Chương 4

The lake was freezing. Fritz's muscles cramped as he sunk through the darkening water under the eldritch waves. His chest heaved and he had to resist letting out his lungful of air as the cold soaked deep into his flesh. He made sure to clutch to his rock with all the grip he could muster. H e began to shiver violently and his body disobeyed his will to be still. He held on, letting the cold take its toll, feeling the shivers rack his flesh until it settled into a biting numbness.

Maybe a minute into his tortuous sinking, Fritz felt a heat building in his chest. He focused on the warmth, at first thinking it was a figment of his imagination, or the dreaming that came before death, but he realised the heat was pouring out from his lungs. and filling his chest in a blissful, stinging sensation. The potion? He could think of no other explanation. Of course, it's the magic potion. Lets you hold your breath and warms you up, how very useful.

It's magic, of course, easy, simple, not at all surprising. Just a magic potion. As his mind babbled reassurances, he descended and the blue-green light that illumined the water dimmed to a ghostly glow. As Fritz sunk ever further, he kept his mind focused on the unusual but very welcome warmth and not on thoughts of despair. The brutal, bone-chilling cold retreated, first from his centre then from his previously numb limbs.

His shivering soon stopped completely and he could feel his hands again, even if they were just grasping to an icy stone. I can find a way out of this, he told himself. Just hit the bottom, then undo the knotted shoelaces, if that didn't work just pull off your boots. No trouble. Fritz's descent continued like this for a couple of dreadful minutes, he searched wet dark trying to catch a glimpse of his crew or anyone else. Anything to make this gloom less oppressive. Less lonesome.

But all he could see was the muted radiance of the blue-green peak of the Spire, hovering overhead like a terrible, malevolent moon. His eyes stung. Fritz hit the lake's basin, a cloud of metallic silt leaping up around him and obscuring what little he could see in a shimmering wall of green-grey with blue-green sparks.

When the glittering cloud had settled he found himself on top of a shore of stones, hundreds of stones, similar in size and weight to his own, stretching out to either side for as far as he could see. The piled rocks formed a slope that started at the slick cliff wall and eventually ended in a smooth, stone basin, maybe an inverted twin to the dome overhead. It was too dark and deep to see the bottom. He promptly dropped his rock and let it fall to join its fellows.

From what Fritz had seen, the Spire was at least a mile away. A strong swimmer could reach it in half an hour with some time to spare. However, he couldn't call himself a strong swimmer. He was skinny and starved, and the weight of the boots made his attempts to swim jerky and jarring. Slower than a snail in this dark water. The mere thirty minutes of being able to breathe were already slipping through his fingers, and he would surely drown before seeing the Spire's door if he couldn't free his feet.

Fritz sat on the stones and attempted to wrestle with his boots. They were thoroughly stuck to him, even more so than usual due to being soaked. Heavy, like the stones themselves, they weighed him down. He cursed his habit of lacing his boots so tightly, it was coming back to bite him, or bind him, really. With that path blocked he turned his attention to the laces and the innumerable knots.

The maze of laces was unyielding and nigh incomprehensible in the gloom, still, he pulled on them frantically, trying to find a weak point or a loose knot. To no avail. He struggled for another precious, dwindling minute until in frustration he looked around for anything sharp. A slightly jagged rock would do fine. Unfortunately, terribly, the rocky shore's stones and their edges were all far too blunt to be of any use.

He considered abandoning his efforts to remove his boots, and simply resigning himself to half-crawl-half-swim along the bottom of the stony basin. A snail in truth then. In the darkness nothing moved that is until he saw a flicker of light to his right, a small shine of blue-green and then gone. Fritz thought on Nic's words about Armoured Sharks and other nasty, metal fish-monsters. Spires tended to create or let loose strange monsters, something about a 'mana-alignment-demesne.'

Well, at least that's what Fritz remembered his father saying. Spires could become a menace if they were not cleared out regularly, or so it was said. His father had also said that, usually, the monsters outside a Spire weren't as deadly or horrible as the ones beyond the Spire's 'demesne' in the lands between Spires nor as bad as the ones in the Spire itself. Usually, but this isn't usual, not usual at all, his treacherous mind whispered.

Fritz shuddered, hoping he wasn't noticed by the creature already, but it also gave him an idea. One of the monsters Nic mentioned was a 'quicksilver swordfish', right? The key word being sword, which sounds like it should be sharp. Sharp enough to cut through my bootlaces? Possibly. Sharp enough to cut me to ribbons? Definitely. It was a desperate ploy, but he was a desperate man.

A last resort, he told himself even if he knew it was basically a forgone conclusion unless there was something useful in this sack tied to his side. With trembling care and tortuous trepidation Fritz unfastened the drawstring of the sack, looking within. The majority of the bag was filled with a blanket-sized roll of oilcloth, the same brown of the oil coats Nic and the other thugs had been wearing. Well, it would have been brown if not for this eerie light.

With it were nine waxpaper-wrapped, rectangular bars, a ball of twine, a water skin he assumed was filled with fresh water. Lastly there was a wax-sealed circular tin, about the size of his palm, that was made of some metal but he couldn't tell what kind. He stuffed all the items back into the sack save one of the wrapped bars. He drew the drawstring tight and looked closely at the bar. The waxpaper was stamped with the seal of the Royal House of Rain.

The waxpaper itself Fritz knew was made of a woven reed fibre, useless for taking ink but great for wax sealing. It was immersed into a pot of thin boiling skulg-wax and then used to wrap whatever you needed to be wrapped. The process made the woven fibres extremely brittle once it cooled, but it was plentiful, cheap and kept off the rain. Not important right now. He cracked open the paper and inside found a hard grey substance that looked like mould in the blue-green light. He broke a bit off.

It was flaky, like dried fish, and it wasn't difficult to pull apart. The water soon soaked it and made it soggy and paste-like. Fritz realised it was a ration bar, he had seen them and stolen one once before. He hadn't repeated the theft often, as they were truly disgusting things made for desperate sailors at sea, or perhaps an equally desperate Climber in a Spire. Still, thieves, like beggar, couldn't be choosers and the bars were filled with what you needed to survive, being fatty, filling, but foul.

He quickly re-wrapped both the piece he had broken off and the untouched part, Fritz didn't want it to be ruined or attract something in these waters. Not y et, at least. Fritz looked for a staging ground for his plan. Somewhere close, I can use these rocks to my advantage. He spied a good spot not too far from where he sat. A spot to set his trap. He began a sort of swimming, shimmying crawl. His hands grasped at stones and he pulled himself along until he made it to his goal.

There was a large hollow, perhaps the home of some awful beast judging from the notches upon the rocks. Thankfully, it was currently empty and it was prefect for his plan. Fritz started shifting those rocks, and it proved a hard task. Weighed down by the water, his limbs moved slowly and he felt heavy. He spent a few minutes pushing and pulling, weakening the structure of the hollow, loosening those stacked stone walls that held its roof steady.

As he did so, he hoped he wasn't imagining the short-lived slivers of light streaking his way. There then gone. There, again, and closer, then gone. He worried, fear creeping all over his flesh. Am I wasting what little time I have? Maybe if I had made a run for it, no crawl for it maybe I would be closer? No, I'm not going anywhere with my legs bound like this, without being able to kick correctly I'd be as slow and clumsy as a skulg. There was the glistening of light, a metallic blue-green blur in the water.

It was fast, zipping quickly in a straight line then stopping, then zipping again in a line of that same abominable colour that loomed above. It was getting ever closer to Fritz and his hiding spot. It was too late to flee, even if he had all his limbs free, so he set his bait, unwrapping the waxpaper of the opened ration bar and tossing it inside the hollow. Then he set himself outside the entrance, and not a moment too soon. The creature was now within feet of him.

He hoped it was drawn by the blob of grey, greasy fish-stuff sinking to the stony floor and not his own movement. Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. The beast approached, then hung still in the water for a few seconds, he could finally get a good look at what he'd lured to 'his' or perhaps its hollow. It was a large, sleek fish, around twelve feet long with metallic, shimmering scales.

Its fins looked as sharp as a razor and it had a long, thin blade protruding from its face as if it were a nose. The blade was as long as one of Fritz's fathers' rapiers, but it didn't quite have that same straight edge. He could see that it had an opalescent shimmer and was as sharp as any sword he'd seen in his life. That blade could skewer, cut and rend a man to ribbons with very little effort, Fritz thought.

Fear slowly crept into his gut, but his deep resolve steeled him, and his determination to survive no matter the odds kept him still as the stones that surrounded him. Well, it's quick, silver and has a sword. Yep, it must be that swordfish Nic said not to mess with. Time to mess with it. Fritz waited and watched, his feet resting on an integral support stone at the hollow's entrance. He was as patient as a thief, because he was one.

The fish remained in place, it jerked its head back and forth, its blade swishing through the water with a deadly grace. It seemed to be searching, looking out with cloudy copper eyes and flaring its three slitted gills intensely. Suddenly it blurred, speeding into the hollow and snapping up the horrible ration blob. Once a full three quarters of the fish's length plunged into the hole. Fritz kicked out with his feet, pushing at the supporting stone with all his strength.

The stone fell to the side, collapsing the entrance. The then roof crashed down onto the monstrous fish, covering all its scaly bulk, save its tail. Fritz frantically scrambled on top of the sinking rocks, adding his own weight to the avalanche trap. The plan worked, mostly. The swordfish was caught, it began to thrash as it was pinned by the heavy stones of the collapsed hollow. Fritz waited as it fought against the crushing stone, its tail writhing and slashing through the water.

He hoped it would tire itself out soon, every minute he lost here was one he couldn't afford to waste. He prayed to the Final Spire he still had enough air to get to the Spire's Door. The tail stopped thrashing, and the monster fell still, quiet. Luckily for Fritz it had done so quickly, with barely a minute of struggle. Had it died? No. Fritz didn't think so. Still, he had to move hastily if he wanted to live. Fritz crawled down, boots first, and he aligned the tangle of laces with the swordfish's tail fin.

It gleamed sharply, its wicked edge glinting in the strange light. Though the fin didn't have the same keen quality of the head blade, it still looked as cutting as a kitchen knife. Which was precisely what Fritz needed in this moment. The bootlaces were barely three inches away from the fin's edge when Fritz felt a shudder in the rocks beneath him. He almost screamed, but held it in, clamping both hands over his face to seal his mouth.

He sat frozen, fearing the monster would get loose and skewer him then shred him into tiny pieces if he so much as moved. The shuddering stopped and Fritz calmed his raw nerves and slowed his racing heart. Or he attpemted to before writing it off as a fool's errand. Now or never. He pushed himself into action, knowing another shaking of the stones would send him over the edge in both body and mind.

Fritz took his hands from his mouth, placed them on the stone below and pushed himself forward, boot laces first, onto the tail fin edge. The laces went taut as they touched it, and they bent around the natural knife. He began to panic thinking the corded laces wouldn't cut, that the fin wasn't sharp enough. He pushed harder and then felt the laces snap, cut and loosen around his feet. He was so distracted, so filled with relief that he couldn't pull himself away from the tail fast enough.

It swished through the murk and a line of burning pain shot up his calf as the fin glided into and over his right leg. His trouser's cloth and the flesh beneath parted with awful ease. In agony, Fritz swam away, kicking hard with his now free legs. Leaving the metallic monster trapped. The creature struggled and the stones shifted. Its bladed nose stabbed up through a gap, and it slowly attempted to squirm its way free of the stones. Fritz had no time to watch, he had to get as far away as possible.

There was also another trouble. He could see a dark substance floating out of the cut in his calf. Blood, he realised. H is blood. I t looked black in the gloom and it was spilling out of him like smoke. Have to remedy that. Can't have me bleed to death, not when I'll need all my blood for the Spire. Fritz reached into his gear sack, muddling about and searching for the discarded wax paper of the ration bar and the ball of twine. His trembling hands found both. He stilled his shivers and set to work on his wound.

The cut was both cleaner and shallower than he had feared. Still, at least an inch of his flesh sliced had been though. It burned in the salty, stained water. He took the w rapping and plastered it over the cut, attempting to seal the wound. He didn't want to attract any more fish monsters with all that fresh, warm blood. The waxpaper wouldn't stick as it was waterproof, so he had to use something tie it tightly in place.

He pulled the twine taut around his calf constricting the blood flow, while also holding the paper securely to his wound, then cinched it off in a strong knot and hoping to the Gods it would hold. He glanced back to the Quicksilver Swordfish in worry, he hoped it still struggled to get free. His eyes were burning badly now, and he could see rocks toppling. The fish thrashed, and it slammed against the stones in erratic bursts of speed.

Those short charges caused small quakes, gradually widening the hole it had made with its blade. Fear welled up in Fritz and he pulled off his boots, he then secured them to his belt with what little remained of the twine and laces. Then he fled, swimming away quickly, injured leg, blood trail and all. He swam towards that blue-green beacon, the only thing he could truly see in the dark waters.

He pushed his body with all the desperation of a man chased by a monstrous fish, which he was, kicking forward in a frenzy, barely looking back. For minutes he swam, until Fritz caught a glimpse of glittering, not from behind, but just to the right of the Spire's light. Grimly, he continued, fumbling in his bag again trying to grab another ration bar. He missed and grabbed the small sealed tin, then put it in his pocket to keep it out of the way. Eventually, he seized another waxpapered ration.

He held it in his fist as he swam on, ready to tear it apart and drop it as a 'tasty' distraction. More swimming, then more and more flashes of that reflected light met Fritz's stinging eyes, a large shape was gliding through the water towards him, not as swift or jittery as the Quicksilver Swordfish, but just as graceful and at home in the water. The behemoth approaching had dull grey plates for skin, a small seam could be seen between its massive fins and separating its top half from its underside.

It had a huge triangular head with sightless white eyes and a wide maw filled with jagged, dagger-sized fangs. It flowed toward Fritz. Attracted to his blood no doubt. Though the makeshift bandage kept most of the blood from escaping its waxpaper prison, it was far from perfect. The trail of wispy black followed wherever he kicked his leg and only slowly dissipated in the water. Fritz tore the ration bar he was holding in two, letting it fall into the blood trail he had been leaving behind. Not a second too soon.

The metal shark spe d forward and soared towards him, its jaws snapping in anticipation of a meal. The creature's maw slipped mere inches past Fritz, missing him. He swam into its wake, trying to escape its notice. He fled again, ever onward to the beacon, it was getting closer and closer. Without looking back, he pulled another of his ration bars, tearing it open and leaving it behind. He hoped to stall the creatures stalking his trail. It seemed to work. Until he finally ran out of bars.

In a moment of foolish curiosity, Fritz looked over his shoulder. In the distance he could see the glittering Swordfish darting and slashing at the great lumbering behemoth as it followed Fritz. No good, the fish would have to directly hit that strange seam in the shark's plates and pierce its unarmoured flesh that way to actually hurt it. He discarded those thoughts, swimming on, focusing on the light above him. Hope kindled in Fritz's chest as the outline of a great pillar of dark grey stone loomed before him.

Finally, the Spire lay no more than sixty feet in front of him. He could see an archway below him. It was twice as tall as himself and four times as wide, and filled with the same blue-green light as the beacon, churning with eerie waves like those above. He swam towards it, but the warmth in his chest was fading and his lungs clenched in protest. He needed air. He could feel the potion's effects wearing off, slipping away into the cold, slowly at first but then quicker.

A c hill grasped at his skin, then began to sink beneath it. The heat, his heat, was being choked and smothered. Thirty feet away. Fritz swam, his tired limbs cramping, again. His chest spasmed, attempting to pull in phantom gasps of air. Twenty feet away. It wasn't enough. N ot enough air, not enough time. One last gambit then. He stared out at the fighting fish, praying they had followed. They had. The Quicksilver S wordfish was far in the lead and gaining on Fritz, zipping towards him in a gleaming blur.

He put himself between the fish and the archway, he unfurled the oil cloth in the water spreading it out and placing it in between him and the swordfish like a dreadfully thin wall or perhaps a curtain. Then the last part of the plan, if he could call the desperate action such a thing. He ripped away his makeshift bandage and his blood poured out. But it was only a trickle. Fearing it wouldn't be enough to catch the monster's attention fast enough he struck his wound. More pain and a cloud of black.

Again, he struck. Then again. Then it was finally too much for Fritz. He screamed, releasing his last breath that had been imprisoned in his suffocating lungs. His vision blacked at the edges. His heart slowed. He fought against the urge to breathe in the salty lake. Even though he knew he was about to die, Fritz held on. Holding the oil-cloth aloft, his heart slowed further and his thoughts turned to mud. He was dying, he would die.

A shimmering blade pierced his oilcloth, and he yanked it down, just enough to divert the sword. It worked, and the tip stabbed into his hip, rather than his gut. Fritz used the oilcloth to wrap the fish's head, blinding it and causing it to charge. Everything blurred as they were carried by its horrifying speed. Fritz wrapped his arms around its neck like a noose and held on. There was terrible motion, his shirt rippled rapidly. He was being dragged through the water swiftly. Backwards. Towards the archway.

Like he had planned. His heart p ounded. Though the beat came thick and dull, he could hear it thundering in his ears. It was the only thing he could hear. It was the only thing he knew. His sight went black, his thoughts disappeared and everything became his heartbeat. Everything went still, silent. Colour and sound came roaring back, a cacophony of images and half remembrances a meaningless babble of sensations, the cold and the need to breathe being foremost among them.

Fritz, that's who he was, took a breath, drawing in a short lungful of air. He coughed and spluttered salty water all over himself. Had he been swimming recently? He sat up and tried to take in his surroundings. H e shivered fiercely, then used still stinging eyes to look around at the unusual room. I t was made of a glossy. green stone, and was marbled with blue. Beside him was the Quicksilver Swordfish. It flopped around helplessly on the floor, its gills flaring attempting to suck in non-existent water.

It still wore his oil cloth wrapped around its top half, its head and blade sticking through a now gaping hole in the material. The fish floundered, thrashed and scraped its sword and scales against the strange green-blue crystal as it suffocated. S oon it lost its much of its vigour, and its struggles became lethargic. Fritz pushed himself away from all its razor sharpness, not wanting to get slashed up more than he already was. It was hard work with his cold-leadened limbs, that and the incessant shivering.

"Oh Fritz you're finally here, what took you so long? What in the Abyss is that!?" Bert shouted.

"I lost all my gear, but I found a fish," Fritz explained. Then he lay back down, sh aking like a window-pane in a storm.

"I'm very, very cold. O h, and I'm dying. I have a terrible battle wound on my calf here. I am going to die now. Mourn me. Weep. And tell everyone I d ied valiantly, Bert. They won't believe you, but show them the fish. That'll convince them of my might, valour and all my great virtue," Fritz chattered. The scraping and flopping of the fish finally went still and silent, as did the rest of the world. Darkness closed in. Bert's voice broke the quiet and it was the last thing he heard.

"You're not dying, you idiot! Why do you always do this!?" Fritz valiantly died.