Page 55 of The Coven of Ruin
Beasts?
“Follow me, Warren of the Moon.”
Following behind, they were stared down by the other three guards around the entrance until they were inside the cliff walls. If she had found the outside eerie, that feeling only intensified when they entered.
The prison had been carved into the cliffside, the shiny black stone making the walls and floor seem like a mirror filled with ink. Several torches were lit, but the light danced off the rock, magnified in parts, and completely swallowed in others. At the entryway, several guards milled about, and she could just make out tunnel-like hallways shooting off in either direction.
Ares had his arm around her, his hand resting on the small of her back as he led them after the guard. She found she was grateful for the sturdy touch.
“Give me a light and a nice chunk of that, won’t you?” their guard asked of another, who grunted and felt around for something behind a large desk. He exchanged Grae’s weapons for the two items that Trista couldn’t quite make out.
“What’s this lot doing here?” The second guard gestured to them with his chin.
“Uncle Braxton owes them a family heirloom, it seems.”
They both snickered.
The guard led them deeper into the prison. She understood why they called it the pit. It sloped and twisted down. Trista couldn’t get the imagery of passing through the belly of a beast out of her mind. The air thinned, and as they moved deeper still, a cloying rotting smell rose from somewhere beneath. In the glistening folds of shadow, she could just make out openings. At first, there were guards stationed at each one, but the deeper they went, the fewer guards there were.
When the mage finally halted them, he pulled out a set of keys, unlocking and opening a small iron door. Ares dipped in first after the guard and offered her a hand, murmuring, ‘watch your step, wife’ as she took it.
They were in a slanted dark chamber with a single burning torch at its center. It gave Trista the feeling of constantly sliding forward. The floor, fortified with stone and steel, held three grates at the lowest point. As they gathered around the middle one, she tried seeing into the depths below, but it was the darkest of black, reminding her of the cells at The Arena.
“You have ten minutes to get it out of him,” the guard said in his nasally monotone.
Grumbling to himself, he snapped one of the items he had been holding in his hand. The crackling tube began to fill with a bright light which he promptly tossed down into the grate. They leaned to watch it travel to the depths below. As it landed, pale white creatures screeched and skittered out of its path, retreating into the shadows.
“Like spirepedes,” the guard chuckled. “Oh.” He stopped mid-step. “And this should help you get your answer.” He handed Ares something slick.
“Thank you for your assistance,” Ares said, nodding cordially.
“Right, be back in ten then.” The guard walked away, whistling a cheery tune as he opened the door and locked them inside. His whistle was quickly swallowed by the outer depths.
Dread filled her as several realizations dawned on her all at once. Those pale creatures were the prisoners and the thing that Ares now held in his hand was a slab of raw meat. Without realizing it, she had been digging her nails into the god’s arm. She snatched her hand away, mumbling an apology.
Ares paid her no mind as he kneeled at the grate after looking around to ensure no guards were in hearing distance. “Braxton?” he called, his voice reverberating in the strange pit. There was only coughing and rustling below.
Trista dared to peer into the cell again. Bone and cloth covered the black flint of the stone completely. The color drained from her face.
“Khaos Chosen,” he tried. “Braxton Bena.”
The name caught her like a punch to the gut. Harlow had mentioned visiting a Seer Bena, a friend of hers, while she was in Spellspire. Could that be who was held prisoner in this very pit? The question was almost out of her mouth when a voice rose from underneath, weak with disuse.
“My given name,” it said weakly, “I had forgotten it.”
“Braxton?” Ares asked again for confirmation.
“Yes, that was my name,” the voice said, a little less faint.
“I have a question for you.” Silence. “Are you there?”
“I do believe I am,” the reply came.
“Will you answer some questions for me?”
“Will you say my name again if I do?”
Ares looked up at Grae, his expression unreadable. “Yes, I will,” he finally answered. “What can you tell me about the weapons that were stolen? The Godkillers.”
