“Harp!” Kitto screamed, as Harp disappeared off the edge of the ravine.
“Hold him, Verran,” Boult shouted. Verran grabbed Kitto’s arm, but the boy jerked it away.
Kitto started down the trunk, and Verran grabbed his elbow again. Kitto glared up at him furiously and pulled away.
“The ants will leave,” Verran assured him. “And we’ll go after the captain.”
Kitto looked doubtful, but he hesitated. Just as Verran said, the rank-and-file ants didn’t know what to do without their leader. The ants on the tree trunks dropped to the ground and milled around in confusion, eventually wandering in different directions into the underbrush. A few walked directly off the edge of the ravine and into thin air, following the path of the queen. As the horde dispersed, the crewmates scrambled down the tree trunks, but the few remaining ants didn’t seem to notice them.
Kitto ran to the edge where Harp had disappeared, dropped to his knees, and peered over the side.
“Do you see him?” Verran asked.
Boult stood at his shoulder. “It’s not a vertical drop, Kit. He could have grabbed onto something. And I can’t see his body.”
“Let’s find a way down,” Verran said. A few paces up the river, a faint path traversed the bank down to the river. Halfway down the trail they could hear Harp calling to them over the rush of the river.
“See Kitto?” Boult said. “You’re not going to get rid of him that easily.”
Kitto’s head was tipped forward, so his shaggy black hair covered his face, and he didn’t say anything until they reached the bottom of the ravine. Harp was waiting for them by the river, wincing as he rubbed his shoulder. His face was muddy, and blood from his chin had dripped onto his sweat-stained shirt.
“Are you all right?” Kitto asked.
“Hah, stupid ant,” Harp said. “Lost my sword, though.”
“Bad luck,” Boult said.
“Maybe not,” Harp said, pointing downriver. “I found something else.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
30 Ky thorn, the Year of the Ageless One (1479 DR) Chult
Set into the face of the riverside bluff, the wooden door was half-covered in flowering vines. The edge of the river was just paces away from the door, and there were watermarks halfway up the planks as if there had been recent flooding. A narrow path, just wide enough for a single person, led from the door to the river.
“Doesn’t look much like an ancient ruin,” Boult said, looking at the sturdy metal hinges and doorframe set into the bank. Between Bootman’s attack and the ants, Chult’s surprises were nothing to underestimate. The door was one more thing. What hid behind it?
“There’s something here,” Verran called from where he’d wandered down the bank. A short slope led down to the river, and a ring of three boulders formed a pool of calm water. Judging from the smattering of tracks along the slope, it was a popular watering hole for animals.
“I’ve never seen half these tracks before,” Verran said, kneeling down and poking at the ground with a stick. “See those hoof prints? I’d say they’re wild boar. But look, they’ve got an extra toe.”
“What do you know about wild boar?” Boult said dubiously.
Verran looked embarrassed. “My father liked to go hunting. Before he died, he used to show me things.”
Boult glared at Harp, who avoided his gaze. It would take an act of outright treachery for Harp to see that there was something suspicious about a boy who could unintentionally melt the skin off a man. Boult wasn’t fooled by Verran. He might act like he was lost and confused, but he was taller than Harp and built like a blacksmith. A youth didn’t have muscles like that unless he had done something hard to earn them.
“I can see… six different cat tracks,” Verran said excitedly. Kitto knelt down beside Verran to inspect the mud.
“I used to have a cat,” Kitto told Verran. “So did I,” Verran said. “It was a fat tabby.” “Mine was gray,” Kitto said.
Boult couldn’t believe what he was hearing. At this rate, the boys would be skipping stones and laying out a picnic. Boult looked at Harp incredulously and saw that Harp was trying hard not to smile.
“Is that what you wanted to show us, Verran?” Harp inquired gently.
“There are human footprints. There,” Verran told him.
Boult looked closer and saw a series of tracks that were unmistakably from a barefoot humanoid, and a smallish one at that.
“Another dwarf?” Harp asked. “Like the one we saw in the hollow?”
Verran shook his head and crouched down for a better look. “I don’t think so. Usually they have a lower arch and the bone below the big toe sticks out more. Look, they go back up.” Verran followed the tracks up the muddy slope in the direction of the door.
“And just what was young Master Verran doing tracking dwarves through the wilderness with his father,” Boult said in a low voice.
Kitto frowned. “Verran’s all right,” he said.
“Yeah, Boult,” Harp said. “Keep your wits about you. Maybe it was perfectly innocent.”
“Sure, they were all going to frolic together like wood nymphs,” Boult snapped.
“Can’t a man just stalk a dwarf for the joy of it?” Harp said. “Why do you have to-make it sound all nefarious?”
“Why don’t you go chew on the pointy end of your sword, Harp?” Boult growled.
“I lost my sword, remember?” Harp replied.
“Quit it,” Kitto said sternly. They trudged up the slope to where Verran was waiting.
“Well, there’s nothing to do but go inside,” Boult said after Verran pointed out how the footsteps disappeared on the dry ground in front of the door.
“Someone needs to wait out here and watch the door,” Harp said. “Any volunteers?”
“I will,” Kitto said.
“No, I will,” Verran said. “I don’t like dark, enclosed places.”
“All right,” Harp said. “Shout if you see something.”
Stepping off to one side, Harp pushed gently against the door. It wasn’t locked and swung open with a loud squeal.
“Another stellar move by Captain Harp,” Boult sneered as they stared into the gloom of the cavern. “Nothing like rusty hinges to announce your presence.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Harp said sarcastically. “Of course, you would have thought to put a spot of lamp oil on the hinges first.”
Harp took a step forward, but Boult shook his head. “You’ve got the night vision of an old man. Let me.”
Harp put out his arm to stop Boult. “And you’re about as stealthy as a cat in heat. Let me.”
They hadn’t gone more than a few steps down the passageway when they saw an open doorway on the left side of the corridor. A long line of thick-barred, low-ceilinged cages lined one wall of the dank room. Shackles were bolted to their slick floors, and bones and hunks of fursome of which still had rotting flesh clinging to themlittered the cramped cages. Harp’s haggard face had gone from tan to pale, and the ruddy scars crisscrossing his features stood out against his wan skin. Harp leaned one hand against the wall as if he were trying to regain his balance. Boult understoodhe was having some unpleasant recollections of the Vankila Slab himself.
“I swore I’d cut out my own eyes before I’d go back to prison,” Harp said to Boult. “Particularly before I’d go back to prison with you.”
“But then you’d be stupid and ugly,” Boult replied. “And if you’ll notice what side of the bars we’re on, we’re not in prison.”
“Yet,” Harp said grimly.
The Vankila Slab was a prison in the sky. Built by a joint effort of the Houses of Amn, it had been constructed on a barren mote, a massive slab of earth floating above Murandinn. The ogres who were charged with running the
