Riverwind the Plainsman

by Paul B. Thompson

  Riverwind looked out from the palace balcony over the city. Diggers were dancing in the streets. Fruit wine was flowing, and the sharp smell of it filled the air, replacing the usual drifting smoke. Over the last few days the air had cleared quite a bit, but once the furnaces were stoked up again, the choking pall would return.

  Just then, Di An came running. “Ho, giants!” she said. “Mors wishes to see you right away.”

  “How is his temper?” asked Riverwind.

  The elf girl shrugged and said, “He has something to tell you.”

  The Que-Shu men exchanged probing looks, then followed Di An back to the Hall of Arms. A fair number of warriors was present, swords at their sides. Riverwind’s fast walk slowed when he saw that.

  “We are here,” Di An announced.

  “Come here, An Di.” The girl went and stood by the blind elf’s side. Mors said, “I would have some words with you, giants.”

  “We’re listening,” Riverwind asked.

  “These warriors,” Mors waved a hand at the body of armed Hestites, “have agreed to serve the order of Hest.”

  “Will you take the crown?” Catchflea asked, surprised.

  “No, I’m too old and too blunt to rule. I want there to be a new kind of rulership in Hest, where no one person has power over all the others. Something like a guild, or a warriors’ council.”

  “Very interesting, but what has it to do with us?” Riverwind said.

  “The end of our path has always been a return to the surface world,” said Mors. “We cannot simply migrate the whole population at once. I want to know what conditions are like on the surface. I want to know if the sons of Sithas still bear ill will to the people of Hest. Therefore,” Mors drew himself up straight in his iron chair, “I want you, Riverwind, to go back to the Empty World as an emissary of Hest.”

  The plainsman was speechless. He had not expected to be given such an easy path that led exactly where he wanted to go. He suspected a trick. “How can I?” he said unevenly. “I’m no diplomat.”

  “I do not expect you to be. I will send one of the Blue Sky People with you to speak on my behalf. You will be their guide and protector in the upper world.”

  “Perhaps I could speak for you, yes?” Catchflea suggested.

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “You will not be going,” Mors replied firmly. “You, old giant, will remain in Hest to advise me on the creation of a new state of Hest.” Riverwind and Di An stared at Mors in surprise. Catchflea simply looked down at the worn stone floor, a frown gathering on his face.

  “Suppose he doesn’t want to stay?” Riverwind said.

  “He must,” said the elf leader. The implication of the armed warriors was now clear. Riverwind was about to make a more belligerent demand for Catchflea’s freedom when the old soothsayer caught his arm.

  Riverwind asked softly, “Do you want to stay?”

  “I am tempted.”

  “But why?” exclaimed the tall plainsman, turning to stare at Catchflea. “These are not your people.”

  “It is a good thing to be needed, tall man. No one in Que-Shu ever needed Catchflea the Fool for anything, save the butt of a joke. If Mors wants me to be his counselor, it is a tempting thing.”

  Riverwind regarded his friend a long moment, trying to decide if he were serious or not. “What about the augury, old man? You’re supposed to go with me wherever I go, remember?”

  “I remember,” Catchflea said tiredly. “I think—”

  “How is Riverwind to get back to the surface?” asked Di An. “With both Vvelz and Li El gone, there is no magic to send him. He will have to climb all the way.”

  “I will find him a guide,” Mors answered simply.

  “I will do it!” Di An said eagerly.

  The blind elf shook his head. “No, An Di. You are my eyes. I can’t spare you. There are many among the Blue Sky People who have been to the surface. One of them will guide him.”

  Sullenly Riverwind said, “When do I go?”

  “As soon as provisions can be gathered for you. Tomorrow at this hour.” Mors stood abruptly. The warriors snapped their metal-shod heels together in attention. Mors held out his hand and Di An took it. As she led him away, the elf girl turned and regarded the frustrated Que-Shu men. Her look was troubled.

  “I have decided to go with you,” Catchflea whispered.

  “Are you sure?” Riverwind said, similarly hushed. They were in the barracks of the Hall of Arms. Hestite warriors were all around them.

  The old soothsayer said, “Being compelled to stay is not good, yes. And, as you said, the augury of the acorns cannot be dismissed.” He gripped Riverwind’s arm. “My place is with you, tall man.”

  “Good!” Even more softly, Riverwind said, “How will we escape?”

  “I don’t know … if we run, we would be lost in the tunnels. And I would not care to trust Mors’s mercy if we run and are caught again.”

  “He has a hard heart,” Riverwind agreed. “If I leave you here, he will never let you go, I believe. So we must escape.”

  “But how? The Hestites know these caves far better than we do, yes.”

  They went back and forth in low tones until a warrior and a Blue Sky digger came to take Catchflea. Mors wanted to arrange the distribution of stored grain, and he needed the old man’s advice.

  “I will see you again,” Riverwind said significantly.

  “I am sure of it, tall man.” The old soothsayer cut a strange figure in his ragged clothes, flanked on one side by a warrior in lion-embossed armor and a male digger in black copper mesh on the other. Riverwind watched them go with many misgivings.

  Riverwind walked the empty corridors of the palace. They were filled with wreckage left by the Blue Sky People after they despoiled the place. The plainsman stepped over bits of furniture, wall hangings, and other things he could not recognize. The Blue Sky People had a great deal of rage. Li El had been a manipulative tyrant, but Riverwind found he could not hate her. Mors, on the other hand, was an iron-fisted dreamer, and Riverwind disliked him completely. As he walked the halls, the plainsman tried to sort out why he felt that way. Some residual effect of Li El’s impersonation of Goldmoon, perhaps?

  He stopped suddenly as a dim figure popped out of a side corridor. The stranger stepped into a slim band of light from an open skylight.

  “Hello, Di An,” said Riverwind.

  “Did I startle you, giant?”

  “A bit. You’re not sleeping now?”

  “I couldn’t.” She came closer. “I have bad dreams.”

  He smiled at the girl. “I have them, too, sometimes. When that happens, I go out of the village into the forest and sleep under the stars.”

  Di An wrinkled her forehead in thought. “I have seen stars. Those are the little coals that glow in the dark sky?”

  He nodded. It was easy to forget that Di An had been to the surface.

  Di An had been to the surface!

  Riverwind knelt and grasped the elf girl by the shoulders. She stiffened. “Are we friends?” he asked. “Do you trust Catchflea and me?”

  In the low light, her eyes had an almost reddish cast. “I do. You saved me from Karn, back in the tunnel.”

  “Catchflea and I need your help. We want to go home.”

  “Mors wants the old giant to stay.”

  “He wants you to stay, too. If the three of us went, we’d all get what we want.”

  “Mors would be very angry,” she said. “Who would be his ambassador?”

  Riverwind shook his head. “I don’t have to be the one. You could do it, Di An. Your people have enough gold and gems to buy anything they need from the upper world. Catchflea and I have our own lives to lead.”

  She moved out of his grasp and considered what he had said. Finally, she asked, “Is there a giant woman for you?”

  He had to chuckle. Goldmoon, a giant! “Well, yes. I want to get back to Goldmoon.”

  Di An looked away, a
mask of frustration coming across her small, sharp face. “Our fight against Li El is finally over, and more and more I wish to have a say in what happens. No one here listens to me. I’m only a barren child. Mors doesn’t really need me; any child could lead him. He doesn’t listen to me either.”

  Riverwind phrased his next sentence carefully. “Di An, there are many wise people in the upper world,” he said. “One of them might be able to help you.”

  “Do you think so?” Her voice was loud with excitement.

  “Shh. I would not say it if I didn’t think so.”

  Di An glanced furtively left and right. “I do know ways to the surface that no one else knows. It could be done.” Her countenance darkened. “Mors would never forgive me if I left.”

  Riverwind stood. “I won’t ask you to do anything you don’t wish to do. But you can help yourself and your people. Time is short. I’m being sent tomorrow.”

  Di An chewed her lower lip as she considered. “The old giant sleeps in the Hall of Arms. We can fetch him,” she said. Riverwind felt relief wash over him. She turned and dashed off along the dark corridor.

  “Di An, wait!” he hissed. Riverwind followed, banging his shins on table legs and chairs that crouched broken in the shadows. “Wait for me!” he called hoarsely.

  They met again on the short causeway leading from the palace to the Hall of Arms. Vartoom was eerily calm. The furnaces and forges were still idle, and the streets barren of elves. Hand in hand, the tall plainsman and the elf girl stole down the sloping bridge.

  The Hall of Arms was filled with snores and snorts. Warriors slept in every available spot. Di An moved lightly around the recumbent forms. Riverwind had to walk with great care. More than once he nudged a sleeping soldier, but the Hestite merely grumbled and rolled away from Riverwind’s feet.

  Catchflea lay with his back against a curving buttress, hands folded across his stomach. Di An and Riverwind stood over him. The elf girl looked to Riverwind. He nodded. She bent over to prod the old man awake, but before she touched him, Catchflea’s eyes opened.

  “Greetings,” he whispered. Di An was so surprised, she lost her balance and sat down hard. Her copper clothing made a loud clink against the stone floor.

  “Shh,” came a voice from the darkened hall. “Tryin’ t’sleep …”

  Riverwind hauled Catchflea to his feet. Clumsily the three of them crept out of the hall.

  “What’s this about?” Catchflea said when they were on the causeway.

  Riverwind ruffled Di An’s short hair. “I’ve made a pact with Di An. She is going to guide us up and out.”

  Catchflea blinked and looked toward the girl. “Oh? And what do you get out of this pact?”

  “I’m to grow up,” the elf girl said importantly. Catchflea opened his mouth to say something further, but Riverwind forestalled him.

  “Time is short,” the tall warrior said. “We must gather supplies and get away before Mors notices our absence.”

  “Wait,” Catchflea said. “I want to consult the acorns.” Di An was baffled, so Riverwind explained what the acorns could do.

  Catchflea knelt at the mouth of the cave and silently intoned the magical words. He then overturned the gourd.

  “Well?” asked Riverwind.

  “It’s not good. Are you certain you want to hear it?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “The oracle says, ‘One will die, one will go mad, and one will find glory.’ ” No one spoke for a long time.

  Finally, Riverwind cleared his throat. “You know, old man, you haven’t handled those acorns in quite some time. Maybe you’ve forgotten how to read them.”

  Catchflea scooped up the nuts. “Whatever our destiny is, we have to go meet it; it won’t come to us.”

  The strange trio hurried down the causeway, Di An in the lead. Before they left Vartoom behind them, Di An gathered climbing gear and food for them to carry. The food was mostly thick, heavy wheat bread filled with nuts, dried fruits, and a little meat. It was much like the pemmican Riverwind had begun this journey with. The elf girl also recovered Catchflea’s acorns and gourd and Riverwind’s saber. She found their possessions in a cabinet in Li El’s private chambers. The old soothsayer hugged the gourd to him like a long-lost love.

  Part II

  ASCENT

  Chapter 13

  The Well of Wind

  Di An led them out of Vartoom, turning toward the far end of the great cavern, where the plainsmen had never been before. Here the floors and walls converged in a rocky funnel shape, with only a round black opening leading out.

  There was no soil to grow things here, only rock and mineral concretions. They climbed over the jutting stones toward the hole ahead. Riverwind observed that the opening seemed too smooth and round to be natural.

  “It was only a crack many centuries ago,” Di An said. “The sons of Hest had it widened.”

  “Why?” asked Catchflea.

  “For the tombs of the great,” the elf girl said. “Here are the resting places of Hest and all his sons.”

  The temperature dropped suddenly when they entered the tomb cavern. The natural shape of the cave had been adapted into a vaulted corridor. Along the walls were larger than life-sized statues of Hestites in full armor. They all had the same expression, something between a sneer and a frown. The actual tombs were niches cut in the rock between the legs of the statues. Hammered bronze doors sealed each grave.

  Riverwind halted before a statue of a Hestite. The warrior held a short bow in the crook of his arm. He knew the living Hestites had forgotten how to make or use bows, so he asked Di An how old the grave was.

  “This is Lord Trand,” she said, reading the glyphs engraved on the tomb doors. “Victor of twenty combats. He died eighty years after Hest led the people into the caves.” She counted quietly on her fingers. “Two thousand, four hundred and eighteen years ago.”

  “When the wood rotted, the Hestites were no longer able to make bows,” Catchflea mused. “Until scouts like Di An went to the surface and found ones.”

  “Two thousand years ago,” Riverwind said. “Di An, how old are you?”

  She scampered ahead among some tumbled rocks. “Two hundred and sixty-four,” she said.

  Catchflea bumped into Riverwind’s back. “Pardon! What’s the matter?” he asked. Riverwind told him Di An’s remarkable age. “The barren children do grow older. They just never grow up, yes?”

  “Come this way!” Di An’s voice wafted back. The orange glow of her mineral oil lamp rose and fell as she waved to them. Riverwind reminded himself not to treat her like a child. After all, she was more than ten times as old as he.

  Di An was waiting for them in a seeming dead end. The lamp threw odd highlights on her sharp features.

  “What now?” asked Riverwind.

  “We must go through there.” Di An pointed down. At knee height there was an opening in the wall. It was as black as the Abyss and promised to be a tight fit for the humans.

  “Go through that?” said Catchflea. “There is a better way, yes?” Di An solemnly shook her head. “Surely you didn’t use this tunnel every time you went to the surface.”

  “No, I mostly used the shaft you fell down,” she said. “This way should put us out on the surface near where you fell down the shaft.”

  “Should?” Riverwind asked.

  “I haven’t gone this way in a long time.” Di An squatted and slipped into the hole easily. Riverwind motioned for Catchflea to go second.

  Catchflea got down on his belly and wriggled into the hole. “Ow!” he cried, his feet still scrambling in Riverwind’s sight. “Low ceiling!”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Riverwind said dryly. When the old man’s feet finally disappeared, he dropped down and peered into the cramped tunnel. The old feeling of being trapped by the massive weight of stone, returned—Riverwind took a deep breath and thought of Goldmoon.

  The tunnel was just barely wider than his shoulders. He had to inch a
long, rocking his shoulders from side to side and pushing with his toes. The only light was the bobbing lamp Di An pushed ahead of her. By common consent they had agreed to use only one lamp at a time, to conserve oil.

  It was warmer in the tunnel. Catchflea’s mutterings ahead were sometimes punctuated by Di An’s higher-pitched voice. Sharp stones dug into Riverwind’s elbows and chest, and brushing the tunnel roof invited a scalp cut. How much longer? Would they have to go all the way to the surface in this rat hole? He would go mad, suffocate, scream, and tear at the rocks. The hard, unyielding rocks …

  “Stand up, Riverwind.” He opened his eyes and saw Catchflea’s much-patched moccasins in front of his face. The tunnel had opened onto a ledge in a wide vertical shaft, whose upper limit was lost in velvet darkness.

  Di An sat on a boulder, munching a hunk of hard gray bread. The lamp sat between her feet, flickering. Riverwind noticed the steady breeze flowing upward in the shaft.

  “Where are we?”

  “The Well of Wind,” said Di An. She gnawed off a healthy piece of bread and mumbled through it, saying, “At times the wind moves so strongly here it nearly carries you off your feet.”

  “How do we get out of here?” Catchflea queried.

  Another big bite. “Climb,” she said.

  The walls were rugged, with many jutting rocks and crevices to use for handholds. Di An dusted the bread crumbs off her lap and showed the plainsmen how to use the hooks and chains they had taken from the city. “Reach up with the hook,” she said, “catch hold of the wall and pull yourself up by the chain.” Catchflea was doubtful he could manage but in the end had little choice.

  Di An scaled the wall with practiced agility. Riverwind followed, so that he could help pull Catchflea up. “How long have you been exploring these caverns?” Riverwind asked the elf girl.