“All of me is tired,” the half-elf grumbled.
“We’ll rest for a few minutes.” Maldred stopped and reached for the map. He opened it carefully, studying features he’d already committed to memory. “The valley,” he stated. “How far are we from the valley?”
A spot on the parchment glowed softly in response.
“Practically on top of it,” he said to himself. He replaced the map and folded his arms across his chest. “We’re practically on top of it, but it’s nowhere to be seen. I don’t understand.”
“I do.” Dhamon’s face took on a troubled look. “We got that map from your . . . from Donnag. Perhaps it’s as worthless as the sword.”
Maldred frowned and continued to study the landscape. “The map showed us the way to the spawn village, didn’t it? Come. We’ll find the valley.”
After another few miles Maldred stopped again.
“There’s still no valley,” Dhamon said.
“Nothin’ but ugly, flat land,” the half-elf added.
“It has to be here.” Maldred stepped away from them, consulting the map again, then scanning the horizon. “Somewhere. Where?”
The sivak cocked his head, nose still quivering. He curled his upper lip back in a snarl.
“What, beastie?” Rikali poked Ragh in the arm to get his attention. “You see somethin’ again?”
“I hear something,” Ragh said.
“Your raspy breathin’s all I hear,” the half-elf shot back. “In fact—”
Dhamon drew a finger to his lips to silence her. “I hear something, too,” he whispered. “Someone crying. Faint. They can’t be close.”
“Someone screaming,” Maldred corrected, “and I think it’s very…” His words trailed off as the ground beneath him gave way. The big man dropped from sight.
Dhamon raced forward, stopping just short of the hole but not short enough. The ground cracked beneath his feet. “Run!” he shouted to the others. His feet flailed in the air, and he fell. Riki, Varek, and Ragh fell with him.
The air whipped around them and was filled with a keening wail. The noise only grew louder when they struck bottom nearly fifty feet below, where a river of oozing mud cushioned their fall. Maldred was the first one out, standing on a rocky bank, hands over his ears, eyes trained on the slowly flowing sludge. Rikali sputtered up next, arms pumping through the muck to pull herself to the opposite bank. She climbed out and lay panting. Varek and Dhamon trailed her—all of them looking like mud men—every inch of them drenched, and all of them holding their ears in an effort to shut out the bone-numbing wail.
They blinked the mud from their eyes, as Varek fussed over Rikali. “The babe?” he shouted over the noise.
She nodded and touched her stomach. “I—I think it’s all right. The fall didn’t hurt none. Felt like jumpin’ into puddin’. Pigs, but I’m covered with this stuff. Get it off me, Varek.”
Dhamon tried to scrape the muck from his face, as he held his hands over his ears. He spied Maldred on the other side doing the same.
“The sivak?” Dhamon yelled.
Maldred shook his head—he couldn’t hear Dhamon. The screaming grew louder still. The sound reverberated off cavern walls that rose at straight angles, so steep as to be unclimbable without gear. The noise was high-pitched one moment, then low and moaning the next. It took on the aspect of several voices, a chorus of screams that they could do nothing to shut out.
“We’ve found your damned valley,” Dhamon shouted at Maldred. “Should’ve found another way around this!”
His eyes were drawn to the mud river, and to a mud-covered hand that shot out of it.. A second hand followed, clutching a quarterstaff.
“My staff!” Varek called. “I dropped it in the fall.”
Moments later the sivak climbed out on the bank and dropped the weapon at Varek’s feet. The creature’s face looked pained, his acute hearing pounded by the wailing.
“Let’s get out of here!” Dhamon shouted. The sivak saw his gesture and struck out along the bank to the south at Dhamon’s shoulder. Neither bothered to see if Varek and Riki were stumbling after them.
On the other side of the river Maldred followed suit. He bumped against the canyon wall, teeth gritted as he shallowly sucked in one breath after the next.
“This is madness,” Dhamon said to himself. The wailing seemed to grow in volume, it was digging in like a knife. He gasped as his knees threatened to buckle. The sivak nudged him forward. The farther they traveled the darker it became, as the light spilling in through the crack in the ground above them angled into a sliver.
Shadows scampered across the rock walls, making it look like the visages of old men staring down at them—mouths open and sightless eyes fixed.
The screams continued, the echoes growing ever-louder. The ground vibrated gently beneath their feet in response to the constant noise, and bits of rock and grit filtered down from high along the walls and from the thin stone ceiling.
They tried to talk to each other but were reduced to gestures and lip-reading. Dhamon strove to quicken the pace, to escape before they succumbed to the hateful sound. He remembered Maldred telling him weeks ago the-valley was dangerous, rumored to drive men mad. They had decided then that the route was worth risking for the treasure and the hope of finding the healer-sage. He hadn’t dreamed it would be like this.
Was he going mad? He could have sworn a stony face was watching him, mouth opening and closing, eyes blinking.
“Mal!” he called, but his friend had no hope of hearing. The sound seemed to change in pitch, then, higher, louder, consuming them. Dhamon watched Maldred stumble along the opposite bank, then hesitate as that bank ended where a canyon wall reached into the river. Maldred looked about, eyes large and white set against his muddy countenance. He caught sight of Dhamon and mouthed something to him, then plunged into the mud-thick water and began to awkwardly lurch his way across.
Dhamon pushed Riki and Varek ahead, gesturing for them to continue. Ragh followed, prodding the couple and looking back over his scaly shoulder to keep an eye on Dhamon. It was several minutes before Maldred reached Dhamon’s side, and minutes more for him to fight his way to his feet, vomiting mud and slamming the heels of his hands against his ears.
“You’ve got earth magic,” Dhamon shouted. “Why not try some?”
Maldred shook his head. “Too loud,” he mouthed back. “Can’t concentrate.”
It might have been hours or minutes they traveled. Time meant nothing amid the agonizing noise. The landscape did not change. The sluggish river of mud went on forever, bordered by walls of marble and limestone stretching above them.
Dhamon stopped, and Maldred nearly slammed into him.
“Mad,” he mouthed. “I am mad.”
Dhamon again saw a huge face high above and across the river, mouth moving, pebbles spewing forth. There were other faces near it.
“I’ve lost my mind.” Dhamon fell to his knees and stared at the faces. They seemed to gaze directly at him.
Maldred watched the faces, too, with a growing realization. He kicked at Dhamon to get his attention. “Move!” he mouthed. Another kick and Dhamon was on his feet. “Hurry!”
They ran again, Dhamon not sure of anything but the noise, which continued to envelop him. It didn’t seem painful any longer. It had become comforting in a way, a dear companion.
“Stay,” the wail seemed to say. “Stay with us forever.”
Once more he stopped and regarded several different visages lining this part of the darkening canyon. Maldred tried to push him along, and this time he resisted.
“Mad,” Dhamon mouthed.
Maldred shook his head and shouted something Dhamon couldn’t understand. “Move!” he tried. Dhamon refused to budge.