And the color would make Zi harder to see in the shadows of Tarath Marad, and consequently harder to target. Always a plus, especially for a wizard.
Greddark handed her a heavy pack, which he’d already rigged to go over one shoulder, so as not to interfere with her shard axe’s harness. He and the others wore helmets with inset everbright lanterns, and goggles hung about their necks. Greddark passed a pair over to her, followed by a helmet.
“Got everything?”
The dwarf nodded.
“Food, water, climbing gear, weapons. Light for when we don’t mind being seen; low-light lenses for when we do. And you? You get us registered, and our fee paid?” he asked as she placed the goggles about her own neck and strapped on the miner’s helmet, buckling it firmly under her chin.
Sabira snorted.
“More or less.”
At his quirked brow, she shook her head. “Later. For now we should get started. We’ve still got a long way to go.”
At her gesture, Xujil took the lead, and the group fell in behind him. Sabira and Greddark came first, followed by Laven and Zi, then Glynn and Jester, and finally Skraad and Rahm, taking up the rear.
The drow led them over the stone bridge and toward the back of the cavern where there were no buildings and no everbright lanterns to light their path. A forest of thick white and yellow stalagmites sprouted up from the cavern floor here, some of them reaching up to join thinner stalactites that dripped from the ceiling. The twisting formations obscured the back wall of the cave from view until they came to a gaping hole in the stalagmite thicket. Shattered rock littered the ground here, and it was obvious that the opening had been created by an explosion of some sort. The debris had been moved aside by the explorers who came after, so it was impossible to tell the directionality of the blast from their pattern or the scorch marks that remained in the surrounding stone pillars.
“Tell us again how Brannan came to find you, Xujil,” Greddark said as they walked. “For the benefit of the newcomers.”
The drow paused and turned toward them. With the blackness of the entrance to the depths behind him, and framed as he was by the jagged remains of both stalagmites and stalactites, it looked for a moment as if the earth itself had opened up to swallow the guide. The illusion was fleeting, but powerful, and Sabira shivered. She hoped it wasn’t an omen.
“My brethren and I had been sent out to find magic to aid us in our fight against the Spinner of Shadows; we believed we could do so here, above. We knew we were nearing the surface, but we could not find an egress from the caverns. The area had been plagued with quakes and tremors and we were about to retreat back below to search for a safer exit elsewhere when Brannan’s people happened upon us. One of the quakes had opened up this hole—” he gestured to the wall behind him “—and Brannan blasted his way through the stalagmites to find out where it went. He found us.” The guide cast an inscrutable glance behind Sabira. “I believe it is likely the ‘newcomers’ know the tale from there.”
Laven grunted at that, and Sabira could almost feel him reaching for the hilt of his sword. She’d have to make sure she issued a “no killing the drow” order when they stopped to camp.
“Shall we proceed, Marshal?”
Sabira nodded at the drow.
“Lead on.”
Xujil turned and led the way through the yawning mouth of the quake-spawned cavern. As Sabira stepped from the cave that housed the bulk of Trent’s Well into the narrower, cooler passage, the drow’s voice echoed eerily back to her through the darkness, disembodied and alien.
“Welcome to Tarath Marad.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Zol, Barrakas 17, 998 YK
Tarath Marad, Xen’drik.
The everbright lanterns on their helmets lit up the passageway with a soft blue glow, revealing walls that sparkled with ore.
“Lava tube,” Greddark remarked, reaching out to touch the silvery vein nearest him. “Nickel. Some copper. Explains why there aren’t more dwarves here. Not worth mining.”
“Lava?” Sabira asked, reminded of her nightmares: Ned falling into the pool of magma, Orin losing his legs in the mud pot beneath Frostmantle. Both of them morphing into Elix in the agonizing moments before they died.
Greddark heard the sudden anxiety in her voice, and knew its cause. Or thought he did—Sabira hadn’t told anyone about the dreams she’d been having ever since she returned to Xen’drik. The only one who even suspected was Jester. Since he didn’t need to sleep, he knew how little of it she actually got.
“They’re old, dormant. This area hasn’t seen volcanic activity in centuries. Nothing to worry about.”
“The dwarf speaks truly,” Xujil said, his voice floating back to them as if from a great distance. Even though he was only a few feet in front of them, they could hardly make out his form; the light from the helmets didn’t penetrate far in the blackness of Tarath Marad. “The molten rivers have not flowed here below since before giants fell. The depths are a place of cold, and have always been so.”
Somehow, Sabira didn’t find that particularly comforting.
The passageway branched several times, and there seemed to be no rhyme or reason to the route the drow took. Sometimes the tunnels angled downward, and sometimes they climbed sharply upward. Sometimes Xujil went right and sometimes he went left. Once after he’d taken three sharp lefts in a row, Sabira was convinced they’d just gone in a circle.
“This is ridiculous,” she muttered to Greddark, who shrugged.
“Near as I can figure, we’re directly below Trent’s Well, but we’re heading out under the desert.”
Sabira actually stopped to stare at him.
“How can you possibly know that?”
He gave her a mocking grin.
“It’s a dwarf thing.”
She winced. She supposed she’d probably had that coming.
“Problem, Marshal?” Laven asked from behind them.
“Nothing a swift kick won’t take care of,” she muttered as she waved him off and hurried to catch up to the drow.
After a time, even Sabira could tell they were heading downward. The air was cooler, and the veins of ore had given way to patches of nacreous fungus that glowed without the benefit of the magewrought lanterns. The tunnels were bigger and less well-defined here as well, occasionally widening out into small caverns with a multitude of exits. She knew now why no one from Trent’s Well had exacted revenge on the Umbragen guides—they were the only ones who could navigate down here. Without Xujil or Greddark, she already knew she’d never find her way back to the surface. She was hopelessly lost.
She was just about to call for a break when she heard a soft hiss from behind her. She stopped and whirled, reaching for her urgrosh. Greddark’s blade was already out, though it did not yet dance with flames.
Laven moved up to her side.
“Skraad thinks we’re being followed,” he said in a low voice, his own hand on his hilt. “A group of men; he’s not sure how many. Maybe more than us. What do you want to do?”
Xujil had come back to see what the holdup was.
“There is a side tunnel ahead that leads to a vacant cavern,” the drow offered. “It is a dead end, but it will afford us room to battle.”
Sabira pursed her lips. A corner was usually a good place for an ambush—unless the guy between you and the door had more men and more weapons at his disposal. Then it was usually a good place to die.
On the other hand, if their pursuers were in fact just another group of explorers who happened to be traveling the same direction they were, then getting out of the main tunnel would allow them to pass Sabira’s group by without being any the wiser.
“Show us,” she said to Xujil, deciding. She pulled her goggles on and switched off the lantern on her helmet, gesturing for the others to do the same. Soon the passageway was dark, lit only by the intermittent glow of fungi.
The drow was a shadow, black on black, and Sabira wouldn’t know where he w
as if she hadn’t been looking straight at him when she doused her light. As it was, she had trouble tracking him as he moved and followed him more by sound than by sight, a task made even harder by the noise from her fellow spelunkers.
Xujil seemed to realize her difficulty and crept back to guide her and the others into the side passage. It was a good thing too. Sabira’s eyes were playing tricks on her in the darkness; she thought she’d seen him in the main tunnel up ahead of them. If he hadn’t returned, she would have followed that imagined movement and missed the offshoot completely.
Though it was hard to determine distance in the dim green glow, the cavern Xujil led them to was larger than Sabira had expected, and filled with pudgy stalagmites. Water dripped somewhere at the cave’s unseen edges and all she could see of the ceiling were the tips of the longest stalactites.
As the others entered the cave after her, she unharnessed her shard axe and silently signaled for her companions to take up positions on either side of the entrance. She put Rahm, Greddark, Glynn, and Laven on the right, while she situated herself on the left side closest to the entrance, with Skraad, Zi, and Jester fanned out beside her. She told Xujil to take cover and stay out of the way.
And then they hunkered down and waited.
Skraad heard them first, tensing in his spot. He had his hand crossbow up and trained on the entrance. She motioned for him to hold off on any attack until they had the measure of the group following them. When hunting, it was always better to make sure the cage was full before slamming the door closed. Skraad passed the order down the line and Rahm did the same on his side of the cavern.
A moment later, Sabira could hear them too. They were disciplined and trying to be stealthy, but they were no more native to the depths than her own group was, and every so often a dislodged pebble would clatter across the stone floor or there’d be a grunt as someone slipped in a patch of moss. She had to assume there were two more for every one she heard, which meant a contingent of at least a dozen.
Not just another group of explorers, then—unless they were planning on robbing Sabira and her group of their supplies. Which wasn’t as farfetched as it might seem, considering the cutthroat nature of these expeditions, especially the “academic” ones. She’d heard it said that the only thing more deadly than a House Thuranni assassin was a scholar from Morgrave looking to publish. Considering that the person who told her that was laid up in a House Jorasco enclave after getting in that scholar’s way when he said it, she didn’t think he was being facetious.
Still, theirs wasn’t the most well-equipped group Sabira had seen getting ready to head into the depths, and there’d been better candidates logged in Caldamus’s ledger just a day or two ahead of them. While it was possible they were just some explorers looking to neutralize potential rivals, it wasn’t a hand Sabira would bet on.
Who, then? Caldamus? It was unlikely the changeling would have enough people working for him here to be able to drum up such a large party on such short notice, even masquerading as the mayor.
Brannan? Caldamus had claimed to sense hatred emanating from the Wayfinder. But even if the changeling had been telling the truth—and if he had been, it was only because he saw some personal benefit in doing so, and not because he wanted to help her—it didn’t make any sense. Brannan was all about the bottom line, and he’d make far more off of Sabira and her group if they were actually successful than if they died en route.
Another dragonmarked House that had somehow learned of the artifact she’d been sent to retrieve? She wasn’t foolish enough to imagine that spies had not infiltrated Deneith, even as far up as Breven’s inner circle. For that matter, there were other groups outside the thirteen Houses who might have an interest in her mission, if they’d learned of it. Any of the royal families, for instance, or leaders of other nations, like the hags who ran Droaam. Even the dwarves’ Iron Council, though she rather thought they’d have approached her directly—she was technically their subject now that she’d been adopted into the Tordannon clan.
But which of those groups had enough of a local presence to launch an assault so quickly? She’d received her mission just three weeks ago, and been in Xen’drik only two. She ran through the list: Kundarak, Cannith, Phiarlan, Jorasco.
And Deneith.
Had Greigur finally decided to make his move?
But, again, it made no sense. Any of the groups interested in the artifact that Baron Breven wanted so desperately would wait for her to actually find it first and then attack her. The timing was off.
And then she had no more time to wonder. A clang of metal against stone sounded just outside the entrance to the cave. Whoever it was, they were here.
Sabira tensed, waiting for the first one to enter the cavern. She saw something sail by in the darkness, and then the world exploded in a white flash.
Temporarily blinded by the light, she heard the rush of booted feet and the clang of a crossbow bolt striking ineffectually off armor.
Then the cacophony of engagement as their enemies located the members of her group and began to attack. Greddark’s blade flamed, casting hellish shadows as the cavern walls echoed with the music of battle; the high, ringing tones of steel on steel melding with the lower, more brutal notes of steel on flesh.
A shout sounded to her left. Zi’s voice, raised in anger, and power. Suddenly, the light winked out and she could see again, albeit with white spots of light still dancing on the periphery of her vision.
A sword was hurtling down at her head and she jerked aside just in time, the blade denting and sparking off her spaulder as it slid past.
That was going to leave a bruise.
Her attacker, a tall man who looked vaguely familiar in the darkness, cursed spectacularly as he tried to recover from what he had intended to be a killing blow. Sabira took the opportunity to swat him aside with the butt of her axe, catching him in the side and sending him flying. She didn’t have time to gloat, however, for the man hadn’t been alone. His dwarf companion, shorter and earless, lunged at her with a long knife in each hand.
Sabira brought the spear end of her urgrosh around, slamming it into one of his hands before drawing the haft back and thrusting. The dwarf dropped his knife as he took the Siberys shard in his gut.
“Stugrim!” the other man shouted as she pulled the shard axe back out with a wet squelch. Stugrim fell to his knees, dropping the other knife and clapping both hands over his stomach to stem the flow of blood. It was then that Sabira noticed he was missing three fingers, which looked as if they’d been chewed off.
Something tickled the back of her brain, a memory she couldn’t quite grasp and hold on to. She knew these men, even if she didn’t recognize the name. But from where?
The answer shouted to her from the back of the cave.
“Tell your people to stand down, Deneith. I’ve got your guide.”
An everbright lantern flared to life, revealing Xujil, the tip of a hook resting at the base of his throat.
Of course. The man with the sword had been at the Glitterdust, and the dwarf called Stugrim, who was even now bleeding out at her feet, was Ears, one of the crew of the Dust Dancer.
“Thecla. I’m beginning to think you have an unhealthy obsession with me, and, frankly, it’s getting a little old.”
Sabira took the opportunity afforded by the light from the first mate’s helmet to assess her situation. Rahm was down, as was Jester, but she had no idea if they were just hurt, or worse. Greddark and Skraad each had three men on them—which she thought was a little insulting—and the dwarf’s sword was no longer aflame. Laven was standing in front of Glynn, shielding her from another two as she held the stump of an arm up to her chest. Zi had only one attacker, whom he’d been trying to fend off with a wand, using it like a club. Three bodies lay on the floor in addition to Ears, but all in all, her group’s performance had not been stellar.
“I told you Arach would have you hunted to the farthest corners of Eberron for what you did,�
�� the dwarf replied, blue light shining off his sweaty bald pate. The first mate looked quite a bit worse for wear since the last time she’d seen him in Sharn. The glamerweave coat and silvercloth breeches he’d worn on the Dust Dancer were long gone, as was the jeweled scabbard he’d been so fond of. It seemed that Arach hadn’t been too pleased when his henchman, already out of favor, had been involved in nearly burning down his favorite nightclub.
“Funny, I don’t see him here. Unless he’s one of the corpses littering the floor?” She nudged Stugrim’s lifeless body with her boot for emphasis. “No? Then it kind of looks like this is all you, and Arach has nothing to do with it. Which would make sense, since I’m sure he fired you for incompetence about two seconds after he found out you’d lost me, and trashed his doxy’s place of business in the process. I’m actually a little surprised to see you still alive.”
“Bringing you to him will change his mind, I’m sure.”
Dol Dorn’s broken blade, had the dwarf learned nothing? Sabira might have found it in her to pity him if he weren’t standing there threatening her with that ridiculous hook shoved up in Xujil’s face.
“Right. Because he’d never just kill you after you turned me over to him. He’s far too honorable for that.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw Greddark wince, but it was hard to be sure in the gloom.
“Enough talking!” Even from here, she could see the angry set of Thecla’s jaw.
Good. The madder he got, the stupider his decisions would be.
“Or what? You’ll kill the drow? Go ahead; I don’t really like him that much, anyway.”
Thecla scoffed.
“Brave words. How will your people find their way back to the surface, then? Did you leave some trail we didn’t find as we followed you?”
“We have our ways.”
“Your dwarf soarsledder? We’ll kill him too. And I wouldn’t count on teleporting. Something about this area seems to cause those spells to fail rather spectacularly.”
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