Cado went first, a lantern in his hand. He squeezed through the gap and then seemed to halt just beyond our reach and view, curiously silent and still. “What is it?” I called to him. “Are we through?”
He did not answer at once. When he spoke his voice was firm and low: “Come see, Medraut. The way’s narrow, but I think you can get by.”
It was narrow indeed; Tegfan, who is short but broad-chested, could not follow. But the others came behind me, curious and anxious to witness the proof of our success.
Such proof: utterly unexpected, and weirdly beautiful. The passage we had forced opened not to a cavern or tunnel but to a little natural chamber, with a low ceiling and rounded walls. The walls were infused with thick green streaks of malachite and smooth red clay, almost evenly spaced between fields of pale limestone: and sweeping across the curve of the walls were pictures like nothing I have seen before or since, painted by some human hand countless ages past. The images were of a tall, broad, heavy-antlered deer that dwarfed the awkward figures who appeared to stalk it. Here at the hill’s heart, this strange and savage hunt endured in the darkness of a forgotten time.
“But how did it get here?” I wondered aloud.
“There used to be another passage in,” Cado said, holding up his lantern. “See! The clay’s filled the entrance, not even a gap in the seam. How old can this be!”
I said with conviction, “I must show Lleu.”
“Who patches tile pictures with such love and skill.” Cado laughed. “Send Tegfan to get him. We’ll set up the supports till they get back.”
So it was that within the hour Lleu stood with me and Cado and our workmen in the hidden place under the earth, dark eyes ablaze with torchlight and excitement. He laughed aloud in the sheer pleasure of sharing in this secret beauty; laughed with real joy, though I know he was afraid to be so far from air and light and the open spaces of day. He lingered over each painting, forcing himself to wrench his gaze from one to the next. “This artistry, in such a place!” he exulted. “I couldn’t have dreamed such a thing if I hadn’t seen it.”
But beneath our talk and laughter there came the ominous sound of a cataract of falling pebbles. They skittered down the curved wall across the flank of the painted deer, and came to rest at Cado’s feet. Tegfan called from the other side of the passage, “Should we go up until the ground settles?”
I looked with question at Cado, and he nodded. Into our sudden stillness a larger eddy of earth trickled down the rock wall. “Take the prince outside,” Cado said calmly.
More slender than any of us, Lleu slid through the narrow passage with barely an effort. I went after him, and called back to the others in a low voice, “Follow at once, as close as you can.” I picked up a lantern and put a hand on Lleu’s shoulder to guide him forward; and the ceiling closed in behind us.
Tegfan croaked, “Go,” and the three of us ran up the tunnel. We could hear, could always hear at our back the inner groaning of the disturbed hillside. Stones fallen from the ceiling struck at our heels. We were halfway to the outer cavern when the floor itself buckled, and Tegfan fell. I turned to give a hand to him, and shouted at Lleu, “Go on!” But there was no time. “Shield your head!” I cried then, and struck Lleu between the shoulders with such force that he was shoved stumbling perhaps ten steps farther up the tunnel. Off-balance, I too fell sprawling forward; the lantern hit the floor and flickered out. Then I could find neither strength nor courage to pick myself up as the ceiling fell in about my ears, and I did not dare to stir until the rumbling and crashing stopped.
When all I could hear was my own uneven breath, I moved to get up, but a fallen beam held me pinned to the floor by one foot and the opposite wrist. I moved my free arm a scant few inches and found, by chance, the lantern. Lleu’s voice came unsteadily out of the dark: “Medraut?” kraucan
I answered quietly, “Lleu? I still have the lantern: Come light it.”
I stretched my arm to him; he found me and clutched at my hand. He was on his knees, crawling, afraid to stand. He whispered, “Your hands are like ice.”
“Light the lantern,” I returned.
He did, revealing what was left of the shaft. Behind me, where the debris went deeper, Tegfan lay senseless, buried up to his waist. Behind us both, the fallen earth and rock sloped upward to the tunnel’s roof to fill the shaft beyond. There was no sign of Cado or the five others who had been with him.
“You’re not hurt?” I said to Lleu. He shook his head. The lantern quaked in his hand, so he set it on the floor.
I stretched my free arm toward Tegfan, but could not reach him. “See if—,” I said to Lleu, then barked out, “No!” as he began to climb the pile of debris to reach Tegfan. “Distribute your weight. Lie down and stretch up the slope.” He obeyed numbly, and felt for the pulse in one of Tegfan’s limp wrists. “Don’t use your thumb,” I directed.
Lleu said at last, “He’s all right.”
“Hold the lantern up there: can you see any sign of the rest?”
“There’s nothing, sir,” Lleu whispered.
“Help me.” I could not sit up, trapped as I was; propped awkwardly on an elbow, almost flat on my back, I struggled to shift the beam that held me prisoner. But even when Lleu pulled with me we could not move it. “Take the lantern,” I said quietly, “and go for help. Don’t run; we may not have much air. If there is another tremor, don’t come back. Did you mark the way out?”
He nodded. “But sir—,” he began. “Are you hurt?”
I shook my head. “But Tegfan must be. And the rest of us, Cado—” I bit the words off, scarcely able to speak aloud what I was thinking. “Six men!” I gasped, incredulous. “Six men, and I responsible!”