The Drake Of Ehknac (The Adventures of Carmen Delarosa Book 1) Page 4
“First,” he said, “Food.” He drew a chest-strap satchel from beneath the display counter and unrolled it to reveal a series of vials. “The contents within these capsules contain enough nutrients to keep the body sustained for one day. Here you can see there are only fourteen—nearly half of what you’d need to make the journey from here to Dorenborough. You will be hungry throughout your journey.
“Next,” he continued. “A filtration mask.” He set the haunting fixture—with its lifeless eye-sockets and bulbed mouthpiece—on the counter before her. “It is unlikely you will need this for very long. However—if you are forced to travel throughout the tunnels at any point, you will need something to purify the stagnant air within.”
“All right,” Carmen said. “What else?”
“Your bedroll, spare canteens, fire-starters and multi-kit will all fit in your bag. I assume you are already adequately armed.”
She nodded.
“Just in case,” he said, “we’ll outfit you with a buckler we give to the miners. You’re familiar with them, no?”
“Not really.”
He placed the seemingly-inconspicuous wooden object before her. “Here,” he said, indicating a button on the metal grip, “is the rotating mechanism that will flip your shield around. And here,” he said, indicating two smaller buttons beside it, “are your utilities.” He pressed both—revealing a blunt, crescent-moon-shaped fixture from within one compartment and a large, pointed shiv opposite it. “Normally they’re used for simpler things, like smashing rock or cutting vegetation, but I think it’ll be an invaluable asset on your journey.”
“Ok,” Carmen said. “What about the bug spray? Purifying stones? The steel-toed boots?”
“All unnecessary if you wish to gain adequate ground each day.” The merchant leaned forward to look her in the eyes. “Look, Carmen: I want you to be prepared. Really, I do. But given that you’re going out there alone, you can’t afford to be weighed down by unnecessary luggage.”
“The spiders,” she said.
“Don’t bother travelers.”
“The water—”
“Doesn’t have to be purified to be consumed.”
“And the boots—”
“Are only going to make your feet and legs hurt at the end of the day.” He indicated a simple jacket and pair of pants on the far wall. “All you need to be concerned about is staying covered and keeping warm. A simple pair of nightclothes, underneath those pants, and that jacket will be enough to stave away the cold. The boots you’re wearing now will take you through the mines.”
“And my glow worm?” she asked. “Will it be enough to guide me?”
“You’ve already procured a glow worm?” he frowned.
“Yeah. Why? Was I not supposed to—”
“Oh, no. No. I merely ask because they’ve suffered a blight this season. Most caravans have been forced to travel by firelight.”
“So I’m good then,” Carmen said, sweeping her eyes at the spread before her. “This is it.”
“Yes,” the merchant sighed. “It would seem so.”
“How much do I owe you?” she asked, placing her coin purse on the counter.
The man reached out and took hold of her wrist before she could loosen the drawstrings.
“Sir?” Carmen asked.
“The only thing you owe me,” the merchant said, “is your survival, and a promise that if you find that monster, you’ll kill it and bring back proof.”
“Proof?”
“Its fangs,” he said.
Carmen nodded.
“When do you leave?” the merchant asked.
“Tomorrow,” Carmen replied. “At dawn. I still have some unfinished business to take care of.”
With a nod, the merchant began to assemble her materials.
After securing her belongings, Carmen strapped the buckler across her wrist, heaved the pack over her shoulders, and turned to walk out of the shop.
“Carmen,” the merchant said before she could leave.
She turned to face him.
“Godspeed,” he said.
Carmen pressed her fist to her breast.
The man did so in turn.
- - -
She couldn’t have imagined a more restless night.
Nestled in bed, with only the glow worm’s light to comfort her, Carmen struggled to find solace in the knowledge that, come morning, she would leave Ehknac behind and venture forth to end a nightmare that had not stopped for over a year.
You know, her conscience whispered, that you might not come back.
The drake wasn’t the only thing she’d have to worry about once she entered the mines. From nightmarish winged humanoids, to curious spiders, to plummeting oxygen levels, landslides, cave-ins and starvation, there was no limit to the number of dangers she might encounter. She could just as easily die slipping on loose rock as she could when facing the drake.
And no one would find me.
“Ever,” she whispered.
With a sigh, Carmen rolled over and swept her eyes about the room—trying, without success, not to falter in the shadow of what had once been a normal life. For years she’d slept in this room, immune to the dangers of life and the tragedies that would follow, and for years she’d thought that things would be simple—that fortune, so prevalent within her family’s lives, would shine on them forever. She’d thought she’d come of age and see them proud—see her married, with children, a career, happiness. She’d imagined watching her brother walking to that podium and declaring his heart’s desire—and she’d thought, perhaps unrealistically, that her parents would live forever. If not stricken by disease, Dwarves could persist for hundreds of years, if not a millennia. But her parents—her family—and her little five-year-old brother—
They were gone.
Her father’s mace—balanced against the wall on the far side of the room—glimmered as she rose from bed and passed in front of the glow worm’s jar, its polished metal and many sapphires winking as they caught, then were shielded from the creature’s light. He used to joke that it was the prettiest thing—that, had he not met her mother, he would’ve married it instead—but she knew that was never true. Her mother was the warrior, not her father, and though its beauty was unmarred by the scars of battle and virgin to the taste of blood, the mace was just as capable of destruction as it was of instilling awe.
Though as familiar with its surface as she was the back of her palm, it felt strange when held in her hand, almost as if it didn’t truly belong.
No.
She couldn’t think like that. It was his namesake, his legacy. If she thought for one moment that he wouldn’t have given it to her upon his death, she was a fool.
“But maybe I am,” she whispered.
Come dawn, she would pack her bags and leave her old life behind.
What followed she couldn’t know.
Chapter 3
In the cold hours of the morning—before the sun had yet to shine upon the mountains and filter through the cracks of earth—Carmen stood in the Ehknacian Cemetery and paid what could possibly be her last respects. Kneeled before their stones, head bowed and eyes red with tears, she prayed to the Gods for strength in not only body, but mind and soul.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered to nothing but silence. “There was nothing I could do.”
Every man and woman who had perished upon Infinity’s Pass was eventually recovered and returned to Ehknac for proper interment. Scarred as they’d been, their mortal shells were offered at least a semblance of decency once placed within the ground—blessed by the Sisters and convened to the Gods. Only one had not been returned.
Tonomoto.
In his place, nestled between her mother and father, was but one small stone—bearing his name, date of birth, and the words lost but not forgotten.
He was the youngest victim of the tragedy.
And my greatest regret.
Had she the means, she would have stayed there forever.
But since she didn’t, she stood and looked toward the walls—where, in the distance, the guards waited and the gate remained closed.
“Well,” Carmen said, looking back at the stones. “I guess this it then.”
The part where I say goodbye.
After sighing, taking a deep breath, and preparing herself for what could be her final march out of Ehknac, Carmen started away from the cemetery, but not before looking back one last time.
They’d given their lives so she could live.
Their deaths would not be in vain.
- - -
Firelight could only guide her for so long as she passed through the gates of Ehknac and entered the area of the Hornblaris Mountains known as the Deep Roads. Forced to draw the glow worm from her satchel no more than three-dozen steps out, Carmen attached the jar to a chain along her belt and continued forward—knowing that the further she wandered in, the darker it would become.
There was a reason men went crazy in these tunnels.
Carmen encountered it only minutes out.
Darkness reigned absolute in these harrowing passes, nearly impenetrable to any form of light and extending beyond the doubts and imaginations of even the most experienced travelers. Normally it would be of no concern, as darkness was a familiar and everyday aspect of their subterranean living. To travelers, however, it offered its own unique set of challenges.
Outside the walls—where danger lurked around every corner and each step could be your last—it wasn’t uncommon to hallucinate. It was so still, so quiet—a vacuum of space where you couldn’t hear anything but your own breath.
The silence could drive you mad.
As a merchant’s daughter, Carmen was well aware of the psychosis that could plague travelers during their journeys through the Deep Roads. But, like most, she believed herself invulnerable to such affects—until she began to notice the sound of her own breathing, something she’d never once considered in her everyday life. The steady inhale, then exhale was casual. She was not afflicted by the sniffles, nor by any defect of birth that would prevent her from breathing what most would consider ‘normally.’ But here, the sound appeared amplified—as if she were drowning and desperate for oxygen she could not obtain.
“Woah,” she said, then grimaced.
She’d thought she’d whispered.
Why did she sound so loud?
It’s ok, she thought, taking a moment to consider her surroundings. You knew this could happen.
She just thought that it wouldn’t. Maybe it was her bull-headed arrogance, or maybe she hadn’t stopped to fully consider what affects the Roads might have on her. Either way, she couldn’t dwell on it. Each moment she wasted was one she could use to return home—alive, well, and with the drake’s blood on her hands.
Shifting her pack across her back, Carmen braced herself for what was to come.
Then she continued on.
- - -
She travelled for what felt like days, though in reality was likely only a few hours. Unwilling to bring any apparatus save the compass upon her buckler, she could tell time only by the strength in her legs and the number of nutrient vials arranged within her pack.
Tonight, she would consume one, thus ending the first day of her journey.
As she huddled against the rock wall, contemplating her surroundings by light of the glow worm, Carmen tried to decide whether or not her actions had been rash and foolhardy.
You have a map, she was quick to remind herself. You need nothing more than that.
Time could be seen as nonexistent beneath the mountain—in a place where the sun never rose and never really, truly fell. Minutes ticked by, naturally, and hours undoubtedly passed, but never could one judge the time of day just by looking at their surroundings. In this sense, many would have considered her foolhardy. Her limited supplies only guaranteed her a set amount of time. If she were to falter even briefly—or if, by happenstance, she was delayed...
No.
Carmen shook her head.
She’d planned her journey to the finest detail. If something happened to come up, she just wouldn’t eat for the night—nothing gained, nothing lost.
Content with the rationalization, she tightened her grip on her mace and continued to survey the far edges of her camp—watching, diligently, for any signs of movement. Though she’d yet to spot any wildlife, she was still far more exposed than she’d like to be. Dwarven rest stops were supposed to be distributed at regular intervals, spaced no more than a day apart from one another. Sadly, Ehknac and its outlying territories were far beyond the kingdom’s regular patrols. Why build safehouses when small parties rarely travelled these roads?
Sighing, she tightened the bedroll around her and sunk back against the rock wall.
The first night out was always the hardest.
Sleep would not come easy.
- - -
She realized she was being followed the next morning. Though their presence did not alarm her, she couldn’t help but feel uneasy.
They preferred to stick to the high walls and the precipice of the nearby canyon. Inquisitive as they were, they never strayed from the shadows—instead using their long, gangly legs to navigate the rock walls and keep pace with her. The only time she happened to see a spider in full was when it was forced to navigate a section of crystal, and even then its tiny body dwarfed in comparison to the size of its legs. Their smaller cousins were commonplace in city stables, but to see a Giant Harvestman in the wild was something few people could lay claim to.
At least I’m not scared, Carmen thought.
Wary, yes, but nowhere near scared. They were likely following her only because of the glow worm. Trapped within the jar, its light was amplified tenfold, radiating about her body and along the ground and wall. She probably resembled a colony of slugs, gathered en masse for their yearly mating ritual. She should be thankful that it hadn’t drawn anything worse.
Like bats, Carmen thought.
She didn’t fancy the idea of fighting anything on two or more wings.
After pausing to consider the harvestmen’s movements, she continued forward.
At the very least, they’d let her know if anything bigger showed up.
- - -
The spiders continued to follow her for the next several days—ensuring, by presence alone, that her passage throughout the Deep Roads was safe. Not once did they stray from sight or lead her to believe that danger would soon be upon her. Rather, they remained constant within her peripheral—rising each time she woke from slumber to drink her nutrient mixture and only settling when she assembled camp at the end of each day. They were, undoubtedly, her silent sentinels, and the only things that kept her mind at ease.
On the fifth day of her journey—when she realized she’d been pushing herself nearly beyond her limits—she arrived at the labyrinth of tunnels that branched out into the further reaches of the Deep Roads. Though two were closed due to collapse and the other three in need of structural repairs, it was not the tunnels whose paths she wished to take.
No.
It was the pass—whose road had ended the lives of her family and twenty-six others—that beckoned to her from the darkened recesses of the west.
This is it, she thought, coming to pause at a junction that could decide her life forever.
The spiders—who, until that moment, had been content to follow her without issue—scurried into the darkness, as if daunted by whatever was to come.
“Can’t say I blame ya,” she mumbled, reaching down to ensure her mace remained at her side.
She lifted her head as the sound of pebbles falling to the earth entered her ears.
She waited—breath held, eyes darting from shadow to shadow.
Surely she’d only been hearing things—had, in a moment of pause, allowed her mind to wander and create sounds akin to certain danger. The journey had gone smoothly thus far. What could have changed?
My luck, she thought.
It couldn’t
be coincidence. Her arrival at the tunnels, the spiders’ disappearance, the noises in the dark. If what she thought was true—if something truly did lurk beyond her line of sight—then that could only mean—
She slung her mace from her belt just in time for a series of clicks to echo along the walls.
No.
It was on her instantly—a lethe-like form she could barely see. But it didn’t attack. Instead, the creature ran between her legs, causing her to turn to track its movements.
She realized her mistake only when a second creature slammed into her back.
Her leatherwork armor was enough to deflect the attack, and as such allowed her the opportunity to spin about and face her attackers.
The skitters—waist-high and resembling featherless birds—lifted their serpentine heads and uttered a series of clicks she instantaneously knew were used to pinpoint her location. Like bats, they relied on echolocation, as within the Deep Roads they were blind as newborn moles. The sharp sounds stabbed into her ears and momentarily stunned her as they began to circle—one to her left, the other to her right.
Alone, they were too small to do any real damage. But in a pack—
Carmen was just about to question where the other members of their flock were when they appeared from the darkness. Five in total, they clicked and barked and flexed the three-fingered talons on their miniscule arms, as if ready to gut her where she stood.
Mace in hand, buckler braced across her abdomen, she waited for one to strike.
The first to attack launched itself through the air and toward her face. Rows of serrated teeth filled her vision moments before she brought her buckler up to knock it aside, but she knew it was only an initial strike. A second skitter, then the third, attempted to flank her. She slapped one across the ribs with her mace and only narrowly managed to dodge out of the way of the third.
They screeched—extending their arms to make themselves appear larger.
They weren’t used to prey that fought back.