THE DELVING--2
Dis I know, dat when you is
Goin' to a high place
Dat's above you head,
You goan need a ladder!
-- from 'Song of the Lame Woman'
Chapter 2: Arrows Underground
Scratch continued to row even after seeing anything became impossible. Ithuriel did not understand how the boat avoided hitting something, unless they were floating on the surface of some vast underground lake. There seemed to be no sounds except the creaking of the oarlocks and the rasping of her own breathing. Her captor did not even seem to be working up a sweat, somehow stroking the water noiselessly, and his toady in the other end of the boat seldom said anything anyway. She thought about jumping out, but she was a poor swimmer in the best of circumstances, and the handcuffs were heavy, even if only fastened to one wrist.
When the unwilling bride thought that she would at last go crazy from waiting, she caught the glimmer of dim torchlight in the distance, reflected in the waveless expanse between. At length she could discern the ceiling of a rough-hewn tunnel, with a sort of shelf on the left. The first torch stuck out at a crazy angle above a gloomy doorway. Others followed along the shelf at intervals of perhaps fifty feet; a rising ceiling began to abut a second story above the walkway, with a series of widely-spaced windows overlooking the dusky canal.
As the boat drew near the entryway, a Nequam clad only in light mail, wearing a small, shiny helm, wings folded over his back, staggered out, clutching a bow and a dozen arrows.
"Igullus Nequam!" Scratch proudly proclaimed. "I have taught them how to use bows!"
After such a long period of silence, Ithuriel found her tongue. "I'm impressed!" she replied, with uncharacteristic venom. "Do they also fly underwater?"
Scratch grinned. "I ought to slap you, but I admire your spirit! And they have done so well in sending your minstrel to his death!"
"Master!" croaked the Nequam, and then lapsed into unintelligible gibberish.
His master smiled, sharpened teeth glittering under the torch, leaning his head to one side as he listened. "It's really rather interesting once you learn to understand it, you know. He says that he has a company of ten waiting in the anteroom, in case your twin brother gets any ideas."
Ithuriel withered into her bench in the center of the boat, crushed beyond measure. She had thought that Ithamar's presence in the tunnel mouth had remained undetected. But she was not allowed even a measure of respite. There were no steps cut into the ledge, which rose several feet above the water, and the partners in unwholesomeness were not gentle as they shoved their captive up over the edge. Teetering to her feet, she faced the doorway.
"Brute force before beauty," leered Scratch, and the cadre of Nequam filed out to greet their new guest. Their leader grabbed the chain of Ithuriel's cuffs and jerked her over the threshold of her prison. Coarse laughter erupted from the throats of his soldiers, and they twanged their bows in derision.
About a hundred feet back toward the entrance, which was hidden from view even in daylight by a curve in the tunnel, two men were treading water. Their clothing was soaked, and their teeth were beginning to chatter, but their determination was unfaltering.
"They think they are so smart," muttered Ithamar Memnon, grasping the edge of the little raft he had been pulling behind him.
"They are certainly not good shots," agreed Tam Lin in a low voice. "They must have let loose fifty arrows, but the best they could do was snag my hat. And when I did not appear above the surface, they thought I had drowned. Little did they guess that I was breathing through one of my reeds. Scratch may be powerful, but enlisting the Nequam will be his undoing. Let's get closer so we can get some idea of where they are taking her."
Grunting his assent, Ithuriel's twin brother resumed his powerful strokes toward the flickering torch and its keepers. Tam Lin followed,. being careful to make no noise in the water. But by the time they arrived, only a lone Nequam remained--the captain--apparently the worse for too much strong drink, for he was sitting with his back against the wall, head nodding drowsily.
Noting the row of windows high in the wall, and grasping the advantage of the dark shadows between torches, the rescuers swam beyond the doorway and carefully pulled themselves out of the water. A few drops tinkled from their dripping clothes as they did so, but the Nequam was well on his way to dreamland, and by the time they stood upright, his chin was resting on his sternum. Ithamar carefully drew up a rope fastened to the sack on the little raft, setting the craft adrift in the inky water. "We won't need it again," he ruefully noted. "We'll have to make a quick getaway, and it will be all we can do to drag Ithuriel with us."
"I'm afraid you're right," replied Tam Lin. "But which way should we go? There seems to be another entrance down there, under that torch."
Squinting in the darkness, Ithamar could see that the minstrel was right. He wondered if Nequam lurked behind that portal, as well. "Perhaps we could climb up to one of these windows...."
"Yes, if we were spiders."
Ithamar suppressed a chuckle. Leave it to Tam Lin--but they had to do something--suddenly a thought occurred to him. "Serun always told me to take along a rope ladder. I thought he was crazy, but he insisted. Once he checked my pack as I was going out the door, and found I didn't have one. He can be strict at times, you know."
"Do you have one now?"
"I think so--let me look." Fumbling through his pack in the dimness between the two torches, Ithamar at last found what he was looking for. "It's long enough," he said.
"But how will we fasten it?"
"There is a hook--if we can get it to catch."
"That will make noise."
"We have to risk it."
"Let me be the judge of that--I must think."
"There's no time to think--why, right this minute Scratch might be...."
"You're right--which window?" The minstrel could not bear the thought of that inhuman monster torturing Ithamar's twin sister.
But both of them were surprised when a soft voice floated down from the nearest window: "Tam Lin! Ithamar!"
"Ithuriel!" Both spoke at once, barely suppressing the urge to shout.
"Hurry! They've locked me in this cell, but there are no bars--they must have thought no one could escape down this canal--how are you going to get me out--the window is small, but I can squeeze through."
Ithamar came to his senses. "We have a rope ladder--can you catch it?"
"Yes!"
"Can you tie it to something?"
"There is a chair."
Ithamar wasted no more time. He rolled the ladder into a ball and heaved it up. Ithuriel caught it at once and quickly tied it to the back of the chair, tossing the other end out the window.
"I'm lighter!" Tam Lin began to ascend.
"Stop--she's supposed to come down the ladder!" Ithamar was amused and dismayed at the same time--men in love sometimes do the stupidest things....
"Of course!" The minstrel quickly dropped to the floor, and none too soon, for Ithamar's sister almost slid down, her feet missing over half the rungs. Before they could blink, she was standing on the stone floor beside them.
And the Nequam attacked. Although they could be the clumsiest of creatures at many times, no one ever said that Igullus Nequam could not be stealthy. It was never known if something had aroused the captain from his sleep, or if someone else had sounded the alarm, but ten of the bloodthirsty warriors approached from each doorway, arrows on the string, but only for a split second--the feathered shafts began to fly at once, and, at this close range, even Tam Lin did not think that all of them would miss. He grabbed Ithuriel's wrist and arched his body toward the water. But his beloved one pulled free of his grasp. "I can't swim!" she wailed.
"I'll keep you afloat!" he yelled. But a leering Nequam, seemingly smaller than the rest, had grabbed Ithuriel from behind.
"Have bride!" it grated. "Get minstrel." And it pulled Ithuriel toward the second doorway. More Nequam emerged from the first portal, shooting arrows as they ran. They were not even trying to aim, but the air was thick with flying shafts. One nicked Tam Lin's ear, and another tore a hole in his trouser-leg. The feathers of a third shaft tickled his neck just below his jugular vein.
Uttering a curse through his clouded eyes, the minstrel vaulted back into the water, hoping some reeds were still in his pack. Too soon, even the loutish Nequam realized that their target had moved, and the surface of the canal was pockmarked with small geysers as arrows submerged in a futile attempt to impale Ithuriel's true love.
"Did you get the twin brother, too?" Scratch himself had loomed over the first threshold, and was surveying the defense party.
"Shoot all arrows," grunted one warrior. "None left."
"That's not quite the question I asked," hissed the Old Demon of the Woods. "Where is Ithamar Memnon?"
"Minstrel fall in water. Many arrows. Dead."
"That's what you told Flimb outside, about an hour ago. Did he come back to life? The bride's brother was here to join the wedding party. We wanted to make sure he had a... a warm welcome--make him comfortable to enjoy the ceremony." Scratch was swelling with unwarranted pride. His bursting ego was clouding his judgment.
"Brother fall in water. Many arrows. Dead."
"That's more like it! Proud of you boys! Always get your man!"
Satisfied, the leering menace clumped back down the ledge toward the flickering torch, the pounding of his horse's hoof contrasting with the thump of the boot on his other leg.
Ithuriel was still not enjoying the party, being sure that the Nequam who had grabbed her was up to no good as he carried her past the second torch and into the darkness approaching the third. What difference it made she did not know, if there were ten Nequam in every doorway. But at least no more arrows were flying toward her. She could not believe that these beasts were such poor shots, but enough arrows will sooner or later find a target.
"Say nothing," a voice whispered in her ear. It did not sound like the voice of a Nequam. "Do what I tell you, and we will both be unhurt. Scratch does not control all of the Delving--indeed, not even half of it, and there are friends here, although we may have to travel far to find them. Beyond the third entrance there is a stair."
Ithuriel at last found her voice. "Who are you?"
"Sister, I know it has gone hard for you here, but do you not remember me?"
"Ithamar!"
"It is I."
Ithuriel gasped in dread realization. "What about Tam Lin."
"We must leave him to the care of the Creator."
"He is not with you?"
"No. He fell into the water."
"Dead?"
"I think not--not if the Nequam are such poor shots in the dark as they are in the light. Scratch imagines that they can prevail by sheer numbers."
"But won't he drown?"
"He did not drown out by the Landing, did he?"
"No--but I saw his hat...."
"He will try to get that back, I am sure."
"But won't he join us?"
"He does not know where we are. All he knows is that there are over a dozen leather-winged beasts here in this cavern, and thinks that one of them has taken his sweetheart back to her cell." By this time they were nearly under the third torch, and Ithuriel looked into her twin's face, nearly passing out from shock as she did so.
"You look like a Nequam--those leather lips--that brow!"
Ithamar laughed, despite himself and the danger, as he peeled off the covering over his face. "Realistic, isn't it! Serun is a master at making masks!"
"But Tam Lin--what will he do outside--all wet--and alone?"
"Arkh is waiting there for him."
"Who is Arkh?"
"He is the blue bird-man who spoke to you on the rock."
"But Scratch said we were going to eat his bones for a wedding-feast."
Ithamar laughed again. "Scratch talks too much for his own good! Arkh is quite unharmed! But here is our stair, or should be."
"How do you know there is a stair here?"
"The Delving is an ancient place, and vast. Serun has many maps of the caverns, some of them more recent than others, but this stair has been here for centuries... it is very dark in here... but yes--here it is."
"Do Scratch and the Nequam know about it?"
"Perhaps they do, and perhaps they do not. But there are many stairs here, and they surely do not have time to explore all of them. Some are dead ends, and some lead to dangerous shafts over unwholesome cavities, and that is well-known. The Nequam can be brave in battle, but they fear such shafts more than the ordinary mortal would, being evil themselves."
Ithuriel shivered despite her brother's closeness. "What if this is the wrong stair?"
"Serun Darkinglow never provided me with a bad map."
"He never provided you with many maps at all, that I know of, brother." Now that danger seemed a bit farther away, Ithuriel was feeling bolder.
"Do you have a better plan?"
"No."
"Then let us enter the stair before some Nequam from the third portal decide to take an evening stroll. Besides, sooner or later, Scratch is going to realize that his bridal bower, er, cell, is empty."
Seeing his point, Ithuriel started to join her twin brother in descending the smoothly-cut steps on their left. But a nagging problem finally reasserted itself into her consciousness. "What about these handcuffs? This chain is heavy."
"I think I can do something about that, but not yet--it would make too much noise."
"Very well. Let's go."
The reunited twins turned and took their first step into the total darkness in the depths of the Delving. As they did so, they suddenly doubled their speed, taking the stairs two at a time. A fell shout rang out the length of the tunnel, as the clatter of fully armed Igullus Nequam, maces pounding on the pavement, echoed off the stone walls. "Who has stolen my bride?"
CHAPTER 3
MILEPOSTERS
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
MILEPOSTERS
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