Page 104 of Devil's Doom

Wera strides over to the walled-in doorway. She grabs a knife from her belt and slices her palm open, using her blood to draw a rough rectangle on the stones, barely tall enough to fit her size. When she’s done, she draws a sign in the middle of the door. Triangle and horns.Weles.

The spell she whispers is too quiet for me to catch, but it works immediately. The rocks inside the bloody rectangle vanish. A dank, foul scent blasts outside, piss and sweat and death, and Wera nods.

“Let’s go.”

Lech grabs my hand, his hold brusque, and I know it’s because he sees in the dark, just like Wera. I follow his lead uneasily, hating to be blind. The darkness inside the guard tower is fuzzy and even colder than outside. Out in the open, there’s a faint promise of sunlight in the morning. Here, the cold is centuries old, protected by thick walls and the lack of fire.

Wera leads us to spiral stairs, which we descend in complete darkness. The chochol woman stumbles once, her gasp of surprise echoing against the circular stairway. Wera tsks and conjures a globe of cold, blue flame that gives barely enough light to see the next step.

“Aren’t there guards down there?” I ask in a whisper so low, I barely hear myself.

“Guess we’ll see.”

Lech’s voice is quiet, but it vibrates with glee. When I glance at him, his fangs flash blue in the faint light, and I realize he’s grinning. Good. At least the upir is having fun in the dungeons.

At the foot of the stairs, the way is barred by a thick door. The chochol artisan makes quick work of the lock, and we go into a low corridor lit with torches that stink of cheap animal oil. The space is smoky and badly ventilated, and each side of the corridor is lined with rows of doors. A moan comes from behind the nearest one.

Wera closes her eyes with a frown, turning her face this way and that. Finally, she points Lena toward a door halfway down the corridor. “There. Open it.”

Soon, the door stands open. Inside the impossibly narrow cell that would be too small to hold even one person are two men. They both stand. There is no room to sit or lie down.

“Fuck, you came!”

They are upirs. Their faces are swollen and bloodied. They lean against the wall for support, but even though the one who spoke is lucid enough to understand what’s happening, his friend’s eyes roll slowly as he tries to focus on us. His nose is broken, a few clumps of hay-colored hair torn out.

The more aware upir falls out of the cell, landing on his hands and knees on the filthy floor of the corridor. His trousers are soiled. I understand immediately the cells offer no way for the prisoners to relieve themselves with dignity.

“Come on. You, too.” Wera reaches impatiently for the other upir, but he shakes his head, his pale, chapped lips opening and closing even as no sound comes out.

“No, he’s chained to the wall,” the first upir says, gesturing at his ankle circled by a thick ring of metal. “You’ll have to open it, but it’s some kind of magic.”

Lena crouches to examine the shackle, her nose buried in her elbow. She probes at it with tools from her belt, but not even a minute later, she’s up, shaking her head.

“No can do. There’s no lock.”

Wera sighs and looks down both sides of the corridor. “How often do they come in to check on you?”

The upir laughs bitterly. “They don’t. The only time a dragon comes down here is to lock up someone new.”

“Stand aside.”

The strzyga spends three precious minutes poking at the shackle and murmuring spells under her breath. The metal glows silver for a moment before growing dull again. When she stands up, her face is grim.

“It won’t open for anyone who’s not a dragon. It can’t be broken, either. We’re almost out of time.”

I glance at the upir. He looks half-dead already, but his eyes finally focus, and they watch us with a kind of calm, almost serene despair. He knows he’ll die, probably tortured and ridiculed, and he’s made his peace with it.

“Can’t we grab Foss?” I ask, the words out before I can think. “He’s on our side, no? And a dragon. He’ll open it.”

Wera thinks it through. “No. The upper levels teem with hostile dragons, and we don’t know where he is. It’s too risky.”

I think faster, eyeing the thick shackle. It’s way too tight to slip out of, and the other end is securely attached to the wall. If we can’t take it off or cut it, there’s no way to free the upir.

“We need to go,” Wera says grimly. “I can offer you a peaceful death, brother.”

The upir blinks at her. His eyes are wet. I clench my fists and shake my head.

“No.”

---