"They're your ancestors, too, Lashana," Kyrtian pointed out with surprising gentleness. "Many of them were arrogant and selfish creatures who, as soon as they got away from those who were exploiting them, turned about and oppressed others—but some were like me, like my father, and like your friend Valyn. And they knew a very great deal that we would find useful, if we could rediscover it."
"All that great learning doesn't seem to have done them much good here," Lynder observed, looking around the cave,
and shuddering. "Do Elvenlords leave ghosts behind when they die?"
Shana knew exactly how he was feeling. She had spent a great deal of her life in caves, and normally she felt quite comfortable in them, but this one had an atmosphere that she could only describe as "haunted." Every word they spoke whispered and echoed in a way that was quite unnerving, with bits of their own conversation lingering long past the time when Shana would have expected the sounds to die away.
And now that they were all gathered in around the fire, Kyrt-ian had thriftily canceled his mage-lights. She was used to the way that a fire made moving shadows on cave-walls, but here were shadows that moved within the shadows, and places where blots of darkness were there when she looked, but gone when she looked again. As for the smell—under the usual damp "cave" scent, there was a hint of something metallic and harsh.
It was only the first in a series of caves, as Keman had described, for in the wall opposite the rock-fall, a dark maw of a further entrance gaped. She guessed that this cavern had been water-carved at some point, but where the water had gone was anyone's guess. Perhaps it had sunk further into the depths of the hills, and they would encounter it as they got deeper into the caves. It was a half-dome now, the rock-fall covering what had been a vast entrance; the "ceiling" was a good three or four stories above their heads. Under all the debris, the floor was of sand, which at least had the virtue of being dry and softer than rock.
But this cave was not what Kyrtian had come to hunt, not really. The relics here were nothing more than the sign that this place was what Kyrtian's father had been looking for. There was no sign of the Elvenlord himself—unless some of those bones—
No, he would have found something to recognize his father by, I should think.
There was also no sign of his "Great Portal," or anything like it; no sign of the complex devices Kyrtian had described when he'd told Shana what he was looking for. How long before
Kyrtian decreed that it was time to move deeper into the complex? The only concession to "making camp" so far was the fire and a few rocks as seats around it.
Kyrtian saw her glancing reluctantly towards the open entrance at the rear, and caught her eye. "Whatever is in there has waited for decades," he said—sadly, she thought. "It can wait another night. We rode like fools to get here, we're tired and wet and cold. We'd be further fools to go climbing around in an unknown cave in this state. People get themselves killed doing stupid things like that."
Lynder let out his breath; clearly he'd been holding it the moment Kyrtian began to speak, dreading being told they were going to have to gather their strength and be off again once they'd eaten. "Thank you for that, my Lord," he said stoutly. "You've prevented me from having to say the same thing. I was afraid if I did, you'd be angry, and if I didn't, Sargeant Gel would have the hide off me when we got back."
"I would hope I would never be the kind of leader to put you in that sort of untenable position, Lynder," Kyrtian replied, but a weary sparkle came back into his eyes, at least for a moment. "Food and sleep, my lads—and my lady—" he added, bowing to Shana. "That's what's called for here. And perhaps a little narrative from your friend on what it was like to eavesdrop outside my tent. I am curious to hear about that."
Keman bowed in his turn. "The only difference between us and your usual guards, Lord Kyrtian, was that we have much sharper hearing—and one of us was a lady herself."
"Oh really?" Kyrtian leaned forward. "Please go on...."
Hours later, the fire died down to coals. Keman had gone out to catch himself something of an appropriate size for a dragon's dinner. Before he left, Shana and Kyrtian had both taken the time—comparing notes the while—to fence in their little camp with protective magic. Interestingly enough, neither of them had chosen to use magic-shields. Instead, they had both opted for something that would trigger an alarm if crossed, clearing a circle that Keman could easily see so that he wouldn't trigger the alarm by tripping it when he returned. After all, he could
simply shapeshift into a boulder, and nothing would disturb his rest; he didn't need alarms to warn him of danger, since danger would pass by without noticing him.
Despite those precautions, despite being weary, Shana was having a hard time getting to sleep. If conversations had echoed uncannily around the walls, the little sounds the others made as they moved or sighed or mumbled in their sleep were worse. Someone would cough a little, or turn over—moments later the sound came back, much distorted, into something that sounded like a footstep, or a whispered word. Sometimes multiple echoes came back, a breath, a murmur of not-quite-intelligible conversation.
She didn't actually fall asleep until after Keman finally returned. He entered as a dragon—a thin, snake-like dragon, the only way he could fit himself in through that tiny opening. He remained as a dragon, curled up just outside the boundary. His solid presence, bulking large so close at hand, finally made her feel safe. And in that moment, sleep came.
Triana's people had pitched a secluded camp at a discreet distance from the site that was evidently Kyrtian's goal. Rain dripped steadily on the canvas of her tent as she plied the forester with questions, a soft glow from a mage-light suspended above them shining down on his face and highlighting rough-hewn features that Triana had begun to take a liking to. The rugged looks of all of these men were beginning to grow on her; by comparison, her carefully-sculpted and trained slave-toys, though more defined and muscular, actually seemed rather boyish and immature.
"So, five of them entered, and the rest are—where?" Triana asked her scout.
"Gracious Lady, I couldn't find them." He didn't shrug, but she wondered what his impassive expression hid. Probably nervousness, fear of her anger; he was definitely sweating, just at his hairline. "I stayed to watch, then remained once they had been inside for some time and darkness had fallen. I climbed to the entrance to make certain that Lord Kyrtian and the four who
accompanied him intended to set up camp there; they had gear down there enough to do so, and such seemed to be their intentions. When I went to look for the others, however, they could not be found."
"I can't believe he would have sent them back," she mused aloud. "No, I'm sure he must have created an illusion to cloak their camp—it is what I would have done in his place. Or else they themselves are taking no chances on the creatures lurking in this forest, and have hidden their camp...."
"It was quite dark by that time, my lady," he said diffidently.
"And you correctly remembered your orders to keep track of Kyrtian, not his slaves." She nodded. "Did you make any effort to see what was within the cave itself?"
He shook his head. "Lord Kyrtian had mage-lights all through the place, but it is very large, and a hard climb down. The floor is littered with debris, but I could not tell you what it was at that distance. The usual trash one finds in a cave, I suppose."
So he had come straight back here; that showed a fine balance between obedience and good sense. She smiled at him, and thought that his nervousness ebbed, a little. "You've done well; I would rather that you came back here to tell me what happened than waste time in trying to discover the whereabouts of a lot of men who will probably do nothing until their master returns." She laughed, then, and her man relaxed a little further. "As I have said before, what Kyrtian can do, I can do. I have no need of you men inside that cave; I have no intention of confronting Lord Kyrtian, I only wish to discover what he is up to. I can do that being careful and using my own powers of illusion to cloak my presence once one of you has helped me climb down. You, meanwhile, have managed to outflank Aelmarkin and get us here only a little behind Lord Kyrtian's men. I believe you deserve a bit of a holiday."
Now the slave unbent entirely. "Thank you, my lady," was all he said, but she saw the expression in his eyes change to one of wary gratitude, rather like a somber, alert coursing-hound offered an unexpected treat. She offered him a cup of her wine; he accepted it with a profound bow and drank it off at a gulp. A
pity; it was a good vintage, but likely he wouldn't know good from bad. Perhaps she would educate him.
"I will go into the cave tomorrow to follow Kyrtian. Before I do, I would like you to find a good, out-of-the-way place to camp that is unlikely to be stumbled across by Aelmarkin's men. I'll cloak it with illusion and you all can disport yourselves as you will until I return." His eyes absolutely lit, and she laughed. "And yes, this means you may help yourselves to any of the provisions, the wine included. I don't expect to have to spend much time in that hole, and when I return, our business will be to make all speed back. Too many provisions will only slow us down."
She would take the precaution of changing the wine so that it made anyone who drank it tranquil rather than rowdy. She could always change it back when she returned. Better that they laze a little while she was gone; it would ruin her plans entirely for Aelmarkin's people to discover hers because they were carousing and singing or fighting behind her cloak of illusion.
If something else came across them and they were incapacitated, well—there were other ways she could get home. If they didn't take the precaution of setting a sober sentry, they weren't worth the money she'd paid for them.
"Have another cup," she said, with a dazzling smile, refilling his goblet. "Then go and tell the others what I just told you. I'll want climbing gear ready for me first thing when I wake; you can see me safely down, then return here to the others to wait for my return."
A few hours past dawn, Aelmarkin stood looking up at a vast pile of tumbled rocks; the trail apparently ended there, according to his forester. As usual, the skies dripped. He shook rain out of his eyes with irritation; was there never a break from the wretched stuff here?
And Kyrtian, Ancestors curse him, had found a way out of the wretched stuff. "A cave?" Aelmarkin said incredulously. "There's a cave up there? And Kyrtian crawled in there?"
"Yes, my Lord," the forester said into the ground at Ael-
markin's feet. "It is a very, very large cave; the opening is near to the top of it. I could not tell how many of his men went in with him, but the main trail ends here, and I can clearly see where a number of people went up that slope and entered into a gap at the top. Without light I cannot see what is inside, but if they were still immediately inside it, I must suppose they'd have lights of their own, so I presume they've gone in deeper."
"By the Ancestors." Aelmarkin began to chuckle. "Well, it's pretty clear that, whatever is here, it's not Wizards. Unless this is some forgotten entrance into their lair."
"Forgotten, my lord, or no longer in use because of the rock-fall," the scout said, head still bent. "But I dropped a torch within, when I could see no signs of Lord Kyrtian or his men down below, and before it guttered out all I saw was litter. It appears that if this place was ever in use as an entrance, it has not been used so for a very long time."
"That's good enough for me!" Aelmarkin replied. He considered the situation. "I'll take you with me; the rest can camp here. We'll see if we can't discover what Kyrtian thinks he's up to."
"It will be very difficult to conceal ourselves in a cave, my lord," the man began.
Aelmarkin cut him off with a gesture; the water from Ael-markin's sodden sleeve spattered him from head to toe, and Aelmarkin felt a bit of sour pleasure as the slave winced. "Not for a mage, you fool! Get whatever gear we'll need—we're already hours behind him." He looked around at the rest of his slaves. "And you! Put up a proper camp this time! When I get back, I expect to see something other than a half-pitched tent and a fire that won't start! And get moving!"