gone by, and I was amazed that I hadn’t been driven crazy by the oppressive sense of loneliness.
A week. A whole week, spent Sagot only knew where. But I was halfway through the journey, with only four levels left.
Ha! Only! I still hadn’t got to the places mentioned in the verse guide. A week had flashed past like a confused nightmare that I could hardly even remember. There wasn’t much chance that I would get back on time now, and it would be just like Milord Alistan to come down here himself.
I had about half of my original supply of biscuits and lights left, and I was beginning to feel a bit concerned that soon I’d have to ration myself more strictly, tighten my belt and learn to walk in total darkness. And what’s more, there was no water in this part of the level and I had to be brutally economical with the small amount still splashing about in the bottom of my flask. My face was itching desperately, too—the effect of a week’s worth of unshaven stubble.
I should have reached the stairway to the fifth level a long time ago, but there was no sign of it. I was starting to worry that I must have turned into the wrong hall by mistake and got lost.
The map was almost no help to me. I could tell where the way out was, but there was no way I could tell exactly where I was myself. All the halls in this sector were the same—indigo and ochre walls, mother-of-pearl columns, and turquoise floors (a diabolical combination for the eyes).
I was looking for just one hall. One with an entrance to a long, absolutely straight gallery that ought to lead me to the stairway I needed. But I had been searching for more than three hours, and still had not found it.
Then I had a sudden stroke of luck (if you can really call it luck).
This place wasn’t like all the ones before it. A small room with a closed iron door in the far wall and a narrow little manhole in the floor, covered with a steel grille. I walked up to the door, wondering feverishly why anyone would have wanted to put up a barrier here, especially since I hadn’t exactly seen a lot of doors in Hrad Spein. Realizing that I must have missed a turn somewhere, I turned to walk out of the room, but halfway across it I got a very big surprise. The wall closed up, as if it were alive, blocking off the way out and locking me in.
“I don’t get it,” I told the darkness rather stupidly.
The answer was a rumble from the ceiling. I hastily told the light to shine at full brightness and uttered a phrase that was rather offensive to the ears of the gods.
The ceiling was moving toward me, threatening to skewer Harold on two-yard-long spikes that would have been the envy of every hedgehog in Siala.
When I recovered from my stupor, I ran to the iron door and hastily inspected it again. A keyhole.… There it is! My hands were shaking a little as the ceiling slowly and implacably moved lower.
The lock pick slid into the keyhole and broke off with an apologetic
My eye fell on the manhole in the floor. I grabbed the grille with both hands and pulled with all my might, straining so hard I almost snapped in half. But, as I ought to have expected, the grille didn’t budge an inch.
I had to do something, and quick! The unknown builders who had built this manhole for some strange reason had given me a chance to avoid being killed, and I didn’t intend to waste it.
I scooped a handful of vials out of my bag, chose one that had a skull in flames drawn on it, and put the others back. I flung the magical vial at the grille and the glass clinked as it broke. I darted off to a safe distance—as far as I could get.
A bright flash of flame!
I crawled to the manhole on all fours, praying to Sagot that everything had worked properly. The spikes on the ceiling were almost scraping my back. The grille covering the manhole in the floor had disappeared. I dived into the hole, without even thinking about the consequences. I fell for a second, hit a stone floor, and hissed at the pain.
A grating sound from somewhere up above told me that the ceiling spikes had made contact with the floor. The light flared up to its previous brightness in a gesture of farewell, and died.
Magnificent! The space I’d fallen into was so narrow, I had to perform miracles of agility just to reach the bag at my waist. I hooked a new magical lamp out of one of the pockets with two fingers, squeezed my eyes shut, lit it, waited for a few seconds, and then started inspecting my new refuge.
A small square room with a narrow stone tunnel leading out of it.
Twisting myself into an impossible position, I looked up. There was the square manhole I had come through, and the ceiling, grinning at me with its spikes. I twisted myself even farther out of shape, almost lying down, and shone the light into the stone tunnel. I could only see five yards; after that it was pitch black.
Of course, I could have just died there, like a rat in a trap, but somehow I didn’t really want to depart for the light so soon. So I would have to crawl through the narrow passage and just hope it didn’t narrow all the way down to the eye of a needle. Sagra be praised, it didn’t, and eventually I could see the end of the tunnel.
The hole leading out into the hall was no more than two yards above the floor. First all the things I had been pushing along went flying down, and then I followed. I had to twist pretty sharply to land on my feet instead of my head, but I managed this little task successfully and found myself standing in a brightly lit space.
There was no time for looking around, and I quickly gathered up my things that were lying on the floor. I put one bag over my shoulder, the other on my belt, set the knife on my thigh and pulled the straps tight, slung the crossbow behind my shoulder. That seemed to be everything. Now I could take a look at the place, since this was the first time on this level that I’d come across a hall that was brightly lit.
The architecture was rather inelegant for elves or orcs—too coarse, simple, and plain. There was a large stone head of one of those half bird, half bears on each wall. As usual, the faces in these sculptures were hostile and the eyes blazed brightly in the light of the magical lamps—lamps that were like my own little lights, but much larger.
The blazing eyes caught my attention. Caught it and held it. In the first head they were green; in the second, fiery red; in the third, intense yellow; and in the fourth, the deep color of the sky just before a thunderstorm. The palms of my hands immediately started sweating, because those eyes were actually precious stones, and each one was just a little bit smaller than my fist.
If I could collect all those stones, I’d never have to work again. They’d make me rich for a hundred years, and the price of the Commission—the fifty thousand that Stalkon had promised me if I dragged back the Rainbow Horn for him—would seem laughable. Why, the dwarves would sell me half their mountains for a single stone like that!
This time I didn’t hesitate. I took out my knife and went over to the nearest face, the one with green eyes. I stuck the knife between the gem and the ordinary stone and started using it like a lever, working the gigantic emerald loose.
The green jewel yielded with surprising ease and I caught it in my hand. Then a torrent of green cascaded out of the empty eye socket onto the floor. I even forgot to open my mouth. In ten seconds an entire fortune in small emeralds (small, that is, after the emerald eye) spilled out.
They scattered across the smooth floor like grains of millet, sparkling bright green in the light of the lamps. I stuck the large eye-emerald in my bag and started gathering up its smaller brothers with trembling hands, obsessed with the feverish thought that once I emptied all the treasure out of the eye sockets, I’d be far richer than any king.
There was a stairway that started beside the head with the yellow eyes and led straight up to the ceiling, where there was a hatch. That was my way out.
I was distracted from gathering up the emeralds by a shadow that appeared from behind my back. From my hands and knees I flung myself sideways in a most inelegant manner, and a yataghan came down hard on the spot where I had just been, clanging loudly against the marble floor.
When I swung round and saw the creature that had almost killed me, I was stupefied. Standing there just three yards away from me was a skeleton. Not a human skeleton—the bones were too broad and heavy. Most likely it was an orc’s; at least the fangs were the right size.
A yataghan in its right hand, a small round shield in its left, and eye sockets filled with myriads of crimson sparks—the sign of reawakened magic. Darkness only knows how its bones held together, but the creature threw itself at me.
I’d never have thought that skeletons were so nimble. This lad was just as fast as I was, and his yataghan
