by Eve Forward
One room, with its door ajar, prompted a look-in; rows and rows of sarcophagi lay therein, many with the lids broken open and strange corpses in rotting garments lying within. Arcie was all for a bit of grave-robbing, but when they moved to step closer, eerie black shrouds of vapor seemed to coalesce about the tombs, hungrily searching for the stone at Valerie’s neck. Unnerved, the party quickly backed out and slammed the door, then hastened with all speed away down the hall.
They then came onto a large eight-sided room, which was worked with frescoes so elaborate they had to stop and inspect them. The carvings took the form of a rich mural going all around the room, including the ceiling, and weaving over the arch of the door.
“What do you suppose this is?” wondered Sam, looking at the mural. There were knights and dragons and men on horseback, mountains and ships and cities.
“It seems to be a story-mural of some sort,” replied Valerie. “Robin? Does any of this look familiar?”
The centaur shook his head. “No ... This is all much older than anything I know of.”
“Hmmph,” sniffed Valerie. “A bard would know.”
“What is a bard?” asked Robin, a little testily.
“It’s hard to say ... you’ll have to ask Kaylana,” replied the sorceress.
Meanwhile, Arcie had been discovering mechanisms in the stonework. He almost alerted the party, but then he realized the devices weren’t traps. They just seemed to be sections of the mural that would sink down when pressed. Here a helmet, here a sheaf of grain, here a sword, here a section of hill; tiny chunks of the carving so intricately worked into the rest of the design that the lines of their borders were almost invisible. He pressed down a few in curiosity.
They sank with a faint clicking noise, but no secret panel opened, no chest of jewels spilled out from any concealed vaults. He pressed quite a few of them, then, discouraged, gave the border around the base a kick. The section his foot hit sank with a definite snap, and suddenly the mountain began to tremble.
“Tharzak’s blades! Arcie, what did you do?!” yelled Sam, trying to keep his balance on the trembling floor.
“I didn’t!” Arcie shouted back, as a sudden tremor knocked him on his back.
“Get out before the whole room caves in!” cried Valerie, suiting action to word. They ran after her and into a large hallway beyond.
Valerie ran five steps and a pit opened underneath her.
She fell with a scream, her raven flapping and cawing.
Robin, close behind, leaped over the pit and turned down into another passage, just as it tilted up at a steep angle and slid him down its length to deeper parts of the mountain, his hooves skidding on the stone. Sam came next, as a section of floor snapped up and shot him through the air to a chute that conveniently opened in one wall, closing behind him. Blackmail and Arcie, hastening out the doorway and looking at the confusion of moving stonework all around them, had barely time to exchange shocked looks when a spring in the floor catapulted the Barigan through a just-opened hole in the ceiling and a section of hallway abruptly elongated itself and engulfed the knight like a giant worm.
In another part of Putak-Azum, the White Tigers, just beginning to be ready for the day’s hunting, felt the shaking.
“What is that?!” roared Tasmene.
“Someone must have triggered the Dwarven mechanic defenses of Putak-Azum!” yelled Thurbin the Northerman in surprise.
“Haha! This is fun!” cheered Dusty, as the room suddenly split like a pie. The triangular sections tilted upward and sent the heroes rolling to opening chutes in the walls.
“Blast Dwarven mechanics!” cursed Danathala the archer, as she and her pack went tumbling. They heard the mage Tesubar beginning a spell as he fell into the depths.
“Pheythar-”
“Arrgh!” bellowed the noble paladin, Sir Reginald, as he fell with a great clatter of plate-mail. Muffled cries marked the passage of the barbarian priestess Waterwind and the barbarian named Icecliff as they fell down a chute together. “We shall die together, my beloved!”
“Yes, my darling of the snows!”
The moving stonework ground to a halt, finally, and all was silent in the rearranged vaults of Putak-Azum.
Sam fell for quite a long way. He hadn’t lived to the age of thirty-some summers by not keeping a clear head, however. He dragged his heels on the chute, trying to slow his passage, grabbing with his hands at cracks that shot by too fast, and was just debating whether to risk ruining a dagger on stopping himself when he shot out of the chute, did a double back somersault in mid-air, and landed with a splash in an icy pool.
He surfaced, spluttering. It was pitch dark. His assassin’s vision swiftly adapted; there was no light whatsoever to make distant shapes, but he could sense the air and the echoes ... In the distance was the reflective echo of a wall. Trying not to think about what things might lurk in the dark water around him, he struck out for shore, swimming strongly.
Arcie shot up out of the hallway and immediately fell down another as it tilted swiftly. Why didn’t I see all these traps? he cursed himself as he fell. The whole damn place are a trap!
Abruptly the hallway began to level off, and the Barigan’s descent went from a plummet to a bounce to a tumble to a roll, at last letting him crumple to a stop against a wall. Arcie lay very still for a long moment. The air was cold, and smelled stale. He seemed to be alive. It was very dark. He could tell he was up against a wall, and there seemed to be floor underneath him, but other than that even his pride had to admit he was lost. Well, no sense lying about feeling sorry for yourself, he thought firmly, and got to his feet. Other than a few scratches and bruises he seemed to be all right. The others might scoff at his chubbiness, but a bit of padding was really sometimes the best friend a fellow could have.
A good smoke would be most welcome now, he decided, while he figured out his next move. He fumbled his tobacco things out blindly. After filling his pipe and getting it going, he tried to find something else that would burn long enough to make a suitable light. There didn’t seem to be anything. With a shrug and a quick readjustment of his battered hat, he set off down the passageway he’d been dumped into.
Robin, skittering as he fell, had only one panicked thought. He gripped the bracelet and activated it. With a flux of power he found himself in the Diamond Tower once more ...
X
Valerie muttered a quick spell as she saw she was approaching the bottom of the pit. A bubble of force caught and supported her and Nightshade, and they drifted down. The sorceress carefully avoided the two-foot long rusty spikes as she landed gently and looked around.
She seemed to be in the bottom of a ten-by-ten square pit. There were no exits to be seen by most, but Valerie was a Nathauan. Born in darkness, raised in darkness, in a world of underground passages and secret tunnels. As her large purple eyes widened, she noted the rough stonework, the barbs on the spikes, and a thin crack of a concealed doorway in one wall. At least the mountain seemed to have stopped shaking. She pushed on the door gently with a graceful hand, and smiled as it slid open with a faint grating noise.
Sir Reginald clattered to a halt on his armored rump, after a most unsporting tumble down a steep chute. He raised his visor, his long mustache twitching; it seemed to be dark. Well, that was easily remedied, certain. The paladin drew his great sword, the magical silver-worked blade Starstrike, and held it aloft with a word of command: “Forte!”
White light coruscated from the blade and filled the chamber with radiance. He lowered the blade and looked around. Abruptly there was the sound of a mailed footstep, and he turned to face it. A tall, dark figure, all armored in black plate-mail, stepped through a doorway at the far end of the chamber.
“What ho!” cried Sir Reginald. “The black knight of the villains! I challenge you to combat!” he roared, snapping his visor down. “Draw your sword!”
The dark knight drew a sword black as ebony, and raised a mailed fist in acceptance of the challen
ge. With a ringing clatter of metal, the two combatants charged each other.
Sam climbed out of the pool onto a slimy, pebbly beach.
He couldn’t see the water clearly, but he had tasted it, and it seemed fresh enough ... he filled his waterskin.
Hanging it on his belt. he looked around. There was the echo of a passageway there, and if he was not mistaken, there was a twinkle of light at the far end. He took off his sodden tunic and squidged down the hallway.
He at last stepped out into an open room and found he was not alone. He tensed. A female figure, holding a glowing magical torch that was the source of the light, turned to face him, and gasped.
Danathala, Dana for short, saw where there had been nothing before, a very interesting looking person. A man, about her age, maybe a bit younger, with wet blond hair.
He was wearing black silk. Wet black silk, that clung in very interesting ways to a lean, strong body, with a broad muscular chest, nice legs and ... she noted, as he gave a quick half-turn to check behind him, cute buns.
“Hey, handsome,” she said, in her most charming voice, as the vision whipped out a dagger and assumed a ready stance, “Calm down ... you’re much too good looking to fight with. Let’s chat for awhile instead, hmmm?” Sam didn’t much care for either the look in her eyes or the tone of her voice, but forced himself to think clearly.
She did have a large sword, a magical torch, a bow, a quiver of arrows, and was standing in front’ of the only non-swimming exit. Maybe she knew the way out. He forced himself out of his alert crouch and managed a winning smile. The woman was attractive, though not a patch on Kaylana or Cata, with curly dark hair and predatory eyes. She had the set and tack of an archer or woodsman, but, fortunately, she didn’t seem to be wearing Fenwick’s colors ... in fact, she was wearing normal brown leathers. Tasmene’s companions, despite the name White Tigers, did not share his heraldic crest. But Sam didn’t know this. What a lady archer was doing down in the depths of an abandoned mountain fortress, Sam also didn’t know, but she might be useful.
“Well, all right,” he purred. “Since the company is so attractive.”
Tasmene and Fenwick can kill the rest, thought Dana smugly. I’m going to keep this one.
Dusty landed cheerfully on a pile of moss and jumped up.
“Wow! That was fun!” He looked back up the chute that had dumped him, wondering if it would be worthwhile to climb back up it and slide down again. He decided against it, after some thought, instead deciding to explore his surroundings. He trotted down a passageway, magic torch held high, long hair flapping.
The Wilderkin peeked into all the side passages he went by. Down one of them he thought he saw a flicker of movement. He hurriedly covered his torch. Far down the passage was a faint reddish glow and a faint smell of smoke reached the Wilderkin’s sensitive nostrils.
“A dragon!” whispered Dusty to himself. “Maybe a big huge evil one! All sitting on a pile of coins and gems!”
Keeping his torch snuffed, he scampered silently down the hall, almost panting in excitement.
He reached the reddish glow long before he should have. It hovered in the air just about five feet from him, on a level with his chin.
“That’s odd,” he muttered, and took out his torch.
Bright flared, illuminating and revealing the source of the red glow and the smell of smoke as a gray clay pipe held in the teeth of a person about the same size as himself. A very short little man, of older middle age and Barigan by his build, with wide blue eyes and a battered hat that he raised in greeting.
“Hullo!” said the Barigan.
“Hello!” replied Dusty. “Hey, I thought you were a dragon but I guess you aren’t because you’re a Barigan, right? I fell down a big tunnel when the floor opened up and everyone else fell down too but I don’t know where they are now. Here, are you one of the villains?”
“Me?” replied the Barigan. “O’course not, laddie! What villains? I but live here.”
“You live here?” asked Dusty in amazement.
“Aye, o’course. I’m from Bariga. Barigans live underground, you know that:..”
“Oh yes!” replied Dusty hurriedly. “I always wondered about that, I mean, we Wilderkin live in trees mostly, at least the wild ones do, and they have foxdogs and things but I don’t have one, I had a hamster for awhile but Tesubar made me get rid of it. He made me get rid of the sparrow too, and I had a goldfish for awhile but one day he was talking about doing a spell and then I couldn’t find my goldfish so I guess he got rid of that too. My name’s Dusty Corners, what’s yours?” finished the Wilderkin happily, extending a small hand. Arcie took it and shook it in a friendly manner.
“Timlin Marzipan, at yer service,” replied Arcie cheerfully.
“So ye fell down a tunnel, then?”
“Oh yes, it was such fun! I fell and slid for soooo long, and then I fell out-boom!-onto this big pile of moss. I was going to climb back up but I didn’t. We could go back there now and play on the slide; see, I drew a map so I’d know the way ...” The Wilderkin briefly displayed a pen-and-ink sketch of tunnels drawn on a scrap of paper, over the words
“Eggs, soap, bread, 2 spools white yam,” then continued: “Unless, of course, you have a better idea...”
“Och, I’m far too old to play on slides,” chuckled the Barigan richly. “But I can teach you a new game, if you like.”
“Really, Marzipan? A new game! Tell me tell me,” enthused the Wilderkin, setting his torch down and sitting on the floor with the Barigan, who winked at him from a bright eye.
“O’course! Yon’s a game my father taught me, and his father before him, and his before...”
“What’s it called?” asked Dusty. The Barigan smiled, and reached into one of his pouches.
“ ‘Tis called, ‘Riddles,’ laddie,” he replied mysteriously.
“Oh wonderful!” chirped Dusty. “Great! I know lots of riddles!”
“So do I,” said Arcie, with a grin.
In another chamber, the two barbarians huddled together for warmth in the cold dampness of the dungeon.
They had survived the fall quite well, and, there being no immediate danger present, were enjoying the time away from the eyes of their companions.
“I will never leave you, my skybird.”
“I love you forever, my frost-eagle.”
Valerie marched softly down the tunnel. She came to a large open room, and started across it... then broke into a run as hideous deformed creatures, like walking corpses, rose up from the piles of rubble and shambled in pursuit of her and the amulet she wore.
Tesubar stomped along a corridor crossly. He hated it when this happened. Dumped unceremoniously down tunnels and left to find one’s own way out. Well, he wasn’t going to stand for it. He was a mage, by the Pentacles, and he wasn’t going to stand for it. He was going to teleport back to clearer ground. He stopped, raised his arms, and began to chant.
“Alau kubrek tsthiran malesta feiana... Oooof!” he finished as something crashed into him from behind. Valerie looking over her shoulder to check on the progress of the undead, suddenly ran into the blue-robed mage. A flood of magic whirled around the two of them and shot them through inter-dimensional space. The fiends collapsed into inertness as their power source fled.
The two magic-users materialized in another room that Valerie didn’t recognize. They sprang apart and faced each other. Tesubar knew a dark sorceress when he saw one. Valerie was keyed-up enough to blast anything that moved. The two began chanting simultaneously, finishing on almost the same breath.
A wave of frost leapt from the black fingernails of the Nathauan into a sheet of flame generated by the human mage. Steam hissed, and the two combatants, unharmed, glared at each other an instant, then tried again. Words of magic rang through the air. Then two blots of power flashed and bounced across the room in sizzling smoke.
One section of wall turned into a small startled chicken, and a large chunk of the opposite wall s
hattered into gravel. They tried again. And again.
Steel rang on steel as the two armored knights circled each other, raining blows. Sir Reginald found himself sweating mightily inside his armor. This dark fellow was incredibly skilled, parrying most of the paladin’s blows easily with sword and shield. It was all Reginald could do to defend himself equally. They circled the floor, weapons crashing and clanging, the bright-burning blade of the paladin sparking against the deep black sword of the dark knight.
With a sudden blow, Reginald found himself disarmed.
The black sword knocked Starstrike from his hands, sending it skittering across the rubble-strewn room. Oh blast, he thought, and grabbed for his secondary weapon, a heavy mace. It was gone. I must have dropped it in the fall! he thought distractedly. I’m in for it now...
But the knight stopped his attack and backed off, motioning to the sword. Sir Reginald stood up in surprise “By the Shield! You follow the Code! A dark villain like yourself follows the lawful Code ... This is odd,” he said, half to the knight and half to himself, as he wonderingly went over to retrieve his still-shining sword. He picked it up, and turned to the knight. “I would know the name of such a man who would do this, sir!” he called.
The knight made no sound. “Ha! Snub me, will you?” roared Sir Reginald and charged back into the fray, blows once more ringing through the hall.
“So,” asked Sam, “what’s a nice girl like you doing in a dungeon like this?” He smiled his most charming smile and got a coy look in return.
“Well, I think we’re looking for you and your friends,” Dana purred, her hand on his thigh. Sam carefully put an arm around her waist, and she snuggled against him.
“You’ve caught me,” he said. “But I don’t know where the rest of my group are, and I’ve seen no signs of yours ... do you know the way out of here?”
“No,” replied the lady, running her hands over his body through the black silk. “And I certainly hope they don’t show up anytime soon.” She looked into his eyes seductively.
Dana had both the self-confidence to be certain she could handle (in more ways than one) this good-looking assassin and the ego to feel that that was all men were for anyway. She gripped the man tightly and smothered his lips in a kiss so passionate she didn’t even notice the stab of a tiny needle run through her elbow. Her consciousness dissolved in a warm pink mist.