Morgan jerked his head. "Go."
Talal crouched near the wall, ready to jump to the next stalagmite cluster. He watched Morgan and Laerin take off at a sprint down their separate corridors. He glanced at the far tunnels, willing the pair to reach them before the demon caught up. He could feel the demon coming closer. Brimstone scent crawled over his skin, into his clothes.
"Run," he whispered, "run, oh run, oh run." He chanted it like a prayer, the closest he'd ever come in his life to crying out for divine intervention. But to whom would he implore? There were no gods left that he hadn't blasphemed. None of them would believe an abrupt conversion to the faith. Talal almost smiled at that, but he was too deeply sunk in despair and the horror of the demon's aura.
Talal suppressed a whimper when the beast entered the chamber. For a long, terrible moment the beast just stood there, then he raised his head and looked straight at Talal. Talal wanted to run, heedless of the consequences. He held himself down, scratching his nails against the stone until they bled. If he ran, the beast would kill him. Talal sensed the demon testing him almost teasingly with his powers. He squeezed his eyes shut against the awful fear.
Then it was over. The demon passed by, charging down one of the corridors. Talal opened his eyes and forced himself to stand, to watch the beast run down his prey.
From his viewpoint, above the scene, Talal saw which corridor the beast chose. The figure running before the demon—so small in comparison to the beast—never had a chance. At the last moment, he turned, his weapon brandished, and fell beneath hundreds of pounds of burning muscle.
The demon came down on the sword, howling in rage and pain, raking the body beneath him from shoulders to calves. At the same time, the beast's jaws closed on his victim's neck, snapping it with one careless jerk.
Bile burned Talal's throat. So much blood, and yet the demon ran on, trailing red prints down the passage on his hunt.
Talal didn't stop to grieve. He bolted for the other tunnel.
* * * * *
Kall opened his eyes when the green light faded. Garavin and Borl stood over him. He must have blacked out from loss of blood during the transition through the portal. The dwarf was binding his arm. His holy symbol hung away from his neck, brushing against Kall's bare flesh. Kall felt the same brief, warm jolt he'd felt years ago from the relic.
"Thought I'd lost all of ye," Garavin murmured as Kall looked around. The three of them were alone in a smaller version of the cave they'd just left. The circle of stones sat to his left, but there was no chasm in the floor or shaft above. The room was dark, but for lines of dim light shining through a pair of doors at the end of a narrow passage.
"Where are the others?" Kall asked, panic rising inside him.
"They didn't come through," said Garavin. "Or they ended up somewhere else."
"Is that possible?"
"In this place, who's to say? But if this other portal is old as the Delve, and what with the wizard's magic disturbing the cavern, it may have malfunctioned and scattered us about. The others should be close by, if that's the case."
"We have to find them and get out of here," said Kall.
He headed for the light. When they drew closer, Kall realized the double doors ascended over two stories up the rock. A winch was attached to the doors to pull them open.
"I wonder if the dwarves built this," said Kall.
"Only way out," said Garavin.
They took hold of the crank together and pulled. The mechanism ground with age and neglect, but turned after a moment of coaxing. The doors ground against stone, the sounds echoing loudly in the passage. When the doors were half-open, Kall signaled Garavin to stop and peered out through the man-sized opening.
"Gods above," Kall murmured in awe.
Kall stepped out onto the narrow stone bridge that extended just beyond the double doors. Garavin and Borl came to stand beside him. A memory surfaced, of meeting Meisha on the Star Bridge outside Keczulla. The markings on this bridge were strikingly similar, except there was no roaring river beneath his feet, only an endless, black abyss stretching off in both directions.
Below and above, more bridges joined two steep rock walls divided like the parting of a great, barren sea. On both sides, tunnels honeycombed the walls—some were open, others secured with doors similar to the ones they'd just passed through. Blocks of a strange, clear substance obstructed three doors; they seemed to writhe and twist within the confines of the stone portals.
"What are those?" Kall asked.
Garavin looked where he pointed. "Gelatinous cubes," he said.
"Amazing," Kall murmured. For as far as he could see, there were only the tunnels and the rock walls, and the bridges over the abyss. It was as if they'd stepped into an underground labyrinth. They had only to choose a door.
* * * * *
Morgan whipped around the corner and stopped, listening. Had the demon passed the chamber by or gone for the boy, despite their efforts? He dragged his blade out of its sheath. The tunnel lay open and inviting before him, but Morgan turned his back on it. As good a place as any to make a stand, he thought, much as it pained him to let the half-elf win a bet.
Rocks showered his hair from above. Morgan swung in an upward arc but checked the blow just in time.
Talal came skidding down the stalagmite to land next to him. He paused long enough to grab Morgan's arm, towing him along.
Morgan pushed the boy away. "Keep going," he hissed. "I'll hold it off."
"He's dead," Talal cried, plucking stubbornly at the thief's tunic. "We have to run, we have to . . . he'll kill us. . . ."
The boy was hysterical. He didn't know what he was saying. Morgan turned back to the room. "Come on!" he shouted wildly. "Come at me, you bastard!"
"Shut up," Talal squeaked. "He'll come back. We have to . .. have to go."
But Morgan's feet refused to move. His mind worked sluggishly: the half-elf. . . Morgan hadn't heard it. He'd heard nothing. What kind of thief was he, what kind of partner, not to hear when the job went wrong?
The stupid half-elf had always been faster than him. "Legs like twigs, but he moved like he weighed nothing," Morgan babbled. He tried to make the boy understand. "He should've won; we never let each other win. The arrogant bastard should be halfway back to Keczulla by now."
Talal moaned in despair. "You're crazy. That thing's going to kill us both, and it'll all be for nothing!" He pushed, but Morgan grabbed him roughly.
"Listen to what I'm telling you!" Morgan shook the boy by the shoulder, ignoring his whimper of pain. "We'll meet up with him at the next intersection. He'll be there, waiting, and then—"
His head snapped to the side. Stars filled the corners of Morgan's vision. He looked at Talal in bewilderment. It slowly dawned on him that the boy had punched him in the jaw. He raised a hand; Talal flinched. Tears streamed down his thin face.
Morgan blinked several times to clear his head. Calmly, he forced all thoughts of the half-elf to a dark corner of his mind. Later, after he had spilled enough blood, he would take them out and examine them.
He grabbed the boy by the collar, pushing him toward the tunnel. "Run fast, little mouse," he growled. "Or we're all meat." At Talal's uncertain expression, he said, "Don't worry. I'll be right behind you."
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The Howling Delve
5 Marpenoth, the Year of Lightning Storms (1374 DR)
Aazen tensed when he heard the distant howls. He raised a hand to halt the party, surveying what resources he had left.