Erik looked to Bryon, and his cousin just shrugged.
“Not a bad time to find out it could do that, I suppose,” Bryon said.
“No,” Erik replied, “not a bad time at all.”
12
Bryon wiped more sweat from his forehead and rubbed his eyes, sleep, dreams of his dead cousin Befel, still fresh in his mind. Turk crouched over Nafer, rubbing more of his salve on the dwarf’s broken arm and then some of it on his face and nose, which had already started to discolor with bruising.
“I am running out,” Turk said, and then chuckled. “You are not allowed to get any more injuries.”
Turk closed his eyes and prayed over Nafer. He had offered to tend to Beldar first, who had several jagged cuts along his face and throat, but the dwarf refused, insisting that Turk tend to Nafer’s more severe problems.
As Turk prayed, the faint glow silhouetted him and Nafer again. When he stopped, breathing heavy as his healing sapped much of his energy, most of the bruising around Nafer’s cheeks and under his eyes was gone, although his nose was still swollen and misshapen, and he was clearly breathing through his mouth all the time.
“You need to rest,” Nafer said to Turk.
“No … I have a bit more energy I can … spare,” Turk said, his eyelids half-closed, his head lolling back as if he was about to pass out.
“You have done enough for now,” Erik said, helping Turk to the ground so he might get some rest. “If there are more tunnel crawlers out there, we will need you as strong as possible.”
Bryon looked at Nafer.
“You look like the nine hells,” Bryon said with a smile.
Nafer forced a quick laugh, but Erik shot him a dirty look.
“My poor friend,” Erik said, “you look so uncomfortable. I am sorry.”
“I have seen better days,” Nafer replied with a mirthless chuckle, “but I have also seen worse.”
They had placed their torches in the center of the tunnel again, each leaning against the wall, save for Turk, who already slept and snored.
“I wonder what Wrothgard is doing right now,” Nafer said.
“He’s probably sitting somewhere, just waiting for the Lord of the East and his assassins,” Erik said with a mirthless smile on his face.
“I think not,” Nafer said, “I imagine him to be sitting by a blazing fire with a glass of spiced wine and a tray of cheese and bread. He is somewhere far away, where the Lord of the East can’t find him.”
“He might be already dead,” Bofim said.
“Well, thank you very much for making our cheery situation even merrier,” Bryon said. “Leave it to the dwarves to put a damper on our conversation.”
Bofim just shrugged.
“The Lord of the East can find you wherever you go,” he said. “He could find us in here if he wanted to.”
“Well, wherever he is, I think I hate Wrothgard right now,” Bryon said. “You know why? Because I think he is drunk. I think he’s drunk on the best ale or wine all that Shadow be damned dwarvish gold can buy. And he’s in bed with a whore. Or two. And they’re the best money can buy also. Prick.”
Now everyone laughed out loud, drowning Turk’s snore for a moment.
“Joking aside,” Bryon added, “we could use his sword right about now.”
“He was the best,” Erik said.
“At least the best we had ever known,” Bryon added.
“We could only hope he is safe and happy,” Nafer said. “He was a good man …”
“For an easterner,” Beldar said.
“No, for anyone,” Nafer replied. “I wish him well, and I do hope he remains hidden. He deserves more than an assassin’s knife in his back.”
“Well,” Bryon said, lifting his waterskin, “here is to our friend who cannot be with us in body, but will always be with us in our hearts.”
Everyone else lifted their waterskins and toasted with Bryon. When his eyes met Erik’s, he saw a mixture of joy and sadness in them. Thinking of the past did that, especially to his little cousin. It was as if he missed the simpler times, and Bryon supposed a part of him did too. And not that his cousin was little anymore.
They sat there for a while longer, talking and reminiscing, as they had done around a fire many times. However fleeting, those moments provided familiarity, and as they conversed around their torches, they could briefly forget about the constricting tunnel and darkness that surrounded them. As they fell silent, each sleeping or with their own thoughts, Bryon closed his eyes and imagined he was on his farm, before he found himself swimming through a mountain of gold hidden away in an ancient dwarvish city. He finally ended up in bed with a beautiful woman … or three. These memories—or daydreams—of better times, faded, and the cold darkness with the apprehension of creatures of the Shadow waiting for them became their world again. The blackness weighed on Bryon’s shoulders like bundles of wood and anxiety seemed to replace the blood in his veins. He knew the others felt the same way.
Erik waited a while, but eventually, he nodded to Bryon, who nodded back and stood to rouse Turk. Once the dwarf nodded he was ready, without a single word, Erik walked into the darkness, dimly shrouded by torchlight, before following his cousin. After too many moments of silence, the dwarves tried to sing, but their echoing voices and melodious tunes carried on into the abyss without the normal joy they sent into the open sky on a starry night. When the dwarves finally stopped, Bryon whistled some tunes he remembered from days on the farm, but his cheeks grew tired and his lips dried, and his whistling became more maddening than the dripping water.
“What about your flute?” Bryon asked Erik.
Erik looked at him over his shoulder.
“What about it?” Erik replied.
“It always seems to lighten the mood,” Bryon said.
Erik walked awhile before replying but eventually looked back at Bryon again.
“Not now,” Erik replied. “I don’t think there is anything cheerful about this place, and we can’t make it such.”
Bryon kept his mind busy. That was how he passed the time … thinking. He imagined things from the past, even stories his uncle or the dwarves told him. He imagined things that might have been, if he stayed on the farm, if he grew up in the east rather than the west; if he was the son of a noble knight, a duke, or a king even. Losing himself in thought always brought Bryon’s cousin Befel to mind. He recalled the memories he had of his cousin; Befel walking in a field of golden wheat, or laughing and drinking his father’s orange brandy behind his barn, or seeing who could get a kiss from some girl at a Peace Day celebration first, or being mighty warriors … or being consumed by a fire hotter than the nine hells. Bryon missed Befel at Erik’s wedding. He felt awkward standing with his cousin, as his nearest kin supporter as was the tradition, but he was glad to do it, honored even, but that place was meant for Befel. And what of Erik’s baby? Erik told him his child would call Bryon uncle, and that made him smile, but he really wasn’t the unborn child’s uncle. Befel was.
The torches started to falter. Erik blew gently on his, trying to keep it going, but the stale air was a hindrance, and the black pitch began to burn away. Every step into the tunnel seemed like a step away from the outside world, as if they would walk in darkness until their last breath. With every pace forward, air was a little fouler and a little more stagnant. Each breath Bryon took stung his lungs, and he began to feel like gagging. Perhaps the end would come sooner than expected.
No one really knew whether it was day or night, they just stopped to rest after they’d begun to slow down. Bryon could only guess now but thought they’d been in the tunnel for several days. He’d be very happy to get out not only for fresh air and sunlight, but also some fresh meat cooked over an open fire.
“Thank the heavens it seems as if there are no more tunnel crawlers,” Bryon said, no doubt voicing what everyone was thinking.
“Aye,” Turk responded, “foul beasts they are. I have never seen anything like them; they
are almost not even animals. Even a dog can be reasoned with. Not even a bear would attack a group of well-armored warriors, even if it were starving. You would have to be threatening one of its cubs for it to do such a thing.”
“Shadow Children,” Erik said. “That is what they are called, yes?”
“Yes,” Nafer replied. “How do you know this?”
“My dreams told me,” Erik said.
“I remember my grandfather, and even great grandfather, talking of them, telling scary stories about these creatures when my grandmother and sisters weren’t listening,” Nafer said. “Their beginning goes back to the Age of Darkness, the time of ignorance, not evil, and even we Ervendwarfol and the Elenderel were primitive to some extent. Many of the evil creatures that inhabit our world today were born of the Elder Days, ages past the Age of Darkness when the Shadow tried to imitate An, and those creations reigned in Háthgolthane until the end of the Great Darkening.”
Nafer took a breath and rubbed his bald upper lip, not much wanting to think of such things.
“The tunnel crawlers are an older abomination, an older evil,” Nafer continued. “Even before the Age of Darkness, even before time was time and morning was separate from night and the sun and moon shone in the heavens and the world was nothing, a great battle waged against good and evil, against An and the Shadow. An has always been, but no one really knows where the Shadow came from. We dwarves, as many men in the west do, believe he was one of An’s creatures who became jealous of An’s power. However he came to be, the Shadow raised an army of wicked spirits, the twisted remnants of their once beautiful forms, and they fought viciously to control the heavens. Some of these demons, through victory and wickedness, through treachery and deceit, became generals in the Shadow’s army, and he gave them powers upon powers, powers that were almost god-like.”
Nafer coughed and spat out dust that had collected on his tongue while he spoke. He rubbed his upper lip again and wiped a simple trickle of sweat that had collected just above his left eyebrow.
“One such demon was Yebritoch,” Nafer said after taking a moment to wet his mouth with a drop of water. “In many ages past, and the armies of the Shadow began to lose, and then An, the Almighty, created the world, and a new battlefield was formed. Yebritoch was appointed High Commander to the Shadow’s armies and the earth, trying to thwart An, the Creator. His powers were so great that he created his own army—like An had created dwarves and elves and men—only his minions were sick and distorted; the tunnel crawlers.
Back then, they were not just mindless animals, and Yebritoch would lead them into battle riding on a chariot of elvish bones pulled by four great monsters, the Beasts of Chaos. An was too powerful, is too powerful, though, for some fool demon. An crushed Yebritoch’s demonic forces, threw him back to the realm of the Shadow, imprisoned each of the beasts of chaos in a gem—the Emerald of the East, Sapphire of the South, Ruby of the West, and Diamond of the North—and spread them to the corners of the earth. He took the intelligence from the tunnel crawlers and drove them into the darkest parts of the mountains, making them the mindless scavengers they are today. The demon, Yebritoch, returned to the realm of the Shadow where he was punished for his failure. He now opposes both An and the Shadow from his own domain of earth and fire and is worshipped by many of the alfingas—goblins—as well as others secretly in Háthgolthane.”
“Did you say fire?” Erik asked.
“Aye,” Nafer said. “He is said to control fire as his chosen element.”
Bryon could help but notice the pensive look on Erik’s face.
“So, what are these tunnel crawlers then?” Bryon asked. “Are they demons?”
“In a sense, they are. They were demon spawn, horrible crossings of men with demon blood, twisted and tortured over time,” Nafer replied.
“So, are they evil?” Bryon asked.
“Some would say so,” Nafer replied. “Some would say that wickedness is in their blood, being the children of the Shadow. Some would say that despite their mindlessness, evil still courses through their veins, and what they do is in the service of evil. Others would say that enough time has passed that they are now simply animals. Nonetheless, they are also known as Shadow Children.”
“Great,” Bryon said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
The tunnel began to change as the roof brushed errant strands of hair on Bryon’s head, and they had to walk in a single file line. The walls looked more like those of a natural mountain tunnel, cut away by water and earthquakes over millennia, and there were different signs of life. Insects skittered and scurried away when caught by the torchlight, and albino rats with mottled white fur and red eyes squeaked and spat as they hurried back into darkness.
“Will this tunnel just eventually close in on us?” Bryon asked. “Are we going to walk for days and days and find ourselves looking at a dead end?”
“My father sought to get me to accept things always get worse before they got better,” Turk said. “I never believed him, but now I know what he meant.”
“The man in Eldmanor said this was the way we must go,” Erik added.
“That does not make me feel better either,” Bryon said.
“Me neither,” Erik said. “I’m beginning to wonder, is this the only way to get to Fealmynster, and if not, then why send us this way?”
“Let’s just hope whoever, or whatever made these tunnels made an exit.”
13
Bu had gone to take a piss when he heard something hissing and rattling from within the forest. He quickly finished, and when he was moving back towards their fire, something white shot out from the darkness and struck one of the Hámonian knights on his breastplate. Bu froze as the man stared down at his chest, a silver line leading from him to the trees.
“What, by the gods?” the man said, his expression one of annoyance as well as surprise.
He reached out to the strange substance to pull it away, but as he touched the thin, silvery thread, his eyes widened when his hand became stuck. A moment later, the knight flew through the air towards the dark forest that surrounded them, screaming as he bounced off the trunks of the trees with a series of sickening thuds. Bu heard the man scream again, seemingly in agony, and two of his men meant to make for the trees, but Bao Zi grabbed both soldiers by their wrists and held them fast.
“Stay where you stand,” the old man croaked.
Another scream was cut off in mid breath, and the sudden silence was filled with the sickening sound of something tearing flesh, a man gurgling, and then slurping. Bu wasn’t a squeamish man. Growing up on the streets of Fen-Stévock, a beggar and the son of a whore, he saw plenty a boy shouldn’t see. But the knight’s final scream, and the sounds that followed … Bu would remember those for a long time.
At the edge of the firelight and with his back to the forest, one of his soldiers stared in the direction the knight was pulled. He was a stalwart man, all the eastern soldiers were, especially when compared to these Hámonian knights, but the look on his face told Bu he might piss himself. He held his spear tight with his shield pulled close to his body.
Something behind the soldier hissed, then a clicking sound, followed by a rustling and a chattering, came from the darkness. The man slowly looked over his shoulder as if he didn’t want to turn to see what was there. As he did, his eyes went wide, and he screamed.
“What is it?” Bu shouted, but the soldier gave no reply.
Something long and black and tipped with a claw-like blade stabbed out into the light from the flames. The soldier lifted his shield, but the claw shattered the wood. The man gripped his spear with both hands as several other soldiers started running to his aid, but another long, black claw appeared, this time stabbing the man in the shoulder. The leather breastplate did little to stop the barbed appendage from piercing the man’s flesh, and he cried out as he fell backward.
Bu stopped breathing, and his skin went cold when he saw what it was that attacked his soldier. A spider,
its body round and the size of a large dog stepped out from the darkness to the edge of the firelight. A sharp claw tipped each of its eight legs, and it thrust them into the ground as if exerting its dominance over these men. The soldier it had attacked tried to stand, despite the blood rushing from his wound, but the spider lifted its head and two huge pincers before it spat a thin line of webbing from its abdomen, striking the man in the face. He dropped his spear and clutched at the white silk, screaming.
“It burns!” he cried as his hands got stuck to the webbing when he tried to peel it off his face.
The spider rushed the man, and the others now backed away, not willing to risk their lives for this soldier who was as good as dead. The creature jammed two of its forelimbs into the soldier’s chest, pushing him back to the ground. As everyone else just watched in horror, unable to move, the spider drooled on the man and stabbed him with one of its pincers. The soldier screamed and kicked and gurgled as the spider picked him up with both pincers and rushed back into the darkness of the forest.
“Get out of here now!” Bu cried.
He grabbed Warrior’s reins, ready to mount the mighty warhorse and ride away as hard and fast as he could, but he saw another Hámonian knight mount up and, even though at least four of his soldiers surrounded the mounted man, he was the target of another spider’s attack, this one from the tree branches overhead.
A line of webbing entangled the horse’s forelimbs, and the beast toppled over with a desperate whinny. Before the knight knew what had happened, the huge spider landed on the horse and jammed its fangs into the horse’s neck. The animal struggled under the spider for a moment, but the poison soon took effect, and it went still, foaming at the mouth.
Much to the knight’s credit, he stood, producing a flail with his left hand and drawing his long sword with his right. He might as well have been holding two sticks. The sharp claw of one leg stabbed one of the knight’s legs, his plate mail doing little to stop the appendage. He swung down hard with his sword and must have done at least a bit of damage as the spider hissed, bristles on its legs straightening and rattling. At that moment, the knight turned to run, but the spider crouched, bending all eight of its legs, and launched itself onto the knight’s back, pushing him to the ground, and jamming its fangs into his back and neck. Bu couldn’t hear the man’s screams, muffled by the mountain floor and snow, but at that moment, he realized that riding Warrior made him a larger target. He turned to his horse.
Dragon Sword: Demon's Fire Book 1 Page 11
