Chapter 3: Tying her up

Many times before I had complained to my masters that I would never ever need to climb down a rope in my life, in particular not while carrying someone else, should why should I have to learn it? Their answer had been that I either climb down, or be thrown down. Thank you, I will say to them now.

As I slowly lowered us down into the dark, damp hole, my arms were in strong disagreement with the rest of my body. My back enjoyed the feel of her breasts and cheek against them, and my chest that of her arms as they encircled me. My arms, on the other hand, protested. The pain!, they said. Make the pain stop!

Finally, after what seemed like an hour or so, my heels hit slated floor. With a final, wonderful wriggle Quaila slid against me off my back, making my hairs stand on end. Then there was a sound of a yelp, and the torch fell out of her hand only to be extinguished.

"Where are you?" I tried scrambling for her and found a naked foot. "Where's the torch? Maybe I can-"

"I don't know where-"

"We need it to-"

"Oh! I think it's he-"

"Careful so you don't burn yourse-"

"Ouch!"

"I tried to warn you."

"This is enough!" she shouted in the darkness, and added some words I will not repeat here. Then she drew in a huge breath: "I am the Soul of the Sword of the Black Flame! I have brought the Master! In the name of Ulir the Mighty, of the Silver Dragon Wanor, and the Shield of Good itself, I beseech you, Warden of Keep Eigon, to light our way!"

Lights flared up from a hundred silver points on the walls around us. Impressed I stared around me. Here was a great hall of the Legion, now in ruins. The high-backed, yet simple wooden Chair of the Grand Master stood empty on the dais right next to us. Ragged, dusty tapestries still covered the walls, and broken stones and other kinds of rubble littered the floor. Everything shone eerily in this silvery half-light. The entire Silver Dome was still intact, it had only been lowered into the ground.

Next to where I stood sat Quaila, spitting dust. I was astonished. She had actually performed a sacred ritual and gotten a response. The master of Faith back home had performed hundreds of rituals during my page-hood, one duller than the next, but none of them had any noticable effect except the frequently successful sleeping spell.

"W-What happened to your head?" I asked Quaila.

"What about it?" She grumbled, trying to get back on her feet.

"You have hair there." I gave her a hand up.

"It's just soot," she scoffed.

"No, it's a thick, thick layer of short hair. It's almost like a three day beard."

"What!? I am not a man, I do not have a beard."

"No, I didn't mean that. I mean your head is covered with-"

"Yeah, sure. If not a beard, then maybe mold?"

I hesitated. "You don't want to talk about it, then?"

"Good! You are cleverer than what that pretty face indicates."

"Is that an insult or a compliment?"

"Is that a small river down there?," she distracted me, pointing somewhere behind me.

I looked around. Yes, there was indeed a fast-flowing river washing across the lower end of the hall. I had heard the rushing noise at the back of my mind, but not payed any attention to it. From here it looked like a there was a lot of strength in those waters. Strange. I had to remind myself that we were deep below the ground now.

"I guess we have to cross it to get to this Sword of yours?"

"Weapons are usually kept in the armory." She kept a firm grip on my arm as we walked slowly towards the river. It came out of a hole in the wall on the left, and flowed through the hall entrance to some unknown destination. Out of there, to the left down the corridor, a door on the right, and there would be the armory. All Keeps were built after the exact same plan, and this one was no exception despite the weird lighting and the years of disuse.

"Looks slippery," I murmured and pointed to the green-covered floor beneath the water. Of course we had to wade into this.

"Probably just sand," she shrugged.

"I was wrong," she mused when I lay on my back in the water a few moments later, struggling not to get caught by the swift current and washed away. "Are you all right?"

"I will have to be more careful," I muttered.

"We will have to be more careful, you mean."

"You can't cross here, and I can't carry you." I tried to beat the water out of my soaking clothes.