Matt didn't blame him. He remembered how he had felt, the first time he had gone flying without an airplane—on Stegoman's very back, in fact. He wasn't especially eager to repeat the experience, considering the evasive maneuvers Stegoman had been running, trying to escape a fiery salamander—but he had survived. So would the dragon.
They came up to the jade palace, and the old king stood at the gate, watching them come. When he saw Stegoman's bulk looming up out of the darkness, he stared. "My great-daughter! A beast of fire, here within its element opposed?"
"The fire is within him, great-sire, just as we dwell within our bubble of air," the demoiselle returned. "He will offend the Sea King no more than we do—and it is vital that he ascend with them."
She held her ancestor's gaze with a strong, steady look of her own, and after a few moments, he nodded, looking grave. "Let him pass, then. But usher them quickly, demoiselle—through my precincts and up the passage. Let them not linger long in Ys."
Matt could only agree with the sentiments, though perhaps not for the same reason. He followed the demoiselle as she led the way around the palace, glimmering in its eldritch light. The party all stared, as they passed, at the spires and arches done in a style that had been forgotten before their own had arisen, gazing in wonder and awe.
"Ahead," Matt called softly, and they all snapped out of their trances and turned to look forward as the demoiselle passed out of the light of the castle precincts, into a huge maw of a dark and lightless tunnel.
Yverne and Fadecourt halted involuntarily, shivering at the miasma of evil that seemed to brush their spirits, even so far removed. The demoiselle must have been expecting the reaction, for she turned back and called softly to them, "Aye—'tis a blemish on the face of the earth, is it not? Even here beneath the sea, we sense its evilness. This pathway has not been trod for more than an hundred years, though I have ventured along it till I saw the castle's base. That far, I have gone, confident in the Sea King's power, that the sorcerer's sway cannot extend into Poseidon's domain—but I will not pass above his waters."
"We will, then." Matt nodded with grim certainty. "That's what we came for, isn't it? Although, come to think of it, anyone who wants to go back, go with my blessing—I wouldn't blame you for a second. Just because I have to march ahead is no reason the rest of you should"
They all turned to meet his eyes, and he almost flinched at the silent accusation they leveled at him. "All right, all right! No offense intended. Come on, let's go." He turned away to the demoiselle and nodded, before he had to listen to their rebukes.
The demoiselle led the way down a passage that grew steadily darker and darker. After a few hundred paces, only the sea anemones were giving light, and that only as colored dots that marked the borders of the path. Then their light grew dim and disappeared, and Matt realized with a shock, that something was killing off any creatures that lived beyond this point.
He hoped he wasn't included.
Light glowed suddenly, and he saw that Sinelle was holding up the gem that had nestled at her throat. It gave off light now, dim and chill, but far better than the darkness that had enshrouded them. She beckoned with the jewel. Matt nodded and pressed forward. His commandos came after him.
It couldn't have been more than about ten minutes of groping in that dimness, but it felt like a year. Matt slogged ahead, testing the ground with every step—then suddenly realized that the demoiselle had stopped. He looked up and saw a huge brass-bound door blocking their way.
"Yon is the dungeon of the sorcerer's castle," Sinelle said in a low voice, for there was something about this place that discouraged speech. "Farther I cannot go. I wish you well, my friends."
Matt swallowed through a throat gone suddenly thick, and nodded. "Thanks, milady. We're grateful for everything you've done. Hopefully, we'll be seeing you soon, to celebrate."
His companions muttered assent.
"I will rejoice," she said, trying to sound positive. "Fare ye well, good folk."
She stepped aside, and Matt reached out to grasp the huge ring set in the door. He twisted, and the latch mechanism groaned. Then he threw all his weight against the portal, and, slowly, it swung open.
The companions moved into the darkness. Marian murmured, "I am amazed it was not locked."
"Perchance the sorcerer does not even know it is here," Fadecourt said softly. "Wizard, can you bring us light?"
Matt shook his head in the darkness, then remembered nobody could see him. "I'd rather not use magic this close to the sorcerer—it'll let him know at once that we're here. Stegoman, can you manage some fire?"
A gout of flame roared out, showing them the blackened cones of old torches held in sconces against the walls. Matt reached up and plucked one down. "This will do—we can't keep the poor beast breathing fire all the time." He held its tip in Stegoman's flame until it caught, then raised it aloft. The dragon's flame shut off, and Matt stepped out into the middle of the chamber, holding up the torch.
Its light fell on the foot of a stairway that curved along the outside of the circular room, disappearing up into the darkness.
Matt swallowed and moved toward it. "Okay, friends. Here we go."
The way was long and tortuous. Matt had climbed enough steps so that his thighs began to ache, before it occurred to him to count—to break the monotony, if nothing else. But, of course, by then it was too late. It seemed to be a simple spiral staircase—but it was a very long one. Matt found himself beginning to wonder about architects inspired by the DNA molecule.
Then, suddenly, there were no more stairs; Matt slammed into a rock wall. Fortunately, he wasn't going very fast; unfortunately, Yverne, Marian, and Fadecourt slammed into him before he could tell them. "Dead end," he said, low-voiced in case something was listening in the darkness.
How paranoid can you get? Very—in a sorcerer's castle.
"If you'll back up just a touch, I'll see if there's a way out."
The pressure on his back eased up; he pulled his chin out of the wall and started groping around.
" 'Tis here." Marian, at least, wasn't worried about who might hear them. "A hole in the wall—a masonry archway, from the feel of it."
Matt moved the torch around and saw the archway, ten feet away at the end of a landing carved into the rock. "Right. Well, at least there aren't any more steps." He marched through the archway.
They rattled. They buzzed. They came scurrying on little, chitinous feet, tails curved up over their backs, holding their stings ready to stab.
Matt leaped backward with an expletive deleted. "Scorpions! Get back, ladies!"
Yverne jumped back with a little scream, but drew her sword and began chopping at the little blighters.
"Nay, brave lady!" Sir Guy cried. "Let me essay it—this menace is mine!" He shouldered past; Marian gave an indignant cry as he elbowed her aside. But as his iron-shod feet began crushing sinister insects, she started cheering him on. "Aye, sir knight! Slay them, crush them! Let none survive to plague...Ah! Beware!"
A huge scorpion, stronger than the others, managed to leap atop Sir Guy's foot and scuttled up his leg, stinger probing for a weak spot in his armor.
"Watch out!" Matt shouted. "Behind the knee, he's—"
Maid Marian's quarterstaff swung, knocking the arthropod to the floor. Sir Guy's heel came down on it.
But other large scorpions had blundered into the same technique; a stream of insects was running up his legs, and some of their mates were getting past him, heading for softer prey.
"This is too slow!" Stegoman snapped. "Aside, ladies, knight! Let me reach unto them!"
Matt flattened himself against the wall. Marian knocked the last scorpion off Sir Guy and leaped aside. The dragon's huge head snaked through, knee-high, and a blast of fire lit the tunnel with a glare that seemed like that of the noontime sun. The air filled with cracklings and poppings. The companions turned to stamping out the few insects that escaped the fire.