Death without Direction: A Modern Sword and Sorcery Serial (A Battleaxe and a Metal Arm Book 1), Samuel Fleming [ink book reader .txt] 📗

first, he stowed the torch in a sling on his back where it rested along the massive battleaxe. He climbed methodically, testing handholds and footholds, casting strange shadows on the twisted metal. The prison groaned at the intrusion. The second floor was covered with barred doors and Taunauk paused, perhaps contemplating forcing the door aside, but continued up.

Meanwhile, Helesys mentally marked his path. If the bars could hold his weight they would surely hold her.

Taunauk scanned the third, but ceased his climb on the fourth floor and stepped off onto a landing. For the briefest moment the barbarian disappeared. Even his torchlight.

But the briefest moments can stretch on and in the gloom and in the cold of the dungeon, Helesys felt utterly and completely alone. Company was a comfort that she might not always possess.

Torchlight returned and though it was four stories up, it brought the elf a little kindling of warmth. Taunauk leaned over the landing and beckoned her up with a wave.

Helesys climbed the rusted prison, the gnarled metal groaning much less than before, but still protesting her ascent. Though she was set to task, her mind wandered, puzzling over how the body and even the mind could know things innately as they did: Commanding her metal arm with a thought, fear of prolonged exposure to the cold water, fear of the fishmen, the feel of blastshells exploding, Taunauk remembering the feel of his axe…

Perhaps some things were merely instinctual or ingrained so deeply they were indiscernible. Had the swing of an axe or the call of a wand become akin to walking or breathing? Taunauk knew he was a hunter, without remembering the specifics of his life…

But Helesys did not know what she was—a weaver, yes—but it seemed like a tip of the truth rather than the whole of the spear. Perhaps both she and Taunauk would live long enough to remember their lives and their truths.

Helesys easily followed the barbarian’s path up the twisted bars. When she was within arm’s reach, Taunauk offered her a hand and pulled her up the rest of the way as if she weighed nothing at all.

Past him, torchlight stretched down the orange-red hall. The walls were a mix of crumpled paneling and bars, not a single one spared from rust and decay. Swirls of rust-dust lined the floor, punctuated by Taunauk’s giant bootsteps.

“There appears to be a path,” the barbarian said, gesturing with the torch.

She stared and finally saw: The rust-dust seemed to flow in a pattern down the hallway, like river silt marking the twists and turns of flow.

“No fresh tracks,” he added.

“No fresh tracks here,” the weaver corrected.

Taunauk grunted in reply. “Keep your eyes open.”

~

Helesys decided that she did not like the rusted prison, even more so than the cold, flooded passageways.

For one, the glow of the torchlight was both necessary and damning. There were no torches in the rusted prison—no other sources of light at all—and so without the torch they would’ve been nearly blind. But with the torch they were a beacon to any creatures within and also nearly blind to anything beyond their path, for the light of the torch cast uncountable shadows against the rows of bars, obscuring everything beyond.

And it was impossible to be quiet. Even as the elf tried to time her steps so they fell with Taunauk’s, their weight betrayed them. Every minute or so, the floor beneath them would groan, as if calling out to any denizens that there were intruders within the walls.

But none came—not until the floor shifted beneath their feet.

A clang of metal beneath their feet that echoed through the entire prison. Both the elf and the human froze, afraid to move.

And from the dappled gloom of the rusted hall, a black form floated toward them. It was nearly as wide as the hallway and as it came closer, Helesys saw the outline of an ink-black squid. Its dozen arms pulsed, thin black skin covering and stretching between them. It floated slowly, steadily toward them like a specter.

Taunauk raised his axe.

“Do not do it,” a voice hissed from their left.

Helesys turned, readying her wand-arm and at first she saw nothing behind the cursed forest of shadows. It was only when she heard the voice again that she saw a hint of the creature.

“The empty cell beside you. Hide there. Be quick.” The voice came from behind a dozen shadows—sinister threads of fangs and a single massive, yellow eye.

Taunauk stepped carefully into the cell beside them, but he had not taken his eyes off the approaching squid. He had not seen the sinister look of their savior. Reluctantly, the elf followed.

Both watched the silent procession of the squid—eerie and eyeless—bobbing slightly with each pulse of its limbs. It stopped right in front of their cell. Right where the floor had creaked beneath their feet. Hunting by sound.

In the dappled shadows, Helesys saw more movement from their savior’s direction. Accompanied by the faintest patter of feet. So faint that the squid did not bother with it. Helesys held her breath so she could follow the sound—back the way they had come.

Then another clang came from that direction, sharp and purposeful. The squid followed the new sound. For some reason, their hellish-looking savior was leading the creature away.

Neither Helesys nor Taunauk moved while the squid floated down the hall.

Then they heard an ear-piercing scream, short and violent. A shriek that echoed through the rusted prison a dozen times over. Deep in the depths of shadow the entire prison began to writhe. Shadows of squid began to float all over.

A procession came. A dozen squid floated by. Beyond, it seemed as if the entire prison was writhing as tentacles danced in the shadows. All converging on the source of the sound.

And when the last squid floated by, Taunauk stalked out of the room, leading her further down the hall, away from the creatures. Helesys looked back for only a moment and saw the black mass congregating in the distance.