Downfall ds-1

by Jean Rabe

  The Knight looked like a corpse and moved sluggishly. He stared at them, but even that simple act seemed to take all of his strength and cause unbearable pain.

  "Aven, he can see me somehow. Aven…"

  All of a sudden, the Solamnic tried to rise, pushing against the floor with his skeletal arms while his feet slipped on the slime-covered stones. Finally, he stood, swaying on scabrous feet and shuffling toward Rig. His mouth opened, as if he wanted to say something, but only a rasping wheeze came out.

  The mariner took a step forward. "No!" he shouted as the Solamnic fell to his knees, eyes still fixed on Rig.

  "Aven, we'll get you out of there," Rig said. He tried to reach for the man, but his hand passed through the apparition. "Hold on and…"

  Aven coughed dryly and clutched his chest. He seemed to watch Rig for a moment more, then he fell back and crumpled to the floor. A sigh escaped his lips, and then he stopped breathing.

  "By all the vanished gods," Rig said in a hushed voice. He stared at the body for a few minutes. "Aven's dead." Then he pulled back from the door to look at the half-elf. She was peering into another cell, whispering about humans, elves, and kender. Something about a smattering of dwarves.

  "I think there's a gnome in there, too," she said to herself. "A little man with a really big nose." Then she stepped back and glanced at Rig and then down the hall, which was an illusion but more than an illusion. Her eyes asked if they should continue their exploration.

  Curiosity had gotten the better of Dhamon, and he had entered the corridor, too. He was at the far end, peering into a cell and then moving on, rounding a corner. He was impressed by the magic, able to smell the foulness of this place rather than the mustiness of the cavern he knew he was inside. But everything here seemed so disturbingly… palpable.

  There was a door, narrower than the others, with a tiny window in the center of it. Dhamon crouched and looked through the opening, coughing because of the strong smell. He didn't notice the man inside, not immediately. There was a jumble of other things competing for Dhamon's attention-wooden bins and chipped crockery stacked high on shelves, alongside metal and bone implements, the use of which he cared not to contemplate. It was obvious this place was used for storage. There were chains hanging on the far wall. Most of them were rusted because of age and all the moisture, but a few were newly forged. From the ceiling more chains hung, along with ropes and barbed whips.

  It was when he craned his neck, and discovered his face could pass through the wood, that he saw the man. The man was naked, back to Dhamon, skin covered with massive sores and tangled hair fanned out around his shoulders like a lion's mane. He was sitting upright, almost proudly so, and his bones stood out in appalling clearness, reminding Dhamon of the cadavers the priests in the Knights of Takhisis demonstrated battlefield surgery techniques on. There was a copper bowl filled with scummy water sitting next to him, and a few moldy crusts of bread near it.

  Dhamon wondered why the man hadn't used some of the implements in this room to escape. There were certainly sharp enough objects on the shelves to worry at the wood of the door. But when the man turned, Dhamon had his answer.

  There was an iron collar about his neck, and it was fastened with a short length of chain to the wall, so short as not to permit the man to stand. He could not reach any of the objects that might help to gain him his freedom. The man was young, Dhamon could tell from the smoothness of his gaunt face and the dark blue of his eyes. And he was important.

  There was a tattoo on his arm just below his shoulder, artfully rendered and colorful, depicting the claw of a blue dragon holding a red banner. Dhamon wasn't about to go close enough to read the writing on the banner. He didn't need to; he'd seen he symbol before. It belonged to a particular Taman Busuk wealthy military family that had allied themselves with the Dark Knights. So the prisoner was from money and was from Neraka, was likely connected to the Dark Knights there, if not one of the Order. Perhaps Sable was ransoming him, and perhaps there was some merit to Fiona's belief that the dragon would take treasure in exchange for her prisoners-some of them, anyway.

  The man's eyes widened and he opened his mouth, as if he wanted to speak to his visitor. Dhamon pulled back from the cell and continued on, not wanting to hear what the apparition had to say. This vision alone was disturbing enough, no need to add to the gloom with words.

  He rounded another corner, still more cells. How many people did the dragon keep locked up in her dungeons? From his quick glances he could tell most were human, and by their conditions it looked like they'd been here anywhere from a few hours to several months.

  Dhamon had been in dungeons before, when the Knights of Takhisis kept prisoners for political reasons. He'd ushered his share of prisoners into cells. But never had he been in a prison so deplorable as this vision indicated. The suffering was even almost too much for Dhamon to bear.

  "Enough of this," Dhamon said finally, when he spotted a cell where no living prisoners remained. Corpses had been stacked like cord wood along one wall. "It's past time to leave this hellish place." He shook his head, as if to clear it, then strode away from the image and toward the river, which he was certain had risen further.

  "No," Rig objected. The mariner had been following Dhamon, staying a few yards back and watching his reaction to the scene. "I want to see more," Rig continued. "Fetch, show me all of Shrentak. I want to know how to get into that damnable dungeon!"

  The kobold sighed, his shoulders drooping. He looked to Rikali for support. But for once, she said nothing. She was glancing down the ghostly corridor and toward the river, where Dhamon was standing.

  "More, Fetch! Show us a way in!"

  "No!" Dhamon spun, returning from the river's edge. He walked back through the prison corridors, which were growing more transparent, striding resolutely up the dais's steps. His face retained its stoic mask, but his eyes had lost their hardness, and his lips twitched. He'd caught a glimpse inside several more cells along the way, and the sight bothered him. However, he wouldn't admit that, even to himself. "The river's rising," he said evenly.

  At that warning, the half-elf sprang away from the magical pool and hurried down the steps, brushing by Dhamon. "I don't want to drown," she softly wailed. "I want me a fine house."

  The mariner let out a deep breath and swept his hand to the side. "If this vision is to be believed, and I think it is, Fiona's brother is dead. I have to tell her. If, or when, I see her again."

  The kobold started to rise.

  "Wait, Fetch!" Dhamon said, an idea forming. He saw Rig's eyes narrow. "One more question."

  "I thought you decided we were done with the magic pool," the mariner muttered.

  The kobold's shoulders sagged. I'm tired, he mouthed. Indeed, he looked spent, and the green light that haloed him made him look shriveled. "I can't," Fetch said in a strained voice. "I just can't."

  "Ask it about the rain," Dhamon persisted. "Where is all of this coming from?"

  "The sky. The clouds," Rig said. "That's where the rain is coming from. I really don't know you anymore, Dhamon Grimwulf. You're a selfish churl. Look at him. He's exhausted. I pushed him too hard as it was."

  "What is causing it to rain?" Dhamon's words were clipped.

  The mariner moved to leave, but something stopped him. The Shrentak vision had melted and again the pool showed a black spot on its surface, as Fetch resumed stirring the magic at Dhamon's demand. "The swamp. So what?" Rig grumbled. "The rain's somehow coming from the swamp. But it ain't even raining there, according to that image. So…"

  "This rain isn't natural, Rig. Can't be. It's rained more in Khur in the past few days than probably the past couple of years. Simply out of morbid curiosity, I want to know what's responsible. The information could be valuable. And this…" He waved his hand at the pool. "This apparently is one sure way to find out."

  The image focused more sharply on a marshy glade ringed by a tangle of ancient cypress trees with roots that sank deep into the
muck. Lianas flowed from the branches, forming a flowery curtain. Colorful parrots were thick in the trees, and a dawning sun managed to peek through a break in the closest canopy.

  "There, ask it about that." Dhamon was pointing at a shimmering, yet shadowy image behind a veil of purple flowers. "There's something hiding there. Ask it if that thing's responsible for the rain. Can't hardly make it out. Might be part of a dragon."

  "Dhamon, I can't. So-o-o tired."

  "Hurry, Fetch," Dhamon ordered. "I want an answer."

  The kobold sighed and summoned just enough energy to stir the air above the pool again, fought to catch his breath and felt his heart flutter in his chest. The shadowy image came into better focus. "A dragon. Hah! Isn't big enough to be a dragon. Why… it's a little girl," the kobold said.

  The flowers parted, showing a thin waif of five or six with long coppery hair and blue eyes. She was delicate, and dressed in a filmy garment that looked to be made of pale purple and yellow flower petals. There was a slight smile on her unblemished, cherubic face, but it was a sly smile, not a pleasant one. She raised her hands-they were misted in silver-gray-and she made a beckoning motion, as if she had somehow spotted Dhamon and Rig and Fetch in this cave beneath the mountain and was motioning them closer. The scent of flowers became intense, almost suffocating. Then suddenly the image was gone, the black spot was shrinking, swallowed by the bright yellow. A heartbeat later the yellow was fading, becoming sparkling motes forced to the bottom by the oppressive blue and green swirls. The sickening fragrance was gone, too, replaced by the musty smell of the cave.

  "Wait, I've another question!" Dhamon practically shouted.

  Fetch sagged onto his back. The kobold was shaking, staring at his hands. "I've been robbed," he said in disbelief. "I'm older. That foul device stole years from me! Dhamon!"

  The kobold's voice was different, softer, and the words were less distinct. The kobold was different, too. The scraggly hair that clung to his bottom jaw turned white as the companions watched. Then it began fluttering to the floor, like dry pine needles falling from a dead tree.

  He opened his mouth, as if to say something again. His eyes were wide with fright and disbelief, and his fingers, which were feeling frantically about his face, were trembling. Fetch's scaly skin was flaking and losing its color, becoming as gray as the stone on which he sat. His eyes had lost their glossiness, the red fading to a dark pink. The kobold gasped, a rattling wheeze escaping his lips, and he glanced between Dhamon and Rig as his chest heaved.

  The mariner stared slack-jawed. "Dhamon…"

  "I see him, Rig."

  "Magic. The little guy mentioned something about the magic exacting a price."

  Rikali sucked in her breath. The half-elf had been watching the river, and only now truly noticed that the kobold had changed. "Pigs, what happened to you, Fetch?"

  The kobold didn't reply, though he gestured feebly to the pool.

  "Well, make it change you back," the half-elf stated. "Wiggle your fingers and make it fix you."

  Rig shook his head. "I don't think that's possible."

  "Well, maybe it'll wear off."

  "I feel…" Fetch began in his soft voice. "Cold."

  "Dhamon, what are we gonna do about him? Can Grim…" Rikali's words trailed off as she glanced again at the river. "Dhamon, the river really is risin'! We have to hurry. Please, lover! Let's just grab Fetch and get out of here. We'll take him to Grim Kedar's. That old ogre'll fix him up, just like he did you and Mai."

  Dhamon glanced at Fetch, his face an unreadable mask, then he turned and hurried toward the water. He rugged his boots free and tucked their tops under his belt in the back. The half-elf followed him, asking what they should do about Fetch and would Dhamon carry him. He didn't answer her, simply grasped Rikali's hand and eased into the water, taking several deep breaths. Rikali clung to the edge for a moment, looking at the dais.

  Rig padded closer to the kobold until he was towering over Fetch.

  "Shouldn't we wait for them, lover?" she asked.

  Dhamon took several more deep breaths and shook his head. "No, the river's rising too fast." His tone was emotionless. "I'm not waiting around for them. It might have been a mistake to wait this long." He dropped below the surface, beginning to swim with the current. Rikali took a last look at Rig and Fetch, then followed after Dhamon, the green light fading as they swam from the chamber and were swallowed by the absolute blackness.

  * * * * * * *

  Rig stared at the kobold. Was the green light playing tricks? Simply making the kobold look… older? An illusion. Perhaps it was something from the pool, maybe it took the kobold's energy. And, perhaps when the kobold rested he would revert to his more youthful appearance. The mariner wished Palin Majere was here. The sorcerer would know what to do. Though he wondered whether Palin would have toyed with the pool to begin with.

  "We have to leave," he said finally, scowling when the creature twitched and wheezed. "You all right? Fetch?"

  The kobold shivered and wrapped his arms around his chest. His eyes had faded further. "No, I'm not all right," he hissed. "Damn Black Robe magic. Said there was a price. I paid it all right. A big one."

  The mariner seemed genuinely concerned for the creature and took a closer look at him. The usual mix of scales and skin beneath the robe, though the color had changed, still had the stench. But when the kobold looked up to meet his stare, the mariner noticed something else different. It was an illusion or a trick of the green light.

  There were wrinkles about his eyes, like an aging human would exhibit, and the hairs that grew in scattered clumps along the sides of his head were a smattering of red and gray, and there weren't as many of them. Rig extended a hand, and the kobold took it, grimacing a little when he got up.

  "Ache a lot," Fetch said. His shoulders shook as he turned from the mariner, stuffing his fist in his mouth to choke back a sob. "Stolen," the kobold repeated. "Years."

  "What's a few years? Besides, whatever happened, it'll probably just wear off. Just like Dhamon suggested. And there is that pasty-faced ogre in Bloten." Rig adopted a light tone, hoping to get the creature moving. "Grim, right? We'll go see Grim." He looked at the river. If I had any sense, he thought to himself, I'd leave this little thing right here and swim for it.

  The kobold had squared his diminutive shoulders. "It stole more than just a few years. My arms and legs feel stiff. Hurts to move ‘em. Don't see quite so well. Everything's a little fuzzy."

  By the blessed memory of Habbakuk, I'm feeling sorry for the little rat, Rig cursed himself. I'm the one who demanded a couple of questions, so I'm partly to blame. Still, the creature's a thief, he continued. A thief and probably a murderer who doesn't deserve any sympathy.

  "We have to go, Fetch," he repeated. The sound of the river seemed louder, and he glanced at it again. It had started to spill out onto the floor of the chamber. There wouldn't be much of an air pocket now.

  "Ilbreth," the kobold answered after a moment. His voice was soft and raspy. "My name's Ilbreth. And you're not so bad. For a human."

  It's Fiona, the mariner thought. She's rubbed off on me and made me soft. Aloud, he said, "C'mon, Ilbreth." He turned and left the dais, kicking at a few rocks and skulls. "I ain't waiting any longer on you," Rig added unnecessarily. But he did wait, and when the kobold didn't join him, he turned and glanced back.

  Fetch was lying on the ground, not moving.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Return To Bloten

  Dhamon stopped swimming shortly after he turned to follow the narrow branch-off, which he'd nearly missed; there was no reason to put in the effort. The current was so strong he was like some bit of flotsam being propelled along. He concentrated on keeping his legs straight and his arms tucked in close, hoped he didn't brush up against any sharp rock walls. His head pounded and his lungs cried out for air, but there was none to be had-not a single air pocket since he'd gulped his last breath in the green-lit chamber. There was only this to
tal darkness and a sound constant and deafening.

  He felt himself growing lightheaded, found himself thinking of Feril and the dragons and of the night at the Window to the Stars. His leg was tingling, had been since they'd started exploring the old chamber of the Black Robe sorcerers. It began to radiate its waves of intense heat and bone-numbing cold just as he'd asked Fetch to discover the source of rain. And it became worse just before he left the chamber-which was the real reason he left Rig and Fetch behind. When the pain took hold of him, he could think of nothing else.

  The corridor angled sharply and threw him against a jagged rock. For a brief moment, he thought that drowning here might be a blessing-no more pain. Someone would find a corpse with a souvenir from a dragon overlord affixed to its rotting leg. Then he felt a surge, felt rocks brush his stomach, felt himself sinking, being propelled through a curtain of pummeling water that drove the last of the air from his lungs and pushed him under. His eyes' were still open, but all he could see was dark, murky gray. Then the water turned paler, the color of dense fog, and he was borne down deeper. He made out shapes. Odd-a stone home? A covered well? A wagon? All underwater.

  Dhamon was forced all the way to the bottom by the powerful water of the falls. He felt his feet touch something solid, and he was able to push himself up, and then he thrashed when he broke the surface. It was all he could do to tread water, the pain was so intense from the scale, threatening to overwhelm him and send him under again. The violent tremors started in his muscles, and he mindlessly drove himself toward the shore, concentrating on a patch of muddy ground, gulping in air, and trying to blot out the possibility of death. He managed to reach the bank and pull himself halfway out of the water when he finally surrendered to exhaustion and the icy-hot pain, and slipped into merciful unconsciousness.

  Rikali's head broke the surface just behind him. She greedily swallowed the fresh air. "Pigs, but I thought we were gonna die, lover! Never thought I'd be so grateful to see all of this rain. It's beautiful!" She tread water and breathed deeply, listened to the roaring of the falls behind her and the near-silent patter of the rain. "Dhamon? Where are you, Dhamon?"