Callan had to admit that the tunnel was an engineering marvel. Drilled deep into the mountain, its rounded roofs and walls were tiled with polished balsite and the road was paved with fine balsite gravel. It was wide enough for two caravans to walk through abreast and tall enough that, even with them sitting upright on their mounts, it still left a gap of a few spans above their heads. It seemed to have been constructed for a busier thoroughfare than a secret entrance or escape. He couldn’t begin to imagine how much labor it would take to build it today, even if they could figure out how to blast such large holes within the mountains’ cores.
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At regular intervals, watch towers had been built on both sides of the road, with ornately carved busts of dragons, griffins and other mythical creatures at their heads, parapets for lookouts and balistraria for defense. Constructed with blocks of white limestone, they stood in bright contrast to their dark surroundings. Inspection of one of the towers revealed a circular staircase leading up to the parapet with an empty circular pit at its center. The building had been otherwise empty. Callan wondered who had built them and the tunnel. The details in the carvings suggested intricate handiwork and it seemed highly unlikely to him that the creatures they were pursuing would go to such lengths just to build a secret passageway for themselves.
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Without the movement of the sun to guide them, it was difficult to say exactly how long they rode through the tunnel. The watchtowers were spaced apart at approximately fifty spans from each other. From the number of towers that they had passed, Callan estimated they should have crossed the center of the mountain a while ago. But there was no end in sight to the passage, and with the initial rush of adrenaline gone, the lack of sleep was starting to wear them down. More than once he spied Brine and Mareet nearly tumbling out of their saddles. He was feeling quite fatigued himself and so, when the next watch tower came by, he gave the signal to halt for rest. The last thing he wanted was one of the men falling from the phashtu and breaking their necks.
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“What if those creatures come back while we are sleeping?” Brine asked nervously, as they bundled their mounts inside the cramped chamber at its base.
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There wasn’t nearly enough room for all the animals, and at least one of the phashtu’s tails stuck out from the gate, swishing frantically.
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“It’s only for a few hours. We need the rest,” Callan replied. “Besides, we have an excellent lookout position above to keep watch.”
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He didn’t feel too good about stopping to rest either. The unending darkness was oppressive and excellent for hiding unknown assailants. They would be trapped if the creatures somehow managed to catch them by surprise.”
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“Don’t you worry. We will see the flameheads long before they see us.” Mareet patted Brine’s reassuringly. “It’s pretty difficult to hide when your head is a glowing torch.”
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“Flameheads.” Remy chuckled. “I like that.”
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Several other men, including Callan, grinned. Calling them flameheads sounded so much less ominous than demons. With a single word Mareet had turned the creatures of their nightmares into a joke. Callan couldn’t help but feel grateful that Mareet had volunteered to come along. He had no doubt he would be relying on the man’s jovial nature in the future to keep the men motivated.
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“How were they able to ambush our men then, eh?” Forgis asked sardonically.
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The mood of the party dipped again, and Callan decided he could’ve done with Forgis joining their party. Forgis seemed to be avoiding Callan’s eyes for the most, but a few times, he had noticed the old soldier give him cold stares when he thought Callan wasn’t looking.
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“I’ll take the first watch, cap’n,” Mareet volunteered, starting up the stairs.
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Callan nodded his assent.
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“I’ll come with you,” Haldan added, following him. “Won’t be able to get much sleep anyway.”
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Callan frowned but did not object. None of the others seemed to care, busy as they were unloading their blankets to settle down against the wall and the cold floor. No one bothered to unload their bedrolls. There wasn’t enough room to lay down. Besides, it would only be a hindrance if they had to make a quick escape.
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Soon, the men were asleep, their snores filling up the hollow round chamber. Callan tried to relax. But he was wound up and the wall behind his back was too cold for him to ease his weary body. After a few minutes of fidgeting around, he gave up and decided to join Haldan and Mareet. He quietly slipped away and padded his way up the stairs. When stepped on to the landing, he found Haldan and Mareet sitting on the parapet wall with their backs turned to him, their lips locked together in a passionate kiss. Callan froze, standing awkwardly in the shadow, unsure of what to do. Then he stole away quietly back downstairs before either of them noticed. This time when he settled down, he did fall asleep but not without a new concern added to his ever-increasing pile.
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It felt like only minutes had passed before he was jerked awake by Mareet.
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“Captain.” Mareet’s quiet voice was marred with fear, mirroring the look on Haldan’s face behind his shoulder. “They are coming.”
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Callan jolted up. “Wake the others,” He ordered Haldan, and then turned back to Mareet. “How far are they?”
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“I would say another 200 or 300 spans. But they are moving fast. They will be here soon.”
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“Can we make a run for it?”
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“If we leave now and run our phastus, we might be able to outrun them.”
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Of course, it was not certain they would. They didn’t know how far they still had to go or what they would find at the end of it. But sitting around was worse. The men were soon awake, and no one spoke as they quickly and quietly bundled up again, unhitched their horses and led them out of the tower. By the time they had mounted, and Callan looked behind, he could already make out the faint glow of the multitude of flames, growing larger every moment.
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“Don’t run the phastus just yet, walk them in a fast trot. We don’t want the noise to alert them too early,” Callan whispered to his companions. “Once we’ve gotten some distance between them, we will make a run for it. Blow out all the torches except one. Bernol, take the torch and the lead. The rest keep close behind.”
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They walked their phastus at a quick trot, only Bernol’s torch as their guide. When Callan could no longer see the flames behind him, he urged his mount into a gallop and his men followed. The hooves encased in metal shoes struck the gravel with a clang, the sound further amplified by rebounding in the closed surroundings. He had no doubt the creatures would’ve heard the noise by now and deduced there was someone ahead of them. But there was nothing else to do. If they were caught, they wouldn’t stand a chance against the horde of demons.
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Breath heaving and heart pounding, they raced in the darkness. Callan frequently looked back to check the distance of their pursuers, but the flames behind him remained hidden from view. Then he remembered what Forgis had said. If the creatures did have the ability to turn off their flames, they were in a lot of trouble. The tunnel, which had been mostly straight till this point, suddenly started to twist and turn and Callan groaned inwardly. Now, it didn’t matter if they could turn off their flames or not. They would not be able to see until the creatures were right on top of them anyway. All he could hope now was that they exited the tunnel soon, found a quick place to hide and allow the horde to pass.
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They kept the hard pace for another hour before their phastus started to struggle from exertion and they were forced to slow down to a gentle trot. As they rounded another bend, the tunnel suddenly opened. Momentarily blinded by the light, they galloped towards the exit with exhilaration, the phashtus not needing any urging to escape the depressing darkness of the tunnel.
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“Stop!” Bernol shouted from ahead as they crossed the tunnel's threshold.
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Next moment, Callan noticed why. He reined in his phashtu hard, skidding it to a halt feet away from the edge. The agitated animal snorted and shook its head in annoyance. Before them, the mountain hollowed out, revealing a gorge at least ten spans in width. Bernol stood peering down nervously over the remnants of an old stone bridge that jutted a few feet over the canyon to their left. On the far side, Callan spotted the other end of the broken bridge, beyond which the dark tunnel continued.
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“By Joha’s grace!” Mareet exclaimed behind him, panting with exertion. “Who thought it was a good idea to build this Beniot’s tunnel over a bloody ravine?”
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Callan’s heart lurched to his throat. There was nowhere left to go, and the horde was not far behind. He urged his phashtu steadily along the edge of the canyon and looked around frantically for another path across. The gorge was twice as deep as it was wide, carved out by a small stream that flowed at its base. The mostly flat sides of the ravine sloped steeply towards the bottom without any ledges or outcrops under which they could hide. Above them, the mountain ascended to a jagged hole in the peak where sunlight spilled through, bathing their surroundings with its warm glow. The natural landscape would’ve been breathtaking to behold if they did not have demons on their backs.
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“Look there,” Haldan shouted, pointing to Callan’s left.
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Following the direction of his finger, Callan spotted a smaller bridge one-third way down the ravine. It was narrow and not banistered but still intact. An unpaved trail twisted and turned along their side of the ravine leading up to it, and another similar trail exited the bridge on the other side climbing to the cavernous opening of the tunnel. From where they stood, they could make out the beginning of that trail to their left. It was precipitous and going would have to be slow and single file. Even a single misstep would send them hurtling down to the bottom. But it was the only way they could go.
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“Follow me,” he ordered, guiding his phashtu to the trail’s start. “Single file and slow. Be careful. Bernol, bring the rear and keep a lookout.”
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His phashtu shook its head nervously at the steep descent. Callan rubbed its maned neck gently and then eased it onto the trail. They descend the canyon slowly, carefully navigating their mounts along the steep bends and keeping a sharp lookout for pebbles and stones that might cause the phashtus to slip. Halfway down the trail, they came across a large boulder blocking the path. There was no way to navigate their steeds around it, so they had to climb down to dislodge the rock from its perch. It took some hard pushing from Callan and two others to get the boulder rolling down the slope while the rest stood around nervously watching, ears perked up for any sound of their pursuers. The rock crashed to the bottom with a crack that resounded along the quiet desolate valley, jarring their already frayed nerves. By the time they started their descent again, they had already lost several precious minutes, and Callan's anxiety had grown to a blood pounding in his ears.
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They were almost to the narrow bridge when they heard the sound, they had been fearing all day. A loud screech pierced the air, echoing through the hollow of the mountain, turning their blood cold and their limbs numb with fear. It was followed by more screeches and soon the ravine was filled with a nettling cacophony. Callan looked up. From where he was, he had a clear view of the entrance of the tunnel they had exited not too long ago. From the dark cavernous mouth, hundreds of demons poured out, gathering around the broken bridge. Their leader, the tall red, stood at the head of the bridge scanning the ravine and its eyes met Callan’s. It gave him a wide grin, pointed in their direction, and screeched again and the chase was on.
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Not waiting for the demons, they urged their phashtus down the steep slope, discarding the chance of slipping to the fear of certain death above them. But the demons were rasher. Instead of following Callan and his company down the steep path, hundreds of flame-haired creatures descended directly down the ravine’s slopes. Crouching on their hands and legs like mangled feral mozis, they screeched their blood-curdling cries as they bound and leapt across rocks and boulders in pursuit of their prey. Hearts in their throats, Callan and his men pushed their phashtus faster towards the smaller bridge and reached it just as the entire mountainside swarmed with the foul creatures behind their backs.
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Except, they realized they could go no further, at least not on their steeds. The bridge was a single stone-block wide arch that stretched across the gap. It was too narrow for the phashtus to cross.
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“We’ll have to leave them behind,” Callan shouted over the din of the demons as he jumped from his saddle.
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“But we’ll never outrun the flameheads without them,” Haldan yelled back.
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“We don’t have a choice. The phashtus won’t go over that and we are out of time. Now, come on.”
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Callan grabbed Brine and pushed him towards the bridge. The animals neighed nervously, and guilt sprouted in Callan’s heart at what he was about to subject the poor creatures to. He suppressed it. There would be plenty of time for him to reproach himself if they managed to get out of here alive.
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Brine started crossing the bridge, stepping one foot in front of another as quickly as he could. Forgis followed him.
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“Captain?” Remy asked as he stepped onto the stone arc.
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“Go. I will be right behind you,” Callan shouted and shoved him forward. Mareet and Haldan followed him. Callan turned towards Bernol but the captain’s guard caught his hand. He had his sword unsheathed.
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“Bernol,” Callan yelled, his heart ready to burst with exasperation. “What are you doing? We have to go now.”
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“Go on, Captain,” Bernol gave him a feral grin. “I will buy you sometime.”
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“What? No. I am not leaving you here.”
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The demons continued to stream down the mountainside, screeching and howling as they came closer towards the bridge.
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“Captain. You must go. Now.” Bernol pushed him towards the bridge. “You have to see this to the end. You have to save everyone. Now go.”
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The first demon reached them, leaping from the edge of the trail and directly over their heads. Bernol swiped his sword upward, slashing the creature across its stomach. Red blood splattered over their faces, as the creature dropped over the edge of the bridge in a howl.
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“Captain. Go.” Bernol shouted once more and turned around to face the next attack.
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With his heart tearing, Callan turned his face away from the soldier and raced across the bridge, as the screams of the battle filled the air behind him. As he approached the other end of the bridge, his foot caught in a large crack in the stone block. He stumbled, balanced precariously over the edge, and would have gone over if Mareet didn’t catch his arms and pulled him over to the other side.
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“Bernol?” Mareet asked.
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Callan shook his head and looked towards the other side of the bridge. Bernol stood at the head of it, a lone white soldier with his sword held proudly in front of him and surrounded by demons. In that moment, as the sunlight hit the bronze emblazoned sunburst of his billowing cloak, it hit Callan that he had never seen a more valiant and despairing view in his life.
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“Break the bridge,” he shouted, standing up and unsheathing his own sword.
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“What?” Mareet looked at him in wide-eyed confusion.
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“There is a large crack in that stone.” He pointed to the stone block where his foot had caught earlier. “It goes all the way. Use your swords and break it.”
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“But Bernol?”
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“He is not coming,” Callan started hacking away at the crack with all his strength. His men stood around him uncertainly for a moment and then pitched in. Clangs of metal swords against stone rang through the air. On the other hand, the other side of the bridge had gone completely silent. Callan dared not raise his eyes to see what was happening in case he lost his nerve.
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Bernol, I am sorry! His mind screamed and he put all that hurt into striking the stone instead.
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The stone cracked and then crumbled. The rest of the bridge went with it. Blocks of stones dislodged from the arc in succession, crashing down into the valley below. All except one remained attached to the other end of the canyon, where Bernol still stood with his sword raised in defiance. He turned and looked at them. His eyes bulged with fear even as a mad smile stretched across his lips. Then, the demons were upon him, ripping his cloak, wrenching the sword out of his hands and pushing him down to his knees.
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The horde of demons in front of the kneeling soldier parted and their leader stepped out. Callan and the rest of his men watched in petrified horror as the red demon approached Bernol. It looked down at him with insectile disdain, grasped his pale throat in its black claws and raised his flailing body into the air. Quick as lightning, its other claw swiped across his throat and Bernol’s head sagged limply from his neck. The demon then turned and looked at them with a menacing grin and ripped the rest of Bernol’s clothes off and tossed his dead naked body into the ravine.
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Callan spied Brine sag behind him. His own mind screamed at him to run. But he stood his ground and stared directly into the red demon’s eyes.
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Bernol’s death will not be in vain. I swear on Joha’s name, I will kill you, you red bastard!
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As if reading Callan’s thoughts, the demon laughed. Then it raised its hand and signaled his horde forward. The demons started streaming down the ravine past the broken bridge. It would take them longer now to get to the bottom and climb back up, but not enough that Callan and his men had any time to waste. Callan clenched his fists and turned away.
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“Run!”
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They ran up the steep trail, the howls and screeches of the monsters below egging them on. When they were more than half up the slope, they abandoned the narrow path for scrapping and scrambling up the side of the canyon. Hands bruised and knees scraped, they just managed to crawl up to the entrance to the tunnel when they heard the sounds starting to climb up towards them. Without looking back, they plunged into the darkness again and kept running.
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Callan did not know how long they ran but the sounds of the creatures never seized behind them. His lungs and heart ached, and his legs felt numb and wobbly from the strain. The other men were not faring any better and he knew they would have to soon stop to catch their breaths. But the terror of being caught kept them going. As if in answer to his prayers, he spotted the familiar cylindrical structure of a watch tower emerging from the darkness in front of them. Without thinking, he led his men towards it, breathless and staggering on their feet. It was as good a hiding place as any in that cursed tunnel. At best, the creatures will pass them without bothering to look inside. At worst, the tower will become their final stand and grave. But Callan was determined not to die on his knees like Bernol.
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They scrambled inside one by one without a word, Callan following them in at the very end. He collapsed almost immediately to the floor, panting for breath. If he hadn’t been so disoriented from fatigue, he would have noticed the tower was not as dark as it should’ve been. Nor it dawned on him to question how he was able to notice it in the darkness of the tunnel. As such, he didn’t notice the demon until it was standing right on top of him. It had emerald burning hair and eyes and a bright dazzling white smile. Callan didn’t even have enough strength left to feel frightened as the creature scouted down to his level and seized his shoulders.
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“Callan Alexis Pelegrin, prince of Faldor,” it said in a raspy voice. “Welcome to Maelagiri!”
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All Callan could think of at that moment was that Bernol’s sacrifice had been for nothing.
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---
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He must have passed out because when he came to, Callan was bound and gagged and slung over something that was moving at a brisk pace. His body ached and his head throbbed. The smell was atrocious and the way the ground swayed up and down below nauseated him. That is until, he strained his neck up and found himself looking into the grinning face of a blue flamed demon. He nearly passed out again from the shock. The demon that was carrying him must have felt him struggling because it smacked his buttocks hard, making him yelp and no doubt leaving welts down his cheeks.
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Callan closed his eyes, tried to relax his body, and focus on his breathing. He imagined a small thin ring of light in the darkness inside his mind just as Rothan, his swordmaster, had taught him and fed it all his pain, fear, and anxiety. The band of light expanded slowly enveloping his mind in a soft warm glow while its center shrunk and hardened into a pitch-black sphere, fed by all his negative feelings. Callan felt his muscles unstrain and the throb in his head ebb away leaving a calm and alert presence behind.
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First, he was still alive, not dead in a ditch like Bernol. So, there was still some hope. Now, to find the others. After a couple of long breaths, he opened his eyes again and titled his head to survey his surroundings. They were no longer in the tunnel but were travelling down a mountain road. He couldn’t see the sun, but from the bright surroundings, it looked like mid-morning. That meant they had been inside the tunnel for more than a day. From the distance to the ground, he was draped over someone very tall and the grip around his torso was incredibly strong as well. In his current weakened state, he did not have any hope of struggling his way out of the creature’s grasp. A further creak to his neck revealed long columns of demons marching behind him, not paying him much attention. Several demons carried white tied bundles slung over their shoulders and Callan hoped the men were still alive and he was not looking at their corpses. Now, there was nothing to do but wait for a chance to escape.
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As they turned a bend in the road, a green valley opened to his left. Eren gasped. From the canopy of the forest, peeked out the skyline of a majestic white city, its roofs and lofty towers dazzling in the sunlight. Maelagiri. That’s what the green demon had called it. He couldn’t recall if he had ever heard that name before. In fact, he couldn’t recall every hearing about a city hidden within the mountains of Noigiri.
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Did the people who built the tunnel also built this city? It seemed likely given the similarity between the architecture here and that of the watchtowers in the tunnel. How old was it and how did demons come to occupy it? According to the scriptures, Ashin were the first to build a civilization on this land. Before the arrival of Ashin, the land had been home to the Hanu, a savage race of humans who lived in tribes, constantly warring and plundering each other’s homes and women. Some in the southern peninsula believed that long before the Hanu, Airaat had been the abode of a race of supernatural beings called the Paadhi and their mortal enemies the demons. Eventually, the Paadhi were vanquished by the demons, who took over their lands and bred the first Hanu as fodder and slaves. Callan had not believed in such tall tales, preferring the more rational explanation of the newil Johastian scriptures instead. But the existence of demons proved that the scriptures were incorrect and now he did not know what to believe.
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He was jolted out of his thoughts when the column of marching demons suddenly halted. Someone stepped in front of him, grabbed his hair roughly in its fist and craned his neck so that Callan’s eyes met its face. It was the green demon and it smiled at Callan's discomfort.
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“Did you enjoy the journey, Prince Callan?” It asked in its raspy voice. “I hope the ride was not too rough. Unfortunately, we cannot have you awake for the next leg of our journey.”
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Callan struggled in terror as the demon reached out towards his throat with his dark claws. His captor tightened its grip around Callan’s torso painfully, winding him. The green demon clutched his exposed throat and pinched, and Callan's vision darkened instantly.
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