by Lisa Smedman
Cavatina ordered another Protector to remain at the bottom of the rockfall and keep watch over the lake. That priestess took up her position, singing sword in hand, as the others climbed or levitated to the spot where Cavatina stood.
Much to her irritation, Kâras set up his own guard at the bottom of the rockfall and ordered a Nightshadow into the tunnel. Cavatina caught the male’s arm as he tried to pass her. “Wait,” she whispered. “We’ll have our first report in a moment.”
The Nightshadow glanced back at Kâras. “I give the commands,” she hissed at the Nightshadow. “Not him.”
“Yes, Lady,” he murmured.
Kâras climbed up next to them. “Are we not following Qilué’s orders? ‘Stick together,’ you quoted her as saying. Nar’bith is a master at stealth, silent as shadow. And two pairs of eyes are better than one.”
Two more Nightshadows had just climbed up the rockfall behind Kâras, eyes watchful above their masks.
“Four eyes are better than two,” Cavatina agreed. “But if you give orders that overlap mine, there will be unfortunate consequences.” She nodded at the Nightshadow whose arm she still held. “This male, skewered on the Protector’s sword. I must warn my priestess he’s coming.”
Kâras inclined his head. “Fair enough.” His eyes remained unrepentant. “Warn her.”
Cavatina’s eyes narrowed. She knew he was trying, once again, to one-up her, to appear as if he was giving the orders, but she wasn’t about to waste time sparring with him. She warned Halav with a sending then she released the Nightshadow.
He drifted away into the tunnel, his footsteps utterly silent. Kâras turned away and clambered back down to the water. He disappeared from Cavatina’s view.
The rest of the Nightshadows, Protectors and wizards gathered around her at the mouth of the tunnel, their sodden clothing dribbling water. Some stared at the Faerzress but most had their attention on Cavatina.
“So far, so good,” she told them, voice low. “We appear to have arrived undetected.” As she spoke, she wondered where the deep gnomes were. They’d been told to return that night, as soon as the full moon appeared on the underground sea’s surface. But the Promenade’s battlemistress hadn’t been clear on how the svirfneblin would arrive. Over the Moondeep, by boat? Or from the tunnels?
Several moments passed. The Protectors stood patiently, waiting for Cavatina’s orders, but the mages and Nightshadows were getting restless.
Where were those svirfneblin?
A sending came from the priestess Cavatina had ordered into the tunnel. I’m two hundred and fifty paces in, Halav reported. All clear so far.
A moment later, Kâras climbed back to where Cavatina stood. “I’ve just found a svirfneblin in the water,” he said in a low voice. “Dead.”
“Show me.”
She followed him down the rockfall, a handful of the others trailing behind her. As they approached, she spotted a ripple in the water, a few paces out on the Moondeep: a small animal, swimming. It looked like a rat. As if sensing her presence, the rat dived beneath the surface and vanished.
Kâras squatted beside the water. There, he signed, pointing to a water-filled crevice between the rocks.
Cavatina kneeled beside him. It was a deep gnome, all right, little bigger than a child, but with a stocky body that bulged with muscle. Cavatina reached into the water, gently pulled the body out, and set it on the rocks at her feet. The head was missing, and by the ragged look of the neck it had been yanked or chewed off. Whether that had happened before or after the deep gnome died was impossible to tell. There weren’t any other visible wounds. The svirfneblin’s clothing—plain leather trousers and a sleeveless shirt—was also undamaged. His feet were bare; perhaps he’d been swimming when he died.
“Eilistraee’s mercy,” she whispered.
The others crowded close, staring down at the corpse. Q’arlynd squatted next to it. He lifted a limp hand and studied it a moment, then let it fall.
Daffir passed a hand over the body, not quite touching it. His other hand tightened on his staff. “A bad omen.”
Cavatina didn’t need magic to tell her that.
“Is this our guide?” the female wizard asked.
Kâras stared grimly down at it. “Not anymore.”
Another sending from Halav: I’m five hundred paces in. No sign of the svirfneblin, aside from a prospector’s pick. Looks like it was dropped here. No telling when.
The svirfneblin’s gray flesh had a waxy, bloated look. Despite its immersion in cold water, the body was starting to smell.
“If this is our guide, he arrived several days early.” Cavatina stood and glanced at the reflection of Selûne and the scattering of Tears that trailed the moon’s reflection as it slid slowly across the Moondeep. “We’ll continue to wait. We’ll give it until moonset.”
“Waiting is a waste of time.” Kâras said. “No guide’s going to show. Not after what happened to this fellow.”
“We don’t know that,” Cavatina said. “If we leave now, we’ll have to guess which way to go once we’ve reached the limits of our map, which will mean an even greater waste of time.” She nodded to the wizards. “That won’t sit well with the masters of your colleges.”
Several of the mages nodded.
The sun elf, however, shook his head. “I see no point in waiting,” Khorl said. “When we reach the end of the mapped region, my magic will show us the way. Unlike the rest of you, I can still cast divinations, despite the Faerzress that surrounds us.”
Cavatina shook her head firmly. “Kiaransalee’s priestesses may be crazed, but they aren’t fools. They’ll have warded their cavern with protections similar to those of the Promenade. Your divinations may find the path—or they may not. In case they can’t, we stick to the original plan. We wait.”
She pointed at the corpse. “In the meantime, do any of you know what should be done? What the svirfneblin customs are when dealing with the dead? When our guide shows up, we don’t want to offend him.”
“I do,” Q’arlynd said. “I had a … an ally, years ago, who was svirfneblin. He told me about the god the deep gnomes venerate—Callarduran Smoothhands, master of stone. When a deep gnome dies, it’s appropriate for him to be ‘returned to Smoothhands’s embrace.’” Q’arlynd paused and stroked his chin. “With your permission, Lady Cavatina, I have a spell that can do just that.”
Cavatina nodded. “Use it.”
Another sending came from Halav. Seven hundred and fifty paces in. Still clear.
Q’arlynd motioned the others back. He reached into a pocket of his piwafwi, pulled out a pinch of something, and tossed it onto the stones beside the body. As he chanted, the rocks beneath the corpse slumped and became as soft as mud. Q’arlynd gently pushed the body into them, submerging it. That done, he washed the mud from his hands and spoke a second arcane word. The mud solidified, stone once more.
As they climbed back to the tunnel mouth, Cavatina leaned close to Q’arlynd. “Well done. Your friend would have been proud.”
“My ally,” Q’arlynd corrected.
“As you wish.”
Those who had followed Cavatina down to the water returned to the tunnel’s mouth. Once again they stood about. Waiting. Cavatina wondered if the svirfneblin would show. Perhaps the corpse Q’arlynd had just buried had been their guide.
The human diviner was leaning against his staff, watching. Suddenly he tensed. “Something’s coming.”
“What is it?” Cavatina asked, instantly alert.
“Something … big.” Daffir turned and stared out across the underground sea.
“A boat?” one of the Protectors guessed.
“As big as a boat, but … not a boat. A … creature. Whatever it is, it means us ill.”
Cavatina scanned the Moondeep, but the surface of the water was unbroken. Nothing moved on it—not even a rat. She glanced at Daffir but couldn’t see his eyes behind those dark lenses.
The others drew weapons or read
ied spell components. The Nightshadows faded back into the tunnel.
“Where is it now, Daffir?” Cavatina demanded.
Daffir shook his head. “That, Lady, I cannot tell. Only where it … will be.”
“We should move away from the water,” the wizard in the gold skullcap said. “Up the tunnel.”
“Agreed,” Kâras said. “Before whatever killed the svirfneblin realizes we’re here.”
“No,” Cavatina countered. “We stay here. Conceal ourselves and watch the lake.” She did, however, call back the Protector and the Nightshadow who were down at the lake’s edge. No sense taking chances.
Another sending came: One thousand paces in. With a chuckle in her voice, Halav added. Still nothing—except for a pair of boots, this time.
Cavatina frowned. Boots? She glanced down at where the svirfneblin’s body lay. How large are they?
Small. Child-sized.
The Nightshadow whom Kâras had sent down the tunnel reappeared and signaled that the way was clear.
“That’s it,” Kâras said. “We’re going.” His forefinger flicked a signal to the other Nightshadows. Move out.
“Hold it right there,” Cavatina barked.
The Nightshadows hesitated. They glanced between Kâras and Cavatina.
She rounded on Kâras. “We’re having this out, here and now,” she said in a low voice. “Qilué put me in charge of this expedition, not you. Eilistraee deemed it should be so. Do you dare risk displeasing her by disobeying me?”
Without waiting for his answer, she turned to the others. “My priestess just found a pair of boots in the tunnel.” She pointed down at the dead svirfneblin. “Gnome-sized boots. If they’re his, maybe he was forced to run before he could put them on. Whatever killed him might still be lurking in the tunnel.”
“You heard Daffir’s prophecy,” Kâras countered. “Whatever’s going to attack us is out there. Submerged in the Moondeep.”
“‘Attack us?’” Cavatina echoed. She shook her head at Kâras. She was fed up with this. “Tell you what. I’ll call my priestess back. You, personally, can take her place. That way, if something does rise out of the Moondeep, you’ll be in a nice, safe place where nothing’s going to—”
A faint wail came from deep in the tunnel: the sound of a singing sword in combat. The Protector’s sending came a heartbeat later: Undead! Huge! Its head alone blocks the—
The sending cut off abruptly.
Fall back, Cavatina sent back at Halav. We’re coming. She pointed briskly at the Protectors. “You, you, and you, follow me. The rest of you wait here. Whatever Daffir sensed isn’t in the lake—it’s in the tunnel. We’ll draw it back here. Attack when it emerges.”
To her surprise, Kâras nodded briskly. Gilkriz did the same. As Cavatina sprinted away down the tunnel, the three Protectors close on her heels, she glanced over her shoulder and saw some of the wizards levitating away from the opening of the tunnel and others vanishing. Daffir, however, remained in plain sight, leaning on his staff and nodding.
She kept running. The floor of the tunnel was flat. Cavatina and the priestesses made good speed. The sound of Halav’s singing sword—and the howls of whatever she fought—grew louder. Then Halav was in sight.
The Protector battled furiously, her sword a melodic blur as she hacked at the thing that blocked the tunnel: an enormous head, large as a giant’s. It crept along the tunnel on a tentacle-like nest of writhing veins, its enormous mouth opening and closing as it came. Other, smaller heads bulged out of its forehead and cheeks as it slithered along. These screamed or moaned piteously as they broke the skin, then fell silent as they sank back into it again.
Even from a distance, Cavatina felt the waves of fear pulsing off the thing. She raised her singing sword in front of her as she ran and felt it slice through the magical fear, sending it sloughing off to each side. Only a hundred paces remained; they were almost there.
Rearing up, the monstrosity pointed a tentacle at Halav. “Die,” it croaked.
Halav stiffened. Her sword drooped in her hand, its singing fading to a moan. But Halav was strong and shielded by Eilistraee’s blessings. Shaking off the creature’s spell, she staggered back.
“Halav!” Cavatina cried. “We’re right behind you. Fall back!”
Cavatina was close enough to get a good look at the smaller faces that bulged out of the monstrous head. One of them was gray-skinned and bald: a svirfneblin. She grabbed her holy symbol as she ran, intending to sing a prayer. “Fall back, Halav!” she shouted. “You’re in the way.”
Halav tried to back away, but a tentacle whipped out and coiled around her chest. It snapped taut, yanking her off her feet. It pulled the failing priestess head-first toward the gaping mouth. Teeth snapped shut, severing her neck.
“No!” Cavatina cried.
The tentacle flung the headless body aside. A heartbeat later, Halav’s face bulged out of the monstrous head’s cheek, screaming.
Cavatina shouted a prayer. A bolt of moonlight streaked from her hand like a thrown lance. It slammed into the enormous forehead in the same instant that two other magical attacks flew past her: a streak of holy fire and a sparkling sheen of positive energy that rippled down the tunnel like diamond dust carried by ripples on a pond. The enormous head rocked back on its tentacles as they struck.
That was it. Cavatina’s chance. She leaped forward, sword raised—
A tentacle lashed out, slapping against her breastplate. A weak blow, not enough to halt her charge, but Cavatina felt a rush of pain. Her chest was warm and wet. Bloody. The thing had used magic to wound her, magic that had bypassed her armor.
She staggered back and gasped out a healing prayer. She expected the creature to follow her, to try to snatch her with a tentacle, yet it remained where it was. One of the smaller heads disappeared with a wet pop, like a boil bursting. The enormous mouth creaked open wide, as if taking a deep breath.
“Tash’kla!” Cavatina shouted. “Ward us!”
In the same instant the Protector behind Cavatina sang out her prayer, the undead head gave a ghastly wail. A chill swept through Cavatina, weakening her. Then the ward muted the sound. Cavatina and the three priestesses behind her remained standing, saved by Eilistraee’s blessing.
She flung out an arm, pointing. “Get Halav’s body out of here!” At the same time, she pressed home her attack.
A tentacle lashed out at her, and she sliced it off. The undead thing drew back, its smaller heads bulging then disappearing again, all of them howling and screaming. Cavatina thrust at the spot where Halav’s face bulged—a mercy blow—but her sword point struck an invisible shield and skewed to the side. Momentarily unbalanced, she staggered and nearly fell. She quickly recovered, dancing out of range of yet another tentacle. Risking a glance behind her, she saw two of the Protectors lifting Halav’s headless body and hurrying away. The halfling Brindell scooped up Halav’s singing sword in one hand while whirling her sling. Before Cavatina could order her not to, she let fly one of her magical pellets.
Suddenly, Cavatina was fighting in utter silence. She could see the smaller heads screaming as they rose like boils, then sank away again into the morbid flesh. Her sword vibrated in her hands yet she couldn’t hear the sharp smack of it hitting flesh or the sound of its singing.
Brindell had silenced the head, but she’d snared Cavatina, as well. Cavatina had been about to sing a prayer, but couldn’t.
She danced backward, fighting with one hand. By my side! she signed with her free hand. A fighting retreat.
Together with the halfling she fell back, always just a few paces from the monstrous head, which came on in eerie silence. Halav had been right: it completely filled the tunnel. There was no way to squeeze past it, and there seemed precious little they could do to defeat it. Prayers that would have reduced a lesser undead creature to an inert mass of flesh had no effect, and the head could throw a magical shield in front of itself at will. It slithered relentlessly along on its tenta
cles, bearing down on the two retreating priestesses.
The magical silence that enveloped the head abruptly fell away. Its smaller heads shrieking in agony, the monster head slithered up the wall as though weightless. It seemed to be avoiding the floor of the tunnel. Why?
Cavatina glanced down. The floor was slippery from the water that had dribbled from their wet clothing when they ran into the tunnel. A tentacle brushed against it, then recoiled.
Cavatina smiled. Now she knew how to defeat the thing.
She twisted around and snapped out a sending to the female wizard. Mazeer! Fill the tunnel with water. Now!
A moment later, a sloshing rumble filled the corridor behind them. “Hold your breath!” Cavatina shouted at Brindell.
A wall of water slammed into them, sweeping both priestesses off their feet. Cavatina crashed into the monstrous head, barely managing to keep hold of her sword. Tentacles flailed at her arms, legs, torso. One wrapped around her and squeezed, driving the air from her lungs. Then it slipped away. The wall of flesh buckled and the cacophony of the smaller heads turned to a weak gurgling. Then the head broke apart. The water shoved Cavatina and Brindell forward, carrying them along in a wave of disintegrating flesh and sodden bone.
Cavatina clambered to her feet as the slimy water receded in a reeking wave. Brindell lay gasping on the floor, and Cavatina helped her to her feet. “Are you injured?”
Brindell shook her head. “I’m fine,” she gasped. She bent to pick up the singing sword and her sling.
A moment later, feet splashed up the tunnel toward them. Kâras skidded to a halt in front of Cavatina and stared at the remains of the head. “What in the Abyss were you fighting?”
“A giant’s head,” Cavatina answered, still panting from the fight. “Raised from the dead and animated to move about on its own. The lakewater disintegrated it.”
Two more Nightshadows hurried up the tunnel toward them. With a flick of his hand, Kâras sent them a few paces beyond the spot where they stood to keep watch. His eyes were thoughtful as he glanced down at the smear of putrid flesh on the floor.
“Looks like you guessed right about the boots,” he conceded. “The thing Daffir warned us about was in the tunnel, after all. But how did you know water would—”