Descent into the Depths of the Earth (2 page)

They followed an old overgrown road lined occasionally with
the heads of sunken statues, the granite faces of ancient kings frowning down at
the travelers. Sparing the statues a brief glare of annoyance, the Justicar
adjusted the fit of his hell hound and gave a seething growl.

Their road map had finally been found. Polk had been using it
as a wrapper for a greasy pile of ham sandwiches. As it turned out, their
destination, Hommlet, was not in Keoland as Polk had claimed. Instead it lay
three hundred miles to the northeast. Jus was lost, bruised, battered, and had
almost been eaten by a hydra a few miles back. This was not one of his better
days. Nursing righteous indignation, Jus shot a dire glance back at Polk where
he rode upon the wagon.

“Keoland indeed!”

Happy as a clam, Escalla simply shrugged and said, “Get off
his case! So he got the map upside down. It’s the Flanaess! With these kind of
place names, anyone can make mistakes.” Escalla happily fluttered her wings.
“We’ll just go north for a few hundred miles and
bam!
We’ll be in
Hommlet.”

Unperturbed by the detour, Escalla, Polk, and Enid simply
seemed to look forward to the journey and enjoyed the views. More concerned with
safety, food, shelter, and keeping his companions alive, the Justicar looked
about the forest and
seethed.

“Keoland. I’ve never been to Keoland before.”

“Well, these autumn leaves are neat.” Flying backward,
Escalla plucked at a huge red maple leaf. “Feels kind of homey, like I’ve been
here before.”

The fact that they were totally lost had made no impression
on her. Jus looked at her with one raised brow and asked,
“Have
you been
here before?”

“Ah, I dunno. Trees… yeah. Leaves… yeah. One patch of
forest is really pretty amazingly like another.” Escalla turned around in midair
as she flew. “But this”—she gestured at the slowly crumbling remains of a long
fallen statue—“
this
could be familiar! I know I’ve seen statues like this
somewhere before. I mean kinda similar…” She darted forward down the road.
“Hey! I know! Let’s follow the road! It must lead to a town!”

“Escalla, we
are
following the road.”

“Oh. Hoopy!”

The road turned a bend, and a row of thatched roofs suddenly
met the travelers’ eyes. It was a village long deserted and left to the weeds.
In a wilderness of deserted buildings, only the squirrels reigned. Cottage doors
hung open, some creaking slowly like the sagging bones of the dead. Other houses
simply lay cold and empty with thistles sprouting from the thatch roofs. The
squirrels sped and flitted from roof to roof, wall to wall, perching atop rusted
wagons and twittering atop abandoned ploughs. They even perched on the faded
sign of an old tavern, making the painted boards sway slowly in the wind.

War had come and gone. The village lay abandoned, the
inhabitants having been wise enough to retreat before powers they could not
resist. The buildings were still intact but were now home to only an occasional
nest of stirges.

As Enid padded her way down the weed-ridden street, Polk the
teamster reined the cart to a halt. The sudden silence was deafening.

Grim and tired, the Justicar plodded over to the tavern and
prodded the door open with his black sword. The gloomy taproom was deserted, all
except for a family of voles.

“Cinders?”

The hell hound searched with senses far sharper than any
mortal’s.
Stirges, tree hoppers, moss, mold, mouses with tailses, rain
puddles, little spiders.

“No movement?”

No monsters, no magic.

Jus knelt to carefully examine the street. The hard-packed
earth was carpeted with weeds, none of which seemed bent or broken by the
passing of feet. “And no tracks.”

“Hey! Look at this! It’s a dead elephant!” Escalla hovered
over a broken cottage. “Wow! Ivory! We could find a fortune in ivory!”

Jus walked over to the girl and looked at a row of crushed
and shattered houses. Lying sprawled amongst the fallen walls was a huge
skeleton easily three times the size of a man. The skeleton’s feet were wrapped
in moldering boots. A tree limb had served it for a club. It lay long dead,
furred with moss, and with dandelions growing from the sockets of its eyes.

Escalla darted above the houses and rubbed her hands in glee.
“There’s another elephant over here! And another!”

“They’re not elephants, Escalla. They’re giants.”

“How do you know?”

“A remarkable lack of elephant-like properties.” Jus levered
a flaking piece of bone from the top of a giant’s shin and passed it up to
Cinders. “I judge them about sixteen feet tall. They must have driven off the
villagers.”

Sitting on a rooftop, Escalla went into a sulk. “Well, they
could
have been elephants.”

“Escalla, there are no elephants in the Flanaess.”

“How do you know?”

“I’m a ranger. Trust me.”

Whatever had happened to the village, it had happened many
years before. The place was clean, no dangers, no enemies. With a heavy sigh,
the Justicar unfastened the paws of the hell hound pelt from his neck and drew
Cinders from his shoulders to shake the dust out of his friend’s fur. The big
man walked back and sat down on a mounting block outside the tavern, unfastened
his helmet and let it crash down into the grass, then began to carefully brush
the hell hound’s fur.

Cinders’ tail thumped as the dog skin grinned its mad
piranha grin.
Camp? Start fire?

“Yep. Guess we can.” The Justicar, a ranger who had fought a
savage war against injustice for more years than he cared to tell, spread his
friend out across his lap. A big currycomb brushed the hell hound’s fur to a
brilliant shine.

Tired and with his ribs aching from a hydra’s bite that had
failed to pierce his armor’s scales, the Justicar and rose heavily to his feet.
New territories meant new work. There would be towns here, meaning inequality
and injustice. More than enough labor for a mortal man to do…

“Night’s coming,” he announced. “We’ll stay in the tavern.
It’s big, and we can block the doors. Polk, get the mules under cover before the
stirges get them. Enid, see if there’s any water down that well.” The ranger
retrieved his helmet and his hell hound skin, then shoved open the tavern door.
“Check every room. Keep your eyes open. If there’s trouble, call me.”

Inside the tavern, heavy ceiling beams were still hung with
bunches of dried herbs. A single iron pot lay overturned beside the hearth. Jus
strode ahead of Escalla, checked the kitchens with their pot hooks and empty
pantries, then clumped upstairs to check for lurking terrors. A single
stirge—big as a small dog, feathery, and shaped like a mosquito—fled in terror
out a window of the master bedroom. Jus banged the shutters closed then turned
to make his way back downstairs.

Escalla sprang into view beside him, shedding invisibility
with a barely audible pop. Her long blonde hair shimmered like golden silk as
the faerie toyed with it nervously in her mouth.

“Hey, Jus? Good fight with the hydra back there, huh? Really
livened up the day. I mean, you look at a place and think, ‘Gee, now here’s a
dead spot.’”

She wavered nervously, keeping out of reach. Bone tired, Jus
sat down on the steps, wincing as his bruised side twinged. He unclipped the
shoulder fastenings of his dragon scale cuirass, unbuckled his sword belt, and
let the whole ensemble crash heavily to the ground.

“You and your hydra! Damned thing almost stove in my rib
cage.”

“Yeah, but you’re not mad about it or anything, are you?” The
girl hovered back and forth like a nervous bee. “I mean, it just lets you see
how cool this journey is! Danger everywhere! And I’m sure we can find some
injustice just dying to be, um… re-justiced and stuff.”

The Justicar pierced Escalla with one dire eye and said,
“Escalla, we just found a twelve-headed hydra in a watchtower. That’s enough
activity for today.”

Going into a magnificent sulk, the faerie kicked at a dead
woodlouse on the floor. “You’re mad about the hydra. I knew it. Why does it have
to be
my
fault?”

Unamused, Jus looked levelly at Escalla. “You swiped scrolls
from its treasure horde, didn’t you?”

“Only one!”

“I thought we had decided not to go haring off on our own?”
Jus’ words had the damning weight of common sense. “What did I tell you about
wandering away where I can’t protect you?”

Stung, Escalla proudly sat her little bottom on a broken
stool.

“I wasn’t
wandering.
There was a plan.” Sniffing,
Escalla tried to weasel her way out of making an apology. “I’m a ruin
exploration professional. Do I want my comrades to be burdened by useless side
trips?” Escalla placed one hand loftily upon her breast. “I was merely
attempting to add to party assets without slowing your travel time. The presence
of the hydra was simply an unforeseen variable!”

“You screwed up.”

Escalla regarded her friend through leveled lashes. “I am a
faerie. Faeries do not screw up. We just have occasional bouts of adverse
results production.”

“Uh-huh. Well, at least you got a spell scroll out of it.”
Jus found a dried apricot in his pouch and gave the girl the bigger half. “Are
the rest of the pixies in the forest just like you?”

“Nah. I’m the cute one, one of a kind, and I’m sure as hell
no pixie!” Escalla stood, turning to clench her rear. “See those lines?”

“Pure thoroughbred.” Jus lifted one arm experimentally and
gave a wince. “I think I hurt.”

“You think?”

“All right, I
do
hurt.” The man planted a hand beneath
his sweaty tunic and shoved a healing spell into himself, the magic crackling
like a pine cone in a fire. “That damned hydra almost killed me!”

“He never laid a glove on you. This is just a trail sore.”
Escalla whirred up into the air. “Hey! We found a tavern. I bet there’s a
bathtub here!” The girl called out of a window. “Hey, Enid! Was there water in
that well?”

The sphinx was sitting in the tavern yard eating a freshly
killed stirge. She guiltily hid her meal and cleared her throat. “Um, yes there
was!”

“Well, find a bucket! We’ve got work to do!” Escalla hung her
head out of the window and frowned at the sphinx. “Are you snacking between
meals again?”

“No!”

“Enid, stop it! How are we going to land you a nice
androsphinx if you won’t listen to your fashion advisor?” The faerie leaned
through the windowsill. “Check my bags on the wagon. Have we got any faerie
cakes left?”

“One.”

“Hoopy! We can have it with dinner!”

“Ah,” Enid peered into a leather bag. “It’s a bit green.”

“I like ’em green!”

“Ah, it’s a bit greener than you like it.” Enid tilted her
head. “Actually, it’s really kind of
furry.”

Escalla opened up her arms. “It’s fungoid enriched! Just
bring it in!” The faerie turned happily to Jus. “See J-man, you just relax.
Auntie Escalla will take care of everything. A nice bath… and I kept a faerie
cake! Enid can walk on your back. She’ll keep her claws in this time, I swear!”

The Justicar expectantly raised one brow, waiting. Escalla
turned, muttered beneath her breath, looked at him sourly, and finally sniffed
in irritation. “All right, all right! I’m sorry about the hydra! Not that it was
my fault!”

* * *

Evening in the abandoned village had a certain picturesque
quality that soothed the soul. The quiet roofs and empty streets caught the
light of sunset just
so.
The plaintive hoots of surges echoed through the
trees. Woodsmoke drifted beautiful blue curls against the evening sky. Somewhere
in the background, a delicious smell of cooking stole through the tavern, making
mouths water and all thoughts turn to supper.

In a stone room at the back of the kitchen, a giant wine
barrel had been converted to a makeshift bath. Sitting like a ponderous
leviathan, the Justicar let his shaven head jut over the barrel’s rim. Hot water
steamed, heat soothed, and he seemed uncertain whether such luxuries really
befitted his role as defender of the weak.

Escalla sat in a copper pot, seething like meat in a stew.
The faerie, who always read in the bath, was flipping through the scorched pages
of a book rescued from the hydra’s lair. It hovered in midair, held by the
effects of one of her spells. The book was ancient. Escalla became more and more
fascinated by the pages and even managed to lose interest in the delicious smell
of frying meat coming from the kitchen a few feet away. After several long
minutes of relaxed reading, she set the book aside and used an old toothbrush to
scrub at an itchy spot between her wings. With her foot drumming the bottom of
her bath like a well scratched dog, she looked over to where the Justicar’s head
floated amidst the steam. She gave a satisfied sigh and swam closer for a better
look.

“Hey, Jus! Do you have to shave your head a lot? I mean, is
it just a once a week thing? Once a day?”

“Whenever.” Jus moved and a vast swell of water spilled over
the edge of the gigantic barrel. “It’s not important.”

“You know, I could wax it for you—smoother finish than
shaving.”

“I just shave it to be practical.”

“Yeah right, and in no way to project a monastic, ruthless
appeal.” Escalla dipped her brush in her bath and scrubbed at something beneath
the waterline. “But hey, there’s candles and stuff here. We can do wax.”

“Escalla, there aren’t enough healing spells in all the
Flanaess to let you wax my head.”

Trying to get on with the business of his bath, Jus sniffed
suspiciously at a piece of soap—flower scented and taken from Enid and Escalla’s
private stores—then awkwardly began to scrub his feet.

“Good book?” he asked.

“It’s a spellbook,” she replied. “High level. There’s only
one or two bits I can understand.” Escalla made a little sign with one finger,
retrieved her book, and turned a page. Little flakes of burned parchment
showered onto the floor. “I might be able to salvage something useful and get a
few new spells out of it.”