The Outcast (Summoner #4)(89)

Still, it seemed Ulfr had a destination in mind. Indeed, Sacharissa was becoming excited, for she could sense the sound and smell of something new approaching. Something that Arcturus craved, for his throat was parched and his body encrusted with sweat, blood and soil.

Water. Sweet, pure, rushing water, roaring like a river at high tide. It felt so out of place in the deep, dry tunnel they had found themselves in. And when Arcturus turned the corner, he could not believe what he saw.

The passage opened up into a cavern as wide and as tall as the atrium of Vocans itself, though the light from their torches barely reached the ceiling. The chamber’s center was bisected by a broad river, perhaps four times as wide as Vocans’s moat, carving through the cave floor and disappearing into the cave walls on either side.

But this was not what amazed Arcturus. It was the flotilla of boats that were beached by the river’s side. Almost a dozen vessels were arrayed there, long keeled and broad, with rowing benches down their centers and oars splayed from their sides like insect legs.

“What are these doing down here?” Arcturus gasped, awed by the strange sight.

“They’re for the dwarven servants at Vocans,” Ulfr explained, hurrying to the nearest craft and examining its bottom.

The soldiers behind Arcturus began to emerge from the tunnel behind him, and the air was abuzz with wonder at the strange underground craft. One even had a mast and furled sail, though what purpose it served in the still underground was unclear.

“But why?” Arcturus asked. “Surely you can walk.”

“By law, dwarves may not congregate in groups larger than three,” Ulfr said, shrugging his shoulders. “We cannot travel together when making the walk to Corcillum. At least, not in enough numbers to deter robbers and bandits—or drunken humans looking for a fight. We travel together in these instead, away from prying eyes. It’s much faster … though rowing them back is always a nightmare, with the current against us.”

Arcturus shook his head, disgusted that he was fighting for the man who had created such a law. Even if, in truth, he was fighting for his friends.

“Come on,” Ulfr shouted, heaving against one of the smaller boats. “Get these in the water, or the rebels will use them to follow us.”

Arcturus let the soldiers do the hard work, instead sitting on the damp ground and hugging Sacharissa as tightly as he could. Her coat was still musty, but the warmth of her body was a great comfort, even if she smelled like a wet dog.

“Leave that one,” Ulfr shouted as the soldiers began to manhandle another vessel toward the water. “We’ll need that one.”

It was the boat with the sail. The vessel was larger than the other, enough to accommodate all of them in a pinch.

Ulfr cursed under his breath as the boat he was pushing floated into the water, and the current took it into the dark tunnel in the side of the chamber wall.

The dwarf caught Arcturus’s eye and forced a smile.

“The river will eventually take them to the sea,” he said, shaking his head wistfully. “It took us years to build all of these. Such a waste.”

“Why do you have so many?” Arcturus asked. “Surely there are more than enough for the dwarves at Vocans.”

“They’re not just for us servants,” Ulfr said, keeping his voice low so only Arcturus could hear. “In fact there are not enough of them for their true purpose.”

Arcturus shuffled closer.

“If King Alfric ever chose to exterminate the dwarves, our entire population could use them to escape,” Ulfr explained.

“But how?” Arcturus asked, horrified that Ulfr thought that was even a possibility. “Wouldn’t they have to walk here first?”

“No,” Ulfr said. “Because the river leads somewhere else before it reaches the sea.”

“Where?” Arcturus asked.

Ulfr smiled.

“The dwarven quarter.”





CHAPTER

52

THEY HEARD IT LONG before all the boats had been pushed out into the water. The rebel dogs, their barking echoing eerily in the chamber around them.

“Come on,” Ulfr shouted, pushing aside a soldier and lending his strength to the crowd laboring with the next vessel. It scraped slowly into the river, the current twisting its back half along the edge for a brief moment before it spun in completely.

There were two more boats beside their ship, but progress had slowed—Percival had separated a few of his men to form a barrier across the passage they had come in from.

“Again!” Rotter called, leading the remaining men to the next boat.

Arcturus went to join Percival’s men, who were formed six men wide and three men deep. The first row were crouched behind their rectangular shields, while the second row stood, their crossbows leveled at the dark tunnel in front of them. Behind them, a third row held their shields at an angle above the second row’s heads, leaving only a handbreadth of space for the crossbows to fire through.

“We’re lucky these men are trained in shield craft too,” Percival said, turning to Arcturus. “I’m not the only sergeant to remember the old ways. This was how King Corwin took Hominum back from the orcs.”

Arcturus was impressed. Though he could only see it from behind, he imagined any man approaching would be faced with a hail of crossbow bolts, then have to fight his way through a wall of solid wood, while death spat at them from between the shields and long spears stabbed low from the first and third ranks.