Osrith rolled his eyes. “I also heard you spit acid and bugger unicorns, but I never believed that either,” he answered. “Maybe I should rethink all that, too.”
“Rethink?” she scoffed. “That would imply twice in a day’s span.”
Osrith saluted her with his half-eaten beef. “Spoken like the self-righteous leaf eater you are. Damned unnatural anyhow.”
Symmlrey’s jaw clenched, and her anger painted her cheeks dull rouge. She made ready what was surely to be a caustic reply, but a thick tail of shiny green scales brushed against her thigh. She looked over at the reclining Kassakan, her delicate mouth still half-open in belayed speech.
“A wise fish doesn’t rise to the bait, friend,” the hosskan said. Her opaline eyes stared sagely at the greasy-bearded man and then back to the aulden. “I know from experience.”
“You stay out of this, lizard,” complained Osrith.
“He’s not happy unless he can grouse about something,” continued Kassakan, “and he’ll never agree with you, no matter how much sense you make. That’s what passes for principle with him. He can defeat the most intelligent of arguments with sheer vulgarity and rudeness of wit. He’ll get worse once he starts on the beer.”
Symmlrey’s mouth hung open for a moment more and then closed with a nod of understanding. She leaned back against the far wall from Osrith and made what passed as an effort to peel back the skin from his face with her poisonous gaze. “I understand,” she said, her soft voice camouflaging her restrained temper.
“Don’t condescend to me, little girl!” Osrith said in a tone that bordered on a growl. He dragged himself to his feet and stomped purposefully to the water basin, removing one of the ceramic jugs with a splash. “I need a good drink just to put up with your damn company!” He popped the cork off with his free hand and sent it flying into the fire, which flared in answer to his offering.
“At the risk of interrupting this valuable discussion,” said Two-Moons as Osrith resumed his seat, jug in hand, “I’d suggest we discuss tomorrow.”
Osrith took a long swallow of smooth amber beer. “By all means,” he said with a satisfied wipe of his mouth. “What needs discussing, exactly?”
“I’m not well versed in kin lore,” Two-Moons explained, “and Oszmagoth means little to me save in name. I know what it was, but little of what it is. I gathered you and Vaujn think it dangerous.”
“Hard to tell. No one comes back, so they say. Either it’s dangerous or just real comfortable.”
“My people have told stories of the dragon. Brighteye, I think,” Symmlrey added. “She was most dangerous. Vaujn is certain she’s gone?”
Osrith detected a slight tinge of fear to her words. That reassured him. At least it proved she had some sense. He took another pull on his jug. “Girl, I might be the biggest fool you ever met, but I’m not that big a fool! Of course she’s gone.” As if to punctuate, he belched. “But chances are there’s a lot still down there with no love for any of us.”
“Assuming the depth recorded on the map is accurate,” yawned Kassakan in an impressive display of her cavernous maw, “which doubtless it is to the etahr, knowing our kin friends, expect dringli in the greatest numbers. More worrisome, however, would be the srhrilakiin. The kin speak of hundreds in the tale of Mordigul and Merridel. That, I would think, is an exaggeration, but even a few are dangerous.”
Osrith offered the beer to Two-Moons, who accepted with a smile, restoring some of his faith in the old wilhorwhyr’s character as well. “Look, we’re not planning on staying in Oszmagoth. We’re just going to float right on through and out the other side. No srhrilakiin’ll cross running water – can’t, they’re at least half Shadow from what the kin say. As for the dringli, well, we’ll just have to take our chances.”
Two-Moons nodded, wiping his chin with his sleeve as he passed the jug to Symmlrey. “Aye, that would seem the wisest course. Through and through and done.”
“What of the curse?”
Osrith looked at Symmlrey as if her question had been a dagger thrust. “Not much we can do about that, is there? If it even exists.”
“Oh, I would think it does,” said Kassakan in a matter-of-fact manner, now stretched out like a great, scaled cat on the floor. “Oszmagoth was a place of great power even before King Gulgazamoun sat on the Ivory Throne. When it was cast down, it was no small matter. The rebel magi who called that city home were sure to cast fearsome wards on their untimely grave before departing this life. And barring that, possibly after.”
Osrith pulled his cloak tightly about his neck and shoulders, as if chasing away an unwelcome chill. “That’s fine talk right before sleep.”
After that, no one had much to say, and each drifted into quiet thoughts. All save Osrith, who wished to spare himself further thought at all with a second trip to the chilly basin.
The next morning came much earlier than Osrith would have preferred. There was no light filtering in through the windows, no birdsong to soothe tired eyes from sleep, just the insistent nagging of an old longhaired wilhorwhyr who claimed he knew that somewhere the suns were rising. Somewhere, no doubt, they were, but Osrith questioned how Two-Moons arrived at the conclusion it was here. Arguing proved fruitless, however, so he settled for the time-honored kin tradition of being generally unpleasant in the morning.
The party broke camp and floated the boat with the expedient ease of veteran wayfarers, pausing only to determine their best choice for illumination now that the nightmoss had all but disappeared. The kin had provided them with crystal globes containing their own supply of the luminescent fungus, and these fit tightly into the jaws of the carved prow.
“Don’t mistake this for anything more than a guide light,” Osrith explained as the moss globe clicked into place. “These are used more like warning beacons in the busier trade routes. They’re useful enough instead of a torch if you’re on foot, making way steady but slow. But here…?”
“The lanterns will not do, either,” commented Symmlrey.
Osrith agreed. The range of the lantern light was relatively feeble. In the broader, slower expanses they had already traveled, it had been sufficient, but with the quickening rapids and the narrowing confines of the passages ahead, its inconsistent flicker cast misleading and dangerous shadows in the rushing waters. The torches were useless for those and other reasons: open flames were best avoided on a wooden craft, and in the Deeps strange and volatile gasses could be vented unexpectedly, with explosive results.
“Perhaps the lantern and the globes together,” Two-Moons mused, not sounding at all convinced.
“What of your lenses, Osrith?” asked Symmlrey. “I can manage somewhat in the dark. If Two-Moons could also see….”
“No,” said Osrith after a moment of consideration. “From what Vaujn says, this’ll get pretty rough. All well and good if they stay on his face, but if they fly off when we’re in the middle of those rapids….” He shook his head firmly. “No, they’d best stay in my pack.”
Kassakan cleared her throat. That sound never failed to get their attention. “I shall make light,” she said with a resigned sigh.
Both Two-Moons and Symmlrey seemed somewhat surprised as the lizard summoned forth a ball of colorless fire into the palm of her hand with a whisper and a muted gesture. It sat there a moment, between her thumb and three fingers, and then sailed off to hover patiently above the boat.
“I was beginning to think you’d retired,” Osrith said; though he knew she’d always been reluctant to use the Craft, save for healing. Hosskan ethics regarding magic were odd, but it was well appreciated by those of Osrith’s own opinion: the less of it, the better. Not that he would ever begrudge her its use, especially the curative aspects, but neither did he normally encourage it.
“Yes, that will do nicely,” approved Two-Moons, regarding Kassakan with a bewildered smile. “I never knew you were a N’skil’ah.”
“No longer,” she said, her manner casual but her tone haunted by the ghost of somethi
ng more. “Now I am just Kassakan.”
Osrith saw concern or doubt in Two-Moons’ face, but the old man said no more. Symmlrey seemed ready to pursue the matter further, but a quick gesture from her Guide stayed her questions. Osrith met his eyes for an instant, and knew that this man understood the hosskan as well or better than he. A hosskan did not, could not, simply retire from the sacred order. Their silent rapport lasted only an eye blink, and then they were both picking their way down the last few feet of rocky shore to the boat.
Under the wan light of the fire globe, they could see that the rapids just ahead were white with angry foam as the water lashed viscously against any rock that dared obstruct its course. A sharp bend cut off their view twenty yards ahead, but the roaring discontent that echoed back to their ears warned that from here they would be working at increasing odds against the river.
“You’ll have to join us in the boat, I think,” said Symmlrey to Kassakan, frowning from the rapids to the lizard. “This seems dangerous even for you.”
“Yes, I think you’re right,” she agreed. “But I’m afraid I’ll lower your draft considerably.”
This proved to be true, but the craft held up under the additional weight and still responded reasonably well to Two-Moons’ steady hand. Osrith could no longer lean without a care against their supplies. The river now demanded the concentration of all hands to ensure their safe passage through the twisting narrow channels worn by centuries through the rock of the mountains. The river dropped suddenly and often, sometimes lifting them out of their seats with the force of their rapid descent. Without a sure purchase on some solid portion of their boat, they risked being thrown out altogether.
Symmlrey and Osrith dug their paddles into the violent froth, shouting and straining to master the river. Two-Moons, grim and focused as always, sent them through the narrow channels with less frequent but well-chosen strokes. It was decided early that Kassakan best served their needs by staying low and still so as not to upset their delicate balance. She disliked this, arguing that she wished to be of more use, but the others assured her that her light was the best help she could provide.
Each night as they lay in camp, amidst the ruins of once-frequented kin waypoints, new aches were visited upon Osrith’s already beleaguered muscles and joints. By their second encampment, he no longer fought off Symmlrey’s persistent offers of help. Her nimble fingers probed his tender flesh, digging in with brutal precision on the knots that tightened his shoulders, arms and back. At first, he thought she meant to torture him for his contentious nature, as his old pains were replaced with new and harsher sensations. But the pain had faded, like clouds in a slow but powerful wind, making way for the sweet relief his much-abused body so desperately needed.
It also became clear, as they dropped further and further into the Deeps, that Vaujn had not underestimated the multitude of threats and nuisances that would beset them. No less than three eloths had dropped from the dagger-like stalactites above them; one, at twenty feet in length, had nearly taken Osrith out of the boat before Two-Moons and Symmlrey had beaten it off with their paddles. Only Kassakan escaped the festering bites of the blood mites. For the others, the tiny vermin that crawled into every unwelcome orifice became a constant nuisance. Every night she pored over the naked bodies of her less fortunate companions to remove the tiny leeching insects before they gained enough purchase to become a real danger. Unmolested, a blood mite could reach adulthood at alarming speed and an even more worrisome rate of blood loss. Toward the end of their third day, it became more a challenge to simultaneously scratch and paddle than anything else.
The rockfishers grew more and more numerous as they fell deeper and deeper into the earth. At three feet in length, not including the added reach of their whiplash tails and questing proboscises, they were of a size none of the inveterate travelers had ever seen before, nor would wish to see again. That third night the campsite was so overrun with the chitinous creatures that they had moored to a stalagmite rather than make landfall. The night was punctuated with the sickening crunch of the rockfishers’ victims as they were split open and devoured by the ravenous beasts.
The next afternoon Osrith plied at the river with his paddle, thankful to be away from that place and leaning all of his weight into each powerful stroke. It was hard to see the significance of the effort. At this point the Dolset’s raging moods were barely tolerant of their unwelcome presence. Kassakan’s globe of light danced luminously through the shadows, chasing them away just as the prow sliced through the water ahead of them. The passage was widening, but the river no less swift, and despite Two-Moons’ considerable skill and effort, they were adding several new dents to their already pitted duaurnhuun figurehead.
“There!” screamed Symmlrey against the increasing roar around them. She pointed with her paddle at a point on the wall to their port side. “There’s a path!”
“If that’s the beginning of the Great Stair,” Osrith yelled back at Two-Moons, “then we must be close!”
“Paddle hard on starboard!” answered Two-Moons. “If we don’t cut across the current now, we never will!”
The river lent them no time to waste on further discussion. Osrith and Symmlrey shifted to starboard, stabbing into the rapids with their paddles. The river forced them toward its swift center with gathering strength. At first it seemed their efforts would make no difference. But then, ever so slightly, the bow of the boat began a slow turn to port and the beckoning safety of the shore. Osrith didn’t let up for an instant. The sound of the falls ahead was now a hammering rage in his ears, and their escape from the pull of the spitting white water looked narrow enough for his liking. So focused was he on driving them onto dry land and away from the hostile intent of the Dolset, he almost didn’t hear Symmlrey’s shout of warning.
“Dringli!” she yelled, pausing in mid-stroke. “Dringli on shore!”
As if in punctuation, six arrows flew from the shadows on the nearing shoreline. Four sailed past to land with a splash in the river, one broke on the metal prow, and one stuck in the wood just between Osrith and Symmlrey. A chorus of loud whoops and jeers followed next, and another volley of arrows fell around them.
“Further down! Land further down!” Osrith yelled over his shoulder. He knew as well as anyone else on the boat that they couldn’t fight and paddle. They had to make landfall before they engaged the dringli. He could almost make out their short, stubby shadows, but he paid them no mind.
Two-Moons adjusted their angle of approach, but even as it became apparent that they would avoid the hostile archers, it became equally clear that they would not reach shore in time. The same rapids that took them so swiftly away from their enemies now delivered them back into their original peril. Osrith and Symmlrey channeled all their remaining strength into their paddles, and Two-Moons grunted with the strain of fighting the willful current, but in the end it was to no avail. With its fingers securely fastened about its long elusive prey, the Dolset hurried them on to their fate.
When at last Mordigul’s Plunge rushed away into darkness, Osrith was almost relieved. Now, at the very least, they were here, and for one moment all decisions were out of their hands. There was nothing to fight, nothing to decide, and nothing he could do. Any such satisfaction was dispelled a heartbeat later as he sailed into the yawning space of air, mist, and spitting foam that plummeted away beneath him.
They fell end over end, unsecured goods and paddles flying into the dark. Osrith wrapped his arm around a crossbeam and wedged his knees against the side of the boat. He felt an odd mix of nausea and weightlessness as the world tumbled around him. There was a strangled cry and then a flurry of motion as Two-Moons flew away from the boat and out of sight. Then some timeless span later, they crashed into the volatile churning waters at the waterfall’s base. Kassakan was next, tossed like a rag doll to the starboard side in the roiling fury about them, and then she was gone. She disappeared into a green dot downstream, her little globe of light trailing af
ter.
Osrith felt the crossbeam he was clutching give way with a mournful crunch as the boat was thrown down by the last violent whim of the seething cauldron, and a moment later he was underwater, flailing and helpless and straining to hold his air. In the absence of Kassakan’s magic, the darkness was absolute, and it was only by luck that he kicked blindly to the surface. He gasped a lung-full of air, and then struck a rock with his shoulder as the current carried him relentlessly downstream. Something cold and fleshy touched his hand, and he flinched away. He grunted as he struck another rock solidly with the middle of his back.
The touch again, but this time with a voice: Symmlrey’s. “Feet,” she gasped, trying to turn him around. “First.”
Osrith floundered and managed to do as she asked, and found the frequent impact with rock and stalactite much less painful when absorbed by his legs. Still, he was more or less out of control, and utterly convinced that he was going to die. The water was so cold he could already feel his limbs stiffening, slowing, dragging him down to rest at the bottom. Symmlrey’s grip tightened, and his forward momentum slowed and then stopped. She’d found something to hold onto, evidently, but in the pitch black around them he couldn’t see what.
“Osrith!” screamed Symmlrey over the rushing torrent. “Climb up my arm! Hurry!”
Osrith’s freezing fingers reached clumsily up her arm, shivering and numb, but still responsive. He could hear her grunting as he pulled against her arm, knowing from the give in her joint that it must be dislocated. He grabbed at her shoulder and then her back, holding on to her with all his dwindling strength.
“Climb around me,” she whispered. “Hurry.”
With a final effort he heaved himself around her back and found purchase hugging the opposite side of the same smooth, rounded stalactite as she. He folded his fist into her shirt, in case she lost her own grip, and tried to catch his breath. This would only bring temporary salvation. Soon enough they would still die from exposure or be swept away as their numb fingers lost their hold. They had, at best, a few clicks.
In Siege of Daylight Page 23