Lera listened.

“Do you hear something?” she asked.

“Rats.” Falduin answered.

“Don’t you have a light spell, so we could see?”

“There’s light up ahead.”

Further down the tunnel, perhaps a hundred or more paces away, they could see a patch of yellow, flickering light.  A single torch attached to the wall, Lera expected. From this far away it offered very little beyond a vague promise of luminosity.

They had wandered the tunnels for maybe a quarter hour already, although it was difficult to tell in truth.  It might have been as much as an hour. 

 The whitish stone passages wound up, down and around, and occasionally branching off to the left and right (seemingly at random).  Torches hung at irregular intervals, initially each within view of the last. However as they had progressed, the spaces between the lit areas increased. Sometimes, Lera and Falduin were forced to run their hands across the surface of the wall to remain orientated.

The fissure through which they had entered, was long, lost, in a maze of unremembered turns far behind. Falduin had guided them, even in the darkness, offering enigmatic directions as to the location of Orwic’s tracker. 

They had neither seen nor heard anyone else or anything, beside the chatter of rats hidden away in the dark places around them. It felt as though they were the only two people remaining in the world.

“The light’s there, not here,” Lera complained. “We should take the torch when we reach it?”

“Are you going to carry it?”

Lera glanced at her hands. One, held the grip of her shield; the other, the haft of her spear. “I suppose I could-“ she began.

“No,” Falduin said firmly. “ We don’t need it.  We’ve made it this far without one.  They don’t last long anyway.”

“Which means someone must be replacing them.”

“We’ll see them, long before they see us.” Falduin said. “After a moment he added, “To answer your question, yes I have a spell, but it might trigger a response.”

“What sort of response?”

“Fire, thunder, general mayhem.”

“Why?”

“If there is another mage it might attract their attention.”

“But you’re using the tracker and the wardings.”

“That was a half-league away. Plus the effects are more passive.  Much harder to detect.”

“But a simple light spell is not?”

“There’s nothing simple about a light spell.  You have to produce light without heat, otherwise you burn the item you place it upon.”

“When I was young, I saw a droll.  He had glowing lights swirling about him in the air.”

Falduin grunted, “A renegade most likely.  They often manage effects without any reason to them,” he paused, as he suddenly remembered. Then continued, “Although, one of my masters could do that trick.  The glowing orbs didn’t always wish to be dismissed, or go where commanded however.  They had a mind of their own.  Let’s just say the master lit up the room ever time he went to the gánk.”

Lera giggled, “Really?  How awful.”

“That's what I heard, anyway” Falduin admitted. “It happened a few years before I arrived at The Tower.”

“That sounds like a made-up story.”

“Piggy Peohtwy  swore it was true.”

Lera laughed, “Who?”

“Piggy Peohtwy.  He was a senior apprentice when I progressed to novitiate.” Falduin said, wistfully. “He was good.  Very good. Even managed a few evocations, which are almost impossible. But he was fat.  Really fat.  Could barely walk.  He had a blood disease or something.” 

Lera smiled, “That’s the first time you’ve ever told me something about your time in the High Tower.”

“There’s not much to tell.  It’s not very nice.  Everyone is extremely competitive. Full of backstabbing. Literally sometimes.”

“And what happened to Piggy?”

“He was killed during the war.  He was chosen as one of the initial group.  Survived The Test.  Then about six months later their camp was overrun by Imperials.  All the other wizards fled, but Piggy couldn’t.”

“I’m sorry.”

“They say they roasted him alive, cooking him down to render the fat.  I don’t believe that.  That’s something goblins might do, not the Imperials.  Come on.  Let’s continue.”

 

Falduin checked.

Orwic was close by.  He didn’t know where precisely.  The spell wasn’t that informative, but he was closer than he had been since they had left the camp.

“Why didn’t you notice when he left?” Lera asked him.

“I wasn’t checking on him.  I thought Ganthe was just being...Ganthe.”

“You told me you had grown to trust his instincts.”

“Now, yes.” Falduin insisted.  

They had continued wandering through the tunnels, following the tracker.  The lit areas had become more common, in fact the entire length of the passage they were in was lit by a row of torches.  For the last few moments it had been consistently descending, the rock becoming less white and more mottled-grey in colour.

“What do you want to do when we find him?” Falduin asked.

“Get my axe back, of course.”

“But other than that?”

Lera shrugged, “I don’t know.  I haven’t thought that far ahead.  I don’t even know where we are.  Are you certain this isn’t the mine?”

“Does it look like a mine?”

“I don’t know.  I’ve never been to a mine before.  Have you?”

“Mines are where they dig stuff out.  These are just tunnels.  Heric said the mines were on the opposite side of the hill.”

“I have a feeling we have traversed all the way through the hill by now, but I am so turned about I couldn’t possibly be certain.”

“The mind does horrible things when it’s denied its usual senses.  That’s part of The Test, you know.”

“Have you taken this test?”

“Of course not. I’m ready, but I wish to take mine at the Red Tower.”

“Why the Red instead of the White?”

“More prestige.  Only the most capable students study at the Red.  Plus they’re less strict.  A full-fledged wizard isn’t just plunked into a village and made to fix pots, pans and tools for the rest of their lives.”

“Is that what they make you do?”

“If you’re lucky.  One of the senior apprentices failed the written part of The Test because he had a grammatical error in one of his spells.”

“What happened to him?”

“Oh, he died.  Horribly.  The masters insisted he cast the spell, as written.  They made us all watch.  I’ve never seen so much blood.”

“What about the Black Tower?”

Falduin eyed Lera, “What about it?”

“Is that less strict? More prestigious?”

“Listen,” Falduin said, stopping suddenly. “Can you hear something?”

“Other than rats?”

“I thought I heard...a gong?”

“What sort of gong?”

“I don’t know.  What sorts are there?  A gong is a gong isn’t it?”

“Not in the nunnery it’s not. There’s the time to get up gong.  The dawn prayer gong. The breakfast gong. The after breakfast prayer gong. The mid-morning prayer go-“

“Why not just use one gong?”

“They all have to be different sizes and shapes.  It’s tradition.  Expressed in holy doctrine.”

“There it is again.  Can’t you hear it?”

“I can barely hear myself think. Have you ever worn mail and a helmet before?”

Falduin glanced to Lera, “No.  Why would I?”

“For protection.”

“That’s what my magic’s for.”

“That’s worked out well the last few battles.”

“If events turn especially bad I’ll flee,” Falduin suddenly grinned. “I just need to be faster than you.”

“Heavens!  Thank you.”

“Is that singing?”

“I think you’re hearing things. Your mind must really be denied.”

“May be.”

“By the way, speaking of battles.  Have you worked out the problem with your spell?”

“Which spell?”

“The one you keep using.  That keeps blinding us, causes insects to crawl about.”

“I think so.”

“You think so?”

Falduin nodded, “I expect it’s a mistranslation.”

“How can it be a mistranslation?”

“Perhaps a misinterpretation. Words matter.  Grammar too, I suppose.  Sometimes the Essence doesn’t fully grasp what you want.”

“And?”

“I have a solution.”

“Shouldn’t you test it?”

“Not here.”

“No, but-“

“He’s moving.”

“Where?”

Falduin pointed straight at the wall beside them. “There,” he said.  

The tunnel curved away to their right, and Falduin could see rudimentary stairs leading down ahead.

“Can you pass through walls?”

No.”

“Neither can I.”

“Then all we can do is continue and have faith that it connects up.”

“Have faith? Did you really say that?” she teased.

“You know what I mean.”

And the two of them crept down the stairs.

 

Their tunnel began to rise sharply.  Ahead they could see that it turned to the left.  Shallow alcoves had been carved into both sides, as though they were only partially completed before being abandoned. Passing them, they could see thin veins of gold streaking through the nearby stone.

“I thought they mined iron here,” Falduin said.

“I think its luggold,” Lera said, “It’s worthless.”

“So why mine it?”

Lera shrugged. “But we’re agreed that we’re clearly in the mines now,” she said in a whisper.

“It looks so,” Falduin replied, his voice quietening too.

There was a clear chime of a gong from ahead. Falduin hadn’t heard it for a while, nor the singing either.

“Did you hear that?” Falduin asked

“I did.”

“Good.”

Lera grinned, “Were you worried?”

“A little.”

“Remember if we see any bandits let me handle them.”

“Very well,” Falduin agreed, “if we are suddenly assaulted by a horde of singing bandits I shall sit back and let you handle them. The dancing and juggling bandits are all mine, however.”

Lera grinned, “You know what I mean.”

“We will both do our part.”

“Very well.”

They followed the tunnel up and to the left.  There were more places where mining had been started but ( for whatever reason) had never been completed. 

During Lera’s first years in the nunnery, one of the Arch-Priests had arrived in the dead of night to wake them all.  He had made an incredible discovery, he claimed.  He had incontrovertible proof that at least one (and perhaps many more) of the original Nëmhan Scrolls had been hidden in the nunnery.  The convent was old (positively ancient in fact), but even the Reverend Mother didn’t believe that was even remotely possible (and she believed anything that even remotely brought acclaim to the church, the convent, but especially to her - in reverse order).

The nuns spent the entire night and well into the day searching, forgoing breakfast (which wasn’t unusual) and a half-dozen prayer sessions (which was). They looked in every nook and cranny, scoured the small library, and even ventured into the catacombs beneath.  However, the convent was huge, and there were only a small number of nuns (this was well before the war when the Sisters of Axiom proved their worth and attracted both many new applicants, but sponsors as well).  They searched as well as they were able, but in the end they never found any trace of the scrolls (at least officially).  

These half-dug shafts reminded Lera of that day. Something had been sought, but too little effort or time was made in which to complete the search.

The chiming and chanting continued, loudening as they drew nearer, although the reverberation made it difficult to determine just how near they actually were.  Lera tried to make out the words, but they were strange to her.  The intonations too were foreign.  This was unlike any of the Nëmhan chants she had witnessed or been taught in the nunnery.

As they passed along a short piece of straight passage, the chanting appeared to be all around them, even beneath their feet, as it reverberated off the walls.  Falduin stopped, trying to pinpoint the direction of the sound. It appeared louder near the narrow fissures that permeated the stone on both sides of the tunnel. A faint breeze wafted through those cracks,  bearing a damp smell with whiffs of mold or mildew.

At the end of the straight section the tunnel widened and branched into a cross junction.  The branches looked naturally-formed instead of hewn from the rock.  The passage to their immediate right was unlit, but the ones to the left and straight ahead had lanterns handing from hooks embedded into the cavern walls.

“Which way is he?” Lera whispered.

Falduin pointed to their left.  The same direction from which the music originated.  He felt as though they should have been able to see the chanters, they sounded so close.  The deep, melodic voices repeated the same sounds.  It sounded hypnotic.

Lera moved over to where there was a gap in the cavern wall.  A faint glowing light sept through.  It presented a view of a cavern beneath, some hundred paces or more below.

At the edges, clusters of stalactites had formed in and around small pools of water.  However,  while the rest of the floor rose and fell unevenly, and was jagged in some places, it was more or less flat. Tiny lights patterned the floor. 

Candles, Lera guessed.  

From so high up, she could easily discern their design, something those on the floor would have difficulty perceiving.  Long swirls and coils, like that of many snakes, arced their way across the ground. Within each coil of lights there was a person, a man Lera guessed from the stature.  

These were the singers they had been hearing.  Their voices both resonant and pure. The chant soporific and wondrous.  Like the high summer plainsongs.

Then Lera realised she had been wrong.  A chill formed in her stomach.  She turned to Falduin, but she could see from his expression that he had realised the same thing, and felt the same fear.

The singers weren’t people.  They were goblins.