Soon the tunnel became wide enough his shoulders didn’t scrape the sides. He paused and felt the stone surrounding him.
Space. He could sit up, if he didn’t mind bumping his head. After the turn bend in the passage, the floor and walls became blessedly smooth. And the breeze felt stronger.
His heart soared. He scrambled to his knees and began to crawl.
He would get out. By tonight he’d be free. He’d run all night and join Lorel by morning.
But he wasn’t free yet. The tunnel still held too little light for darksight to work, so he wasn’t near an opening to the outside.
Did he dare create a will-light? Could the dragon locate him this far underground?
Why on Menajr did he think he was deep inside the mountain? For all he knew, he might still be near Leysamura’s cavern. He’d gone down, but he’d lost track of how far.
Could the dragon sense him? He assumed she could detect his magic. He’d best avoid sorcery for as long as he could. Except the Masking Veil. That might be all that stood between him and recapture once he finally escaped. And he would escape. Sooner or later.
He felt ahead for chasms in his path and crawled onward.
Burbling echoed in the distance. Water? He hoped so. His mouth was so dry his tongue felt like he’d eaten ten-day-old oat cakes.
His belly cramped. Don’t think about food. But even dried-up oat cakes sounded like a feast. So did Zedista’s rotted cabbage. Or raw grubs. Fried grubs would be better. He hadn’t seen grubs since last autumn, and Lorel wouldn’t let him collect any, much less fry them.
Don’t think about food. Or water.
He crawled onward.
The muttering escalated into cheerful chatter. It sounded like a sizeable creek.
His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth.
He crawled faster. The creek couldn’t be far.
Mist coated his face. He opened his mouth to suck in a little moisture–
And his hands met air. He fell face first into a rushing stream.
Freezing water filled his mouth and soaked his hair before his fingers found the sandy streambed. Pushing himself up seemed harder than it ought to be.
Sandblast himself for being careless. At least his legs were still on dry land. The current couldn’t wash him away. The creek had a surprisingly strong flow.
He shivered all over. He’d wanted to wash his hair for ages, but this water was far too cold. And too deep. And his hands were sinking into the wet sand. But he had time for another drink before he wiggled back onto the bank. He lowered his lips to the stream.
Something large clobbered his arm, banged against his head, and knocked him into the creek. Water splashed as his whole body tumbled into the current.
Icy water filled his mouth and rammed up his nostrils. Pain burst through his sinuses. He snorted his nose clear and tried to crawl backward to the bank.
Nothing was there.
Instead he was tossed forward. And over. And upside down.
Another chunk of debris hit him. He grabbed onto it, but it slipped out of his grasp. His hands cramped anyway. The blasted thing felt like a chunk of ice.
Lightning strike the sandblasted mountain. It probably was ice. The dragon mentioned once that the crater at the summit held a lake.
Should he take the risk of creating a will-light? Would it do any good?
The stream’s babble strengthened into a roar.
Blast. More trouble ahead. What could it be? It sounded like a waterfall. Thunderer protect him!
He had to get out of the water. Kicking and thrashing, he fought to find the bank. A boulder. Anything to slow him down.
But he couldn’t locate the bank in the dark, didn’t touch a boulder. Time to create a will-light. Getting killed wouldn’t get him out of here.
He closed his eyes and willed a ball of light to appear.
His shoulder smashed against a rock. His concentration shattered. He was swept past the boulder before he could wrap his arms around it.
Blast. He could do better than this. But maybe not while trying to swim. He stopped fighting and focused on his magic.
A dim glow appeared above his head. Praise the Thunderer. Now where was the quickest way out?
Here the stream was over twenty feet wide. No wonder he couldn’t find the bank; he was hurtling down a sandblasted river. But why was there so much fog ahead?
Not fog, mist! The waterfall! Before he could even catch a breath, he spewed over the edge.
A second later he splashed into a pool and was crushed against a smooth wall. He fought to the surface and gasped for air. Icy mist scalded his lungs. But the rest of him was so cold he barely noticed.
He shook his wet hair out of his face, but foamy liquid splattered down on him. Froth from the waterfall, he guessed. Its voice boomed through his head, deafening him. Not that there was anything else to hear.
Lorel couldn’t rescue him this time. Leysamura wouldn’t bother.
By a thundering miracle, his will-light had survived his distraction. He ordered it to hover two feet higher.
The bubbling river whirled in a vortex only a few feet in front of him, and surged through an abrupt switchback at the far side of the pool. Not far beyond that, it rushed down another waterfall. From the noise, that fall was much deeper than the one he’d survived.
The next fall would kill him. The whirlpool current was dragging him into its reach. He had to get out of here.
His padded boot floated to the surface and began to drift past him. He grabbed it and looked for a safe place to stash it.
The wall he was mashed against was a solid ten feet tall. Straight up. It did have knobs and outcroppings within his reach. The whole wall was slick with foam and mist, and what looked like ice.
His hands were cramped from the freezing water. His lone foot was numb. He couldn’t feel his toes at all. Not a good sign.
Could he make it? He guessed he’d find out.
He poured water out of his padded boot, bit down on the cuff, and reached for the lowest protrusion. Water sluiced off him as he hauled his body out of the stream.
The first three feet weren’t too awful. By the time he reached the middle, his shoulders burned. Hand over hand, he pressed upward.
Shivers lurched over his body. Breath stuttered into his lungs. Water dripped out of his hair, down his back, through his soggy clothes.
His neck cramped from looking up for the next outcropping. He gagged on the foul-tasting boot, but bit down harder and raised one aching hand.
Only inches from the top. Just a little farther.
But the wall above his fingers was completely smooth. No more handholds. Nowhere to go.
His foot remained steady on a tiny ledge, even if his flesh felt frozen solid. There was another outcropping several inches above it. And no way to get there.
He balanced on the ledge for a few seconds, trying to figure out what to do. He couldn’t hop up to the next protrusion. Not without something to hang onto. If only he could fly, even for a few inches.
No wings. No flying. What else could he do?
Blood roared in his ears. He was so tired. But he had one weapon left. Was he strong enough to force his ghostly foot to become solid?
He better be. He didn’t fancy plunging back into the water and down the next waterfall. At least, not before he had a chance to see how far it fell. If that was his only way out, he’d try it, unless it looked like suicide. He wasn’t ready to die yet.
One thing at a time. He summoned his phantom foot.
Something tickled his ankle’s stump. Was it his foot? He couldn’t tell. And he couldn’t look down without knocking himself off the ledge.
Should he risk assuming his foot was there and start climbing again? He didn’t have time to ponder; the phantom limb never stayed long. He had to take the chance.
He pulled his knee high and felt for the outcropping. A misty sensation of solidity prickled against his stump. His missing foot?
He took a
deep breath and balanced his weight on the ledge. And pushed. Hard.
His body surged upward. His fingers clutched the top of the wall. He dragged his chest onto the cliff.
The shelf he lay on was several feet wide. Should be safe enough. He tried to spit out his boot. No luck with that. His teeth were sunk deep into the leather.
He felt the phantom foot vanish. His icy trouser leg slapped against his aching stump. Thunder and lightning, that had been close.
Shaking all over, he hoisted the rest of his body up onto the ledge and tugged the bootcuff out of his mouth.
The roar in his head wasn’t all from his pounding heart. He was sprawled directly above the second waterfall. He never dreamed he’d scrabbled sideways that far. So much for climbing straight up the wall.
The dark well thundered below him. He couldn’t see the bottom of the icy cascade of water. How deep could it be? Could he climb down, after he’d rested a little?
He had to know. Committing himself without that information was just plain stupid. He sent his will-light down into the shaft.
Down, and down, and down. The dim globe became a pinprick of light. The waterfall must be hundreds of feet deep.
Climbing straight down that much wet rock wasn’t physically possible, even if he’d possessed two healthy feet. He had to find another way to the outside.
But no more wandering around in the dark. If the dragon hadn’t noticed his light yet, quite likely she never would. It was worth the risk either way. Falling into a stream, or worse, another well like the waterfall’s, would ruin his escape.
He twitched a finger. His will-light shot out of the shaft and returned to hover above his head.
Cold was devouring him. His body still quivered like a dragonfly’s wings.
All that shaking was sapping his strength. It had to stop. He lowered his body temperature a little more.
Unexpected warmth spread through him. He felt drowsy, but not half as miserable. And the shivering stopped. That was good enough to go on with.
In the dim will-light, the tunnel walls looked unreasonably smooth. What could have caused them to be so slick?
Running water, of course. What a noodle brain he’d become. He had to get out of here before another rainstorm sent more water rushing into the river, more than its banks would hold. He’d had enough swimming for one day.
But which way should he go?
There were several tunnels leading off this passageway. The downward shafts were dangerously smooth, promising he’d be swept away if the riverbed overflowed.
Fresh air flowed from the single ascending tunnel.
He hated to travel upward. The breeze was all that made the climb tolerable, since it proved the tunnel might connect to a cave on the mountain’s surface. If he wound up at the crater at the top, he’d happily scramble down. If necessary, by sliding down the hill on his rear end.
He ducked into the passage and scrambled over jutting rock.
The walls, praise the Thunderer, weren’t smooth, but were deeply pocked. And they were covered with a fine, gritty ash. From erupting volcanoes? That meant there was an opening to the real world. He could escape.
Was he inside an ancient volcano? Wouldn’t that be wonderful! If only he had a notebook with him.
He snorted at himself. If only he had pen and ink, food and drink, and strong protection from the lightning-blasted dragons.
At least he wasn’t thirsty any more. Water dripped from his hair and clothing, mixing with the ash that drifted with his every step. Soon he was coated in gritty gray mud.
Unfortunately, grit crept inside his clothing, too. His skin itched. His scalp prickled. Praise the Thunderer, he didn’t stink anymore. Or not much. Of course, he hadn’t been able to smell himself for ages, no matter how much Leysamura complained.
His steps slowed. The shivers returned. He needed to get someplace warm.
No, he needed sunlight. He needed to walk in the sunshine, feel summer breezes on his skin. That would warm him up. It must be summer by now.
Lorel was out there somewhere, with a warm fire and hot food. Real food. The sandblasted dragon saw her recently. She couldn’t be far.
He had to find her. He had to keep walking. And walking.
Until he walked nose first into a boulder.
“Thunderer’s drums!” He rubbed his throbbing nose and peered around the cave. There must be another way to the outside world.
How dare the tunnel end by being blocked by an overgrown pebble? Had he missed any side passages while he was staggering along mindlessly? Quite probably. At least, he hoped so.
He turned away from the blockage and limped down the tunnel.
Rock screeched across stone. Another earthquake?
But before he had time to seek shelter, a huge hand darted into the shaft and engulfed him from his chest to his knees. A hot, burgundy red hand.
His stomach plunged deeper than the waterfall’s shaft.
“Shame on you, Adoriel.” Leysamura pulled him out of the cave and dangled him in front of her snout. “You aren’t allowed down there. It’s too dangerous for fragile creatures like you.”
He wasn’t fragile. He was furious. He pounded his fists on her thumb. “Put me down!”
Zhanamuriel stared up at him with her mouth hanging open.
Leysamura laughed. “Certainly.” She strutted across the cavern, dropped him on his shelf, and patted him on the head with one finger. “Blustery winds, you are incredibly dirty. And far too cold. Light a will-fire, child, before you slip into shock. Or start to hibernate. You can still die of cold, no matter how carefully you regulate your body heat.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. Her single finger was heavy enough to sprain his muscles. “May the Thunderer piss and flashflood this mountain!” It was the worst obscenity he could remember at the moment.
She snorted, strolled away, and tugged Zhanamuriel out of his escape route. Then the sandblasted dragon pushed the knife-stealing boulder back into place.
How would he ever get out of this prison now?
Chapter 24.
For the third time that day, blue wings circled below the thunderclouds. The miswoven dragon must’ve seen them. Hard to miss a bright blue, starfish-covered wagon.
Lorel guided the team off the cobbles and under a thick stand of trees. The horses didn’t seem to notice the winged weasel, but she dreaded the moment when they did. The poor nags’d been spooky ever since the bear chased them.
“Not much farther,” she crooned. “There’s a nice juicy meadow just up ahead. Rest here a while. We’ll get you some dinner soon.”
Kyri poked its head under the door behind her.
“Shut up, toad.” She lifted the door higher and peeked inside the gloomy wagon. Baby Bear was curled up on her bunk in a pile of serdil pelts, with Izzy snuggled up beside her. They looked like they’d be safe enough for a while.
She closed the door most of the way, resisting the urge to slam it on the slithering toad’s back. It’d been kinda useful lately. Besides, them fangs never got no smaller. And she didn’t want to give it an excuse to eat Baby Bear. She couldn’t protect her baby from the toad and drive the wagon, too.
By the time she turned back to the team, the sky was clear of everything except grumbly black thunderclouds. The dragon must’ve moved on.
She jiggled the reins. The horses leaned into the harness and stepped back down to the stony path.
The kid was gonna fray all over her, them nags was so skinny. He’d never believe she’d cared for them proper.
Thunder rumbled overhead.
“This one has not verbalized its trepidations.”
Eyebrows raised, she glanced back at the stupid snake. ‘Not’ was the only part of its gibberish she got.
That wasn’t entirely true. She was pretty sure it was fretting about something. “Whatcha want?”
It slithered under the door and coiled up on the driver’s bench, as far from her as it could get without
falling off. “This one recommends that the anchor surveil and circumnavigate the hydraulic conduit… scrutinize the streambed.”
“Good idea, toad. Once I find the thread-snipping stream, we can follow alongside it.”
The legless lizard blinked at her. “This one confounds the communication. The anchor should… watch the streambed.”
She half turned and stared at it. “Watch what streambed? Why?”
“This one perceives the threat of alluvion.”
“Threat?” One hand on her long sword’s hilt, she leapt up to stand on the driver’s bench. “Where? What kind of critter is a luwian?”
“Luwian is an extinct phonological categorization.” Thunder drowned out part of its chatter, but the longwinded worm tilted its head and stared up at her. She got the feeling it couldn’t decide if she was stupid or just pretending to be stupid.
She flopped back down on the bench, closed her eyes and counted to twenty.
Wait, the last bit of its babble sounded like ‘distinct confrontation’. “Does that mean a war band is after us?” That would be fun, if there weren’t too many of them. They could be mad at her for using their road. Or wanting her to pay a toll.
The only toll she was gonna pay was with the sharp edge of her swords.
Kyri laid its head flat on the driver’s bench and moaned deep in its throat. Maybe it was counting, too.
Not a war band, then. Too bad. “Little words, toad.”
“This channel appears to adhere to a nonpermanent regimen. This one perceives the conditions are characteristic of… This one has concern that…”
Lightning flashed, hitting a tree a hundred feet away. Thunder roared, crushing her hearing.
The horses reared and screamed.
Rain poured down on them as if whole oceans were crashing down on their heads.
“This one fears a flashflood!”
“Weaver’s chamberpot. We’re under a flashflood!”
Grabbing the reins in its mouth, Kyri yanked its head to the right. The horses obeyed its command and lunged off the road, toward the forest.
She grabbed the reins back. “Shuttle break your thread! What are you doing?” She guided the team back onto the cobbled path.
Kyri snagged the reins again and mumbled through a mouthful of leather. “This assembly progresses upon the channel foundation.”
Dragon's Child (The Mindbender's Rise Book 4) Page 21