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.
• CHAPTER TEN •
Rescue
IT 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 awoke, 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.
Borric told them, ‘This mad dwarf means to return to the mines.’
Before Kulgan and Arutha could voice a protest, Dolgan said, ‘I know it is only a slim hope, but if the boy has eluded the foul spirit, he’ll be wandering lost and alone. There are tunnels down there that have never known the tread of a dwarf’s foot, let alone a boy’s. Once down a passage, I have no trouble making my way back, but Tomas has no such natural sense. If I can find his trail, I can find him. If he is to have any chance of escaping the mines, he’ll be needing my guidance. I’ll bring home the boy if he lives, on this you have the word of Dolgan Tagarson, chief of village Caldara. I could not rest in my long hall this winter if I did not try.’
Pug was roused from his lethargy by the dwarf’s words. ‘Do you think you can find him, Dolgan?’
‘If any can, I can,’ he said. He leaned close to Pug. ‘Do not get your hopes too high, for it is unlikely that Tomas eluded the wraith. I would do you a disservice if I said otherwise, boy.’ Seeing the tears brimming in Pug’s eyes again, he quickly added, ‘But if there is a way, I shall find it.’
Pug nodded, seeking a middle path between desolation and renewed hope. He understood the admonition, but still could not give up the faint flicker of comfort Dolgan’s undertaking would provide.
Dolgan crossed over to where his shield and ax lay and picked them up. ‘When the dawn comes, quickly follow the trail down the hills through the woodlands. While not the Green Heart, this place has menace aplenty for so small a band. If you lose your way, head due east. You’ll find your way to the road to Bordon. From there it is a matter of three days’ walk. May the gods protect you.’
Borric nodded, and Kulgan walked over to where the dwarf made ready to leave. He handed Dolgan a pouch. ‘I can get more tabac in the town, friend dwarf. Please take this.’
Dolgan took it and smiled at Kulgan. ‘Thank you, magician. I am in your debt.’
Borric came to stand before the dwarf and place a hand on his shoulder. ‘It is we who are in your debt, Dolgan. If you come to Crydee, we will have that meal you were promised. That, and more. May good fortune go with you.’
‘Thank you, Your Lordship. I’ll look forward to it.’ Without another word, Dolgan walked into the blackness of Mac Mordain Cadal.
Dolgan stopped by the dead mules, pausing only long enough to pick up food, water, and a lantern. The dwarf needed no light to make his way underground – his people had long ago adapted other senses for the darkness. But, he thought, it will increase the chances of finding Tomas if the boy can see the light, no matter the risk of attracting unwelcome attention. Assuming he is still alive, he added grimly.
Entering the tunnel where he had last seen Tomas, Dolgan searched about for signs of the boy’s passing. The dust was thin, but here and there he could make out a slight disturbance, perhaps a footprint. Following, the dwarf came to even dustier passages, where the boy’s footfalls were clearly marked. Hurrying, he followed them.
Dolgan came back to the same cavern, after a few minutes, and cursed.
He felt little hope of finding the boy’s tracks again among all the disturbance caused by the fight with the wraith. Pausing briefly, he set out to examine each tunnel leading out of the cavern for signs. After an hour he found a single footprint heading away from the cavern, through a tunnel to the right of where he had entered the first time. Moving up it, he found several more prints, set wide apart, and decided the boy must have been running. Hurrying on, he saw more tracks, as the passage became dustier.
Dolgan came to the cavern on the lake and nearly lost the trail again, until he saw the tunnel near the edge of the landing. He slogged through the water, pulling himself up into the passage, and saw Tomas’s tracks. His faint lantern light was insufficient to illuminate the crystals in the cavern. But even if it had, he would not have paused to admire the sight, so intent was he on finding the boy.
Downward he followed, never resting. He knew that Tomas had long before outdistanced the wraith. There were signs that most of his journey was at a slower pace: footprints in the dust showed he had been walking, and the cold campfire showed he had stopped. But there were other terrors besides the wraith down here, just as dreadful.
Dolgan again lost the trail in the last cavern, finding it only when he spied the ledge above where the tracks ended. He had difficulty climbing to it, but when he did, he saw the blackened spot where the boy had snuffed out his torch. Here Tomas must have rested. Dolgan looked around the empty cavern. The air did not move this deep below the mountains. Even the dwarf, who was used to such things, found this an unnerving place. He looked down at the black mark on the ledge. But how long did Tomas stay, and where did he go?
Dolgan saw the hole in the wall and, since no tracks led away from the ledge, decided that was the way Tomas must have gone. He climbed through and followed the passage until it came to a larger one, heading downward, into the bowels of the mountain.
Dolgan followed what seemed to be a group of tracks, as if a band of men had come this way. Tomas’s tracks were mixed in, and he was worried, for the boy could have been along this way before or after the others, or could have been with them. If the boy was held prisoner by someone, then Dolgan knew every moment was critical.
The tunnel wound downward and soon changed into a hall fashioned from great stone blocks fitted closely together and polished smooth. In all his years he had never seen its like. The passage leveled out, and Dolgan walked along quietly. The tracks had vanished, for the stone was hard and free of dust. High overhead, Dolgan could make out the first of several crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling by chains. They could be lowered by means of a pulley, so the candles might be lit. The sound of his boots echoed hollowly off the high ceiling.
At the far end of the passage he spied large doors, fashioned from wood, with bands of iron and a great lock. They were ajar, and light could be seen coming through.
Without a sound, Dolgan crept close to the doors and peered in. He gaped at what he saw, his shield and ax coming up instinctively.
Sitting on a pile of gold coins, and gems the size of a man’s fist, was Tomas, eating what looked to be a fish. Opposite him crouched a figure that caused Dolgan to doubt his eyes.
A head the size of a small wagon rested on the floor. Shield-size scales of a deep golden color covered it, and the long, supple neck led back to a huge body extending into the gloom of the giant hall. Enormous wings were folded across its back, their drooping tips touching the floor. Two pointed ears sat atop its head, separated by a delicate-looking crest, flecked with silver. Its long muzzle was set in a wolflike grin, showing fangs as long as broadswords, and a long forked tongue flicked out for a moment.
Dolgan fought down the overwhelming and rare urge to run, for Tomas was sitting, and to all appearances sharing a meal, with the dwarven folk’s most feared hereditary enemy: a great dragon. He stepped forward, and his boots clacked on the stone floor.
Tomas turned at the sound, and the dragon’s great head came up. Giant ruby eyes regarded the small intruder. Tomas jumped to his feet, an expression of joy upon his face. ‘Dolgan!’ He scrambled down from the pile of wealth and rushed to the dwarf.
The dragon’s voice rumbled through the great hall, echoing like thunder through a valley. ‘Welcome, dwarf. Thy friend hath told me that thou wouldst not forsake him.’
Tomas stood before the dwarf, asking a dozen questions, while Dolgan’s senses reeled. Behind the boy, the Prince of all dragons sat quietly observing the exchange, and the dwarf was having trouble maintaining the equanimity that was normally his. Making little sense of Tomas’s questions, Dolgan gently pushed him to one side to better see the dragon. ‘I came alone,’ he said softly to the boy. ‘The others were loath to leave the search to me, but they had to press on, so vital was the mission.’
Tomas said, ‘I understand.’
‘What manner of wizardry is this?’ asked Dolgan softly.
The dragon chuckled, and the room rumbled with the sound. ‘Come into my home, dwarf, and I will tell thee.’ The great dragon’s head returned to the floor, his eyes still resting above Dolgan’s head. The dwarf approached slowly, shield and ax unconsciously at the ready. The dragon laughed, a deep, echoing sound, like water cascading down a canyon. ‘Stay thy hand, small warrior, I’ll not harm thee or thy friend.’
Dolgan let his shield down and hung his ax on his belt. He looked around and saw that they were standing in a vast hall, fashioned out of the living rock of the mountain. On all its walls could be seen large tapestries and banners, faded and torn; something about their look set Dolgan’s teeth on edge, for they were as alien as they were ancient – no creature he knew of, human, elf, or goblin fashioned those pennants. More of the giant crystal chandeliers hung from timbers across the ceiling. At the far end of the hall, a throne could be seen on a dais, and long tables with chairs for many diners stood before it. Upon the tables were flagons of crystal and plates of gold. And all was covered with the dust of ages.
Elsewhere in the hall lay piles of wealth: gold, gems, crowns, silver, rich armor, bolts of rare cloth, and carved chests of precious woods, fitted with inlaid enamels of great craft.
