THE DELVING--6
Deep are the wells, and dark;
None may ever their paths mark.
Flowing forever into blackness,
Toward the heart of earth press.
--a song of the Naiads
Chapter 6: Horizontal Well
Ithuriel Memnon, following her twin brother down a lightless stair into the depths of the Delving, suddenly stumbled and collided headlong with Ithamar as the last step became level pavement, causing him to lose his balance and fall. Their pain and disorientation were absorbed into the quest for survival as Nequam torches appeared at the doorway which had led them to this lower level. The flickering rays did not serve to cast any light on their predicament, but the warning was clear. Ithuriel hoped that her brother knew as much about this stifling tomb as he had been claiming.
"Is there a door, perhaps, behind which we could hide?" she queried, knowing that such was not likely.
"None that I know of," replied Ithamar, picking himself up and seizing her hand in his. "We have to outrun them."
Their pursuers had no intention of allowing their quarry to escape. The unsavory would-be groom, aroused by the loss of his intended bride, had abandoned for the time the useless fiction that the Nequam could hit anything with bows, and had ordered them to pursue the Menmons with their traditional weapons. He did not reckon, however, with their ineptitude underground. The captain of the winged terrors missed the first step and tumbled headlong down the same stair just traversed by the twins, his torch pinwheeling sparks as it spun like a majorette's baton. He landed in a heap on the exact same spot occupied just moments before by Ithamar and Ithuriel, and two of his followers managed to join him.
By the time they got themselves disentangled and relit their torches, the apprentice magicians were far beyond them. Pausing momentarily at a fork in the passage, Ithamar chose to lead to the right. Ithuriel, shaken by the bad turn events had taken, challenged him.
"Are you sure this is the way to go?"
"As sure as I can be," retorted her brother. "And as for sure, the surest thing I know is that our pursuers will be along very shortly."
Ithuriel made no comment at first, but followed along the winding passageway. After she had bumped her head on the walls and ceiling several times, however, she spoke again.
"Have you no torches with you, or are you afraid to light them?"
"Not a matter of fear, sister, but of time," he replied. "I actually have something better than torches, but it requires just a moment of conjuration."
Ithuriel was still doubtful. "We don't have a moment."
"But yes, we do. I wanted to move quickly at that fork, because I knew the Nequam would stop and argue about which way to go--that buys us some time."
Ithuriel decided that further discussion would waste even more time. "What are you waiting for?"
"Nothing, sister. Here." He withdrew a small, round box from an inner pocket. It gave off a dry rattle, as if of bones. Opening it, he withdrew two small, sharp, curved objects, and deftly threaded them with fine cord.
"Hurry! I think I hear them deciding to come this way!"
"All right, then." Knotting the cords, he tapped fine powder from a slim cylinder, filling the little horns. "These are serpent fangs--hollow. I've put powdered pine resin into them. Here--put this one around your neck. You must say these words when you need light: venga lux. It will be a dim, reddish light, but in this total darkness, it will do." Holding his own serpent's tooth close to his mouth, he murmured the incantation: venga lux. Slowly the fang began to glow, and he could see the expression of fear on his sister's face. Hurriedly, she repeated his words, but nothing happened.
"You have to hold it close to your mouth."
"We don't have time!" she shrieked. "They're coming this way!
Ithamar decided that his sister was right. Taking her hand, he led her on down the crooked passage. In the dim glow of the tooth-light, despite some continued bumps against the walls and ceiling, they made better time than the pursuing Nequam, and soon arrived at another fork.
"Now what?" Ithuriel was terrifed. She just knew that Scratch would be leading the assailants; she had so much hoped that she would never see him again.
"It's to the left this time." Ithamar sounded confident.
"Then let's go!"
The new passage was smoother, and almost straight. In just a few minutes they heard the sound of running water. Ithamar hesitated.
"What's wrong?"
"I didn't think we would encounter water this way."
"I think we'll just have to deal with it. They're arguing again, but if they choose 'left,' we still have a problem."
The twins paced a bit farther along the tunneled way, following the glow of Ithamar's serpent's-tooth. Rounding a slight bend, they arrived at the source of the sound. A small waterfall tumbled over some rocks on their left. Ahead of them was a compact circular pool with a narrow, low-ceilinged canal extending from it to the right. A diminutive coracle was tied to a ring in the floor. The craft was clearly intended for only one person.
"Remember, brother; I don't swim very well."
"I know," he breathed. "You can ride, and I will swim."
"What about your pack?"
"I think maybe we can fit it inside the coracle somehow--I could empty a few things and redistribute them."
"Well, let's go--they're coming!"
Ithuriel was right. However they did it, the Nequam had chosen the correct way to pursue the twins. The clamor of their weapons echoed off the stone walls.
Ithamar stuck one foot into the water. It didn't go very far--the canal was very shallow. He could picture himself splashing along, around rocky bends, with stalactites puncturing his skull.
"I'll never fit!"
"There's room for only one in the boat!"
"You take the boat--I'll stay and fight!
"I won't leave my twin brother that way! I'll fight with you!"
"I think I know a way to outsmart them."
The clatter of approaching maces was louder.
"We don't have time!"
"It's a simple conjuration. I thought of it night before last, while Tam Lin and I were camping outside the entrance."
"You know what Serun told you about attempting your own conjurations! Don't do it!"
But Ithamar had already retrieved a shallow dish from his pack. Into it he placed more of the resin powder from the slim cylinder. Dipping his hand into the canal, he sprinkled water on the powder.
The flicker of Nequam torches accompanied the rising din of their imminent attack.
"This is crazy!"
"I'm going to turn the Nequam into mice. Then we can step on them, throw them into the water, whatever."
Ithuriel bit her lip. Her brother had made up his mind.
Striking flints above the dish, Ithamar murmured an incantation. There was a soft flash; then a cloud of gray smoke obscured both the dim glow of the snake tooth and the intruding blaze of Nequam torches.
The smoke began to fade, and, instead of mice down the tunnel, Ithuriel beheld, crouching before her, the most magnificent gray cat she had ever seen. The cat hissed loudly and sank its claws into the pack, attempting to drag it toward the coracle.
The smoke lasted just long enough so that as it faded in front of reptilian eyes, the pursuers were able to observe a frightened Ithuriel hastily stuff the pack into the coracle and clamber aboard; she never had time to think about the location of the paddle--somehow her hands found it and thrust it into the water--she never knew how she managed to untie the rope. The cat, meowling loudly, jumped to the prow of the craft. Ducking her head, the reluctant bride shoved off into the claustrophobic waterway.
Eyes watering in the vapors of his own torches, Scratch roared orders to his warriors, but their weapons, clattering against the unyielding stone ceiling, splashing in the shallow channel, were unable to reach the escaping prize, and the readjusted twins headed into the safety of the depths of the Delving.
CHAPTER 7
MILEPOSTERS
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
MILEPOSTERS
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