Michael Sullivan - Percepliquis

“It should slow them down, shouldn’t it?”

“I think so,” he said.

She looked back out the window at the snow-covered roofs. “What if Arista and the others had trouble? What if they were attacked by thieves? They might have died even before reaching the city.”

“Thieves?” Nimbus asked, stifling a laugh. “I daresay I should pity any band of thieves that had the misfortune of assaulting that party. I am certain they have entered Amberton Lee safely.”

She turned to face him. His tone was so confident, so certain that it set her at ease. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. We just have to hope they are successful. What obstacles they will face beneath the Lee will certainly be more formidable than a band of thieves.”

Arista had no idea what time it was or how long they had walked since reaching the bottom of the shaft. Her feet, sore and heavy, slipped and stumbled over rocks. She yawned incessantly and her stomach growled, but there was no stopping-not yet.

They followed a series of narrow crevices so small and tight it often required crawling and, in the case of Elden, a sucked-in stomach and the occasional tug-of-war. It was frighteningly claustrophobic at times. She moved sideways through narrow slits where her nose passed within inches of the opposite side. During this period, Arista’s robe was the only source of light. At times, she noticed it dim or flicker briefly, which gave her concern. She would stiffen and instantly the light grew steady, often brighter, but as the night dragged on, the light drifted steadily from white to darker shades of blue.

The passage widened and constricted, but Royce usually found a way to move ahead. On a few occasions, he was wrong and they needed to backtrack and find another way. At such times, Arista heard Magnus mumble. Royce must have heard him too, but the thief never spoke or looked in his direction. The dwarf, who moved through the tunnels like a fish in water, did not elaborate on his grumblings. He remained generally quiet and traveled in the rear or middle of the group, yet occasionally when Royce entered a crevice, Magnus might cough with a disapproving tone. Royce ignored him and invariably returned with a scowl. After a few missteps, Royce started turning away from an appealing path the moment Magnus made a sound, as if a new thought had just occurred to him. Silently worked out and agreed upon, the system functioned well enough for both of them.

The rest of the party followed mindlessly, focused only on their own feet. After the first hour, Alric, who had begun the march giving the occasional obvious direction or asking questions, then nodding his head as if approving some sort of action, gave up the pretense altogether. Soon he dragged himself along like the rest, blindly following wherever Magnus and Royce led.

“Mmm,” Arista heard Magnus intoning somewhere ahead, as if he had just tasted something wonderful.

The princess was fumbling forward, ducking and twisting to get by as they struggled through another long narrow fissure. The blue light of her robe made the rock appear to glow.

“Wonderful,” the dwarf muttered.

“What is?”

“You’ll see.”

They inched onward through the crevice, which became tighter. She felt forward with her feet, kicking away loose stones to find footing.

“Whoa.” She heard Royce’s voice from somewhere up ahead, speaking the word slowly with uncharacteristic awe. She attempted to look forward, but Mauvin and Alric, standing ahead of her in the narrow pass, blocked her view.

Alric soon exclaimed, “By Mar! How is that possible?”

“What’s happening?” Degan said behind her.

“No clue-not there yet,” she replied. “Mauvin’s big head is blocking me.”

“Hey!” he retorted. “It’s not my fault. It gets really narrow in-Oh my god!”

Arista pushed forward.

Mauvin was right-the path did grow very tight-and she had to bend, squeeze, and step through. Her shoulders brushed the stone, her hair caught on jagged rocks, and her foot was almost stuck as she shifted her weight. She held her breath and pulled her body through the narrowest gap.

Once on the far side, the first thing she noticed was that she was standing in a large cavern, which, after the hours of crawling like a worm, was wonderful. The action of some forgotten river had cut the walls out in scoops and brushed them to a smooth wavy finish. Elongated pools of water that littered the floor shone as mirrors divided from each other by smooth ridges of rock.

The second thing she noticed was the stars.

“Oh my,” she found herself saying as she looked up. The roof of the cavern appeared just like the night sky. Thousands of tiny points of light glowed bright. Captured in the enclosed space, they illuminated the entire chamber. “Stars.”

“Glowworms,” Magnus corrected as he walked out ahead of her. “They leech on to the ceiling stone.”

“They’re beautiful,” she said.

“Drome didn’t put all his grandeur on the outside of Elan. Your castles, your towers, they are sad little toys. Here are the real treasures we hoard. They call us misers on the surface-they have no idea. They scrape for gold, silver, and diamonds, never finding the real gems beneath their feet. Welcome to the house of Drome; you stand on his porch.”

“There’s a flat table of rock up there,” Royce told them, pointing ahead at a massive plate of stone that lay at a slight angle. “We’ll camp, get some food, and sleep.”

“Yes, yes, that sounds wonderful,” Alric agreed, bobbing his head eagerly.

They walked around the pools filled with the reflected starlight. Myron and Elden, both with their eyes locked on the distant ceiling, missed their footing several times, soaking their feet-neither seemed to care. They climbed to the surface of the table rock, which was as large as the floor of the palace’s great hall. It was a vague triangle, and the long point rose at the center of the cavern like the prow of a ship breaching a wave.

With no wood and no need for tents, making camp consisted entirely of dropping their packs and sitting down. Arista had the lightest pack, carrying only her own supplies of food, bedding, and water, but still, her shoulders ached and did so even more noticeably once she set her burden down. She planted herself on the prow, her legs dangling over the edge, and leaned back on her hands, rolling her head. She felt the aches in her neck and looked up at the false night sky. Elden was the first to join her; he settled in and mimicked her actions exactly. He smiled bashfully when he caught her looking. The big man’s forehead and his left cheek had ugly scrapes and his tunic was torn across the chest and along his right shoulder. It was a wonder he had made it through at all.

From her pack she pulled one of the meals, in a neatly sewn bag. She tore it open and found salted fish, a preserved egg with a green look to it, a bit of hard bread, walnuts, and a pickle. Just as she had once devoured the pork stew Hadrian and Royce had given her the first night she had traveled with them, she consumed this meal, and when finished, she searched the bag for any remaining crumbs. Sadly, she found only two more walnuts at the bottom. She considered opening another bag, but reason fought against the idea. Partially sated, her hunger lost its edge and gave up.

Most of the group found seats along the edge of the shelf and lined up like birds on a fence, their legs dangling at various rates of swing. Royce was the last to settle. As in the past, he spent some time exploring ahead and checking behind. Degan and Magnus sat together some distance from the rest, speaking together softly.

“Blessed Maribor, am I starved!” Mauvin declared as he tore open a bag of his own. His expression showed his disappointment, but he was not discouraged. After he tasted the contents, a smile returned. “That Ibis is a genius. This fish is wonderful!”