Downfall

For a few hours they followed the stream as it twisted and turned through the mountain, sometimes cutting back so that they thought they were close to where they started. Eventually its course straightened, and they could hear the water sloshing loudly against the stone, and from time to time they discerned the screech of bats coming from somewhere ahead. Rikali announced that was a good sign, as it meant there was still air in front of them.

"Wrong, Riki," Fetch countered, as he continued to hold firmly to the mariner's neck, his cloak swirling about his legs, which were floating behind him. "It's a very bad sign. It means the bats are trapped. An' so are we."

The half-elf dug her fingers tighter into Dhamon's shoulder as he increased his pace. She felt the warmth of blood around her fingertips. Dhamon didn't complain.

A heartbeat later Dhamon lost his footing as the bottom of the tunnel sloped away and the water deepened. He and the half-elf bumped into Rig.

"What?" the mariner asked.

"The current feels different here," Dhamon said. "Not the depth. Something I can't quite-"

"Yeah," Rig interrupted. "I can feel it, too. The current's splitting. The stronger goes straight ahead, but there's a branch heading to the left, and the water there feels warmer, maybe heated from something farther underground."

"And…" the half-elf cut in. "This means what?"

"We could separate," Dhamon suggested. "Rikali and I will take the left and Fetch and…"

"Bad idea," Rig argued. "We're all tired. It has to be well past midnight by now. Nobody splits up. Follow me." The mariner moved past them, pausing only to peel the kobold off his back and pass him to Dhamon. "Your turn." Then he was awkwardly swimming ahead, shifting the glaive to his hand, and nearly losing it. He shut out the complaints of Fetch and Rikali.

"Wish Fiona was here," Rig whispered as he continued to struggle along. "Hope she's all right." He told himself she was fine, that she and Maldred hadn't dawdled so long, that they hadn't journeyed so deep into the mountain, and that they'd managed to get outside before the cave-in. "She's all right," he reassured himself, adding that he would make sure when he got out of here that Maldred didn't get any cozier with the Solamnic. And he would do his best to help her gain the ransom for her brother. "She has to be all right. I think I'd die without her."

Then a dark thought crossed his mind. Perhaps Maldred had caused the cave-in, and the kobold had lied to cover up his master's deed. The burning troll arm causing the fire above did sound a little far-fetched. Eliminating Rig would make it easier for Maldred to win Fiona. His heart beat wildly with that possibility.

The current was moving faster now, the corridor widening. The speed made it easier for the mariner to maneuver with his glaive. Rig guessed they'd covered several miles already when the sound of the rushing water became even louder, the channel narrowed, and the pounding drowned out the chattering of Rikali and the sloshing noise of Dhamon swimming to catch up.

There was only a few inches of air, and the mariner found himself clinging to the ceiling, taking a few deep gulps, and then submerging to swim some more. He hoped Dhamon and the half-elf were close behind and that they hadn't given up and tried to backtrack. Still, he told himself, he wasn't going to lose a precious minute worrying about his companions. Time to put his own skin first and to let the stinking thieves save themselves. Concentrate on getting back to Fiona.

"Awww…" he breathed, as he held on to an outcropping and let his arm drift out in a sweeping pattern, his nose pressed against the ceiling. His fingers brushed against cloth. "Who am I trying to fool? Dhamon? You all right? Dhamon!"

There was a muffled reply, and they were off again, another hour passing, the mariner guessed, as they followed the stream in the pitch darkness, gulping in air when a pocket presented itself. The water was warming, evidence of something underground, perhaps volcanic heat.

Dhamon was thinking of the dragons: the green who slew his men in the Qualinesti Forest; Skie, who could have killed him and Rig and everyone else at the Window to the Stars; the Black he'd encountered in the swamp and who would have slain him save for the scale on his leg- which at the time had branded him as a servant of the red overlord.

Death didn't frighten him anymore. Everyone died. It was just a matter of when. Drowning would not be so painful. Then his jaw tightened and he scolded himself. Dying would be the easy way out. And there was the sword to consider-he had no desire to let the ogre chieftain keep the sword and the gemstones. His musing was interrupted by needlelike claws against his neck-Fetch. The kobold was stretching for air. Rikali's fingers brushed his shoulder, Rig's hand reached out again to make sure they were all nearby.

Then a hint of green intruded.

The kobold started clawing Dhamon's back, jabbering frenziedly and pointing.