The Demon's Den v(-12

by Mercedes Lackey

  The Demon's Den

  ( Valdemar (11) - 12 )

  Mercedes Lackey

  The Demon's Den

  Born In the Maritimes, Tanya Huff now lives and writes in rural Ontario. On her way there, she spent three years in the Canadian Naval Reserve and got a degree in Radio and Television Arts which the cat threw up on. Although no members of her family are miners, "The Demon's Den" is the third story she's written about those who go underground, and mines have been mentioned in a number of her books. She has no idea where it's coming from, but decided not to fight it. Her last book out was No Quarter (DAW, March 1996), the direct sequel to Fifth Quarter (DAW, August, 1995) and her next book will be Blood Debt (DAW, April 1997), a fifth Vicki/Henry/Celluci novel.

  by Tanya Huff

  The mine had obviously been abandoned for years. Not even dusk hid the broken timbers and the scree of rock that spilled out of the gaping black hole.

  Jors squinted into the wind, trying and failing to see past the shadows. -.Are you sure it went in there?:

  :Of course I'm sure. I con smell the blood trail.:

  .-Maybe it's not hurt as badly as we thought. Maybe it'll be fine until morning.: His Companion gave a little buck. Jors clutched at the saddle and sighed. :All right, all right, I'm going.:

  No one at the farmstead had known why the mountain cat had come down out of the heights — perhaps the deer it normally hunted had grown scarce; perhaps a more aggressive cat had driven it from its territory; perhaps it had grown lazy and decided sheep were less work. No one at the farmstead cared. They'd tried to drive it off.

  It had retaliated by mauling a shepherd and three dogs. Now, they wanted it killed.

  Just my luck to be riding circuit up here in the Great White North. Jors swung out of the saddle and pulled his gloves off with his teeth. :How am I supposed to shoot it when I won't be able to see it?: he asked, unstrapping his bow.

  Gevris turned his head to peer back at his Chosen with one sapphire eye. :It's hurt.:

  :I know.: The wind sucked the heat out of his hands and he swore under his breath as one of the laces of his small pack knotted tight.

  :You wounded it.:

  :I know, damn it, I know!: Sighing, he rested his head on the Companion's warm flank. :I'm sorry. It's just been a long day and I should never have missed that shot.:

  :No one makes every shot, Chosen.:

  The warm understanding in the mind-touch helped.

  The cat had been easy to track. By late afternoon, they'd known they were close. At sunset, they spotted it outlined against a gray and glowering sky. Jors had carefully aimed, carefully let fly, and watched in horror as the arrow thudded deep into a golden haunch. The cat had screamed and fled. They'd had no choice but to follow.

  The most direct route up to the mine was a treacherous path of loose shale. Jors slipped, slammed one knee into the ground, and somehow managed to catch himself before he slid all the way back to the bottom.

  :Chosen? Are you hurt?:

  Behind him, he could hear hooves scrabbling at the stone and he had to grin. :I'm fine, worrywart. Get back on solid ground before you do yourself some damage.:

  Here I go into who-knows-what to face a wounded mountain cat, and he's worried that I've skinned my knee. Shaking his head, he struggled the rest of the way to the mine entrance and then turned and waved down at the glimmering white shape below. -.I'm here. I'm fine.: Then he frowned and peered down at the ground. The cart tracks coming out of the mine bumped down a series of jagged ledges, disappeared completely, then reappeared down where his Companion was standing.

  :I don't like this.:

  If he squinted, he could easily make out Gevris sidestepping nervously back and forth, a glimmer of white amidst the evening shadows. :Hey, I don't like this either, but...:

  :Something is going to happen.:

  Jors chewed on his lip. He'd never heard his usually phlegmatic Companion sound so unsettled. A gust of wind blew cold rain in his face and he shivered. :It's just a storm. Go back under the trees so you don't get soaked.:

  :No. Come down. We can come back here in the morning.:

  Storm probably has him a bit spooked and he doesn't want to admit it. The Herald sighed and wished he could go along with his Companion's sudden change of mind. I can't do that.: As much as he didn't want to go into that hole, he knew he had to. I wounded it. I can't let it die slowly, in pain. I'm responsible for its death.:

  He felt reluctant agreement from below and, half wishing Gevris had continued to argue, turned to face the darkness. Setting his bow to one side, he pulled a small torch out of his pack, unwrapped the oilskin cover, and, in spite of wind and stiff fingers, got it lit.

  The flame helped a little. But not much.

  How am I supposed to hold a torch and aim a bow? This is ridiculous. But he'd missed his shot, and he couldn't let an animal, any animal, die in pain because of something he'd done.

  The tunnel slopped gently back into the hillside, the shadows becoming more impenetrable the farther from the entrance he went. He stepped over a fallen beam and a pile of rock, worked his way around a crazily angled corner, saw a smear of blood glistening in the torchlight, and went on. His heart beat so loudly he doubted he'd be able to hear the cat if it should turn and attack.

  A low shadow caught his eye and against his better judgment, he bent to study it. An earlier rockfall had exposed what looked to be the upper corner of a cave. In the dim, flickering light he couldn't tell how far down it went, but a tossed rock seemed to fall forever.

  The wind howled. He jumped, stumbled, and laughed shakily at himself. It was just the storm rushing past the entrance; he hadn't gone so far in that he wouldn't be able to hear it.

  Then his torch blew out.

  :Chosen!:

  :No, it's okay. I'm all right.: His startled shout still echoed, bouncing back and forth inside the tunnels, :I'm in the dark, but I'm okay.: Again, he set his bow aside and pulled his tinderbox from his belt pouch with trembling fingers. Get a grip, Jors, he told himself firmly. You're a Herald. Heralds are not afraid of the dark.

  And then the tunnel twisted. Flung to his knees and then his side, Jors wrapped his head in his arms and tried to present as small a target as possible to the falling rock. The earth heaved as though a giant creature deep below struggled to get free. With a deafening roar, a section of the tunnel collapsed. Lifted and slammed against a pile of rock, Jors lost track of up and down. The world became noise and terror and certain death.

  Then half his body was suspended over nothing at all. He had a full heartbeat to realize what was happening before he fell, a large amount of loose rock falling with him.

  It seemed to go on forever; turning, tumbling, some-tunes sliding, knowing that no one could survive the eventual landing.

  But he did. Although it took him a moment to realize it.

  :Chosen! Jors! Chosen!:

  :Gevris ...: The near panic in his Companion's mind-touch pulled him up out of a gray-and-red blanket of pain, the need to reassure the young stallion delaying his own hysteria. :I'm alive. Calm down, I'm alive.: He spit out a mouthful of blood and tried to move.

  Most of the rock that had fallen with him seemed to have landed on his legs. Teeth clenched, he flexed his toes inside his boots and almost cried in relief at the response. Although muscles from thigh to ankle spasmed, everything worked, :I don't think I'm even hurt very badly.: Which was true enough as far as it went. He had no way of telling what kind of injuries lurked under the masking pressure of the rock.

  :I'm coming!:

  :No, you're not!: He'd landed on his stomach, facing up a slope of about thirty degrees. He could lift his torso about a handspan. He could move his left arm freely. His righ
t was pined by his side. Breathing heavily, he rested his cheek against the damp rock and closed his eyes. It made no difference to the darkness, but it made him feel better. :Gevris, you're going to have to go for help. I can't free myself, and you can't even get to me.: He tried to envision his map, tried to trace the route they'd taken tracking the cat, tried to work out distances. :There's a mining settlement closer than the farmstead, just follow the old mine trail, and it should take you right to it.:

  :But you ...:

  :I'm hot going anywhere until you get back.:

  I'm not going anywhere, he repeated to the darkness as he felt the presence of his Companion move rapidly away. I'm not going anywhere. Unfortunately, as the mountain pressed in on him and all he could hear was his own terror filling the silence, that was exactly what he was afraid of.

  It was hard to hear anything over the storm that howled around the chimneys and shutters, but Ari's ears were her only contact with the world and she'd learned to sift sound for value. Head cocked, tangled hair falling over the ruin of her eyes, she listened. Rider coming. Galloping hard. She smiled, smug and silent. Not much went on that she didn't know about first. Something must've gone wrong somewhere. Only reason to be riding so hard in this kind of weather.

  The storm had been no surprise, not with her stumps aching so for the past two days. She rubbed at them, hacking and spitting into the fire.

  "Mama, Auntie Ari did it again."

  "Hush, Robin. Leave her alone."

  That's right, leave me alone. She spat once more, just because she knew the child would still be watching, then lifted herself on her palms and hand-walked toward her bench in the corner.

  "Ari, can I get you something?"

  Sometimes she thought they'd never learn. Grunting a negative, because ignoring them only brought renewed and more irritating offers, she swung herself easily up onto the low bench just as the pounding began. Sounds like they didn't even dismount. I can't wait.

  "Who can it be at this hour?"

  Her cousin, Dyril. Answer it and find out, idiot.

  "Stone me, it's a horse!"

  The sound of hooves against the threshold was unmistakable. She could hear the creak of leather harness, the snorting and blowing of an animal ridden hard, could even smell the hot scent of it from all the way across the room — but somehow it didn't add up to horse.

  And while the noises it was making were certainly horselike ...

  From the excited babble at the door, Ari managed to separate two bits of relevant information; the horse was riderless and it was nearly frantic about something.

  "What color is it?"

  It took a moment for Ari to recognize the rough and unfamiliar voice as her own. A stunned silence fell, and she felt the eyes of her extended family turned on her. Her chin rose and her lips thinned. "Well?" she demanded, refusing to let them see she was as startled as they were. "What color is it?"

  "He's not an it, Auntie Ari, he's a he. And he's white. And his eyes are blue. And horses don't got blue eyes." Young Robin was obviously smarter than she'd suspected. "Of course they don't. It's not a horse, you rock-headed morons. Can't you recognize a Companion when you see one?"

  The Companion made a sound that could only be agreement. As the babble of voices broke out again, Ari snorted and shook her head in disbelief.

  "A Companion without a Herald?"

  "Is it searching?"

  "What happened to the Herald?"

  Ari heard the Companion spin and gallop away, return and gallop away again.

  "I think it wants us to follow it."

  "Maybe its Herald is hurt, and it's come here for help."

  And did you figure that out all on your own? Ari rubbed at her stumps as various members of the family scrambled for jackets and boots and some of the children were sent to rouse the rest of the settlement.

  When with a great thunder of hooves, the rescue party galloped off, she beat her head lightly against the wall, trying not to remember.

  "Auntie Ari?"

  Robin. Made brave no doubt by her breaking silence. Well, she wouldn't do it again.

  "Auntie Ari, tell me about Companions." He had a high-pitched, imperious little voice. "Tell me."

  Tell him about Companions. Tell bun about the time spent at the Collegium wishing her Blues were Gray. Tell him how the skills of mind and hand that had earned her a place seemed so suddenly unimportant next to the glorious honor of being Chosen. Tell him of watching them gallop across Companion's Field, impossibly beautiful, impossibly graceful — infinitely far from her mechanical world of stresses and supports and levers and gears.

  Tell him how she'd made certain she was never in the village when the Heralds came through riding circuit because it hurt so much to see such beauty and know she could never be a part of it. Tell him how after the accident she'd stuffed her fingers in her ears at the first sound of bridle bells.

  Tell him any or all of that?

  "You saw them, didn't you, Auntie Ari. You saw them up close when you were in the city."

  "Yes." And then she regretted she'd said so much.

  :Chosen! I've brought hands to dig you out!:

  Jots released a long, shuddering breath that warmed the rock under his cheek and tried very, very hard not to cry.

  :Chosen?:

  The distress in his Companion's mind-touch helped him pull himself together. -:I'm okay. As okay as I was, anway. I just, I just missed you.: Gevris' presence settled gently into his mind, and he clung to it, more afraid of dying alone in the dark than of just dying.

  :Do not think of dying.:

  He hadn't realized he'd been thinking of it in such a way as to be heard..'Sorry. I guess I'm not behaving much like a Herald, am I?:

  A very equine snort made him smile. :You are a Herald. Therefore, this is how Heralds behave trapped in a mine.:

  The Companion's tone suggested he not argue the point so he changed the subject. :How did you manage to communicate with the villagers?:

  :When they recognized what I was, they followed me. Once they saw where you were, they understood. Some have returned to the village for tools.: He paused and Jors had the feeling he was deciding whether or not to pass on one last bit of information. :They call this place the Demon's Den.:

  :Oh, swell.:

  :There are no real demons in it.:

  :That makes me feel so much better.:

  :It should,: Gevris pointed out helpfully.

  “Herald's down in the Demon's Den." The storm swirled the voice in through the open door stirring the room up into a frenzy of activity. All the able-bodied who hadn't followed the Companion ran for jackets and boots. The rest buzzed like a nest of hornets poked with a stick.

  Ari sat in her corner, behind the tangled tent of her hair, and tried not to remember.

  There was a rumble, deep in the bowels of the hillside, a warning of worse to come. But they kept working because Ari had braced the tunnels so cleverly that the earth could move as it liked and the mine would move with it, flexing instead of shattering.

  But this time, the earth moved in a way she hadn't anticipated. Timbers cracked. Rock began to fall. Someone screamed.

  Jors jerked his head up and hissed through his teeth in pain.

  :Chosen?:

  :I can hear them. I can hear them digging.: The distant sound of metal against stone was unmistakable.

  Then it stopped.

  :Gevris? What's wrong? What's happening?:

  :Their lanterns keep blowing out. This hillside is so filled with natural passageways that when the winds are strong, they can't keep anything lit.:

  :And it's in an unstable area.: Jors sighed and rested his forehead against the back of his left wrist. .-What kind of an idiot would put a mine in a place like this?:

  :The ore deposits were very good.:

  :How do you know?: Their familiar banter was all that was keeping him from despair.

  :These people talk a great deal.:

  :And you listen
.: He clicked his tongue, knowing his Companion would pick up the intent if not the actual noise. -.Shame on you. Eavesdroppers never hear good of themselves.:

  Only the chime of a pebble, dislodged from somewhere up above answered.

  :Gevris?:

  :There was an accident.:

  :Was anyone hurt?:

  :I don't... no, not badly. They're coming out.:

  He felt a rising tide of anger before he "heard" his Companion's next words.