The thought of leaving the security of the tunnels, of facing those monsters was almost more than he could bear. Like a wounded animal who fears to betray its own weakness lest others come and tear it apart, Roland went into hiding behind the one thing that seemed to him to offer shelter, the one thing that promised to help him forget—money.
It’d be a different world up there once the tytans passed through. People dead, cities destroyed. Those who survived would have it all, especially if they had money—elven money.
He’d lost all he’d planned to make on the weapons sale. But there was always the elf. Roland was fairly certain, now, of Paithan’s true feelings for Rega. He planned to use the elf’s love to squeeze him, wring him dry.
“I’ve got my eye on you, Quin. You better keep clear of my wife or I’ll make you wish the tytans had battered in your head like they did poor Andor.” Roland’s voice caught, he hadn’t meant to bring that up. It was dark, the elf couldn’t see. Maybe he’d chalk the quiver up to righteous anger.
“You’re a coward and a bully,” said Paithan, teeth clenched, his entire body clenched to keep from throttling the human. “Rega is worth ten of you! I—” But he was too furious, he couldn’t go on, perhaps he wasn’t certain what he’d say. Roland heard the elf move over to the opposite side of the tunnel, heard him throw himself down onto the floor.
If that doesn’t force him to make love to her, nothing will, thought Roland. He stared into the darkness and thought desperately about money. Lying apart from both her brother and the elf, Rega kept very still, pretended to sleep, and swallowed her tears.
“The tunnels end here,” announced Drugar.
“Where is ‘here’?” demanded Paithan.
“We are at the border of Thillia, near Griffith.”
“We’ve come that far?”
“The way through the tunnels is shorter and easier than the way above. We have traveled in a straight line, instead of being forced to follow the winding trails of the jungle.”
“One of us should go up there,” said Rega, “see what … see what’s happening.”
“Why don’t you go, Rega? You’re so all fired hot to get out of here,” suggested her brother.
Rega didn’t move, didn’t look at him. “I… I thought I was. I guess I’m not.”
“I’ll go,” offered Paithan. Anything to get away from the woman, to be able to think clearly without the sight of her scattering his thoughts around like the pieces of a broken toy.
“Take this tunnel to the top,” instructed the dwarf, holding the torch high and pointing. “It will bring you out in a fernmoss cavern. The town of Griffith is about a mile on your right. The path is plainly marked.”
“I’ll go with you,” offered Rega, ashamed of her fear. “We both will, won’t we, Roland?”
“I’ll go alone!” Paithan snapped.
The runnel wound upward through the bole of a huge tree, twisting round and round like a spiral staircase. He stood, looking up it, when he felt a hand touch his arm.
“Be careful,” said Rega softly.
The tips of her fingers sent ripples of heat through the elf’s body. He dared not turn, dared not look into the brown, fire-lit eyes. Leaving her abruptly, without a word or a glance, Paithan began to crawl up the tunnel. He was soon beyond the light of the torch and had to feel his way, making the going slow and arduous. He didn’t mind. He both longed for and dreaded reaching the world again. Once he emerged into the sun, his questions would be answered, he’d be forced to take decisive action.
Had the tytans reached Thillia? How many of the creatures were there? If no more than they had encountered in the jungle, Paithan could almost believe Roland’s boast that the human knights of the five kingdoms could deal with them. He wanted very much to believe in that. Unfortunately, logic kept sticking its sharp point into his rainbow-colored bubbles. These tytans had destroyed an empire. They had destroyed the dwarven nation. Doom and destruction, said the old man. You will bring it with you. No, I won’t. I’ll reach my people in time. We’ll be prepared. Rega and I will warn them.
Elves are, in general, strict observers of the law. They abhor chaos and rely on laws to keep their society in order. The family unit and the sanctity of marriage were held sacred. Paithan was different, however. His entire family was different. Calandra held money and success sacred, Aleatha believed in money and status, Paithan believed in pleasing himself. If at any time society’s rules and regulations interfered with a Quindiniar belief, the rules and regulations were conveniently swept into the wastebasket. Paithan knew he should feel some sort of qualm at asking Rega to run away with him. He was satisfied to discover that he didn’t. If Roland couldn’t hang onto his own wife, that was his problem, not Paithan’s. The elf did remember, now and then, the conversation he’d overheard between Rega and Roland; the one in which it had seemed Rega was plotting to blackmail him. But he remembered, too, Rega’s face when the tytans were dosing in on them, when they were facing certain death. She’d told him she loved him. She wouldn’t have lied to him then. Paithan concluded, therefore, that the scheme had been Roland’s, and that Rega had never truly had any part in it. Perhaps he was forcing her, threatening her with physical harm. Absorbed in his thoughts and the difficult climb, Paithan was startled to find himself at the top sooner than he’d expected. It occurred to him that the dwarven tunnel must have been sloping upward during the last few cycles’ travel and that he hadn’t noticed. He poked his head cautiously out of the tunnel opening. He was somewhat disappointed to find himself surrounded by darkness, then he remembered that he was in a cavern. Eagerly he gazed around and—some distance from him—he could see sunlight. He drew in a deep breath, tasted fresh air.
The elf’s spirits rose. He could almost believe the tytans had been nothing but a bad dream. It was all he could do to contain himself and not leap up out of the tunnel and dash into the blessed sunlight. Paithan pulled himself cautiously up over the lip of the tunnel and, moving quietly, crept through the cavern until he reached the opening.
He peered outside. All seemed perfectly normal. Recalling the terrible silence in the jungle just before the tytans appeared, he was relieved to hear birds squawking and cawing, animals rustling through—the trees on their own private business. Several greevils popped up out of the undergrowth, staring at him with their four eyes, their legendary curiosity banishing fear. Paithan grinned at them and, reaching into a pocket, tossed them some crumbs of bread. Emerging from the cavern, the elf stretched to his full height, bending backward to relieve muscles cramped from traveling stooped and hunched over. He looked carefully in all directions, though he didn’t expect to see the jungle moving. The testimony of the animals was clear to him. The tytans were nowhere around. Perhaps they’ve been here and moved on. Perhaps when you walk into Griffith, you’ll find a dead city.
No, Paithan couldn’t believe it. The world was too bright, too sunny and sweet smelling. Maybe it had all been just a bad dream.
He decided he would go back and tell the others. There was no reason all of them couldn’t travel to Griffith together. He turned around, dreading going back into the tunnels again, when he heard a voice, echoing in the cavern.
“Paithan? Is everything all right?”
“All right?” cried Paithan. “Rega, it’s beautiful! Come out and stand in the sunshine! Come on. It’s safe. Hear the birds?”
Rega ran through the cavern. Bursting into the sun, she lifted her upturned face to the heavens and breathed deeply.
“It’s glorious!” she sighed. Her gaze went to Paithan. Before either quite knew how it happened, they were in each other’s arms, holding each other tightly, lips searching, meeting, finding.