Saga of the Old City

Chapter 31

“You count me out too soon,” came a weak croak from the other side of the demon’s form.

Chert rose to his feet and took a couple of steps in the direction of the voice as Gord came around the cataboligne’s body to look. Chert peered into the dimness, having trouble seeing in the faint glow shed by the rapidly fading luminescence from the expiring spell. Gord could see well, however, since the magical sword remained in his ichor-stained hand-and he beamed at the sight before his eyes.

“Greenleaf!” he cried. “Are you indestructible?” The rotund druid was lying several paces away from the demon, propped on one arm, blood dripping from his wounds, part of his face nearly torn off.

“Quickly, Chert! We must help Curley!” Gord said, taking the barbarian by the arm and leading him toward where the druid lay.

“How do you know where to go in this darkness?” asked Chert.

“My sword,” said the thief. “So long as I keep hold of it, I can see.”

“But I am blinded,” said Chert. “You cannot bind Curley’s wounds with one hand, and I cannot do it without eyes!”

“We must do something, man! He’s bleeding to death!” Gord shouted in despair. “I’ll tell you what I see, and guide you to perform the work-but hurry! Already he goes!” The druid had fallen back even as Gord spoke, lapsing into unconsciousness. In a few more minutes, Gord feared, he would certainly expire.

Chert worked his best, directed by Gord’s eyes and voice. It was a clumsy and fumbling process, consuming more time than either of the dying druid’s companions meant to take, but it was all they could do.

Finally, Chert finished. He had managed to close the torn cheek and staunch the flow of blood from that wound and the worst of the others covering his friend’s body. Both young men were themselves wounded and bleeding, Chert worse than Gord, but both ignored their own pain and bleeding to save Greenleaf. Then, suddenly, Gord remembered something.

“He has healing salve!” Not bothering to waste further breath, Gord tore the pouch from the druid’s belt with his free hand. Then, moving sword from right to left, he managed to get the jar out of the bag and held it tightly. “Use your hand to work the top open,” he commanded the barbarian. After a bit of groping, Chert managed to get the thing open.

“Put a bit on your finger and then I’ll guide it to a bleeding wound,” he instructed his companion. “If this doesn’t work, then it is all over for him.”

Carefully, using his free hand, Gord used the barbarian’s outstretched arm, hand, and finger as an instrument for applying the ointment. The stuff had an odd, pearlescent sheen to Gord’s dweomered eyes, but this disappeared as the thick salve was spread on the torn face of the comatose druid. As the salve’s brightness and color faded, the flesh upon which it was spread joined at the edges, closing cuts and gouges. In another moment, blood no longer flowed from the ghastly wound!

“It serves him well, Chert! Now we must have more for his other wounds!”

The process of groping and smearing continued until the small pot of ointment was utterly empty. The druid was still in critical shape, covered with small, untreated wounds and blood-smeared, but blood was no longer coursing from him, and Gord thought he might yet survive. The two young men sat back in the underground place, exhausted. Now they must wait.

Using some of their water, both men cleaned their own wounds as well as they could under the circumstances. They also drank some, to quench the thirst of battle and clear their mouths and throats of the horrid taste left by combat with the demon. Gord sat down close to Greenleaf, still clutching the sword so that he could keep a vigil for the unconscious druid. Chert stretched out beside Gord on the stone floor, intending to keep his friend company while he started to recuperate. But weakness and fatigue got the best of him, and shortly he began to snore. Gord was dozing lightly himself when, some time later, a welcome sound brought him alert.

“Gord! Gord!”

The thief came close to Greenleaf’s head, for the druid could barely manage a whisper. “What is it, Curley, dear friend?” he said.

“Silence that blaster over there,” the fellow managed to say with a bit of spirit. “He’s keeping me awake!”

Gord was flabbergasted at this attempted humor, and for a moment lost track of what else Curley was saying.

“I said, hold me in a sitting position, you idiot!” the druid groused. “Seeing that you two have somehow brought me back from death’s door, I have to do this quickly, or that bony bastard will get his fingers on me and pull me back inside again!”

Gord was afraid to move the druid, who was still not well off, but his demeanor left no choice but to comply. The druid managed to get a sprig of vegetation from inside his robe, and he muttered some chant under his breath as he waved the stuff slowly back and forth over his body. After three such passes, the druid relaxed.

“That’s better, much better,” he said in a stronger voice. “Many thanks to you, Gord. And now I must close my eyes.” Gord started to protest, not understanding his meaning, but the druid reassured him. “I am all right, I tell you! Not well and whole, but I will live if you’ll only allow me to sleep a bit, dammit. Why don’t you imitate that great hulk over there,” he concluded, “and allow me to do the same?”

With that, the fellow lay back and fell asleep almost instantly. Gord had nothing better to do, so he also allowed slumber to take him. How long he rested thus, chilled and aching on the cold stone of the cavern’s floor, he knew not. He was roused by the sound of Greenleaf talking to Chert.

“Now sit there,” the druid instructed the big adventurer, “and I’ll see to sleeping beauty over there.”

“I’m awake,” Gord informed the approaching druid.

Curley, who appeared to have never been wounded, said, “I can see well enough, thank you, to detect your awakened state. How badly are you hurt?”

Gord allowed that he had felt better, but that besides the claw-wounds on his arm, there was nothing but scrapes and bruises troubling him.

“Can you move freely and well?” Greenleaf asked.

“Yes, and without much pain, save for the arm.”

“The arm will have to wait, then, Gord,” the druid told him. “Chert was sorely hurt by the demon, and how he managed to stay conscious and assist you in saving my life is a wonder for a bard’s song. My work has brought him round to fair state, but if I can aid him yet further, we can leave this place to serve as the sepulcher of demon and bear-bless Yurgh’s brave heart-and seek our prize.”

This was most agreeable to Gord, and as soon as the druid had gone through his ritual of healing over the barbarian, the three went from the place. They were tattered, sore, and still stunk of foulness from the cataboligne, but they went with pride and gladness in their hearts. A demon was defeated and dead behind them, and somewhere within the maze before them was a great treasure.

With Gord and Curley taking turns leading Chert through the blackness, they made their way back to the grotto and picked up the torches they had seen there earlier. Then, in several hours of casual wandering, they investigated the whole place.

The central grotto had three exits, as they already knew. Each exit led to a curving passageway, and each of these in turn had three adits. The connecting corridors tied three such circular ways together, but the passages that did so were offset and asymmetrical, rather than being like the spokes of a wheel. They covered all the curves and corridors systematically, concluding with a second trip around the outer rim of the third wheel-shaped passageway, which took them back to the tunnel leading to the chamber where the cataboligne’s corpse lay.

After going some distance farther, they came upon another tunnel that led them to a somewhat smaller cavern. The place contained no treasure, but there they found a deep, cold pool of water, and all three had a chance to bathe and clean themselves of the reeking remnants of their terrible encounter. Refreshed and feeling far better than they had in some time, the three adventurers moved on. Going on to their right, they passed the position where a third opening would have been, had such a thing been there. But the wall was unbroken, and they eventually came round to the area of the tomb of demon and bear again. Something was wrong-either they could not find the treasure, or else, as Gord speculated at this point, someone had added the relic to the tale of the cairn to enliven it.

“That is most unlikely,” Curley stated flatly. “The tablet I translated said that there was a most powerful item here, and the whole place seems made to contain it. What madness caused the servants of this place to ward it with a demon, I can’t say, or even hazard a guess at, but the dead bandits carried nothing forth, and their surviving fellows claimed nothing either-why else tell stories for your supper? If bandits fled demon, then demon guarded treasure. Thus,” the druid reasoned, “we have missed its hiding place somehow.”

“How?” Chert demanded in an impatient tone.

“He’s right, Curley,” Gord said. “If the story-teller said they saw wealth here, any treasure would have to be in plain sight, or else taken away… or hidden by the demon!”

Spirits lifted by this sudden inspiration, they returned to the demon’s cavern-the only place they had not searched thoroughly-and looked it over carefully, but besides the dead, there was nothing in sight. They rested a few minutes and pondered.

“The cataboligne used illusion,” the druid said.

“Then must we assume that an illusion hides the relic?”

“No, not necessarily, Gord, but it is a good start.”

“When I held my sword fast, the demon’s spell affected me not,” the young thief pointed out. “Yet I saw through no illusory cover to a treasure beyond as we searched this maze!”

“You weren’t holding your sword,” Chert informed his friend.

“I wasn’t?… I wasn’t!” Gord exclaimed in reply. He had grown so accustomed to having the sword in his grasp that he failed to immediately realize that he had sheathed the weapon and used normal sight in their explorations after the torches were acquired.

Gord felt foolish, but neither of the others blamed him for the oversight-after all, they had not thought of it either.

Greenleaf stood erect. “Let us do it all again, friends,” he said, “and this time Gord will employ the dweomer vested in him by his blade to see if we have been duped.”

The circuit seemed longer and more tedious than they recalled from their first passage, but they went round again, up and down passages, from core to outer circle. Finally, back at the spot where they thought a tunnel should have been, Gord’s magical vision revealed to him that a loosely piled stack of blocks closed an opening in the wall.

“What do you two see here?” asked Gord, pointing to the place.

“Hewn rock wall,” the druid said.

“The same-a stone wall,” Chert agreed.

Gord tapped on the place with his knuckles. “Look again, and try to see what is really there. It is a passage blocked by stone slabs!”

The barbarian shook his head, then grinned. “I see it now, Gord!” he said, clapping his hand on his friend’s shoulder.

Curley Greenleaf, despite closing and opening his eyes and shaking his head several times, could discern nothing. But this did not prevent him from lending a hand by feel alone, and as soon as enough of the stone was tumbled aside to allow entry, all three passed through, the druid remarking how soft the rock had become as he pushed his hand in front of him, still unable to believe what he was doing even though he realized that the stone was phantasmal.

There was a short passage hewn through the rock, and then it opened on a natural tunnel-which Curley, much to his relief, could see. This passageway, in turn, allowed them entry to a cave beyond. The entrance to the cave showed signs of being worked; stones had been wedged together to form a crude archway, which indicated both that the rocks in this area were not terribly strong and that someone apparently cared about keeping the tunnel from collapsing. The flickering light from the torch Chert carried showed the adventurers that the place was some thirty feet wide, but the other end of the oblong cave was hidden in darkness the feeble illumination of the torch could not pierce from where they stood.

“Hold that thing higher,” Greenleaf commanded. Chert complied, and the circle of illumination spread forward a few feet, faintly showing broken stone and some other indistinct shapes on the floor ahead.

“What’s there?” Gord asked, pointing toward something glittering.

They stepped a few paces ahead cautiously, then quickly recoiled from a hissing noise that rose up from the perimeter of the lighted area. There, confronting them, were fully a dozen pale adders, each as long as Chert was tall.

Both young adventurers prepared to defend themselves, for the reptiles were still hissing furiously and now advancing toward them. Curley Greenleaf stood still and began chanting some strange verse, the sound of which seemed to attract the snakes and make them even more aggressive. Several of them slithered toward the druid, intent on sinking their fangs into his flesh. Gord sliced the head from the one nearest the rotund fellow, shouting as he did so for the druid to retreat. Chert’s axe caught two at once, chopping them both in half. Still, Curley remained motionless and kept chanting.

“…serpent vine… wood entwine… over scale… bark prevail!”

The druid ended his incantation on a rising shout and waved his hands before him, scattering bits of mistletoe leaf as he did so. Gord and Chert stared at the result in amazement. Where before there had been angry adders, now only twisted sticks remained-lengths of wood that bore an uncanny resemblance to the vipers.

Curley Greenleaf beamed with professional pride as the weapon-wielders stood speechless. “A little something special, my lads!” he beamed. “Most can make snakes of sticks, but it is rare indeed to have the reverse on the tip of the tongue. Those billets will serve well as torchwood, too….”

Curley’s self-congratulation was halted by a great slithering sound followed by a hissing so loud it seemed as if the whole cave were filled with snakes-and that was not far from the truth! There came from the darkness more slithering sounds of mammoth scale on stone, and then the trio was confronted with the largest serpent any of them had ever seen. Mother had returned, and she was not happy to find her young so roughly handled.

“Now, Curley! Let’s see the trick again, and quickly!”

“We fight or flee, lads,” the druid said as he pulled out his spear and backed slowly toward the entrance. “I can do that spell but once!”

Weapons at the ready, the other two moved slowly in the same direction, willing to give the angry snake its run of the cave. If they could keep it at bay by retreating slowly and then draw it into the narrow passage, they would have the advantage. In such a confined space, the serpent would not be able to coil and thus strike from a distance, and they could close on it and cut it to pieces before its poisonous fangs did their work.

The adder was not so cooperative, however. It was coming forward in a coiling rush, determined to not drive off but rather devour the creatures who had dared enter its nest and destroy its offspring. Chert acted equally quickly, dropping both axe and torch and picking up a large rock off to his side.

“Eat some stone!” he shouted at the adder as he raised the missile over his head with both hands. Then he heaved the head-sized slab with all his strength, plunging it directly into the open mouth as the giant reptile lunged.

The missile snapped off a fang as it flew into the serpent’s gaping maw. The snake recoiled, trying to spit the rock from its mouth and writhing from the pain of its impact upon both fang and mouth. Greenleaf jabbed at its darting head with his spear, while Gord sought desperately for some vantage point from where he could attack such a creature with effect. A small sword such as his was not likely to be effective against so huge a snake.

Chert’s torch was guttering out on the floor, its flames dying and illumination dropping. The barbarian hurried to grab an; other stone missile and regain the torch before it was extinguished against the rock. This second chunk of stone was larger than the first, but he managed to hurl it with such power and aim that it flew as far as the other and again struck true. More of the fangs within the huge snake’s mouth were broken.

Instinctive concerns of motherhood now gave way to another instinct-rage. The adder shook its head to clear the second stone, giving Chert the precious few seconds he needed to regain the torch and his axe. Then the snake struck back at its foe with blind fury. Its wedge-shaped head lashed forward with lightning speed, propelled by the massive power of a sixty-foot-long body as thick as the trunk of a hundred-year-old oak.

Chert darted backward and to the side just as the snake committed itself to the direction of its lunge. The deadly jaws snapped shut on thin air, and the serpent’s massive head continued onward to smash into the stonework at the edge of the cave entrance.

No doubt hurt but undaunted and still enraged, the snake recoiled for a second strike as Gord and Curley scurried away from the tunnel they had sought to reach. Chert, his back to the wall near the tunnel, succeeded in baiting the creature to come after him again. This lunge had much the same result as the first; the injured reptile was slightly off the mark, and instead of hitting Chert it again drove its head into the wall near the entrance.

This time it was a glancing blow, and the force of the thrust was not entirely absorbed by contact with the wall. The adder’s head ricocheted off the corner of the entranceway and into the narrow passage. Before it could withdraw its head, a rain of stone fell upon the snake. Weakened by the first smash, the rock gave way from the force of the serpent’s second impact, and hundreds of pounds of rock crashed down. This was not fatal in itself, but the blows so hurt and infuriated the reptile that its thrashing efforts to withdraw the pinned head served to cause still greater collapse. Within a few more seconds, a small avalanche of rock tumbled down to completely trap the adder.

“Strike while it is held fast!” bellowed Chert, who was standing off to the side preparing to do just that.

“Get back!” the druid shouted-particularly to Chert-for the writhings and coilings of the serpent’s enormous body were unbelievable.

All three hastened to save themselves from being crushed or battered by the lashing and twisting body. The feebly burning torch suddenly went out altogether, leaving Chert without guidance save for his ability to locate the sounds of clattering rock and the titanic thrashing of the trapped snake. Wisely, Chert dropped to the floor, and Gord could see the form of his big friend, prone and rolling across the cave floor. He watched until the barbarian’s body came to a sudden halt against a side wall, some distance from the entrance and also comfortably away from the thrashing body. So, Chert was safe, and it seemed that Curley was out of harm’s way also, for the druid had crept into a low spot some distance from the passageway, and the huge body could not touch him in its flopping and whipping. Gord himself had been moving up into the cave, going in the direction of the adder’s tail when the avalanche came, and he was presently in the most danger.

Gord stood flattened against the wall, doing his best to hide, to avoid being crushed by the contortions of the dying monster. He dared not move too far or too quickly, feeling himself overcome by an irrational fear that the snake’s body could see him and would seek him out if he made himself evident. So, he stayed more or less where he was and endured, for what seemed like hours. At last the thing was still, and the cave quiet.

Gord and Curley joined up and walked across the cave to where Chert had sought refuge. The druid stood silently for a moment, and the place became dimly illuminated by the now-familiar phosphorescent green glow, this time coming from a portion of the dead reptile’s tail.

“This is the best I can do for you, Chert,” said Curley. “Gord and I will guide you if need be.”

“I have eyes to see in this light,” the barbarian replied as he clambered to his feet.

“What do we do now?” asked Gord somewhat plaintively. “The damned snake has closed off our escape from this place!” After the long hours of effort and tension, he suddenly — felt trapped and even doomed.

Curley would have none of such an attitude, however.

“First we gather up our prize,” the druid said confidently. “Thereafter, all we need to do is find the exit that dead adder used to go hunting!”

That made perfect sense to both of his young companions, so, greatly heartened, they explored the small cave. It was a small place compared to the caverns they had previously explored in this place, but the space was long and had many side openings.

It took only a little time to locate what the druid sought. Within a recess near the middle of the main cave there was a chest of ancient origin, much discolored by verdigris. Gord was able to examine it and find where an incautious hand would be pierced by poisoned needles, and opening its primitive lock was mere child’s play for him. Within the chest lay yet another coffer, one of gleaming wrought gold. They removed this from the heavy chest with great care, with respect both for its contents and for possible traps laid to protect the prize.

“What think you, lad?” Greenleaf asked the young thief. “Can you open it safely?”

“I am not sure…. See the glyphs graven ’round its top? And there, by its catch, are yet more runes and sigils. I have seen such before-or writings similar, I should say-and they bode ill for any who violate them. It is my thought that we take this out of here unopened, and see what is therein in some place where we have better chance for safety.”

“It is a good plan,” Chert agreed. “This thing fairly reeks of some dweomer I like not.”

“Then let’s take it and find our route to light and clean air!” the druid said cheerily. “I am sick of this dark and gloomy place and long to see sun and trees again.”