"Hundreds and hundreds of years, maybe. Perhaps a thousand," he said finally, stopping also to examine a face similar to one he'd spotted on a pillar above. "Donnag and his people have claimed this land for a very long time. He is keenly aware of what comprises his holdings, like a greedy dragon who can account for every coin in his horde, but I'm certain he does not know about this. Else I would have heard of it, too. We will make him aware when we return, perhaps taking one of the smaller wooden statues of the god for proof, and he will be most happy with the knowledge. And you're right. We should think about returning to Fetch. It'll take us a while to make the climb back."
"A thousand years," she repeated. "The gods were very active then."
"Krynn is better off without them." Maldred looked down. They should head back. They had been gone more than an hour. Maybe two. And it would take them longer to climb up than it had to go down. But it seemed like the steps didn't go much farther. "Maybe just a little more." Then he laughed. "Wonder if this'll take us to the foot of the mountains-or beneath them. I wouldn't be surprised." He gestured for her to follow him. "Maybe we'll emerge near Bloten! I'll take you straight to Grim's and he'll mend your face in…"
"What about Rig? And Fetch is above…"
He touched her chin. "They're grown-ups. They'll be all right, and if need be they can find their own way back. Besides, Dhamon and Rig are together. And I know for certain that Dhamon will be returning to Donnag's."
Then he headed down the steps.
She followed, one hand holding the torch, the other feeling along the wall and touching the images carved there.
A disturbing question tugged at her mind, and she finally voiced it. "How can you say that Krynn is better without her gods? The gods gave us so much. And Vinus Solam-nus who founded my order…"
"The gods never did anything for me," Maldred said evenly. "In truth, I'm glad they're gone." He stopped when a shrill noise echoed up from below, and he drew his hand back over his shoulder, gripping the pommel of his sword. He relaxed when a large bat flew by. "Though I suppose the gods kept the dragons in check."
There was a sharp intake of breath behind him, and he turned. Fiona, two steps above, was eye to eye with him.
"I don't like the way you talk, Maldred. The gods are important to Krynn, and I believe they will come back," she said, thrusting her chin forward. "Maybe they won't return in my lifetime. But it will happen. And dwarves will use this temple again. I would certainly like to think so, anyway. I can imagine their deep voices echoing in prayers to Reorx." Suddenly she blinked and shook her head. "Where's Rig, anyway?"
He brushed the tip of her nose with his fingers, locked his eyes onto hers. "Rig is of no concern, and you should abandon all thoughts of marrying him," Maldred said, his voice sonorous and melodic, enchantingly pleasant. "Lady Knight, you need be concerned only with me, and with seeing what's at the bottom of these never-ending steps."
She found herself enjoying his words again, as she had the first night she met him at the campfire. His eyes sparkled then, and now-the light from the torch was hitting them just right. "Concerned only with you," she repeated. Then she was again following him down the worn stone steps.
"Pigs, but these go on forever, lover," Rikali complained as she stopped to rub the backs of her legs. "Bad enough all that climbing up the mountain. And you'd think these wouldn't be so steep, being built by dwarves and all with short, stubby legs. Bet these lead straight to the Abyss! My fine house ain't going to have such steep steps! Ain't going to have any steps at all."
"A while ago you thought exploring was a fine idea," Dhamon told her. "In fact, I think it was your idea."
"A woman can change her mind, lover."
Dhamon continued down the steps, glancing at the wall where he noted carvings of dwarves that were every bit as elaborate as the ones in the large chamber above. They weren't just faces this time, though, as they were at the very top of the steps. They were full figures, presented sideways, as if they were moving down the steps with him. He spotted one with a short beard, and it made him think of Jasper. "I wish Jasper could be here to see this," he mused. He noted the writing above the figures, and made out some of the words, his eyes narrowing with realization.
"Well, from what you told me of him, he probably wouldn't've liked these steep steps either."
Jasper never complained so much, Dhamon thought.
"I don't recall Jasper ever complaining about such things," Rig said aloud.
That brought a rare, big smile to Dhamon's lips. "I can't imagine the steps going on much farther, Riki. In fact…"
He paused and took a closer look at the nearest carvings, as he had at the very top of the stairs. More writing. He brought the torch closer so he could see the words better, and he traced the faintest ones, fragments of sentences, with his fingertips.
Amid the words he continued to read as he traveled down a few more steps were carvings of dwarves digging in the earth, followed by dwarves making homes underground and becoming miners.
"It reads like a diary," Dhamon explained. "In fact, I'm pretty sure that's what it is. ‘Kal-thax we leave behind this day. Calnar thane to the Kalkhist Mountains to delve a new home. New Hope it will be called. Thorin. "He took in a deep breath. "If I remember what Jasper told me of his race's history, that would make this about 2800 precataclysm." He whistled softly. "This place is indeed very old."
"Well, how do you know it wasn't done more recently, and they were just reminiscin' about the old days? Who'd keep some stony diary anyway? Too much work if you ask me." Despite her words, Rikali tried to feign interest in the carvings, thinking that might please Dhamon.
"Because I can see the bottom of these steps. And because the carvings at the top are even fainter than these, older, and they talked about the Graystone being forged and Kal-Thax built. So this is more recent and written as if it is happening now, not written like history. All of it is written that way."
"Wait, lover." Rikali placed both hands against the wall. "Feels cooler here."
Rig snorted. "We're deeper underground. Been walking for better'n an hour. Maybe two." He was thinking about Fiona, suspecting she was in the cavern above impatiently waiting for them. He didn't like her being alone with Mal-dred. Rig told himself not to be jealous, that Fiona truly loved him, that they would be married one day soon and would be far away from these thieves. Still, he couldn't keep his suspicions entirely at bay. And he couldn't help wishing he'd gone with Fiona rather than with Dhamon and that gabby Rikali.
The half-elf shook her head and darted up a dozen steps to press her hands against the wall. Then she came back down. "It's cooler here, I tell you."
Dhamon felt about, finding moisture in one spot. "There's an underground stream behind this wall," he said. "Maybe it opens up below and we can take a bath. Get all this troll blood off."
"Oh, I like that idea, lover."
Dhamon moved down slowly now, ignoring the half-elf's request to hurry so they could clean the dirt off themselves and find the valuables that must surely be somewhere in this place. And he pushed aside Rig's complaint that this was all very interesting but wasn't getting them back to Bloten any faster and that they would be late rejoining Fiona in the chamber so very high above.
"Here," Dhamon pointed. "This is the last of the carvings, and they're etched deeper, not as old, definitely. Carved about eight hundred years later than the last ones I showed you-if I understand the history." There were images of dwarves and a forge, a replica of a great hammer. "The Hammer of Reorx," Dhamon whispered. "That's the forging of it, about two thousand years before the cataclysm. The Time of Light, I think it was called. The hammer shown here was used a thousand years after its forging to make Huma's dragonlance."