"We are almost done with the sleeping holes," Durgrim told his king. "Another day-tenth and the last of them will be done and the evening meal will be ready." Tosig Longbeard grunted assent. Durgrim paused, judging the king’s temper.
"Your Majesty," he said slowly, "I have been thinking about this, and the place on the Southern Continent where we are bound."
"Speak your mind," invited the dwarf long in a tone that suggested his lieutenant had better be careful about what he said.
"Even before mortals started using it, the place had an evil reputation," the other dwarf told him. "I am sure human occupation has not improved it."
"Unsurprising if it were so. You have an alternative to propose?"
Durgrim paused again, obviously gathering his courage. "Your majesty, can we not simply bargain with this enemy, buy the sword back?"
Tosig Longbeard glared at him. "Do you think I’m simple? I’ve tried that already. Whatever this creature is, it will not treat with us at all. Besides," he continued, the anger leaving his voice, "even if he would deal the price would undoubtedly be too high."
The dwarf long scowled back into the fire. "No, there is no help for it. With or without the mortals we must penetrate this place to recover the sword." Being dwarves and with dwarves’ careful sense of property rights-not to mention their greed for treasure-it never occurred to either of them to simply leave the sword in the Enemy’s hands.
Charlie brought the Colt around in a wide, easy turn. He lined up on the white expanse between the rows of leafless trees and settled to the snowy earth lightly as thistledown. The big biplane rolled perhaps a hundred feet across the field before it stopped.
Malus stood at the edge of the field, blowing on his hands to warm them. As the plane rolled to a stop he crunched across the snow to meet Charlie.
"Still feels a little funny on the controls," Charlie told the tubby little wizard as soon as he stepped down from the door. "I don’t think you’ve got the center of lift quite right over the wings yet."
"I can adjust the spell again," Malus said.
"No, it’ll fry fine the way it is. If it ain’t too broke, then don’t go fixing it, that’s my motto."
"Is there aught else then?"
"Yeah, one thing. The propeller. It doesn’t rotate." Malus spread his hands. "It is not necessary that it should spin. Magic now moves your craft through the air."
Charlie looked at him. "Just do me a favor. Make it spin."
Gilligan was in the "war room," going over the details of the air operation and the scheduling software with Jerry when Bal-Simba entered.
"Merry meet, My Lord. How goes the plan?"
"Well enough, I guess," Gilligan said with a sigh.
"What is worrying you?"
"You mean in general? Nearly everything." He grinned. "That’s part of my job."
"Specifically, then."
"Well-" He hesitated. "Has it occurred to you that this might be another trap? That the whole purpose of this thing might be to lure as many of us as it can into those caves so it can snap us up?"
Bal-Simba’s smile had no warmth. "Constantly. It is our greatest fear. Yet we have little choice. We must strike soon and with all our strength or this thing will overwhelm us. We have taken what precautions we can, but this still remains the best course of action." He looked at Mick. "Is there aught else?" Mick sighed. "Charlie. He isn’t a programmer, he isn’t a magician and I don’t think he’s ever really flown in a combat environment before. He’s going to have a lot to do up there. Do you think he’ll be able to handle it all?" Jerry looked at Mick and smiled. "Taj and I have rigged up a custom user interface to help him."
It was getting colder. Except for occasional spots like the hot springs or the lava tunnels, the caves had never been really warm but now they were getting more and more frigid. Wiz could see his breath in puffs before his face and he hugged his cloak tighter about him to try to keep out the frigid chill. He tried not to think how hungry he was. Since their discovery that they were cut off, the group had been on "halt rations" that had grown steadily skimpier. Glandurg was not eating at all and Wiz suspected that half of Danny’s ration was going to June.
They were even short on monsters. It had been nearly two days since the last attack. Wiz wondered if that meant they were headed in the wrong direction, but the new Moira seeker was pointing resolutely the same way.
Wiz went around the corner and came face to face with a cloaked, hooded figure. He drew back and Malkin’s rapier sprang free before they realized they were seeing a reflection. Motioning Malkin to stay on guard, Wiz advanced, staff ready, toward the mirror. As he drew closer he saw it was no mirror. Instead there was a rough reflective coating on the rocky wall of the tunnel. Wiz touched the glistening surface. "Ice," he called back to the others. "Ice under a volcano."
"Perhaps our enemy likes it cold," Danny suggested as the group came close. Malkin arched an eyebrow. "Makes it easier to keep the zombies fresh, no doubt." Wiz drew his hand under his cloak to warm it. "Or maybe it just makes things more uncomfortable for us." He looked around "Well, let’s get going. They say exercise helps keep you warm."
There was more ice as they went along. Here it glistened as a thin film on the rocky walls, there it made a treacherous coating over the floor of the tunnel. Occasionally there would be a solid vein of ice, filling a crack in the stone like some strange glistening mineral. Now the air was so cold the adventurers could see their breath before them.
Glandurg seemed unfazed, but the others kept then-cloaks wrapped tight around them. Still the cold seemed to steal through to sap their very strength and leave them weak and shivering.
Nor did the tunnel cooperate. It seemed as though every few steps they had to crawl over a pile of frozen debris or climb a slope so steep they must go on all fours or squeeze between unrelenting walls of rock. Places with level footing were few and far between. Even without the ice and cold it would have been difficult. With them it was exhausting. They saw and heard nothing for the rest of the day, save the occasional drip, drip, drip of not-quite-frozen water. Still, their senses were alert and straining and that added to their fatigue. Malkin was on watch, staring out into the dark, thiefs senses alert. She neither turned nor moved as Danny came up behind her, but he knew she sensed he was there.