Kermorvan was bracing himself, clutching his absurd stump of a sword. "Try and get to the next one," he said calmly. "Or away altogether, if you can, while they're busy on me. For busy they'll be…"
"No, madman!" barked Elof. "At least wait! There's something strange here—" His hand slipped across an outcrop of the rock, and his fingers closed under it. It was thin, too thin—and the shape of it… He ducked down and peered through it. Warm air, stale and strange-scented, played over his face, melting the rime of his brows and hair, so he hardly knew whether it was water or tears that came trickling down."It's metal! The wall is a casting!"
"What?"
"See for yourself! Gridwork, in the rock, sculpted to look like it! Angled so cunningly you can scarce see through!"
"Can you open it? They are coming, those out there!"
"Here, take my sword! And give me yours—" Elof ran knowing ringers over the metal, rapped it and listened to
it
ring. It was beautiful, cunning work, but the weakness of such a casting was that it must look like the rock it was set in; that strange shape would create uneven points, stresses… He rapped again, and again, listening, and finally rang the sword pommel against it. "Quickly, if ever!" hissed Kermorvan. Elof hesitated, dry-mouthed. A low, gloating cry came from the cave mouth. He jabbed the blade stump deep into a slot and with all his great strength bore down on it in one single effort. He felt the ruined sword bend, creak beneath him. Then there was a sudden sharp clang, a glint of bright metal, and one small bar of the grid snapped and bent outward. It was not enough. In utter desperation he set his fingers in the gap and heaved, felt it give slightly, braced his feet against the wall and pushed till the sinews cracked in his broad back.
Kermorvan spun round startled at the grinding squeal of metal against stone. "Kerys! A gate!" But the moment his gaze turned there was a rush and rumble at the cave-mouth, and a great form blocked out the snowlight. Kermorvan whirled and plunged straight at it, Elof's blade outthrust with spearing force. A bubbling yell cut off suddenly, and Kermorvan fell back, freeing the sword with a vicious twist as a huge body slithered noisily down the wall. Without breaking stride he tossed Elof the reeking blade, snatched up his bundle, and before the smith could stop him he plunged like a diver through the narrow slot of darkness, beyond which might lie anything. There was a crash, a slithering sound, the rattle of loose rocks dropping down into emptiness. Elof groaned, and dived after him, only to be caught by an iron arm behind the door.
"Easy, my smith! There's a drop of some kind just beyond! Now
let the mice
stop their
hole again
, before the cats recover." Together they dug fingers into the slots and pulled, feet sliding among the rubble, until the gate, screeching and protesting, ground home against the rock.
Elof wedged the runners with such chips of rock as lay around.
From outside came sounds of movement, something slithering over the metal, growls and snuffles. Elof clutched his sword tight. Were the things man-wise? Would they find the broken bar? They were strong enough to slide back the gate… He felt a great weight press against it, then a sudden ringing impact that almost overset him. But this work was made to withstand crude assaults, and agonized brute yelping trailed away, lost in the wind.
He heard Kermorvan chuckle in the blackness. "Somebody has earned a sore toe, I'll wager. Kicking the wall like a brat over a lost treat." The swordsman shifted painfully. "We have had a sore journey, you and I. Now my fine sword that came from my old home must lie and rot on the mountain. My broadsword was already broken, so now I have none, and that is a worse laming to me than this shoulder. But at least we seem to have come to the right place!"
"Cunning work!" sighed Elof gratefully.
"And a keen mind that saw through it! Now look around you again, my smith!"
"Look?" said Elof doubtfully, but he turned.
After the noise and whirling whiteness outside, darkness and quiet seemed to press in on him like a stifling weight. But his eyes were growing accustomed. There
was
a faint glimmer, a pool of dim radiance spread out before him. He reached out, but Kermorvan held his arm. "Do you hear?"
Now, as soon as he turned his mind to it he did indeed hear, and feel, for the low, slow throbbing came up through the rock under them. He thought of the wheels turning in the Mastersmith's forge, and the hammers that shook the house. He realized then, remembering the rattling stones, that the light-pool was in truth an opening, a shaft into unknown depths. "A steep drop," said Kermorvan, scrambling forward. "But see there, those regular shadows! Those must be handholds, some carved in the rock, others iron rungs. We can climb down, though our ropes are lost."
"Should we not call down first, to herald ourselves and let them know we come peacefully?"
"Would they heed such a shout? Or even understand it? It is said they do not care for human guests, peaceful or otherwise. We would be too vulnerable on those rungs, they might fill us with arrows and never find out their mistake. Soon enough to explain ourselves when we are on firm ground again."
"I take your meaning," admitted Elof. "Can you climb with your shoulder as it is?"
"Easily, it is a
scratch
. Though I will be happier the sooner it is washed and tended; who knows what filth was on those claws? But let us be on our way."
The shaft was steep, but far enough from the vertical to make the going quite easy. This was fortunate, for they were both more exhausted than they had realized. Their limbs trembled, and Kermorvan's shoulder tired quickly. "But at least the handholds are firm and well placed—no worse than a steep ladder. One can stop to rest. I had been afraid they might be too small and weak if the little people made them—"
"They may not be as little as you seem to think," Elof warned him. "I could ill judge the height of the ones I saw, but they seemed—well, solid. We would do best to use them with respect."
"Naturally, for they are perilous to rouse, it is said."
"I meant more than that…" Elof began, but gave up. Kermorvan talked of these duergar as things other than human, but Elof could not forget that ring of faces, strange in their features but vibrant and alive and wholly human in their feelings. Hopefully he would see for himself soon enough, for they were almost at the base of the shaft now. It seemed to be widening around then, opening out into a broad and shadowy chamber with what looked like an earthen floor. "A few steps," gasped Kermorvan, "and then you may hail to your heart's content. I, I am going to rest—"
A shrill whistle sounded. There was a flicker of movement, a sound like a great wing beating in the air between them, and Kermorvan vanished. Metal clashed and jangled as if a forge roof had fallen in, and he sprawled on the chamber floor entangled in a glinting net; dark figures rushed in on him. Something lashed painfully round Elof's legs and tore them away from the rungs; the rung he held bent under the strain, then his fingers were pulled free and he dropped hard onto the floor and lay winded. A heavy net fell over him, he tore at it and found linked metal rods resisting his efforts. Harsh shouts echoed in the shaft, strong hands seized him and coiled ropes round the net, and he was hoisted up and borne forward. Lights danced and flickered around him, earth thumped under heavy feet and they gave way to the hollower drumming of wooden planking, behind it the rush of running water. Abruptly he was flung forward and landed with a crash in what felt like a wooden cart. He could hear Kermorvan cursing weakly somewhere in front of him.
Wild anger woke in Elof, and drowned all his caution. He had come all this way, through wide lands, hard weathers and the terrors of the Ice, all to be netted like some wild beast, without a word spoken or question asked. Well, let them listen now! He dug his fingers into the net, bunched it into two huge handfuls and tore it free against the ropes; they snapped and fell away, and he sprang to his feet, shouting, "Wait—"
But then he stopped, and his mouth fell open. He stood, not in a cart, but in the center of a long boat moored at a high wooden wharf, lined with glowing globes of light on posts richly carved; beyond it, a street of housefronts whose warm-lit windows glinted on the cobbled road. And all around him, the sound of a wide, rushing river—
A torrent of red exploded in his head. Dazed, he fell to his knees, saw the planks rise up to meet him and rolled over into darkness.
Chapter Seven
Link
- Stone and Steel
The sounds grew louder, the bellows roaring, hammers pounding, the heat and the light so fierce he could hardly approach the forge. Yet struggle nearer he must, braving the pain and the shriveling heat, to grasp the scorching metal, and hammer, hammer out the thing that must be made-He struggled up on one elbow, grasping and shaking his head as if he could somehow displace the ringing ache. The light hurt his eyes so much, he did not at first notice it was dim. The first thing he saw was a goblet on the floor beside him, and the sight of it awoke a terrible taste in his mouth. He caught it up and sipped tentatively, then gulped down the strong wine in a draft, coughing as the bitter residue of herbs caught his throat. Blood roared a moment in his temples, his stomach lurched and then suddenly the room swung into clarity. Sitting across from him, his back against a huge heap of old chests and baskets, was Ker-morvan, looking somewhat battered and pale, but with his shoulder neatly bandaged. He met Elof s look with a wry cold smile, and lifted one foot slightly. There was a ring and clink of chain. Elof looked down at his own feet; they, too, were fettered through on the grimy floor. Memory spilled back, and he was about to burst out in angry questions when he saw Kermorvan roll his eyes meaningfully sideways. He cast a casual glance that way, and found that they were not alone. They were indeed in the hands of the duergar, and evidently in their dungeons also. A single one of them was guarding the travelers. Elof grew less surprised at this the more he weighted up the sturdy figure sitting comfortably in the corner by a door as low and wide as himself. He wore no mail, only jerkin and baggy trousers, but a solid helm covered all his head and most of his face, save a squat bulbous nose and a bushy tangle of a beard and behind the t-shaped slit in the visor eyes glinted; they seemed to meet the smith's gaze and return it with the same even scrutiny. That, and the tending of their ills, was an encouraging enough sign in its way. Across the guard's knees, however, lay a formidable billheaded spear, one gnarled fist almost negligently around its axis, where a single twist could swing it to stabbing height.
Elof turned back to Kermorvan. "Have you told them anything of our quest?"
"Only that we came in peace, and in opposition to the Ice. But I might as well have been talking to one of your anvils, for all the answer I had. I thought it better to say no more then till you were awake again. I think we are to be sent before someone. We were many long hours in that barge, and though I could make out little, trussed and dazed as I was, I believe they brought us to a place far from where we first—"
He stopped, for the guard had risen suddenly. He looked at them for a moment, then thrust open the door and ducked out. "A fine dungeon!" laughed Kermorvan. "No lock on the door. Though it is dirty enough, in all conscience, and these fetters adequate. Had I my sword—"
"It would avail you little," said Elof, tracing the bluish sheen of the metal bands around his ankles. "This is strong work, and new-looking, the fastenings also. As if this place had been made into a dungeon from the storeroom it looks to be—"
Kermorvan arched his brows. "Why? Because they've never before needed one? Surely not!"
The door creaked back, the guard reappeared as suddenly as he had gone. He marched over, swatted Elof's hand aside and undid the band. Elof sprang up on unsteady legs, but more helmeted figures appeared now in the doorway. They gestured him forward, but kept spears leveled at his chest. Behind him he heard Kermorvan's fetters clat-ter to the floor, and together they ducked awkwardly through the door and cautiously into the corridor beyond. The sight of it made him shudder. Grim and bare as it
was, he could not think why, till he realized it was made
in the same fashion exactly as the corridors of the Mastersmith's tower. Understanding that, other things began to slip together in his memory. But he was given no more time to think, for spear-butts at their backs urged them on; Kermorvan glared angrily, though he had the wit to stay calm. They were hurried along and round a corner, then up a flight of steep steps and through low heavy doors. Smooth paving replaced flagstones under their feet. The room beyond was as gloomy as the cell and passage, and little wider, but its ceiling was high enough to be invisible in the shadows; even the tops of the high dark doors in the far wall could not be seen. Guards took station beside these and the doors they had come through, grounded their spears and stood waiting. In the sudden hush Elof could hear a low buzz of voices from the room beyond.
Kermorvan nodded. "So," he whispered, "we are indeed being brought before somebody of importance. Let us at least hope he will give us a hearing!"
"How can you be so sure?" asked Elof. "Can you understand what they say?"
Kermorvan chuckled sourly. "No indeed. But courts, it seems, do not change overmuch, whether it is men that hold them or not. This antechamber, the sentinels, the hubbub, all unmistakable."