveness. Why didn't he at least ask Arwen's Child to come with him? She was on his side – there was no need to leave her behind with the others. Then he'd be able to light a fire. Then he wouldn't be all alone.

He has one more go at getting his bearings. There must be some sign. Perhaps white pebbles at the correct turn-offs, or a bell pealing on the hour. He strains his ears. Peers in every direction. Listens intently at every fork. And then, at the third crossroads he hears something – not bells, but a rushing sound. It's only very soft, but it's a sign. Something to guide him.

The rushing sound gets clearer the longer Sarius follows it. He has abandoned his caution – something tells him that no danger is threatening. He pauses for a moment to figure out why he feels so safe. It's the music, he realises. Gently, imperceptibly its character has changed. It makes him confident, leaves him in no doubt that he is on the right path.

A few minutes later Sarius discovers the source of the rushing sound: an underground river. In the meagre light of the torches its waters appear almost black, but as he gets closer they prove to be blood-red.

In spite of himself horrible pictures start crowding into his mind. Battlefields, corpses stacked up in great piles, sacrificial rites. After all, the blood has to come from somewhere.

If it's blood! He can't quite tell. The colour of the water could be due to the stones on the river bed, or . . . It doesn't matter. There's no way Sarius is going to drink it anyway, even if he could do with some refreshment right now.

He walks over and stands at the stone edge, right by the water. It flows evenly, straight as a die, like a channel. Cities are often built on rivers, so he'll take his direction from this one. But upriver or downriver? He examines his surroundings for clues, finds none, and resolves to go upriver.

After only a short while it gets brighter – braziers at the river's edge illuminate the path at regular intervals. Suddenly it's child's play. Sarius runs, runs faster when he discovers a broad staircase that leads upwards, but has to stop shortly before it, because he hasn't been paying attention to his stamina. He regains his breath and begins the ascent. Jubilant music surrounds him, daylight streams towards him.

The view that greets him when he finally reaches the top is magnificent. Walls, towers and archways of white marble are bathed in sunlight. Even the road that leads to the city gleams like ivory.

Sarius isn't in a hurry any more. The city seems to be waiting only for him. He soaks in the sight of it and slowly approaches.

On his arrival the four guards at the gate lower their lances in greeting. A fanfare sounds, and the potbellied herald high above on the city wall announces the latest news. ‘Sarius has arrived. Sarius, knight, of the race of dark elves, is entering the White City.'

CHAPTER 9

‘Would you like some more rice?' Mum was brandishing the heaped-up ladle enthusiastically over Nick's plate.

‘No thanks.'

‘Don't you like it? You're just poking around at the meat.'

Nick was finding it hard to concentrate on his mother's words. Sarius had taken a room in an inn in the White City, and the innkeeper there had prescribed three hours of rest. Wham – a black screen yet again.

‘Nick! Your mother asked you something!'

‘Yes, Dad. Sorry. No, it's tasty. I'm just tired.'

His father took a sip of his beer, and frowned.

‘You didn't even have school today!'

‘No, he was studying Chemistry,' Mum put in helpfully. ‘Let's be glad that he's taking school seriously. I was talking to Melanie Falkner yesterday. Her son is never at home any more, and apparently all he does at school is make trouble . . .'

Nick's thoughts were drifting again. He wasn't registered for the Arena fights yet. He didn't even know where he needed to go to register. What if he didn't find the right place or there were still tasks he had to complete before that? Then he mightn't make it. Still, it was only a little less than an hour to go before the end of the rest period. Mum would doze off in front of the telly, and maybe Dad would disappear off to the pub for a third beer. It would have been better if Sarius could have taken his break later – after midnight, when Nick would have been tired anyway. He wondered whether the others had found the red river in the meantime, or whether they were still wandering through the labyrinth.

He rubbed his burning eyes. The innkeeper had eyed Sarius's armour and told him about the brilliant armourers in the White City. But Sarius didn't have any gold or a wish crystal. He didn't even know how he was supposed to pay for his room at the inn, but he had to take one. By written order of the messenger.

That damned Lelant. Come Monday Nick was going to have a go at Colin, the bastard.

‘. . . by next week?'

The sudden silence that followed this question led Nick to suspect it had been directed at him.

‘Er, sorry – can you repeat that?'

‘I said, is your Chemistry assignment due next week? For God's sake, Nick, what's the matter with you?'

Dad's impressive belly bumped into the edge of the table as he leaned forwards angrily.

‘It's not acceptable, the way you're opting out of this conversation. It is about you, after all.'

‘Yes, I'm sorry.' Please don't start with the whys and what-fors. ‘I'm supposed to hand it in next week, but I think I've got it under control. How was work today?'

Asking Dad about his work was a safe bet. There was always something to talk about. Today it was a patient who'd slipped Nick's dad five pounds so his trusty nurse would go and get him fish and chips from the shop round the corner.

‘What's more, his cholesterol was about as high as Mt Everest,' Dad informed them, and helped himself to some more chicken casserole. ‘You'd imagine that the fact that they've already eaten their way into hospital would give these people something to think about, but no.' Nick gave a mechanical smile and wished he was back in the White City. ‘Can I leave the table?'

‘Of course,' Mum said.

‘But help your mother with the dishes,' Dad mumbled between bites.

Nick cleared the table briskly, hurriedly stuck the plates and glasses into the dishwasher, and ran up the stairs to his room. He tried to start the game even though he knew better. It didn't work, of course.

That left forty-five minutes he could use for Chemistry. The thought had no appeal whatsoever. Come on, he urged himself. At least look at a few formulas.

He opened the book and was trying to fight the wave of glumness that engulfed him when Dad burst into his room.

‘I completely forgot to ask you about tomorrow. Are you . . . Hey, you really are working!'

‘Uh, yeah.'

‘Is it hard?'

‘You can say that again.'

Dad came over behind him and peered at the book, full of well-meaning interest that dissipated within seconds, to be replaced by paternal helplessness.

‘My goodness. I can't be much help with that any more, Nick.' ‘It's fine, Dad. You don't have to, I can manage all right.'

His father put a hand on his shoulder.

‘Sorry I interrupted you. I'm proud of you, did you know that? At least something will become of one of my boys.'

Nick suppressed the desire to shake his father's hand off, and bit his lip. After a moment he felt the weight lift off his shoulder.

‘I'm going to the pub. Don't work too long, Nick.'

The door closed behind him.

Still forty-three minutes to go. He rubbed his face with both hands before he bent back over his book and stared at the formulas. If he found at least a couple of sentences for his assignment, that would do for today. Nick shut his eyes and repeated what he had read. It was a shame that there were no wish crystals in real life – he could really use them for Chemistry. He was never going to get an A, never.