It was dark, damp and chilly, wherever the portal had taken them. Therin felt the sting of his many cuts as he sat up and looked around him. The cave he was in was faintly lit with glowing moss but his eyes struggled to adjust to the gloom. It was still hard to see and he felt around him, hissing at the deeper cuts in his hands and arms. His hand landed on cloth and he groped, patting harder. It was someone’s leg.

A sticky, wet hand landed on his, squeezing and he recognized Noran’s grip on him.

“Where are we?” Croaked the bigger man and Noran moved to sit up, releasing Therin’s hand.

“There’s a system of caves within and beneath Bloody Hawk Plateau. Some are burial chambers, some are work rooms for the witches.” He coughed. “My hands…”

“Mine, too. Can I use Light here?”

“No,” Noran said. “I don’t know what kinds of wards are in place.”

“Where’s Roshan?” Therin asked in response.

“Here,” said the Blademaster, and they heard the crunch of his boots on the floor of the large cave. “I’m also cut up, but not badly.” He sat beside the other two men.

“We might need to risk the Light,” Therin said. “We can’t just sit here bleeding out. I can’t see anything, either.”

“I can help with that,” Noran said and he held his hand up, whispering in his witch tongue. The walls of the cave lit with a warm yellow glow, reacting to his magic.

The cavern they had landed in was fairly large, tall enough that Therin could just make out the ceiling. The walls were roughly hewn, dripping with moisture. Rivulets of water ran across the floor in places, leaving long tracks of white, red and yellow mineral deposits. The air smelled earthy and wet and Therin thought he could detect a slight touch of sulphur. It was an empty chamber but along the walls, at seemingly random intervals were black holes–entrances to other chambers.

Blinking in the sudden relative brightness, Therin checked over his own hands and was dismayed to see how much blood was flowing from the cuts across his palms and forearms. Having assessed himself, alarmed but sure he’d be fine, he looked over Noran. His brother’s hands were bad, but it was the deep cut across his cheek that worried Therin the most. It ran from the corner of his mouth to his temple, stopping where his blindfold covered his face. It must have happened when Roshan and he had thrown themselves atop the blinded witch.

The Blademaster’s shirt had not fared well but he seemed to be in better shape than Noran and Therin. Most of his cuts had slowed to a thick ooze already. His shirt hung off his tanned, muscled shoulder, exposing his arm and upper chest. Therin noted, for the first time, that Roshan had his ribs bound tightly in a linen bandage. He frowned, unsure how Roshan could move with such grace with broken ribs.

“Are you hurt?” He asked and Roshan refused to meet his eye.

“I’m fine,” he said and clutched his torn shirt to himself, hiding his bandages.

“But your ribs–”

“I’m fine,” Roshan said again, cutting him off. “Let’s just get out of here.”

“Noran,” Therin said, turning to his brother. “Your cuts are deep.”

“I know,” said the witch, unsmiling. “I have nothing to bind my hands with.”

“Let me use–”

“No,” Noran said and he made to stand up, wobbly and weak. Despite the infusion of healing Light that he had had, Noran continued to wane, looking more diminished each time Therin looked at him.

“There will be rooms of things, supplies, in these catacombs,” Noran said confidently. “This is where Mara and Erin worked, primarily. The… magic in this burial mound acts as a boost to witch power.” A note in his voice made Therin watch him carefully. He wished he could unbind his brother’s eyes and look at him, to search him for the truth as he had once done when they were younger.

“What aren’t you saying?” Therin asked bluntly and Noran turned his blind face to him, blood dripping down his chin.

“There are things here I don’t want to run into.”

“Like the hounds?”

Noran did not answer, turning away from his brother. Therin caught his arm and pulled him back, spinning him to face him. Blood was oozing from the cut on his pale cheek and Therin lost his train of thought.

“Right, let’s get your wounds tended to.” He released Noran and then helped Roshan to his feet, watching as the young Blademaster clutched his torn shirt to him modestly. He did not move as though he was badly hurt, Therin thought. Shaking the mystery out of his mind to make room for more important things, Therin turned to Noran.

“Which way?”

“Well,” Noran began, slowly spinning, as though assessing which way to go through some sort of sense. “I’m not entirely sure. We can’t really get lost, they all either lead back here, nowhere, or out. Pick a tunnel and let’s see where we end up.”

They entered the closest corridor and Noran whispered again, letting the light that had lit the chamber follow them into the tunnel, leaving their circular room in darkness. They made their way slowly, Therin wondering how Noran’s cuts were doing with the exercise, until they reached another cavern.

The walls of this one were closer, the ceiling not so high. Otherwise, it was very similar to the one that they had just vacated. It was slightly drier than the one they had left and had a single wooden crate along the far wall. It had no other exits or entrances.

“There’s a crate,” Roshan said for Noran’s benefit.

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Therin made his way to the crate and lifted the lid carefully, waiting for something to jump out at him. With a disappointed sigh, he put the lid back and turned to face the other two.

“Empty bottles,” he said, shrugging.

“Back the way we came,” Noran said they returned to the first room, choosing the next tunnel.

The second tunnel was much longer. Therin watched the walls slide by in their wake. He reached a hand out and touched the long, deep grooves in the stone and with a shock realised that the tunnels were handcarved. Tracing striations in the stone he was suddenly aware that he could be very deep underground. The weight of the rock seemed to press in upon him and he released the wall, letting his sore hand fall to his side.

Finally, they made it to the next chamber and as they slowed, Therin couldn’t help the sound he let out.

“Whoa,” he breathed and the silence of the other two men seemed to echo his awe.

The cave was an enormous pale green geode, huge pillars of crystal jutting from the walls and ceiling, where the colour seemed deepest. Only the floor had been smoothed out to allow passage, the crystal ground down somehow to make a smooth, flat surface. Various weapons, all made of the slick black metal of Witch Knives, adorned the walls, pale gems glittering in their hilts. The light that followed the trio flowed behind the crystalline structures, lighting the room in jewel tones of mossy green and deep emerald, highlighting the weapons as it ran behind them.

“It’s a room of crystal,” Roshan muttered as Noran turned his head, listening. “A huge green crystal geode. There are weapons hanging from iron pegs hammered into the walls.”

As Therin’s eyes were scaling the walls and appraising the natural beauty of the room and trying to identify the weapons, Noran let out a gasp and took off toward the centre of the room.

A long wooden table was laid in the middle, a black cloth draped down the centre of it displaying something Therin couldn’t quite make out. He followed Noran and saw what had made the young witch gasp with such emotion. His hands were trailing over the items, gently caressing them as he walked slowly down the length of the table, his unseeing face angled in such a way that he appeared to be listening to the items.

Four daggers, in various stages of completion, laid in the centre of the table. Each one had green gemstones stuck in the handles, all of them missing a pommel stone but one. Each slick black blade shimmered eerily in the light of the room and Therin felt his skin crawl as he looked at the Witch Knives.

“How did you see them here?” Therin asked, confused how his brother had noticed the table.

“They have no masters,” Noran whispered. “I can hear them.” His hand landed on the most complete blade, missing only a few small gemstones. As his bloodied hand touched the blade, he gasped and jerked back, his hand clutched to his chest. Therin watched as he opened it slowly, using his other hand to inspect for new cuts but the big man frowned when Noran opened it and it was healed, merely sticky with the drying blood.

“How…” He began, reaching out to take the healed appendage but Noran yanked his hand free and lifted the blade triumphantly.

“It’s almost as powerful as my own, maybe more so but in a different way,” he gasped and Therin watched him touch the preternaturally sharp blade to his cuts and heal them.

“How…” he began again but he interrupted himself as Noran pressed the dagger to his cheek and healed the worst of his wounds, leaving a thin red line where it had been.

“Erin made these,” Noran said in awe. “What shape is the blade?” He handed the Knife to Therin who held it with some trepidation.

“It’s kind of notched near the crossguard. It has one deep fuller and…” he paused, counting. “Seventeen different sockets. Almost all of them are full.”

“Amazing,” Noran said in response. “The colour?”

“Green, like the room we’re in.” Therin handed the blade back with relief.

“Green…” whispered the witch as he stroked the gems, feeling their placements and where the bare sockets were left. “Emerald?” He asked, holding the blade up to his face again and Therin shrugged as he replied.

“I don’t know. They are kind of pale.”

“Interesting…” Noran said. “I was not allowed to view this room when scrying for…her. I wonder what she didn’t trust me with.”

He raised the Knife and whispered something, making the light in the room blare brightly for a second and then dim again. The crystalline walls seemed to shimmer and ungulate with brightness, making Therin dizzy as he spun to watch the power ripple around them. The room rang with a deep bell tone, a chime-like sound that made the hair on the back of his neck raise.

“I have never felt that before,” Noran said as he tucked the blade into his empty sheath at his belt. He kept his hand resting on the Knife as he turned to where he had last heard Therin making noise.

The broad man was kneeling now, though, his brow furrowed. He reached out and touched a long length of leather that was dangling from the table. He heard the rattle of a buckle and recognized the leather as a strap to bind limbs. He followed the strap to the edge of the table and reached beneath to find a length of chain tucked in a compartment. He drew the chain out, Noran turning at the sound.

“What is it?”

“Leather straps and chains…with manacles.” He lifted the end of the chain and inspected the thick iron bands etched with Witch script. “There’s writing on them.”

“To deter struggling,” Noran muttered. “What else is under the table?” He sounded worried for some reason and Therin reached under the black cloth to feel around. He didn’t know what he expected to find but as he pulled out a leather box dread filled him. Even before he opened it, he knew what he would find inside. Noran heard the lock and jumped. He, too, understood.

“Don’t open that,” he said darkly. “I know what instruments she carries in those cases.” Therin agreed but was curious and he flipped open the lid to reveal gorgeous tools chased in silver and gold. They were clean, unstained by blood. The articulated clawed weapon, small enough for her tiny hands, was set with bright gold gemstones that drew Therin in with a hypnotic shine.

“These are infused with Light,” said the once-monk and he touched the largest gem set in the top of the clawed weapon, gasping at the warmth that flowed through him, welcoming him.

“Close that box,” Noran said suddenly and he touched the blade at his waist again. “Let’s get out of here. Is it a dead end or are there other exits?”

Doing as Noran asked, he closed the box just as he heard the scrape of metal against stone. He looked up in time to see Roshan lift a sharply curved short sword off the wall, his eyes deep and dark as he examined the blade. The sword was etched with witch runes and seemed to have a deep green shimmer to the black metal.

“There’s an exit,” Therin said and Noran nodded.

“Lead the way. Let’s go.” He sounded a little hurried now, as though he was uncomfortable being in the room suddenly.

“What’s wrong?” Roshan asked from near the exit, catching the tone of Noran’s voice as he hefted the sword. He swung in a few times, testing its balance before nodding to himself in satisfaction.

“This room…” said the witch, skirting the table and making his way to where Roshan’s voice had come from. “I don’t like it.”

“Why?” Roshan asked, leading the three of them down the next hall.

“Mara did her work there, I can feel it.” He touched the blade again. “This Knife was made under duress. The crystals in that room…couldn’t you feel it?”

“This entire place gives me the creeps, Noran,” Therin answered and the witch shook his head.

“No, there was something horrible being done to someone in that room. Someone was badly hurt.”

“I don’t doubt it. The witches are savages in their pursuit of power,” Roshan said and Therin watched his face darken even further, his brow low over his eyes. “They are not easily dissuaded from their destruction.”

They left and made their way down the next corridor which emptied into another large chamber, the whisper of unease playing across all of their backs.