Circle at center sc-1

by Douglas Niles

  Darryn snorted, but was obviously pleased by the praise. “Well, it has taken me centuries of study… long hours sifting the Wool of Time, examining the practices of humankind. But I believe that I have mastered the trade, yes.”

  “Natac expressed a desire to go hunting,” Miradel said. “I was hoping you could help him with his arrows.”

  “I can do that,” agreed the blacksmith.

  “And a sword,” Miradel declared suddenly. “I would like for you to make him a sword.”

  “Why?” Natac asked. “I don’t want a sword.”

  “You should have one,” she insisted.

  Darryn narrowed his eyes again and peered at Natac. Miradel reached out a thin hand to touch the smith on the arm. “Yes… he will need a sword. Can you do that?”

  With a grudging nod, the smith assented. “I have a dozen arrowheads I can give you now, but it will take time-a tenday at least-for me to make the sword.”

  “Thank you. I will pay, of course,” Natac replied.

  “Pay me?” Now the smith seemed angry. “I do this work because I am the one who does this work. Do not insult me with talk of reward!”

  “He is learning fast, but Natac does not know all the ways of Nayve, yet,” Miradel explained. “Where he comes from, the offer of payment is a way to honor the work of a skilled craftsman.”

  Stiffly careful, the two men made their farewells. Miradel gave the smith a wistful hug, then followed the warrior into the bright daylight of the courtyard.

  “Hey, friends,” called a voice from the docks. Natac saw that the boatwright-fisherman, Roland, was now kneeling over the water, and gesturing them over. “Have you ever seen a more beautiful whitefish?”

  He held up a sparkling shape, a fish as long as his arm. The creature wriggled, sunlight gleaming off wet scales that were pale and silvery. “Aye, he’s a master of the bay, that’s what.”

  Smiling broadly, the man turned and slipped the big fish back into the lake. With an angry slash of its tail the creature flashed away, vanishing into the indigo depths.

  “Welcome back, Lady Miradel,” Roland said, standing so that he could bow and take the druid’s hand. “And welcome to your young friend, as well.”

  Once again Natac was introduced to a human denizen of Nayve. Roland turned out to be a druid who, for the past thousand years, had studied all manner of human ships and boats. Natac learned that he had built many of the sailboats plying the waters of the great lake-and that he had taught a dozen or so elven boat builders who had constructed the rest of the watercraft.

  “This is my personal favorite, the Osprey,” he said, indicating the sleek vessel now lashed to the dock.

  Natac saw that the boat was long and slender, like a canoe. The prow and stern rose higher into the air, and a single tall mast-a device, with its corresponding sail, as yet unknown in his homeland-lofted from the center of the hull. The sail was furled along a top rail far overhead.

  “I can rig two more sails,” the boat builder explained as he saw Natac studying the mast. “She’ll curl about through just about any kind of wind, she will.”

  “I’d like to see that someday,” replied the warrior.

  “When the interval of winds comes around, you will,” promised the boatman with an easy laugh.

  8

  Pillars of the Underworld

  Stone forest, trunks of cosmic girth, honeycomb maze.

  Carved by water, web of air in rock mere stairway to the dauntless dwarf

  From the Tapestry of the Worldweaver, Lore of the Underworld

  “Ready?” Karkald called.

  “Yes!” Darann hissed, her voice tight with tension. In the outline of coolglow he saw that she was well-braced, rope around her waist and feet propped against a solid rock.

  Karkald reached for the handhold, conscious of his ribs aching where the rope had just tightened about his chest. He had already fallen twice on this attempt, with only the rope and his wife’s strong belay saving his life. But he had to try again, for if they couldn’t pass this small overhang, their long climb faced a grim conclusion here, high above the shallow sea of the First Circle.

  For twenty or thirty cycles the two dwarves had lived in a vertical world. Each cycle was measured by the distance climbed, every respite calculated by the size of the flat space they found to make a precarious camp. Rare indeed was the sleep where Karkald and Darann lay side by side. More often than not, he found a narrow ledge a dozen feet over her head and secured himself in place with his rope, while she curled into a narrow niche where surrounding walls gave some security against a fall. Of course, the same walls inevitably cramped her torso and limbs, or forced her to rest in an uncomfortable sitting position.

  Sometimes they climbed only fifty feet in a single cycle. Each upward inch came at a cost in fear and pain, in loneliness and the smothering presence of the vast, surrounding dark. Karkald used every ounce of his strength, every scrap of his skill. His tools were always in his hands, pick and hammer shaping the rock, the rope that was, so often, life itself. Occasionally he wedged his spear crossways into a narrow crack and used that as a support, and there were other times when his chisel came into play, either to chip away at a surface of rock or to serve as a makeshift piton.

  In fact, it was only his tools that gave him the confidence even to attempt this insane escape. Those eight items were solid, strong, trustworthy… he knew their capabilities, understood that he could count on them, and on his knowledge of their use.

  But beyond that, he had so many questions about his strength and his skill. Did he really have a chance to make it all the way to the roof of the Underworld? Of not just reaching that lofty goal, but of bringing Darann with him? And even if he did attain the solid barrier at the top of their world, would he ever be able to find one of the legendary caverns penetrating that rocky dome? Or would he and Darann simply be trapped at the summit of the First Circle, too exhausted and hungry even to try and climb down?

  Sustenance during the ascent was crude, but at least they were able to find the necessities of life. Water trickled in many places through the column, and every interval or two they found a clear pool deep enough that they could fill up the two waterskins they had brought along. By using only tiny pinches of flamestone, they were able to maintain a dim presence of coolglow-not bright like the beacons’ light, but sufficient illumination for them to perceive each other and the route before them.

  Food was more problematic. They were able to harvest bits of fungus and lichen here and there, but they were beyond reach of any fishing. Furthermore, the bats dwelling throughout the First Circle-a favored delicacy of Seer dwarves-seemed disinclined to visit the region of the lofty pillar.

  And even when they could fill the gnawing emptiness of their bellies, and when a negotiable chimney rose above to promise another hundred feet of ascent, Karkald wondered if his strength was equal to the task. Every muscle in his body ached constantly. His fingers and toes, even his back and shoulders, were raw with blisters where he had repeatedly scraped his skin against unforgiving rock. His knees and buttocks were bruised from several short falls. Fortunately, none of these tumbles had broken any bones, but each added another measure of soreness to the pain that was his constant companion.

  There were times when he felt that he could barely lift his arms… and still he forced himself upward, carrying not just himself but his tools and supplies, and then he fashioned a belay so that Darann could follow in relative safety. More than once they were forced to turn from a sheer rising face, a seamless cliff that was beyond Karkald’s skill. Yet perhaps the Goddess was favoring them, for each time this happened they were able to find an alternate route, a place where he could jam his pick or his fingers into some tiny crack and, once more, haul himself upward.

  Until this shelf of overhang, a slab of rock jutting two feet into space, threatened to bring the long ascent to an end. Twice he had tried to climb past, but his arms hadn’t been long enough. Leaning outward to
reach the next handhold, he’d lost his grip and fallen-until the rope snapped taut and a gasping, grunting Darann arrested his plunge even as she was pulled hard against the pick that anchored her. Yet there was no alternative except to try the difficult move again.

  This time he’d made it just a bit higher in the crack beneath the overhang. Anchoring himself by a fist jammed in that gap, he leaned outward and reached. Karkald clenched his teeth, stretching his long arms to their maximum span. The fingers of his left hand curled around the bottom of the overhang, and he, just barely, touched the lip of a handhold. He winced, anticipating the slip, the plunge, the sharp arrest as the rope would tighten around him. But he had no choice.

  He let go with his right hand and started to topple outward. Clenching his left hand, he clung perilously by his fingertips as his body swung sickeningly outward. But this time he was able to get the fingers of his other hand onto the ledge. He hear Darann gasp as he hung suspended, thousands of feet over the lightless water.

  Then, with a concentration of effort that ruled out every other thought, he slowly began to lift himself up. By the time his chin had reached the level of the handhold, he had spotted another niche, a foot higher up, with a deeper, much more solid edge. He lunged, teetered again at the brink of falling, and then his hand clutched a solid ledge. He swung his feet up, thankful as Darann continued to pay out just enough rope to allow him to climb. With his boot lodged in a precarious toehold, he pressed higher, and in a few more minutes reached a reasonably wide ledge.

  Now it was his turn to belay, as Darann swung free below. He held the line tightly, with a coil wrapped around his waist as she slowly, painstakingly, climbed the narrow line. Only after a long, frightening hour did she join him on his lofty perch. But here, at last, they had reached a broad ledge that angled gently upward across the face of the column. They could actually walk, and at the end of an interval as fatigue dragged them down, they slept on a flat shelf big enough for them to curl up side by side.

  When they awakened they continued up, pleased to find that the ledge followed around the curve of the column’s face, but still maintained its steady, ascending angle.

  “How much farther to the top?” Darann asked, leaning back to stare into the lightless vault overhead.

  “I have to figure we’re getting close,” Karkald replied. “Do you think it’s safe to try for an echo?”

  “Why not?” his wife answered with a shrug. “The only thing we could attract are bats-and I’d welcome a chance for a nibble of meat. Unless-” Daran suddenly shuddered. “You don’t think there’d be any wyslets around here, do you?”

  “No-they like narrow caves, rat holes to sneak around in,” Karkald declared with certainty. He tilted back and cupped his hands to his mouth to funnel the sound of his voice as much as possible. Uttering a short “Hey!” he was gratified when, two seconds later, the echo came back loud and clear.

  “Five hundred feet, maybe a little more,” he said encouragingly. “And if this ledge continues…” He didn’t finish the statement, not wanting to jinx their chances.

  He also left unspoken the question on both of their minds: Would they find a cave when they reached the summit? Or would they be faced with an impermeable expanse of rock, a barrier that would end their quest as effectively, if not as quickly, as death on the points of Delver weapons? The query remained in the back of his mind as they continued upward, now moving with long strides, following the natural footpath in a climbing spiral around the face of the massive pillar.

  And then that question became irrelevant as they came around a curve to see the sloping ledge abruptly narrow to a thin lip. Adding a little flamestone to the coolglow in his palm, Karkald saw that a few feet beyond, the shelf of rock vanished altogether. He touched off more flamestone, and saw that the cliff overhead veered into a steep overhang, a leaning shelf continuing outward and up to merge with the horizontal slab that formed the upper reach of the Underworld. Even as he listlessly looked for cracks or imperfections in the surface, he knew that he was beaten. There was no way he could support himself from the flaring face, much less find a route to continue the climb.

  He slumped to the ground, feeling the weight of his defeat on his shoulders. A soft rustle and the radiance of her warmth told him that Darann had settled beside him. Fatigue and despair overwhelmed, choked him. For a long time they slept there, blissfully unaware of the cruel end to their road.

  When Karkald awakened, the full measure of hopelessness immediately resurfaced, but that was followed a second later by the realization that his wife was not at his side.

  “Darann!” he whispered, suddenly, irrationally panicked.

  “Here,” she replied. “I think I’ve found something!”

  Blinking his eyes clear, he saw the spark of fire a dozen paces down the ledge, realized that she was examining the face of the pillar. Quickly he trotted down to her side, and she dropped a little more flamestone into her palm.

  “Look!”

  She cupped the brightness, shading the light from Karkald’s eyes, using her fingers to reflect it onto the dark stone. He discerned a crack there, a vertical line that was considerably longer than his own height. Yet it was no more than a finger’s thickness in width.

  He snorted in exasperation and she glared at him sternly. “Look again-inside the crack.”

  This time he leaned closer and saw what she meant. The gap scored a thin shell of rock. Barely a few inches beyond, it widened into a much larger space. How large was impossible to tell, for within the gap the thin rays of light dissipated into a swath of darkness. Still, it looked like there was space for a dwarf, and he couldn’t see a far end to the cave.

  He examined the narrow aperture with a critical eye. “I could knock it into a wide hole… might take me an interval or two.” He chuckled sourly. “It’s not like we’ve got anything else to do.”

  So he set to work with his hammer and chisel. He tapped the stone, listening for the hollow sound that marked the thinnest part of the shell. When he had located this, he started by chopping at the edges, knocking chips of rock free. The sound of each blow resonated into the Underworld, and he winced at the knowledge that he was broadcasting their position far and wide. Still, it was hard to envision any kind of threat that could reach them here. And besides, they really had no other choice.

  After a full cycle of pounding, thousands of blows that left his shoulder flaming, his arm numb, and his fingers cramped into a seemingly permanent curl, he had chiseled only a few inches of rock out of the way. The next cycle he shifted the work, swinging with his left arm and poising the chisel in his right hand. He accomplished less, but by the third cycle he could use his strongest arm for swinging again.

  While Karkald worked, Darann explored the nearby ledges. She quickly located a steady stream trickling down a little rivulet, and subsequently she began each cycle by bringing them fresh drinking water. Searching farther, she found bits of fungus and the occasional mushroom, enough food to hold the pangs of hunger at bay and to keep Karkald’s strength up. He suspected that she was giving him most of the food, and though the thought caused him chagrin he accepted her generosity as necessary to their survival.

  They slept on the wide ledge near the site of the excavation, and as the cycles passed, the entry into the rock grew wider and wider. When they burned a small pile of precious flamestone, they were heartened to see that the cavern beyond the notch continued to the limits of their vision.

  As soon as the illumination faded Karkald stood, stretched the kinks out of his muscles, and knocked another knob of rock out of the way. As usual, he worked in darkness, since they didn’t use their flamestone for routine activity. Finally he stood back to gauge the distance with his hands.

  “I think it might be wide enough for you to fit,” he suggested to his wife. “It needs a few more inches before my shoulders are passing.”

  “I’ll see what I can find, then,” Darann agreed nervously. Neither of them wanted t
o acknowledge that this could easily prove to be a short, dark, dead end.

  She leaned sideways and slid, head first, through the widened crack. Quickly she stood up and touched off a pinch of flamestone.

  “The floor’s good-fairly smooth,” she said. “A lot of stalactites overhead and some water, still flowing.” Her voice and the light grew softer as she moved farther away. Karkald heard her shout, and listened to a volley of echoes returning. Then, for long moments, there was no sound. The dwarf’s heart was pounding anxiously by the time she came back, explaining that her flamestone had expired. He had to still the shaking in his hands as he pulled her back through the opening.

  “Wh-what did you see?” he demanded.

  “It goes for a long way. The water seems to be coming from pretty high overhead. There are some rocks in the way, and I couldn’t get over them with one hand holding the light. Still, I could see that the cavern went on far after that, and when I shouted, the echoes lasted a long time.”

  More hopeful than he had been in a long time, Karkald set to his chiseling with renewed vigor. In another two cycles he had a gap wide enough for even his broad frame. He passed through and found that there was plenty of room beyond the crack. Holding hands, hearts pounding, they departed the ledge that had served as their lofty camp. It was with a sense of impending adventure that Darann used a little flamestone to give them a picture of the route before them, while Karkald checked his tools.

  “Hammer, chisel, hatchet, file. Knife, pick, rope, spear. I’m all set,” he declared, and they started into the cave.

  T he great mountain of rubble completely blocked their path. Echoes sounded from high and wide, marking the barrier as almost incomprehensibly vast. Zystyl sensed, through the location of his many scouts, that the Delver army would not be advancing any closer toward Axial. Either the city had been buried by the quake, crushed beneath a mass of stone, or it was masked by this new and apparently impenetrable barrier.