Smarlo

Prelude Three

Read before Chapter 8 of Stone & Sky

Smarlo coughed the dust from his lungs. The large tome that he’d just dropped from high atop the ladder had stirred a billowing cloud in the room. The tall, slender orc’s muscles tensed and contracted as he heaved. He flicked out one of his long fingers and swirled it through the air.

The dust cloud started writhing awkwardly, slowly forming into a dust tornado. Parchments and scrolls on nearby shelves started to ruffle with the new wind. Smarlo flicked his other hand toward a nearby window, which slammed open. One more twitch of his finger and the dust tornado shot out the open window into the early morning.

“Agh! Hack!” someone outside cried, now beginning their own coughing fit.

Oops.

Smarlo ran over to the ground-level window and popped his head out. “I’m so sorry—” the face he saw stopped him in his tracks.

“Smarlo! Hack! You try to kill your old master? Huck! Have I not been good to you?”

“Master Tan-kro, I’m sorry,” he apologized to the old orc. Though, admittedly, he found this all quite humorous.

The old orc mage sputtered a few more hacking coughs before he regained his composure. Smarlo merely watched him helplessly, waiting for the old master’s attention to be reset on him. It had been quick, easy magic, and he had not meant to cause any harm. He hoped that the old orc wouldn’t be too upset with him.

Master Tan-Kro’s eyes fell upon the tall slender orc, still leaning out the window. Smarlo smiled a toothy grin, his lips parting around his small tusks. The old master stared for a minute, but then laughed at how comical the younger orc looked. It was a face he’d seen before, when Smarlo was just an orcling. And even now, it softened the old master’s heart.

“You will be the death of me,” Tan-Kro said, brushing the dust from his robes.

“You’ve been telling me that since I was an orcling,” Smarlo reminded him.

“Amazing that I’ve made it this far.”

“I have this strange feeling that you’ll outlive all of us,” Smarlo teased.

“If the king sends you all to your deaths…”

Both orcs shifted uneasily. The old master was known to speak his mind, whether it was considered appropriate or not. To speak in such a way about King Sahr, was considered among the most inappropriate. But his grumbling on this matter was not completely unfounded.

The orc nation of Drelek had been in a strange state lately. Their home city of Calrok sat on the eastern edge of the kingdom, nestled by the Gant Sea. The road to Carlok was rather treacherous through the Drelek Mountains and the Scar Cliffs loomed high to the city’s north. In Calrok, they lived out under the sun rather than inside a mountain stead. As a result, they were often insulated from much of Drelek’s political issues. But regular pigeons arrived from the capital city of Ruk with news of King Sahr’s new zeal for destroying the peoples to the south.

The Scar Cliffs of Calrok were some of the finest training grounds for wyvern riders, and their squadron was easily one of the best in all the kingdom. As such, they had known that it would only be a matter of time before the king called on them to join the new war effort. And he had. Smarlo’s best friend, Karnak, Gar of Calrok, was in Ruk at this very moment at the summons of the king. Each orc fort had a Gar that was responsible for leading the orcs, goblins, and trolls that lived there. As Calrok’s Gar, that responsibility fell to Karnak.

Smarlo did not want to think of what King Sahr was asking Karnak.

“Where are you off to, anyway?” Smarlo asked, changing the subject.

“I could ask the same of you!”

“I’m not off to anywhere,” Smarlo laughed. “I’ve been here since before the dawn. I was looking for something and then I dropped that heavy tome—”

“You dropped one of my tomes?!” Tan-Kro scrambled over to the window and peered in, past Smarlo. “Which one?”

“The really big one. The one you could use as a cornerstone for a castle. The one you always keep on that top shelf.”

“So that no one touches it!”

“Uh… Right. That one.”

“The tome of Chartok is not to be trifled with!” the old master scolded Smarlo.

“I know. I wasn’t trying to—”

“You didn’t read it, did you?”

“No.”

“And no one else was reading it.”

“No. I’ve been—”

“Oh, good!” Tan-Kro interrupted again, breathing a huge sigh of relief.

Smarlo also took a breath, just in case the old master needed to say anything else. “What I was trying to tell you is that I’ve been here all morning by myself. I’ve been looking for a scroll with knowledge on rankens.”

“Rankens?”

“Yes. The miners found me when I went to the Spinefish Tavern last night. They were terribly rattled and suggested that one of their compatriots had a run-in with a ranken down in the mines.”

“Rankens… nasty monsters. Not quite giant spiders. Not quite giant salamanders. Slimy, grotesque creatures.”

“Yes. So, I was looking for a scroll—”

“Ah well, you’re looking in the wrong spot.”

“I already poured over many of the creature scrolls, but—”

“No, no. You want to look at the mining scrolls.” Master Tan-Kro picked at one of his tusks thoughtfully. “Actually, I seem to remember a tome from long ago by the old Mine Master Kanjor-Pukra…”

It had always amazed Smarlo that the old master seemed to know where the smallest, most obscure things were mentioned amidst the scrolls, parchments, and tomes of the mage library at Calrok. Certainly, their library paled in comparison to the likes of some of the wisdom towers scattered around Tarrine that had been built by wizards in ages past. Over the centuries, mages from many of Tarrine’s other peoples—elves, dwarves, and even men—had been gathering in the wisdom towers to learn the arcane arts and mysteries of the past. What grand knowledge those places must hold! Smarlo thought to himself, not for the first time.

Perhaps he had always been a dreamer, but he had a burning passion to learn everything that he could. The mage community of Drelek, however, was a rather small one. Most of them knew of each other, whether through correspondence owls or various visits to each other’s home steads. Though Tan-Kro would never admit it, Smarlo had been his favorite student, and had gotten to travel with the old master to several orc mountain steads over the years. When the old master had still done such things, that is.

In recent times, however, Master Tan-Kro had slowed. He did not travel anymore, and that left Smarlo enjoying the world through the largest mage library for miles around. He longed to go somewhere new and experience new mysteries and magics. He got to fly with the Scar Cliffs squadron, of course, but they had only been flying among the mountain valleys to the north or the west recently. He still believed that someday he would cross the Gant Sea and be one of the first orcs to set foot on Kelvur in centuries.

But for now, he would have to live those dreams through the scrolls and tomes of far-gone ages.

“Smarlo,” Master Tan-Kro’s voice shook him back from his daydream. “For an orc with such tall ears, you sure don’t listen very well.”

“I heard. Master Miner Kanjor-Pukra. I’ll find it.”

“Good,” Tan-Kro tapped a fist on the ledge of the window. “I’ll be off then.”

“Oh yeah, where are you off to this morning?”

“Healer Kitia’s.”

“Are you injured?” Smarlo asked, now concerned.

“No, no. She asked me to help her with something this morning. I’m going to take Taglan with me. The boy seems to have an affinity toward healing magic. And he needs more training, anyway.”

“Fair enough,” Smarlo replied. A mage’s work in Drelek was never done. There was always something strange for a mage to investigate.

Tan-Kro stopped and turned around to face the younger orc mage. “Be careful with that ranken. Nasty creatures… Haven’t heard of one crawling out of the dark depths of the Underrock for centuries. Strange times…”

Smarlo nodded in reply as the old mage walked off down the alleyway, mumbling to himself. The library floor was strewn with parchments that had fluttered off of the shelves in the small dust tornado. Smarlo rolled his eyes and started collecting the loose parchments and putting them each in their proper place. When he finished cleaning up, he would find the tome from the old Master Miner Kanjor-Pukra.

And once he did, he would go into the mines and rid them of the wretched ranken.

It didn’t take Smarlo long to find the old tome of Mine Master Kanjor-Pukra, Magic of Mines,Their Monsters, and Minerals. The old tome was full of interesting things that Smarlo hadn’t read about before, and he decided that he would have to come back to it later to explore its contents further. But that will have to wait.

The orc mage had only been vaguely familiar with rankens. None had been seen in these parts for as long as any could remember. Most orcs didn’t even think of the monsters, but it was common among the miners to tell tall tales of strange things they encountered down below. Rankens were common among their horror tales, and before the other night, they seemed to have fallen more into the way of myth and legend. Though, mages do not idly differentiate myth from reality.

Kanjor-Pukra’s account on rankens was surprisingly detailed. Apparently, in his time, the monsters were more prevalent. Rankens were gnarly creatures. They had scales like a lizard, but were slimy like a river salamander. Their lizard-like heads sported a maw large enough to rip even the stoutest orc’s arm right off of his body. It could probably choke down half a goblin in one bite. Even worse, it stood tall on eight slimy legs like a spider!

Grotesque… Smarlo shuddered.

The further he read, the less he liked the idea that a ranken was prowling the mines. According to Kanjor-Pukra, the monsters were adept at hiding. Their slimy skin shimmered and changed color to conceal them in the caves. Even with the orc eye’s ability to adjust and see well in the dark, the ranken could lurk in the shadows, unseen. The mine master noted that they’d even witnessed a ranken emerge and attack an orc from a side alcove where the monster had been lying in wait for several days.

Rankens were formidable creatures, and it seemed clear to Smarlo now why they were so often the subject of miners’ tall tales.

But why now? Why would one show up after all this time?

Smarlo found his answer.

“Rankens are rarely seen outside of the Underrock. They prefer the cool damp crevasses that the Underrock has to offer far below. However, as mining opens up new paths, entire cavern networks are often exposed. This, in turn, gives the creatures more space to spread. They seem to move far from other rankens when it is time to nest. They do so to protect their offspring from other rankens that will sniff them out and eat their young.”

“That’s it!” Smarlo exclaimed, not caring that he spoke only to himself. “The ranken must have come through a recent opening to find a place to nest…”

He was starting to feel a lot more confident about the situation, even grateful for the old mine master’s detailed descriptions. But then Smarlo read Kanjor-Pukra’s last thoughts on the monsters:

“If a ranken moves into an active mine, cease all activities! They nest only a few days before their eggs hatch. You must find and destroy the ranken and her nest. There is no way to move them! Once the mother has decided on her territory, she will fight with all ferocity and hunt orc, goblin, or even troll. She must be killed.

But do not forget about the nest. It must also be found. For if the creatures hatch, other fully grown rankens will sniff them out and move into the territory.

Rankens are savage foes.

Tread carefully.

Smarlo had run to the mines as fast as he could. Mine Master Forg greeted him hastily in the chaos of the entrance cavern.

“As you can see, we’ve sent runners to gather all our miners and bring them up to the entrance cavern,” the goblin blinked in frustration. If the mine wasn’t operating, then he wasn’t making any coin.

“How did you come to figure out that a ranken has entered the mine?”

“I’m not entirely sure it is a ranken…” Forg trailed off as a thin young orc, not much bigger than the goblin, whispered something into his long goblin ear. Forg’s face soured, and he shooed the young orc away.

“More unaccounted for?” Smarlo asked.

“You sure you’re not part goblin?” Forg accused. “Your ears must be almost as long as mine if you could hear the boy.”

Smarlo returned the goblin’s grimace. Forg was known for being rough around the edges. And like so many goblins, he was mostly interested in his own prosperity. But neither of those qualities could diminish the fact that he was a clever engineer and had a deep understanding of his craft.

“I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s happened,” Smarlo said, trying to shift to compassion.

The mine master hesitated, grunted a disapproving sigh, and finally said, “Fine.”

“Some of your miners visited me at the Spinefish Tavern last night and told me that they think you have a ranken.”

“Those fools!” Forg said, glancing every which way. “Which ones? I heard nothing of this until today!”

“That does not matter right now. I need to know what’s going on. Why have you recalled everyone here?”

“One of our new orcs heard screaming down a passageway in the new Gert section of the mine. We opened a new tunnel to a cavern network down there,” he noted with a hint of pride.

“Go on,” Smarlo prompted.

“At first, he ran to tell his section chief, Kag. And then one of the other orcs mentioned that he hadn’t seen two of the others who’d been working in the Gert section. Someone said ‘ranken,’ and from there it became wildfire. The entire Gert section crew removed themselves, and others heard the commotion along the way. Once they got here and told me, what choice did I have but to recall the rest of the mine?”

“According to what I’ve read about rankens, that was the best thing you could do,” Smarlo gave the goblin a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “How many miners are missing?”

“Four,” Kag grunted as he stepped into the conversation. “Four of the best miners this side of Ruk!”

“Oh, calm down, Kag,” Forg scolded. “Your team has been less productive than most.”

“We’ve been working the new network!” Kag barked back. Smarlo couldn’t tell if the chief’s lip quivered more in rage or distress over his crew.

“Listen,” the mage cut in. “I want to help you. But I do not know the mines like you. I will need a guide.”

“I’ll go!” Kag stood rigid as a stone soldier. Forg rolled his wide goblin eyes. “They are my crew; I owe it to their families to help find them.”

“Very well,” Smarlo agreed.

Kag grabbed two more of his orcs and the three of them stopped into the mine armory to grab a few weapons before rejoining the mage.

“Beware, Mage,” Forg said as Smarlo was leaving the entrance cavern. “It’s not all mine down there. It’s rough terrain. The Gert section is cavern, cave, and crevasse. Lots of ways to die.”

Smarlo nodded his understanding and followed the chief and his crew down into the darkness.

Smarlo wasn’t sure how long they’d been winding through the tunnels before they came to the entrance of the Gert section of the mine. He’d lived in Calrok his entire life and, unlike the miners and most of the rest of Drelek, he’d lived out under the sun. He felt a strange tension between his orcish nature and his open-sky upbringing while he traversed underneath thousands of tons of rock.

The entryway to the Gert section was well cut, but seemed like a portal between two different worlds. On one side stood the well-traveled and cleanly cut mining tunnels. But when one stepped through to the other side, it opened into sprawling caverns dotted with a million stalactites, pillars, and stalagmites. Smarlo blinked in wonder at the awe-inspiring sight.

Whispering among the nervous orc crew caught his attention. He turned to see a tunnel that was caved in.

“What happened there?” he said in a hushed voice.

“That tunnel led straight down 100 leagues to the Underrock. You don’t want such an opening. You never know what might crawl out of there,” Kag explained with a shiver.

“Like a ranken…” Smarlo nodded.

“Like a ranken…” Kag looked around nervously. “Come. The tunnels we’ve been working are this way.”

The group weaved through the stalagmites and pillars silently. No one spoke. They hardly breathed. The darkness of this area seemed even darker to Smarlo somehow.

“Arrghhaa!”

A sudden blood-curdling cry echoed off the stone walls. The miners bolted ahead, charging in what seemed like the direction of the howl. Smarlo ran after them, trying to keep track of the turns. The tunnels were a maze of side shoots and alcoves.

“Rrreeegggkkk!”

A horrific screech sounded, bouncing off the walls and through the side tunnels. It seemed as though the monstrous cry came from behind him. Smarlo’s mistake was to turn and look back while he was running. He tripped over a well-hidden stalagmite as he ran around a corner, bludgeoning his head on a large stone.

When the ringing in his ears finally stopped, and his eyes refocused the spinning corridor, Smarlo realized that he was all alone.

“Kag!” he whispered through the darkness. “Ohh…”

His head ached, and when he touched his brow, he pulled his hand away to find it covered in blood. The rock had done its damage. It occurred to Smarlo that he might have been unconscious for more than the split second that it had seemed.

He stood to his feet with the help of the wall. Dizziness attempted to lure him back into unconsciousness, but he stood as still as he could to shake it. The orc mage looked to the right and saw several alcoves and a tunnel. To his left were a number of other tunnels with their own offshoots. He knew approximately which direction they’d come, but their pace, the terrifying sounds of the ranken, and the recent bump on his head seemed to wash away all of his navigational confidence.

Smarlo looked at the bloodstain on the large rock and found the tricky stalagmite that had caught him unaware. By doing so, he reasonably guessed at which way he had come and started off in that direction.

It didn’t take long for him to become disoriented again, for none of the tunnels were familiar. He peeked around corners and looked down every corridor, but nothing seemed to give him any clue as to which way he should go.

He was lost.

Smarlo sat on the cold stone floor and leaned against a wide pillar to rest. His head was still swimming, even though the bleeding had stopped. He took stock of his situation. The coppery taste of iron assaulted his tongue.

The smell of… the smell of…

Actually, he wasn’t sure what that smell was. Smarlo looked around as he started to sniff. The orc mage shuffled along on his knees, groping at the tunnel walls as he went.

Suddenly, he pulled his hand away from the wall in revulsion. Sticky strings of mucus made sucking noises as he pulled away. His nose scrunched. He had found the stench. He had read about the slime of the ranken, but for some reason hadn’t recalled Kanjor-Pukra’s account mentioning a pungent stink. How hard did I hit my head…?

A guttural clicking echoed through the tunnels.

Smarlo slid himself quickly behind a massive stalagmite that reached into the dense cavern air, attempting to reach its stalactite partner to form a pillar. The orc mage strained his eyes, peering through the darkness. He saw nothing. And even his long ears heard nothing.

He waited a long time before he pressed himself up from behind the stalagmite. He regretted it instantly. Now, both of his hands were covered in the mucus. And that’s when it dawned on him. Mine Master Kanjor-Pukra had been very clear about the slime that ranken’s left behind. If there was this much of the vile mucus here, then the ranken must frequent this tunnel.

Smarlo took several wary steps and turned right, down a side passage. It opened up into a large alcove, and to his great surprise, the orc mage found a nest in which sat seven large eggs.

He carefully inspected the alcove. There were three entrances to the area. The corridor he’d come through and a passage that curved away on either side.

He heard a sudden shuffling from the tunnel on the left.

Smarlo pressed his whole body flat against the wall. The slimy ooze seeped into his robes and dripped slowly down his hair. The stench was almost unbearable. Almost. He could hardly breathe, and frankly, wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to. What if the beast heard him?

“There it is!” a young orc voice said.

Smarlo’s heart leapt out of his chest.

“Yes! We have to destroy the eggs!”

“H-help…” Smarlo whispered. “I’m over here.”

Smarlo tried to pull himself free from the sticky goo that held him close to the wall.

“The mage lives!”

“You destroy the nest,” Kag ordered the miner as he went to help Smarlo. “We thought we lost you to the maze.”

“I tripped and hit my head. I don’t know how long I’ve been wandering. I can’t believe I found you.”

“You seem to have found the creature’s nest even before we did!” Kag whispered, impressed.

Kag helped Smarlo wipe as much of the mucus away as they could. Behind the crew chief, the younger orc smashed eggs one-by-one with his war hammer. A clang rang out with each swing.

“Where’s…”

“Dead. Ranken got him.”

“Did you find any of the—”

“All dead. Nothing but bones now.”

Kag shook his head, a sadness sweeping over him.

“At least we can destroy the nest.”

Another clang from the war hammer reverberated through the tunnels all around them.

“Yes, but the ranken—”

“Screeeegh!”

The ranken mother came skittering into the alcove, her eight gnarly legs clacking and scratching. She went straight for Kag’s young miner and lifted him into the air with four of her hideous legs. She screeched again before she ripped him in two, chomping on his upper half in her horrible maw.

Kag jumped into action, screaming at the horrible creature as it reared four of its dangerous legs at the orc in defense. Kag chopped and hacked at her legs with his jagged sword, trying to get in closer to the monster’s belly.

Smarlo pulled a pouch of concussive powder from his belt and hurled it, blasting the creature’s lizard-like face. The ranken squealed and shook its head wildly. Its legs skittered to the right and then back to the left as it tried to regain its faculties.

“Now!” Smarlo yelled to Kag.

The crew chief buried his jagged sword into the monster’s belly. The ranken writhed and twisted, letting out a deafening screech in the enclosed alcove.

“Again!” Smarlo yelled.

“I can’t!”

“What? Why—”

Suddenly, the savage beast kicked Kag, sending him flying at the stone wall. He scrambled to his feet and swayed.

“The sword!” he shouted, pointing at the ranken.

The monster kicked and screeched, scratching at its belly in an attempt to dislodge the sword embedded in its gut. When it realized that it could not, the ranken turned its attention toward the orc who had impaled it.

“Run!” Smarlo shouted, grabbing Kag by the shoulder and bolting out of the alcove.

The two ran as fast as they could through the tunnels. Kag seemed to have some idea of where he was going. Though, Smarlo wasn’t entirely sure if that was the case or if the crew chief just fled without thinking of direction. They could not see the injured ranken behind them but knew that the creature chased them with all ferocity by the sound of the feverish clacking of its gnarly legs.

Suddenly, Kag took a hard left into an open cavern covered with troll-sized stalagmites, mirroring partner stalactites on the rough ceiling. He hustled around one of the large monuments and hissed hurried instructions to the mage. “Listen, she will eventually outrun us,” he stopped to catch his breath. “She will hunt us all the way back to the entry hall. You need to run on without me.”

“No,” Smarlo rejected the notion immediately. “We will end her here.”

“And how do you propose that when we have no weapons to fight her?”

“We will use magic with whatever energy I have left. And those…” Smarlo pointed upward at the myriad of spiky stone javelins that hung from the ceiling. “And maybe even a little luck.”

“I’ve never had much luck…” Kag retorted.

“Maybe I’ll bring the luck, but I’ll need you to give me a few seconds.”

“That, I can do,” the mining chief growled.

Everything had gone silent as soon as the ranken had reached the entrance of the full cavern. Neither of the orcs were able to see her, as she’d obviously adjusted her skin to disappear among the hefty stalagmites.

So, the orcs waited for their predator.

Smarlo swirled his arms above his head in silence, concentrating hard on a particularly spiky stalactite. On and on the motion continued until finally, a low crack!

A clink! of the sword, still embedded in the ranken’s belly, sounded off to the orcs’ left. Kag looked at Smarlo, who gave him the signal. The mage was ready.

Kag scurried up to the top of a nearby stalagmite and hollered as loud as he could. “Raaaagghhh!”

“Screeeegghh!”

The wretched ranken scraped to the top of another stalagmite. It rambled its way across the tops of the tall stone mounds, headed directly at the crew chief.

Smarlo used every ounce of strength he had left to hurtle the stone javelin from its suspended location near the ceiling in an arc toward the ranken’s heart.

The she-beast let out another horrible screech, and the orcs shouted in victory. Her deafening cries bounced and echoed off the walls of the cavern.

But her cries were overtaken by a rumbling as the mountain above them groaned.

The entire cavern began to shake.

“Cave-in!” Kag shouted. “Run!”

The two orcs ran toward the other end of the cavern as stone javelins started shaking loose from the ceiling and hurtling to the stone floor far below. Smarlo dove and crashed into a pillar to avoid being impaled. Kag grabbed the mage and hoisted him to his feet. They continued to run as fast as their exhausted legs would carry them, each step feeling heavy in their urgency, as though they were trying to uproot a stalagmite from its eternal home.

Behind them, the slowed ranken was struck by another rocky spear. The monster writhed and scuttled to the top of another stalagmite. A third spire crashed into the beast’s back and she teetered, gripping her perch with shaky legs. The look in her lizard-like eyes was a wicked mix of stun and outrage. The large creature wobbled once more to the side before giving up its chase and giving in to death.

The two orcs dove through a stone portal and into a corridor. They lay there as the mountain finished its rumbling. They struggled to catch their breath, and neither of them had the energy to sit up and survey the damage.

“Hahaha,” Kag started laughing wildly.

Smarlo couldn’t help but join in.

Kag, catching his breath again, reached a gnarled miner’s hand over and patted the mage on the chest. “You alive?”

“I am,” Smarlo heaved. “You?”

“Looks like it.”

“Maybe you’ve got some luck after all.”

Kag let out a hearty belly laugh, and Smarlo joined him again. They laughed so hard that their ribs hurt and tears streamed down the sides of their faces.

After a long while, they rolled over and crawled to their feet. To Smarlo’s great relief, Kag knew where they were. He’d been in the cavern before when they first opened the original entryway to the extended network. It wouldn’t take them long to make their way back. He hadn’t explored the area thoroughly, but he knew generally where they were.

As they climbed over a ridge up to a path that the miners had started carving out, Kag stopped midway, with a dumbfounded look on his face.

“Would you look at that…”

Smarlo peered over to the crew chief. “What is it?”

“Some kind of writing…”

Smarlo shuffled along the ledge to see what Kag had found. When he finally caught a glimpse, he nearly fell off of the ledge.

“Careful!” Kag grabbed at the mage. “Don’t need you falling down when we’re almost home!”

“That’s dark tongue,” Smarlo whispered.

“Dark tongue? Here? What in Finlestia is it doing here?”

“I don’t know. I have only seen a couple of the letters. Written in a tome that we’re not supposed to read.”

“And why’s that?” Kag asked, now getting a little nervous.

“I don’t know…” Smarlo paused, inspecting the writing on the stone wall. He wanted to remember it as best he could so that he could discuss it with Master Tan-Kro when they got back. “The Underrock is still full of mysteries that we have yet to uncover.”

“But, my mage friend,” Kag turned to him, concern etching the miner’s face like the dark tongue etched the stone. “We aren’t in the Underrock here. We close off every direct tunnel we find that leads to the depths of that horrid world.”

Smarlo had to admit that finding dark tongue here was a strange matter. He would have to confer with Master Tan-Kro.

They walked through the tunnels, winding their way back to the entrance hall of the mine. Miners greeted them with cheers and congratulations until they realized that they’d left with a group of four, looking for another four, and only came back with two. Their initial exhilaration turned to somber memorial.

Smarlo didn’t linger. He walked straight home under the starry night sky. He pulled out some parchment and a quill. He wrote down the dark tongue as best as he could remember. In the morning, he would take it to Master Tan-Kro, but he had this strange feeling that this mystery would not be his to solve any time soon.

Master Tan-Kro may be right, Smarlo pondered. Strange times, indeed.