by Elliott Kay
“When you called this a trading post, I expected something smaller,” said Shady Tooth. She looked up the short, broad steps leading to the looming structures at their right. “This is like some human castle embedded in the rock.”
“The hold wanted to make a good impression on visitors,” said Yargol. “Thrandor was a destination for pilgrims, but that also made it a major stop along the Tor Rathad for merchants headed to greater locations. Presented with comfort and grandeur like this, travelers might stay and rest a while longer. They might linger and spend their coins. Religion and commerce often walk close together. Ah. Here.” He leaned over one goblin skeleton, pulling an ancient spear from its bony grip. With a whisper and the trace of his fingers along the shaft, the old weapon hardened and lost its cracks. In the space of a breath, it became as good as new.
“You think maybe the war began here?” asked DigDig. “Maybe a fight broke out in the market? Things got worse from there, turned into a war?”
“No, this was deliberate. Look at the bodies and the flow of the fight,” Teryn murmured. “They fought through here on their way up. They came through the main doors.”
“Main doors are still shut, though,” said DigDig. “See? Right up here.”
The gate towered over the plaza, layer upon layer of crisscrossed steel rods rising from floor to ceiling. With every bar covered in geometric patterns and dwarven runes, the gate was as much a work of art as a measure of security. No single beam stood out amid the gate as the primary crossbar. Tracks carved into the floor indicated the gates swung open from the center.
DigDig pointed to the path of the gates. “See? Bodies in the tracks. Can’t have died here if the gates were open. Would’ve been pushed out when they closed, right?”
“Unless they were crushed,” said Teryn, kneeling at one skeleton. “Like this one.”
“They’re not flat,” DigDig countered with a frown. Then he reconsidered. “Gate isn’t one big flat piece, either, though.”
“And you can see the damage to the floor,” said War Cloud. He pointed to chips and cracks in the otherwise smooth surface. “Like a rain of shattered steel.”
“It would’ve taken a hell of a lot of work to put this thing back together,” noted Shady Tooth. “You’d need a whole team of dwarven builders for this. A big team, with block and tackle.”
“Or a single powerful wizard,” said Yargol. He tilted his newfound spear out as an example. “Zuck’s repair cantrip puts its subject back together the way it was intended. The caster doesn’t have to understand the subject like its original builder did. Something like this would be beyond my powers, but not his.”
Yargol walked closer to the gate. He pulled back his hood, revealing once more the wildly varied nature of his body. Even the back of his head looked as if it had been sewn together from bits of half a dozen goblin folk, with hair and fur and bare skin in equal measure. He stared up at the gate. “Now that I look closely, I can see the energy tied up in the metal. This gate isn’t just repaired. Zuck reinforced it with his own magic.”
“He came all the way down here to close up the gate, but he left all the undead behind?” asked Teryn. “Why wouldn’t he clear them out?”
“Because he never had enough numbers to garrison this place,” said War Cloud. “The gate is only one line of defense. It’ll frustrate most on the other side, but a determined and prepared force could eventually get through it. Zuck would’ve wanted a garrison to defend against that. He didn’t have enough troops for it, so he left the undead to guard the lower levels.”
“I can’t imagine he wanted to clear all the undead out himself, either,” said Scars. “That’d be too much work and too much risk. Even for him.”
“It’s true,” Yargol agreed. “He was powerful, but everyone has their limits.”
“We got through, and we aren’t wizards,” Shady Tooth pointed out.
“No, but we also snuck as far as we could and hauled ass once that game ran out,” said Scars.
“And nearly died,” Teryn added.
“Nearly,” huffed War Cloud.
“So how do we get through here? You said you’ve gotten through before, right?” Teryn asked, looking to DigDig.
He shook his head. “Can crawl and climb through the gaps on my own,” he answered. “Can’t do it fast, either. Lots of work. Like a maze. Dwarves would’ve shot or skewered any who tried. Think they wanted to see through the gate.”
“Presumably, there are smaller passages within the gate,” said Yargol. “They wouldn’t have wanted to open the whole thing for every minor passerby. But I don’t see any such portal.”
“A secret door, you mean?” asked Shady Tooth.
“Very secret,” Yargol frowned. “Finding it could take hours. Failing that, there must be a mechanism. Or a key,” he said, walking to the side closer to the trading post. His brow furrowed in thought, emphasizing the mismatch of his eyes. “They wouldn’t have simply called dwarves out to push and pull this thing open and shut.”
“Why not?” asked DigDig.
“Goblins exploit cheap labor. Dwarves mechanize.”
“Doesn’t that put people out of work?” asked Scars.
“Only if your society leaves the workers behind every time somebody can make a coin off of it,” grumbled Teryn.
“Hm?” Scars raised a curious eyebrow.
“Never mind,” she said. “So if this is on some mechanism, they’d want to keep the controls well-guarded, right? Sheltered and under restricted access?” She gestured to the trading post.
“I was thinking the same thing,” said War Cloud. “Have you been in there, DigDig?”
“Little bit. Lots more bodies. Fight went all through there. More barricades. Walls smashed. Don’t know if it was ever looted.” Four heads turned to DigDig in surprise. Only Teryn saw no reason for shock, but she noticed everyone else looking and did the same. DigDig shrugged with a meek glance to the floor. “Undead down here. Place is full of bodies. Didn’t want to wake anyone up or set off some old curse.”
“Great, now I’m thinking about it, too,” sighed Shady Tooth.
“Undead would’ve risen by now if they were going to,” said Scars.
“And a curse would only have been laid by the victors,” said Yargol. “One would think a goblin army planned to loot this place. They would not have cursed their own. And our dwarf friend upstairs seemed content to rely on his own undead warriors to control the halls.”
DigDig looked to the trading post, his wide eyes blinking with thought. “Oh. Well, shit, then.” He strode onward without a second thought.
Bodies lay thick along the steps, separated only by the result of decay and the shift of weight over time. Rusted weapons and armor decorated almost every skeleton. Each step kicked up dust. Much like the foot of the stairway, another great concentration of the fallen awaited at each of the main doors leading into the post itself. Even some of the windows held corpses hanging halfway in or out, their skeletons held together only by their clothing and armor.
The interior provided more of the same: dust and bones, rust and debris, all the evidence of desperate last stands centuries past. The main hallway presented a particularly high death toll for the invaders. Goblins and hobgoblins laid piled atop one another where they’d died.
DigDig and War Cloud turned curiously into one office. Shady Tooth and Teryn ventured into another right beside it. Still in the hall, Scars bent at many of the bodies to find and retrieve a common cause of death. He had more than a dozen crossbow bolts by the time he found the original owner at the end of the hall. The dwarf’s weapon lay in pieces, much like his body. “Yargol—it really costs you nothing to fix things?” asked Scars.
“As long as it’s relatively small and it isn’t magical. The bed took some effort. Don’t ask me to fix anything like that gate. But as long as I have most of the pieces, it takes no more energy than walking and talking. I don’t even have to know its proper form. The pieces will return
to their intended shape.”
Scars held out the remains of the crossbow. Yargol brought his disparate hands over the pieces and muttered only a few words. With a series of snaps and a slight creak of metal, the old weapon bent and clicked right back into shape. Even the gears were properly oiled. Scars barely noticed, surprised more by the magician’s face than by his magic.
Yargol smiled. Scars hadn’t thought it would look so normal or natural on a face like his. Not even Yargol’s teeth were uniform, with as many flat and human-like teeth as animal fangs, but his jaw was a single piece despite its dark grey tone. His lips spread from side to side like any other person’s smile.
“I see my spells are becoming too common to impress,” Yargol noted.
“Thank you,” said Scars. To his relief, the spell even mended the weapon’s leather strap. Scars slung it over his shoulder and put the bolts in the pouch on his belt. A dwarven crossbow would hold a shot ready to fire, but he could worry about that later. His attention returned to the magician. “Can I ask you something?”
“I’m surprised you haven’t already,” said Yargol. He shrugged.
“Why the hood?”
The brow over his left eye rose, emphasizing its already larger size than the eye on the right. “I didn’t expect that one.”
“What did you expect?”
“Oh, the usual ‘were you always like this?’ and ‘how do you eat like that?’ sort of thing.” He shrugged. “There are more probing questions about mating and body functions, but those are generally obvious insults. You don’t seem inclined to that. None of you, in fact. It’s a pleasant change. It’s also pleasant not to be immediately told to cover up again.”
“Your face doesn’t bother me.”
“It bothers many. A great many.”
“I know what it’s like to cover your face to avoid trouble,” said Scars. “I’ve been there. If that’s a concern, you know it hardly matters down here. It’s us against this entire stupid dungeon now. I’d go mad with my field of vision covered up by a hood.”
“I’m used to it. And no, I am not worried about insults or unsettling anyone in this place. Particularly now. I grow cold easily. Also too warm, too dry, too many things all at once. The robe and hood help me keep to an equilibrium. Ah, balance,” Yargol elaborated when Scars quirked one eyebrow. “It helps keep my body in balance. I am comfortable enough in a still and steady environment. While on the move like this, I am better off keeping covered.”
“Alright. I didn’t want to assume anything.”
“You are the first to ever ask,” said Yargol. “It means a great deal to me.”
Scars wasn’t sure what to say. Thankfully, a tall form behind Yargol saved him from his tied tongue. He wasn’t sure how long Shady Tooth had been standing there listening. “Anything?” he asked.
“Burned bodies and ashes from papers and shelves,” she said. “It was probably some records office or an archive.”
“Ah. That would be a bit beyond my ability to repair,” said Yargol. “Too bad. Judging from the signs, I suspect that was the tax collector’s office. We could’ve learned a great deal from their records.”
The others emerged from the opposite office with nothing to report. The rest of the bottom floor of the trading post turned out much the same, with skeletons and their belongings scattered everywhere but little else of interest. Demolished furniture and aged trade wares did no one any good. Containers here and there held only ruined cloth and food so old even the rot had wasted into nothing.
Despite the lack of answers, the ruins provided some improvement on their situation. Thanks to Yargol’s magic, the wreckage of the fierce battle offered the companions an excellent chance to rearm and reequip themselves. A simple spell restored weapons and gear to their original conditions of fine dwarven craftsmanship. Scars found a new shield, a suitable blade, and more bolts for his crossbow. Teryn scrounged up more arrows from another long-dead elven visitor to the hold. Shady Tooth and War Cloud traded up to better blades. Unfortunate travelers lost amid the fight provided long-unused backpacks, simple tools, and even a little coin.
DigDig went through several upgrades as they worked their way through the hall. He handed Yargol a spear to fix with his magic, then a dwarven mace, then a curved and partly serrated goblin blade. Yargol revitalized each in turn, but DigDig kept finding something better than the last.
“Do you keep finding new favorites, or can you not make up your mind?” War Cloud asked with amusement. “Most people find they have one preference or another. Don’t you?”
“Little bit. Sort of. Had a spear once, but it broke against a cave boar. Bosses said it was my fault. Wouldn’t give me another after that. Learned to fight with a shovel on my own. Figure I can get used to fighting with something else.”
“You can learn to use a crossbow,” said Teryn. “There’s nothing to it.”
“Don’t need to learn. Already know,” said DigDig. “Never got to keep one, is all.”
Scars looked over to the human and her smug grin. “I didn’t see any bows here. More elven arrows, but no bow.”
“Someone probably took the bow,” Teryn lamented. “I’m sure it was a masterpiece.”
“Or hype,” said Scars. Her smug grin returned, along with a sidelong look back at him. Scars grumbled as he continued on. “Anyone can learn the bow, too. All it takes is time and space to practice. We’re short on both.”
“Fair enough,” she said. He could practically hear her still grinning behind him. “As long as you know.”
Shady Tooth let out an irritable sigh. “So if this mechanism isn’t in the front rooms, where would it be? Upstairs? Hidden somewhere?”
“Its existence is conjecture to begin with,” said Yargol.
“Huh?” wondered DigDig.
“We don’t even know if there is one or where it would be,” Scars translated.
“Upstairs is a good guess, though,” Yargol went on. “There are windows with a view of the plaza and the gate, so communication would flow easily enough. The signs here point to various guild offices: smiths, growers, masons…hrm.” He stopped at a hallway intersection, where once again the bodies lay particularly thick. Yargol gazed down the turn to the left. “The miners.”
Most of the offices lay in ruins, with their doors battered down and their interiors gutted and burned. Down this hallway, skeletons and remains lay piled against doors broken down at the top half, but otherwise the doors still held.
“Did the living pile on top of the dead?” Yargol wondered, drawing closer. “Or did they all die like this? And how?”
Teryn moved in with him, considering the scene with a critical eye. “I’m sure lots of these folk tried to barricade themselves in their rooms. This must’ve been a stronger barricade to hold up like this. The goblins even had a battering ram.” She kicked the desiccated tree trunk bound in iron that lay amid the bones on the floor. In its time, it was likely solid and heavy enough to take down almost any door. “You can see the indentations in the wood of the door. But it didn’t break through.” A tap of her foot against the bottom of the door sounded as flat as a tap against stone.
“Crossbows from inside, or maybe spears?” suggested Shady Tooth. She looked down at the bodies. “I don’t see any bolts. They’d have pulled the spears back to jab again.”
“Or magic,” Yargol surmised. “A combination of any of these is likely. But somehow, this door held.”
“And then the goblins left their dead to rot. Here and everywhere,” thought Teryn.
“Our people don’t often revere the fallen,” said Shady Tooth. “This scene is what goblin folk are like: the living claw over the dead to make their names, and if the dead are forgotten along the way, so much for the better. Less competition for the living.”
“Wow,” said Teryn.
“Are you surprised?” asked the bugbear.
“I suppose so. It’s the sort of thing I’ve heard before, but always from humans or dwarves.
I would have thought goblin folk held a higher opinion of their own kind.”
“Most do. Most would see what I said as practical. Maybe even praise,” said Shady Tooth. At her side, DigDig nodded in confirmation.
“But you don’t?” asked Teryn.
Frowning, Shady Tooth turned her eyes from Teryn. “Can’t say I’ve ever been asked for my opinion.”
Teryn shrugged. “I’m asking.”
“Why?”
“I don’t have a specific reason. We’re only talking. It seems like a way to get to know you.”
The bugbear’s eyes narrowed. She looked from one companion to the next, seeming to shrink into herself despite her muscular frame. “I’m not one for talking about my feelings all day. We mourn, but not for long, except over those closest to us. It isn’t strange for goblin folk to abandon their dead. That’s all.”
“Sure, but why didn’t the survivors loot the place?” wondered Scars.
His companions looked to one another with the same question. Without another word, War Cloud stood beside the doorway and laced his fingers together, holding them low to offer a boost. DigDig hopped up with one foot into the gnoll’s hands. Scars produced a glowstone to light the goblin’s way, holding it at the gap in the top of the doorway as DigDig crawled in.
“Big room. Big round desk in the middle,” he reported. “Can’t see past it. Bodies look like mostly dwarves. Mining tools carved in the walls. Shelves and chairs and stuff. Cracks in the floor. Rocks piled against the door—wait. No. Not rocks. Think they’re masonry blocks? Lots of them. Maybe some big stones underneath.”
“Maybe the miners kept samples of ore to show to travelers?” Yargol thought out loud. “But why the masonry?”
“You said there was a mason’s guild. Maybe they all piled into this one office together,” said War Cloud. “Although carrying blocks down here for a barricade seems a bit much. Would they have time for that?”
“Can’t tell how the fight ended,” said DigDig. “Like some of them just died where they stood in here. Only a couple goblins made it through.”
“Then they probably didn’t loot,” said Scars. “Which means we should.”