Of Truth and Beasts

He rematerialized somewhere beyond her and rushed on before the dog might sense him. Quickly enough, he found himself inside what must have been the tram station at the tunnel’s far end. Of course, there were no trams here; they had all been abandoned centuries ago at the range’s northern side. He briefly looked at the empty, grime-coated stone platforms before seeking an exit.

Rather than the multiple tunnels leading from the stations at Dhredze Seatt, here only one huge archway led Sau’ilahk into another tunnel straight ahead.

Chuillyon’s arms felt like lead as he pumped the handle. After so many days of powering this dwarven cart, every muscle in his body hurt. His thoughts kept drifting back to his days of travels with Cinder-Shard.

The two of them had tromped the countryside or rowed boats for days without stopping. But that time was long past. He had spent too many years dabbling in politics and diplomacy. However, though much younger, Shâodh was not faring much better on the pump’s other end. His long face and high forehead were flushed from exertion.

When they had first come across this cart, realizing where and how Wynn’s group traveled, Chuillyon had cautioned against moving too quickly, for fear of revealing themselves. He soon realized that overtaking Wynn was less of a concern than keeping up with her.

Ore-Locks was a dwarf, and Chane was quite possibly an undead. Between those two, they outdistanced Chuillyon at an incredible rate. Hannâschi often offered to spell Chuillyon or Shâodh. Though her offers were genuine, she could not provide much help.

In his life to date, Chuillyon had known a number of elven women who were quite strong. But Hannâschi was not one of them. Her strengths lay in other areas, so Chuillyon worked with Shâodh to keep from falling too far behind.

Upon spotting the engine crystal removed from a tram back at the station, he realized what Ore-Locks had managed. Chuillyon had found no way to break another crystal loose for his own cart. He and his had to rely on superior vision and cold lamp crystals for light.

His arms were nearly giving out, and he reluctantly decided to call for another rest. Hannâschi turned from looking ahead—over the top of the metal box—before he said a word.

“Slow down,” she said. Looking forward again, she shouted, “Shâodh, the break!”

Without hesitation, Shâodh released his pump handle and grabbed the break lever, pulling back hard.

Ahead, Chuillyon saw what had alarmed Hannâschi. Before they would even hit the packed rubble, they were going to smash into another cart on the tracks. He struggled to reach Shâodh, but the pressure of the cart slowing so rapidly forced him to keep hold of the pump handle.

Shâodh strained, crying out once with effort, and the cart slammed to a halt. Its platform’s rear end bucked upward, and Chuillyon fell across the pump handle. He heard another impact against stone before he could right himself. Upon impact, the other cart had rammed forward into the rubble.

Shâodh jumped away from the brake, taking hold of Hannâschi and pulling her up.

“Are you all right? Were you hurt?”

“No ... I mean, I was not hurt,” she answered, sounding a bit shaken.

Chuillyon dropped off the cart and left them both for a moment. There was a hole through the top of the cave-in.

“Shâodh, can you sense any life?” he called back.

With one last look at Hannâschi, Shâodh climbed off the cart and came forward. He briefly examined the cave-in, and the skin over his cheeks tightened. He closed his eyes, a soft, thrumming chant rising from his throat, and then he fell silent.

“I sense nothing,” he said. “They must have passed here too long ago. They have a good lead on us.” He glanced sidelong at Chuillyon. “You wish to press on, to crawl through to the other side?”

Chuillyon walked back to the cart for his pack. “Certainly,” he said, attempting to sound cheerful. “They have already done the work for us.”

Ghassan il’Sänke had been inside the mountain for at least eight days, possibly more. There was no way to be certain as he searched. From one dead end or cave-in to another, he had tried to climb higher into the seatt’s upper remains. He soon realized this was impossible.

All levels above the one he entered had been lost when the peak collapsed. As of yet, he had not discovered any passable tunnels downward. A few times he had been hopeful, only to reach another cave-in and then work his way back up. Tonight he stumbled onto a broad passage, easily as wide as a city street.

Broken fragments of pylons lay all along the way, but there was room to pass or climb over the debris. Though he made good time, it was difficult to keep his bearings in this ancient maze. He was almost certain he was near the center of the mountain when he saw a large archway ahead, and quickened his pace. Upon stepping through, he was not prepared for the sight that waited. The word “vast” was so insufficient.