Descent into the Depths of the Earth (22 page)

Bandaged and grim, Jus merely kept on with his work, healing
the faerie. “We got them.”

“Yeah, and they almost got us!”

Unconcerned, Jus shrugged and said, “‘Almost’ still makes
them dead and us alive.” He poured water onto a cloth and handed it to Escalla.
“How do you feel?”

“Like crap!” With dried blood crusting her hair and skin,
Escalla looked a mess. “My ribs are better though.”

“Good.”

Jus arose. He had a puncture in one thigh, as well as
numerous gashes and painful, bloody cuts. He lowered Escalla to her feet and
handed her a long strip of silken drow cloth as a dress. Escalla used it for
cover as she tried to rub herself dean and shot a concerned look at the
Justicar.

“Hey, man! You’re still ripped to bits!”

“You needed the healing more than I.” Jus moved slowly and
heavily now that his wounds were stiff with pain. “I’ll have more healing spells
tomorrow.”

“Damn!” Escalla threw her washcloth aside. “We can’t go
traipsing along these tunnels without you in full fighting trim. We’ll get wiped
out.” The girl roughly tied the sheer black silk into a dress. “We’re going to
have to hole up for a day and let you rest.”

The huge ranger sighed heavily, then looked at the drow
corpses lying splayed and smeared about the tunnel.

“Not here. They might have a relief.”

“There are side alcoves. We’ll get in one, and I’ll cover the
entrance with an illusion spell.” The girl flew up to hold Jus by the hand in
concern. “You sure you’re all right to walk?”

“I’ll manage.”

“Come on then. Let’s get the loot sorted out, then we’ll walk
for half a mile and hide.” The girl heaved an irritated sigh. “I feel like such
an idiot. Virtually everything I threw at them was blocked.”

“Change your strategy. Use spells that affect the area around
the drow and not ones that attack the drow themselves.”

“You got it.” Escalla scowled and tried to think. “I’ve gotta
hole up and redo my spell list.”

Working with the diligence of a true monomaniac, Polk had
been searching the drow lairs. Apparently the proper cataloging of spoils was a
vital part of adventure. Polk sat cross legged amidst his chronicle and pens,
carefully recounting every single sword blow, dodge, and spell. Escalla threw
the man a happy little wave and was given a grumble in return.

“Hey, Polk! Nice crossbow shot, man. I didn’t know you could
shoot!”

“Had to save the boy.” Polk sniffed in self importance as he
went about his work. “The boy’s no hero. Can’t interfere with a hero, but the
boy needed help.”

Escalla kissed Polk upon the cheek and said, “Well thank you.
Here’s the magic bottle.”

She placed the faerie bottle into Polk’s lap—big and already
brimming with a whiskey so concentrated that it could strip paint and raise the
dead. The girl shot Polk a dire glance. “And no faerie wine! Especially not the
sixty-three!”

Infinite happiness filled Polk’s soul. He wrenched open the
bottle, filled a tin mug, then drew in an important breath, rose, and presented
the liquor to the Justicar. He poured more drinks for Escalla and for the
teenage soldier, then contented himself with drinking straight from the bottle.

“Here’s to adventure! Next time we’ll bash a hundred more!”

The whiskey traveled down living gullets as though it had
spines and claws. Private Henry almost coughed up a lung. He fought for breath,
tears in his eyes, a look of horror on his face as he saw Escalla raise her
little mug to him in salute and take a second draught.

“Here’s to you, kid!”

Polk happily arranged items from the looted drow in a line
along the floor. There were a few scant pieces of gold, a few platinum coins,
short swords, daggers, bucklers, crossbows, poisoned crossbow bolts, and
bloodstained clothes. Most intriguing of all were scroll tubes lined up side by
side. Escalla raced over to pry open the tubes—only to be frozen in place by one
hard glare from the Justicar. The ranger picked up the tubes one by one,
checking them carefully. Cinders sniffed for magic then happily began to wag his
tail.

Clean!

“Hoopy!” Escalla pounced, ripped the cap off a tube, and
found only a piece of parchment covered with lines and squiggles. She hastily
moved to the next tube, opened it, and found that it was the same.

“Aww man! These aren’t scrolls!” She scowled petulantly at
the parchments, turning them around and around. “Can’t these drow even get
treasure right?”

The Justicar winced as he sat down with the first piece of
parchment spread out across his knees. He examined the carefully inked lines
with notes and pointing arrows scribbled beside the diagrams in a different
hand. He held the drawing up in the shine of Cinders’ flames, checking
carefully for secret messages and invisible ink.

Escalla wound up draped over his shoulder from behind,
staring at the diagrams.

“What is that thing? Dark elf doodles?”

“No.” Jus smoothed the parchment in grim distaste. It seemed
to be made from human skin. “It’s a map.”

“Yeah?” To Escalla the squiggles hardly seemed map-like. “How
do you figure that?”

“A simple one. A map of the underdark.” The map was made of
simple lines, interconnected with symbols marking many of the junctions. “See.
This arch is the gate outside. This is the passageway we’re in. The area marked
here with an eye? It’s this position here, the guard post.”

“Hoopy.” Escalla squinted carefully at the map. Polk and
Private Henry gathered near. “Lotsa notes beside those symbols. Do you read
Drow?”

“No. Do you have a spell or something that can do it?”

“Sure!” Escalla cast the appropriate spell. “There you go!”

They all craned forward with interest—even Polk, whose
spelling skills were dubious at best, and Private Henry, who feared to admit
that he couldn’t read. Escalla ran her fingers over the lines of scribbled
symbols, and for an instant thereafter, their meaning became sharp and clear.

“Main way—patrols, Eclavdra clan.” The faerie read the
symbols scribbled beside the main route marked on the map. “Here’s us. Says,
‘Post one. Incoming secret addits one and two. Faerie of the mother kin allowed
to pass.’” The girl wrinkled her freckled nose. “Mother kin?”

“Follower of Lolth. Our quarry.” The Justicar tapped the map.
“Looks like the paths diverge just down here. What are the notes on the next
junction?”

“Ah!” Escalla glared at the magically transformed writing,
trying to make sense of it, then decided that drow simply couldn’t spell.
“Il-ilithids…” The girl jerked forward in alarm.
“Ilithids!”

Standing awe-stricken behind the Justicar, Private Henry
blinked like an owl. “What’s an ilithid?”

“Mind flayers. Oh, they’re great! You’ll love ’em!” Escalla
waved her hands theatrically about her head. “Imagine a super-powered
mind-blasting psychopath that can stun your mind at will and wants to eat your
raw, ungarnished brain!” The faerie jotted marks across the map. “This says,
‘Ilithids’—
plural!”
The girl circled the location hard and sharp with a
pen procured from Polk. “I wanna meet a bunch of ilithids like I want to be fed
rot-grub. Definitely we go around!”

The Justicar looked at the maze of minor tunnels marked on
the maps, each one marked with a danger symbol by the drow.

“The mam path might be faster,” he said, “if we can pass the
mind flayers.”

“Jus,
you
pass the mind flayers. Those of us with
tasty delicious brains in our craniums might elect to just avoid the dinner
invitation, all right?” The girl shot a grumbling look at the Justicar. “We go
around!”

“All right.”

“Anyway, faerie brains are more highly evolved than human
ones. They’re tastier.”

With her spell slowly failing, Escalla shook her finger to
jazz up the magic, then hurriedly went back to the map.

“There’re other caves definitely blocking the way. Here’s the
first. ‘Reptile caves—pass security level one.’ I’m guessing that’s where the
trogs hang out.” Escalla’s finger traced paths and still more symbols changed.
“Next zone down: ‘Kuo-toa—security pass code two,’ whatever that means.”

“Evil sentient fish.” Jus glowered a the map. “Go on.”

“Well, that’s about it.” Escalla traced lines that finally led
to a giant symbol far to the north: a huge cave topped with a drawing of a black
spider. “The passages all pretty much lead there. I’m guessing that’s home.”

The locator needle seemed to agree with the map. Whoever
carried the slowglass gem, he was heading northwest straight toward the drow
citadel.

It would take a superhuman effort to make the journey,
recover the slowglass, and fathom the motives of the murderer. Fortunately,
Escalla considered herself and her friends superhuman. She helped herself to a
swig from the ever-full bottle—now mysteriously full of peach brandy—and clapped
her hands as Jus noisily rolled up the map.

“All right people, let’s move on!” The girl marched about the
place like the leader of a circus troupe. “Henry, poison your crossbow bolts
with the drow drugs! In fact, take the whole poison pot and dip your sword!
Polk, let’s get going!”

The drow had carried small brooches coded with patterns and
squiggles. Jus knelt and seized a random selection, then began the hard march
into the dark.

* * *

Half an hour later, a tiny campfire made from lantern oil and
fungi spread a yellow light about a nasty little cave. Dinner sizzled and gave
off an amazingly offensive smell. Sitting cross legged in her black silk dress,
her bottom planted upon Cinders, who lay staring in fascination at the fire,
Escalla wrenched another piece off the roast and tried to fit it in her mouth.

“Look on the bright side! At least everybody gets a
drumstick!”

Each sitting with a leg from a really big spider in their
laps, both Polk and Private Henry managed to give watery smiles while wondering
how to hide their food. Jus sat in silence, crunching upon spider meat. With his
armor lying spread beside the fire, the Justicar was a mass of bandages.

The magic whiskey bottle wet the cloth Escalla used to dab
his wounds. Jus heaved and bucked in pain, snarling imprecations at the faerie.
She sat primly in place, holding her wash cloth and looking at the Justicar
through hooded eyes.

“Don’t be such a baby. We have to get these clean.”

“They are clean!”

“They are not. These tunnels are filled with fungus. We’ll
clean you up and use nice fresh bandages, then in a few hours your healing
spells will make you all better.” Escalla moved with a matronly, possessive air
as she tended the Justicar. “You’re my pal, so we have to take good care of
you.”

Jus dragged his sword from his belt and lay it on the floor
beside him where it could no longer jut into his ribs. Plumping up blankets on a
nice dry patch of floor, Escalla made the man a bed.

“Now, you sleep. We need you at your best.” The sight of a
tiny faerie tucking in the large man seemed ludicrous, but Polk and Henry were
too busy wrestling with their dinners to speak out. “Sleep tight!”

Lying painfully down, Jus gave a dissatisfied sigh. “Who’s on
guard?”

“I am!” Escalla forcibly closed Jus’ eyes. “I have to stay
up and relearn all my spells. Polk, Henry, and I will take care of it. So go to
sleep and relax.”

Busying herself about the campsite, Escalla dragged out her
spell references, a scrap of parchment, and a pen. She perched a rather
attractive pair of spectacles upon her nose and looked across the rims at Jus,
gave him a rather sardonic, challenging little smile, and then set about her
work. Her pen scratched, the fire crackled, and slowly the Justicar began to
sleep.

Polk and Henry turned in, each wrapping themselves in drow
cloaks to keep away the chill. They kept weapons close at hand and slept far
away from the entrance. Private Henry watched Escalla, so prim and pretty in the
firelight, as she jotted down her notes. He managed a nervous smile when the
faerie caught his eye.

Escalla waved her pen.

“G’night, kid. It’s all right.” She tapped her tall, pointed
faerie ears. “Anything comes waddling down the passageway, and I promise pooch
and I’ll scream.”

The youth half wondered if it was a joke, but he decided not
to look foolish and rolled over, too tired to stay awake.

The fire crackled. Escalla wrote, and slowly and surely her
companions sank into a dead silent sleep. Cinders grinned. Escalla thoughtfully
fingered his rents and cuts, then flipped through her little scrolls.

“Hey, pooch. Repair spell time?”

No. Makes Cinders sleepy.
The hell hound’s teeth gleamed.
Cinders stay ripped. Stay awake.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll be up for hours.” Escalla
smoothed out the dog’s pelt then carefully spoke her spell and made the hide and
fur go back to its usual pristine self. “There we go! Now you just lie there and
let it do you good while I warm my faerie butt by the fire!”

The hell hound purred, the repair spell stealing through him
from nose to tail in a warm delicious haze. His voice actually sounded sleepy as
it drifted into Escalla’s mind.

Nice faerie.

“You know it!” Escalla wriggled in Cinders’ fur then leaned over to give the
dog a kiss “Nighty night.”

Night.

The tunnels were remarkably quiet. There was no time, no
night, no day, no heat, and no rain. Water dripped, and the campfire slowly
died. Keeping happily to her work, Escalla wrote and studied for an hour. While
Jus slept, she dusted the big lug with a stoneskin spell, then made up her lost
spells with another hour of careful thought. Finally she looked at her list and
nodded carefully, stifling a yawn as she tried to see if there were any
possibilities she had missed.