Chapter 13 - Escape (2)

I grip the rope tightly, the coarse fibres digging into my palms as I begin my descent. The airship continues to rise above us, engines humming with magical energy. Looking down between my feet, the city of Egozia unfolds beneath me like an intricate clockwork mechanism coming into view.

I've never seen it from this angle before. From street level, you only grasp fragments—a building here, a square there. But from above, suspended between sky and earth, I finally comprehend the sheer scale of it.

Egozia sprawls across the landscape, a vast metropolis of copper and stone. Hundreds of buildings rise in concentric rings from the city centre, their architecture growing more grandiose toward the middle—spires reaching skyward, domes gleaming in the morning light. Streets cut through the urban mass like veins, pulsing with tiny figures and vehicles.

In the southern quadrant stands what must be the ruling seat—a massive stronghold of dark stone and gleaming metal. Its towers pierce the sky like accusing fingers, walls thick enough to withstand siege engines. Even from this height, I can make out the constant patrol of guards along its battlements.

The rope burns against my hands as I slide down faster, my gaze drawn to the city's perimeter. Massive walls encircle Egozia completely—not the decorative kind that marks boundaries, but true defensive fortifications. Watchtowers rise at regular intervals, their heights dwarfing most buildings within.

Mounted along these walls are what appear to be cannons, but unlike any I've seen before. Their barrels glow with faint magical energy, steam occasionally venting from copper pipes along their sides. Magic and machinery combined into weapons of war—the very essence of Egozian power.

The city I've been living in suddenly looks different—not a place of learning but a fortress designed to keep people in as much as out. It's far more imposing when you're trying to escape it.

Below me, Sihx descends with practised efficiency, his movements fluid despite the awkward position. He's already halfway to the ground, moving much faster than I am.

"Keep moving," he calls up, voice barely audible over the wind. "The rope isn't long enough to reach the ground."

I increase my pace, ignoring the burning in my arms and shoulders. The city continues to spread beneath us—alleys, courtyards, and marketplaces becoming more distinct as we descend. We're aiming for what appears to be an abandoned loading yard near the western wall.

Sihx reaches the end of the rope first. He hangs for a moment, surveying the ground below, then simply lets go. He drops the remaining distance—at least fifteen feet—landing with the practised grace of someone who's done this countless times before. His knees bend to absorb the impact, one hand touching the ground briefly before he rises to a standing position.

I continue my descent until I reach the rope's end. Looking down, the drop seems much farther than when I watched Sihx make it. The ground is hard-packed dirt, scattered with broken crates and discarded machinery parts.

"Let go," Sihx commands from below. "Bend your knees, roll if needed."

I take a deep breath, remembering similar drops during mercenary training. Without allowing myself to hesitate, I release my grip on the rope.

The fall lasts only a moment. I hit the ground harder than intended, my ankles absorbing the shock before I tuck and roll to disperse the impact. Pain shoots through my right shoulder as I come to a stop, but nothing feels broken.

"Adequate," Sihx comments, already scanning our surroundings. "Now we move."

The airship continues its journey above us, oblivious to our departure. From ground level, the city walls loom impossibly high, a stark reminder of the barriers between us and freedom.

I rise to my feet, wincing at the dull throb in my shoulder. The loading yard stretches around us, a graveyard of commerce. Abandoned crates lie splintered and forgotten, their contents long since pilfered or rotted away. Rusted pulleys hang from overhead beams, swaying slightly in the breeze.

Sihx moves with purpose, scanning the ground methodically. His eyes narrow as he examines the dirt, occasionally kneeling to inspect something invisible to my sight.

"What exactly are we looking for?" I ask, keeping my voice low.

"Patience." He doesn't look up, continuing his search along the perimeter of the yard.

The smell hits me then—a nauseating cocktail of rot and waste that makes my eyes water. The unmistakable stench of a city's underbelly, where everything unwanted festers away from sight. Even mercenary conditions never smelled this bad.

I pull my collar over my nose, but it does little to block the assault on my senses.

"Gods, what died here?"

"Everything, eventually," Sihx replies, unmoved by the stench. "The city's waste flows beneath us. It's our way out."

I scan our surroundings, cataloguing escape routes and potential threats. Two main entrances to the yard—one to the east leading toward what appears to be a disused marketplace, another to the north connecting to a narrow alley. The walls surrounding us rise three stories high, windows boarded up or broken. Perfect vantage points for anyone wanting to trap us.

The silence unnerves me more than the smell. In a city this size, silence is unnatural. No birds call from the eaves above. No distant shouts of merchants or rumble of carts on cobblestones. It's as if this pocket of Egozia exists outside the living city—forgotten and avoided.

"We're exposed here," I mutter, eyes tracking the roofline. "Any patrol passing overhead would spot us immediately."

"Which is why we won't linger." Sihx moves to the centre of the yard, where a large metal sheet lies partially covered by dirt and debris. "This place was abandoned after the Southern Rebellion. The Academy's wards don't extend this far into the old district."

That explains the absence of magical interference—my tattoo feels stronger here, the snake's presence humming beneath my skin. I flex my hand, feeling the familiar tingle of power.

"Stand back," Sihx commands, kneeling beside the metal sheet. He runs his fingers along its edge, finding purchase on one corner. With a grunt, he pulls upward, revealing decades of rust beneath. The metal groans but doesn't budge.

I approach, ready to help, but Sihx waves me off. From within his robes, he produces a short blade—unremarkable except for the faint blue shimmer along its edge.

"Magic?" I ask, unable to keep the distaste from my voice.

"Auxiliary," he corrects, positioning the blade against the sheet's edge. "A tool, nothing more."

Flick.

With a swift movement, he drives the blade into the seam where the metal meets the concrete. A high-pitched whine fills the air as the blade cuts through rusted metal like butter. Sihx traces a rough circle, the metal parting effortlessly before the enchanted edge.

The silence makes the cutting sound seem obscenely loud. I turn my back to him, watching the yard entrances for any sign of movement. The emptiness remains complete, but my instincts scream danger. This place feels wrong—too convenient, too abandoned.

"How did you know this was here?" I ask over my shoulder.

"There are many things about this city that they don't teach at the Academy." Sihx completes the circle and kicks the cut section inward. It falls with a distant splash, revealing a dark opening and the top rungs of a ladder. "The sewers connect to tunnels built during the old wars. Some lead beyond the walls."

The stench intensifies, billowing up from the hole like a physical force. I fight the urge to gag as Sihx gestures toward the opening.

"After you," he says, his expression unreadable in the shadow of his hood. "Unless you've changed your mind about leaving?"

I hesitate at the edge of the hole, my gaze lifting to Sihx's face. Something flickers in his black, lifeless eyes—a shadow of urgency I hadn't noticed before. His jaw tightens, and he glances toward the rooftops with quick, darting movements.

"We don't have time for contemplation," he hisses, voice suddenly sharp. "They're coming."

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"The shadow mage?" I ask, muscles tensing at the memory of that dark figure from the docks.

"Among others. The Academy doesn't take kindly to deserters."

I stare down into the abyss below, the darkness seeming to swallow the faint light from above. Every instinct screams against descending first. With Sihx behind me, I'd be completely vulnerable—my back exposed, my position below his. Perfect for an ambush.

"After you," I counter, stepping back from the hole.

Sihx's expression hardens. "Trust issues. Understandable, but inconvenient." He doesn't move toward the ladder. "The mage will sense us soon. Your choice—trust me or face them."

Distant shouting reaches us from beyond the yard—voices calling commands, the rhythmic sound of boots against cobblestone. Patrol formations.

"Fuck," I mutter, dropping to my knees beside the hole. With one last glance at Sihx, I swing my legs over the edge and find the top rung of the ladder with my boot.

The descent is longer than expected. I count fifteen rungs before the darkness swallows everything, forcing me to feel my way down. The metal is slick beneath my hands, coated with something I'd rather not identify. Twenty rungs. Twenty-five. The stench grows more potent with each step downward, a physical assault that makes my eyes water and throat constrict.

At thirty rungs, my foot finds only air where another rung should be. I lower myself cautiously until my boot touches something solid—not metal, but stone. I release the ladder and stand in absolute darkness, blinking uselessly as my eyes struggle to adjust.

The smell hits me like a physical blow—a putrid cocktail of human waste, rotting matter, and stagnant water so intense it makes me gag. I press my sleeve against my mouth, it failed me above ground, but I do it again— it does nothing to filter the assault on my senses.

My vision slowly adapts, revealing vague outlines in the gloom. I'm standing on a narrow stone walkway beside a channel of dark, sluggish liquid. The tunnel stretches in both directions, disappearing into darkness. Faint green light emanates from patches of something growing on the ceiling—some kind of bioluminescent fungus that casts everything in a sickly glow.

I look down at my hands and grimace. They're coated in a thick, greenish-black slime from the ladder—a revolting mixture of mold, waste, and god knows what else. I wipe them against the wall, which only spreads the filth further.

A sudden thud behind me makes me spin around, my hand reaching instinctively for a weapon. Sihx stands there, having bypassed the ladder entirely with a direct drop. His landing is silent despite the height, his robes somehow untouched by the filth surrounding us. Even his boots remain clean, as if the grime actively avoids him.

"How did you—" I begin, but he cuts me off with a sharp gesture.

"We move quickly now. The tunnels shift with the tides."

"Tides? We're nowhere near the ocean."

"Not all tides are water." Sihx moves past me, his steps sure despite the near darkness. "Some are magic. The Academy's waste flows through these channels—failed experiments, discarded components, drained essence. It rises and falls with the daily cycle of their work."

I follow, careful to keep my footing on the slippery stone. The walkway is barely wide enough for one person, forcing me to press against the slimy wall whenever the path narrows.

"And where exactly are these tunnels taking us?" I ask, trying to breathe through my mouth to avoid the stench.

"Away," Sihx replies simply. "For now, that's all that matters."

I follow Sihx through the tunnel, each step a careful negotiation between the narrow walkway and the channel of foul liquid beside us. Our footsteps echo against the stone walls, amplified by the enclosed space until they seem to come from everywhere at once.

The silence between us feels deliberate. Sihx moves with practised efficiency, his gaze fixed forward, shoulders set with purpose. I match his pace, keeping a few steps behind. Questions burn in my throat, but I swallow them down. Now isn't the time.

The tunnel branches ahead, splitting into three identical passages. Sihx doesn't hesitate, taking the rightmost path without breaking stride. I follow, wondering how he navigates this labyrinth with such certainty.

My thoughts drift to what the tailor said about the Scaled Ones. A purge. A systematic destruction. And this man, this Sihx, somehow knows about my people. Knows enough to recognize me, to find me among thousands in Egozia.

Does he know who killed them? Was he involved?

The thought sends a chill through me that has nothing to do with the damp air. I study his back as we walk, searching for any sign, any tell. His movements are too controlled, too measured. Like a predator.

We pass beneath a grate in the ceiling where thin shafts of daylight pierce the gloom. The light reveals the true state of our surroundings. The walls aren't merely wet—they're coated with a slick, greenish-black film that seems to pulse in the dim light. The liquid flowing beside us isn't water but something thicker, more viscous. It moves with unnatural slowness, occasionally bubbling as if something beneath the surface is trying to escape.

Most disturbing is the complete absence of life. No rats scurry along the edges. No insects crawl across the walls. Even the fungi seem artificial, their glow too uniform, too steady. In a place of decay and waste, there should be creatures that thrive in such conditions. Their absence speaks to something deeply wrong with this place.

The smell changes as we move deeper into the tunnel system. The initial stench of waste gives way to something more chemical—sharp, metallic notes that burn the nostrils and coat the tongue. I taste copper and something else, something that reminds me of the air after lightning strikes.

Magic residue. The discarded remnants of spells and enchantments, flowing like toxic waste through these forgotten channels.

I open my mouth to ask Sihx about it, but a sound from behind stops me. Distant but unmistakable—metal scraping against stone. Someone else has entered the tunnels.

Sihx hears it too. His pace quickens, and he gestures for me to follow without looking back. We turn down another passage, this one narrower than the last. The walkway disappears entirely, forcing us to press our backs against the wall and edge sideways. The viscous liquid now flows just inches from our boots.

The sound comes again, closer this time. Voices accompany it—muffled but growing clearer. Academy enforcers, perhaps, or something worse.

I catch Sihx's eye, silently questioning. He shakes his head once—a minimal gesture that clearly communicates: Don't speak.

We continue in tense silence, moving as quickly as the narrow passage allows. The chemical smell grows stronger, burning my lungs with each breath. The liquid beside us begins to glow faintly, pulsing with sickly blue light that illuminates our path in rhythmic flashes.

With each pulse, I see more details of our surroundings. The walls aren't solid stone as I first thought—they're lined with strange symbols, similar to the ones I've seen in Academy textbooks, but twisted somehow, corrupted. They seem to writhe in the fluctuating light, as if trying to reshape themselves.

The voices behind us grow louder. Words become distinguishable—commands being issued, movements coordinated. They know exactly where they're going. This isn't a random search.

I glance at Sihx again, the question about his knowledge of the Scaled Ones dying on my lips. Survival first. Questions later—if there is a later.

The passage widens suddenly, opening into a circular chamber where multiple tunnels converge. In the centre, the channels of glowing liquid meet in a whirlpool of magical waste, spinning slowly like some grotesque cauldron. The smell here is overwhelming—pure magical essence, corrupted and decaying.

Sihx doesn't hesitate at the junction. He moves directly toward the middle tunnel, his pace suddenly quickening to an urgent stride.

"Keep up," he commands without looking back.

I follow, matching his speed despite the treacherous footing. The slime-covered stone threatens to send me tumbling into the glowing sludge with each step. My breathing comes faster now, heart hammering against my ribs as the voices behind us grow clearer.

"They're moving east through the central chambers!"

"Cut them off at the filtration junction!"

The voices echo through the tunnels, distorting but unmistakable. These aren't random patrols—they know exactly where we are. I've covered my tracks perfectly, moved silently, yet they follow our path with precision.

A sharp pain lances through my forearm. The snake tattoo writhes beneath my skin, responding to my rising panic. I feel it coiling, tensing, preparing for battle as it always does when danger approaches. The familiar sensation of power builds—a burning, electric current running from the mark through my entire body.

Sihx glances back, his black eyes widening slightly at the sight of my arm. The tattoo has begun to glow faintly, pulsing with the same rhythm as my racing heart.

"Control it," he hisses, never breaking stride. "That's how they're tracking us."

"What?"

"The tattoo—it emits an aura. All magic does." Sihx pulls me roughly into a narrower side passage. "When it activates, the signature strengthens. They can sense it like a beacon."

I stare at my arm where the snake writhes beneath my skin, its outline visible even through my sleeve. The revelation hits me like a physical blow. All this time, every moment I thought I was hidden, I've been broadcasting my location to anyone with the ability to sense magic.

"How do I stop it?" I demand, fighting to keep my voice steady as we navigate the increasingly narrow tunnel.

"You can't—not completely. Not yet." Sihx's voice remains calm despite our pace. "But you can diminish it. Calm yourself. The tattoo responds to your state. Your fear, your anger—it feeds on it."

The irony isn't lost on me. The very thing that gives me power in battle now betrays me when I need stealth.

"Breathe," Sihx commands. "Focus on slowing your heart. Imagine the snake sleeping, dormant."

I try to regulate my breathing while maintaining our punishing pace. In through the nose, out through the mouth. The snake continues to writhe, agitated by the danger it senses.

"It knows we're being hunted," I explain between breaths. "It's trying to protect us."

"It's endangering us," Sihx counters. "Speak to it if you must. The connection goes both ways."

I've never consciously tried to communicate with the tattoo before—It speaks when it wants to. It's always been instinctual, a partnership forged in moments of combat. Now, as we rush through the putrid tunnels, I focus inward, directing my thoughts toward the presence I feel beneath my skin.

Sleep. Not now. Hide.

The snake's agitation continues, but I feel a flicker of response—a questioning sensation, like a tilt of the head.

They track your power. Hide it. Sleep now.

Gradually, the burning sensation diminishes. The glow fades, and the writhing slows to gentle undulations. I feel the tattoo's reluctance—its primal instinct to fight rather than hide—but it yields to my will.

Sihx notices the change immediately. "Good. I'll teach you to mask it completely when we're safe. It's an essential skill for those with beast marks."

"You know about the Scaled Ones," I say, the statement hanging between us as we run.

"Later," he replies, his tone brooking no argument.

The voices behind us grow fainter as we navigate the maze of tunnels. Whether it's due to my suppressed tattoo or Sihx's knowledge of the labyrinth, I can't tell. The relief is short-lived as we round a corner and face a three-way fork in the tunnel system.

Sihx pauses for the first time since we entered this foul underworld, his eyes scanning each option with careful consideration.

"Left leads to the outer districts," he murmurs, almost to himself. "Right returns to the old city. Centre..." He trails off, his expression unreadable in the dim light.

I follow Sihx's lead as he bolts through the middle opening without hesitation. The tunnel narrows before suddenly widening into a massive chamber that takes my breath away. My steps falter as I take in the sheer scale of what lies before us.