A countless time of walking later, the dwarf stopped. Not looking around, he said to Elansa, "Lift the torch higher."
She did, illuminating what lay ahead. Like a small doorway, one all but Char would have to stoop to pass, the opening looked into a vast hall, wider and higher than the cavern under Hammer Rock. Soft, silvery illumination filled the opening, and beams of light shot down from high above.
"There are openings," Char said, "so high up you can only see the shafts of light but never the gaps in the stone roof. It comes down very far, that light, and that's why it’s so pale."
Doubtless that light would indeed seem pale when compared with the light of the outer world, yet it seemed glaring in this place where utter darkness reigned. Squinting against it, Elansa lowered the flaring torch. Over Char’s head, she saw a wonder beyond.
From the ceiling hung stalactites, some as thick as a human’s chest, others as fragile as the first icicle of winter. Up from the ground a forest of stalagmites reached, some not as high as Elansa’s shoulder, others so tall they touched the distant ceiling, making arches through which the outlaws could pass. Looking to the left, she saw, far along the wall, an opening to match the one behind. Another series of tunnels and passages ran behind that second entrance.
"The Hall of Reorx," Char said, his voice low with reverence as he spoke his god's name.
"Is it?" she asked. "Did the god make this?" Elansa looked at him curiously. "Is there lore among the dwarves about this place?"
Behind them others pressed. Elansa and the dwarf moved forward into the hall and out of the way.
"No," Char said. "No lore."
He walked ahead. She followed, and the light pouring down from above showed a floor that sloped gradually down in one smooth flow, as though a god had indeed crafted this place, shaping and burnishing the stone. Moisture glistened on the walls, on the stalactites and stalagmites, and this caught the light and enhanced it. Elansa saw glimpses of color in the stone-blue and red and pearly white, striations of black and green…
Char cocked his head, looking at her keenly. He seemed to relent, a little, of whatever grudge he'd conceived against her.
"No lore, but y’ can't think a god didn't have a hand in this."
She could not, and it seemed that those who followed, godless though they claimed to be, could ascribe the work to no mortal hand or even the craft of time. They trod carefully, following Char and Elansa. None remained untouched by the beauty around them, this place that made their old robber den seem like a fox's hole. One after another-even sullen Arawn-spoke oaths whose meaning till now had never been felt.
By the gods’ good grace…
In the name of Reorx…
By Paladine’s shining glance, have you ever seen the like of this?
Elansa took a deep breath of cool air. Breathing, she tasted water. Somewhere a stream ran, chuckling over stone.
"I hear water, Char, and you promised us we could fill the bottles fat."
In the crowd, Arawn muttered something, his voice twisted and sour.
Like a whip-crack, Dell snapped, "Shut up and keep moving."
If Arawn said more, Elansa didn't hear it. Char had stopped between two columns of stone, thick stalactites reaching nearly to the floor.
"Look," he said.
Breathless, she stood at the edge of a series of stairs winding down. And these were stairs, not the chance shaping of time and rivers. Someone had made these steps. Someone had carved them, as steps had been carved in the robber den, but these were broad and shallow. They reminded Elansa of the gracious flow of steps leading into Solostaran’s banquet hall. At the foot of the stairs ran a broad silver stream, its voice magnified by echoes.
Impulse took Elansa, and she ran down the steps as though she were traipsing into the elf king’s feasthall, a princess bejeweled and silken gowned. She paused, she turned, and in the dim light on one of the risers, she saw the mark of a lily such as is found in some corners of the Tower of the Sun. Craft, indeed! With good cause did these steps remind her of home. That mark alone suggested the maker of these had done work in the Tower of the Sun a long time ago.
Others followed, and Brand came last. She bent to the water and then knelt on the stone. Making a cup of her hands, she scooped up an icy drink, the water so cold it hurt her teeth. Nonetheless, she drank her handful and then another. She splashed her face and neck and looked around longingly, sighing for a place to wash off the stink of long days and nights unbathed.
She turned, for she felt the touch of familiar eyes on her. Brand looked at her, his head back like a man considering. "If you want," he said, "I could-"
She stood and walked past him, but she never looked at him. If she wanted, he could arrange for her to bathe. He could find her a private place. She knew those words were on his lips, and she knew the bath would not have been so private as she'd liked. He would be there, guard or company in the water.
As she brushed past him, she heard him say, "It would have been what you wanted."
Later, when she thought about those words, later with him asleep beside her and the light of campfires gleaming on the links of the chain that held her Blue Phoenix, she lifted a hand to touch it. Ah, lightly, lightly, she didn't want to wake him.
It quickened to her touch, her lovely Blue Phoenix. She was to have banished a blight with the help of the magic in this talisman. She was to have healed trees in Bianost and made them whole again. The sapphire pulsed just beneath her fingertips. Brand stirred, sighing in his sleep. His face eased a little, the hard lines of it softening.
She wondered if he felt the magic in the stone.
He turned onto his side, his face hidden.
Chapter 11
Elansa felt Brand's eyes on her everywhere she went. They tracked, they followed, and when she turned or lifted her head to look at him, he did not look away. He was thinking about her, and she knew he was weighing something, perhaps her fate. He watched her eat, and she did not challenge. She drank from the stream, slipped away into the privy place, and came back. He watched her leave, he watched her return, and she did not challenge.
Elansa pressed her back to cold stone and rested her head against the wall. Brand stood talking to Char, the two a little apart from the others. The dwarf gestured, sometimes broadly, sometimes subtly.
Quiet as a shadow, Tianna dropped down to sit beside her. She took a broad-bladed dagger from her belt and a whetstone from a little leather pouch In silence, she made stone and steel sing, honing the weapon. Little sparks flew, dancing in the dim light. She lifted the blade, touched it lightly with her finger, and found it keen. She turned it and, not looking up, said, "What are they talking about?"
The question surprised her. Elansa shrugged. "I'd be the last to know."
At this, the half-elf looked up. "You should be the first. You sleep with him."
Elansa watched the sparks fly. "Not by choice. There is no pillow talk, Tianna. There is only…" She shook her head. There was only command. "You had a better chance for that than I will or want."
Elansa studied her face. "Tianna had a lovely face. Her lips were wide, and her eyes were not so long as an elf’s but lovelier than a human's. She had bathed, somewhere in privacy, as did Dell. They could. They had long ago let their male companions know how they would enforce their privacy. And so her hair, clean and shining, was the brightest thing not afire in the cavern. She wore it in a thick braid, and a widow’s peak framed her brow.
Tianna looked up, and her long eyes gleamed with humor. "He can be a good lover," she said, low. "I didn't get tired of that."