Mac Mordain Cadal
The dwarves stood guard.
Pug and the others from Crydee sat around the campfire as they hungrily ate the meal prepared by Dolgan’s men. A pot of stew bubbled near the fire. Hot loaves of trail bread, thick hard crust broken to reveal dark sweet dough thick with honey, were quickly being devoured. Smoked fish, from the dwarves’ pack animals, provided a welcome change from the diet of horse meat of the last few days.
Pug looked from where he sat beside Tomas, who was hard at work consuming his third portion of bread and stew. Pug watched as the dwarves worked efficiently about the camp. Most were outside the cave’s mouth, for they seemed less inconvenienced by the cold than the humans. Two tended the injured man, who would live, while two others served the hot meal to the Duke’s men, and another filled ale cups from a large skin filled with the bubbling brown liquid.
There were forty dwarves with Dolgan. The dwarven chief was flanked by his sons, Weylin, the older, and Udell. Both showed a striking resemblance to their father, though Udell tended to darkness, having black hair rather than red-brown. Both seemed quiet compared to their father, who gestured expansively with a pipe in one hand and a cup of ale in the other as he spoke with the Duke.
The dwarves had been on some sort of patrol along the edge of the forest, though Pug gained the impression a patrol this far from their villages was unusual. They had come across the tracks of the goblins who had attacked a few minutes before and were following closely behind, otherwise they would have missed the Duke’s party as the night’s storm obliterated all tracks of the men from Crydee’s passage.
“I remember you, Lord Borric,” said Dolgan, sipping at his ale cup, “though you were scarcely more than a baby when I was last at Crydee. I dined with your father. He set a fine table.”
“And should you come again to Crydee, Dolgan, I hope you’ll find my table equally satisfactory.” They had spoken of the Duke’s mission, and Dolgan had remained mostly silent during the preparation of the meal, lost in thought. Suddenly he regarded his pipe, which had gone out. He sighed forlornly, putting it away, until he noticed Kulgan had pulled out his own and was producing respectable clouds of smoke. Brightening visibly, he said, “Would you be having the requirement of an extra pipe upon you, master magician?” He spoke with the deep, rolling burr the dwarves made when speaking the King’s Tongue.
Kulgan fetched out his tabac pouch and handed it across to the dwarf. “Providentially,” said Kulgan, “my pipe and pouch are two items always kept upon my person at all times. I can withstand the loss of my other goods—though the loss of my two books troubles me deeply—but to endure any circumstance without the comfort of my pipe is unthinkable.”
“Aye,” agreed the dwarf as he lit up his own, “you have the right of it there. Except for autumn’s ale—and my loving wife’s company or a good fight, of course—there’s little to match the pipe for pure pleasure.” He drew forth a long pull and blew out a large cloud of smoke to emphasize his point. A thoughtful look crossed his rugged face, and he said, “Now to the matter of the news you carry. They are strange tidings, but explain away some mysteries we have been tussling with for some time now.”
Borric said, “What mysteries?”
Dolgan pointed out of the cave mouth. “As we told you, we’ve had to patrol the area hereabouts. This is a new thing, for in years past the lands along the borders of our mines and farms have been free from trouble.” He smiled. “Occasionally a band of especially bold bandits or moredhel—the Dark Brothers you call them—or a more than usually stupid tribe of goblins troubles us for a time. But for the most part things remain pretty peaceful.
“But of late, everything’s gone agley. About a month ago, or a bit more, we began to see signs of large movements of moredhel and goblins from their villages to the north of ours. We sent some lads to investigate. They found entire villages abandoned, both goblin and moredhel. Some were sacked, but others stood empty without sign of trouble.
“Needless to say, the displacement of those miscreants caused an increase in problems for us. Our villages are in the higher meadows and plateaus, so they dare not attack, but they do raid our herds in the lower valleys as they pass—which is why we now mount patrols down the mountainside. With the winter upon us, our herds are in our lowest meadows, and we must keep vigilant.
“Most likely your messengers didn’t reach our villages because of the large number of moredhel and goblins fleeing the mountains down into the forests. Now at least we’ve some gleaning of what’s causing this migration.”
The Duke nodded. “The Tsurani.”
Dolgan was thoughtful for a moment, while Arutha said, “Then they’re up there in strength.”
Borric gave his son a questioning look, while Dolgan chuckled and said, “That’s a bright lad you’ve got, Lord Borric.” He nodded thoughtfully, then said, “Aye, Prince. They’re up there, and in strength. Despite their other grievous faults, the moredhel are not without skill in warcraft.” He fell silent again, lost in thought for a few minutes. Then, tapping out the dottle of his pipe, he said, “The dwarven folk are not counted the finest warriors in the West for naught, but we lack the numbers to dispose of our more troublesome neighbors. To dislodge such a host as have been passing would require a great force of men, well armed and provisioned.”
Kulgan said, “I would give anything to know how they reached these mountains.”
“I would rather know how many there are,” said the Duke.
Dolgan refilled his pipe and, after it was lit, stared thoughtfully into the fire. Weylin and Udell nodded at each other, and Weylin said, “Lord Borric, there may be as many as five thousand.”
Before the startled Duke could respond, Dolgan came out of his reverie. Swearing an oath, he said, “Closer to ten thousand!” He turned to look at the Duke, whose expression showed he clearly didn’t understand what was being said. Dolgan added, “We’ve given every reason for this migration save invasion. Plague, internal warfare between bands, pests in their crops causing famine, but an invading army of aliens was not one of them.
“From the number of towns empty, we guess a few thousand goblins and moredhel have descended into the Green Heart. Some of those villages are a clutch of huts my two boys could overcome unaided. But others are walled hill forts, with a hundred, two hundred warriors to man the palisade. They’ve swept away a dozen such in little over a month. How many men do you judge you’d need to accomplish such a deed, Lord Borric?”
For the first time in his memory, Pug saw fear clearly etched upon the Duke’s face. Borric leaned forward, his arm resting across his knee, as he said, “I’ve fifteen hundred men in Crydee, counting those in the frontier garrisons along the boundary. I can call another eight hundred or a thousand each from the garrisons at Carse and Tulan, though to do so would strip them fully. The levies from the villages and towns number at best a thousand, and most would be old veterans from the siege at Carse or young boys without skills.”
Arutha looked as grim as his father as he said, “Forty-five hundred at the outside, a full third unproved, against an army of ten thousand.”
Udell looked at his father, then at Lord Borric. “My father makes no boast of our skills, nor of the moredhel’s, Your Grace. Whether there be five thousand or ten thousand, they’ll be hard, experienced fighters to drive out the enemies of our blood so quickly.”
“Then I’m thinking,” said Dolgan, “you’d best send word to your older son and your vassal barons, telling them to stay safely behind the walls of your castles, and hie yourself to Krondor. It will take all the Armies of the West to withstand these newcomers this spring.”
Tomas suddenly said, “Is it really that bad?” then looked embarrassed for interrupting the council. “I’m sorry, my lord.”
Borric waved away the apology. “It may be we are weaving many threads of fear together into a larger tapestry than exists, but a good soldier prepares for the worst, Tomas. Dolgan is right. I must enl
ist the Prince’s aid.” He looked at Dolgan. “But to call the Armies of the West to arms, I must reach Krondor.”
Dolgan said, “The South Pass is closed, and your human ships’ masters have too much sense to brave the Straits of Darkness in winter. But there is another way, though it is a difficult path. There are mines throughout these mountains, ancient tunnels under the Grey Towers. Many were carved by my people as we dug for iron and gold. Some are natural, fashioned when the mountains were born. And still others were here when my people first came to these mountains, dug by only the gods know whom. There is one mine that passes completely under the mountains, coming out on the other side of the range, only a day’s march from the road to Bordon. It will take two days to pass through, and there may be dangers.”
The dwarven brothers looked at their father, and Weylin said, “Father, the Mac Mordain Cadal?”
Dolgan nodded his head. “Aye, the abandoned mine of my grandfather, and his father before him.” He said to the Duke, “We have dug many miles of tunnels under the mountain, and some connect with the ancient passages I have spoken of. There are dark and queer tales about Mac Mordain Cadal, for it is connected with these old passages. Not a few dwarves have ventured deep into the old mines, seeking legendary riches, and most have returned. But a few have vanished. Once upon a path, a dwarf can never lose his way back, so they were not lost in their searching. Something must have befallen them. I tell you this so there will be no misunderstandings, but if we keep to the passages dug by my ancestors, we should have small risk.”
“ ‘We,’ friend dwarf?” said the Duke.
Dolgan grinned. “Should I simply place your feet upon the path, you’d be hopelessly lost within an hour. No, I’d care not for traveling to Rillanon to explain to your King how I’d managed to lose one of his better Dukes. I will guide you willingly, Lord Borric, for a small price.” He winked at Pug and Tomas as he spoke the last. “Say, a pouch of tabac and a fine dinner at Crydee.”
The Duke’s mood lightened a little. With a smile he said, “Done, and our thanks, Dolgan.”
The dwarf turned to his sons. “Udell, you take half the company and one of the mules, and the Duke’s men too ill or wounded to continue. Make for the castle at Crydee. There’s an ink horn and quill, wrapped in parchment, somewhere in our baggage; find it for his lordship, so he may instruct his men. Weylin, take the others of our kin back to Caldara, then send word to the other villages before the winter blizzards strike. Come spring, the dwarves of the Grey Towers go to war.”
Dolgan looked at Borric. “No one has ever conquered our highland villages, not in the longest memory of the dwarven folk. But it would prove an irritation for someone to try. The dwarves will stand with the Kingdom, Your Lordship. You have long been a friend to us, trading fairly and giving aid when asked. And we have never run from battle when we were called.”
Arutha said, “And what of Stone Mountain?”
Dolgan laughed. “I thank His Highness for the jog to my memory. Old Harthorn and his clans would be sorely troubled should a good fight come and they were not invited. I’ll send runners to Stone Mountain as well.”
Pug and Tomas watched while the Duke wrote messages to Lyam and Fannon, then full stomachs and fatigue began to lull them, despite their long sleep. The dwarves gave them the loan of heavy cloaks, which they wrapped about pine boughs to make comfortable mattresses. Occasionally Pug would turn in the night, coming out of his deep sleep, and hear voices speaking low. More than once he heard the name Mac Mordain Cadal.
—
DOLGAN LED THE Duke’s party along the rocky foothills of the Grey Towers. They had left at first light, the dwarven chieftain’s sons departing for their own destinations with their men. Dolgan walked before the Duke and his son, followed by the puffing Kulgan and the boys. Five soldiers of Crydee, those still able to continue, under the supervision of Sergeant Gardan followed behind, leading two mules. Walking behind the struggling magician, Pug said, “Kulgan, ask for a rest. You’re all done in.”
The magician said, “No, boy, I’ll be all right. Once into the mines, the pace will slow, and we should be there soon.”
Tomas regarded the stocky figure of Dolgan, marching along at the head of the party, short legs striding along, setting a rugged pace. “Doesn’t he ever tire?”
Kulgan shook his head. “The dwarven folk are renowned for their strong constitutions. At the Battle of Carse Keep, when the castle was nearly taken by the Dark Brotherhood, the dwarves of Stone Mountain and the Grey Towers were on the march to aid the besieged. A messenger carried the news of the castle’s imminent fall, and the dwarves ran for a day and a night and half a day again to fall on the Brotherhood from behind without any lessening of their fighting ability. The Brotherhood was broken, never again organizing under a single leader.” He panted a bit. “There was no idle boasting in Dolgan’s appraisal of the aid forthcoming from the dwarves, for they are undoubtedly the finest fighters in the West. While they have few numbers compared to men, only the Hadati hillmen come close to their equal as mountain fighters.”
Pug and Tomas looked with newfound respect upon the dwarf as he strode along. While the pace was brisk, the meal of the night before and another this morning had restored the flagging energies of the boys, and they were not pushed to keep up.
They came to the mine entrance, overgrown with brush. The soldiers cleared it away, revealing a wide, low tunnel. Dolgan turned to the company. “You might have to duck a bit here and there, but many a mule has been led through here by dwarven miners. There should be ample room.”
Pug smiled. The dwarves proved taller than tales had led him to expect, averaging about four and a half to five feet tall. Except for being short-legged and broad-shouldered, they looked much like other people. It was going to be a tight fit for the Duke and Gardan, but Pug was only a few inches taller than the dwarf, so he’d manage.
Gardan ordered torches lit, and when the party was ready, Dolgan led them into the mine. As they entered the gloom of the tunnel, the dwarf said, “Keep alert, for only the gods know what is living in these tunnels. We should not be troubled, but it is best to be cautious.”
Pug entered and, as the gloom enveloped him, looked over his shoulder. He saw Gardan outlined against the receding light. For a brief instant he thought of Carline, and Roland, then wondered how she could seem so far removed so quickly, or how indifferent he was to his rival’s attentions. He shook his head, and his gaze returned to the dark tunnel ahead.
—
THE TUNNELS WERE damp. Every once in a while they would pass a tunnel branching off to one side or the other. Pug peered down each as he passed, but they were quickly swallowed up in gloom. The torches sent flickering shadows dancing on the walls, expanding and contracting as they moved closer or farther from each other, or as the ceiling rose or fell. At several places they had to pull the mules’ heads down, but for most of their passage there was ample room.
Pug heard Tomas, who walked in front of him, mutter, “I’d not want to stray down here; I’ve lost all sense of direction.” Pug said nothing, for the mines had an oppressive feeling to him.
After some time they came to a large cavern with several tunnels leading out. The column halted, and the Duke ordered watches to be posted. Torches were wedged in the rocks and the mules watered. Pug and Tomas stood with the last watch, and Pug thought a hundred times that shapes moved just outside the fire’s glow. Soon guards came to replace them, and the boys joined the others, who were eating. They were given dried meat and biscuits to eat. Tomas asked Dolgan, “What place is this?”
The dwarf puffed on his pipe. “It is a glory hole, laddie. When my people mined this area, we fashioned many such places. When great runs of iron, gold, silver, and other metals would come together, many tunnels would be joined. And as the metals were taken out, these caverns would be formed. There are natural ones down here as large, but the look of them is different. They have great spires of stone rising from the flo
or, and others hanging from the ceiling, unlike this one. You’ll see one as we pass through.”
Tomas looked above him. “How high does it go?”
Dolgan looked up. “I can’t rightly say. Perhaps a hundred feet, perhaps two or three times as much. These mountains are rich with metals still, but when my grandfather’s grandfather first mined here, the metal was rich beyond imagining. There are hundreds of tunnels throughout these mountains, with many levels upward and downward from here. Through that tunnel there”—he pointed to another on the same level as the floor of the glory hole—“lies a tunnel that will join with another tunnel, then yet another. Follow that one, and you’ll end up in the Mac Bronin Alroth, another abandoned mine. Beyond that you could make your way to the Mac Owyn Dur, where several of my people would be inquiring how you managed entrance into their gold mine.” He laughed. “Though I doubt you could find the way, unless you were dwarven born.”
He puffed at his pipe, and the balance of the guards came over to eat. Dolgan said, “Well, we had best be on our way.”
Tomas looked startled. “I thought we were stopping for the night.”
“The sun is yet high in the sky, laddie. There’s half the day left before we sleep.”
“But I thought…”
“I know. It is easy to lose track of time down here, unless you have the knack of it.”
They gathered together their gear and started off again. After more walking they entered a series of twisting, turning passages that seemed to slant down. Dolgan explained that the entrance on the east side of the mountains was several hundred feet lower than on the west, and they would be moving downward most of the journey.
Later they passed through another of the glory holes, smaller than the last, but still impressive for the number of tunnels leading from it. Dolgan picked one with no hesitation and led them through.
Soon they could hear the sound of water, coming from ahead. Dolgan said, over his shoulder, “You’ll soon see a sight that no man living and few dwarves have ever seen.”
Magician: Apprentice Page 21
