by Jean Rabe
Feril felt the first sting of pain and let her jaw unclench. “So you haven’t been with them long?”
“Not terribly. Only a few months. I fell in with them by accident. They weren’t keen on sharing their mining camp, but they were hungry for some good food. You think I’m good with tattoos? I’m even better with a skillet. Wait ’til you see what I do with the cured venison in my pack.”
The sun had started to set. Feril had drifted away from the dwarves to the other side of the pool below the hill with the dwarven tunnels. She looked across the water and watched the dwarves talking freely to Ragh, who had moved closer. He was regaling them with some tale of a time when he studied under a Red Robed sorcerer a century ago. They were setting up a campfire and preparing for dinner.
Dhamon’s shadow was attached to the sivak, Feril saw. The Kagonesti guessed Dhamon was curious about the dwarves; being the suspicious sort, he was probably also concerned that the dwarves might prove hostile to Ragh and was, therefore, staying close to the draconian in order to protect him, if need be.
“Obelia, help me find the scale again,” Feril whispered.
None of the dwarves noticed as she released the spirit from the flask and knelt over the pool, watching an image of the mountain come quickly into view, a sky-high view, as if she were a bird circling above. The ability to scry was coming easier to Feril, and she was quick to move the image around, focusing on different areas. She channeled the energy deeper into the pool, as if burrowing through the stone.
“There,” she said, seeing her goal after long minutes of searching. “The scale is there.”
“Buried deep, it is,” Obelia said. “Real deep, because of the quake, and it looks like it might be damaged, cracked maybe. It won’t do you any good if it’s broken. The magic in it won’t be strong enough, but it seems to be nearby, and if it isn’t too much bother, it might be worth some digging to take a look.”
Feril leaned closer, her eyes hopeful. “I don’t see any damage, Obelia. The crevice is so dark, we can’t see clearly enough to tell for sure. We are too close to give up on it. I told Dhamon I won’t give up.” After several more minutes of scrying, Feril was able to better pinpoint the location of the scale.
All of a sudden, realizing that the scale might be closer than she thought, she stood up, her heart beating fast. “Obelia. I might be able to get to the scale from here, coming up under it instead of burrowing down from the mountain top.”
“My elf-fish, I see what you mean. That indeed looks to be a possibility.” The spectral face seemed to share her excitement.
Then the ghost disappeared into the flask as Grannaluured looked in Feril’s direction. The Kagonesti returned the flask to her satchel, strapping the satchel on her back and heading toward the old wall. She glanced up at the slash in the stonework. There were footfalls behind her. Feldspar was approaching.
“I see what you’re thinking, but don’t dare go into our tunnel,” he said. He held up a small lantern and coaxed the flame in it. “It’ll be too dark soon.”
“Don’t fear. I’m not going to steal any of your ore.”
“Ain’t worried about that,” he returned. “Worried about you. Mountains trembled some today. Rocks comin’ down inside. Still ain’t safe, Dawnspringer.”
Feril didn’t correct him on her name. He was likely getting it wrong on purpose as a jab. It was just as Ragh said: some dwarves didn’t get along with elves, and this one seemed to regard her with some suspicion. The Kagonesti continued to gaze up at the tunnel entrance. It would be a steep climb.
“Scaling that wall isn’t how we get into our tunnels anyway,” Feldspar scoffed. “We’re not spiders, you know. There’s a path. Well, there was a path. Some of it’s still there. Used it to climb down, and it wasn’t easy going. It’s around and up the other side. Connects up with the main trail farther back. We’re going to have to clean it off some tomorrow.” He rubbed at a spot on the glass of the lantern. “I don’t see why you’re so darn interested.”
“I’m not interested in your ore at all,” Feril repeated. Then, before he could say anything or stop her, she had moved up to the wall and was wedging her fingers into cracks in the stonework, using the wall as a ladder. The mortar between the stones was old and she could force her fingers and toes into it. The pale, smooth granite—like some she’d seen on the Isle of Cristyne—made for good footing.
As she pressed against the wall, she heard something, and looking over her shoulder, she saw Feldspar, with the lantern handle in his teeth, climbing up behind her. Despite his thick fingers, he was climbing without much trouble. Feril opened her mouth to warn him away, but she decided arguing with a stubborn dwarf was pointless and so climbed the rest of the way up, silently followed by Feldspar.
There was a narrow stretch of dirt just outside the opening, and despite the failing light, Feril could see all the dwarves’ bootprints leading inside. The tracks led up a thin trail that looked like it hooked over the top of the hill. The trail might provide an easier way down—but she could make that decision afterwards.
Feldspar was only halfway up, still following her. Feril ducked inside. If she waited for him, he might try to dissuade her, and she didn’t want to argue with the dwarf. He would probably just follow her inside anyway.
The tunnel was dwarf-sized—short and only a few feet wide; it forked after several yards, one branch twisting up into the darkness and the other, newer branch angling to the north and sloping down. There was polished stonework on the northern wall, indicating the castle ruins had reached this high and deeper into the hill. The left wall was earthen and might have concealed more stonework. It could have been built centuries ago. At a glance, she could tell that this passage had been dug by picks and shovels; it wasn’t naturally formed, and the quake must have brought tons of dirt down from the ceiling. The scale, she thought, was higher up in the mountain, so Feril took the tunnel branch leading higher.
“Dawnspringer…”
“I appreciate the concern you are showing for a stranger,” she said, turning to spot Feldspar behind her in the entrance. He was holding his lantern up, revealing pieces of stonework along the bottom of the left-hand wall, including one brick engraved with strange runes. “I’m not worried that there will be more tremors. Everything seems to have settled down.” Her jaw was set.
“What are you so bent on looking for?”
At first she tried to ignore his question. “I don’t intend to wander in your mine for very long, Feldspar.” Then she spun around, looking long at him. “I’m looking for something, not gold or silver, nothing like that, but I need to travel through your tunnels in order to find it.”
His hairy eyebrows rose. His face was red from the exertion of keeping up with her, climbing the stone wall. “What is it exactly?”
He didn’t seem a bad sort; better to trust him. “I’m searching for a lost dragon scale, and I think this tunnel will lead me to one.”
He scratched his head with his free hand. “Seen some scales in the mountains before, years back. We were talkin’ about that earlier, weren’t we?” He trundled closer until he was inches away, setting the lantern on the ground where the tunnel forked. He gestured toward the lantern. “You can do what you want I guess, Dawnspringer. We claim these tunnels for mining, but we don’t own the mountains. Reorx gave the mountains to all of us. Take that lantern so you can see better, though, and I’ll accept your word that you won’t take nothin’ that’s ours.”
Feril turned back to the ascending path. “I won’t need your lantern. I see better in the dark than in the sunlight, but thank you, Feldspar.”
The dwarf gave a noncommittal grunt. “Me, I wouldn’t be wanderin’ around just now, Dawnspringer, not until I knew for certain the mountains weren’t going to shake any more. And I wouldn’t…” Feldspar was talking to the air. Feril had disappeared from view. “Daft elf. Gods didn’t give ’em any sense.” He shuffled to the tunnel opening and shouted down to his companions, �
�The elf’s takin’ a walk in our tunnels, looking for something. Couldn’t talk her out of it.”
The young dwarf gave an angry exclamation and shook his fist. “Feldspar, you get her out of there! She don’t need to be poking around our hidden finds!”
Grannaluured was busy putting out her spices, preparing to cook. She tried to calm her companions as she oiled her skillet, scowling as Feldspar retreated back into the crevice. “Churt, Campfire, let’s eat first. I had a good talk with that elf. I trust her. I don’t know what would interest her in our mine, but…”
“Is this some kind of female trick? Bad enough we let you join us and we cut you in for a share. We’re not dividing our find again with an elf,” Churt said.
“Calm down, everyone. I’ll go get her,” Ragh said, walking purposefully around the pool as the three remaining dwarves watched him warily. The hill dwarves were making him uncomfortable with all their questions, even before Feril took it in her head to disappear. He glanced over his shoulder, making certain that Dhamon—still a shadow trailing him stealthily—was sticking close.
He froze as the ground rumbled under his feet. A minute later he was swiftly climbing the stone wall then heading into the tunnel opening.
The young dwarf shook his fist at Grannaluured. “Now we got an elf and a sivak trespassing on our property, poking around in our tunnel and mine!”
Ragh’s keen hearing guaranteed that he could hear everything they said as he climbed higher.
The dwarf woman tried to quiet her companions, but Campfire and Churt were adamant that the newcomers had to be corralled and sent on their way.
“Greedy dwarves, the lot of them.” The sivak took a deep breath and entered the tunnel, stooping to keep from hitting his head on the low ceiling.
“Dhamon, your elf friend’s pretty headstrong,” Ragh said. No reply, and his shadow had vanished in the darkness, but the sivak knew that Dhamon would be listening. “She’s too emotional, letting her heart lead her around all the time. I don’t like this at all, coming inside the mountain when the earth’s still shaking. This could’ve waited for tomorrow, waited for the dwarves to move on to another part of the foothills. Could’ve waited for tonight when they were sleeping. No need to alarm and annoy everyone. Could’ve taken our sweet time and waited to do this.”
The draconian stopped where the tunnel forked and stared at the ground. There was dirt, and dwarven prints heading down both passages. “Wonderful,” he grumbled. He stooped and looked closer, not seeing Feril’s slender footprints obliterated by the heavier dwarven tracks. Then he cocked his head, listening. All he heard was the soft groan of the earth and the continued argument of Grannaluured and the other dwarves below. He sniffed the air for traces of Feril. He could smell dust and the mustiness of the place, and of course the dwarves who had toiled here, but the lighter scent of the elf was difficult to separate.
“Dhamon, in all the levels of the Abyss, this is just marvelous.”
With a deep sigh, Ragh stretched out his right hand, silently rehearsing the words to one of the more practical spells he knew. Within moments, a pale blue globe of light appeared to rest on his palm. Thrusting it ahead, still stoop-shouldered, he took the northern passage that sloped down into the darkness.
18
In the back of her mind Feril held the scrying image of the black’s scale. She knew she couldn’t be too far away now. She prayed to Habbakuk that the scale was not damaged. It had to be intact to be of any use to Dhamon.
A slight tremor raced through the ground. She gripped a wooden brace to keep her balance. The tremor persisted for a while, then stopped. She released a nervous breath she’d been holding and continued her ascent. Even without the mountain shaking, mines were dangerous—with their narrow tunnels and vulnerable beams and supports, crevices that threatened to spill the unwary into the bowels of the earth, and musty air that made breathing an unpleasant task.
“Getting closer now, but it’s as though the mountain is trying to stop me.”
The tunnel widened as she climbed, and she barely squeezed through a niche that had been mined. The soles of her bare feet were thick, but she still felt the sharp shards which littered the ground here. Should slow down, she ordered herself. No, she should hurry up. “Find it and get out,” she told herself.
She wished now she had taken the dwarf’s lantern. This darkness was unnatural, the gray-brown of rock and earth melding with the thick air.
Light intruded suddenly, a low beam from behind. Feldspar was plodding toward her, holding the lantern so that it highlighted his features from below, throwing shadows against the walls and giving him an eerie appearance.
“Did you feel that big tickle a minute ago?” Feldspar asked. “Told you it’s not safe here, not with the mountain still dancin’. C’mon back with me, hear? Don’t need you dyin’ in our mine, rottin’ and stinkin’ it up.”
Feril shook her head, turning to press on. “It’s not much farther.”
“This scale you’re looking for…”
She nodded and coughed. The air was filling with dirt and stone dust.
“Why is it so important, this scale?”
“I need the scale for a spell,” she said, before continuing onward, hoping the dwarf would turn back. Though he grunted in surprise, he still followed her, the light from his lantern swaying behind her back. But he was keeping his distance and making a tsk-tsking sound, mumbling, “Fool elf… and fool me.”
“It’s terribly important to me and my friend,” she explained as she climbed.
The tsk-tsking was louder. “The sivak?”
Feril opened her mouth to say “no,” but said nothing. The dwarves didn’t know about Dhamon, who was attached to the sivak as a shadow. Being in the sivak’s company was odd enough, they kept saying; best not start explaining about a dragon who used to be a man who was now taking the form of the sivak’s shadow.
“Whatever kind of spell are you going to cast with a dragon scale anyway? How can you help that sivak? You trying to get its wings to grow back or something?” Feldspar’s feet crunched faster over the gravel as he tried to catch up with the Kagonesti. “You know, I really don’t care much for magic.”
When she turned, she was taken aback by his narrowed eyes and the light slanted across the underside of his brow, which made him look sinister. She knew from conversations with Jasper that a lot of dwarves were distrustful of magic—save for the healing kind that Jasper practiced.
“I’m not a sorcerer, Feldspar, and the scale’s needed for a spell that I don’t understand… completely… yet, but I’ve no intention of casting this spell anywhere near your mine or your mountain. I just want the scale and then I want to leave.” The words tumbled from her lips, slurred a little because of the ale. Just then another tremor struck. Rock shards and dirt rained down and sent her and the dwarf into a coughing fit. It took a few minutes before the air cleared.
“So the scale’s valuable? Just what is it worth to you, missy?”
“I can’t pay you for it. I have no coins. I just need it for a spell.”
“Fool elf,” the dwarf said. “Must be some important spell to risk your fool neck. That scale must be worth more than a bit.” He stretched his hand out and waggled his fingers, his head bobbing at the same time. “You keep on going, Dawnspringer. There’s a chamber up ahead, about a quarter mile or so. Some of our gear’s left in it. It’s near the main vein we’re working. There’s a fissure beyond it, and what you’re looking for is just past that, I believe. Fissure’s too narrow for us. Easier to get at it from the outside. The scale you’re looking for is easy to spot… from the outside of the mountain, but the quake has buried it deeper, right? That’s why you’re using our tunnels. To get at it from the inside?”
“Yes, that’s why,” Feril said.
“Hope it doesn’t bury you, too.” He shrugged his broad shoulders, waggling his fingers again. “Hurry up. I’ll go along with you so you can see where I mean, and so I can wa
tch you, but I ain’t helping you—and don’t disturb our stuff. You’re going to have to pay us somethin’ for that scale. Campfire’ll insist on it, if I don’t. Labor, if nothin’ else. That sivak ought to be good for haulin’ rocks.”
She smiled her acceptance and let him take the lead.
“I want you to be human, too,” Ragh said. “I want it every bit as much as Feril does, and as you do. This dragon thing… it doesn’t suit you.” If anyone had been watching, it would appear the sivak was talking to his shadow. “Dhamon, I well know that you’re not happy to be a dragon. I envy your wings, but nothing else. You’ve too lonely a life in that huge body, and I well know about being lonely. You can’t even hold your son in your arms. Can’t spend a single steel piece of your treasure. Can’t be… familiar… with your elf lady friend.”
The light globe in the sivak’s hand was fading, as he neglected his concentration. He paused and focused the magic until the light grew bright again.
The tunnel narrowed ahead. He held the globe close to the thick supporting beams on the walls, finding a mix of dirt and granite and the worked stone of a castle wall. There wasn’t a trace of ore, no evidence this area had been mined.
He hunched over and squeezed between a pair of supports. “Wonder how much of a head start the elf has on us? Wonder if I’m headed in the right direction? She might have taken the other tunnel.” Ragh sniffed the air, picking out the scent of wood that had started to decay and the strong odor of the dwarves.
“The dwarves have been doing something down here,” he said, half to himself, half to Dhamon. “Their smell is strong; the supports are recent, a relatively new tunnel, I’d say.” He ran his scaly fingers over one wall. “Probably less than a year old. Maybe as recent as a month or so.” He passed under the next set of support beams. “Can’t smell the elf. Maybe I ought to go back, try the other tunnel.”