“For how long?” Raythen asked.
“Until we stop,” came the reply.
Several thudding impacts shook the metalwork around them, making Astarra gasp and causing Shiver to grimace as her staff accidentally dug once more into his side. Shiver wondered if they’d hit an obstruction or were simply ploughing through particularly recalcitrant rock or Dunwarr-built walls. The burrower seemed to surge again though, overcoming whatever had been blocking it.
It would have thrown them around, had they not been so tightly packed. He focused on putting his mind elsewhere, overcoming the discomfort of the unnatural journey using the mantra that helped centre his thoughts. Atali nametha ren. Nameth hatala.
At last, he noted that the whirring, grinding sound he took to be the drill bit had started to decelerate once more. The Dunwarr was working the wheel and levers furiously, and the pistons slowly eased their frantic activity. Metal groaned and creaked around them, beginning to settle.
“Well, that was a record,” the Dunwarr said, turning as much as he was able. “You can open the hatch again, lady sorcerer.”
Astarra practically lunged into the space above, hauling herself feverishly up and out of the confined hold. Shiver followed her at a more measured pace, controlling the sense of relief he felt as he left behind the strange contraption. He looked out of the hatch before clambering through it.
The mechanism had tunneled its way out into what looked like another undercroft, or a long cellar. It was danker looking than the upper dungeon of the Dunwol Kenn Karnin, its walls consisting of exposed dirt and rock kept in place by iron beams. It was lit by lanterns, similar to the one inside the burrower, set into alcoves and covered by small glass screens. The illumination they gave off was dirty and flickering.
Shiver clambered from the hatch and dropped down to the ground just as Astarra was sick. She doubled over against the side of the mud-caked burrower, retching loudly. Unsure of how best to comfort her, Shiver tentatively placed a hand on her shoulder, which she batted away.
Raythen was clambering up out of the hatch just as a side panel on the burrower’s grubby flank was hauled back, exposing the Dunwarr pilot. He dragged himself free of his contraption with some difficulty, ending up half in, half out, flailing on the floor. Flanked on one side by the struggling dwarf and on the other by the retching runewitch, Shiver looked up helplessly at Raythen.
The thief jumped down from the roof of the burrower. Shiver realized he had his short axe in his hand.
“Who in Fortuna’s name are you, beardless one?” he demanded, holding the edge against the neck of the Dunwarr pilot, who went abruptly still.
“I’m the d- dwarf who just saved your lives,” he said.
“Why?” Raythen demanded.
“Because I’ve got a job for you,” the dwarf said.
“We’ve already got a job,” Raythen responded. “Do you know who I am?”
“I would hope so,” the dwarf said, grinning despite the naked steel at his throat. “I’m the one who hired you.”
Chapter Ten
The burrower pilot’s name was Kayl Mavarin. He was short and lean, had a stutter, and laughed when Raythen called him beardless again.
“It gets in the way,” he said as he led them up from the undercroft. “Gets set on fire, entangled, stained. Terrible for a Dunwarr who likes to experiment. So yes, I shaved it off.”
Astarra hadn’t encountered a Dunwarr who would do such a thing before, but the past few days had been revelatory for many reasons. The creation that had tunneled them out of the Dunwol Kenn Karnin alone was beyond her comprehension. Being inside it had been a panic-inducing nightmare. How it functioned, she had no idea – a part of her wanted to find out if runestones were involved in its locomotion, but every time she thought about the thing and its crushing, suffocating interior, her stomach clenched.
She tried to focus on Raythen’s conversation with their apparent savior as he led them up a set of stairs from the buried basement they’d tunneled into.
“You knew the reason the city was sealed, but you brought us here anyway?” Raythen was exclaiming. “Didn’t it cross your mind that the exiled son of King Ragnarson and two complete outsiders might end up being falsely accused of stealing the Hydra?”
“I hoped the great Raythen wouldn’t just walk in through the front gates and into Ragnarson’s open arms,” Mavarin replied, his voice echoing back down to Astarra. “But I knew that if you did, I’d be able to get you out. I saw you in the street, with Captain Bradha. Truth is, I’ve always wanted to try out Garak Gaz on the citadel. I wasn’t sure if she’d be able to drill her all the way through the foundations, and getting around the lake is no easy feat, but the League will be d- delighted with my findings!”
Raythen dropped into a series of Dunwarr words that Astarra took to be expletives. The stairway ended, opening up into a workshop. Benches and worktables lined the floor, heaped high with what, to Astarra, looked like junk. Strange metal devices, some of which wheezed and hissed and chugged with motion, competed for space with clear glass bottles of all shapes and sizes filled with curiously-colored liquids, and scattered mounds of books, papers and parchments. The room was dimly lit by a small, bright orb affixed to the ceiling, which Astarra took to be a miniature version of the brilliant globes that studded the roof of Thelgrim’s cavern. The windows were closed and shuttered.
Mavarin strode into the room, raised his bulky goggles, and grinned through the grime befouling his lower face.
“Welcome, to the League of Invention,” he exclaimed, spreading his arms wide.
Raythen, Shiver and Astarra stood at the entrance to the workshop, staring.
“This… is the League of Invention?” Astarra asked slowly. It looked every bit like the office of Professor Greysdon, one of her former tutors at Greyhaven, an infamously disorganized hoarder and collector of notes.
“Absolutely,” Mavarin said, setting off once more, moving with a swift, purposeful stride. “Come, come! You all must be tired, and hungry!”
“Just follow my lead,” Raythen growled to Astarra and Shiver. She rolled her eyes.
They trailed Mavarin through to a back room where a heavy-looking pot was bubbling away on an iron stove. The dwarf began to clear papers and more contraptions off the only table in the room, alternating between apologizing and swearing as one object – to Astarra it looked like a bowl with a twisted fork attached above it to a drill mechanism – tumbled off and broke.
He shoved the two rattling halves unceremoniously under the table with his boot before turning back to the trio, beaming again.
“Sit! Please, sit!”
Raythen slowly dragged out one of the chairs around the table and did so. Shiver and Astarra followed. She kept a tight grip on her staff. She could feel the energies of the Ignis responding to her touch, the unyielding barrier of the Null Stone now gone. As far as she was concerned, that was just about the only positive to come out of their new situation.
“So, are you maybe going to explain what in Fortuna’s name we’re doing here?” Raythen asked as Mavarin bustled about at the stove, beginning to pour what looked like thick stew and dumplings into clay bowls. The food’s scent reached Astarra, and she realized just how badly her stomach ached. She’d just about recovered from throwing up over the giant burrower.
“Well, you already know the half of it,” Mavarin said, as he ferried the full bowls to the table, stepping over and around the assorted books and scrap littering the floor without even glancing down at any of it. “The Hydra Shard and the device which controls it have been stolen. An act of untrammeled i- infamy! But we’re going to get it back.”
Raythen looked at Astarra. She didn’t respond – she was now finding it difficult to think about anything other than the food being set before her.
“That’s not what you hired us for,” Raythen said, “if it
actually was you. Which facilitator did you use?”
“Why Cayfern, of course,” Mavarin said, placing the final bowl in front of Astarra. “He’s the best at what he does in all of northern Terrinoth.”
Astarra gazed at the stew, steaming gently in front of her. Poisoned? Worse? She realized she didn’t care. She snatched up her spoon and dug in, only managing to regain a degree of control when she realized Shiver was staring at her.
The elf carefully picked up his own spoon and began to pick at his bowl, studiously avoiding the meat.
“We were hired by the League of Invention,” Raythen said, ignoring his own food. “So where are they?”
“I told you, I’m the League of Invention,” Mavarin said, looking nonplussed. “And this is my headquarters!”
“Where are the other members?” Raythen pressed. “You must have some sort of council or governing body?”
“Well, not really,” Mavarin said, spooning a wad of stew into his mouth. “I have… two benefactors. But that’s all.”
Raythen appeared lost for words. It was Shiver who asked what Astarra was mustering her thoughts to say.
“You asked us here to retrieve a runestone and take it back to Frostgate,” he said, easing his bowl away across the table. “This runestone doesn’t exist, does it?”
“Well, not exactly,” Mavarin said slowly. Astarra set her spoon down in her bowl.
“It doesn’t exist?” she repeated coldly, glaring at him.
“Well, in a sense it does,” the dwarf said, having the good sense to at least look shame-faced. “I mean, there are all m- manner of runestones in Thelgrim. The Runescribers’ Guild have over a dozen, and King Ragnarson no fewer! I can guarantee that once we return the Hydra to him, he’ll make a gift of at least one to you!”
“You can guarantee no such thing,” Astarra growled, her chair scraping as she rose. She wasn’t going to be taken for a fool by another dwarf, not after having been led on what now seemed like such a pointless, dangerous chase. She had come here to progress her abilities, not be led on by Dunwarr lies. Mavarin’s eyes widened.
“Astarra…” Raythen started to say, a warning note in his voice, but she wasn’t listening. She was reaching out, using the runebound shard to slide into the universal power of the Turning. She cracked the bottom of her staff off the stone floor. The volcanic shard lit up with the power of the runestone beneath it.
“Now just wait,” Mavarin said, standing up so quickly he knocked his chair over with a clatter.
“You lied to us,” Astarra hissed, striding around the table towards him. “You lured us here, into your trap. And now what? You want us to help you retrieve the Hydra? Why would we do that?”
She half expected the Dunwarr to quail before her, but he stood his ground, the fire from her staff glinting in his eyes.
“You’ll help me because, without me, you’ll never leave this city,” he said, with a degree of determination she hadn’t anticipated.
“I wouldn’t threaten her if I were you,” Raythen said softy. Astarra sensed Shiver rising behind her, but his ice magics remained untapped.
She let the fire run down her staff, her hands untouched by the flames.
“I could sear the flesh from your bones right here and now, you devious little Dunwarr,” she said.
“You c- could,” Mavarin said, standing his ground. “And then what? The whole of Thelgrim has been locked down until the thief is found. The Warriors’ Guild patrol the streets. And something tells me you won’t be trying to pilot Garak Gaz out from underneath their feet.”
“Trust me, we’ll think of something,” Raythen said.
“Don’t you want to return the Hydra to the tomb of Holburg?” Mavarin asked. “It’s an object of near-unlimited p- potential. Whoever controls it could likely rule all of Terrinoth.”
He looked directly at Astarra as he spoke. She let his insinuations burn up in the heat of her anger. It was taking a conscious effort not to engulf the Dunwarr in fire.
“Why are you so concerned with its whereabouts?” Shiver asked, moving to stand alongside Astarra, hemming Mavarin in. She noticed that a rind of ice had started to form over his bony, clasped hands, steaming gently in the heat being generated by the Ignis.
“Everyone in Thelgrim is concerned about the loss of the Hydra,” Mavarin said evasively.
“But not enough to defy their king and seek outside help,” Raythen said, latching on to Shiver’s line of questioning. “Not enough to lure a trio of adventurers here to help with its recovery. Ragnarson seems to have the whole city either shut away or bent to finding it, so what could we three, two of us outsiders, possibly offer in the way of help?”
He’d risen to his feet and joined the other two. Mavarin was surrounded, the stove to his back, his eyes darting from one to the other. He held his hands in the air.
“Fine. I want to be the one to find it! I know where it is. I just don’t have the ability to get there and return with it alive.”
“Did you take it?” Astarra demanded, her flames flaring with a crackling snarl. Mavarin’s evasiveness reminded her of a less polished version of Raythen, and she had neither the will nor desire to entertain devious Dunwarr tricksters any longer. She had placed her faith in others for too long. From now on, she was taking matters into her own hands.
“No,” Mavarin exclaimed, looking horrified. “But I have a d- device, an invention that can pinpoint runestones and unbound shards. I believe I’ve found it, in the deepling tunnels of the western wall, but I d- dare not go any further alone, and no one else will believe me!”
“What’s stopping you from getting to it?” Raythen asked. Mavarin shot him a look, as though it was obvious.
“The deep elves,” he said. “They’re abroad in numbers unseen for generations. They’re the ones who have taken the Hydra. They rove the deeper tunnels in daggerbands that will cut me to pieces if they find me.”
“Why would deep elves steal this Star and its device?” Shiver demanded, his cool reserve seemingly strained by the accusation.
“Why are they roving the tunnels at all?” Mavarin responded. “They’ve even been attacking g- groups of Dunwarr who break the lockdown. Leaving no survivors.”
Astarra sensed Raythen glance sideways at Shiver. Presumably he was thinking the same as her, recalling the deep elf ambush on the Hearth Road. That part of Mavarin’s story, at least, seemed backed up by evidence, even if Shiver didn’t like it.
“I need the Hydra,” Mavarin went on, wringing his hands. “It calls to me! It’s my destiny to recover it!”
“And use it for yourself?” Raythen asked sharply.
“To return it to its rightful resting place,” Mavarin said. “The reward is what I seek. The recognition. Here I am Mavarin the Tinkerer, just an unhinged curiosity, a nuisance to the formal guilds. They deny the genius of my work and the potential it could unlock. But if my inventions and my initiative reclaim the mighty Hydra, despite the best efforts of the rest of the city to do the same, they will have to take notice. They’ll approve the status of the League as its own guild! I’ll have access to funds, a seat at the council, the respect of my peers!”
“And we get to walk out of Thelgrim alive?” Astarra asked fiercely, in no way enamored by the dwarf’s suggestion. It reminded her too much of her own intentions of using the Hydra herself. It stung her anger. If the Dunwarr really thought she was going to help him out of kindness alone, he was mistaken. “Assuming we survive your little quest. It doesn’t sound like a shared incentive.”
“I have n- no doubt you’ll be rewarded as well,” Mavarin said. “The king is beside himself over the Hydra’s loss. Its return will see you given whatever you desire from Thelgrim’s wealth.”
“You clearly don’t know my father very well,” Raythen said.
“I told you, go if you so wish,” Mavarin sai
d. “I leave tomorrow for the Western Deeps. In the meantime, you are welcome to rest here. It seems as though you all need the sleep.”
He dared offer a small smile to the three.
Astarra glared down at the Dunwarr, but she couldn’t deny what he said. She was running on anger and determination. None of them had had a moment’s rest since reaching the Hearth Road.
“If you try and double-cross us, inventor, we’ll burn you, freeze you, and deposit you into the Blackwater’s depths in tiny little pieces,” Raythen growled.
“If you double-cross us again,” Astarra corrected, not taking her eyes off Mavarin. He offered them a hasty bow.
“I’ll do everything in my power to repair the trust I seem to have b- broken,” he said grandly. “But in the meantime, maybe we can finish the stew?”
•••
After they had consumed the entire contents of the pot, Mavarin took them up another flight of stairs and showed them into an attic room. The small, stone-cut area was as jumbled and littered with discarded objects as the rest of the inventor’s property, but what floor space there was had at least been covered with straw. The Dunwarr provided several blankets, told them he would be downstairs, and bade them sleep well.
As soon as the door was shut, Raythen strode over to the room’s only window, doing his best not to dislodge piles of junk as he went. The square opening had been cut into the natural rock of the wall, and while it was too small for any of them to fit through, it at least offered an indication of where they were. He stood on his tiptoes and peered through.
Mavarin’s workshop appeared to have been dug into the base of one of the stalagmites facing onto the featureless expanse of the Blackwater. Across the lake from them stood the grandeur of the Guild Hall, but the curve of the rock formation hid the Dunwol Kenn Karnin from view. The workshop itself was the level below, facing onto the street that lay against the Blackwater’s still banks.
The roadway was deserted, standing silent in the eternal, soft glitter that lit the subterranean city. Raythen had half expected to see troops of guild warriors tramping past, hunting for them. Wherever they were looking though, it didn’t seem to be in such immediate proximity to the Dunwol Kenn Karnin. Hiding in almost plain sight was an old one, it would do for now. He closed his eyes and lent his head against the edge of the window.
The Gates of Thelgrim Page 11
