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THE CAVES OF ENDOR

Lightning forced them from the sky, but not before they reached the Plain of Gette, where they could go on foot, following the Bissean River. An hour’s trek in sheeting rain got them to the Ledges. The Caves of Endor honeycombed the oversized, natural, sandstone steps. Unusual geological formations covered one hundred square miles of the upper Wittoom Valley. Between the river and the beginning of the Ledges, numerous mud holes bubbled with smelly gases. Steam mixed with cold rain around each one. Occasionally, they heard sizzles and pops as cold water hit hot rocks.

The caves provided crude shelter for travelers. None of the high races lived close by because of the smell rising from the mud holes and because geysers occasionally popped through the crust of the earth without warning. No one wanted to build a house, then wake up in the middle of the night to find the floor swamped with steaming water.

The riders and passengers did not complain as the dragons marched through the unusual terrain.

“We should be close now,” called out Bromptotterpindosset.

Bardon called a halt to their caravan. “Holt, Ahnek, men, we shall get down and gather fuel for a fire.”

“Won’t it smoke something awful?” asked Ahnek.

“It’ll cover the smell of the mud holes.”

The men descended from the backs of the dragons. “Gather the thick limbs of the portamanca bushes,” instructed the mapmaker from his doohan. “They are surprisingly light, and you can peel the outer bark to find a wood core that burns very efficiently.”

“What’s this portamanca bush look like, Master?” called Ahnek.

“Have one of the riders point it out, boy,” barked the tumanhofer. “It’s past time you got out of the city. You need a different education than what you got on the streets.”

“That’s why I’m here,” muttered Ahnek.

Bardon stood nearby and heard him continue grousing as he shuffled through the puddles.

“I mean to make the most of my life, and here I am doing it, in muddy water up to my ankles with smelly gases nearly choking me ’spite this blasted cold rain.”

Two riders put out a tarp on which to throw the branches of the portamanca bushes. Then they dragged the waterproof canvas as they walked to the caves. The others continued to gather wood.

“How do we know we’re going in the right direction?” Ahnek asked Bardon as they met beside the tarp, each carrying an armload of fuel.

“As long as we don’t cross the Bissean River, we’re going the right direction. The cliffs and ledges angle out from the riverbed. We’d have to turn completely around to miss them.”

In just a few more minutes they came to the first ledge. The dragons stepped up easily. They all turned on the wide shelf, lowered their heads, and allowed the walking members of the party to ride up, clinging to their necks. With the four corners of the large canvas tied together, Greer took the bundle in his teeth and carried it up several more layers of rock before they reached a ledge that had huge, gaping, black entries to the caves beyond.

“We’re going in there?” asked Ahnek.

Bardon slapped him on the shoulder. “It’ll be warm and cozy.”

“Right. Just like a warehouse.”

“I can’t say I’ve ever slept in a warehouse, Ahnek. But I have slept in The Caves of Endor. Aside from the smell, they’re a very comfortable accommodation. If you wish privacy, you can choose your own little cave jutting off from one of the main caverns. I’ve met other travelers here and shared a community campfire. Music, good stories, and dance. It can be quite a treat.”

“Right.”

The boy didn’t sound convinced but followed Bardon as he led the party into the largest cavern. The riders brought out lanterns from their packs of supplies and soon had a golden glow emanating from the center of the cavity in the limestone ledge. The other passengers dismounted, and Bromptotterpindosset took over the job of building a fire. Holt and N’Rae built seats out of the larger parcels and bundles as they unloaded the dragons. The dragons, one by one, slipped off to nearby caves to curl up and sleep.

“Why did they leave us?” asked N’Rae.

Bardon hooked together a metal apparatus that would hang over the edge of the fire and hold a kettle. “They don’t like the smoke and don’t mind the smell of the mud holes as much as we do. And, they really only enjoy the company of people in small numbers. In other words, they like their riders, they tolerate passengers, but people in a crowd are bothersome.”

The riders prepared food, a potato flat and creamed greens, which all the questing party enjoyed. The smoke from the fire did minimize the stench from outside. After they ate, Bromptotterpindosset told stories of his many travels. Granny Kye got out her sketchbook and drew. Sittiponder and Ahnek sat together with their backs against a soft roll of blankets. In the cave, the warmth of the fire kept the chill at bay.

Eventually, the mapmaker grew tired. “My voice will give out,” he said. “Let’s have some music.”

Three of Sir Dar’s riders played musical instruments. That didn’t surprise Bardon, who had also been trained to play the flute while in the doneel’s service. They chose songs of adventure, ballads of charming maidens and daring rescues, chants of epic quests, and melodies of haunting beauty, which filled the cavern with a mysterious ambiance.

First Granny Kye took herself to a corner of the room, and N’Rae followed to help her lay out a pallet. Holt and Bromptotterpindosset took the boys with them to share a sleeping nook. Bardon went with the riders to check on the dragons and make their campsite secure for the night. The squire assigned shifts for night watch and took the first one himself.

During the first hour, the storm whipped itself into a crashing uproar with flashes of lightning and claps of thunder. Bardon doubted anyone huddled in their blankets had fallen asleep. The worst of the tempest moved south, and only the sounds of rain and distant rumbles disturbed the silence. On the third hour of his watch, the rain subsided to a drizzle. Bardon woke Pont to take the next shift. Before turning in, he circled the room one more time. Everyone slept.

At the back of the cavern, a tunnel reached into the depths of the mountain. He chose the wall next to this opening to roll out his blankets. Stretched out on his back with his hands clasped behind his head, he reviewed their progress.

The first day hasn’t been so bad. The riders are helpful and work well with the original party. Holt has pulled his weight and shown no signs of bothering N’Rae. I do wonder why he is with us. To court the kindia-gentler? To escape his debtors? Just to try something new?

Bromptotterpindosset is an asset. Mistress Seeno has made herself scarce. Granny Kye already seems tired. This is too much of an undertaking for one so old. But she wants to find her son. I believe this desire will carry her through. Sittiponder and Ahnek have both contributed in their own ways.

All in all, it has not been a bad first day.

After three hours of deliberate alertness, he found his body unwilling to relax. The light from the flickering flames cast dancing shadows on the walls but scarcely reached the ceiling. To compose himself for sleep, he quoted principles in his mind.

“Beyond what we see, our fire enlightens or destroys.” Wulder, make Your passion to be my passion so that when my actions affect those beyond my vision, the influence will be good and not bad.

“A ripple or ring. The rock or the shore. It is no more glorious to be the start or the end.” Wherever You place me, Wulder, allow me to be effective.

“A man of integrity—”

A sound from the depths of the mountain echoed through the tunnel by his head. Bardon sat up and put his hand on the hilt of his sword.

Critch. Critch.

He stood, concentrating on the slight scratch of a hard substance against stone.

Pont saw him and drew his own sword. He tiptoed across the cave and stood beside the squire. Bardon held up a finger to indicate he didn’t want the rider to speak.

Critch. Critch. The sound moved closer.

Pont tilted his head. His eyes locked with Bardon’s. A question clearly lit the rider’s expression.

Critch critch. Critch critch.

Bardon pulled his sword.

Pont mouthed a word, his voice not sounding the question. “Druddum?”

Bardon shook his head. The cave-dwelling mammals skittered at high speeds through caves and tunnels. This creature sounded large and slow. Druddums would be no problem. He suspected this beast to be deadly.

Critch critch. Critch critch.

Whatever made the light sound could not be more than a few feet deep into the tunnel. Bardon waved Pont to the other side. They stood waiting with their weapons ready.

Critch.

Bardon took in a breath and held it.

Critch.

He concentrated only on the dark mouth of the underground passage.

Critch critch.

Black, snakelike tentacles waved out of the opening.

Critch.

The body of a huge spiderlike creature stepped into the light.

One more step, you beast.

Critch.

Bardon plunged his sword into a soft spot directly behind the creature’s bulging, compound eye. A second later, Pont’s knife speared one of the other eyes. The creature thrashed once and collapsed.

Bardon let out the breath he’d been holding and heard Pont do the same. He looked up at the rider-warrior.

“Now, what do you suppose a Creemoor spider is doing in Wittoom?”