The Last Satyr: The Company is Formed Part 1
Something Follows

“Can’t the dwarf tell the way out by holding his torch up to each tunnel and see if it flickers from the outside wind? Or simply follow against the direction of the smoke?” suggested Amien.

“Yes! Can you do that?” asked Graybeard.

“Not likely,” said the dwarf. “You see, once air enters from outside, it can blow in circles through any or all of the connected tunnels. Only a dead-end tunnel won’t flicker a torch. Otherwise, most will. Those others, though, can run in circles.”

“We are not educated in the ways of mines,” said Belam. “Amien, young Joe, and I are men. The boy is a satyr. The others are an elf and a keeper! We know nothing of how to get out. Can you, Marroh, get us out or not?”

The dwarf didn’t know what to say. He had no answer.

“Then the dwarf has doomed us all! We shall all die in here,” said Belam, his eyes growing wary of everything around them.

“Stop that talk of doom!” Amien warned. “These are only boys!”

But Ronthiel was already in a panic. His face was in a sweat and he was breathing heavily. Any second and he would break into a mad run to anywhere—any passage—in a desperate attempt to get out. He took his first step.

With determination in his eyes, the boy lunged forward like an arrow released from its bow, pinning the panicked elf beneath him. Ronthiel kicked and struggled wildly to get loose, but, being stronger, the boy pinned the elf down.

“Stop your panicking!” he said, shaking the elf. “You know what’s back behind us if you run that way! You’ll run right into that thing. Is that what you want? I can get us out! I can do it! But I need your help! Now stop struggling and get a hold of yourself!”

But the elf didn’t. He continued to fight until he was too exhausted to move.

“Are you ready to listen now?” demanded the boy, waiting on the elf.

Ronthiel finally nodded.

“When the drow came in and changed the markings, they didn’t have to change the markings on every tunnel,” the boy said. “They only had to change the ones that showed the way in or the ones that showed the way out. That’s just two markings. They would have left the others untouched. Of those they changed, we can spot them easily. They’ll be marked by a stonecutter’s tool and they’ll always say it’s the wrong way, which means it’s the right way.”

There was a long pause before Amien finally spoke. “The boy is right.”

“The boy is a genius!” cried Graybeard. “He’s right! The way out is falsely marked with a stonecutter’s tool instead of a pick. All we have to do is retrace our steps and look for the altered exit. We need your help, Ronthiel, to spot the falsified mark. Can you do it?”

Ronthiel nodded. If it would get him out of here, he would do anything.

“Good! We’ll get you out of here yet, elf boy!” Amien patted him on the back.

They started out again, checking all the side shafts as they traced their way back and, eventually, they discovered one that had been marked with a stonecutter’s tool and took it. They didn’t know whether it would lead them back out the way they came in or out the east end of the mountain as they wanted but Graybeard reasoned that, if it was taking them back the way they came, they should be out in a few hours’ time or run into that thing which followed them. If neither happened, then they were bound in the right direction and headed east.

When, after several hours, they had not exited the mountain or run into that thing which followed them; they concluded they were correctly headed east. For a while, the boy’s spirit was high, having deduced the drow’s plot, but soon he began to worry. And the worry soon became dread. Would the drow have ended their conspiracy this simply or would there be other traps ahead?

The minds of drow are of cruelty and malice. As their first choice, they would want those who ventured in to die in hopeless panic, lost forever in this endless maze of tunnels. That would satisfy their cruelty. Yet what about those who came in and figured the way out? What would satisfy the drow’s malice towards them?

He began to pay closer and closer attention to the markings and listening more intently. He had discovered that sound carried a long way in the tunnels. The previous digging noise had seemed quite close even when far behind. And where there was water dripping in the tunnels, he could hear it from quite a way off. How much noise were they themselves making, he wondered? Could that thing behind them track them by their sound? And might there not be something else listening in here as well?

He thought he heard something from behind then—the sound of sharp claws on rock.

There! He heard it again. It was fast approaching

Ronthiel was ahead of him, using his keen eyes under the torch at their front to spot the falsely marked passages. He was standing where the passage divided and was studying the marks on the one leading left. With the five others behind him and making noise, his keen ears might not have heard it. The boy caught up with Ronthiel.

“I think I heard something behind us,” he whispered his warning, not wanting to spread fear.

“I heard it,” Ronthiel said.

“What do you think it is?”

“Whatever it is, it moves fast. By the click of its claws, it’s catching up.”

Graybeard raised a finger to shush the boy. Ronthiel had just selected the left-hand passage.

“Wait!” said the boy. “The one on the right looks like it was made by a stonecutter’s tool too.”

Ronthiel stopped, came back, and examined it.

“You’re right,” he said. “It’s been cut, too.”

“Insurance by the drow,” said Graybeard knowingly, “in case we figured it out. They have marked two different ways for us to follow. Only one will be right.”

“Which one?” asked Ronthiel.

“The dwarf and I will figure it out,” Graybeard said. “You can sit and rest with the others.”

Ronthiel cast a glance of warning at the boy. "You are witnessing how drow think. Their deceptions are intricate and strategically designed. They all accomplish one thing. They showcase their evil nature."

But the boy wasn't listening to Ronthiel. He was listening to those claws on stone getting closer... closer... closer until they seemed to echo inside his head.

Amien and Belam heard it too, their hands on the sword hilts and their eyes behind them.

Graybeard and Marroh still talked over the way ahead and tested the passages with smoke and flame. That seemed to lead to no decision, so Graybeard sat down and decided to have a smoke on it, leaving the dwarf on his own.

“Which way?” he asked the dwarf after a while.

“To the right,” said Marroh.

“I quite agree. Let’s go.”

They started up again.

“Why,” asked Amien of Graybeard as they made their way ahead, “did you pick this tunnel?”

“I trust in instincts—not my own, of course,” said Graybeard. “I know nothing of mines and tunnels, but I know the instincts of elves and dwarves. I noticed Ronthiel instinctively took the tunnel to the left. The drow understand the instincts of reading Elvish. They knew he would turn left.”

“How could they know that?” asked Amien.

“The ancient elvish tongue is written from left to right. It reasons that Ronthiel would begin by reading the tunnel markings to the left first, see the stonecutter’s mark, and continue without further checking the next to his right, just as he did.”

“And the drow counted on that?”

“In my opinion—yes,” answered Graybeard. “But I shared not that opinion with the dwarf. Dwarves have their own instincts, which include a very keen sense of direction underground. I let him use it to see if his instincts agreed with my logic.”

“Do you think this is the end of their traps?”

“No. It is too simple,” said Graybeard. “They would have still planned something ahead in this tunnel for anyone who took it.”

Ronthiel stopped. “What is that smell?” he frowned, wrinkling his nose.

“I smell nothing,” said Belam.

“It comes from ahead,” said Ronthiel.

Graybeard glanced toward Amien. “We have found the next trap.”