A clawed hand as wide as a pitchfork grabbed for the barbarian's shoulder, the other his face. Twisting, Sunbright ripped a figure eight in the air, a pure defense. But somehow a hand got through, raked his cheek, twitched upward for his eye, and Sunbright almost snapped his neck jerking backward. Then he fell in a tangle.
His feet clumped on something solid, but his left elbow disappeared into a hole with a downward-sucking roar that must have vanished into the earth. Rolling in terror from the awful depths suggested, the barbarian found a bigger crevice yawning on his right, one wide enough to swallow his shoulders. Freezing stock-still, he tried desperately to think.
What was the floor made of? His jumbling thoughts couldn't form a picture. Was he standing on the tops of flat rocks with cracks between? Or poised at the lip of some curvy cliff like a broken-backed snake? Or something else, a terrain the human mind couldn't map?
Whatever, he had to get up. Rocking forward, he slapped his hands down, found solid footing, and planted his hobnails on it. But where-?
Icy hands like ice picks latched on to his neck from behind. Ten pricks broke skin, brought forth red blood that steamed against the alien claws. A half-inch, an inch into his neck muscles, plunged the nails. Any more, and he'd have his head severed like a chicken's.
But his feet were secure, so he could strike. With a stomach-wrenching grunt, he slashed his great sword Harvester overhead and down. A satisfying chunk answered him, and the pricking nails retreated. Yet the chilly horror of them lingered and kept his spine crawling, his back muscles spasming.
He had to get out of here, somehow, anyhow. But to panic would be to die, or be lost.
"Sunbright!" Greenwillow shrilled again. She'd been screaming at him steadily, he guessed, but he heard little. It was as if the pit sucked up sound as well as life. "Lead it over here! My sword is silver and ensorceled!"
But so is mine, he thought. Chandler poured an enchanting potion over the steel. It lets me wound shielded creatures. Yet assessing the blow he'd struck, he couldn't be sure if he'd wounded the wraith or simply knocked it back.
Stooping, feeling the ground with one hand, he swung blindly behind him with his sword and crept a couple of paces forward. His left toes were suspended over a pit. How could that be?
And why was he dizzy? He'd thought the effects of the wine gone by now, sweated out in buckets of terror. This was more a weakness, a sapping, as if he'd swum too long in icy water and developed chills. But perhaps that was a function of this nightmarish not-world.
Swinging behind him again, he eased to the right, felt solid ground, took a step. Greenwillow was above him, but seemed higher up now. She'd lain flat on her stomach, hanging her arms and sword inside, yet he couldn't have touched her sword with his own. Was the ground sinking farther? Would it continue to drop, like water behind a leaking dam, until he'd sunk to the bowels of… hell? No, not hell, for that place was warm. This was home to ice worms and ghasts.
And here the flaming beast returned, now outside sword range. So he had hurt it! He hawked to spit and throw it a challenge, but his throat was dry and his voice a pipsqueak. Never mind the bravado, he thought. Escape.
With no sound, the thing rushed. Red flames filled Sunbright's vision. How had he ever mistaken this for Ruellana? Swinging wildly from his left hip, he carved frigid air and forced the wraith to veer, but it only swooped low, fastening needle fingers on his leg.
Down he smashed with the pommel onto the thing's back, at the ring of fire, its head. But it ignored the blows. Like some northern shark intent only on prey, it fastened deeper into his flesh, freezing muscle to the bone, chilling the marrow. Desperate, the warrior sliced Harvester hard and fast inside, close enough to shave hair off his own leg. The cold blade thrummed on the skinny black arms, chipped flesh like ice. The wraith let go, and Sunbright felt blood pulse through his leg, and out of it.
But the thing slid under his defenses and clawed for his face. He'd never slash this close…
Above, Greenwillow called, and a caw answered. A tremendous flapping exploded in Sunbright's face-and the wraith's. A croaking rasp whipsawed the air.
A raven, thought the barbarian dully. The raven, the one that talked! It pecked and bated and shrilled, and the wraith backed off. Frenzied wings riffled the fire around the black head, and the ghast fell even farther back.
"Here!" called a voice from above, and Sunbright looked up. Greenwillow was closer again, almost within touching range. Had the broken earth heaved? Had the raven yanked it up as if on a string? The elven warrior trailed her sturdy black belt into the pit.
Unable to slash at the wraith for fear of striking the raven, Sunbright fumbled his way toward the belt, his free hand in front of his boots to feel for holes. Twice he had to stop, cut back, and sidestep. But then-glory be! — his hand clamped on to the warm loop of leather.
Surprisingly, he had no strength to haul himself up, despite his terror. He could barely retain his grip on the sword. In the anthracite-lined pit, the raven flew tight circles around the wraith, which shadow-boxed away from it. Then Greenwillow's warm hands, immensely strong, grabbed Sunbright's hand, then wrist. Grunting, he was dragged belly-first over the rough stone threshold and into the mucky street of Dalekeva.
"You're safe! Safe!" The elf-woman wept openly, pulling him facedown across her lap, dragging his boots across the threshold.
"Yes," he whispered. "Glad to be… with you. But I don't… feel well."
Those were his last thoughts.
Sunbright opened his eyes to sunshine, billowing curtains, and Greenwillow's face hovering above him. Others were in the room as well, he realized. Dimly he recognized the fat woman by the door: one of the merchant delegates, the only one to pay them a bonus and add thanks.
The elf saw his gaze and said, "Mistress Keenid was the only one I could think of. Out of the kindness of her heart, she's taken us in, hired nurses and a cleric to tend you."
Sunbright tried to joke, to say, "We owe her a bonus," to show them he was fine, in good spirits. But all that came from his mouth was a ghostly sough. The weakness, the hollowness of it, terrified him. What was wrong with him?
Greenwillow touched his lips. "Hush. Sister Fjord will explain."
A dark-skinned woman with long braided tresses came to his bedside. She wore an unadorned blue gown, the uniform of some sect popular in the city. Sunbright hadn't bothered to sort them out; he had his own gods. But they failed you, a voice added. But then, he'd left this world behind, hadn't he?
As if reading his thoughts, Sister Fjord said, "You're both an unfortunate and fortunate young man. Unfortunate to stumble into a pit of the Underdark. It's an old curse laid against the city's founders, according to legend. Like a volcano or hot springs, eruptions sometimes split the surface. In the abandoned quarters, they can go unnoticed and grow. Exorcism and barrowloads of rock plug them, but sometimes…" She shrugged with a cleric's detachment.
"Girl?" That one word hurt to gasp out, as if Sunbright had swallowed fire.
Greenwillow's voice was flat. "He means, did a redheaded girl stumble into the pit too?"
Sister Fjord shook her head. "No, we searched to see if others were trapped. There was no one."
Sunbright closed his eyes for a second, and upon opening them, he found it dark outside. Night noises, of owls and watchmen, rustled along with the curtains. He sat up with a start, feeling lost and alone. At his cry, Greenwillow appeared as if by magic. And so he slept again. And woke. And slept.
Most times he was dead to the world. But drifting in and out, he saw the red-haired Ruellana, smiling, laughing. Then her face would char and blacken, her hair ignite, and she'd try to claw his face off, laughing all the while.