by Aldrea Alien
The water rumbled. Although muffled by the shimmering barrier, the sound carried itself on a low frequency on par with a minor earthquake. Dylan dipped his head beneath the surface. Underwater, it sounded like a giant blowing bubbles. Coming up for air, he followed the churning water at the bottom of the fall all the way to the top. From this angle, the cascade seemed to come from the very heavens themselves.
As they swam closer to the cliff face, he spied what must have caught Tracker’s eye. Where the rock jutting out beneath the waterfall left a natural gap between the water and the cliff. It was there that the hound aimed them.
The spray ran over the dense hemisphere of his shield in rivulets. He tightened his grip on Tracker’s fingers, trusting the man to guide him.
His shield bumped against the cliff face, dislodging a few stones. This close to the rock, the water was shallow enough to let Dylan find his feet. He shuffled along the silt shifting atop what his toes said was solid rock whilst the hound continued to gently paddle ahead.
The gap was barely wide enough for the man’s shoulders. Mimicking the way the man kept close to the rocks, Dylan followed. He eyed the waterfall as he sidled past. The force of it hammered on the outer curve of his shield. He winced. It hadn’t looked it from afar, but the cascade was far stronger than he’d imagined.
With great reluctance, he let the barrier drop. Spray immediately flew up in his face, stinging his eyes. Dylan screwed up his nose and felt his way along the rock.
His hand slapped smooth, wet stone rearing before him. A little more blind groping revealed a lip above the water’s edge. The cave floor? The waterfall roared even louder here and it was far colder than he’d imagined, but the stone beneath his fingers didn’t feel as wet. He risked a peek, expecting more water in his eyes. A fine mist hung in the air, clinging to his skin and collecting on his lashes, but no more.
Further shuffling along the silt-covered path led him to a dip in the ledge where he was able to haul himself out of the water. Huffing, Dylan flopped onto the clammy stone. He stared at the cave ceiling stretched before him. Bare rock.
He wasn’t certain what he had expected. Stalactites, maybe. All the caves he’d ever read about seemed to mention them. Or perhaps moss. Not this.
Tracker stooped over him, obscuring his view. Water streamed from his braid. His mouth moved, the words drowned out by the echoing roar.
“What?” Dylan yelled back as he sat up. The cave floor was a little more to type, damp and glistening in the low light. A boulder sat by his right hip. His hand had fallen into a shallow puddle and more dotted the entrance.
The hound shook his head and motioned Dylan to follow him deeper into the cave.
Crawling a little ways from the edge, Dylan got to his feet and finally took in the cave as a whole. Whilst the entrance wasn’t overly wide, the cave itself bulged. He glanced down, wondering how the hound picked his way across the cave floor so effortlessly, a saw the remains of what could only be a path made of wide flat stones winding through the rougher terrain.
He followed in the man’s steps, quickly leaving behind both the noise and the cold spray of the falling water. The greying press of dark swaddled them. After one too many stubbed toes, Dylan sent a little globe of light to bob ahead. It illuminated what looked to be the start of a very long tunnel.
Tracker eyed the light as if it had somehow personally offended him. “If you are able to do that, then why not do it more often?”
Dylan picked his way across the cave floor, creeping ever closer to the tunnel entrance. “Our guardians discouraged the use of magic outside of sanctioned activities. And, honestly, when normal methods work well enough, using magic is just a waste of energy. But don’t tell Authril I said that.”
The hound laughed. “I shall take that secret to my grave.”
Dylan eyed the tunnel walls. There was a slight unnaturalness to the way the rock flowed. Everything was too perfect and crisp. There was evidence of stalactites now they were deeper in the cave, quite a number of thin columns. Those bothered him even more than the tunnel. Or rather the discolouration of the stalagmites close to the path. Had other people ventured down here? “Is this what you wanted to show me?”
“No,” Tracker murmured. “I have never been here before. Usually, there is a small hollow carved out by the water but this?” He shook his head, flicking water everywhere. “I was not expecting to find a place that seemingly goes on forever.”
“Where do you think it leads?” Like the walls, the path they’d followed had definitely not been natural, submerged though it may be. “Some secret hideout, perhaps?” Was there treasure at the other end of the tunnel?
The hound’s hand hooked into the crook of Dylan’s arm, stopping him. “That does not matter. Actually, I will confess to having an ulterior motive to bringing you here.”
Dylan turned from the lure of darkness to face the man. They might’ve stopped, but he couldn’t help continuing to scrutinise the walls for some sign of what lay ahead. “Oh?” he asked, distractingly. There were markings on the wall near the tunnel entrance. Worn and faint in places, but certainly not a natural phenomenon.
Tracker continued talking, “There is something I need to tell you and I would prefer not to say it where the others might overhear.”
“Right,” Dylan mumbled. Runes. The markings were dwarven runes, he was sure of it. What did they say? The little double-legged rune that looked like the profile of a table meant house, no… a building. Or maybe a tunnel given the placing. The wavy lines underneath must be water. Watertunnel? That couldn’t be it, the records stated the dwarves took water from open air sources. “What is it?”
The hound didn’t seem to have noticed, they stood not that far from the wall and the man seemed more transfixed on Dylan than their surroundings. “I was thinking we really have no need to go as far as Wintervale. Authril is capable of giving her superiors news of the army camp, if they do not already know it by now. She could inform them of the tower, too, and we could—”
“Smedja!” Dylan slapped his forehead. How could he be so stupid? There’d been such a record on that slab he’d translated three years back. The wavy lines symbolised flowing rock, not water.
Tracker jerked back as if he’d been struck. “What?”
“There are dwarven runes here.” He pointed at the marks. How could an elf—someone who could see far better in low light than any human—not have noticed them? His gaze slid to the where darkness finally swallowed the meagre light. It seemed to go on forever. “This is a tunnel.” And it led to a forge.
The hound followed his fingers, frowning at the symbols. “I thought dwarves lived above ground? In trees? That they always have.”
“They do. And they did, sort of.” The hedgewitches of Dvärghem swore their ancestors used to live with the land. Housing amongst the branches, but forging what they could out of ore. “This tunnel leads to a dwarven forge.” An undiscovered one. Untouched.
He grasped Tracker’s shoulders. “We have to get Katarina.” It was part of the alliance between their kingdoms. He couldn’t not tell her.
Hesitance narrowed Tracker’s eyes. “Does it have to be right now? We really need to tal—”
Dylan swung back the way they’d come. “She needs to see this.” Whilst Katarina hadn’t complained about needing to join them all the way to Wintervale, this would certainly smooth down any chance of ruffled feathers back at the hedgewitch’s Coven. If it truly was what he believed it to be, then it might make up for the chaos around the old dwarven structure his scouting party had been ambushed at—a time that seemed years ago rather than a scant few months.
“But I am trying to tell—”
He glanced over his shoulder. The man hadn’t moved from beside the tunnel. “Can it wait?”
Tracker rubbed at his arms. His gaze dropped and, if Dylan was the judge by the way his lips thinned, the hound sucked at his teeth. “I guess?”
“Then you can tell me later. No
w come on, before it gets dark.”
~~~
Dylan found it hard to remain still as Katarina traced the worn symbols. What if he was wrong? What if he’d upset Tracker and dragged the hedgewitch here for nothing? The markings were old, which suggested the tunnel had a similar age, if not more. Maybe he’d read it incorrectly and it was actually a warning.
Eventually, the hedgewitch stood back and sighed. There was a lot of promise in that one little exhalation.
“Well?” he pressed. His stomach twisted as if he’d been transported back into his seven-year-old self and waited on his tutors to inform him of his grading.
“You’re right,” Katarina said. “These are most definitely runes from ancient times.” Her head turned towards him although she still eyed the dark tunnel with visible interest. “I wonder if it’s still down there.” She took a few hesitant steps.
“I do not think venturing down there would be wise,” Tracker said. The hound shuffled from foot to foot. “The tunnel could be unstable. It might not even be there anymore. This place is so remote. Surely, they must have taken it with them when they moved on.”
Dylan grinned. “The ancient dwarves didn’t build their forges like that. They moulded them from what was already there.” Still having an entire forge carted away was a feat he would’ve loved to have seen.
At his side, Katarina nodded. She was practically beaming like a babe presented with a sweet. “Do you know what they used for forges?”
Tracker rolled his eyes. “My dear hedgewitch, what makes you think I would know that?”
“Molten rock!” She bounced on the spot, grinning and jigging like a child. “Which means it could still be working, thousands of years later.”
The hound stepped back from the tunnel. Fear flashed across his face. “Lava? Truly, the ancient dwarves were insane.”
“They were very hard to make,” Katarina went on. “We haven’t found a single one intact.”
“Perhaps because they made them near unstable pockets of lava?” Tracker interjected. He continued to eye the tunnel opening as if he expected molten rock to spew forth at any moment.
“This could be our chance to discover the techniques of old. Reclaim that little bit more of my people’s past.” She marched up to the tunnel entrance. “It’s my duty as a hedgewitch to discover what lies at the other end. I can’t just walk away because it might be dangerous. Dylan? I’m going to need your light.”
“Of course.” He trotted up next to her. His stomach bubbled. That a forge sat at the other end of this was in no doubt, but whether they could access it was an entirely different matter.
“And I suppose you expect me to stay here, yes?” Tracker snapped.
“Nonsense,” Katarina said over her shoulder before striding into the tunnel. “You’re more than welcome to join us.”
Dylan waited until the hound had joined him before following the woman.
Tracker grabbed Dylan’s hand as they entered the tunnel entrance, entwining their fingers. The grip was tight, a silent cry for reassurance.
“Are you scared of caves?” It was a silly thought, considering the man had first suggested venturing into the dark, but it seemed logical.
“Of caves? No, not specifically.” The words came quick, his voice pitched an octave or two higher. “And certainly not if they are shallow or have a big enough exit. Tunnels, though?” He cleared his throat. “Now, those I will admit to having a few issues with.”
Dylan peered at the man. In the gloom, it was difficult to determine if he was serious. Tunnels? Not caves, but tunnels? “You can return to camp, you know.”
The hound shook his head, his jaw taking on a determined edge. “And leave you to suffer the fate of drowning when you attempt to swim out of here? Perish the thought.”
He squeezed the hound’s hand. “I’ll be at your side the whole time, all right?”
Tracker smiled. The curve of his lips small, genuine and likely thought lost in the dim light. “That will be acceptable, thank you.”
It was slow going, despite the smoothness of their journey. Katarina’s hurried footsteps echoed. Even with just her silhouette to go on, he could tell she chafed to run down the tunnel’s end and witness a piece of her people’s history that had been lost for so long. He didn’t blame her. In her place, he would’ve likely run the entire length without any regard to what dangers could lie before them.
Dylan had expected the tunnel to narrow as they pressed deeper, or at least drop in height. Neither happened. Instead, the tunnel meandered on, its natural curves kept in favour of ease. Even with his little ball of light floating ahead of them, the heavy darkness prickled the back of his neck.
He bent closer to the hound and, with his lips a mere inch from the man’s ear, whispered, “How are you holding up?” He’d never been anywhere that’d led him to have tons of rock above him, but now with the mere thought of the crushing weight fluttering in the forefront of his mind, he could almost see why the idea of venturing down here unnerved Tracker.
“I am fine.” The words were small, tight. Little more than squeaks in the gloom. The grip on Dylan’s hand tightened. “I would feel much better if we were leaving, but I can manage until then.”
He drew the man closer and brushed his lips against Tracker’s temple. “You’re safe with me. I won’t let you get trapped down here.”
There was that smile again. “I know, darl—” It was hard to tell with the ball of light throwing strange shadows, but Dylan swore he spied panic of a different nature dart across the man’s face. “—dear spellster.”
Dylan chewed on his bottom lip. He wanted to ask what it was that the hound was going to say, but he didn’t have the heart to push Tracker. Not when the man looked so uncomfortable. “You haven’t called me by that one in a while.” Not since they left Whitemeadow.
“My most sincerest of apologies. I was unaware you missed such a moniker.”
He glanced at Katarina, ensuring the hedgewitch was more interested in the tunnel than them, before confessing in a breathless hush, “Only when you say it.” Everything sounded good coming from the man’s lips, not as delicious as Dylan’s name, but close enough to warm his skin.
The hitch of Tracker’s breath was almost lost in the gentle echo of their footsteps. “You cruel man,” he murmured, the words barely loud enough to hear. “How can you tease me so at such a time?”
Because it distracts you. The hound’s mind may still play with his fears, but if he were to judge by Tracker’s slightly more relaxed stance, his thoughts didn’t worry at the idea. Dylan couldn’t tell that man that, of course. Instead, he smiled and lifted their entwined hands to kiss the back of the hound’s fingers. “Is that a complaint I hear?”
“Not at all,” Tracker quipped. “Do continue with your flattery, my dear man.”
“I’m not very good at it.” He turned his attention back to the hedgewitch as she faced them. Was something wrong? Had they hit a dead end? He squinted, trying to see past the light. There seemed to a corner and a seething, dull orange glow.
Heat hit him as they caught up to Katarina, sweat instantly coating his barely dry skin. The woman all but bounced on the spot. She tugged on his free arm, urging him faster. Dylan obeyed, dragging the hound with him.
They took the last curve and halted in the entrance to a large, bulbous cavern. The orange glow emanated from a rivulet of molten rock. The forge. It sat in the middle of the cave, churning away as if millennia hadn’t passed it by. It poured from the far wall and meandered across a channel in the floor before disappearing down a well.
To look at, it was a pool of molten rock, nothing different to what could be found anywhere else within the world. But how many sported channels carved into the stone? Or the peculiar empty ring of stone behind it?
“It’s really here,” Katarina breathed. “This is…” She wiped her eyes. “I haven’t the words.” Both hands clutched at her chest, crushing her breasts. “I’d hoped, but I n
ever believed.”
Dylan tore his gaze from the hypnotic flow of the forge to their surroundings. The dwarves who’d first worked here had further curved the cave via stones and mortar, the latter baked to hardness in the forge’s heat. Shelves decorated the lower portions of the walls.
Everywhere he dared to look, it seemed nothing had been disturbed since the last time dwarves had ventured down here. Dylan reverently traced one of the emblems carved into the stone near the entrance. “These markings look like the crest of the bear.” The advancement of the centuries, along with some blatant vandalism, made it difficult to be sure. “See the curve?” He pointed to a spot where the sharp lines of spikes intersected with smoother, older, carvings.
“And made out to look like a dragon.” The hedgewitch bounced on the spot, causing a rather distracting amount of jiggling. “Oh, it must have happened during the third-century wars. And over there.” She pointed to where someone’s sooty hand had marred the wall. The faint impression of another mark had been carved just beneath. “The stamp of the smiths. I must take notes, lots of them.” She grasped his arm, squeezing to the point of bruising. “You can help me!”
Tracker’s hand tightened its grip, all but crushing Dylan’s fingers. “The light will be fading on the surface,” he said before Dylan could think to open his mouth. “We should return to camp before dark.”
“But we can come back tomorrow.” Katarina turned her gaze on the hound, those dark eyes pleading. “Can’t we?”
The grip on Dylan’s hand grew tighter.
“My dear woman, our goal is to get Dylan to the royal castle so he can be leashed. As our dear warrior reminded us some time back, it would be unwise to delay such a task.”
The fingers encircling Dylan’s arm constricted the limb like tiny snakes. “But I need him. This sort of find must be documented. I need records, meticulous ones. That requires a small team.” Katarina left their side to flit about the cavern, her hands hovering over markings with such reverence that anyone could be forgiven for thinking they’d stumbled upon a holy site. “There’s so much here.” She spun to face the hound. “Give me a day. Just enough to make a preliminary report.”