Bladesinger (19 page)

The cavern itself stretched its rounded expanse in all directions. Stalactites hung unevenly from the ceiling, their jagged lengths resembling giant, twisted teeth. The surface of the dull gray stone that made up the majority of the cavern ran unevenly—forming deep ridges that often flowed back into themselves.

“Well,” Roberc asked as he peered through the shadows at the cave wall, “where have we gotten ourselves this time?”

Taen grunted at the question. Clearly they had stumbled into the wyverns’ lair, that much was certain from the stench of rotting meat and the pile of splintered bones tossed around the cavern, but where exactly that might be was anybody’s guess.

“I’m not sure,” he admitted. “Something—or someone— interfered with the teleport spell.”

“Then we could be anywhere,” Marissa said. “There’s no telling how far away we are from Citadel Rashemar.” She sat down on a small outcropping of stone.

“Do not worry, little friends,” Borovazk said, his voice echoing in the vast cavern. “We are not too far from the citadel.”

“How do you know?” Taen asked the ranger. Perhaps there was hope for their quest after all.

“Listen,” the ranger said, pointing his finger up toward the ceiling. “Do you hear that? Is the prydvya, the singing wind. It only blows that hard in the highest places of the Sunrise Mountains. Citadel Rashemar must be close.”

Taen cocked his head and listened. Indeed, he could hear a high-pitched wail coming distantly from beyond the walls of the cavern. The wind’s sharp wailing would need to be very strong for them to hear it deep within the cavern.

Something else registered in his sensitive half-elf ears as he listened to the shrieking of the wind—the sound of something, or someone, scurrying across rock. If he strained, he could also hear the creature’s snuffling inhalations. It grew louder as he listened.

“We have company,” Taen whispered softly, not wishing to alert whatever was drawing near them.

“I heard it too,” Roberc whispered back. He quietly spoke a command to Cavan.

The animal cocked its head once then silently padded off into the darkness. Within moments, a high-pitched shriek filled the cavern, followed by the familiar low warning growl of the war-dog.

Taen and the others ran toward the sound, weapons already drawn to face whatever threat Cavan had uncovered. When they arrived, their light revealed the war-dog’s powerful jaws clamped around the muddy wool cloak of an orange-skinned humanoid. The creature’s wide mouth hung open, revealing a set of small, sharp fangs, and its deep-set eyes whirled and gleamed a sickly yellow in the arcane light. It gibbered and cried out in a harsh language that sounded to Taen like the retching and hacking of a plague-wracked human as it caught sight of the assembled companions.

“Goblin,” Roberc said with obvious disgust. “They’re like rodents. If you see one, there’s bound to be more hiding under rocks nearby.”

He then spat a series of unintelligible words at the frightened creature in what Taen reasoned must have been its own tongue. The goblin fell silent at the sound of its language streaming forth from the halfling’s mouth.

Watching it cringe and cower at their presence, the half-elf felt a confused rush of pity and disgust for the goblin. Alone and even in small tribes, the creatures were usually nothing more than nuisances. Like orcs and others of their ilk, however, goblins were quite fecund and often bred like vermin. Roberc had spoken the truth—goblins very rarely ventured out by themselves, and once they gathered in significant numbers, they could present a real and powerful threat. What in the world would this one be doing skulking around a wyvern’s cave?

“No hurt! No hurt!” the goblin shouted in broken, heavily accented Common, interrupting Taen’s musings. “Yurz not meaning any harm to gr … great lords,” it stammered out.

“What are you doing here?” Taen asked harshly.

“Elfling call off monster wolf,” Yurz cried in a piteous tone, “then I tell all.” The creature cowered further against the uneven stone wall of the cave but stopped as Cavan growled deeply at his movement.

Taen frowned and looked at Roberc. The halfling cursed softly then barked a command at Cavan. Instantly, the war-dog released the goblin’s cloak.

“Don’t even try and run,” Roberc said and spoke once more in the creature’s tongue.

When he finished, he pointed at Borovazk. The hulking ranger had drawn his bow and now aimed a sharp-tipped arrow at Yurz.

The goblin gulped audibly and nodded his misshapen head.

“Now,” Taen said, “tell us what you are doing here.”

Yurz whined softly before answering. “Big Chief tell Yurz to bring dragons food.” He answered finally. “Yurz gather other goblins and we come here with offering. Goblins hear dragons roar and hear the sound of fighting. They get scared and run off. Not Yurz,” he explained. “He more scared of Big Chief.”

“Other goblins,” Marissa broke in with her question. “How many of these goblins are there?”

Yurz gazed at the half-elf for a moment, and Taen found himself growing uneasy at the look of sly calculation that passed over the goblin’s face. He would have said something to the druid, but Yurz finally answered.

“Many goblins. Big army,” he said, nearly cackling. “Big Chief run tribe in the man-castle. Partner with Ugly One,” this last he uttered in a hissing whisper.

Whoever this Ugly One was, thought Taen, it clearly frightened the hapless goblin. “Where is this man-castle?” the half-elf asked, casting a knowing gaze at his companions. If they were close to the citadel, then perhaps Yurz could prove much more valuable to their quest than he had originally thought.

Yurz shook his head violently. “Yurz not tell,” he said in an almost defiant tone, the rough orange skin of his sloped forehead wrinkling as he squinted his eyes. “Big Chief get mad. Hurt Yurz.”

Roberc stepped forward and launched into a string of words in the goblin’s tongue. Taen watched as the color drained from Yurz’s face, but the creature stood firm.

“No!” he shouted in common. “Even if great lords kill Yurz, it still better than what Big Chief and Ugly One do!”

Taen sighed and was about to call his companions together to discuss this further when Marissa stepped forward. “Let me try,” she whispered to Taen.

The half-elf nodded and accepted the druid’s staff as she presented it to him with a smile and a wink. She began to chant softly before moving toward the defiant goblin, and as Taen heard the whispered prayer, he understood immediately what the druid was up to.

He watched as Marissa knelt before the goblin and saw Yurz’s clear expression of distrust and fear begin to melt away at the druid’s presence, replaced by a wide-eyed, almost worshipful stare.

“Yurz,” Marissa said, “you know that we would never hurt you, don’t you?”

The goblin nodded. “N … no,” Yurz replied. “Pretty elfling not hurt Yurz.”

“Good,” the druid said, reaching out a thin hand to stroke the creature’s bulging head. “We’re your friends, Yurz, and friends help each other, right?”

“Oh yes,” the goblin said. “Friends help each other.”

“Do you want to help me and my friends, Yurz?” Marissa asked.

The bespelled goblin nodded once again.

“Good,” the druid acknowledged. “Then will you take us to the man-castle to meet the Big Chief?”

Yurz gazed at the druid then out at the companions. Taen could see that the creature’s former calculating stare had been replaced by a wide-mouthed smile, and the half-elf began to relax.

“Yes, Yurz take Pretty Elfling and friends to meet Big Chief. You like Big Chief and maybe he like you,” the goblin said.

The druid stroked the goblin’s head once more. “Thank you, Yurz,” she said, and stood back up. “Well,” she turned and said to her stunned companions. “It appears we’ve found our guide into the citadel.”

The Year of Wild Magic

(1372 DR)

Shadows shifted in the curving passageway. Marissa blinked hard to help her eyes adjust as she and her companions followed Yurz through the twisting bowels of the mountain. She watched the goblin’s bulbous head bob quickly up and down as he walked, experiencing a rush of guilt whenever he turned and cast an adoring gaze her way. Though she knew Yurz, like all of his kind, was cruel, cunning, and evil by nature, the druid always disliked overpowering the will of another creature—no matter how depraved it might be. Still, Rashemen’s need beat like a war drum within her, swift and steady, its deep-noted call resonating through bone and tissue, replacing even the measured pulse of her own heart. Marissa knew that she would sacrifice far more than her own moral comfort to slake the land’s need—and the thought frightened her.

Thankfully, her thoughts were interrupted by a sudden shift in the tunnel. Borovazk, Taenaran, and Roberc stood around Yurz, who sniffed the air carefully. From her vantage point, the druid could see that the trail they followed turned sharply to the left, revealing a ragged break in the tunnel wall before them. She could see an uneven passage sloping upward beyond the break, but it soon moved outside the range of her elf vision. A chill breeze blew down from the newly revealed passage.

“Passage must lead to surface,” Borovazk exclaimed as he, too, inhaled the fresh airflow. “Borovazk smell snow and ice.”

Yurz nodded quickly. “Oh yes,” he hissed, “manthing speak truth. This passage run out to mountain trail, then into village by man-castle.”

“Then let’s not delay,” Roberc spoke up, his hand resting upon Cavan’s broad back. “The sooner we get to the citadel, the sooner we can finish up this gods-blasted mission.” He turned to Marissa and cast her a look of undisguised longing. “I haven’t found myself on the tail end of a drunken binge in quite some time.”

“No, no, no,” Yurz replied. “We no follow mountain trail. Village empty except for goblin spies. See us coming. They not understand why Pretty Lady and friends need to see Big Chief.” The goblin stamped his foot, a sight so like that of a little child that Marissa found herself stifling a laugh, despite the seriousness of their situation. “We follow this path,” Yurz continued, pointing to the left, where the trail they had been following turned sharply. “Soon we get to underlevels of the man-castle. Yurz take you to see Big Chief. There be big feast. We all eat until we fall asleep.”

The thought of spending an evening feasting with a tribe of goblins did little for Marissa’s appetite, and she could see by the looks on her companions’ faces that they felt similarly.

“I still think we should chance the mountain trail,” Roberc said. “It seems far safer to me than traipsing through the warrens of a goblin tribe.” Led by a goblin. Marissa could hear the halfling’s unspoken reproach.

“It is a matter of trust,” Taenaran said in Elvish, which he so rarely spoke.

Marissa nodded once to acknowledge the half-elf’s words, but she said nothing. So much had happened to her since coming to Rashemen, events that had changed her in ways she was still discovering. For so long, her relationship with Taenaran had been based on mutual need, a desire to drown out the hurts of the heart with each other’s presence. Now she needed—no, wanted— something else besides comfort.

Marissa knew Taenaran understood that on some level he was barely aware of, knew that he experienced it as a distance between them—for she felt it as well. Their current situation had provided them with little time to explore this new dynamic, so the druid chose her words carefully, for she did not want to drive a deeper wedge between them than already existed.

“I trust our newfound friend, Taenaran,” she replied to the half-elf in their native tongue and watched as his eyes flashed once, only to be replaced by the calm, flat gaze that signaled his withdrawal behind walls so steep she had never managed to scale them. Their mission drove her onward, however, and so she had little time to worry over what her words might have done to Taenaran. Instead, she turned to the rest of her companions and said, “We should follow Yurz’s lead. He has guided us well so far.”

Which was the truth, she thought. Despite her initial apprehension about the depth of Yurz’s enchanted devotion, the druid had found herself relaxing ever so slightly with each twist and turn of the passage. Not only had Yurz proven a knowledgeable guide, steering them clear of several dangerous sections of tunnel and carefully leading them through a cavern littered with piercers, but the bespelled creature had also helped them elude three goblin patrols. In each case Yurz had cocked his head to the side, listening, then had hastily ushered the group down a small side tunnel as a noisy band of goblins tramped through the main tunnel.

“Besides,” she continued, “we might have a greater chance of bypassing the traitor’s defenses if we come up from below the citadel.”

She watched as the others nodded in reluctant agreement, even, she was relieved to see, Taenaran. “I don’t like it,” the half-elf said, “but I can clearly see the wisdom in it.” He reached out and gave Marissa’s shoulder a squeeze. “I trust you,” he finished in Elvish. Marissa fought back tears as she watched the half-elf turn and gather his gear.

“Great,” Roberc muttered, once again mounting Cavan, “that’s just great. I’ve always wanted to spend my time skulking around goblin tunnels. It’s so much better than just about anything else I could think of.”

“Wonderful, little friend,” Borovazk responded, clapping the halfling heartily on his back. “Now you will get your chance, eh?”

Marissa’s tears turned to laughter as the halfling fighter’s curse-laden response echoed in the tunnel. Wiping the moisture from her eyes, she turned to follow Yurz down the passageway.

Within her, the war drum thrummed to its implacable pulse.

Taen stood silently in the darkness, listening. The caverns and tunnels running through the depths of the Sunrise Mountains held a rhythm and a life all their own. Within their twisting shafts and dripping grottos untouched by natural light, the half-elf could hear the echoing drip of water falling into still, deep pools; the trickle and flow of underground streams plunging mindlessly along their paths; the clattering of dirt and rock sliding down cavern walls, thrown by the subtle shifting of the earth all around them; and most of all, Taen could sense the movement of hidden creatures slithering, crawling, and running through the darkness.