Royce turned and disappeared silently into the cave’s gloom. When she looked back at the dwarf, Magnus was staring at her with a surprised, almost shocked, expression, as if something about her suddenly mystified him. He turned away and grumbled something she did not catch before returning to his pile of burning rocks.
Magnus’s campfire made the process of getting up and having breakfast almost cheerful and lent a sense of normality to their queer surroundings. The bright yellow flicker reminded Arista of her days traveling with Royce and Hadrian, and of her trip to Aquesta. It was shocking to think of those days as better times. Her life since the death of her father had been one long cascading fall that had left her tripping over ever greater troubles.
She could hardly imagine a more desperate state than the one she faced now. There wasn’t much that could top the extinction of mankind. She was certain, however, that it would never come to that. Even should the elves prevail, even if they sought to eradicate humans, she suspected there would be pockets that survived. It would be like trying to kill all the mice in the world. A few would always survive. She looked around the cave as she sat tying up her hair for the day’s journey. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, could live down there alone. Like her father, she was not an overly religious person, and yet she could not believe that Maribor would let his people vanish from the face of Elan. He had saved them before. He had sent Novron to snatch them from the brink, and she suspected he would do so again.
Myron ate breakfast with Elden much as he had dinner. The two communicated in silence while Wyatt rolled up blankets. She had no idea what to make of Wyatt. He and Elden kept mostly to themselves, rarely speaking, and usually only to each other. They did not seem a bad sort, not like Gaunt. Degan bothered her like a splinter in her skin. How he could be the descendant of Novron was bewildering, and not for the first time she wondered if perhaps Esrahaddon had gotten it wrong.
They lit lanterns from the dying flames of the campfire, and after packing up, Royce roamed about the cavern, disappearing from view occasionally. Only the glow of his lantern showed his position.
“Wrong way,” she heard Magnus mutter, his arms folded, his foot tapping the stone. “Better… better… now up… up—yes!”
From across the cavern they could see Royce swinging his light and they marched forward. They climbed a sheer cliff to a crack in the rock and sliced through to another chamber. Then they climbed down into another long passage into yet another cavity. Each looked the same as the ones before, smooth walls and wet, pool-scattered floors.
“I thought caverns were supposed to have long cone-shaped stones hanging down from the ceiling,” Alric mentioned as they entered yet another chamber.
“Not old enough,” Magnus said.
“What’s that?” the king asked.
“These caves, they’re not old enough for dripstones to form. It takes tens of thousands of years. These…” He looked around, pursing his pudgy lips. “These tunnels are young. I doubt they have existed for more than a few thousand years and most of that time this was underwater from a powerful river. That’s what carved the walls and rounded the rocks. You also need limestone and this isn’t that kind of cave. Actually…” He paused, then stopped to pick up a rock. As he weighed it in his hand, a puzzled look came over his face.
“What is it?” Mauvin asked.
“The rocks here are from the surface.” He shrugged. “Perhaps the river carried them.” He continued to stare, licking his teeth, for several seconds before dropping it and moving on.
They entered another narrow space but not nearly so tight as before. This was an irregular passage about the size of a typical second-story castle corridor. Low ceilings caused them to duck and rough ridges made them step around, but the way was considerably easier and more comfortable than those previously encountered. The passage was in a constant descent, growing more pronounced with each step. They followed the glow of Royce’s lantern and kept track of the back of their procession by the bob of Hadrian’s. As on the previous day, Arista walked in the middle, her robe glowing softly.
They heard a rush, as if someone far away was beating a drum. The sound echoed, making it hard to determine what direction it was coming from. They all paused, looking around nervously. Arista felt a slight breeze forming and realized what was coming. At the same instant, she knew that outside, the sun had just risen.
“Here they come,” Hadrian called out.
Arista crouched down, pulling the hood of her robe up over her head as through the corridor swept the same multitude of bats that had frightened her in the shaft the evening before. The world around her filled with squeaks and flutters; then the wind passed and the sound moved away. She stood up and peeked out and saw the others lowering their arms as well. A few slow strays continued to fly by when one not far from Myron was snatched from the air. The monk staggered backward with a gasp and fell in front of Elden, who picked the monk up as if he were a doll.
“Snake,” Wyatt announced. “A big black one.”
“There’s dozens of them,” Royce explained.
“Where?” Alric asked.
“Mostly behind you on the walls.”
“What?” the king said, aghast. “Why didn’t you say something?”
“Knowing would only make traveling slower.”
“Are they poisonous?” Mauvin asked.
They could all see the silhouetted shoulders of Royce’s shadow on the far wall shrug.
“I demand you inform me of such things in future!” Alric declared.
“Do you want to know about the giant millipedes, then too?”
“Are you joking?”
“Royce doesn’t make jokes,” Arista told him as she looked around, anxiously hugging herself. Immediately her robe brightened and she spotted two snakes on the walls, but they were a safe distance away.
“He must be joking,” Alric muttered quietly. “I don’t see any.”
“You aren’t looking up,” the thief said.
Arista did not want to. Some instinct, a tiny voice, warned her to fight the impulse, but in the end she just could not help herself. On the low ceiling, illuminated brightly by the robe, slithered a mass of wormlike bugs with an uncountable number of hairlike feet. Each was nearly five inches in length and close to the width of a man’s finger. There were so many that they swarmed over each other until it was hard to tell if the ceiling was rock at all. Arista felt a chill run down her back. She clenched her teeth, forced her eyes to the floor, and focused on walking forward as quickly as possible.
She promptly passed Alric and Mauvin, both moving quicker than normal. She reached Royce, who stood outside the corridor on a boulder at the entrance to a larger passage.
“I guess I was wrong. Looks like I should have told you earlier,” Royce said, watching them race forward.
“Are there…?” she asked, pointing upward without looking.
Royce glanced up and shook his head.