The Howling Delve - Jaleigh Johnson

"Thought I'd lost all of ye," Garavin murmured as Kall looked around. The three of them were alone in a smaller version of the cave they'd just left. The circle of stones sat to his left, but there was no chasm in the floor or shaft above. The room was dark, but for lines of dim light shining through a pair of doors at the end of a narrow passage.

"Where are the others?" Kall asked, panic rising inside him.

"They didn't come through," said Garavin. "Or they ended up somewhere else."

"Is that possible?"

"In this place, who's to say? But if this other portal is old as the Delve, and what with the wizard's magic disturbing the cavern, it may have malfunctioned and scattered us about. The others should be close by, if that's the case."

"We have to find them and get out of here," said Kall.

He headed for the light. When they drew closer, Kall realized the double doors ascended over two stories up the rock. A winch was attached to the doors to pull them open.

"I wonder if the dwarves built this," said Kall.

"Only way out," said Garavin.

They took hold of the crank together and pulled. The mechanism ground with age and neglect, but turned after a moment of coaxing. The doors ground against stone, the sounds echoing loudly in the passage. When the doors were half-open, Kall signaled Garavin to stop and peered out through the man-sized opening.

"Gods above," Kall murmured in awe.

Kall stepped out onto the narrow stone bridge that extended just beyond the double doors. Garavin and Borl came to stand beside him. A memory surfaced, of meeting Meisha on the Star Bridge outside Keczulla. The markings on this bridge were strikingly similar, except there was no roaring river beneath his feet, only an endless, black abyss stretching off in both directions.

Below and above, more bridges joined two steep rock walls divided like the parting of a great, barren sea. On both sides, tunnels honeycombed the walls—some were open, others secured with doors similar to the ones they'd just passed through. Blocks of a strange, clear substance obstructed three doors; they seemed to writhe and twist within the confines of the stone portals.

"What are those?" Kall asked.

Garavin looked where he pointed. "Gelatinous cubes," he said.

"Amazing," Kall murmured. For as far as he could see, there were only the tunnels and the rock walls, and the bridges over the abyss. It was as if they'd stepped into an underground labyrinth. They had only to choose a door.

* * * * *

Morgan whipped around the corner and stopped, listening. Had the demon passed the chamber by or gone for the boy, despite their efforts? He dragged his blade out of its sheath. The tunnel lay open and inviting before him, but Morgan turned his back on it. As good a place as any to make a stand, he thought, much as it pained him to let the half-elf win a bet.

Rocks showered his hair from above. Morgan swung in an upward arc but checked the blow just in time.

Talal came skidding down the stalagmite to land next to him. He paused long enough to grab Morgan's arm, towing him along.

Morgan pushed the boy away. "Keep going," he hissed. "I'll hold it off."

"He's dead," Talal cried, plucking stubbornly at the thief's tunic. "We have to run, we have to . . . he'll kill us. . . ."

The boy was hysterical. He didn't know what he was saying. Morgan turned back to the room. "Come on!" he shouted wildly. "Come at me, you bastard!"

"Shut up," Talal squeaked. "He'll come back. We have to . .. have to go."

But Morgan's feet refused to move. His mind worked sluggishly: the half-elf. . . Morgan hadn't heard it. He'd heard nothing. What kind of thief was he, what kind of partner, not to hear when the job went wrong?

The stupid half-elf had always been faster than him. "Legs like twigs, but he moved like he weighed nothing," Morgan babbled. He tried to make the boy understand. "He should've won; we never let each other win. The arrogant bastard should be halfway back to Keczulla by now."

Talal moaned in despair. "You're crazy. That thing's going to kill us both, and it'll all be for nothing!" He pushed, but Morgan grabbed him roughly.

"Listen to what I'm telling you!" Morgan shook the boy by the shoulder, ignoring his whimper of pain. "We'll meet up with him at the next intersection. He'll be there, waiting, and then—"

His head snapped to the side. Stars filled the corners of Morgan's vision. He looked at Talal in bewilderment. It slowly dawned on him that the boy had punched him in the jaw. He raised a hand; Talal flinched. Tears streamed down his thin face.

Morgan blinked several times to clear his head. Calmly, he forced all thoughts of the half-elf to a dark corner of his mind. Later, after he had spilled enough blood, he would take them out and examine them.

He grabbed the boy by the collar, pushing him toward the tunnel. "Run fast, little mouse," he growled. "Or we're all meat." At Talal's uncertain expression, he said, "Don't worry. I'll be right behind you."

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

The Howling Delve

5 Marpenoth, the Year of Lightning Storms (1374 DR)

Aazen tensed when he heard the distant howls. He raised a hand to halt the party, surveying what resources he had left.

Isslun and Aliyea were still above, probably slain. Tershus was there too. Falling rock had obscured Aazen's last glimpse of the halfling. The rest of his party had either been slain by Kall's group or separated by the journey through the portal. Aazen had only five left with him. One of them, Kiliren's apprentice, had to be half-carried due to his wounds. If he didn't succumb, Aazen was tempted to leave the man, especially in light of what he intended to do.

"Straight ahead, torches low unless absolutely necessary," he said. "Kall is nearby."

"Whatever's down here's killing them already," said Bardie, shifting his weight against the man supporting him. "We should wait to see if any survive."

"If they do, we may never find them again in these tunnels," said Aazen. "We could wander down here until we starve, or until whatever made that noise finds us. Kall—or one of his group—had to have come through the main portal. To find the way out, we go to him."

Bardie laughed, drawing uneasy glances from the men standing near him, but the apprentice's eyes were wide, delirious with pain and blood loss. "You're a fool, Kortrun. You want to find your friend. Balram knew you wouldn't be able to kill him."

Aazen stopped, his expression frozen. Slowly, he turned and walked back to the man. He lifted his sagging head by the hair. "What an interesting observation. Please enlighten me. What is my father planning?"

Bardie coughed and tried to shake his head, but Aazen held him firmly.

"Very well." Aazen removed his hand and pressed his knuckles into one of Bardie's open wounds. The apprentice howled and thrashed, but Aazen pressed him back with his other forearm. "What is his plan?"

"Another party," Bardie choked out. "I overheard my. . . master speaking of it. He was communicating with Daen magically. If you betrayed us, he was to send word to the other party."

"Thank you." Aazen removed his hand, wiping his bloody fingers on Bardie's robes. The apprentice collapsed against the tunnel wall, sliding down to the floor.

Aazen's thoughts raced, but his eyes stayed on the men surrounding him. They kept their faces averted, their expressions schooled to reveal nothing of their thoughts. And why should they? They were well trained and knew that Aazen, traitor or not, was the best hope they had of getting out of the caverns alive. But how many of them had known? How many of his "family" plotted against him?

"We go on," he said at last. When one of the men moved to lift Bardie from the floor, Aazen shook his head. "Leave him. He'll slow us down. Scout ahead, but do not be seen. We follow Kall's party." he paused, looking at each of them, making them meet his eyes. "Unless anyone else has objections they'd like to voice?"

They had none. The scout started to move away down the tunnel. He turned a corner, and Aazen saw him stop and take a jerky step to the side, as if he'd lost his footing. The man behind him moved forward to steady him.

"Wait!" shouted Aazen.

The scout fell sideways. A triple line of gashes ran vertically from his chest to his bowels. The ribs and organs in between were mauled. The scout had died before he knew what killed him. The man behind him cried out as he was yanked forward, around the corner into the darkness. This time Aazen heard the swish of claws passing through air and smelled the unnatural fire reek.

Grabbing the man nearest him, Aazen dived into one of the narrower tunnels off the main route, one they'd decided not to take for fear it would dead-end or become impassable. He heard the screams of his men, of Bardie trying to remember the words to a spell as the horror overcame him.

"Keep moving," Aazen snapped to the man he'd saved. He did not look back.

* * * * *

Cesira lay on the floor, her vision encompassing all of an inch-tall gap between the storeroom door and the ground. Her forked tongue passed over her fangs, touching wood and tasting dust. At last, she saw the shadows of feet approaching. The lock rattled, and the footsteps retreated. Scant breaths later, a loud crack echoed in the dark space as a foot connected with the door, busting the old lock and splintering the doorframe.

A man poked his blade in among the stacks of linens, searching for a place a human woman might hide. He failed to notice the snake lying parallel to the threshold.

Cesira struck once, and then again, sinking her fangs into the flesh behind his knee. The man cried out, falling forward into the closet.

The black snake slithered away as the man's legs, sticking out into the dimly lit hall, began to twitch from the poison.

* * * * *

"Meisha once told me Varan believed the Delve to be an outpost of Deep Shanatar," said Kall. He looked out over the vast expanse of cavern. "I suppose this confirms it."

But the dwarf shook his head. "This is Deep Shanatar, lad."

Kall lifted an eyebrow. "I don't believe your memory for maps has failed you," he said. "So I don't have to remind you that we are not where Deep Shanatar should be."

"Who says so?" argued Garavin. "I'm telling ye—and having studied far longer than ye've been alive, I should know—we're in Shanatar, and I'm guessing a part of it that's never been known. An outpost, maybe, but a grander one I've never seen."

"Kept a secret, even from Iltkazar?" Kall asked, naming heretofore the only known surviving kingdom of Deep Shanatar. Garavin had told him stories of the place long ago. "Why does one build a secret outpost?" he asked. "Unless they're doing something other folk might not approve of?"

Garavin looked at him. "Yer point?"

"You dig strongholds for people who have secrets or who want to protect knowledge. Is it possible the dwarves did the same here, with magic? Did the Howlings, and by extension, Varan, stumble upon that work?"

"If they did, it was all tainted by the Howlings' greed when they turned to Abbathor." Garavin said, shaking his head sadly.

"Why are Abbathor and Dumathoin fighting over such a small group of souls?" Kall asked.

"Because the Howlings are fighting," Garavin replied. "These gods of the Morndin Samman, our pantheon, are forever locked in struggle. The Howlings are olorns, stories that become symbols. Whichever side wins in this will gain more than souls."