Into the Second World Read online

  “Our ogre is showing off,” I said as I sat down again.

  “Showing off?” Nik said.

  “He’s over in the village green performing feats of strength for the gnomes, who appear to be delighted. He lifted six children, three to an arm, high enough they all squealed like piglets. He bounded in a single leap over a cart. Two of the taller young men took it as a challenge and tried to duplicate the jump, but of course neither managed it. They seemed to take even failure in good humor, though.”

  “That’s good news. These gnomes could prove to be invaluable as allies. Already have, in truth.”

  “His strength didn’t surprise me, of course,” I said, “for we’ve seen that time and again.”

  “Something else surprised you?”

  “That he likes the attention. You may believe me or not, but I’d swear he relishes it. He’s as animated and happy as I’ve ever seen the man.”

  “Good. More than good, it’s great. Someone here deserves to be happy. We all do.” He paused, then added, “If my ankle weren’t sprained, I bet I could clear that cart.”

  I smiled in the half light.

  Perhaps it was our circumstance, and perhaps it was only my own personality, but even in that moment of peace and ease, worries gnawed at my mind. However comfortable we might be, Bessarion was an outcast, for reasons mysterious and somehow ominous. We had no idea where we were and even less of an idea how we might ever return home. No explorer in a tropical jungle was ever in a more alien or inimical land. We were safe for the moment, but I could not keep from wondering what the next moment might bring.

  Nik stirred beside me and moaned a little. “Damn this ankle,” he muttered.

  I took what comfort I could. We were battered, injured, and poisoned, but we were together. We had come this far. We would go farther yet.

  First Dwarves

  We had been in the gnome village for several days—our tracking of time had got a bit lost during the storm and thereafter. The gnomes seemed to sleep in shifts of five hours or so, so they were of little help in restoring our diurnal schedule. The five of us did, however, try to keep a common period of wake and sleep, and we still ate in common.

  Even Beso.

  “I’m worried about him,” I said. We were sitting in Nik’s hut, which had become our common meeting place, mainly to keep him off his ankle as much as possible. This was no easy task; he was quite a grump about it.

  “Beso?” Nik said. “He’ll be all right.”

  “The poor man suffers,” Henrik said, “as anyone who has lost their ideals and found their heroes walk on feet of clay.”

  As Nik had said, the professor’s recovery was complete once he awoke from a long sleep.

  “Or, he’s just born gloomy,” Nik said.

  “You’re both right, but it doesn’t matter. We have to find some way to bring him out of himself or he’ll be no use to anyone.”

  “Gabi’s right on that,” Nik said. “I’ve seen men fall into depression while in the wild. They become a burden at best, a danger at worst.”

  “Well, I did try,” Henrik said. “I asked him to go with Gabrielle and myself to see about this barrier the gnomes keep pressing me on.”

  “You mentioned that yesterday,” Nik said. He shifted position, winced visibly, then even more visibly tried to hide it. I pretended not to notice, but I noticed. He might be healing, but he was not healed.

  “It was called the Collar or some such, yes?”

  “Cosmas helps me with the conversation. One gnome in particular—I think he must be a village elder or something like it, named Denso—has been most insistent. It’s in a direction opposite the city. Collar is Cosmas’s best guess for the word.”

  “But,” Queller went on, “whatever it is called, I get two clear impressions. One, it is some sort of physical barrier, though the word dürgar is connected in some way, and that word seems to mean a person of some kind. I haven’t sorted that out yet. Two, the barrier exists to protect these lands from some danger. I’m guessing it’s from the sort of predatory creatures we have encountered.”

  “Well, that’s good, then, isn’t it?” Nik said.

  “It is,” Henrik said tentatively.

  “But?”

  “Denso seemed afraid of it. He refused to go there and kept repeating that dürgar word. I can’t get much more out of him, so we’re going to go see it.”

  “Sounds an excellent idea,” Nik said. “When do we leave?”

  “We don’t. It’s at least an hour’s march, over who knows what sort of ground. You can’t very well go, my boy, can you?”

  Nik made a show of a long, piteous look, then resigned himself.

  “She can take my pistol,” Nik said.

  “I can handle a gun,” Henrik protested.

  “I’ve seen you handle a gun. I’ll give her the gun, if you please, and even if you don’t.”

  “It will free you to make observations,” I said quickly.

  “Hmph. That it would, that it would. Even so, I must insist that I’m a capable shot, and I . . . what is that infernal racket?”

  A drumming sound had rattled for some time until it was now louder than our voices.

  “I’ll go see,” I said. “You stay with Nik. You can tell him more of what you saw.”

  I rose, a foreboding weighing on my mind. In a world of unknowns, every new mystery felt like a threat. Henrik’s talk of walls and creatures hadn’t helped. I stepped through the doorway and into the road.

  The drumming was louder outside and seemed to be coming from every direction. The roadway was busy with activity, gnomes hurrying here and there, or coming out from their homes. A group of gnomes was herding Cosmas toward me, gesturing urgently.

  “Hello, Gabrielle Lauten,” he said as he came close.

  “What’s going on?” I asked. “Do you know?”

  “I do not.”

  The gnomes parked Cosmas next to me, indicating with earnest signs that we were to remain where we were. When Cosmas nodded assent, they hurried off.

  Looking up and down the road, the village seemed to be composing itself for some event. Most gnomes now stood outside their homes, lined up shoulder to shoulder the way people do for a parade.

  “Visiting dignitary?” I said.

  Cosmas shrugged a reply.

  Then, as if on a signal, the drumming stopped. A handful of stragglers joined their families. Silence ensued briefly, then a low, plaintive chant wove through the village, soft, almost timid. This, too, faded away, to be replaced by a new sound, harsher. It recalled marching and the creak of leather and the murmur of voices.

  The sound was approaching. A gnome said a single word: “Dürgar.”

  They rode into the village on the back of nightmares: long-bodied creatures with too many legs, possessed with the head of a panther and a striped carapace of tan and black. I could not tell if it was armor or exoskeleton, but the overall impression was of a grotesquely large insect. What sort of animal lay beneath the armor was unknowable.

  The leader of this band rode his own mount. His lieutenants shared, two to a monster. The troops rode three and four deep. A score of them trotted in with the casual arrogance of the conqueror. One of their number was arrayed more magnificently; his bearing marked him at once as their commander and, by implication, the others as soldiers. I hardly needed to notice that each carried a short spear in a sheath.

  As to the riders themselves, they were dwarf-like but different. Of the same stocky stature, these possessed no hair at all—bald of head, face and body. Their skin had the unhealthy color of stone, in varying shades of gray that made them look like walking dead. They wore no armor, but all wore masks. These were gaudy in color and ferocious in aspect. Some seemed to evoke some animal of one sort or another, while others were abstract in design—stripes or chevrons, several split in half between two colors. Each had stylized eyes or mouth or nose, all designed to make them look grotesque, or so they seemed to me. Beyond that, they
wore little else: broad straps across their chest, into which were stuck broad-bladed knives. This, and a cloth around the waist, but naught else.

  Some carried slings, some curved swords, but most carried three-pointed spears, each in squads arrayed alike. They bore themselves like soldiers, riding proudly, the lieutenants barking commands. All were well drilled, moving in concert.

  As terrifying as were the beasts and their masters, it was the behavior of the gnomes that took the heart out of me. Man, woman, and child alike stood before their homes, doors and windows opened wide, with their hands clasped before them, heads bowed. Along the entire length of the village, gnomes were gathered outside their houses, every one of them striking an identical pose: head lowered, hands held out with palms up, bowing slightly. The whole village had rolled over and exposed its belly to the predator.

  The sight chilled me. It was the same pose struck by beggar gnomes all across Europa, the same as I’d encountered at the train station in Salzburg. Something was happening, I knew not what, but it was bad enough to make petitioners of an entire community.

  Sounds of scuffling came from my right. Two gnomes were clinging to Bessarion, who had finally come out of his hut. They hissed like lizards as Beso roughly tried to shake them off. The lead soldier turned his mount in the direction of the noise, and the gnomes instantly released Beso and returned to their strange, pleading gestures.

  Beso scrambled forward, uttering an awful wail. He ran directly at the soldiers, but eagerly, as if greeting long-lost kin.

  The soldier shouted. In reply, Beso shouted phrases in Old Dwarvish in high, shrill tones. He waved his arms. He capered.

  The soldiers halted their mounts. All had their weapons at the ready. I wanted to call out to Bessarion, urge him to caution. How could he not sense the danger?

  But he was blinded by his beliefs. He did not see soldiers on war mounts, armed with tridents, nets, and scimitars. He saw only what he longed to see, what he had come all this way to see: the Ancients. The First Dwarves.

  Beso, I urged silently, get out of the road.

  From the commander came a rattle of sharp words, and several soldiers sprang into action.

  Bessarion screamed as soon as he saw them. Screamed and ran. I had seen the dwarf leap over chasms, face six-legged tigers, and a sea monster, but in that instant he became a frightened child running from monsters.

  The commander gestured, and two of the beasts leaped forward. Their riders pulled out their javelins. Then the beasts, their necks incredibly flexible, made an odd, jerking motion, and spat out something black. It flew like an arrow, striking Beso in the back. He staggered, pitched forward, and did not move. The riders wheeled their mounts without even checking their victim.

  A few gnomes scurried to the dwarf’s side. The commander spoke another command. Several soldiers charged forward, unslinging weighted nets.

  Cosmas gave forth such a roar that I drew back as if struck. He leaped into the road, grabbed a soldier as he rode past, pulling him to the ground. Without a pause, he continued his charge. The gnomes shrieked and cowered as if they would fold themselves into the road. Cosmas interposed his own person between the gnomes and the oncoming soldiers. They did not miss a stride. The terrible beasts spat. Three black things appeared on Cosmas’s body and seemed to move before attaching themselves. The ogre fell at once. Four soldiers dismounted, threw their nets, then pulled out swords.

  The commander shouted and they stopped, swords still held high. He spoke some more, and they put away their swords. At that point, Professor Queller came out.

  “What’s going on?” he said as he straightened up from the doorway. “Great gods!”

  “Professor,” I said as urgently but calmly as I could, “make no sudden move. I think they’ve just killed Beso and Cosmas both.”

  Professor Queller began to sputter and huff, but then the commander spoke.

  “The enemy i’ no dead.”

  I shall not try to reproduce his strange accent. He spoke our language, but could not manage sibilants or most hard consonants. In the moment, I scarcely cared. I was only relieved to hear our friend might be alive.

  “What have you done to him?” I demanded.

  The commander gestured, uttered something in his own tongue, and two soldiers moved to where Beso lay.

  “We kill him soon enough, it may be.”

  He said this so casually, my blood turned to water.

  “Who are you?” I said, more meekly.

  “Dürgar.”

  “Well, Herr Dürgar, what do you want of us?”

  “I am dürgar.” He gestured. “We are dürgar. You are captured. You will submit and obey.”

  Professor Queller began to protest, but I cut him off. I had no doubt the man would kill us all if provoked.

  “We are not your enemy,” I said. “We are scientists. Explorers. We are guests of these gnomes.”

  “Mmm,” the commander said.

  “May I know your name?” I asked, striving for any point of connection.

  “No,” he replied.

  He raised himself up and surveyed the village, nodded once, then spoke more commands. A gnome replied, glancing toward our hut. Three soldiers dismounted—the tall creatures lowered themselves much like camels do—and advanced.

  “No, no, you can’t,” Professor Queller said. “Niki’s hurt.”

  One soldier swept his javelin, catching the professor at the knees. The old man fell with a cry. The other two went inside.

  I made no move, but only locked eyes with the dürgar commander. He returned my stare, heartbeat for heartbeat. I heard Nik struggling inside and bit my lip. After more scuffling, they came out, dragging a bound and gagged Niklot behind them. Professor Queller began to weep.

  A creaking rumble approached. Its source was two wagons pulled by some beast of burden shaped like a badger but large as an ox. The soldiers loaded Beso into the first wagon, throwing him like a sack of flour. They did the same with Cosmas, only he was too big for throwing. They wrestled and tipped him in like a tree trunk. Try as I might, I could see no indication whether the dwarf and ogre were alive or dead. Four soldiers did stay at the wagon, as if to guard. I took a small measure of hope from that.

  I was bound hand and foot, as were Nik and the professor, and the three of us were unceremoniously dumped into the second wagon. I suppose if it had been ceremonious, it would have not made much difference.

  We did not leave the village at once. The commander had words with the gnomes. Angry words. I did not doubt they were being berated for harboring us. After several minutes of this, during which the gnomes pleaded, falling to their knees and even onto their faces in the dirt, the commander heeled his mount around and the company marched away.

  We were ten minutes from the village when I heard the cries of gnomes. I looked back to see flames rising from the houses. Moments later, the fields also began to burn. The sounds were not of outrage or protest or even of pain. They were lamentations, helpless and unending.

  The fire chewed its way across the little gardens and out into the fields with surprising speed. What had been swaths of purple and pale blue and corn yellow were all going gray, edged with red and orange where the fire was fresh. A sound came like a tendril of smoke, thin and frail, a kind of ululation of high voices shattered by anguish. They seared my heart.

  A band of dürgar rode from the village to report to the captain. Although I understood not a word, the pride of the violent was plain in their manner. In that moment, I wanted to hurl myself on them, to wound them, even to kill. I probably would have done so, but was too securely bound. It probably saved my life. For a long time, I wept silently for the gnomes.

  The rest of the day was spent in an agony of pain, bouncing about.

  “I swear they’re finding every rock and rut they can,” Nik said at one point.

  I don’t know what sort of resistance Nik had tried to put up, but he had suffered for it. After a time, he either slept or pass
ed out.

  Which left myself and Professor Queller. Between us we patched together something of what was happening. He couldn’t puzzle out their native language, but by careful questioning and close observation, we managed to build if not a picture, at least a serviceable sketch.

  Dürgar was the name of their people, though Queller said the word also could mean soldier or champion. They had but one purpose in life—to fight the monsters that threatened. Evidently we had shipwrecked near the border with these monsters.

  “It is curious how like that is to stories of Transalbia and the Eastward Expansion,” Professor Queller said.

  I told him our forebears had many faults, but they did not burn gnome villages for helping strangers. I asked him if he thought these dürgar were a kind of dwarf.

  “Related,” he answered. “You see how similar they are. Smaller, somewhat. Less hairy. But their essential physiognomy is much the same. They are an offshoot of dwarves, or perhaps it is our Surface dwarves who are the offshoot.”

  “Is that why Beso reacted as he did?”

  “Undoubtedly. He’s been barely rational these last days, but he clearly regards these dürgar as beings from some dark legend.”

  “And how did these beings come to know our language?”

  “Only the captain,” Queller said. “I’m certain the others know not a word. Which leads me to infer our captain has been to the Surface, or has been taught by someone who has.”

  “The Surface? How extraordinary! How can that be?”

  The professor couldn’t answer that, but he said we would soon find out. For the captain had told him we were being taken to someone, not to dürgar.

  “Did he say to whom?”

  “He did,” Queller replied. “We are being taken to the drow.”

  “Drow?”

  “I don’t know either. I expect we’ll find out.”

  The cart bounced abominably. With hands and feet bound, the three of us jostled about helplessly, like rolls of carpet. Even so, we contrived to speak when we could, trying to keep up our spirits. I spoke first, not more than a few minutes out, to express my worry for Niklot, who lolled about half conscious and moaning. I was sure the rough handling had re-opened or even added to his injuries.