Realms of the Underdark a-4

by Mark Anthony

  Thunder and gusts of wind now flew all across the sea from every direction. A chorus of goggler cries arose downslope at the water's edge, barely fifteen yards from the tunnel exit that Wykar had fled. Wykar heard them but ignored everything that didn't contribute to his immediate escape. He ran to the left and went upslope the instant after he attacked the kuo-toan, weaving his way around numerous large boulders. His boots pounded uphill at a rapid pace beneath his short, stocky legs. Geppo would have to keep up or defend himself alone.

  Wykar recalled that the tunnel opened about two-thirds of the way down a great slope that ended at the edge of the dark sea. Thirty yards up the slope at its top was a narrow path through the many rocks that had fallen over the ages from the cavern ceiling. The path had probably been created by deep gnomes many thousands of sleepings ago. If the earthquake had not damaged the area severely, Wykar and Geppo could use the path to escape the area by running around its perimeter, and thus reach their final destination. The ceiling was low along the pathway, too, and would slow pursuit by the tall fish-folk.

  The gnome ran low to the ground, so hunched over he seemed bent in half. Hurrying up the slope and almost panting now, he saw a familiar rock that marked part of the high trail. He looked back just long enough to see Geppo stamping up rapidly behind him, only four yards back. The gnome then fled off along the path.

  Visibility was only fair. The ever-present fog on the Sea of Ghosts usually clung to the surface of the black underground lake, rarely traveling inland. However, green tendrils of the mist now whirled in the fungus-lit air ahead of the gnome. Wykar had heard tales that the thick mist came from a broad silo in the ceiling over the center of the sea, perhaps a mile away. A river or lake far above apparently drained into the silo, perhaps as far up as the world's true surface. The vast quantities of water turned into a heavy spray over the long fall. The kuo-toa were said to enjoy the cool fog there, and sometimes things from above fell into the sea and were swiftly taken as treasure or food.

  "Wait!" The desperate voice barely carried to Wykar's ears as he ran. He dared to stop and look back. Geppo had fallen farther behind him and appeared to be tiring. The derro suddenly banged his head on a low place in the overhanging ceiling and fell to his knees, grabbing at his injured forehead with a whimpering cry.

  Wykar swore aloud. He ran back, grabbed one of the pale dwarf's arms, and dragged him to his feet. "Run!" he shouted in Geppo's ear. Fresh streaks of hot blood streaming down his face, the derro wheezed and stumbled forward.

  It was harder now to negotiate the path. Wykar banged his left knee and shin repeatedly into rocks. He fought down the pain and struggled to keep the derro on his feet. A gust of wind then blew a thick curtain of fog over the pathway and the two runners. Wykar slowed too quickly, got his right leg entangled in the derro's left leg, and the two fell in a heap among the rock chips and dirt on the pathway.

  Cursing angrily, the deep gnome forced himself back to his feet. His hands reached down and snatched at the groaning derro's prone body.

  A sudden crackling of thunder swept rapidly over the two, then an explosion of noise burst against Wykar's eardrums, a stupendous sound different from all others and many orders of magnitude louder. Wykar's head jerked toward the source of the almighty racket, somewhere across the Sea of Ghosts. Then he slapped his hands to the sides of his head and ducked, ears ringing with pain. His teeth were clenched as tight as the jaws of a vice. Echoes of the explosion crashed and rolled everywhere. He could see nothing now but a churning riot of cold green mist, whipped by howling winds.

  What was happening? What was going on?

  Wykar suddenly knew for sure that he had made a fatal mistake. He should have abandoned the trip at its start, fled to his real home instead of trying to play hero or get revenge. It was too late now. It was probably going to be very unpleasant to die, he knew, and he probably wouldn't have to wait long for it to happen.

  Blinking stupidly, Wykar let go of his aching ears and shuffled forward, squinting through the mists. He had the oddest sensation of being completely carefree. Geppo called for help from the ground, but Wykar ignored him and strained his senses to their limits, searching for any clue of what was to come.

  He did not have long to wait. Even with the blast ringing on in his ears, he could hear death approaching. It was a sound he had never heard in all his years of traveling the Underdark around the Sea of Ghosts. It was like thunder but lower in register. It made his bones tremble.

  "Wave's coming," said Wykar. He tried to remember how high the slope was here, how far it was down to the shore. The blowing green fog, high winds, and lack of landmarks made him give up. He looked down at Geppo, who was slowly getting to his hands and knees. Wind whipped at their clothes, moaning like an army of ghosts.

  Wykar took Geppo by an arm again, gently this time. "We have to hurry," he said aloud, above the wind's blast. Geppo muttered something into the stray hairs of his beard. One of the words sounded like hooret. Wykar had heard the word years ago during his long explorations of the Underdark. Hooret was the derro word for poison.

  With the gnome's assistance, the two walked on at a quick pace. The path ran upward in a shallow grade from here, which the gnome was glad to see: the higher, the better. The low rumbling was very loud now. Wykar could feel a steady vibration through the packed soil of the path. Cold droplets ran down his face and arms from the thick mist settling on his skin.

  Higher, the gnome prayed. Higher. Higher.

  Now to the sound of the low rumbling was added a new noise, that of water crashing on water. The wave was almost at the shore. Wykar stopped and released Geppo, the derro fell to the ground again. Snatching at the tools hanging from his belt, Wykar swiftly drove a steel T-headed spike into the largest rock he could find within reach. Throwing the mallet aside, he pulled his climbing rope free from his belt and looped the small noose at one end around the T-head of the spike, pulling it tight. He reached down and grabbed the woozy derro by his black belt just as the water-on-water crashing sound turned into water-on-rock. With hardly any time following that, a foaming wall of cold, black water burst up through the green-lit fog and slammed into both of them.

  Wykar was thrown wildly by the churning, stinking flood. His left arm was nearly pulled from its socket when the wave hit, and the rope tore at his numb fingers. The derro was a dead weight that stretched his other arm almost to breaking. The freezing water stank abominably of dead things and goggler slime. Some of it got into the deep gnome's mouth and nose, he choked violently, almost letting go of the rope and Geppo both.

  Then the churning water rushed back over the rocks, cascading downslope again to the sea. Wykar's right arm was pressed so hard against a rocky edge that he was forced to let go of Geppo. He let go of the rope next, unable to grip anything through the sea slime. Instead of being washed away, he merely thumped down against the top of a flat rock. Coughing, he tried to roll over on his back but fell off the rock instead, dropping several feet to the ground. There he choked and vomited up foul water until he had the dry heaves and could barely breathe at all.

  The sea thundered in his ears, waves crashing into rocks and each other. The echoes rang from every direction, even from above. He could barely hear his own gasps for air.

  Enough, he thought, enough throwing up already.

  Panting and on his last reserves of energy, the gnome managed to get up on his wobbly hands and knees. He then sat upright to get a look around at his immediate vicinity. It came to his mind to call for Geppo, and he opened his mouth to form the word.

  It never happened. The blood ran from his head. His eyes rolled up, he fell over backward and knew nothing more.

  Something slapped Wykar's face. He was so numb that he hardly felt the blow. Clumsy hands tugged on his leather clothing and pulled at his belt and tools. He lifted a hand feebly, and the tugging ceased.

  He lurched into partial consciousness and almost immediately threw up again. He started to choke, but t
urned on his side, just in time. When he finished coughing and sputtering, he looked around, taking short, shallow breaths. He was shivering from cold.

  A thin, dwarflike figure stood out in his heat-vision. Wykar saw a relieved grin on the figure's thin, bearded face.

  "Not dead yet, hey?" said Geppo shakily, voice rising above the roaring of the sea. His rotting teeth were clenched together as he spoke. The derro looked down briefly at an object in his trembling left hand, then tossed it to the rocky ground in front of Wykar's face. It was one of the gnome's combat darts, its glass head broken away. "Water broke gnome throw-toy," he finished, the grin a bit broader. "Broke Geppo crossbow, lost arrows. But Geppo have gnome sword!" He patted the hilt of Wykar's weapon, still safe in its sheath.

  Wykar managed to sit up, leaning back against a rock with his back facing downslope. He left the useless dart where it had fallen. No doubt all of his stun-gas darts were broken by now. He resisted the urge to check over all his possessions to see if the derro had stolen anything. "Good for you," he said hoarsely. He tried to stop shivering.

  Geppo jerked his head in the direction from which they had been fleeing. His ugly grin disappeared. "Geppo not hear fish-heads talk. Water push them away, kill them, maybe. We go red place and run home fast, hey?" His colorless eyes flicked toward the noisy sea, over Wykar's shoulder.

  Wykar absorbed the news and half turned to peek at the sea. His view was blocked by other rocks, and he sat back against the stone, hugging himself. "We should get out of here," he agreed. "We'll dry out if we keep moving and build up more body heat."

  With an effort, he pushed himself up on unsteady feet, still careful to keep his head low in case some kuo-toa were around. He carefully checked his gear, though he was unsure if it really made any difference now. "You know," he said conversationally, "you could at least thank me for saving your life."

  Geppo stopped checking his own gear and stiffened. He eyed the gnome in puzzlement, then anger. "You say Geppo give you golds now, hey?" he snarled, voice rising. He suddenly spat on the sea-washed ground. "There are golds for you. Take and spend them. Geppo not owe you golds for save life. Have no golds, not for you." The derro stood back, legs and arms trembling curiously. His left hand strayed near the hilt of Wykar's blade, sheathed at his side.

  Wykar stared back in confusion and his own rising anger. He realized the derro had completely misunderstood him. Maybe derro regarded gratitude as some kind of monetary debt that they extorted from others of their kind. He snorted in disgust, his own self-control slipping. So the derro wanted to threaten Wykar because he didn't know what "thank you" meant? Fine. Barbarism was all that could be expected from brainless derro scum. "Forget it," he muttered, looking down again at his belt equipment. He threw away two other darts with smashed crystal noses. He had one good one left. "I don't want any damn gold from you. That's not what giving thanks means, you stupid…"

  He suddenly seized the last good dart, jerked it free from his armor, and threw it out toward the sea as hard as he could. "All the gods damn your kind! Damn them all!" he shouted as he did. He fought down the urge to add another dozen pithy comments, very personal ones. He drew a ragged breath instead, and wiped his face and nose with a cold, wet hand. "Just forget it," he said tiredly, turning away. "Forget everything. Just come on."

  He walked off, face burning with buried rage. He marched about fifty paces before he looked back in anger, hearing nothing behind him. Geppo stood in place with an astonished expression, hands now limp at his sides. The tremor in his thin limbs seemed more pronounced.

  "Let's move!" Wykar hissed, sweeping a hand toward their goal. "I want no thanks from you! Just move!"

  Geppo's hands twitched. His head suddenly bowed, and he began walking in Wykar's direction as if he had suddenly aged by a century. Wykar turned and set off on the path again himself, the steam cooling on his anger. It took many long minutes for Wykar to regain control of his temper and think clearly again. He then became angry with himself. What if some kuo-toan or sea monster had overheard him? He would have regretted his outburst then. And he couldn't afford to lose the derro for anything if he hoped to get to that egg. He could not afford to throw a fit at every quirk in the derro's behavior. It was hard not to take things personally, as badly as the impulsive journey had turned out, but only a clear head had a chance to win anything good from this.

  Wykar rubbed his face until he thought he would take the skin off. He eventually relaxed and let most of the tension go by breathing deeply and focusing on listening for enemies in the landscape ahead. He looked back and saw the derro marching on behind him, not looking up.

  That derro has to be the most stupid one alive, he thought. But I guess that was what I needed, wasn't it? This plan had better work.

  They walked on over rough terrain for about six miles until it was long past sleeping again, but Wykar was too wound up for rest.

  The remainder of the journey had not been uneventful. The great wave had washed the bodies of many creatures onto the rocky shoreline, once-living things of the sort that should have remained hidden from view. Some of the creatures were still in the process of dying when Wykar and Geppo carefully and quietly skirted their quivering, obscene bulks. Several monsters slapped at the rocky shore with weakened fins, straining uselessly to drag themselves back into the sea, or exposed huge mouths of dagger teeth as they gasped out their lives with water only yards away. Wykar noted as well, a few mangled body parts from unfortunate kuo-toa, who had probably been ground against rocks or even the cavern ceiling by the great wave when it started out. He bit his lips and turned his head away, feeling no sympathy for them.

  A second, smaller wave, quickly followed by a third, soon roared up the bleak shoreline, but neither wave had the power or reach of the first. After that, the sea cavern was filled with the rumbling of rough water, which went on without end. Worse, the violent sea had stirred up its two-legged inhabitants. Twice, the pair was forced to charge and fight through small groups of live kuo-toa that blocked their way. The fish-folk were confused and often injured, but there was always the danger that a lucky throw with a harpoon or random slash with a long knife would leave the gnome or derro as badly off as the writhing monsters they had passed on the shore.

  In the pair's favor, the thick, drifting mist from the sea enabled the gnome and derro to make an escape without fear of being followed. The kuo-toa, still stunned from the earthquake and sea wave, were also not inclined to pursue, hurling only two or three badly aimed harpoons before subsiding in confusion.

  In time, Wykar saw a faint reddish-purple glow far ahead as he rounded a bend in the wall to his left. He knew immediately that the journey was almost over. The glow illuminated a region where the rocky shore swung inland away from the sea, perhaps two hundred yards or more, to end in a high wall marked by several vertical rifts from floor to ceiling. The Red Shore, the drow had called it.

  Wykar stopped, signaled Geppo to take cover behind a fallen rock, and began scouting the area before them. Nothing registered as important-but that was exactly what the drow slave masters had thought as well, eleven sleepings ago. They had missed a critical thing and had died for their omission,

  The red-purple glow came from a large colony of wall fungus, many yards square, that coated both sides of a broad, wet fissure large enough for a group of drow to gather inside. An underground stream leaking down from above kept the area moist.

  Memories came to Wykar at once. Eleven sleepings ago, a group of drow had chosen a spot deep within the vertical fissure to bury the large chest that they and their two slaves had brought with them. They had handed Wykar and Geppo each a small pick and told them to dig. The smirking drow then stood around the ragged pair and prodded them with boot tips and sword points, urging them on with their work while describing their individual ideas on how each slave should die when the job was finished. The drow had been perfectly serious, they intended for no one to reveal the hiding place later on. After time-consumin
g tortures and a slow execution, the derro and gnome would be animated by magic as undead guardians, to be buried with the chest and its egg for eternity-or until the drow elected to move the chest to another spot.

  Wykar rubbed his eyes and pushed the memory aside. After a few moments, he reconsidered and deliberately brought the memory of those last moments back to the surface, focusing on its details with all the detachment he could summon. He had to think his way through what had happened next, break it down and study every piece, if he was to finish the task he had set for himself.

  Silently, Geppo crouched down a short distance from the deep gnome and also surveyed the land ahead. The two had not spoken for many hours, but the earlier argument was already pushed aside. It was not the time and place for quarreling now.

  "I was trying to remember what happened before the moaning sound started," murmured Wykar, frowning. "They were making jokes about opening the chest and spitting on the egg and locking us inside with it, and I didn't understand why that was so funny to them-the spitting part." He glanced at Geppo, who said nothing.

  Wykar shrugged and looked back at the reddish-purple glow. "Then that sound started, that loud, piercing groan that went on and on and on, and it dug right down into my gut. I saw the drow clap their hands over their ears and shout at each other, and one or two drew swords, but they dropped them. I couldn't see what was making the noise. I was sick to my stomach to be listening to it. My hands shook so much that I dropped the pick, and I was terrified the drow would kill me for dropping it. But I couldn't help it. My stomach was cramped up like I was going to vomit. I covered my ears, but that didn't help me, either."

  He paused and swallowed before continuing. "A male drow, I think it was Deriander the wizard, fell down over me, screaming like a banshee. We were all screaming by then. I got up again and saw that Deriander had gone rigid and was shaking. His muscles were like iron ropes, hard as rocks. They all looked like that, all six of the drow. But I could still move. I couldn't figure it out." Wykar turned to his companion. "That was when you hit Sarlaena with your pick. You hit her in the legs several times before she fell down, and I had this strange thought that she couldn't feel a thing you were doing. I thought she was screaming from something else." He looked back at the unearthly glow. "I fell over the lesser priestess and was getting up to escape when the cloakers got us."