Elven Star (The Death Gate Cycle #2) by Margaret Weis & Tracy Hickman

Author:Margaret Weis & Tracy Hickman [Weis, Margaret & Hickman, Tracy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780553290981
Amazon: 0553290983
Publisher: Spectra
Published: 1991-07-02T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 22

THE TUNNELS, THURN TO THILLIA

THE DWARVES HAD SPENT CENTURIES BUILDING THE TUNNELS. THE

passageways branched out in all directions, the major routes extending norinth to the dwarven realms of Klag and Grish-realms now ominously silent-and vars-sorinth, to the land of the SeaKings and beyond to Thillia. The dwarves could have traveled overland; the trade routes to the sorinth, particularly, were well established. But they preferred the darkness and privacy of their tunnels. Dwarves dislike and distrust “light seekers” as they refer disparagingly to humans and elves.

Traveling the tunnels made sense, it was plainly safer; but Drugar took grim delight in the knowledge that his “victims” hated the tunnels, hated the smothering, closed-in feeling, hated-above all-the darkness.

The tunnels were built for people of Drugar’s height. The humans and the taller elf had to hunch over when they walked, sometimes even crawl on hands and knees. Muscles rebelled, bodies ached, knees were bruised, palms were raw and bleeding. In satisfaction, Drugar watched them sweat, heard them pant for air and groan in pain. His only regret was that they were moving much too swiftly. The elf, in particular, was extremely anxious to reach his homeland. Rega and Roland were just anxious to get out.

They paused only for short rests, and then only when they were near collapsing from exhaustion. Drugar often stayed awake, watching them sleep, fingering the blade of his knife. He could have murdered them at any time, for the fools trusted him now. But killing them would be a barren gesture. He might as well have let the tytans kill them. No, he hadn’t risked his own life to save these wretches just to knife them in their sleep. They must first watch as Drugar had watched, they must first witness the slaughter of their loved ones. They must experience the horror, the helplessness. They must battle without, hope, knowing that their entire race was going to be wiped out. Then, and only then, would Drugar permit them to die. Then he could die himself.

But the body cannot live on obsession alone. The dwarf had to sleep himself, and when he could be heard loudly snoring, his victims talked.

“Do you know where we are?” Paithan edged his way painfully over to where Roland was sitting, nursing torn hands.

“No.”

“What if he’s leading us the wrong way? Up norinth?”

“Why should he? I wish we had some of that ointment stuff of Rega’s.”

“Maybe she had it with her-“

“Don’t wake her. Poor kid, she’s about done in.” Roland wrung his hands, wincing. “Ouch, damn that stings.”

Paithan shook his head. They couldn’t see each other, the dwarf had insisted the torch be doused when they weren’t moving. The wood used to make it burned long, but they had traveled far, and it was rapidly being consumed.

“I think we should risk going up,” said Paithan, after a moment’s pause. “I have my etherilite [23] with me. I can tell where we are.”

Roland shrugged. “Suit yourself. I don’t want to meet those bastards again. I’m considering staying down here permanently.

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