SML Ch 97

Chapter 97

The cave northwest of Swine Forest, as written on the note, stood out even from afar—striking enough to stir a gut sense that something was there.

“It looks like a cave engulfed in flames. I’ve heard blue fire burns hotter than red…”

Arun murmured in fascination. As he said, the cave’s surroundings were wreathed entirely in bluish flames. Just approaching felt as though one’s body would ignite and crumble to ash.

Yet as Volant had said earlier, the cave mouth was crusted with icicles and caked over in hoarfrost. A chill seeped into the bones just to look at it.

“That isn’t real fire, it’s an illusion. Illusiongrass flips the boundary between reality and imagination. Within its domain, the hotter a flame appears, the colder it is, and a feather that looks weightless outweighs stone.”

Reynald explained evenly to Arun, then looked up at the sky. It was cloudless and bright, the sun warm, and the breeze that brushed the nose was fresh and gentle—a truly fine day.

All the more reason the conditions inside the cave would be harsher. Had they come in midwinter, the interior might have felt less cold. Inside the cave, the weather always inverted whatever lay outside.

Not all Illusiongrass summons winters harsh enough to turn ogres into yetis. But the Illusiongrass in that cave was likely a spirit-plant aged at least a hundred years; to enter its domain would require firm resolve.

“Let’s prepare.”

Reynald pulled cold-weather gear from his pack. Heatstones or no, to conserve them as long as possible, they could not keep the environment too warm. To survive a stable hour, one had to dress warmly and then add just enough heat to avoid freezing to death.

Once everyone was bundled up and carrying a heatstone, Reynald uncoiled a long rope and tied it to each waist. The technique was meant to prevent stragglers on steep, snowy mountains. Since two had vanished into the fae’s grasp in the blink of an eye back in the study, all submitted willingly to the line.

“Remember: lose the way inside and you could freeze to death. Keep eyes on your surroundings. Make sure no one falls behind.”

“Got it. Oh, right! Clockwork doll, come here. We’ll tie you to the end so you don’t get lost.”

At the far end, Volant looped the leftover rope around the doll’s waist. The doll squirmed in obvious distaste, then, realizing the slack was long enough to fly freely, settled down somewhat.

The doll hardly needed tethering, but the shared rope lent a sense of security—less chance it would go off alone and cause trouble.

They stepped into the flame-lapped entrance at once. A cold so sharp it could freeze the eyes mid-blink surged over them, but the heatstones’ bright glow held the unfair chill at bay.

—

Despite their lanterns, the cave was oppressively dark.

It felt as though the cave itself devoured light, but Reynald judged that not entirely bad: light that did not carry far was less likely to alert the yetis.

In a tight cave like this, sound and the flow of air were better guides. A lantern bright enough to check one’s footing would suffice. The heatstones melted the ground to a slick sheen, so a light for the path was necessary.

“A faint tremor, from afar. The number close enough to matter is small.”

At most, three or four were near enough to warrant attention—and they did not seem to be approaching. As long as they made no excessive noise, they should be fine. With one hand on the left wall, Reynald advanced slowly.

“There are quite a lot of forks. Will we be all right coming back?”

“We’re keeping to the left-hand rule, so we shouldn’t get lost. On the way out, keep a hand on the right wall and it’ll lead to the exit.”

He soothed Volant as he spoke. The left-hand method was simple and steady. It didn’t guarantee reaching the objective, but at least it prevented getting lost; they would go as far as it allowed.

Fortune or otherwise, they soon entered a broad space like an underground plaza. Even their softest steps echoed into a distant hush.

“Wasn’t it supposed to be a small cave? This space is absurdly large.”

Even a weak lantern sweep suggested this place was unnatural. The floor was smooth, without a single rough edge, and the walls bore the marks of artificial cutting. After running his fingers along the stone a few times, Serna whispered to Reynald,

“This must have been carved by excavation magic, right, Sir Reynald?”

“Likely. Natural walls wouldn’t sheer off so vertical.”

Reynald felt certain they were on the right track. Someone had used magic to carve out this chamber. Yetis did not cast spells, and no other mage would come to a wild backwater just to gouge a cave and leave.

That left one answer: a mage from a hundred years ago—or earlier—had carved this place to leave Illusiongrass for descendants.

“Which mage would do that? That strange one who set the fire on you last time? Or…”

Volant trailed off, clouding over. Reynald knew why. If Solden hadn’t carved this, among mages with the power to do so there was only one Volant might guess.

“It may have been the masked one. He is presumed a mage as well.”

“The masked one?”

Seeing Arun and Serna puzzled, Reynald briefly recounted what had happened in the fae Theater. He had meant to tell them anyway, and there wasn’t time for everything, so he focused on the man in the mask.

“So the one who killed Volant’s family lived in this fief a hundred years ago looking just the same?”

“Yes, my prince. Either he was never human to begin with, or he found some means to extend his life.”

“Mm, could it not simply be a descendant? If the bloodline continued, a similar face and voice wouldn’t be strange, and with a mask we can’t be certain it was exactly the same face.”

Throughout, Serna watched Volant’s expression with worry. The suggestion felt less like belief than an attempt to comfort him, given how dark his face had grown. Reynald chose to concur, for now.

“That possibility should remain open. It’s hard to accept that someone seemingly friendly to this land a century ago would, a hundred years later, become a killer who slaughtered a blameless family…”

As he spoke, Reynald marked an X on the wall with chalk—insurance against confusion if more than one passage led out of the plaza. Arun, face growing grave, added,

“But some connection is certain. Otherwise the appearance and dress wouldn’t match so exactly.”

“Well, we can’t say for sure the masked mage carved this space. Let’s not dwell on that for the moment—focus on harvesting the Illusiongrass and getting out.”

Fearing the discussion would only agitate Volant further, Reynald led them on a sweep of the plaza. For such an open space, it was surprisingly bare—most of it so empty as to be inexplicable.

Two features stood out. First, a map-like drawing on the wall; second, a massive iron cage beside it. At a glance it looked like a prison cell, but it differed from a typical pen in one respect. Recovering a measure of composure, Volant asked cautiously,

“This cage—why are the chains on top attached to the ceiling?”

“More precisely, they run to a hole in the ceiling. Once someone’s inside, it’s hoisted up.”

In other words, a lift. Common in grand buildings or a mage’s workshop, it looked crude but likely held fine enchantments to operate the hoist.

The question was where it led. Studying the wall map by lantern light, Alex murmured,

“This cave has three levels. We’re on the second. That lift seems to reach the third…”

“You call that a lift? Then what’s on the third?”

“On the third, there are four… rooms, shall we say—separate spaces to the east, west, south, and north. Pressing the switches in each opens a door to a secret area on the first level. Looks like there’s some kind of treasure there…”

“Treasure meaning the Illusiongrass?”

“Most likely.”

The map was suspiciously helpful. Perhaps to accommodate the illiterate, it included clear symbols and arrows; following it would seem to bring them to Illusiongrass in short order.

Even so, a few things troubled Reynald’s eye. He turned to the doll perched meekly on Volant’s shoulder and asked: