Hence, loathed Melancholy
Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight born,
In Stygian cave forlorn,
'Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights unholy.—John Milton
Bremon loomed ahead, a dark, jagged mass blocking half the noon sky.
Driving the flatbed wagon, Ahira shook his head and swore softly under his breath. The damn mountain always loomed in front of them, even though his mental picture of Oreen's map suggested that they were finally near the known entrance. Perhaps the rough copy he had made would have differed, but that had been lost, along with much of their supplies, to the slavers.
But no, that wasn't it. Oreen's map was clear in his mind; it was just that Bremon was too large, too massive, too gently sloped to have a clear edge, a noticeably demarked base.
Next to him on the flatbed's broad seat, Hakim peered down at him. "Are we there yet?" he asked, for only the thirtieth time that morning.
Ahira jerked on the reins. The flatbed's two horses shuffled to a quick stop on the gently uphill slope.
"You little asshole!" Andrea shrilled. Ahira turned to see her wrestle the other wagon's team to a halt, the noses of the lead horses stopping scant inches behind the back of the flatbed. "You just stay there." She bounded out of the high seat of her wagon, and stalked toward him through the knee-high, golden grasses.
"Excuse me," Hakim said, "I just remembered something I've got to talk over with Ari." He made a quick exit, going around the opposite side of the flatbed from Andrea's approach, and disappeared into the other wagon.
Ahira didn't blame him for manufacturing a need to talk to the wizard, or Karl for cantering his horse ahead, past the flatbed. This sort of outburst was becoming more and more common.
I can't really say that I blame her, but I don't know what I should do about it. Perhaps the best thing would be to permanently relinquish leadership of the group to Karl. No, that wouldn't do; Karl and Hakim had been lucky—but wrong.
As Andrea planted herself in front of him, he rubbed at his eyes with his thumbs, then let his hands drop. "What is it now?"
She threw up her arms. "How many times have I asked you—politely, mind—to give me a bit of goddam notice before you stop? Do you really want my team climbing into the back of this little dogcart of yours?"
Her face reddened; Ahira stifled a snapped retort and raised a palm. "Just take it easy, please." If you're so concerned about my stopping suddenly, then why don't you just let your wagon lag behind a few yards? That was an obvious response, but a wrong one. Clearly, she was playing me-and-my-shadow with the flatbed out of an unconscious desire to speed him up, to speed them all up. To get herself away from this world, and home. "I'm sorry," he said. "My fault—it's just that—"
He'd tried to keep his voice level, but that only enraged her. "Don't you dare patronize me," she said, white-lipped. "I've got a job to do, driving that stubborn, idiotic team of horses—"
"I said—"
"—fighting them, more than half the time. They've got to trust me, to know that I won't lead them into—"
"No. They. Don't." He punctuated all three words by banging his fist on the wagon's seat. Ahira vaulted heavily to the ground. "We're stopping here. Now." Enough of this. Granted, Andrea had been through a hard time; given, it was at least partly his fault. But enough of treating her like, like . . .
. . . like everyone used to treat me. Like some sort of feeb, giving her the job of driving the big wagon because it gives her something to do, not because she's best at it. Even if she wants that sort of treatment, it's the wrong thing to do. And it stops here. "We stop here; you can turn your horses loose, or butcher them for supper, for all I care." He raised his head and his voice. "Karl!"
The big man urged his horse over. "Meal break?" He jerked his thumb at the mountain behind him. "I saw some trees ahead, about a mile or so, I think. It'd be a bit more comfortable up there."
Ahira shook his head. "No. I was telling Andrea that we're stopping here. Permanently, as far as the wagons go. Hakim's in the other one, talking to Ari—you go get him, have him saddle a horse. Then you two get the joy of riding out, and seeing if you can find an entrance. The entrance."
"And if we can't?" Karl frowned disapprovingly.
Ahira's hands itched for his axehilt. "Then be back by sundown. You'll try again tomorrow, at first light."
Karl's horse took a prancing step back. "I've got a better idea, I think. Doria's got a Locate spell; have her find the entrance."
Andrea held up a hand. "Do you two want an opinion, or don't you give a damn what I think?" Her lips pursed; she opened her mouth as though to go on, then stopped and started again. "It would be better to leave her alone. For two reasons. First, Location spells are finicky; if she doesn't know exactly what she's looking for, the spell will fasten on something else, something that fits her . . . internal description. Besides"—her shoulders twitched beneath her robes—"I think it's best to leave her alone, in any case. Don't put any demands on her, not if you don't have to. I . . . don't know if trying to get her to do something might . . . push her over the edge."
From his perch atop his horse, Karl sighed. "I guess you're right. I . . . was just thinking that a bit of activity would be good for her, help to take her mind off . . ." He gestured absently. " . . . everything."
"What the hell do you know about it?" Andrea snapped.
Karl sat silent for a moment, then shook his head slowly from side to side. "Know? I wouldn't say that I know much about anything." He gave a thin smile, then turned his mare away and trotted back to the other wagon.
Ahira stared off into the distance, keeping his eyes on the mountain, off Andrea, not saying anything.
Finally, she broke the silence. "What was that supposed to mean?"
Ahira moved to the flatbed and busied himself with unhitching the horses. "Only two things that I can think of. First, that he doesn't understand you. For which I can't exactly blame him. I don't, either."
"I was trying to explain it to him when . . ." Her voice trailed off into choking sounds. "When everything . . . fell apart. And now he's treating me like I'm . . . soiled."
"Don't." Ahira spun around. "Don't even think that. I haven't always been Karl's greatest admirer, but you're dead wrong." He put out a hand; she took it with trembling fingers. "I don't think that Karl's too good at handling guilt. That's what you're seeing—not anything else. Karl knows—we all know the difference between a victim and . . ." He clenched his jaw. Maybe Karl hadn't been wrong in going back to finish off Ohlmin and his slavers, despite the risk. "Just take my word for it."
She nodded slowly. "You said that there were two things that he meant?"
Ahira returned her nod. "That maybe there's a difference between knowing and caring. And Karl cares about you. As if you didn't know. He once came close to killing Hakim over you, but he stopped. Maybe it was squeamishness, maybe not." He squeezed her hand more tightly. "But he didn't hold back when it came to Ohlmin, did he?"
"And for that, I'm supposed to fall into—"
"And for that," he interrupted, "you're free to do whatever you want, without looking over your shoulder." He released her hand. "I need a bit of help with these horses. Are you available?"
Slowly, she nodded.
* * *
Karl and Walter discovered the entrance on their second day of searching. A spiral search pattern had given them a horseback view of various naked, slightly wooded, and heavily overgrown slopes, a few dozen small animals that scurried for cover at their approach, and more than a few dozen birds, who were only too glad to interrupt their constant search for food to chitter and twerp at Karl and Walter.
The thief glared up at Karl from the back of his mount, a mild-mannered sorrel gelding. "I've got an idea—what say we take a break, let me get away from this vicious beast for a while." Walter patted at the crossbow lashed to the saddle in front of him. "Besides, maybe I could shoot us some dinner."
Karl chuckled and stroked at his mare's neck. It was dry, unsweaty; probably she could go on almost forever at this slow walk. "Why not? My horse seems a bit tired," he lied. "Although I wouldn't give odds that you could hit a bird with that bow. Your aim—"
"Was good enough when it counted, no?"
That was a good point. Karl dismounted, while from the ivy-covered rockface to their right a small bird twittered its own opinion of Walter's crossbow skills.
Walter jerked his horse to a stop and got off with none of his usual grace, then rubbed at his back and thighs. It was his own fault, really—if the thief had taken his turn on horseback, like the others, he would at least have the minimal horsemanship of Ahira and Andy-Andy.
The bird scolded them again.
Karl chuckled as he slipped the bridle from his horse's neck. "Seems that crow doesn't think much of your riding ability, Walter."
The thief scowled as he unstrapped the crossbow. "It's not a crow. Too small." He pulled back the string and dropped a quarrel into the slot. "Possibly it's tasty." Walter raised the bow and took aim.
Now, that was unreasonable, trying to shoot a bird out of pique. Karl shrugged. On the other hand, the thief wasn't very accurate with a crossbow. The night they had killed Ohlmin and the others, it had been Walter's ability to move silently and almost invisibly in the dark that had served them well, not his indifferent aim.
On the other hand—hell, I've run out of hands. "Just leave it alone—"
Twing!
The bolt went low and wide, vanishing in the ivy. With a twitter and a flutter, the bird flew away.
Karl forced himself not to smile. "Well, now we can have a whole side of . . . mountain for supper. You like yours medium rare, or—hey! What are you doing?"
The thief let his bow drop to the ground and walked toward the rockface.
"Give me a hand up," Walter said, his eyes on the spot where the arrow had disappeared. "It should have bounced off, or stuck itself in, or something."
Karl went over and knelt on one knee, cupping his hands, then straightening and lifting as Walter settled a sandaled foot into his grip. The thief caught a handhold somewhere above and scrabbled up the ivy.
Karl looked up. Walter was gone. "Where—"
The thief's smiling face poked through the green curtain. "I believe that this is what we call gin." His unseen hands clapped. "I don't have a light, but this thing looks as if it goes down and in for about a million miles. You want to go back for the others, or do I?"
"Dealer's choice," Karl said calmly, his heart beating a rapid tattoo. We're going home. Where it's safe, comfortable.
I'm going home.
Thank God.
* * *
With everyone gathered just inside the entrance, Ahira took a few minutes to check each pack, working easily in the speckled light coming through the ivy. It would have been possible to make the others check their own gear, but that would mean waiting until their eyes adjusted to the dimness. Better to get going as soon as possible.
He considered the five waterskins. Enough for four days, maybe five, if they went on a strict water ration. It would be nice to have more, but they had lost most of the waterbags to Ohlmin's group, and carrying a barrel through the tunnels would be awkward, at best.
Ahira cinched Hakim's pack a bit tighter. "No need to have things fall out," he said.
Hakim smiled. "Whatever you say, fearless leader. I've got a suggestion, though."
"Yes?"
"Ari and Doria have their Glow spells—why not save on the lantern's oil, and use one now?"
Ahira thought it over for a moment. Not necessarily a bad idea, although the wizard's spell would be good only temporarily; the light would dim, and go out. But Doria's Glow spell was more powerful; it would keep whatever it was put on shining forever. "Karl, your sword, please."
Karl lumbered over, ducking his head under a rocky overhang. "Don't you trust me with an edged weapon?"
Ahira smiled as he hefted the blade. A decent saber, actually, but not quite the luxury-class blade that Karl's broken sword had been. "No, I'm afraid that you'll slice your foot off. Seriously, I'm going to have Doria . . ." He jerked his chin at the cleric, who was sitting slumped next to her pack. "I'm going to try to have her Glow it for you." Leaving Doria alone hadn't improved anything. Perhaps succeeding at something would be good for her.
"The point?" Karl's forehead furrowed. "Not to be critical, but you're not putting me in the lead, are you? Spelunking isn't exactly my specialty."
Dammit, Karl, give me a minute to finish. It'd be nice not to be interrupted. It'd be a change, anyway. "You get the spot just behind me. I won't need much light. Darksight, remember?" If the tunnels were as old as Oreen and that dragon Karl had talked to had claimed, it probably wouldn't be necessary for Ahira to go first; any sections of the ceiling that were shaky at all would have already fallen.
But no sense in taking chances. Besides, this was going to be easy for Ahira. A dwarf was built for easing through tunnels. Without adequate light, these humans would probably trip over their own feet.
The sword clutched in his hand, Ahira walked over to Doria and squatted in front of her. "Doria?"
She just sat there, her robes gathered loosely around her, eyes staring blindly through him.
"Doria, I need your help."
No response.
"Please?"
Nothing.
He reached out a hand and laid it gently on her shoulder. "Doria?"
Her face came alive, creasing into a wide-eyed rictus of terror. She inhaled violently.
And screamed.
And kept screaming, until Ahira's ears rang, and Doria lay curled on the floor of the tunnel, whimpering as she gasped for breath.
Ahira looked behind him. Aristobulus, Hakim, Andrea, and Karl stood shoulder to shoulder, glowering in unison.
I had to try. We may need her later. No—make that: "I have to try," he said to Doria, pretending to ignore the way four pairs of eyes were trying to bore holes into his back. "And so do you." I've got to do something, I have to do something. "Doria, I'm sorry I touch—"
"Leave me alone." Her voice was low, just one step above a whisper.
"No." He said that as firmly as he could. Maybe if he acted as though she were all right, she might be. If I close my eyes, does the world go away? "I need you to Glow this sword. Make it give off light." As if of its own volition, his hand moved toward her; he jerked it back. "You're part of this group; you're one of us. And we need your help."
"Ahira." Karl's hand grasped his shoulder, urging him away. "Not now. We'll use the lanterns for a while. Maybe she'll be up to it later."
"No!" He shrugged the hand off. You can't help a, a cripple by ignoring the disability. That just makes things worse. You compensate for it, but you don't ignore it.
He shook his head to clear it. But isn't that what I was trying to do, just a few moments ago? Maybe it isn't easy to deal with someone else's handicap, either. "Doria, I'm not going to stop bothering you until you do it." Careful not to touch her, he grasped the sword by the blade and slid the hilt between her hands. "Take it. Make it glow."
Her lips moved fractionally, without sound.
"Do it."
At first, her voice was a whisper, a quiet, distant rustle of breath. Then the sound grew louder, nearer, stronger, a rush of airy syllables that vanished as they touched his ears.
And the sword began to glow. Faintly; the dim blue of the sky before dawn.
Then brighter; the color of a robin's egg.
And brighter, until it fell from Doria's fingers, glowing like the flame of a bunsen burner, bathing her face in blue light.
Ahira reached out a hand, halting his fingers an inch from the blade. No heat, although it shone with a blue-hot fury. No heat at all—he extended a quivering finger and touched his finger to the metal.
No heat; his finger touched only cool steel.
Ahira smiled. "That's beautiful. I wish I'd gone along with Ari, to see him glow the blade for that smith, back in Pandathaway." He picked up the sword and handed it to Karl.
In the light from the blade, Aristobulus smiled. "You still would be impressed. If I'd tried to get that blade this bright, the glow would have lasted for only an hour or so."
"Doria," the dwarf said gently, "how long will this last? It's beautiful." He knew the answer, but he needed to hear her say it.
Her head nodded fractionally, her hands trembling as she knitted her fingers together. "Always."
Karl's hand fell on his shoulder. "I think it's time we got going."
"Yes," Doria whispered. "Home."
* * *
The sword held high to scatter the light as widely as possible, Karl picked his way behind Ahira, the muscles in his shoulders burning like hot wires. It was as though they were walking through the insides of some gargantuan stone worm; the tunnel twisted and turned, leading downward all the way, but never losing its tubular shape, or branching off.
His arms hurt, but he couldn't let both hang at his sides, except when they stopped to rest. The last time had been a while ago. But how long? Who could tell?
Just for something to do, he tinged the point of the sword against the ceiling overhead.
"Stop it," Ahira snapped from in front of him.
"Why? I just—"
"Stop it." The dwarf had gotten nastier the farther down the tunnel they went.
"Ahira?"
The dwarf didn't turn around. "What is it now?"
"How long—"
"How long until what? Until we get there? I don't know."
"No," Aristobulus called from behind. "How long until we stop to rest?" His voice was ragged; the wizard wasn't holding up well.
From the rear of the group, Walter's baritone drifted forward. "I've got a better question—how long until the water gives out? And what do we do then?"
"Relax," the dwarf said, sounding anything but relaxed himself. "I've figured that out." He paused to pick his way around a pile of rocky rubble that was echoed above by a gap in the ceiling. "We go along until we either find the Gate or use up just over half our water."
Karl squeezed through between the rubble pile and the wall, barking his shin in the process. He waited on the other side, extending his hand to help Aristobulus through.
The wizard nodded his thanks.
Andy-Andy was next; she hesitated for a moment before accepting his help. "Thank you." Her voice dripped insincerity.
My, aren't we getting formal. "And you are most welcome, m'lady."
She turned away, but not before he caught a trace of a smile.
Karl shrugged, moving aside to let Doria make her own way through. Figuring out why Andy-Andy did what wasn't certain to be a waste of time and effort. But close enough.
The trouble with women is that they're too damn intelligent.
Walter moved easily through the narrow passage, balancing himself like a dancer. "Want to switch for a while?"
Gratefully, Karl handed him the sword, accepting the thief's scimitar in return. He slipped it under his belt, then folded his arm across his chest and rubbed viciously at his shoulders. Forcing someone to keep an arm overhead would make a fine torture. And probably had been used as such.
Perhaps in the Coliseum of Pandathaway? No, probably not. Too gentle; people who would chain Ellegon in the middle of a cesspool would have much worse than that in store for someone they were angry at.
But we're going home. All we have to do is tiptoe by a dragon—The Dragon.
"Karl?" Andy-Andy's form was just a silhouette in the light of the sword beyond her. "Are you going to fall asleep standing up? Or would you be so kind as to come along with the rest of us?"
He didn't bother with a sarcastic smile. She probably couldn't see it anyway. Still massaging his shoulders, he set off after the others.
Once we get to the other side, Andrea Andropolous, you and I are going to talk this out, without interruptions. And then yours truly is going to see if he can drink Walter Slovotsky under the table.
* * *
Ahira was the first to see the skeleton, of course, because of both his position at the front of the group and his darksight.
But he came close to stumbling over it; a distant, obscene reek had him distracted. It was a strange odor, far different from the cool, moist smell of the unending tunnel.
Probably just imagining it. He shook his head and sniffed twice. Nothing. He shrugged, and started to move on.
And caught himself in midstep, the blackened skull barely an inch beneath the sole of his sandal. Ahira teetered on one leg for a moment, like an aerialist on a high wire.
"Hold it." He regained his balance and motioned Hakim forward, stepping aside to bring the skull out of his shadow.
It lay on its side in the middle of the tunnel, hollow eyesockets staring blindly, open jaw leering, loose bones arrayed behind it in a charred trail.
"What the—"
"Shh," Ahira whispered. "Nobody say anything. Just stay where you are." He knelt on the rough stone beside the skull, Hakim moving the glowing sword closer without any need to be asked.
The skull had lain there a long time; dust on the upper surface was so thick that Ahira's probing finger sank into the feathery surface past his fingernail, almost to the first joint. Years, certainly. Possibly centuries.
He rubbed his finger against his chest.
Beyond the skull, a charred ribcage lay, armbones to the side, the pelvis and the long bones of the legs arrayed as though the victim had sprawled out before its flesh had vanished.
To the left of the ribcage, a round shield lay, its concavity cupping the floor of the tunnel. No design on its face, just blackness.
Blackness, and charred bones—that didn't make any sense. Unless . . . Ahira wiped his hand across the surface of the shield.
It came away black, leaving behind a dirtied outline of the design that had once decorated the shield's face: three golden circles.
Ahira wiped his other hand against the wall. It, too, came away sooty.
Hakim smiled, and leaned close. "My friend," he whispered, his lips a scant inch from Ahira's ear, "it seems to me that we're almost there."
Ahira nodded. Take it slow, now. "Pass the word down. Everyone is to take his pack off, and leave it. Sandals, too—we go barefoot from here on in."
And quietly, quietly. But as he turned to look into the others' fear-whitened faces, he knew that there was no need to say that.
Ahira's heart pounded. I can send them home. And if I don't make it out of here in half the time it took to get in, I deserve to die of thirst.
Hakim turned back from his whispering to Andrea. "I think we can quit the pretense, James. This is the end of the line for you, no? You aren't coming with us."
Ahira smiled. "I'll see you to the Gate—I'll see you through the Gate. But . . ." He trailed off, shrugging.
Hakim nodded. "I understand. Do you explain it to the others, or . . . ?"
"I'll leave the explanations to you. For the other side." It's almost done, over. And how can I say goodbye to all of them? His eyes started to mist over. He caught himself. This wasn't a time to get sentimental. "Oh," he whispered, as gruffly as he could, "we won't want that sword anymore. Drop it right here."
Hakim smiled, shrugged, and dropped the glowing blade, snatching it out of the air scant inches before it would have clanged on the stone. His smile, and his wide-armed shrug, said, Sorry, I couldn't resist it.
Ahira's glare answered, Try real hard, next time.