Down Among the Dead Men (Forest Kingdom Novels) (19 page)

“It won’t even slow them down,” said the witch quietly. “These trolls aren’t real, so they can be as strong as they need to be. The Beast is very near to waking now, and it senses we are a danger to it.”

The hammering grew louder, and the door began to shake. The barricade shuddered in sympathy, and then toppled away from the door as it split suddenly from top to bottom. The four defenders backed quickly away. The jagged crack in the wood grew wider as they watched, and then the two halves of the door were torn away, and the doorway was full of grinning trolls. The defenders stood their ground, and the trolls hissed and growled, snapping their huge teeth in anticipation. Their bony hands twitched constantly, and the lantern light shone dully on the long claws.

Flint and the Dancer stepped forward to put themselves between the trolls and the witch. Wilde nocked an arrow to his bow. The trolls surged forward into the cellar. Wilde’s bow thrummed, and the first troll was thrown back by an arrow jutting from its eye. Two more of the creatures fell to Wilde’s bow, and then he had to fall back as the first rush of trolls broke against Flint and the Dancer. The two Rangers stood unflinchingly together, their swords flashing brightly in the dim light. They cut through the massed trolls with deceptive ease, as though the bony creatures were no more substantial than the mists they came from. The trolls’ blood flew through the air like a ghastly rain, smoking and sizzling where it collected on the broken ice covering the floor.

The Dancer swore calmly when some of the blood splashed his wrist and burned the bare skin, but he didn’t let it distract him from his work. The trolls could only get through the doorway a few at a time, and despite their frenzied attack, the Dancer wouldn’t retreat a step. He was a Bladesmaster, and now he had a chance to show what that really meant. His sword swept back and forth faster than the eye could follow, leaving a trail of blood in its wake. He lunged and recovered and swung again, all in a single breath, his blade scything through the howling trolls. Their clawed hands reached for him with an unrelenting fury, their great jaws snapping at his unprotected face, but always he was that extra inch out of reach, and the dying trolls fell before him to scream and writhe on the gore-soaked floor.

Flint fought at his side, grinning fiercely as she swung her blood-soaked blade. Trolls lay dead and dying to either side of her, cluttering up the doorway. She might not be as fast or as skillful as the Dancer, but she’d been a guard all her adult life, and she knew more about swordsmanship than most men ever would. She had fought in the last great battle of the Demon War in ill-fitting chain mail with a borrowed sword, and after that there wasn’t much that could daunt her. She cut and hacked at the grinning bony faces before her, and refused to feel the growing ache in her arms and back. She was a Ranger, and she would fight till she fell.

Wilde fired arrow after arrow past the two Rangers, striking down the trolls as they tried to claw their way past Flint and the Dancer by sheer force of numbers. He lost track of how many of the creatures he’d killed, and still they came surging through the narrow doorway. And all too soon Wilde ran out of arrows. He placed his longbow and his empty quiver carefully to one side, out of the way, and drew his sword. He hefted it once and then looked at the two Rangers, struggling against the endless tide of inhuman creatures.

Just like old times, eh, Jess?

He looked quickly about him, just in case there was another exit he hadn’t noticed before, but there was only the trapdoor, and Wilde had decided very early on that wild horses weren’t going to drag him down there. No, bad as it was, his only hope lay with the Rangers. He shrugged and, choosing his moment carefully, slipped in beside Flint and added his sword to hers. The trolls roared and screamed as they fell before him, and their death cries were a comfort to him. It had been a long time since he’d fought in a situation where the odds weren’t stacked heavily in his favor, and it only took him a few seconds to remember why. A man could get killed sticking his neck out like this… . But still he fought on, because there was no other choice open to him. After a while, some of his old skills came back to him, and his sword sliced through the air in shining, deadly arcs. If Flint could have found the time to look at him, she might have seen echoes in the bowman’s face of the Edmond Wilde she had once known so many years ago.

The witch called Constance raised her hands in the stance of summoning, and drew the remains of her power about her. Most of her magic was gone, but she drew on what little was left to her for one last effort. She spoke a Word of Power, and a blinding glare gathered around her upraised hands. The trolls nearest her screamed and fell back as their bones cracked and splintered within their bodies. A slow headache began to beat in Constance’s left temple, and a steady trickle of blood seeped from her left nostril. Constance ignored it. Her body would stand up to the strain for as long as it had to, or it wouldn’t. There was nothing she could do about it.

The four defenders fought on, blocking the entrance to the cellar with their bodies and their skill and their courage. Trolls fell and died before them, but there were always more to take their places. There were always more.

Deep in the earth below the fort, the tunnel finally began to level out. MacNeil stumbled to a halt, and Hammer and Jack crowded in beside him, staring into the pitch black opening that ended the tunnel. MacNeil frowned. He could tell there was some kind of drop immediately ahead of him, but that was all. Maybe the tunnel led into some kind of cave… . He moved cautiously forward until he was standing right on the edge of the tunnel floor, and then held his lantern out before him. The pale golden light reflected back from thousands of tiny crystals embedded in the cavern walls. They shone brightly in the darkness, like so many distant stars on a moonless night, illuminating a cavern so huge it took MacNeil’s breath away. There wasn’t enough light to fill all the cavern. It had to be at least half a mile in diameter, and possibly even more in height. The tunnel opened out high up on a wall, with the cavern floor hundreds of yards below. A narrow ledge ran along the wall, leading from the tunnel mouth to another opening some fifty feet away and perhaps ten feet lower down. MacNeil didn’t like the look of the ledge. It was barely two feet wide, and the dark stone was cracked and uneven, as though it had only recently been cut from the bare stone wall. MacNeil looked down into the darkness and felt a sudden surge of vertigo. He turned his head away and breathed deeply until it settled.

Jack and Hammer stood on either side of him, staring out into the cavern. The glowing crystals stared back like so many knowing eyes. Hammer caught his breath for a moment, and then quickly let it go in case anyone had noticed. The cavern made him feel small and insignificant, and he didn’t like that. Jack studied the narrow ledge cut into the cavern wall, and chewed his lower lip dubiously. It looked to be a long way down if someone lost their footing.

“How far down is that, do you think?” he said finally.

“I don’t know,” said MacNeil. “A hell of a long way, whatever it is.”

“Do you think the Beast’s down there?”

“Has to be,” said Hammer. “But is the gold down there with it, or could it be in that other opening?”

MacNeil frowned. Anyone out on that narrow ledge would be very vulnerable to a surprise attack. They’d have to go in single file, hugging the cavern wall all the way… . But when all was said and done, he couldn’t ignore the opening. Hammer was right; there were only two places down here the gold could be, and the second opening was the easiest to get to. He nodded slowly.

“All right, Hammer, it’s worth a try. I’ll go first.”

He stepped out onto the ledge, testing it carefully before committing all his weight to it. The cracked stone seemed solid enough, and he moved farther along the ledge, pressing his shoulder against the cavern wall. He looked down once and immediately wished he hadn’t. Heights didn’t normally bother him, but this was different. Very different. He looked resolutely at the second opening ahead, only some ten feet below him and fifty feet away. It hadn’t looked very far from the tunnel mouth, but out on the ledge it seemed a hell of a long way to go. He leaned even more against the cavern wall and kept going. The solid rock face was a comforting presence. Hammer moved out onto the ledge after him, once he was sure it was safe, and Jack brought up the rear. Of all of them, Jack was the only one unaffected by the long drop. In the Forest he climbed the tallest trees for fun. On the other hand, he hadn’t liked the enclosed space of the tunnel at all, so the much larger space of the cavern actually helped to put him at his ease. He moved confidently along behind Hammer, holding his torch high and staring happily about him with easy curiosity.

The second opening in the cavern wall proved to be the entrance to another tunnel. MacNeil crouched down on the ledge before it and studied the circular tunnel in the light of his lantern. It was roughly seven feet in diameter and appeared to have been bored through solid rock. Its walls were unnaturally smooth. MacNeil’s imagination conjured up a picture of some monstrous worm wriggling blindly through the solid stone, and he scowled thoughtfully. For as far as he could see in the lantern light, the tunnel appeared to be deserted. And when all was said and done, he wasn’t going to discover anything more just squatting there on the ledge. He sighed regretfully and moved forward into the tunnel. Hammer and Jack followed close behind him.

After some twenty or thirty feet, the tunnel opened out into a cave. And in that cave, piled carelessly one upon the other, lay hundreds of stout leather sacks, each bearing the royal imprint of the Forest Treasury. Hammer pushed past MacNeil and ran forward to kneel before the sacks. He grabbed the first that came to hand and opened it, clawing impatiently at the drawstrings. He thrust his hand into the sack and pulled out a handful of gleaming gold coins. He stared at them for a long moment, and then opened his hand and let the coins trickle slowly through his fingers and back into the sack. He smiled gently as he listened to the musical clatter of gold on gold.

“A hundred thousand ducats,” he said softly.

“Don’t get any ideas, Hammer,” said MacNeil calmly. “That gold belongs to the king, and that’s the way it’s going to stay. You’re entitled to a reward, and I’ll see that you get it, but that’s all.”

Hammer smiled at him, and then pulled the sack’s drawstrings tight and placed it down by the others. Scarecrow Jack sniffed dismissively and looked around him. He had no use for gold in the Forest. He frowned suddenly and held his torch close to the right-hand wall. The extra light revealed a narrow opening, low down on the cave wall and almost obscured by the shadows of the piled-up sacks. He drew MacNeil’s attention to it, and the two of them crouched down before the opening. It was barely three feet in diameter and led into yet another tunnel. Once again the tunnel walls were unnaturally smooth and even. Jack looked at MacNeil.

“What do you think? Shall we take a look?”

MacNeil shrugged. “Might as well while we’re here. But, Jack … keep your eyes open. That gold must have been brought down here for a reason, and I’m starting to get the feeling that so far we’ve just been led around by the nose. Constance thought the Beast could be using the gold as bait, to lure us down here.”

Jack looked at him uncertainly. “What would the Beast want with us?”

“That’s a good question, and I’ve a strong feeling we’re not going to like the answer when we find it. Hammer!”

Hammer looked around sharply. “What is it?”

“There’s another tunnel here. Jack and I are going to take a quick look; you want to come along?”

Hammer smiled and shook his head. “Somebody had better stay here to look after the gold.”

“Somehow I just knew you were going to say that,” said MacNeil. “All right, suit yourself. Jack, leave your torch here. We’ll make do with the lantern.”

He got down on his hands and knees and crawled into the tunnel. Jack handed his torch to Hammer and followed after MacNeil. Hammer watched him go, then turned his attention back to the sacks of gold, his lips moving silently as he counted.

The narrow tunnel was cramped and slippery, and MacNeil crawled along it as quickly as he could. He pushed the lantern along in front of him, and its unsteady light shone dully back from the smooth tunnel walls. The pale golden light made the tunnel seem even smaller than it was, and MacNeil could feel a shivering claustrophobia gnawing at the edges of his self-control. He shuffled stubbornly onward on all fours, peering ahead into the darkness beyond the lantern light. He could hear Jack struggling along behind him, and the quiet grunts and scuffling sounds reminded him suddenly of the crawling giants, moving blindly through the tunnels under the earth. He shook his head quickly to clear it, and then his hands slid off the smooth floor and onto rough stone, and he realized the tunnel had opened out into another cave. He crawled out of the tunnel, straightened up painfully, and held his lantern out before him. Jack emerged from the tunnel mouth and got up to stand beside MacNeil. They stood together for a while, and stared in silence at what they’d found.

Every man, woman, and child who’d died in the border fort lay piled in one great heap at the back of the cave. They seemed to have just been dumped there and left to rot. The cave had to be a hundred feet across, and the bodies filled half of it, stacked from wall to wall and from floor to ceiling. Every body showed signs of a violent death, and most were caked with dried blood. MacNeil stared grimly at the piled-up bodies, and felt painfully helpless. They were dead and gone, and there was nothing he could do about it. The children got to him most. The small bodies, torn and mutilated and discarded. No child should have to die like that. His hand dropped to the sword at his side, and silently he promised them vengeance, whatever it cost.

Jack moved closer to the bodies and looked them over carefully, checking the exact cause of death where he could. He didn’t find their presence disturbing in the way that MacNeil did. Living in the Forest had accustomed him to the presence of death in all its forms, and it no longer affected him on an emotional level. It was just a part of the world. And then something very disturbing occurred to him, and he crouched to study the floor of the cave.