Temple of the Traveler: Book 02 - Dreams of the Fallen (38 page)

“Life or death. The pot’s still boiling. I have to keep stirring or there’ll be red sauce everywhere.” Pinetto didn’t blink. Without the cover of the dwarf, the creature might read the plan in his thoughts. He focused on astronomy.

Pinetto turned and hugged his friend. Earnestly, he whispered, “Sidereal, everything is turning so fast. Listen for the time. Together we can.”

“Stay close,” the smith admonished. To everyone else, he announced, “He’s good to go.”

Last to enter the mining cave, Sajika lay a hand on his face and whispered, “Are you really?”

The Imperial smiled. For an instant, she saw the love crystallize in his eyes. “The stars for now. But I have some fruit I want to share with you when this is over.”

She wrinkled her brow at the babbling but the message of affection was clear. Sajika pulled out her best bolo and began weaving the cord of the weapon with broken bits of sesterina wire from Pinetto’s cape. She hoped the traces of spirit metal might make the weapon effective against the monster in the depths. Worst case, it gave her hands something to do.

As they passed though a storage cave, the team supplemented their own food and torch supplies with what they found there. After Kasha took his first bite of the cheese, he spit it back out. “Mold,” he said with disgust.tronomy.

“It’s a delicacy,” explained Legato. However, the other men put their samples back. The prince stocked up. “Strong cheese makes you virile.”

Pinetto grabbed a chunk and rubbed it under his armpits and on the tops of his boots. He crumbled more of the potent-smelling food and rubbed it behind Sajika’s ear. “Ugh, that’s vile,” she objected. As she pulled away, he smeared the rest in her hair band. “What?”

The smith considered this for a long moment before placing a gob of the fragrant delicacy in his own waist pouch. “Have a little faith, Ambassador.”

The entourage meandered through the most worn tunnel and up into another cave. At the very back, they found a two-man guard shack that had a little bell on a string. Beside the shack, there was a giant spool of rope, sitting in a cradle, with a crank handle on each side. The smith asked, “Is there a giant well bucket on the end of this?”

“Close,” said the prince, pointing to an overgrown dumbwaiter. When he lit the torch in the wall, they could see a big, wooden sign proclaiming the maximum weight limit in red. “Ten men at max. On the way down, we’ll send eight people plus equipment each run. The last two men stay up here to guard our backs and listen for the bell. Since you two made the raid last night, you’ve earned a rest. But take turns sleeping. When that bell rings, crank like blazes.”

Kasha stayed near Pinetto who was softly singing a children’s nursery rhyme. The smith and Sajika fenced him in on opposite sides, lest he fall down the shaft.

The prince and seven others piled into the cramped elevator. Two men held torches in addition to their weapons. The trip down took ten bits. When the bell rang to tell them the box was cleared, the smith and Kasha lowered the next set of eight men. The quiet at the top was ominous as the last six entered the elevator. Sajika took a deep breath of cold, damp cave air, and lied, “Ready.”

In the tight quarters, the descent seemed to take forever. Pinetto held one of their torches, and a man with a long mustache held the other. When the shaft opened up into the main cave, the view was breathtaking. From forty feet up, every surface, top to bottom, was studded with sparkling crystals. The other explorers had formed a defensive perimeter around the landing pad. Torchlight made even the most mundane surface shimmer like the night sky. Even the hardened Sajika gasped at the beauty unfolding. The only person not enjoying the ride was a soldier with a bad hangover. “I don’t want to hear another verse about a blasted spider,” he muttered.

When they reached the bottom, Pinetto ran to the perimeter with as much of the gear as he could carry. Sajika followed after him like a mother after a rogue toddler. The irritated soldier complained, “You need to put a leash on that . . .”

The tiny bell rang high above. An odd, whirring sound filled the air above them. Pinetto dove for the ground, and the smith followed suit. An incredible heap of rope struck the complaining soldier hard enough to snap his neck. No one noticed the mist rising from his mouth as on a winter’s day.

“The elevator’s still safe. That was the just the rope for the signal bell,” the smith said, examining the appartus.

The men at the top of the shaft began cranking, taking most of the equipment from this load back up. The man with the mustache dove back into the elevator. The prince shouted, “Tell them to tie the bell to the ain cable. We’ll strum on that to signal. If that fails, test for extra weight every few hours.”

The smith asked Pinetto, “How did you know to take cover?”

“Twenty-three,” was all the astronomer would say. With men at the top, there were twenty people still in the party underground, five carrying torches.

“How do we know which way to go?” asked Kasha.

The prince pointed to mine carts that had worn ruts in the stone floor. “Follow those tracks.”

However, the tracks soon branched off in five directions. “Split into groups of four,” barked Legato. “Stop if you get to a tunnel. Measure how deep the grooves go and meet back here. We’ll choose the one with the most wear first. Does anyone have chalk?”

Several minutes later, Ninua, the translator, shouted, “Over here! This is the way.” He waved the torch to attract more attention. Translators were necessary when dealing with isolated tribes that refused to speak Imperial, but they were also handy for sending and receiving secure letters from the Prefect. In particular, this one sent back coded progress reports on the Obsidian Throne mission.

“How do you know?” the prince bellowed back.

“The sign says ‘Danger’.”

When he got closer, Legato yelled, “How can you be sure?” The men standing around pointed to the headless skeleton slumped in the opening to the tunnel.

“It could be a trick to mislead us,” said Legato.

“Quiet,” Sajika said, hushing them all when she arrived. In the stillness, they could hear the faintest susurration. “Water. Didn’t the grotto have water?”

“Acid—that’s completely different.”

Pinetto was the last to arrive and the only one tall enough to reach the crude, wooden sign. He handed Sajika the torch and tore the sign down. Underneath was another piece of wood labeled “to Crystal Grotto.”

Prince Legato mouthed an obscenity. They lined up in two rows of ten and started marching. Ninua took the lead because it’d been his find. Last to leave the main cave, Pinetto stuck the plank under his arm like some sort of souvenir.

The farther they went down the eight-foot-wide tunnel, the louder the burbling sound became. After half an hour, the translator remarked, “Sounds like someone talking.”

At the hour mark, Ninua called back, “We’ve hit water!”

The cave resembled a piece of toffee that that been pinched off at both ends. A low spot in the center had filled with icy fluid. Only a thin walkway skirted one wall. All of them crowded around the pool, gawking. “Those fish are hideous,” said Kasha. “It’s like they have leprosy or something.”

“Cave fish are blind,” said Pinetto.

“Then why did someone leave a lamp in here?” Kasha asked, pointing to a crystal-encrusted globe hanging over the pool. A cool breeze rippled through the room.

Ninua’s lips moved as he formed the arcane words. “Fete?” Slowly, the meaning dawned on him. The translator plugged his ears. “No!” But he could still hear the whispering. “Stop!” He leaned over gripping his head with both hands. “I can’t . . .”

Then Ninua lost his balance and splashed into the water. It wasn’t too deep, but he had to move his hands to stay on the surface. His blue lips opened wide as the voices hammered at his unprotected ears. “Help,” he whispered. His life-force leaked out his mouth as steam.

Sajika turned to the smith. “How did
you
know?”

Half an hour later, the tunnel forked. The ground here had been lined with sand, making it level and soundless. The prince plunged a wicked dagger into the sand and announced, “This covering is deeper than my blade in places.”

“Why would the miners bother raking the sand out?” wondered Sajika. “They’re storing some of it in bins against the wall. It must have some value.”

“The walls weep,” Pinetto noted.

“So they put in drainage?” the smith concluded. “I guess that’s a good sign. It means we’re in the right place. Which direction, Legato?”

The bearded man put down his mace and backpack. He knelt between the tunnel choices on an island of rock. Out of a set of large, leather belt pouche, he pulled a pile of carved stones and bone fragments. Each piece bore a letter or arcane symbol. In the deepest bass any of them had ever heard, he intoned, “Hear us in our hour of need, father of the mountains. Answer those who call to thee, maker of the deep. Tell us what lies before our path.” Then, he launched the stones into the air.

The fragments bounced on the cave floor, but instead of dampening over time, the pitch of their dance increased. They were animated by some unseen force as they hopped around the diviner. The bearded man grew angry and grabbed his mace. “Foul spirit, you mock the guidance of the father!”

He smashed downward, imbedding several of the rune-carved stones into the sand. Capering around, he chased the stones that leapt in increasing arcs.

The prince read them aloud as they were sunk into the ground. “D. E. A. T. . . Wait!”

The diviner chased the last pair of stones down the left tunnel branch. They heard the echo of a scream as he fell to his death. Men with torches followed, too late. “H,” said one.

“Twenty-one,” said Pinetto.

Another northerner, a friend of the diviner, threatened Pinetto, “Stop that, or you’re next! We all know how many of us are left.” The man wore a cestus around his fist, capped with heavy sesterina.

“Only I get to beat my advisors,” warned Legato. When Sajika opened her mouth to protest, he added, “Apart from their girlfriends.”

Pinetto nodded and took the way that didn’t lead to a fatal drop. As the walls got narrower, he slowed. He attempted to summon the chipmunk spirit, but failed.
Was it the earth or the crystals blocking him? Perhaps the spirit was too afraid of Eutheron?
There was a university paper in here somewhere, he was sure.

When they got near a sharp bend in the tunnel, he said, “Don’t listen to the voices.” The astronomer dropped to his hands and knees. He scanned every rock and shadow as if it might attack. He poked several with the plank he carried. The passage had several twists, slowing their progress to a crawl.

“There was a little turtle,” Pinetto sang.

“Get out of my way,” said the man with the cestus, pushing past. Within four strides, they heard a sickening snap. A leg-hold trap snared him. He folded to the floor, wailing in pain. That’s when his arm triggered a second one.

Pinetto crept past cautiously while others raced forward to free the victim. The blood loss was tremendous as they bound the pumping arteries. A cold wind whistled through the tunnel as the man’s eyes closed.

Legato’s nostrils flared, and he barely controlled his anger. He warned Pinetto, “Don’t say it, or even I won’t be able to protect you.”

The smith stood between the Imperial and the rest of the group. “In case you haven’t been paying attention, this thing has been trying to kill
Pinetto
. I think it’s afraid of him. Instead of threatening the only man who’s successfully dodged every attempt, maybe you should get his advice.”

“Well?” growled Legato.

The astronomer rose and pointed with his torch to the vast cave before them.

Legato’s men filed into the cave slowly. “You could practice archery here,” whispered one man. A field of crystals bloomed before them from floor to ceiling, a
nd the room arced around them. Light from the torches couldn’t reach the cave edges to the left and right.