The Chamber

Chapter One- The Arrival

The ground beneath him was the exact warmth of frozen steel, and just as slippery. He hoped it would at least not be as sharp. The flagstones felt as though they'd been covered in hoarfrost- which, he reminded himself, they might very well be. The air was light and clear, not nearly as dank or musty as would be expected for a place so deep within the glacier, but then again, this was no ordinary place.

He had an instinctive urge to shout, to judge by the echoes how big the room he found himself was. He resisted of course, although the place was silent there might well be others within earshot, and they were unlikely to be friendly.

Groping in the dark, his fingers encountered a patch of oddly warm liquid pooled on the icy ground. Holding his wet hand up to his face, he smelled the unmistakable metallic scent of blood. Sitting up, he rubbed the almost-cooled liquid between his fingers, so he had been right to be cautions, there /was/ someone else down here.

Although the room was pitch black, it still gave the impression of space, an airy feel to it as though he were in some great underground cavern. All the same, when he started moving, he did so slowly, cautiously, feeling his body low to the ground and his arms outstretched to check for obstacles.

Suddenly, he span around, over to his left had come the sound of movement, a scratching sound followed by a soft thump. He lunged towards the noise, hands reaching out to find the newcomer, caution forgotten but quickly regretted when his foot slipped on the frosty ground and he fell over into a patch of rough ground. The sharp edges of the ice covered rocks cut into his palms, and his cold hands lit up with the pain. Grunting, he scrambled up the steep incline.

"Don't!"

The newcomer's voice was shrill and panicking, so high that he wasn't sure if it belonged to an man or woman. Still, he was no chivalrous idiot. He had seen too many men underestimate a female to their ends to be fooled.

He paused, ears pricked and senses straining to locate the stranger. Again, he smelt blood, most likely this newcomer was responsible for the patch he had found, they were wounded then, but might still be dangerous. There was no creature quite as dangerous as a truly desperate man.

What was more, they had to be close for him to be able to smell them, not just blood, but the faint stink of sweat and fear. The sound of their breathing was loud in his ears, rapid and frantic, with the occasional gasp or sob of pain and near hyperventilation. An odd dripping sound also made itself known to his keen ears, that of a thick liquid oozing and falling to the ground. again, this reinforced the theory that the stranger was hurt, also, if the wound was so serious as to still be bleeding, they were unlikely to be any threat.

"Be ye hurt?" He winced at the painful rasp that had become of his voice.

The breathing grew even more rapid, and what might have been a choked sob escaped the newcomer's lips.

"Where be ye?"" He shuffled forwards, his fur boots scraping against the broken floor.

"Don't!"

The voice was even higher and the fear in it was palpable. He frowned suddenly, wondering why the sound would touch off such a feeling of familiarity. Shoving the thought aside, he took another step towards the stranger.

There was a scrabbling noise as the unknown person scrambled back, followed by the sound of a heavy fall and a low cry.

Biting his lip in irritation, he took a clumsy hop closer to the stranger, reaching out to take hold of him, although whether to help him up or prevent him from retreating, he wasn't sure.

There was another cry of pain, and his hand touched an outstretched arm, thrust towards him as though to ward him away. Impatiently, he grabbed hold of the arm, holding it tightly as the newcomer squealed and attempted to pull away.
He felt more than heard the man try and push him back with his free hand, years of training kicking in and flicking out his hand to catch the man's fist.

It never came. Instead his hand closed on a gory stump, the hand having been lopped off and leaving nothing but a wrist, severed veins still sluggishly leaking blood.

The taste of bile flooded his mouth at the feeling, not so much the injury, he had seen- and inflicted- far worse, but at the realisation of who this was.

"You!" As bitter as the bile was, the word and accompanying knowledge were far viler.

As though it had only been waiting for his realisation, a weak glow began to permeate the walls of the chamber. Ice blue light slowly shimmering up the walls until it was as though they were within an enormous sapphire, lit by the sun.

He had no time to admire the view, however. He attention was caught and held by the mutilated man that was still trying to pull away, almost biting through his lower lip in an effort not to cry out as fingers dug cruelly into the raw flesh of his stump.

He was just as he remembered him. Small and slight, whip-slender and looking every bit as crafty as ever. The irony was not lost.

"The betrayer betrayed." There was a note of gloating in his voice as the smaller, dark hair man tried to squirm away. "Thy master gave ye the reward ye deserved."

Despite the pain that would have paralysed a larger man, the was an flash a fury in those grey eyes. "You call me a betrayer," he hissed through gritted teeth, "But what of you? You lied, said we wouldn't come here. And you blame me for not walking to my doom. You are the oathbreaker /Nameless one/!"

The sound of his accursed name turned his stomach but not as much as the small man's accusations. "Damned be ye, who I once called friend, I told ye well enough where we be going-"

"But not what you meant to do. To enter this place is death, is that what you planned for us? Is that why you refused to tell me when you hired me? I ran to the Master because I didn't want to die, nor even to you, despite what you did."

He ground his teeth, sickened by the craven he had once dared to trust, "Ye be a coward." He said softly, his low tone infinitely more dangerous than his shouts, "And ye deserve more than I gave."

"Oh yes," the small man looked at his mangled limb, still held tightly in the other's hand. "My cowardice. There's a line between cowardice and suicide, and if you ever claimed to be my friend, you would have told me what you were planning from the start, instead of leading me on like- Ahhgg!"

The wounded man cried out as the hand holding his stump twisted, driving fingernails through the open wound. Another cry, but still he held on until he saw the smaller man about to pass out from pain, then he released him, letting him fall to the floor and curl up, cradling his injury.

"I leave ye here to thy death, traitor. I would not sully myself to put thy blood on my hands." Spitting at the weeping man, he got up and turned to stride away.

"Wait!"

Skull Bearer.