The tunnel section between the caves looked like a slaughter yard. Parts of dark elves lay amidst an ocean of blood—black and gleaming in the dim phosphorescent light.
With a look of raw fury frozen on his face, Jus sat slumped unconscious against a wall. Polk sat on his heels, looking puzzled. Private Henry wrung his hands in panic. Cinders merely grinned and wagged his tail.
Wincing, Escalla dropped to the floor. It felt like half her ribs were broken by the impact of the drow’s ice spell. Hurting and dazed, she waved a hand at Polk and Henry. Dripping with filth and feeling violated, the faerie dragged herself over to Jus, took his pulse, then saw the bolt from a hand crossbow lying by the man’s injured thigh.
“What happened?”
“The sorceress he caught on the rope attacked him!” Henry pulled at a drow’s cloak to make a bandage, then hastily dropped it when he found it to be soaked with blood. “She stabbed him with a crossbow bolt.”
Wiping her blood soaked hair back from her face, Escalla wearily trudged over to Jus. Her naked body dripped blood as she stepped onto him, and she saw Polk and Henry’s eyes go wide in alarm.
“It’s all right, guys. Drow blood, not mine.” Escalla winced and held her ribs. “He’s alive. Don’t worry about it. Drow put a sleeping drug on their missile weapons. He’ll come out of it in about ten minutes.” The girl folded over, clutching herself. “Just time to… to check his pockets for small… small change.”
Racing forward, Polk caught the girl as she fell. Lolling in agony, Escalla could only croak and close her eyes.
Cracked ribs, bruises, concussion…
This had not been one of Escalla’s better days. Her stoneskin spell had stopped punctures but had transmitted the shock right though to the bones. Painfully awake at last, Escalla felt herself being tended to. Wounds were tended and her face wiped semi-clean. Sitting cradled in Jus’ lap, Escalla smoldered, thinking dire thoughts about the drow. She opened one bloodshot eye and said, “So. Fireproof cloaks, poisoned arrows, they use magic, move silently, and are immune to magic at least half of the time…” Extremely miffed, the girl lifted her arm and suffered to have another healing spell across the ribs. “Apart from that, we’re pretty even.”
Bandaged and grim, Jus merely kept on with his work, healing the faerie. “We got them.”
“Yeah, and they almost got us!”
Unconcerned, Jus shrugged and said, “‘Almost’ still makes them dead and us alive.” He poured water onto a cloth and handed it to Escalla. “How do you feel?”
“Like crap!” With dried blood crusting her hair and skin, Escalla looked a mess. “My ribs are better though.”
“Good.”
Jus arose. He had a puncture in one thigh, as well as numerous gashes and painful, bloody cuts. He lowered Escalla to her feet and handed her a long strip of silken drow cloth as a dress. Escalla used it for cover as she tried to rub herself dean and shot a concerned look at the Justicar.
“Hey, man! You’re still ripped to bits!”
“You needed the healing more than I.” Jus moved slowly and heavily now that his wounds were stiff with pain. “I’ll have more healing spells tomorrow.”
“Damn!” Escalla threw her washcloth aside. “We can’t go traipsing along these tunnels without you in full fighting trim. We’ll get wiped out.” The girl roughly tied the sheer black silk into a dress. “We’re going to have to hole up for a day and let you rest.”
The huge ranger sighed heavily, then looked at the drow corpses lying splayed and smeared about the tunnel.
“Not here. They might have a relief.”
“There are side alcoves. We’ll get in one, and I’ll cover the entrance with an illusion spell.” The girl flew up to hold Jus by the hand in concern. “You sure you’re all right to walk?”
“I’ll manage.”
“Come on then. Let’s get the loot sorted out, then we’ll walk for half a mile and hide.” The girl heaved an irritated sigh. “I feel like such an idiot. Virtually everything I threw at them was blocked.”
“Change your strategy. Use spells that affect the area around the drow and not ones that attack the drow themselves.”
“You got it.” Escalla scowled and tried to think. “I’ve gotta hole up and redo my spell list.”
Working with the diligence of a true monomaniac, Polk had been searching the drow lairs. Apparently the proper cataloging of spoils was a vital part of adventure. Polk sat cross legged amidst his chronicle and pens, carefully recounting every single sword blow, dodge, and spell. Escalla threw the man a happy little wave and was given a grumble in return.
“Hey, Polk! Nice crossbow shot, man. I didn’t know you could shoot!”
“Had to save the boy.” Polk sniffed in self importance as he went about his work. “The boy’s no hero. Can’t interfere with a hero, but the boy needed help.”
Escalla kissed Polk upon the cheek and said, “Well thank you. Here’s the magic bottle.”
She placed the faerie bottle into Polk’s lap—big and already brimming with a whiskey so concentrated that it could strip paint and raise the dead. The girl shot Polk a dire glance. “And no faerie wine! Especially not the sixty-three!”
Infinite happiness filled Polk’s soul. He wrenched open the bottle, filled a tin mug, then drew in an important breath, rose, and presented the liquor to the Justicar. He poured more drinks for Escalla and for the teenage soldier, then contented himself with drinking straight from the bottle.
“Here’s to adventure! Next time we’ll bash a hundred more!”
The whiskey traveled down living gullets as though it had spines and claws. Private Henry almost coughed up a lung. He fought for breath, tears in his eyes, a look of horror on his face as he saw Escalla raise her little mug to him in salute and take a second draught.
“Here’s to you, kid!”
Polk happily arranged items from the looted drow in a line along the floor. There were a few scant pieces of gold, a few platinum coins, short swords, daggers, bucklers, crossbows, poisoned crossbow bolts, and bloodstained clothes. Most intriguing of all were scroll tubes lined up side by side. Escalla raced over to pry open the tubes—only to be frozen in place by one hard glare from the Justicar. The ranger picked up the tubes one by one, checking them carefully. Cinders sniffed for magic then happily began to wag his tail.
Clean!
“Hoopy!” Escalla pounced, ripped the cap off a tube, and found only a piece of parchment covered with lines and squiggles. She hastily moved to the next tube, opened it, and found that it was the same.
“Aww man! These aren’t scrolls!” She scowled petulantly at the parchments, turning them around and around. “Can’t these drow even get treasure right?”
The Justicar winced as he sat down with the first piece of parchment spread out across his knees. He examined the carefully inked lines with notes and pointing arrows scribbled beside the diagrams in a different hand. He held the drawing up in the shine of Cinders’ flames, checking carefully for secret messages and invisible ink.
Escalla wound up draped over his shoulder from behind, staring at the diagrams.
“What is that thing? Dark elf doodles?”
“No.” Jus smoothed the parchment in grim distaste. It seemed to be made from human skin. “It’s a map.”
“Yeah?” To Escalla the squiggles hardly seemed map-like. “How do you figure that?”
“A simple one. A map of the underdark.” The map was made of simple lines, interconnected with symbols marking many of the junctions. “See. This arch is the gate outside. This is the passageway we’re in. The area marked here with an eye? It’s this position here, the guard post.”
“Hoopy.” Escalla squinted carefully at the map. Polk and Private Henry gathered near. “Lotsa notes beside those symbols. Do you read Drow?”
“No. Do you have a spell or something that can do it?”
“Sure!” Escalla cast the appropriate spell. “There you go!”
T
hey all craned forward with interest—even Polk, whose spelling skills were dubious at best, and Private Henry, who feared to admit that he couldn’t read. Escalla ran her fingers over the lines of scribbled symbols, and for an instant thereafter, their meaning became sharp and clear.
“Main way—patrols, Eclavdra clan.” The faerie read the symbols scribbled beside the main route marked on the map. “Here’s us. Says, ‘Post one. Incoming secret addits one and two. Faerie of the mother kin allowed to pass.’” The girl wrinkled her freckled nose. “Mother kin?”
“Follower of Lolth. Our quarry.” The Justicar tapped the map. “Looks like the paths diverge just down here. What are the notes on the next junction?”
“Ah!” Escalla glared at the magically transformed writing, trying to make sense of it, then decided that drow simply couldn’t spell. “Il-ilithids…” The girl jerked forward in alarm. “Ilithids!”
Standing awe-stricken behind the Justicar, Private Henry blinked like an owl. “What’s an ilithid?”
“Mind flayers. Oh, they’re great! You’ll love ’em!” Escalla waved her hands theatrically about her head. “Imagine a super-powered mind-blasting psychopath that can stun your mind at will and wants to eat your raw, ungarnished brain!” The faerie jotted marks across the map. “This says, ‘Ilithids’—plural!” The girl circled the location hard and sharp with a pen procured from Polk. “I wanna meet a bunch of ilithids like I want to be fed rot-grub. Definitely we go around!”
The Justicar looked at the maze of minor tunnels marked on the maps, each one marked with a danger symbol by the drow.
“The mam path might be faster,” he said, “if we can pass the mind flayers.”
“Jus, you pass the mind flayers. Those of us with tasty delicious brains in our craniums might elect to just avoid the dinner invitation, all right?” The girl shot a grumbling look at the Justicar. “We go around!”
“All right.”
“Anyway, faerie brains are more highly evolved than human ones. They’re tastier.”
With her spell slowly failing, Escalla shook her finger to jazz up the magic, then hurriedly went back to the map.
“There’re other caves definitely blocking the way. Here’s the first. ‘Reptile caves—pass security level one.’ I’m guessing that’s where the trogs hang out.” Escalla’s finger traced paths and still more symbols changed. “Next zone down: ‘Kuo-toa—security pass code two,’ whatever that means.”
“Evil sentient fish.” Jus glowered a the map. “Go on.”
“Well, that’s about it.” Escalla traced lines that finally led to a giant symbol far to the north: a huge cave topped with a drawing of a black spider. “The passages all pretty much lead there. I’m guessing that’s home.”
The locator needle seemed to agree with the map. Whoever carried the slowglass gem, he was heading northwest straight toward the drow citadel.
It would take a superhuman effort to make the journey, recover the slowglass, and fathom the motives of the murderer. Fortunately, Escalla considered herself and her friends superhuman. She helped herself to a swig from the ever-full bottle—now mysteriously full of peach brandy—and clapped her hands as Jus noisily rolled up the map.
“All right people, let’s move on!” The girl marched about the place like the leader of a circus troupe. “Henry, poison your crossbow bolts with the drow drugs! In fact, take the whole poison pot and dip your sword! Polk, let’s get going!”
The drow had carried small brooches coded with patterns and squiggles. Jus knelt and seized a random selection, then began the hard march into the dark.
* * *
Half an hour later, a tiny campfire made from lantern oil and fungi spread a yellow light about a nasty little cave. Dinner sizzled and gave off an amazingly offensive smell. Sitting cross legged in her black silk dress, her bottom planted upon Cinders, who lay staring in fascination at the fire, Escalla wrenched another piece off the roast and tried to fit it in her mouth.
“Look on the bright side! At least everybody gets a drumstick!”
Each sitting with a leg from a really big spider in their laps, both Polk and Private Henry managed to give watery smiles while wondering how to hide their food. Jus sat in silence, crunching upon spider meat. With his armor lying spread beside the fire, the Justicar was a mass of bandages.
The magic whiskey bottle wet the cloth Escalla used to dab his wounds. Jus heaved and bucked in pain, snarling imprecations at the faerie. She sat primly in place, holding her wash cloth and looking at the Justicar through hooded eyes.
“Don’t be such a baby. We have to get these clean.”
“They are clean!”
“They are not. These tunnels are filled with fungus. We’ll clean you up and use nice fresh bandages, then in a few hours your healing spells will make you all better.” Escalla moved with a matronly, possessive air as she tended the Justicar. “You’re my pal, so we have to take good care of you.”
Jus dragged his sword from his belt and lay it on the floor beside him where it could no longer jut into his ribs. Plumping up blankets on a nice dry patch of floor, Escalla made the man a bed.
“Now, you sleep. We need you at your best.” The sight of a tiny faerie tucking in the large man seemed ludicrous, but Polk and Henry were too busy wrestling with their dinners to speak out. “Sleep tight!”
Lying painfully down, Jus gave a dissatisfied sigh. “Who’s on guard?”
“I am!” Escalla forcibly closed Jus’ eyes. “I have to stay up and relearn all my spells. Polk, Henry, and I will take care of it. So go to sleep and relax.”
Busying herself about the campsite, Escalla dragged out her spell references, a scrap of parchment, and a pen. She perched a rather attractive pair of spectacles upon her nose and looked across the rims at Jus, gave him a rather sardonic, challenging little smile, and then set about her work. Her pen scratched, the fire crackled, and slowly the Justicar began to sleep.
Polk and Henry turned in, each wrapping themselves in drow cloaks to keep away the chill. They kept weapons close at hand and slept far away from the entrance. Private Henry watched Escalla, so prim and pretty in the firelight, as she jotted down her notes. He managed a nervous smile when the faerie caught his eye.
Escalla waved her pen.
“G’night, kid. It’s all right.” She tapped her tall, pointed faerie ears. “Anything comes waddling down the passageway, and I promise pooch and I’ll scream.”
The youth half wondered if it was a joke, but he decided not to look foolish and rolled over, too tired to stay awake.
The fire crackled. Escalla wrote, and slowly and surely her companions sank into a dead silent sleep. Cinders grinned. Escalla thoughtfully fingered his rents and cuts, then flipped through her little scrolls.
“Hey, pooch. Repair spell time?”
No. Makes Cinders sleepy. The hell hound’s teeth gleamed. Cinders stay ripped. Stay awake.
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll be up for hours.” Escalla smoothed out the dog’s pelt then carefully spoke her spell and made the hide and fur go back to its usual pristine self. “There we go! Now you just lie there and let it do you good while I warm my faerie butt by the fire!”
The hell hound purred, the repair spell stealing through him from nose to tail in a warm delicious haze. His voice actually sounded sleepy as it drifted into Escalla’s mind.
Nice faerie.
“You know it!” Escalla wriggled in Cinders’ fur then leaned over to give the dog a kiss “Nighty night.”
Night.
The tunnels were remarkably quiet. There was no time, no night, no day, no heat, and no rain. Water dripped, and the campfire slowly died. Keeping happily to her work, Escalla wrote and studied for an hour. While Jus slept, she dusted the big lug with a stoneskin spell, then made up her lost spells with another hour of careful thought. Finally she looked at her list and nodded carefully, stifling a yawn as she tried to see if there were any possibilities she had missed.
A
nother yawn came, this time wider than the last. “Spell shields, black tentacles, lightning bolts, couple of magic walls…”
Cinders’ fur was obscenely soft and silky. Escalla lay with her head propped on her elbow, a little blanket drawn up over herself as she worked. “A few”—another yawn—“few utilities. A charm… charm monster spell.”
It seemed a good idea to rest her eyes for a while, then awaken Polk for his turn on guard. Full of good intentions, Escalla never even felt herself slide beautifully off into the world of sleep.
The fire died down. The uneaten bits of roasted spider cooled. Cinders lay in a warm fuzzy daze, his tail occasionally twitching. In the caverns, all was peace and quiet as the water drip-drip-dripped endlessly from the mildewed walls.
After a long, peaceful time, the sound of movement came from the passageway. Bumbling along the tunnel came a single silly shape—a creature questing forward behind an absurd pair of long, thin feelers. Armored in a sturdy shell and searching the dark with addled eyes, the creature hunted after a particular delicious smell that seemed to quiver in the air.
The scent came from the travelers’ cave. Edging forward, the creature pat-pat-patted with its feelers, tasting eagerly at the air. It stole forward just a little way, saw Escalla lying on the hell hound skin and the other figures wrapped in blankets by the fire. The creature shrank and kept perfectly still—timid and frightened—but the only sound was Escalla making little chipmunk noises in her sleep.
The scent struck—sharp and utterly delicious! Overcoming fear, the creature edged slowly forward, then suddenly saw its prize lying on the cave floor nearby. Its feelers reached out toward the Justicar. A long tail tipped with strange propeller-like blades waved happily in the darkness as the creature carefully began to feed.
Several minutes passed, then quite suddenly, Escalla shot bolt upright in bed, her eyes wide open and staring at the dark.
“Dad! The sculptures of me were all fakes. I swear!”
The creature froze, then bolted off in panic, its belly full and its legs galloping off into the gloom.
Descent into the Depths of the Earth Page 16