SINS OF THE DAUGHTER, SINS OF THE SON
Chapter 5: Scorpion's Lair
By Kurt1K
Siegfried Schtauffen leaned warily forward, peering over the edge of the narrow stone bridge. The darkness below yawned deep beyond the reach of his lantern's feeble light, an endless abyss awaiting the slightest mis-step to engulf him.
Grimacing he drew back, shifting his feet carefully on the smooth stone, and raised the lantern above his head. The light barely reached the huge chamber's walls, their once-colorful frescoes now only dimly visible; evidently repeated and frequent submersion had not been part of the artists' plans. From what he had seen of them it was better that way; the few images he had been able to make out had been unpleasant, even disturbing.
Clearly, he thought, Paolo Vercci had not simply merited his grim reputation; he had reveled in it.
A few paces ahead of him Ivy was navigating across the walkway, her lantern held low. The walkway glistened wetly in the lamplight, patches of moss and lichen dark against the stonework. She was moving slowly, her eyes fixed on the stone bridge as she placed her feet one before the other with measured deliberation, wary of traps and the simple, deadly possibility of losing her footing on the slick stone. Cautiously Siegfried advanced in her wake.
Something – a movement? A sound? – drew his eyes to the shadow-veiled ceiling, its vaulted height arching beyond the limit of his vision. He stared at the space for a long moment, squinting as though he might somehow suddenly penetrate the darkness if he simply tried hard enough.
"Would you perhaps like me to leave you to your artistic contemplations, Herr Schtauffen, or would you care to keep up?"
Ivy had reached the far archway and was waiting for him with a casual but implicitly impatient stance that he felt sure she must have spent a long time perfecting. He took one last glance at the ceiling before moving carefully to join her.
"I thought I heard something," he offered by way of explanation, shaking his head, "Might just have been my imagination."
Ivy made no reply. Her eyes shifted, flickering over his head before she turned away.
She began to descend the narrow stairway beyond the arch. Siegfried followed her down, edgily aware of the dank walls closing in on either side. The air was stale, heavy with the odours of salt water and rotting wood; there was a sense of oppressive weight about the closeness of the walls and ceiling which brought home just how far beneath the earth they were. Here, too, there was water; it seemed to pervade the depths of the Pit, dripping from the arched ceilings and trickling between the massive stone blocks of the walls, as though the Mediterranean itself were eager for its next visit to the darkened halls of Vercci's tomb.
The thought was sobering. By his reckoning it had taken them almost two hours to descend this far; with the time it had taken them to reach the Pit in the first place they had perhaps an hour and a half before that next visit fell due. The deadline added considerable tension to the tightening knot of nervous anticipation that had been building in his gut since they had first entered the labyrinthine complex.
Ivy - of course, Schtauffen thought sourly - seemed untouched by such trifling concerns; her infuriating poise seemed unshakable. She had proceeded unhurried, carefully spiking and marking traps as she came to them as though she had all the time in the world. As he watched she paused briefly, tapping the step below her lightly with the point of one boot.
"Avoid this step, and the next," she advised, taking a long stride over the two steps by way of demonstration. Schtauffen, musing absently that he would not feel nearly so comfortable trying such a maneuver in those heeled boots, followed suit.
The stairway curved slowly as they progressed, emerging after a quarter-circle onto yet another narrow walkway built over an apparently bottomless drop. He noted with some slight relief that this walkway at least was shorter, leading to a wide stone platform checkered with black and white marble flagstones. Ivy stopped at the edge of the platform, crouching to examine the nearest tiles. Behind her Siegfried rolled his eyes – another wait - and turned to scan the rest of the chamber, or at least what little he could see of it.
Ivy straightened. "Keep to the white tiles." She warned, starting to pick her way forward. Schtauffen advanced to the platform's edge.
"Rather prosaic, isn't it?" he muttered. "I expected something a little more complicated from the Merchant of Death."
Ivy did not turn as she replied, "You would be wise to. The traps are merely here to weed out the less worthy." She continued to advance as she spoke. "I believe it amused him to ensure that the most capable treasure-seekers would cleverly circumvent the labyrinth's mechanical snares - only to meet their deaths at the hands of his most loyal servant. I can just imagine him, laughing to himself at the thought of those poor fools believing that they had outwitted him. Laughing, laughing…"
The distant timbre of her voice as she spoke those last words sent a chill through Schtauffen and he instinctively raised his lantern and his gaze to peer nervously into the false night. For an instant he thought he saw movement at the edge of his vision, but when his eyes focused on the spot he could see nothing.
"You seem to have an… understanding… of the man…" he said warily. When she replied her voice had regained its usual tone – that cool, effortless superiority that could so easily set his teeth on edge. Now, though, he was glad to hear it.
"Understanding an enemy is the key to defeating him, Herr Schtauffen. Paolo Vercci was a despicable creature by any civilized standard, but he possessed a formidable and cruel intellect that it would be dangerous to underestimate."
"Is that what happened the last time you were here?" Schtauffen braced himself for a storm, but his companion's unpredictable humours worked in his favour on this occasion; her response was reluctant rather than hostile.
"I underestimated the Guardian, which in a way is the same thing. Understand that this was the first place my studies brought me upon my departure from England; I had never before encountered a foe who presented more than a fleeting challenge. The Guardian was the first opponent I ever met who could battle me on my own level. He was very nearly the last."
She reached the far edge of the platform as she spoke and turned, waiting for him.
"And this is the first time you've returned?" Siegfried asked, surprised; he couldn't imagine her giving up that easily.
"I intended to return as soon as I recovered," Ivy replied, her tone suddenly casual, "but on making landfall in Genoa I heard rumours of an army ravaging the nearby countryside – an army under the command of a strange knight in azure armour - and chose to investigate. Would you care to hazard a guess as to what I found?"
He did not need to guess, of course. The response touched something within, dark memories stirring restlessly in his mind, and he fell broodingly silent.
It took him a few moments to realize that that was exactly what she had intended. The casual facility of her manipulation shook him almost as much as it angered him, but he could think of no response that did not sound as though he were some child complaining about being treated harshly.
I'll be damned if I'm going to give her the satisfaction of silence, though. "So why was this the first place you came to?"
There was a momentary hesitation before her answer, as though the question had surprised her. Siegfried smiled inwardly as she spoke.
"Why…? In his final years Vercci expended enormous resources searching for the Soul Edge. His interest in the sword became an obsession that completely dominated the last years of his life…" At that her voice seemed to falter, but the lapse was so brief Schtauffen wasn't certain that he had not imagined it. "Cervantes de Leon even secured it on his behalf, before deciding to take it up himself. It seemed reasonable to assume that there might be some clues here, some knowledge that I might put to use in tracking it down."
"Do you still believe that?"
She shrugged, turning to continue down the next set of stairs, which seemed to spiral unsupported into the darkness. "It is possible that there is still useful information here, but I doubt it. Our primary concern is locating the shard." Pausing, she turned back. "Can you still not sense it?"
Schtauffen took a moment before shaking his head. "No. Nothing. How far are we from the vault?"
She considered briefly. "It lies barely twenty yards below us. I would have thought… you should surely be able to feel the shard's presence by now."
"Well, I don't." Schtauffen's response was a trifle testy. "Perhaps there is no shard here after all."
"Let us hope that is not the case," Ivy muttered. "I am certain that Voldo obtained at least one fragment from southern Italy. If it is not here, it is because someone else has beaten us to the punch."
That, Siegfried had to agree, was not a pleasant thought. "Perhaps I just need to be nearer."
"Perhaps." It was clear from Ivy's tone that she was not convinced. A moment later she turned away. "Come – neither time nor tide will wait for us."
He followed silently as she descended. After several turns of the spiral he began to make out something emerging from the gloom below them – another stone platform apparently suspended in space, this one circular in shape. Ivy raised her lantern high as she strode onto the platform, for once not studying the ground before her.
"No traps?" Schtauffen asked as he reached the floor behind her. Ivy's voice drifted back: "No traps. Those who have made it this far have passed Vercci's tests and earned a death by the Guardian's hand."
"Does that mean we can expect a visit soon?"
"Soon – but not quite yet." Ivy had reached the edge of the platform. As Siegfried neared her, his eyes warily probing the darkness around them, she stamped one foot firmly on the ground. A heavy rumble reverberated through the dark chamber as stone by stone a narrow walkway rose out of the shadows, leading from the edge of the platform towards an archway now dimly visible in the near wall.
"Why not?" he asked as they watched the walkway take form.
"He will wait until we come before his Master." Ivy replied cryptically, starting across the walkway. Shaking his head, Siegfried followed.
The archway led into a short, curving corridor, at the end of which Siegfried beheld the glow of torchlight. A moment later he emerged, wide-eyed, into a vast marble hall. Towering gothic arches formed its vaulted roof and its broad tiled floor stretched almost a hundred yards to end at the feet of a gargantuan statue which stood easily three stories high. Torches burned brightly in sconces along the frescoed walls, revealing the entirety of the great hall to his astonished gaze.
"God in heaven…" he murmured, awe-struck. "It's like a cathedral."
"Vercci intended precisely that comparison." Ivy's voice was low. "A legacy to rival the architectural wonders of Europe, all built far under the earth, in secret. A tribute in stone to one man's hubris." She shook her head slowly. "Magnificent, is it not?"
"You sound almost admiring." Siegfried observed. "I thought you despised the man's memory."
"You are quite correct," Ivy acknowledged, "but this…" She was lost in thought for a long moment before continuing: "If the worst among us could create such a wonder… what might the best of us not aspire to accomplish? What need do we have of a 'sword of power' when one man's will can achieve something like this? I cannot help but wonder if Vercci's single greatest failing was simply that he did not realize that…"
Siegfried stared at her back, momentarily at a loss for words. When he found his voice he spoke hesitantly: "I would not have thought…" He paused, unsure of what he was trying to say.
After a moment Ivy turned to him sharply, eyes narrowing. "I apologize. Apparently lingering here has resulted in my… absorbing… some of Vercci's notorious capacity for melodrama. Do not concern yourself with my…" Sighing, she shook her head as though to clear it. "Let us just concentrate on our task."
Schtauffen nodded wordlessly. As they advanced down the length of the great hall he let his eyes wander, at once wary and fascinated. His experienced eye took in details: the floor, he noted, stopped two yards short of the walls, a quick glance over the edge showed a drop into darkness, his lamplight revealing nothing but a night-black void. As he raised his eyes they fell upon one of the torches burning along the wall and he realized – with only mild surprise – that they burned steady and smokeless, their reddish light unflickering.
"Simple alchemical trickery," Ivy explained, following his gaze. "Such torches will burn for no more than a quarter of an hour."
"He's been watching our progress." Siegfried muttered. He had until that moment held out a faint hope that the Guardian might have been absent, or perhaps even dead. Evidently that was not the case. Reaching up he drew his sword slowly, senses alert and on edge. "Lit the lamps and rolled out the carpet."
Ivy nodded, her own gaze carefully sweeping the room. "He is an attentive host."
As they spoke they approached the base of the huge statue. The towering figure was carved sitting in a great chair and garbed in extravagant clothing of Italian style. The face was unmistakably the same that graced the statue of Charon, far above: ten times his size in life, Paolo Vercci sat his marble throne with the arrogant bearing of a Caesar.
"I see what you meant upstairs." Schtauffen murmured, gazing up at the haughty visage for a long moment. Ivy did not respond, approaching the base of the stone-carved chair which he now noticed was intricately engraved and patterned. She cast one final glance about her before briefly skimming her hands across the marble facing, pressing two images a yard apart. With a faint rasp the marble parted before her to reveal another torchlit corridor.
Ivy turned back to him. "This is the last doorway. Within lies the vault, and the final resting place of the Merchant of Death himself. I do not believe that the Guardian will allow-"
She fell silent as without warning the great chamber plunged into darkness. Schtauffen cursed, wheeling blindly; their lanterns were still lit, but in the moment it took his eyes to adjust to the sudden change something slammed into his chest, driving him from his feet to land heavily on the stone floor. Gasping for breath he was vaguely aware of the tinkle of shattering glass as his lantern smashed beside him, a pool of flickering flame spreading from it as it rolled away.
The instinct which made him twist aside from the flames saved his life as bright steel flashed in the firelight, striking sparks from where he had lain. Rolling to his feet he swore again as another brilliant, clawlike blade speared out of the darkness; he raised his sword by pure reflex to hammer it aside as he backed away, seeking room to move.
Schtauffen could see his assailant now like a ghost at the edge of the firelight, pallid and long-limbed. He moved sinuously, a serpent in human form, slithering to and fro as he circled the young German; the constant motion, unsettling enough by light of day, was utterly inhuman in the unsteady light of the fire. For a moment they studied one another, Schtauffen unnervingly certain that the Guardian was somehow meeting his gaze from behind the bindings which covered his eyes. Carefully, never taking his eyes from the undulating figure, Schtauffen unslung the toolbag from his shoulders and let it drop to the floor.
Something echoed in his mind – a faint voice, musical and indecipherable. Suddenly Voldo was moving, springing backwards as steel sang through the air in his wake. Silhouetted in the light of the lantern she had left on the floor behind her Ivy retracted her weapon as she strode forward, her bearing arrogantly nonchalant. Her voice echoed through the hall: "Do you remember me, Guardian?"
Siegfried suppressed an absurd urge – He's not that blind, he wanted to say – and concentrated instead on watching their opponent. The Guardian's head swayed from side to side, watchful and appraising. His constant, fluid movements were confusing, distracting, misleading…
Too late Siegfried realized that the Italian was fading back into the darkness; he lunged in pursuit, sweeping his zweihander back to strike, but Voldo was gone.
With a snarl he swung around, staring into the shadows, chest heaving. A few yards away Ivy turned and paced slowly towards her lantern, the idle tapping of her sword against her leg a sharp contrast to the watchful, purposeful sweep of her eyes as she walked. Schtauffen moved warily after her, senses straining against the encroaching darkness.
This time the only warning was the sudden lift of her head and the narrowing of her eyes as they shifted upwards. Raising his head he glimpsed that eyeless, mouthless face as it dropped silently from the shadows above, hissing wordlessly behind those murderous blades. Again old reflexes saved him, his sword flashing upwards to clash against the katars. The combination of Voldo's weight and momentum hammered him to his knees as the Guardian pushed off to somersault clear; barely had he touched the floor before springing once more to the attack, skittering in low like a great insect. Schtauffen blocked the first blow, and the second, and even the third; the fourth slid past his guard, brushing past as he flinched aside, but the fifth found its mark, ripping across his stomach. The katar's deadly edge was turned by his mail armour, but the impact was bruising even through the mail links and the quilted cloth underneath. As he staggered Voldo struck again, and again, slashing at the armour on his chest and legs, the ferocious onslaught giving him no respite to recover.
Again that faint song sounded in his head, cutting through the haze of pain. The hail of blows stopped abruptly as a steel serpent coiled about the Guardian's right arm, staying its strike. Behind him Ivy hauled back on her sword-whip with all of her considerable strength, yanking the Guardian backwards through the air. Voldo twisted in mid-flight, both feet lashing out to take her full in the shoulder in the split-second she was within his reach and sending her tumbling. The Ivy blade released its grip, springing back as both combatants hit the ground in the same instant; Voldo landed catlike on the balls of his feet and the point of one katar as Ivy rolled into a crouch, glaring daggers.
The silence that followed was all the more startling in the aftermath of the flurry of violence; for a long moment the only sound was the faint drip, drip of water and that incessant, incomprehensible singing in his head – Ivy's sword, he suddenly realized. Siegfried straightened slowly, painfully aware of every bruise and scratch, his arms already heavy from his exertion. As he watched the momentary stand-off an unpleasant awareness blossomed anew in the back of his mind. The thought had crossed his mind before, and he had dismissed it. Now, watching this battle unfold in the bowels of the earth, he could no longer ignore the simple, deadly truth.
I'm not ready.
Voldo lunged at Ivy, leading with his blades: a human spear flung low and fast. She twisted to the side, her sword slashing bare inches over his head as he passed. Landing blades first he whipped over onto his back, scuttling back toward her on toes and knife-points; Ivy met his rush with her whip-sword awhirl. They clashed, separated, and clashed again, the dance of flashing steel almost too swift for his eyes to follow – and then Voldo was gone once more into the darkness, mere inches out of the reach of Ivy's tremendous parting swipe. The Englishwoman took two long steps in pursuit before visibly reining herself in and halting - still, silent, watchful.
I'm not ready.
The realization was as unpleasant as it was inevitable. There had been a time when Siegfried Schtauffen could, without presumption, have counted himself amongst a scant handful of men and women whose skills and strength set them on a plateau far above and beyond other warriors - but that time was past. He had spent the past two years running and hiding, and for much of it his favourite hiding place had been the bottom of an ale keg. His skills had been tested against nothing more formidable than half-starved brigands and scruffy mercenaries, and he had dared to believe that a few days' sparring could make up for that neglect of his skills and his body. Now he knew that to have been folly.
"I'm… not ready."
The sound of his own words surprised him; he had not meant to give voice to his thoughts. Ivy's head tilted a fraction at his words but she did not look at him; her profile was sharp-edged against the lamplight as she replied.
"I know."
More than her words, there was something in her callous tone that told him that not only did she know now, but that she had known from the start. Anger blossomed within him, but before he could begin to respond they both wheeled at the faint scrape of metal on stone. Schtauffen glimpsed Voldo splayed across the stone wall like a pale spider for just an instant before the Guardian hurled himself once more to the attack. Diving under Ivy's swift lash he landed in a half-crouch before Siegfried, gathering himself before launching into a spinning, twisting pirouette – a whirling flurry of limbs edged with flashing steel.
For the third time in two minutes Schtauffen found himself on the defensive, barely able to fend off the furious assault. Frustration welled up inside the young knight, fueled by his anger at Ivy and lending strength to his arms; smashing the katars aside he pressed ahead as Voldo whirled backwards. For one brief moment he had the initiative, but he was slow, so slow… even as he swung his sword in a great downward stroke the balance shifted again. The Guardian spun aside and the zweihander splintered the marble floor where he had stood, the momentum of the blow carrying Schtauffen past him. For an instant he lost track of his opponent, sweeping his sword in a wide circle to keep the Guardian at bay as he regained his bearings.
Steel rang on steel behind him and he spun to see Voldo and Ivy join battle once again. Sweeping low Voldo scored a shallow cut along the Englishwoman's leading leg, drawing a snarl of pain and anger from her lips; fury lighting her eyes, she counterattacked with ferocity beyond anything Schtauffen had yet seen from her. Striding forward her sword was a whirlwind of razor-edged steel as she lashed him relentlessly, her savage laughter ringing through the shadowed hall. The Guardian's katars were a blur as he parried blow after blow, but the sword-whip snaked past his guard again and again, opening long, painful wounds along his limbs and torso.
Suddenly Voldo catapulted himself forward, heedless of the injuries he had sustained, and with the speed of a striking snake dived between two of Ivy's whip-slashes, slithering between her feet to arise behind her. As she started to turn he sprang upon her, wrapping his long legs around her waist and drawing one arm back to strike, but before the blow could fall Ivy threw herself backwards, her full weight driving him into the floor with a stunning impact which loosened his grip. The two rolled apart but as they came to their feet sprang together again, their blades striking sparks as they clashed. As their weapons parted Ivy gave Voldo a backhanded smash with her gauntleted fist and the Guardian staggered backwards. Siegfried seized the moment, pivoting and throwing all of his weight and might into one tremendous rising stroke; his sword scribed a brilliant silver arc through the darkness only to whisper harmlessly over Voldo's form as he dropped to all fours.
Momentum carried the sword inexorably on through its killing arc to carve a bloody furrow across Ivy's face, snapping her head sideways and laying her cheek open to the bone.
For just an instant her startled eyes met his horrified ones; her expression registered only shock as she took a faltering step back, too startled to even cry out - and in that moment Voldo was there, pivoting on one knifepoint to plant both feet in her stomach and slam her backwards into the near wall.
Impacting heavily Ivy bounced limply from the wall and started to drop into the dark chasm below. With a wild lunge Schtauffen hurled himself into a sliding dive across the floor, his outflung hand closing about her gauntleted wrist. Her momentum wrenched him forward half over the edge before his scrabbling fingers found purchase between two of the marble flagstones, halting his headlong slide. For a moment he teetered precariously on the edge of darkness, gasping for breath.
A moment later he felt Ivy's hand twitch and grimaced as it closed about his forearm, its steel-taloned grip painful even through his leather gauntlet. Gritting his teeth, Siegfried was readying himself to draw her back up when a rasping breath sounded above him. Twisting his head about, his eyes widened as Voldo's pale visage loomed near, dimly silhouetted in the light from Ivy's lantern.
For an instant the Guardian seemed to meet his gaze - then, rearing back, he brought both katars down in a killing stroke. Schtauffen twisted desperately aside and Voldo's blades glanced off the marble floor, but the young German's frantic writhing had already finished the Guardian's task; flailing wildly, Siegfried slid over the edge and plunged into the darkness beyond.
As they fell the Guardian turned to face the towering effigy of his master and prostrated himself with a flourish, the triumphant hiss of his breath echoing through the silent hall.
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Author's Notes:
Note to self – Never, never, never promise a particular time for an update - you should know better!
Ahem.
I apologise… again… for the delay between postings. Didn't help having to restart this chapter halfway through, though I'm glad I did now. The next part – well, I'll promise only that it will be posted when it's done. Hopefully quite soon – but I can't say exactly when. (A week! A week!)
Once more, my sincere thanks to all of you who have reviewed. I would tell the story anyway – but you make the process so much more rewarding. I hope I can live up to expectations.
So until next time, Be Excellent To Each Other – And Party On, Dudes.