With that, the peculiar resonance was gone from the air. The Speaker’s pleas were at an end. Hytanthas drove a fist into his palm. His sovereign needed him, and he was blundering around in the dark. He fell to berating himself out loud, but broke off abruptly when he detected more voices. Hytanthas held his breath and listened.
He could hear quite clearly the voices and footfalls of five or six people. One tread was heavier than the rest, and the voice associated with it was lower, rougher—a human. How had a human gotten down here?
Hytanthas called to the unknown party, giving his name and identifying himself as a friend. Drained by hunger and the long sojourn in impenetrable darkness, he nevertheless steeled himself for a final push. He continued to call out as he jogged down the passage. After perhaps half a mile, he could hear the voices more clearly and he identified a female and a male as well as a human male. The number of footfalls told him there were several more elves who weren’t speaking.
He drew breath to shout, but his warrior training abruptly reasserted itself. What if these people weren’t his comrades? Ridiculous, he told himself. What other elves would be in the tunnels beneath Inath-Wakenti? But why was there a human with them?
Stricken with doubt, he fell back against the side of the tunnel. To his surprise, he discovered the wall was fluted by shallow scalloped niches. The niche at his back was just deep enough to conceal him. He flattened himself into the cover and waited, prey to all sorts of fears and uncertainties.
“I don’t see how you can be sure we’re heading southwest,” said Hamaramis testily. “I lost my sense of direction long ago!”
Vixona replied, “It’s simple. We made two right-angle turns, then the tunnel made a quarter-radius bend. Therefore we’re traveling about 270 degrees from our original heading or, measured another way, ninety degrees—”
“I’m sorry you asked,” muttered Jeralund.
“So am I.”
Only Jeralund carried a burning torch. The rest had extinguished their brands to preserve them for later use. Jeralund’s flame passed just under the nose of a figure standing in a niche in the wall. What he had taken for a sculpture suddenly recoiled from the wafting flame, and Jeralund gave a shout of surprise. Vixona’s higher cry echoed his. The figure was no statue; he was alive!
“Put away your swords!” he shouted. “I’m one of you!”
Hamaramis froze, unable to believe what he was seeing. “Hytanthas!”
General and captain fell on each other, embracing like long-lost brothers. Hytanthas recognized the other three warriors. Vixona introduced herself. With her writing down every word, Hytanthas quickly outlined his adventures thus far.
“You’ve been down here more than a week and haven’t spied another living soul?” Hamaramis asked.
“Not one.” Hytanthas shrugged helplessly. “Only the dead.”
“It must have been terrible for you,” Vixona said.
Torchlight played over her upturned face. It had indeed been terrible, but as he stared down into the warm brown eyes that regarded him so sympathetically, Hytanthas found himself smiling.
Hamaramis related how his party had found Jeralund. The young captain gave the human a considering look, but when Hamaramis mentioned they’d heard the Speaker summoning them, all other considerations were pushed aside.
“So it was real! I heard him too!” Hytanthas exclaimed.
They were all agreed on that point. The problem was, even with Vixona’s map, Hamaramis’s party hadn’t been able to retrace their journey. The tunnels seemed to alter after they passed through. Intersections vanished, wall paintings noted by Vixona were no longer present.
“Strange,” Hytanthas remarked. “That hasn’t happened to me. I’m just lost.”
He asked to see the map. With ink-smudged fingers, Vixona indicated her party’s path on the small page.
“We tried backtracking from the deep pit where we found Jeralund, but the passages had changed,” she said, brow furrowed. She obviously regarded it as unfair for the tunnels to belie her carefully drawn map.
Hytanthas gazed down the tunnel behind Hamaramis. “Let’s go back the way you came,” he suggested.
The general protested. Hadn’t the boy been listening? The tunnel was no longer as Vixona had drawn it.
“Nevertheless,” the warrior said and set off.
Hamaramis was put off by his blithe manner, but Vixona said, “We should follow him, sir. He’s been here much longer than we. He might notice something we missed.”
Taking the torch from Jeralund, Hamaramis and Vixona followed Hytanthas. The warriors surrounded Jeralund and brought up the rear.
Keeping his voice low, Hytanthas explained to Hamaramis how he’d been prey to hallucinations during his first few days. Those had faded, and he felt able to distinguish between false and real images. He was anxious to see if his hard-won acuity would allow him to see through the illusions that had stymied the rescue party’s attempts to find a way out.
