A wrinkled old prune, ha! That was a good one.
So what drove an old man to such efforts? What indeed drove Finwald? Or any of their company, for that matter, even its newest member? Yes, a rag-tag bunch of strangers that Fate had thrown together for a quest that none of them truly understood.
Story of my life, Bolldhe considered, never knowing what I’m doing, where I’m going to end up, or why . . .
Within moments he was asleep, and the forest’s murmurings followed him.
There was now only silence. A deep silence that numbed the brain and deadened the nerves. Silence, and darkness. Bolldhe was asleep with his companions, he knew, but it had been so long since he had heard them that he was beginning to doubt they were there any more.
Had they left him? Was he really on his own? It started to feel as if everyone had died and he was the only person in the world. Fear crept into his heart, and with it a black despair that could only be the work of nightmares.
His hand stole from the warmth of his bedroll and reached out into the cold, dark air. Tentatively he felt about himself, but there was nothing except cold rock, and at once he withdrew his hand.
Again there was that familiar nagging at the back of his mind, and he was worried about something. What it might be, though, he knew not. His unease felt just like it had a month ago, in the Blue Mountain cave as he had listened to the words of Finwald, Appa and Wodeman. Their words came back to him now, twisting and turning in his mind like coiled serpents: Appa’s muttering, Finwald’s rhythmic enunciation, Wodeman’s chanting. But above all it was that chant, which droned on, deep and insistent.
Bolldhe could not even decide where he was. It indeed felt as if he were back in the Blue Mountains, but that had been weeks ago, surely? He could not still be there, could he? And if he was, that would mean he would have to do all that travelling again . . . once more he would have to defend himself against the wolves and the Leucrota, leave the mountains, leave the company, and then all that stuff with the huldre, and then the swamp-town, and, and . . .
And the horror that awaited him down the silver mine!
Suddenly two pale hands reached out for him from the darkness. They were the same ones as had come out of the darkness of the side shaft and slapped him across the face. Instantly he recoiled, and almost gagged in terror.
But they did not strike him. This time they held something in their grasp. Their bony, thievish grasp. It was a little wolf! A tiny wolf-cub, all grey fur and needle-sharp teeth.
Still frightened, but desperate to overcome his fear, Bolldhe reached out and took the cub. It wriggled in his grasp like a worm, and laughed with the voice of a demented child. Grinning, for what reason he could not say, for he was as terrified as ever, Bolldhe began stroking the wolf-cub. He stroked and stroked until before long its fur began to slough off in great, sodden clumps, and he was left with a raw, bleeding lump of lupine meat that still laughed in its shrill, childlike voice.
He gagged in nausea, longing to thrust this vile obscenity from him. But he somehow could not let go. The air grew heavy about him, and he realized that he was paralysed in this darkness. All he could see was this wolf carcass that should have been dead but was very much alive. It glared at him with eyes that were as red as burning embers.
Then the full horror bore down upon him from all sides, a deep, instinctive terror that assailed his every sense.
The wolves were coming to get him.
He broke into a run, and he ran and ran and ran, still clinging on to the jabbering monstrosity that dripped its life-blood down his arms. The whole pack was after him, led by the cub’s mother, the Leucrota, getting closer with each second. Her feet pounded upon the ground behind him like a quake, her mane flew about insanely, and the hoarse rattle of her hot breath grew louder and louder; even now he could smell its carrion fetor heavy in the night air. Even as he could feel the agony from the arrow imbedded in her eye.
He could not hope to outrun them. His friends were now running with him too, crying out desperately for him to drop the howling bundle of meat.
Then the pack was upon them. Within seconds, Bolldhe and all the company would be devoured. But the seconds seemed to last for an eternity –
Suddenly he sat bolt upright and fully awake. Dripping with sweat, he looked about himself. It was still night-time, but he was back in the foothills of the Giant Mountains, above Fron-Wudu. His companions were all sleeping peacefully, and the comforting smell of wood-smoke drifted up his nose, but still the scent of Beast was heavy in the air.
Looking across at the campfire, he caught sight of the wolf-like figure that crouched just beyond the dying embers. Glowing like a demon in the darkness, its eyes glinted wickedly and its teeth were bared.
‘Dreaming?’ it said in a voice loaded with meaning.
It was the sorcerer, and his smile was wider and sharper even than a Leucrota’s.
‘Pel’s Bells!’ the wanderer breathed in anguish. ‘I wish you’d send me some pleasant dreams for a change!’
FOURTEEN
Entering Eotunlandt
BOLLDHE WAS STILL DWELLING on his dream when the company finally reached the gateway to Eotunlandt.
‘What?’ he said vaguely. ‘Were you talking to me?’
Nibulus sighed. It was already two hours to noon, and Bolldhe had not said a single word to anyone all morning. Everyone else had worked their way up the slopes with steady determination, yet also with an uncharacteristic buoyancy in their step. The thought that they would soon be entering the fabled Land of the Second Ones was like a hand on their backs, both lifting and driving them upwards to the promised gateway. Bolldhe, however, had remained aloof from them, guiding the nimble-footed Adt-T’man upwards with one hand permanently gripped on the beast’s shaggy withers, intractable as ever. Something was clearly preoccupying his thoughts, something which had caused him to brood sullenly all morning.
‘Have you been listening to a word I’ve said?’ Nibulus demanded impatiently, ‘We’ve been awake for over four hours now, and you still don’t seem to be with us. Something bothering you, is there?’
Bolldhe stared at him dumbly. ‘No. No, it’s all right, I’ve just been feeling a bit restless lately – haven’t had much sleep.’ This last word he directed towards the shaman nearby.
‘I was just saying,’ Nibulus went on, ‘that Kuthy’s going to be off scouting about for this gateway of his for a while, and would you like to share a tot of sloe gin with me?’
Bolldhe glanced at the pewter hip flask extended towards him, with its strange burn-marks and metallic ‘growths’, and shook his head. He allowed himself to be led by Zhang over to a small pool of spring water nearby, and went back to his thoughts.
Nibulus let him go without a word. He himself was red-faced and sweating from the effort of the climb, and enjoyed a good swig of the gin. Though the lower slopes had only a light patching of snow, the ascent had been steep in places, and the gullies that had taken them far into the mountains had been choked with thorny bushes, boulders and scree. There were no visible paths to be seen, not even a goat-trod, and the whole company had been forced to backtrack several times before the Tivor decided that he knew where he was. The only breaks in this gruelling climb had been when Appa’s coughing fits had forced them to pause for a rest.
But the Peladane’s flustered exterior belied the excitement that churned within him. For they had finally found the cleft in the rocks that would lead to Kuthy’s secret doorway. Not only that, but Wodeman had returned to them, and also they were about to leave the dreaded Fron-Wudu well behind them. In addition to all this, it appeared that they had managed to escape that Beast, whatever it had been. Things appeared to be looking up for a change, and he was as happy as he could be.
They could now all afford to take a well-earned breather. Nibulus looked away from the grumpy old wanderer, and instead viewed the lands stretched out below. He breathed in deeply the mountain air, and stretched his arms wide to embra
ce the vast wildlands below him. In various shades of grey, green and brown, the whole terrain stretched before him as far as his eye could see, not a cloud nor any mist to obscure his view. He could see right the way across to the Blue Mountains, now no more than a thin line of jagged peaks on the very edge of the horizon.
The rest of the company preferred to take it easy in this last opportunity before journeying down into the depths of the mountains. While their guide scouted ahead, they started to prepare a hot meal. Only Appa did not join in. He was flat on his back, staring up at the empty sky, a look of pain on his face and pleading in his eyes.
After only a few minutes Kuthy returned to them from the far end of the cleft, and summoned the men around him. There was a slight consternation on his face as he spoke, whether genuine or not, they could not tell.
‘Well,’ he announced, ‘I’ve found the portal.’
There was a general buzz of guarded satisfaction at this news.
‘. . . And?’
‘And there is something else I feel I ought to tell you. It may not be of any consequence, in fact I’m sure it isn’t, but you may as well be warned, just in case.’
‘Well, what is it?’ Nibulus prompted irascibly. ‘Come on, man, spit it out.’
‘It’s probably nothing,’ Kuthy went on, ‘but the last time I was here, the door was locked. It’s like a great millstone, you see, and you roll it aside to gain entry to the passage beyond. There’s a mechanism that holds it in place, actually draws it into the rock-face, and then holds it there. And, once inside, there’s a similar device for locking the door. But . . . now it seems to be unsecured. Anybody could get in there if they wanted.’
They looked at one another doubtfully, not sure what this could imply.
‘What are you saying?’ Finwald asked apprehensively. ‘Did you fail to lock it the last time you used it? Or is there something else?’
‘I don’t know, it may be just that; I could well have forgotten – or just not bothered – to re-secure the door on the inside once I’d got in. At the time that would have been the least of my concerns. Or it may be that others have used the doorway since . . .’
‘When was the last time you used it?’ asked Nibulus.
‘A fair few years ago,’ Kuthy informed them, ‘but there’s something that tells me the door’s been used a bit more recently than that.’
A sigh of disappointment whispered around the company.
‘So it would appear that this hidden tunnel of yours isn’t quite as secret after all,’ Nibulus concluded, regarding the adventurer with annoyance. ‘I do hope you realize what you’re leading us into, here.’
Kuthy looked genuinely uncomfortable. He clearly was not used to his secrets being discovered by others, and thoughts of wringing the neck of that bloody Drachrastalandic theurgist were now uppermost in his mind.
‘Yes, so do I,’ he replied to Nibulus’s question, ‘but I’m sure it’ll be all right.’
‘It had better be,’ Finwald remarked. ‘We’ve come too far to turn back now.’
They ate their meal in silence after that. Half an hour later, after washing their bowls and refilling their waterskins from the spring, the company followed Kuthy down the high-sided cleft and disappeared from sight.
Taking one last backward glance at the world of light behind him, Bolldhe followed.
‘Here we are,’ Kuthy announced, pointing at the rock-face. ‘The portal.’
Had it been secured, they could see, the door would have been very nearly undetectable; it would have appeared nothing more than a cracked seam in the rock (even if a distinctly millstone-shaped cracked seam). But, now it was unsecured, it stood out clearly from the rest of the rock-face, and could have been easily rolled aside by anyone who might have sought shelter in this cleft over the intervening years.
Both Kuthy and Wodeman searched the ground for signs of anyone passing that way recently. After a while, Wodeman spoke up:
‘There are some tracks over here,’ he confirmed, ‘and they’re not that old. Could be that a few people came by in the last month, even two weeks ago.’
‘Two weeks?’ Nibulus exclaimed, ‘Then they could still be in Eotunlandt right now. We’ll have to be extremely cautious. Kuthy, roll back the door. We’re going in.’
Kuthy leant his temple sword against the rocks, so he could give the great granite door a firm push. Surprisingly for something the size and general appearance of a millstone, it rolled back easily. Immediately a cold blast of air howled out of the dark cavity beyond, causing those standing immediately in front of it to back away and shield their faces. There was a damp smell with an unmistakable undercurrent of decay. Around the edge of the ancient stonework hung trailing growths of semi-crystallized moss, which now glistened like dead elvers as they swayed gently in the air currents.
Appa gagged and held a hand over his mouth. ‘Cuna preserve us all,’ he jabbered. ‘We’re not going in there, are we?’ His watery eyes bulged as he stared down into the blackness. There was no sound other than the shrill whistling of the wind, but his hand instinctively groped for the talisman around his neck.
‘Don’t fret, Appa,’ said a quiet voice at his shoulder. ‘It’s only a hole. Finwald’ll see you’re all right.’
‘Fetch the torches, men,’ the Peladane ordered abruptly. ‘Finwald, Appa, Kuthy, you get ’em lit. We may as well get this over with as soon as possible.’
They did as instructed but, just as they were about to enter, Kuthy grabbed Nibulus by the arm and placed his torch firmly in the Peladane’s hand. Eyeing him hard, Kuthy said, ‘I’d rather you held the torch, if you don’t mind. I may be your guide for the present, but I am not your link-boy.’
Nibulus glared back at him through narrowed eyes. Then he merely responded, ‘Just make sure you stay in front, then, hero. Whatever happens, I’d rather it happened to you first.’
‘And good luck to you too,’ the adventurer replied dryly.
One by one, they passed through the portal and into the darkness beyond. Kuthy led the way, followed closely by Nibulus, who was determined not to let this slippery customer out of his sight. Then came Bolldhe, sword in one hand, Zhang’s rein in the other.
The sword had now faded to a midnight-blue with just the faintest corona of silver. Zhang, too, had darkened; at least, his mood had. The horse was none too happy about this strange new place his friend was leading him into. None too happy at all. He sensed by the smell of the air what lay down there, and could not understand why they did not continue travelling the beautiful foothills instead. Head down and nose to the ground, he picked his way forward, and felt even more alarmed when the tunnel began to slope downwards. To make matters worse, Bolldhe had wedged his lantern under the saddle’s girth-strap, where it was beginning to get uncomfortably warm. This was not the first time his master had done this, and Zhang felt like having a quiet word with him about it – but then, he thought ruefully, the human never seemed to understand a word he was saying. Maybe the man was a bit slow.
At least in one thing the slough-horse had an advantage: he was more nimble-footed than most of the others. But the clatter of his hooves did cost them any advantage of stealth they might otherwise have had. Nibulus cursed softly and considered he might as well have donned his clanking armour after all.
Behind the horse came the two mage-priests, torches held aloft and weapons gripped tightly. Wodeman followed, his eyes wide as an owl’s, his nose twitching like a shrew’s. Paulus took up the rear, a position he assumed out of habit now, and no one seemed particularly inclined to object. As he stepped through and over the threshold, he turned and heaved the door back into place. It rolled to with a dull thud, and the now dim torchlight was barely able to hold back the darkness that crowded in upon them now.
‘Have you set the catch, Paulus?’ Nibulus called back from somewhere further down the sloping tunnel.
‘Of course,’ the Nahovian lied. (He was happy to be let loose upon huldres like a terri
er in a barrel of rats, but he would not pull the lid shut over him.)
They descended.
Though high-ceilinged enough, the tunnel was narrow and crudely fashioned. It soon began to slope down even more steeply through the granite, forcing the company to pick their way forward with even greater care, and sent a scattering of loose stones slithering down the passage ahead of them.
‘Kuthy,’ Nibulus hissed, ‘how far down does this damn hole go?’
‘Not far, not far,’ Kuthy replied with infuriating equanimity. ‘Just a few more minutes and we should reach the bottom.’
‘And then?’
‘And then, the chamber . . . I think.’
‘Chamber?’
‘Yes, like a room, only bigger.’
‘Tivor!’
‘Sorry. It’s a wide space linking this entrance tunnel with the tunnel proper. No idea what it’s for, but from there on the passage is fairly level, and better-constructed.’
‘But what’s in the chamber?’
‘Nothing, as far as I know. Least, there wasn’t anything last time. I wouldn’t worry, really.’
Nibulus grumbled. ‘Better be on your guard, men,’ he called back. ‘Tivor here says there’s nothing to worry about.’
Suit yourself. Kuthy sighed to himself.
They descended with extreme caution, even though their torches – which none of them had any intention of extinguishing – and the din they were making precluded any possibility of avoiding notice.
‘Keep close, and have your weapons ready,’ Nibulus instructed. ‘And, Bolldhe, take your horse to the back of the line. I don’t want him suddenly panicking down here.’
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