Tomas lost his smile. Further conversation was interrupted by the return of Dolgan and the others. They carried a good supply of broken timbers, used to shore up the passages in days gone by. A fire was quickly made from the old, dry wood, and soon the cavern was brightly lit.
The boys were relieved of guard duty and ate. As soon as they were done eating, they spread their cloaks. Pug found the hard dirt floor uncomfortable, but he was very tired, and sleep soon overtook him.
They led the mules deeper into the mines, the animal’s hooves clattering on the stone, the sound echoing down the dark tunnels. They had walked the entire day, taking only a short rest to eat at noon. Now they were approaching the cavern where Dolgan said they were to spend their second night. Pug felt a strange sensation, as if remembering a cold chill. It had touched him several times over the last hour, and he was worried. Each time he had turned to look behind him. This time Gardan said. “I feel it too, boy, as if something is near.”
They entered another large glory hole, and Dolgan stood with his hand upraised. All movement ceased as the dwarf listened for something. Pug and Tomas strained to hear as well, but no sounds came to them. Finally the dwarf said, “For a time I thought I heard . . . but then I guess not. We will camp here.” They had carried spare timber with them and used it to make a fire.
When Pug and Tomas left their watch, they found a subdued party around the fire. Dolgan was saying, “This part of Mac Mordain Cadal is closest to the deeper, ancient tunnels. The next cavern we come to will have several that lead directly to the old mines. Once past that cavern, we will have a speedy passage to the surface. We should be out of the mine by midday tomorrow.”
Borric looked around “This place may suit your nature, dwarf, but I will be glad to have it behind.”
Dolgan laughed, the rich, hearty sound echoing off the cavern walls. “It is not that the place suits my nature, Lord Borric, but rather that my nature suits the place. I can travel easily under the mountains, and my folk have ever been miners. But as to choice, I would rather spend my time in the high pastures of Caldara tending my herd, or sit in the long hall with my brethren, drinking ale and singing ballads.”
Pug asked, “Do you spend much time singing ballads?”
Dolgan fixed him with a friendly smile, his eyes shining in the firelight. “Aye. For winters are long and hard in the mountains. Once the herds are safely in winter pasture, there is little to do, so we sing our songs and drink autumn ale, and wait for spring. It is a good life.”
Pug nodded. “I would like to see your village sometime,
Dolgan.” Dolgan puffed on his ever-present pipe. “Perhaps you will someday, laddie.”
They turned in for the night, and Pug drifted off to sleep. Once in the dead of night, when the fire had burned low, he awoke, feeling the chilling sensation that had plagued him earlier. He sat up, cold sweat dripping down his body, and looked around. He could see the guards who were on duty, standing near their torches. Around him he saw the forms of sleeping bodies. The feeling grew stronger for a moment, as if something dreadful was approaching, and he was about to wake Tomas when it passed, leaving him tired and wrung out. He lay back down and soon was lost in dreamless sleep.
He awoke cold and stiff. The guards were readying the mules, and soon they would all leave Pug roused Tomas, who protested at being pulled from his dream. “I was in the kitchen at home, and Mother was preparing a large platter of sausages and corn cakes dripping with honey,” he said sleepily.
Pug threw a biscuit at him “This will have to do until Bordon. Then we shall eat.”
They gathered together their meager provisions, loaded them on the mules, and set off. As they made their way along, Pug began to experience the icy feeling of the night before. Several times it came and went. Hours passed, and they came to the last great cave. Here Dolgan stopped them while he looked into the gloom. Pug could hear him saying, “For a moment I thought . . .”
Suddenly the hairs on Pug’s neck stood up, and the feeling of icy terror swept over him, more horrible than before. “Dolgan, Lord Borric!” he cried. “Something terrible is happening!”
Dolgan stood stock-still, listening. A faint moan echoed from down another tunnel.
Kulgan shouted, “I feel something also.”
Suddenly the sound repeated, closer, a chilling moan that echoed off the vaulted ceiling, making its origins uncertain.
“By the gods!” shouted the dwarf. “’Tis a wraith! Hurry! Form a circle, or it will be upon us and we’ll be lost.”