Candlemas laid the breastplate facedown, scraped sand and dust from the tunnel floor and trickled it into a pile, like a child playing in a sandbox. He muttered half to himself, "Funny, at home I could conjure an ice storm with one hand. But let's see if Proctiv's the archmage he was rumored to be."
And laying his hands on the sandpile, he whispered a rhyming enchantment that went on and on. Sweat came to his dirty brow, and his head began to swing a slow circle. When his revolving had made him dizzy, he made a.final call, bent his head swiftly, and spat on the sand.
It turned into water.
Greenwillow gave a chirp of delight, Sunbright whooped, and even Sysquemalyn snorted approval. One by one, careful not to spill, they put their lips to the water and slurped. Conjured in hell with impure magic, it was brackish and bitter and scanty, but never had Sunbright tasted anything better, not from all the rushing waterfalls in the highlands. Even the raven croaked in appreciation as it pecked up the last drops with a knobby purple tongue.
"So magic's good for something." Greenwillow rubbed her dry face and tried to smooth her filthy hair. "I wish we had a barrel of it to wash in."
"You're lovely even when dirty," quipped Sunbright. Then he was acutely embarrassed by the blush that overcame him and the elf-maid.
With a sigh, Candlemas changed the topic. "Magic's done us more harm than good lately. If I hadn't agreed to this foolish wager with Sys, none of this would have happened."
"It was my fault," replied the red-haired mage. "I kept trying to top you-and the Whiny White Weasel, may I someday peel her putrid face from her skull-and things got out of hand. There are wards I could have set, protections I should have triggered to warn me, but I didn't bother. And you've all suffered for it."
"The world suffers for it," Candlemas corrected. "You forget that up above-or outside or wherever- all of Toril and the Netherese Empire is beset by the vile spawn of these Nine Hells. I reckon that pit fiend could conjure a thousand times that number of creatures to beset us, except most are currently running amok through field and forest. Perhaps this twisted tunnel is the safest place to be these days. Who knows but the world and empire are doomed."
"Everyone makes mistakes."
Three people turned to stare at the fourth: Sunbright, who'd made the strange pronouncement. The barbarian was surprised himself.
"I should think you would be the most enraged," replied Candlemas.
"Aye," added Sysquemalyn in a low voice. "You've been deceived frightfully. I've… many of us have…"
She didn't need to finish, for they all knew. Sunbright had been tricked into a dragon's lair, lured with lust and love by the false Ruellana, confronted by a lich, and cast into hell. But he dismissed it all with a shrug.
"It's just simple truth. People questing for something higher, whether greater magic or just to be a shaman, make mistakes along the way. Sometimes the gods smile and excuse them. Other times, they pay dearly. Certainly I've made my share of blunders on this adventure. If I'm forgiven, then I need to forgive others their errors. And so far our mistakes haven't killed us."
Sysquemalyn raked at her dust-clotted hair. "I've certainly learned a lot about mud men. I judged you wrong, manling. Very wrong."
The barbarian only nodded. "Apology accepted."
Greenwillow's eyes were suspiciously bright. "You're wise beyond your years, Sunbright. You will return to your people someday and be a wise and mighty shaman."
The barbarian didn't know how to answer that, so he only leaned over and kissed her dirty cheek.
"I'll say one thing," Sysquemalyn added. "I'm done with wagering. I've learned my lesson."
"Good enough. Now if we can survive this one to not collect." Groaning, Candlemas pushed to his feet. "I don't reckon any yard of hell can be safe for long, so I suggest we move on. If this plane has been torn open, and maggots and hellfire and vampire bats can invade the world, then sooner or later we'll find a crack to slide through."
Refreshed and with a glimmer of hope, the party clambered to their feet. Sysquemalyn snapped her fingers alight, and they pressed on, for the tunnels had again shifted, and a flat stretch presented itself.
But for all Sysquemalyn's bravado, they didn't get far. Sunbright glimpsed a shimmer in the corridor ahead, a rippling of the dirt walls. The tunnel suddenly looked much longer, as if it extended for hundreds of feet.
Candlemas grunted. Greenwillow gasped. Sunbright swore.
The far end of the tunnel was blocked by a single giant eye. An eye as wet as shiny slate. As the eye blinked at them, they saw the massive eyelid bore patchy red skin.
"Watch out!" yelled Sysquemalyn. "The tunnel's 'witched! Run… Ow!"
In the lead, Sysquemalyn had bumped her head where only seconds before they'd had plenty of room. Rocked by the blow, she halted and grabbed at the low ceiling.
Sunbright's heavy, scarred boots suddenly tilted under him. The floor was sloping toward the giant eye at the far end.
"The other way!" shouted Candlemas. Climbing uphill, he shoved past Sunbright and Greenwillow.
Lurching, clinging to crumbling dirt walls, the party turned. But now another giant eye blocked that path. And the floor tilted in that direction as well.
"This makes no sense!" Sunbright cursed. "You can't fall two ways at once!"
No one heard. Sysquemalyn shrilled a spell. Greenwillow grabbed Sunbright's shoulder for support. Candlemas called for his raven to fly.
Then the tunnel upended as if they were mice trapped in a box.
Floor and ceiling became walls as the party plummeted straight down. Reaching for a handhold of any kind, careful to keep tight hold of Harvester, Sunbright only ticked his fingernails on dirt. All four howled as they dropped toward the great black eye at the bottom.
Falling from the mouth of the tunnel, they passed through open, smoggy air, then landed hard on a stone floor that rattled their teeth. Cradling Harvester, Sunbright banged his left shoulder frightfully before rolling against a jumble of rocks.
No, not rocks. Through spinning smoke he beheld the ugly leer of the pit fiend, still on the bluff above the lava pit. Above them. It was the creature's rock-hard splayed toes Sunbright had fetched up against. All around them gibbered ghouls and ghasts and imps, hideous monsters of every type.
The pit fiend squinted with eyes like wet slate, opened a mouth that drooled acid from yellow tusks.
"Welcome back. Now, where were we? Ah, yes! Hordes, attack!"
Moments later, Sunbright was glad he'd honed his sword to a fine edge, for he killed a dozen fiends in as many minutes, until they were heaped around him like a makeshift barricade, until they had to clamber over their own dead to reach him. He was spattered with blood and pus and gore from topknot to boots, and scorched besides, for the anvil-headed genies snorted blue fire. Yet he fought on, and still the monsters charged.
He didn't battle alone, but as part of a team of four who stood back to back in an impenetrable square. Sysquemalyn waved her hands and spouted arcane curses at his right elbow, Candlemas at his left. The mages hurled every spell they knew, and they were powerful, for this chamberlain and steward to Lady Polaris were not far from being archmages themselves. He heard the name Anglin, and a searing wall of hissing, multihued light drove back a clot of fiends. The name Valdick was invoked, and a section of the stone floor dropped away, carrying a dozen clattering skeleton warriors with it. At the name Xanad and some unspoken howl, three imps were slapped back so hard their limbs became disjointed. Primidon was called on, and a burning cloud like a miniature thunderhead scorched lemures and sent up a sickening stench like charred garbage.