"I've been there," Riven answered softly.
"Then we're following you," Cale said. "Mags, when we get close, you take us to the tunnel the caravan is heading down. Let's move."
* * * * *
They sprinted through the torchlit streets of Skullport, dodging carts and slaves, mercenaries and mages, bugbears and orcs. With Magadon running easily beside him, Riven led them north through the brewing district-rich with the acrid smoke of distilleries and fermentation casks-and through the slums-rich with the stink of filth, sewage, and rotting garbage-until they reached a flat, open area of Skullport dotted with rothe pens, coopers' shops, large tents, wheelwrights, and other services related to caravannering.
Smoking torches on tall iron stands lit the area as brightly as a surface city street at night. The hemp highway did not reach that far north, and the ceiling soared away into the darkness above. To Cale, the area appeared to be the mirror image of Skullport's wharves, but with wagons and carts instead of ships, teamsters instead of sailors, and dark tunnels instead of dark water.
"Cart City," Riven said, over his shoulder.
Cale saw where the area had gotten its name. The place was thronged with beasts, wagons, carts, humans, and various humanoids, all busily loading and unloading goods and slaves for transport in caravans. Cale did not care to ponder the dark destinations to which the slaves would be taken.
Squads of kobold and goblin laborers flitted frenetically through the area, carrying rope, barking orders, herding rothe and pack lizards. The sulfuric smell of forge smoke and the heavy pungency of animal dung filled the air. The voices of the mass of caravanners merged into an indistinguishable murmur that rose toward the ceiling like smoke.
Jak elbowed Cale and pointed to the ceiling far above. There, framed by stalactites as thin as spears, two glowing Skulls supervised the area from on high, preventing the nascent chaos from erupting into violence. Cale felt the incredible weight of their gazes as they passed over him, the pull of Weaveshear at his waist, and a brief flash of concern that the magic in the blade would draw the Skulls' attention as surely as a lodestone drew iron shavings. But it did not, and Cale and his companions continued on, unmolested by Skullport's guardians.
To their right, a caravan of eight carts was assembling, the carts forming up, the teamsters yoking a recalcitrant pack lizard or two. A score or so of armed orc and hobgoblin guards eyed them coolly. A large hobgoblin in a chain shirt aimed a crossbow in Cale's direction, smiling a mouthful of pointed teeth. Cale slowed and stared. The hobgoblin lowered the weapon, offered Cale a hard smile, a mock salute, and shared a laugh with the other guards.
Meanwhile, Magadon and Riven pushed and elbowed their way through and around the street traffic, hurrying toward the looming, sloping face of Skullport's northern wall. The guide seemed to know exactly where he was going. Jak and Cale trailed after them.
They stopped in the middle of a packed earth road, twenty or so paces before the rough stone facade of the cavern's wall. The street traffic broke around them like a wave.
Ordinarily, the fact that Skullport existed in a huge cavern was easy to forget. The city was so large and the darkness so thick that Cale had not seen a wall or ceiling in cycles. But standing before the craggy face of the city's northern border, he remembered that Skullport existed at the whim of the gods of the earth and stone, in a fragile bubble nearly a league below the surface. He thought it likely that if Azriim and the other slaadi succeeded with whatever they were planning, Skullport's bubble would burst.
And Varra would suffer the same fate as the city.
"Which way, Mags?" Cale asked. "Riven?"
Ten or more large cave mouths opened at ground level in the cavern's wall, each easily large enough to allow a cart's passage. In fact, the last wagon of a caravan was vanishing down the leftmost tunnel at that very moment.
Riven shook his head.
"The slaad wasn't specific enough," said the assassin. "I don't know which tunnel."
Stepping forward out of the heaviest of the traffic, Magadon knelt on his haunches and stroked his chin, looking from one tunnel to the next, as if searching his memory. Wheel ruts scored the packed earth in front of each tunnel, and Cale couldn't tell them apart. Innumerable smaller tunnels opened at all heights along the rough rock face but Cale ignored them as impassable for a cart. Bats and stirges wheeled in the air above.
"This way," Magadon said, standing and nodding in the direction of the third tunnel from the left.
"You're certain?" Cale asked.
"Yes," the guide said, and that was good enough for Cale.
But apparently not for Riven.
"Let's make certain," the assassin said. He grabbed a passing goblin laborer by the scruff of its homespun shirt and lifted it from the ground. The creature squeaked in agitation, legs flailing.
"Quiet," Riven ordered it.
The goblin ceased squeaking and instead hissed at Riven through its stained fangs.
"Puts me down, human," it said in a high-pitched voice, its Common rough and awkward, "or I'll finds you asleep and cuts out your other eye."
Riven scowled and the creature recoiled. The assassin produced three gold pieces from his pouch and flashed them before the goblin's eyes. The creature grabbed at the coins but Riven pulled them out of reach.
"What's it you wants, one-eye?" the goblin asked.
Cale looked around to see whether they had drawn attention. To his alarm, he saw that one of the Skulls had moved nearer to them to observe. It floated above them, its empty gaze seeing everything.
"Riven. . . ." Cale said, gesturing toward the ceiling.
Riven's gaze followed Cale's. Seeing the Skull, he slowly lowered the goblin to the ground, but kept his grip on its shirt.
"These are yours," Riven said to the creature, again flashing the coin while eyeing the Skull sidelong, "when you tell me what I want to know."
A cunning look came across the goblin's red-skinned face. It rubbed its hands together greedily.
"Asks me, hole-in-face."
Riven said, "Less than half an hour ago, a single wagon went into the tunnels. It had a score or more of gray dwarves as guards."
The goblin nodded and said, "Me sees that one."
"Which tunnel?" Riven asked, giving the goblin a shake.
"You gives more," the goblin replied.
Riven's gaze went hard.
"I'll give you two more," he said.
The creature smiled in satisfaction, and licked its lips. Riven took out two more coins and held them before the goblin's face.
"And I'll drive each of these through your eyes and into your braincase, you little vermin. Speak, now."
The goblin's eyes went wide.
"That one," it said, and pointed toward the tunnel that Magadon had indicated.
Riven released it and flung the coins into the crowd. The creature let out a shriek and scrabbled after the gold.
Above, the Skull turned away from them and floated back to its high perch.
"Wanted to be sure, Mags," Riven said to the guide, by way of apology.
"Keep moving," Cale said, and they hurried down the tunnel, all the while under the watchful gaze of the Skulls.