Demon of the Black Gate

Sinjin had come upon the signs of the witch’s camp at the near end of the elevated valley, the snow-capped mountains towering close. He searched it for clues. The signs indicated she had stayed only one night. He ran a stick through the fine ashes of the fire pit she had made. He found it remarkable that no charcoals remained. The ash was as fine as talc. Stirring the remains he felt a hard presence beneath the ash. He retrieved it, a clear, raggedly faceted stone, tinged with blue. It felt warm to the touch, and shone with prismatic clarity. He was not a member of the Guild of Jewelers, but it seemed a most valuable gem and worth a royal ransom by his guess. He slipped it into his purse. The horse dung was no more than a day old and judged he had gained a day on the woman.

The spoor led into the valley. Small mines were in evidence as he rode through vale caught among the mountains. He watched the surroundings carefully, anticipating he could run across her at any moment, or that she was observing his movement from some aerie in the surrounding granite citadels. But no interferences awaited him. He followed her trail as it led to the rear of the valley where he again picked up the remains of the ancient road. It wound to a large granite bluff, where it ended at a capacious opening.

Stonework framed the entry, and the passage was suitable for two carts to pass. The lintel was marked with symbols that Sinjin didn’t recognize, save one: Danger. Its motif had not changed for generations. The other marks indicated the entry to the Dragon Egg mines, though the meanings were lost on Sinjin. It did not matter. If she had conspired to go this way, he would follow. Tracks in the dust went in. None came out. He thought momentarily of waiting, then dismissed the notion. He considered the gem he had in his pouch. There may be other treasures in store. He found a couple of serviceable torches, but an ancient vat of pitch was hardened nearly to stone. He didn’t want to take the time, but he dutifully built a fire, and with heat and a little water carefully melted and extracted enough of the viscous mess to soak two of the brands.

He let his horse set the pace. The light from the entrance was quickly lost. The light from the torch was barely enough to discern whatever marks were available in the sporadic drifts of dried silt. There were side channels to explore, but the woman had shown no side of diverting. After a while, he quit looking for evidence of a sidelong departure. The main artery in this underground labyrinth was her route, of that he became certain. The glow of his torch barely penetrated the tunnel, and though the light would mark his presence, he had the satisfaction of knowing he held the same advantage.

It was hard to mark the time as he moved through the hewn passage. It was an unending trail of stone bored into the earth. ‘Bored’ was the correct word he decided. The only thing that would mark the time was the conclusion of the ride through the depths of the mountains. He had given thought of setting a camp but was determined to stop only when the signs indicated the woman had. It was at great length, after a long and mind-numbing ride, that he finally emerged into the cavern.

The ceiling soared above him, much of it lost beyond the glow of his torch. Jagged stone hung overhead. The bench on which he stood was a large crag whose side was torn by the rent of a deep abyss. Another shelf extended from the other side. The gap had once been spanned. Only remnants of the bridge remained. Sinjin looked around the immediate darkness, expecting the witch to suddenly appear. There was no one on the shelf of rock save himself and his horse. He peered past the feeble light of his torch to catch the glimmer of three small fires that burned on the bench beyond. He dismounted and approached the edge of the gulf of rock shoring the inky depths. The bridge appeared to have been shattered ages ago. The colorless lichens clinging to its broken surfaces had gathered for years. On close inspection, a few shining scars of new stone were evident. A jewel, much like the one he had gathered from the witch’s fire pit lay near the brink. He gathered it up as though someone else might grab it first, and scanned looking for others. There were none.

The tracks, woman and horse, led to the end of the truncated approach and vanished as though she had taken to the air itself. Sinjin could not puzzle out the solution, and his earlier assessment that she was a powerful witch seemed better placed. The fire on the opposite side was proof that she had not fallen to her death. The discarded gem must have been part of her magic.

Sinjin understood his patron’s wish to capture this woman much better. She was dangerously powerful. He would have to double his guard. He would be able to cross the gap, but he would have to leave his horse.

“A better horse would make that jump.” he announced as he unsaddled the horse.

He’d leave no evidence to be found on the wandering horse. What he could not take with him he would toss into the abyss. The horse would have no trouble returning to the outside, though it might be quite awhile before anyone found him. Few, if any, ventured into these heights. He pulled his necessities from the saddle: dried victuals and tools of his trade. Other than the saddle and tack, there was little to throw into the chasm, for he traveled light.

He had a length of rope that could make the span and he fixed a small grapnel to the end. He spun the grapnel in a few increasing loops before letting it sail to the far length of the span. It failed to catch and he reeled it in for a second attempt. His next try was successful as the hook snagged on the balustrade guarding the side of the bridge. Shouldering his pack, he tugged his line for firmness, then flung his torch to the far side.

He held on tight as he leapt into the abyss, swinging wildly over the blackness. He shinnied up the rope with practiced art and elbowed his way onto the remains of the ramp. He quickly inspected the remains on this side, and it was as before. Old rock told its tale of a collapse long ago, though there were recent claw-like scratches in evidence. He turned to the lights burning on the shelf that overlooked the bridge. They came from the porch, oil braziers set into the walls of the old buildings masoned into the caverns side. No one was shadowed by the glow.

On reaching the porch he noticed a stone bowl. The feathered remains of a grouse or pheasant littered one corner. The bony remains of carcass were being consumed by small white-shelled insects, and it was apparent that not much more than a day had past. He saw the hoof marks and dung from her horse, and cat prints were in evidence. It was the first time he had noticed the cat prints. This all puzzled him, but those questions were forgotten when he spotted the blue white gem that lay in the basin. The clarity shone like orange fire in the torchlight. He plucked it to his purse, where it joined the others. He suddenly felt very rich, and very cautious. He was becoming impressed with her apparent powers.

“A few more fire pits before I catch up with you if you please.” he said, looking around with a wary concern that she might suddenly appear from the forbidding darkness of the cave. He was tired, but decided to press on. She was on horse and he was now afoot. He could not afford to lag.