by Elliott Kay
“We’re almost there,” said Scars. “Then you can rest.”
“I’m still moving,” Yargol assured him.
“Why don’t we use it for storage now?” Shady Tooth wondered. “It’s almost empty.”
“Zuck… talked, but… plans… never became action.”
“Large stores would’ve become one more thing to guard, too,” said Scars. “It’s not like this place ever saw good discipline or good pay. Most of us spent our time guarding against the other guards. This would’ve been one more place to rob.”
DigDig popped out of the alcove along the wall again. Close enough to examine it now, the others saw a small arch only tall and broad enough for a dwarf to walk through. The sounds of running water drifted from the shadows within. “What? Why stop?” asked their guide.
“We need to rest,” said Scars.
The goblin scowled, but nodded after looking over the group. “In here.” He withdrew into the alcove, producing a glowstone again to chase away the shadows.
Scars twisted and stooped to get inside. Luckily the interior was taller past the entrance. He found a basin on one side and a sitting bowl on the other, both with water running from a hole above through another hole in the bottom. Dwarven privies could be found throughout the stronghold, though many no longer had running water. To Scars’s frustration, all too many of his fellow guards never bothered to make use of them.
Despite the taller ceiling within, the space was hardly big enough for more than one person. DigDig was practically flattened against the wall opposite the entrance.
“Water covers sound,” said DigDig. He pointed to the corner behind Scars. “Last one in gets the door.” He turned and disappeared through a crack in the wall behind him. It was even smaller than the alcove entrance outside, but his bigger companions could still squeeze through.
“Door?” Scars blinked, turning around. He’d completely missed the makeshift door attached to the corner of the entrance, hooked into the original hinges. He saw the two catches for locks on the other side. After passing along the instructions, Scars followed into the next chamber.
He found more space and a little more furnishing, but less workmanship. Rotting timbers and dirt marked out a handful of pens. Yargol had been right. The original residents kept animals here. Virtually everything else was gone. Scars saw no tools or feedbag. Instead, he saw a simple cot, a pile of worn-out blankets, and a burlap sack leaning against the corner by the cot.
“DigDig, is this place yours?” asked Scars. “Do you live here?”
“Sleep here when I can,” the goblin answered. Shady Tooth was already through the broken entrance. Yargol followed with ease given his size. DigDig jerked his thumb over his shoulder toward the other end of the darkened room. “Real door is on the other side. Caved in a long time ago. Before the wizard. Bigger spaces are too open. Less safe. This one, the privy covers up the way in. Hides smells, sounds.” He shrugged. “Running water is good, too. It’s clean. Was going to pass and forget this, but then you whistled. Decided, why not?”
War Cloud slumped against a wall, chuckling until Scars looked back to him. “Lowest scrub in the garrison, and he’s also the only one who’s got his own room. Complete with personal privy.”
“I thought you were the lowest scrub,” said Shady Tooth. She looked to Scars, then Yargol. “Or maybe one of you two.”
“These two can at least read. We did much of our work in the library while others stood guard or patrolled in the snow and rain,” Yargol chuckled. “Zuck wanted to see some kind of hierarchy to keep order. He never looked past his assumption about orcs or the goblin folk, thinking it would all be about strength. He thought us savages. He never looked at the details.”
Shady Tooth let out a hiss. “I can read. They never told me I could work in the library. Little shits would’ve been glad to have me there instead of showing them up on the hunting parties, too.”
“Maybe that’s why they didn’t tell you,” said War Cloud. “Too useful to your own kind to leave behind. The rest of us all low enough to be without any difference.”
“We were,” Scars corrected. Shuffling noises drew his attention to their host, who quickly stuffed belongings into another sack. None of it looked to be of real worth. Scars sank against a wall, the last of the crew to sit down. “DigDig, I didn’t know you had this.”
“No one knew. That’s why I have it,” said the goblin.
“I’m sorry,” said Scars.
DigDig stopped. He looked back. “No one ever said that to me.”
That didn’t surprise Scars. He nodded. “It’s a lot to lose. More than the rest of us.”
“Came here with my big sister from Bak’Nor. Cousins, too. Four years ago, when the exiles started. Figured I was old enough to get a job. She died a couple weeks in. Ghouls down below. Cousins died in a payroll brawl a bit after that. Couldn’t go back to Bak’Nor. Not how it works for goblins.” DigDig stared down at his meager belongings. “Already lost all I had once.”
“That why you’re always on your own?” asked War Cloud.
He nodded. “Hard being a lone goblin. Harder when you’re smallest.” He looked up again. “We’re a crew?”
“Damn right,” said Scars. “We are now.”
Again, Scars saw that little glimmer of resolve in the goblin’s eyes. “Stupid adventurers will find this place anyway. Rather have a crew than a room. Never had a crew before.” DigDig returned to his work.
“And what about when we get out of here?” asked Shady Tooth. “Do we stay together?”
“Far as I’m concerned,” Scars answered.
“All of us?” Shady Tooth looked to the others.
War Cloud favored her with a bitter grin that showed off most of his pointy teeth. “It’s not like I can retreat to some temple.”
“You don’t have people to go to?” she asked.
“My people threw me out a long time ago,” said War Cloud. “Heresy, remember?”
From him, she slowly looked to Yargol. His hood still kept most of his face shrouded, but she could see light reflected in his dramatically mismatched eyes. Neither their color nor their shape were the same. “Go ahead and ask,” he sighed.
“Do you have anyone? I don’t even know what you are. Nobody does.”
“I’m an experiment. Magical talent is rare and manifests in different practices. Sometimes it resides in the blood. Other times it’s a matter of spirit. Shamans, sorcerers, wizards, others. Olen Zuck thought he might meld traditions by piecing together the bodies of those with magical talent.”
“Did the experiment work the way he intended?” she asked, her brow furrowing.
Yargol held out his entirely dissimilar hands. “Perhaps not to his expectations. I fit together, at least, even if my original parts were not of a shared size. But I wield magic. I am not exactly any of the traditions commonly known, and yet I am something of each.
“Zuck was not one for easy praise or even appreciation. I doubt I met his expectations, yet he kept me around. Even the weakest magical talent is worth saving. Even trash like me.”
An old orange peel flew out at Yargol, bouncing off his robe onto the floor. Yargol and the others looked up to see DigDig pointing at him. “No picking on the crew. You’re in the crew.”
“I was talking about myself,” Yargol explained.
DigDig frowned, first with a question, then with his own answer. “Not trash.” He returned to his work, ignoring the surprised looks exchanged by the others.
“So none of us has anywhere to go,” said Shady Tooth. “We are hunted in Theralda. King Dostin’s decree banished all orcs and goblin folk south of the mountains. The northern borderlands aren’t any better from what I’ve seen. Velic to the west and Nivoen to the north haven’t been taking our kind in since the banishment. They don’t want us. And to the northeast are the fucking elves.”
“We don’t know where we’re going,” said Scars. “We haven’t thought about anything more t
han the fight in front of us yet. We haven’t had time.”
“We have it now,” said Shady Tooth. “A moment, anyway. Let’s not make it complicated. But if we get out, what direction do we run? Do we need gear for the mountains? Lowlands?”
“The mountains are hard living,” Scars considered. “We might escape pursuit, but it does us no good if we starve. And it’s colder anywhere higher than here.”
“The southern lowlands will have patrols and hunters,” said Yargol.
“So do the borderlands in the north,” said Shady Tooth.
“The lowlands also have food to plunder,” countered War Cloud.
“A single farmer who sees us may bring down the army,” Yargol warned.
“I’ll take my chances on a full belly,” said War Cloud.
“Agreed,” said Shady Tooth. “I’ve seen the patrols. If we lie low and stay off the roads, we should be able to avoid them.”
Yargol shrugged. “I only point out the problem. I don’t have a better answer, either.”
Once they had their say, each of the companions looked to Scars. He in turn looked to the last to speak. “DigDig?”
“Huh?”
“You have a say.”
“Go where the crew goes.”
“It’s okay to speak,” said War Cloud.
DigDig opened his mouth, then closed it. He nodded. “Nothing to say. Not this time. Speak if something to say. Fine with high or low. Low at least something new.” He paused. “Long as we can find place to hide.”
“Then it’s the borderlands,” said Scars. “We’ll have better chances against bounty hunters than army patrols, let alone that adventuring band.”
“How far down do we have to go to get out of here?” Yargol asked, turning to DigDig. “You say you know a way, right?”
“Couple ways,” said DigDig. His expression turned grim. “Gotta go low. Deep.”
“How deep?” Shady Tooth asked.
“Bottom of the city. Gotta use the dwarf roads.”
“The Tor Rathad?” Yargol asked. “There’s no other way out?”
“Other ways cut us back through other levels,” said DigDig. “Could run into adventurers again. Or other guards. Or worse.”
“Worse than the undead roaming the lower halls?” War Cloud countered. “Every corpse from the First Darkness is waiting down there. Along with every fool who tried to take back the halls and all the traps they left behind.”
“Been through there before. Dead are mostly dead. Just gotta be careful. And quiet.” DigDig shook his head. “Nothing but death down there. No life at all. No bugs. Not even mushrooms. Not ‘til you get out of the hold to the Tor Rathad.”
“Fuck me,” Shady Tooth sighed. “What kind of undead are we talking about? Zombies? Ghouls?”
“Mostly. Some worse.”
“You’ve faced worse than zombies and ghouls?” she pressed.
“No! That’s silly. Run and hid from worse. Not stupid.”
“Then it’s more trouble for the adventurers, too,” said Scars. “If he says it’s our only way out of here, I believe him. We go low unless another way out presents itself.”
“You the leader now?” asked DigDig. He looked to the others, gesturing to each. “Everyone wait for you to have last say.”
“We don’t work for the wizard anymore. We don’t need a hierarchy,” Scars answered.
“No, but in a fight it’s good to know who makes the calls,” said War Cloud. “You have a sense for it.”
“So do you.”
“Maybe it’s about more than fighting,” War Cloud pointed out.
Scars looked to Shady Tooth. She grinned. “I do my best work on my own. That doesn’t lend to leading others. But it’s nice to be asked for once.”
“I have no talent for leadership, either,” said Yargol.
“What makes you think anyone has ever followed me?” asked Scars. “I’m hardly even twenty years old.”
“We’re all young, too,” the magician replied. “And we’ve followed you already. All this way down here, with a guide you recruited. And you are one of the least stupid.”
Scars grinned. He wasn’t alone.
“Guess it shouldn’t be more complicated than that. Fine. That’s our path. DigDig, is there anything else on this floor worth taking out?”
“No, nothing,” said DigDig. The question left him pondering his sack of belongings. He grabbed the bottom and overturned it onto his cot, releasing rusted plates and cups, bones, rags, and other trash. He plucked a single old cup from the pile to shove in his belt pouch, then wrapped up the sack. “Stuff is junk. Only worth something to me because it’s mine. But it’s junk. Nothing worth taking. Nothing in other rooms, either. Empty.”
“This level was cleared out in one of the reclamation efforts after the First Darkness,” Yargol explained. “We knew that much from the archives. The main stairways collapsed. Repairs were on Zuck’s list of future tasks once he had need of the space. Zuck knew the level existed, but not about DigDig’s passage. I’m not sure anyone did.”
“Good explorer,” said DigDig, putting his thumb against his chest.
“So it seems. DigDig, why did you never tell anyone?”
Frowning, the goblin gestured to the pile of junk on the cot. “Never had anything after cousins died. Always got pushed out when it was time to loot. Didn’t always get pay. Figured the same would happen with this.” He put his arms out wide. “Least I had lots of nothing all to myself.”
“Then let’s do better,” said Scars. “We split everything equally. Agreed?”
“Assuming we find anything to loot,” Yargol chuckled.
“If we find nothing, it won’t matter. I agree,” said War Cloud. DigDig nodded with obvious enthusiasm. Yargol agreed with a bow of his head.
“It’s not what I’m used to, but I suppose it may be better,” said Shady Tooth. “We’ve agreed to stick together and we’ve pissed all over the Ways of Strength. What else is there?”
“The Ways of Strength left you getting the short end of the stick from your people,” said War Cloud. “I didn’t get the sense you liked it much, given the way you said goodbye.”
“I joke. If I wanted to argue, I would argue,” said Shady Tooth. “Do as we’ve all agreed here and I’ll never need to turn on any of you.”
Silence followed, less out of tension than weariness. War Cloud tilted his head to the wall at his back; Yargol did much the same, though his hood still obscured almost all of his face. Scars couldn’t see his eyes, though, figuring them closed. His own eyelids drooped. They were behind a door in a dark, largely undiscovered level of the stronghold. Sounds of water covered them. DigDig slept here safely for who knew how long. If none of the other inhabitants knew of this place, would the adventurers find it?
“How long did the Peace of Clear Skies last?” War Cloud wondered out loud. “Three gen—sorry, human generations?” he corrected himself. “You put aside your differences and feuds, you save the land from dragons and their armies, and you get three generations of welcome in human lands. Three monarchs let everyone live in peace. Then Theralda has a new king and within a year and everyone is monsters and savages and unfit for these lands. Open season on all of us. Practically overnight.”
“Us? They never accepted your kind,” noted Shady Tooth.
“True. My kind didn’t exactly help against the dragons,” said War Cloud. “It affects us all in the end, though.”
“I’ll point out we have been working for a fugitive wizard for the last few years,” said Yargol. “It’s possible those adventurers would have turned up anyway.”
“How many of us would have been here if we’d had somewhere else to go?” War Cloud asked.
No one answered.
“Yargol,” Scars murmured. “You said you can only wield some of your magic now. What of that trick for telling time?”
“Simple enough,” said the magician.
Scars nodded wearily. “Alright. Twenty minu
tes. No more.” His head tilted back against the wall. He nearly fell asleep before his eyes closed.
* * *
He arrived shortly past dawn, amid frozen dew on the grass and a breeze wafting through the fir trees. The lowlands would be warmer already, but up here in the mountains the air took longer to warm up in the morning. He wore an old cloak over his leather jacket, but he’d kept warm mostly by hiking through the night.
Other recruits trickled up through the mountain trails. The smarter ones stayed off the path. He clued in on that after finding the first couple of bodies, first a goblin, then an orc. Both lay dead after obvious signs of looting. He’d been warned to expect no safe passage. Every aspiring recruit was just another potential mark until they signed up.
It was still safer than the lowlands these days. Better this than the bounty hunters and the king’s patrols. Home wasn’t even a pile of ashes anymore; by now, some other family would’ve claimed the land to build something new. A human family.
The gate was where he’d expected to find it, embedded into a steep rise in the mountain rock at the base of a flat clearing. The collection of recruits milling around at the gate was no surprise, nor the odd assortments among them: a handful of goblin folk, a couple of orcs, even a reptilian man he couldn’t identify. An ogre sat cross-legged off to one side. What Scars did not expect at the front garrison was a podium and desk, manned respectively by a hobgoblin woman in chain mail and an obscured figure in brown, hooded robes taking notes.
“You there. Scars,” the hobgoblin beckoned. “Your turn. Come here.” The apparent master of recruiting looked him up and down with disinterest at the podium, her eyes soon wandering to watch the rest of the crowd. “Name?”
“Scars,” he said.
“It was that or ‘hey you,’ wiseass,” she grumbled. “You don’t even have that many scars.”
The young half-orc tapped his chest. “They’re deeper on the inside.”
A snort of laughter came from under the scribe’s hood. He wrote the name into his book on a blank line under other names. His right hand didn’t match his left; one looked like a hobgoblin’s, the other a bugbear’s, but sized to a goblin.