by Mel Odom
“Cobner and the dwarves might be able to cut through it.”
“In less time than it would take to walk back to the main cavern and take the other tunnel?” Wick raised his eyebrows in doubtful speculation.
“There are tools here—”
“Broken ones.”
“—tools that we can repair,” Sonne went on stubbornly.
“Sonne. Wick.”
The little librarian gazed back down the rock pile and saw Brant standing there, a curious expression on his face.
“What are you doing up there?” Brant asked.
Beyond the master thief in the shadows, Wick saw Tseralyn watching them with interest.
Quickly, and with much more enthusiastic description and hope than Wick would have offered, Sonne laid out her thoughts about the cavern on the other side of the rock pile.
Brant crawled up to join them, stirring up even more dust to join the smoke already plaguing the area. The master thief shoved his torch into the space Sonne and Wick had cleared between the two massive stone surfaces. Brant struggled to ease through the gap but couldn’t. He sat back and watched the smoke being pulled through the gap more readily.
“I want to try it,” Sonne said.
“It does offer promise,” Brant agreed. He stroked his beard and glanced at Wick. “Well, little artist?”
I think it’s a bad idea. Wick wanted so very much to say that but couldn’t. It was just possible that the other end of the mine shaft lay only a short distance away. “Maybe we can have a look.”
Minutes later, armed with a fresh torch, Sonne started the climb through the tight gap between the stone shelves. By that time, word had gotten around to the rest of the camp and no one was sleeping anymore. All the thieves gathered at the foot of the rock pile and watched hopefully. Cobner had already rounded up a few picks, hammers, and chisels, and was busy cutting some of the torch staff into serviceable handles to fit the hammers and picks.
Halfway through the climb, Sonne got stuck, caught between the tight surfaces. Wick heard the young girl breathe out, then she wriggled free and continued on without taking another breath. Cold fear touched the little librarian when he feared that she might get caught between the rocks out of their reach and suffocate simply because she couldn’t draw a breath. Then she was through, waving encouragement from the other side and saying that the mineshaft did indeed continue.
More nervous now that it was his turn even though he was more slightly built than Sonne, Wick wiped the perspiration from his palms, tied a fresh knot in the cheesecloth around his lower face, and tried not to hyperventilate. Here he was, about to do one of the really heroic things that he’d read about in so many of the volumes in Hralbomm’s Wing, and he was on the verge of throwing up. Sour bubbles popped at the back of his throat.
“Are you all right?” Brant asked.
Wick nodded, not trusting his voice.
“Of course he’s all right,” Cobner growled. “Why, he’s braver than any other ten halfers I’ve ever seen in my life.” He winked at Wick. “You and Sonne come back when you know that tunnel goes on out of the mountain. I’ll be sizing this rock up and seeing about where I can do the most damage.”
“I thought you didn’t like mining,” Wick replied.
“Just because I don’t like it doesn’t mean I don’t know how it’s done,” Cobner said gruffly. “My ol’ da was a fierce quarryman in his day, and he trained me to help him.” He hammered a big fist down on the stone slab. “I’ve taken on bigger chunks of rock than this and won.” He offered his hand.
Wick took the dwarf’s hand and hoped Cobner didn’t break anything important in his zeal. His fingers were only slightly numb when Cobner returned them to him. The little librarian took one final breath before starting to squeeze into the gap. Halfway through, he thought and carefully turned his head to look at Brant. “I’m leaving the books I found in my bag.”
Brant squatted before the gap, a torch in his hand. “I’ll take care of them myself, little artist. Just make sure that you take care of Sonne and yourself.”
Pride puffed up Wick’s chest somewhat, which made it hard to shove through the gap, but he nodded and kept working his way through. When he got to the tight spot, he didn’t have to hold his breath, but his stomach was pressed uncomfortably till he got on the other side of it.
Sonne waited for him on the other side of the gap.
Gingerly, Wick peered down at the steep descent over the loose rock. Evidently the mine shaft continued to angle downward under the mountain. He held his torch up and surveyed the wide cavern before them.
“There are four other tunnels branching off from this one,” Sonne said as they made their way carefully down the rock pile. “If you look on the other side of this cavern, you can see them.”
Wick spotted the hollows carved into the opposite cavern wall. They were too perfectly made to be anything other than tunnel mouths. At the bottom of the rock pile, he gazed back up at the gap. The angle was too sharp to see Brant or anyone else who might be standing on the other side of it, but torchlight filled the hole.
It took only a few moments to scratch the legends on the wall by the tunnel mouths free of dirt and debris so that Wick could read them. Two of the tunnels were blocked by cave-ins and a third was a dead end because the miners had tapped out the ore vein they’d followed with picks and shovels.
But the fourth tunnel, actually the third one from the left, promised a path to the other side of the mountain. That tunnel was also the one most generously made and looked to be the same size as the one the group of thieves had followed in from the Forest of Fangs and Shadows.
“Let’s see where this one takes us,” Sonne suggested, stepping into the tunnel.
“Couldn’t we just go back and tell the others that the mine shaft does continue?” Wick asked.
Sonne fixed him with a glance. “You’re the one who brought up the fact that this tunnel might be caved in at some point as well. It wouldn’t do any good for them to break through the rock pile up there if the way was completely blocked ahead.”
“No,” Wick had to admit, “I suppose it wouldn’t.” But he wasn’t happy at just the two of them entering the tunnel. He took a fresh hold on his torch and followed her.
The mine shaft continued for over an hour without any kind of mishap. Rock and debris littered the stone floor in places, and every section of the tunnel Wick looked at resembled the last. He could no longer honestly say if he was coming or going judging by the surroundings. Every now and again, the volcano boomed and rolled thunder down through the tunnel, peppering them with small rocks and dirt clouds. The chill remained within the tunnel and Wick kept his traveling cloak pulled close.
As the last ringing echoes of the rumbling volcano died away, Wick heard another sound. It was gentle and purring, like a kitten that had struck one gurgling note.
Sonne stopped in the middle of the tunnel, holding her torch high. The flames burned orange color into her blond hair. “What is that?”
“Water,” Wick answered. “That’s the sound of a lot of water. Possibly a stream or even a small river.” He studied the tunnel walls around them.
For the past half hour, the walls had gleamed, reflecting the torches they carried. Upon closer inspection now, he saw that they actually sweated water. The accumulation of water for hundreds or thousands of years had cut small channels through the rock that, upon further investigation, ran several inches deep. It was also almost ice-cold to the touch, and Wick was certain that the only thing that kept the water liquid was the fact that it was in motion. Even then it was probably a very near thing.
The water flowed down the incline of the tunnel. Sonne walked beside the channel on the right, her torch reflected in the running stream. “Do you think there’s a chance that the mine shaft is flooded further on?”
“No,” Wick said in an effort to convince himself as well. “This water hasn’t been accumulating for the last few years. It’s been sp
illing down this way for a very long time. Even as far as there must be to go in order to get through to the other side of the mountain, this mine shaft would probably be full by now.” Wouldn’t it? He wished he knew. He couldn’t help feeling responsible for the present predicament they were all in. How had Mettarin Lamplighter always seemed to be so sure of himself when his children and things that had gone wrong in his life challenged him?
And how, Wick wondered in seemingly ever-growing amazement, could I have ever been convinced that I knew so much about the world and my place in it?
They continued down the mine shaft, neither of them talking. Sonne paused only once to light a fresh torch from the dying one she carried. Wick was uneasy with the knowledge that they’d used almost half of the spare torches they’d brought with them. If they continued on much further, they’d be returning in the dark.
If we return at all. The thought struck the little librarian suddenly and made him shiver. Thinking of being able to return seemed somehow overly optimistic given their present circumstances. His eyelids felt heavy and dragged across his eyes, blurring his vision. He felt as tired as he had back in Hanged Elf’s Point when he’d been assigned to work crews cleaning up the city.
“Hey,” Sonne whispered excitedly, “I think the mine shaft is getting lighter up ahead.”
Wick glanced blearily ahead, almost certain that the young girl was imagining things. Only he saw it too. The stone sides and floor of the mine shaft were lighter, as if touched by some source of illumination other than their torches.
Sonne stepped up the pace to a near-jog, a surprise that caught the little librarian nearly flat-footed.
“Wait!” Wick cried.
“I can smell it,” Sonne said. “I can smell clean air and flowers from the outside. Can’t you?”
Still running, desperately trying to keep up to the young girl, Wick noticed that he could smell hints of air that wasn’t tainted by the cloying stink of dirt and metal. He reached up and pulled his mud-caked cheesecloth scarf down and drank in the fragrance of ripe blossoms and sweet grass.
He guessed that they ran another hundred yards along the mine shaft. The tunnel grew gradually lighter until the torches no longer created shadows on the walls. At the end, the mine shaft curved slightly, and the sound of moving water grew steadily louder.
The tunnel let out onto a short, stony beach that only had a thin crust of dirt covering it. The beach fronted a huge lake that looked like it was over three hundred yards across. The water was the deep, true blue of a polished agate. The twin rails of the mine car track ran out to the water’s edge where rusted skeletons of iron poles jutted up from the stone. From the shape they presented, the little librarian guessed that the poles had once framed a small dock.
Wick gazed upward in awe, realizing that even as large as the lake was, they were still underground. However, eighty yards up the side of the wall on the left, at the very top of a series of steps cut into the stone wall, was the mouth of a cave. From the angle he stood at, Wick could only see puffy white clouds against a bright blue sky. To the right, a large stream poured down into the lake, falling fifty feet or more to gurgle into the lake. That rush of water had been the source of the noise Wick had heard.
“Come on,” Sonne said, taking off to the left. She ran along the narrow stone beach toward the steps cut into the wall.
Though his legs were fatigued and he bordered on exhaustion, Wick followed. He wanted to protest Sonne’s reckless choice of action, but he knew it wouldn’t do any good. And he wanted to see the outside world again himself, just to make certain it still existed.
Sonne made it up the stone steps much more easily than Wick, but she waited on him in the mouth of the cave. Breathing harshly from his exertions and his excitement, the little librarian joined her. The bright sunlight hurt his tired eyes, but it was a welcome sight all the same.
A winding trail led down from the cave mouth and into a lush, green valley below. Though the trail had all but disappeared, it remained like a scar in a hairline, seeming both visible and invisible at the same time. In times past, Wick judged, the trail had been used by the Iron Hammer Peaks dwarven clan to take the iron ore into a base camp in the foothills of the mountains.
Very probably there had been a small city there in the foothills where the miners lived with their families. Bits and pieces of stone buildings stood up in ragged heaps in the foothills, and the little librarian knew something had razed the buildings to bits over the years. Soot clung to some of the building remnants and left him with evidence that Shengharck’s tyranny hadn’t ended within the mountain.
Beyond the forest and the valley, past the hills that Wick could see over from their position on the mountainside, green water glinted like diamonds under the bright sun. The horizon was distinct there, neatly divided between the blue sky and the ocean.
“Do you see it?” Sonne asked excitedly.
“Yes,” Wick assured her. “Yes, I do.” His stomach rumbled threateningly as the scent of wild heezle plums reached him. He scanned the forest below them, thinking that if the plums weren’t too far off perhaps he could go fetch a dozen—or two—for their breakfast.
Then a discordant sound—the harsh clangor of steel ringing on stone—reached the little librarian’s ears. He turned to Sonne only to find her frantically reaching for him. She fisted his traveling cloak, pulling him back and down inside the mine shaft entrance.
“Goblinkin!” Sonne hissed in disgust as she continued holding Wick and peering over his shoulder.
23
Shengharck, the Dragon King
Wick slowly turned and stared out the mine entrance in the direction Sonne was looking. The little librarian’s heart thudded in his chest. For a moment, he thought the goblinkin were upon them and he tried to make himself as small as possible. Then he spotted the movement further down the mountainside.
At least twenty goblins rode horses along the narrow trail the dwarven miners had forged all those years ago. Nearly twice that many dwellers walked in slave chains in their midst.
Wick watched in growing horror as the group came on up the mountainside. Almost all of the dwellers were men, as they had been on board Ill Wind.
“Slavers,” Sonne whispered. “Tseralyn was right about them working in the area. They must be using the tunnels through the mountains to get to Hanged Elf’s Point as well.”
“We’ve got to do something,” Wick said. His heart went out to the dwellers in chains.
“What?” Sonne stared at him in disbelief. “You and I should charge twenty goblinkin and free those halfers?”
Wick looked back at the stumbling, ragtag line of slaves and didn’t say anything. Rescuing the slaves from the goblinkin was out of the question at present, but he hated to see them go. He personally knew what fate awaited them upon their arrival in Hanged Elf’s Point.
Sonne tugged at the little librarian. “We’ve got to go. They’re coming this way.”
Reluctantly, Wick followed the young girl back down the stone steps and across the narrow beach to the tunnel that led back to the mine shaft where they’d left Brant and the others. The gurgle of water pouring from the stream filled his ears again.
Sonne kept going down the tunnel, obviously headed back along the path they’d come.
Feeling guilty, unwilling to turn his back on the dwellers enslaved by the goblinkin without knowing something of their fate, Wick hunkered down by the tunnel entrance behind a rock spill that provided plenty of cover for him to hide behind. He watched the mine shaft entrance leading to the outside world expectantly.
“Wick!”
The little librarian glanced over at his shoulder and saw Sonne taking cover around the next bend.
“Come on,” the young girl said.
“I can’t,” Wick replied.
“You can’t help them. If we stay here, they may find us.”
“I want to know where they’re going. If there’s another path through this mountain w
e should know about it.” There. That sounds reasonable, doesn’t it?
Sonne looked exasperated, but she crept back through the tunnel and slid in beside him to keep watch. “If we get spotted, I may brain you myself.”
“You don’t have to stay,” Wick offered. “I can catch up.” He said that like the idea of walking back through the desolate tunnel alone held no fear at all for him.
“We’re going to stay together,” Sonne said, “and we’re going to go together.”
“Thank you.” Wick peered furtively over the top of the rocks at the mine shaft entrance.
“Don’t thank me,” Sonne replied tersely. “I’m not exactly happy about it.”
Long minutes later, so long that Wick was beginning to think that the goblinkin weren’t going to enter the cavern after all, the first goblin slaver rode his horse through the entrance. He clutched a bow in his fist, an arrow already nocked to the string. He gazed around fiercely—probably allowing his eyes to adjust to the dimness of the cave, Wick reasoned—then sniffed the air. Satisfied that no threat was forthcoming, the goblin stepped down from his saddle.
A handful of goblinkin marched down the stone steps to the beach by the underground lake. The dweller slaves followed meekly, backs bowed and chains rattling against the stone. The goblins left the horses at the mine shaft entrance. Two of their number stayed with the horses and rode them away. The rest of the goblins gathered around the dwellers and stared up at the cavern ceiling expectantly.
Wick stared up at the cavern ceiling as well. Even with the light from outside and the reflection of the same coming from the lake, shadows obscured many details about the cavern roof. Stalactites hung down in varying lengths like snake fangs.
The chief goblin reached for one of the packs the slaves carried and took a silver flute from it. Even though he showed practice with the flute, he seemed hesitant to use it. After he’d cleaned it and fussed with it, he strode to the lake’s edge less than forty feet from Wick.
