Chapter 1 – Dungeons
798 5 12
X
Reading Options
Font Size
A- 15px A+
Width
Reset
X
Table of Contents
Loading... please wait.

      Deep in the dungeons of The House of Broken Dreams, Maeve Varda strained in the darkness against her bonds - solid iron bands holding her wrists and ankles, riveted to the stone walls with only a single link of iron chain.  She was spread-eagled against the wall of the cell, unable to move in any meaningful way except to turn her head from left to right.  Her back ached fiercely and her legs were beginning to cramp after hanging motionless for long hours on the damp stone wall, and her head ached from the drugs the Hserinyar had dosed her with.  Maeve ignored the aches and pains with the stoicism of accustomed practice, and decided to open her eyes.

 

      She blinked several times, unable to focus and knowing there was little point in trying since the guards had taken the light away.  It was dark; not the dark of a moonlit night, but an utter, inky blackness that pervaded everything it touched.  Even when it had been present, the torchlight seemed wan and lifeless, as if even the fire itself wanted to flee the place.  When the cell had been lit, when the guard had chained her to the wall, she had seen the cell.  It was small, almost smaller than her five and some feet on a side, with low, overhanging wooden beams.

 

      It was surprisingly quiet in the dungeons of the Sanatorium.  The only sounds she could hear was her own muffled breathing and the slow, steady drip of water, occasionally punctuated by the cries of the insane occupants of the place.  The air was stale and rank, laced with the smell of the blood and excrement of prisoners long past.  It was the smell of despair. 

 

      Then, through the dim screams of the madmen and madwomen of the House of Broken Dreams, she heard it again - the sounds - the babble - of the Dreamers and that of their Hserinyar mentors.  Maeve and her superiors had for some time suspected something suspicious was occurring at the House of Broken Dreams - tales of people - Dreamers - being brought here in great numbers.   It was odd enough to warrant an investigation - and when the Council of Hierarchs wanted something investigated, they sent Maeve.

 

      It wasn’t long after that, that Maeve had discovered the priests who watched over the Dreamers were a mixture of Hserinyar agents, and worshippers of Lady Delirium.   The priests and priestesses of Lady Delirium had been given a dispensation to stay in the country to tend the mad-house - but the presence of the Hserinyar was dire news indeed.   The Hserinyar were priests of Hrask, the God of magic - and a dire enemy of her people.   The Church had suspected that the gathering of Dreamers to one place signified some odd plan - and Maeve had soon discovered their suspicions seemed warranted.   Wagons had been seen coming and going at all times of the day or night, gathering Dreamers from all across Mercia to one place.   And the worst thing is, I think I might have come close to discovering what the Hserinyar want with the Dreamers.  If only I could get out of these damned chains!  She yanked her left hand against the unyielding chain and iron manacle, to no avail.

     

      Maeve knew no one would be coming for her - no rescue, no aid.   Even her friend Kai had no reason to know she had been captured, at least until she didn’t show up for their rendezvous.   Maeve suspected by then it would be too late.  And now the Hserinyar are involved!  She thought.  It chilled her to the bone.  For millennia her people had fought the Hserinyar - and for them to be here, in the heart of her Kingdom, sent chills up her spine.  For over six thousand years, humanity had been the slaves of the Hserinyar and their draconic Godlings - and when the twelve Great Heroes of Legend freed humanity on Mercia from the yoke of their Dragon Masters, Humanity swore it would never be enslaved again.

 

      We have been free for 3525 years, with the Hserites barred behind the Walls of Harad. Maeve thought.  If I fail now, all that may be lost!   My people, my gods - swept away in a river of blood and fury.  I will NOT fail... Not again! 

 

      Grunting with frustration, Maeve tested her bonds once more, and then gave up - the metal brackets holding her wrists and ankles held her firm against the wall - far too short for decent leverage, and far too thick to think of breaking them by brute force, even for an athletic woman such as herself. 

 

      And the damned drugs they forced on me are blocking my mage talent, she thought.  Tastes like Audorin root - which means I'll be lucky if I can feel my toes, let alone find out where in the Seven Hells I am.   "Aaagggh!" Maeve muttered in frustration.  "I should have listened to Mother and become a seamstress." 

 

      Still, she struggled, not being one to give up hope.  I can still feel the Call, she thought, so I can't be totally blocked.  Maybe I can use the Sight?  Audorin root didn't harm a persons' mage-talent, it just blocked their ability to sense the Void, and to channel the magical energies within it.  Unfortunately, it didn't also stop the Call of Hrask - but then, nothing did.  Maeve could feel it roiling within her - a mental pull towards Hrasks’ draconic nature - greedy, voracious, and inhuman - a pull that grew stronger the more magic one used, and one that could only be resisted effectively if one had been trained to see it, and resist it.  Sometimes she thought of what might happen if she couldn’t resist the Call one day.  Would she go mad with her magic, and slay those that she once swore to protect - or worse, would she become one of the Fallen, and be wholly taken by Hrasks draconic nature and cease to be human forevermore?  Maeve shuddered, and left those thoughts, putting her attention back to the task at hand.

 

      Maeve tried to center herself, and concentrate, but her focus eluded her.  Slowly, she gathered her will, and pushed, struggling to achieve Nairya, a state of mind some people called a ‘battle-trance’.  Maeve thought back to her training, years ago in Arathel.  Her teachers told her of the importance of using the Nairya to focus her will. While in Nairya, a practitioner of magic could still sense their surroundings, but tune out distractions that made it more difficult to summon and use magical power - distractions like hunger, thirst, exhaustion and pain.  And it looks like I’ve got all four, Maeve thought.  It took her some time, but she felt her mind "click" and suddenly, she was calm and centered, the Nairya in place. 

 

      She extended her arcane senses slowly beyond the confines of her cell, sensing without actually seeing the lives and essences of many people nearby.  Actually seeing them was more than Maeve could accomplish while drugged.  But, she thought, perhaps the audorin root would wear off soon.

 

      Almost all of the "residents" of the House of Broken Dreams were either insane or there for political reasons - persons who Maeve’s Church had felt needed to be removed from society for the safety of others, or prisoners of nobles wealthy enough to hire the use of the House as their private prison.  The rest of the inhabitants of the House were the clergy of Lady Delirium, Goddess of Night, of Loss, and Insanity, who claimed their mission here, was to tend to these poor souls and ease their pain their shattered minds caused them.  Normally, their faith - as well as the Hserinyar’s - was barred from Valris, Maeve’s homeland, due to theological differences.   Maeve’s gods were those of the Askelinian faith - Askeline the Merciful, Isundal the Skyfather - and their Children, the Twins.   Together, these gods had protected and nurtured humanity through their long years of tribulation and torment - and it was to them Maeve owed her love, worship and allegiance. 

 

      I always get the good jobs, don’t I?  Maeve mused, as her arcane senses swept out beyond her cell, and into the rest of the House.  She sensed sleeping people - minds that were strangely dormant, even if the bodies attached to them were awake.  Those must be the Dreamers, she thought.   Now I need to find someone or something I can use to escape...

     

     

      She felt more than anything else, a change sweep over the House.  Suddenly, the screams of the mad crowded in on her, strong beyond reason, filling her ears, and roiling in her mind.   Whatever power she had been able to control was instantly lost, and Maeve suddenly felt the fear they felt, could feel their pain, feel their confusion, and their madness.  Great Goddess!  Maeve thought, almost buried under a wave of terror.  Some of these Dreamers are Mageborn!

 

      Blindly, she cast about with her crippled mage senses, desperately seeking anything she could anchor herself to before her sense of self and her sanity would be swept away, regardless of the danger.  Panicked, Maeve's mage senses moved about, seeking what she didn't know, until at last she felt the tenuous touch of another mageborn mind.  "Ladies of Mercy, Help me!"  She cried to the other mind.  "Please, help me!"

 

      And then, it was too late.  The contact was lost, and Maeve was swept into the conjoined madness of the House of Broken Dreams. 

     

12