The cave that they were now bound in was almost completely dark, save for a few rays of moonlight that filtered through some crudely carved holes in the rock wall. In fact, this entire place looked to have been mined out, excavated to satisfaction. The wall Omegas was now manacled to served as a testament to the manmade nature of the den, perfectly straight and smooth. And a den it was, wolves sitting in the ample space and resting with their eyes closed. One of them was licking at the first wolf they'd encountered, wounds in its muzzle and leg courtesy of Alphas and Omegas.
"This is ever so slightly inhumane," Omegas told the shadowy figure as they walked past. "I think you'd find me much more agreeable if we just sat around a table with some tea."
A knife embedded itself in the wall by his ear, juddering. Omegas didn't even blink. "That's a little rude."
"You, at least, are lucky," Alphas growled, hanging by the ankle from a chain that held its origins somewhere in the ceiling. "Just cuffed to a wall."
Omegas shrugged as much as he was able. "What can I say? I'm talented like that. Also, I'm pretty sure Stratos is going to be very jealous of you when he wakes up, so try not to whine. You're better off than he is, for sure."
The man in question was laid out on the floor, a wolf sitting leisurely on top of him. Only his face was visible, everything else smothered by wolf fur.
Even the shadow turned to look at Stratos at Omegas' remark, and there was a sound suspiciously like a snort barely suppressed.
Omegas noticed right away, and immediately turned his nearly indefatigable good humour on their abductor, who was at the moment unwrapping a leatherbound pack of needles, each as long as someone's forearm.
"It's okay," he told them, "you can tell me if you think I'm funny. Which I am, obviously. Hey, wanna hear a joke?"
The dark figure looked back, and for a moment, the eyes were visible in a shaft of moonlight that filtered into the den through one of the pinholes to the outside world, dark brown like polished chestnut.
And noticeably entertained.
They turned back to the needles in a flash, but Omegas had seen all that was needed to spur him on. He grinned. "Why'd the chicken cross the road?"
Their abductor hesitated for a moment, then began to pick out certain needles and set them aside.
"To get to the wolves' house," Omegas said, unbothered by the lack of a response. "Knock knock."
When the unfortunate target of his antics didn't respond, he prodded. "You're supposed to say who's there."
The figure stopped sorting needles and turned to him with a knife in hand, poised to throw. Omegas, continued, undeterred.
"Although you don't really talk, so I guess just throwing another knife is good enough for you."
The abductor relented and lazily tossed the knife, which landed with a clatter below where Omegas was flat against the wall.
"I'll count that as a 'Who's there', then," he said. "You wanna know who's there? Do you? Do you?"
The figure shook their head in slightly exasperated amusement, then flapped a hand at him in affirmation, a signal to continue.
Omegas smiled wider. "The chicken."
The figure cocked their head, then turned back to the needles. After a moment, without turning around to look, they held their hand out at arm's length, and there was a firm thumbs down.
"It's a good joke, come on," Omegas protested. "You might be out to kill us, but you can appreciate a joke. Why'd the chicken cross the road? To get to the wolves' house. Knock knock, who's there? It's the chicken."
Myron gave a sigh of exasperation, strapped tightly to a rough table. "That was terrible. I'm lying on splinters right now, and even they don't hurt as much as it did to hear you say that."
Omegas shook his head as the figure paused after hearing Myron speak, a needle in hand. "You people can never appreciate my genius."
"Issa terrible joke," Alphas confirmed, the words slurring a little bit. "Pleason' make any more."
"Can you turn him the right side up?" Omegas said to the wolves' master. "The blood's going to his head. Turn him around so he can think clearly and tell you how good the joke was."
The figure looked at him again, eyes clearly visible this time and shimmering grey in the moonlight, gazing straight at him amicably. Omegas held the stare for a minute, before they relented, rolling their eyes, and went to do something about Alphas. He barely resisted as they flipped the chain around, a metal cuff fished from a clanking pile of chains and other restraints, and bound him by the wrist to the upper part of the chain so that he now hung by his left wrist and ankle.
"Wait," Omegas said before they returned to the needles, and they looked questioningly at him. "Spin him a couple times. It'll be funny."
"Whose side are you on?" Alphas seethed, rather more coherent now, before he was whipped around as the shadowy figure complied with Omegas' request. "One more thing, and I swear to whatever god is listening, I will feed you to the wolves myself."
Omegas shrugged as Alphas continued to twirl, clinking as the chain twisted. "I'm bite size to them. It won't do much of anything."
Their abductor returned to the needles, paused, then went away, disappearing into the shadows that shrouded the farther ends of the den.
For a few minutes, things were quiet. The silence was broken only when the figure returned with a few pieces of wood and a small cloth bag that bulged with something. They set the wood down, arranging it in a steeple with one piece to the side. After that, they emptied the bag of its contents. Coal scattered on the floor, nearly knocking the wood over. They swept it under the wooden structure, then gently knocked the wood down so it rested on the coal. The remaining piece that had been set aside was shoved into the coal. They extracted a flint and steel from somewhere on their person, and began attempting to light the wood.
Everyone watched silently as the scrapes of the instrument rang out in unsuccessful succession. At last, the sparks caught, and the wood began to burn, the flames flickering at first, then rising, flaring far more fiercely. The flames began to catch on the other pieces too, and soon the coals were glowing red.
The figure put on a pair of thick leather gloves, picked up a needle, and thrust it into the heart of the pyre, waiting for the heat to spread.
"Damn!"
Everyone, the yet mysterious figure included, turned to look at Stratos, who was struggling to excuse himself from being a wolf pillow.
"I'm goin'," he grunted, making every effort to slide himself out, "to kill you. This is immobile."
Alphas sighed.
"He means ignoble," he told the person responsible for making cushioning of Stratos. "And don't count me out either. I'm going to kill you too."
The figure shrugged, and pulled the needle, smoking and incandescent orange, from the flames.
They advanced on Stratos.
"Wait, hang on," Alphas and Myron said together, urgency immediately penetrating their tone. The figure paused, and looked at them.
"Why are you doing this?" Alphas demanded. "You had no reason to come up and kill Lysander and hunt us down, and now you're out to torture us too. Who are you? What do you have against us?"
A beat.
"Name's Umbra," Stratos said, still straining to get out from under the wolf. He'd managed to free his upper body, and was straining to get his legs out. "Found out from a lib-ra-rian."
The figure appraised him for a moment, then turned back to Alphas.
"I am Umbra, yes."
That voice was silk dyed black, dark and soft, more liquid than water, more dangerous than dangling over a yawning abyss from a single frayed thread.
"I am… an assassin, if you must call me anything at all. I have nothing against you," they said. "But I owe Myre a favour, and I have been tasked with hunting you."
Stratos was smothered by wolf again as it shifted to sit on top of him once more, negating every effort of the last few minutes. The figure glanced at him before continuing.
"But there is one of you missing. Tell me where he is, and I will not harm you."
"Who's missin'?" came Stratos' muffled voice from under the wolf. He waved the one visible hand sticking out. "Can't see anythin'."
Myron smiled, the expression filled with teeth and lacking humour. "Olympiodoros."
"Ah. Good," Stratos affirmed. He put his finger and thumb together, the other fingers held up. "Kid's smart. He can figure this out."
"Where is he?" Umbra asked again. The needle looked cooler now, but would still be vastly painful to the touch.
Alphas grinned. "Go to hell."
Umbra shrugged and walked over to him, pulling up the leg of his trousers. The needle hovered over his skin before they pressed it down.
Alphas yelled in agony as his ankle smoked, the smell of burning flesh instantly filling the room. After a few seconds, the needle was retracted, and Alphas was left breathing hard through gritted teeth, glaring with pure rage at the floor.
"It would be better for you to comply," Umbra told him, walking over to the fire again and sticking the needle in, waiting for the fire to inhabit the metal again. "I can draw quite well. I won't need a branding iron to mark you."
Alphas looked up at them again, hatred burning brighter than the flames that turned the needle into an infernal sliver.
"Are you deaf?" he managed. "I said, go to hell."
Umbra shrugged. "If that's how you want it."
And they set to work on making art.
By the time they were done, Alphas was barely conscious, hanging limply from the chain. An intricate caricature of a wolf's head had been burned into his calf, flesh burned and mottled, dark and smoking slightly still. The smell of the branding had diffused throughout the room.
Umbra cocked their head. "I won't get anything from you now. Have a little rest."
They looked at Stratos' hand, pushing against the wolf's body, trying to slither out from under it, but failing to gain enough purchase for tangible results due to the awkward angle at which it was positioned.
They set the branding needle down, blackened now, and began to pick out new needles from the pack laid out on the floor next to the fire. Once they had enough, they walked over to Stratos.
"Pull your hand in!" Myron yelled. Umbra stabbed down in a flash as Stratos obeyed immediately, hand disappearing under the wolf as the needle broke in an iron tinkle against the stone floor.
Umbra looked back at Myron.
"Well done."
They walked over to him, a new needle poised, twirling in their fingers.
"Your reward."
And the needle was embedded in his arm.
Myron screamed, blood leaking out immediately.
"Will you tell me, then?" Umbra pondered, the soft voice only barely audible over the sound of Myron's torment as they slid another needle into his wrist.
Myron's voice reached a pitch that had the wolves in discomfort, a rich red pooling on the table, soaking into the wood and dripping onto the floor.
"It will be better for you, I think, to tell me now. Such loyalty is admirable, but I am not swayed by the strength of your bonds."
A needle scraped lightly up his arm, lingering at the inside of his elbow.
"Tell me."
Between gasps, barely holding back tears of pain, Myron struggled to reply.
"N… n… ho… oh… hhhhh… "
They looked at him, head tilted slightly.
"As you wish."
And a new needle found its home in his upper arm.
Myron thrashed against the restraints, the table rocking in a wooden cacophony, creaking as its legs strained, almost bending with the force with which they were pressed against the ground.
Alphas was jarred back to the waking world by the strength of Myron's agonized shrieks. He swung blearily around, trying to get a view of whatever was happening, and the haze cleared from his vision the moment he laid eyes on the deep red that ran like streams from the table, dripping steadily to the ground, the present wolves eyeing the resulting puddle with keen interest.
"Let him go," he ordered, voice strong, ringing with authority. It was a voice that would not stand to be ignored, that would take action against disobedience.
It was the voice of a king.
Of someone used to being obeyed.
Every king needed to learn that not all would obey.
Umbra considered him for a moment, head poised, hand up in the air with a needle between the fingers. Myron's cries began dying to gasps again.
"Good. Now-" Alphas began.
Umbra stabbed down again, the needle sinking deep into the back of Myron's hand, and Omegas knew by the length sticking out that it had penetrated all the way through.
Alphas twisted on the chain as he tried to lunge, swinging a little way forward with momentum alone before swinging back the other way, the chain that suspended him rattling and clinking ominously. He glared at Umbra while his free hand attempted to wrench himself out of the restraints.
"Mistake," Alphas whispered, eyes blazing with rage, his voice now even deadlier than Umbra's. The killer met his gaze and held it.
For a long, tense moment, the air was heavy with foreboding.
And the moment was interrupted by a long blast of sparking, flaring flames that seared through the whole of the cave, briefly lighting every shadowy corner before fading away again. The wolves leapt up instantly, teeth bared, each of them emanating low growls as silvery saliva began dripping to the floor. Stratos took his chance to jump up and run to where Umbra had discarded the weapons they'd carried, grabbing his battleaxe, fingers closing around its handle among all the other blades without any mite of hesitation. Umbra threw a needle that he avoided, and he skidded over to Alphas, axe lopping through the chain and severing it with a crash. Alphas fell and instantly collapsed, hissing as his branded leg was aggravated.
Umbra launched for him and was forced to duck midair as Stratos swung his battleaxe.
And Olympiodoros came storming in with the dragons.
Umbra jumped and twisted, rolling midair, kicked Stratos away, then landed back on their feet. They hauled Alphas up and made to throw him back down, but he wasted no time in between his outcries of pain to deck Umbra in the face, sending them sprawling back and him falling back to the floor as any support he may have had, even in the form of Umbra, was removed.
Stratos rose up like a wave, looking like a bear with his massive height and build, especially with the furs he'd preferred to add to his combat outfit. He brought the axe down, clanging against the ground as Umbra rolled away just in time, the blade falling like a guillotine, avoiding execution narrowly enough to feel it whip past, the backdraft of uncertainly certain death blowing with all the metaphysical weight of a gale storm.
Umbra whistled, and a wolf turned and pounced on Stratos, forgoing Olympiodoros and the dragons at the entrance, which for some reason every wolf seemed eager to tear to shreds. Stratos found himself pushed away from Umbra as the wolf advanced and he retreated, a rather more wild foe now present to take care of.
Umbra dusted themself off, and surveyed the situation, noting the dragons and Olympiodoros. They huffed quietly, and turned to Omegas, who was still manacled flat against the wall, with a glint of amusement.
"Well. Look at that. The chicken's here."
Omegas didn't reply, watching Alphas with wary concern. Umbra's momentary humour vanished when he didn't even turn to look at them.
They walked up and kicked Alphas in the head, sending him sprawling forward. Omegas' head moved smoothly to watch his progress across the floor, still not even deigning to look at Umbra. They cocked their head, then drew a knife and went to keep the other fighters company.
The moment they reached Olympiodoros, who was tearing into a wolf with his sword with ferocious vigour, a blood-drenched cape tied around his shoulders, they sprang for him, the long black knife meeting his blade with a clang.
"Hello, chicken."
"Who the fuck are you calling a chicken?" Olympiodoros roared in confused anger, and dealt a blow to Umbra's blade that knocked it out of their hands. Umbra jumped backwards in caution, body low, one hand in front of them, near the ground, one higher and behind them.
Olympiodoros looked at them, eyes wide open and possessed of focus, of the flow of battle, that engine of function powered very obviously with a hunger for violence, that fuel tinged with a flavour of vengeance.
"Heh."
Umbra knew instinctively that nothing good was coming, and whistled sharply, being picked up by the collar by a wolf with one cloudy eye right as a wave of orange shattered its way past like a tsunami.
"We're not in the public anymore!" Olympiodoros yelled with a manic grin, holding his hand up, a sigil that branched across the back of his hand and over his fingers flaring to orange life. Every member of their party save for Myron looked at him as he spoke. "We can use our magic now, you pile of shit!"
He closed his hand into a fist, and punched the next wolf to pounce on him all the way back against the rock walls of the den, where it thumped and fell limply, causing the place to shake with a light tremor. After a moment, it staggered back up.
Ice blue glowed in another corner of the den, and Stratos sent a wolf flying with a crash as a rather explosive sigil activated.
Still dangling from a wolf's jaws, Umbra sighed.
"Myre asked me personally to deal with sorcerers," they said, that quiet voice still audible over wolf snarls and dragon roars. The real magic was the way whatever Umbra said managed to reach the concerned parties.
"Do you think he would leave me without a way to subdue you?"
They fished a small stone out of their pocket, and let it fall to the ground.
It bounced.
And some invisible sphere of influence spread from the stone outwards, devouring the colours of magic that had briefly lit the place.
Olympiodoros switched back to the sword instantly, but frowned as he began to swing it again, keeping a wolf at bay for another time and obviously disappointed, frustrated with the foil to his ability.
"Wreckage."
Alphas leaned against the wall with one leg, looking somewhat exhausted, but entirely determined to end the scuffle. He flapped a hand at the large black dragon, facing off against a wolf that was three times even Wreckage's size.
"Wa-"
"Whatever you want your dragon to do is useless," Umbra interrupted, arms folded, cutting a somewhat ridiculous figure, still held in the wolf's mouth like a pup. "These are Dire Wolves. Predators to dragons, appointed by nature itself."
They looked down at the dragons again. "Although I'm a little surprised why your dragons aren't… afraid. Most are."
"Thanks for the lesson," Alphas said, eyes hardening again. "Now shut up, because I could not care less what kind of doggies you've been feeding. Wreckage, wave."
The dragon blasted a wolf in the eyes with blue fire as he jumped backwards, then settled into a steady stance and opened his mouth.
And was batted into the ground by a huge paw.
Wreckage lifted into the air until he was level with the offending wolf, and roared a grinding roar, harsh and powerful like a mountain crushed, as he was denied his compliance with the wishes of his rider.
The wolf snarled back, and snapped at him. Wreckage sent a blast of flames in return.
Stratos whistled a little melodic whistle in the middle of leaving a wolf with something that would be a crisscross of scars some day. His dragon, one the face of draconic beasts, white with speckled silver and with horns and spines that ran along its neck, backward wings extended from a powerful body with a tail like a snake's, backed away from a wolf and rose into the air beside Wreckage and sent a powerful, billowing blast of flames at the wolf, scorching the fur and sending it retreating.
As Wreckage prepared to release his customary blast again, Stratos' dragon, a breed called a Pyreking that he'd named Flametaur, began to glow with hot yellow at the point where its neck met the rest of its body, the colour getting brighter with every passing instant, smoke escaping from the mouth.
Alphas and Stratos looked at each other and nodded. Together, they counted down from three.
Olympiodoros immediately backed away behind the dragons. Alphas stood by the wall, in front of Omegas. Stratos moved slightly so he was covering the incapacitated Myron.
They reached one.
Then, zero.
"Wreckage, wave!"
"Flametaur, blast!"
Both dragons released simultaneous explosions of air and fire that mingled and enhanced each other, mixing into a single devastating attack that blew the wolves off their feet and sent Umbra tumbling as the wolf holding them was thrown back, the hood and mask being dragged down as they rolled unceremoniously across the floor, for once ungraceful in their movements. Olympiodoros had avoided being in the line of fire, while Alphas had turned his back to the approaching wall of fire, kept from falling by gripping the manacles that bound Omegas. Stratos had shielded his face with his axe, but his arms were slightly red. Omegas and Myron, unable to act, had been shielded by the latter two.
Stratos looked at Umbra's face for a moment, then shrugged and turned, beginning to chop away Myron's restraints. Alphas just frowned momentarily before turning and trying to free Omegas, who looked with a raised eyebrow. Olympiodoros paid it no attention. Myron was otherwise preoccupied with unconsciousness.
Umbra had wavy black hair that flowed back under the cloak, a sharp nose, and was decently pale in complexion.
And was noticeably female.
"Oh, you're going to have to die now," she said, picking herself up. "I've never let a target see my face. You're not going to be the exception."
"Keep talkin'," Stratos said, turning to her with the axe in hand now that Myron had been freed. "Don' think I'll take it easy on you jus' 'cause you're a woman."
"You couldn't beat me anyways," she laughed, talking louder, clearer now, with no need to hide her gender behind an ambiguous voice. "If you "took it easy on me", you'd die."
Stratos grinned, and pointed. "I think I'll manage, what with your fancy rock bein' out of com-mission now, it looks like."
She glanced over her shoulder, and in that moment a wave of orange slammed into her and threw her backwards, skidding to stop at Stratos' feet. He wasted no breath and just kicked her aside. Gently, he picked Myron up in both arms, and began walking over to Olympiodoros, past the shattered remains of Myre's gift to Umbra. He laid Myron on the dragon Myron had borrowed from the stables, a Razorwhip called Dice Slice, never having bothered to train a dragon of his own.
He went back to Alphas and Omegas, and shattered the manacles that kept Omegas chained to the wall with crashing blows of the axe. The young man jumped down readily, and instantly went to help Alphas walk back to their dragons, supporting his weight.
Stratos looked back at Umbra, who was up again. She looked at him.
"You can do better'n killin' people for a livin', girlie. An' especially killin' people 'cause Myre said. Don' do that one. Bye now," he said, turning his back on her and giving her a wave without looking. "I hope I never see you again."
He whipped around with a sigil at the ready as she jumped at him, knife descending onto his throat, and activated it.
A shield of glacial blue expanded and shot forward, slamming into her and sending her flying backwards, hitting the wall. After a moment, she got up a little awkwardly, limping now.
"Don' set your doggies on us either," he told her. "Me an' the kid can do a lot more than what you saw. I don' think you want to find out what else magic can do."
Umbra glared at him. He waved, and walked back to the dragons, reaching without incident and sitting astride Flametaur when he reached. Olympiodoros had taken the liberty of picking up the weapons each of them owned that Umbra had set to the side, that had then been more than a little scattered by the fight.
He fished the second riddle out of his pants, and waved it at the rest of their party, in front of Umbra.
"I got what we came for, too. Let's go back to the inn, see to Lysander, then we go back to Nisi. Anyone got a better idea?"
No one said anything, and Alphas just gave him a thumbs up from his position, slumped forward on Wreckage's back. It made sense. The boy had just been tortured. He was bound to be a little bit exhausted, at least. Stratos would've been surprised if he wasn't.
"Well'n," he said, to the world at large. He glanced at Umbra, who watched them silently, wolves up and prowling around her again, barely restraining themselves from launching at the dragons and riders. He gave her a two-finger salute, reveling in the scowl that resulted, before he and everyone else took off.
"Myron had a few bandages in his saddlebag. While we take care o' Lysander, one o' you needs to bandage him up. He doesn' need to bleed out any more than he already has."
The affirmation he felt was silent and had no movement to mark its presence, but it was there. It was somewhere near tangible, the way he could feel it.
And for a while, silence, punctuated only by the occasional beat of leathery wings as Olympiodoros bandaged Myron, with a little direction from Stratos.
=0=
Hiccup stood in the middle of a circle of chairs, all occupied but one. The Berkians sat silently as they digested what their chief had told them. It seemed utterly preposterous, but he had pulled the statements directly from the most ancient historical archives. Nothing else spoke of the Great Basement, as it had been unofficially named, courtesy of Gobber.
"That's not possible," Astrid said at last.
Hiccup shrugged helplessly. "It's what I read, Astrid. I'm just passing it along. As far as we know, that's how it-"
"But it's just not possible," she insisted. "Why would the-"
"Look," Hiccup interrupted. "I didn't write that. I don't know any more than you if it's true or not."
"You're…" Valka hesitated. "You're sure you read it right?"
"Yes, mom," Hiccup said, frustrated, running his hands through his hair. "I have one leg, not one eye."
She raised her hands in front of her. "Alright dear, alright."
"I can't believe this," Fishlegs squealed, wide-eyed. "If it's true, it's fascinating to think about!"
"Yeah, yeah," Hiccup replied wearily, sinking onto a chair, dragging a hand over his face. "So the chamber was built by the gods. Clap me an earthquake."
