“I’ll go with you,” he said heavily, wondering how long he could keep going before he collapsed from pain and loss of blood. “Here, hold that a minute.” Handing Berem the torch, he tore off a strip of cloth from the ragged remains of Berem’s shirt and bound it firmly around the wound in his side. Then, taking the torch back, he led the way beneath the arch.
Passing between the stone supports, Caramon felt something brush across his face. “Cobweb!” he muttered, pawing at it in disgust. He glanced around fearfully, having a dread of spiders. But there was nothing there. Shrugging, he thought no more of it and continued through the arch, drawing Berem after him.
The air was split with trumpet blasts.
“Trapped!” Caramon said grimly.
“Tika!” Tas gasped proudly as they ran down the gloomy dungeon corridor. “Your plan worked.” The kender risked a glance over his shoulder. “Yes,” he said breathlessly, “I think they’re all following us!”
“Wonderful,” muttered Tika. Somehow she hadn’t expected her plan to work quite so well. No other plans she had ever made in her life had worked out. Wouldn’t you know this would be a first? She, too, cast a quick glance over her shoulder. There must be six or seven draconians chasing after them, their long curved swords in the clawed hands.
Though the claw-footed draconians could not run as swiftly as either the girl or the kender, they had incredible endurance. Tika and Tas had a good head start, but it wasn’t going to last. She was already panting for breath, and there was a sharp pain in her side that made her want to double over in agony.
But every second I keep running gives Caramon a little more time, she told herself. I draw the draconians just that much farther away.
“Say, Tika"—Tas’s tongue was hanging out of his mouth, his face, cheerful as always, was pale with fatigue—"do you know where we’re going?”
Tika shook her head. She hadn’t breath left to speak. She felt herself slowing, her legs were like lead. Another look back showed her that the draconians were gaining. Quickly she glanced around, hoping to find another corridor branching off from this main one, or even a niche, a doorway—any kind of hiding place. There was nothing. The corridor stretched before them, silent and empty. There weren’t even any cells. It was a long, narrow, smooth, and seemingly endless stone tunnel that sloped gradually upwards.
Then a sudden realization nearly brought her up short. Slowing, gasping for breath, she stared at Tas, who was only dimly visible in the light of smoking torches.
“The tunnel... it’s rising . . .” She coughed.
Tas blinked at her uncomprehendingly, then his face brightened.
“It leads up and out!” he shouted jubilantly. “You’ve done it, Tika!”
“Maybe...” Tika said, hedging.
“Come on!” Tas yelled in excitement, finding new energy. Grabbing Tika’s hand, he pulled her along. “I know you’re right, Tika! Smell"—he sniffed—"fresh air! We’ll escape . . . and find Tanis... and come back and... rescue Caramon—”
Only a kender could talk and run headlong down a corridor being chased by draconians at the same time, Tika thought wearily. She was being carried forward by sheer terror now, she knew. And soon that would leave her. Then she would collapse here in the tunnel, so tired and aching she wouldn’t care what the draconians—
Then, “Fresh air!” she whispered.
She had honestly thought Tas was lying just to keep her going. But now she could feel a soft whisper of wind touch her cheek. Hope lightened her leaden legs. Glancing back, she thought she saw the draconians slowing. Maybe they realize they’ll never catch us now! Exultation swept over her.
“Hurry, Tas!” she yelled. Together they both raced with renewed energy up the corridor, the sweet air blowing stronger and stronger all the time.
Running headfirst around a corner, they both came up short so suddenly that Tasslehoff skidded on some loose gravel and slammed up against a wall.
“So this is why they slowed down,” Tika said softly.
The corridor came to an end. Two barred wooden doors sealed it shut. Small windows set into the doors, covered with iron gratings, allowed the night air to blow into the dungeon. She and Tas could see outside, they could see freedom—but they could not reach it.
“Don’t give up!” Tas said after a moment’s pause. Recovering quickly, he ran over and pulled on the doors. They were locked.
“Drat,” Tas muttered, eyeing the doors expertly. Caramon might have been able to batter his way through them, or break the lock with a blow of his sword. But not the kender, not Tika.
As Tas bent down to examine the lock, Tika leaned against a wall, wearily closing her eyes, blood beat in her head, the muscles in her legs knotted in painful spasms. Exhausted, she tasted the bitter salt of tears in her mouth and realized she was sobbing in pain and anger and frustration.
“Don’t, Tika!” Tas said, hurrying back to pat her hand. “It’s a simple lock. I can get us out of here in no time. Don’t cry, Tika. It’ll only take me a little while, but you ought to be ready for those draconians if they come. Just keep them busy—”
“Right,” Tika said, swallowing her tears. Hurriedly she wiped her nose with the back of her hand, then, sword in hand, she turned to face the corridor behind them while Tas took another look at the lock.
It was a simple, simple lock, he saw with satisfaction, guarded by such a simple trap he wondered why they even bothered.
Wondered why they even bothered... Simple lock... simple trap... The words rang in his mind. They were familiar! He’d thought them before.... Staring up at the doors in astonishment, Tas realized he’d been here before! But no, that was impossible.
Shaking his head irritably, Tas fumbled in his pouch for his tools. Then he stopped. Cold fear gripped the kender and shook him like a dog shakes a rat, leaving him limp.
The dream!
These had been the doors he saw in the Silvanesti dream! This had been the lock. The simple, simple lock with the simple trap! And Tika had been behind him, fighting . . . dying...
“Here they come, Tas!” Tika called, gripping her sword in sweating hands. She cast him a quick glance over her shoulder. “What are you doing? What are you waiting for?”
Tas couldn’t answer. He could hear the draconians now, laughing in their harsh voices as they took their time reaching their captives, certain the prisoners weren’t going any place. They rounded the corner and Tas heard their laughter grow louder when they saw Tika holding the sword.
“I-I don’t think I can, Tika,” Tas whimpered, staring at the lock in horror.
“Tas,” said Tika swiftly and grimly, backing up to talk to him without taking her eyes off her enemies, “we can’t let ourselves be captured! They know about Berem! They’ll try to make us tell what we know about him, Tas! And you know what they’ll do to us to make us talk—”
“You’re right.” said Tas miserably. “I’ll try.”
You’ve got the courage to walk it... Fizban had told him. Taking a deep breath, Tasslehoff pulled a thin wire out of one of his pouches. After all, he told his shaking hands sternly, what is death to a kender but the greatest adventure of all? And then there’s Flint out there, by himself. Probably getting into all sorts of scraps.... His hands now quite steady, Tas inserted the wire carefully into the lock and set to work.
Suddenly there was a harsh roar behind him; he heard Tika shout and the sound of steel clashing against steel.
Tas dared a quick look. Tika had never learned the art of swordsmanship, but she was a skilled barroom brawler. Hacking and slashing with the blade, she kicked and gouged and bit and battered. The fury and ferocity of her attack drove the draconians back a pace. All of them were slashed and bleeding; one wallowed in green blood on the floor, its arm hanging uselessly.