9
A Mere Shadow
The large dethkirok tossed Gad and Cricket's shadow into the empty cage that had earlier housed the feral vampire. The shadow rose to his feet while the half troll ghoul sat in a stupor, staring at his own hand. Gad's missing arm had begun to regrow, nearly to the elbow, and his eyes now bore a pained, almost contemplative look.
Soon a small imp in leather armor approached the wagon, along with a very large deep goblin in adamantine armor leading a cave lizard. The goblin's head came slightly higher than the insect, despite the fact that he stood on the ground without the added height of the wagon aiding the clone.
It sneered and Cricket’s shadow calmly stared back. The goblin lurched, stopping inches from the cage and faked a bite with its black teeth, but the insect didn't flinch.
The imp spoke. "Is this the one that's been causing problems?"
"Yes," the goblin answered in surprisingly clear common, its voice at once deep and hissing.
The imp sighed. "Take them both back to the rift. Rusalka wants to see to it personally."
The large goblin spat on the ground—a thick, black glob—then stepped menacingly toward the imp. "I don't take orders from you."
The imp shrunk backward. "Not from me..."
The goblin grunted, baring its obsidian tusks, then hitched the cave lizard to the front of the wagon as his smaller companion recomposed himself.
The goblin taskmaster slapped the lizard on the haunches and the cart jerked forward. After a slight hesitation, the imp flapped its wings and lighted atop the cage's roof, just out of sight.
The shadow took a seat next to Gad and watched the scenery silently. Soon they approached another caged cart, where the dryad Zarachi sat wounded, wheezing and holding a deep gash in his belly. The older dryad made no effort to look up, and Cricket left him to himself.
The wagon train headed south, beyond the Warrens, on a twisting, seldom-used path that once led to the surface before a massive cave-in. The clone remembered that Cricket hadn't been this way in years, and saw no reason to head this way now, though he found himself curious at to what his captor intended.
After an hour or so, he grew bored and leaned back against the bars. Cricket yawned then stretched and began to doze off. However, a sudden voice jolted him back awake.
"Do you sleep with your eyes open?"
Cricket looked around and saw the dryad staring at him weakly. He stared back, motionless.
"You don't have eyelids, so how do you sleep?"
The shadow continued to stare at Zarachi wordlessly. He cocked his head and waved to show he intended no offense in not answering.
Eventually the dryad sighed and turned away, closing his own eyes.
Cricket, however, was wide awake now. He watched the rock walls of the tight tunnel pass by, with yellow and blue and white lichen. Then he noticed the imp's tail dangling absently over the edge of the roof.
Cricket stood, almost losing his balance as the cart lurched, and walked across the wagon bed, then held onto the bars with two hands to sturdy himself.
Slowly, he reached out for the waving tail and gripped it suddenly, yanking it into the cage. The imp squealed and scratched futilely at the iron roof as it slipped over the edge and crashed into the iron bars. For a moment, the creature was too stunned by the impact to act, and Cricket gave it some slack, letting it flap a bit away from the cage before yanking it back again, twice as hard.
This time the imp's nose rammed into one of the bars. Its eyes locked onto the shadow and it began to swipe furiously into the cage, just out of reach of the insect. The imp repositioned so he could reach Cricket's wrist with his claws, but just as it swiped again, Cricket let go, stepping backward, and the imp crashed to the ground, nearly getting run over by the wagon wheel.
Cricket sat down out of the imp's range, as the deep goblin taskmaster slowed his pace to investigate. He snarled at Cricket, and the insect looked back innocently. Meanwhile, the imp flapped its wings, catching back up to the cage. But seeing the large goblin, it changed direction and perched atop the other wagon, where it licked its bruises and eyed the insect warily.
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The goblin scratched his chin with a clawed hand, studying the imp, then returned to the front of the wagon walking beside the lizard.
The imp lowered its head onto its forearms, as if sleeping, though Cricket still saw the glint of its squinting eyes. And now it made an extra effort to keep its tail aloft.
Cricket stuck his tongue out then stared back at it, unflinching, unblinking, and very awkwardly, until the imp flew away from his view and the shadow had to entertain himself with something new. He felt at his hips for the concealed daggers, drew one to confirm its presence, and flipped it into the air. But the shadowy blade dissolved before landing back in his palm and made no effort to reappear. Dejected, Cricket felt for the hollow in his hip again to see if the dagger had rematerialized, then frowned. A moment later, he caught himself reaching for his lone, remaining dagger, and quickly clasped his hands together to avoid losing his last weapon.
In time, the wagon came to a deep cleft in the ground, with the red light of magma and a sulfurous smoke billowing up from below. Cricket pressed his face against the bars to see more clearly. If an opening to Agoth existed in this location, he ought to have been aware of it.
Near the opening, a single underdeveloped dethkirok lay snoozing on the floor, like a pet, surrounded by numerous imps and deep goblins. Some sported spears and helms, while others held cudgels and bucklers or nothing at all. Overall, a motley lot.
The cleft, or 'the rift' as the imp had described it, appeared too narrow for the wagons, and no sooner than Cricket had this thought, the entire train came to a halt, and the taskmaster began to unlock the dryad's cage.
Three imps and a much smaller goblin poked and prodded the dryad until he reluctantly rose, wobbling on his feet, and stepped from the cage.
Another small group came for Cricket. He exited his the cage obediently, and Gad followed him almost clingingly.
For a ghoul, the trollblood looked surprisingly anxious.
At one point, the bruised imp inched close to Cricket, but the shadow turned to him suddenly as he walked, staring him down, and the disgruntled imp skulked away.
Though Cricket thought the journey nearly over, the three prisoners trudged for hours into the depths of Agoth. First through winding, basalt tunnels with trickles of lava down the walls, then through a chamber of grimy hotpots. Actually, Cricket presumed them to be rather tepid, as Oydd said heat often kept such pools clear. Finally, he arrived at a dark, steam-filled labyrinth with several nooks converted to prison cells, not unlike the mines. However, the shadow suspected they were miles away from the mines, if they were so close at all.
Cricket knew the fog was steam, and not smoke, because it collected in beads on his black shell, and even pooled in cavities on the floor—which he found unusual for Agoth.
Dethkiri of all sizes filled the humid lair, armed and armored with adamantite. Some of the more intelligent-looking dethkiri possessed trinkets and baubles that were no doubt enchanted based on how aesthetically mismatched they were with the adamantine armor. Otherwise, the shadow assumed, the dethkiri would be too self-conscious to pair the two.
A wiry, battle-scarred dethkirok with a limp ushered Cricket and Gad apart, leading the shadow down a side chamber—quiet but for the occasional distant drip of water—and shoved him into a cell.
Upon reflection, Cricket found himself impressed at how quietly the large group of dethkiri managed their lair. He sat motionless in his cell, listening attentively for any sound in the distance, and never sensed the demons, though he often heard the flapping of an imp or the hissing of a goblin.
In time, a goblin jailor—not a red deep goblin, but a common green slave—came to his secluded cell and tossed a few fistfuls of maggots through the bars.
"That's yer hydration too. So don't move around so much. You don't get more for two days. Got it?" Surprisingly, the goblin's tone appeared sympathetic, but he stared for a long time as if waiting for an answer, before adding, "That's how they keep prisoners quiet an' be'aved. Got it?"
This time, Cricket didn't feel like having an awkward standoff, so he picked up a smooth pebble from the cell floor and threw it at the jailor's forehead.
The goblin cursed under his breath, but still stared dumbly for a moment before marching off in a huff.
Several minutes later, the jailor reappeared with the scarred dethkirok who Cricket now assumed was the warden.
The common goblin spoke for the silent demon. "Now yer gonna get it. Yer food for the axebeak!" He fumbled nervously with his keys as the demon hovered menacingly.
Cricket followed the goblin complacently, and even endured some prodding and rough handling without lashing back, as the two captors led him to a grate in the floor with a trapdoor secured by a padlock. The jailor goblin again fumbled with the keys, nearly dropping them through the grate, and unlocked the latch as the warden shoved Cricket toward the opening. Given the large audience of dethkiri, the insect obliged.
He dropped with a thud into a fairly spacious cell obscured heavily by mist. Nearby, Cricket saw a large pile of steaming wet dung, filled with white bones of all sorts along with large, furry pellets that must have once been ratlings.
A large creature stirred, dragging a heavy chain along the stone. He scratched his eye and began to clean his feelers and then his antennae. Eventually a sizable lizard with an axe-shaped beak appeared from the mist. It lowered its feathered head, rearing violently as it squawked, then repeated this display two more times.
Cricket sat very still.
The axebeak lumbered forward on its hind legs like a raptor and sniffed the air and snorted, its beak inches from the insect's face. Streams of warm steam billowed from its nostrils. It sniffed again, whimpering in disappointment at the shadow's scent.
It reached out in a flash with its spiked tongue, knocking the insect onto his side. Slowly, soundlessly, he sat back up.
The lizard whined again, visibly flustered. It preened itself absently, then turned and stalked away back into the mist, knocking Cricket over again with a whip of its feathered tail.
Cricket waited patiently. As a matter of fact, he found it much easier to sit quietly as a shadow, and he took unusual pride in this fact. Though he did grow bored, he knew it wise to wait, and hours passed without the insect making a noise—a feat that normally would have been impossible.