Finally, after what seemed like the duration of a festival week, Shen’ti uttered a short, sharp cry. “Ha!”
“What?” Avra asked, trying to hurry down without pitching forward onto his face.
“Avra, it’s … come quick!”
“I’m coming!”
He went as fast as he dared, and the bottom seemed to arrive suddenly, bringing him up short and almost causing him to stumble. Even down here, leagues underground, that glow persisted, illuminating a massive subterranean cavern.
“Look, Avra!” Shen’ti said. His voice was hushed, and he waved a hand toward the contents of the cavern.
Everywhere, piled up on the floor, stacked on tall racks, even thrust into the walls themselves, was metal. Rods of metal as big around as Avra’s wrist, balls the size of a man’s skull, rectangular bars, and more, all of it gleaming in the soft light.
Avra rushed forward and picked up a bar. It seemed to weigh as much as a large child. “It’s really steel,” he said, his voice quaking with wonder. “I’ve never even dreamed of this much in one place.”
“Do you know what kind it is?” Shen’ti asked him.
“No. I’ve held iron and once, gold. But this? I’ve no idea. It’s a treasure trove, though.”
“Not as easily transported as gold or gems.”
“No. But this much of it—do you have any idea what the Shadow King would give for this? Or any other sorcerer-king, for that matter?” The cavern reached back into the darkness, beyond where Avra could see, although he believed if he walked that way the illuminated walls would continue to light his path. “An army could be outfitted with this, or an entire currency minted. Possibly both!”
Shen’ti stroked his chin. “You might be right, Avra.”
“Perhaps we can salvage something from this damned trip after all,” Avra said. “Certainly House Faylon won’t be paying us for our trouble.”
“But how … we’d need an argosy to carry all this. A dozen of them.”
“We’ll take a couple of samples, ones we can carry easily. We’ll show them to Nibenay, and let him pay us for the location of the city.”
“Or torture it out of us, or simply reach into our minds and pluck it out like low-hanging fruit.”
“The road to riches never runs straight, Shen’ti. There’s always some risk.”
“Very well, then,” Shen’ti said. He started collecting chunks of metal small enough to be carried.
“Not yet, man! We just got here! Whatever it was up there might still be lurking about. Anyway, my ankle won’t stand up to climbing those stairs so soon. We’ll rest here—surrounded by our new treasure—for an hour or two, then if it’s clear we’ll get out of this city for good.”
Shen’ti dropped the metal he had gathered. Once again, Avra noted how agreeable he had become.
But surrounded by all this steel, he didn’t care to complain.
The climb back up the winding staircase was indeed painful, especially laden as they were. But at the top, whatever had stalked them seemed to be gone, and nothing interfered with their escape from the city. By the time the two moons rose into the night sky, they were encamped at a small oasis, far from the city. The ache in Avra’s ankle had started to fade, as if walking on it had been beneficial.
Both soldiers felt safer here than they had in the city, but they still planned to sleep in shifts, to keep watch for anything that might attack them. The water in the oasis was fresh, and Avra drank deep, slaking his thirst at last. But oases, he knew, tended to draw all sorts of visitors, including the kind who would not hesitate to kill them for a handful of ceramic coins.
Avra was sleeping soundly, dreaming about lying back on a soft divan with a nubile young lady pouring wine into his mouth, when a strange noise disturbed his slumber. He opened his eyes and saw Shen’ti walking in a tight circle, muttering to himself.
“It’s in there,” he said. “It’s in there. I saw it in there. I saw it.”
“What’s in where?” Avra asked him. “Are you standing watch, or walking in your sleep?”
Shen’ti didn’t react in any way, just kept walking. His hands opened wide, then closed into fists, then opened again. “It’s in there. In there. It. Is. In. There.”
“Shen’ti.”
“Must go back,” Shen’ti said. “It’s in there. Must go.”
“Shen’ti!” Avra called. He rose to his feet. His companion was bewitched or sleepwalking. Either way, he needed to be brought around, before he hurt himself.
But Shen’ti ignored him. Leaving his refilled water bladder, his trikal and everything else behind, he started walking back the way they had come. Back toward Akrankhot.
“Shen’ti, stop!” Avra cried. “Come back!”
Shen’ti didn’t stop. Avra started after him. His ankle gave out under him and he pitched down into the sand.
Avra tried to scramble to his feet again, because Shen’ti was already disappearing into the darkness. But he had strayed too close to an elven rope cactus. A spiny red vine twisted around Avra’s right ankle—his good one—and tightened there. Instantly, burning agony gripped Avra as the cactus drove its needles deep into his leg. At the same time, more of the tendril pushed up from beneath the sand and snaked up his leg.
Avra screamed. If the cactus responded at all, it was just to clamp down even harder on his leg.
He had never encountered an elven rope cactus, but he’d heard stories. Those needles were digging into his veins and sucking down his blood, draining him into the plant’s inner parts, deep underground. What he didn’t know was how long it would take to remove enough blood to kill him.
And he didn’t know if he would be able to break free of it in time to catch Shen’ti.
He didn’t dare grab the thing, because it would just ensnare his arm as well. He could cut it off, if he could just get to his sword. But he had left that where he was sleeping, hadn’t thought he would need it simply to grab Shen’ti and shake him into wakefulness.
Gritting his teeth against the pain, Avra pushed off with his arms and tried handwalking to his left. He couldn’t get any distance from the cactus, but he didn’t expect it would care where he was as long as it had its grip on him. He made it a few “steps” and collapsed again, the pain too severe. He lay there panting for a few minutes, feeling himself being weakened by the second, and tried again.
In this way, slowly and painfully, he made his way back almost to where he had slept. He could see the dark wood of his sword, resting atop the few pieces of metal he had brought out of the city. He could almost reach it.
Almost. He strained his arm, fingers splayed out, but they fell just short. He tried to lurch forward, but the cactus held him fast.
The night seemed to be growing darker, as if the stars had slid behind a semi-opaque film. He didn’t have much time left. Do something, he told himself. Anything, while you’ve an ounce of strength to do it with!
He stretched his arm out again. He couldn’t reach the sword, but he could get his fingers on one of the slender metal rods he had carried from Akrankhot. If he could tip it, slide the sword to him …
Moving slowly, cautiously, he wiggled the rod. He had to move it just right, try to raise the far end and lower the near so that the sword would shift the right way. He got the sword moving, little by little and then the elven rope hitched itself up higher, slithering around his waist, setting off an entire new wave of agony. Reflexively, Avra jerked the metal rod, and the sword went clattering off the far side of the pile. He would never get to it now.