Jus never spoke a word. He turned, glared, lifted a finger to his lips, then swung about to keep up his silent march.
Polk went into a huff With his hands jammed into his pockets, he stomped along ten feet behind his friends, kicking at any toadstools that came in his way. Behind him, Private Henry kept a nervous rear guard, chain mail jingling with every step and his pace slowed as he turned constantly to point his crossbow at empty shadows far behind.
The party walked cautiously onward into a tunnel that never seemed to end.
Long hours of walking went by. The massive passageways were a squalor of life and violent death. Great phosphorescent beetles preyed upon the slugs. Slugs chewed into glowing fungi, which in turn grew on compost left from dead beetles, old bones and dung.
Other things lived and ate here as well. The gnawed bones of humanoid creatures had been left here and there on the passage floors-sometimeself bones, sometimes human, always gnawed clean with skulls left grinning in the dark.
There were frequent alcoves, side caves, and sink holes all along the way. The party sat down in one such alcove as they shared hard bread and rested their feet. Polk’s magic bottle was produced, and much to his pain,all the travelers were served a measure of good whiskey carefully monitored by Jus before the bottle was sealed away again.
Sipping prime aged whiskey from a tin mug, Escalla kept a watch upon the corridor. Escalla had long since given up her invisibility on the march, coming to hover close to Cinders and the Justicar. After half an hour, invisibility wreaked havoc with her hair.
Swigging back her whiskey, Escalla turned to the task of gnawing upon a rock hard piece of bread. Daunted by the task, she finally used the bread chunk as an elbow rest.
“Jus, how far do you reckon this tunnel runs?”
“Honestly?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s a road.” The Justicar was repairing one of his bootlaces, working with big, efficient hands. “The trogs must have a nest down here.Probably a drow settlement, too. The thing must run for miles.”
Escalla gave a sigh and idly dangled the locator needle on its string. It pointed north, straight down the tunnel, and gave not a quaver of life. The opposition must have zoomed at least ten miles ahead.
“Bugger!” The girl sighed. “How much food do we have again?”
“Not much.” The Justicar finished fixing his boot. “Fancyslug stew?”
“Pass.” The girl took a long look down the tunnels. “Theremust be something big enough to make a meal of down here.”
Rising to his feet, the Justicar looked into the gloom with a growl. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
The tunnels had been eerily empty so far, but it couldn’tlast. The Takers would hardly leave their gates unguarded. Somewhere farther along the tunnels, there would be a guard post. Beyond that lay the horrific kingdom of the underdark. Jus pondered the trouble they were sinking deeper and deeper into and looked about the dripping cavern walls.
“Any ideas who the murderer might be?” Jus asked.
Deep in thought, the faerie sat shadowed by the bright splay of her wings.
“I’ve been trying to narrow down my list.” The girl hissed.“My mother. My sister. My mother and my sister. Or Lord Ushan? Or evenLord Faen? Or perhaps my mother, my sister, Lord Ushan, and Lord Faen.” Escallasat sifting her relatives and their allies through her mind. “Do you see now whyI fled to the real world?”
“Yep.”
The Justicar sighed, shook his head, and made a tour of the alcove. He walked past Private Henry and patted the boy on the shoulder as he passed. Having been set to thread thin strips ripped from his own cloak through the bottom layers of rings of his chainmail hauberk, the young soldier looked anxiously up for approval of his work. Jus knelt down to inspect the results, shaking the armor to make sure that its noise had been reduced.
“Good job. You did it just right.”
“Th-thank you, sir.” Private Henry seemed pale, but his eyeswere awed as he looked up at the imposing figure of the Justicar. “Is thereanything else I should do? To make my gear better I mean?”
“How do you fight?”
“Um, just with a sword, sir. Kind of…” The boy lookedpale. He had been given a long sword as part of his equipment, and its weight still felt awkward on his belt. “We haven’t really done much practice with it.”
Huge and solid, the Justicar rested a hand upon the boy’sshoulder and said, “If we get into a fight, just shoot, go to ground, and leavethe battle to us. If you get caught at sword point, fight defensively and call for help. We’ll cover you.” The big man stood. “When we get the time, I’ll teachyou how it’s done.”
Jus looked over the gangly boy’s equipment. He sniffed at thesword belt, a typical botched affair-good for horsemen and useless for everybodyelse. Taking up the worn leather, Jus showed the lad how to wear his sword horizontally through his belt.
“You get a faster draw this way. You might need it.” Hehelped the boy to don the heavy equipment, then shared a last drink of beer from his canteen. “All right. Let’s go.”
Escalla took a careful look out of the alcove, ducked back, looked one more time, and then fluttered up into the air. Jus strode out into the corridor, his heavy boots strangely quiet. With his cherished friend at his side, he moved into the tunnels with Polk and the teenaged soldier traipsing behind.
Polk automatically reached for his water bottle, discovered that for once it actually did contain only water, and almost choked. From up ahead, Jus turned and glared at the little man, silently ordering him to close the line of march. Shooting seething glances at Escalla, Polk hauled out his book and wrote awkwardly as he walked. He scribbled down scathing paragraphs on the subject of teetotalism, tyranny, and the mental benefits of alcohol.
The whole process kept him occupied for at least the next two long, slow, and silent miles.
To an eye attuned to the sinister pulse of the underdark, thetunnels ebbed with life, echoing to the endless drip and flow of time. Water trickled, creatures squeaked, and deep crevices sometimes carried sounds that rang with terror.
Hidden amongst rock outcrops and stalagmites, two figures sat silent in the gloom. They were drow-the ebony skinned, silver haired elves ofthe underdark. Each wore a long cloak made to conceal them in the dark. They sat several paces apart, each facing in the opposite direction-sentries halfwaythrough a long, tedious watch. With hand crossbows at their sides, the two elves passed the time. One was chewing on some sort of meat, while the other carved patterns in a piece of knuckle bone.
Around them, the tunnel echoed, time dragged by, and water dripped like blood seeping from a dying world. Into this tedious quiet came a shockingly familiar sound. A coin fell tinkling upon stone. It echoed from the southern tunnel, ringing faint but clear.
The southern-most sentry jerked his head up, covering the passageway with his crossbow as he scanned the darkness. The weapon’s sharp boltgleamed sickly black with poison.
Heat images swam in the eerie shadows of the tunnel. The wall mold glowed sometimes hot, sometimes cool, but amongst the smallest of small shapes upon the floor, a figure appeared-a little creature moving fearlesslydown the corridor.
A coin rang yet again, and now both guards craned forward to look, the northern guard standing up to peer past his partner.
A rat-a very large, well muscled rat-was scuttling along theedge of the southern tunnel. Thirty yards away in the gloom, even drow eyes could scarcely pick out the slightest detail. The rat moved away and disappeared into the dark. Moments later the sound of busy digging came, a sound very faint against the tunnel noises. Soon the rat returned, seeming extremely pleased with itself. Gold glittered briefly in the tunnel. The rat dropped a coin that it had held in its mouth, making a pile with other flecks of gold in the corridor, then pranced off to continue with its digging far away.