by Rose Estes
“How long will it take to get to the city?” Mika asked, looking around uneasily at the mention of all the horrible possibilities.
“Two days, two nights,” said Hornsbuck. “If we don’t run into any trouble. I figure that with two of us, it’ll be easier to keep watch, although RedTail and Tam should let us know if any thing’s on our trail. Leastwise, I hope so.”
So did Mika. They packed up and set out again after their brief respite, following a long, confusing set of tunnels. Mika had only admiration for Hornsbuck’s amazing memory, for as far as he could tell, the older man consulted no map other than that which he held in his mind.
They had descended to a passage that lay even further below ground than the water tunnel when Mika noticed that it was becoming harder and harder to stay on his feet.
The path was rougher here, the walls and ceiling far less refined than the upper levels, and he stumbled often. It grew more and more tiring, just walking. He stopped for a minute, resting against the wall and felt the fatigue in his legs. Even Tam’s tail lay limp between his legs, and he walked with his head hung low.
“Hornsbuck,” Mika called. “Let us stop for the night. I am weary and would rest.”
“Pah!” spat Hornsbuck. “You young pups have no endurance. Why, I could walk for many an hour more and never even feel it!” But Mika noticed that he did not argue the point further but set up camp in a matter of moments.
Camp was a rude affair with the roan tethered on one side and the wolves resting on the other. They ate their meat cold and raw and washed it down with water.
Mika lowered the princess to the ground, although Hornsbuck thought it a waste of time, and arranged her neatly along the wall, wiping her hands, wrists, and face with a dampened square of silk, ripped once again from the bottom of her dress.
The closer they got to their destination, the more Mika imagined what she might be like if she wakened.
“I’ve taken care of her well, under the circumstances,” Mika assured himself, under his breath. “After all, what do I know about taking care of princesses? It’s not like I asked for the job! That damn fool giant went and got himself killed; it’s all his fault!”
Tam’s dark eyes reflected laughter in the light of the torches, and after a moment, Mika grinned too. Then, lying down on the cold earth, he closed his eyes and slept.
Chapter 19
SOMETHING WAKENED MIKA, although he was not sure what. A soft sound perhaps, a whisper of movement, or maybe just intuition. Whatever it was, it caused the short hairs on the back of his neck to rise up in prickles.
He lay there in the dark, for the torch had gone out while they slept. He strained against the darkness, trying to see, but it was hopeless; the dark was impenetrable.
Then it came, the softest sibilance of movement, yet he could not tell where it was coming from. Off to his left, or maybe even behind him.
His hand inched toward his sword, and he hoped that Hornsbuck was awake, too. Yet he could not call out to his comrade without letting whatever was lurking know he was awake . . .
He closed his hand round the handle of his sword, the metal cold and reassuring, but now there was no sound, no hint that he was not alone. Doubt swept over him and he wondered if he had been mistaken.
Perhaps it had been but a dream. Perhaps, it had been . . . Pain, excruciating pain, pierced his ankle like two red hot pincers, and shot up his leg, twisting and coursing through his body like fire through dry tinder.
Mika screamed aloud, all thought of silence abandoned as the agony continued to chew its way through his ankle. Lifting his sword, he slashed down at the unseen assailant, once, twice, three times, feeling his blade cut through little or nothing.
Light flooded the tunnel and a rough hand covered his mouth, choking off his screams. Mika thrashed about wildly, fighting the hand, and raised his sword to strike.
“Don’t be barmy,” Hornsbuck whispered harshly. “What’s the matter with you? Are you tryin’ to call every monster in the place down on us? Quit your noise!”
“My ankle! My ankle!” Mika gasped, doubling over and gripping his booted ankle with both hands, his sword dropping uselessly to the ground with a dull clang.
“Ain’t nothin’ but a measly centipede,” growled Hornsbuck in disgust, wrenching the pincers of the creature open with his bare hands and thrusting it head first into the flame of the torch. It shrilled a brief high-pitched scream, then crumpled as the fire shriveled and blackened its segmented carapace.
Mika groaned with pain and bent nearly double, clutching his bloody ankle, for while the thing was dead, the awful pain continued.
“I don’t understand why you’re carrying on like this,” said Hornsbuck, as he stared at Mika with disgust. “It was just a little one, barely even two feet long. Why, once when I was traveling—”
“Hornsbuck, I don’t care if you eat them ten feet long for breakfast every morning,” Mika said through clenched teeth. “The damn thing bit me, and it hurts like the devil. Aren’t they poisonous?”
“Poisonous? Well, yes, I suppose they could be,” mused Hornsbuck, stroking his beard as he tried to remember. “Maybe so, but not a lot,” he finally concluded.
“Hornsbuck, a little bit dead works just the same as very dead,” gasped Mika, propping himself up against the wall next to the princess. Steeling himself, he withdrew his bloodstained hand, pulled off his mutilated boot and examined the wound.
The skin was already turning purplish-blue on either side of the twin gashes, each of which extended the full width of the ankle and appeared relatively deep. The flesh was sore, and the lips of the wound had swollen shut, sealing inside whatever poison had been injected into his body.
Mika sighed deeply, noting the two crimson lines that were already inching their way up the calf of his leg, leaving a deep throbbing pain in their wake that seemed to increase as he watched.
Mika hated pain and blood, especially when it was his own, and even more so when he had to inflict it on himself on purpose. Yet there was nothing else to be done; if he did not treat the poison, it would only get worse. Much worse.
Under Hornsbuck’s amused eye, Mika seared the blade of his knife in the flame of the torch, then, without pausing, slashed the flesh above the ankle, cutting across the two lines of poison. Blood flowed freely, pouring down his foot in dark streams. To his surprise, he felt immediate relief from the awful pain. Soon, the blood turned bright again and the flow diminished and then slowed to a trickle.
Acting nonchalantly, Mika rummaged in his pouch and found a horn of healing salve that he thought appropriate. Its principal ingredients were borage, bittersweet, red clover, golden seal, and mullein, all of which were used in cases of blood poisoning. To that he added a handful of cobwebs scooped from the walls, to aid in clotting.
He smeared the wounds with the thick salve and webs and ripped yet another strip from the remains of the beautiful silk dress to wrap around his ankle.
“Done?” Hornsbuck asked politely, although laughter still twinkled in his eyes.
“Done,” replied Mika.
“Then let us be on our way,” said Hornsbuck, gesturing with a broad sweeping movement of his hand, indicating the path beyond.
“But isn’t it still the middle of the night?” asked Mika.
“Who can tell and what does it matter down here where there ain’t no light?” said Hornsbuck with a grin. “We’re up, so we’d best be going.”
There was no arguing with the man’s logic, so with a shake of his head, Mika got to his feet and put his boot back on, which, he noticed, still smelled slightly of rabbit stew.
He was astonished to find that there was little or no pain in the ankle and congratulated himself on his fine healing skills, choosing not to remember that he had made the salve months ago under his father’s explicit direction.
The wolves were all too glad to leave the tunnel, skirting the blackened remains of the centipede with obvious aversion.
&nbs
p; “Thanks a lot,” muttered Mika as he limped along next to Tam. “I thought you were supposed to sleep with one eye open. My faithful companion, always alert, never surprised. Hah! That centipede could just as easily have gotten me by the neck, you know. Then where would you be?”
Tam licked his lips and, meeting Mika’s eyes only briefly, looked away.
“All right, all right. I’m not too wild about centipedes either. I forgive you . . . this time,” Mika said grudgingly, and they walked along the dark passage in companionable silence.
It seemed that Hornsbuck also spoke to RedTail, conferring with him quietly when they came to junctures that the older man seemed unsure of. In those instances, Hornsbuck seemed to talk to the wolf and then listen to a reply that Mika could not discern. It puzzled him, but he was certainly not going to ask. A nomad’s relationship with his wolf was sacrosanct. Twice, Hornsbuck and his wolf seemed to disagree. Once, Hornsbuck did not take RedTail’s advice and they turned left rather than right. RedTail remained at the juncture, allowing Hornsbuck, Mika, Tam, and the horse to go off without him. Quite soon, however, Hornsbuck had to admit that the wolf had been right, and the entire party was forced to return to the juncture and follow a smirking RedTail along the route the wolf had preferred.
This corridor led them to a wide hall that stretched in all directions as far as the eye could see, the dark shadows hiding much from their view.
The ceiling was brightly colored and appeared to be made up of tiny pieces of mosaic tile. Closer examination revealed the tiles to be semi-precious gems struck square and unfaceted, reflecting the light dully.
The pictures they comprised were of nothing that Mika could recognize. Joyous swirls of bright primary colors clashed and conflicted with heavy threatening slashes of darkness—ebony opals and black sapphires. Somehow the riot of colors was disturbing in a way that Mika could not even begin to articulate, but he experienced a shiver of foreboding.
“What is this place?” he asked in a whisper.
“I don’t know,” replied Hornsbuck. “Creepy, ain’t it? Over the center, there’s this throne-like thing. Big. Bigger than any human would need. I don’t know what sat there. I certainly don’t want to meet it. Come over here and look at these pillars.”
Hornsbuck held his torch up close to one of the hundreds of pillars that supported the roof. Mika cringed back.
Flames shot up the rounded sides of the pillars, reaching for the ceiling. Flames that were made of blood red rubies embedded in the stone and outlined in a dried rusty brown medium that looked suspiciously like blood. Circling the base and the top of the pillar, also embedded in the stone, were skulls, human skulls. Their empty eyes stared out at Mika, their jaws gaped wide in silent anguish.
“They’re all like that,” whispered Hornsbuck.
“Every one.”
“Let’s get out of here,” said Mika, chills running down his back. “I don’t like this place.”
“I don’t either,” said Hornsbuck. “But at least no one seems to come here any more. There’s that to be glad for.”
As though waiting only for his words, the wolves began to growl, low ominous sounds rumbling deep in their chests. Their ears lay flat against their skulls, and their hackles rose thickly about their necks.
“What is it, Tam?” asked Mika holding out his torch and reaching nervously for his sword. But Tam never shifted his gaze and continued to stare into the darkness and growl. Slowly, RedTail began to move, gingerly stalking forward on stiff legs as though treading on eggshells. Tam followed reluctantly, his thick silver-plumed tail curled tightly over his black furred back. He seemed uncertain, cautious and perhaps even afraid, but his gold eyes blazed with hatred, and Mika knew that a blood lust was building in him.
Then Mika heard it, the rapid shuffling of a heavy body moving over the gritty floor. It was coming from his right. He held the torch up high, but there was nothing to be seen. The roan began to back and sidestep, yanking at his reins and whickering anxiously.
“What is it, Hornsbuck?” Mika asked, growing more and more anxious himself.
“I don’t know,” said Hornsbuck, unsheathing his sword. “But you’d best get ready. Tie that horse to one of those pillars. I suspect you might need both hands; the wolves say trouble’s coming.”
Mika tied the roan to the nearest pillar and unsheathed his sword.
They heard the breathing before they saw the creature, a heavy, stentorian sound that rasped on Mika’s nerves like a sword striking bone.
Mika’s hands grew sweaty and his sword drooped. A terrible roar cut through the darkness, and Mika stiffened, his sword springing to attention, quivering upright!
A darker shadow hovered in the shadows at the edge of the torchlight. Mika’s spirit wilted. He could see that it was immense, over eight feet tall and more than five feet wide.
TamTur and RedTail were barking at the unseen enemy—short, harsh, staccato yaps—and their dewlaps were drawn back over their white slavering teeth.
“What is it, Hornsbuck?” asked Mika again, attempting to conceal the fear in his voice.
“I don’t know!” growled Hornsbuck and, reaching over, wrenched a skull loose from the base of the pillar nearest him and threw it at the shadowy creature. There was an immediate roar of anger, and the thing lumbered into the circle of torchlight.
Mika wished with all his heart that it had stayed hidden in the dark. For now he could see the whole of the horrible thing. Never in his entire life had he faced anything more frightening. It was like the worst of nightmares come true.
Its head, if it could be called that, was merely a rounded extension of the whole. It had no neck. Its eyes were like four opaque stones, showing no glint of intelligence, clustered together and buried deep in the rolls of flesh in the center of its forehead. Its mouth was nearly as wide as its body and was lined with rows of gleaming, jagged teeth. Two great long teeth sprouted from the corners of the gaping maw and pointed toward the center. Curving out from the base of the two fangs for a distance of some two feet were two sharp-tipped, razor-edged, mandible-like devices that probed the air in front of the monster’s face as though searching for prey.
Two massive arms were attached to the huge, ponderous, bulbous grey body and ended in four clawed fingers each. Its massive legs were similarly powerful yet primitive, resting on three-toed, clawed feet that advanced slowly, yet all too surely.
Its body reminded Mika of that of a giant tick, the grey skin stretched swollen and taut over the immense bulbous body.
“What is it!” shrilled Mika, backing up until he felt the warm bulk of the roan quivering fearfully behind him.
“Umber hulk,” said Hornsbuck, backing up quickly and covering his eyes with his hand. “Don’t look into its eyes, it’ll stun you. Confuse you till you don’t know your own name.”
“What’s it want?” asked Mika, wondering if the thing liked jewels or treasure or even horse meat!
“You, you dummy!” roared Hornsbuck. “What else? It eats anything and everything it can catch, but it likes folks best! We’ve got to make a run for it. There’s no fighting it!”
This was the best news Mika had heard since before the cursed messenger had stumbled into camp with word of the kobold attack. He did not stop to argue but put his foot in the stirrup and swung himself into the saddle behind the princess. He was leaning forward to jerk the reins loose from the pillar when he heard a noise behind him. A chill ran down his spine.
He ripped the reins free and kicked the roan in the ribs. It shot forward, then dashed to the right, away from the awful umber hulk, which was still advancing slowly but steadily.
“RedTail! Tam! To me, wolves, to me!” screamed Hornsbuck, as the wolves barked and danced nimbly at the feet of the monster.
“Mika, call Tam. They don’t know! They’ve never met one before! They think they can kill it!” yelled Hornsbuck, fear apparent in his voice for the first time, fear not for himself, but for his wolf.
&n
bsp; “TAM! To me!” hollered Mika, equally terrified that Tam might be caught up in that horrible clawed hand and shoveled into the gaping mouth. But neither wolf obeyed the command.
The hulk was within three feet of the wolves now, swinging its arms before it like trees swaying in the wind, its teeth clacking audibly as the awful mouth opened and shut, opened and shut.
Mika was torn, afraid for his own safety, yet panic-stricken over Tam, who did not seem to realize his own danger. The barking, yapping, and slavering of the wolves was causing so much noise that Mika almost failed to hear the heavy, stentorian breathing of a second umber hulk! But the roan did not mistake it and reared, nearly tossing Mika from his back, and bleated in abject terror. Mika looked behind him and saw the other umber hulk, even larger than the first, ponderously making its way toward the wolves.
“Hornsbuck!” cried Mika just as the grizzled nomad darted forward and scooped a snarling RedTail up in his arms, wrestling him away from the approaching monster.
Hornsbuck turned and looked at the spot where Mika had stood only seconds before, but Mika had already mounted the roan and moved away. Hornsbuck found himself staring directly in the face of the second umber hulk, catching the full impact of its hypnotic gaze.
Hornsbuck stood there like a statue, holding a torch in one hand and his wolf and his sword in the other, mouth open, eyes wide, sensibilities gone, as the umber hulks moved toward him on their stumpy, clawed feet.
Mika cursed, knowing that he had to do something or the man was as good as dead, and there was no way that he would ever find his way out of the tunnels by himself. It was this thought more than any other that decided his course of action.
Kicking the roan hard, he drove him forward between the two hulks, now separated by no more than ten feet. As he came up to the stunned nomad, Mika threw his torch into the mouth of the nearest hulk and grabbed Hornsbuck by the hair, turning him about roughly and propelling him forward as fast as his feet could carry him. Mika prayed that Hornsbuck would not drop the torch or the wolf and would keep his footing.