Herald Of Shadows

Chapter Two: In The Walls

Dust lingered in the air within the tunnels. Anril sneezed, covering his mouth to muffle the sound. It echoed dully against the stone around him. He wiped tears from stinging eyes, blinking to clear them. Taking a steadying breath he swallowed back a dry mouthful of unpleasant metallic flavor.

His mark ate the magic out from inside him on the other side of the wall. He let it, kneeling in the pitch black. His eyes strained till they hurt trying to see. Dirt caught under his nails as he passed his hands over the floor. The tips of his fingers struck against the lip of an uneven stone.

Anril yelped, snapping his teeth shut. The sound bounced back around him and died. "Ouch..." The urge to suck the ends of his throbbing fingers almost out over how filthy they likely were. Slowly he lowered them to the floor again. "Where are you..." Something softer bumped into them and rolled away. Anril reached forwards, snatching at it in the dark. Soft wax bent slightly in his grip. He loosened it.

Reaching into his pouch again, Anril dug out a small metal box. Working the clasp that kept it shut took long moments in the dark. It groaned faintly as he pried the tight fitting lid up on its hinges. Setting it down, he pulled out one of the sticks inside. The box clicked as he pressed it shut again. Anril set the striker's tip to the floor, jerking it roughly to the side once. Twice.

Light bloomed out into the darkness. It guttered, bouncing up and down. The small stack of candles he kept came into sight a few feet away from where he'd found the other.

"I should have just used a striker to find them," he whispered. "One above, I am an idiot."

He shook his head, picking the candle up from where it lay by his foot. More light grew in the dim space as the wick took. Anril shook the striker, the tips of his fingers growing uncomfortably warm, then hot. The fire danced and vanished from the end of the short stick. Dropping it, he stood.

The icy cold on the inside of his skin ebbed away, guttering alongside the candle's flame. The magic had almost spent itself. It was wasteful, letting it use itself instead of severing his hold on the mark and keeping it for the next. Anril couldn't bring himself to care.

He began to walk back down the familiar tunnels. The edges of his robe snagged along the uneven stonework beneath his feet. Yet more dust and filth clung to the hem.

Lifting the candle higher, Anril took a left at the first fork. Light bounced from the pitiless stone walls, glittering against damp cobwebs along the ceiling. He moved faster. Small shapes skittered along the edges of the candlelight. A rat's shrill squeak echoed in the quiet, followed by a tumbling sound and more angry noises. Anril ignored them.

The magic flickered inside him. Warmth rushed through him. Anril breathed out softly, almost relieved. One more time when nothing had gone wrong as it could have.

The walkway between the castle walls grew cramped. Anril had to turn sideways and squeeze through a particularly small part. The walls there were rubbed clean from repeated passage. He took another fork, then turned right down a hall. The walls slowly receded again and it grew if not spacious, less cramped.

By the time he made it to the wall with a large white X marked over it in chalk, his stomach had finally stilled in it's turning and his hands had almost grown steady.

Anril knelt, tipping his candle to the side. Wax dripped down from the pool inside it down onto an old puddle of it on the floor. A candle graveyard. He pressed the base of his candle down into the softened wax and straightened.

His fingers brushed over the mark on the wall. Anril shut his eyes. His room lay on the other side. He'd still barely worked out what he'd do when he got there though. How fast would his father act? He didn't even know that much.