Magician (30 page)

Another corridor and another turn.
Still the wraith followed. Ahead lay a large cavern, and Tomas found
himself entering the same hall in which the wraith had attacked the
party. He had circled around and entered through another tunnel.
Racing across the floor, he saw the bodies of mules and guards lying
in his path. He paused long enough to grab a fresh torch, for his was
nearly spent, and transferred the flame.

He looked backward to see the undead
creature closing on him and started off again. Hope briefly flickered
in his breast, for if he could pick the proper corridor, he might
catch up to the others. Dolgan had said that from this cavern it was
a straight journey to the surface. He picked what he thought was the
proper one, though he was disoriented and couldn’t be sure.

The wraith let out a howl of rage at
its prey’s eluding it again, and followed. Tomas felt terror
bordering on elation as his long legs stretched out, eating up the
distance ahead of him. He gained his second wind and set a steady
pace for himself. Never had he run so well, but then never had he
possessed such a reason.

After what seemed an endless time of
running, he found himself coming to a series of side tunnels, set
closely together. He felt hope die, for this was not the straight
path the dwarf had mentioned. Picking one at random, he turned into a
passage and found more tunnels close by. Cutting through several
more, he turned as quickly as possible, weaving his way through a
maze of passages. Ducking around a wall formed between two such
tunnels, he stopped briefly and caught his breath. He listened for a
moment and heard only the sound of his pounding heart. He had been
too busy to look behind and was unsure of the wraith’s
whereabouts.

Suddenly a shriek of rage echoed
faintly down the corridors, sounding far off. Tomas sank to the floor
of the tunnel and felt his body go limp. Another shriek echoed more
faintly, and Tomas felt certain that the wraith had lost his trail
and was moving off in another direction.

A sense of relief flooded through him,
nearly causing him to laugh giddily. It was closely followed by the
sudden realization of his situation. He sat up and took stock. If he
could find his way back to the dead animals, he would at least have
food and water. But as he stood up, he realized that he had no notion
which way the cavern lay. Cursing himself for not counting the turns
as he had made them, he tried to remember the general pattern he had
followed. He had turned mostly to the right, he reminded himself, so
if he retraced his steps mostly to the left, he should be able to
find one of the many tunnels that led to the glory hole. Looking
cautiously around the first corner, Tomas set off, searching his way
through the maze of passages.

After an unknown time had passed, Tomas
stopped and looked around in the second large cavern he had come to
since he had fled the wraith. Like the first, this cavern was devoid
of mules and men—and the hoped-for food and water. Tomas opened
his pouch and took out the small biscuit he had hoarded to nibble
while walking. It gave him little relief from his hunger.

When he was done, he set off again,
trying to find some clue to the way out. He knew he had only a short
time before his torch died, but he refused to simply sit and wait for
a nameless death in the dark.

After some time Tomas could hear the
sound of water echoing through the tunnel. Hurrying forward, his
thirst spurring him on, he entered a large cavern, the biggest yet,
as far as he could tell. Far away he could hear the faint roar of the
Mac Mordain Cadal falls, but in which direction he couldn’t be
sure. Somewhere high in the darkness lay the path that they had taken
two days earlier. Tomas felt his heart sink, he had moved deeper into
the earth than he had thought.

The tunnel widened to a landing of some
sort and disappeared beneath what appeared to be a large lake,
constantly lapping against the sides of the cavern, filling it with
muted echoes. Quickly he fell to his knees and drank. The water
tasted rich with minerals, but was clear and fresh.

Sitting back on his haunches, he looked
about. The landing was packed earth and sand and appeared to be
fashioned rather than natural. Tomas guessed the dwarves might have
used boats to cross the underground lake, but could only wonder what
lay on the other side. Then the thought hit him that perhaps someone
other than the dwarves had used boats to cross the lake, and he felt
fear again.

To his left he spied a pile of wood,
nestled against a junction of the landing and the cavern wall.
Crossing to it, he pulled out several pieces and started a small
fire. The wood was mostly timber pieces, used to shore up the
tunnels, but mixed in were several branches and twigs. They must have
been brought down by the falls from above, where the river enters the
mountain, he thought. Underneath the pile he found some fibrous weeds
growing. Wondering at the plants’ ability to grow without
sunlight, the boy was nevertheless thankful, for after cutting them
with his sword, he was able to fashion some rude torches with the
weeds wrapped around some driftwood. He tied them in a bundle, using
his sword belt, forcing him to give up his scabbard. At least, he
thought, I’ll have a little more light. Some extra time to see
where he was going was comforting.

He threw some bigger timber pieces on
his small fire, and soon it was roaring into brightness. Abruptly the
cavern seemed to light up, and Tomas spun around. The entire cavern
was glowing with sparkling light, as some sort of mineral, or
crystal, caught the light and reflected it to be caught and reflected
again. It was a glittering, sparkling rainbow of colors cascading
over walls and ceiling, giving the entire cavern a fairy-like quality
as far as the eye could follow.

Tomas stood in awe for a minute,
drinking in the sight, for he knew he would never be able to explain
in words what he was seeing. The thought struck him that he might be
the only human ever to have witnessed the display.

It was hard to tear his eyes from the
glory of the vision, but Tomas forced himself. He used the extra
illumination to examine the area he was in. There was nothing beyond
the landing, but he did spy another tunnel off to the left, leaving
the cavern at the far end of the sand.

He gathered together his torches and
walked along the landing. As he reached the tunnel, his fire died
down, the dry timber being quickly consumed. Another glorious vision
assaulted his senses, for the gemlike walls and ceiling continued to
glimmer and glow. Again he stood silently watching the display.
Slowly the sparkling dimmed, until the cavern was again dark, except
for his torch and the quickly dying fire’s red glow.

He had to stretch to reach the other
tunnel, but made it without dropping his sword or torches, or getting
his boots wet. Turning away from the cavern, he resumed his journey.

He made his way for hours, the torch
burning lower. He lit one of the new ones and found that it gave a
satisfactory light. He was still frightened, but felt good about
keeping his head under these conditions and was sure Swordmaster
Fannon would approve of his actions.

After walking for a while, he came to
an intersection. He found the bones of a creature in the dust, its
fate unknowable. He spotted the tracks of some other small creature
leading away, but they were faint with age. With no other notion than
the need for a clear path, Tomas followed them. Soon they also
vanished in the dust.

He had no means to reckon time, but
thought that it must be well into night by now. There was a timeless
feeling to these passages, and he felt lost beyond recovery. Fighting
down what he recognized as budding panic, he continued to walk. He
kept his mind on pleasant memories of home, and dreams of the future.
He would find a way out, and he would become a great hero in the
coming war. And most cherished dream of all, he would journey to
Elvandar and see the beautiful lady of the elves again.

He followed the tunnel downward. This
area seemed different from the other caverns and tunnels, its manner
of fashioning unlike the others. He thought that Dolgan could tell if
this was so, and who had done the work.

He entered another cavern and looked
around. Some of the tunnels that entered the cavern were barely tall
enough for a man to walk through upright. Others were broad enough
for a company of men to walk through ten abreast, with long spears
upon their shoulders. He hoped this meant the dwarves had fashioned
the smaller tunnels and he could follow one upward, back to the
surface.

Looking around, he spied a likely ledge
to rest upon, within jumping distance. He crossed to it and tossed up
his sword and the bundle of torches. He then gently tossed up his
torch, so as not to put it out, and pulled himself up. It was large
enough to sleep upon without rolling off Four feet up the wall was a
small hole, about three feet in diameter. Looking down it, Tomas
could see that it opened up quickly to a size large enough to stand
in and stretched away into blackness.

Satisfied that nothing lurked
immediately above him, and that anything coming from below would
awaken him, Tomas pulled his cloak around him, rested his head on his
hand, and put out the torch. He was frightened, but the exhaustion of
the day lulled him quickly to sleep. He lay in fitful dreams of red
glowing eyes chasing him down endless black corridors, terror washing
over him. He ran until he came to a green place where he could rest,
feeling safe, under the gaze of a beautiful woman with red-gold hair
and pale blue eyes.

He started awake to some nameless call.
He had no idea of how long he had slept, but he felt as if it had
been long enough for his body to run again, if need be. He felt in
the dark for his torch and took flint and steel from out of his
pouch. He struck sparks into the wadding of the torch and started a
glow. Quickly bringing the torch close, he blew the spark into flame.
Looking about, he found the cavern unchanged. A faint echoing of his
own movements was all he heard.

He realized he could have a chance of
survival only if he kept moving and found a way up. He stood and was
about to climb down from the ledge when a faint noise sounded from
the hole above.

He peered down it but could see
nothing. Again there came a faint sound, and Tomas strained to hear
what it was. It was almost like the tread of footfalls, but he could
not be sure. He nearly shouted, but held off, for there was no
assurance it was his friends returned to find him. His imagination
provided many other possibilities, all of them unpleasant.

He thought for a moment, then decided.
Whatever was making the noise might lead him out of the mines, even
if only by providing a trail to follow. With no other option
appearing more attractive, he pulled himself up through the small
hole, entering the new tunnel.

I
t
was a dispirited group that emerged from the mine.

The survivors sank to the ground, near
exhaustion. Pug had fought tears for hours after Tomas had fled, and
now he lay on the wet ground staring upward at the grey sky, feeling
numb. Kulgan had fared worst of all, being completely drained of
energy by the spell used to repel the wraith. He had been carried on
the shoulders of the others most of the way, and they showed the
price of their burden. All fell into an exhausted sleep, except
Dolgan, who lit a fire and stood watch.

Pug awoke to the sound of voices and a
clear, starry night. The smell of food cooking greeted him. When
Gardan and the three remaining guards awakened, Dolgan had left them
to watch over the others and had snared a brace of rabbits. These
were roasting over a fire. The others awake, except Kulgan, who
snored deeply.

Arutha and the Duke saw the boy wake,
and the Prince came to where he sat. The younger son of the Duke,
ignoring the snow, sat on the ground next to Pug, who had his cloak
wrapped around him. “How do you feel. Pug?” Arutha asked,
concern showing in his eyes.

This was the first time Pug had seen
Arutha’s gentler nature. Pug tried to speak and found tears
coming to his eyes. Tomas had been his friend as long as he could
remember, more a brother than a friend. As he tried to speak, great
racking sobs broke from his throat, and he felt hot, salty tears run
down into his mouth.

Arutha placed his arm around Pug,
letting the boy cry on his shoulder. When the initial flood of grief
had passed, the Prince said, “There is nothing shameful in
mourning the loss of a friend, Pug. My father and I share your pain.”

Dolgan came to stand behind the Prince.
“I also, Pug, for he was a likable lad We all share your loss.”
The dwarf seemed to consider something and spoke to the Duke.

Kulgan had just awakened, sitting up
like a bear waking from winter’s sleep. He regained his
bearings and, seeing Arutha with Pug, quickly forgot his own aching
joints and joined them.

There was little they could say, but
Pug found comfort in their closeness. He finally regained his
composure and pulled away from the Prince “Thank you, Your
Highness,” he said, sniffing. “I will be all right.”

They joined Dolgan, Gardan, and the
Duke near the fire. Borric was shaking his head at something the
dwarf had said. “I thank you for your bravery, Dolgan, but I
can’t allow it.”

Dolgan puffed on his pipe, a friendly
smile splitting his beard. “And how do you intend to stop me,
Your Grace? Surely not by force?”

Borric shook his head. “No, of
course not. But to go would be the sheerest folly.”

Kulgan and Arutha exchanged questioning
looks. Pug paid little attention, being lost in a cold, numb world.
In spite of having just awakened, he felt ready for sleep again,
welcoming its warm, soft relief.