The Undercroft

They walked down a narrow staircase into the dark. One guard in front held a torch, as did Kerra walking in the middle. Sigrid brought up the rear and had one as well. Although unnecessary, Martel had ignited magelight around the tip of his staff, mostly as a statement of his powers and that he did not require light from anyone else.

The stairway itself was curious, hewn rather than built. It was also narrow, allowing only one person at a time, and Martel had to angle his staff rather than hold it straight, or else it would constantly hit against the ceiling. He wondered if it had been built this way for defensive purposes or simply because of how consuming it had to be, carving out each of these steps.

Finally, they reached the bottom of the stairs and could crowd a small entrance space before a large door. It looked to be made from iron rather than wood. Besides that, Martel saw something golden glisten along the hinges, the lock, and other parts, making it impervious to magic.

Kerra dug out a key and unlocked it. It swung open with a creaking sound, and the small party of six people filed through the entrance. She locked the door behind them before stepping forward to stand next to Martel. "Welcome to the Undercroft."

Martel had not known what to expect, but he certainly had not imagined anything like this. Before him stretched a great cavern, whose size he could only guess at, given the darkness. He knew it could not be that tall, considering the length of the passage behind him; yet it seemed to stretch on in every direction ahead, any indication of where it ended impossible to see in the dark.

Furthermore, he saw a multitude of buildings as the light would allow him to observe. They looked like ordinary houses, except the majority were carved in stone rather than built from wood or brick. It made Martel wonder if the entire cave was artificial, painstakingly hewn with one strike of the chisel at a time. Impossible to imagine, at least if done purely by hands – but if magic were involved, perhaps not so far-fetched an idea.

The small band set into motion again, walking down what had to be described as the street. Despite having more space, they followed roughly the same pattern as in the corridor with one guard taking the front and Sigrid in the back. Martel fell in next to Wolfram, taking some reassurance from his well-armed presence.

"Quite a sight, isn't it." Walking next to the young mage, Wolfram smiled.

"It is so eerie. Like a city of the dead. Have you seen it before?" asked Martel.

"Only once, some years ago. The Nine Lords rarely meet."

Martel glanced at the axe in his companion's hand. "Are there dangers down here?"

"Well, you never know. Though I haven't heard of anything as such. We usually move in and out without making much of a fuss."

The mage looked up. The light did not allow him to see the roof of the cave, but he wondered what lay above them on the surface. "I wonder where we are, if we walked on the streets of Morcaster."

"Still in the copper lanes, I reckon," came Kerra's voice behind him. "We haven't moved that far yet."

Martel was tempted to look inside the houses as they passed them, if nothing else to see whether anything had been left behind. It felt so deeply unsettling not to see any sign of habitation, as if the entire population of the city had simply left, taking everything with them. "Where is the meeting taking place?"

"Underneath the market district, closest to the middle. Not too far from your school," Kerra explained, and he thought he detected a smirk in her words.

He wondered if he could find a path from here straight to the Lyceum, though he did not feel tempted to try. With each step into the silent city, Martel knew the living had no business down here.

~

As they continued their march in silence, Martel eventually noticed changes or details in the surroundings. Shards of pottery on the streets or a bent nail, strangely mundane signs of the people who had once lived in this place. Larger buildings that spoke of other purposes than simple dwellings. All the houses simply had the grey colour of the stone, but they passed a larger structure clad with tiles to create patterns. He wondered if it might have been a temple of some sort, or maybe a guildhall.

What struck him as strangest was what could best be described as a tower, perhaps reaching all the way to touch the ceiling of the cavern. Why had it been built? Had it been a place for wizards to gather and discuss arcane matters, or just a convenient way of storing grain where rats could not get to it?

His inability to properly sense the scale of the cave also unsettled Martel. He had to fight the urge to pour his magic into the magelight flickering around his staff in a vain attempt to illuminate the entire space. He found himself constantly listening for the sound of something cracking, as if the roof might tumble down on them in this moment after having stood for a thousand years.

He reached out with his magic trying to sense any living creatures around him, but he felt no heat other than his companions. That had to be expected, probably; the stone buildings would block him from feeling much other than within his immediate vicinity on the empty street.

As they continued, Martel finally realised why he felt so uncomfortable looking up. It felt like staring at the night sky, except it was entirely black. Not a single star or the comforting light of the moon.

The street began to widen. In the distance ahead, Martel noticed lights. Presumably, so had his companions, and none of them reacted in alarm, which led him to assume they knew what lay ahead. He killed the magelight on his staff, just to make himself less obvious, and he adjusted the scarf around his face.

The road beneath their feet came to an end, meeting several others in a town square. From the other approaches, small bands of people similar to their own appeared. "We're here," Kerra said softly.