“Are you alright back there?” Emeri called to Aalis and Verne who were following her through a network caves, joined by tunnels that wound their way up and across the mountain Fort Omra was built against. The going might have been precarious had it not been for metal rings hammered into the walls with rope rails up the steepest parts.

“I’m great,” Verne put her lantern down and offered her hand to Aalis who handed her pack so she could clamber up onto a ledge, “Aalis?”

“I am actually enjoying this.” Aalis laughed, pulling herself up. She took her pack back.

“There’s next to nothing in that.” Verne remarked, picking up her lantern.

“I know. I wanted it empty so I could fill it with as much as I could carry.” Aalis clung to the rope rails, breathing heavily.

“Need us to stop?”

“I will be fine.” She insisted.

“I know it’s a slog,” Emeri peered down at them from higher up, holding a lantern so their path was illuminated, “but we are past the worst bit.”

“It is not bad,” Aalis reassured them, “I am not sure I am as fit as either of you.”

Verne helped Aalis up to where Emeri waited for them with her lantern. She had been leading them steadily and confidently since they’d set out. The entrance to the mountain tunnel network was accessed at the very back of the fort where an old wooden door had rotted away and been discarded.

“I think the fort’s original builders thought this could be used as an escape in case of a monster siege.” Emeri explained. “Not that it goes anywhere you can get down from…unless you drag a sledge all the way with you.”

“It wouldn’t be impossible,” Verne turned sideways and slid through the narrowest part of the passage, “but I wouldn’t like to try it unless I had to.”

“Take care up ahead. There are pools of tainted water.”

They smelt the taint before they saw it. There was a cavern, large and pot marked with craters ranging in size from a dinner plate to one Verne could curl up inside and not protrude out of the top of. Most were empty but a series of them, joined by underground trickles, were full of water that shimmered with an iridescent green shine. Even around the edges, when the taint had overflowed, were smears of an oily residue. Making their path just that little bit more difficult was the presence of stalagmites and stalactites.

“Such a shame it is so odorous,” Aalis clapped a handkerchief over her nose, “it really is the prettiest sheen.”

“Be sure to keep your lanterns out of it.” Emeri warned. “A stray spark could set the taint alight.”

“Set fire…to water?” Aalis was intrigued.

“I have read a report of a pool of taint burning for weeks. There was no smoke but the flames were blue and green and nothing could douse it until the flames had consumed every drop of taint.”

“Why does it smell like rotten eggs?” Verne’s eyes watered.

“I think it is the smell of sulphur,” Emeri explained, leading them around the pools, “which leads me to think that taint is a byproduct of the mount of Maul.”

“How do you figure that?” Verne asked, clambering past the foul pools as quickly as she could.

“The mount of Maul is a volcano.”

“A volcano?”

“A mountain that had its foundations so deep in the ground that they connect with the molten core of the world.”

Aalis and Verne stopped and stared at Emeri. She saw their concern.

“Oh, don’t worry…it’s not like the world is leaking or anything…well…I suppose it is in a way…”

“Care to get to the ‘don’t worry’ part?” Verne asked tersely.

“Any lava, molten rock, that comes out of the mount of Maul, escapes through the cracks in the ground, like blood coming up through skin that had split when experiencing prolonged dryness. It pools, steams, cools and goes hard.”

“How does this relate to the taint?” Aalis asked, relieved to be out of the tainted pool cave. They were still heading upwards but the slope was less taxing and the air was cleaner.

“On the days the mount of Maul bleeds lava, the air reeks of rotten eggs…it’s the smell of sulphur, just like the taint. It’s not much further.”

“Is it me or is it getting warmer?” Verne flapped her hand against her face.

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

“I thought that too.”

“Geothermal pockets.”

“Now you’re making stuff up.” Verne teased.

“No, I’m serious. Heated air and earth from that molten core I told you about, sometimes create warmth where it ought to be becoming cooler.”

Verne looked at Aalis and winked. “I thought we left Caste behind.”

“Oh sorry,” Emeri paused and turned back to them, “was I lecturing?”

“No, it is interesting.”

Emeri sighed. “I have been told I’m very…preachy…I don’t mean to be. I just find knowledge to be fascinating. I mean, who knew there was a word to describe the heat generated by the core of the earth? Geothermal…what a fantastic word!”

Verne laughed outright. “You and Caste must have some interesting discussions!”

“Debates more like it.” Emeri giggled. “I’m sure he’ll be enjoying his solitary day in the library.”

“What are you doing in here, Giordi?” Caste demanded, aghast and infuriated that the minstrel had appeared in the library.

Giordi was wandering around the pillars, browsing at the shelves with passing interest, enjoying Caste’s reaction more than the books that lined the walls.

“Judd and Suvau are forging a new sword, Aalis and Emeri are off up the mountain with Verne to protect them…I was at a loose end.”

“Why don’t you serenade doe eyed virgins in the village then? It’s what you normally do.” Caste muttered as he removed a large leather wallet from a deep set of shelves. He carried them over to the desk he was using during his time in Fort Omra and tried not to drop them heavily. He opened the wallet and leafed carefully through the parchments laid loosely inside. They were filled with diagrams and drawings, measurements sketched in and each document marked with a date and a cleric’s signature. He turned them over and over, looking for one in particular.

“Schematics?” Giordi said, surprising Caste, as he leaned over his shoulder. “Of Fort Omra?”

“Yes if you must know.” Caste grumbled.

“What are you looking for?”

“The foundations…or at least the way to access the foundations.” Caste clucked his tongue, his eyes darting over the drawings, seeking specific notations that would tell him he’d found what he was looking for.

“I’m surprised you can see anything on these faint sketches.” Giordi dove into his pocket and found the apple he’d grabbed from the kitchen.

“That’s because you haven’t received my level of training…ah…this looks promising.” Caste paused, his finger lightly tracing the lines on the parchment. “Ground floor…foundations…basement.”

“Is that a hatch?” Giordi leaned in close to peer at the schematic, chewing in Caste’s ear.

“Just like the one in Fort Sol,” Caste stood up straight, “only this one accesses the foundations beneath Fort Omra.”

Giordi turned a chair around and straddled it, crunching loudly. “Why are you looking at the foundations of the fort?” He asked with his mouth full. “I can’t imagine there’d be anything worth finding in a basement.”

“It’s something Cleric Severo said last night.” Caste rolled up the parchment he needed, making sure the others were secure inside their leather wallet.

“Did he say anything that wasn’t a drunken ramble?”

“That’s what I intend to find out.” Caste mused. “Drowned…”

“Drowned?” Giordi looked up from his apple. “I suppose that’s one way to describe Severo’s libation saturation.”

Caste decided not to lose another layer of tooth by grinding them at the infuriating minstrel. He put the wallet away and clutched the single parchment he’d taken.

“Out, come on…out!”

“Why out?”

“Because you are not supposed to be in here without a representative of the Order of the Grail supervising.”

Giordi munched on his apple. “Seems a bit pretentious. Shouldn’t everyone be able to access the books in a library?”

Caste turned and stared at him in horror. “And mess up the order? Borrow without returning? Smear them with their dirty fingers?”

“Right…my mistake.” Giordi chuckled and began to follow Caste as he hastened down the corridor. “Where are you going?”

“Why are you following me if you don’t know where I’m going?” Caste retorted.

Giordi eyed him with a strange seriousness in his gaze. “This fort seems to be the sort of place that someone on their own could be quite vulnerable and maligned.”

Caste folded his arms. “Are you saying I need protection? As a cleric, I am almost entirely above reproach.”

“Then you can be my witness.”

Caste rolled his eyes. “Generally you don’t want the witness to be honest about the true going ons at the scene of the crime.”

“Well, if you’re certain.” Giordi bowed, turned and left.

Caste huffed, hastening through the fort, following his map as best he could, hopefully heading in a northerly direction. He could almost see the different layers of the fort coming together, the oldest parts in the deepest levels in the most northern corner. He had taken a lamp from a hook, sensing that where he was going, there wouldn’t have been lamps lit for quite some time. It was with a small degree of satisfaction and no little trepidation when he realised he was right.

The schematics led him to a storage room where the boxes and barrels that were scattered through it had probably been forgotten since before Sir Fereak’s predecessor, ten times removed. Caste kicked lightly across the pavers, feet scuffing through the gathered dirt and disintegrating wood of rotten barrels.

“There’s definitely been water in here, enough to rot these barrels and grow this mould.” Caste murmured, choosing the least dilapidated box to lay the parchment on and rested the lamp next to it. “So…the hatch must be down here somewhere…”

Physical exertion was one of Caste’s least favourite past times however, he was feeling motivated. He pushed the boxes out of the way, scraping the ground with his booted feet until he uncovered wood panels on the ground instead of paving.

“There you are.” He brushed his hands off, shuddering at the thought of how filthy they were. “I’ll bathe later.” He told himself then paused. “Where is the ring? There should be a handle of some kind…” But try as he might, he couldn’t find one. Caste removed his cappa clausa and knelt, taking a piece of wood and scraping around the edge of the hatch. Over and over he scraped until the line of the hatch was deep and clear. When he’d found the hinges, Caste retrieved a piece of metal that once went around a barrel that had fallen apart. He worked the edge into the gap opposite the hinges and jammed it into the wood. Using a crate as leverage he pushed hard on the metal.

His efforts were rewarded as he felt the hatch give.

“Ha ha!” He crowed then hoped no one had heard him. He adjusted the angle of the metal lever and pushed again, feeling yet more movement. It took several goes but Caste would have suffered all the sweat, grime and mildew for the sight of the open basement. He picked up his lamp and peered at the dark hole.

It was entirely unappealing.

“Come on Caste,” he urged himself, “there could be lost manuscripts down here…”

He breathed in several times, over and over before inching down the steps, going deeper and deeper into the darkness of the foundations of the fort.