18
In the back of her mind Feril held the scrying image of the black’s scale. She knew she couldn’t be too far away now. She prayed to Habbakuk that the scale was not damaged. It had to be intact to be of any use to Dhamon.
A slight tremor raced through the ground. She gripped a wooden brace to keep her balance. The tremor persisted for a while, then stopped. She released a nervous breath she’d been holding and continued her ascent. Even without the mountain shaking, mines were dangerous—with their narrow tunnels and vulnerable beams and supports, crevices that threatened to spill the unwary into the bowels of the earth, and musty air that made breathing an unpleasant task.
“Getting closer now, but it’s as though the mountain is trying to stop me.”
The tunnel widened as she climbed, and she barely squeezed through a niche that had been mined. The soles of her bare feet were thick, but she still felt the sharp shards which littered the ground here. Should slow down, she ordered herself. No, she should hurry up. “Find it and get out,” she told herself.
She wished now she had taken the dwarf’s lantern. This darkness was unnatural, the gray-brown of rock and earth melding with the thick air.
Light intruded suddenly, a low beam from behind. Feldspar was plodding toward her, holding the lantern so that it highlighted his features from below, throwing shadows against the walls and giving him an eerie appearance.
“Did you feel that big tickle a minute ago?” Feldspar asked. “Told you it’s not safe here, not with the mountain still dancin’. C’mon back with me, hear? Don’t need you dyin’ in our mine, rottin’ and stinkin’ it up.”
Feril shook her head, turning to press on. “It’s not much farther.”
“This scale you’re looking for…”
She nodded and coughed. The air was filling with dirt and stone dust.
“Why is it so important, this scale?”
“I need the scale for a spell,” she said, before continuing onward, hoping the dwarf would turn back. Though he grunted in surprise, he still followed her, the light from his lantern swaying behind her back. But he was keeping his distance and making a tsk-tsking sound, mumbling, “Fool elf…and fool me.”
“It’s terribly important to me and my friend,” she explained as she climbed.
The tsk-tsking was louder. “The sivak?”
Feril opened her mouth to say “no,” but said nothing. The dwarves didn’t know about Dhamon, who was attached to the sivak as a shadow. Being in the sivak’s company was odd enough, they kept saying; best not start explaining about a dragon who used to be a man who was now taking the form of the sivak’s shadow.
“Whatever kind of spell are you going to cast with a dragon scale anyway? How can you help that sivak? You trying to get its wings to grow back or something?” Feldspar’s feet crunched faster over the gravel as he tried to catch up with the Kagonesti. “You know, I really don’t care much for magic.”
When she turned, she was taken aback by his narrowed eyes and the light slanted across the underside of his brow, which made him look sinister. She knew from conversations with Jasper that a lot of dwarves were distrustful of magic—save for the healing kind that Jasper practiced.
“I’m not a sorcerer, Feldspar, and the scale’s needed for a spell that I don’t understand…completely…yet, but I’ve no intention of casting this spell anywhere near your mine or your mountain. I just want the scale and then I want to leave.” The words tumbled from her lips, slurred a little because of the ale. Just then another tremor struck. Rock shards and dirt rained down and sent her and the dwarf into a coughing fit. It took a few minutes before the air cleared.
“So the scale’s valuable? Just what is it worth to you, missy?”
“I can’t pay you for it. I have no coins. I just need it for a spell.”
“Fool elf,” the dwarf said. “Must be some important spell to risk your fool neck. That scale must be worth more than a bit.” He stretched his hand out and waggled his fingers, his head bobbing at the same time. “You keep on going, Dawnspringer. There’s a chamber up ahead, about a quarter mile or so. Some of our gear’s left in it. It’s near the main vein we’re working. There’s a fissure beyond it, and what you’re looking for is just past that, I believe. Fissure’s too narrow for us. Easier to get at it from the outside. The scale you’re looking for is easy to spot…from the outside of the mountain, but the quake has buried it deeper, right? That’s why you’re using our tunnels. To get at it from the inside?”
“Yes, that’s why,” Feril said.
“Hope it doesn’t bury you, too.” He shrugged his broad shoulders, waggling his fingers again. “Hurry up. I’ll go along with you so you can see where I mean, and so I can watch you, but I ain’t helping you—and don’t disturb our stuff. You’re going to have to pay us somethin’ for that scale. Campfire’ll insist on it, if I don’t. Labor, if nothin’ else. That sivak ought to be good for haulin’ rocks.”
She smiled her acceptance and let him take the lead.
“I want you to be human, too,” Ragh said. “I want it every bit as much as Feril does, and as you do. This dragon thing…it doesn’t suit you.” If anyone had been watching, it would appear the sivak was talking to his shadow. “Dhamon, I well know that you’re not happy to be a dragon. I envy your wings, but nothing else. You’ve too lonely a life in that huge body, and I well know about being lonely. You can’t even hold your son in your arms. Can’t spend a single steel piece of your treasure. Can’t be…familiar…with your elf lady friend.”
The light globe in the sivak’s hand was fading, as he neglected his concentration. He paused and focused the magic until the light grew bright again.
The tunnel narrowed ahead. He held the globe close to the thick supporting beams on the walls, finding a mix of dirt and granite and the worked stone of a castle wall. There wasn’t a trace of ore, no evidence this area had been mined.
He hunched over and squeezed between a pair of supports. “Wonder how much of a head start the elf has on us? Wonder if I’m headed in the right direction? She might have taken the other tunnel.” Ragh sniffed the air, picking out the scent of wood that had started to decay and the strong odor of the dwarves.
“The dwarves have been doing something down here,” he said, half to himself, half to Dhamon. “Their smell is strong; the supports are recent, a relatively new tunnel, I’d say.” He ran his scaly fingers over one wall. “Probably less than a year old. Maybe as recent as a month or so.” He passed under the next set of support beams. “Can’t smell the elf. Maybe I ought to go back, try the other tunnel.”
He smelled something else intriguing that he couldn’t put a name to, so he continued on. He clenched his teeth when the mountain trembled all around him, and he shut his eyes, expecting to be buried under tons of rock. The thick supporting beams held and only a moderate amount of stone dust filtered down.
“Should go back,” he said. “Doubt your elf came this way.” He wanted to find out what was behind the unknown scent and just what the dwarves had been mining in this tunnel, though. The elf was curious and had keen senses; she might have come this way. His senses were also keen, and he was just as curious.
“Damn,” he said, as he noted the tunnel gradually angling downward. “Damn. Damn. Damn. She didn’t come this way. This way only goes down.”
Ragh turned around to retrace his steps, but then he smelled the unusual smell again; it was slightly stronger heading down, so he thought he might go on just a little farther. Even the faint tremor which he felt didn’t give him pause.
“You keep telling me that the elf can take care of herself,” he told Dhamon, as he felt the shadow tug in the other direction. “She’s probably doing just fine.”