After what must have been another couple of hours, the tunnel began to slope down, then turned to stairs. Captain Lorsson held up his hand.

“Halt,” he said. “Let me check my map.”

He reached into the space between thigh-plate and uniform, and took out a square of yellowed paper. It was covered in roughly sketched lines and boxes, and annotated heavily in a scrawl. I might have asked where he got it, but remembered Tradfast’s warning about not asking questions.

“We’re on track,” he said. “Don’t worry dwarves, we’ll be able to rest soon. In about an hour, if my map is right.”

I’d have groaned if I could muster the effort. My legs felt like sacks of dead meat and rock, and the journey was so monotonous it was already a battle to keep my eyelids open. My belly rumbled and my throat was dry as bone, and I could see no food or water anywhere. Another hour of this?

But my wishes were worth nothing, and so I plodded along with the rest for another hour, passing the time by daydreaming about what I’d do once I sold the sapphire, King ghost be damned. I’d buy a place near the top of the tallest peak, as far away from mining as I could possibly go. Inside, my mansion would be full of soft carpets, servants to carry me around, tables mounted with piles of the most expensive food, and the most beautiful women to eat it with. I’d have a little window somewhere from which I could look out. I imagined being carried to it, sitting beside it as I shoveled venison into my mouth. Baked juices ran down my beard and--

My foot his a flat plane where I’d expected there to be a step, and my daydream vanished. Cursing, I looked around to see where we were. Another corridor, but different to the one we’d come through.

At either side, the rock shot away at an angle, the tunnel turning to an open funnel. Alongside the walls were awful carvings. Dwarves bowed down before great lizards, depicted casting down the works of dwarf, and remaking nature. Houses, cities, whole mountains were being smashed to rubble, and the remains turned to rivers and flat plains. The whole impression was made worse as the moving lamplight cast the reliefs into twisting black things.

Everyone shuffled together, pressed against one another like a herd of animals. Only Lorsson strode ahead, fearless. He stopped before a huge entranceway, flanked by statues of dwarves in the same clothes the ghosts wore, holding out their hands to point through the gap. Ancient, twisted dwarves, leading us to their world of fanaticism. A stone settled in my stomach as Captain Lorsson took out his map again. Where we really going to go through here?

Furrowing his brow, he scrutinised it for a few minutes, tracing the roads with his hands and muttering under his breath. Finally he gave a smile and looked up.

“Yes!” he said. “We’re here. This was where the priests had their city.”

The priests. Who, as the King had said, were now the ghosts. The heat drained from my face and I tightened my grip on both spear and lamp.

“Do you really think the miners could have made it down here?” asked Tradfast. Underneath his gruffness, there was a note of anxiety in place of the usual anger, which I wouldn’t have thought possible a couple days ago.

“There’s nowhere else they could have gone,” said Captain Lorsson. “If they’re alive, they’re here. At ease dwarves, we’ll take a rest for now, and...”

I slumped to the ground without bothering to listen to the rest, along with the rest of the group. It felt amazing, just being able to lie down against the cold stone, letting the pain run from my legs. I shut my eyes.

“Wake up Stony!” came Tradfast’s booming voice.

I opened my eyes and gave a yelp. Tradfast loomed over me, pick in hand. Behind him the miners sniggered.

“Oh, right,” I said, and crawled to my feet, legs protesting all the way. Tradfast thrust a canteen and a dried bit of meat in front of my face.

“Eat and drink,” he said. “We’re going exploring.”

I snatched the meat from his hand and bit down. It was tough like leather, salty, and had the nasty stringiness common to all cheap meat. But it was delicious, and even better washed down with lukewarm water. I handed back the canteen.

“Is this all we’re going to get?”

Tradfast snorted. “Come on. Unless you want to be left behind.”

I didn't, so I followed the group through the hole in the wall.

“Incredible!” shouted Lorsson. The dwarves behind him gasped and stopped in their tracks, sudden enough that I nearly smacked into the one in front. Some of the soldiers in front began to mumble to each other, and the dwarves behind them tried to push through or crane their heads over each others’ shoulders. Was what they saw really so amazing? I rolled my eyes. If we were going through here, then let’s go, damnit!

“Get a move on!” shouted Tradfast, and the group started into a slow stumble that turned to a barely passable march. As I made it clear of the priest statues, a cool damp air washed over my face, and I saw why everyone had stopped to gape. I nearly froze myself.

We had entered a city, no, a megacity -- there could be no other word for such a place as this, ten times the size of the hall of pillars above. A great river, glittering with light reflected from a bright hole far in the distance, flowed through the centre. Slopes, traced with horizontal and vertical paths, led up from the current and were coated in lumpy, rubbly blocks -- old houses, long since devoid of dwarves. But the place wasn’t dead, quite the opposite. Half a forest as well as a city, huge mosses, lichens, fungi of every description were crammed into streets and buildings, hanging off bridges and overpasses, even coating the floor beneath my feet. Some glowed, giving the whole expanse a magic blue tinge.

I followed the path of the river with my eyes, and saw it flowed under us. We had come out on a kind of overhang, a hundred metre tall, hundred metre wide rectangle suspended nearly a kilometre over the city, rimmed with a ledge and a few more entrances. It went across to the adjacent wall, before the ledge curved down with a set of stairs to the city below, where it joined a wide road down to the river.

No one spoke for a while. We walked along with eyes to the side, soaking in the otherworldly scenery. Some of the miners whispered to each other, pointing out strange features. A statue draped with green here, a mushroom standing as tall as a building, and glowing so blue it hurt to look at there. My sleepiness evaporated as I drank everything in. I’d sworn to myself to stay away from the mysteries here, to focus all my efforts on escape, but no one, no matter how jaded, could ignore this place.

Eventually, we made it to the point where the ledge of the overhang met the wall of the cavern, and the flat ridge turned to downward stairs.

“There’s water in the river, and many of those mushrooms are edible,” said Captain Lorsson. Then with pride, pointing out a cluster of white and purple ones: “One of my uncles grows that exact type. They’re a delicacy.”

I couldn't care less about his mushrooms, and perhaps it showed, because his rosy glow of pride darkened to a seriousness I’d never seen before. He drew his blade, held it up, and I sucked in a breath of anticipation. Was there something here? A ghost? The miners cringed, but the soldiers fixed their eyes on him and licked their lips, like they expected something. I took a step back, no idea what was going on.

“A speech,” whispered one soldier to another. “One of his speeches!”

The captain’s voice sang out, sang out in a way I hadn’t though imaginable.

“Miners, if your friends made it down here, they are safe. I see no ghosts to swoop on them, and plenty of food and water they can survive by. Have faith in them.” My mouth hung open in shock. I’d only ever thought the Captain able to speak with awkward foolishness, and ignorance. Now his voice resonated with the clear tones of a leader. “If they escaped, and I am sure they did, we will find them.” His voice rose and lowered in pitch, and he slashed the air with his sword. “And have no fear! Soldiers! We will protect the miners with our lives, as you all swore to do. With your skill and discipline, we need have no worries, no matter what happens.”

The soldiers stuck out their chests in pride, and the miners straightened themselves with a new determination. To my great surprise, I felt my own back straighten as well. Why? It was the sort of speech I hated, full of honour and faith and nobility, three things I’d long been convinced no dwarf held. But Captain Lorsson’s voice had pulled me in, and hope took heart in me. We’d make our way through this city, nothing would harm us, and we’d meet the miners. Airon would be there, and fine, and we could, no, we would escape this bad dream. I’d hear no more from the ghosts, nor from their king, I’d sell my sapphire for a mountain of gold and live out the rest of my days in comfort. A tear trickled from one eye.

Everything was going to be alright.

We made our careful way down the stairs, spread out so if one dwarf fell, he wouldn’t take the rest down with him. There were no handrails, although rows of holes in the stone implied they’d once been there. This place must be ancient, for everything to rust away so.

We alighted the stairs into a little stream that ran from a long, thin gap in the wall. Cool water soaked me up to my ankles and right into my shoes, seeming to wash the fatigue right out. The other dwarves gave gasps of relief, and a few even bent down to wash their faces. In their hands came away great clumps of algae.

Captain Lorsson examined his map again.

“We’ll head down to the river," he said, back to his normal tone of voice. "All roads lead there, and its where the best fresh water is. We’ll keep a loose formation, with the miners in the middle, and stay on the more open paths. There are dangerous creatures here, although there shouldn’t be any ghosts.”

I gripped my spear a little harder, but if it was just ordinary lizards or something, the soldiers ought to be able to protect us. No need to worry.

We walked down a slippery road. Around us great discs of lichen and bulging mushrooms hung over, their ribbed undersides letting off steady streams of spores that made me sneeze. It was dark here, apart from the lamplight. Slowly, my heartrate rose and my gut became lighter. Anything could be lurking in those shadows.

Rather abruptly, the road was cut in half by a deep channel, filled with flowing water, with no way across.

“Halt,” ordered Captain Lorsson, and we halted. “We’re quite close to the river now, time to see if anyone else is down here. We’ll call out at ten second intervals, going down the line right to left, while we walk along this channel. I’m sure we’ll get a response soon.” He smiled at us, in the out of touch manner that had always irritated me. But I didn't care so much anymore.

Soon. Soon I’d be able to see my friend again.

Hopefully.

We began to make our way along the side of the channel. The stone edge was slimy and green, and with no handrails left to prevent accidents, we kept a good few metres distance from the sides.

“Anybody here?” cried the Captain, voice carrying over the city, then echoing back down. Ten seconds passed, and it was Tradfast’s turn.

“Anybody here?” he roared, and I put my hands over my ears as best I could. The echo bounced back and forth madly. But still no reply.

That was normal enough, surely. I hadn’t been expecting a response after the first two calls. The calls continued down the line, until it was my turn.

“Anybody here?” I yelled, then collapsed into a coughing fit. My lungs hadn’t been ready. Still, no reply.

I began to doubt. How could Lorsson possibly know the miners had made it down here? My shoulders began to slump. Airon was dead after all, so was everyone not with us now. We would wander here for eternity until the ghosts found us, and that would be the end.

“Hello?” came a distant voice.

I straightened my back, new hope flooding into me like a wave. The voice was a little familiar? Airon?

“Hello!” shouted Captain Lorsson, holding up his hand to halt us.“Who is it?”

“The miners! Some of us anyway.” The voice came from maybe five hundred metres down the slope. I frowned. The voice wasn’t Airon’s, but still oddly familiar.

“Excellent!” replied the Captain.

Who were they? Were they the miners who’d been separated right after the earthquake? Or the ones who’d been separated after we dug out the emerald? Was Airon among them?

“Is Airon there?” I blurted out, and cursed myself for it. I’d told myself I wouldn’t draw any attention. But I wanted to know my friend was safe.

Someone shouldered past me, shouting for his own friend. Then the rest of the miners started to shout too. They crowded out past the soldiers, who stumbled around bewildered, yelling, all danger suddenly forgotten. Some made it dangerously close to the edge. Tradfast gave me a dangerous look.

“Silence!” he screamed. “Get back into line.”

The miners slunk back behind the soldiers, cowed.

“Don’t worry,” said Captain Lorsson. “We’ll all get to see our friends soon.”

“Where are you?” came the voice in the distance again.

“We’re further up the slope than you, I think,” said Captain Lorsson. “Can you see the tall blue mushroom down by the river? It curves to the left.” He pointed, in the direction of a towering mushroom, nearly as tall as the mining scaffold had been, glowing soft cyan.

There was a short pause.

“I can see it” came the reply.

I finally recognised the voice! Bushy-Beard. My mood, which had been in a fairly decent state in light of the situation, dropped to rock bottom. I couldn’t quite bring myself to wish he’d had his soul sucked out, but I was damn close to it.

“Go there and wait for us,” ordered Lorsson.

Bushy-Beard replied the affirmative, and we marched on, brushing past thin white mushrooms that sprouted from beneath the paving stones like hard-tipped streamers. We came to a small bridge, crossed it, and continued through some more streets. Because we were on a slope, the true scale of the blue mushroom did not quite become clear until we were right up close.

It was nearly as thick as one of the pillars in the hall above, and many times taller than it had first appeared. What had it fed on that it could possibly have grown so large? I looked around for patches of soil, and saw arm-thick roots burrowing into the stone beneath. Then I realised something else. There were old, slimy stairs all over the streets. Little dingy holes, leading to who knows where. Was it possible this whole city we were walking on was just the most upper level? Might the bulk of it be below? And if so, did anything live down there? I shuddered.

Bushy-Beard, leading twelve miners, came into view. Our eyes met, and under the blue glow of the mushroom, angry contours made themselves visible on his face.

“Hurrah!” shouted Captain Lorsson. “We’re all safer together now, eh?”

Bushy-Beard blinked once, looking slightly taken aback at Captain Lorsson’s casual tone. He must not have experienced it first hand yet.

“Quite,” he said, then gave me a dark look. “Captain, I need to talk to you. Alone.”

My heart missed a beat. If Bushy-Beard got to Lorsson, I was in trouble.

“No time for that now,” shouted Tradfast. He turned to Lorsson and lowered his voice to a normal level. “We need to make camp, get some food and rest. I don’t know about your men, but mine are getting tired.”

He was right, we were tired. By my reckoning, it was night by now, although night was rather an arbitrary concept underground. I measured time not by the blazing sun and the cool silver moon, neither of which I’d seen, but by my stomach, and drowsiness level. Right now, it was about eleven o’clock.

“Ah, you have a point, Overseer. I’m not so good at keeping track of time without my watch. Good thing we have you miners, eh?”

I got the distinct impression that he would have given Tradfast a friendly pat on the shoulder, had he been close enough. The grand personality he'd taken on for his speech had been temporary, an act, it seemed. Damn.

“Right, here’s the plan,” continued the Captain. He pointed to a house a little further down the road. Dark purple, fat mushrooms bulged out its crumbling windows, doors, and from a few other holes that I doubted had been part of the original architecture.

“Those mushrooms are an edible type. Half of us will work on cutting them out, the other half will go down to the river and gather water. We’ll prepare a meal, then sleep, taking turns to guard. Understood?”

“Yes sir!” barked the soldiers, apparently glad to have a clear task to accomplish. I groaned. More work.

“Alright,” said Lorsson. “Tradfast can work out a way to clear out the house, and I’ll lead the group gathering fresh water. You dwarves,” he pointed to the group led by Bushy-Beard, “Can help with taking apart those mushrooms. You--”

“Actually, we found a kind of well with pretty clean water coming from it on our way here,” said Bushy-Beard, rushing out his words.

I widened my eyes in surprise, then narrowed them. A well? With clean water, here in this fungus and algae infested ruin of a city? Bushy-Beard was lying. He wanted to get Captain Lorsson on his own! But accusing Bushy-Beard of being a liar would only raise suspicion. I just had to hope the Captain wouldn't believe him.

“Oh!” said Captain Lorsson, raising his eyebrows in surprised delight. “Excellent news. You twelve can come to the water, then we best take an equal number of soldiers...”

Damnit. I slumped my shoulders in defeat.

So we split up, Tradfast leading the mushroom group, Captain Lorsson the water group.

I could do nothing but hope Captain Lorsson wouldn’t believe Bushy-Beard’s lies.