by Eve Forward
“Well, it worked, didn’t it?” she whispered.
They wandered ever deeper into the complex of tunnels.
Perhaps at one time, back in the mists of history, Putak-Azum had been full of life, a city, a castle, a temple, a whole world. Now it was a great sprawling emptiness, like an abandoned badger set. Most of the rooms and passages they passed through had been built with humans in mind, with wide hallways and arched ceilings now filled with cobwebs and mildew. But much of the stonework appeared to be Dwarven work, and in places it was easy to see where older, smaller tunnels had been enlarged to form human-sized passageways.
Putak-Azum had had many inhabitants. The original caverns, perhaps hollowed out by mountainous forces, had-been the home of creatures from the dawn of time.
Then, perhaps, the unpleasant humanoids of darkness had made their homes here-the goblins and Groinks, the rock-trolls and ogres, until they were driven back into the far depths by the Dwarvenkind. The Dwarvenkind had perhaps lived here many centuries, in a state of intermittent war with the humanoids. They had then vanished, for some unknown reason, or moved away or down into the depths, seeking further wealth to mine from the bones of the mountains. Then the lords of man seeing in the vaults of Putak-Azum a secure stronghold had taken over the upper levels. Then the forces of darkness had encroached, and the great evil things from the bowels of the mountains swept up, slaying the humans and taking their treasures for their own. The great black dragon Kazikuckia came to rest in the upper vaults, guarding that most priceless object, the Necklace of Calaina. And the War had raged on until the Heroes had raided Putak-Azum, mortally wounded the dragon, battled strange and evil creatures in the depths of the mountains, escaped, and moved on. After the Victory, Putak-Azum had been a target for adventurers, who battled the few remaining reptile-men until they had been exterminated.
Then they could switch to the occasional party of goblins or rock-trolls that would venture to the surface in hopes of gathering food. For with the closing of the Gate and the destruction of the Darkportals, the forces of darkness, though they hid in the depths of the tunnels, grew weak and feeble, and slowly expired in the cold depths. From then on the Ruins of Putak-Azum could offer the hopeful adventurer nothing more than the occasional giant slug, bat, spider or other such unintelligent creatures that lurked in the cool caves and fed off their own slow ecosystem, without benefit of the sun or rain.
The little group of unlikely Druid-rescuers knew little of this, however. They could only conjecture on the nature of the place, aided by Valerie’s knowledge and Robin’s store of ballad lore as they wandered through the halls.
“I think we’re lost,” said Sam, after a few hours.
“Nay, we are not,” snapped Arcie. “We Barigans can always tell wherever we be anywhere in the underground.”
“That’s Dwarves that can do that.”
“I can do anything what some smelly dwarf can.”
Arcie looked affronted.
“Where are we, then?” asked Sam, folding his arms.
Arcie looked around.
“We’re in a hallway, say five paces far from that arched doorway and yon side passage,” he replied confidently.
“Wonderful,” said Sam sarcastically, as the Barigan continued to look about him in slight puzzlement.
“Hmm, perhaps it does only apply to Dwarves,” Arcie admitted after a moment.
“Fear not,” said Valerie, coming up with Blackmail behind them. “I have been marking the way as we travel, and my magic will lead us safely out as soon as we need.”
“Och,” commented Arcie, “I were just at wondering, now as you’ve your Darkportal back, why don’t you just poof-appear us to yon dragon’s lair, or just right away to the Labyrinth thingy? One’s always hearing of mages and things teleporting all over the place, in stories,” he added to Sam.
Valerie shook her head. Her hair had been severely cropped in the dragon’s attack, and now was almost as short as Sam’s, hanging in uneven locks just above her shoulders. Nightshade examined them with a beady eye.
“It’s not that simple, you uneducated Barigan. My powers are still quite limited ... the Darkportal I wear is only a small one, after all. I cannot teleport to a place I have never seen, which includes both the dragon’s lair and the Labyrinth. Even if I was to try to get us to the lair, I’d run the risk of materializing us all into solid rock or empty air outside the mountains. And as for the Labyrinth...” she shook her head, then continued, “And lastly, I don’t think my magic is strong enough to teleport us all safely. Transportation isn’t my field of expertise. I’m better at hurting people.”
“Aye well,” said Arcie with a shrug. “I was but asking.”
“It’s getting late,” mused Sam, looking about. “Or early, rather.”
“How can you tell?” asked Robin. The assassin didn’t bother to look at him and poked at one of the walls with a frown.
“I’ve got a good time sense ... comes in useful in my line of work, to know how long you have before a poison works, or when to come out of hiding.”
“Oh,” said Robin in a small voice. “At any rate, it’s time we started looking for a secure place to camp and get some rest at before going on.”
“Aye, and eat,” added Arcie enthusiastically. Sam shook his head in amusement.
“If we keep you hungry long enough I think you’d eat that dragon raw and roaring, Arcie,” he joked.
“I’ve had dragon before,” mused Valerie to herself.
“At my brother’s wedding ... It’s kind of strong, but very good with cave-rose sauce and apples. We had his mother-in-law as a side dish.”
They moved on again.
Arcie peeped his head into a large hall, spotting a small doorway at the far end. The room was full of rubble and wood, as well as what appeared to be the mortal remains of a good number of creatures. Old rusted armor hung from whitened bones, the etched remains of swords were gripped in bony fingers. Arcie warily walked into the room and up to one of the skeletons. Nothing happened.
He kicked it. An arm snapped off and skittered across the room. He sighed in relief.
“What are you playing at, Arcie?” asked Sam, entering the room after him.
“Dead things ...” explained Arcie. “My father told me...”
“Undead? Don’t be stupid, half-pint. There haven’t been any undead for ages. There’s no power source for them, remember?” scoffed Sam, as the other three stepped cautiously into the room behind them. As the pale light of the wand reached into the darker corners of the room, there came a sound like a tumble of sticks and coins. The skeletons, long dead remains of reptile-men, rose to their taloned feet in clattering ranks, their sharp rotted teeth grinning with malice from beyond the grave.
“Well Dusty, which way?” asked Tasmene. The White Tigers’ stood in the first main hall at the end of the entry tunnel in Putak-Azum. Three passages offered themselves: two winding away into the darkness and one leading up a stairway.
Dusty Corners, a small, sprightly Wilderkin, with long brown hair and bright blue eyes, peered about. He was a “locksmith,” the term applied to those who had the somewhat suspicious talent of opening locks and defeating traps. Dusty was something of a black sheep among his people. He loved adventuring, and despite being a fierce fighter in a pinch, was quite frivolous-doubtless a side-effect of his companionship with humans. It was frivolity now that ruled him as he inspected the tracks in the dust on the floor.
It seemed to his quick brain that the tracks led more or less in the direction of the stairway... but when his party had been in here before, they had gone that way and found it just kind of wound up connecting with the other two passages after going through a lot of rooms. The other passage, however, led not only to where the other two would meet, but also past several areas he hadn’t been able to explore thoroughly last time. Curiosity won over.
“This way!” he piped cheerfully and bounded down one of the tunnels. The rest followed, wie
lding torches of magical light provided by the mage Tesubar.
“I don’t know if we should trust that Wilderkin and his maps,” rasped the mage as he marched along, his glowing staff held in one hand. Tasmene turned around and eyed the mage in concern.
“Something the matter with your throat, my brother?” he asked in concern. “Don’t tell me your cough is coming back...” Tesubar cleared his throat and looked embarrassed.
“Um, no. It’s fine now,” he said in his normal voice.
“That’s good,” muttered Thurbin. “You used to drive me half out of my skull with all your blasted rasping and coughing.”
“Bleeding Tharzak,” cursed Sam, drawing a dagger, then thinking better of it, swapping it for his shortsword.
“By BARIS and Bella!” yelled Arcie in surprise, as he jumped back. He drew his morning star and swung wildly at one of the skeletons. The blow caught the leader of the reptile skeletons, shattering a kneecap. It fell on one knee, slashing at him with a broken sword and lashing its clattering tail.
“What’s happening?” cried Robin, drawing his sword uncertainly. “Why are they attacking?!”
“Don’t talk, fight!” grunted Sam, slashing at one of the rattling warriors. His blade clattered between the ribs without effect, and he ducked as the creature opened its long jaws in a silent warcry and swung at him with its rusty sword.
Valerie quickly began chanting a spell. Blackmail swiftly drew his huge sword and dealt a charging trio of the skeletons a blow with the flat of it that sent them scattering.
A moment later, Valerie completed her spell, and a wave of crushing force lashed out, hurling several of the undead warriors against a wall. The others halted a moment, then attacked with renewed vigor as the sorceress stared at her fingertips in puzzlement.
“That spell should have disintegrated the bony bastards ... what went wrong?” she hissed.
“Ha!” yelled Arcie, and swung his weapon again at the skeleton before him. “Bang thy head!” The heavy spiked ball crashed into the skull, shattering it and sending the rest of the bones clattering in unorganized attack. “Sam! You’ll need a piece of wood, or something else blunt!”
Sam had other plans. He grabbed one of the skeletons by its ribcage and swept it off its feet, avoided its sword and lashing tail, swung it over his head, and hurled it through the air. It crashed into some of its fellows and they shattered and collapsed. He spun around in pain as one of them landed an awkward blow on his shoulder with its sword. He kicked it mightily in the sternum, sending it stumbling backward across the stone floor.
Robin, terrified, lashed about with his sword. The blade seemed to have no effect upon the creatures, rattling harmlessly off the smooth bones.
“Use your hooves, idiot!” Valerie yelled. Robin shuddered at the thought, but then one of the skeletons made a mistake. Trying to grab at the centaur’s arm, it instead wrenched the harp from his back and held it as though to smash it. Robin gave a squeal of pure rage, and turned into a whirling bronco. He reared and pawed, then turned and kicked. The skeletons shattered under his hoofblows like kindling, but still more kept coming even as he grabbed his harp and tucked it safely under his arm, panting with exertion.
Blackmail swept a swath clear with a blow from his sword. “Why are his sword working?” mused Arcie, from where he busily broke the ribs off another foe and dodged its rotting spear as best he could. Och, sure it must be magical...
“What’s causing them?” roared Sam, flipping another one over his shoulder and smashing it against a wall. Valerie gasped in sudden realization.
“It must be my Darkportal amulet! They’re drawing power from it!” she cried. One of them charged her, but the dark knight deftly interceded with the point of his sword, catching the creature through the reptilian pelvis, hurling it up into the air, and smashing it against the far wall with his incredible strength.
“Well do something!” whinnied Robin, squealing in pain as one scored a hit on his haunch. He reared up and stomped it through the shoulders.
Arcie had found that a swift smack to the vertebrae was the best way to deal with them; if you were lucky, the shock sent the whole rest of the skeleton tumbling down in disarray or at least in two halves. He leaped about in delight, sending bones flying, and ducked as Sam hurled another one over his head. Blackmail waded through them, defending Valerie and mowing the bones down like a harvestman.
“Nothing I can do!” replied Valerie. “We’ll have to run for it!”
“No need!” yelled Arcie back. “We’ll be taking care of these!” He smashed through another, then darted about the floor, reducing the few still-thrashing bone torsos and legs into shards. Sam threw the lightweight figures into each other, and left the broken struggling bits to Robin’s hooves and Arcie’s morning star. Blackmail, swift, silent, and methodical, sent the bones shattering and cracking.
Finally the last twitching fragment was ground to powder, and the room was silent save for the panting of the living.
“Whew!” said Arcie cheerfully, pulling out a blue handkerchief and mopping his brow. “What a grand mix-em-up!”
“I don’t approve,” muttered Sam, rubbing his hands off on his tunic; the rotten dead things had the chill of the grave about them. “Live things becoming dead, that I’m used to, not the other way around.” His fingers felt frostbitten.
“Oh dear,” Robin said, inspecting his hooves to make sure they weren’t damaged. “I hope we don’t have to do that again.”
“Don’t count on it, centaur,” said Valerie with a sigh.
“I think we’re going to have to be extremely careful from now on.”
“I don’t suppose you’d leave that amulet behind?” asked Robin wistfully. Valerie clutched it firmly.
“You’d have to kill me first,” she retorted coldly.
“Here, Arcie, I’m thirsty ... got anything to drink?” asked Sam. “Especially since you stole my waterskin to fill up at that temple.”
Arcie replied, “Sure enough,” and went for his waterskin. “This is the stuff from the temple...” Sam waved it away.
“No, don’t waste that. I’m fine, we may need it later. Anything else?”
“Aye, sure,” replied the Barigan, handing him another waterskin offhandedly as he began poking about in the bones to see if there was anything worth stealing. Sam unplugged the skin and tilted his head back, pouring the liquid into his mouth and swallowing in great gulps. As he lowered the skin he smacked his lips thoughtfully.
Wait, that wasn’t...
“How are it?” Arcie asked, watching him. The assassin, having just downed perhaps three cups of Barigan whiskey, solemnly handed the skin back, turned around, and took almost three steps before he fell over.
Sam woke some time later and wished he hadn’t. As he whimpered slightly, there was a too-loud scuffing sound near him, and Arcie’s voice said, “Here, laddie, drink o’ this.”
Sam squeezed his face shut and muttered through clenched teeth, “I’m not going to drink anything, you poisoner.”
“Och, pot and kettle, laddie. Trust me, drink it.”
“No.”
Something abruptly jumped on his stomach with heavy booted feet. As he opened his mouth to gasp a splash of cool water landed in it, and he had barely time to notice his gut-wrenching head-splitting hangover dissipating as his reflexes threw the Barigan across the room. Arcie landed on his feet, having expected the move, and looked hurt as Sam slowly sat up, shaking his head.
“Just a tad of Mula’s magic cure-all,” he told Sam.
“There were no need to get so cross.”
“My apologies then, Arcie.” Sam looked around.
They were in another room they had passed earlier, one with enough space for them all to rest comfortably. The others were preparing to move on, nodding a greeting to him. “How long have I been out?” Sam asked.
“A wee few hours,” answered Arcie. “You fell over in yon hall...”
“I remember that,�
�� agreed Sam.
“And then ye got up, and started walking about on yer hands,” continued Arcie cheerfully. “Ye showed us as ye could balance a dagger on yer nose, and ye almost went putting yer eye out. Ye got amain cross, and then started singing “Pixie-Clover Wine” up and down the hall. Robin tried to settle ye, and ye went and tried to throw him over yer shoulder, and close almost gave yerself the musclewrench. Ye went at shouting about what ye were mean ing to do to Mizzamir, then ye puked up all over the skeletons and ye passed out, so we went and dragged you back here.”
Sam stared at Arcie. “You’re joking!”
Arcie grinned through the smoke of his lit pipe. “Aye, yer right, I am. Ye was out perhaps four, say five hours. Ye snored, but ‘tis all. We ourselfs ate and slept.”
“That’s more like it,” said the assassin. “But I don’t snore. Give me my birchwood throwing knife, Arcie.”
The Barigan sighed and passed it over. Sam’s diligent efforts had managed to get most of the Groink residue off, and it was once again a fine blade worth stealing.
“Were hoping you wouldn’t notice,” he murmured. Sam managed a smile at his incorrigible old friend.
“When we get out of this, I’ll buy you one of your own. Let’s get started.”
Sam munched a few dried rations for a breakfast and made a mental note to keep an eye out for a well or some thing else that might provide water for him to refill his empty waterskin.
The tunnels wound ever further into the depths of Putak-Azum. The band of villains walked on through the halls, wandering more or less aimlessly but ever seeking further upward passages that might take them to the dragon’s lair. Here, further in, past where so many had gone before, the rooms and tunnels were in better condition, holding more of the glory of their former years.
In one room, a circular chamber, was a large round well or shaft. Arcie, curious, looked into it; it was empty, just a straight shaft extending into the depths. On a whim, he threw a pebble down it; the sound of the frag ment bouncing and clattering its way down echoed so loudly that it prompted Valerie to shush him severely.
