Still, heavy silence lay over the labyrinthine tomb complex like a shroud. Sergeant Brienne Quinn settled her heavy fur-lined cloak over her shoulders to stave off the deep and bitter cold that was always present this far underground no matter what season it was outside. By the end of her shift, she would still most likely be chilled, but she was used to it. She liked the cold; it was such a startling contrast to her childhood home. With a brief nod, the Weapon nodded to her fellow tomb guards. Silently, they all headed out for their assigned posts.
As was her habit during her watch, Brienne checked in with the caretakers first. She knew that many even among the tomb guards were a little disturbed by the small, colorless people, but she admired their dedication to their tasks. In their own way, they were as important to the tombs as the Weapons were. The guards prowled the maze of tombs and guarded the interred and their treasures fiercely against trespassers and thieves, but it was the caretakers that preserved those things. Without them, a lot of Sacoridian history would crumble into forgotten dust.
She came across Roulin first, as usual. "Hello, Roulin. Is Agemon nearby?" The small man shook his head briefly and scurried away with his burdens. He was the tallest of the caretakers to her knowledge and he still came only to her shoulder. His relative height ensured that he was the one most often responsible for filling and polishing the lanterns hung at intervals along the most traversed paths.
Brienne was used to the timidity of the caretakers and never took offense when they did not speak to her. She simply settled into the smooth glide she always used on duty. Silent and swift, it was an easy motion to turn into a fighting stance should it become necessary. This passageway, while not as grand as some of the main ways, was one of the longest. It stretched across the whole of the known tombs from the Weapons' Door, through their meeting room, to the caretakers' village and beyond. The corridor was well-tended and solidly built, but once past the main rooms along its twisting route there was little light. The occasional branching corridors appeared only as murky recesses.
Her rounds passed quickly and silently, as they always seemed to. She remained alert at all times and explored any sound or motion that seemed out of place. Sometimes, these small noises were from rats or other small animals trying to eke out a living in the unwelcoming stone world. Most of the time, the flitting shadow she caught in the corner of her eye was only one of the caretakers. Occasionally, they would acknowledge her with a low greeting. Brienne always made sure that she responded to these few by name.
As she moved toward to an intersection that would take her back to the main portion of the tombs, Agemon scurried toward her. The shapeless bundle of his robes flapped around his ankles. Brienne frowned. "Agemon? What's wrong?" She started to move past him, her hand gripping the hilt of her sword. He reached out a hand to halt her, jerking it back well before he touched her sleeve.
"There is a..disturbance, Sergeant Quinn. It is deep."
"What do you mean?" she asked.
The caretaker hunched his shoulders. "The disturbance is deep, far past the village and beneath the stone curtain. It seems to be moving closer, however."
Despite her best efforts, Brienne could feel her frown deepen. She was used to the half-sentences and riddles that the caretakers sometimes spoke in when it came to the secrets of the tombs they lived in and cared for, but she had never heard of the stone curtain. She drew her sword. "Show me," she commanded.
They passed swiftly through the furthest reaches of the tombs, pausing only for the Weapon to ask the next caretaker they passed to alert the other Weapons as soon as possible. Soon they passed out of the mortared hallway and into the natural section that marked the home of the caretakers. The only worked stone here were the buildings themselves and even these looked more like haphazard piles of boulders and columns than livable structures. Here there were no lanterns at all and only one rough passage continued past the village. Agemon let her take the lead, following behind with a torch to light the way. A mile or so later, the passage abruptly ended at an ancient cave in where tons of rock had fallen, blocking the way.
"The stone curtain," Agemon said simply. "Listen."
At first, Brienne only heard the faint crackling of the torch. She closed her eyes and concentrated on her surroundings, straining to hear into the darkness. Gradually, she was able to pick out other sounds. A faint sighing of air. A drop of water, echoing from a far distance. A slight shuffling noise. Her eyes flew snapped open. Something or someone was definitely moving beyond the rock fall. They weren't close yet, but a slight sigh reached her ears, courtesy of the errant breeze. They were definitely coming closer.
"Go and lead the others here," she whispered to Agemon. He thrust the torch into her free hand. Startled, she glanced at him. He shrugged and shook his head. He was used to the darkness, of course, and wouldn't need the light to make his way back to the village and the others. Once the slight noise of his hurried departure faded completely, Brienne picked her way slowly along the edge of the wall.
The site of the cave in seemed like a dead end, but Fastion had shown her that the rubble simply blocked easy access into the unexplored depths beneath even the lowest level of the tombs. If one were patient and willing to take the chance of becoming hopelessly lost, there was a narrow and twisting way through the blockage. Even the most determined explorer was likely to miss the access point; Fastion had only found it in an accident that nearly cost him his life in his first months as a tomb guard. He had shown it to her when they were getting past the strangeness of knowing each other.
Brienne hesitated once she found the particular formation that marked the cleft. Her training and common sense told her she should stay put and wait for the others to back her up. Her instincts encouraged her to investigate further because she couldn't afford to waste time. After a brief struggle, instinct won. She pushed the torch between two rocks to hold it. That would mark the entrance for the others if they should arrive before she returned. Behind the same rock was the remnant of the torch she and Fastion had used the one time they attempted to explore beyond this point. It only took a moment to light it. She sheathed her sword, pulled off the belt and flattened herself to wiggle through the opening, holding the torch in front of her and pulling her sword behind her. The rocks scraped her thighs and shoulders, and she gritted her teeth against the feeling of being buried underneath all of the rock above her head. At least it won't be difficult to block off this route if it's necessary later, she mused wryly.
Once free of the confining rock, she crouched near the opening for a long moment. She could no longer hear the faint sounds that had drawn her here. Silently, the Weapon slid forward slowly. The light flickered off of a bend in the passageway in front of her. She hated the torch she held. It would surely announce her presence to anyone down here long before she would detect them, but she couldn't see without it. She paused just before that point, straining again to hear anything that would give her a clue as to what was beyond it.
Before she made up her mind to move, she heard the same sound that had drawn her here. Without the solid mass of the fallen rock to distort it, it was clearly a sharp moan of pain. More than that, it sounded familiar. Brienne moved around the bend before she could help herself. The sight that met her eyes made her stop dead in her tracks.
The passage expanded into a natural cavern so large she couldn't see the ceiling or the far walls with her dim torch. Everywhere were signs of crumbled civilization. Carved pillars lay in shattered heaps. Ancient paving was cracked and gaping. Piles of rocks could only be the remnants of buildings. A deep layer of undisturbed dirt and dust lay over everything like a shroud. It was an awesome glimpse of history and one she normally would have reveled in discovering. None of that held her attention, however. Her heart pounded in her chest.
"Karigan," she breathed. The Green Rider, her sister-at-arms, was in Blackveil. She couldn't be here. Yet, here she was - dirty, bleeding, so close to dying that only the equally battered Eletian at her side held her upright. The pair stumbled heavily into a broken wall, eliciting a gasp of pain from both of them. The sound galvanized Brienne and she sheathed her sword with a rare force as she rushed forward.
The Eletian pulled Karigan gently to one side as he shifted so his body mostly obscured hers from sight. Somehow, in a move so fast she didn't catch it, he was holding a long knife. She paused, holding her hands up to show she held no weapons. It was said the Eletians knew of the Order of the Black Shields and respected them.
"I am Sergeant Quinn of the Black Shields," she said calmly. "I mean you no harm. I only want to help Rider Sir G'ladheon. And you as well, if you are a friend."
"I know of the Black Shields. We are in Sacor City, then," the Eletian responded. It was not a question.
"You are under it. Will you let me help you?" She started forward again before he responded. She was barely in time to help support him before he fell. Wrapping her free arm around his waist, she helped ease him to a sitting position, wincing as Karigan collapsed next to him. Of the two, the Rider was clearly the more seriously injured.
"Karigan," she whispered again, tears in her eyes. Blinking them back, she started to examine her friend. The Rider was lost in the pain of her wounds and gazed past her with a glazed expression. It was obvious that the woman was conscious in name only; she had no idea of where she was or what she was doing. Dirt and cobwebs covered her face and shoulders and she might as well have bathed in a pool of blood. Brienne had no idea how the woman was still conscious. She had seen soldiers die from less. Resolutely pushing that thought away, she started to catalog the Rider's wounds. A crushed wrist, deep puncture wounds all over her right leg. Gashes over regular intervals across her entire body. A deep head cut. Scraped knuckles and knees. Bruises everywhere.
Brienne unwound the sash around her waist and used pieces of it to wrap the wounds still oozing blood. Then she turned her attention to the Eletian. He sat quietly, although it was clear he was in some pain as well. He also had gashes across his body, some of which still oozed slowly. She used the rest of her sash to bind the worst of his wounds, which he permitted.
"What is your name?" she asked.
He frowned at her slightly, as if pulled away from a deep thought. "I am Lhean," he said.
"And you were part of the Blackveil expedition?"
"Yes," he acknowledged.
"Did anyone else survive?"
"I believe so."
Brienne gritted her a teeth a little at the uninformative answers. He's in pain, she reminded herself firmly. He wasn't even sure where he was. The rest can wait until I get them to Menders'. She bit back a sigh and got to her feet. "Come on," she said, helping him to stand and then moving to support Karigan. "There are others coming behind me, but we might as well get as close to them as possible and save some time."
Hold on, sister, she thought as she and the Eletian helped Karigan stumble toward the rock fall one slow and painful step at a time. Hold on. You are more important than you know.
Long before they reached the narrow opening leading to the tombs, Karigan finally collapsed completely. The sudden dead weight pulled both Brienne and Lhean to their knees next to her, panting from the effort to support her. Brienne shrugged off her thick cloak and laid it over Karigan. The Rider still breathed, thank the Gods. The Eletian closed his eyes and brushed Karigan's bloody hair away from her eyes.
"I cannot support her any longer, Black Shield," he admitted. His face, beautiful even through the blood and bruises, twisted briefly as if in pain at the admission. "I have no more strength in me."
Brienne reached across Karigan and touched the back of his hand lightly. "I cannot even believe you have done this much," she said. "Rest here. As I said, there are others following me. There will be help and mending for you soon. Stay with Karigan and I will go now to show them the way."
"There is no need." Lhean smiled ever so slightly. "They have found us."
Sure enough, there seemed no end to the cascade of black-clad Weapons suddenly pouring through the narrow hall into the cavern. Each carried an actual lantern with a heavy base and a drawn sword. Most fanned out past the collapsed trio without a word or greeting in order to guard their backs. The rest sheathed their swords with perfect harmony. Fastion fell to his knees next to Brienne and shrugged at her raised eyebrow.
"Well, what did you think would happen after raising an alert like that?" he asked. As always, his face was perfectly serious and expressionless, but the exceptionally deadpan expression was in and of itself an admission of some amusement. "Agemon took your request quite seriously, you know. He is convinced that there is an army of Mornhavon the Black's descendents approaching the tombs to loot themselves silly. I am equally certain there is an army of Shields around the throne room at the moment."
Brienne couldn't quite repress her snort of amusement at the imagery. "I don't blame him," she said, struggling to control herself. "It was quite a disturbance from the other side of the passage. But oh, little brother..." her voice trailed off as they gazed on their sister-at-arms and her injuries. "She doesn't even know me," she whispered. She took some comfort from Fastion's broad shoulder brushing against hers in support.
"She is severely injured," Fastion admitted in a low voice. "You did well to re-bandage these wounds, Brienne." The younger man was the closest to a mender Weapon that there was and treated the Weapons' minor injuries far more frequently than a genuine mender. His words gave her even more comfort and she managed to shrug off her melancholy. She had done as much as she could, when she could. Regardless of what happened from here, she would find some peace in that.
"Eletian, are you a mender? A healer?" Fastion asked.
"His name is Lhean," Brienne said softly.
Lhaen looked up at his name and the glaze in his eyes cleared a little as he attempted to focus. "No," he said, "no, but Hana.." he trailed off and his face crumpled a little bit more. "One of our companions was a gifted healer," he finished.
Fastion graced his obvious grief by ignoring it completely. "I am sorry for your loss, Lhaen. We owe you more than we can ever repay," he continued. "No matter where you go or what you do, remember that the Black Shields owe you a blood debt." A low murmur of agreement came from the watching Weapons.
"In blood life begins and in blood life ends," Fastion said.
"In blood we honor our way," Brienne finished with the others. The ancient ritual fell easily from her lips, as it never had during her training. The violent words seemed perfectly suited to the situation.
It was clear that even half-unconscious from pain, Lhean understood the significance of their words. "You honor me," he whispered. Those were the last words he spoke then as he finally succumbed to pain and exhaustion.
Fastion helped Brienne to her feet and gently picked up Karigan. Theilan hefted the Eletian over his shoulder and they started to make their way back to the castle proper with their fallen. Several of the stronger Weapons shared the burden of the Eletian between them, but no matter how much his arms trembled from the strain, Fastion cradled Karigan in his own arms until they reached the Menders' Wing.