Jus and Polk were utterly incapable, their hands still weak and shaking from their suppressed laughter. Seething, Escalla relieved them of the locator needle and stood at the precipice, unraveling the needle’s string. As she made ready, Private Henry stood over her, looking skinny as a bean pole and about as dangerous as a mouse. Escalla saw the lantern quiver and shot the boy a glare that could have shattered stone.
“Kid, don’t you say a frazin word!”
“No, ma’am!” The young soldier blinked in the lantern light; his face seemed to be mostly composed of freckles, and he seemed to be in absolute, worshipful awe of her. “Not one word. Not one!”
For once, someone seemed to be treating her like the legendary sylvan overlord she really was. Escalla sniffed importantly, absurdly soothed, and smoothed her long gloves.
The girl let the locator needle dangle, taking a reading on the whereabouts of the slowglass necklace. The needle pointed straight down the canyon at a good, sharp angle. The needle actually quivered, wavering happily from side to side as though excited by the proximity of the prey. With a professional sniff of disdain, Escalla put the locator needle away and flew over the path.
“This way.” Escalla magnanimously gave Private Henry a magic light. “Here, Private. I will lead, and you may light the way.”
Having been given a magic light by a real faerie was apparently the high point of the young soldiers life. He looked up at Escalla in amazement, held up the magic light, and proudly began walking down the path, crossbow in one hand and magic light in the other. Escalla made to go after him, when Jus suddenly lumbered over to the trail.
“Escalla, we can’t take him with us!”
“Well he can’t stay here. He’ll get eaten.” The faerie gave an expressive shrug. “He’s safest with us.”
With a sigh, Jus acknowledged the point. Finally composed, he unsheathed his sword, the blade long, black, and comfortingly lethal, and walked to the path.
“All right. Have him bring up the rear behind Polk. He can be rear guard. You take the point, and I’ll be right behind you.” The Justicar looked up at the faerie girl. “You got your spells memorized?”
“Sure! And you?”
“Healing, anti-poison…”
“So it’s all hoopy! We go in, kick troglodyte tail, release a few thousand prisoners, catch that murderer, and retrieve the evidence!” The girl gave an airy wave of her hand. “What could be simpler?”
The trail seemed long, the chasm deep. Back-lit by volcanic fires, Jus stared down into the depths. “We only have a few days of rations and about one gallon of water.”
“Don’t worry about it! It’s a dungeon!” The girl flew backward without a care in the world. “It’s just a hole in the ground, Jus! How deep can it possibly be?”
Through a darkness so absolute that it hung like velvet folds, the party descended into the depths of the earth.
It was a well traveled route, a tunnel partly natural and partly carved by hand, that formed a roadway plunging into the heart of the Flanaess. The tunnel floor had been leveled roughly flat, but the jagged roof dipped and soared into vaults and dripping ceilings. A reeking little rivulet led the way ever deeper, twisting left and right, then splashing down into a limestone cave.
The tunnel descended down, down, down… first a hundred yards and then a thousand. Soon all memory of the outer world, all breath of sulphurous air, all light of sun and moon, had almost vanished. The long, cautious descent plunged the party half a mile below the earth. Neither Escalla nor the Justicar suffered from delusions of collapsing walls or crushing roofs. Even so, the sense of so much rock above and the infinite earth to either side made the tunnels seem horribly oppressive.
Finally, a wide limestone cavern opened before the party. Escalla flew with her little light out into a massive void. Long stalactites hung down like spears overhead, while drips of water fed into trickles that joined into the single stream. Jus held up a hand to halt Polk and Private Henry, then lifted his magic light to spill its glow into the cave. The light shone as brilliant as day, flooding into the cave to strike sparks and highlights from countless outcrops of wet stone. While comforting, it was also a trifle blinding.
Escalla swirled up toward the roof and tried to peer down into the maze of shapes below. “Hey, Jus!” she whispered, “there’s a dead guy down here!”
Her voice carried strangely, the strength of it lost amidst muffled echoes. Jus lowered himself down a gigantic limestone shelf and frowned.
“What killed him?”
“Dunno. I can’t see.” Escalla flew to hover above the corpse. “Oh wow! Hey, guys! I see a—whoa!” A stalactite detached itself and plunged from the ceiling, almost spearing her. Escalla sped aside, and the stalactite missed her by a country mile. It fell to the floor with a heavy thud, righted itself, and fixed a beady eye upon Escalla above. The creature seemed to be a tall, thin mollusk with a shell shaped like a razor-sharp stalactite. It began to make its way slowly across the cavern floor toward a wall, traveling with the glacial, bubbling pace of a gastropod.
There were other stalactites near Escalla. The girl eyed them with clear suspicion, readying her wand. “The ceiling’s alive with these things.”
“Don’t get under them!”
“Thanks, Jus. I don’t know where I’d be without your constant good advice.” Escalla swerved to the ground, where a human body lay. It had been pierced from the neck into the abdomen. Nearby there lay the empty shell of one of the stalactite mollusks, still smeared with blood and lined with goo.
“I think one of these shell-critters killed a captive. The trogs must have eaten the shell creature.” Escalla hastily backed away. “Eeew! And ate most of the dead human, too. Damn!” Appalled and angered, Escalla circled the body.
She had found the main exit from the cave—another huge tunnel that led due north. Moving to join her, Jus thumped down to the floor, sliding down the rock slope in a pool of light. He caught Private Henry and helped the boy to the ground, steadying his crossbow with one big hand.
“Son, do you really know how to shoot that thing?”
“Sir yes sir!” The teenager blinked. “Well, kinda. I scored thirty out of fifty on the target range.”
“At what distance?”
“Um, thirty yards.”
“Wonderful.” Jus set the boy to watching the rear, then caught Polk as the teamster came sliding noisily down the limestone slope. Still annoyed with the man, Jus dragged him onto his feet. “Don’t fall behind. Keep between me and the boy, and keep your eyes open!”
“Sure, son! They’re open!” Polk still reeked of fermented kelp. “I jus’ stayed back to watch the lights—real pretty! Now that’s what adventure should be all about. Pretty things and the unexpected! Surprising vistas, boy! A fitting backdrop to heroics!”
Jus fixed the man with a suspicious glare, while Cinders leaked a wisp of smoke and flames.
“Are you still drunk?”
“No, son! Jus’ look behind us! See! The whole place is real damned pretty!”
Jus knelt and waved a hand. Private Henry, Escalla and even Polk all settled down in silence. Jus covered his light and waved the others to do the same.
With the light gone, the eyes were shocked into blindness, but it was a blindness that slowly filled out with little points of light.
Bands of minerals on the walls slowly began to glow in blues and greens. Lichens on the ceiling gave off a weird yellow light. Piece by piece, as their eyes forgot the brightness of day, the underworld began to come alive with light.
The air felt dank and cold, moving with slow breaths from tunnels and caverns in the far off dark. The only sounds were subtle, far off twitterings—bats, rats, or worse. The drip and echo of distant water filled the huge tunnels with a quiet stir of sound. Dung made a foul stench along the tunnels. Some of it seemed to be human, some reptilian, and some came from creatures best left unidentified. Toadstools grew in the compost, their caps shining with a sic
kly green and yellow luminescence. Clinging to high tunnel roofs, other lights shifted and moved in the gloom—luminous beetles, slugs, and worms going about their daily grind.
Jus hid his magic light inside a pouch and shoved it through his belt. Escalla followed suit. The light spells were brilliant enough to blind creatures used to this pale phosphorescence. It seemed best to keep them as weapons, moving through the tunnels with more stealth.
Over at the new tunnel, Jus looked carefully at the dim, dark shadows and touched a troglodyte footprint still fresh in the mud. He thoughtfully dried his fingertips.
Escalla inspected her friend’s work and asked, “Recent?”
“About half a day’s lead.”
“Know what we’re going to do when we find ’em?”
“Play it by ear.” The Justicar arose. “Locator?”
Escalla produced the magic pointer. The little compass swung to point straight north down the tunnel. The pointer no longer quivered; the quarry had gained many miles of lead. With a curse, Escalla put the thing away and unslung her battle wand. The Justicar nodded. Escalla turned invisible and took the lead position, scouting far ahead of her friends. The Justicar settled Cinders on his helm and felt the hell hound lift his ears and begin carefully scanning the gloom. Moving with a stealth that was perfection to behold, the big man paced down the wide tunnel on Escalla’s trail, his hand poised on his sword hilt for a lightning draw.
Polk watched his companions, reached for his whiskey bottle, and then remembered that his drink had been confiscated. With a concerned look at the tunnel, the man ran to catch up with the Justicar.
“Son, this is no lair! This ain’t a dungeon!” Polk’s voice carried shockingly far in the gloom. “Are you sure we’re on the right track?”
Jus never spoke a word. He turned, glared, lifted a finger to his lips, then swung about to keep up his silent march.
Polk went into a huff With his hands jammed into his pockets, he stomped along ten feet behind his friends, kicking at any toadstools that came in his way. Behind him, Private Henry kept a nervous rear guard, chain mail jingling with every step and his pace slowed as he turned constantly to point his crossbow at empty shadows far behind.
The party walked cautiously onward into a tunnel that never seemed to end.
Long hours of walking went by. The massive passageways were a squalor of life and violent death. Great phosphorescent beetles preyed upon the slugs. Slugs chewed into glowing fungi, which in turn grew on compost left from dead beetles, old bones and dung.
Other things lived and ate here as well. The gnawed bones of humanoid creatures had been left here and there on the passage floors—sometimes elf bones, sometimes human, always gnawed clean with skulls left grinning in the dark.
There were frequent alcoves, side caves, and sink holes all along the way. The party sat down in one such alcove as they shared hard bread and rested their feet. Polk’s magic bottle was produced, and much to his pain, all the travelers were served a measure of good whiskey carefully monitored by Jus before the bottle was sealed away again.
Sipping prime aged whiskey from a tin mug, Escalla kept a watch upon the corridor. Escalla had long since given up her invisibility on the march, coming to hover close to Cinders and the Justicar. After half an hour, invisibility wreaked havoc with her hair.
Swigging back her whiskey, Escalla turned to the task of gnawing upon a rock hard piece of bread. Daunted by the task, she finally used the bread chunk as an elbow rest.
“Jus, how far do you reckon this tunnel runs?”
“Honestly?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s a road.” The Justicar was repairing one of his boot laces, working with big, efficient hands. “The trogs must have a nest down here. Probably a drow settlement, too. The thing must run for miles.”
Escalla gave a sigh and idly dangled the locator needle on its string. It pointed north, straight down the tunnel, and gave not a quaver of life. The opposition must have zoomed at least ten miles ahead.
“Bugger!” The girl sighed. “How much food do we have again?”
“Not much.” The Justicar finished fixing his boot. “Fancy slug stew?”
“Pass.” The girl took a long look down the tunnels. “There must be something big enough to make a meal of down here.”
Rising to his feet, the Justicar looked into the gloom with a growl. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
The tunnels had been eerily empty so far, but it couldn’t last. The Takers would hardly leave their gates unguarded. Somewhere farther along the tunnels, there would be a guard post. Beyond that lay the horrific kingdom of the underdark. Jus pondered the trouble they were sinking deeper and deeper into and looked about the dripping cavern walls.
“Any ideas who the murderer might be?” Jus asked.
Deep in thought, the faerie sat shadowed by the bright splay of her wings.
“I’ve been trying to narrow down my list.” The girl hissed. “My mother. My sister. My mother and my sister. Or Lord Ushan? Or even Lord Faen? Or perhaps my mother, my sister, Lord Ushan, and Lord Faen.” Escalla sat sifting her relatives and their allies through her mind. “Do you see now why I fled to the real world?”
“Yep.”
The Justicar sighed, shook his head, and made a tour of the alcove. He walked past Private Henry and patted the boy on the shoulder as he passed. Having been set to thread thin strips ripped from his own cloak through the bottom layers of rings of his chainmail hauberk, the young soldier looked anxiously up for approval of his work. Jus knelt down to inspect the results, shaking the armor to make sure that its noise had been reduced.
“Good job. You did it just right.”
“Th-thank you, sir.” Private Henry seemed pale, but his eyes were awed as he looked up at the imposing figure of the Justicar. “Is there anything else I should do? To make my gear better I mean?”
“How do you fight?”
“Um, just with a sword, sir. Kind of…” The boy looked pale. He had been given a long sword as part of his equipment, and its weight still felt awkward on his belt. “We haven’t really done much practice with it.”
Huge and solid, the Justicar rested a hand upon the boy’s shoulder and said, “If we get into a fight, just shoot, go to ground, and leave the battle to us. If you get caught at sword point, fight defensively and call for help. We’ll cover you.” The big man stood. “When we get the time, I’ll teach you how it’s done.”
Jus looked over the gangly boy’s equipment. He sniffed at the sword belt, a typical botched affair—good for horsemen and useless for everybody else. Taking up the worn leather, Jus showed the lad how to wear his sword horizontally through his belt.
“You get a faster draw this way. You might need it.” He helped the boy to don the heavy equipment, then shared a last drink of beer from his canteen. “All right. Let’s go.”
Escalla took a careful look out of the alcove, ducked back, looked one more time, and then fluttered up into the air. Jus strode out into the corridor, his heavy boots strangely quiet. With his cherished friend at his side, he moved into the tunnels with Polk and the teenaged soldier traipsing behind.
Polk automatically reached for his water bottle, discovered that for once it actually did contain only water, and almost choked. From up ahead, Jus turned and glared at the little man, silently ordering him to close the line of march. Shooting seething glances at Escalla, Polk hauled out his book and wrote awkwardly as he walked. He scribbled down scathing paragraphs on the subject of teetotalism, tyranny, and the mental benefits of alcohol.
The whole process kept him occupied for at least the next two long, slow, and silent miles.
* * *
To an eye attuned to the sinister pulse of the underdark, the tunnels ebbed with life, echoing to the endless drip and flow of time. Water trickled, creatures squeaked, and deep crevices sometimes carried sounds that rang with terror.
Hidden amongst rock outcrops and stalagmites, two figu
res sat silent in the gloom. They were drow—the ebony skinned, silver haired elves of the underdark. Each wore a long cloak made to conceal them in the dark. They sat several paces apart, each facing in the opposite direction—sentries halfway through a long, tedious watch. With hand crossbows at their sides, the two elves passed the time. One was chewing on some sort of meat, while the other carved patterns in a piece of knuckle bone.
Around them, the tunnel echoed, time dragged by, and water dripped like blood seeping from a dying world. Into this tedious quiet came a shockingly familiar sound. A coin fell tinkling upon stone. It echoed from the southern tunnel, ringing faint but clear.
The southern-most sentry jerked his head up, covering the passageway with his crossbow as he scanned the darkness. The weapon’s sharp bolt gleamed sickly black with poison.
Heat images swam in the eerie shadows of the tunnel. The wall mold glowed sometimes hot, sometimes cool, but amongst the smallest of small shapes upon the floor, a figure appeared—a little creature moving fearlessly down the corridor.
A coin rang yet again, and now both guards craned forward to look, the northern guard standing up to peer past his partner.
A rat—a very large, well muscled rat—was scuttling along the edge of the southern tunnel. Thirty yards away in the gloom, even drow eyes could scarcely pick out the slightest detail. The rat moved away and disappeared into the dark. Moments later the sound of busy digging came, a sound very faint against the tunnel noises. Soon the rat returned, seeming extremely pleased with itself. Gold glittered briefly in the tunnel. The rat dropped a coin that it had held in its mouth, making a pile with other flecks of gold in the corridor, then pranced off to continue with its digging far away.
The watching sentries leaned forward, staring in amazement. The gold was real. The drow looked behind them at the entrances to the guard rooms in the tunnels behind them, wary to see if they had been missed. There was no point in sharing treasure with too many other grasping hands.
Descent into the Depths of the Earth Page 14
