He heard a faint scraping sound and realized de Loungville was counting knots in a thong. It was an old trick, moving your fingers along a piece of rope, twine, or leather, silently reciting a fixed ditty, one that had been practiced over and over until it was almost as exact as sand falling in a glass. De Loungville would move his fingers down a knot each time he finished the rhyme; when he reached the end of the thong, ten minutes would have passed. When he had used the thong three times, the half hour would be up.
Erik closed his eyes. He couldn’t sleep, but he could relax as much as possible. Without thought he put his hands on his aching legs and felt them grow warm with the healing power he had learned from Nakor. As the rest of his body was chilled by the cold rocks, it was a welcome sensation.
Erik wondered how the rest of the villagers in Weanat were doing, and what would become of them when the Emerald Queen’s army reached that area. There were so many invaders there was no chance they could lie low in the woods until they left. That host would strip the land of everything edible for five miles on both sides of the river. The only hope those villagers had would be to go up into the mountains and hide in the high valleys. Perhaps Kirzon and his people would help them. Erik doubted it; they would have barely enough food for the winter for themselves.
Then he wondered what his mother was doing. He had no idea what time it was back home—he didn’t really know what time it was above; he thought it was midday. That probably meant it was the middle of the night back in Ravensburg. She was most likely asleep in her little room at the inn. Erik wondered if she knew he still lived. Her last news of him might have been that he had been condemned to die. Given the secrecy surrounding the mission and the chance of not surviving training, he suspected she thought him dead.
He sighed softly and wondered how she was, and Rosalyn and Milo and the others in the village. They seemed so far away and that life so alien, he could barely remember what it felt like to rise up every day with his only expectation being hard work at the forge.
Suddenly he felt a touch on his wrist and looked over to see de Loungville in the dim light signaling it was time to move out. Erik reached over and nudged the dozing Biggo, who nodded and nudged the man next in line.
Erik rose and moved out after the sergeant, who passed through the opening to the gallery, and turned right on the walkway, heading upward. In the deep darkness, Erik could only sense the size of the place, and he was about halfway around the circular path when the man holding the torch emerged from the side passage. Suddenly Erik could see the entire gallery and he involuntarily stepped back against the wall. The floor was lost in the gloom below, despite the torch light, as was the ceiling above. A faint draft of air rose up, and it carried a damp, stale odor.
Erik wished he hadn’t known the pathway was so narrow and the fall so great, as now he walked with considerably more discomfort. He moved on, and followed de Loungville upward into the darkness.
At several points along the way they encountered entrances to new tunnels, and they paused to see if Calis had marked any, indicating they should leave the upwardly spiraling path. They never saw any marks.
There were wide places, as if ledges had been carved into the rock of the mountain, to allow more comfortable movement, and places where the men could sit. Erik had no idea how long they had been following Calis, but he knew his legs hurt. The constant upward climb was taking its toll.
Suddenly they saw Calis ahead in the gloom. He said, “This area is deserted.”
The men seemed to relax at that, and de Loungville said, “Praji, is this like that dwarven place you spoke of?”
“Not that I’d recognize,” said the old mercenary. He was short of wind and obviously pleased to be halting, even if only for a few minutes. “Mind you, I have only tales, but it’s been described to me several times by different people who’ve been there.” He looked around. “This place . . . I don’t know what it is.’
Calis said, “There are dwarven mines back home and I’ve been through a couple. They have galleries and such, but this is something different. No dwarven hand built this place. This is no mine.”
Erik heard Roo’s voice coming from behind. “This looks like a city, Captain.”
Erik turned and heard Calis say, “A city?”
Roo said, “Well, something like it. Those tunnels lead to other places, maybe. Sleeping quarters or places to store goods. But those wide places, if you noticed, are in a pattern: there’s one for every two entrances along the way, and they’re all of uniform size. I think they’re like market areas.”
“Then this would be some sort of central passage, like a boulevard in a city, only it moves up and down instead of north and south,” said Biggo.
“Who would have built such a place?” asked Erik.
Calis said, “I don’t know.” He changed the subject. “We’re about at ground level, so I’m inclined to start looking for a way out. I’m going to explore the next corridor we come to. I want the men to make camp at the next ‘market’ area we find.”
“Is it sundown already?” asked de Loungville.
“I’d judge it an hour past,” said Nakor from behind.
“More like two,” answered Calis.
“How do you know?” blurted Roo.