by Dorian Hart
“Something bothering you?” Grey Wolf asked him. “Besides the obvious?”
Step peered into one of the black tunnels. “Outside it is morning, I think. I should be offering my prayers to Kemma standing before the sunrise, but instead I am cut off, buried inside a mountain. It is said that a man’s excuses fall away in the heat of the goddess’s regard. Perhaps Kemma is displeased with my choices.”
“Kemma should have thought of that before throwing a book of prophetic poetry at you,” said Dranko.
Grey Wolf winced, waiting for Step to lunge at Dranko’s bait. Thankfully Step ignored the provocation. He kept staring into the darkness of the chamber’s exit tunnel. “Also…”
“Also what?” Ernie prompted.
“I imagine you have not heard of Yulan’s Barrier,” said Step.
“Who’s Yulan?” asked Tor.
“He told us already,” said Aravia. “The Kivian god of time and reality. Father of all the other gods.”
Tor hung his head. “Oh. Right.”
Grey Wolf brushed the crumbs from breakfast off his hands and, time being of the essence, he began to pack his things. “No, we haven’t heard of it. Is it relevant?”
The light of their rods cast curved shadows onto Step’s face. “Many centuries ago, the surface world was plagued by all manner of foul creatures that dwelt deep inside of Spira. They made forays out of the depths, launched attacks against the civilized lands. Armies of strange humanoid beings, monsters of all descriptions—there was constant war. Eventually Yulan grew tired of these depredations and manifested the Barrier, a round shell of adamant as large as the moon, set deep inside the world, with the malign civilizations and beasts of the underworld trapped inside.”
Morningstar frowned. “What about the Injunction?”
Step shook his head. “This was in a time before the Law of Interference had been set in place by the gods.”
“Did the Barrier work?” asked Ernie.
“Of course,” said Step, “though not perfectly. The goblins had spread upward sufficiently that many remained above the Barrier, and they have been a threat to decent folk ever since. And many individual creatures, monsters of legend, were said to have been caught outside the Barrier at its creation. That is why we still have stories of dragons. In those ancient times, the holy warriors of Kemma were charged with hunting them down. There are records, oral traditions. Dragons were real.”
Dranko chuckled. “You think that’s dragon skin Morningstar found? That one of them managed to avoid your church’s holy exterminators and is still hanging around these goblin tunnels a thousand years later?”
Step didn’t answer.
Grey Wolf hoisted his pack to his shoulder and took a step toward the exit. “Anything we meet down here will have to be small enough to fit in the tunnels. We have plenty to worry about without panicking about dragons. Pack up, and let’s go.”
Kibi continued to carry Dranko’s pack, and Tor offered to help support Dranko as they walked. Morningstar and Pewter once again took point. In a slow-moving line, they trudged ahead through the darkness.
“The goblins must have built this whole tunnel just to raid Culud,” said Ernie, not long after they had set out. “Otherwise, we’d have seen intersections or side-passages.”
“That seems like an awful lot of bother,” said Dranko. “Culud’s not that big. How much stuff could they steal?”
Grey Wolf almost said, “You’re a goblin and a thief, you would know,” but thought better of it. Instead he said simply, “They’re goblins. They dug through to a human town so they could raid it. Nothing surprising about that.”
“I suppose,” said Ernie.
A minute later Morningstar stumbled on the lip of a shallow trench stretched across the tunnel. It was filled in with a thick black stone brick. Kibi squatted down to examine it.
“Obsidian, I think,” he said. “Rare stuff.”
Aravia scratched Pewter under his chin. “Fascinating. This is a piece of the trench those Black Circle adherents were constructing. It would appear that following the overlap of worlds, at least this piece of Volpos was left behind. Or became residually superimposed. Or…I don’t know, precisely. This is outside the boundary of my experience.”
Grey Wolf understood the worst-case scenario. “If something over there can end up over here, what if that ‘something’ is Naradawk?”
Aravia said nothing.
“Or nearly as bad, one of us could wind up left behind on Volpos.”
Aravia furrowed her brows. “I suppose either of those is possible. But the first case is hugely improbable, assuming the locations are random.”
“Is that a safe assumption?” asked Morningstar.
“No. I suppose not. But it’s all out of our control either way. We should press on.”
Half an hour into the day’s march, Aravia spoke up again. “Pewter smells some new things. Two odors, predominantly: one that’s reptilian, and one he doesn’t recognize. He’s not thrilled with either of them.”
“Goblins,” said Grey Wolf. “I’ll bet he smells goblins. Which means they can’t be too far off.”
“And a giant snake,” said Tor.
“Or a lizard,” said Ernie.
Grey Wolf sniffed the air and fancied he caught a whiff of something, but it could just as easily be his mind playing tricks. The smell of the goblins had always been missing from his memory of his parents’ murder.
“Pewter is hearing things, too, things that are not us. The noises are too faint for him to specify, but he guesses that one of the sounds is that of moving water. Between the new sounds and smells, it’s likely we are moving toward an inhabited region.”
Obviously. And since the tunnel had no branches, they would walk right into a goblin population.
“Tell Pewter I want him to relay everything he notices. Every scent, every sound.”
After a second or two, Aravia smiled. “Pewter says you’re in dire need of a bath.”
Grey Wolf couldn’t help but laugh. “No argument.”
Not long after, word came back from Pewter and Morningstar that they had reached a branching at last—a four-way intersection with no light or motion visible down any of the passages.
“They’re coming back,” said Aravia, “so we can decide what to do.”
Morningstar and Pewter appeared as shadows in their muted light.
“Lights all the way out,” said Grey Wolf. “And voices low. What does your cat have to say?” Gods, but Pewter the Telepathic Cat was the strangest act in Abernathy’s traveling circus.
“The intersection of passages smells more keenly of reptile but not of the other odor he thinks of as goblin. There are scuffs like claw marks on the stone floor in each of the other three directions.”
“See?” said Ernie. “There’s a giant lizard.”
“There could also be a giant snake,” said Tor.
“Whatever it is, maybe it chased away the goblins,” said Dranko.
“How do we know it’s an it,” asked Morningstar, “and not a they?”
“Enough!” said Grey Wolf in as harsh a whisper as he could manage. “Stay focused. Aravia?”
“All three passages are built in similar style to the one we’ve been traversing. One continues northeast, as has been our heading since breakfast. A second goes northwest and begins a slight incline. Pewter can hear faint echoes from that direction but isn’t sure what’s making the sound. It sounds to him like a distant knocking.”
“And the third?”
“The third goes mostly east, slightly south, and it angles gently downward. The sound of water is still distant but clearly comes from that direction. And if Pewter had to pick the passage where the smell of reptile is strongest, that would be the one.”
Grey Wolf sighed. “Step, that map on the wall of your temple, you said the jungle lay largely to the south of Gurund?”
“Yes,” said Step. “And Culud is near the northernmost edge of that kingdom.”
“And Aravia, we’ve been angling north as well as east this whole time?”
“Slightly more east than north, but yes.”
“Then southeast is exactly the direction we want to go.”
“And there’s water that way,” said Certain Step. “We would do well to refill our water skins against the chance we are delayed in the mountains. We would also be able to clean Dranko’s wound more regularly.”
“You know what else needs water?” said Dranko. “Giant reptiles.”
“Goblins,” said Kibi.
“Yes, and goblins,” said Dranko.
“No, no, I mean there’s goblins that way. The stone can sense ’em. Vibrations runnin’ through the stone from a whole lot a’ livin’ creatures.”
Grey Wolf glowered at the wall. “Damn. I don’t suppose the rock knows how close they are?”
“Nope.”
“We have to chance it, don’t we?” asked Tor. “And there could be more goblins in any direction, just in numbers the stone can’t tell, so we ought to go in the direction we want.”
“That is all correct,” said Grey Wolf. “And none of us should be surprised that our best option goes toward both the goblins and the lizard. Corilayna must be laughing her head off.”
Grey Wolf couldn’t imagine how this would end well. Horn’s Company was built for combat, not sneaking, but their only hope lay in somehow avoiding engagements. Only two of them could see in the dark (and one of those was a cat), but the lack of light probably wouldn’t bother the goblins any. If the goblin territory was made up of narrow tunnels, there’d be no way to avoid them. The only possible winning strategy was a series of hit and runs, making sure no goblin escaped to tell a thousand others about intruders in their territory. This would be like the Delfirian army camp, but without Morningstar’s invisibility cloak to hide them.
“Morningstar and Pewter, are you still good out front?”
“I am slightly winded,” said Morningstar, “but I should be fine. It’s Dranko we should be worried about.”
“No,” said Dranko. “It’s the goblins and the lizard we should be worried about. I can keep up the pace you’ve set if Tor gives me a hand.”
“Good,” said Grey Wolf. He wasn’t sure how much of Dranko’s confidence was bluster or how much pain he was in, but they had to keep moving.
Once again they hadn’t gone far—less than a mile—when Aravia signaled for them to stop.
“They’ve found a door.”
“What?”
“The tunnel narrows down to less than five feet across, and there’s a door blocking it. Pewter and Morningstar can’t hear anything on the other side, and no light is filtering in beneath it.”
They crept slowly forward to join Morningstar and the cat. Quiet though they tried to be, someone listening just beyond the door would have heard them by now.
“Is it locked?” Grey Wolf asked.
“I haven’t tried,” said Morningstar.
“Try. As quiet as you can.”
In the darkness Grey Wolf heard a light scrape, a creak, and finally a dismayingly loud clank of metal on metal.
“They sure know we’re here now,” said Dranko.
“Pewter says he still doesn’t hear or smell anything like a living creature beyond. The door does not go quite all the way to the ground, so he’s fairly certain it’s only barred, not guarded.”
Grey Wolf ran a hand through his hair. “Or maybe there was a goblin there, and now he’s running off to tell his friends someone’s coming.”
Dranko’s face was suddenly illuminated in the bright light of his rod.
Grey Wolf was aghast. “Dranko, put that out!”
“Why? Anyone over there already knows we’re here. I want to see the door. Ah, crap. Morningstar’s right, there’s no lock to pick, and they’ve got the hinges on the other side. Not much I can do about a metal bar.”
The door was old wood, thick, banded top, middle, and bottom with studded iron.
“Kibi,” said Ernie. “Can you tunnel around it?”
“Probably, but I’m not sure I need to. Stand back.”
Grey Wolf wasn’t sure of Kibi’s plan, but he stepped back all the same. Kibi stood before the door, took its measure, then lifted his right foot. Grey Wolf stopped him with a hand on his chest.
“Kibi, I know you’re strong, but that’s reinforced wood barred from the far side. And even if you can kick it down, it’ll make too much noise.”
Kibi put his foot back down. “Reckon you’re right.” He stared at the door for a moment longer. “Got another idea that’ll be quicker.” The stonecutter put his hands to the stone just outside the door’s frame. After a moment the rock drew back from the left edge of the wood, like paper curling away from a fire.
“There. See?” Kibi held up his light to the space. “That there’s the bar holdin’ the door closed. One a’ you with a sword, just stick it through and lift the bar while I push.”
Ernie drew Pyknite and tried it. “Sorry, Kibi. I can’t get any leverage. The bar’s too heavy.”
“No worries. Give me the sword; the rest a’ you push.”
Kibi slid Ernie’s sword into the gap and lifted the bar with only the strength of his wrist. Grey Wolf shook his head; Kibi probably could have kicked down the door, had he tried. Even pushing all together, cursing softly at the noise of rusted hinges, Grey Wolf, Tor, Ernie, and Step could barely open the door. Pewter whisked through the gap.
“All clear,” said Aravia after a moment of tense silence. “It’s an empty cave.”
They pushed the door open further. Grey Wolf winced at the hinges’ shriek, but if there were goblins near that could hear it, the alarm had already been raised. By some unspoken agreement they threw caution aside; everyone else had their light-rods out.
“Nice to see something that’s not a narrow tunnel,” said Tor.
Before them yawned a natural cavern, large enough for the Greenhouse to sit in but not much bigger. Every surface was rock, but there were striations and discolorations, bands of lighter-gray and yellowish crystal. The floor was mostly unworked stone, uneven and treacherous, but someone (presumably goblins) had pounded out some flattish pathways.
“At least we’re safe from the giant lizard,” said Ernie. “Unless someone opened that door and let it through.”
“Maybe the goblins keep it as a pet,” said Tor.
“Quiet,” said Morningstar. “Do you hear that?”
They all fell silent.
“Sounds like water,” said Dranko. “Faint, as though there’s a river somewhere nearby.”
They moved into the center of the cavern, following one of the rough paths. It branched, leading to two black exits.
“Let’s not lose our heads.” Grey Wolf imagined goblins watching them from the shadows. “Lights out. Morningstar and Pewter, check out those openings.”
The report was frustrating. “Both open onto tunnels, but of a different sort from those we’ve been traversing the past couple of days,” said Morningstar. “They look more natural than man-made or goblin-made. There are some supports, but not many and not regularly placed. One goes in the direction we want: east and slightly south. The other goes mostly north, but that’s the one where the sound of the water is coming from.”
“Water should be our highest priority,” said Step. “Our supplies are running low.”
“Shouldn’t we be most concerned about getting through quickly?” asked Tor.
“Dying of thirst would slow us down considerably,” said Dranko in a thin voice. He sat down on the path.
“Natural tunnels seem less likely to maintain a straight course,” said Aravia. “We could take the one that seems best now, only to find it curving away later.”
“We need water to clean out Dranko’s wound,” said Morningstar.
“I don’t suppose we can stop here for the day?” asked Dranko.
Gods, already? Grey Wolf shook his head. “We can’t have been walkin
g more than four hours. We’ll head toward the water, but you’ll have to stick it out. If we march half-days, it’ll add a week or more to the journey in the best case. Morningstar, do we have that long?”
“Abernathy simply doesn’t know. His estimates are still in weeks rather than days, but the reports through Previa are that nothing is certain.”
Uncertainty had always been one of Grey Wolf’s least favorite things. “Then we have to assume the worst and see time as our greatest enemy. Dranko, the rest of us will help you along, but we need to keep moving. Every lost mile, every lost hour could be the one where Naradawk breaks out, with us still wandering around Kivia looking for the Crosser’s Maze.”
“Yeah, fine.” Grey Wolf ignored the resignation in his voice. As long as he moved.
The opening with the louder sound of water led onto a short and irregular length of tunnel, which in turn opened onto an interconnected series of natural caves. Some of these had ceilings high enough to be out of sight while others were so low that Tor and Grey Wolf had to crouch, and Dranko had to be dragged through. Most were no larger than the Greenhouse kitchen, though one was the size of a cathedral. Horn’s Company kept as much of a south-easterly track as it could, all the while hoping to discover the underground river that echoed all around them. They must be close; the walls in some of the caverns were damp, with patches of lichen and even some sprouts of fungus.
And still no goblins. Grey Wolf might have taken that as a good sign, but he became increasingly convinced that they were walking into a trap. Someone had put up that door and barred it, even if it had then been left unattended for years. And someone had flattened out the crude paths through this warren of grottoes.
They kept their lights dim, letting them shine through their fingers just enough to show those paths. Every so often Grey Wolf heard a sound beyond the shushing of the hidden waterway, a faint clink or a light, quick skittering. Once he thought he heard a distant voice, but no one else did, not even Pewter.
The path sloped downward more often than not, sometimes steeply. It was on one of these sharper declines that Dranko blacked out. Had Tor and Morningstar not been supporting him, he’d have crashed face first to the ground; as it was, they lowered him gently down. Morningstar bent low and felt his brow.