“You. Moron!” he yelled.
“What is this!” said Brizbarn, furious. “Kill the imposters!”
The fake god’s body fell in a heap, and Sir Eldrick, Gibrig, and Brannon leapt to their feet, weapons in hand. Murland grabbed Willow and pulled her next to him, and together the group squared off with the circling moles.
“Are you really that stupid!” Brannon asked, and he received a swift slap upside the head by Sir Eldrick.
“Bitch later, princess!” said Sir Eldrick, and he waved Cryst out in front of him, eyes daring the moles to get closer.
“Oops,” said Willow, blushing.
“Aww, it be alright,” said Gibrig, offering her a smile. “Ye just couldn’t tell ‘cause we made such a convincin’ costume, right guys?”
“Not now, Gib. I think they mean business,” said Murland.
“Look,” said Sir Eldrick, stepping forward and slowly lowering his sword. “We were only trying to pass through. Let us leave, and you will never see us again. Fair enough?”
The moles all looked to each other, and then to their leader. But Brizbarn was furious. “You think you can come down here and just pass through? You think you can impersonate our god, and then just pass through?” He looked to the other moles with his blind eyes. “Are we mole men, or are we mice?”
“Mole men!” the crowd cried.
“Indeed, we are mole men! And as was the dream of our patriarch—”
“Now I just don’t get that,” said Willow, and a flustered Brizbarn shook with rage at being interrupted yet again. “If you are all mole MEN, where are the mole WOMEN?”
“You see?” said Brizbarn, pointing at the companions. “They want our women!”
The mole men all gave a collective growl, and the companions squeezed in a little tighter.
“Kill them all!” said Brizbarn, and the mole men charged.
There was a flash of brilliant light that made the fire explode, raining hot coals and burning logs on the advancing horde. Murland and Packy darted into the air, and fire erupted from the young wizard’s wand as Sir Eldrick and a much wiser Willow began clearing the way up to the tunnel exit. Brannon threw down a handful of spores in a wide arc behind the group, and mushrooms erupted from the ground and grew to maturity in the blink of an eye. The charging moles bounced off of them and fell back into the arms of their kin.
“This way!” Sir Eldrick yelled, and Willow and the others followed his glowing blade as it swiped from side to side, taking arms and legs from those moles who got too close.
A mole leapt out of the shadows and landed on Willow’s back, sinking his teeth into her shoulder. She grabbed him by the neck fur and flung him twenty feet. The companions came to the mound that would bring them out and started up, but the moles were on them in a flash. Dozens leapt at them, but the companions had the higher ground and were able to keep them back for a time. Brannon was hurriedly chucking handfuls of spores, which quickly grew and blocked the way while Gibrig swatted at and smacked anyone who got too close.
“Sorry!” he said as he conked a mole on the head with his shovel. “My apologies!” he said to another even as he sent the pickax wide and bonked him on the head as well.
Willow was much less apologetic and, having found her club in the mayhem, was bashing mole men from the side of the mound as the companions slowly fought their way up.
Murland came around with Packy, and from his wand came a swath of flame that nearly singed the hairs on Gibrig’s scant beard. Mole men screamed in pain and terror as they fled, fully engulfed in flames, some rolling down the hill, others riding their tumbling companions like log rollers on the river.
The companions made it up and out of the underground city, but they were met by hundreds of moles who were rushing to the aid of their leader. For Brizbarn could be heard through it all, bellowing for the companions to be caught or killed.
“Brannon, now!” yelled Sir Eldrick as he took the head off the closest mole man.
Brannon reached up his arms, closed his eyes, and sang out in a voice pure and beautiful and true. His elven words floated to the ceiling, and the mushrooms illuminating the vast chamber all grew bulbous and ripe, and soon began to break from their stems. Brannon fell to the floor, unconscious, and everyone gathered around to defend their stricken friend.
“I got you,” said Willow as she took him up on her shoulder.
“Follow me!” Sir Eldrick yelled.
Murland shot out of the tunnel they had escaped from, and it caved in beneath him, flames leaping up to meet the falling mushroom caps. Willow huffed after Sir Eldrick, waving her club back and forth around her and connecting with more than one stubborn mole man. She could hear Gibrig behind her, whacking his pursuers and apologizing with every strike. But, apologetic as he might have been, not one of the creatures got past him. Murland zipped overhead once more, and Willow felt heat on her back. They ran up and down the mounds, sometimes using the pathways, but more often than not being forced to higher ground.
All the while, the mushrooms grew and grew and fell from on high, crushing mounds and mole men as they rained destruction from above. One landed right in front of Willow, and she thought for a moment that Sir Eldrick had been crushed, but then his fae blade sang and the mushroom was cut in half. As the two pieces fell apart, she found him there on the other side, legs planted, and sword singing as it laid low his enemies. He leapt to the side as another cap landed where he had been, and Gibrig rushed past him, saying, “Come on, Willow!” She noticed then the ledge and the vine hanging from it, and she knew that must be their way out.
Willow hurried after the lanky dwarf, batting aside the advancing mole men tirelessly, even laughing as she did so. She carried Brannon up the slight incline leading to their salvation as Sir Eldrick deftly climbed the vine rope and, upon reaching the top, turned and yelled down, “Toss him up!”
Willow didn’t give a moment to hesitation, and she heaved Brannon into the air. He flew up over the ledge like a rag doll and landed on an open-armed Sir Eldrick, who caught him, albeit roughly. Willow turned around, planted a knee, laced her fingers together over the other knee, and said to Gibrig, “Jump!”
Gibrig understood. He slapped aside a shovel and pickax behind him and turned toward Willow as two more mole men cocked their weapons to strike at his back. Willow was about to give warning when a spell from Murland’s wand exploded at the mole men’s feet and sent them flying. Gibrig planted a foot in Willow’s laced hands, and she flung him upward. He cried out in alarm as he sailed through the air, for indeed, Willow had launched him too hard, and as she spun and watched his flight, she realized that he was going to hit the open face of stone above the tunnel entrance.
“Behind you!” Sir Eldrick yelled from on high.
Willow turned just in time to see the spike of a pickax coming for her head. She caught it, crushed the handle, and punched the mole man who held it square in the face. Six more lunged at her, and with a wide sweep of her club she sent them, bruised and broken, into the advancing horde. She then leapt up as high as she could and grabbed the vine.
“Climb!” Sir Eldrick urged.
Below her the mole men surged. They threw shovels, pickaxes, and even buckets filled with dirt at her. She endured the onslaught, however, and was soon pulled over the lip by Sir Eldrick and Gibrig.
Murland landed next to them, and he wavered, looking as tired as Brannon.
“You alright?” Sir Eldrick asked.
“No,” he said breathlessly. “I’ve nothing left. Come on, we must go…”
With that he passed out, and Willow shook her head. “I never met a sleepier lot of warriors in my life.”
“I’ve got him,” said Sir Eldrick, and he hefted Murland over his shoulder, careful to stash the wand in the young wizard’s pocket.
Willow hefted Brannon over her shoulder, and together with Gibrig, followed the knight through the tunnel. Behind them, the furious cries of the mole men followed close on their he
els. But they had gotten a good head start, and indeed, they mine shaft they traversed was long abandoned and not easily accessible. They took a right down another tunnel, and then a left. They came to a chamber, one filled with old rotted wood and many precarious walkways across to the other side. Willow was apprehensive that the old wood would hold her and Brannon’s weight, but she stepped lightly, trying to use her wide feet to her advantage as she followed Sir Eldrick across. To her amazement, she reached the other side without incident. She turned to Gibrig, knowing that surely, he would share her shock, but to her horror, the boards beneath his feet gave way, and his smile disappeared as he fell into the abyss below.
Chapter 24
Shellington Slidesmore the Third
Gibrig bounced off the walls of the old mine shaft, groping and grasping for a handhold. But his fingers slipped on the slick stones. He finally landed, twisting his ankle in the process, and rolled down a steep incline in the dark. He felt himself slowing and clawed at the smooth floor, but suddenly he slipped over the edge and fell screaming into the dark chasm below. Gibrig thought that he was surely a dead dwarf. He closed his eyes, anticipating the painful landing, but to his surprise, he landed in a body of icy water. Gibrig was so shocked to be alive that he nearly cheered beneath the water. He kicked his legs and pumped his arms, swimming frantically for the surface.
When he finally broke through the surface, he floated in darkness. His excitement about not being flattened at the bottom of the mine shaft soon gave way to paranoia—for what ungodly creature might be living in this underground lake? With his imagination being anything but nice, Gibrig started swimming for the only light that he could see. It was distant and faint, but it was there. He swam for his life, thinking that any minute some creature of the deep would grab ahold of one of his legs or chomp him right in two.
After swimming for a good ten minutes, Gibrig began to get very tired. His right ankle was throbbing, and he had a dozen other pains from his fall. But he kept on, knowing that he was getting closer with every second.
Suddenly, something grabbed his arm and he gave a squeal. Another of the slimy appendages grazed his other arm, and it wasn’t until Gibrig’s foot touched the bottom that he realized it must be seaweed clinging to him. With a bad case of the heebie-jeebies, he rushed up onto the bank and did not stop until he tripped on a rock and fell to the ground, exhausted.
Gibrig lay there, breathing slowly, deeply, and thanking the gods that he was still alive. He lay in the dark for a time unknown, for he fell asleep at some point, and when he woke he didn’t know if it had been five minutes or five hours. He rolled onto his belly and saw that indeed the glow that had guided him to shore was still alight. It still seemed far away, however, and looked higher than it would have if it were at ground level. Gibrig got to his feet and shivered. He was still wet, and the air was cool down here below the city of the mole men. With nowhere else to go, Gibrig began toward the distant glow, hoping that it was a fire. He knew the others would not likely be able to find him down here. Of course, Murland might be able to get to him with Packy, but Gibrig knew that the mole men had still been after them, and they wouldn’t have had the time to rescue him.
For the time being, Gibrig was on his own.
***
“Wait!” Willow cried.
Sir Eldrick skidded to a stop and looked back at the ogre, instantly noticing that Gibrig was no longer with them. “Where’s Gib?” he said, and he readjusted Murland on his shoulder.
Willow rushed to him with Brannon still limp as a rag doll on her own shoulder.
“He fell down the shaft,” she said breathlessly.
“Queen’s sake!” said Sir Eldrick. He began pacing back and forth in the tunnel.
“We can’t just leave him there,” said Willow.
“I know, I know, but damn it, listen to those beasts coming after us. Turning back now is suicide.”
Willow listened, and she too heard the horde of angry mole men rushing through the tunnel toward them. “So what?” she said with tusky determination. “We can take ‘em.”
Sir Eldrick shook his head. “No, Willow. Not with these two in the condition that they’re in. We’ve got no choice, we—”
“I’m NOT leaving Gib behind!”
“I don’t like it either. But we’ve got no choice. Look, if Gibrig survived the fall, he’ll find his way out. Or we can come back when the heat is off our asses. For now, we’ve got to go. We won’t be doing Gib any good if we get ourselves killed.”
Willow didn’t like it, but she nodded agreement. Behind them, the commotion of the charging mole men was like thunder echoing in the tight tunnel.
“Come on, let’s get these two the hells out of here,” said Sir Eldrick, and he began once again down the tunnel.
Willow gave one last glance at the place where Gibrig had fallen. She sighed before following Sir Eldrick.
***
Gibrig slowly made his way closer to the glow coming from beyond the small hill of shale, which was slick with snail ooze and limpets. He quickly realized that the radiance came from a cluster of mushrooms. Before him stood a triangular pile of stones that looked to have fallen against each other at one point in time, creating a hollow with only a few spaces for light to shine through.
“Don’t be afraid, young Hogstead, if that is your name. For there is no danger here.”
Gibrig jumped when he heard the slow, almost mumbling voice. “Who, who’s there, eh?” he said, trying but failing to sound fierce.
“I am here, and you are there. But if you like, you can come in here with me,” came the voice from inside the formation.
Gibrig spied through a crack in the cluster of stone, but he saw no creature who might have spoken to him. Perhaps it was one of the mushrooms; he had seen talking mushrooms in the City of the Dead after all.
“Come, come, come in here with me, let me see if you are who I think you are. Come in here with me.”
“Who’s me, eh? A good host greets his guests at the door where I come from, and doers o’ no good beckon travelers into their lair.”
“Ha-ha-ha, ho-ho-ho,” the slow, amused voice laughed. “You are a clever one, and, you are correct. Where are my manners?”
Gibrig dared another step toward the opening and searched the floor. Nothing. Then he looked up and gasped, for a snail the size of a one-horse wagon was slithering down one of the stone faces, grinning at him upside-down. It took a full minute for the snail to make it to the floor, and he lumbered to the opening and nodded at Gibrig.
“Welcome, my name is Shellington Slidesmore…the Third,” said the snail with a toothless smile.
Gibrig stared at the talking snail, dumbfounded, and glanced behind the creature.
“We are alone,” said Shellington. “Won’t you come in? You can hang your clothes to dry while we talk.”
Seeing no immediate danger and thinking that surely he could outrun the snail if need be, Gibrig agreed. “I accept yer offer. Thank ye.”
Shellington turned and slid slowly to the center of the abode as Gibrig followed, taking care to stay on his guard. He noticed that part of the left side of the snail’s shell appeared to be metal, and he wondered if perhaps it was covering a break in his shell.
“Shellington, sir…”
“Please, call me Slide.”
“Er, Slide, sir. How did you know my name?”
“Ah, that is a long tale, and it is longer in the making. Indeed, I have waited here for one hundred years for the one named Hogstead.”
“Well, I ain’t sayin’ I be a liar, but how do ye know that I be a Hogstead, aside from me sayin’ that ye knew me name?”
“Because you look like you should.”
“But, how ye be knowin’ what I be lookin’ like? I know I ain’t never met no talking snail before. I met a talkin’ turtle, but that was in the Swamp o’ Doom.”
“I saw you in a dream during a spirit quest when I was only twenty and two years old,” said
the old snail.
“Ye saw me in a dream? But…”
“Let me begin from the beginning,” said Shellington. “I come from a land far, far to the east. It is a place undiscovered yet by anyone in Fallacetine. My people call it Gorgorron, which, translated to the common tongue of Fallacetine, would mean ‘Place with Big Rocks.’ How I came to Fallacetine is a long story, and one that I assume you do not have time for. But you must understand my people, and so I will at least tell you that much. My people, called by us the Varnevly, are a peaceful folk. We know not war, though we have seen it in the other races who share our land. We spend our time learning, meditating, and listening to the currents of time. We see things that have passed, things that are, and things that will be. Suffice it to say, I have the gift, or curse, of foresight. During my spirit quest those many years ago, I saw us speaking to one another, here, now, in Fallacetine. At the time, I knew not when this might occur, and I knew not where this land was that I saw, but I followed my heart, and my heart led me here. So here we are.”
“Wow, that’s, that’s…well that be just amazin’. But why did ye have to talk to me, here, now?” said Gibrig.
“To give you this,” said Shellington, and he looked to the shiny side of his shell.
“What that be, eh?” said Gibrig, walking around the snail and staring with wonder at the metallic, nautilus-shaped shell.
“Why, it is a magic shield. Made by a skilled blacksmith many decades ago. How I came across it is yet another long story.”
“I don’t understand. You came all the way across the ocean, across Fallacetine, sought out this shield, and…just to bring it to me?”
“Indeed,” said Shellington with a wide grin. “And now I can return to my people and enter adulthood.”
“How old are you?”
The Legend of Drak'Noir Page 17