Page 60 of The Eye of the Fifth
Gedeon landed hard on rough chiselled stone, his weakened knees buckling from the impact of the fall.
Their combined fast breath was all that filled the silence, and for a moment, neither moved. Then Amala slowly peeled herself away from his taut grip and whispered, ‘Thank you.’
Gedeon peered up at the ladder, at the trapdoor now shrouded in darkness above, hoping that whatever magic had sealed it shut would not reveal the secrets beneath it, should the sentries realise what it was.
‘Don’t thank me yet,’ Gedeon said gruffly, picking up the still flaming torch from the ground. ‘Stay close.’
The light cast from the torch revealed another staircase, wider than the other, that spiralled steeply down for what seemed an eternity. Damp clung to the walls, and the air became denser as they ventured deeper and deeper underground.
Light blazed in the distance, and the nosing of the staircase came into view. The ground flattened into a narrow corridor with a lengthy line of steel doors on either side, each with a different numbersoldered into the metal. Candle-lit bone chandeliers hung down the centre of the domed ceiling above, alighting the path ahead.
Some sort of forgotten prison, Gedeon was sure, and yet the sounds that accompanied its appearance were not prison-like at all.
Laughter.
From wide open doors at the end of the corridor, was the unmistakable ring of raw laughter.
Gedeon glanced down at Amala. She was staring at that door too, with tears pooling in her dark eyes, and he knew it was not with fear that her eyes welled, but with hope at the promise of what might lie ahead.
Even so, he remained by her side, stepping with caution as they drew closer. The laughter became louder, the buzz of countless conversations rippling in and out of his ears, and as they reached the arched entrance, revelling at the scene before them, Gedeon could not help his jaw from dropping with astonishment.
A rotunda, cavernous but warm and bright from the abundance of chandeliers dripping from the beams above, stood before him. An underground tavern of sorts, full of an array of people of different sizes, races, genders and ages, with rows of wooden tables and chairs and a canteen on the left hand side with steaming hearty stews, and fluffy, freshly baked bread.
Every single person in the room fell quiet as they stared at the newcomers, food in their bowls forgotten, conversation topics forgotten, everything forgotten but the two most unlikely companions to enter their haven, sodden, worn and beaten.
The Prince of Fire and the fledgling.
Chapter Seventeen
Pramah
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Phaenon City, Nythanor.
Naal.
Captain Damar was smiling as Naal and Kyra departed theThileneonto the icy shores of her homeland.It was the first smile Naal had seen him wear since meeting him, but she took no offence to his apparent joy to be rid of them; Lorish raiders were renowned for their reluctance to trust outsiders, let alone transport them from one continent to another. It was the furtive nature of their enterprise.
Damar’s smile had begun before the ten gold coins had even hit his pockets.
The snow sparkled with the brilliance of a million polished crystallites, and Naal breathed a sigh of relief as her booted feet touched the whiteland, the crisp air a welcome delight on her exposed cheeks. This side of the Valcier Gap was not as busy a port as Avaldale’s. Most of the boats that bobbed on the shore of the Frozen Tides belonged to fishermen hunting for salmon, and on occasion, the wonderfully satiating blubber of a tidal whale, to fill the bellies of their families back in Phaenon.
Kyra was staring up at the colossal mountain, no doubt marking the steep gradient and severe lack of green. Her eyes were squinted, either from dubiousness or brightness: Naal could not tell which. Her brown cheeks were already rosy from the cold, and even with the thick cloak wrapped around her, she was shivering.
‘Here,’ said Naal, reaching into her leather knapsack and pulling out a thin, crumpled ball of material. ‘Put this underneath your cloak. Mothsilk is the greatest repellent of the cold. Your own cloak will block the wetness of any falling snow. This one will keep you warm.’
Kyra took it and donned it gratefully. ‘I used to think Vrethian was cold in the winter. But this is something else.’
‘Start getting used to it now,’ Naal gently warned. ‘The Floating Mountains are a great deal colder.’
‘Oh, good,’ Kyra muttered.
‘Would you be opposed to flying?’
Kyra blinked then nodded to the mountain. ‘All the way up there?’
‘No, no.’ Naal chuckled. ‘I would not subject you to that. Just to the base of the mountain? It is not far, I promise.’
