Jean Rabe - Downfall

She found herself enjoying his words again, as she had the first night she met him at the campfire. His eyes sparkled then, and now-the light from the torch was hitting them just right. "Concerned only with you," she repeated. Then she was again following him down the worn stone steps.

"Pigs, but these go on forever, lover," Rikali complained as she stopped to rub the backs of her legs. "Bad enough all that climbing up the mountain. And you'd think these wouldn't be so steep, being built by dwarves and all with short, stubby legs. Bet these lead straight to the Abyss! My fine house ain't going to have such steep steps! Ain't going to have any steps at all."

"A while ago you thought exploring was a fine idea," Dhamon told her. "In fact, I think it was your idea."

"A woman can change her mind, lover."

Dhamon continued down the steps, glancing at the wall where he noted carvings of dwarves that were every bit as elaborate as the ones in the large chamber above. They weren't just faces this time, though, as they were at the very top of the steps. They were full figures, presented sideways, as if they were moving down the steps with him. He spotted one with a short beard, and it made him think of Jasper. "I wish Jasper could be here to see this," he mused. He noted the writing above the figures, and made out some of the words, his eyes narrowing with realization.

"Well, from what you told me of him, he probably wouldn't've liked these steep steps either."

Jasper never complained so much, Dhamon thought.

"I don't recall Jasper ever complaining about such things," Rig said aloud.

That brought a rare, big smile to Dhamon's lips. "I can't imagine the steps going on much farther, Riki. In fact…"

He paused and took a closer look at the nearest carvings, as he had at the very top of the stairs. More writing. He brought the torch closer so he could see the words better, and he traced the faintest ones, fragments of sentences, with his fingertips.

Amid the words he continued to read as he traveled down a few more steps were carvings of dwarves digging in the earth, followed by dwarves making homes underground and becoming miners.

"It reads like a diary," Dhamon explained. "In fact, I'm pretty sure that's what it is. ‘Kal-thax we leave behind this day. Calnar thane to the Kalkhist Mountains to delve a new home. New Hope it will be called. Thorin. "He took in a deep breath. "If I remember what Jasper told me of his race's history, that would make this about 2800 precataclysm." He whistled softly. "This place is indeed very old."

"Well, how do you know it wasn't done more recently, and they were just reminiscin' about the old days? Who'd keep some stony diary anyway? Too much work if you ask me." Despite her words, Rikali tried to feign interest in the carvings, thinking that might please Dhamon.

"Because I can see the bottom of these steps. And because the carvings at the top are even fainter than these, older, and they talked about the Graystone being forged and Kal-Thax built. So this is more recent and written as if it is happening now, not written like history. All of it is written that way."

"Wait, lover." Rikali placed both hands against the wall. "Feels cooler here."

Rig snorted. "We're deeper underground. Been walking for better'n an hour. Maybe two." He was thinking about Fiona, suspecting she was in the cavern above impatiently waiting for them. He didn't like her being alone with Mal-dred. Rig told himself not to be jealous, that Fiona truly loved him, that they would be married one day soon and would be far away from these thieves. Still, he couldn't keep his suspicions entirely at bay. And he couldn't help wishing he'd gone with Fiona rather than with Dhamon and that gabby Rikali.

The half-elf shook her head and darted up a dozen steps to press her hands against the wall. Then she came back down. "It's cooler here, I tell you."

Dhamon felt about, finding moisture in one spot. "There's an underground stream behind this wall," he said. "Maybe it opens up below and we can take a bath. Get all this troll blood off."

"Oh, I like that idea, lover."

Dhamon moved down slowly now, ignoring the half-elf's request to hurry so they could clean the dirt off themselves and find the valuables that must surely be somewhere in this place. And he pushed aside Rig's complaint that this was all very interesting but wasn't getting them back to Bloten any faster and that they would be late rejoining Fiona in the chamber so very high above.

"Here," Dhamon pointed. "This is the last of the carvings, and they're etched deeper, not as old, definitely. Carved about eight hundred years later than the last ones I showed you-if I understand the history." There were images of dwarves and a forge, a replica of a great hammer. "The Hammer of Reorx," Dhamon whispered. "That's the forging of it, about two thousand years before the cataclysm. The Time of Light, I think it was called. The hammer shown here was used a thousand years after its forging to make Huma's dragonlance."

Rig was honestly interested now, as weapons of any kind were a passion of the mariner's. "It was later called the Hammer of Kharas, right? After a hero of the Dwarf-gate War."

"How can you two talk so much about dwarves? I've had my fill of them."

"Maybe it was forged somewhere down here," Rig said. There was a tinge of excitement to his voice.

"I just want to find me some pretty baubles, something valuable, and have me a nice bath."

"Riki, this entire mountain is valuable."

"But I can't fit it in my pocket now, can I lover? I can't hang it around my neck."

Dhamon let out a deep breath. "To the dwarves, this would be priceless. To historians, too."

"To Palin," Rig added.

"Thought you wanted to get back to Bloten." The half-elf harumphed. "I know I certainly do. I'm tired of… Wait." Rikali put a hand on Dhamon's shoulder. "I smell somethin'. Thought I smelled somethin' before, smells stronger now." She turned and glanced up the steps, the top of which she hadn't been able to see a few minutes ago. But now the stairs were faintly visible to her oh-so-keen eyesight because of a soft light streaming down from high above. "I think I smell fire!"

"Fire?" Rig said, turning and squinting to see whatever it was she was looking at. He saw only darkness in the distance. "The trolls were done burning before we started down."

Dhamon sniffed the air. "I think she's right."

"But what could be burnin'?" the half-elf asked. Then her eyes grew wide. "Fetch!" she cried. She started up the steps, then stopped as the cavern rocked with a tremor. This time the quake wasn't coming from below, as all the others had. This one originated from above.

Fetch wasn't certain how he'd done it-managing to set all six pillars on fire. They were too far apart for the blaze to have spread on its own accord, so he must have done something to help.

He scratched his head. He remembered setting two or three on fire, maybe it was four, picking out the heads on the bottom to roast. But certainly not all of the pillars. Or had he? Perhaps he'd simply lost track of the time.

Maybe he'd merely gotten so caught up with the new dance he'd created-his flame dance he'd dubbed it- that he'd just let everything else slip his mind.

Not that it mattered. The fires would burn themselves out eventually, or maybe the wind would pick up and blow some rain inside and the water would put the fires out. It definitely was raining harder, he could hear the rain clearly, and the wind was blowing.

The fires would burn out-and in the process everyone would be done a great favor. Why, if there were gems or gold hidden inside those carved columns, he'd surely find them when he sifted through the ashes. Maldred would be exceedingly pleased.