One of their first efforts was to cut off road traffic. Most access into and out of Adama’s Tooth was changed to airship traffic. Gates and other security measures were installed along the slender, steep road that spiraled up the outer skin of Adama’s Tooth.
Stormsailer made for the skydock set deep in one of the shadowy vertical canyons near the summit of the spire. The floating ship slid gracefully between the bulwarks of stone on either side, and halted in midair. A stone pier jutted from one side of the inner cleft, resembling half of an arched bridge. An overhang blocked direct morning sun. The dimness was brightened by brilliant magical torches set along the pier and along a carved platform.
As soon as a crewman tied the skyship with stays and guy ropes, Sevaera appeared at Warian’s side. His aunt touched his shoulder and said, “We’re expected. Don’t dawdle, Nephew.”
“But I need my bag …” Warian trailed off when he saw a uniformed porter wheeling Aunt Sevaera’s luggage, with Warian’s own traveling bag atop the pile, after his aunt. Trust her to be efficient.
His aunt and the porter moved down the gangway and confidently onto the pier. Warian followed, more cautiously. He looked down as he traveled along the gangway. Vertigo clawed his spine as his eyes traced the vertical side of the tooth all the way down to the rocky ground far below.
Once they reached the sturdy stone ledge, they quickly moved into the main tunnel, heading toward the heart of Datharathi Minerals’s enterprise in Adama’s Tooth. The porter paused, allowing Warian to precede him. As Warian passed the man, the porter winked. A heartbeat’s confusion gave way to recognition. Zel’s really was a master of disguise.
The corridor walls were smooth and polished. Redstone squares tiled the floor. Smokeless torches alternated on either side, about every ten paces. Nothing but the finest for the Datharathis. Of course, this was the executive entrance to the mining headquarters—the lower shafts sunk through Adama’s Tooth were as rough and crude, but workable, as might be found in any mine.
They reached the nexus, where several wide, well-lit passages met. Warian expected his aunt to take the passage that led toward family quarters, but she turned toward the lift tunnel.
“We’re going down into the mine?” Warian questioned.
“Yes. Shaddon has moved his staging area closer to the location where the crystal is extracted. He’s waiting for us.”
Warian scratched his nose and said, “Porter, come with us, please. I have some items in my bag that I may want to ask my uncle about.”
“Yes, sir,” said the porter, his accent and tone completely unlike Zel’s normal speech.
Sevaera cocked her head, but wasn’t curious enough to say anything. Instead, she moved to the edge of the lift and addressed the lift operator, a burly half-orc.
“Drop us to the Fifth Deep.”
The lift operator nodded and grasped a great wheel set into the wall. Warian knew the lift was raised and lowered through a series of counterweighted chains, and that the wheel didn’t require much strength to turn. Those who traveled up and down the mine shafts were heartened to see a burly lift operator, nonetheless.
As the shaft’s gray walls flowed past on all sides, to the accompaniment of clanking chains and creaking pulleys, Warian asked, “Fifth Deep? I thought there were only four—and the lowest was where Shaddon first found the crystal we’re all so happy with.” Warian pumped his prosthesis to demonstrate.
“We opened a new face on the dig.”
“Really? I don’t know how that’s possible, unless you’re actually digging below the base of Adama’s Tooth. If that’s the case, wouldn’t it be easier to sink a new shaft from outside?”
“You’ll see, Nephew. The Fifth Deep doesn’t obey all the rules you’re accustomed to.”
“What?”
Sevaera merely smirked. She was too smug by half.
The long descent ended. A wide tunnel through the naked rock beckoned. They moved forward and, almost immediately, the nature of the tunnel changed. The lift shaft and all the tunnels above shared traits of recently excavated stone, with sharp edges, exposed facets, scratches, and blast marks. But the tunnel they now traversed was smooth, as if worn by extreme age or perhaps the passage of water. Stalactites reached down from above, white with calcite, and the left wall was thick with delicate boxwork, something normally found only in unworked caves.
“You’ve found a natural cavity!” exclaimed Warian.
“True, as far as it goes,” replied Sevaera.
The passage opened into a wide, domed cavern.
“What’s this? Is that a building?” asked Warian.
Ancient structures, half excavated, stood revealed in the light of brilliant mining torches. The ruins were so ancient, they nearly seemed natural formations of the cavern. Worn and skewed by unknown ages, half walls emerged from the grasp of the stone. The visible structures were composed of purple stones, but they reached up from the detritus of millennia, tracing a broken, unknowable floor plan below the earth. The recent excavation ranged over the entire cavern, but even to Warian’s inexpert eye, it was clear that more still lay buried than had been pried free by the work of pickaxe and rock knife.
Several natural passages meandered off the wide cavern, some lit, others dark.
“We think this was an old Imaskaran compound,” said Sevaera, “hidden here for thousands of years.”
Warian nodded, studying the cavern. He could see small outcrops of the very crystal from which his arm was fashioned, and from which all the plangents drew their greater-than-human abilities. The bits of raw crystal he could see from where he stood had to be worth a fortune.
“Seems kind of wasteful to let all this crystal lie about, unless …”
Sevaera nodded. “Yes, we’ve found a much purer, concentrated source. Shaddon says we no longer need to sift through the dirt and blast through rock—we have access to as much pure crystal as we’ll ever need. This pure vein was what allowed the plangent project to move forward.”
“Hmm.”
Warian cocked his head sharply toward one of the darkened tunnels. Had that been a scream? His aunt hadn’t reacted—but the porter also looked curiously at the dark tunnel entrance.
“Aunt, did you hear that?”
“Nothing for you to worry about—we’re late, and Shaddon is waiting.” So saying, the woman moved purposefully toward another tunnel. Warian shrugged and followed. The porter brought up the rear, still hauling the baggage.
They passed a few dozen side passages, heard a few more worrying noises, and once passed through a mass of air so putrid that Warian had to pull his shirt up across his nose and mouth to filter it. Eventually, they reached another chamber.
Unlike the previous excavation, this one was divided into two areas. One section had been extended by miners, or his grandfather’s magic. The newly carved space was expansive and contained numerous wooden workbenches. About half the benches were neatly arrayed with tools of various types that resembled jeweler’s and sculptor’s adzes, hammers, and carving tools. The other benches contained the same, plus chunks of crystal mounted in vises, each partly carved to resemble some portion of human anatomy.
Warian saw a preponderance of hands, arms, and legs, but also strangely sinuous crystal sculptures. These seemed uncomfortably organic, like something one might confine inside a human body. Looking at them made him feel faintly sick, because he knew that they were probably meant to replace natural organs. It struck him as insanely dangerous now that he saw these raw, unfinished prostheses. A doorway stood open at the far end of the work area.
Warian turned to look at his aunt. How many of these internal implants did Sevaera carry? How much living tissue had she sacrificed to become a plangent? His aunt, watching him, misinterpreted his stare and said, “Soon you’ll be updated, Warian, and become fully plangent, like me.” Her smile was absolutely predatory.
He swung around and looked at the natural portion of the cavern. It was bare but for a ring o
f ancient standing stones. Each menhir rose between ten and fifteen feet in height. A gap of perhaps five to ten feet between stones allowed access to the interior, which was empty. But …
Dimness inhabited the ring’s center, despite several brightly burning torches mounted just beyond its periphery. It was as if the light were having trouble reaching past the stones to illuminate the center.
“Is that some sort of ongoing spell?” Warian asked.
Several steel carts with wide metal wheels stood lined up along one wall. Ruts in the floor revealed that the carts had entered and exited the ring many times. But there was just enough room for one cart inside the ring. Most of the carts were coated with crystalline dust.
Sevaera said, “I suppose it’s a spell of a sort. It’s a permanent source of magic that opens a door to somewhere else! The portal is a trade secret of Datharathi Minerals. We’re mining extraplanar material, crafting it into prostheses of various types, and selling it in Vaelan to rich nobles and merchants. We’re making a fortune, and we’ve only just started.”
“Where does it lead?” asked Warian.
“Where do you think?” snorted Sevaera. “Somewhere strange, somewhere odd—someplace no one else has access to. We’ve cornered the market on the crystal.”
Warian squinted at the stone circle, trying to catch some hint of the realm beyond it.
“Not now,” said his aunt. “We’re late for a meeting.” She turned to the right and walked past the workbenches and the prostheses, toward an open door.
Warian wondered where all the miners had gone, as well as all the artisans that must have been diligently carving the crystal displayed on the workbenches. Perhaps the mine was between shifts.
Through the doorway was a small corridor that emptied into a decorated chamber. Book-filled cases, leather stools, warm magical lamps, and wall hangings concealed the fact that the room was far below the earth. But a thick coating of webs covered most of the ceiling and the corners of the room. This feature seemed ominously out of place to Warian.
A high-backed leather chair commanded the room’s center, facing away from the door but toward a great, multifaceted orb. The orb was carved of crystal, and it hung suspended on an iron chain. Warian gasped when he saw that each facet glowed with a separate image, as if from a different viewpoint. It was a riot of moving pictures, impossible for him to look at for long.
“What is that?” he asked.
The chair turned from the orb, and a figure rose from where it had been seated.
It was his grandfather, Shaddon Datharathi, of course.
But a much-altered Shaddon since Warian had seen him last. Warian gaped at the changes, unable to take his eyes from the glittering crystal facets of his uncle’s new flesh.
“Welcome, Warian,” said Shaddon. “You and I have much to discuss.”
Thormud was sick, but wouldn’t admit it.
He could be such a witless, obstinate knob, reflected Kiril.
Sometimes he acted just like a … a dwarf!
She shook her head and spat. Kiril didn’t share an automatic dislike of the only other populous, long-lived mortal race of Faerûn, as did some elves she could name, but sometimes you had to call it like you saw it.
The bitter taste of whisky from her last mouthful sustained her, but it didn’t wipe away the darkening flush on her employer’s face, or dry the perspiration from his brow.
The jouncing stride of their mineral destrier added to the dwarf’s discomfort. They ascended a winding, narrow pass between the Giant’s Belt mountains on their right and the Dustwall on their left. But worse than the summoned destrier’s gait was the unrelenting sun.
Kiril mopped the dwarf’s brow again and adjusted the impromptu shade she’d erected over his seat. Thormud was sweating so much, she could hardly keep him from dying of thirst.
“Tell me again why you’ve decided we should travel by day instead of night as you were previously so fond of?” she asked the dwarf.
“Prince Monolith thinks it best,” was all the dwarf had the strength to say.
“Stuff Monolith,” she muttered, but acquiesced without further argument, as she had on the previous two instances when she’d brought up the same point. Because of the shadowy, voidlike power of whatever lay beyond or through the crystals, Prince Monolith thought it better to travel by day, when that influence might be weaker.
Prince Monolith stalked ahead of the destrier, following the narrow rut that served as the trail over the pass. They had not yet met another traveler. Given the steepness of the trail and the sheer drops to either side of the switchbacks they zigzagged up, Kiril wasn’t surprised.
The rut traced a crevice between a wooded slope on their left and an open drop to their right. The drop fell away into a vast gorge—far at the bottom, a river snaked and foamed in its bed. Beyond the river valley, another mountainous rampart rose, equaling and exceeding their current height. The jagged range taunted time itself, and the slow, eroding winds and water plied their work upon it.
Straight ahead, across the river valley, rose the slopes of an even taller, broader peak. Its base was hidden in forested foothills, but most of the mountain rose skyward, free of any covering of greenery. Instead, the highest portions of the peak were clothed in the white of eternal ice.
The sun on the snow dazzled Kiril’s eyes, and she dropped her gaze away from the miles of towering rock. She’d see it a lot closer soon enough.
Despite their pledge of daylight travel, clouds blew in from the west and caught them at the highest point on the pass the next day, just as they moved beyond the last of the scattered, skeletal trunks bearing needles on only one side that hardly qualified as trees. Whiteness enveloped their vision—the belly of a cloud blanketed the world, snow swirled, and the temperature plummeted.
“You can’t catch a break, can you?” Kiril asked the sleeping form of her employer. She’d strapped the dwarf into his seat, and his bearded head lolled with each footstep of the destrier. Wind lashed across the destrier’s back, stinging the elf’s eyes with sharp snow. She noticed that new droplets of ice caked Thormud’s hair and skin, so Kiril wrapped the dwarf in another blanket, the last.
“How much farther?” she called ahead at the dark shape of Prince Monolith. The elemental thumped through the gathering snow without the least difficulty. Great furrows trailed behind Monolith on either side of his path, which made the way easier for their mineral destrier.
“We must move forward until we get off the highest portion of the pass. The cold does not concern me, but your flesh will prove less resistant.”
Kiril nodded “You’re quick on the uptake. Pick up the pace, will you? Thormud’s almost frozen solid.”
Monolith didn’t respond, nor did his pace vary from the steady, ground-eating lope he’d first adopted. The destrier continued to follow in the prince’s trail, but even with the furrow, its gait began to deteriorate as the dwarf’s health flagged. Kiril hoped their mount’s ability to carry passengers wasn’t contingent on Thormud’s health.
The swordswoman shivered, then struck her forehead with the heel of her palm as an idea occurred. What a moron! She’d had the means to warm the dwarf all along.
She plucked the flask from her hip, twirled off the metal cap, and tipped the opening to Thormud’s lips. He unconsciously swallowed the few tiny sips that Kiril allowed him. She had a pull herself. The warmth hit her belly and immediately spread to her extremities. That was better! She gave the dwarf another small sip.
Kiril laughed. After all the times the dwarf had given her his sour look for drinking too much and too often. It was a small revenge, but necessary if the dwarf were to pull through. If he did, she’d tell him how she’d been forced to give him spirits enough to warm his blood.
The elf shrugged. She knew drinking from the flask was only a temporary measure. Alcohol didn’t generate warmth—it merely allowed the reservoir of warmth stored in the core to be liberated. By drinking the hard stuff, you’d w
arm up your fingers and toes in the short term, but freeze to death all the sooner.
She hoped Prince Monolith hurried. She didn’t want to have to bury the dwarf at the top of the world, under a drift of icy snow.
Flakes swirled across her eyes, obscuring her vision.
The dwarf’s health improved markedly after getting down off the top of the pass. Thormud sat in his seat, blinking at the harsh sun and drinking frequently from his waterskin.
The destrier’s pace was steadier as it followed the thudding steps of Prince Monolith down the dry path of a prehistoric, nameless river. The mountains on this side of the pass were nearly empty of vegetation, unlike the southward face they had ascended.
Ahead and below lay the flat face of Raurin. They were so high above its empty reaches that Kiril spied a distant dust storm of incredible ferocity. Swelling and towering like a genie loosed from its bottle, the gargantuan wind devil suffused with sand danced westward. It strode above the dead plain, promising stinging death to any at its feet. Kiril couldn’t gauge the column’s true size, but she didn’t doubt it was supernaturally large. Such storms were one of the reasons travelers rarely chose to chance the briny sand seas of the Dust Desert.
“I hope that storm passes before we get down to the edge,” Kiril told Thormud.
“Mmm.”
She’d been trying to engage the geomancer in conversation all morning, with limited success.
Prince Monolith plodded onward and downward.
They continued to follow the parched course of the ancient river down from the foothills. Day passed into midafternoon. The river’s dead path wound among hills rounded and degraded by eons. Kiril saw nothing but worn boulders, pebbles, and fine rusty sand. Nothing moved on the river bottom, whose stones were bare even of dead lichen.
The malignant wind devil with the sandstorm shrouding its base hadn’t passed over the horizon as they’d descended the pass. Instead, it twisted and swelled toward them, as if it were a sentient guardian come to bar their passage into Raurin. Perhaps it was.
Darkvision Page 16
