"You've lead us into a dead end, Yurz," he said to the goblin, not quite keeping the accusation from his voice.
Yurz shook its head violently in denial as the others gathered around. "No, elfling," the creature whined piteously. "Me not lead Pretty Lady and friends to dead end. We now at entrance to upper caverns," he said, pointing toward the ceiling.
Taen followed the direction of the creature's finger, eventually discovering a roughly circular hole that opened into the tunnel's ceiling where it met the jagged wall. Walking carefully beneath the hole, he peered up into its depths and swore softly. What had at first looked like nothing more than a heavily shadowed section of the tunnel was actually a naturally occurring chimney leading up into darkness. He would probably never have found it were it not for Yurz's knowledge of the area.
"Well, so it is," Taen said, returning to the group. "So it is." He placed a hand upon the goblin's shoulder. "Good work, Yurz."
The creature beamed, its orange skin flushing a deeper tone in the dim light. "We go up and soon see Big Chief!"
"That will be nice, Yurz," Marissa said as she drew close to the goblin, "but before we enjoy your Big Chief's hospitality, we'd like to see the inside of the citadel."
Taen watched the creature's eyes widen. "Oh no," Yurz replied hastily. "Pretty Lady not want to visit man-castle. Ugly One there." The goblin shook his head as if to emphasize the point.
Marissa sighed heavily and Taen could see her arrange her face in mock sadness. "I understand, Yurz," she said. "It's just that I so wanted to see the citadel. You wouldn't consider letting us see it as a favor to me, would you?"
Taen almost felt sorry for the hapless goblin as he watched the creature's face trace the battle of fear and awe waged in his enchanted heart. It was clear which side had won when Yurz reached out a grime-covered hand to Marissa.
"Pretty Lady no worry," he said with eyes glistening with eagerness. "Yurz will lead her to man-castle. First we go to upper caverns then over bridge to the place of the dead. Then we be in man-castle pretty quick."
"Thank you, Yurz," Marissa said. "You are certainly a brave friend."
Taen was forced to turn away at the look of pure devotion that crossed the goblin's craggy face. As he did so, the half-elf noticed Borovazk and Roberc staring up into the chimney.
"Borovazk no engineer," the ranger said, "but he does not think that climbing up dark hole will be easy."
Taen looked at the massive-shouldered Rashemi then back at the chimney opening, and he had to agree. Though the stone inside the chimney was rough and uneven, providing several possible hand- and footholds, the width of the opening itself would make the climb very difficult for the large human. Taen thought about it for a moment. Their best possible bet was probably to send an unarmored Roberc up through the vertical passageway first. Once up there, he could find a nearby stalagmite or outcropping of rock to secure their rope to and lower the rest of the rope down the chimney. They could then go up one at a time—though Cavan did present a bit of a logistical problem.
Taen was about to verbalize his plan when Marissa strode forward with Yurz. "Listen," she said softly. "Yurz believes that there could be some sentries near the entrance to the chimney. Let me climb through the passageway in another form. I can move swiftly and remain unseen by whatever guards the entrance to the upper caverns."
Taen nodded at the druid's suggestion and noticed the others doing likewise. Within moments, the air around Marissa began to shimmer and ripple, as if folding in upon itself. One moment Taen saw the druid clearly, and the next, a large spider, almost the size of his two hands, scuttled forward from the space where she had just stood. Yurz leaped backward at the sight of the spider, and the creature would have let out a shriek had not Borovazk moved swiftly to clamp a meaty hand over the goblin's face.
Taen reached down and lifted up the spider, carrying it to the wall just beneath the chimney. Within moments, the transformed druid had crawled into the darkness of the chimney. He whispered a quick prayer of safety to any god who would care to hear.
It was at that moment that Cavan leaped up from where he was lying down on the uneven floor of the cavern and growled a warning. Instantly, Roberc had drawn his sword and peered out into the shadows. Out of the corner of his eye, Taen caught Borovazk releasing the goblin to draw his own axe. Yurz fell backward, whimpering softly as he crawled to his feet.
Several bulbous-headed shapes resolved out of the darkness, padding closer on light feet. Taen swore again as he caught sight of them. Goblins—about ten of them. They stood about twenty feet from Taen and his companions with crude crossbows pointed in their direction.
"Stop! Intruders," one of them shouted in a voice so like that of Yurz that Taen cast a quick look behind him at the quivering goblin.
Taen could see his companions frozen, not in fear, but in preparation for explosive action; their muscles were coiled and tensed like a panther's before it springs down on its prey. The coiling expanse of the underground tunnel would, Taen suspected, likely carry the sounds of any combat to sensitive goblin ears—and that was a discovery they could ill afford. The half-elf reached slowly into his belt pouch, pulling out a small handful of dust. As the goblin sentries drew closer, crossbows firmly pointed at the intruders, Taen whispered the words to an old spell, and he gathered the arcane power at his command. Eldritch energy flooded his senses, swelling like a river pent up behind a dam. At the exact moment when Taen felt that the dam would break, he released the power, scattering sand over the heads of the approaching goblins. The tiny granules spattered and sparked when the spell activated.
First one then another of the goblins jerked as if struck sharply from behind, their bodies pitching forward, bereft of consciousness. The measured sound of goblin snoring filled the tunnel.
"That was well done," remarked Roberc, "though I do wish that you could have left one or two for the rest of us."
Taen smiled at the halfling's words, though in truth he wasn't sure the fighter had been entirely joking. "Come," he said, ushering Roberc and Borovazk back to the chimney in the rear of the tunnel, "we probably don't have too much time before another patrol stumbles upon us."
He tried to ignore the wide-eyed stare Yurz threw his way as they waited beneath the dark hole, but the goblin remained at the periphery of his vision. "Friend of Pretty Lady great wizard," he said finally, after Taen had spent considerable time pretending the goblin wasn't there and wishing that Marissa would soon emerge from the chimney. "Maybe greater than tribal shaman," he finished.
The half-elf was spared having to respond, as Marissa's rope spilled out of the chimney's darkness, landing with a muted thump on the cold gray stone of the tunnel floor. He turned and urged Yurz up the rope. The goblin stared a moment longer then leaped on to the rope, scurrying up its knotted length with the grace and skill of a seasoned seaman climbing the rigging of a tall-masted ship. Borovazk followed soon after, though the ranger needed some help sliding through the initial hole in the ceiling.
Taen and Roberc conferred for a moment regarding Cavan. The war-dog gazed up at the hole then offered Roberc a crooked stare, as if measuring the probability of a successful ascent. Taen thought for a moment. They had been in a few spots like this in previous underground explorations, but none quite so physically daunting. He did know a spell that would help reduce the war-dog's size, which might make the dog more manageable as they hauled him up the chimney. Their success depended upon Cavan's patience and cooperation, however.
A few moments later, with the help of Roberc's firm-voiced commands, a much smaller Cavan stood still and, if an animal could experience such a thing, bewildered as several lengths of rope were coiled and tied around its front- and hindquarters. Taen watched as their companions above lifted the war-dog, now the size of a large puppy, up through the chimney. When that was accomplished, the half-elf followed the always-grumbling halfling up the rope and into the caverns above.
* * * *
The ogres stood like ancient trees rooted to the rough stone of the cavern floor. In the dancing light of his arcane illumination, Taen could see their dull yellow skin cracked and pitted like old bark. Both of the creatures' mouths hung open, frozen in mid roar. Teeth as thick and long as his fingers glimmered in the shifting illumination.
Roberc whistled softly when he drew near the half-elf. "You did this?" he asked, turning to Marissa. The druid had long since shed her arachnoid form and sat quiet and still in the center of the cavern.
She nodded. "They were arguing over something just a few yards from the chimney hole," the druid said. "I didn't want their argument to draw any unwanted attention, so I crept up on them and changed form. I was going to try and use a different spell, when this"—she lifted the Staff of the Red Tree—"began to whisper to me again. I heard the words and repeated them. In moments, the ogres were petrified."
Taen shook his head. He'd seen his way around enough items and artifacts of power to know that the gift of the Rashemi telthor was unusual to say the least. In point of fact, Taen felt a great sense of unease around the staff—an experience that worsened any time Marissa described the staff's somewhat conscious actions. He had never been comfortable with the untamed power of natural magic; it refused to follow established laws and yield to the mastery brought on by rigorous study. Though he did not feel even remotely suspicious of the telthor and their gift of the staff, such power answered to its own laws.
At this moment, however, Taen said nothing. There were times to engage the enemy with persuasive rhetoric and razor-sharp logic—but wandering through a maze of caverns on your way to assassinating an evil witch bent on wide-scale domination and destruction was not one of those times. Once again, he would wait until after they had completed their mission before speaking to the druid.
Not that it would matter in the slightest, he thought with a bit of acrimony and turned to search for their guide. Yurz, who had nearly gibbered himself into apoplexy at the sight of the ogres, had finally regained some of his goblinoid poise. Now the creature stood at an opening in the far northern section of the huge cavern, beckoning with his bony fingers.
"Pretty Lady, come," he hissed. "Path to man-castle go this way."
Marissa and the others turned from their measured contemplation of the petrified ogres and marched dutifully after the goblin. Taen gave the high-ceilinged cavern one last glance before following his friends.
Chill air blew steadily through the passages and side tunnels of the upper caverns, carrying with it a deeper bite. As they progressed, Taen watched his breath coil upward in white plumes. Here and there, moisture running down the cold, gray walls of stone curdled and formed a thin layer of ice. Even Borovazk, seemingly immune and inured to the temperature extremes of Rashemen, pulled out another fur shirt to ward himself from the deepening cold. That fact brought Taen a little comfort as he fought his teeth's chattering.
With Yurz leading them, they traversed for quite some time through what seemed like an endless expanse of hidden caves, shadow-filled tunnels, and sloping passages that threatened to trip the unwary with rocky protuberances and rough, uneven ground. Taen stumbled a few times, cursing the weariness that grew within him at each step. Their battle with the wyverns, the distance they had covered, and the stress of moving like shadows in the territory of the enemy were taking their toll. Finally, after he had knocked his shin against a stalagmite for the third time, Taen called a halt.
"We have to rest," he explained. "We'll do no good if we arrive in the citadel too exhausted to deal with the traitor." The others nodded, and Taen could see by the weary expressions on their faces that they were happy to agree.
"So we rest now?" Yurz asked. At Marissa's acknowledgement, the goblin began to hop from foot to foot. "Excellent," he exclaimed. "Yurz know perfect place to take friends for rest. Follow."
With that, the goblin skirted into a small side passage no more than four feet across. Taen and the others followed as quickly as they could. As they moved, the half-elf noticed that the surrounding air temperature grew warmer. By the time they had reached the tunnel's destination—a large circular grotto nearly thirty feet in all directions—steam wafted up into the air.
Marissa practically cooed with delight as she stepped into the cave. Taen wondered what could have made the druid so excited until he, too, entered the grotto. Glimmering stones and crystal of almost every color imaginable scintillated and flashed in the light of his arcane spell. It was as if the very stone of the earth were aflame, burning with jeweled incandescence. What's more, the half-elf noted that the tunnel spilling into the room thinned, transforming into a small ledge that circled the entire grotto. Below it, a still pool of water filled the rest of the cave. Steam drifted upward from the surface of the pool like the trickle of smoke from a sleeping dragon's nostrils.
The warmth felt good, a blessed relief from the constant cold threatening to suck the very breath from Taen's lungs. He couldn't help but let out a sigh of pleasure as the heated cavern air covered his body, wrapping the half-elf in its warm embrace. He dropped his pack and sat down on the hard ground, stretching legs cramped from the day's exertions. He could see the others doing the same thing.
Yurz remained standing, a wide-mouthed grin splitting the harshness of his face. "Friends like resting place?" he asked.
Marissa laughed as she unbound a length of hair she had plaited for their journey into the earth. "Oh yes, Yurz," she replied. "Very much so."
The enchanted creature again hopped from foot to foot, clapping his hands together as he did so. "Yurz know all the secret places of the caves," the goblin said. "We close to Flying Bridge and then"—he lowered his voice—"we enter the tombs of the man-castle."
Taen relaxed even more at the fact that they were very close to their destination. Soon, he thought, they would finish what they came to do; then he and Marissa would have time to straighten out what lay between them. The half-elf stretched as he gazed down at the waters of the pool that steamed invitingly. He was about to suggest a relaxing swim when the half-elf caught sight of a ripple in the water's surface. Looking closer, he could see a large scaled form cutting through the depths of the pool.
Taen jumped to his feet. "What is that?" he asked, pointing to the form swimming beneath the surface.
The others came rushing over, all except Yurz. "Pretty Lady and friends not worry," the goblin said. "That just the water dragon. It not hurt you—unless you go for a swim."
The others soon returned to their packs, stowing gear and pulling out the hardened trail rations they had brought with them for their journey. Taen, however, didn't trust the creature that lurked within the hidden depths of the spring-fed pool. He watched the beast, unable to fall back into the relaxed mood he had just a few moments before. As the others ate and drank, exchanging stories and laughter in the wholly unexpected comfort of the cavern, Taen wondered what the renegade witch was doing at that moment.
A loud splash echoed through the cave as the water dragon dived into the black silence of the pool.
Chapter 19
The Year of Wild Magic
(1372 DR)
The Old One sagged within his bonds.
More than a year of captivity, twisted and tortured by Yulda's arcane ministrations, had reduced the ancient wizard to an almost insubstantial physicality. He was nothing, a shadow, a burning ember of power wrapped in a decrepit and decaying body—which was just as she wanted it.
Yulda gestured and the shimmering funnel of energy that connected her to the dying wizard spun away into nothingness. Her body brimmed with arcane energy, stretched, it seemed, to its limits with the pulsing eldritch power that raced through her very veins. For a moment, she feared that she had taken too much, had sucked the Old One dry, reducing him to a powerless lump of flesh.
He stirred, however, moaning softly into the shadowy cavern, and her fears subsided. The old man couldn't hold out much longer. Despite what had seemed like
an inexhaustible reservoir of arcane might, the Old One's strength had begun to fade. Yulda knew that she had been drawing too much power from the wizard, depleting his reserve too quickly, but it couldn't be helped. Her plans were moving forward, and she needed every ounce of eldritch might to keep her servants in line. Soon she would be able to rest, and the Old One would have a chance to regain the precious power that was all that kept his heart beating.
Soon.
But not now.
Another storm beat hard upon the rocks from which her demesne was forged. The wind moaned and shrieked with a bitter voice—one that she could hear even in the heart of the cavern. It mixed with the piteous sounds of the Old One as he wept and panted through his suffering.
"You... you," he said through great gasping breaths, "you shall never succeed with your plan. The very heart of the... the land rises up against... against you."
"Shut up, old man," Yulda spat back, tired of his endless prattling. "I have already succeeded. You and those blind crones are just too stupid to realize it."
The Old One began to laugh, a great wheezing gurgle of a sound that reminded the witch of someone drowning. "Even now," the wizard gasped between great bouts of laughter, "Rashemen moves against you. You will... will fall, and your name will be but a passing shadow, soon forgotten and never uttered on the... lips of future generations of our people, you—"
"Enough!" Yulda shouted, smacking the wizard's face with the back of her own gnarled hands.
She felt the brittle bones of his nose shatter like dried tinder beneath the blow. With a single moan, the Old One slumped forward, bereft of consciousness; blood spurted from his face, pooling beneath him on the frozen stone floor of the cave.
The witch spat in disgust and moved away from the unconscious wizard. He was a frail and bitter man, she knew, choking beneath the shame of his defeat. His words were like flies; they buzzed and hummed around her head but could not bite. Still, Yulda thought for a moment, she probably should check in on the fate of the erstwhile intruders she had banished to the wyverns' cave.
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