Another update, rawwww! Halt and co. section in the chapter after this. I know how you must miss 'em...
To (guest) hi's review: Nope, haven't read Tournament of Gorlan either.
~54~ Blueprints
Amarr Ibn Mahmud paced before Jafar's desk, nostrils filled with the stench of brewing chemicals and fresh parchment. The chamber made him feel both nauseous and nostalgic. His hand rested on the hilt of his scimitar, fingers clenching and relaxing repeatedly. His face was hard, and Jafar sighed.
"Razeen was your friend. I understand. But you cannot let that be the force that drives you."
"He was an ally. Nothing more," the Seryson Champion snapped. Then he stopped, shaking his head slightly. "Forgive me. I speak unkindly."
"You were unwise in placing your faith in the Bedullin. You must trust yourself, your own skills."
"He was a good swordsman. It was the arrow of a coward that had claimed him. Together we would have prevailed, but now..."
"Now you must turn your focus to the living. Do not carry the weight of the dead." Jafar stood, groaning softly, and pulled something bundled in linen out of his robes. He presented it to the other Seryson.
"Your father had it smuggled to me. Their hearts and prayers are with you."
Amarr took the bundle, curious, and unwrapped a dagger. Its scarlet sheath was accented with gold vines and roses. He drew the dagger free, its hilt almost as thick as the blade, which wasn't a single shade of steel. Instead, random swirls and whorls of a darker metal gave the blade what looked like a grain structure, like grey wood.
"A princely gift," he said in awe. He looked up at Jafar. "I will bear it with honour."
The experimenter nodded. "I know you will. Now get out of here."
Amarr touched his brow and then his heart. "The peace be upon you, uncle."
Jafar returned the gesture, and when his nephew had gone, sat at his desk to continue his work. Little did he know he would be interrupted again but minutes later.
"Back to pester me, Ranger?" the stocky, bush-bearded man grunted after a brief glance up from his notes.
"Nice to see you again, too, Jafar." Will let himself over the threshold, into the experimenter's chambers. A mixture of smells, emitting from the pit in the middle of the room, bombarded his nose. He had to open his mouth to get enough breathable air.
Jafar sighed. "What do you want, then?"
"Information."
He dipped his quill into the inkwell, gently brushing off the excess before scratching down more notes. "Concerning what?"
"A way out."
The experimenter's eyes flicked up at him, and he set the quill down. His fingers, the colour of burnt cinnamon, were spattered with ink. "I was wondering when you'd ask me that...Who's your friend?" Jafar had suddenly noticed the great brute coming to stand behind Will, looking around the room with a bewildered look on his face. By his build and beard, Jafar knew he was a Skandian. Likely another Champion kidnapped to play the Aetius' game.
"This is Oslave," said Will. "Oslave, Jafar."
The Skandian nodded his head, bushy eyebrows lowered and grey eyes scanning the chamber. Jafar returned the cold greeting before returning his focus to the Ranger.
"What happened to the slinky one? The Genovesan? He looked to be a more fitting companion."
Will's look darkened. "We're not companions. We never were."
"Had me fooled." Jafar leaned back in his chair. He knew little of Rodrigo, but because of Amarr's account on what had happened in the Arena the previous day, he felt as disgusted as the young Ranger looked by the very thought of the Genovesan exile.
"How did you like the bombs?"
"Not at all," Will grumbled. "Although I wasn't too surprised; I encountered them once before, years ago. A man named Malcolm made them. But then they had been a little more beneficial to me."
"I'm not exactly sure what you want me to say," said Jafar. "I make them. I don't use them."
"There are more devastating combinations, are there not? Actual weapons, not noisemakers."
"Evet, but they are rarely used. The elements are expensive and hard to come by, not to mention dangerous to handle. I like having ten fingers, thank you."
Will looked at the man's hands. Despite the dirt and ink, he could see old burns and scars.
"I noticed something else. The bombs I encountered years ago detonated upon impact. These—"
"Had fuses," Jafar interrupted. "My own design. Chancy, as sometimes fuses fail, but they have their advantages."
Oslave cleared his throat, impatient. "I thought we were looking for a way out of here." He didn't like those bombs anymore than Will did. Like the use of poison or disease in battle, he thought them cowardly, an slimy way to triumph over enemies. Learning more about these bombs didn't make him respect them anymore.
Jafar grunted and stood, stretching his back. "You won't find one here. This is a dead end, see."
Oslave growled, but calmed when Will raised a hand.
"You told me these explosive compounds were used to help build the Arena," said the Ranger to Jafar.
"Long time ago, before I was born. Before my grandfather was born. Before even his grandfather. So what?"
"I was hoping there would be a map, or blueprints of the whole mountain."
The experimenter scoffed. "Of course there is. Did you only figure that out now?"
"Do you have them?"
"Possibly."
"Possibly?" Will scowled, losing patience. "Can you tell me where they might possibly be?"
Jafar narrowed his eyes. "Yes."
A pause. "Will you tell me?"
"Yes."
A longer pause. "Where are they?" said Will through clenched teeth.
Jafar smirked, pleased to have gotten a rise out of the Ranger. He jabbed a thumb to a narrow door behind him. So rare was it used that a several sheets of parchment he'd tacked to the wall were overlapping the doorway, making it harder to notice.
"Through there."
Will grabbed a candle from the desk and strode over to the door, pulling it open. A wave of stale parchment air made him pause before stepping into the darkness.
The room was long and narrow, leading off beyond the candle's reach. Deep shelves lined both walls, packed with scrolls, tomes and stacks of yellow parchment. Dust trickled from every ledge as fresh air washed over them for the first time in a long time, and as Will watched, a strand of cobweb floated down from the ceiling near the candle. It touched the flame and shrivelled to nothing.
"If the mountain has an archive, this would be it," Jafar said from his desk, going back to taking notes.
"These aren't all plans and maps." Will set the candle down and tugged out a sheet of paper at random. The faded script was in Toscan.
"Of course not, boy! There are invoices, records of inventory, history. Hundreds of years of them. And I daresay my predecessors weren't exactly as organized as I am."
Will scowled over his shoulder. The experimenter's chamber looked like one of his bombs went off in there at least once a day. "I can't look through all of this! It'll take weeks!"
"If you can't tell the difference between a map and revenue records, then it would be of no use to you anyway!" Jafar barked back. "Keep walking. They get older the further in they are."
Will grumbled but picked up the candle and obeyed, having to turn sideways sometimes in order to avoid overhanging stacks and long scrolls.
He still couldn't see the end when he spotted a stray page of parchment on the floor. Kneeling, he picked it up and blew the dust away. Time had faded the ink, but he could make out lines that did not form words. It was a simple topographic drawing of the land surrounding Mount Gladius.
"I think I've found something."
He set the candle down where it wouldn't sent the whole room up in flames, and started riffling through the stacks and shelves on either side of where he found the drawing. Anything he found with sketches he kept, growing excited when he discovered scrolls scrunched in the back, as though stuffed there in a careless bid to hide them.
Everything he found fit under one arm, and he took the candle with him back to Jafar's chamber. If he had to return there, he would be able to tell how far he'd gone by his footprints in the dust.
Will dumped everything on Jafar's desk, making the man sigh gruffly and lean back with a scowl.
"Oh, don't mind me. I'll just move my work off my desk and go elsewhere."
Will was too busy taking a closer look at the pages to acknowledge his words. To his frustration, everything was written in Toscan and every map and blueprint seemed different. Not only that, but most were sketched by cartographers and engineers who'd tried to put every level of the mountain in one drawing, squishing everything together in a mess of lines. Fortunately, they had been stacked, folded or rolled up for all these years, and so their ink had been preserved.
"Which of these is current?" Will demanded, tugging Jafar back from where he'd retreated. The experimenter's scowl deepened but he scanned over the six scrolls Will had spread over the desk, weighing the flaking corners with whatever he could find. He contemplated, then pointed.
"That's the Arena design they chose. They opted for the circular over ovular because of the shape of the mountain. But the rest is not accurate," he added before Will could speak. Jafar pointed to another map, circling an area. "They have these tunnels for the animals and gladius warriors to enter the Arena." He indicated to a third map. "But these more closely resemble the practise hall, living quarters, dungeons and storage chambers, as well as other places. There's a master map somewhere, a final draft. But if you didn't find it with these, I doubt it's in there at all."
Will nodded thoughtfully. "I can still use this. Do you have any spare parchment?" Without waiting for an answer, he strode over to a cabinet and pulled open the doors. He'd struck luck – the shelves within were full of blank sheets. He took one of the largest pieces and set it on a clear space on the floor, then brought over the three maps Jafar had said were the most accurate. Taking the quill and ink, he began to sketch.
Oslave watched in silence, soon seeing what Will was seeing in the confusing chaos of the blueprints. Much unnecessary detail was omitted as he dissected the three and combined them into a forth. Will asked Jafar many questions, receiving grunts of confirmation or short, clipped corrections.
Will had to bring over another blueprint to discern how many entrances pocketed the mountain, and what sizes they were. Some were natural, but one was a grand, man-made entrance, one Will had never seen.
"That's because it's been blocked up," Jafar toned, bored. "After the Munerian Games had been banned decades ago."
"How many other passages have been blocked?" Will demanded. He counted at least a dozen from the maps. He figured that Jafar had been in this mountain for some time, and would have done some exploring.
"A few collapsed long ago... These two." He pointed to them, and Will put a scribble on both to indicate their uselessness. "And this one was caved purposefully." He moved his finger to the one near the dungeons, and it too was scratched out.
Oslave towered above them, looking down at the map with his arms crossed. "Is that it?" It had been over two hours since they started this endeavour, and it seemed they were no closer to escaping than before.
Will shook his head. "This can't be it." He stood and went to the other maps. "The groundwater must surface somewhere."
"What makes you say there is any at all?" Jafar growled.
"Speculations. Educated guesses. Blind hope. Call it what you will." The Ranger shifted through the other sketches, on the smaller sheets of parchment. He tossed away what was clearly of no use, but noticed ruefully his stack was growing smaller and there was nothing yet that indicated any reservoirs, aquifers or subterranean streams or lakes.
"Is that usually how you get by?" asked Jafar, cocking an eyebrow.
"If I knew everything, there'd be no sport in what I do." Will finally reached the first topographic sketch he'd found in the archives, the one that had been lying on the floor. With more light it was easier to see, although he still had to concentrate. He took up the quill and began to etch the lines back in. It gradually helped him see the negative markings indicating something underground. Something beneath the mountain.
He carefully went over the notes with fresh ink, and passed it over to Jafar to translate. "Well?"
The experimenter sighed gruffly but took the page, squinting. "You found the lake, alright. At least, you've proven it exists."
"You didn't know?"
"Of course I knew. But I don't know how to get to it."
Will frowned at his handiwork. Jafar was right. Their only clue was that it looked like the subterranean lake was below the southern quarter of Mount Gladius. He took the topographical map back and looked closer.
"Hmm...Could be a river there." He went over to a map he had discarded earlier, for the Arena was only a small portion of it. Now he used it to note where the nearest mountain range lied. To the north-east. "It is a river, fed by these mountains. It fills the lake, and drains into another river...heading south!" He restored the faded lines, once more light with encouragement. But the river ran beyond the edges of the map. He could not tell if it remained underground or surfaced.
Oslave sensed the sudden doubt. "It is as you said. No point in doubting until we take a look ourselves."
Will nodded. "You're right." He sat back on his heels. "I can start searching right away. If you fight tonight..."
"I'm not sure why this didn't occur to you days ago," Jafar grunted, sidling back towards his notes.
"Oh, it occurred to me, alright," said Will. "Before my list of allies grew thin."
"How many have you got left?"
"Including you...? Two."
