Excerpt

An Excerpt from Underground to Nystol:

“Now, ye man-kin,” said Nergalfin in an eerie tone. “Take one last look at the light from above. I cannot safeguard you in the dark below, some of you will not return. It is your own choice! I will not bear the blame for your demise.”
The descending shafts were comfortably wide and unrestricted, and fortunately no wild beasts were inhabiting its cozy dens as we hurriedly passed through. The huge corridor sloped downward at slanted degrees, and on several occasions, we used ropes to lower ourselves. The most difficult moments occurred when the boat had to be steadied by ropes but nearly rolled over upon us several times. One man was almost crushed.
We knew that we had reached the appropriate depth when we heard the tumult of rushing water nearby. Soon the dwarf led us through several rocky and dim chambers as the noise of splashing increased. As we approached the shores of the great and turbulent under-river and spotted its vast ceiling, it quickly became apparent that we would not be needing bright lanterns. An eerie green and brownish glow of the subterraneous lichen on the walls or clinging to stalactites gave off ample light, but not enough for the eye to penetrate the depth of the swirling black water. A dank odor of mud and limestone permeated the subterraneous air.
There on that sandy narrow shore we embarked upon the cold waters of the Rathsurge. I sat in the front, just behind Hakkarl at the prow seat whose keen eyes could spot rocks. There was barely enough room in that narrow little vessel for all of us.
Soon entering a vast waterway, we let the swift current take us into places unknown, undreamt of.
Perhaps an hour passed in this alien environ, Eastward flowing, massive halls of stone, water, and shadows. As we drifted, I had much time to contemplate my possibly obscure death. The only satisfaction I could take was that my own townsfolk would imagine I had perished fighting in the war against Nergalfin. They would never learn the weird truth of my fate. I imagined my bleeding head adorning the end of some hobgoblin’s pike.
Here I was, still a wiry beardless youth in oversized chainmail tunic, cutting my life short to satisfy the dreams of a mad dwarf and curious captain. I could not imagine how a few warriors could possibly penetrate the notorious tower of Zenops, filled, they say, as it is with heavily armoured Wyrmlords and bolgs, trolls and goblin, or worse. Who knows but that Zenops himself might still be alive with his unholy magic to hurl at us.
Then, even more insanely, we imagined that we were going to raid Nystol, a city of Arcane masters. While lost in my dreadful and melancholy thoughts, I stared into the hypnotic whirlpools that slipped by just beneath my arm resting on the boat’s rim.
I noticed that presently no rower was causing this churning by a paddle, for only Nergalfin steering at the rear had his rudder in the wake. What then was causing the swirls passing by? I leaned over slightly to examine more closely.
“Gaze not into the waters.” warned Nerga, gravely. Surprised and alarmed at this admonition I tried to look back at him seeking an explanation, but I could not turn round fully in the cramped space.
Now a strange mist at once arose over us and covered us about.
The sound of crashing waters came up swiftly, and soon we found ourselves in tumultuous rapids.
“Hold fast, yeomen!” cried Nerga. “This torrent is the final descent into the intermundane level!” The current rushed the vessel onwards, at times nearly tipping us. The greatest terror was when the craft was propelled swiftly into swaths of complete blackness and several times smashed against rocks unseen. How is it possible that this boat, even with the reinforced metal, did not shatter?
It seemed our skiff was hurled into the air several times over a series of cataracts. There was no doubt in anyone’s mind, save perhaps Nerga, that the final moments had come.
We finally came to the terminus of raging and swift flowing waters, and slowing down the boat no longer drifted. I began to perceive, by the many echoes and distant glow of underlichen, that we had entered a vast subterraneous lake of some sort. A misty cold rain released from some unseeable ceiling high above constantly showered us. Nergalfin began to chant in some strange but familiar rime in his native Nibelung-tongue, by which the rowers could pull sequenced oarage.
The soldier who was positioned in afore of me, keeping in the prow, Hakkarl of Ulthorc, was a sturdy man and faithful soldier. He now seemed asleep, or perhaps knocked unconscious. I reached and shook his shoulder. His head fell back, revealing a huge gash, it was split apart horribly. Somehow in the raging chaos and darkness the strap of his metal cap must have popped. Hakkarl was dead. I had known him only four weeks, but we were companions.
“First sign of ill omen!” cried Haroun, his fellow. ”We will all perish down here. Sunk down so deep into the earth, too far to climb out, where no sunlight can ever penetrate, and where unspeakable volumes of rock hang over our heads to crush us at any moment! It was a fool’s bargain!’
“Restrain your girlish dread and any more like-haver, get a-hold of yourself.” demanded Kurgoman, hycman from Vath, another sturdy man-at-arms. (These hyc are close to the human, perhaps even human. Bad-spirited folk with impunity name them half-orcs, as if they be the whelps of vile orcans. It is a slight against a wholesome old race, an insult born of cruel pusillanimity, a sinful ignorance. Such a be-mixture of the corporeal spindle with troll-kin is an impossibility, as it is written, there is one flesh of baalites and fey, but another of men).
“No,” cried Raffing. “I say call out for help. Some denizen will come who can guide us. We are surely lost, lost in hopeless darknesses upon darknesses! -faint and airless under threat of crushing rock!”
“Havering knave! Who now will come save you? Any more of that kind of talk,” Nergalfin warned, “and I will crush you with my own dreadful hands before ever the rocks come falling through the dark. Now keep silent. We shall lay out the good soldier and pray over him when we attain an undershore.”
Now much time passed in this gloomy underworld lake, the good part of a day, if indeed there be such things as days down there. It were impossible to measure distance or direction, therefore we were entirely at the mercy of Nerga’s dwarf-keen.
After a while Dunnstark spoke.
“Perigaunce, you have not said much, and you are long silent. Say what thoughts you are secretly thinking, for though you are of insufficient bloodlust, there is no one who can match your perceptions and wise council.”
After some pause he gave reply.
“Unwise were we to tumble down here into this gloom, to heed such impulsive suggestion and rashly hurl ourselves into the bowels of earth. It might well be our undoing. Every hand among us should fold for the saying of suppliant prayers.”

“It is true.” I added “We did not even think to bring an Ammouric priest with the proper rites for the dead and for prayers against spirits.”
“Who needs prayers of a priest?” Dunstaark commented, “Men should accept their fate.”
“A priest would never have followed the likes of Nergalfin into this anyway.” observed Raffing.
“True, and we should have reached the roots of Zenops’ tower by now, Nerga.” said Dunstaark. “We should be all the way to the waters beneath Ulthorc by my reckoning. You cannot fool an Ammouric Ranger. One soldier is already dead. So cherish thou well that we also are a grim company with whom you must reckon, lest you risk our necks unnecessarily. Answer then or be wary of our wrath: whither are you steering us?!”
Nergalfin did not answer right away. There were several moments of silence as we listened to the water droplets hitting the black surface of the waters. Then at last he spoke in a loud whisper.
“Be silent and listen close to what sounds may drift to your ears on the ripples of this vast pond. We are not wise to travel these waters, and we are not given leave, not without a tablet of passage from the elf queen. Therefore, first we go to her castle, since if her elf-sailors should ever come upon us, they will send their shafts without polite introduction. If her navy does intercept us before we get there, they must attack, not expecting the likes of armed men down this far. I have heard from my cousins that she is at war.”
“At war? With whom?”
Many long moments passed by. Again, Nergalfin did not answer, but only softly intoned a long “Shhhhhh. We will guess it if we spot them. We don’t want to attract any attention.”
Another unmeasured span of time in silences and shadows passed.

III
How it was that Nergalfin had been able to steer the boat through such sightless tunnels, I could not fathom. On that question whispering to my brother I spoke.
“How did that mad dwarf have the keen to steer us through? It is incredible that only one man was knocked dead in that torrent.”
“Dwarves and other elphim” he replied, “they have a innate power of what we physicians call the infravision, and which the elves call darksight, the faculty of perception at lowest levels of light.”
“I fear we have already attracted attention.” said Nergalfin suddenly. Cover your heads down, some enemy ship hither approaches. We can still conceal, mayhap at a distance they should mistake us for some log or rock!”
“Who should?”
Nergalfin pointed to a vague shape barely discernable at a distance in the darkness and mist. It was a ship of most alien design, a sort of grizzly-shaped galley decorated with horns and threatening jaw-like shapes.
“Curses...it be the Wyrmlords already,” Nergalfin whispered loudly. “They must be patrolling. Their ears must have heard us. But their eyesight is not the best, at least not anymore, its not even as powerful as your own. I think we can fool them.”
“Wyrmlords?”
“Warriors of Chaos: berserks, possessed by the drakodemon, their humanity consumed. They are instead men soulwise being of dragon’s seed, and of unmatched fury!”
“How many?” asked Dunstaark.
“We could call to them, invite them to talk. They might help us find our way.” said Raffing.
“There is no bargaining with Hell. Angels of Death will never willingly pass over their take. If we make the ship look like a log, if we crouch down, they might pass us by.”
“Not at all…too late for that now. See, they come about and are heading toward us. We cannot out-maneuver them. Can you escape demoniacs once they lay eyes upon you? Not a fair chance.”
“We shall instead make them the prey. Carry arms!” ordered Dunstaark. “Give them no quarter!”
Within moments the horrendous dragonship was bearing down upon us.
“Our vessel is too small for them to board and offer their bladework.” said Nerga, as the grisly dragon ship closed in on us. “So our boat’s size might yet be advantageous, but we must keep clear of their flaming darts!”
Soon we lost any hope to escape the onslaught of those berserking “knights of Chaos.” As they neared I could see more clearly perhaps twenty of them, most of whom were occupied rowing. Their helmets were of dreadful horn and their armour scaley red-dragon fins, while their shining red eyes betrayed how possessed they were with unholy power. Their weird galley of bristling spikes and grimacing shields bore down upon us like a hawk upon a duck.
The first thing they hurled at us, when they came in range, was a grappling hook, and this was lobbed through the volumes of air. This great claw, a many- pronged grappling hook, struck the corpse of Hakkarl, still bent over in front of me, and lodged its iron talons deep in the dead flesh of his back. The corpse’s weight, since he was a well armoured man and was wedged into the narrow prow and his legs under the thwart, enabled them to begin pulling us in quite easily. The hook- claw was right in front of me, in arm’s reach.
“Sever that line!” cried Nerga.
I lunged forward and began to work at the taut line with my knife. Next a volley of flaming arrows rained down upon us, most of which passed into the black water. A burning shaft passed by my head, of terrifying speed and fury, and struck inside of the skiff, catching its fire to the canvas that covered our supplies.
The dagger was of no avail, for the line was especially strong.
“Try this tool!” said Raffing behind me, handing me a small hand axe. Still, the axe did not accomplish it, and I could not swing at a sidewards stroke properly without tipping the boat, since the corpses’ weight and tug of the enemy had unbalanced us enough.
“Dump that soldier’s body!” yelled Nerga. ‘That is sacrilege!” I cried.
“Not if it spares our lives!” retorted Nerga. “Go ahead, do it.”
There was no other choice in this engagement. I do not regret the decision to obey, heeding even that dwarf, and I do pray every day that the man’s spirit learns not to hold it against me. Hakkarl’s corpse sunk down swiftly, vanishing into watery darkness under the weight of his armour.
The fire from the arrow was not easily extinguished, for they had used some sort of burning jelly to spread the flames. The battlehand Brodain of Yahoros was struck and much effort was made to put out the burning of his leg. It did not spread easily however, since everything was still rather drenched from the cataracts.
Once free of the grappling hook we hoped to evade them, escaping into the mist, but they still further pursued us even though they were slowed by the line dragging the corpse through the water. The body weighed their ship down. Such iron instruments as those sizable hooks, I later learned, are expensive and highly valued in the underworld. The dragon-men would not sever the line and part with it, but found it necessary to slowly dredge up Hakkarl’s heavy body and armour. Nevertheless, they were soon in close pursuit again.
“They have terrifying speed on land, in hand-to-hand combat, and at sea their ships are swift, though they have some disadvantage when lacking of fighting space.” said Nerga.
We paddled sternly and were running out of breath. Surely if they caught us we would be all been slain either in combat or, having surrendered, summarily executed. Though we ourselves had some training in battle, it was quite obvious that these warriors were of a skill quite beyond our understanding.
“My limbs will soon weary of this race,” said Dunstaark, “it is most met that we resolve the issue. Come about...and attack these demoniacs...head on.” In broken phrases this was ordered, for he was out of breath from rowing with hard push. (There was heard no assent of “aye” from any of us).
“Did no oathbound hand hear me? There will be no more of this cowardly straining. Let us not live without honour! You all know how to meet edge with steely edge and hazard defiant force against them. Will you yield your own ground?”
“What ground? There are but pools. Respect and honour mean little in this deep world.” warned Nerga. “All your men would wastefully perish in a frontal assault. No pitched battle be necessary. Even one Wyrmlord is a miserable fight for an experienced swordsman like you. Besides, ye are bound by word to destroy Nystol.”
“I’ll not lose honour doing so! Not by my ancestors!”
“Yes you will.” retorted Nerga. “One thing all my years of striving in vain warfare has taught me: honour among men is no safely kept thing. It fades away as quickly as it is won. Look at all my victories. Did it hinder the loathsome gossips and lying scribes from spoiling my name? Did it even teach lesser kings not to band against me in betrayal?”
“I have the charge of these men, Nerga, but you are my hostage and have no say.”