corridor ahead painting everything a sickening shade.
What could be the consequence of one more bond broken when he had already severed his loyalty to the noble Nentyarch? Fear of the Rotting Man’s displeasure couldn’t be discounted, but Fallon had a hard time imagining what the Rotting Man could do to him that was worse than what had just been attempted. Losing himself was more than the elf could bear. The Rotting Man had miscalculated, or more likely, the Rotting Man hadn’t known that the child had the capacity to neutralize his foul power.
Where could he go now? He couldn’t go back through the hallways and dark passages from which he’d come. He’d alerted too many ancient horrors, rattled the cages of too many bound demons dating back to Narfell’s preeminence. To turn back into the face of that storm would be little different than acceding to the Rotting Man’s desires. Either way, he was sure he’d end up dead and his soul forfeit in the bargain.
If he couldn’t go back, he’d have to go forward, but too straight a path would deliver him into the Rotting Man’s hands. Actually, he recalled that a blightlord had been dispatched to meet him. Damanda. If he stayed on his present course, his meeting with her would occur within the day.
He’d have to strike off in a direction of his own choosinga scary thought. The dungeons of Under-Tharos were legendary, both for their demonic contents and their extensive size, but perhaps he could scent a passage to the surface.
“You ready to get out of here, girl?” Fallon asked the child, his voice gentler than was his wont. “I’d give a lot to see the sun again.”
He stood. The lantern he’d dropped had miraculously not broken nor even leaked too much; it was of Yeshelmaar make after all. It didn’t take but a moment to pick it up. Taking Ash’s hand, he turned down a dark side passage to the left that was not marked in his mind.
The green light from down the wide corridor flickered wildly, as if in the throes of a tantrum. After a time, the emerald light returned to its originally sickly hue, waiting, or more properly described, lurking.
Llowen ran a finger down the length of Dymondheart. The blade still seemed sluggish. Light failed to ripple along its length as it had when she’d first unsheathed it. She worried the vigor it held before would not return.
“Should we press on or rest?” asked Marrec. The cleric stood peering down the passage which they all believed opened on the Sighing Vault.
Elowen sheathed her blade, hoping her worry was unfounded.
“We should rest,” snapped Ususi. “I’ve depleted my energies too much today and need time to prepare myself, especially if we must face Eschar once more.”
Marrec nodded at the mage.
The tattooed southlander said, “The demon is retreating. We should press our advantage and pursue it immediately.”
Elowen spoke up, “We barely faced it down here. If Ususi is tapped, I doubt our ability to face it again.” As she spoke, she rested her hand protectively along Dymondheart’s sheath.
Marrec rubbed his forehead and said, “Time’s not on our side. Fallon could be hours away from delivering Ash to his bastard of a master.”
“If he hasn’t already,” opined Ususi.
Marrec regarded her with a sour look then said, “We’ve got to finish our business with the queen as quickly as possible, so we can move on to what’s really important.”
“Do we?” asked Gunggari. He approached their demonic chaperone, which remained immobile since Eschar’s command. Gunggari nudged it with the edge of his dizheri. It failed to respond.
“Well, we did make a deal…” began Marrec.
“With a demon!” interrupted Ususi. “Don’t you think this queen, whatever her true infernal name, will bend or break our bargain at the very first opportunity?”
Marrec stated, “Two wrongs do not a right make.”
Ususi threw up her hands. “You can’t ‘wrong’ a demon.”
Elowen tried to deflect what seemed a mounting argument, holding up one hand. “The Rotting Man is more powerful, surely, than either Eschar or the Queen Abiding.”
“So, what, we have no chance? Is that your point?” sniped Ususi. “No…”
“Her point,” said Gunggari, still poking at the unmoving ice demon, “is that we may find an ally in the queen if we release her. Right?” Gunggari grinned at the elf, his teeth improbably white against his dark skin.
“Almost,” responded Elowen. “Like Ususi says, we can’t forget the Queen Abiding is a fiend, and fiends cannot be trusted, but this demon is desperate. Who knows how many thousands of years she’s been trapped down here in these ruins? If she wasn’t desperate, certainly she wouldn’t have arranged for creatures not completely under her control to find and bring to her the one item, which apparently has the ability to control her actions.”
Gunggari nodded slowly. Marrec adopted a considering look; Ususi frowned.
“I propose,” continued Elowen, “that before we return this token to the queen, we avail ourselves of its power. We use the queen to bolster our strength against the Rotting Man, through her token of control.”
Ususi, still frowning, said, “A tool such as this can turn in its owner’s hand. It would be too risky,”
“Don’t talk to me about risky,” snorted Elowen. “This demon had us at her mercy and forced us to agree to retrieve her trinket. That was risky. Merely being in Under-Tharos is a risk most would never countenance. Sure it’s a risk to try to force the queen’s aid, but if she can be redeemed in any way, she can do some good for a change, even if it is against her nature. This token gives us the edge we need and should provide us a margin of safety that mere agreements, backed up only by word, lack.”
“There is risk; there is such a thing as a soul hazard,” said Ususi.
Gunggari noted, “Ususi, certainly you’ve heard tell of evil creatures who occasionally do the work of good?”
Elowen noticed that Marrec colored slightly at Gunggari’s words. The Oslander had struck a nerve somehow, but she didn’t know why.
Gunggari continued, “If we are to foil the Rotting Man’s plan, renew Lurue, and survive to tell the tale, we’ll need help. The queen may be all we have.”
Ususi frowned but said nothing further.
Elowen grinned, said, “Great. Let’s see about getting our chaperone out of his fugue, then, shall we?”
Ususi looked at Marrec, waiting. The cleric shook his head but said, “Free the ice demon if you can, Ususi.”
Ususi uttered a quick word under her breath, but she began to mutter and scribe runes on the dark surface of the unmoving ice demon. The cleric stood nearby, his eyes narrowed, apparently having some sort of internal debate as he watched the wizard work. Elowen considered Marrec.
She rarely understood humans, but she had known elves similar to Marrec, dutiful, but at turns playful; often vocal, but sometimes taciturn. The cleric’s devotion to his absent goddess verged on a lover’s attention for his cherished bride, which struck Elowen as a bit disturbing, though she’d seen it in others. In Marrec, whose goddess no longer daily bolstered him with contact and clarity of purpose, the devotion ran the risk of becoming merely a sad habit of thought. Of course, if they were successful, perhaps that would all change, as the Nentyarch had hinted.
Ususi had mentioned to her while they walked the tunnels of Under-Tharos that Marrec had admitted to some secret talent, though the human was somehow ashamed of it. That latest bit of gossip was most intriguing. She wondered if she’d get the chance to see Marrec show his ability forth.
The passage was blocked ahead.
A pale stone face jutted from the wall. The face was massive; the tunnel passage was just large enough to contain it. The face seemed human but wrenched with devilish glee; at least it seemed to be leering. It was much eroded by water, and stalactites dripped from its cheekbones and brows. The face’s mouth was wide open, and its tongue, also crumbling stone, lolled out like a carpet. The mouth was stopped up with an iron door, rusted and stained black. A single pull-ring hung from the door’s center. To Marrec’s eyes, the door appeared as if it had been closed for centuries.
Marrec asked Gunggari, “Did we get off the track?”
The tattooed warrior shook his head, saying, “No, Eschar came from this way. See? These rust-flakes on the ground show the door has been only recently closed, abruptly.”
