The travelers continued through the damp tunnels for a while longer, unaware of the presence stalking them in the darkness. Although many of the markings had been erased, the few traces that remained guided Anthos on the path forward. From time to time, they stopped to rest their feet. During those moments, Kalen would take the opportunity to pray and ask Leiorus for a bit of his light in those shadows.
The deeper they went, the more the feeling of oppression in their chests grew. There was still a long stretch ahead, and perhaps they needed to rest earlier than usual to recover the strength they had lost in battle. Now the tunnel they were walking through was much wider, but almost devoid of ornamentation, nothing but roughly carved stone.
“Are we doing alright?” Begryn asked, moving beside Anthos.
“Yes, I remember this tunnel.”
“How much longer until we’re out of the mountains?”
“Considering we’ll need to rest a bit more, maybe a day… a day and a half.”
The elf made a face of annoyance.
“Hey, running into those beasts wasn’t in my plans…”
“I suppose it wasn’t in anyone’s plans.”
Their feet hurt, they were sweaty, a little battered from the fight, and exhausted. Anthos thought it was about time to stop. Still, he wanted to wait until they reached a landmark halfway through the journey: the Lake of Tears. He had no idea why it was called that. What he did know was that it was the only possible crossing point to the other side, and the only way across was with a barge. The times he had crossed before, it had been with the smugglers’ barge, which was always there—but now… Well, now he had no idea what condition the vessel might be in.
There hadn’t been any osgor before, and now the place seemed to be crawling with them. “How many more could there be? Was that just a scouting party, or could they have settled here so quickly? And if so, who the hell told them the path was clear?” he thought. Many things didn’t add up, but for now, he preferred to stay quiet and keep his eyes ahead.
After several minutes—minutes that might as well have stretched into hours—the tunnel opened up into a massive cavern, supported by towering stone pillars, where daylight streamed through a narrow crack high up in the arched ceiling of rock. In some places, thugio mushrooms grew along the ceiling, giving the impression of a starry sky overhead. Directly ahead lay a vast lake, faintly glowing with a bluish light produced by some sort of subterranean algae. On the near shore, they could see a small wooden boat, rather battered, with only a single oar.
From the tunnel’s opening to the lake stretched about fifty meters of stone, scattered with stalactites and stalagmites. They couldn’t see to the other side, since at a certain point the lake veered off to the right.
“Comrades, welcome to the Lake of Tears,” Anthos said with a theatrical gesture.
“Why is it called the Lake of Tears?” Kalen asked.
“I’ve no idea,” the guide shrugged.
“A long time ago,” Ertai began, “there was a massive expedition of the dwarves of Minas Mangur, searching for new internal routes and new riches. It is said that in this very place, the wives and children of the dwarven legionnaires came to bid them farewell. No one knows the cause for certain, but they never returned. Legend has it that the lake was filled with the tears of the legionnaires’ loved ones.”
“And does anyone know what happened to them?” Galfrido asked.
“Some say they found a passage to the south, one that led into the cursed region of Páramo, from which no one ever returned. Others claim they wandered into the elves’ marshlands and were annihilated for profaning some sacred ground. The only thing certain is that they never came back, and that marked a tremendous loss for dwarven military might. That was the time when they closed their gates for decades, vanishing from the surface and leaving only their legends behind.”
For a moment, they stood absorbed, taking in the vastness of the place. The guide had seen this lake before, but it was always the same: wide eyes and open mouths. Kalen recalled his last adventures with Amadis—coincidentally also in caverns. He had found an underground lake then, but nothing compared to this.
At last, Begryn spoke: “Beautiful place, but we must keep moving. How long will it take us to cross?”
“Not long,” Anthos replied. “Thirty, maybe forty minutes.”
“That’s not too bad,” Galfrido said, stretching. “Perhaps we could camp here for a few hours and leave later.”
“I don’t think so,” Kalen countered. “As far as we know, the osgor are on this side of the lake. If we stay, we may run into an unwanted encounter with those beasts. I don’t know about you, but I’m not eager to be those bastards’ dinner.”
“I understand, but if worse danger awaits on the other side—or more of those sons of bitches—we’ll have arrived exhausted, with little strength left to fight. I think resting is essential. What do you say, guide?”
“I agree with Kalen. Let’s cross at once and rest on the other side. The fact that the boat is on this shore worries me.”
Galfrido grumbled but said no more. Anthos stepped on board first and tested the small, rickety craft. It looked like a pile of old, rotten wood, but he assumed it would hold for the crossing—just as it had many times before.
“Do smugglers really go through all this trouble?” asked Begryn as she climbed nimbly, taking care to keep Drako hidden at all times.
“When they used this passage, they had better infrastructure. Many times, on this beach, they set up camp and even bartered. Besides, with the kind of goods they smuggled, they didn’t have many options other than doing it in the most surreptitious way possible…”
“And what did they smuggle?”
“Mostly slaves.” Begryn could not disguise the look of disgust on her face at those last words. It was a practice she abhorred to the utmost. “Even though they are forbidden in Doknar and in Trabarioth, in Elbarie they are in high demand. That is why they went to such lengths.”
“Both in Doknar and in Trabarioth there are noble families that keep orcs as slaves,” Galfrido remarked. “Depending on the point of view, that can also be something abhorrent…”
“I don’t know if I want to keep finding out…”
The elf sat down in the boat and pulled her hood over her head. Ertai climbed in behind her, without saying a word. Then came Kalen, and lastly Galfrido. Anthos took up the oar and began to move it in a circular motion, using the water to propel them forward.
At once, little Drako began to cry. Begryn tried to calm him, but for the moment without success.
“Do you want me to soothe him?” asked the treasure hunter. “I’m good with children.”
“No, I’m fine,” said Begryn, covering Drako even more and turning her back.
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Ertai shrugged.
A few seconds later, they felt the weight shift the barge from side to side as they sailed. Kalen looked down into the water and saw, now and again, a bluish glow moving in circles. He also glimpsed the shadow of huge fish swimming swiftly. From time to time, the light on the foreheads of the largest ones flared… and those were also the most dangerous. He knew well enough that they did it to lure their prey.
“Falling in here would not be a good idea,” said Anthos, as if reading the knight’s thoughts. “Those monsters could swallow you in a single bite. I’ve seen them devour some poor soul. He didn’t stand a chance.”
Those present leaned over with caution and could see the bulging eyes, the wide bucket-shaped mouths, and the luminous antenna, like a beacon of death. Their scales were tinged between reddish and orange. They had to be at least the size of an ox.
After several minutes, the boat stopped against rocks still submerged. As when they had boarded, they had to wade in, their feet sinking at least a few inches past the ankles. Begryn went ahead, leaving the baby with Galfrido, and scanned the dark surroundings with her elven sight.
“Friends, I have bad news,” she said. “There are quite recent tracks of osgors.”
If at any point the thought of resting on this side of the lake had crossed their minds, they now dismissed the idea entirely.
“We don’t have much left to finish the crossing,” said Anthos, trying to raise their spirits. “There are some stairs, a small stone bridge, a crossroad, and the final tunnel. That is all… As I told you, one day or a day and a half more of travel, if we rest a little and without setbacks.”
They began to walk along the second shore, which seemed even larger than the first. Anthos went ahead with Galfrido, and behind them followed Begryn with Ertai, Kalen, and the Dragon Knight, once more in the elf’s arms.
At last, they reached the stairs.
“I had forgotten how tall they were,” said Anthos, opening his eyes wide.
Before the travelers, the cave widened even more, and they could see that the path rose higher and higher, with a stone staircase that seemed endless. Sunlight filtered in through some gap in the stone vault or perhaps a reflection. Maybe it was not even sunlight at all, but rather a cluster of strange, glowing fungi. What was certain was that now the only thing that concerned them was the infinite number of uneven steps rising before them.
“You’ve got to be joking,” said Galfrido, spreading his arms. “One of those damned thugio mushrooms would come in handy right now.”
“I suppose there isn’t any place to properly catch our breath,” said Ertai, scanning the place with his blue eyes.
“No, there isn’t.”
“The sooner we climb, the sooner the muscle pains will end,” said Kalen at last, mustering all his leadership.
“Have you ever tried climbing with a child in your arms?” said Begryn with a faint smile on her face.
“That’s why I’m carrying your things,” Galfrido replied to the elf’s remark.
“Easy, easy, everyone. We’ll rotate the equipment,” said Ertai. “I’m not carrying anything right now. I wouldn’t suggest rotating the baby—since I’m sure Begryn would not agree—but the rest of the gear we can rotate, if you all agree.”
“That seems reasonable to me,” said Kalen. “Let’s move on.”
This time, Anthos went ahead with Begryn. The elf showed an incredible strength of will. They barely ever heard her complain, even with the pain she must have been feeling or the sheer physical effort the climb required. She carried the child and pressed on, as if nothing else mattered.
“It’s because of your training, isn’t it?” the guide asked her bluntly.
“What do you mean?”
“Your attitude. You don’t stop, you take risks, you don’t complain… I’ve never seen a woman behave that way.”
“Then you haven’t known many women, apart from that waitress and others of her kind.” At the uneasy silence that followed, the elf continued: “But yes, the training of the order is harsh. You couldn’t show any sign of weakness. The priestesses of Mistilanya saw to that. The full-moon fasts were the worst… the night hunts too.”
“What did you hunt?”
“Mostly heretics… members of the Tak-Ma sect, members of the Brotherhood of the Black Flame… orcs. We trained at all times to thwart their plans. They don’t rest. Their demons don’t rest. Neither could we.”
“Were they all women?”
“In my time, there were some men, but we were mostly women. In earlier years members of other races also belonged.”
“Sounds interesting. And can just anyone join, or…?”
“The position is passed down from parents to children. Almost always to the firstborn. In my case, it was between me and my sister, since we were born together, except that she became a priestess.”
“So, a twin sister…”
“Hey, don’t get your hopes up. We should be saving our breath.” The elf ended the conversation there.
They kept climbing for several more minutes, until at last they reached the top. Peering out, they saw a stone bridge just a few meters away. From the arched ceiling above, a trace of light from the outside filtered in. Right in front of them, the bridge—about thirty meters long and a meter wide—was split in the middle. It wasn’t a difficult obstacle; by jumping or taking a long stride, they could cross it. On the other side lay the entrance to a small tunnel.
“You’ve got to be kidding me, Anthos,” said Galfrido, trying to catch his breath the moment he finished the climb. “Another bridge?”
“I warned you. This one is… It’s quite a bit sturdier than the last…”
In truth, he wasn’t all that sure. Looking down, they could see an endless void. Anthos thought he remembered one of the wretched slaves falling, his scream fading as the depths of the abyss swallowed it. He had never gotten along with the smugglers. He didn’t even share their same standards when it came to business, but some of Adken the Wolf’s assignments had forced him to deal with them. Again, the name of his leader came to mind. What will become of him now? Is he still angry? He wondered.
For all they had gone through, the captain of the mercenaries had given him a home and treated him like one of his own sons. He knew that, at some point, he had become his favorite, his second-in-command, and almost certainly his successor. It hurt to think that all of it had been thrown overboard, just to quench the bloodlust of his men and earn a few extra crowns from a witless general.
“What are you up to, Adken, you miserable old man…?” Anthos muttered under his breath.
They reached the broken part of the bridge and managed to cross with a jump. When Galfrido, the last to cross, landed, the bridge collapsed further, and what had been a small gap was now a jump of at least four or five meters. The burly warrior nearly fell, but Ertai managed to grab hold of him long enough to pull him onto solid ground.
“Thanks…” said Galfrido, surprised at the treasure hunter’s gesture.
“Hey, don’t worry, big guy.” Ertai gave the burly warrior a pat on the chest. “I suppose we won’t be able to come back this way now.”
“The only path was always forward anyway,” said Kalen. “Let’s keep going.”
The knight appeared taciturn and thoughtful. He barely spoke, which was unusual for him. Galfrido, who knew him well, understood that he was focused on his mission. Whenever he had a complex or important task ahead, something seemed to awaken in him, as if he were being possessed by the very paladin Sharmuna Macdragor, or something of the sort.
They entered the narrow tunnel and advanced until they reached a crossroad. It split into two paths. On the left, there was a better-built passage, adorned though narrower, that connected with the main route to the city of Minas Mangur. Its archway bore runes and carvings of dwarves in different scenes, most often depicting battles.
The other was a wider tunnel, but without any trace of masonry or ornamentation. In the center stood a small sculpture of a dwarf seated, staring into the void. What drew attention, however, was that along the path to the right—the very one they had to take to reach the exit—there was the glow of fire, and the sound of drums and tribal music.
“Tell me our path isn’t the one on the right,” whispered Galfrido.
“It’s the one on the right.”
“Damn it, I knew it!” He raised his burly hands in mock praise. “What’s next… a giant osgor? Demonic lightning? A giant osgor that hurls demonic lightning?”
“That dreadful music belongs to something thoroughly uncivilized,” added Ertai.
“Comrades, whatever lies beyond, we shall face it together,” began Kalen. “These monsters are no longer a surprise to us, and we know they are as mortal as any other. What matters is that we cross safely.”
The knight exchanged a glance with Begryn, who understood perfectly what he truly meant: “What matters is that Drako crosses safely.”
Suddenly, from the corridor, from the emptiness, even from the ceiling, spheres the size of eggs appeared—green in color, with a spongy texture. As they hit the adventurers’ feet, they began to release a kind of greenish smoke.
“Cover your faces!” Kalen managed to shout, but it was too late. The toxin was already coursing through his body. He began to stumble, as his vision multiplied and the colors of the world around him grew more intense.
Through the luminous, iridescent shadows that invaded his sight, he thought he saw several osgors emerging from the darkness, grinning as they carried away his companions. The last thing he saw was one of the creatures striking his head with a club.
