Erik had, logically enough, cleared the debris and small rocks from his lying-down spot. When his day's labor was done and he'd been herded along to be chained, he'd gone docilely. They left him with his bowl of gruel. There'd been no more mysterious bits of bread or parchment, but Erik was being docile for good reason. The staple was coming loose. He sat down. Someone had put fragments of rock in his lying place . . .
It was odd rock. Too light. It felt like plaster.
Erik's mystery visitor had been around again. And inside the fake piece of rock was a key and a piece of rolled parchment. After he'd used the key, it occurred to him there might be other "rocks." He felt around, and sure enough there were. But they also contained keys and rolls of parchment, which he could not read in the dark.
Well, at least he knew in which direction to go: away from the pit face. Cautiously, knowing that the mine kobolds could see, hear, and smell better than any human, Erik felt his way along the tunnel until he saw a hint of light. Then he proceeded with even more caution. It was something of a wasted effort. All there was was a solitary glowing globe, set on a rock-shelf. The guard was fast asleep beneath it.
* * * j
Cair was busy with his last-minute preparations to leave, which was to say he was sitting idle, thinking. He didn't leave things to the last minute.
Then it became obvious that his plans for a quiet departure during that sleep period weren't going to work as well as he'd planned.
He was herded before the kobold king, again. Orm was standing in the background, smirking.
It would have taken a slower man than Cair Aidin not to figure out that his laborer had sold out their escape plan. "This thrall tells me you planned to escape tonight."
Cair managed to look shocked. "Why? I will be free in two days at the most, anyway. Is the water in your mines not drying away?"
The king managed in turn to lie quite well. "Urr. Yes. But this one tells me that you planned to escape with the job unfinished."
Cair drew himself up. "Me? If I was planning to escape, I would have gold coin with me. Search me, and search him." Cair had no coins, gold or otherwise, or anything more incriminating than a key, knotted into his hair. Orm probably had lead coated with gold in his cheeks or in his newly acquired loincloth.
"You are too slick with that tongue, thrall," said the king grimly. "Search him." Cair stood calmly watching as Orm's gloat turned to apprehension. It was his turn next. "They're just with me for safekeeping. To stop him stealing them," groveled the Norseman, when the kobolds produced shiny coin after shiny coin.
"A likely story," said Cair.
The kobold king rubbed his jaw. "Nonetheless, I cannot take a chance. Strip them both. Send this one," he pointed to Orm, "back to the mines. He's a thief, if not a liar." He turned to Cair. "Strip him, and keep him under lock and key."
"Until my work is done," said Cair loftily. "That is our agreement."
"Er. Just so. Until his work is done."
Cair waited until things were settled before pulling out quite a lot of his hair. Every lock that the kobolds owned was the same. In a spirit of neatness, he locked the cell behind him and tied the key into his hair again. Clothing and various other items were stashed in a "magical" display nearby, and he knew where the guards at the various levels were. With regret he had to abandon his old pouch, but he'd extracted most of the valuable bits from it for his new one. He even had his "wand" with its amber eye. With a rope, a bundle of clothes, food, and a good dagger, he set off down. He didn't even have to deal with any kobolds en route.
Erik's victim lay trussed and gagged with his own clothing. And unconscious. Each of the little scrolls of parchment was the same—a map of sorts with the word Manfred and no clue as to whom his mysterious helper could be. Erik wished he'd been a little more generous with clothing or weapons. He now had a kobold pike, which might do nicely as a misericord, and a kobold light. And a map showing him the way—hopefully—to Manfred. Erik wondered briefly if it was some kind of trap. But why? He could hardly be in worse trouble. And he had an oath to try and honor.
Erik walked on. At length he came to the hole—and Prince Manfred of Brittany.
"What took you so long?" asked Manfred in a harsh whisper, with a crooked grin imperfectly hiding his relief. "And how in hell did you get those kobolds to cooperate?"
Erik felt that his knees had gone weak enough at the sight of the boy, without getting any more sentimentality into the situation. "I've got a key," he whispered back. "I'll need to find a decent rope."
"I've already got the key you sent. Just find something thicker than this string they're using on their windlasses."
That could be a problem. There was an ample supply of ore, a fair number of rocks, a few buckets tied to the cord they used. And no rope. Even all the windlass cords together would not support his weight. Erik knew too well that Manfred had a lot of weight to support.
"I am sorry I was delayed," said a voice from the shadows. Erik whirled, the small sticker at the ready.
The thrall stepped into the light, a coil of rope in his hand. "My former associate betrayed me and it took me some extra time to get here." He tossed a bundle at Erik. "Here. Clothes. Your weapons are hidden farther along our way. I'll set up the rope."
Erik could only gape.
"Get them on," said the bronze-skinned thrall, untying the coil. "We're going to have to move fast."
"We left you for dead," said Erik, fumbling with the bundle. They weren't his clothes, but a miner's leather breeches and a rustic's jerkin. He didn't care.
"It's a mistake others have made," said the thrall, wryly, tossing the rope down as Erik pulled on the clothes. "Boots were something more of a problem. I've got his, but not yours, I'm afraid. They're with the stash."
Erik shook his head. "I'll need some explanations, once we're out of here." The man spoke fluent Frankish, with a hint of an Aquitaine accent.
The thrall shrugged. "Very well. I suggest that you tell your prince to stop trying to climb the rope. He'll get tired and fall, or slip. Rather let him tie himself on. We'll make use of those windlasses."
Erik did.
"Don't whisper. The sound carries farther," said the thrall, rigging the windlass with professionalism.
Erik felt a fresh bubble of unease. Who was this fellow? Erik knew that, too, from Vinland stalking days. He just hadn't thought it through right now. Instinct said to whisper.
They hauled. "Should have left him to get lighter for a few more days," grunted the thrall.
"Be glad he's not in armor," puffed Erik, as Manfred caught the top edge of the hole and, with a scrabble, pulled himself up.
He blinked at the thrall. Tensed. "He's a traitor, Erik. He's with these underground-grub kobolds. Get him."
"I also provided the rope, and the keys," said the thrall calmly. "And I have your clothes. I have been as much of a prisoner as you were."
"I don't trust him much," said Erik, "but someone provided us with keys."
"I assumed it was you," said Manfred, looking uncertain.
Erik shook his head. "I've been chained in a tunnel."
"We can discuss it later," said the thrall. "We need to move now. We have a long way to go."
Manfred nodded. "Let's put it off. For now. Which way do we go to get out of this place?"
The thrall pointed, and they left, the rope slowly falling back down into the dry pit. Some other prisoner might be glad of it.
By the time that they arrived at the swords and the boots, and Manfred's koboldwerk jacket, Erik was sure that they'd never find their way out of this rabbit warren without the fellow, anyway. He seemed to know it well enough. And he was well prepared. He even had water and more of the coarse, sour rye bread stashed.
Cair had to admit that he'd had worse crews. They were tough, and silent, especially the bodyguard. He noted quietly to himself that if the corsairs ever became Manfred of Brittany's personal problem, he might have to cry off raiding the Holy Roman Empire's vessels. He might just be better off killing the man in case he did become Emperor. But first things first. They had to get out of here. "We have something of a problem here." They were at a vertical shaft. "We will need to get up there. And there are guards at the top." Cables hung down to deeper pits. "I had thought we could go up with loads of ore, but the ore baskets aren't moving now. And when they start, the kobolds will be awake and about."
"How far is it to the top?" asked Erik thoughtfully.
Cair checked his map. "About forty cubits. It was the closest I could get us with no guard points."
"A good map, that," said Manfred, looking over his shoulder. "How did you come by it?"
"I made it."
"Where do we get out?" asked Erik, looking at it.
"At the moment it is more a case of 'how do we get out?'" said Cair, unwilling to admit that he didn't know. He hated doing that.
"Erik will sort that out," said Manfred, looking at his bodyguard.
Cair saw that he was busy taking off the boots Cair had stolen for him. "They're a bit loose," Erik said, apologetically.
He took his knife between his teeth and with no further ado tested the cables, selected one, and set off up it like a Barbary ape.
There was a brief shriek from above, and a basket came down. "Noisy," said Manfred. "He's losing his touch. Or missing that hatchet of his." They scrambled into the wicker basket, carrying Erik's boots.
At the top they discovered that Erik had been lucky to get them that far. He had some seven kobolds prisoner. Several more were never going to cause any more trouble. A glance told Cair just what he did not want to see. They weren't all guards. Some were miners. "They're coming on shift."
"And one got away," said Erik, grimly.
Cair handed him his boots. "Send these prisoners down and then cut the cables. Or kill them. It is time for us to run."
They sent the baskets down and ran. And fought. And ran again. With light on their side, the three of them could hold off the kobolds. But the rock-gnomes poured out of crevices and cracks, pursuing them, trying to block them off.
"How much farther?" panted Manfred, leaning against the wall.
"Close now," said Cair.
Erik peered back down the tunnel. For the moment they'd outpaced the kobolds. He looked ahead. "Got to be blocked, or have a final guard post or something."
"Not here," Cair shook his head. "Not this exit. They're too afraid of trolls."
Manfred laughed. "And that's supposed to be better, is it? Come on. I swear I can feel air movement."
"There's bound to be a last attempt to stop us," said Erik, as they set out again, "even if they are more afraid of trolls."
"Bakrauf is coming to get us," pronounced Cair loudly, reverting to Norse. And then in Frankish, "Walls have ears. Talk about Bakrauf."
To Cair's amusement he'd swear Erik actually blushed under all the dirt. "That's not a polite word, you know."
"I've been told trolls aren't very polite," said Manfred with a grin. "And I'm feeling pretty coarse myself. Bakrauf! Bakrauf!" he yelled, as they raced toward the opening.
The handful of kobolds seemed more inclined to flee than to fight.
They broke out into the light.
And stopped.
They were on a broad ledge, perhaps half an acre wide, on a cliff. Ahead was the ruin of a bridge. Behind them kobolds were coming nervously forward. They might be nervous, but they also outnumbered the three men by fifty to one, and more were coming down the tunnel.
"And now?" asked Manfred.
"I don't know," admitted Cair. "I've never been this far."
"Unless you add flying to your tricks, you're not going a lot farther either," said Manfred. "Even the rope you hauled me out with is far too short. And we left that behind."
The gorge was a good two hundred yards across to the point where the other buttress of the bridge hung. And it was a lot farther down to the ribbon of water.
"There's a trail off to that side," Erik pointed with a bloody sword.
"Let's go."
It wasn't much of a trail, just a narrow ledge sloping downward. But it was better than staying here.
Cair would have liked it better if the kobolds had tried to follow them. Or even if they hadn't laughed and jeered.
Erik led the way down the ledge. It was not wide—sometimes barely a cubit—and without any form of rail, but it was worn, as if others had come this way before. It zigzagged downward, and had been cut where nature did not provide. Looking down Erik could see that there was something of a quay—and a towpath—leading upstream. A couple of laden barges were tied up at the key. And now, kobolds were pouring out of an entry from the cliff onto that quay. No wonder they'd been laughing.
"There is a sequence of hoists inside the mines," said the thrall. "They can move faster than we can, edging along this ledge."
That much was obvious. But at least the rock wall above overhung, so they were safe from rocks or other missiles from above. The water below was dark and wide—and there was no landing on the far side either. Still, in Erik's opinion, that was their best hope.
"Come down," yelled the kobolds.
"Stop here. Boots off, gentlemen," said Erik. "When we get to that far point over there we're going to have to jump. Jump and swim. We'll be upstream of those barges. See if we can get up onto the first barge and cut her loose."
"It looks deep enough," was the thrall's only comment.
"And cold enough," said Manfred.
"You can swim, thrall—I don't know your name?" asked Erik.
The thrall smiled wryly. "You can call me Cair. It is as near as these Norse barbarians get to calling me by name. And I swim well. Better than you, probably. And at least they don't appear to have bows. But they may throw those little spears."
"A chance we'll just have to take," said Manfred. "When we get to the corner, on the count of three, jump together."
The water went beyond just "cold." Cair found that it was almost paralyzingly so. From thirty feet up he went a long way under water. He kicked hard for the surface. The current was frighteningly strong. He was nearly at the bow of the ore-barge before he broke water. He grabbed for it, and missed.
The current was sweeping him on, past it. Distantly he could hear the kobolds yelling, and as he stroked frantically, the cold eating at his strength, he saw the barge swing into the current ponderously, and begin drifting down on him. A rope splashed into the water next to him. He grabbed at it with numb hands and wrapped it around his arms. Suddenly he was hauled toward the barge so fast he actually skimmed out of the water like a dolphin.
Manfred reached down and fished him out. "You might swim better than Erik, but he's more used to Iceland's cold water, by the looks of it," said the big man with a grin. Erik was already at the stern of the laden craft, hauling at a clumsy rudder.
"We want to lighten her a bit," he yelled. "You two had better start off-loading." They got to work throwing heavy chunks of ore overboard into the racing icy water. It was hot work, to counter the bone-numbing cold of the swim they'd had. Erik was plainly feeling the cold, by his color. Cair went aft. "I can steer. See what you can do about drying off your gear."
"Seaman, are you?" said the Icelander, handing him the rudder bar.
Cair nodded. He was a little more wary about what he said, after the swim. For the first time he was able to take a considered look around at their position. The river ran deep and fast, and the gorge was still high and steep walled. The barge had never been intended for this sort of water. He began swinging her away from the main current. Closer to the margins the flow might be slower. Of course there was a better chance of underwater obstructions, too.
Erik wrung the tunic out, and went to help Manfred. "We need some ballast, I reckon," said the prince, working like a stevedore.
"If we hit a waterfall or real rapids in this tub, it won't help," said Erik, tossing mattock-hacked lumps off the boat.
Manfred shrugged. "We didn't have a lot of choices, did we?"
Erik smiled wryly. "My tunnel was warmer and drier."
"Ah, but the fresh air. The views. The company," said Manfred, expansively. "Think how bored we'd be in Mainz. Nothing to do but eat, drink, and seek out brothels. This is so much better for the Icelandic soul than that would be."
"True," said Erik. "At least here I don't know with a sort of horrible inevitability where I will find you. I don't even know where we are right now. Unless you do?" he directed a look at Cair, who was steering, peering ahead.
Cair shrugged. "Norway. Some river called the Gjöll, I think."
Erik paused midthrow. "Gjöll. Who told you that?"
"Those kobold-creatures called it that. With any luck there won't be any rapids or waterfalls before we reach the sea. It is widening ahead. We can't be that far off sea level."
Erik raised his eyes to heaven. "If this really is Gjöll, we're already well below sea level. You don't know much about the Norse, do you, Cair? Where are you from?"
Cair stepped cautiously here. It might be that Manfred or his bodyguard might see their first duty to be to rid the Empire of Cair Aidin, rather than surviving first and taking their mutual chances later. And he no longer underrated these two men. "Lesbos. A Greek island." It was true enough. It wasn't Turkish at the moment. He had been born there. "And other than the fact that the Norse are gullible barbarians, no, not a lot. And I care less."
Erik looked around them and at the water racing under the bow. And laughed. There was not a lot of humor in it. "When you are in their world, Master Cair, the one thing you'd better learn is some respect. Or you're going to die here, in spite of being a good man with a weapon, and as slippery as a stoat. The Gjöll is supposed to be one of the rivers of the underworld."
It was Cair's turn to raise his eyes to heaven. Their view of the sky was at least a bit wider now. "There is usually a real mountain or river at the base of every barbarian myth, Ritter. From far off it is a magical place, an abode of gods. When you get there it is just another river or mountain, lacking in either magic or gods."
Manfred laughed. "We have a hardened sceptic among us, Erik."
"A sceptic that I still want to know more about . . . like what is he doing here?" enquired Erik, going back to off-loading ore.
"Being a fool. I was following Princess Signy." Cair was surprised at the pang that mentioning the little princess brought him.
"A loyal thrall, following his witch-mistress?" There was a hardness in Erik's voice. "Pardon my saying this, Master Cair of Lesbos. I never met anyone less thrall-like in my life. Tell us another one. The truth this time."
Cair bit his lip. "The truth is too ridiculous for even me to accept, Ritter, let alone you. I am her thrall. I'll admit I wasn't planning to stay anyone's thrall. But the child is in trouble. I couldn't just leave her to it."
"She's messed with some very black magics, Master Cair," said Manfred, with a gentleness that surprised Cair. "Murders. Politics, schemes, blood sacrifices. Not only men get involved. Ask Eric. Women—even young, pretty, good-seeming women get drawn in. There was a nun, Sister Ursula, back in Venice, who was one of the most evil people in the world."
Cair shook his head. "No," he said firmly, surprising himself with his own vehemence. "I'll believe nearly anyone else could be neck deep in murdering people, or any other kind of scheming in that court. I'm sorry, Prince. You didn't know her at all. But it isn't possible." He grimaced. "I was a stable-thrall. I suppose a murderess might treat old horses like, like their loyalty was worth something, Prince. She was as soft as goose grease with them, and the dogs, too. I suppose a murderess might love her dogs. But it just doesn't fit. She was . . . I don't know how to explain, but I know schemers." He gave a half-smile. "I am one. I could have done it, but not her. It is not possible. All Princess Signy was doing was surviving. They made it hard enough for her to do that much."
"No offence, Master Cair, but according to her brother, she was bitter that she as a woman could not inherit. He said that she was always plotting. That she was rotten to the core," said Erik, in what Cair read as a carefully neutral voice. "The stables did make me wonder. But the Christian mages did pinpoint her, Master Cair. As Manfred said, people are drawn into things that they don't mean to get into."
Cair had made split-second judgments all his life. He'd lived this long by not getting them wrong. He decided that he believed the Icelander—that he, at least, had no part in framing Signy with the theft. "Ritter. I have made myself into something of an expert on 'magic.' It's a lot of trickery. I can do that wand trick myself. Mostly, you play on people's fears. I think you'd all been fed a lot of tales by the princess's stepmother, and the nun decided to see if guilt would spook her into confessing. It wouldn't have worked. Those fellows in bearskins stole her away before there was time to prove her innocence. It was all a fake. A put-up job to allow the real guilty party to get away. With appropriate stories of bear-monsters—that turned out to be men."
Manfred was about to answer when Erik held his hand up for silence.
They could all hear it.
The grumble of rapids.
Big rapids.
Gjöll translated as "scream."