Summary
While hunting, Killian discovers a cliffside opening that provides the ideal location to carry out his plans.
Chapter 27 Whispers in the Abyss
Stepping softly on green brush, Killian drew back his hood and lifted his bow and arrow, aimed his shot. A young buck grazed on foliage near rock and wooded cliffs. Light rain fell on hair and face, wildflowers agitated his nostrils, the gurgling of a river in his hearing. Still close to Camelot with the celebrations winding down but quite far enough away from the dwindling tent city, the rich hunting ground provided ample food for them. The meat would sustain him and Mordred for some time, and the vegetables, nuts, and fruit that Dodd had bought from the festival markets would satisfy his tastes. The hide would serve another useful purpose.
Killian pulled a slow, steady breath as he drew the bowstring. He didn't need a weapon to hunt – he could break the creature's neck with just a few enchanted words – no fun in that – or conjure multiple swords to take down a bear if in dire need – a little more entertaining. But feeling the hilt of a sword in his hand, or the worn grip of wood as he caressed each shaft's feathers brought savage memories relived, spurring anticipation for the arrow's final bite. Yes. Weapons kept his skills sharp and prolonged the pleasure of the killing.
He released his fingertips, loosed the arrow. The buck started, its ears perking in the direction of the bowstring's twang. It dropped mid-leap when the arrow struck flesh.
Wiping rain from his eyes, Killian strode to inspect the carcass, planted a foot on its flank to brace as he freed the arrow, sliding it back in the quiver with its fletched kin. Examining the hole, he saw little blood seeped from the wound and he grunted with disappointment. He'd need to aim more true next time to cause a fatal flood.
He hefted the game across his shoulders and headed back to their tent, now erected far from the castle in denser forest – a worthy distance but allowed him ample time to think. He'd stolen the artifacts needed from the castle vaults, had gathered some of the supplies and other articles they'd need. Yet two vital pieces remained undone that could halt their progress entirely.
His final task was to find a secure location to secretly carry out their plan – a place that would swallow screams he hoped. The hut would not suffice – its size was one disadvantage. And any passing stranger could stumble upon them before they had finished their business with Arthur and Guinevere was another. Insomuch, they'd abandoned the hovel all together not wanting to remain in the one location for too long.
But Dodd's task – as crucial as his – was to watch the royals and discover a time to strike against them. How they could subdue them, they'd already figured out. They just needed to know when the opportunity presented itself. Without both objectives fulfilled, all their efforts remained hollow.
Killian adjusted the heavy deer. As he walked, the cliff face caught his eye – a depression with disturbed vegetation and loose stones marred the rocks and slate – likely from the rainwater. Brow creasing with curiosity, he moved closer to investigate. Setting the buck on the ground and brushing away leaves revealed a dark, gaping hole in the cliffside. Scanning around him for anything that he could light for a torch, he scooped up a small, wet log.
"Forbearnahn fehrgunhalt." With a flash of gold in his eyes, the end of the wood burst into flames despite its dampness.
Peering inside, a musty smell assaulted his nostrils, cold, damp air hitting his face. He lifted the torch, could make out a steep incline stretch into the blackness, but he was unable to see the bottom. Entering with caution, one gloved hand balanced him against the loose shale as he skittered down the incline.
Deep he slid, the clattering rocks filling his ears, echoes of his movements haunting in what must be a large space. For a moment, he wondered if he was heading to his death towards a bottomless pit until finally he settled onto a surface, rocks crunching beneath his feet. As he steadied himself, taking in deep breaths, loose rock he'd agitated in his decent quieted after a moment, as did the echoes. The silence was oppressive.
The light from the opening above had been sucked out by sheer blackness by the time he'd reached the bottom, his solitary torch now scarcely denting the abyss that swallowed him. How deep had he descended, he wondered? Frigid air raised bumps even on his thick hide and a faint breeze carried a whiff of mold and fungus. But an occasional breeze meant fresh air, possibly another entrance or underground streams, running water.
Swinging the torch revealed nothing but endless darkness however. Taking tentative steps forward, and after a few more moments of nothing but pitch black around him, what looked to be a passage appeared at last.
"Where might this lead?" he asked. Curiosity kindled, lured him down the dark passage.
Shivering in the bone-numbing cold, his breath misted in the flickering torchlight. Killian pressed cautiously forward, footsteps echoing, small stones skittering and crushing under his boots. Foreboding crept down his spine, and after what seemed like an eternity, the descending tunnel eventually opened into an immense underground chamber, its ceiling vanishing into the inky blackness above. Another slight breeze, carrying with it the metallic scent of mineral deposits and the musty odor of centuries-old dust, prickled the hairs on his arms and neck.
Then movement on his right and the clattering of stones jolted Killian. Raising his other hand instinctively as magic tingled, he swung the torch in the direction of the sound – skittering down another tunnel, but he could see nothing. Glancing around, he wondered what creatures might dwell in this environment. Was it possible considering its size, water availability, and fresh air? Might some animals be dangerous? Raising a palm, he muttered, "Giest ŵr a ffurf!"
Wisps of vapor swirled above his open palm, coalescing into indigo flames that disengaged from his hand to roam the air. The ethereal flames shed a cold azure light upon an endless cavern, casting eerie shadows that danced across the uneven walls. The chamber was filled with the musty scent of damp rock and stagnant water, underlaid by the faint, acrid tang of bat guano.
Killian placed his palm on the wall of the tunnel he'd exited and then whispered an enchantment, his eyes flaming gold. Removing his hand, a shimmering imprint glowed on the wall – a marker to find this exit.
As he ventured deeper and marking his route, the strange light revealed a forest of stalactites dripping from the highest ceiling, their surfaces glistening with moisture and mineral deposits. Stalagmites thrust up from the cavern floor like ancient stone sentinels, their forms sculpted by centuries of slow, steady growth. The air grew colder and more oppressive the further he went, carrying with it the distant echoes of dripping water and the soft rustling of unseen creatures in the depths. The vast hollowed space, tunnels splitting off and leading to more cavernous openings, seemed to swallow the light, the indigo flames struggling to penetrate the dense, all-encompassing darkness that pressed in from every side.
His pulse quickened; thoughts swirled the deeper he went; eyes scanned the vastness. He felt the isolation, the terror that such darkness and echo could bring. Killian smiled, his fists opening and closing as plans coalesced. He would return tomorrow with Mordred for a more thorough search, set more markers, find the ideal alcoves for making this… home – for a time.
Killian fashioned steps out of the rock to climb up the steep incline to the outside, pushing aside any loose shale from the crude formation. Concealing the entrance of the cliffside once more with magic, rock and shale, he hoped this would be their only means of coming and going. And if there were animals dwelling in those dark places – which he believed likely – there would be no need to leave the caverns for food.
He hefted the deer upon his shoulders again. Glancing back at the cliffside, a smile played on his lips, although, they should probably set up some kind of alert system around the entrance as well – just in case.
The next day with Mordred by his side, they descended into the foreboding depths, placing shimmering hand prints to mark their routes. Separating at tunnels that snaked in different directions, Killian's mind raced, his thoughts solely on redesigning one hollow into an instrument of fear for his captives.
After a time, his torch illuminated an elevated rock slab in one alcove, hypnotically drawing him closer. Perfect for an altar, he conjured vivid images of Arthur's body splayed across the ancient stone, and Guinevere, beautiful hazel eyes wide with anguish, her torment cutting deepest into the king's heart.
Shadows danced across Killian's vision as his solitary torch flickered. Fingers tracking along the cold, stone, he imagined Arthur chained and helpless, his agonized screams echoing satisfyingly off these cavern walls, pleading for mercy that would never come.
His smile widened as he envisioned Guinevere bound beside her beloved king, her cries mixing with his tormented screams. He relished thoughts of forcing her to watch helplessly as Arthur suffered what so many of his kin had.
Malicious anticipation boiled in Killian's veins, unused magic tingled in his hands, eager to inflict pain upon the king and queen. After years of impotent rage, finally he could make the Pendragons pay in full.
"I found a door!" Mordred called, his voice echoing as he ran into the alcove.
Pulled from the edge by the boy's voice, Killian steadied his heart – his breath shuttered as calm returned. He had not heard the boy approach, no echo of his footsteps his thoughts had been so deep. "Show me," Killian replied gruffly.
They followed the markers Mordred had set in the tunnels he'd searched, descending deeper into the underground, colder air showing their breaths, water trickling down rock walls. The pungent scent of guano agitated Killian's nostrils. He glanced up, the twitter and fluttering of hundreds if not thousands of bats reaching his ears, though he could not see the ceiling above, nor lay eyes on the nesting creatures.
"There's water somewhere, Mordred," he said. "We'll need to find it."
"I think there's some where we're headed," Mordred replied, his voice echoing in the vast cavern. A few more marked turns and they finally stood on an outcropping, a large ledge; and Killian could hear rushing water.
"Giest ŵr a ffurf!" he called, casting a spell that summoned the wisps of ethereal blue vapors and lighting the darkness.
The eerie glow revealed more stalagmites and stalactites, their surfaces glistening with moisture from the stream's spray. Scattered bones of smaller animals littered the clefts and outcroppings on the other side of the chasm, hinting at the presence of a predator long gone. Rusted chains, their massive links hanging abandoned, were anchored to the walls near the entrance of the cavern.
Killian cautiously approached the edge, followed by Mordred, and peered over. They saw a swift-flowing stream cutting through the chasm before them. The water, fed by an unseen source, separated the ledge from the other side of the cavern.
Mordred pointed to the door across a deep chasm. "There."
Killian's gaze drifted to the door; a set of stairs carved into the rock face snaked down into the chasm. His eyes narrowed as he contemplated, searched his memory – something Dodd had said months ago – Could that be…?
When they'd seized the citadel with Morgana's forces, Dodd hadn't explored beyond the barrier in the dungeon that he said blocked a wooden door. He'd spoken of rumors that a dragon had been imprisoned in the also-rumored catacombs beneath the citadel. But that was all they'd been – rumors, and Dodd had never ventured back to the dungeon to satisfy his curiosity.
And yet… no doubt remained that a dragon had been kept here. Perhaps the loose shale cliff side had provided means of an escaped from its jailors…. Killian scowled. Another magical creature cruelly punished by his enemies.
He glared at the door as if it were his adversary manifest. That door led into Camelot's dungeons – he was certain of it. A thousand knights lived on the other side. A thousand swords.
"Let us not linger here, Mordred. We'll discover where this stream leads, but mark this tunnel off limits. We're fortunate it's a great distance from the stone alter I found. The king and queen's screams would not be heard here."
Mordred only glanced at him as he doused the blue flames and turned to leave, the boy's face that same blank, unreadable expression. After a moment in the darkened tunnel, however, Killian smiled at the irony of his plans. Camelot would be oblivious to its precious king and queen's suffering right below their feet.
