Escalla flew up to the hell hound and scratched him between the ears. “Cinders, you keep right on sniffing.”
Polk wandered over, sniffed whiskey on the breeze, and reclaimed the last sad remnants of his whiskey store. The man glared at Jus, then wrinkled his moustache, and finally let his criticisms out into the open air.
“Son, you’re just an uphill climb for me. I try, but I just can’t reach you!” The man swirled his jug, decided to hoard his last few swigs, and slung the jug across his shoulders. “Backstabbing? It’s just not heroic, son, a bad habit. A hero can’t have bad habits.”
Polk irritably pulled a strip of sticky spider web away from his heel and announced, “Now, come on. I have to get you into White Plume Mountain before you foul up again.”
Over two more long days, the group moved from a landscape of withered grass into a folded desolation of lava plains. Molten rock had rippled as it cooled, and little jets of steam made the rock slippery with algae-laden slime. The cancerous stone gleamed a dull gray-black while the algae shimmered a slick, foul green. The only brightness came from streaks of rust and sulphur salts that crusted the edges of thermal pools.
The only life in this foul place seemed to be skittering gray rats that licked the algae from the pools. Most of the party distastefully passed the animals by, but Jus quietly and reverently went searching through the rocks. The Justicar carefully examined the boiling waters of a geyser and found tiny transparent shrimp sidling through the shallows. He showed Escalla, gently reaching down to lift a crustacean into view. For once, Escalla knew enough to still her tongue and simply enjoy the moment.
High overhead, White Plume Mountain loomed. The volcano’s cone seemed stark and bare. Vast geysers shot steam thousands of feet into the sky above the peak, thundering upward with a sound that echoed across the entire wilderness. When the wind changed, condensed spray came drifting down across the rocks, and Cinders sniffed happily at the stench of sulphur in the air.
The Justicar kept himself and Escalla directly in the midst of the group. Cold calculation insisted that the other party members could never be trusted. By keeping close, Jus reduced the chance of collecting a dagger in the back.
There now seemed to be small point in stealth. The owner of White Plume Mountain certainly knew that they were coming.
In the evenings, the group made a huddled camp about an oil stove. The party bedded down on hard, warm rock in the lee of sulphur-coated stones.
Keen to recruit secret converts to their cause, each of the two priests tried sounding out their companions one by one. Their hissed whispers carried hints of fantastic promises to nearby ears.
Ignoring the conspirators, Polk ostentatiously began to polish Sir Olthwaite’s equipment He sat deliberately close to the Justicar, holding up each piece of armor so that the ranger could see just what a proper adventurer carried into peril.
The Justicar had provided himself with an oilskin sheet that he spread over himself and the faerie. Escalla had made herself a bed inside the Justicar’s backpack, and both slept safe and sound amidst the random spatter of condensation from on high. Cinders sat propped upon a pile of rocks, his eyes gleaming on unwinking watch. When anyone inside the camp made the slightest move toward the ranger or the faerie, a ghostly, half-heard canine growl would ripple through the air.
Of the entire party, only Escalla and the Justicar slept well.
On the final day of approach, the Justicar once again took the lead. A pathway of sorts existed—a rough-cut road flanked with moss-furred statues of Keraptis himself. The sorcerer’s bifold mask was weathered into senile imbecility and pockmarked with fungi. Jus used the statues as stepping stones to climb up and avoid bends in the switchback trail, guarding the party from ambushes as they trudged and struggled along the slippery stone road.
By evening, they had reached a flat plateau upon a shoulder of the mountain. The sun had begun to set, shining wine-red through the mists of sulphurous spray. With fat, stinking droplets raining down upon their necks, the party trudged upward through a darkening maze of rocks, dark pools, and shadow.
The road ended in a pile of moss-slimed ruins that might once have been a villa or a vast, impressive gate. A cave stood fifty yards away—a narrow cleft that hissed out a long blast of steam. Shuddering like a giant’s breath, the steam suddenly halted. There was an indrawn sigh as air sucked slowly back into the cave—a minutes pause—and then the outrush of steam slowly began again.
Breathing slowly, with its mouth fanged by slime, the cavern lay in wait for its visitors. The whole mountain seemed plotting and aware, as though unseen shapes flickered through the distant rocks.
The mountain was waiting….
Moving almost invisibly through the rocks, the Justicar approached the cave mouth from one side and carefully searched for enemies. He slithered to the ground only when the steam blasts proved themselves to be cool and the molds and slimes harmless. With Escalla at his side, he stooped and ran gloveless hands over the thin mud outside of the breathing cave, rubbing the muck thoughtfully between his fingertips.
“Mud. Boots have broken the soil crust and let the steam intermix. Probably yesterday.” The man carefully wiped his hands clean upon his thighs. “This cave has had someone walk in but not walk out.”
“How do you know they didn’t walk out?” The faerie blinked. “The depth of the mud? Marks in the soil?”
“There’s only one way down the mountain. We would have found them walking down the road.”
“Yeah! Hey, you’re pretty good at this.”
The Justicar helped Escalla to her feet and said, “It’s a ranger thing. It’s what we do instead of parties.” He turned and signalled the rest of the party, shouting to be heard above the hiss and roar of steam. “It’s safe! This is our way in!”
The explorers gathered. Dripping fangs of algae framed the tunnel mouth. Wincing, Escalla stared at the entrance as it slowly breathed a dragon’s breath of steam. She took one little pace away from the cave, nervously fluttering her wings.
“It doesn’t look… so bad.” She gave a fragile little smile, then made a ladylike curtsy to the paladin. “Hey, after you!”
Steam! Heat! Smell! Only Cinders seemed truly happy. Good place!
The faerie fluttered upward and swatted Cinders on the skull.
“Cinders, you suck in much more of this sulphur and you’ll start to worry me!”
Tickles!
“Yeah, whatever.” The girl took another look at the cave, watching the steam now slowly breathe back into the sinister mouth.
“Why does it keep doing that?” The girl backed away, then delved into the Justicar’s backpack and pulled out a tiny little book. “Um, does anyone else feel like brushing up on a few spells?”
The Bleredd priest threw Escalla a sneer. “You’re afraid of going in?”
“Hell, no! I just feel like cranking up a few spells.” The girl preened herself, drawing proudly erect. “Some of us like to do these things properly!”
The Justicar remained standing beside the edge of the tunnel. He brushed at a strangely shiny patch of the rock. Sir Olthwaite strolled over beside him, his hands clasped regally behind his back. The man peered at the strange carvings uncovered by Jus’ glove.
“What have you found, sir?”
“A welcome mat.” Jus wiped clean an inscription burned into the stone. He sniffed in annoyance as he read the words aloud.
“Adventurers, come one, come all,
And enter the accursed halls.
Find the weapons, seek the prize.
The weak will rot—the strong survive.
The most worthy will attain the bliss
Of union with Keraptis.”
Escalla slumped.
“Oh, great.” The girl gave a dire look at the inscription. “Nothing I like more than being used as a test subject by a guy who thinks rhyming couplets are actually fashionable.” The girl gave an irritated sigh. “I’m not sure I can deal wi
th this sort of stuff without a good eight hours of beauty sleep.”
The Justicar looked at the setting sun, gazed out across the plain, then turned his gaze to the damp, tired adventurers. After a long, silent stare at the other party members one by one, he jerked his chin toward the tangled stones down the road.
“She’s right. Rest. Eat. Sleep.” The man turned away from the tunnel. “We’ll make a better job of it tomorrow.”
Despite resenting his orders, the group walked a hundred yards back down the road. Amidst the pieces of a fallen statue of Keraptis, they made camp and shielded their miserable little stove from view.
Polk’s sensibilities were offended by the overall mood of suspicion and gloom. The night before a great adventure was supposed to be a time for tales and splendor. The man ground jerky between two helmets and cooked up a surprisingly good stew, even managing to make a fresh, tasty flatbread upon a stone.
The Justicar ate, raised an eyebrow at the man, and slowly put his meal down. After a moment, he managed to make his sense of natural justice rise to the top.
“Polk, you did well.” The Justicar fought a grumble back down where it belonged. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” Polk sniffed and fixed a dour gaze upon the Justicar. “So are you ready, son? Have you prayed to your patron gods to give strength to your avenging sword? Have you written a poem to a lady love? Have you readied parchment to make a map?”
“No.”
Annoyed by Jus’ total lack of proper sentiment, Polk went back to improving the morale of the adventurers. Smiling a nasty little smile, the Justicar rubbed his hands, pleased to be irritating one of the irritants at last.
A guard roster was set, and the party bedded down. Sleeping beneath Cinders’ watchful gaze, Escalla and Jus wedged themselves into the rocks and tried to get some sleep.
After three solid hours of tossing and turning, Escalla grumpily sat up. With her hair hanging all over the place and her mouth tasting like an old bird’s nest, she scratched herself in places where the sun seldom shone and looked blearily off into the dark.
The damned volcano geyser was drizzling mist all over the campsite yet again. Holding Jus’ backpack above her as a roof, the faerie straightened a kink out of one wing and for the eleven thousandth time wished that she had a faerie cake for a little midnight snack.
Above her, Cinders’ ears flicked high.
Movement.
“What?” Escalla jumped up, clutching a blanket to her skin. “Where?”
Path.
Hunched shapes skulked through the rocks, moving faster and faster as they slipped away from the campsite and headed toward the sighing cave. The clank and rattle of armor echoed above the sinister breath of steam.
Staring, Escalla hardly dared to move. Beside her, Jus levered himself up, scratching nails across the velvet stubble of his skull.
“Yep. There they go.”
“What?” Escalla looked frantically about the camp, then saw that half the bedding piles lay empty. “That’s some of the others?”
“Yup.”
“Quick! We have to get in there after them!” The faerie dropped her blanket and hopped up and down on one foot drawing a legging up her thigh. “Jus! They’re getting away!”
The Justicar gave an uncaring shrug.
“And?”
“And come on!” Escalla whined like a frantic little child. “Ju~us, they’ll steal all our stuff!”
The Justicar sighed and rearranged his blankets.
“They always planned on ditching us. The Bleredd priest went an hour ago. The Geshtai only just found out.” The big man gave a yawn filled with teeth. “Each priest wants to steal both the trident and the hammer.”
Still half-clad, Escalla sped over to Jus and furiously grabbed him by his nipple hairs.
“Jus! Jus, are you listening to me? They are going to steal all the gold!”
“We have walked over four hundred miles—at least the last hundred of it through enemy territory to get here.” The ranger regarded the tiny faerie through hooded eyes. “Just who were you planning on convincing to carry a hundredweight of gold coin all the way back home for you?”
Escalla folded her arms and hovered in midair.
“Look, we all have our little dreams. In your case, you want a world of justice for all.” The faerie sulked and flicked long blonde hair into the wind. “In my case, I just want to roll buck naked on silk sheets big enough to drape a whale!”
Cinders eagerly began to flap his tail. Faerie on silk! Faerie on silk!
“Cinders, you’re not helping!” The Justicar shifted his sword. “Escalla, we came here for the librarian. And wherever he is, then that’s where your gold is going to be. I’ll get some for you when we’ve killed the bastard.”
The faerie’s eyes sparkled. “Really true?”
“Really true, just for you. Now get some sleep, and we’ll see who stayed here in the morning.”
Considerably happier, Escalla jumped back into her bed. The sulphur mists smelled fresh and bracing, and the hiss of steam gave the mountainside a magnificent eldritch power. The faerie disappeared into her shelter, turned around and around like a dog treading a bed, and then wriggled down into the blankets. With a last careful glance about the camp, Jus patted Cinders, popped a coal into the hell hounds mouth, and lay back down.
The silence stretched for ten minutes, and then Escalla’s muffled voice rose into the air.
“Hey, Jus?”
“Yes.”
“How do we know they won’t solve the maze, kill the librarian, and get the weapons, treasure and all?”
The Justicar lifted his head and replied, “This dungeon was designed to slaughter entire parties. How far do you think only a couple of people are going to get?”
“Oh, yeah. Yeah, that’s right!”
Escalla settled herself back down. She lay still for almost a minute, and then her voice drifted out into the dark.
“Um, Jus?”
“Yes?”
“If it’s going to wipe out the other guys because there’s only one or two of them, why are you and I going to be all right?”
“Because you’re a faerie.” The human gave a huge, sleepy yawn. “No one touches the faerie.”
“Jus, do I look too fat?”
“Nope.” The ranger turned over in his bed. “Go to sleep.”
Tying her long boots firmly in place, Escalla cast a glance about the empty camp. A dawn as weak as dishwater struggled through the clouds of volcanic steam, making light glitter from countless beads of dew. Steam hissed and shuddered out of the hideous mountain cave, blowing like a breath of evil into the morn.
Jus sat beside the remnants of a hot breakfast and carefully sharpened his sword, holding his whetstone at a precise angle as he worked the weapons point.
The Tiger Nomads had a proverb that said, “Even a blind man can wreak havoc with a sharpened sword.” The Justicar was a firm believer in giving a blade an edge that could cut like a razor, and he carefully tended his weapon every day. As Escalla watched, he finished his work, blew tiny fragments of metal dust from the ensorcelled steel, then carefully dusted the weapon with black carbon designed to stop light glinting from the blade.
Jus sensed Escalla seething as she tied on her gear. The faerie growled as she pulled bodice laces tight. “So what you’re saying is that not one of the rotten bastards decided to stay? We have absolutely no help at all?”
“We’ve got one.” The Justicar carefully sheathed his sword. “What are you complaining about?”
Staggering around a corner, Polk carried a huge load of dungeoneering gear in his arms. He let the load collapse with a crash to the ground, pointedly dusting off his hands as he caught Escalla’s eye.
“There! I brung the pick of the lot. Iron spikes, sixty feet of rope, six torches, and a flask of oil. There’s a ground-sheet, a mirror, a flask of holy water, a holy symbol, mapping paper, a bullseye lantern, and six sticks of chalk. I’ve
got parchment, pens, wax markers, ink, wolfsbane, garlic bud, and a ball of hairy string!” The man brandished a roll of twine. “Binding force of the universe, son! Can’t go anywhere without your hairy string!”
With her mouth stuffed full of pancake, Escalla raised an intolerant little brow and said, “Oh, gee. No ten-foot pole?”
“The priest took it. It’s gone. We’ll just hafta do without.” Polk stood astride his mound of loot. “Now, who takes what?”
“I have all I need.” The Justicar abandoned his backpack, hung his holy symbol about his neck, then clasped Cinders into place. “Escalla?”
“Faeries do not carry.” Escalla scorned the equipment pile with a glance. “Now let’s get going.”
Polk gaped at his companions in astonishment. “But what about sacks to carry the loot?”
“You want Jus to try sword fighting while carrying a pack?” Escalla whirred deftly up into the air. “If the loot was moved here, then it will have to be in boxes or bags. Even mad sorcerers have to obey the laws of common sense!”
The Justicar and Escalla hid their bedding beneath a rock then began a careful approach toward the hissing cave. Polk made a bad-tempered grab for the Justicar’s abandoned backpack, crammed it full of goods, then dumped the huge coil of rope about his own shoulders. He staggered after the two errant adventurers, rope coils slithering all about his neck.
“Son, you can’t go dungeoneering without a rope!”
“You like rope, you carry it.” The Justicar knelt beside the mud outside the cave mouth and looked down at the boot marks. “Here we go. We’ve got a party of two here going straight into the cave. The armored boot will be that Bleredd priest. The military boot will be the archer.” The man outlined other footprints that came into the cave from the sides. “The next party took cover before going in. They thought the first ones were waiting in ambush.”
“Oh, great!” Escalla hovered, fighting against the steam-wind that thundered from the cave. “So now we have to worry about the other guys lying in wait somewhere inside?”
White Plume Mountain Page 17