Six
Dungeon Redux
“backslash light exe.”
The darkness around them was replaced with a cold blue light and Wiz and the others got their first look at the dungeons beneath the City of Night.
For the others it was a first. Wiz had been in the multi-layered labyrinth beneath the city of the Dark League during the great magical battle that broke the League’s power forever.
Not that he recognized a thing. His only memories were of endless tunnels of dirt and stone separated by doors of oak and corroded iron, and strange furtive movements in the shadows. He hadn’t liked the place when he had been here then, he hadn’t liked it when a remnant of the Dark League had kidnapped him back to the now-ruined city a while later and he certainly didn’t like it now.
They were bunched together in a wide stone corridor apparently hewn from solid rock. The passage was wider and taller than any he remembered seeing in the dungeons and the walls were worked smooth instead of being left uneven and scarred with the marks of the hewers’ tools.
The place seems different,” he said, running his hand along the stone. “As if someone’s been working on it.”
“Probably,” Malkin said as she looked around appraisingly.
Glandurg kept his hand on the hilt of Blind Fury and sniffed the stale air in great wheezing breaths. June stayed close to Danny, her head swiveling this way and that. Clearly she didn’t like what she was seeing. That was all right, Wiz didn’t like what he saw either.
“Well, which way?” Malkin asked. She seemed as calm as if they were out for a stroll in the castle rose garden, but Wiz noticed her hand stayed near the cup hilt of her rapier.
Wiz consulted the amulet around his neck. The amulet looked like an ordinary lensatic compass. The first time he came here he had used a seeker globe that floated ahead to show him the way to where Moira was held captive. That had proved less than ideal when the globe blithely floated into a guardroom full of goblin warriors with Wiz and his party close behind. If the compass was more prosaic it was also not as likely to get them in trouble.
Danny lifted a similar device hung around his neck and turned this way and that. “No sign of hostile magic,” he said.
The one thing they didn’t have was a map. The magical forces around this place were too strong for the wizards of the North to get the lay of the land and there were no pre-existing maps of the place. Wiz suspected that even the wizards of the Dark League, who had delved this place, hadn’t had a complete map. He suspected even more strongly that the dungeons’ new tenant had done some major remodeling.
“Off in this direction.”
Then,” said Glandurg, striding to the front, “let us away.”
The dwarf took the lead with Malkin following, then Wiz, then June and then Danny. It wasn’t an ideal formation but it did mean that if Glandurg started swinging that sword the others would be able to get clear.
The tunnel led slightly off to the right and down. Here and there the old dirt walls or rough stone showed through, as if whatever was working on the dungeons hadn’t finished yet. Wiz found the thought comforting and he tried to hold onto it.
Every hundred feet or so the tunnel would branch, sometimes into three or four directions. But the directional amulet kept pointing straight ahead. At last they came to a branching where the amulet told them to go right. Right through a large iron-bound door of age-darkened wood.
Malkin studied the door in the light of the magic globe. “No obvious lock,” she said more to herself than the others. She ran her fingers over the rough iron surface, pressing experimentally here and there.
Glandurg reached for his sword.
“With a single blow of Blind Fury I shall cleave it asunder.”
Danny and Wiz edged away from the door.
“Uh, we’re not to that stage yet,” Wiz said a trifle desperately. “Just keep watch, okay?”
Malkin nodded and bent before the door. She ran her hands over the lock plate like a pianist touching her instrument. She tapped on the door frame in two or three places and then turned her attention to the iron plate set in the stone to take the locks bolt.
“Easiest to take that off,” she muttered and produced a set of tools from somewhere about her person. “Bring that light over here will you?”
As Wiz moved to comply she began to work on the plate in the wall. It was held in place with three large and quite rusty nuts, he saw, with the bolt ends peened over them to prevent their removal. For some reason that bothered him, but he couldn’t quite understand why.
Malkin produced something that looked like a surgeon’s scalpel and applied it to the peened-over part of the bolts. The rusty iron cut like cheese under the pressure of the magical knife. Next she produced a small bottle and put several drops of an oily liquid on each bolt. The liquid seemed to soak into the joint between the nuts and bolts. Then she held up a tuning fork and struck it against the wall. A pure clear tone at the edge of human hearing filled the tunnel and Malkin applied the base of the fork to the first nut. There was a fine shifting of powder from the nut and bolt as the rust fell away under the influence of the vibrations.
She applied the tuning fork to each of the other bolts and then reached into the tool roll for something else. Then she stopped very deliberately, exhaled and stood up.
“Someone told me I shouldn’t rush these things,” she explained. “The next step is to remove those fasteners.”
“Then we take the plate off and open the door,” Danny said.
Malkin looked at him. “Then we see. Best not to anticipate what you’ll find on a job like this. Too much chance of missing something important.”
With that she turned back and knelt again before the iron plate. She took the first nut between her thumb and forefinger and carefully, delicately, turned it. The rusty nut came off as if it was on only finger tight.
While the others watched Malkin moved to the center nut. She grasped it, moved as if to turn it and then stopped dead. Then slowly, ever so slowly, she began to turn the nut the other way.
“That’s tightening it,” Danny said, but the nut backed off and fell into Malkin s hand. She shot Danny a raised-eyebrow look over her shoulder and went back to the third nut, which came off in the conventional direction.
Wiz picked up the second nut and looked at it. “A dummy thread,” he said. “The first few turns are cut right-handed, but the bearing threads are actually left-handed.”
By this time Malkin had the plate off and the door open and while Wiz looked at the nut the others started filing through.
“Come here and look at this,” Danny said from the other side of the door. Wiz followed him through. There, behind the now-open door was an evil-looking black sphere cradled like a nut in a nutcracker between a lever and the wall. One end of the lever was pivoted in place and the other end was fastened to the bolt with the backwards nut.
“Turn that thing the wrong way and you break the sphere,” Danny told him.
Suddenly Wiz felt very cold. “Nasty.”
“I wonder what’s in that sphere anyway?”
“Danny.”
“Yeah, Wiz?”
“Never ask questions you don’t want to know the answer to.”
“How did you know how to open that door?” Wiz asked as he caught up with Malkin at the head of the party.
“Wizard, your problem is you’re too trusting,” Malkin told him. “If it looks like it is supposed to open by turning deosil, then obviously it opens by turning widdershins.”
“Thanks,” Wiz mumbled and dropped back beside Danny, lost in thought.
“What’s wrong?” Danny asked.
“Malkin opened the door by turning the bolt clockwise.”
“Just the opposite of what you’d expect. It was a trap.”
“How many bolts have you seen since you got here with right-hand threads, like the ones in our world?”
The younger programmer stopped and looked at him. “I can’t remember seeing any bolts—except for the stuff we’ve made. Here they use pins or wedges.”
“Exactly. They don’t use bolts, right-hand or left-hand. But that door was gimmicked to trap someone who expected a right-handed thread. What we’d expect.”
“You mean this place is full of traps designed just for us?”
“Either that or the traps were designed by people who think like us. People from our world.”
Danny let out a low whistle. “Jeez, I don’t know which is worse.”
“Let me know when you decide,” Wiz told him. “Because chances are whichever one is worse, that’s the one it is.”
###
The evening came on dark and full of dirty fog. There was no sunset that day at the Wizards’ Keep, only the dank fog and the wind keening about the towers where lamps burned late as wizards labored over their spells. Here and there a guardsman paced the battlements, cloak drawn tight against the growing chill.
“What is the time?” Bal-Simba asked as he stared out the window, straining to make out the castle curtain wall.
Arianne glanced at the magic sundial sitting on her work table. “Barely the seventh day-tenth.” She paused. “Dark, is it not?”
“Too dark,” Bal-Simba agreed. “Unnaturally so, I think.”
Arianne’s eyes flicked to the window but saw only Bal-Simba’s reflection against the darkness. “Our enemy’s work?”
“Perhaps.” He turned from the window. “Ask Juvian to examine this fog for signs of magic.”
His assistant nodded and spoke into a communications crystal.
###
So cold, Shauna thought, even for winter. She picked up the wrought iron poker and stirred up the fire. Listen to yourself. Like someone’s old grandmother. Still she stirred the fire, seeking comfort from the renewed flames.
Normally the apartment in the guardsmens’ quarters was snug enough, with whitewashed walls and comfortable furniture enlivened with polished copper pots and examples of Shauna’s needlework. But tonight it seemed chill and dank, oppressed by the air that had settled over the Wizards’ Keep.
She returned to the high-backed bench and Ian and Caitlin pressed back against her, seeking their own comfort. This deep in the castle they could not hear the keen of the wind, but they felt it just the same.
As she settled her bulk onto the bench she sighed and the children pressed closer. She put an arm around each and pulled them closer yet.
Shauna was a guardsman’s daughter and a guardsman’s wife and she had lived through the evil days of the Dark League’s ascendancy when human magic was puny and the Council of the North had faced constant ruin at the hands of foes human and non-human. For all that, she could not remember a more bleak evening.
Malcolm, her husband, was eating soldier’s stew, taking the common meal in the guard room. Supper was done, the dishes washed and put away. Normally she would be gently hinting about bedtime by now, but no one was sleepy and, truth to tell, Shauna preferred their company.
“I wish daddy was here,” Caitlin said without raising her head.
“Your daddy’s got duty,” Shauna told her daughter, “special duty like half of ’em tonight.”
“I want my daddy, too,” Ian added.
She stroked the boy’s ash-blond hair. “Hush. It will be all right. You’ll see. The Sparrow and your daddy and mommy have gone off to fix everything.”
Neither child said anything, but both seemed to snuggle even closer.
For a bit they watched the flames in silence. “I wish Fluffy was here,” Ian said finally.
“You’ll see him soon enough,” she said. “Moira promised to stop by later.”
Ian looked up at her as if he would cry. “We can’t see Fluffy.”
“He’s not Fluffy anymore,” Caitlin explained sadly into her mother’s bosom. “He’s Moira.”
###
“You were right, My Lord,” the middle-aged man in the crystal sphere said to Bal-Simba. “The fog is not natural and it bears the mark of the Enemy’s magic.”
“Is it dangerous?” Bal-Simba asked Juvian’s image.
The wizard frowned until the lines of his forehead nearly matched the angle of his widow’s peak. “Not now. But there are stirrings within. Perhaps it builds toward something. Shall I attempt to disperse it?”
It was Bal-Simba’s turn to frown. “I think not yet. Make sure that we are protected against it and continue to watch it carefully. Meanwhile, prepare spells to disperse it if need be. And report any changes to me.”
“I shall, My Lord. I am not sure we can disperse it, but we will begin work on spells immediately. Merry part.”
“Merry meet again,” Bal-Simba replied and the image blinked out.
“On our very doorstep,” Arianne said over Bal-Simba’s shoulder.
The big wizard turned to face his assistant. “Our enemy grows ever bolder ever more quickly. A bad sign, I think.”
“Perhaps he will overreach himself.”
Bal-Simba looked over at the dark window. “Perhaps. And if he does we must be ready.”
###
Halfway down this stretch of tunnel there was a branch that ended after barely a dozen paces. Wiz sent the light globe floating in and examined it carefully before he motioned the others forward.
“Okay people, rest period.”
Glandurg looked at him as though he was crazy. “We have barely begun.”
“True,” Malkin said, “I do not think any of us are tired.”
“The idea is not to get tired,” Wiz told them. “We don’t want to be worn out if we run into something nasty. Besides,” he added, seeing Malkin’s hesitation, “we can cover more ground if we rest regularly.”
Malkin grunted and sank down next to the others. Glandurg ostentatiously remained standing, guarding the entrance.
Wiz sighed as the pack’s weight came off his shoulders. He wasn’t tired, exactly, but he found he was glad for the break. None of them was hungry, but they all took sips of water from their canteens.
“Well,” Danny asked after several minutes. “Now what?”
Wiz shifted his pack. “Now we check in.”
“Are you sure that’s safe?”
“No, but Bal-Simba insisted on regular reports or he’d have a gang of wizards haul us out of here.”
“If we are to be scouts we must needs report,” Malkin said quietly. Wiz noticed that even when she talked her eyes kept searching up and down the tunnel.
He hefted the special communications crystal. “Besides there’s no sign our enemy understands spread demon communications, much less knows how to tap into the signal.”
“This guy seems to understand an awful lot we didn’t think he does,” Danny pointed out.
Wiz ignored him and whispered into the crystal. The crystal glowed more brightly as the spell within it came alive. Suddenly there were twenty small demons floating in the air in two ranks before them. They hung silent and motionless. Wiz paused, cocked his head and whispered into the crystal again. Again the crystal glowed but the demons did nothing. Wiz frowned and tried a third time.
“What’s wrong?” Danny asked.
“I’m not getting any response. It’s like there’s nothing there.”
“Jamming?”
“No sign of it.” He tried again.
“Maybe the demons got out of sync,” Danny suggested.
Wiz considered. Unlike a normal communications crystal, the “spread demon” crystals used many pairs of demons with the message split into tiny parts and switching from demon to demon in an apparently random but carefully calculated pattern. The system depended on having each demon listening at the right time and in the right sequence.
“Have you ever known anything like that to happen?” Wiz asked.
Danny shook his head. “In our stuff? No.”
Malkin had been watching them intently. “If it is not working we had best assume that it is the result of malign action.”
Wiz nodded. “Probably best.” Then he dismissed the demons and motioned his companions close around him.
“Now we’ve got to make a decision. If we can’t communicate, do we poke around some more or head back right away?”
“We have barely arrived,” Malkin pointed out. “Nor have we encountered anything dangerous.”
“Nor have we seen anything interesting,” Glandurg said. The way he pronounced the last word left Wiz in no doubt that “interesting” translated into “liquid assets.”
“We haven’t learned anything either,” Danny added. June just grasped her husband’s arm.
Wiz considered and drew a deep breath. “All right then. We’re going on.” There were smiles all around, but somehow Wiz didn’t feel quite that cheerful.
###
“Ah, Fortuna, it’s cold!” Elias the wizard exclaimed.
“I need no magic to tell me that, My Lord,” Malcolm said, never taking his eyes from the darkness beyond the castle walls.
Dark as it was and muffled as they were in their cloaks the only obvious difference between them was size. The guardsman was a good half-head taller than the wizard. Their cloaks hid both his chain mail armor and the wizard’s robe of office. Malcolm’s soldiers reserve hid his opinion of his companion.
Full wizard this Elias might be, but in Malcolm’s eyes he was still a youngster, and a bumptious one at that. The guardsman wished for a more experienced magician, one who didn’t chatter so. But the Mighty and most of the journeymen were tucked warmly away, preparing spells against this new enemy. For duty on the walls he’d have to take what he could get.
Malcolm, who had tramped these walls for a goodly number of years, had never seen colder weather. However talking about it made it no warmer. Besides, he wasn’t going to give this stripling the pleasure of hearing him say that. So he only shrugged and the pair continued on their way.
“Never like this at home,” the young wizard added breathlessly as he tried to keep up with Malcolm’s measured stride.
The guardsman spared a glance for his companion out of the corner of his eye. Like Bal-Simba, Elias was a wizard and a black man from the hot lands to the north. But there the resemblance ended and as far as Malcolm was concerned it didn’t extend near far enough. It was said they bred mighty magicians in those lands, and in truth Bal-Simba was mighty enough. But either the line had run thin since Bal-Simba’s day or this was an unusually poor specimen.
In theory the castle was already guarded against enemy magic. Which might be well and good for them as put their trust in it, Malcolm thought. But to his mind a place wasn’t properly guarded until the sentries were at their posts and the sentinels patrolled the perimeter. In theory he even approved of adding magicians to the patrols. Give them something useful to do instead of idling about in their towers, he thought. Show them what the world is really made of. However after a couple of hours in Elias’ company Malcolm was beginning to change his mind.
If only this one wouldn’t talk so! To his way of thinking, talking distracted guards from their duties and many’s the time he had had a junior guardsman marching his post with a pack full of sand for a week for talking one-tenth as much as this wizard.
He peered out into the darkness, trying to pierce the night and roiling fog. The air was close and cold, inserting clammy fingers into clothing and pulling out heat. It was said there was magic in it of no friendly sort and certainly the guardsmen were nervous and uneasy at their posts.
Not that that’s a bad thing, he thought as he strode along at a measured pace. Keeps them on the alert. Still, this fog and cold could get to a man. It was easy to start seeing things in the swirls of darkness out at the edge of the light. It was almost as if . . .
Malcolm stopped dead in his tracks. “What’s that?” he barked.
“What, why noth . . .” The words froze in the wizard’s throat as he peered out into the blackness. “No wait. Yes there’s something there! It’s magic.”
But Malcolm needed no wizard to tell him that. Things were moving in the mist, dark things. As Elias gabbled into his communications crystal, Malcolm was already blowing the first blast on his whistle.
There was a note like a crystal bell and Juvian’s image appeared in the crystal ball on Bal-Simba’s work table. “My Lord, the magic fog! It changes.”
“Raise the wards. Quickly,” Bal-Simba commanded, “seal the castle against it.”
Juvian nodded and even as his image blinked out, he had begun to raise his staff.
Arianne looked at him and raised an eyebrow in question.
“Alert the others. Our enemy begins his move.” His assistant nodded and spoke into her own communications crystal.
Dimly through the fog, the walls of the castle began to glow.
Bal-Simba studied other forms in his crystal as the reports began to pour in.
“Recall the guard into the shelter of the towers,” he ordered.
“More of the fog things?” Arianne asked, looking up from her communications crystal.
“It appears our enemy begins his attack.” Outside the wind began to keen and sing. “I think I know what it wants,” he added grimly.
###
The adventurers slept that night in an empty room with a guard posted at the door. The stone floor was cold and uneven and everyone was so keyed up that in truth they got little enough sleep. But after a decent interval they ate a hurried breakfast, packed up and moved out again, following the magic indicator toward where Moira—or Moira’s body—lay.
“This looks like the section of the tunnels I was in before,” Wiz said as they moved away from their resting place. “At least it’s built the same way.”
“Can you say what lies before us?” Malkin asked.
Wiz shook his head. “I can’t even be sure it’s the same section. It just looks like it.”
“Hmmpf,” Malkin said in a tone that indicated how much help that was. Then she turned again and led off.
The tunnel was much as Wiz remembered it. Same musty smell, same dirt floor and walls, same occasional wooden beams for bracing and the same twisting, turning meandering that would confuse a homing pigeon. Wiz was a long way from a homing pigeon and he didn’t have the faintest idea where they were.
Malkin rounded a corner and stopped short, rapier half out of its scabbard. Glandurg hissed and stepped out beside her, whipping Blind Fury free. Wiz took a firmer grip on his staff and peered around Malkin and over Glandurg.
Nothing moved. It had been a guardroom, Wiz realized. The same big fireplace and benches and tables he had seen when he had stumbled into such a room full of goblin guards on his first trip here. But the fireplace was cold and dead, the tables and benches were smashed and littered across the floor out beyond the range of the glow globe’s light, and there were other things mixed into the litter on the stone-flagged floor.
Nearly at his feet was a halberd, its thick oak shaft neatly sheared off a foot behind the head. Beyond that lay a conical metal helmet and further out in the room was a scattering of other pieces of armor and bones.
Halfway out in the room was a set of leg armor, from shinguards to tassets. Because it was all together Wiz thought for an instant there might be a leg still in it. Then he looked more closely and saw it was empty. The armor had been split open, as if someone—no, something had been at it with a giant can opener.
“What the . . . ?” Danny breathed in Wiz’s ear.
Sword and dagger at the ready, Malkin eased catlike into the room. Wiz shifted his grip on his staff to provide covering fire if needed. But there was no movement, no sound but their own breathing.
Malkin knelt beside the leg armor and carefully turned it with the point of her dagger, wincing slightly at the noise. Then she turned and examined an unrecognizable bit of bone nearby.
“This is old,” she announced. “Several years I would say.”
Wiz turned up the glow globe and flooded the chamber with blue light. Then he and the others eased into the room in a tight knot.
“How many?” he asked the kneeling thief.
Malkin glanced around and shrugged. “More than half a dozen, perhaps as many as twenty. It would be a pretty puzzle to reassemble enough pieces for an accurate count.” She looked more carefully. “But I would say they were all killed at the same time.”
“It probably goes back to when the Dark League ruled the city, or a little after,” Wiz said. “Even then these tunnels were full of nasties.”
“Perhaps it departed with its masters,” Malkin suggested.
Wiz looked skeptical. “The Dark League didn’t exactly have time to clean up after themselves. And I know there were some pretty unpleasant things left when I was kidnapped back here. A couple of them almost got me.”
“Then best assume our foe lurks here yet,” Glandurg said, shifting his grip on Blind Fury.
“Best assume whatever it is, is pretty potent,” Wiz added. “These guards were not pushovers.”
“There is another thing we can assume,” Malkin said as she stood up and brushed the dirt from her knees without letting go her grip on either her rapier or her dagger. “These bones show cut marks. After they were killed their flesh was stripped from their bones and probably consumed on the spot.”
The group left the guardroom walking softly and peering into the shadows and silence with every sense alert.
“Nice thing to find,” Danny muttered to Wiz as they continued down the tunnel.
“In a way it’s good we found it. People will take this place more seriously now.”
“I already took this place plenty seriously.” “Well, take it even more seriously.”
###
At the Wizards’ Keep, the day dawned on a castle under siege. There was no sun, only dark fog full of darker shapes that swirled about the castle and poked and pried at every nook and cranny. Nor were the fogs powers growing any less.
“Three wing beats out and you’re lost,” Dragon Leader told Bal-Simba in the latter’s workroom. Dragon Leader was a compact man with blond hair and ice-gray eyes, still muffled in his flying leathers. His teeth did not chatter but that seemed more from an effort of will than warmth. “The cold sucks the life out of you, heat spell or no.”
Bal-Simba looked at his wing commander over the remains of his breakfast. He had worked the night through and eaten at his desk, much good it had done! He stood up and walked to the window, scowling out into the swirling fog with its half-revealed shapes. Arianne, who had been listening from the comer, moved beside him.
“Lord, say the word and we will go again. But I am not sure how many will return.”
“No.” The wizard shook his head and turned from the window. “You have done well and I thank you, but best that we husband our resources until we know more.”
As unobtrusively as possible a castle page slipped into the room and began to collect the breakfast things.
“I’m sorry, My Lord.”
“There is nothing to be sorry for. You have done all you could while this magic fog hangs over the whole land.”
“But it doesn’t,” the page piped up.
All of them turned to face him and the boy colored to the roots of his ash-blond hair. “Well, it doesn’t,” he added half-defiantly. “It starts thinning almost as soon as you get outside the castle walls and by the time you’re across the river it’s almost gone.”
“How do you know?” Bal-Simba asked.
The boy studied his toes. “I’ve been there,” he admitted finally. “I know I wasn’t supposed to but Henry bet me and . . .” He ran down, reserves of courage exhausted.
Bal-Simba and the others studied the page. Look at him once and you’d think he was fifteen or sixteen. Look closer and you’d see he was a couple of years younger, just tall for his age.
“Who are you?”
“Brian, My Lord. The cook’s son.”
“Do those things in the fog hinder you?”
The page shook his head. “They sort of talk to you, but mostly they ignore you. You can walk right through them. It’s cold and you can’t see anything, but if you stay on the path you can follow it right down to the river and take one of the boats across.”
“It appears,” Dragon Leader said, “that this cub is a better scout than any of my riders.”
“Or the thing is attracted by ridden dragons,” Arianne said, “and perhaps the magic you carry.” She looked back at the page. “Did you have any magic upon you?” The boy shook his head.
“Brian, do you think you can get back across the river?” asked Dragon Leader.
The boy nodded.
“Your plan?” Bal-Simba asked Dragon Leader.
“The boy can go where my riders cannot. We must know more about this cloud and how far it extends.”
“A dangerous mission for a child,” Arianne pointed it.
“I’m almost thirteen!” Brian said and then blushed again as the others looked at him.
“Almost old enough for the apprentice squadron,” Dragon Leader said.
If he cannot carry magic, the boy cannot communicate with us once he is out there.”
“I know,” Bal-Simba said. “It will have to be in and out.”
“I can do that, My Lord,” Brian said enthusiastically.
“Very well,” Bal-Simba said finally to Dragon Leader. “Take the cub, outfit him warmly and tell him what to look for. But no magic, mind!”
Dragon Leader put his hand on the beaming page’s arm and guided him from the chamber.
“The shifts we are driven to!” Bal-Simba sighed when they were out the door.
Arianne laid her hand on the wizard’s shoulder. “I believe you are the one who said we do what we must.”
Bal-Simba reached up and patted her hand. “That does not mean we have to like it.”