The Delving

by Aaron Bunce

  He stood and looked around, while Renlo scraped and grunted, wedging his too-large frame into the gap. The inside of the structure was dark and dusty, the floating particles drifting like snow. There were no beds like the other buildings, from what he could see in the limited light. He turned the torch from side to side, holding his breath as the torch started to lose life.

  Several low tables sat against the wall to his right, the wide surfaces covered in rusted pickaxes and moldering rolls of parchment. Thorben picked his way forward through the rubble, his torchlight revealing the back of the space. Renlo grunted, huffing and wheezing as he fought to push his bulk through the gap.

  An ancient chair appeared to Thorben’s left, the long-dead remains of a dwarf still perched upon it. He approached, his eyes roaming over the dweorg’s silken robes, elaborately designed scarfs, and bauble-laden hat. The stone floor ended just beyond the chair, dark soil and red vines sloping down into a wide hole. He leaned over the space, but the light from the dying torch failed to pierce the shadow.

  He turned back to the dweorg, desperate to see as much as possible before Renlo managed to squeeze inside and resume his over watch. He leaned in, holding the torch as close to the strange dweorg figure as he dared. The light illuminated even more than before, glinting off metal-capped teeth, as well as what looked like gem-studded rivets driven into the small figure’s skull. Ripples of color flowed out from the strange, metal ornamentation, as if dyed by some strange magic.

  Is it the touch of sorcery? he silently wondered, remembering his grandfather’s stories. It was commonly known that the short folk decorated their bodies with metal; in similar fashion to the wealthy women in Ban Turin, New Dilith, or Laniel, piercing their ears and noses with rings and gems. This looked different, however, and he wondered if magical crafts were involved.

  The torchlight sparkled off something green inside the dweorg’s skeletal body, the glint shining through the thin garments. He quickly glanced back to check on Renlo, and spun back, his fingers working to pull aside the confusing tangle of braided necklaces and metal chains. Thorben eased the bauble-covered necklaces out of the way, the smock’s simple clasp disintegrating in his fingers, just as Renlo finally squeezed through the hole and fell, cursing, to the ground.

  Panicking, he eased the delicate fabric open, almost knocking the skeletal dwarf’s skull from its neck in the process. He cringed, reaching down and beneath the ribcage, his fingers groping in the dark, hoping there weren’t any skittering vermin hiding inside. Something small and hard moved under his hand and rolled. Thorben flinched, and squeezed it between his thumb and forefinger, and pulled back, the body tilting in the seat.

  Gambling on its worth, Thorben opened his palm, the light revealing a worn ring, inset with a single, square cut emerald. Torchlight approached, so he hastily stuffed it into his pocket, took a quick step to his right, and crouched down next to the hole in the ground.

  “I could have gotten stuck for good. Why did you not help me?” Renlo groused, walking and breathing heavily.

  “Huh?” Thorben asked, “Oh, well I thought you wouldn’t want someone pulling and grabbing on you like that. I know I wouldn’t.” He immediately turned back to the seated dweorg and stood.

  “Well, ye could have at least held my torch. I almost got stuck in that damned hole…” Renlo muttered, but Thorben interrupted him.

  “Just look here,” he said, gesturing back to the dwarf. “Look at his garments…at his necklaces. This dweorg must have been someone of great import. Perhaps a shaman or chieftain…maybe even a sorcerer. He is covered in relics! Hells, he is a relic…just look at the veins of color in the bone, the gem studs decorating his body! Oh, how those must have hurt! But think about it, you could put him on display, just as he sits. Just think of how much a wealthy, merchant lord would pay for the remains of such a dweorg. This is it! This is what he wants…this is his treasure. And look,” he added, catching sight of a knife on the table not two paces away. “This knife cut the fingers from the others. There is your story!”

  Death and dust, Thorben thought, disgusted by his own excitement. He was encouraging someone to steal the poor dweorg’s body, to sell, and have displayed. But he had to keep Gor and his fellows happy. In Renlo’s words, he had to ‘give him what he wanted’.”

  The guildsman leaned in to look, but Thorben had already moved away, holding his torch down close to the ground. He patted his trousers, feeling a pang of anxiety from the ring’s presence there. Would they know he took it? Would they see it?

  Calm down, you fool, he thought, quickly, and forced his hand out to his side. They would only know if he told them, or continued to act the fool.

  “Were it like this when you found it?” Renlo asked. “It looks like someone rumpled him up a bit?” The anxiety spiked again, and Thorben knew he had to think fast. He didn’t know what the men would do if they thought he was holding back on them, or worse, stealing what they believed was their treasure.

  “Of course…I mean, he, or they have been dead for so long. What would keep them from falling into a pile of bones by now?” he stammered, half-standing. Renlo muttered something Thorben couldn’t hear, but continued to hover near the body.

  “Gor! Come look!” Renlo suddenly shouted.

  Damn…hells!

  “Wait…over here! Where does this lead?” he said, excitedly gesturing towards the hole in the ground, desperate to pull the attention away from the dweorg’s body.

  Thorben leaned in and swept his torch over the space after Renlo reluctantly pulled away from the remains and stepped up next to him. Renlo pulled a fresh torch from his bag and lit it. Thorben accepted the new torch and hastily tossed the old one down the hole. The stick struck, bounced, and rolled, the light almost dying before it came to rest. When the fire rekindled, Thorben cursed, all thoughts of the dweorg shaman gone.

  “Goddess, cleanse me with light,” he muttered, and dipped his head apologetically, silently apologizing for his blasphemy. Renlo didn’t respond. He just looked to Thorben, his eyes dark and unreadable, and then slowly looked back down into the hole, at the widening passage, and the dark, stone doors.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Seeing Ghosts

  Thorben considered the dark tunnel, and then the ancient dwarf, just as the door flew off its hinges. Gor’s massive shadow squeezed through the ruined doorway and into the small building.

  Before Renlo could stop him, Thorben took a step down the steep slope, and then another, his boots sliding uncomfortably against the thick ivy. He reached the bottom of the steep slope at a run, his side and legs aching with every step.

  I will sleep for a dozen moons if I get out of this alive, he thought, and cradled his side. Not even the boys, or Dennah’s screaming will wake me. I will never complain about lumps in our mattress again.

  The strange, dark ivy rustled under his feet as he set off slowly down the passage. The doors loomed just ahead, their surface shining with veins of gold, silver, and blue.

  Something…a buzzing tickled his hip and Thorben instinctively brushed at his clothes. Images of large, chitinous bugs popped into his mind, their bodies fat and grotesque, their legs too numerous to count. They were there in every cave and tomb, waiting in the dark, scuttling from shadow to shadow in search of anything to eat. In his experience, size didn’t deter them.

  He patted his shirt, his trousers, and then waved the torch in a circle. If one of the tiny beasts had been on him, it had evidently skittered away. Good riddance. Shivering from the thought, Thorben moved towards the door.

  The stone portals weren’t just smooth, but appeared flawless, like undisturbed lake water in the early morn. His eyes crawled over the stone, hiccupping on a shape etched into the massive slabs. Thorben had to move to the side, testing different angles with the torch, but the glare subsided, and he couldn’t suppress a wide grin.

  “This is it!” he yelled, a jubilant and almost child-like spike of excitement bubbling up inside.
For a rare moment, he forgot about the danger, Gor’s indifference to life and death, the pile of dead delvers stacked by the entrance, and Hun’s murderous raid on the innocent travelers.

  He heard the others sliding down the slope behind him, tromping on the strange vines, the light from their torches magnifying his own. The buzzing tickled his hip again, and he swatted at the spot. He smashed it with a fist for good measure.

  “The dwarf on the chair, Renlo says it is a relic–” Gor said, tromping up behind him.

  “Do you see it? Tell me you see it!” Thorben interrupted, moving right up to the glossy stone.

  “Yes, Owl. It is magnificent,” Iona said, the broker appearing right next to him, Jez at his side. The carving of the eye was massive, extending into the body of both doors, the star-shaped pupil embossed with what looked like gold. Lightning bolts extended out the top, glowing a subtle and eerie blue in the light. He pulled the torch away, and the stone pulsed for a moment, the color remaining before going dark once again.

  “You did it, Owl! You found it…our treasure. The eye marks it, just like the entrance. It is just beyond this door, I can feel it. Now, open it. Let’s open the door!” Gor said, and rushed past him, throwing his bulk against the stone slabs. The big man grunted and strained, his musk filling the air. Hun rushed forward and threw his weight against the door as well, but the doors would not move.

  “Maybe we need more lev…” Thorben started to say, but a flicker of light reflected off the doors, catching his eye. “Wait! Did you see that?”

  It didn’t look like a torch, but a streak of hazy green light. He turned and almost bumped right into Renlo, the heat from the mule’s torch hot on his face.

  Thorben flinched and pushed past, the guildsman grumbling as he tried to shuffle out of the way. By the time Thorben’s eyes readjusted to the darkness, the source of the light was gone – if it’d been there in the first place. He stood in the ankle-high vines, peering into the darkness, watching and waiting.

  “There!” Thorben yelled, and pointed, just as the light appeared again, streaking from one side of the tunnel to the other. He dashed forward, his hips protesting, but made a handful of steps before the glow disappeared into the stone.

  “What is it, Thorben?” Iona asked, limping up behind him.

  “I, uh…” he stammered, searching the darkness. The fact that he used his name was not lost on him. There was a slight tremble to the broker’s voice. He could feel it from all of them – equal parts alarm and fear.

  “Didn’t you see it? There was a light…” he said, frustration mounting, but the tingle hit him again, buzzing against his hip. This time it stung, almost burning against his skin, just as the glow emerged from the stone and hovered in the shadows not ten paces to his left.

  “We didn’t see anything,” Iona responded, alarm obvious in his voice. The flicker of light split the darkness, moved, disappeared, and then reappeared even closer.

  “No! I see it again,” Thorben yelled, and pointed right at the spot. The buzzing, crawling sensation increased, and he pounded the spot with a fist. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the light to check, but there was something there, biting him.

  “We don’t see anything,” Jez gasped, coming forward and placing a hand on Thorben’s arm. He pulled away and spun.

  “How can you not see it? It is greenish light, like fireflies floating right there, in the open,” he yelled, pointing directly at the spots of light, but blinked hard. The light was gone again. Thorben turned to find the entire group looking at him, their eyes wide.

  “Is it the spirits?” Hun asked, turning from the door.

  “Don’t listen to him. Hun, push! Renlo, come, lend us your strength!” Gor said, quietly gesturing him forward. “Owl…instead of chasing shadows, why don’t you figure out a way to open these doors! My treasure awaits me,” Gor said, eyeing him sideways, before throwing his weight against the slabs of stone.

  Growling, Thorben turned in a circle, casting his torch about. He searched both walls of the tunnel, carefully working his all the way back to the entrance, and then back down the other way. He searched from the arched ceiling to the ground slowly, the black ivy hiding nothing, and everything at the same time. He tried to pull it off the wall for a better look, but the plant was affixed with a terrible strength.

  He turned back to the group, his rising anxiety interrupted by another stab of pain in his hip. Thorben brushed his trousers, rubbed the spot, and spun in a circle, trying to catch sight of the ghostly light. He staggered as the pain bit deep and crouched down, rubbing the spot.

  Hells, what is biting me? he thought, his frustration bubbling over. A spot of flesh just over his hip throbbed and burned, but there was nothing there. He held the torch in close, the flames almost licking his shirt, and pulled his trousers back. His skin shone pale in the firelight. He saw hair, a few freckles, but that was it.

  Gor and his guildsmen strained and grunted, but the massive stone doors didn’t open. They turned on him as one, their expectation and frustration written plainly on their faces. Open the door, clever man.

  How am I supposed to know what to do? There are no signs…no pedestals, no pull chains, no levers. It is dark as night in here and they just expect me to…know. Hells, most doors simply pushed open. I need time to explore – time to figure this place out, Thorben thought, and cast the torch about. But he couldn’t focus on the search for a means to open the door, not when the strange light could appear at any moment, and the pain wouldn’t relent.

  The tunnel felt both familiar and completely unlike any place he’d ever delved before. What if the door was barred from the other side? It was not unheard of for an appointed slave to stay behind and bar the entrance, only to slowly wither away and die, joining the dead they were selected to protect.

  He took a weighted step back towards the group, his mind spinning through a host of possibilities, each new one more improbable than the last – a pile of dwarves stacked up on the other side, their hands removed, or a cave-in. Perhaps the tunnel collapsed, as ancient places so often did.

  Thorben hovered in the middle of the tunnel for a moment, only open air spanning between him and his escape, his family. Desperation tightened his throat, making breath hard to draw. He could turn and run. He could probably even make it out or lose the mules in the twisting paths of dweorg dead above. Then he looked to Iona and Jez, and his heart sunk. They would die.

  The broker’s words hit him again. They have eyes all over the boroughs. They’re probably watching your home at this very moment.

  Stifling a curse, Thorben moved back towards Gor and the others. The sting bit into his hip with every step forward, and he dug a knuckle into the spot. My family is okay. Nothing happened to them, and nothing will, he thought, willing away the other, darker possibilities. He would make it home to them. He would keep them safe. They would keep their hands, and their lives.

  Dennica, Paul, Henrick, Tymon, Darro, Reginald, Kenrick, and Dennah, he thought, rattling off their names in his head. They were why he was still alive, and they were why he would continue to stay that way. To see them again.

  “Can you open the blasted thing or not?” Gor asked, his tone clipped and impatient.

  Thorben wanted to retort, to tell him to open it himself, but bit back the words as he caught a hint of copper gleam in his hand. He shook his head as he approached Hun, and lurched, the pain biting into his hip so hard his leg almost gave out. His eyes started to water from the pain, the haunting light suddenly appearing amidst the group. It was larger now, closer – an indistinct cloud of greenish light.

  It was right there in front of them, and they couldn’t see it.

  “Be gone, spirit!” he growled and moved forward, suddenly, swinging with the torch. It was teasing him. That was it, mocking his failure.

  “A spirit? Is it near me? Get it away,” Gor cried out in alarm, swatting at the air.

  Iona pushed Jez to the side, just narrowly missing the f
ire from Thorben’s torch. It passed through only air, his grip failing as a horrible pain ripped into his leg. He staggered hard into the cold, stone doors. The light was there in front of him, in the stone. The damned light.

  Thorben cried out and pushed, his back and legs protesting. He shoved as hard as he could, the pain flaring in his hip like a red-hot poker driving slowly into his flesh.

  “Why did he say that? Did he really see a spirit? Where is it?” Gor stammered.

  “Owl, are you all right?” Iona asked, closer than the others.

  People bunched up around him. He could feel them, their hands groping, their voices whispering, but all he could focus on was the door and the light. Maybe it was the magic of the keys, working to finally finish him off. No. It was the light, whatever the light was. He was sure of it.

  Thorben smacked his head against the stone and pushed again, his arms and shoulders shaking with the effort. The pain bit again and he smacked the spot. His fingers slipped into his pocket, something hard and surprisingly warm brushing against his fingertips.

  The ring, he thought, just as it moved, slipping around his middle finger of its own accord. The metal band wiggled up the finger before he could pull free, a lively jolt stabbing into his hand and shooting up his arm. The stone door vibrated suddenly, coming to life under his palm. He tried to push away, but the slab shuddered, and swung inward.

  “Arrgh,” Thorben gasped, trying to move his feet to compensate, but the ivy snared his boots, and he tumbled forward. He landed hard, the strange, dark ivy wet and scratchy against his face. And…it smelled. He gasped down another breath. Sweet…almost sickly-sweet dew coated his face from the leaves, the pungent smell overriding all others.

  Thorben wrenched his hand free from his pocket and pushed off the ground, scrambling back to safety. The massive doors swung into the darkness, a gust of old air crawling over him. It carried that same, sweet smell. It turned his stomach, filling his thoughts with rotten things–overripe fruit, spoiled cream, and dead animals.