Unfortunately, goblins weren’t the shoes type, even the nobles, so I got to squish-slide barefoot through warm blood and innards.
If my plan to rescue Lady Isadora from the tower was a wagon, the cart-horses had bolted, dragging me and all my best laid plans straight off a cliff.
I thought back to Lady Isadora. Remembered her wide, blue-green eyes and trembling, full lips as I explained about life on the ground and how her hair, at a 70/30 split in her favor, would give her enough to buy a small cottage or pay for a year of schooling at one of the universities in the capitol. She’d had a wall full of books in her prison, so it had seemed like a good pitch. She’d also had a chest full of battered helmets.
That had been weird, but then she’d kissed me, and…
Thinking back, I’d have done better to hold off on the kissing until we’d climbed down and gotten far enough away, preferably after we’d sold her hair and snugged up together in a cozy inn. But she’d insisted on making one wonderful memory before we left, and who am I to deny a lady? She’d also assured me, tearfully, that her elderly guardian would be away for at least another tenday, give or take.
So, I’d broken the Bard’s Second Rule: End Your Set Before The First Bottle Is Thrown.
We stepped into a dim, winding corridor. The walls were made of the same, too-perfect sandy blocks of stone as the room holding our cage prison. A clamor of footsteps and shouting in Goblin echoed from the corridor, curving to our left. Thankfully, Zareb wasn’t one of those paladins who had to fight every fight, so we went in the opposite direction.
Eira had one glove off. As we ran, her breath frosted with each exhale. Clay shards and bone shards and slick piles of ooze kept my gaze focused on foot placement. A journeying bard’s feet were almost as vital as their hands for making a living.
Most bards performed for fame or legacy with the goal of settling down in a great house and enjoying the favor of a generous noble. They could have it. I liked travel. Meeting people. Sharing stories. Seeing the light in children’s eyes in the common square at hearing a new tune, especially a silly one, of which I had an extensive selection. Far more than my serious ballads, and almost as many as my tavern favorites.
After skirting a teetering stack of what looked like half-full buckets piled one atop the other and all smelling faintly of mold, Zareb and Eira stopped dead. Tiptoeing around a scattering of broken eggshells, I stumbled into the steel wall of Zareb’s back with a clank.
“Zareb! Eira!” someone whispered from a crack in the cave wall at our right.
“Larendil? Is Xy’lint with you?”
Another voice, somehow both gravelly and hissing, said, “Yeeeeessss.”
The skin on my arms and neck tingled, and if every hair on my body hadn’t already been upright from the last ten minutes of fleeing for my life, they would have been now.
“Well met,” Zareb said, sounding way calmer than anyone should have upon hearing that voice. Then again, he, Eira, and his companions had come here willingly. Campaigners, or adventurers as they were called in my homeland, were all a little touched.
“Go to the next room,” Larendil ordered.
Zareb did as asked, and after another few minutes of jogging, we slowed in front of a narrow archway. Eira went through first, then Zareb waved me in.
As I passed through the threshold, the room brightened, and I saw a glowing orb floating between a slight woman in leathers, her mottled brown, red and gold hair pulled back in a tight bun that looked somehow more like bramble than braid. Her skin was nut brown, her ears came to slight points, and she had the delicate chin and high cheekbones that spoke of elvish blood, though she lacked the inhuman, chilling grace of a full fae.
And then there was the creature behind her. Okay, towering behind her. Looming really, the tips of its spiked head handsbreadths from tapping the stone ceiling.
Was that a scalemaw?
They existed? Existed outside of ballads made to terrify children into behaving?
Xy’lint squatted on monstrous lizard legs, its body arcing upwards almost like a snake poised to strike. Scales of shadow covered its body. They seemed to ripple and distort, and looking at them too long made my stomach twist. The face wasn’t much of an improvement. Its eyes glowed red, and it had the elongated, toothy snout of a river dragon. Its palms were as big as my head, with long, delicate fingers ending in gray-white claws.
Xy’lint lifted its lips in what I hoped was a smile and hissed, “Good. Larendil feared our sssssinamon would not ssssuffffiiiissssse to bribe the goblinesssss.”
“And the entrance was warded,” Larendil said. “I’m no mage. We were working on grabbing a free goblin, but…” She glanced at Les as though seeing him for the first time. “And you are?”
“Just Les,” I said.
Larendil’s gaze narrowed, looking over my bare chest, lute, and borrowed skirt. It wasn’t uncommon for warriors from some of the Western tribes to go bare-chested into battle, but they generally had more impressive chests. And most tended to body paint and rune armor and actual weapons.
“Long story,” I said, shrugging again. “So, what’s the plan?”
“We tracked the missing children here, and thanks be to the gods, Xy’lint senses they still live, some distance beneath us. This whole thing seems to be a pyramid, except upside down. Stupid thing to shove into a cave system. The moisture alone….” Larendil pulled a dagger from somewhere–impressive–and tapped the blade against the wall. A clump of damp stone sheered off, hit the floor and cracked like chalk under a boot. “But some magic shields the children, and while Xy’lint can sense their life, zhe cannot tell us more than that.”
Zhe, I remembered, was an ungendered pronoun used in the Elvish courts. So Larendil had at least had some contact with the Fae realms growing up, which meant Larendil either had a fae mother or a more involved fae father than most who sired half-human children.
I knew some Elvin, mainly Low Court dialects, but I didn’t dare try it on her until I knew which of the Seasonal factions her family aligned with and to what level–if any–they acknowledged her.
Best to focus on the important things. While I had a soft spot for kids, it was only pure luck that had kept me alive this far. Best not to push it. “So, the way out is up?” I asked, pointing towards the ceiling, just in case the whole “pyramid is an upside-down lair” thing was more complicated than it sounded. Things with warlocks were generally more complicated than they sounded.
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Larendil cocked her head. “You’re not here to find the missing children?”
I glanced down at myself. “Do I look like I’m up to rescuing anyone?”
Larendil’s eyes narrowed, and she gave a brief, seemingly unconscious nod. If I had pride, this would have stung it. Luckily, I’d fallen flat on my face enough to have long ago sent my pride off on one of the tiny boats the far northern tribes used to burn their dead.
Then, to my surprise and dismay, Zareb said, “You rescued us.”
“Interessssting,” Xy’lint hissed, pinning me like a dying butterfly under zher fiery gaze.
“I mostly just talked,” I argued. “Talking’s my thing. Sweet talking, you understand. And music.” Really, it was more the talking. I played, improvised well, and had composed some simple tunes in my head, but it didn’t amount to much if you couldn’t write it down. Or worse, if a friend wrote it down and passed it off as his own under the guise of helping.
Zareb clapped a hand on my shoulder, and my teeth jarred. “I can see you are a good man, Les. Khemri led us to you. Together, we will secure the rescue of innocents. Our names and legends of our heroism will echo through the ages.”
The paladin’s words warmed me. It was nice to be thought useful, even if his faith in me was probably a mistake. But if I’d had wanted to be a hero, I’d have studied harder at knight training. Every bard knew through the study of ballads and tales how few legendary heroes ended their lives warm and snug in a castle. Sure, the princes did. But the companions, not so much. And bards… not at all. Bard’s first rule. My one time skirting it had landed me here.
“You flatter me,” I said, and he had. “But it was just good luck I know a little Goblin. If we meet anything more serious,” or intelligent. Or sober. “I’ll end up holding you back. No offense to your goddess.” You never wanted to get on the wrong side of a paladin’s deity.
“It’s your call,” Larendil said with a shrug. “But you three really poked the Umbral Hornet’s nest with this one. It’s going to take some time for those goblins to calm down. Until they find something else to eat, at least. You’re going to want to lie low for a day or two. And hope their sniffer rats don’t find you.”
“Sniffer rats?”
“Size of a dog.”
“Sprite spaniel?” I asked hopefully.
“Mastiff.” Larendil’s eyes shone under the lantern light. “And the goblins sharpen the rats’ teeth. Mostly for intimidation.”
That intimidated me. Fireheart Korma had mentioned nothing about Sniffer Rats at her manor. On the other hand, she was nobility. And a strict vegetarian. She’d probably left the giant rats to the commoners.
If I had to deal with giant, pointy-toothed rats, or worse, I’d rather have more than a lute at my back. Maybe this child rescue plan wasn’t so far-fetched. I liked kids. Besides, if I believed ladies shouldn’t be locked in towers, then I really believed groups of children shouldn’t be trapped at the bottom of upside-down pyramid dungeons. And if in rescuing them, these adventurers became heroes, and I was there to spin the story…
I might not be the best bard to sing it, but I could be the first bard. “Actually, I might be able to help,” I said, backtracking. “You’ll need someone to keep the children calm. I can do that.”
Zareb squeezed my shoulder, and I winced. “Good man,” he said.
“Thanks,” I choked out, hoping his affection didn’t bruise. Not to say that was always bad.
“So, the statue room was decoy?” Eira said. “It tasted of portal magic. Do we have any other leads? A staircase would be nice.”
“Nothing yet,” Larendil said. She squatted. “Xy’lint, can you move that light a little closer?”
Xy’lint tapped two foreclaws, and the globe of light floated down to hover over Larendil’s shoulder. “We found this map of the original mine with the equipment when we tracked the wagons carrying the children here,” she said, glancing over at me. I nodded, and she continued, “We entered here.” She pointed to pointed to a section of a surprisingly well rendered map. “The warlock carved out their domain starting here.” She swept her index finger over the lines in a vaguely downward facing funnel. “There’s a large chamber here,” she pointed again, and even I could tell it was roughly in the center of the structure. “If this is the portal room, it should lead down further. Likely to an altar or ritual room.”
“Just our luck, the kids are at the bottom, at the point,” Eira said with a frosty sigh. “It would focus the magic. Isn’t there a solar eclipse coming soon?”
“On the morrow, a candlemark paasssst what you call noon,” Xy’lint said.
This got better and better. And by that I meant more and more likely to end with us as chunked up spell elements for a ritual that made ending one’s life as goblin stew seem like a good time. “We should get these kids out of here before then,” I said. “How many were taken?”
“Twenty,” Larendil explained. “They took all of them from toddlers to twelve-year-olds, give or take, except two. They found one boy in a gully with a broken leg, dragging himself arm over arm towards the wagon tracks. The second girl was deaf, and she slept through the whole thing. Whatever enchanted the kids knocked out the adults, too. They were still sleeping when we got there. It’s pure luck we were passing through the day after it happened.”
“Not luck, the hand of Khemri.”
“Right. The village elders offered fifty gold for a rescue. And a year’s supply of their famous ale. Gelbaugh’s August Ale and Cider. Xy’lint likes it.”
“It’s just us, then?”
“The village also sent some of their spryer oldsters to beg help from the King’s guard for what good it will do them, what with spring flooding,” Eira said. “For now, it’s just the four of us. Five of us.” She grinned, and her gums were pale, like the rest of her.
“Maybe we can go back through the mine and take one of these lower tunnels.” Larendil pointed at the map. “They might get us in closer to where the kids are?”
“No.” I cut in.
“You are familiar with this sort of magic?”
“Not really. But if the same warlock who dumped me here built this place, then we’re not going to find any stairs. Trust me. He keeps his wife in a tower, and I figure he used a portal to get her up there. It’s bad in the case of fires, but most warlocks think they are above such things. They’re all about bending the powers of the universe to their will.” To my surprise, the others were watching me with rapt attention. Larendil even nodded once or twice. “But he’s going to have servants, and they’ll need to get up and down without hassling him all the time, so we should be able to work it out.” I thought back to Snikkle and the key she’d used–with a simple keyword or phrase–to open the cage. One of them might have worked the crystal. Probably not. While letting cinnamon addicted goblins wander free through the upper level of your secret dungeon made a great deterrent, you wouldn’t want them touching anything important. Or anything you wanted to keep clean.
But I wouldn’t be surprised if there was a similar system near the portal itself. Likely a part of it, as spell keys held a shard of the mage’s power and said mage could be tried and convicted by a Justiciar based on spell resonance alone. An evil warlock didn’t hide their ritual chamber in an abandoned mine because they wanted to get caught.
“We should look at the chamber,” I said. “The focus is probably a large crystal.” It had been a large crystal on the floor of Lady Isadora’s tower. And one in the ceiling, clear as glass shining starlight and a half moon. “If nothing else, if we scratch it up enough, it won’t focus whatever eclipse magic the warlock is doing.” I doubted it would be that easy, but it might be. When people got drunk on their own power, they overlooked the obvious.
“It is a good plan,” Zareb said.
“It’s a terrible plan,” Eira countered. “We just don’t have a better one.”
“Quiet,” Xy’lint hissed. “My aura can turn their noticcce for a tiiime, but not if we are too obviousssss. Now, if we defaaaccce the crysssstaal, how will we retrieve the children?”
While they talked, I looked around the room. This seemed to be a storage area of some kind. Boxes were stacked along the walls. I doubted I’d find shoes. Not if these were goblin supplies. But there might be a shirt or even a dented breastplate. Even the new goblin armor had dents and dings in it. They felt it was more intimidating to show they could take a hit. Or five.
One had a gap between the nailed shut lid and its sides, and I slipped my fingers beneath, grunting as I gave it a pull. After three more efforts, the lid opened, and I was slapped with the smell of rotting eggs.
My stomach churned as I tried not to puke into the box or on the floor next to it.
“Whatssssss thisssss?” Xy’lint growled, claws scraping as zhe shifted their weight. I felt their breath on my neck.
“You opened the rat treats?” Larendil whispered.
“Rat treats?”
“Get back,” Eira said. Before I could move, Xy’lint grabbed me under my arms and lifted me with surprising gentleness, their body twisting in a way that seemed more like a snake than the normal movement of anything with two legs, to place me by its tail.
The air chilled as Eira held out her hand, sending a blast of frost at the open box. “That’ll dull it for a little,” she said. “But we should get out of here.” She glared over at me. “And don’t touch anything else!”
“I was just hoping for some armor.” I muttered. “Or shoes.”
“I have sandals,” Larendil said. I glanced at her narrow, elvish feet, and catching my gaze, she shrugged.
“They are coming,” Xy’lint said. “Climb on my back, human. We muuuussst make haaasssste.”