forest trolls came together again.
M IRADEL no longer had a sense of daylight, even though she knew that the Lighten Hour, on Nayve, had passed several hours ago. As she and Shandira made their way up the narrow, black-walled gorge, however, they might have been climbing through thick twilight.
They had spent the cold night trembling on the mountaintop, scanning the skies for another sign of the gargoyle. But the massive creature, after flying past that one time, had not reappeared. The pale illumination of dawn had revealed it back in its position on the upper rampart.
The druids had proceeded over the ridge and pushed into the labyrinth of gorges and ravines on the far side, which is where they now found themselves in such stygian conditions. The rock walls seemed to be a mixture of dark gray and smooth, black stone that absorbed any trace of light that might have found its way here. In some odd way, however, the darkness was a comfort, for it seemed to lessen their chances of being discovered as they made their way closer to the great, dark vale they had seen from the crest.
“Are you sure that’s the hall of the Deathlord?” Shandira asked once, whispering as the two women paused to drink some water and to rest.
“I have studied this place in the Tapestry, and yes, that high valley is the place where he sits on his great throne. It is the last place in this world or any other, as far as one can go in the direction that is neither metal nor wood. Beyond rises the great darkness, end of the cosmos. Every time I observed him, he has been as still and lifeless as a statue, but we will see if that is his true state or if he can be aroused by visitors.”
“Visitors?” Shandira was looking at her intently. “Do you mean to pay a social call upon him?”
Miradel shook her head. “No… I wonder if we’ll even find…” She didn’t finish the thought.
“What? Find what?” Shandira demanded.
A shriek of uncanny power abruptly penetrated into the depths of the gorge. The sound echoed and rang, lingering for a long time after the original had faded.
“The gargoyle!” Miradel felt a stab of fear, sheer, unbridled terror gripping her entire body in a sweaty cocoon. Instinctively she was up, following the vague shape of Shandira, who was already sprinting along the winding floor. Glancing upward, she saw no sign of the monstrous pursuer, but that did nothing to hold up their pace as they raced, headlong toward the citadel of the Deathlord.
15
Blood Under Coolfyre
When twenty swords are ranged against you, quick feet ever outweigh the strongest arm.
“ I can get this door open,” Konnor whispered, as the three Houseguard siblings crouched in the alcove and waited. The company of dwarves had marched past just a few minutes before, and already they heard the smashing of at least one gate in the Wood Wall of the ghetto. “Maybe we can go through the warehouse and come at the wall farther from the waterfront.”
“How can we be sure this place is abandoned?” Borand wondered.
“Look at it-dusty and dark, and quiet as a graveyard,” Aurand replied. “No one’s been in here for years!”
Darann readily agreed. “We don’t have any choice. Let’s go!” she urged, fearful that another company would be along at any moment. Next time, the shadows might not be enough to conceal them.
Quickly, Konnor eased the door open. The creak of rusty hinges seemed terribly loud to the four of them, but Darann hoped that beyond their hiding place the sound was buried in the greater tumult rising throughout the ghetto. Not daring to spark a light, they moved into the almost pitch darkness of what felt like a single, large room-at least, the little illumination spilling from the wharf side allowed them to see only empty space to either side. Dust kicked up by their feet hung in the stale air, tickling her nostrils, and Darann suspected that it was more than just a few years since this place had seen any activity.
When Konnor pushed the door shut, nearly soundlessly, there was no way to see anything at all. Borand risked lighting a match, the sulfurous flame shockingly bright, the smoke and scent pungent. In the flickering illumination they could see long, bare shelves extending into the distance on both sides. This certainly had been a warehouse, though it was now empty of goods.
Holding the match high, Borand led them forward, down a long aisle between the empty racks. Each step kicked up more dust, and there was a lingering smell of mold, slightly tainted by fish, in the air.
“An old fishery warehouse,” Konnor guessed, whispering to Darann. “Probably abandoned not long after the king walled off the ghetto.”
Darann was inclined to agree. She couldn’t help reflecting that the cost of the goblin imprisonment had, in this case and many others, exacted a very real economic toll from the dwarves who had implemented that confinement. “What a waste,” she breathed silently-at least, she thought she had spoken silently until Konnor turned to her and nodded in agreement.
Borand followed the aisle illuminated by his sputtering match all the way to the back of the warehouse, then turned and followed another wall toward the corner nearest to the ghetto wall. There was no sign of a door in this back wall, Darann saw in frustration. Her brother cursed and shook his hand as the flame flickered out. After a few seconds he lit another match and continued toward the side wall. Here they discovered a narrow corridor extending farther back into the warehouse. The building was huge, she realized, as they went another hundred paces away from the waterfront.
The corridor widened into another room, narrower than the large space fronting onto the wharf. This one had a tall ceiling invisible in the shadows overhead. Ladders placed at intervals along the floor led toward the lofty, unseen racks.
The third match revealed a pair of old cargo doors on the right side, secured against intruders with a heavy beam, in the terminus of the long corridor. Konnor and Aurand carefully lifted the beam out of the way, setting it gently on the ground to make a minimum of noise. Borand extinguished his match, and the dwarves gingerly pushed on the door.
They all cringed at the loud creak of hinges. A sliver of dim light, the faint background illumination of Axial’s constant aura of coolfyre, outlined the entrance, and the older dwarf placed his eye to the gap. After what seemed like forever to Darann, he drew back and spoke.
“The next gate through the ghetto wall is a long ways away, but I could see a couple of guards on duty down there.”
“Maybe we can try to bluff our way through,” Darann said, “like we have a job with the guards?”
She was not surprised when all three of her companions shook their heads; the idea hadn’t even sounded workable as she had voiced it. Every dwarf they had observed approaching the ghetto had been armored in breastplate and helm. Her brothers, in their leather riding shirts, and herself in the tattered tunic and leggings she had worn for the last five intervals, could not have looked more out of place.
“What about going over the wall?” Aurand suggested. “I saw some ladders back there leading to the warehouse loft. Maybe we can take one of them out this door and get into the ghetto that way?”
“Worth a try,” Borand agreed. Ten minutes later they had muscled one of the heavy ladders down from its perch and carried it to the door. Darann went through first, pushing open the portal as quietly as possible, then standing aside as her three companions brought out their prize.
Fortunately, this section of the alley was buried in deep shadow, and the sounds of the door opening, the inevitable scuffing of the ladder, and the exertions of the dwarves were all swallowed by the larger chaos in the ghetto. The fighting and pillaging were still some distance away, Darann judged, but vigorous enough to raise quite a racket.
When the ladder was in place, Borand reached for it, but Aurand pushed past and scrambled quickly upward, his sword in his hand. He stepped off at the top and, crouching on the narrow perch, waved the others to follow. Her older brother went up, Darann went after Borand, and Konnor brought up the rear. She found that the top of the
