Mines of Behemoth by Michael Shea

Author:Michael Shea [Shea, Michael]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fantasy
ISBN: 9780671878474
Publisher: Baen Books
Published: 1997-05-19T14:00:00+00:00

XVI

Heliomphalodon Incarnadine

Did crave to clutch the splendor of the sun. . . .

NEAR THE NEST-MOUTH, we knew, the light of the subworld discolored the light of the tunnels. This was our greatest fear through that long downward journey. Through the dodging, and dashing, and diving for cover, it came back to us, and haunted our talk when we rested. Would our orange hue, outside the blue gloom of the Nest, remain invisible to Behemoth eyes? Going out astride our Forager, Barnar and I had invisibility by our position. Down on the tunnel floor, where every Behemoth eye bent automatic scrutiny for parasites, would our cloaks of dye still conceal us? Before we must worry about finding cover in the demonrealm, we must worry about managing to exit the Nest at all.

We had a full "day" of trekking behind us, and a bone-tired sleep in a cramped crevice, and almost another day again of the quick-march (to judge by the weariness in our muscles) when, as we crouched together for a rest, Barnar said, "There's no doubt we're near. You can smell it, can't you?"

For the Nest-smell, though rank in places, was a vital fetor, an oven aroma of life a-rising; the poisoned carrion scent of the demon-realm came coldly twisting through this womb-smell like a venemous reptile.

So we trotted the last leg of our descent with a fated, falling feeling, that hollow-gutted sensation of knowing you're launched, a loosed arrow.

We passed a turning, and there was the atrium, thunderous with traffic, awash with purple light, and windowed at its far end by the Nest-mouth raggedly framing the blood-red void of the demon-realm beyond.

"Can you run all-out? A half mile and more?" I asked the Bunts and Costard. The three of them were in the condition to be expected: eyes glazed with weariness, blistered and breathing hard. They nodded gamely, even soft Ha'Awley, but still I silently cursed them. They must surely die on us! Because—Cauldron scald them!—Barnar and I were damned if we'd let them slow us up by even one stride! "Hold close to the wall then," I gritted, "have a scent flask in hand, and run!"

The downward pitch was helpful, and the terror like a wave that lifts you from behind. From the giants that rushed towering by us too there came a kind of impetus, as if the gust of their passage pulled us along. Even so we slogged through the wine-red air as if submerged, our limbs and lungs fighting the drag of a thickening dread. I couldn't believe we ran unseen, though the Behemoths rushed past unheeding, high knees pumping.

"Faster! Nearly there!" I looked back to bellow—and saw a Digger, overtaking us with her jaws full of tailings, suddenly drop her burden and tilt an alert eyeglobe at Bunt and Sha'Urley, who were bringing up our rear.

Horror thrilled me, stopped me, spun me round. The Bunts still owed us a fiftyweight of specie, and should we lose the pair of them, there was no hope of extracting the sum from feckless Costard.

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