Sword of darkness, p.1
Sword of Darkness, page 1
Sword of Darkness
A RELIC HUNTERS NOVEL
BOOK TWO
KERI ARTHUR
Copyright © 2022 by Keri Arthur
Published by KA Publishing PTY LTD
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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Cover Art by JMN Art - Covers by Julie
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to real people, alive or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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Ebook ISBN: 978-0-6453031-1-7
Created with Vellum
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Also by Keri Arthur
About the Author
With thanks to:
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The Lulus
Indigo Chick Designs
Hot Tree Editing
Dominic Wakeford Editorial
Robyn E.
The lovely ladies from Indie Gals
JMN Art—Covers by Julie for the amazing cover
Chapter
One
It was my worst nightmare come to life.
A ladder, leading down into the deep darkness of an underground tunnel.
In truth, it wasn’t so much the ladder or even the tunnel that scared me, though as a member of one of the taller branches of pixies, the cramped and often dangerous conditions in Deva’s ancient tunnels did put them on my list of least favorite places to be.
No, the problem lay with the critters that so often used the tunnels as a highway to get around.
Rats, to be precise.
“Are you coming down or what?” The gruff voice rose from the dark depths below. “We ain’t gotta whole lot of time to play with here.”
“There’re no rats, Beth,” a second voice said.
That one belonged to my brother, Lugh, a six-foot-six giant of a man who had very little fear of anything. But then, he hadn’t woken to discover the beady-eyed bastards running over him as a kid.
I glanced at the woman waiting on the other side of the heavy metal plate we’d moved to access the ladder. She had a thick-set body, heavily wrinkled pale features, brown eyes that looked less than pleased right now, and a long plait of silver hair that ran down her back to her butt. She was also married to the impatient man below, though from the little Lugh had said about dwarven tunneling teams—whether they were freelancers or working for the National Fae Museum like these two—being married was an exception rather than the rule.
“Is that true, Brega?” I couldn’t keep the trepidation from my voice. “I know these are military tunnels rather than sewers, but I can’t imagine they’d be totally rat free.”
She sniffed. It was a sound that managed to be both impatient and amused. “There are rats everywhere in this city, but as far as tunnels go, these are fairly clean.” She looked me up and down. “Why the hell is a long streak of pixie such as yourself scared of them little things?”
Most of us are scared of something, I wanted to mutter, but resisted the urge. I suspected Brega wasn’t the type to feel sympathy for childhood terrors, especially when dwarves lived, breathed, and loved the underground places of this world, be they here in Deva or elsewhere across the UK.
I edged closer to the ladder. It was surrounded by a circular metal cage that prevented you falling backward but didn’t make me feel any safer, simply because it didn’t prevent you falling down.
Brega glanced pointedly at her watch. “We’ve roughly ten minutes before security does the next pass, so you need to make up your mind—are you going down, or are you staying up here?”
I blew out a breath. “Going down.”
No matter how much I hated rats, I couldn’t let Lugh go to Nialle’s house alone. He’d not only been Lugh’s best friend since boarding school but had worked alongside him at the National Fae Museum. He’d met his death while researching Agrona’s Claws, and we believed the very same people responsible for his murder had recently made an attempt on Lugh’s life. They’d also firebombed the family tavern I ran and had kidnapped both me and my ex, Mathi, using him to force me to find the Crown of Shadows for them.
To top it all off, our mom disappeared six months ago. We only recently discovered her body—she’d been shot and then buried by a tunnel collapse.
At this point, though, her death didn’t seem linked to Nialle’s, but rather to the theft of the Éadrom Hoard, a treasure of godly relics that had been guarded by the light elves for eons. Ever since we taller pixies had lost the job, in fact.
Of course, given Nialle had been researching the Claws, a connection was technically possible. At this point, none of us were really certain of anything. Nothing other than the fact we’d find the bastards who’d killed Mom and make them pay.
No matter what it took.
Unfortunately, Nialle’s house remained guarded by the Eldritch—a small but specialized offshoot of the Interspecies Investigation Team who generally dealt with deaths involving odd or magically unnatural causes—and that meant Lugh would need someone to act as lookout while he searched for clues as to what Nialle’s murderers had been after. The dwarves wouldn’t provide that service—not unless we were willing to pay an exorbitant extra fee, of course.
I turned and carefully climbed onto the ladder. Water from the brief but fierce storm we’d had during the ten minutes we’d spent waiting for the guard to pass dripped steadily down the metal, making it slick and slippery. I tried not to think of how far it was to fall and carefully went down.
I was at the halfway point when Brega dragged the cover back into place. The brief sliver of streetlight that had been guiding my way died, and darkness wrapped around me. I ignored the gathering tension and kept climbing down, the metal vibrating under my fingers as Brega followed. After a second or so, light shone up at us, highlighting the rough-hewn stone walls while lessening the likelihood of slipping.
I jumped down the last few feet and was steadied by my brother. I gave him a nod of thanks and pulled the small flashlight from my pocket. Lugh had wanted to bring the helmets and headlamps he kept in the car, but Locryn—Brega’s gnarled and surprisingly bald husband, given dwarves’ reputation for hairiness—had assured us the tunnels were relatively safe.
It was the “relatively” that worried me.
Once Brega had joined us, Locryn gave us a gruff “This way” and headed down the passage, his light bobbing unevenly across the brick and metal walls. Our footsteps echoed in the musty and rather odorous air, and somewhere up ahead, water dripped. These tunnels—which had once provided safe passage to and from the various underground military installations during the Second World War—crisscrossed large sections of Old Deva. I was willing to bet most wouldn’t be in the same pristine condition as this one.
As we moved deeper into the complex, the bricks gave way to stone and water trickled underfoot. Though we passed several offshoot tunnels that showed obvious signs of collapse, ours continued to look structurally sound.
I really, really hoped it remained that way.
We trudged on, the air getting colder and fouler while the moss that covered the stone underfoot made each step that much more treacherous. It forced me to keep an eye on where I was placing my feet rather than what might lie ahead, and I suspected that was a good thing. Especially if what lay ahead was a collapse that would make this journey a whole lot harder than it currently was.
As we entered a three-way junction, the slightest wisp of oddly moving air caught my attention. I paused and quickly swept the light around. If I hadn’t lost all sense of direction, the tunnel to our right headed toward Nialle’s. While it looked passable, the same could not be said for the one directly ahead. It had partially collapsed, the bricks around the door’s structure filling the doorway even though the rusted support beam remained in place. The final tunnel led into some sort of communications room, if the barely visible bits of old machines were anything to go by.
The unusual play of air had come from that direction, but it had stopped the minute I shone the light that way. Nothing appeared to be moving. Nothing seemed out of place. And yet...
Lugh stopped. “Beth? Something wrong?”
I hesitated. “I think something moved.”
Brega sniffed. “It was a rat. Disappeared into that room as we came out of the tunnel.”
I glanced at her sharply. “From what direction? Behind us?”
“Hard to say.” She frowned at me. “Why are you so worried about goddamn rats?”
“Because I’ve been attacked by the bastards before.” I glanced at Lugh. “And the movement in the air felt wrong.”
Understanding ran across his expression. The ability to hear the whispers of the wind and to use her as a weapon was one I’d only recently gained. While second sight ran through our family, the storm power had apparently come from my father’s side. Not that I really knew anything more about him than his name—Ambisagrus—and the fact that he and Mom had had a brief dalliance which had left her pregnant with me.
But according to Beira, he was a curmudgeon and a minor god of storms and wind. And she would know, given she was a hag—who were, just like their male counterparts, gods trapped in human flesh as a form of punishment. The only difference between the two was the fact that curmudgeons could alter their appearance to a more pleasing form while hags could not.
“We need to keep moving,” Locryn said, and did so without waiting for the rest of us.
Lugh hesitated. “Keep an eye on the situation and let me know the second anything changes.”
I nodded, took a final glance at the comms room, and then followed him into the tunnel. But every sense was now hyperaware, and though I couldn’t see or hear anything untoward, I could feel it in the caress of the wind.
Which was annoying and scary all the same time, especially when I had no real idea how to control the wind’s parameters.
But whatever had caused that slight tremor in the air was definitely following us. Either it was a very hungry rat, or it was something else entirely. The movement didn’t feel large enough to be caused by human or fae—although in all honesty, I was so green when it came to understanding this particular “gift,” I could be reading all the signals completely wrong—but that still didn’t discount the possibility of it being some kind of shifter in his alternate form.
And rat shifters did exist in Deva. I knew for a fact there were several working for the IIT; one of them had even saved me from an attack when I’d walked into a trap to save Mathi’s life. He might be my ex and a lying, cheating elf of the highest order, but I’d been well aware when I’d stepped into a relationship with him that light elves didn’t view them the same way the rest of us did, and I just couldn’t hate him for, well, doing what came naturally.
We eventually reached the end of the military tunnels and stepped through a break in the wall. The neighboring tunnel was low, narrow, and far older, forcing Lugh to bend at an uncomfortable-looking angle. I was ten inches shorter, but even so, had to duck fairly low to get past some of the sections. Thankfully, the ceiling height did improve as we moved further along, but it never gained the more comfortable proportions of the military tunnels. Eventually, Locryn stopped and pointed to a neat three-foot circular shaft cut into the rough-hewn stone ceiling, right at the point where it met the wall.
“There she is, just as requested,” he said with obvious pride.
I shone the light up. The shaft was about ten feet deep and topped by a large flagstone; that had to be the basement’s floor, given the floors in Nialle’s main living areas were all lovely old oak.
Evenly spaced notches lined either side of the shaft and were no doubt intended to be foot- and handholds, though the distance between each did make them a little more suitable for dwarves rather than we oversized pixies.
I glanced at Locryn. “This must have taken weeks to create.”
He smiled. “Dwarves can work quick miracles when required.”
“And when enough money is thrown your way,” Lugh said, his voice amused.
“That too,” Locryn agreed sagely. “You still got the map back to the museum we sent you?”
“You’re not waiting for us?” I asked, surprised.
“Not being paid to wait,” Brega said. “And the museum’s an easy enough stroll from here.”
I had a feeling their version of an easy stroll was far different from ours. But Lugh simply nodded and shook both their hands.
“Appreciate the help at such short notice.”
“Anytime, Lugh.” Locryn’s quick grin revealed multiple wrinkles and a shiny gold front tooth. “Especially at the rates you’re paying.”
“Enough of that.” Brega lightly nudged her partner’s shoulder. “Don’t be worrying about the ladder, Lugh—we’ll come back and get rid of it when you’re done.”
Given there was no actual ladder to be seen, I presumed she was referring to the small mound of rubble positioned against the wall underneath the shaft. It was just high enough to allow someone my height to step up onto the first set of footholds. They must have already removed some of the digging waste, because there wasn’t enough here given the depth of the shaft. It also wasn't high enough for either of them to clamber easily into the shaft.
As the two of them disappeared into the darkness of the tunnel, I wondered if our follower was still around. The air had no tales to tell right now, but instinct suggested he or she hadn’t gone away.
Of course, instinct did tend to be something of a pessimist.
I glanced at my brother. “How long ago did you ask them to do this?”
“Around the same time the fae council called a halt on the museum’s investigations into Agrona Claws.”
There were three items that made up the goddess’s claws—a crown, a sword, and a ring. According to legend, they could control shadows, darkness, and ruin—which we were presuming meant the destruction of crops, leading to famine and even pestilence. When used together, they apparently had the power to change the very essence of the world by either extending the night or banishing it altogether.
And extending light was what we suspected the Looisearch—the people behind it all—intended. By ensuring night no longer existed, they believed the Annwfyn—who were a distant branch of elves existing in a place alongside yet apart from our world, and who considered human, fae, and shifter flesh something of a delicacy—could never again hunt in this world.
The trouble with their whole plan was the fact that, while the Annwfyn appeared to make every attempt to avoid sunshine and any form of artificial light, no one had any real data on whether they could exist within it. It wasn’t like anyone could risk asking, given their culinary tastes.
We’d already lost the crown to the Looisearch. We couldn’t afford—the world couldn’t afford—to also lose the sword or the ring.
I motioned to the shaft. “Why didn’t you get them to make it wider? It’s going to be a tight fit in there with your shoulders.”
“I’ve been in tighter spaces, trust me.”
“That did not answer the question.”
He laughed. “Because they charge by the meter and the amount of rubble removed. Besides, anything wider might cause structural problems, as we’re close to the building’s foundations.”
“Given the number of tunnels crisscrossing the area, it’d be fairly safe to presume that if the foundations were going to collapse, they would have done so by now.”
It was more likely they’d been worried about causing minor structural movement that would get noticed and maybe get them in trouble.
He grinned and didn’t deny the accusation. “Shall I go first?”
“Given how heavy that flagstone looks, definitely. Me and the rat will be just fine down here.”
His gaze darted back to mine, his expression concerned. “It’s still following us?”
I looked back down the tunnel. “I’m not sensing it at the moment. I’m not even sure if it’s the rat Brega spotted. But I have my knives.”
Said knives were wickedly curved blades made of pure silver, a metal that was deadly to shifters, due to the fact it formed a poisonous compound when it came into contact with certain proteins unique to them. Even elves were wary of silver; it wasn’t as deadly to them as shifters, but their legendary healers couldn’t easily fix wounds caused by it.
These particular knives had been gifted to my family back in the days when we’d been their guardians and could only be used by the females of our line, though no one had ever understood why that particular restriction had been placed on them. Either the old gods had been playing one of their weird games—gifting certain humans or non-humans powerful relics and then watching the fallout was something they’d found greatly amusing, apparently—or they’d suspected we’d have more need of their powers than our male counterparts.
Of course, it wasn’t only the silver that made the knives deadly. They’d been blessed by multiple goddesses and could counter all sorts of magic. If family rumors were to be believed, they were also an effective counter to the wiles of the old gods, though as far as I knew, none of my ancestors had ever tested that one out.
