01 - The Savage Caves

by T. H. Lain - (ebook by Undead)

  “How deep did you say they’ll go?” Regdar asked Naull.

  She didn’t look at him, just kept her eyes glued to the descending lights. “They’ll go out when they’re a hundred and ten feet away from me,” she whispered, her voice a flat monotone.

  Jozan sighed and scratched at the stubble on his chin. They watched until the lights finally revealed what looked like a floor.

  “Ninety feet,” Naull said.

  From where they were standing it was difficult to see much detail at the bottom of the great pit, but Regdar thought there might have been at least one side passage. The floor had a steep downward slope, reversing itself in a zigzag shape that turned the shaft back under them.

  Naull’s magical lights flickered once then went out, leaving the cave once more a wide void of impenetrable blackness.

  “That hundred and ten feet seems unusually precise,” Jozan said. “When you stunned the spiders yesterday you told us your magic was not an exact science, now it seems that it is.”

  Naull rubbed her eyes and replied, “I’ve been working with a teacher. We’ve measured this spell. The effects of the spell I cast on the spiders can vary depending on what it’s cast on, and I’ve never seen those spiders before, but the dancing lights are always the same. I was moving them at a regular pace and counting.”

  “I did see a bottom,” Jozan said. “Regdar?”

  Regdar exhaled slowly through his nose and took a step closer to the edge. He kicked a little stone off the edge, and that must have startled Naull. She gasped and put a hand lightly on his armored elbow. He turned to her, and she snatched her hand away.

  “Be careful,” she said, turning away from him.

  Regdar stood still as she moved away, then said to Jozan, “I’m not sure, but it did look like we could at least rest there.”

  “Rest where?” Lidda asked from behind him.

  Regdar turned, looked down at her, then turned back to the pit.

  Lidda laughed.

  Jozan said, “He’s quite serious, Lidda.”

  The halfling stopped laughing. “I’m not sure I can approve that plan,” she said.

  Before Jozan could chastise her, Naull said, “Frankly, my friends, I’m not sure I can either. I mean… I don’t think I could climb down there. I mean…”

  “I can,” Regdar said.

  Jozan looked down into the darkness and scratched at his chin again. “I have to admit,” he said, his quiet voice still echoing in the wide cave mouth, “I’m not much of a climber myself.”

  “Are there spiders down there?” Lidda asked, rubbing eyes still puffy from her long night’s sleep.

  “We tracked them here,” Jozan answered.

  “But it wasn’t spiders that attacked us last night,” said Naull.

  Regdar looked back at their campsite and let his eyes roam slowly over their various packs and pouches. He didn’t see any rope at all, much less a hundred feet or more of it. It would be a free-climb, something more like what a thief might learn how to do.

  “Lidda can make the climb,” Regdar said. “Can’t you, Lidda.”

  The halfling stopped rubbing her face and looked up at the big fighter. There was something about the look on her face that made Regdar unsure whether she was about to laugh or attack him.

  “I don’t like the idea of splitting up,” Jozan said.

  Regdar nodded to Jozan, but quickly turned back to Lidda. “Well?” he asked.

  “Sure,” she said, peering down at the huge hole, surely unable to fathom its depths from where she was standing, “I can make any climb you can make, Redbar, but Naull and the good father can’t. So, what say we head for New Koratia… or maybe Zarreth?”

  Regdar turned back to the cave and said to Jozan, “Lidda will go down first, picking out the easiest climb as she goes. She’ll let you and Naull know how to follow. I’ll go last. If we can rig up something—anything like a rope, I could tie it between myself and—”

  “Or,” Lidda said, “Regular here can climb my—”

  “Lidda,” Jozan interrupted.

  The halfling threw up her hands and turned back to the campsite but didn’t walk away. Regdar watched her, a hand over his mouth made him, he hoped, look thoughtful. He was really trying to silence a laugh. Lidda reminded him of his days in the duke’s infantry. She was ribbing him like soldiers do, and she was good at it.

  Lidda put one arm behind her back, grabbed that wrist with her other hand, and started to stretch as if in preparation for a climb.

  7

  Regdar was happy to find that the shaft wall wasn’t as steep as it looked from above. Though hardly an easy climb—no climb was easy wearing scale mail and a good thirty pounds of weapons and gear—he knew he’d get them all down safely. Looking down he saw Naull just below him. He was most worried about her. She seemed more afraid than he’d assumed she’d be. She’d faced down the spiders easily enough, but something about either the height they were climbing from (or, more accurately, the depth they were climbing into) or the darkness that constantly nibbled at the edges of the light from Lidda’s lantern was causing her hands to shake. She was pale and ghostly even backlit from Lidda’s lantern, and she often gasped and made other uncertain noises.

  Regdar hadn’t hoped on being quiet by any stretch of the imagination, but there was a crucial difference between the sound of the approach of a heavily armed, heavily armored, confident party, and the descent of a confused group of nervous women. Regdar had no doubt that something—spider, humanoid, or worse—was waiting for them at the bottom of the shaft. He only hoped that they would have any advantage left against it when it made itself known.

  Jozan was nearly as nervous about the climb, and nearly as taxed by it, as Naull. He didn’t complain—Jozan seemed incapable of that—but his shield kept bumping into his crossbow, which bumped into his mace, which bumped into his armor over and over again all the way down. The noises reminded Regdar of a one-man-band he’d seen perform in the marketplace in New Koratia.

  For her part, Lidda was a marvel. She climbed with the grace of a monkey, the lantern dangling from her belt hardly swinging at all. She was obviously holding back, keeping close enough to them so that they could all benefit from her light. Between Jozan’s cacophony, Naull’s grunted curses, and the creak of his own armor, Regdar couldn’t hear her move at all. She was also smart enough to refrain from speaking—to Regdar’s mind a small miracle—and he was sure the little halfling was enjoying herself.

  Regdar couldn’t help but think that the lengths they were going to to defend a village’s sheep herds might have been a bit extreme. Though he wasn’t in the habit of questioning priests of Pelor, Regdar wasn’t so sure that Jozan was thinking only of Fairbye’s herds. They had been traveling together for only a little while, but Regdar got the feeling that Jozan was in no particular hurry to return to the city. The farther they’d traveled from the Duchy of Koratia’s eastern frontier, the more Jozan seemed to want to slow their progress.

  Regdar pushed these idle thoughts from his mind when he heard a sharp hiss below him. Lidda was clinging to the wall with one hand and holding her lantern up by its belt strap. She caught his eye and turned her head sharply to her left. When Regdar followed her gaze he saw something glowing faintly at the edge of the lantern’s light.

  It was a line of some kind, hanging down along the wall of the shaft. If it was rope, it was made of some kind of bleached hemp or other material Regdar had never seen before. It disappeared into shadows above and below so he couldn’t tell how high up the shaft it was tied or how deep it hung.

  Regdar nodded at the halfling. She let her lantern hang from her belt once more, and started scrambling sideways along the rough wall, moving smoothly but cautiously toward the line. Jozan and Naull had both noticed the exchange and had stopped climbing. They hung close to the wall, panting, both obviously happy for the chance to rest but feeling only less secure clinging to the wall when something might be hanging there with th
em.

  Lidda stopped once to peer at the mysterious line from a closer vantage point, then Regdar watched her scramble the rest of the way to it. She reached out and took hold of the line, testing its weight a little.

  She looked up at Regdar and whispered something, but he couldn’t quite make it out. He had two good footholds and a decent handhold, so he let go with one hand, held it to his ear, and widened his eyes at her. Even from so far below him, he could see that she was irritated at his inability to hear, and that embarrassed him a bit.

  She let go of the line and climbed up toward him. Regdar was impressed by how quickly she was no more than arm’s length from him.

  “What are you, deaf?” she whispered. “It’s a rope ladder.”

  Regdar narrowed his eyes and peered at the line again, still not able to make out any detail. He looked down at the others and with a hoarse voice whispered, “It’s a rope ladder. Climb over to it.”

  “It doesn’t look very big,” Lidda told him. “I doubt it’ll hold all four of us.”

  “Let Naull and Jozan take it, then,” Regdar said. “We’re better climbers.”

  Lidda looked like she was about to make some kind of nasty remark, but she didn’t. Instead, she said, “I’ll help Naull.”

  The halfling scurried down and across to Naull, and Regdar could hear her whispering encouragement and advice to the shaking, uncertain young mage. Jozan began his clanging, clumsy way toward the ladder himself.

  Soon enough, they were all gathered around the strange rope ladder, clinging to the craggy walls like so many giant bugs—an image Regdar wasn’t altogether comfortable with, given the fact that for all they knew the cave was crawling with spiders.

  “Will it… hold… us?” Naull asked Lidda, her whispered words coming out between great gulps of air.

  Lidda tugged on the rope. It hummed quietly but held fast.

  The halfling pulled it toward the young woman and said, “There’s only one way to find out.”

  Naull nodded and reached out for the rope.

  “Wait,” Regdar said. He took hold of one of Naull’s shoulder straps, his hand closing tightly over an empty pouch. She looked up at him and smiled weakly. “All right,” he said.

  Naull reached out and grabbed one rung of the ladder.

  “It’s sticky,” she said, looking at Lidda.

  The halfling shrugged and said, “I’m not sure what it’s made out of, but it’s not too much stickier than mead spilled on a table. You’ll be able to let go.”

  Regdar examined the rope closely and was confounded by it. It wasn’t braided like normal rope. It almost looked like each line, as big around as Regdar’s thumb, was made from a single solid strand of something more like silk than any plant fiber. The two sides of the ladder were spaced close together—so close Regdar wasn’t sure he’d be able to get even one of his heavy boots onto a rung, let alone both. The steps of the ladder were spaced closer together than they needed to be, and to Regdar the thing looked like a child’s toy.

  Naull set one foot on a ladder rung and glanced up at Regdar. He smiled, holding her tightly, and she stepped away from the wall. The ladder only swung a little bit, and Regdar was able to not only hold onto Naull but steady her on the ladder as well. The young woman cursed under her breath and closed her eyes, waiting for the ladder to stop swaying. Regdar kept his hand tight around the pouch but gradually let her weight fall on the ladder.

  “It’s holding her,” Lidda said.

  Regdar let all of Naull’s weight fall on the ladder, and after a few moments while the others stared at him expectantly, he let go of Naull’s pouch. When his hand came away, Naull sighed and opened her eyes.

  “I think it’s all right,” she said. “It’s sticky, but it’s holding me.”

  Jozan, who was a little bit farther down the wall than Naull, took hold of the ladder. It swayed a little and he said, “Hold on.”

  Naull held her breath while the priest climbed onto the ladder. Regdar held his hand half an inch from Naull’s shoulder, ready to grab her should the ladder give way. The lines swayed a bit more but held fast.

  “I think this is spider silk,” Jozan said.

  Naull let out a hissing breath and said, “Don’t say that. Even if it’s true.”

  Jozan started climbing down.

  Regdar and Lidda exchanged a look as Naull started to slowly follow the priest down the spidersilk ladder.

  “I’d rather stick to the wall,” Lidda said with a wink.

  * * *

  “It was left to burn itself out,” Lidda said, crouching next to a blackened fire pit at the bottom of the shaft. “It’s been cold for days… maybe weeks.”

  Regdar nodded and looked over at Jozan, who was just stepping off the spidersilk ladder onto the sloping cave floor at the bottom of the shaft. Naull was following him, descending faster, having grown more comfortable with the ladder. The fighter turned his attention to the floor of the dark cave, lit by Lidda’s lantern.

  Scattered all about were bits of refuse, most of which Regdar couldn’t immediately identify. He reached down and picked up a set of crude tongs. The tool was as long as his arm and fashioned from some sort of hooklike… somethings… tied with spidersilk to the end of two thick sticks. The hooks almost looked like bones but felt more like fingernails.

  Jozan moved up next to him and said, “I think they’re called ‘pedipalps’.”

  Regdar turned and gave him a confused look.

  “Spider teeth,” the priest explained with a wink.

  Regdar set the tool down carefully on the cave floor, half tempted to compare the sharp hooks with the wound in his leg—but the wound was gone.

  Naull stepped off the ladder and began wiping her hands on her cloak with a disgusted sneer.

  “Well,” Lidda said, standing, her hands on her narrow hips, “the gang’s all here. What now, Daddy?”

  Jozan raised an eyebrow and said, “Now, my child, we…”

  The priest was obviously annoyed at not being properly addressed, but more than that Regdar realized Jozan wasn’t sure what they should do next.

  “What kind of bowl is this?” Naull asked from the shadows near the cave wall, her voice echoing in barely audible pings all around them.

  She was holding a wide, shallow bowl of some beige material that might have been porcelain. When she turned it over and saw the brown X emblazoned across it, she shrieked, stepped back, and flung the thing away from her. The spider carapace clattered along the floor, bouncing but not breaking.

  The sound echoed all around and almost masked Jozan’s quiet voice. “They use them to make tools,” the priest said.

  “What?” Naull asked.

  “The spiders,” Lidda answered for him. “Whoever lives down here kills the spiders, maybe eats them, then uses the shells to make tools. Kobolds?”

  Regdar took in the scene: fire, crude tools with only rudimentary craftsmanship, no sign of metal. The cave was obviously home to some primitive race, and by the size of the ladder and the shadows that had attacked them from the darkness the night before, they were one of the smaller humanoid races. The ground under a human’s feet was home to any number of dangerous primitives. The fact that most of them were afraid of light kept them safely underground where they belonged, but some of them came out, and when they did, it usually meant war. Regdar had battled orcs himself, and gnolls once.

  “Kobolds? Maybe,” Regdar said. “Could be goblins. Lots of different—”

  Lidda stepped forward and shushed him, holding up one tiny, thin-fingered hand. She was looking down the slope of the passage, where the cave emptied into another shaft that they hadn’t yet had a chance to examine. Regdar drew his greatsword, and the scream of steel-on-steel as it came out of his scabbard echoed loudly in the confines of the cave.

  Lidda lurched at him, eyes wide, teeth clenched together, one finger in front of her scowling lips, shushing him again, silently.

  Regdar blushed but didn’t
say anything. He listened but could hear nothing.

  When a crude javelin spanked off the cave floor a inch from Lidda’s left foot, the halfling launched herself into the air.

  Regdar reached, quickly, sliding the shield off his back and into his left hand with a single lightning-fast, fluid motion. He saw a pair of eyes glowing in the darkness and lifted one foot to step forward—

  —and Lidda smashed onto his shield. Momentarily off-balance from the weight of the halfling who, Regdar was dumbfounded to realize, was clinging to his shield with both hands, he stumbled and almost fell. Lidda’s legs were tucked up to her chin, her knees and shins pressed hard against the shield.

  Another javelin whizzed past Regdar’s head. He couldn’t turn to watch its path but heard Naull curse loudly. There was a clattering of rocks and scrambling footsteps both behind him and in the shadows ahead. Something leaped from the shadows and Regdar brought his shield up to meet the attack before he realized that Lidda was still hanging there. The creature drew up short, though, hefting another of the primitive javelins—pointed sticks really—for a shorter, easier throw.

  Regdar could see in the little humanoid’s eyes that it meant to throw the javelin at Lidda, so he stepped toward the attack and threw the shield—and the halfling along with it—off to his left. He saw Lidda’s legs and arms spiral past the edge of his peripheral vision and stepped in at the little savage with deadly purpose.

  The javelin skipped off the clean edge of Regdar’s left pauldron, nearly slicing his stern chin as it passed. He heard Lidda—or was it Naull?—scream in anger, and Jozan was practically shouting what must have been a prayer to Pelor. In that same instant, Regdar sliced up with his greatsword, the tip of the blade tracing an arc from Regdar’s left ankle to well above his head and almost straight out to his right. In the middle, the heavy blade passed cleanly through the little humanoid’s midsection, cutting it open and spilling its guts on the cave floor.