by Dorian Hart
The mine shaft took them north, not east, but they had little choice. It bored into the mountainside, its wooden supports still in place, its walls rough where miners had chipped out chunks of ore. Grey Wolf peered into the rough perpendicular corridors that sprouted off the main line when the miners had followed a seam of silver or tin, but none of these went very far. The floor was rough but mostly level, littered with chunks of stone, rusted pick heads, bits of dry, splintered wood. Every so often they passed something more interesting: a corroded dagger blade, a cracked iron-shod boot, a row of long sharp teeth connected by a short length of wire. Ernie spotted that last one, and they crowded around examining it. None of them could guess what kind of animal the teeth had belonged to, but they agreed it had been part of a necklace or bracelet that had come apart.
“Savages,” Grey Wolf muttered.
“Could be worse,” said Dranko. “Could be human teeth. Or ears. Or…”
“Enough, Dranko. Enough.”
Inside of an hour they found the goblins’ breach. The mineshaft continued northward, but a large hole loomed in the top half of the right-hand wall. A short metal ladder had been wedged in place; the goblins must have misjudged the height of their own tunnel as they broke through.
“Lights away,” Grey Wolf said quietly. “Morningstar, can you climb the ladder and tell us what you see?”
“Of course.”
In the darkness he heard Morningstar walk ahead, heard the sound of her boots on the metal rungs of the ladder. A moment later she returned.
“There’s another tunnel heading more-or-less eastward. It’s narrower than the one we’re in now and braced with leaning beams, like the top two sides of a triangle. It’s empty as far as I can see, and I didn’t hear anything.”
“That’s unsurprising,” said Aravia. “It’s likely that the goblins have not been this way in years.”
Grey Wolf wanted to take a look for himself. He shone his light forward and advanced, climbing the little ladder when he reached it. The new passage was as black and empty as the one they’d been following, but somewhere down there were more goblins. Maybe lots more. He knew it would be better to avoid them, but a piece of his vengeful heart hoped he might have an opportunity to fight and kill. He felt no remorse keeping his family tragedy to himself; the company didn’t need to know. When it came to it, he’d do what was most sensible, regardless of his feelings.
He climbed down. “Here’s the plan. Morningstar takes point, but not too far ahead—maybe twenty feet, no more. The rest of us keep our light-rods out but stifled down to almost nothing, just enough to see our feet. I don’t want anyone falling into a hole.”
“Pewter says he can go with Morningstar,” said Aravia. “If we’re producing even the tiniest amount of light, he’ll be able to see, too. If he and Morningstar spot anything, he can relay it back to me telepathically.”
“Good.” Grey Wolf turned to Morningstar. “How are you feeling? Was last night’s rest enough?”
“Enough, yes. I won’t move fast, but I should be able to walk for some hours yet.”
Getting Dranko up the little five-foot ladder proved a bigger problem. They lost ten minutes hoisting him up to the higher tunnel without anyone touching his injured leg. And once they were all up, Dranko asked for a few minutes to recover before they headed out, even though Tor and Kibi had expended most of the effort.
While they waited, Kibi put his hand to the stone wall of the passage.
“Can you ask if goblins have been this way recently?” asked Ernie.
“That’s what I’m tryin’, but I doubt it’ll work.” After several minutes Kibi pulled his hand away. “Problem is, the stone don’t understand the notion a’ ‘recently’ the way we do. Now, if there was a goblin city right close by, it might sense the vibrations from their walkin’ around and such, but even then I don’t rightly know how close it’d have to be. All I learned is that there ain’t no goblins immediately to hand or large empty spaces that ain’t this tunnel.”
That was good enough for Grey Wolf. “Dranko, come on. Time to hobble.”
For several hours they marched down the goblin tunnel. Even slowed by Morningstar’s weariness and Dranko’s injury, Grey Wolf figured they managed at least five miles in the nearly pitch dark. The passage followed a mostly straight line but bent enough that Grey Wolf soon lost his bearings. Aravia assured him they still maintained a generally eastward direction.
Here and there small piles of rubble rested where a part of the ceiling or wall had caved in. One such fall was bad enough that they had to pull out all their light-rods and spend several minutes clearing it in order to pass.
“Wouldn’t it save time if you tunneled through this?” Grey Wolf asked Kibi.
Kibi picked up a large rock and heaved it to the side. “Nope. A collapse like this is a thousand little pieces a’ rock, not one solid chunk. Could take days to convince each of ’em to get out a’ the way.” He squinted up to where the leaning support beams met. “Pretty clever for goblins. I’d reckon they built this place in a hurry. The cave-ins are from rushed construction, not bad design.”
“Why do you say that?” asked Dranko. “Have you met any goblins? Were they stupid? I’m part goblin, and I’d like to think I’m cleverer than the average fellow.”
“I didn’t mean nothin’ by it, Dranko. I ain’t never seen no goblins, it’s true, but everythin’ you hear ’bout ’em makes ’em sound like monsters.”
Grey Wolf didn’t have any doubts about that. “The folks back in Culud fought off goblin raids for years. You heard the stories. Goblins pillage, they burn, they kill, without any provocation. And by all accounts that’s how it used to be back in Charagan before they were driven back into the mountains. They’re savages, and they won’t deserve our mercy when the time comes.”
“If,” said Ernie. “If the time comes. We’re still hoping to avoid them entirely.”
“Right,” said Grey Wolf. “That’s the hope.”
The tunnel floor remained rough but level, and there were no pits or crevices. They did continue to pass bits of detritus the goblins had left behind: strips of ragged leather or moldering cloth, a cracked metal bowl, a weapon hilt with no blade, half of a large boot sole, and a silvery min-mirac.
“Pewter says to stop,” said Aravia.
Grey Wolf put out an arm so no one would walk past him. “Why?”
“They’ve found something new. Still no signs of live goblins, but Morningstar wants to investigate.”
“Lights completely out,” Grey Wolf whispered.
Hours in near-darkness had allowed his eyes to adjust, but with the lights fully pocketed he might as well have had them shut. His hand moved to the hilt of his sword. The faint noises of Morningstar’s movements whispered down the passage.
“We can move up,” said Aravia after a brief pause. “Nothing alive. Also, the passage bends sharply enough that we can have more light without so much risk.”
Grey Wolf didn’t know if he was relieved or disappointed, but he led the way another fifteen yards. The tunnel widened abruptly into a roughly circular room nearly thirty feet across, supported by a half-dozen crude stone pillars. On the far side it narrowed again, the passage continuing a short way before bending left.
Against one section of the curved wall were the remains of many wooden barrels and boxes, some fallen to pieces, others rotting but still mostly intact. Nothing useful remained of whatever had been inside them. A peculiar smell hung in the stale air, a smell Grey Wolf couldn’t place.
“Something for you to see.” Morningstar held out her palm. She held two small stone dice, each with eight pipped facets. “I found these on the floor. Do goblins play dice games?”
Ernie kicked at a pile of splintered wood, spreading it around with his foot. “What do you suppose this place was for?”
Dranko slumped down against the wall. “Imagine you’re a raiding party of goblins, and you’ve been marching all day, bored out of your
skulls. You’d want a place to sleep, have some water, some food. Tomorrow’s going to be a busy day. You’ve got a human town to ransack.”
Grey Wolf shone his light along the walls of the room, showing old sconces clotted with congealed ash.
Kibi idly scratched one hand with the other. “Wonder why they got those? If goblins live underground, they oughta be able to see in the dark.”
Grey Wolf looked at Dranko. “But you can’t.”
Dranko stared back at him. “No. I also don’t have green blood or raid human settlements. So what?”
“There’s something else,” said Morningstar. She picked up a large curved section of barrel, three staves still joined by two rusted hoops. “Look at this.”
She turned it over. Wedged between two of the staves was a leathery, dark-green patch of cloth, slightly folded and wrinkled. They all crowded around and aimed their lights at it. Grey Wolf pulled it from the piece of barrel and smoothed it out as best he could on the floor. It wasn’t cloth. It was a section of scaled skin, torn or shed from some kind of reptile. The individual scales were unsettlingly large.
“It looks like snake skin,” said Tor.
“Or maybe a lizard,” said Ernie.
Tor’s face lit up. “But look how big the scales are! Maybe it’s from a dragon!”
Grey Wolf regarded the skin with unease. “Dragons are a myth.”
Tor’s smile didn’t fade. “But whatever creature that thing belonged to, it must be huge.”
“Ain’t got no desire to meet a snake that big,” said Kibi.
“Or a lizard,” said Ernie.
“I don’t think we’re in immediate danger on that score,” said Aravia. “Any food or water the goblins left here has long since been consumed—by them, by insects, or by our scaled friend. A giant reptile would have had no reason to return here for a long, long time.”
“Anyone mind if we stop here for the day?” Dranko had closed his eyes, and his voice was uneven. “It’s a good defensible place where we won’t have to sleep strung out in a line. Also, I’m about to pass out.”
Grey Wolf didn’t like it. These early days of the mountain crossing were the ones they were most likely to make good time. “Are you sure you can’t make it another few miles?”
Dranko gently prodded his leg and winced. “I suppose I can—”
“Dranko cannot continue.” Morningstar sat down as well. “It’s not merely his leg, but that he channeled again while freshly wounded. If we push on, we’ll end up carrying him, and that will slow Kibi down enough that we won’t save much time in total.”
Dranko let out a sigh and smiled wanly at Morningstar, though he didn’t thank her. Grey Wolf didn’t feel much like arguing, so he unshouldered his own pack. Despite the shortened day they had made better progress than he had feared, and it had been a stroke of luck that the passage had taken them mostly in the right direction.
They ate a quiet dinner in the eerie glow of Aravia’s rods. Grey Wolf canceled the usual post-dinner combat practice; who could say how far the clanging echoes would travel? Kibi communed with the wall and declared that there still were no large populations of goblins nearby, but there was no point in taking chances, particularly as Kibi still couldn’t properly describe how the stone perceived distance.
Aravia studied and practiced her magic while Morningstar and Step helped Dranko re-dress his leg. Not having a great supply of bandages, they simply rotated the existing one after cleaning out the wound and applying fresh salves.
Once everyone was ready for sleep, they hid their lights and lay down on their blankets. Ernie took the first watch, which was more like a first listen since it would be safer not to make beacons of themselves. Grey Wolf lay in the dark with his eyes open, once again finding it difficult to sleep. He conjured up the old memory, finding it had returned to the form he knew so well. No human voice. No Sharshun or silver cloaks. Just the hideous goblins killing his parents while he choked on anger and grief. Still, the images shimmered as though it were all a mirage that for the moment looked solid, but which might shift or melt away if seen from another angle.
A cold realization took him. Naradawk. Naradawk had corrupted the memory of that fateful afternoon, warping his recollection. To what end? Why would Naradawk want to sow doubt in his mind that goblins had murdered his parents?
Grey Wolf had never suffered insomnia before Abernathy’s summons, and it frustrated him to lie there awake. He tossed off his blanket and exposed his light-rod just enough to see Ernie’s silhouette near the eastern exit of the goblins’ supply room. He moved up and sat down next to the boy.
“Can’t sleep,” he said quietly.
“I can barely keep my eyes open,” said Ernie. Then, after a pause, “Do you think we’ll see goblins tomorrow?”
“I hope not.” Grey Wolf did not, in fact, relish facing down an army of goblins. He did hold out a hope that they might encounter a group small enough to cut down before they could flee to warn others.
“Me too.” Ernie shifted his weight. “Old Bowlegs said that goblins always fight to the death. And with Dranko in such bad shape…”
“No channeling.” The reality was not lost upon him. “And Morningstar probably won’t be back to full strength either.”
“Though Aravia’s been working on her fire spell,” said Ernie, “and we still have Tor. I’ll bet he could take on a whole lot of goblins by himself.”
“I’m sure he could. So could you, for that matter. And you’ve got your sword enchanted to slay goblins.”
“I know.” If Ernie was bolstered by the presence of a magic sword at his hip, he didn’t show it. “It’s strange, though, that Old Bowlegs didn’t mention it when he gave it to me. He’s famous for having fought off seven goblins during a raid when he was young, but he never liked to talk about it. I think he was just being modest. I think he—”
“Gaaaaah!” Grey Wolf’s insides flipped over, and he couldn’t stop himself from crying out. “Not now!” He fell forward onto his hands and knees. His golden bracelet grew warm around his wrist.
Sunlight flooded the chamber, washing out the stone walls, hazing them into a translucent gray. Beyond them a dull-silver salt flat stretched away in every direction. The sun itself, shining impossibly through the ceiling and walls of the goblin supply room, was bright orange and three times too big.
The others came awake at the edges of his awareness, but Grey Wolf fixed his attention on what was happening out on the flat. Dozens of people were digging a shallow but massive circular trench, hundreds of feet across. The sound of all the digging tools striking the ground made a ceaseless and unsteady rhythm.
Other workers, again in their dozens, worked to set large black stone bricks into the trench, their top faces flush with the flat ground. The nearest sweep of the circle’s arc had already been filled in.
Tor’s voice came from beside him. “They’re building a gigantic black circle!”
Most of the workers wore either ragged clothing or none at all. There were no foremen, no slavers with whips to make them work, but the laborers toiled just the same, sweating beneath the orange sun, never even looking up. But a few, kneeling down by the completed sections of the circle, wore long black robes. These drew or wrote on the ground, dipping long, thin brushes into huge pots of black ink. Grey Wolf blinked through the discomfort in his stomach and tried to focus. The closest writing looked like numbers and mathematical symbols. Gibberish.
A woman in a black robe set down her brush and looked up, squinted toward the sun in puzzlement, then turned slowly until she looked directly at Grey Wolf. Did she see him the way he saw her? Did she look across fifty feet of salt flats and also, impossibly, through just as much solid stone?
The woman waved her fingers through the air and chanted words he couldn’t catch. There was no way to hide from or avoid whatever spell she cast. She thrust her hands outward toward him, and a second later he felt a gentle push, as though he floated in an ocean while a slo
w wave rolled past. The woman frowned and walked toward him in a strange sort of slow motion, but before she had taken ten steps, the pain in Grey Wolf’s guts ended and reality returned to normal. A distant rumble shook through the floor, the walls, more felt than heard.
“An earthquake?” cried Ernie.
Everyone stayed quiet, tense, listening for further signs of a tremor, but a few seconds later all was still.
Dranko had pushed himself up to a sitting position. “What in the hells was that?”
“We witnessed some project of the Black Circle on Volpos,” said Aravia.
“What were they doing?” asked Tor.
Aravia cast a quick spell. “No residual enchantment. Whatever is the cause of your connection to Volpos, it lies magically dormant when it’s not in effect. As for Tor’s question, there’s no way to know for sure, but we might speculate on reasons why they would be constructing anything that large and set into the ground.”
Grey Wolf returned to his bedding. “Let’s speculate tomorrow.”
Aravia ignored him. “Their circle could be an arcane focus, something that will allow Naradawk to make his final push through the archmagi’s sealed portal. Or perhaps—”
“Aravia, please.” Grey Wolf’s head hurt, and he wished only for quiet. “Go to sleep. All of you, go back to sleep, except for Ernie. You still good to finish your watch?”
Ernie nodded.
“Good.” Whatever magic had tried to pull Grey Wolf into Volpos, it took a lot out of him. This time sleep came easily.
* * *
Breakfast was once again sparse and hurried.
“The stone’s confused,” said Kibi. “Spoke to it last night after the strangeness. Asked ’bout the quake. Stone ain’t got no idea what it was.”
“That is not surprising,” said Aravia. “In all likelihood the phenomenon is unique to Grey Wolf across the entire history of Spira.”
That was not comforting.
