Page 1 of A Tale of Ice and Ash
Chapter One:
Into the Deep
There was magic in the world, once.
Magic that fell from the trees and swam in the oceans, magic that pulsated through the air and sparkled in the firelight. There were fairies and monsters and beautiful, ugly things.
Once upon a time.
But all that was now paper and ink, or buried under the earth, never to be found.
Or so her nursemaid had told her.
Remnants of magic still existed in the cold, dark world underneath the mountains of Aberthor. Eirwen could hear it hissing even now, rising up from the great stone belly rumbling beneath her. She had trod these ancient hallowed halls a hundred times by now, and yet the writhing thrill was always the same; the fear, the trepidation.
What will I see? What will I discover?
She dropped down into the hole, letting the rope fall through her fingers. Down she went, pressing through each rocky crevice, until she could go no further. Her boots touched the floor; crystal, just like the map suggested. She grinned, took out her pickaxe, and smashed against the surface. A few thrusts and it fell away. Faint, bluish light drifted through the gap.
Eirwen released a flare. A twenty foot drop? She had just enough rope left.
She descended into the hole, her eyes racing to adjust to the gloom as the flare fizzled.
She was inside a monstrous cavern. Even after all these years of exploring the ancient dwarven kingdoms, she was still struck by the sheer magnitude of them. She had lived in the shadow of the mountains her entire life, but never once had they ever made her feel so small.
This venerable place was old indeed; the sun stone –the giant crystals the dwarves used to light their homes– had faded to ice blue. The luminescent underground rivers gave off more light than the aged crystal. Some would have found the sight spooky, the great stone buildings standing so perfectly preserved beneath a dead sun, but Eirwen was transfixed. It was as beautiful as it was haunting.
She stopped to consult her map, looking for landmarks. She was not far off– the palace was straight ahead.
When her foster-father, Onyx, had first brought her down here, she’d wanted to paint it, wanted to capture some fragment of the beauty. She had since learnt two things.
One, she was a terrible painter.
Two, it was never good to stay too long in the same place.
She listened carefully, expanding her senses out as far as they would go, for a trace of anything murmuring in the dark. Cold quiet dripped into the cavern. Nothing. Good.
She rolled up her map, double checked the rest of her equipment, and proceeded up the road towards the castle. Even now, the red stone beneath her feet was smooth to the point of slick. There were a few collapsed buildings here and there, broken pillars, mounds of earth, but most of the city remained intact.
Usually, she’d begin looting, marking up places of particular interest for another journey, but not today. Something prickled in the stale, icy air, a feeling of unease, an invisible shadow. Was she being followed?
Shades don’t follow you,she insisted.If they were here, you’d know it.
That didn’t rule out another threat. Those twisted monsters weren’t the only thing to be found in the deep.
Eirwen stepped carefully, following the path, trying not to let her gaze betray her thoughts.
She reached the palace, a chiselled marvel, a paragon of architecture. Despite their short stature, the dwarves made their palaces tall, although the thickness of the squat pillars holding up the impossible ceilings always brought them down a fraction.
Most of the palace had been picked clean of easy treasures, but she was searching for something else, a hidden room off the armoury, if her map was to be believed. Locating the armoury was easy enough, but the room was another matter. She traced her fingers over the walls, searching for an entrance. The stone on the back wall was cut oddly, not interlaced like the rest of the brick work. It wasn’t the sort of thing you would notice if you weren’t looking for it, but a tapestry might have been used once to add to the illusion.
Eirwen pressed against the wall. It did not budge, but it was always best to test the easiest options first.
She examined the rest of the room, testing the furniture, the fittings, each sconce attached to the walls. Finally, one of the candleholders clicked downwards. A lever. The room trembled; the back wall turned.
Eirwen’s insides murmured. She loved this moment, when the pieces fell into place, when a new treasure was unearthed. She moved towards the new entrance, picking up an old tankard to toss into the space in case of traps.
Nothing happened. No spikes, no swinging axes, no poison darts. She didn’t expect it on an item like this, benign in nature, valuable though it was.
