“Yes-I have another spell that I shall cast upon myself. I will be able to fly for a short time, and thus I can follow you down to where you will land.”
“Very well.” Ankhar was suddenly anxious to get this adventure over with, perhaps because he knew that if he hesitated for very long, he would begin to reflect on the dangers and back out. “Cast your spells,” he ordered gruffly.
Hoarst removed a small pinch of fluff, like a bit of goose down, from one of the pockets of his robe. He held it up to the half-giant’s face-his chin, actually, since that was as high as he could reach-and muttered a series of harsh-sounding words. Such strange words did not even sound as if they could be articulated by a human.
After waiting patiently for a few moments, Ankhar didn’t feel any different. “How do I know spell is working?” he growled.
“Trust me,” Hoarst answered coolly. “And remind yourself that I am as anxious for us to succeed with this quest-and get out of this forbidding place-as you are.”
“Carry me!” Laka insisted, tugging on the half-giant’s burly hand. Reluctantly, he released his two-fisted grip on his spear, clutching the weapon in one hand as he picked Laka up with the other, cradling her bony form like a baby against his broad chest. Hoarst helpfully lifted his sword so its light clearly revealed the edge of the precipice and the whole vast nothingness beyond.
Ankhar could think of a whole host of reasons this suddenly seemed like a very bad idea, but he could not shame himself in front of his mother or the powerful wizard who was his underling. So he closed his eyes, unconsciously holding his breath, as he took the first great step out into the void. He grunted in surprise as he felt himself toppling forward. Despite her professed confidence, Laka gasped in fright, and her fingers dug like talons into the half-giant’s arms. She clutched her talisman, and the green light from the ghastly sockets bobbed and swept through the vast darkness. They were off the ledge now and tumbling into the chasm.
But they were falling, as Hoarst had promised, very, very slowly. As the wizard with his glowing sword took to the air above them, flying around them in a lazy circle, Ankhar could see the dark wall of the chasm sliding past. He could have reached out to touch it, but he dared not relax his grip on the trembling hob-wench who clutched him in such palpable panic. Instead, he simply clung to Laka and waited, half amazed and half terrified, as they slowly descended farther and farther below the surface of the world.
Ankhar tried to estimate how long they fell, how much distance they traveled down past that smooth, dark opposite wall. Once he scuffed against an outcrop of extremely cold stone, but the impact was soft and the force of the bump pushed him away from the surface. In the end he gave up trying to guess how deep they had plunged-surely they were farther underground than he had ever imagined possible. All the while Hoarst fluttered nearby, made visible to him and Laka by the glowing sword that he carried, which was the only light in this whole dark vault of space.
At long last the magic-user dived below them, circled a few times, and came to rest on a stone floor. Ankhar could make out a surprisingly smooth surface, sloping gently downward away from the wall. As he drew near, he cradled the still-trembling Laka, flexed his knees, and came to a soft landing on the solid ground. His first thought was, how would they ever get out of this place, would Hoarst’s magic just as easily permit them to float up? But he bit his tongue. Instead, he set Laka gently on the ground, and as they both stood in the circle of light cast by Hoarst’s magically illuminated sword, he asked, “Where are we? And where do we go from here?”
“Good questions,” replied the human magic-user. “Not easily answered, though. This feels like a killing ground; there was death here at one time-lots of it.”
“Look.” Laka raised her talisman, green light spilling from its ghastly sockets, brighter even than the glow from the magic-user’s sword. The green brilliance illuminated many objects on the broad, sloping floor. Ankhar saw a broken shield, several sharpened points that looked like spearheads, a cracked helm, a part of a breastplate… and bones. What had appeared to be a series of regular, rounded boulders he could now see were skulls, hundreds of them, scattered haphazardly. They were ancient and dusty, and at first glance he could not tell if they had belonged to humans, goblins, dwarves, or some other creatures. The eyeless sockets seemed to stare at him in reproach… or warning.
“This was once a battlefield,” Hoarst surmised.
Hoarst kicked at one of the spear points, which was heavily corroded. A dusty, dry stench filled the air. Then the human picked up the spear point and used it to scrape away the crust that had developed over a crude, heavy sword blade. “Bronze,” he mused. “Or copper. These warriors fought a long time ago, even before the advent of iron.”
“A great host fought here and many died,” Laka observed, holding her talisman higher. The green light spread far, bathing the rough outlines of battlements, shadowing the scar of a trench and the skeletal remnants of chariots and wagons. The wheels had long crumbled, but the outlines of the vehicles remained, layered in dust but still mostly intact.
“But how could a great army ever get down to these depths? Or two great armies?” wondered the half-giant. “What kind of battlefield is this?”
“Perhaps it was not always under the ground,” speculated Hoarst. “It is said that in the early days of the world, the land was very different than it is now. Perhaps this was a plain at the foot of a mountain, back in the Age of Dreams. But some time after the killing, the battlefield itself sank beneath the ground, to be preserved in this great vault for all time.”
“Maybe,” Ankhar acknowledged, frowning. In fact, he couldn’t think of another explanation. “It’s certainly been here a long, long time-on the surface these bones, those relics, would rot away into nothing.” The half-giant was beginning to feel very uncomfortable about the place. “We should get away from here.”
“Hsst! Look, there!” Laka declared. “Something moves!”
It looked like a wisp of smoke, at first, but Ankhar knew nothing could be burning down here. Was it fog or some sort of mist? In his heart, which began to pound like a smith hammering on a metal band, he knew it was neither. It was like tangible frost-it looked cold-and he took a step back, his hands tightening around the haft of his spear.
There were several of the smoke shapes, ghostly forms rising from the skulls, the scattered and broken weaponry, the other debris on the ancient battlefield. They stood like pillars, perhaps the height of a man or a little taller, and they seemed to be rooted to the ground, while freely waving back and forth-though there was not even the hint of a breeze here in the deep underground. Whenever Ankhar turned his head, the smoke shapes seemed to waver, almost to disappear, but when he peered intensely at the figures, he could discern features-not faces, exactly, but holes where eyes ought to be, apertures that gaped soundlessly as though they were mouths giving vent to silent screams.
The half-giant felt a stab of fear. Helplessly, he looked at his stepmother and saw that Laka was glaring at these apparitions. Her teeth were bared, her eyes flashing with fury.
“Stay back!” Ankhar growled, waving his weapon.
“No-they will come,” the hob-wench hissed.
Indeed, the spires of mist acted as one, slowly, soundlessly moving toward the three intruders who huddled together. No dust was stirred by their passage; they floated as if propelled by a wind. The green light from Laka’s skull totem surged into greater brilliance, and this only magnified the horror, for now Ankhar could see that many more of the spectral images-dozens, scores, even hundreds of the smoke shapes-were rising from the ancient killing ground. The many mist figures writhed in the air with unspeakable hungers and desires, advancing upon the half-giant and his two companions.