When Lyssia came to, her mind was flooded with sensations.
She felt her joints aching, her eyes felt as if someone had poured sand into them, and she felt cold. But for some reason she was alive.
She was naked, the only part of her body not exposed to the air was her wrists that were covered by a pair of manacles. Shifting just slightly, she feels them strain against her. There’s the jingle of bronze as they are moved, then silence.
She opens her eyes. She’s seated in a familiar room; one carved out of gray stone, floor covered in a large mat and the walls overhung with tapestries. On the far end, a heatless enchanted fire cast an ominous light over a comfortable armchair.
She knew exactly where she was, and exactly who the withered crone in the armchair was.
“Mother.” Lyssia felt her voice crack as if she hadn’t drank water in a couple of days. But considering that she was knocked out in Freidrich’s house, and the temple was a respectable distance away, that wasn’t unlikely.
The crone gave her a cold, mirthless smile. “Welcome home, daughter. Though since you betrayed our temple, I do believe you are no longer worthy of the title. Your former sisters were devastated over your betrayal. Especially the one you left with a shattered knee in the middle of the savage lands.”
“So. Why am I here, naked but alive?”
The crone chuckled. “You are naked because we trained you. We are more than aware how skilled you are in squirreling away lockpicks, weapons, poisoned needles… removing the clothes was simply more effective. And as to why you’re alive, it isn’t by my choice. It’s because of what you have in your womb.”
“So you-”
“Know? Of course, dear. I’ve had the scryers on you since your betrayal was a fact. So I know about your pregnancy. And I wouldn’t send any of my daughters to kill a pregnant woman, no matter how filthy a traitor they are. Nor would I be willing to subject myself to Freya’s curse.”
“So why are we talking, instead of me being in a cold cell?”
“Oh, dearie. We’ll get to that part soon, don’t be so eager!” all of the fraudulent pleasantry drains from the crone’s face. “We’re talking because I want to look you in the eyes as I tell you this: Until you give birth you’ll be rotting away in a small, barren cell. Then I am going to rip your baby from your arms. Slit your throat, and sell the child to the highest bidder.”
Lyssia strained against her bonds, her jaws clenched as she spat out her response. “I’ll kill you before that happens. I’ll KILL YOU.”
“Good luck with that, dearie.” The smile returned to the crone’s lips, this time, far less false. “Daughters, take the traitor to her room.”
Scratches. Unnatural grooves. It wasn’t much to go on, but beggars can’t be choosers. Freidrich stood up. “This one. I think.”
He pointed down the left cave passage. It looked to be an underground road, of sorts. There were holders for torches on an even interval, but the holders were empty and the road looked long-abandoned. There were scratches there as if something had been dragged along. Hopefully, that something was Lyssia.
“You sure, lieutenant?”
“As sure as I can be. No dirt down here. No greenery either. Can’t tell how old the tracks are.”
“…Alright..” Garen sighed, and scratched a big, noticable X on the left side of the tunnel they came from. There had already been several splits in the road, and Freidrich was praying they were going in the right direction.
“Emmet, the torch.”
The youngest member in the platoon handed the torch over to Freidrich.
Freidrich took point, his longsword drawn and resting on his shoulder, and the torch raised above his head.
The old road was a magnificent construction. A marvel of stonework, seemingly carved from the natural caverns that wormed through the stone. But who built it? And why was it abandoned?
Those were questions for another time, he concluded as they pressed onwards.
It was impossible to tell how long they had been walking down this endless, uniform road, but it felt like hours as they marched onwards. Still, no further signs of recent passage, nor did the conditions change.
The road was filled with oppressive darkness, something their lone active torch did little to banish.
“Sir!”
Freidrich stopped, and Garen who had been walking second barely avoids crashing into his back. “What is it, Barend?”
“Dieter is gone, sir!“ The man sounded slightly panicked.
“What do you mean gone?”
“He was just behind me, but he’s gone!”
“Dammit, Emmet. Light a second torch. Two groups. Ammet, Garen, you’re with me. Emmet, you’re with Barend. Keep your partners close. We have no idea what’s out there. We’re going back for him.”
Turning around the squad and walking back the way they came, it didn’t take long for them to find where Dieter’s shield was laid resting towards the side of the underground road, as well as wet stains on the wall and floor, but no further signs of the man.
“Looks like he stopped for a piss. Dieter! Dieter, where are you, man?!”
Looking around, it seemed as if Dieter had vanished into thin air, pack and equipment all.
“Look around! He can’t have gone far without light.”
“Sir…” Emmet’s voice was a quiet whisper.
“What is-”
Turning to look at Emmet, he saw the young man was pale as if he had seen a ghost, torch held far above his head, and his gaze directed straight upwards. Following the man’s gaze, he saw what had the man so spooked.
It didn’t seem that Dieter had gone far at all.
No. As he gazed up, he could just barely make out movement in the space above where the torchlight reached. The movement of something human-sized spinning.
But that wasn’t the worst of it. He saw countless beads of reflective blackness, as if there were opals gleaming in the ceiling, in groups of eight.
“Emmet! Crossbow! NOW!”
There was a clank as the second torch fell to the ground, and the man pulled the crossbow from its’ resting place on his back.
It seemed the sound had not gone unnoticed, and a fiendish skittering that crawled upon Freidrich’s very soul was heard as a blur of motion exploded above them.
“TO ARMS!”
The sound of metal being drawn surrounded him as the young man’s crossbow thwanged. There was a bestial screech as it struck true, straight in one of the cluster of eyes.
Freidrich dropped the second torch to the ground, grasping the hilt of his long sword with both hands. A spider, far larger than any of those creatures had any right to be fell from the ceiling, bolt stinging out of its’ face. The damn thing was the size of a horse!
“For Leto!” he found himself bellowing as a warcry, Charging another beast as it sank towards the ground suspended on infernal silken threads.
The sword swung true, and he heard a unholy squelch as ichor splashed over him. The thing screeched, a sound that made him sick to the bottom of his stomach, and all around him he heard his comrades engaging the beasts. Two more came where one had fallen. The roof was full of them.
They were everywhere.
“Fight, men! There is no retreat! Slay them all!”
He swung. He felt it hit true, more ichor. He felt himself impacted by tremendous weight as another beast fell upon him, pinning him to the ground. There was the scratching of chitin on metal as the thing’s stinger slid across the back of his plate. Dragging himself around to face it, he feels it as it strikes him again and again, failing to find purchase.
At such close range, he can impossibly use his longsword, thus instead he draws the short dagger hilted at his belt. He stuck it up, and he heard the spider screech, but it would not die. He struck again and again, drawing a cascade of foul ichor with each strike.
The spider became more and more desperate with each strike, frenetically sticking at him again and again.
Freidrich prayed it would fail.
Again and again he struck, and then the beast crumpled.
Onto him.
It weighed as much as it looked to, and Freidrich struggled to be free of the weight.
It shifted! Slowly, he broke himself free, pushing the beast aside. Getting up, panting, he looked around. Emmet’s torch had gone out in a puddle of ichor, but he could see dimly in the light of his own torch, still struggling to grant them light from the ground.
Around him were dozens of crumpled spider corpses, but he could no longer see Emmet or Garen. They were being overrun. Still the spiders came, and he was becoming tired.
Freidrich picked up his blade. He would not die like this. He would avenge his beloved. He felt a fire at the pit of his stomach.
He would kill them all. Every spider in this accursed cave would feel his wrath.
With a wordless roar, he leapt back into the battle, cutting and cleaving like a man possessed.
These beasts didn’t pose a challenge to him, save from the mass of their bodies as they fell.
Death surrounded him. Dead spiders fell all around. Soon, he found his lost comrades. Emmet was stuck beneath a fallen spider, and Freidrich pushed it aside with a mighty kick.
The beast slid across the slick floor, freeing the young crossbowman.
He then found Garen in the process of being wrapped into a cocoon of spider silk. He cut the spider down, and with his return slash he cut Garen free from his bondage.
He cut, and he cut, and he cut.
Standing, panting, leaning towards the side of the passage, he looked around at his handiwork as the last of the spiders fled for their lives.
He gave up counting the corpses at around twenty.
He could hear the clanking of metal onto stone as his hand dropped the longsword. He couldn’t feel his fingers. Hell. He couldn’t feel the entirety of his arm.
All he felt was an infernal burn consuming each of his muscles.
“Sir? Are you alright?” Emmet had approached him without him even noticing.
“Nevermind me, get Dietrich down from there.” Freidrich commanded, just as his legs began to fail.
Freidrich collapsed to the ground, and his world started to fade to black.
Well, at least that explains why no one seemed to be maintaining this road
This was probably the worst cell Lyssia had ever been in. It was little more than a stone box. The floor, ceiling and walls completely bare. It was a two-meter by two-meter piece of her personal hell.
She had examined every inch of the thing and it was nothing but smooth stone all around, with the exception of the solid metal door.
The lock on the door was exceptional. Anything less would probably have been meant as an insult, but not that it mattered.
They had taken her clothes, and with them her tools of the trade.
If only she still had her lockpicks from the secret pocket on her sleeve…
The food-slit at the bottom of the door slid open, and a wooden bowl was slid in, followed by a cup of similar crude make.
“Dinner.” The brisk voice of the jailer was… familiar.
“Drada?” Lyssia mused.
The slit was closed with a thud and a grunt from her captor. So, she had guessed right.
Of course the Mother of the temple would place her as Lyssia’s jailer.
Drada was a mean brute of a drow, and Lyssia had always despised her.
She heard the latch on the slit slide shut.
She inspected the food.
Stew and water. Marvellous.
Well, she felt completely parched, so she didn’t complain as she took the food handed to her.
Maybe she could break loose some splinters of the bowl to fashion a crude lockpick?
Lyssia’s lips curled up, just ever so slightly.
She wouldn’t give up. She would get out of here, and she’d wring the old hag’s neck.
She swore on the gods and on her life.
She would not give up.
After finishing her meal, she set about preparing to make her escape.
She scooted up to the door, and listened intently.
Not a sound.
She moved over to the other side of the cell, and smashed the side of the empty bowl into the solid stone. Then she waited and listened to see if someone noticed what she was doing. Not a sound.
Then again.
Then again.
Finally, the bowl started to break, with splinters forming.
Lyssia quietly dug her nails into the splintering wood, and pulled free a decently-sized fragment of wood.
She took the splinter in hand. It wasn’t too thick, so it would be fragile.
She scooted back to the door, listening for movement outside.
Nothing yet. She didn’t know where Drada was. It would be too risky to make her move yet.
She had to wait.
Pushing the bowl and cup towards the slit, Lyssia crawled up into a corner, her wooden splinter in hand, attempting to keep warm.
It wasn’t too cold down here in the great below, but it was still uncomfortable without clothes.
She had to figure out the guard rotations, the schedule. She would wait. She would watch.
She still had a little time.
She rubbed her stomach gently.
But not too much.