“We had hoped,” she continued, “to gain sanctuary in this place. So it came as a great surprise to find that, not only did the Gigantes survive in considerable numbers, but you took up residence here.”
Tayem tried not to make the words sound vindictive, but the Hallows was pushing at the edges of her consciousness again, and there was a sharp edge to her tone.
The Cyclopes remained silent, and Tayem didn’t know whether she had offended them or if this was simply their way.
“They would hear more,” Milissandia whispered in her ear, “but take care not to raise their ire.” She had stood to offer her words of advice, a service Tayem was grateful for. “Remember, you exert no authority here. Appeal to their common decency — they possess that in great measure.”
Tayem nodded in acknowledgement. “Forgive me if that sounded disrespectful. I simply wonder how this secret place was laid down in both our lores as a sanctuary to which our peoples could flee.”
Ebar nodded at her, but did not say a word. Is this a sign of acceptance or him just tolerating my speech?
“To tell the truth, we are desperate. If we do not find adequate shelter soon, it will only take one severe storm and we will suffer a heavy toll.”
It was as she vocalised the Dragonian plight that a wave of sadness overcame her, and she faltered for a moment. But Cistre was there, as always, to bolster her. She appeared at her side and placed a hand on her shoulder.
“Why not pause for some time, let them consider what you have said, my Queen?” Cistre said.
“In a moment,” Tayem said, recovering herself. She turned back to the Council leaders and spoke up once more.
“Therefore I come to you on behalf of my people — to request a place under your protection, noble Gigantes. We need time to recover and plan our next move against the Cuscosians. Without your aid, I fear the Donnephon will be scattered to the winds.”
Tayem decided she had said enough and sat down on the floor once more.
Ebar puffed on his pipe, looking lost in thought. He turned to the other Cyclopes and watched as each of them nodded or gestured to him affirmatively. He took the pipe from his mouth, and then addressed Tayem. “We have heard your entreaty, Queen of the Donnephon and thank you for your words. Now the Council must talk. We invite you to retire to rooms we have prepared and rest. We will summon you when we have something to say.”
Tayem and her party rose, understanding the audience was over for now, and followed one of the women who had served them lunch. She led them to a house located a stone’s throw away from the Council Hall complete with washing facilities and freshly made beds. Most of the party threw themselves onto the cots and dropped off to sleep straight away. But Tayem could not rest. The Hallows raged within, almost as if it was offended by this place and sought revenge for bringing it here. In addition, she was anxious about the Cyclopes’ impending response. She knew from ancient lore, and from what Milissandia had told her, that the Cyclopes were a proud and cautious people. They had good reason to mistrust any outsiders after what they had suffered at the Decimation.
She judged she had been wise to stop short with the request she had made. In truth, she had much more to ask of them. But that would have to wait for another time. At present, their fate was in the hands of this simple yet enigmatic people.
Milissandia seated herself next to Wobas on a wooden bench overlooking the village square. They were away from general observation (the villagers were gossip-mongers to a person,) yet close enough to the Council Hall to respond quickly when the Council recalled them.
She looked at her father and noted again how worn he looked. Yet he seemed to have lost some of the reticence he once possessed. A good sign?
“The Queen presented herself well,” he said to her.
“She holds the wisdom of one twice her age,” Milissandia said.
“Yet I sense an inner turmoil.”
“You judge aright. She labours under the torment of the Hallows.”
“Her wisdom clearly did not prevent her from succumbing to temptation, then?”
Milissandia felt a familiar prickling at her father’s judgmental comment. Stay your anger, she admonished herself. “Neither of us are strangers to temptation,” she replied. “It can come in many guises, and the most noble of persons might court evil in order to accomplish good.”
Wobas stared ahead, as if meeting Milissandia’s gaze might cause him to utter intemperate words. “You think this is why she invited the Black Hallows in?”
“I know this much,” she said. “Tayem Fyreglance recognises the Hallows for what it is now and seeks release.”
“It is a vexing problem to overcome.”
“She cannot do it on her own.”
Wobas turned to her, his eyes widening. “You think I can help her?”
“You possess the skill.”
Wobas hung his head. “I do. But it requires that I enter the Dreamworld, and I have not dared venture into the Far Beyond for many weeks now.”
It was Milissandia’s turn to express surprise. “You haven’t? Why not?”
And so it was that Wobas unburdened himself to one who he once thought was the least likely to share such a weight. He told her of his encounter with the false Augur, his fear that Zodarin — or the thing he represented — had returned, and of the spiritual malaise he had endured.
When he finished, Milissandia felt something melt inside. She knew from her own experience in the Dreamworld why Wobas had sought answers in that realm. It was not a selfish desire to draw worldly power from the place, but rather a quest to allow what it offered to bring good to the many — whether that be healing, reconciliation or comfort.
Without another word, she reached out to him and embraced her father for the first time in over ten sols. They held each other like that for many minutes until she felt her cheeks moist from the mingling of both their tears.
“There is much to tell you too, Father; and perhaps when I finish you will understand that all is not as bleak as you think.”
She recounted her experience with the tree serpent, and how a happy mix of circumstances had allowed her to tread across the boundary existing between the Near To and the Far Beyond. It took some time to relate, and they could not help sharing their common adventures, and wonder at how the place left them both enraptured. In particular, it heartened her to learn that the Spirit Guide had sought them both and that, in this, they had an ally.
“Do you see, Father? If we can both tread the paths of the Far Beyond, then we can support and strengthen each other. This evil creature you speak of is subject to the Dreamworld’s environment as much as we are. We cannot let fear of this wizard’s dread presence prevent us from helping Tayem.
Wobas looked at her with new eyes, and Milissandia understood in that moment they were conversing as equals. “You possess the bravery of your mother,” he said. “If you are not daunted venturing across the border, then who am I to baulk at the challenge?”
“We need to act quickly, then,” she said. “Tayem’s torment grows by the day, and the Hallows works against everything she is trying to achieve.”
“And what is that?” Wobas said. “I sensed she did not unburden herself fully in the Council chamber.”
“You are perceptive as ever,” she said. “But I will let her share the fullness of her entreaties once we hear the result of the Council’s discussion.”
“I think that will be sooner than you think,” Wobas said, pointing at the messenger who approached them from the direction of the Council building. “They have reached a decision.”
39
Tunnel of torment
After two whole days of digging under Nalin’s instruction, the Kaldoran excavation team took a turn towards the valley. The collapse of Jennu Narod and structural weakness of the remaining frontage meant their escape tunnel had to run parallel to the cliff face for approximately a quarter periarch. Then they would need to plot a course that gradually curved a full n
inety degrees. This meant they would exit the escarpment into the valley just south of Spidersnatch Cavern.
Nalin had meticulously planned the cave-crawler’s route using the detailed geological maps the Kaldoran people had made over many sols living and mining beneath the surface. The initial fear of suffocation had passed when the stonegrabes had cleared some of the interconnecting tunnels linking the Great Hall and collapsed cave network. It was just a question of digging themselves out of a living grave before any further calamity.
Now, two days later, Nalin felt they were making real progress as the tunnel boring machine slowly turned towards the limestone valley. Drawing from his pipe of smouldering jarva-leaf, he inhaled the intoxicating fumes, allowing the potent cocktail to energise his nerve endings and muscles alike. He had worked continuously since the start of their perilous journey, impelled by a sense of guilt, duty and over-riding desire for revenge on those who had perpetrated this despicable act. Such was his nature, that he had supervised the dig at close quarters, carefully watching over the precious machine. Every hour he lubricated key bearings, every minute cajoled the driving Kaltis and every other second monitored levels of fyredrench in the spray tanks. There had been no stopping. Nor could he, because he accepted the doom that had befallen Kaldora was entirely his fault.
He steered the cave-crawler in a gentle arc and prepared to start the next stage of the dig. If his calculations were correct, they would break into a large cavern in the next couple of hours. Then he would allow himself time to rest before the final push to freedom.
However, the ensuing dig proved harder than anticipated. The Kaldorans were experienced miners, their expertise spanning back thousands of sols yet they were up against extreme conditions. They might be physically adapted to their subterranean environment, but they also understood the dangers and rewards of the living rock that surrounded them. Indeed, many worshipped the mountains as gods, each stonegrabe clan giving prayers and offerings to their own particular deity.
As a practical consideration, the Kaldorans reinforced the tunnel roof and sides. They filled and levelled the floor behind the cutters to ensure smooth traversal for the wheels of the giant machine, and to allow safe passage for the following Kaldorans. The disc-shaped diamond cutters on the circular frontal shield showed little signs of wear as the revolutionary chemical agent weakened the rock integrity before they tore through tons of stone and dirt.
All went well, but Nalin still had concerns. Groundwater seepage was always a potential threat, although there had been little sign of leakage from the surrounding aquiferous rocks. There was also the risk of excavations destabilising ancient fault lines and causing massive slippage of the surrounding strata. Plenty to keep a stonegrabe awake, he thought.
A great cheer from up ahead broke Nalin out of his worried ponderings, and he stood up in the cave-crawler’s seat to see what the commotion was. Four Kaltis were jumping up and down at the spectacle of the drilling machine breaking through the last layer of limestone that marked the transition into the cavern beyond.
By Tarchon, he thought, I doubted we would ever make it.
The machine crawled forward the last few strides, and Nalin disengaged the drive. The cave-crawler shuddered to a halt, and he reflexively reached for his pipe, re-ignited it and inhaled deeply of the aromatic smoke. He noted in a detached way how these days it took longer for the jarva-leaf to bring the solace he desired. Where once he could take one inhalation and enjoy an immediate hit of euphoria, it now required at least three puffs. This might become a problem if his intake of the leaf outstripped supply, but for the present his stock was plentiful. Time to recharge the coffers once I access my plantation. Now there was a hopeful thought.
His inner pain tormented every waking moment, and it was only the jarva-leaf that prevented him from sinking into a morass of despair. His gummy balls had run out many days ago, which was a shame as they gave him a more immediate hit.
I am the one who brought calamity on my people. The thoughts kept returning. Not only this, but he had also served as architect of his family’s demise. He closed his eyes to shut out the pain of their memory, but was jolted back to reality when Magthrum slapped him hard on the back.
“I’ve ordered the stonegrabes to rest and make camp,” bellowed the Fellchief. “You ought to take some time to rest too, my friend.”
It was true that this had been Nalin’s intention, but now he had to face the prospect of his wife and son’s horrible deaths tormenting his dreams. “I’ll rest when we’re out of this hell hole,” responded Nalin tetchily. It was the jarva-leaf talking, but Magthrum seemed to understand, despite his ebullient mood. “You are hurting,” he said to his closest friend. “I know the pain you feel. It was the same when I lost Hetherin.”
Nalin turned to Magthrum, his eyes questioning. “When will it go away?”
“Alas, it never does. But you learn to bear it better.”
Magthrum meant well, but the words did little to assuage the raging storm in Nalin’s breast. He paced away before the Fellchief could see the tears flooding from his eyes and checked over the cave-crawler once again. They streamed down his cheeks as he stroked the dusty nameplate on its side.
“I brought this upon you,” he said to himself, “and I’m not sure how long I can live with the burden.”
Another voice answered his lamentation. Long enough to exact your revenge, surely?
Before he could address the voice in his head, there was a sudden loud rumbling sound from the tunnel behind, followed by screams of anguish. Where once there had been the compacted rock of the tunnel floor, there was now only a yawning hole.
“Sink hole!” Nalin yelled and rushed back to where the limestone had collapsed into what seemed like an endless pit. On the far side of the chasm he could see a handful of grimy stonegrabes staring into the blackness.
“How many lost?” he shouted across to them.
“Two,” replied a shocked Kaldoran.
Magthrum drew up alongside him and shook his head. “Bridge the void,” he said after a second or two. “It is only a temporary setback isn’t it?”
“Groundwater ingress,” Nalin replied. “It’s what I was afraid of. Sinkholes and tunnel collapses are common enough in this karstic limestone.”
“I don’t care about the technicalities,” Magthrum said. Nalin noted the smell of ale on the Fellchief’s breath and realised he would not be mourning the two stonegrabes.
After the drama died down, Nalin dozed off on the footplate of the cave-crawler. It was a tormented sleep littered with images of screaming stonegrabes fleeing the falling rocks of Jennu Narod. Ellotte and Palimin called to him for help as the weight of the mountain came down on them, yet try as he might he always arrived at the scene of devastation too late.
No, no … he repeated until it became a mantra of despair.
The words were still on his lips as he woke suddenly, jarva-craving twisting his already tormented mind. He reached for his pipe, and when his hand closed on the bowl he thought to himself, here comes another puff of temporary relief.
In the morning Magthrum rallied his stonegrabes and the day’s digging commenced. Nalin had refused to step down from the tunnelling machine despite his fatigue, and the Fellchief’s protestations. Nalin had got the Kaldorans into this mess and he was going to get them out, he assured Magthrum.
The excavation work had slowed as the cutters were grinding through harder intrusions of granite in the limestone face. Fyredrench was less effective on the igneous rock, and Nalin had to reduce the cutting speed to avoid damaging the heads. Once past the intrusion, the machine hit limestone once more and the cave-crawler increased its pace. By now however, the reserves of fyredrench were rapidly diminishing, and Nalin had to face the prospect they might run out before reaching their destination.
As was true to their spirit, the stoic Kaldorans laboured on undaunted; making progress stride by stride while shoring up weak spots. These were caused by the accel
erated dissolution of soluble gypsum sediments by percolating groundwater. Just when the stonegrabes thought the wall of rock would never end, Nalin spotted a purple ring of light ahead. The rock softened, caving forward like a child’s fist through a sandcastle, and the wheels lost traction.
If Nalin’s navigation held true, they were on the brink of the valley he had set a course for. He ordered a troop of stonegrabes armed with picks and shovels to dig at the rockface. They toiled for several hours, enlarging the hole and reinforcing the opening in the cliff face. Soon, the portal they had enlarged was wide enough to admit two stonegrabes side by side, and a round of cheering cascaded back along the tunnel as word of their escape filtered down the chain. It had taken almost ten days but the revolutionary cave-crawler and its drug-fuelled inventor had prevailed.
Magthrum was ecstatic, slapping any and every stonegrabe on the back in jubilation.
“Fellchief come quick,” cried Nutug Hillgrop, one of Nalin’s aids.
“What is it?” bellowed Magthrum.
The Fellchief pushed his way through the crowd of Kaldorans and witnessed a dismal but not unexpected spectacle. Nalin lay on the deck of his cave-crawler, unconscious and totally limp with exhaustion. A healer was called, and pronounced Nalin comatose, the result of sleep deprivation and excessive use of his precious jarva-leaf.
“Make him comfortable,” ordered Magthrum. “There is little we can do for him now except allow sleep to heal his soul. Call a meeting of the Rockclave too,” he shouted at Nutug. “I would address my council.”
In a matter of minutes the remnant Rockclave members were assembled, and Magthrum ordered that each should be provided with a cup of ale. Guzzling a large flagon himself, he called the meeting to order with a typical epithet.
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