As the dark shape hurtled down, Shanz and his dracon-ians stood back. The iron kettle struck the floor with such force, it buried its bottom half in the stone and a great crack split it in two.
Shanz walked to the kettle and peered in. Krago's lifeless eyes stared up at him. The draconian leader spat. “Always thus for warm-bloods,” he said to no one in particular. “Always the grand ideas which come to naught. That is why we shall prevail. With the Great Ones to lead us, our discipline will overcome all the warm-bloods and their fancy ideas.”
The other draconians joined him.
“Don't just stand there,” he said irritably. “Round up a hundred gully dwarves to clean up this mess and replace the pot. Do you want our mistress to see this putrid waste?' The draconians quickly dispersed, propelled by their fear of the black dragon.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Not much farther! Not much farther!”
The hole at the top of the lift yawned. Sweat stung the companions' eyes and mixed with the blood on their cut hands, making their grips unsure. Catchflea disappeared into the short shaft at the top of the cavern. Di An followed, and Riverwind brought up the rear.
At the top of the shaft was a large room. Catchflea's last bit of strength went into heaving himself off the chain and onto the cold stone floor. He rolled away from the opening and lay still.
Di An and Riverwind followed suit. All three were soon laid out on the floor, wheezing and trembling.
“Why you come up that way?” asked a voice. Riverwind cracked an eyelid and saw a gang of gully dwarves watching him closely. With his black eye, wounds, and bleeding hands, he was a grim sight. His friends were no more appealing.
The bearded male that had spoken raised his bushy eyebrows. “Our job to fill one pot to raise the other,” he said. “Why you climb chain?”
“We just escaped-from draconians,” Riverwind managed to say.
The male shrugged and tugged at one fat earlobe. He waved to his comrades, and they bustled forward bearing water skins. Riverwind and Di An drank deeply. “Thank you,” Di An said gratefully.
“Not to mention,” said the young male who handled the water skin. “You pretty lady.”
“What you want do about him arrow?” asked the first male, apparently the leader of the lift operators.
Riverwind sat up. “What arrow?”
“Gray beard have arrow in side.” The gully dwarf pointed solemnly. “You see.”
Riverwind went on hands and knees to Catchflea's side. The old man was lying on his back. The stump of a quarrel poked out of his right side. His ragged clothes were soaked with dark blood.
“You're wounded, old man!” Riverwind cried. “Why didn't you say something?”
“What could you do?” Catchflea asked weakly.
Di An knelt beside Catchflea. She tried to probe the wound with her fingers, but it was too painful for the old soothsayer.
“If we can stop the flow of blood…,” she said, dabbing at the edges of the wound with a piece of Catchflea's clothing. The old man caught her arm with his hand. His grasp was already cold.
“Do not trouble yourself,” Catchflea said. “I am done.”
“Don't say that!” she cried.
“It's true. My only regret is that I did not get to see the stars one last time.” He coughed. “As the oracle said…”
Riverwind leaned close. “What did the oracle say?”
“You will find… glory. Defeat great… darkness. That you have done.”
Riverwind looked bitter. “All I did was stay alive.”
“Sleep,” Catchflea said. He closed his eyes. “Sleep, yes.” His hands, which had been holding Di An's and River-wind's, slowly went slack.
Riverwind gazed down at Catchflea for a long minute. The beard, the ragged clothes, the foolish talk. Pictures raced through the plainsman's mind. He saw Catchflea telling him about the heavens when he'd been a boy, Catchflea cooking the first rabbit Riverwind had brought him many years ago, Catchflea finding their first meal on this trip, after Kyanor and his wolf pack had stolen Riverwind's sheep. He should never have brought him along. He should've made him stay in Que-Shu. He should've done so many things. Tears trickled down his cheeks.
“Catchflea was brave,” Di An said softly.
Riverwind stiffened. “Catchstar. His name was Catch-star.”
The plainsman continued to stare at the body of his friend. Di An, wiping away her tears, turned to the assembled gully dwarves. “Are you the leader here?” she asked the bearded one.
“Yes. Me Glip,” he replied.
“What is this place, Glip?”
“This Hall of Ancestors,” Glip said. He looked sadly at Catchflea. “Him dead?” At Di An's nod, he gestured at the crypts and niches that lined the corridor and said, “This burial place. You bury him here?”
“We've no time for burials. Riverwind,” Di An said, touching the grieving warrior's arm. “We must go.”
Riverwind inhaled deeply. “I know. I know.” He brushed his tears away. Gently, he lifted the body of the old man. “I can't leave him lying here.” He bore the body to one of the niches off the southern passage. He laid Catchflea down and composed his hands across his chest.
“Should I say something?” he murmured in the close darkness of the crypt.
“The gods will know him when he arrives,” Di An replied.
As Riverwind and Di An returned to the top of the lift, a massive tremor ran through the temple. The dust of ages cascaded down on them. The gully dwarves scattered with yelps and squeals. Riverwind grabbed Glip by the back of his shirt as the gully dwarf ran by.
“What is it?” he demanded.
“The dragon comes!” the terrified Aghar replied. River-wind let go. In seconds, all the gully dwarves had vanished into previously prepared nooks and “mouse holes.”
The counterweight-an iron pot identical to the one that had fallen-swayed and rolled over into the hole. It bobbled upright, like a cork in the sea.
“Dragon my eye! It's Shanz! He's levitating the pot,” Riverwind said. Di An took his hand and dragged him away. They ran into the south passage again, all the way to the end. The corridor continued to their right. Beautiful and intricate bas-reliefs and frescoes decorated the temple walls.
They reached a large octagonal room just as the quaking stopped. It was suddenly deathly silent and still. Di An and Riverwind froze, listening. The only sound to hear was the musical rattle of chain links paying out as the lift went down.
“Which way?” Di An whispered. To the right, more passages could be seen, but the floor had fallen in, creating a large pit that made progress difficult. On the left was a crumbling spiral staircase leading up. Up was where they wanted to go.
“Come on!” Riverwind said.
They went cautiously. The Hall of Ancestors was structurally more dubious than any other building they'd been in, in Xak Tsaroth. The stone slab steps were loose and in the half-darkness-for there were a few small brands burning here and there in wall brackets-one never knew if the next turn would lead to a quick, fatal plunge. Round and round the steps went. Riverwind's moccasins flapped around his ankles, threatening to trip him. He cast them off.
They reached the top of the huge pillar around which the steps wound and found themselves in a circular room with a high, domed ceiling. A torch burned feebly on the wall. Facing them were double doors covered with ancient gold. The patina on the yellow metal told them that the doors had probably not been disturbed since the Cataclysm.
Riverwind inserted the tip of his sword in the crack of the doors and pushed them apart.
“Get the torch,” he said in a soft voice. Di An lifted the pine knot out of its holder. Riverwind took it in his left hand and slowly walked through the doors. It was a small antechamber, empty, and in front of him was another set of identical golden doors.