Another step closer, eyes on those wonderful tools which he’d like to take, and the corpse spoke.
‘As you please, cub.’
Harllo lunged backward. His heart pounded wild in the cage of his chest. ‘A demon!’
‘Patron of miners, perhaps. Not a demon, cub, not a demon.’
The candle had gone out with Harllo’s panicked retreat. The corpse’s voice, sonorous, with a rhythm like waves on a sandy beach, echoed out from the pitch black darkness.
‘I am Dev’ad Anan Tol, of the Irynthal Clan of the Imass, who once lived on the shores of the Jhagra Til until the Tyrant Raest came to enslave us. Sent us down into the rock, where we all died. Yet see, I did not die. Alone of all my kin, I did not die.’
Harllo shakily fumbled with the candle, forcing the oiled wick into the spring spark tube. Three quick hissing pumps of the sparker and flame darted up. ‘Nice trick, that.’
‘The tube’s got blue gas, not much and runs out fast so it needs refilling. There’s bladders upside. Why didn’t you die?’
‘I have had some time to ponder that question, cub. I have reached but one conclusion that explains my condition. The Ritual of Tellann.’
‘What made the evil T’lan Imass! I heard about that from Uncle Gruntle! Undead warriors at Black Coral-Gruntle saw them with his own eyes! And they kneeled and all their pain was taken from them by a man who then died since there was so much pain he took from them and so they built a barrow and it’s still there and Gruntle said he wept but I don’t believe that because Gruntle is big and the best warrior in the whole world and nothing could make him weep nothing at all!’ And Harllo had to stop then so that he could regain his breath. And still his heart hammered like hailstones on a tin roof.
From the Imass named Dev’ad Anan Tol, silence. ‘You still there?’ Harllo asked,
‘Cub. Take my tools. The first ever made and by my own hand, I was an Inventor. In my mind ideas bred with such frenzy that I lived in a fever. At times, at night, I went half mad. So many thoughts, so many notions-my clan feared me, The bonecaster feared me. Raest himself feared me, and so he had me thrown down here. To die. And my ideas with me.’
‘Should I tell everyone about you? They might decide to lift you out, so you can see the world again.’
‘The world? That tiny flame you hold has shown me more of the world than I can comprehend. The sun… oh, the sun… that would destroy me, I think. To see it again.’
‘We have metal picks now,’ Harllo said. ‘Iron.’
‘Skystone. Yes, I saw much of it in the tunnels. The Jaghut used sorcery to bring it forth and shape it-we were not permitted to witness such things. But I thought, even then, how it might be drawn free, without magic. With heat. Drawn out, given shape, made into useful things. Does Raest still rule?’