The senator looked back down the corridor. He looked outside, drew a deep breath of fresh air. Reaching out, he touched Gilthas on the hand, a mark of respect. Bowing to the dwarf, the elf ducked his head, and plunged into the tunnel, holding his breath, as if he would hold it for the miles he would have to travel below ground.
Gilthas smiled. “You’ve said those words before, Thane, I’ll wager.”
“Many times,” said the dwarf, stroking his beard and grinning. “Many times. If not me, then the others.” He gestured to the dwarven helpers.
“We use the same argument. It never fails.” He shook his head. “Elves living below ground. Who would have thought it, eh, Your Majesty?”
“Someday,” said Gilthas in reply, “we’ll have to teach dwarves to climb trees.”
Bellowsgranite snorted, laughed at the thought. Shaking his head, he went stomping down the tunnel, shouting encouragement to the dwarves who were working to keep the passageway clear of falling rock and to make certain the braces they used to shore up the tunnel were strong and secure.
The last elves to enter the tunnel were a group of twelve, members of a single family. The eldest daughter, who had almost come into her majority, had volunteered to take the children. Father and mother—both trained warriors—would remain to fight to save their city.
Gilthas recognized the girl, remembered her from the masquerade he had held not so long ago. He remembered her dancing, dressed in her finest silken gown, her hair adorned with flowers, her eyes shining with happiness and excitement. Now her hair was uncombed and unwashed, adorned with the dead leaves in which she had been hiding. Her dress was torn and travel-stained. She was frightened and pale, but resolute and firm, not giving way to her fear, for the younger children looked to her for courage.
The journey from Qualinost had been slow. Since the day Beryl had caught a group of elves on the road and killed them all with a blast of her poisonous breath, the elves had dared not travel in the open. The elves had kept to the forests for protection, holding as still as the rabbit in the presence of the fox when the green dragon swept overhead. Thus their progress was slow, heartbreakingly slow.
As Gilthas watched, the girl picked up a toddler from a nest of leaves and pine needles. Summoning the other children to her side, she ran toward the tunnel. The children followed her, the elder children carrying the younger on their backs.
Where was she going? Silvanesti. A land that was to this girl nothing more than a dream. A sad dream, for she had heard all her life that the Silvanesti disliked and distrusted their Qualinesti cousins. Yet now she was on her way to beg them for sanctuary. Before they could even reach Silvanesti, she and her siblings would have to travel miles below ground, then emerge to cross the arid, empty Plains of Dust.
“Quickly, quickly!” Gilthas urged, thinking he caught a glimpse of the dragon above the treetops.
When the last child was inside, he reached out, grabbed the tree-branch lean-to, and dragged it across the opening, concealing it from sight. The girl paused inside the tunnel to take a quick head count. Satisfied all her brood were with her, she managed a smile for Gilthas and, lifting her head and adjusting the toddler to more comfortable position on her back, started to enter the tunnel proper.
One of the younger boys held back. “I don’t want to go, Trina,” he said, his voice quavering. “It’s dark in here.”
“No, no, it’s not,” said Gilthas. He pointed to a globe, hanging from the ceiling. A soft warm glow shone from inside the globe, illuminating the darkness. “You see that lantern?” Gilthas asked the child. “You’ll find those lanterns all through the tunnel. Do you know what makes that light?”
“Fire?” asked the boy doubtfully.
“A baby worm,” said Gilthas. “The adult worms dig the tunnels for us, and their young light our way. You’re not afraid now, are you?”
“No,” said the young elf. His sister cast him a scandalized look, and he flushed. “I mean, no, Your Majesty.”
“Good,” said Gilthas. “Then off you go.”
A deep voice sang out in Dwarvish, repeating it in Elvish, “Make way! Worm a’coming! Make way!”
The dwarf spoke in Elvish but as if he had a mouthful of rocks. The children did not understand. Gilthas made a jump for the girl. “Get back!”
he shouted to the other children. “Get back against the wall! Quickly!”
The floor of the tunnel began to shake.
Catching hold of the startled girl, he dragged her out of the center of the tunnel. She was terrified, and the child she carried began to wail in fear. Gilthas took the toddler in his arms, soothed her as best he could. The other children crowded around him, wide-eyed, staring. Some began to whimper.
“Watch this,” he said, smiling at them. “No need to be afraid. These are our saviors.”
The head of one of the gigantic worms the dwarves used for burrowing came into sight at the far end of the tunnel. The worm had no eyes, for it was accustomed to living in darkness below ground. Two horns protruded from the top of its head. A dwarf, seated in a large basket on the worm’s back, held the reins of a leather harness in his hands. The harness wrapped around the two horns and allowed the wormrider to guide the Urkhan as an elf rider guided his horse.
The worm paid little attention to the dwarf on its back. The Urkhan was interested only in its dinner. The worm spewed liquid onto the solid rock at the side of the tunnel. The worm-spit hissed on the rock, began to bubble. Large chunks of rock split apart and fell to the tunnel floor. The Urkhan’s maw opened, seized a chunk, and swallowed it.
The worm crawled nearer, a fearsome sight. Its enormous, undulating, slime-covered body was reddish brown in color and filled half the tunnel. The floor of the tunnel shook beneath the worm’s weight. Urkhan wranglers, as they were called, helped the rider guide the worm by reins attached to straps wrapped around its body.
As the worm came closer to Gilthas and the children, it suddenly swung its blind head around, started to veer toward their side of the tunnel. For one moment, Gilthas feared they would be crushed. The girl clutched at him. He pressed her back against the wall, shielding her and as many of the children as he could with his body.
The wranglers knew their business and were quick to react. Bawling loud curses, the dwarves began to drag on the reins and beat on the Urkhan with their fists and sticks. The creature gave a great, snuffling snort and, shaking its huge head, turned back to its meal.
“There now, you see. That wasn’t so bad,” Gilthas said cheerfully. The children did not look particularly reassured, but at a sharp word from their sister they fell back into line and began to straggle down the tunnel, keeping wary eyes on the worm as they crept past it. Gilthas remained behind, waiting. He had promised his wife that he would meet her at the entrance to the tunnel. He was starting to return to the entryway when felt her hand upon his shoulder.
“My love,” she said.
Her touch was gentle, her voice soft and soothing. She must have entered the tunnel when he was helping the children. He smiled to see her, and the darkness of despair the dragon had brought down on him departed in the glow of the larva light that glistened in her mane of golden hair. A kiss or two was all they had time to share, for both had news to impart and urgent matters to discuss.
Both began speaking simultaneously.
“My husband, the news we heard is true. The shield has fallen!”
“My wife, the dwarves have agreed!”
They both stopped, looked at each other, and laughed.
Gilthas could not remember the last time he had laughed or heard his wife laugh. Thinking this a good omen, he said, “You first.”