Tim Pratt - Venom in Her Veins

“That’s fine, I don’t need to know the dugeoneering theory behind it,” Julen said. “I have faith in you.” He went down the right-hand corridor, still holding the light, and Zaltys followed. They both ducked their heads, because even though the roof of the tunnel was taller than they were, it wasn’t much taller, and there was a sense of immense pressure and weight all around them. The weight of the whole world above.

“You know,” Julen said, “this is a lot less terrible than I expected. The accounts I read talked about grell and carrion crawlers and gelatinous cubes and rust monsters inhabiting the Upperdark, but I guess the derro have scared away everything but themselves. Maybe this won’t be so-”

And then he yelped and disappeared through a hole in the floor. Zaltys gasped as the light he held vanished with him, dropping to her knees and feeling her way forward with her hands until she found the edge of the pit and the shreds of black cloth that had been used to conceal it. A trap, doubtless meant for exactly the sort of interlopers they were. She peered down into the hole, which was about ten feet deep. Julen groaned, sitting up and rubbing his head, the dropped sunrod casting harsh shadows across him.

“Hold on, I’ll lower a rope,” she said, but while she turned her face away to dig in her pack, Julen cried out.

She looked back down the hole, and saw a small, lithe figure dressed in black kneeling on Julen’s back. The creature, no bigger than a child, had wild hair sticking up in filthy tufts, and giggled to itself in an incessant, almost monotonous way. Julen arched his back, wriggled like an eel, and struck out with a knife, filling one of the monster’s eyes with a steel blade. He wrenched the knife free and started to stand up, but then something buzzed through the air. Zaltys could see a short dart sticking out of Julen’s neck, and he put his hand to the wound before swaying and falling back against the rocks. Some kind of poison, or if he was lucky, just a tranquilizer to knock him unconscious.

Zaltys almost leaped down, but three more of the creatures surged into the hole and began binding Julen’s limbs with metal chains. If they hit her with a dart too, they’d both be doomed-better to wait for an opportunity to free him. She started to move back, and her boot scraped on the stone. The creatures at the bottom of the pit froze and whipped their heads back, staring straight up.

The things were nightmares, like parodies of humans: skin a blue-tinged gray, eyes far too large for the small faces and lacking either pupil or iris, giving them a look of blindness-but Zaltys knew they could see all too well, and must almost certainly be able to see in the dark. She had to hope the brightness of the sunrod at the bottom of the pit diminished their vision, or else they would surely see her.

But she could hide in shadows now. She let herself fade into the dimness, using the shadow snake’s power of concealment, and after a moment the derro giggled again and turned their attention back to Julen. One of them grasped the chains binding Julen’s wrists and dragged his unconscious body out of sight. Zaltys would wait a few moments, then drop down and follow them from concealment, choosing the moment to step through a shadow and attack them.

The tunnel floor shuddered, and the pit filled with rubble, smothering the light from the abandoned sunrod and blocking her access. Rocks had obviously been stacked and braced, and when the derro left, they’d removed the braces, collapsing the pit. They might be insane giggling monsters, but they were smart enough to cover their tracks in case Julen did have companions. She cursed, and thought furiously. Saving Julen was the first priority, obviously. But if she could track him and his captors, the derro might lead her to the place where slaves were kept. Still, what if she were captured herself? She wouldn’t be able to bear it if Julen died or suffered-worse than he’d already suffered-because of her. For his sake, she would be willing to ask Krailash for help, but if she returned the surface, she might lose track of him forever.

The ring. She looked down at her hand, and the gently pulsing crystalline ring there. She thought, as hard as she could, to Krailash: Julen has been captured by derro in the tunnels beneath my family’s false grave . The ring’s light pulsed brighter, and then went dim. That was the last message she’d be able to send for a day or so. She’d have to hope it was received, and that Krailash could send help.

She couldn’t quite bring herself to hope that she wouldn’t need help. Not realistically.

Zaltys probed her way on hands and knees along the dark tunnel until her hand encountered another cloth-covered pit trap. Using her hunting knife, she slit the cloth open. Once she’d made a hole, she took a climbing spike from her pack and worked it into a crack in the floor. She tied a rope around the spike, dropped it into the hole, then lowered herself carefully into the pit. Even fully extended, her fingertips clinging to the edge of the pit, she couldn’t feel the bottom-which made sense. The other had been easily ten feet deep. She grasped the rope and lowered herself, inch by inch, into the total darkness below (not so different from the total darkness above), hoping there would be no spikes or other hazards waiting for her. She planted her feet on solid ground and listened. There was giggling, faintly, off to her left. With a jerk on the rope she freed the climbing spike and bundled both into her pack, then felt her way along the tunnel that led out of the pit, following the sound of insane laughter.

She could already understand how madness could be a consequence of spending time down there.

When Zaltys’s voice, raw with panic, burst into his brain, Krailash stumbled in the sword form he was practicing, dropped his training weapon, and raced for Alaia’s wagon. Glory stepped out of her front door in front of him, and as usual upon seeing her, Krailash remembered her existence. “You heard it too?” he said.

“I did.” She rubbed the spot between her horns. “If she saw Julen taken, that means she’s-”

“Yes.” He rushed for his leader’s wagon, pounding on the door. “You must let us in, Alaia! This is urgent!”

“Enter,” came a soft, sad voice from beyond the door.

Krailash pushed his way in and saw Alaia, the tough, unflappable head of the Travelers, sitting on her divan with a look of utter despair on her face, tears rolling down her cheeks, holding a letter in her hands. Before Krailash could speak, she said, in a dull monotone, “Zaltys found out. I don’t know how. Perhaps she talked to Rainer, before he left camp? But she found out her people weren’t killed. That they were taken as slaves. Her letter … It says she can never forgive me for the lies I’ve told. How can I make her understand, I only wanted to protect her, to keep her from grief.”

“Did the letter say where she’s gone?” Krailash asked urgently.

Alaia nodded. “She’s going on a long circle patrol, to look for more terazul, she says. We shouldn’t expect her back for a few days. Should I send someone to find her? My spirit boar? Or should I just send a message? Or-”

“My friend,” Krailash said gently. “Zaltys, she did not tell you the truth. She went with young Julen to the ruined temple. They found access to the tunnels below. I think she must have some idea of freeing her people, but Julen …”

“She sent her thoughts, using the ring I gave her,” Glory said, shouldering her way into the wagon. “Julen has been taken by derro. Zaltys called out for help. But I doubt she has the sense to come back to the surface and wait for that help.”