That One Time I Went on a Quest

Catacomb of Giants (2/4)

The mine is still as a tomb; the machinery had stopped, and all the little giants have gone to fight on the surface. It is not silent, however. Unseen fractures echo through the earth like bottled thunder, deceptively distant yet always there. Now and then a loud crack would send flaky powder raining down on us, and we would all bent low and cover our heads as if that would stop a million tons of rock from falling whenever they want.

About a third of the way down the decline, as the rock faces are starting to glitter, we run into Oon'Shei. Somehow he had managed to get Killisan and Bobby all the way down here and made them stay put. He waves at us casually – just a relaxed gathering for tea and gossip.

'Aren't you glad I packed your clothes? The rest of the inventory are in the saddlebags,' Haylis says, hugging herself as another tremor sends gravel rolling around her feet. 'Oon'Shei will lead you through the catacombs, and I've told him to come back after that since – you know – a little giant tagging along will only draw more attention that you could handle.'

'Are you going to be alright?' I ask her – ironic, since I'm tied to Killisan's back with a rope around my midriff and have more roping tying my hands to the reins.

She shakes her head furiously. 'I have to be alright. Iborus too. We'll hold them here until Rutherford's head comes off. Count on it.'

'Don't die. Think of all the praise you're going to get by not dying.'

That makes her laugh a little.

Kathanhiel speaks up from behind us: 'Drink your suppressant as soon as you can swallow, Kastor. It'll keep you on your feet.'

'Yes my lady.'

'Let us be off. Haylis...in case we...in case we don't see each other again...' Her fingers are tapping incessantly on Kaishen's scabbard. 'I've transferred my estates under your name. Make sure to preserve the selection committee and the recruiter network. Do what you want with the rest. Details are in the letters I –'

' – you sent out in Iris,' Haylis finishes, wiping at the corners of her eyes. 'I'm not opening them. Ever. So you better come back.'

Kathanhiel doesn't reply.

'Ride! RIDE!'

The bridging tunnel is coming down behind us, an avalanche of glittering death as the walls buckle inward like the twisted spine of a thick book. Before us, Oon'Shei is running and swinging his scythe-blade in a whirlwind, knocking aside the piles of debris clogging the way forward. Killisan's thundering hooves sound so puny before the very earth collapsing around us, but he's not about to lay down and die; mouth fuming, mane drenched in sweat, he's giving it all.

Haylis got out in time. Iborus isn't sinking into the earth this very moment. Have to think like this. Have to.

The tunnel is trending up, up, up. The glittering ore is disappearing, replaced by black-and-yellow banded gneiss that wriggle dizzyingly in the torchlight like nature's idea of an illusion. Suddenly, a wide opening: a jagged, slanted cavern that had been cloven into the mountains since who knows when. Incredibly, as if the Maker had meant for it to caution us, a narrow shaft of sunlight spills in from the shadowy ceiling and illuminates a great chasm across the cavern's centre, wider than the leap of any horse. Broken ropes are pegged to the cliff on both slides: someone had built a hasty bridge here – the expedition Haylis sent, probably – but it's gone now.

Behind us, the rumbling tide is closing in.

Oon'Shei throws his scythe-blade across the chasm like a javelin. He picks up speed, widening each stride until practically gliding, then – like a dancer showing off his moves – flies across the gap with plenty of room to spare. Immediately he rips off his coach-runner's uniform, and with both hands swings it about like a giant tarp.

'Don't slow down!' Kathanhiel yells, whipping the reins. 'He means to catch us!'

The horses see the drop approaching but they don't stop – no bravery here, only desperation. One moment the ground is there, the next, an impenetrable abyss. The fluttering torch scatters two shadows grotesque and squirming onto the cliffs below, and I'm flying, flying. The ropes around me go taut. Don't look down!

Annnd falling. The opposite side is so close yet so far – right there! Almost within grabbing distance. Killisan is craning his neck as if that could get him closer. As forward starts to turn into downward a black cloud swoops in from the left and collects the two floundering horses and their riders like a swinging hammock. Fluttering cloth, spread over my face. Smells like rock.

A hard bump on the top of my head, putting gold stars on everything. Feels like another head. Sure enough there comes Kathanhiel's surprised grunt, and it sounds as if she's right in my ear.

Then we are set down, gently, on solid ground. For a moment Killisan's weight crushes the life out of my stomach but the animal smartly shuffles over, leaving me hanging off its flank like a puppet with half its strings cut.

I look up and Kathanhiel's face is an inch from mine. The tip of her nose is so much warmer than the tip of my nose, it's unfair.

'We're not doing that again,' she says.

As soon as I find which way is up we're running again, toward a gaping hole in the rock face. The avalanche of debris, fortunately, doesn't have a little giant helping them across the chasm, so they fall into it like the emptying of some ancient god's bowels. The tremor shakes the cavern once, twice, then fades into obscurity.

Over the next minute or so the hole in which we rode warps gradually from nature-made gap to a perfect dome, and before long it has turned into a high-ceilinged corridor with chiselled walls. Oon'Shei brings our fleeing to a halt in front of a triangular alcove. The horses' knees buckle as soon as we pull in the reins, exhausted. I slip off the saddle over Killisan's backside but hey, who's watching. Let me just lie down for a minute. Or a century.

The ground here is smooth, polished diorite. Feels nice and cool. A moment later Kathanhiel joins me, and shoves a corked flask of suppressant at my face. 'Drink,' she says, opening a flask of her own. She bangs hers against mine – 'to not being dead,' she mutters – then gulps it all down.