Paul Thompson - Riverwind

Karn waved the question aside. He dropped on his haunches and scrubbed through his pale hair with his fingers. “Politics, pah! Don't ask me to fathom such things. It's not a fitting subject for a warrior to discuss.”

Karn stared morosely across the chasm, lost in self-pity. Riverwind drew Catchflea away from the sullen warrior.

“There are many things afoot here,” Riverwind said in a low voice. “Did you hear the queen blame Di An's thievery on someone else? She said the girl was commanded to go to the surface.”

Catchflea scratched his bearded cheek. “You think it's Vvelz, yes?”

“Could be.”

“What are you two muttering about over there?” Karn asked loudly.

“I was wondering if there is anything to eat?” Catchflea inquired politely.

“How do I know? Am I servant? Look around.” He grinned nastily. “But beware the floor's edge; there is no rail to keep you from walking right off into the chasm. Still hungry, giants?”

“What I am is tired,” Riverwind replied truthfully. He scanned the smoky expanse of iron flooring and sighed. “The air here is very bad. Maybe it's fresher farther away.”

“It doesn't get any better,” Karn said.

“I would find out for myself.” To Catchflea, he murmured, “Let's go where we can speak without Karn hearing.”

“And find food, yes?”

They wandered away. A short distance into the haze they found a brass urn three feet tall. It was full of stale, brackish water, which they drank anyway. Riverwind soaked a kerchief and tied it over his nose and mouth. Catchflea plucked a rag from his shirt and did likewise.

“What are you thinking, tall man?” he asked as they walked slowly through the High Spires, watching for sudden drop-offs.

“I am thinking of Goldmoon,” Riverwind said simply.

“Ah.”

“Catchflea, you're old enough to recall the time when Arrowthorn became chief, aren't you?”

The old soothsayer nodded. His rag mask made him look like an elderly bandit. “There was a feud between the followers of Arrowthorn and the men who wanted Oakheart as chieftain. It was a bad time.”

“My father told me of those days. There was fighting in the streets, theft, burning of houses and crops, even murder.”

“Oakheart's murderer was never found,” Catchflea said. “It was only because Arrowthorn was with many people when it happened that he wasn't accused of the crime.”

“So he married Tearsong and became chief.”

“And a strong chief he has been, yes. But what does this have to do with your thoughts of Goldmoon or our situation here?”

“Such a bad time may come again to our people if I am opposed as chieftain,” Riverwind replied. “Goldmoon already faced death when Hollow-sky tried to kill me. I don't want her to be a target in a feud.” He looked around at the shifting smoke. “And this place-if brother and sister are plotting to bring each other down, then you and I are in the worst possible position.”

Catchflea stopped his ambling. “The first to die, yes?”

“As foreigners, we'll be blamed for everything.”

“What can we do?”

Riverwind brushed tears from his smoke-stung eyes and coughed. “Let's try to get some rest, then see what comes when we waken,” Riverwind said.

“An excellent idea. I am wrung out.”

They tried to make their way back to the brass urn, but the smoke and lack of landmarks confused them. The Que-Shu men wandered aimlessly a short distance until Riverwind called a halt.

“A strange dungeon, but an effective one,” he said. “Not knowing how big this place is, we could wander in circles and never find the boundaries.”

Catchflea sat down where he was. “Then all places are the same.” Soon he was asleep and snoring, even as the noxious smoke poured over him.

Riverwind lay down and closed his eyes. How strange it was that only a short while ago he had set out on his courting quest and now found himself in an underground world embroiled in a political struggle. But the ways of the gods were not easily fathomed by humans. Perhaps these elves were important in his quest. Perhaps they would end up helping him.

A sigh escaped his lips. He fervently hoped there was some point to all this. His quest was of paramount importance. His quest and his future marriage to Goldmoon. He relaxed and allowed sleep to overtake him. Though he had hoped to dream of his beloved, Riverwind's sleep was silent and deep and dreamless.

Riverwind felt a touch on his face. Lightly, fingers traced the line of his jaw. He stirred and brushed at the disturbance. A small thumb and forefinger tweaked his nose gently. He snorted, almost awake, then settled back into slumber. A finger tickled his ear until the itching sensation was too strong to ignore. Riverwind snapped to a sitting position. The kerchief he'd tied over his nose and mouth was up around his eyes. He snatched it off and saw Di An.

She signaled for him to remain quiet.

“What are you doing here?” he whispered.

“No noise. We leave,” she said.

“But how-?”

Di An put a small finger to his lips. “You want to go, don't you?”

He roused Catchflea. The soothsayer coughed and cleared his throat. “Argh,” he grumbled. “Now I know how a smoked ham feels.”

They drank greedily from a flask Di An offered them. Being in a cave so far from the sun, Riverwind didn't know if it was night or day. The bronze sun burned on, a dull orange orb far out in the smoke.

“Why are we being so quiet?” Catchflea hissed. “Who can hear us?”

“Ro Karn,” said Di An.

“Did you bring us weapons?” Riverwind asked. “A sword would improve my spirits greatly.”

“Follow and make no noise,” Di An said. She crouched low and sprinted away, her bare feet tapping lightly on the iron floor. Riverwind and Catchflea trailed her at a circumspect pace. They couldn't see more than ten feet ahead, and chasing Di An was not the safest thing in the world to do, as they well knew.

They caught up with her as she knelt by a copper chest. 'This was sent for you,” she said. The men crouched beside her. She raised the lid. Inside were brightly colored fruits and vegetables: apples, pears, plums, radishes, carrots. Two tin bottles held more water, and in the bottom of the box were two stubby Hestite swords. Riverwind slipped one of the weapons through his belt. Catchflea declined the other.

“I'm no warrior,” he objected. Riverwind didn't press him to take it.

They fell upon the food. “I can't remember the last time we ate,” the plainsman said.

“It's been too long ago, yes,” Catchflea mumbled through a bite of pear. “Even this sorry stuff is welcome.”

It was sorry food indeed. For all their brilliant colors, the apples and pears lacked any sweetness, and the vegetables were bitter and metallic-tasting. The men's frantic chewing and swallowing slowed and stopped. Catchflea paled.

“I'm going to be ill, yes.”

“I am too,” Riverwind muttered. “Is this stuff poisoned?”

Catchflea grasped his stomach. “I pray it is-at least we won't suffer long!”

Di An gawked at them. “What's wrong? This is warrior food. It's very good.”

“It's tainted,” Riverwind gasped.

The elf girl shook her head in wonder and helped herself to an apple. She sank her teeth into it and munched away with every evidence of satisfaction. “Come,” she said. “They are waiting.” With that, she darted off, still devouring the fruit.

“'They'?” Riverwind repeated. Catchflea, who had been sipping water to clear the taste of bitter radish from his mouth, looked alarmed. Riverwind said, “If enemies wanted to trap and kill us, they wouldn't put swords in our hands, would they?”

“No,” the old man said. “They'd probably poison us.”