Downfall ds-1

by Jean Rabe

  Dhamon crouched next to her and watched in fascination as she moved the picks in and out of the rusted lock with a skill he wasn't close to mastering, turning them first one way and then the other, putting her ear to the lock, making clicking sounds with her tongue against her teeth as she finally left two picks in and retrieved a third.

  "It's an old lock," she said to explain why it took so long. "Things are rusted inside. Don't want to move."

  "Could just break it down," Rig suggested, his eyes on the waning torch.

  "Barbarian," Rikali whispered. "No genius to kickin'. No skill and thinkin'." Louder, she said. "I'll have it in a minute, just hold on and… there!" With a self-satisfied nod of her head, she pulled the picks out and replaced them in her buckle and wriggled the latch, grinning triumphantly when she heard a soft clacking. She tugged on the door. "Pigs! Probably swelled too much for the frame with all the moisture down here," she decided, as she wrapped both hands around the latch, braced her feet, and pulled again. Dhamon tried to help, but she shouldered him away roughly. "I unlocked it, I'm gonna open it. Be the first one to see inside.You just step back and watch me."

  Dhamon did just that, listening to Rig grumble that he could have had it open with a single kick and that she had better hurry because there wasn't much left of the torch. Fetch suggested they pull some of the wood planks out of the door, and he'd be happy to make another torch from them, but everyone ignored him.

  "I know I can get it!" she hissed between her teeth. "Just a little more. See, it's comin'. Just a…"

  It came open with a roar as water rushed into the stairwell, sweeping Rikali behind the door and pinning her against the wall. Dhamon turned and scrambled up the steps, holding the torch high and staying just beyond the water's reach. Fetch was dumbstruck, barely able to scream, "I can't swim," before the water surged over his head. Only the mariner managed to stay anchored. He braced himself and spread his arms across the stairwell, hands firmly against each wall and slamming his eyes shut. When the wave hit him, he kept from being swept up in it, and when the surge stopped, the water settled down around his thighs and he opened his eyes.

  Rikali was sputtering and splashing, jammed between the door and the wall. Rig sloshed down the steps and threw his weight against the door, budging it just enough for the half-elf to slip out. She struggled against him for a moment, then relaxed and gulped in some air. The water came up to her shoulders.

  "Suppose I should thank you," she managed.

  The mariner felt claws against his back, and he instinctively thrust his hand to his waist for a dagger, stopping just as his fingers closed on the pommel and he realized the source. The kobold had climbed up and wrapped his scaly arms around Rig's neck, coughing up water and cursing in a language the mariner couldn't understand.

  "Dhamon!" Rig called.

  The faint light from above became brighter-but only a little-as Dhamon climbed down the stairs and joined them, holding high what was left of the torch. His face was impassive, as if their predicament didn't in the least bit concern him. His eyes hinted at other thoughts working furiously and they were fixed on the way ahead. A minute later he was past them, sloshing through the doorway and into the chamber beyond.

  "What do you think you're doing?" Fetch hollered at him. "Where're you going?"

  "Hey, you stinking kobold!" the mariner cut in. "If you're going to hitch a ride, don't scream in my ear. I'll drown you like a rat so fast you're…"

  "Dhamon!" Rikali hissed.

  "The way we came down is blocked," Dhamon called back. The light was getting softer as he continued to move away from them. "So forward is our only option."

  "Well, I don't like our option," Rikali moaned as she followed him, walking on her tiptoes and letting her arms float out to her sides. "I'm too young to drown, Dhamon Grimwulf!"

  Rig swiftly followed, trying to shut out their words and concentrate on the water. His element, whether fresh or salt, he felt it flow about him, pleasantly cool despite the summer, as it was part of an underground stream shielded from the heat by the tons of rock that cocooned it. He concentrated on the flow, determined to discover how the water entered the chamber.

  "No other way out," the mariner growled after a few minutes. Softer, he said, "Always figured I'd die by drowning. Just didn't want to die with Dhamon."

  Dhamon's torchlight danced spookily against the water's surface and the elaborately carved rock walls. The light touched softly on hundreds of images of dwarves. The dwarves were forging weapons, cooking, mining; a fat couple was dancing around the image of an anvil; a child was stacking rocks. On the ceiling was a tiled image of Reorx, almost identical to the one they'd seen on the floor above. There was a great gash in one of the walls, and Rig gestured to it.

  "That has to be where the stream broke through. But it's more like a river now because of all the rain," he said, quickly moving toward it. He bumped into something and pitched forward into the water. He came up sputtering, the kobold on his back complaining shrilly. He felt about beneath the water-a stone bench, a stone table, a few other objects he couldn't readily identify. He forced himself to move slowly, bumping into more things hidden beneath the inky surface, and he sent a shower of water Rikali's way to get her attention. "Over here! And be careful."

  For once he cursed all the weapons he'd loaded himself down with. He'd be swimming with ease now, and not slowly navigating around, if he didn't have the glaive on his back. But he wouldn't allow himself to drop it. "All this damn rain," he said to himself when he finally reached the gash in the wall. "It must have swollen the stream so much that it broke through a thin section of wall. Yep, it's thin here." He broke off a piece of rock.

  The half-elf was treading water at his side, for the water had risen and she could only touch bottom with her toes.

  "Well, that's good to know," she huffed, "we're all gonna drown ‘cause of all the rain."

  Dhamon had sloshed up behind her. He looked nonplused, his face ever stoic, eyes flitting to his left and right. His breathing was regular, and he moved deliberately, as if he knew where he was going, and was not in the least bit worried about what lay ahead.

  The mariner shook his head at Dhamon's apparent lack of concern, took a deep breath and entered the gash, holding onto the rock wall so he wouldn't be swept away. Fetch coughed and tightened his grip on the mariner's neck. The torchlight showed Rig's fingers inching higher on the wall.

  "What's he doing, lover?" Rikali had her hand on Dhamon's shoulder. He was helping her to stay above water.

  Dhamon didn't answer as she continued to fret and shower him with useless questions. He was watching the mariner's fingers, becoming harder to make out as the torchlight faded. There was a final sputtering, then the flame went out, smothering them in a thick and absolute darkness. Rikali moaned and dug her fingers into his shoulder.

  "Lover? I can't see any thin'."

  A sloshing and a string of high-pitched curses from Fetch signaled the mariner's return.

  "Dhamon?"

  "We're here, Rig. What did you find?"

  "There's about a foot of air between the stream and the rocks-for the moment anyway. And the water's moving pretty fast. I think it's our best bet. Follow it and pray it spills us out somewhere."

  "I don't pray," Rikali whispered.

  "You're insane!" Fetch spat at the mariner. "Go in there?"

  "And you've a better idea?" Dhamon asked as he dropped the useless torch and felt about with his hands, finding Rig and then the gash in the wall. Rikali continued to hold onto Dhamon, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she worked to keep her chin above the water, all the while muttering about the dark and drowning.

  "Yes, I've a better idea!" the kobold squawked. "I can see! A little. Maybe if we stay here, really search this room, we can…" The rest of his words were drowned out as the mariner followed Dhamon and Rikali through the gash and into a corridor the stream had cut ages past.

  In the darkness, they moved through the wat
er, sometimes swimming awkwardly, Rig struggling the most with the glaive and the kobold on his back. Their heads bumped against outcroppings in the ceiling, bringing curses, and the stream pushed them against jagged spikes protruding from the walls. Dhamon felt something slick brush against his leg, a fish or a snake-he hoped it was nothing worse as he continued feeling his way.

  For a few hours they followed the stream as it twisted and turned through the mountain, sometimes cutting back so that they thought they were close to where they started. Eventually its course straightened, and they could hear the water sloshing loudly against the stone, and from time to time they discerned the screech of bats coming from somewhere ahead. Rikali announced that was a good sign, as it meant there was still air in front of them.

  "Wrong, Riki," Fetch countered, as he continued to hold firmly to the mariner's neck, his cloak swirling about his legs, which were floating behind him. "It's a very bad sign. It means the bats are trapped. An' so are we."

  The half-elf dug her fingers tighter into Dhamon's shoulder as he increased his pace. She felt the warmth of blood around her fingertips. Dhamon didn't complain.

  A heartbeat later Dhamon lost his footing as the bottom of the tunnel sloped away and the water deepened. He and the half-elf bumped into Rig.

  "What?" the mariner asked.

  "The current feels different here," Dhamon said. "Not the depth. Something I can't quite-"

  "Yeah," Rig interrupted. "I can feel it, too. The current's splitting. The stronger goes straight ahead, but there's a branch heading to the left, and the water there feels warmer, maybe heated from something farther underground."

  "And…" the half-elf cut in. "This means what?"

  "We could separate," Dhamon suggested. "Rikali and I will take the left and Fetch and…"

  "Bad idea," Rig argued. "We're all tired. It has to be well past midnight by now. Nobody splits up. Follow me." The mariner moved past them, pausing only to peel the kobold off his back and pass him to Dhamon. "Your turn." Then he was awkwardly swimming ahead, shifting the glaive to his hand, and nearly losing it. He shut out the complaints of Fetch and Rikali.

  "Wish Fiona was here," Rig whispered as he continued to struggle along. "Hope she's all right." He told himself she was fine, that she and Maldred hadn't dawdled so long, that they hadn't journeyed so deep into the mountain, and that they'd managed to get outside before the cave-in. "She's all right," he reassured himself, adding that he would make sure when he got out of here that Maldred didn't get any cozier with the Solamnic. And he would do his best to help her gain the ransom for her brother. "She has to be all right. I think I'd die without her."

  Then a dark thought crossed his mind. Perhaps Maldred had caused the cave-in, and the kobold had lied to cover up his master's deed. The burning troll arm causing the fire above did sound a little far-fetched. Eliminating Rig would make it easier for Maldred to win Fiona. His heart beat wildly with that possibility.

  The current was moving faster now, the corridor widening. The speed made it easier for the mariner to maneuver with his glaive. Rig guessed they'd covered several miles already when the sound of the rushing water became even louder, the channel narrowed, and the pounding drowned out the chattering of Rikali and the sloshing noise of Dhamon swimming to catch up.

  There was only a few inches of air, and the mariner found himself clinging to the ceiling, taking a few deep gulps, and then submerging to swim some more. He hoped Dhamon and the half-elf were close behind and that they hadn't given up and tried to backtrack. Still, he told himself, he wasn't going to lose a precious minute worrying about his companions. Time to put his own skin first and to let the stinking thieves save themselves. Concentrate on getting back to Fiona.

  "Awww…" he breathed, as he held on to an outcropping and let his arm drift out in a sweeping pattern, his nose pressed against the ceiling. His fingers brushed against cloth. "Who am I trying to fool? Dhamon? You all right? Dhamon!"

  There was a muffled reply, and they were off again, another hour passing, the mariner guessed, as they followed the stream in the pitch darkness, gulping in air when a pocket presented itself. The water was warming, evidence of something underground, perhaps volcanic heat.

  Dhamon was thinking of the dragons: the green who slew his men in the Qualinesti Forest; Skie, who could have killed him and Rig and everyone else at the Window to the Stars; the Black he'd encountered in the swamp and who would have slain him save for the scale on his leg- which at the time had branded him as a servant of the red overlord.

  Death didn't frighten him anymore. Everyone died. It was just a matter of when. Drowning would not be so painful. Then his jaw tightened and he scolded himself. Dying would be the easy way out. And there was the sword to consider-he had no desire to let the ogre chieftain keep the sword and the gemstones. His musing was interrupted by needlelike claws against his neck-Fetch. The kobold was stretching for air. Rikali's fingers brushed his shoulder, Rig's hand reached out again to make sure they were all nearby.

  Then a hint of green intruded.

  The kobold started clawing Dhamon's back, jabbering frenziedly and pointing.

  "I see it!" Dhamon spat, as he took in a deep breath against the ceiling, dove under, and swam toward the light. Rikali moved past him, feet kicking furiously, knocking Dhamon and almost dislodging the kobold from his back as she went. He saw her outline as they neared the green glow, then he saw her rise. Dhamon kicked faster.

  Rikali's hands struck stone. Frightened she'd hit a dead end, she panicked and gulped, drawing water into her lungs. Her hands flailed about, feeling angular stone. Stairs! She pulled herself out of the water, climbing on the steps, gasping, and instantly rolling onto her back to stare up incredulously at a smooth oval rock that formed most of the ceiling of the otherwise rough-hewn chamber. The rock was reflecting the mysterious green light. The underground river continued to rush by her, and she turned to watch it.

  "Dhamon. Come on, lover," she breathed. "Come… oh!"

  Dhamon's head appeared above the surface, in the narrow space between the water and the rocky overhang. Fetch's craggy face craned around Dhamon's neck. The kobold was coughing and spitting as Dhamon gulped in air and hauled himself out. A moment later, the mariner materialized and followed them.

  Rikali was yawning. "We could sleep here. I'm so very tired. Just an hour or so, all right, lover?"

  "No time for sleep," Dhamon said. But his yawn and his drawn expression hinted at how terribly tired he was, too.

  Fetch dropped off Dhamon's back and started wringing out his robe. "Good thing that we found this place, huh? Breathe in that stuffy air! Damn. My hoopak. Lost it in the water." He turned to glare at the river, most of which was obscured by the rocky overhang. "Now how am I gonna get me another one? Sure ain't gonna find a kender in Bloten. Maybe Donnag's got one in his…"

  "You might not have to worry about it, Fetch," Dhamon suggested. "If we can't find a way out of here, you won't need a weapon."

  While the kobold continued to bemoan his misfortune, loudly mulling the possibility of dying at his spry age, and while Rig speculated that they might want only to take a quick breather here and then continue to follow the river, Dhamon joined Rikali in taking a good look around the chamber. They searched along the closest wall, hoping to find a staircase leading up, or a natural chimney they might climb. They'd heard bats a while ago-but there wasn't a trace of them here, not even guano on the floor.

  There were no carvings on the walls, nor on the collapsed columns that at one time likely reached to the glowing rock high above. Dhamon had expected to see more images of dwarves, but everything appeared untouched, except for the pillars, which had been ground smooth. There were no symbols to Reorx. The remains of stone and wooden benches littered the floor, the rotting wood adding to the fusty smell. The only area intact consisted of a raised dais at the back of the chamber, and three black half-moon steps leading up to it. On either side of the steps were black pedestals, atop which per
ched perfectly round black stones, polished to a mirror finish and eerily reflecting the green light.

  Oddly, Dhamon thought, the pedestals and globes looked to be devoid of the stone dust that covered everything else.

  The mariner whistled softly. "Now I wonder what all this is about." Forgetting the river and their dire situation for a moment, he padded to the center of the chamber. He stopped halfway, bent, and studied something on the floor. "I bet this isn't part of that dwarven ruins," he mused, his hand stretching out and closing around an object. He brushed the stone dust off, coughed to get Dhamon's attention, and held it up for him to see. It was a skull, human or elven, and a thickly rusted knife with a carved bone handle protruded from the top of it.

  "Several more if you want your own souvenir," Rig said. "They all look pretty much like this. Lovely place beneath the mountain." Then he replaced the skull and yawned. "I think we better get out of here."

  Rikali slid up to Dhamon and took his hand, interlocking her fingers with his. "I don't see a way out along these walls, and I don't like this place, lover. Shivers dancin' on my back. I want out of here. Place makes me feel… creepy. I want to see the sky. And I so very badly want to sleep. Maybe we better go swimmin' again. Follow the river." Much softer, she added, "Please, just get me outta here."

  Dhamon tried to extricate his hand, but she only held it tighter. He returned a gentle squeeze, and listened to the kobold persist in his high-pitched frettings about his hoopak and imminent demise. Then he tugged the half-elf forward, not sure why he felt impelled to investigate this place further rather than returning to the river and leaving.

  But there was a prickly feeling at the back of his neck, an unnerving sensation that might cause other men to flee, but that only made Dhamon determined to discover what was causing it.

  A scrabbling sound over the rocks indicated Fetch had finally decided to accompany them. "Still have my old man in my pouch," the kobold announced. "The tobacco's worthless, though." He picked it out and tossed it to the floor, adding to the debris.