The Last Satyr: The Company is Formed Part 1

“What lies ahead?” Graybeard asked of Marroh.

“Nothing but an easy walk,” said the dwarf as he lit a waiting torch that sparked to life and was suddenly lighting them all up with its flickering orange flame. “See here—torches! And dry flint!” He pointed them out. “Every dwarf mine has them. Everyone select themselves a torch and light it. Do you see these pots? They contain tallow oil. You’ll find them all along the way. When your torch burns out, simply dip it into the tallow of one of the pots, relight it, and it will burn again. It will not only light your way but warm you and its smoke trail gives you the wind direction within here to follow. Take heart, friends. The worst is behind us! We'll simply walk through this mountain. No wind, snow or wolves in here!”

The boy thought well enough of that at first with the torches lit but was soon changing his mind. There was something very unnatural about going forward into a pitch-black hole and with no light from the entrance behind or an exit ahead. He now agreed with Ronthiel. This was not a place to be. The tunnel was abandoned for good reason, only fools ventured here. Further, the tunnel was short and narrow and he felt the growing grip of claustrophobia as any satyr used to open spaces would.

“See?” Marroh pointed out. “All the comforts and an easy walk with plenty of room!”

The dwarf looked back at the others and how cramped they were.

“Oh! I see!” he said and added. “Well! There’s plenty of room if you’re a dwarf.”

“Can’t we rest?” young Joe begged. “I’m exhausted from the cold and the climb.”

Dwarves may be short, but they are of hardier stock than either men or elves and Marroh had forgotten that. But he addressed it quickly.

“Not a problem,” he assured them. “When we get to the ore vein, the cavern will open up and you’ll have plenty of space and time to rest. It shouldn’t be too far ahead.”

The tunnel split in different directions several times and the boy soon lost track of how to get back and was hopelessly lost. Marroh, though, had no difficulty in finding the way and soon led them into a huge cavern. Here he stopped to allow them to rest and lie down in the cool, damp air.

By his torchlight, the boy studied the vast, dank chamber with the occasional sound of dripping water. It was roughly circular in shape, with jagged, uneven walls, and there must have been over fifty tunnels leading out from it in all directions to disappear into the surrounding darkness. He could not even tell which one they came in by, let alone by which one they were to go out. The place was like a maze complete with a damp, musky smell.

“How do you know where you’re going?” the boy asked.

“Each tunnel has a mark above it, telling you where it goes,” the dwarf replied. “It’s quite impossible to get lost. Of course, the tunnels don’t go straight. They follow the ore veins. So they may go up or down or turn off to the side but we’ll eventually exit on the other side of this mountain.”

“How long?” Belam inquired.

“Maybe two days,” was the answer.

“How do you know when a day has gone by?”

“You don’t,” the dwarf said. “But, as a rule, sleeping twice means two nights.”

They slept then on the cool rocks until they were awakened by a sound behind them like rocks continually falling in the tunnel.

“What is that—a cave in?” asked young Joe.

The dwarf listened.

The sound continued. It would intermittently stop for a few moments, followed by a different sound, like rock being dragged back and scrapped over other rocks, followed by more falling rock, lots of it.

“That’s not a cave-in,” said the mystified dwarf. “Those are rocks you hear—yes—but they’re not falling. They’re being dragged and pulled out of the way and then cast aside by something at the entrance behind us.”

“What is it?” asked the boy fearfully.

The boy’s hands gripped his torch tighter. His gaze darted from one tunnel entrance to another, his breath quickening. He pressed his back against the cold rock, his chest rising and falling rapidly as the distant sound of scraping claws reached his ears. He glanced at Marroh, his eyes wide and pleading, silently begging for reassurance amidst the mounting unease that churned in his stomach.

“Something’s trying to force its way into the mine,” said the dwarf, still listening. “And, whatever it is, it’s too big to get in and so uses a pick to break the rock.”

“It sounds more like claws to me,” said Ronthiel.

“Then they are claws of iron,” said Marroh.

“Explain yourself, dwarf!” demanded Amien of this mystery.

“I know not what it is, but it is too big to fit through the tunnel entrance and so it now digs its way in. It digs its way through solid rock as fast as ten dwarves!”

“What could possibly dig through solid rock?” Belam asked for them all.

“I don’t know,” said Amien. “And I don’t think I wish to know either. I think it’s after us.”

“I told you we are not alone!” declared Ronthiel as he looked at Graybeard. “It has been following us ever since we left Linthiel!”

“You knew?” asked Belam of Graybeard. “And you said nothing?”

Graybeard nodded with a steady gaze as he too listened.

“What is it?” whispered the boy with a quiver of fear.

“The displacer beast?” asked young Joe, his eyes wide. “Or a warg?”

“It’s too big for either,” said Graybeard. “They can fit through any tunnel we can. No. This is something bigger.”

“It is Olga,” said the boy with terrified certainty. “She has followed us! She is too fat to get in but strong enough to lift rock.”

“Olga?” repeated Marroh. “Who is Olga?”

“An ogress,” answered Ronthiel. “She once tried to eat me.”

“An ogress?! And I’m just now hearing about it? Why wasn’t I told? Why, we boys are just the right size for her to eat. And we’re very tender and tasty, too!”

“I sense something,” Graybeard said, ignoring the others now as if troubled. “A presence I haven’t felt before. Something that shouldn’t be and was never intended to be. I don’t know what it is. Well!” he shook himself of his thoughts and decided. “It’s either something very terrible or perhaps not. Either way, if we leave now, we shall be well ahead of it before it tears its way through that much rock. Have no fear, boys. No harm will come to us just yet.”

So they set off again, following Marroh through the winding passageways. The noise of the digging behind them continued for a time, the sound traveling a long way in a mine. Suddenly, it stopped.

“Listen!” said Belam, halting in the silence.

“It is inside the main vein,” said the dwarf, realizing what it meant. “It’s reached open space.”

“It will move faster now,” said Ronthiel in realization.

“We are still well ahead of it,” Graybeard reminded them. “We shall be out of here long before it catches up with us. I should not worry about it.”

They continued on, but then the dwarf suddenly stopped.

“Odd,” he said, looking ahead.

The tunnel they were in had come to a stop. It simply dead ended.

“We have to go back,” said Graybeard, seeing the tunnel stop.

“But the sign said this was the way!” argued Marroh.

“You’re sure?”

“I’m positive!” said the dwarf. “And there’s no sign of a cave-in. The way ahead hasn’t been blocked. It simply dead ends!”

“Let us go back to the last sign and check it again,” suggested Graybeard.

So they trudged back to the tunnel’s entrance they were in and where the dwarf showed Graybeard the mark above it.

“You see? It says this is the way.”

“Ronthiel!” called Graybeard to have him come over to look for himself. “My old eyes are not as good as yours. Tell me if this mark has been changed.”

Ronthiel came forward, held up his torch, and studied it.

“No dwarf,” he decided, “made this mark.”

“How can you tell?”

“A dwarf has sufficient skill to mark his path by his pick. A stonecutter’s tool did this.”

Marroh took a closer look. “He’s right. No dwarf made that mark. It’s a false trail!”

“The old mark on the rock was shorn off here,” Ronthiel showed, pointing to the smooth rock below. “With this new mark then applied afterward.”

Marroh was astounded. “No dwarf would ever do such a thing!” he declared in disbelief. “It would be suicide for others that followed!”

“No dwarf did,” said Graybeard. “This was done by one unafraid of tunnels, that used a stone cutter instead of a pick, and can read ancient Elvish.”

“A drow!” the boy gasped as he sucked in his breath.

The truth revealed itself like a veil being lifted from a hidden painting, exposing the treacherous handiwork of the drow. The mark above the tunnel entrance was like a mask that had slipped, revealing the deception beneath.

“Yes,” Graybeard said with a solemn gaze. “The drow came in here and changed the tunnel markings hoping to trap any dwarves that came in here into getting lost.”

“It seems to have worked,” noted Belam for them all. “We’re lost. There must be a thousand tunnels behind us.”

The boy fidgeted nervously. There was something else behind them too, something big and with claws of iron. Amien looked back also, aware of it.

“We’ll never find our way out!” cried young Joe in panic.

"I knew it!" Ronthiel declared, furious at himself. "I never should have gone into a cave!"

“Quiet!” said Graybeard. “Do not be afraid. We can reason this out! Everyone! Sit down. We shall think it through. I’m sure the dwarf can find his way out.”

“Can you do that?” asked Belam.

The boy waited on Marroah's answer, pinning all his hopes on him expectantly.

Yet the dwarf didn’t answer.

He looked dumbstruck.