Downfall ds-1

by Jean Rabe

  Rikali clung to Dhamon's arm. "Let's go explorin', lover. I'll come along-for just a little while. Might find all manner of pretty little baubles for my pretty little neck." She snaked out a hand and touched Rig's shoulder. "We can go back to stinky old Bloten in a bit. After we take a quick look downstairs. Then I want to come pluck me those onyx eyes," she gestured at the pillar, "before we return to Donnag. Stay up here if you're ‘fraid." Then she tugged Dhamon toward the alcove, and a moment later they'd disappeared inside.

  Rig growled. "I don't trust either of them."

  "Then go with them," Maldred answered. "I'll stay here with Fiona."

  The mariner drew his lips into a thin line and met Fiona's gaze. His eyes told her he didn't trust Maldred either.

  "I'll be all right," she said. "It's a good idea to keep an eye on Dhamon."

  The mariner turned to follow Dhamon, though his thoughts were on Maldred and Fiona.

  "Three hours at most!" Maldred called after Rig. "Try to judge your time and meet back here in three hours! Your torch won't last much longer than that." Softer, he added to Fiona, "to the left, then, my love." He carried the torch and led her into the darkness. "Fetch," he added, "stay right here and wait for us."

  The kobold scowled. He knew that tone. He sat down, staring at the embers glowing amid the pile of ashes.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Lost Faces

  Fetch poked the end of his hoopak into the troll ashes and grumbled. "Fetch, do this for me. Fetch, do that for me. Fetch, carry this. Fetch, stay here. Fetch-you stink when you get wet. Fetch, quit playing with the fire. Fetch. Fetch. Fetch." He stomped his foot against the tiled floor. "My name is Ilbreth."

  His red eyes glowed like hot coals in the ever-darkening cave, fixing on the closest pillar, which bore the image of priests and religious warriors. "And since no one's watching Ilbreth, he might as well help himself." He strolled boldly over to the pillar, eyes darting to the alcoves to make sure Maldred and Dhamon weren't coming back right away, then he started to climb. When he was even with the first priest's visage, he dug his sharp claws into the eye sockets and pulled out the chunks of onyx. He examined them, smiling when he saw how smooth and large they were. A little higher and he found pearls serving as the pupils to another eerie face, these also a good size. Skittering around, he retrieved several polished balls of gold and brass on the back side. They felt comfortably heavy in his hand.

  Only two of the pillars had such treasures, and these were the closest to the altar. Fetch guessed that in ages past other visitors helped themselves, then either were forced to leave before gobbling up the rest of the treasures or… well, he couldn't think of another reason why they wouldn't have taken everything. Only four pairs of eyes had been gemstones, the rest precious metals he suspected the dwarves had forged, perhaps from ore taken from this very mountain. The polished balls clinked together pleasingly in his pocket, and he made a game of thrusting his fingers into the pocket, naming the metals- gold, silver, or bronze-and seeing if he pulled out a ball that matched. But the game did not last long, and he quickly tired of it.

  After about an hour had passed, the cave grew darker still, and the rain that pattered against the rocks outside began to sound threatening. Fetch felt like a nervous rabbit in a deep, dark hole and imagined the raindrops were footsteps of trolls and goatherders and gem-craving dwarves from the far valley of crystal come to rob him of his precious metal eyeballs.

  "Don't like this dark," he muttered to himself. Though the kobold had unique vision that allowed him to see through the blackness, he detested the night. All manner of horrible things came out when the sun went down.

  "A fire," he decided. "I'll start a fire and stay nice and cozy warm and it'll lighten up this cave for me." He rubbed his shoulders. Indeed, he thought, even though it was the heart of a very hot summer, it was getting a little chilly this high up. "Nice and warm and so I can see."

  He padded around the cave looking for something to burn. Nothing much was left of the trolls. The altar was made of some rich, black stone that felt smooth to the touch and had no hope of catching fire. Neither did it register any heat, and that unnerved the kobold. He considered it unnatural. His hoopak was made of wood, but he had no intention of sacrificing it. The weapon was acquired from a kender who had befriended him years past and who Ilbreth turned on and killed during negotiations over a certain dubiously acquired treasure. So finally the kobold settled on one of the middle pillars to set on fire, the one with the carvings of female dwarven warriors. He didn't think it quite as artistic as the others, it had not yielded any metal eyeballs, and it looked like it would burn real good.

  Sitting down in front of the pillar, he traced the outline of an ugly harridan who must have had more muscles than brains to be able to carry all the others on top of her shoulders. He took one more glance down the alcoves, then started humming, a magical tune Maldred had taught him-the first spell Maldred had ever taught him, in fact. And it was his favorite. He searched for the spark within him, that essence of magic Maldred said he sensed when he met the kobold in the wilderness. Feeling it, his tune increased and was cut through with a gargling noise that wasn't part of the enchantment but which the kobold added for effect. He felt the energy flow from his chest into his arms, into his fingers, and into the face of the carved dwarven woman.

  "Make us a little light," he told the carving. Then a heartbeat later the carved figure started to burn. It was slow at first, the flames difficult to catch on because the wood was so dense, old, and dry. But Fetch was persistent. He puffed on the flames-he was extremely accomplished at setting fires. Then he sat back, satisfied, as the pillar became engulfed with flames.

  It's just one pillar, he thought, although it was burning fast and merrily. There were still five left to pay homage to the departed dwarven god. What was the name Dhamon said? Rocks? No. Rork? The kobold paced around the pillar, warming his hands and tipping his face to catch the welcome heat. His gaze roamed to the far wall, where the light was catching the other faces carved in stone. The dancing flames made it look as if the faces were laughing. Fetch joined in their revelry, cackling and snorting and dancing and pretending to pray to Rork, god of the carved dwarves. The kobold liked to dance- though not when Maldred was around. Dancing was frivolous, and the kobold did his best to present a serious and studious image to his master and mentor. But Maldred wasn't here, so he danced faster and wilder until his chest burned from the exertion and the altitude.

  Panting, he approached the laughing stone faces, his shadow darkening some and turning them sad. Running his fingers around their features he created another game to occupy himself. He began naming each face he touched. "Laughing Lars, Laughing Dretch, Laughing Riki, Crying Mo"-this for one who seemed to be looking directly at him, sorrowfully.

  Then he skated over to the black altar. He worked at his other magic, the spell that allowed him to take on the form of various creatures. Within the span of several minutes, he looked like Laughing Lars, though he gave his face the healthy ruddy red color he imagined the dwarf would have if he were alive. For more fun, he took on Laughing Dretch's image and left his skin stony gray. But Fetch quickly tired of this game, too, and returned to the burning pillar. The flames had reached the topmost carved dwarf and was burning very quickly.

  He thought the scent almost pleasant-much better, at least, than the troll flesh and the perfume Rikali had drenched herself with. He sniffed and tried to imagine what a young wild pig would taste like roasted on the pillar fire. Not quite able to decide, he gave up and returned to simply staring at the fire, mesmerized by it.

  "Maldred says I play with you too much," he told the flames. "But I don't think so. I really like fire."

  A moment later he was standing inches from another pillar, then sitting in front of the face of an old male dwarf, who had deeply carved wrinkles and squinting eyes- another that hadn't yielded any valuable gems. "Don't look at me like that," Fetch said. "Oh, won't listen to me, huh? W
ell, I'll just have to burn you, too."

  He started humming, searching for the spark, and grinning wide when the old carving caught fire.

  * * * * * * *

  Maldred and Fiona carefully picked their way down a staircase that was at times winding and circular, then sharply angled and steep. It seemed to stretch downward into the darkness forever. The steps were smooth with age, and they were shiny from the numerous feet that must have traipsed over them. For more than an hour they'd been heading down, pausing at alcoves where wood and stone statues of Reorx were nestled. Beneath the statues were ceramic bowls with offerings so ancient and brittle that they were unidentifiable. As they continued on, they tried to gauge just how far beneath the great chamber they were.

  "I wonder how old this is?" Fiona mused. She was running her fingers along the wall, where she'd found more carvings of dwarven faces. Many of the mouths were «O» shaped, and she took the torch from Maldred and inserted it into one of the mouths, which was obviously meant to serve as a sconce.

  Then she tugged the last torch free from her satchel and lit it. "I'll carry it for a while," she said to Maldred. "But we can't be gone much longer or we'll have to find our way back up in the dark. So… how old do you think?"

  "Hundreds and hundreds of years, maybe. Perhaps a thousand," he said finally, stopping also to examine a face similar to one he'd spotted on a pillar above. "Donnag and his people have claimed this land for a very long time. He is keenly aware of what comprises his holdings, like a greedy dragon who can account for every coin in his horde, but I'm certain he does not know about this. Else I would have heard of it, too. We will make him aware when we return, perhaps taking one of the smaller wooden statues of the god for proof, and he will be most happy with the knowledge. And you're right. We should think about returning to Fetch. It'll take us a while to make the climb back."

  "A thousand years," she repeated. "The gods were very active then."

  "Krynn is better off without them." Maldred looked down. They should head back. They had been gone more than an hour. Maybe two. And it would take them longer to climb up than it had to go down. But it seemed like the steps didn't go much farther. "Maybe just a little more." Then he laughed. "Wonder if this'll take us to the foot of the mountains-or beneath them. I wouldn't be surprised." He gestured for her to follow him. "Maybe we'll emerge near Bloten! I'll take you straight to Grim's and he'll mend your face in…"

  "What about Rig? And Fetch is above…"

  He touched her chin. "They're grown-ups. They'll be all right, and if need be they can find their own way back. Besides, Dhamon and Rig are together. And I know for certain that Dhamon will be returning to Donnag's."

  Then he headed down the steps.

  She followed, one hand holding the torch, the other feeling along the wall and touching the images carved there.

  A disturbing question tugged at her mind, and she finally voiced it. "How can you say that Krynn is better without her gods? The gods gave us so much. And Vinus Solam-nus who founded my order…"

  "The gods never did anything for me," Maldred said evenly. "In truth, I'm glad they're gone." He stopped when a shrill noise echoed up from below, and he drew his hand back over his shoulder, gripping the pommel of his sword. He relaxed when a large bat flew by. "Though I suppose the gods kept the dragons in check."

  There was a sharp intake of breath behind him, and he turned. Fiona, two steps above, was eye to eye with him.

  "I don't like the way you talk, Maldred. The gods are important to Krynn, and I believe they will come back," she said, thrusting her chin forward. "Maybe they won't return in my lifetime. But it will happen. And dwarves will use this temple again. I would certainly like to think so, anyway. I can imagine their deep voices echoing in prayers to Reorx." Suddenly she blinked and shook her head. "Where's Rig, anyway?"

  He brushed the tip of her nose with his fingers, locked his eyes onto hers. "Rig is of no concern, and you should abandon all thoughts of marrying him," Maldred said, his voice sonorous and melodic, enchantingly pleasant. "Lady Knight, you need be concerned only with me, and with seeing what's at the bottom of these never-ending steps."

  She found herself enjoying his words again, as she had the first night she met him at the campfire. His eyes sparkled then, and now-the light from the torch was hitting them just right. "Concerned only with you," she repeated. Then she was again following him down the worn stone steps.

  * * * * * * *

  "Pigs, but these go on forever, lover," Rikali complained as she stopped to rub the backs of her legs. "Bad enough all that climbing up the mountain. And you'd think these wouldn't be so steep, being built by dwarves and all with short, stubby legs. Bet these lead straight to the Abyss! My fine house ain't going to have such steep steps! Ain't going to have any steps at all."

  "A while ago you thought exploring was a fine idea," Dhamon told her. "In fact, I think it was your idea."

  "A woman can change her mind, lover."

  Dhamon continued down the steps, glancing at the wall where he noted carvings of dwarves that were every bit as elaborate as the ones in the large chamber above. They weren't just faces this time, though, as they were at the very top of the steps. They were full figures, presented sideways, as if they were moving down the steps with him. He spotted one with a short beard, and it made him think of Jasper. "I wish Jasper could be here to see this," he mused. He noted the writing above the figures, and made out some of the words, his eyes narrowing with realization.

  "Well, from what you told me of him, he probably wouldn't've liked these steep steps either."

  Jasper never complained so much, Dhamon thought.

  "I don't recall Jasper ever complaining about such things," Rig said aloud.

  That brought a rare, big smile to Dhamon's lips. "I can't imagine the steps going on much farther, Riki. In fact…"

  He paused and took a closer look at the nearest carvings, as he had at the very top of the stairs. More writing. He brought the torch closer so he could see the words better, and he traced the faintest ones, fragments of sentences, with his fingertips.

  Amid the words he continued to read as he traveled down a few more steps were carvings of dwarves digging in the earth, followed by dwarves making homes underground and becoming miners.

  "It reads like a diary," Dhamon explained. "In fact, I'm pretty sure that's what it is. ‘Kal-thax we leave behind this day. Calnar thane to the Kalkhist Mountains to delve a new home. New Hope it will be called. Thorin. "He took in a deep breath. "If I remember what Jasper told me of his race's history, that would make this about 2800 precataclysm." He whistled softly. "This place is indeed very old."

  "Well, how do you know it wasn't done more recently, and they were just reminiscin' about the old days? Who'd keep some stony diary anyway? Too much work if you ask me." Despite her words, Rikali tried to feign interest in the carvings, thinking that might please Dhamon.

  "Because I can see the bottom of these steps. And because the carvings at the top are even fainter than these, older, and they talked about the Graystone being forged and Kal-Thax built. So this is more recent and written as if it is happening now, not written like history. All of it is written that way."

  "Wait, lover." Rikali placed both hands against the wall. "Feels cooler here."

  Rig snorted. "We're deeper underground. Been walking for better'n an hour. Maybe two." He was thinking about Fiona, suspecting she was in the cavern above impatiently waiting for them. He didn't like her being alone with Mal-dred. Rig told himself not to be jealous, that Fiona truly loved him, that they would be married one day soon and would be far away from these thieves. Still, he couldn't keep his suspicions entirely at bay. And he couldn't help wishing he'd gone with Fiona rather than with Dhamon and that gabby Rikali.

  The half-elf shook her head and darted up a dozen steps to press her hands against the wall. Then she came back down. "It's cooler here, I tell you."

  Dhamon felt about, finding moisture in one
spot. "There's an underground stream behind this wall," he said. "Maybe it opens up below and we can take a bath. Get all this troll blood off."

  "Oh, I like that idea, lover."

  Dhamon moved down slowly now, ignoring the half-elf's request to hurry so they could clean the dirt off themselves and find the valuables that must surely be somewhere in this place. And he pushed aside Rig's complaint that this was all very interesting but wasn't getting them back to Bloten any faster and that they would be late rejoining Fiona in the chamber so very high above.

  "Here," Dhamon pointed. "This is the last of the carvings, and they're etched deeper, not as old, definitely. Carved about eight hundred years later than the last ones I showed you-if I understand the history." There were images of dwarves and a forge, a replica of a great hammer. "The Hammer of Reorx," Dhamon whispered. "That's the forging of it, about two thousand years before the cataclysm. The Time of Light, I think it was called. The hammer shown here was used a thousand years after its forging to make Huma's dragonlance."

  Rig was honestly interested now, as weapons of any kind were a passion of the mariner's. "It was later called the Hammer of Kharas, right? After a hero of the Dwarf-gate War."

  "How can you two talk so much about dwarves? I've had my fill of them."

  "Maybe it was forged somewhere down here," Rig said. There was a tinge of excitement to his voice.

  "I just want to find me some pretty baubles, something valuable, and have me a nice bath."

  "Riki, this entire mountain is valuable."

  "But I can't fit it in my pocket now, can I lover? I can't hang it around my neck."

  Dhamon let out a deep breath. "To the dwarves, this would be priceless. To historians, too."