The elf had at least stopped his shaking and sat up since the stone had been removed from the cell, but he showed no sign of snapping out of the trance he’d slipped into.
Astarra actually found herself feeling sorry for him, which wasn’t an emotion she’d expected. He seemed so vulnerable suddenly, so hopeless. A part of her scolded herself for her weakness, but it was natural. Right now, he was suffering, and Astarra liked to believe that she never stood idly by when that was happening, regardless of who was in pain.
“Raythen,” she said, reaching out and putting a hand on the Dunwarr’s shoulder. He started and looked up, as though he’d forgotten Astarra had been standing there the whole time.
“We’ve got to get out of here,” she told him. He stared at her for a second, seemingly only just remembering where he was, before shaking his head.
“The door’s locked and Bradha’s outside.”
“You really expect me to believe a locked door is going to keep you anywhere?” she asked, trying to instill some fight in the thief. “You still have your pack, your weapons. You must have plenty of ways of breaking us out.”
“When I was a youngling, I saw Bradha the Shield hold one of the passages in the Deeps alone for half an hour against a combined raiding party of orcs and humans,” Raythen said. “She eventually filled it with so many dead bodies that they couldn’t even get at her. I can unlock the door, but if you want to take her on – without your runestones – then you’re doing it yourself. And even if you can bring her down, what next? We’re in the Dunwol Kenn Karnin, for Fortuna’s sake. The Fortress Within the Mountain. We’re not walking out.”
“We’ll think of something,” Astarra said, trying her best not to sound desperate. “You could wear her armor? Pretend you’ve been ordered to take us out.”
Raythen let out a short bark of laughter.
“Don’t believe everything you hear about in the stories, runewitch. Tricks like that fail ninety-nine times in a hundred.”
“That’s the Null Stone talking, not Raythen,” she said, but he shook his head.
“You’re no rogue, Astarra. I am. And you know how I’ve lived this long? Picking my fights.”
“We’ve got to try,” Astarra exclaimed, changing tack. She pointed at Shiver. “He can’t stay here like this. Look at him!”
The deep elf was lying propped against the wall, his eyes glazed. Astarra was sure she could see the faintest glow of copresence around the bonds, and while she had no idea what that signified, she doubted it was good.
“My father thinks I’m guilty,” Raythen said, only glancing at Shiver. “Trust me when I tell you that I speak from experience. Nothing is going to change his mind or convince him to let us go, not until the Hydra is recovered.”
“What is the Hydra?” Astarra asked again, hoping for something, anything, that might galvanize the Dunwarr into action. It was clear the encounter with his father had shaken him to the core. It had left her worried as well. Up until now he had been their guide in Thelgrim, the only one who seemed to have a clear plan. That didn’t look to be the case anymore. She knew she had to keep him talking, reignite some kind of spark.
“It’s a shard incorporated into an ancient relic, a device created by the Runescribers’ Guild in the Third Darkness,” he said, gazing up at Astarra. “I thought you of all people would have heard of it.”
“I know the legends,” Astarra said. “But only what outsiders and the libraries of Greyhaven could tell, which isn’t much. I’ve never heard a Dunwarr speak of it. Is it truly connected to a Star of Timmoran?”
Raythen stayed silent. Astarra tried not to let the possibilities get the better of her. A Star of Timmoran was a shard of what had once been the Orb of the Sky, a conduit of magical power crafted by the greatest human sorcerer Mennara had ever known. It had been shattered into countless fragments when his friend and ally, the treacherous Waiqar, had betrayed and killed him. The Stars of Timmoran were the remains of the Orb, imbued with near-fathomless magical potential, in contrast to the runebound shards that traded potential for the focused power of the runes inscribed upon them. The Hydra Shard was one of the Stars, but with a crucial difference. Astarra pressed on.
“The Hydra is bound to a device that manipulates its energies. Individually it would take decades, even centuries, to develop the skills necessary to harness a fraction of one of the Star’s powers. With the device crafted by the runescribers though, summoning the full potential of the Hydra Shard becomes as simple as the flick of a dial on the mechanism. Even the least magically-adept librarium-clerks in Greyhaven could become a sorcerer of awesome potency.”
“It allows the wielder to channel five forms of magic from the unbound shard,” Raythen said, nodding. “The Runescribers’ Guild worked for decades to fashion a device that could harness its potential without the need for laborious study.”
Astarra had heard similar. She had always assumed much of it was exaggerated. The realization that the stories were true only increased the determination she now felt. Possessing such a relic would change everything.
“Where was it then, this device?” she went on. “In Thelgrim?”
“In the Hall of the Ancestors,” Raythen said. “In the tomb of Deeplord Holburg. After the Third Darkness it was decreed to be too dangerous to use, except in times of greatest peril. Some even wanted to destroy it, but the runescribers feared what might happen if they tried, and the Guild Council was afraid they might someday need it, if a threat even greater than the dragons arose. It was sealed away in the tomb of the last of the Deeplords.”
“Until now,” Astarra said. “Is all this really because it’s been stolen? The whole city, shut down on your father’s orders?”
“On the orders of Korri and Zorri, more likely,” Raythen said. “They’ve been his advisors for as long as I can remember. But to do something as drastic as this, they would have to have won a vote before the Guild Council, probably with something like a two-to-one majority.”
“I’m guessing that’s not an easy thing to do?” Astarra asked.
“No, it’s not. But it begs the question, if the city’s been sealed, just who do they think has taken the Hydra? A Dunwarr? An outsider? And why?”
“It certainly sounds like something worth stealing,” Astarra said.
“It does,” Raythen said. “But it’s no amateur’s job, trust me. It’s unlikely any but a Dunwarr could negotiate their way to it. Just the Hall of the Ancestors alone is lousy with traps and snares. The tomb of Deeplord Holburg itself is usually protected by a Null Stone, so no magics can be used to break it open. If the Hydra has really been taken, it would take a master thief, or an extremely capable group.”
A cold sensation, quite separate from the Null Stone’s, started to creep over Astarra. She sat down next to Raythen, staring at him.
“This isn’t a coincidence, is it?” she asked.
“No,” Raythen replied, his one eye fixing on her. “I think we were brought here to steal the Hydra. And I think some else has gotten to it first.”
•••
Demons.
They were all around him, their otherworldly, poisonous presence overwhelming. They stank like burned rock, like opened innards, like curdled milk. The air resounded with their yipping and snarling and the scrape of their claws on stone. Their misshapen bodies cast too many shadows.
Shiver retched, but nothing came up. He’d already voided his stomach. He was on his knees, shaking, shaking so hard the rune-etched chains that bound him rattled and clattered above the shrieking of the Ynfernael horde surging past him from the open portal. He felt the brush of their bodies, the buzzing of their ravenous, demented minds. He moaned aloud.
“Come now, my dear, it isn’t so bad,” said the voice behind him. It was melodious and soft, a cruelly ironic counterpoint to the cacophony of the monsters surrounding them.
Shiver clenched his teeth. He wanted to lash out with every part of his being, to snatch her soul and seal it away for all eternity at the heart of a wall of ice. But he couldn’t. As his mind railed, his manacles burned with ethereal light, nullifying his fury, leaving him utterly impotent.
“Such rage still,” said the voice, as the press of demonic entities surrounding them finally began to ease. In the distance Shiver could hear the first screams as the leading edge of the newly-summoned swarm reached the nearest village.
“Your anger only makes this work more potent,” said the voice. “It adds an extra edge to the hunger of our friends. Remember that, next time you attempt to strike your mistress. Remember that I want you to try.”
Shiver screamed.
•••
“It’s happening again,” Astarra shouted. She and Raythen had both bounded back to their feet as Shiver let out a hideous, mournful wail.
Etheric energies sparked and flared around his manacles, but this time they failed to fully materialize.
“The method he uses to regain his memories is magical,” Astarra said, eyes wide. “How can he be using it with the Null Stone so close?”
“I don’t think this is a new memory,” Raythen responded. “I think it’s an old one. And a bad one.”
Shiver snarled and thrashed, an arm striking off the wall.
“He’s going to injure himself,” Astarra said, taking a half step towards the elf. She was surprised to realize the thought concerned her.
No sooner had she done so, Shiver’s eyes snapped open. This time there was no copresence, no later Turning power. He looked at them, still shaking, but fully conscious.
“Can… can you feel that?” he stammered. The two stared at him.
“I’m not sure I want to ask,” Raythen said. “But feel what?”
Chapter Nine
The nightmare-memory gave way, sloughing off like dead flesh from bone. It left Shiver tremoring in its wake, looking up at his companions.
It took him a moment to realize it wasn’t just his own shivering that he could feel. There were tremors running through the stone underneath him, and they were growing stronger.
“What is it?” Astarra asked urgently, pushing past Raythen. “What can you sense?”
Shiver dragged himself to his feet, convinced now that he wasn’t just suffering from the after-effects of the painful, unexpected memory-flare.
“Something’s coming,” he said to them.
The trembling grew worse. Raythen and Astarra appeared to sense it, looking at the walls and floor in apparent confusion. Shiver heard shouting outside, and the rattle of keys at the door.
“Get away from the wall,” he told the other two. They looked at him, still confused. He pointed at the wall by the bench, struggling to find coherent words they could understand through the pain of the Null Stone.
“The vibrations are coming from the neighboring cell. Stand back.”
“He’s right,” Raythen said, having to shout now over the thunder of shifting, churning rock. His Dunwarr senses seemed to have finally kicked in – he could feel what Shiver had already detected in the stone all around them.
“It’s coming up from below!”
Together they snatched Astarra and hauled her away from the wall just as it caved in. With a whirr and a crash, dust and debris exploded through the cell. Shiver instinctively tried to conjure a ward made of ice, but his words rang hollow, rendered empty and meaningless by the cursed Null aura.
He shielded his face with a sleeve, coughing despite his best efforts not to inhale the surge of dust. When he looked again, he realized the whole far wall of the cell had collapsed. Jagged masonry had crushed the bench and partially blocked the doorway. He could hear the shouting of the guards outside as they fought to gain entry.
The whirring noise that had accompanied the wall’s collapse began to die down. Shiver could make out a shape through the dust – something was still pushing its way into the wrecked space. It had clearly driven up through the floor of the neighboring cell, the angle of its entry leaving it jutting partially up. He could make out a heavy drill bit, as large as Raythen, that was only just ceasing its rotation, throwing dirt and pulverized rock across the room. Behind it was what appeared to be a small compartment or cabin, metallic in design but so befouled with dirt and grit that its shape was almost indiscernible.
In all his centuries wandering Mennara, he had never seen anything quite like it. As he stared there was a thunk, and a hatch in the cabin behind the drill levered open. Steam poured out, further clouding the cell. It was followed by the shape of a Dunwarr who pulled himself halfway out of the hole. He was coughing vigorously, the lower half of his face shaven but blackened with grime, the upper half shielded by a heavy set of goggles. Combined, the entire array looked like some sort of vast insectoid that had just burrowed its way up from the depths of the mountain.
“W- well don’t just stand there,” the dwarf blustered, waving furiously at the stunned trio. “Get in!”
He disappeared back into the hatch without another word. Shiver looked at Astarra, who looked at Raythen who, after a few wide-eyed seconds, shrugged.
“If either of you were praying to your favorite deity for a miracle, I suspect this might be it,” Raythen said, before planting a boot on the deactivated drill head and clambering up into the hatch.
Shiver didn’t pause to consider his options. Right now, all he wanted was to get as far away from the Null Stone and its baleful influence as possible. He followed Raythen as he dropped down into the hatch of the strange mechanism. Immediately his world was reduced to steam-choked darkness. The interior of the device was bare metal and painfully cramped. Raythen was crouched behind the Dunwarr with the goggles, who was sat at a cluster of brass valves, levers, dial gauges, and a single, large wheel. There was barely enough room for Shiver to kneel, let alone crouch. The only light came from a lone candle, set in an alcove above the forward mechanism and shielded by a small, grubby plate of glass.
Astarra came down on top of him, driving him forward into Raythen, who grunted as he was pushed against the strange Dunwarr.
“Fortuna’s lucky dice,” Raythen swore as Shiver and Astarra sought to right themselves. The human’s staff was jabbing into the elf’s flank, unable to properly fit in the packed hold.
“Sorry about the squeeze,” the Dunwarr called out with a grin. “Sh- she wasn’t built with transportation in mind. Or prison breaks, for that matter. In fact, I didn’t think you’d all fit until just now!”
“We don’t,” Astarra snarled, clearly less than happy that she was practically hugging Shiver. Despite the desperate strangeness of the whole situation, he felt a pang of embarrassment.
“I’m going to need you to reach up and close the h- hatch,” the Dunwarr said as he threw a heavy-looking lever. Shiver felt the metal hull around them start to vibrate.
“I’d also advise everyone, if you have a natural ability or a magical incantation that allows you to avoid breathing, I’d utilize it now,” the dwarf added, grinning back at them again through the steam pouring from several of the valves. “By my calculations, we’re going to run out of air several minutes before we reach our destination.”
Raythen and Astarra both swore. Shiver simply started holding his breath.
Pistons on either side of them began to chug and squeal, moving slowly at first but rapidly gaining speed. Astarra reached up to bang the hatch shut, painfully jabbing Shiver again with her staff. There was a lurch, and the whirring sound picked up again. The Dunwarr threw another lever and gripped the wheel, hunched over his gauges.
Shiver assumed they were in motion, though it was difficult to tell.
The interior of the contraption was infernally hot – he was soon drenched in cold, clammy sweat. Raythen was peering in apparent fascination over the shoulder of their would-be savior, the two bodies blocking Shiver’s own view of the mass of controls directing the device.
He looked back at Astarra. He could sense her heart racing, and her eyes were wild and white as they returned his gaze. She was on the cusp of panicking, confined in a strange, heated metal tomb. Claustrophobia, an alien concept to both dwarfs and deep elves, was gripping the runewitch.
Shiver struggled to understand her fear. The bitter, suffocating pall of the Null Stone had lifted, like weights being removed from a drowning man’s ankles. Being crammed into the boiling, dark, steam-choked metal hold of the burrower was an insignificant discomfort now that his soul could breathe again.
He reached out tentatively into the Turning, and felt a surge of relief when it responded to his immaterial touch. Being cut off from it had been worse than any wound or physical blow. It was as though a vital piece of his very existence had been carved out. Now, though, he was whole again, and able to think straight.
He closed his eyes and focused on easing the temperature in the oven-like hold. Raythen sensed it first and twisted awkwardly to look back at him, but said nothing. He felt Astarra’s heartbeat easing slightly as the air became less choking.
He didn’t know how long they spent in the burrower. He focused on his breathing, his own heart rate, keeping it slow and steady. He couldn’t fathom just who this Dunwarr was, or why he’d turned his strange device to freeing them, but for now he was just thankful to be out.
At one point one of the valves seemed to break. The dwarf loosed a string of expletives in his own tongue as more steam seared through the packed hold.
“Keep a grip on that, would you?” the dwarf asked Raythen, indicating that he should hold the valve shut.
The Gates of Thelgrim Page 10