Queen Sacrifice

by Steven Savile

Chapter Four: A Burning Love

Caron stumbled as the urdefhan threw her into the cage.

She went sprawling across the ground as the shadow man slammed the cage shut and fired the bolts into place. Pain lanced up her thighs as she landed on her knees and pitched forward.

A voice in the dark. "Caron?"

It was Caleb. The boy scurried forward and threw his arms around her.

She wrapped her arms around him in turn, pulling back for a moment when he winced at her touch. Beyond the cage, a single torch provided enough light to expose the bruising and stains of dried blood where he'd been beaten.

"How bad is it?"

"I'll live," the boy said, firelight reflecting from the tears running down his cheeks. She wanted to tell him he was safe now, that she wouldn't let anything bad happen to him, but she said nothing. There was no point lying to him.

More urdefhans gathered around the bars, watching them intently.

She pushed herself up to her feet, standing protectively in front of Caleb. "Let him go," she said. "Let him go and you can have me."

One of shadow men moved closer to the cage, pressing his face close to the bars. He stood directly in front of her, close enough to reach out and touch, his vile organs bright in the dim light, and inclined his head to one side. "I already have you. You have nothing to bargain with. Nothing I want that I don't already have."

The laugher was accompanied by a strange gurgle as if coming through liquid in the creature's throat. He turned his back on them and walked away. The others followed in his wake, leaving the two alone again in the dark.

Caleb rose slowly to stand beside her. He wasn't steady on his feet.

Caron turned to look into his eyes, only to see the shadow of a ghost.

For a heartbeat it was as if she faced Neve, the boy's mother, but it was different now. Neve was an old ghost. Everyone carried old ghosts. It was how the living moved through the world that was important, not the dead who walked with them.

"It's going to be all right," she said, running her fingers through his hair.

"It's not, is it?"

"You father's waiting for you," she said. "I promised him I'd get you out of here, and I will."

"But how? How do we get out of here?"

She didn't have an answer to that. She hadn't thought that far ahead. "Our chance will come," she said, making another promise she didn't know she could keep. "Can you find your way back to the stairwell?" She couldn't, not without going back through the fissure the tunnel rat had led her down, and she had no idea where that fissure was because she'd been unconscious when the urdefhans dragged her here.

He nodded.

"Good. You have to be ready. No matter happens. When I tell you to run, you run. Promise me. You run and you don't stop running until you're at the top of the stairs." The boy nodded, rubbing away his tears. "Be strong, son."

"Yes, mother."

It was the first time he'd called her that.

She couldn't let it get to her, even though she felt a surge of love for the boy. They both needed to be strong. The darkness weighed heavy on them. There was no easy way of knowing how long they would be alone down here. She could only pray that Keir wouldn't get it into his head to come and save them. She needed to know he was up there, ready to help them get out of this hell if she could work the opportunity to escape.

But that time in the darkness gave her time to think.

She needed a plan, which meant trying to think through her moves, and think how the shadow men would react to them. This was their element. Down here they were kings. For all of her skills, for all that she had dedicated her life to the land, to nurturing it, this, down here, this was a different kind of evil. It existed purely to cause pain.

In the distance, hammers and the grating of stone haunted them as work continued endlessly on the urdefhan outpost.

The cage would have to open soon. They'd want Caleb to work. Would they use her, too? Would she get a chance to fight their overseer and buy Caleb a few precious seconds to run for the stairs? Or would they keep her imprisoned while they worked him into the ground, knowing what she was from the sigil of Erastil on her travel-worn cloak?

She unclasped her cloak and bundled it in the corner of the cell, as though making a pillow to rest her head.

Her one hope came from the possibility of the urdefhans underestimating her. If they saw her as some helpless human, not the warrior she was, then maybe, just maybe, she'd be able to do something.

She thought about huddling at the back of the cage, forcing them to come in and get the boy. It was an option, but not much of one. Since she had no weapons, she needed to turn the environment into her weapon, and that meant using the cage somehow. It was the only thing she had. Of course, she was her own best weapon.

So she waited, leaning against the bars rather than pacing the confines of the cell. She didn't want them to know she was a bundle of pent-up energy. Let them think she was beaten.

The sounds of work continued. She heard screams and what could only be the feeding frenzy that followed a fallen worker.

Then they came for the boy.

"You. Come here," one of them barked, pointing at Caleb while the other opened the lock to release him. Caron pushed herself to her feet and put herself between them and Caleb, ready for the moment the door swung open. He started to move toward the open door. She held out an arm to stop him. "I'll work," she said. "I'm stronger than I look. Let him go. I'll carry his load as well as mine. Just let the boy go." She kept on talking. What she said wasn't important, it was purely meant to keep their eyes on her.

"Quiet, human, your turn will come. Give us the boy."

She stepped aside, seemingly in surrender. The side step took her just out of line with the open door. It was a single step, but it might just save Caleb's life—if the gods were on his side.

With their eyes on him, Caron kicked out hard—not at the urdefhan, but at the door, sending it swinging into the shadow man's face. Metal jarred against bone on both sides of the iron door. The creature staggered backward, momentarily dazed.

Its sword clattered to the floor. The door swung open on rusted hinges.

This was it.

One chance.

Ignoring the pain lancing up her leading leg, Caron threw herself out of the cage, rolling fast and snatching up the two-bladed weapon as she rose. It took all her strength to lift the sword. She screamed as she swung, all of her weight behind the blow. The blade's keen edge sliced into her captor, opening it up before it could raise its own blade to fend her off.

It fell to the ground spilling its lifeblood into a dark pool that quickly surrounded its body.

"Run!" she rasped, knowing that her scream must have alerted others of their kind. The echo of running feet confirmed her fear.

She despatched the stunned urdefhan with its own sword. There was nothing merciful about the action; she couldn't leave an enemy at her back. The scent of blood would only bring on the frenzy, though, drawing them like piranhas.

They had to get out of there.

An urdefhan wants nothing but war and death.

Caleb was already twenty feet ahead of her, running hard, arms and legs pumping in a terrified sprint. She ran after him—as fast as the heavy blade would allow. She couldn't hope to catch him, not carrying the sword, but without it she wasn't getting out of here. That was the grim reality of it. He was thirty feet ahead now, and gaining ground every second they ran. She thought seriously about casting the blade aside and just running, but she knew that she'd never make it.

It was an illusion; a lie of the acoustics. The shadow men circled around them, herding them toward death. Without the weapon, she'd be helpless to make good on her promise to Keir. With it, she had a chance. A small chance, but a chance nonetheless. She'd get the boy to the stairs, and then just pray Erastil was with her for one last time, deep in the darkness of this damned place.

She pushed herself on. She couldn't slow down, even as her lungs burned and the bitter acrid air of this hellish place clawed at the back of her throat. She ran. And she prayed.

Caleb ran close to the scaffolding constructed along the outer walls of the subterranean outpost. Up above, Caron saw slaves watching him run. They were lit by oil burners along the wooden platforms. The flames didn't so much as flicker and the slaves didn't whoop or cheer. The whole thing was eerily quiet. They'd seen others make a run for it, only to be herded like cattle by the urdefhans and then set upon. Every time it happened it only served to drive home the fact that no one got out of this hellish place alive.

Theirs weren't the only eyes watching them run.

She saw the organs of the urdefhans radiating rich spots of color in the dark, like malevolent fireflies swarming around them.

Caleb was fifty feet ahead now, dangerously alone should the shadow men attack.

They were creatures of the dark; they didn't need the oil fires. They lived their entire lives down here, hence the pigmentless nature of their skin. They didn't see light and shade like she did. He mind raced. Did they see by heat? She didn't know, but it was possible, wasn't it? And if that was the case, fire could effectively blind them if it was fierce enough.

If she could reach the bottom of the stairwell they had a chance.

"Run!" she screamed at the top of her lungs, not to urge Caleb on—the boy was flying—but to draw the shadow dwellers to her.

And then the first voice cried out from above.

One of the slaves urging her boy to run for his life.

The cry was taken up by a second slave.

Then a third.

In a few seconds the entire subterranean cavern echoed with that one word called out by first one voice, then a dozen and yet a dozen more, until it swelled into a baying chorus that brought the urdefhans out to silence it.

And then it hit her: down here chaos could be her fiercest ally.

Without thinking, she veered away from Caleb's disappearing light and ran, head down, toward the scaffolds, venting a wild cry as she hefted the double-bladed sword and unleashed a wild swing straight for one of the thick stanchions holding the precarious structure up. She knew even as she did that some of the slaves would be hurt by the collapse—but others could run. And catching one boy in a crowd of frightened, panicked, and desperate slaves running for their lives would be so much more difficult.

With the oil burners toppled, the fire would spread quickly to the wood, consuming it with bright blinding light.

The collapse was fast as it was brutal. And deafening.

Caleb faltered, looking back over his shoulder.

Caron urged him on. They had seconds, not minutes.

The sounds of pursuit came from every direction. Flames moved in the dark space that was the distance. She saw children streaming down from the collapsed platform, bleeding and battered, hobbling toward the lights, each trying to help the other in a bid for freedom. They wouldn't get far, but it was better to die trying to taste freedom than it was to work slavishly to death only to become meat for the beasts. She couldn't save them all, and she couldn't wait for them to climb the stairs; she could only focus on Caleb. If any of them got out, then Erastil be praised, it would be nothing short of a miracle.

She saw her boy standing at the bottom rope of the wooden stairway that led out of the pit, ever upward finally to the sun.

And to Keir.

"Up!" she yelled as he hesitated.

Behind her came the sounds of dying.

The boy was rooted to the spot, staring at the chaos behind her.

"Your father's waiting. Tell him I love him. I love you. Now go!"

He snapped out of it and threw his torch on the ground to light her way, and started to climb.

She glanced over her shoulder.

Half a dozen rag-clothed children ran toward the light. Behind them came countless urdefhans, their vile faces twisted by the firelight. She couldn't wait for the children. But she couldn't damn them, either. She froze, great sword in hand, knowing she couldn't take the first step up toward freedom while they were so close and yet so far away. Her fate was sealed; she was going to die down here. That was the deal she offered the universe. One moment of divine intervention—these lives saved, her life traded.

And it would buy time for her son to flee.

No matter what she'd thought no more than a day ago, he was her son in every way that mattered. Family was about more than blood.

"Faster," she screamed at the children. "Run!"

She looked up to where Caleb was, near the first platform. He still had so far to go. He looked back down at her. She snatched up the torch he'd thrown down, and raised it above her head. Its flame burst into life as she swung it through the air.

He knew what she was about to do. She could see it in his face. She didn't want to look at him anymore. Now it was all about dying.

Queen sacrifice. It felt like forever since Keir had shown the boy the move.

She turned to face the oncoming blackness, holding out the burning brand in one hand, the urdefhan blade in the other, with just one single thought: keep the enemy at bay. Every moment could be precious, every heartbeat increasing the chance for Caleb to climb further out of their reach.

The first of the rag-clothed children reached her. She urged the girl up the stairs. Then the second and the third. But time was running out. The urdefhans were almost on them. The fourth and fifth made it to her together, but the sixth—a young boy clinging onto some childhood toy he couldn't bear to be parted with—was brought down by the first on the savage shadow dwellers. She should have let the child die, but she couldn't. She hurled herself at the creature, thrusting the flame in its face to drive it away from the boy, then dropped the blade to scoop the frail child up, and sweeping the burning brand through the air stepped back and back to the stairs. "Run for your life, little one," she whispered. Tears streaked down her face. One life for seven. That was a good thing. She couldn't think about the children who hadn't made it to the stairs.

The urdefhans gathered around her, coming close to the flame. The nearest released a gurgling cry that revealed its fear of the fire. But the torch wouldn't burn forever.

She dared not turn her back on them. When the flame died, so would she.

The last of the children was only twenty feet above her. "Keep going!" She yelled at them. There was one last weapon she could use, she realized. "Spill the oil from the burners!"

She had no way of knowing if they'd heard her, but a glance up into the shaft confirmed that they were climbing, Caleb lost to sight now as the slowly turning spiral promised to take him to his father.

The horde grew braver as the torch burned lower, looking to surround her. Caron defended the ladder with nothing more than the dying torch. They knew she was not going anywhere. They knew that it was only a matter of time. And they were faster than the children. It was useless to fight them. This was their world.

Caron felt a single drop of oil fall on her face. They'd heard her.

She retreated onto the first wooden step and with her empty hand reached out for the first oil burner, the only one the children had missed. She upended it, the oil splashing over her arm and down her left side.

The urdefhans came on, crowding the stairs, braving the flame.

Caron swept the torch through the air, causing it to ripple with the oil fumes.

She had to hope it was enough.

She had to believe the boy would make it all the way to the top.

She swung again and again, pushing them back until she felt more oil spilling from above. It wasn't a steady flow. She prayed it would be enough and touched the torch to the rope. A gout of flame rose from it and raced up the twisted threads. She dropped the torch to the floor. The wooden treads began to smoulder. It would be enough. It had to be.

"Remember, I love you, son!" she shouted again, not knowing if her voice would carry out of the pit, but needing the boy to know. They wouldn't catch him now. That was all she'd wanted. She'd kept her promise. It had taken everything she had, every ounce of strength was gone.

As though in answer, the flame caught her oil-soaked foot and leg, chasing up her body as she blocked the way to the children, burning bright, and carried on chasing after them up the stairs. The urdefhans howled their frustration.

There was no way past the burning woman.

Coming Next Week: The web fiction is taking a break next week for Gen Con coverage, but it will be back on Wednesday, August 20 with a preview chapter from Tim Pratt's brand-new Pathfinder Tales novel Reign of Stars!

Steven Savile is the internationally best-selling author of almost twenty novels and many more short stories, set in both original worlds and those of Primeval, Stargate SG-1, Warhammer, Torchwood, Dr. Who, and more. He won Writers of the Future in 2002, has been a runner-up for the British Fantasy Award and shortlisted for the Scribe Award for Best Adapted Novel, and won the Scribe Award for Best Young Adult Original Novel. For more information, visit his website at stevensavile.com.

Illustration by Dion Harris.

Queen Sacrifice

by Steven Savile

Chapter Three: The City Under No Stars

Caron braced herself against the uneven rock, staring down at an impossible sight.

She didn't know what she'd expected to find down here—some rat-infested lair, a warren of caves with dripping stalactites, lichen smeared walls, maybe a subterranean river winding through the cavernous space, but not this. Not what looked like the foundations of... of what? She stared down at what looked like some monstrous outpost and for the first time since stepping into the darkness was truly terrified.

Spires of stone rose toward what should have been the sky, the twisted columns supporting the overbearing weight of the cavern's roof. Lights burned in a few windows, like tears on the face of the rock walls where the oil burners lit the workplace. She watched as dozens of shadows swarmed over the scaffolds like ants. She knew where the children had gone; they hadn't been slaughtered for food, but were being used as slave labor down here, worked until they dropped, useless. Only then would they become meat for the shadow men.

It was all of her worst nightmares brought to horrific life.

The pit opened up as it descended, its circumference growing wider and wider as the shaft plunged all the way down into the depths. It was cold, too, colder than she'd ever imagined possible with no wind.

The air was dead in her lungs.

She was still above the outpost, looking down on the slack-skinned slaves as they worked mindlessly carving the stones, lifting, carrying until their knees buckled and the inevitable moment when the shadow men fell upon them. Somewhere among them was Caleb. She prayed that he was, like she'd never prayed for anything before in her life. The fact that they needed the slaves meant she had a chance of fulfilling her promise to her husband.

She crept closer, working her way down.

More than once she had the unshakeable feeling she was being watched.

From one of these openings she caught sight of something glinting; something that could have been a pair of eyes.

The opening was barely wide enough for her to climb inside—not that she wanted to.

She tried not to think about it.

The noises from below grew louder the further she descended, the sound of metal against stone echoing up around her toward the surface. It wasn't fighting she'd heard; it was the sound of industry.

Now she was sure something was watching her as she descended.

Whatever it was, it had to be smaller than the shadow men, but that didn't mean it was any less dangerous.

Caron pressed herself tight against the rock, feeling sharp edges dig into her back, and waited for a moment, no more than an arm's length from the opening.

Another flurry of dust and grit slid from the edge.

She moved quickly, trusting that she wouldn't lose her footing on the wooden slats, and reached into the tunnel with one hand.

Her fingers closed on leathery flesh, her grip causing whatever it was to squeal in surprise.

She clutched the thing tightly and hauled it from the safety of the tunnel, wary of snapping teeth or snatching claws. Looking at the creature's miserable hide, she found it difficult to imagine it posed any kind of threat. It stood less than half of her height, its body a pale leathery gray that had never seen the sunlight. The creature's hands—grubby black hands with clawed fingers—looked good for clawing through the earth. Its eyes blinked hard at her in the feeble light, unused to even this pale brightness. It wasn't a creature at all, she realized. It was a boy, but he'd been down here so long he'd lost almost all semblance of humanity.

"Please," it wheedled in a high-pitched voice loaded with fear.

She pulled it so close she barely needed to whisper: "Did they bring a boy this way?"

"The urdefhans?" he said, stretching out the word. So that's what they were.

She nodded.

Even her worst nightmares come to life won't stop Caron.

The youth nodded rapidly. "I saw them, I saw them."

"Did they have a boy with them?"

"Yes. Yes. Down and down. They took him. Working now. Digging. Digging. Always digging. That's what they do with them. Work, work, until they can't work no more. Then they eat them."

"Show me," she said.

Keeping a tight grip on his hand, she followed the ragged boy down deeper into the pit, struggling to keep an eye on both him and the outpost for signs of danger. She had the urdefhan's two-bladed sword, and was ready to use it if the pathetic thing turned on her. She certainly wasn't about to trust him. Caron had no intention of dying down here. She was going to get Caleb back to his father.

They reached another landing, still high above the outpost, yet to descend below the stone sky. Caron knew she couldn't hope to hold the boy captive all the way down. The climb was impossible. "Don't make a sound," she said.

He nodded eagerly, glancing at the sword in her hand. There was fear etched on his gaunt features, but whether it was of her, the sword, or the urdefhans, she had no way of knowing. All she could hope was that the blade wouldn't be put to the test.

The lights were closer now. This was clearly the last landing before the stairway reached the ground below. From here she could see the shadow men and the slaves moving like a wave of blackness between the lights.

"Stay close." The boy pointed down with a clawlike hand. "This way the urdefhans can't pass. Come with me. Yes. I will take you through an old tunnel. I know the old places. I will take you close to the children. But then"—he shrugged—"I leave you. Where you go is up to you, but I won't walk into that place. I like living."

Caron had to trust him, like it or not, she wasn't getting close to the outpost undetected without him. And if he turned her over to the shadow men, then that was a risk she was just going to have to take. Without his help she had no hope of finding Caleb. It was as simple as that. She'd raised the boy for most of his life, but for the first time she saw him not just as another woman's son, but as her boy.

The bottom of the stairway lay shrouded in shadow.

She could hear the urdefhans moving even above the constant hammering and crashing of metal on stone, barking out orders in their vile tongue, but she couldn't see anyone keeping watch for intruders. Why would they? This was their domain, even if it was only some distant outpost on the far edge of their territory. No one in their right mind would dare enter their nest willingly, especially not the beaten down peasants from the villages along the mountain range. Those souls were broken.

"Here, come, come," he said, keeping her pressed against the wall.

She glanced back upward. The top of the vertical shaft was so far away that it seemed little more than a pinprick in the blackness.

Her fingers ached from the effort of maintaining a grip tight enough to remind the ragged boy he was her captive.

He led the way through narrow gaps in the rock, forcing her to turn side-on and scrape through, knowing he could just as easily be leading her into a trap. She thought of Caleb. That was all she needed to motivate her.

"How much farther?" she whispered.

"Soon there," the boy said. "Just a little further. Come, come."

He motioned below to a narrow opening in the rock. It was barely the size of the tunnel shafts that had lined the walls during their descent. She had no choice but to release the wretched lad and let him crawl ahead of her.

He was fast, much faster than she could possibly be.

She followed him into the rat hole.

The rock closed in on her as she shuffled inch by inch in the dark. Soon she was in total blackness, the tunnel turning and twisting, following the line of least resistance through the rock where the fissure had split it. The boy was out of reach. She was alone in this claustrophobic space. She sent a silent prayer to Erastil and gritted her teeth as she crawled on. In what seemed an almost immediate answer, she caught a glimpse of firelight casting a weak glow into the end of the passageway ahead of her.

The boy was still there, waiting for her.

"Quickly, quickly, quickly," he urged, pushing his head back into the opening. It blocked out the light. She scraped her back against the rock above her, struggling to squeeze through the narrowest of the tunnel with the two-bladed sword in hand. She moved on her hands and knees, eyes forward, focusing on the chinks of light that promised an end to this hell until she was out, the ground in front of her bathed in firelight.

The boy's high-pitched laughter filled the air.

Caron scrambled out of the tunnel, desperately trying to silence him, but she couldn't get close enough.

He clapped his clawed hands together delightedly, squealing at the top of his shrill voice. The sounds echoed around the cavernous space.

"Should have killed me dead, shouldn't you? Too late now. Should have used that big sword. Bye-bye, dead woman. Bye-bye."

Caron realized too late that there was another, markedly smaller fissure in the rock behind the boy, too small for her to be able to follow him as he disappeared out of sight, leaving her alone in this hellish place.

She rushed to the opening, and fell to her knees, vainly reaching inside for the boy that wasn't there.

Hands closed on her shoulders, grabbed at her hair and dragged her to her feet.

How could she have been so stupid? How could she have allowed herself to fall into the hands of the urdefhans so easily?

Because she'd wanted to trust the boy. She'd wanted to believe in the essential goodness of humanity. She hadn't wanted to believe that all this time in the darkness could have made him less than human.

She was turned to face her captors, their internal organs bright in the firelight, their fetid breath causing her to gag. Behind her, off down the fissure, she could hear the echo of the tunnel rat's mocking laughter.

Coming Next Week: A flame in the darkness in the conclusion of Steven Savile's "Queen Sacrifice."

Steven Savile is the internationally best-selling author of almost twenty novels and many more short stories, set in both original worlds and those of Primeval, Stargate SG-1, Warhammer, Torchwood, Dr. Who, and more. He won Writers of the Future in 2002, has been a runner-up for the British Fantasy Award and shortlisted for the Scribe Award for Best Adapted Novel, and won the Scribe Award for Best Young Adult Original Novel. For more information, visit his website at stevensavile.com.

Illustration by Dion Harris.

Queen Sacrifice

by Steven Savile

Chapter Two: Into the Dark

Caron woke in darkness.

Stale smoke had brought her round. The only sound on the entire mountainside was her own breathing. Her hands were tied behind her back. A cloth, damp with her own saliva, was bound across her mouth.

Hands moved behind her head. She felt them tugging at the knot that was caught in her hair. Instinctively, she struggled against them.

"Don't fight me, please." An old woman's voice. Caron couldn't see anything.

Finally, the cloth blinding her was tugged down from over her eyes and the gag was pulled free, leaving Caron's mouth harsh and dry.

An old woman leaned over her.

Caron stiffened, ready to fight for her life, but the woman shook her head and whispered fiercely, "Your husband went after the boy..." She looked up toward the mountain.

The woman struggled with the ropes binding her wrists and feet together. She wasn't working fast enough.

"What were those things?" Caron rasped.

"Shadow men," the woman said. "Daemons to some. Old creatures from the dark." She cut Caron's ties.

Keir had gone after Caleb. He wasn't like her. He wasn't a fighter. He was a good man. A peaceful one. Kindhearted and quiet, thoughtful. And now he'd chased the monsters back into the damned earth they'd crawled out of. He would tear the mountain apart rock by rock if he thought it could save his son, but what he couldn't do was face down the shadow men and win. He would die up there.

She had to stop him before he reached their sanctuary.

Caron could only hope that she could follow them all the way and that they hadn't gone deep into the Darklands yet, because that, surely, was where they had come from. Some crack in the earth or tunnel down into the dark. They would be moving much faster than Keir. They knew where they were going. He was driven by fear and panic. For all she knew, he could be stumbling around in the dark, lost.

That was a better, safer alternative than catching up with them.

"They've taken all our children," the woman said. "They took my son. My niece. They took Jakan's three boys. We were trying to save ourselves..."

That explained the lack of children, but not why they'd offered Keir's child to the daemons.

"Why did you do it?" Caron spat out the words like a curse.

The old woman shook her head. "We have no young men or women of our own left for them to take." She said it as if it was a reasonable explanation. "It's too late to save your son, but if you're fast you might still have a husband. Go, and may your god go with you."

Caron's arms ached from being bound so tightly. She tried to massage the life back into them and get the blood flowing.

"Where are my things?" she asked. "My bow, my sword?"

The woman shook her head again but offered her a rusty knife she'd probably rescued from the communal cooking area. "I have this," she said hopefully.

Caron took the knife, but it was a useless thing, with no balance for throwing, its blade too short to be particularly good for cutting. But it was better than nothing. Barely. She tucked it into her belt and set off.

She moved fast, racing back up what had been the path of light. It had burned out while she'd been unconscious. She saw the dark shadow of the Briar Throne up ahead, and paused, remembering where she'd first seen the so-called shadow men up in the fissures of the mountain above her. She called out Keir's name.

There was no reply.

She pushed on, stopping a couple of times to check the ground for tracks. It was all but impossible to see anything, with dawn still an hour or more away, but the shadow men hadn't been particularly careful when they'd come down from the mountain. She could just make out the trampled undergrowth where they had descended.

Up ahead she saw a light.

It was the faintest glow coming through the dense foliage that clung to the actual rock face. She pushed her way through, bracken cutting her hands and pulling at her trousers. Two burning torches were driven deep into the dirt, between them a wide fissure in the stone. Her breathing slowed, but her heart beat faster.

There was no sign of any of the thin-skinned, ivory-boned creatures, nor of Keir.

She stood at the mouth of the cave, listening to the eerie cry of the rising wind and the shell-like echo as it funneled through the mountain. She knew that Caleb was down there somewhere, and that Keir had plunged into the darkness after him, desperate and unprepared.

The bones of a savaged sheep carcass festered on the threshold, surrounded by the smaller bones of small forest animals with strands of meat still hanging from them. They marked the way. The shadow men weren't picky when it came to their diet: meat was meat, be it sheep or boy.

She was dragged from those dark thoughts by the distant sounds of shouting and the clash of steel.

Then Keir's voice split the night.

Caron pulled the knife from her belt and snatched up one of the guttering torches. Then she plunged into the darkness.

She ducked beneath an overhanging spur of rock, moving over loose stones as she closed the gap between her and the sounds of Keir fighting for his life. The acoustics inside the cavern mouth were disconcerting; all of the sounds seemed so much closer than they really were. Caron had never felt comfortable underground, with the weight of the world just a few feet above her head and pressing down on all sides. She moved as quickly as she dared, the light of her torch seeming all too weak. The place smelled fetid and foul. It reeked of carrion and dead air.

She heard a cry. The sound echoed back to her, seeming to come from all sides at once.

Her heart hammered in her chest as cold sweat broke and ran down her back. She gripped the dagger tighter in her hand and went deeper into the twisting passage, quickly losing her orientation in the darkness. The sound of her own breathing filled the cramped confines.

The passage opened into a wider space. It offered her choices: three tunnels feeding off it. There was no obvious way of knowing which way Keir had gone. She kicked out in frustration at a cairn of stones, sending them skittering across the ground and raising a high-pitched chittering from high up above her. Caron raised the firebrand over her head and saw a chimney that stretched up and up. The flame guttered in a draft and she realized the flue must open out somewhere. The chittering intensified. She felt a sudden surge of air and in seconds the sound transformed into a flurry of wings. Blackness came sweeping down the shaft, swelling until it seemed to fill the entire the cavern. Then she was being beaten and battered on all sides as bats stormed out of the chimney, swooping through the cave back toward the mouth.

Keir will do anything to protect his son.

She stood stock still, letting the bats flitter and flap all around her, until finally they were all gone and any hope of stealth with them.

Caron dropped to her knees at the entrance to the first of the three choices, looking for some sign of disturbance, something to signify that Keir had come this way. There was nothing. She did the same at the middle passage before moving on to the opening on right-hand side, where she saw a single score mark cut into the stone at waist-height, marking the way.

She smiled; even in the heat of the moment Keir knew she wouldn't abandon him.

Caron set off down the tunnel. The ground inclined steeply after a turn and turnabout, with a series of staggered drops taking her down fifty feet in a tight stair.

The air was thicker down here, but not cold. That was peculiar. But then, there was nothing natural about this passage.

The torch in her hand burned low, the fire consuming the reeds woven around the wood. It wouldn't burn forever. She felt the heat against her fingers.

And then a cool breeze touched her face. That shouldn't have been possible this far under the mountain. Suddenly, the walls echoed with a low cry of pain. It was the only sound in the darkness and seemed to fill the entire mountain, as though the rocks themselves were crying out.

At the foot of the stair another series of choices confronted her, but scoring on the stone marked the way ahead. More choices met her, but with each one came another of Keir's marks.

Time lost all meaning in the darkness.

She kept moving, following the occasional cry or clash of steel, not understanding how the sounds could carry so far, or if they could be trusted. Abruptly, she came upon the edge of a vast pit lined by a winding, wood-and-rope stairway. The stair coiled its way down and down, disappearing into the darkness long before it reached the bottom—if there was a bottom.

The pit's walls were lit by shallow bowls of flaming oil set into sconces every so often, creating a spiral of light that corkscrewed its way down into the heart of the earth. From where she stood the sight looked spectacular, but the lamps provided scant light for anyone making the journey down.

Movement caught her eye.

Halfway down the staircase—before shapes lost all meaning to the shadows—she saw her husband fighting for his life.

Caron didn't hesitate. She stepped out onto the first rung of the wooden ladder-stair, gripping the guide rope as the wooden slats swayed alarmingly beneath her weight. Then she was racing down to reach Keir.

The entire construction creaked alarmingly as it took the strain. But it held. She felt the vibrations and impacts of Keir's desperate fight shiver up through the timbers.

One of the shadow men would have been more than a match for a simple man like Keir, no matter how strong his heart, but Keir wasn't facing just one. There were three of the vile creatures down there. He didn't have a prayer. Caron sent a silent entreaty to Erastil, hoping Old Deadeye could hear her from so far deep beneath the land that was his domain, offering up her life in return for Keir's.

Her shoulder scraped against rough stone as she descended deeper and deeper, eyes fixed on the shadows fighting below her. More than once, hugging the stone wall brought her perilously close to toppling one of the oil bowls.

The three black shapes clustered around a fourth one unmoving on the ground. Keir. She had heard no screams. She desperately hoped that the shadow men had feasted before their battle with Keir, but even if they had, the reek of blood and the promise of fresh meat must surely be irresistible to their kind.

The platform lurched precariously beneath her. Keir couldn't defend himself. It was as simple as that; she was his only hope—if he wasn't dead already.

The black shapes looked up at her as she charged down the curving wooden platform, the feeble knife held out before her.

"Keir!" she called, turning his name into a battle cry, desperate for him to respond in some way, any way, even if it were just a sound—anything that meant he was still alive. She refused to believe she was too late. Refused with every bone in her body, every ounce of her being. She used her fear and anger as a font of energy, channeling it into her weapon arm.

She would save him.

Even in the grim half-light she could see Keir had given as good as he got. The three creatures were badly injured, with deep cuts flaying their eerie flesh, the opening folds exposing brightly colored organs beneath. Keir had given everything to try to save his son. But it wasn't enough.

The first of the damned creatures launched itself at her, but Caron was ready for it.

She held the knife as tightly as she could. She couldn't afford to lose the blade if it caught against one of those ivory-white bones visible beneath the shadow man's transparent skin.

The first slice tore through the creature's flesh, slicing its throat and showering her with a fountain of its acidic blood.

The acrid-smelling air burned her lungs, but the shadow man fell, convulsing as it clawed at its own throat, unable to stem the flow of death pouring out of it.

She moved lightning-fast, dropping on the fallen spawn and rising with its vicious, two-bladed weapon in her hand before either of its kin could fall on her.

Caron plunged the blade into the second shadow man's heart, ripping it open with the weapon's serrated edge as she pulled it clear, and turned on the third before it could flee.

She roared her primal rage and launched herself at the thing as it charged at her. Their weapons met, the impact shivering down the length of her arm. The jagged blades ground against each other, slipping hilt to hilt as both combatants refused to break. The creature came in so close she could smell the vile, sulfurous reek of its breath as it bared its teeth and tried to take a chunk out of her neck. She drove a knee up, and its jaws snapped together, forced closed inches from her throat by the body blow. The shadow man loosed a howl that echoed from the rock to the very depths of the pit. She forced it away, but it came back at her twice as hard, twice as fast, driving her back up the unsteady platform, trying to use its momentum to take her over the edge.

Caron felt the wood beneath her shift alarmingly, cracking around her heel, as the shadow man launched himself at her again. She felt something explode inside her, pain threatening to blind her as the creature's clawed hand gouged into the soft meat of her side.

The pain was excruciating—but so much worse when the creature withdrew, pulling at her flesh.

The thought of death, here, beside the man she loved, flashed through her mind, but she clung on to the possibility that Caleb was still alive down there and focused on that instead of the pain. She rammed her borrowed two-bladed weapon up into the multi-colored organs of the beast, and forcing it up until it tore through the creature's throat. Gore and blood spilled forth as the mocking howls of the shadow man went silent.

It was over.

But even in death the thing was still a danger. She fought against its corpse, the cumbersome bulk of which sought to pull her from the platform. After an awkward struggle, she managed to extricate herself from it, but then lost purchase on the corpse and watched as it fell from the platform and was swallowed quickly by the darkness below. The impact came long seconds later. The shadow man's blood dripped from one step to another like something alive.

Keir still hadn't made a sound.

She could not leave him, but she couldn't abandon Caleb either. It was a dreadful choice.

She crouched beside her husband, running her fingertips across his cheek, barely holding back her tears. Her thumb touched his lips, split and caked with blood. She almost pulled it away when one swollen eye flickered open. He groaned. It was the faintest of noises, and she wouldn't have heard if her ear hadn't been so close to his lips. He was alive.

"Caleb," he said. One word. It was all he had the strength to say. It spoke more eloquently to the man he was than a million fancy words could have. Even now his only thought was for his boy.

"I'm going to get him back," Caron said. "Trust me." He didn't argue with her. "You have to go back to the surface. I will get him. I promise you, my love."

He tried to rise, but even in the dim light of the oil lamps she could see the agony etched on his face.

"Promise me," she said, and meant it. She loved him. She would bring his boy back, though it might cost her everything. It was a price she was willing to pay, for him. For them. Because that was what love really was. "Please. Promise me you'll get out of here."

"I need... to come with you... He's my son."

"You'll only slow me down. Trust me. I won't let you down."

It was an impossible promise, but she needed him to believe in her.

With his teeth clenched tight he nodded and took her hand as she helped him to his feet. He had to brace himself against the wall to stay standing.

"Promise me. I need to hear you say it."

Keir looked at her. He knew.

He nodded again. "I promise."

She kissed him then, on those cracked and bloody lips, and said, "I love you."

"I know," he said and turned away, using the guide rope to haul himself step by agonizing step up the winding stairway. When he was thirty feet above her, Keir turned. She wanted to believe he was smiling. "I love you, too," he called down to her. She swallowed. It was the first time he'd said those words to her.

"I'll bring him home," she whispered. It was a promise not just to Keir or herself, but to the world.

She turned her back on the love of her life and descended.

Far below, she saw the glow of more lights. There was nothing welcoming about them.

Coming Next Week: Subterranean pursuit in Chapter Three of Steven Savile's "Queen Sacrifice."

Steven Savile is the internationally best-selling author of almost twenty novels and many more short stories, set in both original worlds and those of Primeval, Stargate SG-1, Warhammer, Torchwood, Dr. Who, and more. He won Writers of the Future in 2002, has been a runner-up for the British Fantasy Award and shortlisted for the Scribe Award for Best Adapted Novel, and won the Scribe Award for Best Young Adult Original Novel. For more information, visit his website at stevensavile.com.

Illustration by Dion Harris.

Queen Sacrifice

by Steven Savile

Chapter One: Lord of Summer

Caron looked on as Keir pushed the wooden piece the length of the board. Keir had carved it himself, fashioning the likenesses of kings and queens and knights so he could teach his boy the game, which represented so much in life.

The boy was improving. It wouldn't be long before he beat his old man.

The thought pleased Caron. She wasn't the boy's real mother, but motherhood was about more than just bringing a child into the world, wasn't it?

Keir moved his queen, placing it where it could be taken by Caleb's black knight. The boy looked up at him with a bright smile and took the piece, not suspecting for a moment that his old man was devious enough to set him up for a fall. It would be a lesson, even if it came at the cost of that wonderfully innocent smile.

Caron studied the board. Moving the knight away from its defensive position allowed Keir to push his bishop into place, which in turn would force Caleb to move his king into a position where check mate was only a couple of moves away. It was all about looking ahead, seeing the possibilities and permutations the game presented.

The boy stepped unwittingly into the trap.

Keir was merciful, ending the game in a couple of minutes.

"Lose a fight, win the battle," Keir said.

Caleb nodded. He was a quick learner and wouldn't fall into the same trap twice.

Keir rubbed one of his huge hands through the boy's mop of hair.

Caron felt the familiar prickle at the back of her neck. It was irrational, of course, but she envied them their closeness.

In the morning they would move on. There were miles left to patrol before they rested again. Then, at least she could concentrate on what she had been trained to do, instead of watching the two play and feeling maudlin for a life not lived.

∗ ∗ ∗

Caleb's innocence is outweighed only by his optimism.

It was easy to see why the range was known as the World's Roof. Even here, far from their loftiest heights, the snowcapped peaks were spectacular to behold, intimidating as they clawed up at the sky. Some of the mountains, like the Mhar Massif off to the east, pierced the clouds and kept on climbing until their summits were far out of sight. There was something primal, elemental, about the mountains' presence in the world. They seemed to taunt the fleeting nature of humanity and promise that no matter what, the land would abide.

It had been a long journey skirting the Kodar Mountains along the borders of Varisia and Belkzen. On the way, the travelers had seen things that could never be unseen. But at night it had been the sounds rather than sights that would never leave Caron, especially the gentle, low moaning of the willow-'o-wisps. She knew the dancing lights were the last echoes of the great sacrifice the marsh had seen, and she had been unable to differentiate those ghostlights from the lost soldiers who had given their lives in that desperate blood ritual to deny the orc devastation so long ago. Caleb was both old enough to understand the implications of those flickering lights and impressionable enough to imagine there was some kind of glory to be won through self-sacrifice. The world would batter that out of him in time, but until then it was Keir's and her job to love, nurture, and protect the lad.

She paused, mopping the sweat from her brow, and looked up again through the thick forest lining the lower slope. The trees thinned out as the incline steepened, leaving roots exposed and clinging to the bedrock where the soil had slid away. In a month, the leaves would turn to golden brown, crumple, and fall, but for now the forest was in the last bloom of summer.

They pushed on. Gradually, the trees thinned around them, the sounds of the forest giving way to the whistle of the wind as it swept down through the mountains and the crunch of scree underfoot.

There were risks that went with any patrol, especially one that had lasted as long as this one, but there were rewards, too. One of those was contact—with the world, with the good people and glorious creatures that brought it to life.

She turned the patrol in the direction of the huddle of buildings in the distance.

Smoke rose from the main house.

She was hungry, and she knew Caleb would be, too. The boy was always hungry. He'd inherited his father's larger-than-life appetite.

"One night won't hurt," she told Keir. She knew the road weighed on him more than it did her. It had been her choice to live like this. When his world fell apart, he had fallen in love with her, slowly, one day at a time, but she was never going to be Neve, who would always be his first love. During those first days and weeks on the road, it was painfully obvious that Keir had come with Caron to escape the ghost of his departed love. Neve was everywhere in their old village, in every stone and every window. He'd see her in the river, her reflection bathing even if her memory could never be washed away. So Caron had made the offer: "Come with me. Her ghost will still be here when you return, but maybe you'll be better able to cope with it." That had been so long ago now, and more and more he'd talk to the boy about home, about teaching him skills in the forge, and the life they had waiting for them. Going home wasn't something she looked forward to in the same way. For them it was a beginning; for her it was an end. An end to this life they shared where they were the entire world to each other.

"Then we move on," he agreed, thinking she was as keen to be moving again as he was. "We don't want to be out here when winter arrives."

Sometimes ignorance was bliss.

She nodded.

As they neared, people emerged from their houses. One woman, draped in a thick shawl, leaned in close to a muscular man who stood head and shoulders taller than the others. Her voice didn't carry. Caron put a smile on her face. She took in the people and the surroundings. There were obvious signs of preparation for some sort of celebration, though she couldn't think of any holy days they might be observing. Perhaps it was a coming-of-age ceremony?

A big burly man stepped forward, his arms spread wide. "Welcome, welcome," he said, grinning broadly. "Come, join us. You must be hungry. Thirsty. Please, be welcome."

"Thank you," Keir said. "The promise of a decent meal is music to my ears."

"I'll have beds made up for you. Rest."

Keir took the man's outstretched hand. "There's no need to trouble yourselves."

"It's no trouble," the man said. "What's ours is yours. Today is a good day—the Festival of the Sun. Please. We may not have much to offer, but what we have we will gladly share with you."

Curious faces watched as the newcomers walked between the rundown houses. The locals' clothes were patched and poor, their skin etched with the shapes of the bones beneath. It was painfully obvious these people were living on the edge on starvation, and yet they were willing to share what little they had.

The man showed them to a tiny house that was bare save for the essentials and reeked of cold and damp. It was a small village. An empty house felt like a greater tragedy than it might have in a bigger town. Who had lived here? Why was it empty now? Caron ran her fingers across the wall, wondering what stories the stones might tell.

They were supplied with water and soap to wash themselves, and given time to change out of clothes smeared with the grit and grime of their journey. "I'll send someone to scrub them for you," the man said, and then closed the door behind him.

Caleb, exhausted, was sprawled out on the simple cot that lay in the corner of the room, his eyes closed. Caron admired his unerring warrior's talent of being able to catch a nap whenever and wherever the chance arose.

"The boy's got the right idea," Keir said, and within minutes was fast asleep himself.

For a few minutes, Caron tried to follow suit, but no matter how she tried to let her mind drift, sleep would not come. Reluctantly, she rose and went out for a walk.

"Hello again." It was the man who'd shown them into the house. "I hope you're hungry," he said with a smile.

"You really shouldn't trouble yourselves."

"It's no trouble, really. We don't see many travelers these days, and it would mean the world to us if you'd stay, enjoy the celebration." He looked down at his feet, then up at her, obviously uncomfortable. "You might have noticed when you arrived... We don't have any children of our own. We won't be here much longer. We weren't blessed. Our little community is dying." He raised his hand to fend off Caron's look of sympathy. "It's just a fact of life," he went on, "and no great tragedy to be honest. We've got a good life here. However, and feel free to say no, it just struck me that it would be a great honor if your boy could take part in the festivities?"

"How?"

He smiled softly. "It has been a long time since youthful laughter filled these hills. The feast calls for a Lord of Summer... do you think he would like to be our Lord of Summer?"

"Lord of Summer. I don't think I've come across that before." Her words were not quite a question but invited an answer just the same. The question she really wanted to ask was where had all of the villagers' own children gone—or had none ever been born? An entire barren generation seemed unlikely, even in such a small community. Had the children died? Disease was always a threat. They were a long way from any help. Her mind raced with the possibilities, trying to fasten on the most obvious one that would explain the sadness she felt from the villagers. Something had happened to the children, a sweeping sickness had taken them, something like that. If so, that was a sorrow she could share, and it would explain so much.

"For generations we have celebrated the arrival of autumn," the man said, "and given thanks to the mountains for the shelter and protection they afford us. It goes back to when I was a boy, and when my father was. The Lord of Summer represents the best that the village has to offer. Even though your son is not one of ours, he would still represent so much of what we were and want to be again. All he needs to do is take his place on the Briar Throne and smile."

She'd come across plenty of towns and villages that clung onto long-held beliefs and rituals. Some were no more than explanations of natural phenomena like the rise and falls of river levels, the coming of the new moon, or the changing of the seasons. Giving thanks to the mountains was no stranger than any of those. She smiled. "I'm sure he'd love that."

"Wonderful. Wonderful. We'll need to go through the ceremony with him, of course, practice the few lines he'll need to say, but that'll take only a few minutes. First, we should see about getting you fed." He smiled and led her back to the house.

As he closed the door behind her, she realized she hadn't seen anything of the village.

∗ ∗ ∗

The sun sank lower in the sky, casting a gloom inside the room.

People came and went, bringing with them food and questions about the world outside. Everyone was so friendly. She went outside. She could see Caleb dressed in a costume of leaves and vines. He waved to her, clearly delighted to be the center of attention. So like his mother, Caron thought, and so unlike herself. But that was blood for you: it couldn't be denied.

The man who'd greeted them came over to meet her at the door. He smiled warmly. "Thank you so much for doing this. Your boy is having the time of his life."

"I'm sure he is." Caron looked across at Caleb as he was fussed over by half a dozen women old enough to be his grandmother. By the time they were finished with him he'd be every inch the young, virile Lord of Summer they needed. Looking at him there she didn't see the boy; she saw his father the day she'd lost her heart to him. The boy was his double. She couldn't help but smile, remembering the man who'd stolen her heart. But of course that meant remembering everything else, too: the naming ceremony, and the fact Keir hadn't chosen her no matter how desperately she'd wanted him to just say her name and take her hand and dance together into the sunset.

They followed the man between the houses, to the green in front of the main communal house. The entire village had gathered. She could feel them holding their collective breath as a Caleb stepped forward, dressed in the lush colors of summer. His costume was completed with a crown of leaves that had been picked that morning and were already beginning to brown and curl. The crown was a reminder that summer couldn't last forever, no matter what rituals or ceremonies you performed.

The boy walked slowly, his footsteps caught in the rhythm of a softly beating drum. She hadn't noticed the drummer. The sound seemed to be emanating from within the huddled buildings.

At the edge of the settlement, a path lit by fiery brands led the way up into the mountains. With the sun lowering in the sky, the brands created a path of light. Caleb led the procession, walking slowly up the mountainside.

He didn't look back at them once.

∗ ∗ ∗

The villagers began a slow, rhythmic chant. Their voices rolled across the mountainside. They weren't raised in joy. This was a dirge. Mournful, melancholy, like the mountain itself was grieving.

"This isn't right," she whispered fiercely.

Keir said nothing.

They walked side by side up the path of light, leaving the village far behind on the lower slopes. The path wound up through scree and loose rock toward the bare face of the mountain. She could see dark black scars in the face, deep crevices eroded into the mountainside by centuries of harsh weather. Some of the scars rose high above their heads, but were so narrow it would have been hard for a rat to squeeze through.

The path of light opened out into a broad, flat expanse high above the valley below. In the center, surrounded by more blazing torches and a circle of scuffed footprints, was a wooden throne fashioned from intertwined branches and living vines. This time Caleb did look back for approval before he climbed into the chair. He took his place center stage and waited while the others chanted. The pounding of the drum increased, in volume and tempo, counterpoint to the melancholic song.

And then suddenly it stopped.

There was movement within the cracks of the mountain face.

She stared at the dark fissures in the rock as slowly shadows began to detach from the blackness. There was something wrong about the way they moved—too fluid, too supple, hunched and scuttling almost like spiders rather than walking proudly down the hillside like actors—that twisted her gut.

Only they weren't shadows at all.

They looked almost human in the way they moved; their skin was sickly, almost translucent in the faltering light of the path's torches. She could see the bright, bloody colors of the organs beneath the surface and the hard ridges of ivory bone. In its hand she saw a hideous double-bladed sword that gleamed sickly in the moonlight. The shadow man saw her staring at him, and turned to stare back at her, his wide mouth stretching ear to ear as he bared razor-sharp teeth.

This wasn't a ceremony. It was a sacrifice.

Caleb sat proudly on his throne, the Lord of Summer's crown of leaves firmly in place on his head, the daemon spawn closing in on him, hungry to take the villagers' offering.

"Caleb!" she screamed, reaching for her sword and trying to push and shove her way through the crowd of onlookers. But as fast as she moved, they were faster. The shadow men spilled out of the cracks in the mountain and rushed down the slope.

The entire mountainside was locked in eerie silence.

She felt arms grab at her and hold her tight, then saw the same smiling man who'd gone out of his way to make them feel welcome pull Keir down.

They fought desperately, but it didn't matter. There was no way they could fend off an entire village long enough to reach the boy on his briar throne.

Caron screamed and twisted, bucking and thrashing against the hands holding her, but it didn't matter. The sheer weight of bodies overwhelmed her. Something slammed into the side of her face repeatedly—fist or rock, it made little difference—until she stopped fighting and her entire world grew dark.

Coming Next Week: Into the darkness in Chapter Two of Steven Savile's "Queen Sacrifice."

Steven Savile is the internationally best-selling author of almost twenty novels and many more short stories, set in both original worlds and those of Primeval, Stargate SG-1, Warhammer, Torchwood, Dr. Who, and more. He won Writers of the Future in 2002, has been a runner-up for the British Fantasy Award and shortlisted for the Scribe Award for Best Adapted Novel, and won the Scribe Award for Best Young Adult Original Novel. For more information, visit his website at stevensavile.com.

Illustration by Dion Harris.