15

Shifting forms at need, Gildyr plowed his way through the twisting cave system, pushing well past the goblin-reach. He was headed for the site where legend placed a long-blocked cavern, but it was a hard and dangerous trek. Physical attacks became less frequent as they plunged ever deeper into the ground, for the Mother's power was divided, and the monsters she'd summoned were dwindling, fast.

It was the mental assault that was hardest to bear. The sudden, gut–clutching certainty that Karus was in terrible danger, above. That his heart-friend was about to be ripped back out of his life in bloody chunks. If only he could reverse direction, return to the surface and save him.

'After all,' whispered a voice; sly and persuasive. 'What is the high-elf, to you? Or his female? No friends at all. Just another pair of arrogant, murderous elf-lords. Valerian has been using your kind, sweet nature against you, dear child. The huntress, as well.'

It became very hard to ignore the voice, and all of the horrible visions it threw at him: Karus, torn apart and devoured by gnolls. The forest, drowned by a sudden and terrible flood. His brother, Arondyr, hung upside down from a dead tree; flayed to the waist and covered in buzzing black flies. The stench of the ocean, of death and decay. Mud drying grey in the wintery sun, as scavengers ate till they burst.

The Tabaxi must have been seeing and hearing something similar, for she moved in tense, jerky dashes. Tail lashing fretfully, Salem growled and hissed in her own raspy language. The monkey had stayed with the spell-bound ranger on Gildyr's broad back. Not that Kalisandra needed much, in her current state. Just used his own small magic to keep her from sliding off. Important, because no bear has a smooth, pleasant gait to begin with, and Gildyr was hurrying.

So badly he wanted to abandon this hopeless search, turn and go to the ones who needed his help, up above. Only... Kalisandra was one breath from dying, and Pretty One was down here, somewhere, as well. In trouble, he sensed, and alone.

Giving vent to an anguished roar, torn to his very heart, the druid picked up his pace. Twice he converted to earth-elemental to bash a link between nearby passages, coming at last to a place where neither bear nor stone form would do any good.

Here, the tunnel widened suddenly, ending in a massive, crystal-pocked wall. Set at its base was a stone portal wreathed in dark magic. Should have been blocked. No longer was.

Gildyr flowed back into his elf-shape, turning to catch the ranger before she fell to the ground. Cap'n scrambled to a perch on his shoulder, then leapt back over to Salem.

The Tabaxi's pupils were very wide. Her snarl had risen in volume and pitch, becoming a wavering yowl.

"Death lies beyond and behind, Druid. There is nothing left but to thread a path between graves," she said to him.

Gildyr nodded.

"I can squeeze out a spell here, barely," he told her. "Ritual magic doesn't come naturally to me, and the pressure of evil is high. But... I can send you away from this place with the ranger. Not to safety, exactly... but, safer than here."

Salem considered his offer; ears flat back to her skull and muscles bunching under that shining black pelt. Then,

"No. My curse has its end very soon. I feel it. And... surely, our dear ones are not... surely the Mistress of lies has twisted our seeing and thoughts."

"I'm sure," Gildyr agreed, wafting pollen-balm to soothe a wracked mind and heart. The unconscious ranger was a definite burden, but Gildyr could not bring himself to just abandon her out in the corridor, helpless. Not when there was a chance that she might yet be saved. He switched her into an across-the-shoulders carry instead, saying,

"I will go through the portal, first. I have a few spells on hand, and I can wild-shape, at need. Just be ready to catch Her Ladyship, if I have to let go, please."

Salem rumbled agreement. Her thieves' belt was hitched around so that its pockets were in reach, and she held a long dagger in each of her clawed, steady hands.

"I shall follow. Quickly, then, Druid, for I would have done with this pftah cursed place."

Gildyr smiled at the rogue.

"In better times, the diggings were filled with friends, kin and laughter. May it be so, again." He would have made the sign 'hope', but his hands were full, so Cap'n did it for him, crossing small fingers and moving them outward, twice. Somehow, that helped.

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Gildyr gave them a nod, then stepped through the portal, followed by Salem and Cap'n. There was only the briefest sense of translocation, after which the small party found themselves in a great, dark space. Just how large was impossible to say, for wisp-light revealed very little. Chilly and cavernous enough to steal breath and smother exhalation, certainly.

Looking around, they saw the faintest glimmer stretching ahead; like a luminous path that spiraled its way into darkness.

"Light of the true road," murmured Gildyr. "Grey Fang says... said... that a wake is left, whenever somebody cuts through the darkness. Pretty's been here, probably leading Valerian."

There was no scent but dust, while some brooding, dark force seemed to quell every sound but the faint drip of water.

"Follow me closely," said the druid, "and don't stray from the path, whatever you do. There are worse things than death here, Milady."

The Tabaxi didn't show elvish facial expressions or gestures when stressed. Rather than nodding assent, she flicked an ear forward, then re-sheathed a dagger. Taking hold of Gildyr's wool cloak, Salem said,

"I am prepared, Mwef. Let us proceed."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Elsewhere, Filimar rushed his group out of the gallery and away from those battling cave trolls. They kept running for close to a candle-mark, followed always by Orrin's echoing laughter and taunts.

"Why run away, little mice? There's no way out. No place to hide from me. Nothing but failure and death."

Finally halted at an intersection of three passages, none of them marked. It made no sense to pick a direction at random, Filimar thought. Also, the sounds of combat had faded behind them, and Nalderick needed help, very badly.

"He will die here. Rats will gnaw at his corpse, and yours."

To the court-ball team, Filimar said,

"Perimeter watch." Then, as Roreck, Marlie, Sherlon and Vashtie took up their posts, he turned to Genevera. Bowed low, saying, "Your Majesty, love's healing wish is more powerful than anything I could prepare. If you would, Majestrix?"

"Lost and alone. Trapped forever in darkness. How terribly sad for you."

The girl nodded, wide-eyed and anxious, but holding herself together like an imperial princess. She came over to crouch beside her brother, who Filimar had set gently down on the floor. Derrick was coughing blood, doubled in pain, his left arm attached by ragged, torn flesh and stretched tendons. He was still conscious, though; fighting to control his own bursts of magic and noise. Managed to gasp, with a hint of his usual charm,

"Well... that's... out of the way, at least. No more... worry... about ogres, right?"

"Shut up, Dickie," grumped his sister, pouring donated potions with one hand, while scribing a sigil of healing on his forehead with the other. "This is no time for your jokes, Stupid. Concentrate, or next time, I'll give them salt and pepper to go with their prince-munchy!"

"...N't forget relish," he grated through bloody, tightly-clenched teeth, pointedly not shutting up. "Princes always... better with... relish."

The sea-elf bard had taken back over Lord Tarandahl, meanwhile. No more big, golden-haired northerner. He was slimmer, now, with pearl-white skin and black hair, his forehead and cheeks marked by swirling tattoos. Coming to sit on the ground beside Nalderick and Genevera, Andorin summoned a harp of remembered sunshine, elf-gold and dreams, then began very gently to play. Few words and falteringly, at first, for Lerendar's hands were stiff; trained to the sword and bow, and this time he was not strumming Llyroc.

He got the way of it after a while, though. Started a sprightly tale of dashing about through the coral and green, drifting kelp; of finding everything in the world but the pearl that his sweetheart had thrown in to test him. The tune was familiar, but the words were new. Better yet, they covered Orrin's sneering voice; drove back his poisonous presence like sunlight melts fog.

It was a fast, funny song, and just for a while they weren't all trapped in a cavern; weary, heart-sick and hungry. They were out in bright water, finding old boots, angry eels and cracked net-stones... everything but Shiralin's pearl. The through-line was a wish for strength and good health, and it boosted Genevera's efforts, as did healing spells coming from Roreck, Vashtie and Filimar.

There was no miracle, this time, but Nalderick stopped vomiting blood and straightened out on the floor. His arm had to be bound into place; attached more by magic and cloth than by actual flesh. Couldn't walk or even sit up, but they'd saved him.

"We have to keep moving," said Filimar, after they'd rested a bit. "Your Majesty, we must get you to safety. Valno..." the elf's voice caught, but he steadied himself. "Lord Valerian would say the same thing, Majesty. He would put your life before his own, as Lady Solara did. As all of us shall."

Nalderick grunted a curse. Fought to get up, until his sister put him to sleep with a fiercely hissed spell.

"Language, Dickie," she added. "Nobody needs your sass!"

The bard dispelled his small harp, then, and ended the song. Turning to young Lord Arvendahl, he said,

"If you will, I can guide you back to the surface. Here... or very near to this place... is where I was beset and captured, to end my days in a cell. I can trace our way back, though it leads to a cave by the ocean, not any high-elf settlement."

Filimar nodded, relieved.

"Yes. Absolutely, Lore-singer. Help us to get Their Majesties out of this vile place, and my service is yours for eternity."

Genevera came forward, then, rising from Nalderick's side to take the bard's hand.

"I thank you," she told him, with sudden dignity. "We won't forget this. Not ever." Held tight a bit longer, then released his hand and stepped away.

The shade bowed Lerendar's body, saying,

"You are most welcome, Princess. But, once I have led you to the surface, I must leave. This One means to find his brother, and he is our host. Generally speaking, he gets his way."

Giving Genevera another deep bow, Andorin went to the intersection. Stood looking at each tunnel for a moment, recalling the distant past. After thinking awhile, he chose the route that curved eastward.

"This way," he said, setting off.

The others followed. Marlie and Roreck took turns carrying Nalderick. Vashtie and Sherlon flanked Genevera, while Filimar brought up the rear, sword in hand, looking often behind.