“He won’t be safe in the Rawlinswood.” The elf stroked the pony’s mane.
Marrec paused. He had much on his mind, but he knew he couldn’t forsake the creature. He said, “Henri is too large to negotiate the stairs.”
“Too bad. We could have used a packhorse,” said Gunggari. The Oslander was nothing if not practical.
“Remember, Elowen, he yet wears the gift of the Nentyarch. It was that magic that probably allowed Henri to find us just now. I don’t doubt that it will see him safe all the way back to Yeshelmaar.”
Elowen subsided. “I suppose you’re right. He’s probably safer than we are, come to think of it. We’ve just cleared the path back out of the forest.”
They sent Henri on his way. The pony didn’t seem dispirited to put his back to the dark, ill-smelling stairs.
They descended. The stairs were steep. Worse, the breadth of each step was shallow. Hard packed earth, then smooth stone, rose up on either side as they descended ever deeper below the surface.
Ususi conjured a light, one on the tip of Marrec’s spear, and one for herself. The radiance was strong and unwavering, exactly unlike the light of a torch or even magical lights that emulated candle or torch flame to which Marrec was most accustomed. The woman possessed exotic spells, that was certain.
“It’s getting colder,” said Marrec.
Ususi responded, “That’s normal underground.”
“No. I mean, I’ve experienced the subterranean chill before—this is unnaturally cold.”
The stairs ended on a landing below. The light on Marrec’s spear revealed the truth of his words. Ice slicked the walls, glinting like crystal. An icy arch opened into a dark space beyond.
Marrec stepped off the stairs and up to the arch. He thrust his light through to reveal a wide, flat tunnel, obviously worked. The passage was completely sheathed in ice to the limit of Marrec’s light source. Ice sickles hung like stalactites from the ceiling. His breath steamed out before him.
Marrec turned to Gunggari, “I don’t suppose you brought your furs, eh?”
Gunggari shook his head, “They’re back in Yeshelmaar. We departed too quickly for me to gather all my effects.”
“Yeah, I remember,” responded the cleric.
Gunggari bent, touching the floor. He said, “They went this way. Come.”
A voice, stark and devoid of warmth, spoke from the darkness ahead. It said something in a language incomprehensible to Marrec.
Ususi said in a quiet voice, “That is the language of the Abyss. Looks like you get to meet your first demon, Gunggari.”
A creature of black ice slid into the light. It eased to a stop not more than ten feet from Marrec, without any outward sign of effort or limb movement. The creature was something like a wolf, though its icy composition and size belied any thought of a natural origin. Points of red hellfire burned in its eye sockets. The shards and chunks of ice that made up the creature flexed and pulsed in sick mockery of life, or with a life usually unknown except in the cold nether regions of Abyssal provenance. The monstrosity was wrapped in stink, reminiscent of a corpse buried in winter snow disturbed by scavengers.
The cleric made to cast his spear.
The demon spoke again, but that time in a language Marrec could understand. It said, “Parley.” It rose to its rear legs, standing with an obscene approximation of a biped.
“Parley,” it said again. “Speak with the Queen Abiding. Make agreement good for you, good for she that Abides.”
When it talked, its breath chilled Marrec even where he stood.
“How can we trust you, demon?” called Ususi, coughing slightly, holding a hand over her mouth and nose.
The creature raised one hand palm forward and said simply, “Come.”
Marrec refrained from casting Justlance. He asked, “Can you tell us about the male elf and child who passed this way a little while ago?”
“Ask the queen.”
Without looking away from the icy envoy, Marrec said, “What do you think, Gunny?”
“I have no experience with demons, Marrec, but someone told me once that demons are infernal.” The tattooed soldier shot a glance at the mage.
Ususi chimed in, “Bargains with demons rarely work in the favor of any other than the demon in the long run.”
The creature giggled then said, “Talk with queen. Good for you, good for us.”
Elowen said, “Every fight we can avoid will leave us stronger later when we may need it the most.”
“All right, lead us to your queen,” Marrec finally said. “We can decide if we want to deal after we hear your pitch.”
Daintily, despite its ungainly bulk, the creature pirouetted and slid swiftly back the way it had come. Its voice echoed out of the darkness, “Come!”
Gunggari shrugged. “This is also the way Fallon’s tracks lead.”
Marrec said, “Right. If we’re lucky, they’ll have his head wrapped in holiday paper for us, a present from the demon queen of Under-Tharos.”
The group moved forward, their light by turns glinting off the ice that sheathed the corridor, other times completely absorbed. The tunnel emptied into a much wider space. Circular, the floor was ice but rough enough to offer some purchase. The walls and ceiling were filigreed with traceries of brittle black ice. Tiny bits visibly crumbled in places, tinkling. In other places, the filigree grew quickly enough for Marrec to notice it. Sinister stalactite chandeliers hung like icy infestations above. Up until then, he’d always found the natural patterns formed by ice and snowflakes to be enchanting. That was the problem; nothing was natural. All was warped under the influence of evil born of dimensions far from Faerûn.
Marrec hoped to see Ash and Fallon in the chamber, but his hope was unfounded. Instead, the chamber held only the demon who’d met them and a massive, cylindrical block of ice. Rivulets of water so black it looked like oil ran in tiny streams from the block, but through some process beyond Marrec’s ken, the block grew no smaller.
As they walked carefully into the chamber, their light picked out forms in the ice below: humans, elves, a few dwarves, halflings, and other humanoids equipped in armor, wearing packs, expedition style. Marrec mentally theorized that the bodies represented a grisly collection of failed Dun Tharos explorers unlucky enough to find the Queen Abiding before them. Fallon and Ash were not among those frozen there.
“Where is your queen then?” asked Marrec.
Several of the stalactites shifted, dropping from the ceiling onto four shard-studded legs. They looked somewhat similar to demon who’d ushered them into the chamber. The newly revealed brumal demons began to rub their forearms together, creating a keening noise that drove cold spikes through Marrec’s composure. They were outnumbered.
Marrec cleared his throat and said, “Queen Abiding, we come to parley, as we were bid.”
One of the demons, the one closest to the central ice mass, slowly rose a limb, pointing an icy digit into the heart of the ice.
Marrec moved closer to the central ice, bringing the brilliant light glowing on his spear tip to bear, directly touching the crystalline surface.
The light leached into the ice, mixing like milk poured into oily tea. The keening of the demons grew louder. The suffusing light reached the center of the mass but refused to illuminate it. Something was held there, a blot of nothing, a dark beetle in amber, something the light refused to touch.
Their host croaked, “The Queen Abiding.”
Improbably, the blot of darkness trapped in the center moved. It surged forward, unrestrained by the feet of ice which surrounded it, as if the frozen water were but liquid. With a cry Marrec fell back, but the darkness stopped short of crashing out of the ice. It hovered just at the boundary, creating the illusion of a wall of darkness where it pressed up against the periphery of the icy mass.
A new voice spoke then, with a pleasant, even seductive female timbre. The voice said, “Are these the ones who disturbed our sleep?”
�
�No,” spoke the original brumal demon. “Gone. Toward the center. Tramping and knocking, waking the sleepers. One elf, one child hiding power.”
The woman’s voice spoke again. Marrec knew it was coming from the dreadful blot caught in the ice. The voice had a cloying, thick quality beneath its velvet surface that made him shiver. “These follow after, eh? Well, speak up, followers. If my offspring were intent on freezing you into our collection, they’d have done so already don’t you think?”
Marrec inadvertently glanced down and saw a human woman’s face and hand clutching a bow. He shook his head and said, “We do follow after. We seek a betrayer and have no interest in conflict with you, your kind majesty.”
The woman’s voice laughed. “Majesty, is it? I was old before your civilization was born. I am she whose name is unremembered. I served those of such power that they thought they could challenge the power of gods, but they are crumbled away now, while I remain, trapped. I must abide here until I can find the token of my freedom, but,” she paused, “you may continue to address me as majesty. It pleases me.”
The darkness roiled, as if beginning a slow boil. Its movements sometimes synched up with the speech, other times not. Marrec backed off from the ice wall a pace, but he was blocked from moving too far by the dark icy carapaces of the crowding demons. He noticed that his friends seemed equally crowded. The smell of decay was quickly growing intolerable.
“Then, your majesty, please allows us to continue,” requested Marrec, his breath steaming out before him.
“Though you may be surprised to learn it, I will indeed allow you to leave this chamber,” purred the voice.
One of the gathered demons tittered as if at a joke only it had heard.
“But?” guessed Marrec, sensing something still unspoken.
“But,” continued the voice, “I’m afraid I can’t let you go free, can I? There is a condition that I must impose. You’ll accept that condition, won’t you, my fierce pet?”
Marrec locked eyes with Gunggari. Marrec raised one eyebrow; Gunggari shrugged, shaking his head. These motions required only a second, but a question was asked and answered: Marrec asked the Oslander what he thought their chances were in a fight against the creatures. Gunggari responded that he couldn’t gauge the outcome.
The cleric had some experience in gauging the power and threat of supernatural entities. His sense of the queen’s power and level of abilities warned him that to fight the demon there, in the area that she infested and controlled so thoroughly, would prove a suicidal task.
Marrec spoke aloud, “Tell us your condition. We won’t agree to it before you specify what you expect from us. If you’re willing to negotiate in the first place, we must have something you need.”
The voice was silent for a few moments. The icy creatures crowding Marrec and the others shifted their weight ominously.
The Queen Abiding finally intoned, “This is the condition on which I’ll allow you to depart alive and without harm: find for me the token of my freedom and pledge to return it to me here.”
“What’s that?”
“It is the only remaining wall, spiritually speaking, that keeps me bound herein.”
Marrec stalled, “We wouldn’t know where to begin to search.”
“I’ll tell you exactly where it is. It lies here, in the ruins of Under-Tharos. Those frail-brained Nentyarchs squatted on it along with all the other leashes and tokens that bind us who remain locked in darkness. My children tell me that the last Nentyarch has fled, and another has assumed control at the center.”
“The Rotting Man,” supplied Elowen.
“That’s right, that’s what you call him, don’t you? Talona’s lap dog. He visited much pain on me, all unknowing, when he found my token of control when he first arrived. I owe him much for that. Then, like a dupe, he allowed my token to be stolen, ignorant of its true purpose. He’s since learned of his foolishness.” The voice chuckled.
“I bet you know where your token now lies.”
“Of course.”
Marrec sighed, then said, “You can’t send one of your servants to run off and collect it?”
“Think a little before you speak. If it were that simple, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. The token is meant to control me. I cannot exert my power to retrieve it, and my power enlivens and encompasses my ‘children’ who surround you.”
“We could get this thing back for you, I’m guessing?”
“Another point for the human, and I thought you a turgid thinker,” said the voice. “Listen closely. My token lies in a portion of this sprawling complex known as the Sighing Vault. It lies not too far from here, no more than a day of travel through Under-Tharos for those who stride on two legs. My senses cannot penetrate too deeply, but I can feel it lying at the center of the Sighing Vault. It glows like a splinter in my mind, taunting me with its closeness.”
Ususi asked, “Is there anything you can tell us about the Sighing Vault? Did the Nar wizards use it for safekeeping of their secrets, as the name implies?”
The blot bobbed, somehow miming a shrug with its formless darkness. “The Vault has its guardians. Kill them for me, and I’ll be doubly grateful to you.”
Elowen said, “We are already in the middle of a quest. We don’t have time for a distraction like this. These ruins are mazelike. You could be sending us on a task that will take days or months.”
“Perhaps, but consider the alternative: I suck the life out each and every one of you with a breath.”
A coldness slipped then into Marrec’s heart, ignoring his clothing, his flesh, his will. It was a sentient hollowness, burrowing into him. He fell, catching himself against the cold ice of the slab containing the queen. The pain of that chill contact was as nothing compared to the blizzard of dissolution in his soul. Then, like a cat removing its paw from a stunned mouse with which it played, the cold vanished.
As he straightened, Marrec saw his friends begin to rise, or uncurl, from fetal positions. All of them had received the same treatment, simultaneously. Impressive. Terrifying. They were completely in the queen’s power.
“You won’t be so foolish to refuse me, will you?”
Marrec cleared his throat, tried to answer. After a moment, he tried again, “We might accept but die in the attempt to retrieve your trinket.”
Laughter. Then, “I’ll take that chance. If I kill you, then I’ll never know, will I? So answer me. Do you agree to find the token of my freedom, wrest it from the Sighing Vault if you are able, and return it to me here?”
Gunggari gave him another shrug, shaky that time. Ususi looked unsure, but she was still shuddering from the queen’s demonstration of her power.
Elowen said, “Why not, Marrec? Better to avoid this fight, save our strength for the Talontyr.”
“What does this token look like?” questioned Marrec.
“You’ll know it when you see it, human.”
“All right, majesty. You’ve got yourself a deal.”
The voice thundered, “Excellent. My children, allow our friends to depart, and you—” a tendril of darkness separated from the blot in the ice, its tip wavering, then pointing like an arrow toward one of the ice demon—’You! You will accompany our new friends. Lead them to the Sighing Vault. Make sure that they do not try to back out of our agreement.”
The fiend indicated by the gesturing tendril coughed something incoherent.
Marrec and his group then numbered five.
CHAPTER 19
The chill faded as the Queen Abiding and her icy court fell behind. An all-too-obvious reminder of the visit was embodied in the monstrosity that moved ahead, leading the way. The creature slid along the broken masonry and loose earth of the underground passage as if skating on the smooth surface of a frozen lake.
No one said anything. Marrec was silently grateful. Internally, he wondered if he had made the right decision in dealing with the icy demon. Perhaps they should have refused to find the token for the Queen
Abiding. Perhaps she had somehow bluffed them all?
Perhaps, but what’s done is done, mused the cleric.
One good thing had come of his meeting with the formless blot caught in the ice. By comparison with the queen’s monstrosity, he wondered if his own heritage was so terrible. The queen was to evil like ice was to cold, inevitable. Marrec knew himself well enough to determine that he had very little in common with that creature.
They traveled down a path of tumbled pillars, undifferentiated rubble, dark side passages, and gloomy chambers, some empty, others filled with silhouettes of alarming clutter. Strange sounds sometimes blew in from these darkened alcoves, causing the group to pause.
On a few occasions wooden doors, improbably sound and hardly rotted, proved to be barriers to forward progress, but only until their frigid guide once again moved forward to apply its hell-born brawn. Each such crash echoed away into the maze-like tunnels; sometimes the last, faintest echoes seemed to return, as if shaped into words or cries like a beast, or even screams. No one commented on that unsettling aspect of Under-Tharos, though Gunggari and Marrec exchanged worried glances with each occurrence. Neither was imagining the phenomena.
They broke out into a larger chamber. Stone obelisks poked up through shattered flooring in random collections, like clumps of grass in a garden. Marrec could detect no pattern to their arrangement. It seemed, indeed, that they had grown from the earth, though they were unmoving. Each obelisk was inscribed with cramped symbols, visible even from a distance, because a faint luminescence clung to the chisel marks.
Their demonic guide passed among the stones without a glance. They followed, walking the winding route chosen by their escort. Ususi threatened to loiter, her brows wrinkled as she studied an obelisk, but Elowen cupped the mage’s elbow and urged her on. A dozen doors, all stone, broke off the chamber to the right and left. Some were cracked, others completely fallen and crumbling on the floor, opening on lightless obscurity.
The chamber turned out to be more of a hall. The stone obelisks grew fewer, but in their place were great iron blades, rusted and crumbling. Like the earlier stones, their arrangement seemed to follow no pattern the cleric could discern. Some of the blades reached up, grazing the high stone ceiling just visible in their light.
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