The Bonehunters

Another lie. No. Simple, brutal self-interest, the weakness of my selfish needs.



Whilst Icarium called him friend. Victim of a terrible curse, yet he remained, trusting, honourable, filled with the pleasure of living.



And here I am, happily leading him astray, again and again. Oh, the word for it was indeed shame.



He found himself standing before his pack. How long he had stood there, unseeing, unmoving, he did not know. Ah, now that is just, that I begin to lose myself. Sighing, he picked it up and slung it over a shoulder. Pray we cross no-one's path. No threat. No risk. Pray we never find a way out of the chasm. But to whom was he praying? Mappo smiled as he made his way back. He believed in nothing, and would not presume the conceit of etching a face on oblivion. Thus, empty prayers, uttered by an empty man.



'Are you all right, my friend?' Icarium asked as he arrived.



'Lead on,' Mappo said. 'I must secure my pack first.'



A flash of something like concern in the Jhag's expression, then he nodded and walked over to where the chute debouched, slipped over the edge, and vanished from sight.



Mappo tugged a small belt-pouch free and loosened the drawstrings. He pulled another pouch from the first one and unfolded it, revealing that it was larger than the one it had been stored in. From this second pouch he withdrew another, again larger once unfolded. Mappo then, with some effort, pushed the shoulder pack into this last one.



Tightened the strings. He stuffed that pouch into the next smaller and followed by forcing that one into the small belt-pouch, which he tied at his waist. Inconvenient, though temporary. He would have no quick access to his weapons should some calamity arise, at least for the duration of the descent. Not that he could fight clinging like a drunk goat to the cliff-side in any case.



He made his way to the chute and looked over the edge. Icarium was making swift progress, already fifteen or more man-heights down.



What would they find down there? Rocks. Or something that should have remained buried for all time.



Mappo began his descent.



Before long, the passage of the sun swept all light from the crevasse.



They continued in deep gloom, the air cool and stale. There was no sound, barring the occasional scrape of Icarium's scabbard against stone from somewhere below, the only indication that the Jhag still lived, that he had not fallen, for, had he lost his grip and plummeted, Mappo knew that he would make no outcry.



The Trell's arms were getting tired, the calves of his legs aching, his fingers growing numb, but he maintained his steady pace, feeling strangely relentless, as if this was a descent with no end and he was eager to prove it, the only possible proof being to continue on. For ever. There was something telling in that desire, but he was not prepared to be mindful of it.



The air grew colder. Mappo watched the plumes of his breath frosting the stone face opposite him, sparkling in some faint, sourceless illumination. He could smell old ice, somewhere below, and a whisper of unease quickened his breathing.



A hand on the heel of his left, down-reaching foot startled him.



'We are here,' Icarium murmured.



'Abyss take us,' Mappo gasped, pushing away from the wall and landing with sagging legs on a slick, slanted floor. He flung his arms out to regain balance, then straightened. 'Are you certain? Perhaps this slope is but a ledge, and should we lose our footing-'



'We will get wet. Come, there is a lake of some sort.'



'Ah, I see it. It… glows…'



They edged down until the motionless sweep of water was before them. A vague, greenish-blue illumination, coming from below, revealed the lake's depth. They could see to the bottom, perhaps ten man-heights down, rough and studded with rotted tree stumps or broken stalagmites, pale green and limned in white.



'We descended a third of a league for this?' Mappo asked, his voice echoing, then he laughed.



'Look further in,' Icarium directed, and the Trell heard excitement in his companion's tone.



The stumps marched outward four or five paces, then stopped. Beyond, details indistinct, squatted a massive, blockish shape. Vague patterns marked its visible sides, and its top. Odd, angular projections reached out from the far side, like spider's legs. The breath hissed from Mappo. 'Does it live?' he asked.



'A mechanism of some sort,' Icarium said. 'The metal is very nearly white, do you see? No corrosion. It looks as if it had been built yesterday… but I believe, my friend, that it is ancient.'



Mappo hesitated, then asked, 'Is it one of yours?'



Icarium glanced at him, eyes bright. 'No. And that is the wonder of it.'