Howling Delve

by Jaleigh Johnson

  Morgan crouched at the river’s edge. He splashed handfuls of water on two wicked slashes across his chest where the stone had cut into his flesh. “That’s got it,” he wheezed. “Game’s over before it began.”

  Talal looked at Laerin. “We’re trapped,” he said. “Maybe if we double back—”

  A loud keening drowned out the rest. Talal went down in a protective crouch, while Laerin and Morgan turned to see what had made the sound.

  Curved claws raked the stone, stabbing through the gap in the rocks. Stone chips flew, and the smell of brimstone filled the chamber.

  Every coherent thought fled Talal’s mind. Rationally, he knew the demon couldn’t penetrate the layers of rock, not quickly, but all he could hear were the claws shearing away the stone.

  “Get in the water!” Morgan shouted to be heard over the awful sound. “Swim to the other side! ”

  Talal backed away—he’d never liked water—but Laerin dragged him into the river, and soon he was forced to swim.

  The current threatened to pull him down. Talal fought it, but it took Morgan’s strong arm to haul him out on the other side, else he would have been carried away.

  On the opposite bank, the sound of the river muffled the demon’s claws enough to allow them to talk.

  Morgan, his hair dripping in lanky strands around his exhausted face, said, “Figure it drove us in here?”

  Laerin nodded. “I probably cracked a pair of your ribs, pushing you through that gap. He’s wearing us down.”

  “Not much need for that,” said Morgan, “once he corners us.”

  “I don’t think he’ll do that yet,” said Laerin. “He’s just stretching his legs. He knows we’ll get out of here.” The half-elf pointed to the wishbone in the wall. “That way.”

  Talal blanched. “We don’t know how far the river runs, do we? That thing won’t need to kill us if we drown first.”

  “I’m willing to bet there’s another chamber nearby,” said Laerin. He looked at Morgan. “What do you think? Can’t be much longer than that sewer tunnel in Waterdeep.”

  “Least the water’s cleaner,” Morgan said. “I think I got enough breath in my lungs.”

  Talal couldn’t believe what he was hearing. They were all lunatics.

  “Give me back the fire-woman,” he muttered.

  “Sorry,” Morgan said, “Fire can’t go where we’re headed.” He inverted the torch he carried into the river.

  Instantly, Talal went blind. The oppressive darkness of the Delve closed in around him. He felt Laerin’s hand on his shoulder, prodding him toward the rushing water. Reluctantly, Talal waded back into the frigid river and let the current snare him.

  Treading water, he felt the downward sweep to the wishbone just before his shoulders brushed rock.

  For a moment, Talal panicked. He braced his hands on either side of the passage, resisting the water’s pull with all his strength. He didn’t want to drown. He’d end up a blue corpse in the dark, and no one in Faerûn would care.

  “You can’t fight it forever,” said Morgan’s voice in his ear. “But you can go on your terms.”

  Talal forced a steadying breath into his lungs. Calmer, he closed his eyes and remembered how it was to feel his way in the dark. He’d done it before. He could do it underwater. Cautiously, he let his hands slide down the stones, following the curve of the wishbone.

  Pretend it’s a lass’s legs, Dirty Bones, and stop your whining.

  The water closed over his head.

  Froglike, Talal swam with the current. He kept one hand above his head to brush the stone ceiling, searching for air. The river propelled him forward at a quick pace. He sensed Morgan and Laerin beside him now and then, though he could see nothing in the dark. The water dragged at his shirt. Talal stripped it off and left it for some deep-dweller to find.

  Ten feet farther Talal’s shoulder banged against something rough and unyielding. Talal hoped it wasn’t alive, or if it were, that it couldn’t swallow him. He kicked sideways and realized the river bent, angling off to his left. He had no choice but to follow the path.

  His lungs began to burn. Unconsciously, he let a tiny gasp of air escape. The respite was brief, however, and the burning sensation that followed was excruciating.

  Kicking feebly now, Talal allowed the river to carry him. His hand dragged limply across the unbroken rock ceiling. He felt no gap, no magical pocket of air to save him.

  The muscles in his abdomen convulsed. His body demanded air, and in its absence was willing to drag in lungfuls of the killing water. Talal clutched his midsection, trying to hold in his last gasp.

  His hand slid off the rock. Talal spasmed, sucking in a freezing cold breath. His lungs suddenly felt heavy. His muscles contorted in agony. Then the pain went away, and the cold, and Dirty Bones went to sleep.

  He awoke vomiting water.

  Talal heard Morgan cursing and felt the big man’s arm supporting his chest as he emptied the river from his body.

  When he could breathe again, Talal looked around. They were in another tunnel, but he could hear the river somewhere behind him. Morgan must have carried his body a short distance before reviving him. Talal had thought himself dead. He shivered violently at the memory of his near-drowning.

  Laerin offered a hand to pull him to his feet. “We can’t linger here. The creature will follow the river and fence us in again if we don’t keep moving.”

  They moved off down yet another tunnel, but Talal trailed behind. His legs felt rubbery, and his lungs still ached. The only thing that kept him moving was the presence of the demon’s frightening aura, steadily building behind them. Every time they came to an intersection, Laerin changed their direction and increased his speed. Soon they were running again. Behind them, the sound of rain echoed in the tunnels, drawing closer.

  “Keep turning!” Laerin shouted as they ran. “Outmaneuvering is the only way. If it catches us, there won’t be any room to fight. We’ll be running through a forest of razors.”

  Laerin skidded down a short, steep incline. At the end of the slide was a vast chamber that opened wide and dipped into a crater. Stalagmites, arranged like a maze, rose from the floor like trees, forming dense clusters throughout the room. Two paths led from one side of the chamber to the other.

  “Help me,” said Morgan, grabbing Talal by the waist.

  “Let go!” Talal kicked air in a futile attempt to win loose, but Morgan’s grip was solid. Laerin came up on his other side, snagging his foot. The half-elf went to one knee and hauled upward, tossing Talal bodily into the air. He landed hard on his stomach on one of the higher platforms. The breath whooshed out of his lungs.

  “Stay there!” Morgan hollered when he rolled to the edge. The echo of another roar—so damn close!—and the sound of claws raking stone reached Talal’s ears. He fought the urge to curl into a ball.

  “Not enough,” said Laerin. “The demon will smell him before it gets into the room.”

  “Suggestions welcome,” Morgan growled. “Stand or run?”

  Laerin regarded the two pathways through the chamber. Each led to a separate exit. “Split up,” he said finally. “We’ll each take a path. The boy can run along the top. With luck, it’ll only be able to chase one of us. Talal can follow the other into the tunnel and hopefully find Kall.”

  “Awful lot of luck and hope in that plan,” said Morgan, his face white.

  Laerin smiled grimly. “We work with what we have,” he said. He looked up. “Do you understand what we’re going to do, Talal?”

  Talal swallowed. “I got it,” he whispered.

  Laerin met Morgan’s gaze steadily. “One more bet,” he challenged softly. “Let it be a race.”

  Morgan grunted, but his grip faltered as he reached in his pouch and dropped two gold coins on the ground. “A race, then.”

  “Two danters?” Laerin whistled. “Heavy price.”

  “Seemed appropriate.”

  A deafening crash sounded nearby, but th
ey felt the demon’s approach long before they heard his claws again.

  Morgan jerked his head. “Go.”

  Talal crouched near the wall, ready to jump to the next stalagmite cluster. He watched Morgan and Laerin take off at a sprint down their separate corridors. He glanced at the far tunnels, willing the pair to reach them before the demon caught up. He could feel the demon coming closer. Brimstone scent crawled over his skin, into his clothes.

  “Run,” he whispered, “run, oh run, oh run.” He chanted it like a prayer, the closest he’d ever come in his life to crying out for divine intervention. But to whom would he implore? There were no gods left that he hadn’t blasphemed. None of them would believe an abrupt conversion to the faith. Talal almost smiled at that, but he was too deeply sunk in despair and the horror of the demon’s aura.

  Talal suppressed a whimper when the beast entered the chamber. For a long, terrible moment the beast just stood there, then he raised his head and looked straight at Talal. Talal wanted to run, heedless of the consequences. He held himself down, scratching his nails against the stone until they bled. If he ran, the beast would kill him. Talal sensed the demon testing him almost teasingly with his powers. He squeezed his eyes shut against the awful fear.

  Then it was over. The demon passed by, charging down one of the corridors. Talal opened his eyes and forced himself to stand, to watch the beast run down his prey.

  From his viewpoint, above the scene, Talal saw which corridor the beast chose. The figure running before the demon—so small in comparison to the beast—never had a chance. At the last moment, he turned, his weapon brandished, and fell beneath hundreds of pounds of burning muscle.

  The demon came down on the sword, howling in rage and pain, raking the body beneath him from shoulders to calves. At the same time, the beast’s jaws closed on his victim’s neck, snapping it with one careless jerk.

  Bile burned Talal’s throat. So much blood, and yet the demon ran on, trailing red prints down the passage on his hunt.

  Talal didn’t stop to grieve. He bolted for the other tunnel.

  Kall opened his eyes when the green light faded. Garavin and Borl stood over him. He must have blacked out from loss of blood during the transition through the portal. The dwarf was binding his arm. His holy symbol hung away from his neck, brushing against Kall’s bare flesh. Kall felt the same brief, warm jolt he’d felt years ago from the relic.

  “Thought I’d lost all of ye,” Garavin murmured as Kall looked around. The three of them were alone in a smaller version of the cave they’d just left. The circle of stones sat to his left, but there was no chasm in the floor or shaft above. The room was dark, but for lines of dim light shining through a pair of doors at the end of a narrow passage.

  “Where are the others?” Kall asked, panic rising inside him.

  “They didn’t come through,” said Garavin. “Or they ended up somewhere else.”

  “Is that possible?”

  “In this place, who’s to say? But if this other portal is old as the Delve, and what with the wizard’s magic disturbing the cavern, it may have malfunctioned and scattered us about. The others should be close by, if that’s the case.”

  “We have to find them and get out of here,” said Kall.

  He headed for the light. When they drew closer, Kall realized the double doors ascended over two stories up the rock. A winch was attached to the doors to pull them open.

  “I wonder if the dwarves built this,” said Kall.

  “Only way out,” said Garavin.

  They took hold of the crank together and pulled. The mechanism ground with age and neglect, but turned after a moment of coaxing. The doors ground against stone, the sounds echoing loudly in the passage. When the doors were half-open, Kall signaled Garavin to stop and peered out through the man-sized opening.

  “Gods above,” Kall murmured in awe.

  Kall stepped out onto the narrow stone bridge that extended just beyond the double doors. Garavin and Borl came to stand beside him. A memory surfaced, of meeting Meisha on the Star Bridge outside Keczulla. The markings on this bridge were strikingly similar, except there was no roaring river beneath his feet, only an endless, black abyss stretching off in both directions.

  Below and above, more bridges joined two steep rock walls divided like the parting of a great, barren sea. On both sides, tunnels honeycombed the walls—some were open, others secured with doors similar to the ones they’d just passed through. Blocks of a strange, clear substance obstructed three doors; they seemed to writhe and twist within the confines of the stone portals.

  “What are those?” Kall asked.

  Garavin looked where he pointed. “Gelatinous cubes,” he said.

  “Amazing,” Kall murmured. For as far as he could see, there were only the tunnels and the rock walls, and the bridges over the abyss. It was as if they’d stepped into an underground labyrinth. They had only to choose a door.

  Morgan whipped around the corner and stopped, listening. Had the demon passed the chamber by or gone for the boy, despite their efforts? He dragged his blade out of its sheath. The tunnel lay open and inviting before him, but Morgan turned his back on it. As good a place as any to make a stand, he thought, much as it pained him to let the half-elf win a bet.

  Rocks showered his hair from above. Morgan swung in an upward arc but checked the blow just in time.

  Talal came skidding down the stalagmite to land next to him. He paused long enough to grab Morgan’s arm, towing him along.

  Morgan pushed the boy away. “Keep going,” he hissed. “I’ll hold it off.”

  “He’s dead,” Talal cried, plucking stubbornly at the thief’s tunic. “We have to run, we have to … he’ll kill us.…”

  The boy was hysterical. He didn’t know what he was saying. Morgan turned back to the room. “Come on!” he shouted wildly. “Come at me, you bastard!”

  “Shut up,” Talal squeaked. “He’ll come back. We have to … have to go.”

  But Morgan’s feet refused to move. His mind worked sluggishly: the half-elf … Morgan hadn’t heard it. He’d heard nothing. What kind of thief was he, what kind of partner, not to hear when the job went wrong?

  The stupid half-elf had always been faster than him. “Legs like twigs, but he moved like he weighed nothing,” Morgan babbled. He tried to make the boy understand. “He should’ve won; we never let each other win. The arrogant bastard should be halfway back to Keczulla by now.”

  Talal moaned in despair. “You’re crazy. That thing’s going to kill us both, and it’ll all be for nothing!” He pushed, but Morgan grabbed him roughly.

  “Listen to what I’m telling you!” Morgan shook the boy by the shoulder, ignoring his whimper of pain. “We’ll meet up with him at the next intersection. He’ll be there, waiting, and then—”

  His head snapped to the side. Stars filled the corners of Morgan’s vision. He looked at Talal in bewilderment. It slowly dawned on him that the boy had punched him in the jaw. He raised a hand; Talal flinched. Tears streamed down his thin face.

  Morgan blinked several times to clear his head. Calmly, he forced all thoughts of the half-elf to a dark corner of his mind. Later, after he had spilled enough blood, he would take them out and examine them.

  He grabbed the boy by the collar, pushing him toward the tunnel. “Run fast, little mouse,” he growled. “Or we’re all meat.” At Talal’s uncertain expression, he said, “Don’t worry. I’ll be right behind you.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  The Howling Delve

  5 Marpenoth, the Year of Lightning Storms (1374 DR)

  Aazen tensed when he heard the distant howls. He raised a hand to halt the party, surveying what resources he had left. Isslun and Aliyea were still above, probably slain. Tershus was there too. Falling rock had obscured Aazen’s last glimpse of the halfling. The rest of his party had either been slain by Kall’s group or separated by the journey through the portal. Aazen had only five left with him. One of them, Kiliren�
�s apprentice, had to be half-carried due to his wounds. If he didn’t succumb, Aazen was tempted to leave the man, especially in light of what he intended to do.

  “Straight ahead, torches low unless absolutely necessary,” he said. “Kall is nearby.”

  “Whatever’s down here’s killing them already,” said Bardle, shifting his weight against the man supporting him. “We should wait to see if any survive.”

  “If they do, we may never find them again in these tunnels,” said Aazen. “We could wander down here until we starve, or until whatever made that noise finds us. Kall—or one of his group—had to have come through the main portal. To find the way out, we go to him.”

  Bardle laughed, drawing uneasy glances from the men standing near him, but the apprentice’s eyes were wide, delirious with pain and blood loss. “You’re a fool, Kortrun. You want to find your friend. Balram knew you wouldn’t be able to kill him.”

  Aazen stopped, his expression frozen. Slowly, he turned and walked back to the man. He lifted his sagging head by the hair. “What an interesting observation. Please enlighten me. What is my father planning?”

  Bardle coughed and tried to shake his head, but Aazen held him firmly.

  “Very well.” Aazen removed his hand and pressed his knuckles into one of Bardle’s open wounds. The apprentice howled and thrashed, but Aazen pressed him back with his other forearm. “What is his plan?”

  “Another party,” Bardle choked out. “I overheard my … master speaking of it. He was communicating with Daen magically. If you betrayed us, he was to send word to the other party.”

  “Thank you.” Aazen removed his hand, wiping his bloody fingers on Bardle’s robes. The apprentice collapsed against the tunnel wall, sliding down to the floor.

  Aazen’s thoughts raced, but his eyes stayed on the men surrounding him. They kept their faces averted, their expressions schooled to reveal nothing of their thoughts. And why should they? They were well trained and knew that Aazen, traitor or not, was the best hope they had of getting out of the caverns alive. But how many of them had known? How many of his “family” plotted against him?