Return of the Sorceress (16 page)

“Mind the steps. There’s an underground river not far from here, and the dampness tends to make the stone a bit slick,” Jirah said.

Nearra looked at her sister. “How could you know such a thing?”

They were walking down a narrow stone passageway built into the outer wall of the keep’s main tower. The uneven, cracked steps curved downward and, true to Jirah’s word, they were indeed slick here.

“I told you, I’ve explored these passages. As for the river, the other servants talk, and I listen. Simple as that.”

Jirah led the way, holding the lantern up so that Nearra could better see where to place her feet. They kept their hands on the wall to steady them as they went.

“You never told me what your duties are,” Nearra said.

Jirah stopped and turned around to face her. She smiled easily enough, but there was a hard, calculating look in her eyes. “You sound as if you’re suspicious of me.”

Nearra was, actually. There was something not quite right about her sister, though she wasn’t certain what it was. She was beginning to wonder if Maddoc had placed some manner of spell upon her, too.

“I’m sorry. I just … can’t remember much …” She trailed off, hoping that would be enough to get her to answer.

Jirah looked at her a moment longer before turning back around and continuing to descend the stairs. Nearra followed.

“I started out as an assistant to the stablemaster. I spent my time shoveling horse dung, mostly. Since then I’ve managed to improve my status, and now I assist the cook in preparing Maddoc’s meals.” She glanced over her shoulder at Nearra. “Satisfied?”

“Of course.” Jirah’s explanation sounded good, but that was the problem. It sounded
too
good. She gave too many details and spoke too formally. The sister she remembered would’ve just said, “I work in the kitchen.” Still, maybe she was being too suspicious. After all, Jirah was her sister, and she was helping her. She decided to try to put her suspicions aside and concentrate on escaping.

After a time, the air grew cooler and Jirah said, “It’s not much farther.”

The stairs ended and a large iron door loomed in front of them. The surface was thick with rust and Nearra thought how the door was centuries old, at least.

“This door leads to a system of tunnels that runs beneath the grounds surrounding the keep,” Jirah said. “We can use them to escape.”

Nearra caught a wisp of memory, but she didn’t think it was hers. Perhaps it was Asvoria’s. The cave system was the reason the sorceress had built Cairngorn Keep here. She’d spent decades—or rather her servants had—digging tunnels to connect the caves.

“How is it possible that Maddoc doesn’t know about the tunnels?” she asked.

“Uh, he does,” Jirah said. She held the lantern out to Nearra. “Could you hold this a moment?”

She took the lantern and Jirah stepped up to the door.

“Maddoc has long explored the tunnels, searching for whatever secrets Asvoria might’ve hidden away there. But despite all his efforts, he’s never located this door.”

Jirah reached into her tunic pocket and brought out a large iron key. It might have been a trick of the lantern light, but it seemed to Nearra that the key wasn’t clasped in Jirah’s hand. It appeared that the key somehow
protruded
from her hand, as if the iron had grown from her flesh.

Jirah inserted the key into the lock. The inner mechanism resisted her at first, so she turned harder. Finally, the lock made a slow grinding sound as it yielded to the key. Jirah removed it from the lock, and Nearra stepped forward so she could get a better look at it, but Nearra blinked and the key was gone. Jirah’s hand looked completely normal again.

She decided she was just seeing things. After all, it was dark down here and the lantern cast strange shadows.

Jirah looked at her sister and smiled. “Behind this door lies your freedom.” She pressed her shoulder against the rusted iron and shoved. The door didn’t budge and then, right before her eyes, Jirah seemed to grow. She was suddenly taller, with broader shoulders and thicker muscle. Hinges groaned in protest and rust fell to the ground in large flakes, and the door slowly swung open.

She bowed and gestured to the darkness that filled the now open doorway.

“You have the lantern, milady. After you.” Jirah laughed as if she were enjoying a private joke and could barely contain her glee.

Nearra felt a chill run up her spine. “What’s so funny? You’re scaring me.”

“Don’t you want to”—Jirah stifled another laugh—“escape?”

Nearra stared at the gaping tunnel beyond the doorway, trying to decide what she should do. But the only other option was to go back up the stairs and take her chances with Maddoc.

In the end, it wasn’t that hard of a decision.

She walked into the darkness.

“Hey, I think I’ve found someone!”

Oddvar made his way over to Fyren, walking across broken stones as easily as someone else would walk across a smooth
tiled floor. It was dark now, and the goblins worked by the light of lanterns set on top of poles. The light wasn’t that intense, but Oddvar was still forced to squint as he drew near the spot where Fyren had been clearing away rock. The goblin crouched near the wall of the pit, where Oddvar guessed the opening to a tunnel lay buried beneath the earth and stones.

As the Theiwar approached, Fyren pointed to a hand. “See?”

At first Oddvar thought the hand wasn’t attached to a body, but then he saw the wrist and forearm sticking up from the rubble. Oddvar’s lips formed a dark smile. It seemed as if one of Davyn’s friends, or perhaps even Davyn himself, hadn’t survived the collapse. But when the dwarf was close enough to take a better look, he saw that the hand was adorned with an intricately tattooed design. Oddvar sighed with disappointment. Whoever this was—or rather, had been—it wasn’t one of the accursed brats.

“Let’s see who it is. Uncover the body.”

As Fyren went to work, the other two goblins came over to watch. They’d made good progress in clearing away the debris blocking the tunnel entrance, primarily due to Oddvar’s ability to always pinpoint the best places to dig. But Fyren needed no direction to uncover the body beneath the rocks, and within moments, a Kagonesti male garbed in leather armor was revealed. Oddvar recognized the elf. His name was Kuruk, one of Bolthor’s bodyguards.

“He doesn’t look too good, does he?” Gifre said.

“What do you expect?” Drefan snapped. “Several tons of rock landed on top of his head!”

Oddvar could tell that the goblin leader’s estimate was way off. Given the size and type of rocks and the position of the pit, as well as their proximity to the wall, Oddvar judged that only a few hundred pounds of stone had fallen on Kuruk. The elf had very likely been near the edge of the cave-in. A dozen feet
or more in the other direction and he might well have escaped unscathed.

The elf’s hair was crusted with blood from a head wound. One leg was broken, and one arm was a shattered ruin. Oddvar had to suppress a shudder. To his people, dying in a rockslide was a real and most feared danger, the sort of thing that parents talked about to frighten naughty children into behaving.

Oddvar was about to tell the goblins to carry the corpse of the elf back to Cairngorn Keep so Maddoc might make use of it later. But before he could speak, the elf’s eyelids flickered and he let out a soft moan.

Fyren jumped back in alarm. “Undead!” he shouted.

“
Not
dead,” Oddvar corrected. “In other words, still alive.” It looked like Maddoc would have to wait a bit longer before he got this one, but at least Oddvar had a survivor to question.

The Theiwar knelt down next to the elf’s head.

“Kuruk, this is Oddvar. Can you hear me?”

Kuruk didn’t say anything, but he opened his eyes and gazed up at Oddvar. He frowned.

“Odd … var?”

Kuruk’s voice came out in a gurgling wheeze and Oddvar guessed that the elf had broken ribs and one of more of them had punctured a lung.

“That’s right. You were caught in a cave-in. Can you tell me what happened?”

“Cousin and I … were following younglings … Davyn and others. They … wounded us and killed … Bolthor. Wanted … revenge.”

Oddvar shook his head in disgust. In his view, elves were arrogant, and because of this they were prone to overestimating their capabilities. Such arrogance had probably led Kuruk and Shiriki to underestimate Davyn and the others. For Kuruk, it
had almost proven fatal—and judging by the elf’s condition, it still might.

“Was anyone else caught in the rockslide?” Oddvar asked.

Kuruk closed his eyes, and for a moment Oddvar thought the Kagonesti had died, but then he opened his eyes again.

“Don’t … think so. I was the … last one still … under rocks when … mist vanished.”

“What mist?” Oddvar said, but the elf didn’t answer. Oddvar decided Kuruk was likely in so much pain than he wasn’t thinking straight.

“My thanks for your help. Oddvar stood and turned toward the three goblins. “We need to get the tunnel entrance open as quickly as we can. While it’s highly unlikely that Davyn and the others will reach Cairngorn, it is our job to do everything we can to make sure that they don’t.”

Kuruk’s fingers twitched as he attempted to reach out to Oddvar.

“Help me … up. Must … find cousin.”

Oddvar ignored him. “Why are you three standing around? Get to work!” He pointed toward a mound of rubble less than ten feet from where Kuruk lay. “If you start there, you should be able to clear away a large enough space for us to fit through in a short time.”

The goblins exchanged glances, as if they all wanted to say something, but none of them could find the courage to do so. Finally, Drefen said, “Uh, what about the elf?”

“What about him?” Oddvar shot back. “Just let him lie there. With any luck, he’ll be dead before sunrise.” The Theiwar gave the others a cold grin. “Especially if he’s discovered by a night predator.”

Drefan nodded and turned toward the section of rubble that Oddvar had indicated. He began to clear away stones. A moment later, Fyren and Gifre joined him.

As they worked, Oddvar kept a close eye on the surrounding rocks, watching to make sure a small landslide wasn’t going to result from their efforts. He didn’t give Kuruk another thought.

After the four of them were gone, Kuruk, moving slowly and painfully, began to free himself from the rubble.

    T
he companions continued slowly down the dark tunnel.

“You look worried,” Catriona said in a low voice so the others couldn’t hear.

“I am,” Davyn admitted. “Sure, we managed to get into the tunnel system, but we almost got ourselves killed doing so, and the resulting cave-in has undoubtedly drawn Maddoc’s attention. And the only reason we didn’t perish was Sindri.” Davyn glanced at the kender. While he sat upright on Ayanti’s back, his eyes were half closed, as if he were dozing.

Catriona gave Sindri a quick look. “Who’d ever have thought a little kender could be so powerful?”

“Who indeed?”

“I’m not thrilled to be stuck with Shiriki,” Catriona said. “It would’ve made things simpler if we’d just killed her. After all, she’d do the same to any of us if our situations were reversed.”

“You’re not serious, are you?” Davyn asked.

“Not really.” She sighed. “After all, we’re the good guys, right?”

“I’m most worried that we might be lost,” Davyn said. “Now that we’re in the tunnels, I realize how foolish it was to come
here. There’s no way to tell if any of these tunnels leads to the keep. We might end up trapped down here, while Nearra suffers whatever fate Maddoc has planned for her.”

Thinking of Nearra made Davyn’s heart ache. Though he’d done his best to make up for originally aiding Maddoc in his plan to resurrect Asvoria, he still felt responsible for her situation. Nearra was too kind, too sensitive, too
good
a person to deserve everything that had happened to her over the last year.

And now, just when she needed all of them the most, it looked as if they were going to fail her.

“Dead end,” Ayanti said, and they all came to a halt.