The City Under the Mountain

by D. W. Hawkins

  Table of Contents

  To Walk Under an Alien Sky

  Quick to Anger, Quicker to Revenge

  A Distant Song

  The Bone Thicket

  The Judgment of a Child

  A Two-Sided Trap

  Shadows and Lies

  For Everything, a Price

  Slayer of Beasts

  Begging Dinner with Vipers

  A Web of Lies

  Epilogue

  A Note From the Author

  This ebook is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The City Under the Mountain

  Book Four of The Seven Signs

  Copyright © 2018 Daniel Wesley Hawkins. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this ebook, or portions thereof, in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical without the express written permission of the author. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this ebook via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.

  Published by Laconic Press. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content. For all inquiries, contact questions@laconic.press, or visit our website at www.laconic.press.

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  To Walk Under an Alien Sky

  Dormael was three hours from camp when the Garthorin picked up his trail.

  All it had taken was a chance eddy of the wind and the smell had come to his nose like an echo through the woods—fetid meat, unwashed fur, and something that even the wolf’s senses couldn’t identify. The stink of the beasts put Dormael’s hackles up and he bared his teeth as he realized he was being stalked.

  He kept his belly low and moved north, doing his best to keep quiet. It would be better to lead the creatures away from camp and find a place more suitable to taking them down. The thick forest on the lower part of the mountain would be a terrible place for a fight. Dormael wanted to be out in the open, where he could see the bastards coming.

  He ghosted through the trees, paws barely touching the mossy ground underfoot. Earthy smells filled his nose as he ran—the sharp scent of pine and the lichens that grew on every stone. The only sounds were his muted footfalls—even the insects had gone silent.

  Dormael slid around the trunk of an ancient fir tree and took a moment to listen. He put his nose to the wind and tilted his ears to the forest around him. His eyes drank in the gloom beneath the canopy, keen for the slightest movement.

  Wind blew through the forest, making the leaves sway and whisper. Dormael thought he caught a whiff of one of the creatures, but the scent was there and gone so quickly that he couldn’t discern its source. He knew the Garthorin were out there—at least two, maybe more—but the beasts were cunning. Even with the wolf’s heightened senses, it was hard to pick up more than their scent.

  He moved from behind the tree, keeping his back low and his teeth bared. His eyes darted from shadow to shadow and his ears twitched. The only sound was the whispering of the leaves overhead.

  The underbrush crashed to his left, drawing Dormael’s eyes. He caught sight of the creature coming for his life—fearsome claws, hulking shoulders, and gnashing teeth. The sight of it made Dormael hesitate as the lower parts of his mind, charged with instinctual terror, tried to seize his legs with immobility.

  Luckily, the instincts of the wolf were sharp.

  Mossy dirt flew from under Dormael’s paws as he bolted. Claws raked through the delicate hairs on the tip of his tail. The fir tree let out a vicious crack behind him, shaking needles to the ground, as the Garthorin slammed into the trunk. Dormael slipped out of reach and sprinted away.

  Gods, those things are fast!

  An enraged howl issued from the creature behind him, filling Dormael’s legs with terrified energy. Two separate voices answered the howl and the forest erupted with the noise of their chase. The beasts abandoned all pretense of stealth and ripped through the woods in Dormael’s wake, snarling for his blood.

  Dormael tore through the underbrush, headed for the open ground upslope. His first instinct was to flee deeper into the valley and lose the creatures in the woods. The wolf was smaller and more nimble than the hulking Garthorin, and could outmaneuver them in the overgrown maze of thorn-bushes and ancient trees. Escaping the beasts, however, wouldn’t be enough—Dormael didn’t want them tracking him back to his friends.

  The Garthorin would have to die.

  Dormael slid around lichen-covered tree roots and leapt through low, scraggly brushes, his paws ripping wet holes in the earth. He snarled with effort and tasted the air. His heart sang with the chase, his veins filled with energy.

  The Garthorin roared behind him. The forest filled with the noise of their pursuit—tearing dirt, crashing bush, and beastly howls. Dormael could feel their fury at his back like a physical thing.

  He demanded more from the wolf, pushing his speed and agility to their limits. He needed more distance from his pursuers in order to shift back to his own body. If they caught him in his wolfish skin, they would tear him apart.

  A rise came into view through the trees ahead. Dormael flew over the ground, making for the highest point. He broke through the edge of the trees, his claws ticking over half-buried rocks. Dormael vaulted a low stone in his path, landing on an even larger rock behind it.

  He turned to face the oncoming Garthorin and crouched as he poured magic into his body. The familiar tingly sensations, coupled with the nausea-inducing vertigo, came on like a storm as he forced the change. His vision shifted from wolf-sight to vivid color and his fingers clutched the lichens on the stone. Clamping down on his guts with the strength of his will, he dug into his Kai for more power.

  Dormael’s stomach heaved as his magic filled him. The woods came into stark clarity, his magical senses filling the gaps left by his physical limitations. The greens leapt with vibrancy, clawing into his eyes. The boulder under his palm hummed with timeless energy. Dormael sucked in a quick breath and rose to his feet, almost pitching from the stone in a rush of dizziness.

  Underbrush rattled to Dormael’s left. He reacted on instinct, ripping a clutch of branches from the trees at the edge of the clearing and slamming them to the ground with crushing force. The unseen Garthorin was buried under the hail of splintered wood.

  The next Garthorin skirted the edge of the destruction and scrambled toward the boulder with alarming speed. It tore over the ground with its arms, using them in tandem with its shorter legs to propel itself forward. Dormael lashed out with an invisible fist of pure force, smacking the Garthorin aside with a fleshy thump.

  The third beast rushed the stones
between Dormael’s boulder and the edge of the woods, growling though a maw of bear-sized teeth. Dormael clutched the Garthorin with his Kai and ripped it from the ground. The creature snarled and thrashed in midair, fighting to get to Dormael. Dormael locked eyes with the beast and saw the blood lust in its gaze.

  All the gods in the bloody Void! I’ve never seen such madness.

  Dormael hadn’t been sure what to expect with the Garthorin. He’d seen drawings at the Conclave during his studies. He had expected the hulking shoulders, the mane that covered them, the primordial features of its face, and the overabundance of claws.

  The eyes, though! The Garthorin had vibrant green orbs, as if a mad god had put the eyes of a man into the body of a terrible monstrosity. Its gaze was bloodshot and full of rage, but there was no mistaking the similarity between its eyes and Dormael’s own.

  The anger in the Garthorin’s stare was something beyond hunger. Dormael had seen that look in the eyes of madmen—the blind compulsion for violence. Most animals killed out of necessity, out of instinct. This thing, though, simply wanted him dead. Wolves sometimes killed for sport as well, and perhaps his familiarity with the form allowed him this insight into the Garthorin. He wasn’t sure.

  It probably wants to eat me, too, once the killing is done.

  Dormael twisted the Garthorin’s neck, forever dulling the light in its furious gaze. Wincing, he dropped its limp body to the ground. The woods were once again silent in the wake of the chase. The only sounds were the whispering wind and the flutter of vegetation.

  It was the gods’ own luck I smelled them before they ambushed me.

  Dormael raised his arms and stretched his sore muscles. He listened to the woods for a moment before climbing to the ground. Keeping his magical senses alert, Dormael bent to examine the Garthorin.

  It was larger than a man, though its legs were stunted. Its hands were close to human hands in form, if not function. The creature’s fingers were thick and tipped with claws that looked capable of scratching hard stone. Its arms—and arms they were, despite how the creature had moved on all fours—were corded with muscle. The Garthorin’s shoulders were wider than the span of Dormael’s arms. A dark, shaggy mane grew over the tops of the shoulders, the head, and down the line of the creature’s back. The face, while distorted by the shape of the creature’s brutish maw, had the shadow of humanity in its form. Its green eyes stared in two different directions, sightless and unsettling.

  A familiar song warbled through the ether, coming to Dormael’s mind through his magical senses. He rose from his examination of the Garthorin’s corpse and turned his gaze in the direction of the sound. Magical tones played through his Kai, and D’Jenn’s form materialized from the air. D’Jenn paused for a moment before taking in the destruction.

  “We heard the howling all the way back here,” D’Jenn said. “It probably echoed all over the mountainside.”

  “Is everyone alright?” Dormael walked over to stand before his cousin’s projection.

  D’Jenn nodded. “We’re breaking camp now, but when we heard this…” he gestured around at the destruction, “I had to come check on you.”

  “I’m fine.” Dormael walked to the boulder and leaned against the side. “I got lucky. The wind changed direction and I caught their scent. I’ve no idea how long they were tracking me.”

  “You should have been quieter about it,” D’Jenn grumbled. “Now everything within a league’s distance knows we’re here.”

  “There’s nothing else but squirrels and birds out here.” Dormael waved off his cousin’s irritation. “The whole reason I went out today was to see if I could pick up any game trails. There’s nothing out here—no droppings, no tree-markings. Nothing.”

  “Nothing?”

  “Not even a damned rabbit,” Dormael said. “I’ve seen the odd critter here and there, but nothing bigger than a mouthful.”

  D’Jenn grunted and looked around. He paced around the site, peering at things on the ground and squinting into the distance. Stepping to the corpse of the Garthorin Dormael had been examining, he crouched on his ankles.

  “That’s one ugly bastard. The one you skewered with tree limbs is female.”

  “It is?”

  “She has teats.” D’Jenn nodded. “Go take a look.”

  Dormael grimaced. “I’ll take your word on that.”

  D’Jenn favored him with a sideways grin. A cloud passed over his eyes, though, and he looked back at the corpse. Dormael clenched his teeth and sighed.

  Bastard’s still angry with me.

  “Gods,” D’Jenn said, peering at the body. “Have you seen its eyes?”

  “I did. Creepy, isn’t it?”

  “That’s one word for it.” D’Jenn leaned over the corpse and poked at its teeth. “How did they hunt you? Ambush? Deception?”

  “Ambush. They came at me from nowhere. They’re faster than they look. Cunning enough to remain downwind from me. Once I slipped away, though, they came right for me. Magic didn’t scare them off.”

  “Odd.” D’Jenn left off his examination and looked back to Dormael. “We’re lucky that old trader back in town knew his business. If we’d come up here without enough to eat, things would have gotten interesting.”

  Dormael nodded. “The plant life is out of control here. Moss growing everywhere, choke-vines, brambles. There’s nothing out here to eat it. The valley should be full of game, the passes full of mountain cats.”

  “But there’s nothing.” D’Jenn rose and peered into the trees. “Everything I’ve read says these creatures attack everything that crosses their range. They live in large clutches, hunting anything dumb enough to come up here.”

  “And we just passed into their hunting grounds.”

  “Indeed.” D’Jenn looked to the north, toward the spine of the mountain range. “We’ve yet to clear the first pass and get into the valley. According to what I understand about Hamarin’s directions, we’re still a long way from our destination.”

  “If it even exists.” Dormael sighed. He ignored the sour look D’Jenn gave him in response. “We’ll have to be careful for the rest of the day. I can take to wing and keep an eye out for trouble, but the tree cover is thick. I won’t be able to see much until we get higher into the passes.”

  “Still isn’t a bad idea,” D’Jenn said. “Let’s do it. I’ll come up with a way to keep our passage as quiet as possible.”

  “How do you know these Garthorin can’t smell our horses from leagues away? A bear could do it. These things were cunning enough to track a wolf through the forest. Horses would be nothing for them. If the Garthorin catch our trail, I don’t think the horses could escape through this underbrush.”

  “We’ll be careful, then,” D’Jenn said. “And you’ll be extra vigilant. Fly low, be thorough.”

  “Be thorough.” Dormael snorted. “Any more words of wisdom, cousin?”

  “Aye. Count the leaves before you wipe, especially out here. You never know what’s growing.”

  For a moment, the two of them shared an uneasy laugh. D’Jenn turned to look at Dormael, but his expression changed. An interested look came over his features and he stepped past Dormael, moving to the boulder. D’Jenn peered at the stone, prompting Dormael to follow his gaze.

  “This is no natural shape,” D’Jenn said. He took several long steps away from the boulder and turned back to look again. Smiling, he gestured for Dormael to join him.

  The boulder, when viewed from a distance, looked nothing like a boulder. It was smooth beneath its covering of moss, and cylindrical in shape. Now that Dormael had a new perspective, he could tell that the smaller stone he had vaulted was the base of the cylinder. The stone, which once stood upright, had cracked and fallen some time in the past.

  Just beside the toppled cylinder was a wide path. The years had bloated the surface of the path with vines and moss and other growth, but Dormael could see places where the tops of flat stones poked through the dirt. The pathway was
barely visible against the woods, but when Dormael squinted to blur his vision, he could see it twisting into the forest like a winding shadow.

  “Do you see that?” D’Jenn asked.

  “I see it. It looks…it looks like a road.”

  “Doesn’t it just?”

  D’Jenn looked at the ground, casting around for further clues. Dormael closed his eyes and let his Kai sink into the earth beneath him, trying to sense what was buried in the dirt. He could feel a line of smooth flagstones, or what had once been a line. They were separated now, shattered and split, but still lying in a recognizable sense of order.

  “This was a road,” Dormael said. “Did Hamarin say anything about that?”

  “No. He mentioned echoes of a mysterious past here and there—a statue, a mountain sheared flat at the summit. Nothing about roads.”

  “Perhaps this stone was some kind of marker.”

  Dormael walked to the cylinder and gestured. His Kai whispered into the world, sending magical fire over the surface of the stone. It burned away the growth until Dormael let the spell fade into the ether. He used another burst of magic to brush away the soot and moved forward to run his hand over the rock.

  The cylinder was smooth, just as he had expected, but it felt alien under his fingers. There were no veins in the stone, no cracks along natural weaknesses in the rock. The surface was uniform, and as perfect as anything Dormael had ever seen. The marker hummed a low, uniform note to his Kai.

  Markings had been cut into its surface, though the years had eroded them. Some of the symbols looked like language, but Dormael had never seen its like. Other patterns were carved into the smooth rock—swirls, curves, dots, and lines that looked meaningful more than decorative, though Dormael could derive nothing from them. His magic resonated with the symbols, but it was a distant feeling, like an echo heard through a windstorm.

  “That’s not Old Vendon,” D’Jenn said from over Dormael’s shoulder. “It’s not any language I’ve ever seen.”