Page 62 of Heart of the Shadow King

Maylin and I glide over the city. We reach the chasm beyond the walls and continue without pause, leaving Mythanar and its people behind. The old witch guides her morleth to one of the channel openings from which a cascade of water rushes. The troldefolk use numerous riverways to navigate this subterranean world, and I’ve learned that each of these openings leads to a different town, village, or city of the Under Realm.

We enter the close confines of the channel, and the morleth glides above a rushing torrent. It’s pitch dark in here, the only light source the crystal on the end of Maylin’s walking stick. It casts a pale glow that does nothing to reveal our surroundings.

“Where are we going?” I ask again.

“You’ll see.”

“I’m not ready to face the dragon, Maylin.”

She snorts. It sounds odd coming from herjor-wrapped body. “Do you think I would waste all the hard work I’ve put into you? No, child. You’ve performed theva-joron one cave devil; you are far from ready to face Arraog!”

I close my mouth. There’s little point in pressing her. No doubt I’ll have my answers soon enough. The light from Maylin’s stone makes me dizzy, so I close my eyes and sink even more deeply intojor. The cavern walls echo with the voice of the river, filling my senses. I let myself flow with it, rocked by the motion of the morleth, cradled in the arms of darkness. Fear scratches at the back of my awareness, trying to gain entrance, but my shield is far too thick and strong. It’s a relief to know I need not feel anything I do not wish to.

“We’re here.”

I open my eyes. Once again, all concept of time has slipped away from me. I have no idea how far we traveled, how long I rode with my eyes shut and my senses subdued. We may be many hours from Mythanar for all I know. Or even days.

We’ve come to one of the river towns. Trolde dwellings loom above me, carved directly into a towering cavern wall many stories high. I cannot see much of it, for there are fewlorstlanterns left, but I can discern signs of damage and ruin, no doubt caused by the most recent stirring. The whole precipitous town looks ready to topple into the river. There’s a strange haze in the air as well, a greenish fog hovering over the surface of the water and clinging to every stone.

“Where are we?” I ask as Maylin dismounts, stepping onto a stone jetty jutting into the river. I grip the morleth’s saddle, unwilling to join her.

“This town was called Murzush,” Maylin says, lifting her staff to send the crystal light glancing off the silent faces of the nearest houses. “A place of no consequence save to those who once lived here.”

“Oncelived here?”

“Yes. They’re mostly dead now. Those who aren’t soon will be.”

I breathe in sharply, inhaling the stink of poison. Bitter, burning, foul.Raogpoison. Now I understand that green haze. Dragon fumes. Rising from the depths of the world, penetrating through cracks and crevices, polluting the air.

I’ve seen the effects ofraog. I’ve suffered at the hands of those enthralled to its influence. I lift my gaze, staring up at those ghostly buildings. How many of them contain the ripped-apart bodies of townsfolk who turned on one another? How many parents slaughtered their children, how many lovers tore each other apart? How much pain and devastation echoed among these now-silent streets?

“Why have we come here?” I ask softly, breathing the words through crystal-hardened lips. “Won’t the poison take us as well?”

“Raogcannot penetratejor,” Maylin says. “Keep yourself enstoned, and you should be fine. Besides, it’s been hours, and the fumes are dispersing.” She motions for me to dismount. I do so reluctantly, leaving the morleth standing in midair above the water as my feet touch the jetty. “As for why we’re here,” the witch continues, “there may be survivors. Children sometimes are not so drastically influenced byraog.Only no one ever reaches them in time. Trolde are too fearful of breathing the poison themselves and won’t venture anywhere near until they are certain it’s dispersed. But we have not the same concerns. So, we might yet do some good, eh?”

Myjorcovering shivers, threatening to fall. The idea of any child enduring the terror that took place here . . . I can’t bear to think of it. Neither can I turn and flee if there’s even a chance that what Maylin says is true. I follow her up the inclined path of the cliff face. The empty doors and windows of all those death-filled dwellings seem to breathe out gusts of poisonous air as we pass. It isn’t long before we see the first signs of savagery. Brutal deaths, murderous and gory. Men, women. Children too. Thank the gods I’m wrapped in stone, or I should be rendered helpless to the horror trying so hard to break through my defenses.

“That is the way of it withraog,”Maylin says, her voice devoid of feeling. “Sometimes it drives them to self-harm, sometimes to vicious hatred of all living things. Often, it’s both.”

We climb to the upper streets and here discover the remains of a brawl. At least fifty troldefolk met their ends here, limbs torn from limbs, heads wrenched from shoulders. Bite marks, gnawed and protruding bones . . . I cannot look. Myjortrembles; it takes everything I have to hold on, to keep myself safe and hidden inside.

“Here,” Maylin says, stopping abruptly before a black opening. This building looks no different from any of the others we’ve passed, yet she angles her light to peer inside. “There’s someone in there. Listen.”

I tip my head, holding my breath. At first, nothing. Then . . . “Crying,” I whisper.

Without waiting for confirmation, I step through the door, leave the gore-stained street behind. The interior is even more painfully dark, with only the occasional strugglinglorstto offer a faint impression of furnishings. It was a private dwelling. A family home, perhaps. And the family themselves? Mostly dead on the street outside.

But not all. Not yet.

“Faraine!” the witch calls sharply behind me. I ignore her. Pushing deeper into the darkness, I let the stone around my heart fade, let the crystal coating my flesh and spirit melt. I’ve not yet fully recovered my ability to sense the feelings of others, but the gift is still there. As the last of thejorfades, leaving me vulnerable, I reach for that gift now. It responds, tentative at first. Placing one hand on the wall nearest me, I call to the crystals inside. They answer at once. Vibrations ripple out from my touch, carrying my perceptions with them.

There. I feel her. A child huddled in a back room. The image is so clear to my gods-gift, I can practically see it, even in this pitch blindness. I follow that image, follow that fear, which bursts across my senses in bright, lancing stabs. A small part of me wishes I’d held onto thejor.

Stifling that thought, I hurry on until I come to a door. Broken and partially fallen, it leaves but a small opening to the little chamber beyond, a bedroom with a circular stone bed. A singlelorstilluminates the space, cupped in the hands of a tiny, knobby-kneed trolde child. Her long white hair covers her face and shoulders, and her head is bowed low as her whole body quakes with sobs.

“Hiri!”I call, one of the few troldish words I know. “Hiri!I see you there!” The broken door blocks my way but there should be room enough for me to lift the child through if she will come to me. “Look at me, little one! I can help you. Come with me, and I’ll—”

The child’s head snaps up. Her eyes blaze bright, glowing in the light of her stone. Her lips part, roll back from her teeth. Green foam dribbles from her mouth and down her chin. For a moment we are both of us transfixed, each caught in the other’s startled gaze.

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