Swords Against the Shadowland

Their journey through the cavern ended abruptly when the lantern's light fell upon another man-made archway cut into the limestone wall. Upon one rough-hewn stone block a queer symbol stood out in a faded, ancient black paint—a crude, leering face with a crescent moon above its brow, a dagger beside its right cheek, a bone beside its left, and a pentagram below.

Without knowing its meaning, the Mouser recognized it for a darkly evil sign. "Where do all these tunnels lead?" he asked, following Jesane into the new passage. The thin smoke from her lantern rose and spread upon the low ceiling.

"To nearly every important edifice, public or private, in the city," she answered quietly without slackening her pace. "The Overlords built them originally as storeplaces during times of war and invasion, and as a means of moving unseen between the Rainbow Palace, the Citadel, the garrisons and the Royal Docks."

"Over the centuries the Great Families expanded the network, taking advantage of the natural caverns, until they had secret access to every public building, temple, even to the private estates of their enemies."

"The temples?" the Mouser said thoughtfully. "Even the Forbidden Towers?"

"No doubt," Nuulpha said.

"Of course," Jesane affirmed.

Nuulpha nodded. "She knows the network better than anyone."

The Mouser pursed his lips and thought of Fafhrd, a black anger filling his heart, mingling with fear and grief. "That explains how Rokkarsh's soldiers caught us off-guard. There was no other visible entrance save the window we used."

Jesane paused and turned suddenly, holding up a hand for silence as she peered into the darkness behind them. For a tense moment, all three listened, hands on their weapons. She lifted the lantern a bit higher, throwing its light back down the passage. Finally, her finger eased off the crossbow's trigger.

Letting out a slow breath, the Mouser uncurled his fingers from around Scalpel's hilt. The look of fear on Jesane's face still lingered in his mind. Even as they resumed walking, he cast a sheepish glance back over his shoulder, noting with some relief that Nuulpha did the same.

What dangers lurked in these tunnels, he wondered, to cause his comrades to start at the smallest sounds? No rats, he remembered nervously, casting his gaze upon the floor. Some ravenous creature, then, prowling the black maze? Or creatures? Though the question gnawed at him, it suddenly seemed wisest to preserve the silence.

Jesane led them through yet another archway and into another tunnel. The way twisted through a natural cave, then entered another man-made passage. Abruptly, a staircase carved crudely out of the rock presented itself. At the top stood a door painted with the same ominous sign the Mouser had seen in another tunnel.

"What is that?" the Mouser dared to whisper as Jesane stepped aside. Drawing his sword, Nuulpha moved to the fore and slammed the pommel against the stout wood.

Jesane stared at the symbol. In the wavering lantern-light, the leering face seemed to regard them with subtle hatred. "No one remembers," she answered simply, tearing her gaze away.

Nuulpha moved down a step as a heavy bolt slid back on the other side, and the door opened into the tunnel. A dim light oozed outward, mingling with Jesane's lantern to brighten the gloom. An emaciated, thinly bearded face, large eyes bulging from shrunken sockets, cheekbones stretching the sallow skin, peered around the door at them.

The Mouser caught his breath at sight of the corpse-like being, and his hand shot downward once again to grasp his sword.

Those large eyes fixed on the Mouser. A lipless gash of a mouth moved. "You got him."

Nuulpha nodded as he caught the edge of the door and opened it wider. "Yes, Mish, now let us in."

The man named Mish—for the Mouser saw that, indeed, it was only a man and not some litch or revenant—moved back beyond the door and took down a torch from a sconce on the wall. A small stool beneath the sconce suggested Mish had been waiting for them.

When they were all across the threshold, Nuulpha tugged the door closed and threw the iron bolt that sealed it shut. Jesane, visibly relaxing, set her lantern upon the stool and brushed a hand through her hair. The slightest of smiles turned up the corners of her mouth as she removed the quarrel from her crossbow, returned it to a small quiver on her hip, and uncocked the bowstring.

The Mouser watched her with new interest. That faint smile offered the first hint of her true beauty. Her hair shone like liquid gold as she bent to retrieve the lantern again.

Mish, with his torch, led the way up the corridor. Stone tiles formed the floor, and the walls, though ancient, glimmered smoothly under the flow of the light. Making a sharp right turn, then a left, they approached a solid wall—a seeming dead end. Undaunted, Mish put one foot against the lower left corner of the barrier and depressed a barely visible stone. A narrow section of the wall slid back.