Run Like Hell

by Elliott Kay

  “Right. We don’t have much choice,” said Scars.

  “Can you elaborate?” asked Yargol. “Everything DigDig laid out for us sounds like it’s not an option. And we don’t dare go back.”

  “We cross the bridge. DigDig, how high is the rail?”

  “Waist height for a dwarf.” He held his hand at little more than two feet.

  “Are there bodies strewn everywhere, like in these halls?”

  “No. Like it was cleared off.”

  “Somehow that’s even less inviting,” muttered Teryn.

  “Doesn’t matter,” said Scars. “We get to the bridge and then crawl across. Slow and quiet. If it takes us an hour to get across that damn bridge, so be it. And if that thing spots us, we run. We can’t have any light, but at least that bridge is a straight shot. One of us can guide Teryn through.” Scars looked to each of his companions. “Simple enough?”

  Uneasy glances swept the group. Shady Tooth let out a tense, frustrated breath. “Tighten down your packs,” she said. “Mail armor, too. If anything rattles or bumps, leave it here. If your weapon bounces on your belt, take the belt off and carry it. If your waterskin sloshes, drink it all down now. Half of being quiet is in minding what you carry.”

  Minutes later, their equipment checked, the group set out. Teryn kept one hand on War Cloud’s shoulder on the way to the bridge. Walking blind meant walking slowly, but she showed trust in her companions. The others had little trouble making out the grey bridge stretching out ahead in the darkness.

  The bridge was wide enough to allow for passing wagons on either side. With the great hall down to the left of their path on the bridge, DigDig guided the crew over toward the right. A soft breeze blew over the span just as the goblin had warned. Though nothing else made a sound, the sheer emptiness of it all gave the impression of a vast cavern and an equally vast drop.

  Everyone took to their hands and knees without hesitation or complaint. Scars took that for a good sign. Nobody slacked or tried to crouch instead of crawl. They all took it seriously. Shady Tooth and War Cloud kept to Teryn’s sides to help her along.

  Perspective set in after the first endless minute of crawling. Though accustomed to darkness, none of them saw as far in such black conditions as they could in natural light. They couldn’t make out the other side. This would take time.

  Though he looked back to his companions once or twice, Scars mostly kept his head down and kept going. He knew how badly they surely wanted to bitch and moan about this. He already felt the need, too. He also dreaded the eventual horror of someone sneezing or coughing or any other involuntary bit of noise that might doom them all.

  They made it perhaps a quarter of the way without incident or sound.

  Then half.

  Two-thirds.

  The thump-clank of plate armor at the end of the bridge froze the entire group. They’d heard not a sound all this way. Nothing hinted at anyone ascending the stairs at the other end of the bridge. One moment it was all shrouded in darkness, and in the next a new obstacle stood in their way.

  Armor and weaponry made up most of his visage. The dwarf was covered from head to toe in steel plates and scale mail, clutching a large and ancient battle hammer in his gauntleted hands. He looked as if everything about him were metal but for the white beard sticking out from his helm and the unsettling green light of his eyes.

  That emerald glow spread around the dwarf, encompassing the bridge right to the last crawling form. Light reflected from the bridge and the dwarf’s own armor to create a little light behind him, illuminating the archway into the cave wall at the end of the bridge.

  Naturally, the undead thing planted himself squarely in the middle of their path.

  “Strange,” said the dwarf. “This is a strange sight.”

  Scars rose slowly. He didn’t want to make a threat of himself to an undead monster willing to speak, but he didn’t want to die on his hands and knees, either. He heard the others shuffle to their feet behind him. “We didn’t want to disturb you,” he said.

  “Heh. So you crawled across the bridge like worms?”

  “You looked peaceful in your chair,” Scars replied evenly.

  “Cowards.”

  “No. Considerate. No need for insult.”

  “Ha! You talk pretty for an orc. Look prettier than most, too.”

  “And you’re lacking an accent for a proper dwarf,” said Scars.

  “Aw, for the love of—that’s a stupid stereotype!” snapped the dwarf. “We don’t all talk like that. Not all of us have a burr from the highlands. How many dwarves have you actually met?”

  Scars blinked. “…only a few?”

  “There, see? You’re speaking in ignorance.”

  “I apologize,” said Scars. He wasn’t sure what else he was supposed to say to that.

  “Good. Huh. Maybe you are considerate. Weird for an—ah! There, see? I’m doing it, too.”

  “Who are you?” asked Teryn.

  “A human? Strange to see a human down here. Stranger still with goblin folk. And orcs. And a gnoll, and…whatever.” The dwarf huffed himself out of that line of thought. “You stand before Angus Keenan Stonefrost, Battlemaster of Clan Ironhall.”

  “That’s a very, um…” Teryn gulped, fishing for a compliment. “…dwarven name.”

  “It’s family tradition!”

  “Mm-hrm.”

  “I’m named for my grandpa. Or I was. Truth be told, I debate if I should still claim to be the man I once was. Those days are dead and buried under corpses and lies. Ironhall forfeited their rights to these halls long ago. Doesn’t matter how many times they try to take it back. They’re not getting it.”

  “How long have you been here?” asked Yargol.

  “I don’t know. How long has it been since Thrandor fell?”

  “A thousand years,” Yargol answered. “One thousand and seven, actually.”

  “Then there’s your answer.”

  “You were part of the clan? You were here for the First Darkness?”

  “The First? So there were more?” Angus spread his arms wide. “I don’t get much news down here. Not a lot of traffic. Then again, I’ve made an effort at that. Coming from the way you have, I’m sure you get my meaning.”

  “It is known as the First Darkness, yes,” Yargol explained. “When the curse of undeath rose up from beneath the earth amid a war for this very hold, spreading throughout…” His voice trailed off. Angus was laughing.

  “Rose up? It just sprouted out of the ground like a bloom of mushrooms?” he asked.

  “More like a plague. Undead were known to the world before then, but they were exceedingly rare. Every account could point to a specific curse or a crime against the gods as its origin. With the First Darkness, undeath spread throughout the realms of the dwarves and goblins, and then to the surface.” Yargol hesitated before saying more. “Scholars know the clan fought for the hold against a goblin king when it happened. It is believed the goblins unleashed some terrible sorcery to win the war.”

  “Is that the belief?” asked Angus. “You sound doubtful, little creature.”

  “None of this was taught to me as a cub,” said Shady Tooth.

  “Me neither,” said DigDig.

  “Why would it be?” asked War Cloud. “You think the goblins want the blame for this?”

  “For a powerful curse unleashed upon the world?” countered Shady Tooth. “One that leaves humans haunted and slaughtered, their children hiding under their beds? It wouldn’t be blame. These days, it would be pride.”

  Yargol shook his head. “I have read only sparse accounts. The matter is strangely lacking for detail given the extent of other histories of this hold. Almost as if something was deliberately left unsaid. It seems plausible…and yet.”

  “And yet it’s a lie,” said Angus. “The goblins invaded, yes. We fought for the hold until bodies filled the mines. The undead didn’t come from them. They came from us.”

  “What happened?
” asked War Cloud.

  “The lord of the hold got scared. He didn’t know what to do against goblins in such numbers and led by a goblin king with some backbone. The elves wouldn’t come and the humans didn’t live in any real numbers close by. He didn’t believe we could hold on our own, so he found his reinforcements down here. He ordered us to open the crypts and raise our own dead to fight again.”

  “That’s insane,” said Yargol.

  “That’s what I said. But I was a good soldier. I followed orders. You see where that got me.”

  “And so the undead claimed the hold,” said Scars.

  “Yes. And kept the bastards of our clan from reclaiming it. Ironhall doesn’t get to come back from this. Ironhall can live with their shame.”

  “Trouble,” Shady Tooth hissed. “Behind us.”

  Scars looked back. Movement in the shadows of the hall became clearer as shapes edged into the light—dwarven shapes in dwarven armor.

  “Still,” Angus continued, “can’t have goblin folk running around down here, either. This is a dwarven hold. You don’t belong.”

  “We’re on our way out,” said Teryn.

  “No worries. I’ll rid this place of you faster than your feet ever could.”

  “Hold on,” said Scars.

  “Why, so you can talk your way out of this, orc?” Angus sneered.

  “Obviously!”

  “Oh, now you’re giving away the game.”

  “No, listen,” said Scars. “You’ve been down here since the First Darkness. That’s a thousand years. No one knows your story. No one knows how you were betrayed. The kings and priests covered it up. Don’t you want the rest of the world to know? The rest of your people?”

  “What, so you’re going to tell them for me?” Angus scoffed. “Who’d believe an orc? Or a goblin? Or the sort of human who’d run around with them?”

  “No, not me,” Scars countered, still reaching for a stronger defense. “Another dwarf. The one who’s chasing us.”

  “Eh?”

  “Adventurers hit the upper levels yesterday. Wiped most of our garrison out, but we escaped. They’re still hunting us, though. Vowed to take us all out. One of them is a dwarf. He’s got some sort of, uh, tracking ability. But it only works while we’re alive.”

  “Oh, come on.”

  “No, it’s true!” Teryn joined in. “The dwarf has a special ability that allows him to track anyone by their, um, blood. As long as he’s cut them before. Like he cut Scars,” she said, jerking her thumb at him. “They’re called the Bloodtrac—Bloodhunters! They’re Bloodhunters.” Then she shrugged. “Adventurers, you know?”

  Those glowing eyes narrowed again. “And how’s one become a Bloodhunter?”

  “You have to be a fighter and sort of a rogue,” she explained. “Enough of a rogue to know how to fight them. A rogue-fighter, kind of.” Again, she gestured at Scars lamely. “Doesn’t he look a little roguish to you?”

  “What was that about stereotyping?” War Cloud muttered behind her.

  “So he’s bound to come down here, huh?” asked Angus.

  “Sworn to it,” said Scars. “He can’t stop until the oath is finished. Blood oath. Serious stuff.”

  “Sworn on his blood, or yours?”

  Scars held back a wince. Which was more likely for the dwarves? “Mine?”

  Angus grunted. “Fine. So he’s bound to come after you. Why shouldn’t I just keep you here and wait for him?”

  “W-we have to keep moving or the Bloodtra-a-hunter will take his time,” said Teryn. “The only way to escape these guys is to wear them out. And you know dwarves. Hardy.” Then she winced. “Oh, sorry. ‘Nother stereotype.”

  “I’m in favor of that one,” said Angus. “Alright, fine. I’ve met my share of adventurers. This all sounds plausible. But what difference does it make? If he’s a dwarf in these halls, he’s probably another Ironhall whelp I’ll wind up killing anyway.”

  “He’s not,” said Scars. “He declared it. Part of his oath. He’s another clan.”

  “Yeah? Which? What’s his name?”

  Scars grimaced. He knew that would come. What was a believable dwarf name? One that didn’t point straight back to the Ironhalls? “Seamus. His name is Seamus…Duncan…Flint. Rock. Flintrock.”

  “Of what clan?”

  “Beer…beard. Beerbeard.”

  “Beerbeard?” asked Shady Tooth. Yargol’s hooded head hung lower. Even DigDig looked up at Scars in disbelief.

  “Son of a bitch,” said Angus. “I’ve been down here too long. They’re an entire clan now?”

  “Um. Yes!” Teryn picked up. “They’re very influential in the south. They have a lock on the brewing industry.”

  Angus let out a furious groan. “Oh, of course they do! The Beerbeard family business was in printing! They were scribes and bookkeepers! But oh no, why stick with that when you can use your name for your brand? Of all the predictable, stereo—!” He stopped. The long-dead white hair of his beard rustled. “Fine. I want to talk to this Beerbeard. You can go.”

  Knowing better than to push his luck, Scars stepped forward without saying anything. So did the rest. Then Angus hefted his hammer in a ready stance again. They stopped. “Why are you set for battle if we can go?” asked Scars.

  “What? No, just you. I don’t need to let all of you go.”

  “It’s either all of us or none,” said Scars.

  “Don’t be crazy, orc. The whole lot of you can’t take me. You don’t have the magic, and your silver won’t be enough. I can sense it.”

  “I won’t leave them behind to die,” Scars replied.

  “Won’t, or can’t?”

  “No magic curses or bonds or any of that shit. Just friends. You want them, you go through me. I’m sure you know how it is.”

  That dead beard rustled again. “Huh. Mighty honorable for an orc.”

  “Now who’s stereotyping?”

  The glow dimmed and narrowed again. “You’re leaving the hold? Fine. Go.” Angus lowered his hammer and stepped aside.

  Wary glances flew all around, but they walked. Everyone tensed as they passed the long-dead dwarf. He made no move against any of them. Soon, Scars found himself at the archway into the next hall with his friends right behind.

  “This is fine,” muttered War Cloud. “Sure none of this will bite us in the ass later.”

  “Shut it,” Scars murmured back with urgency.

  The hallway remained dark, still lit only by the glow of the dead dwarf’s eyes. Scars heard a skitter in the shadows, movement and a rasping breath, and then saw the glow of red eyes. The shape rushed out at him, mostly drawn and leathery skin under ragged clothes. Like Angus, her beard had long gone pale and coarse, but Scars cared only about her jagged teeth and her unnatural claws. He brought up his spear in a flash, planting it in the dwarf ghoul’s shoulder hard enough to push her back. War Cloud was already in motion, too, finishing her off with a cleaving blow from his sword.

  Scars looked back to the bridge. “Angus!”

  “Oh, that’s just one of the ferals,” said the ancient dwarf. “Guess we were talking too loud and woke them up. Lots of them down here. More of them than there are of us. I’m only in control of my troops.” He held up his armored hands in a helpless shrug. “You can’t expect me to command every cursed corpse down here.”

  “Shit,” hissed Shady Tooth. She stood beside Scars now, staring down the dark hallway with her blades drawn. “There are more.”

  “Yeah, you’ll want to get moving,” Angus said, sounding almost jolly. “If you’re fast enough through the hall, you might make to one of the next bridges. Might give you a bottleneck to cut down on their numbers. Nice meeting you.”

  Scars looked back with his lip curling into an insult or a retort, but he didn’t bother. He took off running down the hall alongside his friends.

  Chapter Seven

  They made it through a single block of dwarven homes before falling into a running battle.
Ancient corpses rose from the shadows and crawled out of darkened windows. Dwarves and goblin folk stirred from their resting places at the scents and sounds of life. Some moved fast, others slow, some rotten and decayed and others dried out like leather, marking the only distinctions between types of undead the crew could bother with now. Only the flash of Yargol’s flames lit the way. No one had time for close examinations, anyway.

  “Bridge isn’t far! Go, go!” urged DigDig. He stuck close to Scars at the front, though their difference in size made it tough to match his pace. He also didn’t want to get in the way when Scars swung that blade. With one broad motion, Scars hewed through the neck of one dwarf zombie and knocked aside another. DigDig sailed in at his open side, slamming his shovel into the face of an undead goblin who thought to exploit the gap.

  “Which way?” grunted Scars.

  “Two more crossings,” DigDig answered, thinking fast. “Then turn right.”

  Teryn came up behind Scars at his other side, jabbing her sword into a fallen dwarf to make sure it stayed down. Switching her weapons made sense; even if her every arrow hit its mark, she’d run out before shooting made any difference. “And where does that take us?”

  DigDig swung again to finish off his opponent before it rose. His breath was already ragged from fighting and running. Did he have to explain everything now, too? “Over old mines. Shafts go deep, like chasm behind us. Smaller bridges. Wood and rope.”

  “Then we can cut them behind us and lose our pursuit,” said Scars. He met the headlong charge of another goblin with his shield, knocking it to the floor. “Good thinking, DigDig.”

  “Yeah. Right,” DigDig huffed, running alongside Scars again. He hadn’t thought of that part at all.

  “She meant to ask where that bridge takes us,” Shady Tooth corrected, following with the others. She always expected more out of him, no matter what he said. Maybe it was part of being a bigger kind of goblin folk. Bugbears always wanted more from goblins. More work, more space, more power. More of everything.

  “Trade post. Old trade post at the…edge of the…dwarf roads,” he answered, breathing hard. “Big gate down there. Closed. Have to open it. You’re all too big to slip through.”