The Northern Approach

by Jim Galford

  Raeln followed Yoska down the path, keeping a short distance behind him. They had not even gotten halfway when the two golems lurched into motion, blocking the whole path and putting the bulk of their stocky bodies in front of the door. With a grinding screech of metal, both raised rusted swords.

  “Is not most friendly greeting I have ever seen,” noted Yoska, stopping and putting a hand toward Raeln to signal for him to stay. “We try different tactic, yes?”

  Stepping forward, Yoska brought up his hands in a supplicating gesture of surrender. The golems shifted and readied themselves as though he might attack them. “I am dwarf-friend,” the gypsy said, sounding as though he were trying to negotiate with the mindless golems. “I will simply walk past you and there will be no need for smashing my head, no? I sell dwarves nice shiny things that maybe get turned into big metal girl golem…is good reason to let me through, yes?”

  When Yoska took his next step, coming within reach of the golems, both metal men attacked, swinging wildly at him, trying to crush him against the ground. Each time they swung, a metallic voice boomed from each, shouting, “Go away!” The golem on Raeln’s left shouted in dwarven while the one on the right spoke in the common trade tongue.

  To Raeln’s amazement, Yoska deftly avoided each swing, weaving and ducking his way past the golems until he reached the door. Raeln could not even fathom what he could do to help, finding himself standing helplessly as the man narrowly avoided a metal fist that slammed into the mountain wall, sending shards of stone flying in all directions. The golems’ weapons were soon bent beyond use and both dropped them.

  Yoska stopped in front of the doors, continuing to evade the golems’ fists, forcing them to strike at the doors instead as they tried to hit him. With each blow, the doors shook and leaned a little more, cracking deeply after several solid strikes. He avoided one more punch from the golem on the left and its fist split the door wide open. Grinning, Yoska flopped to the ground dramatically, landing on his stomach with an almost comical groan.

  The golems straightened up, staring down at the man. Slowly, they lowered their arms to their sides and went still.

  “My friend tells me golems have orders to crush intruders to death,” Yoska called to Raeln, keeping an arm over his face as he spoke to hide the movement. “Magic is not so smart. Stupid golems think I am dead, yes? Now they do not see you come in until it is too late. Run through and they cannot follow in small tunnel.”

  Raeln turned to look back at On’esquin, who shrugged and began marching down the path, carrying a pile of weapons on his back and picking up the pack Yoska had dropped as he came. He stopped once he reached Raeln. “The man is insane, but he seems to know what he is doing,” On’esquin whispered to Raeln, grinning wickedly. “I will follow him for now. Sooner or later, he will get himself killed. Try not to get yourself killed with him, Raeln. We will do this together, but we must be careful. He will not be.”

  Taking a steadying breath, Raeln held up three fingers toward On’esquin. The orc braced himself and nodded.

  “You take the lead,” Raeln told him. “I will be right behind you. Keep going until the tunnel narrows. No matter what happens to me, keep running.”

  Raeln counted down and dropped his hand. As soon as the last finger came down, On’esquin began running hard, putting a good amount of distance between himself and Raeln. With his longer legs, Raeln quickly caught up, maintaining a few feet between himself and the orc as they approached the golems and the dark tunnel beyond, with Yoska still lying on the ground, playing dead.

  The golems seemed entirely unaware of the two men running at them, facing the wall of the mountain where they had stopped after Yoska turned them. They did not react at all until On’esquin was directly between them, his legs pumping hard to get past.

  With surprising speed, the golems turned and tried to strike at On’esquin. The first missed, its arm passing harmlessly over him as he ducked. The second golem swung low, catching On’esquin in the shoulder and flinging him into the wall with a pained grunt. Blood sprayed across the wall as the orc collapsed.

  Raeln dropped to his knees and slid under the arm of the first golem and then hopped up and over the second, the bottoms of his feet brushing the cool metal. As he did, Yoska rolled aside, getting himself clear of the doorway.

  On’esquin was not faring nearly as well as the others. He crawled to his knees after the battering he had taken. A deep gash across his brow exposed bone. Wincing in agony, On’esquin slid the undamaged weapons and packs across the floor toward Raeln. Before Raeln could reach him, the golem that had struck him once already reared back and delivered a killing strike, flattening the man against the wall. He had barely begun to slump before it struck again, nearly crushing Raeln in the process but also driving On’esquin flat to the ground with the resounding crack of bone. The golem quickly attacked again with its sword, driving the wide blade through On’esquin and into the wall, before pulling it out and punching the man again. The second golem shifted almost constantly, trying to get a clear swing at On’esquin.

  Grabbing Yoska, Raeln dove in to the narrower part of the tunnel to avoid the golems, hoping he could go back for On’esquin and pull his body to safety. Thankfully, once the two were out of reach, the golems relented and moved to their defensive positions outside the shattered doors, leaving On’esquin in a broken heap just inside the hall, covered with rubble.

  Raeln inched back toward the entrance, not taking his eyes off the golems as he reached slowly for On’esquin. He had nearly lain himself flat to touch the man’s broken arm when On’esquin’s head popped up and he looked around in confusion, blood and exposed bone visible across much of his jaw.

  “Get back before they hit you,” the orc warned around what sounded like a swollen tongue, his arm snapping back to a more normal shape. He pulled himself partway up and then winced as his spine crackled and straightened. Getting himself onto his knees, his legs seemed to right themselves and he crawled out of range of the golems.

  “Is much more than living through knife in the chest,” Yoska said reverently as On’esquin came over to them, rubbing his face. “Where were you when we fought the ones marked like you?”

  The orc chuckled and stood up, popping his back as he replied. “I was still guarding the remains of the last group of Turessians who tried to start this war, keeping them from joining that battle. You can thank me another day. For now, we need to keep moving.”

  “Are you sure you’re all right?” Raeln asked softly, getting a grunt in reply from On’esquin. The orc stretched his jaw, and Raeln swore he saw several sharp teeth filling back in.

  “He is fine,” declared Yoska, patting dust off of On’esquin’s armor. “He is also going first from now on, yes? You…how you say…do not pay me enough to be in front. I tell you the way and you get hit first. Is fair trade to spare squishy gypsy from messy death, yes?”

  On’esquin nodded, muttering, “Yes,” and tried to draw his sword but could not free it from his sheath. Looking down, he groaned as he showed the others the bent scabbard where the golem’s fist had crushed the weapon. “I might survive nearly anything, but it’s rough on my gear,” he said, casting the broken weapon aside. “My armor was made to mend itself over time, but anything else tends to not last long. The two of you have already lasted longer than most companions.”

  “Is why you do not carry the drinks anymore,” Yoska explained, patting the backpack he had taken back from On’esquin. “Valuable goods go with the more fragile of us. Now, we move on before more things try to stop us, yes?”

  “Yes, that would be wise,” agreed On’esquin.

  Raeln eyed the hall ahead of them that fell into darkness too deep for his eyes to penetrate after no more than twenty feet. He looked to Yoska, whose eyes were already wide in an attempt to see, and then over to On’esquin, who might have been entirely blind already. On’esquin appeared to be staring at a wall rather than the passage.

  “I can’t se
e down there and you two can’t see yourselves,” Raeln noted, waving a hand in front of On’esquin’s face and getting no reaction.

  “We need light only for first part,” said Yoska, slapping aside Raeln’s hand when he tried the same test. “Dwarves light most tunnels, but not where invaders might come. Makes invaders think dwarves can see in the dark and give up, when truth is dwarves can see little better than you. Does not work so well on undead. If our magic green man can light the way, we can hurry…”

  On’esquin put a hand to the wall and slowly inched down the tunnel, as blind as a man with a bucket on his head.

  “Magic orc, you will magic us a light, yes?”

  Stopping after no more than five feet, On’esquin grumbled and said over his shoulder, “I cannot use magic, Yoska. I lost the ability to do that when I gained the powers you’ve seen. You likely have more capability than I do. I know Raeln does.”

  “He says that as though I should believe him,” muttered the gypsy, giving Raeln a sidelong glance. “I think we do not hear the full story. For now, I humor him.”

  Digging through the small containers along his belt, Yoska produced a bit of flint and steel. He reached past Raeln and pulled an old torch from the wall and set to lighting it, creating far more smoke than light throughout the minute of tapping the steel and cursing that it took to finally light the torch. When it did burst into flame, the old rags that covered the end flared and faded to produce a dim light that created long shadows around them.

  “Dwarves do see well in the dark,” Yoska noted, holding up the torch. “They use less light than we do. Will be hard to see, but not impossible. Is better than nothing, no?”

  Still a short distance ahead of them, On’esquin turned and said, “Yes, it is better. Am I misunderstanding something about the language spoken in these lands? I do not understand the need to confirm to refute your statements.”

  “I think you do, yes,” Yoska proclaimed, grinning.

  Raeln smiled, not really wanting to engage the two as they struggled to understand each other. He, at least, was able to see clearly well down the hallway so long as the torch was behind him. He opted to keep that from the others. There was no sense in rubbing in that he was far more capable than them at something so mundane. They had their talents—whatever they might be—and he had his.

  “From here, is only few hours to the main fortress they would have holed themselves up in,” Yoska told them, heading down the tunnel and pushing On’esquin ahead of him. “If dwarves are happy to see us, we make very good time through mountains. If not so happy…we test how many axes green man can take without falling down. Is traveling game. My personal best is none. I keep count for you, yes?”

  “I would prefer ‘no’ on that,” On’esquin said, but Yoska pushed him onward.

  Letting the gypsy push On’esquin ahead of the group, Raeln followed, keeping watch around them in case anything like the golems remained active. He could see the tunnel behind them clearly, but attempting to look past the torch was difficult.

  The tunnels they went down were a little more than ten feet wide, with reinforcement beams every few feet to ensure the stability of the already-hard stone of the mountains. Aside from the support beams, the tunnels were smooth and empty, not a sound coming from ahead of them other than echoes of their own footsteps. There were not even any side passages for the first few hours, making Raeln wonder if perhaps this passage was abandoned or led somewhere the dwarves had forgotten about.

  Twice along the way, they stopped briefly for Yoska to light another torch as the old began to sputter. Thankfully, torches were not hard to come by, with sconces every twenty feet or so and spare torches in racks beneath each. As they had been in Raeln’s few meetings above-ground, the dwarves seemed overly prepared for anything that might come along. Prior to the war, he had considered them paranoid, though judging by how things had turned out, they were wiser than most. His village would have fared better had they been so paranoid.

  After about four hours—an approximation Raeln had to make, given the lack of sunlight or other indications of time’s passage—they reached a split in the tunnel that joined a much-older section with the one they stood in. The tunnel they had been going down ended abruptly at a barred set of doors, the wooden beam that locked them shut bent as though pounded nearly to breaking. The older-looking section descended off to his left, the shadows revealing nothing.

  “Old tunnels belong to other people that live beneath the dwarves,” Yoska explained, nodding toward the unlit hall that descended away from them. “Elves with bad tempers live down there and will not trade with my people. Something about thieves and liars. Is long-time misunderstanding. We do not go down there, I think. Last visit, they say they wrap my intestines in pretty box and send it back to surface if I return.”

  “My people said the same thing about yours when they weren’t around. The liars and thieves part, not the intestines,” Raeln admitted, approaching the door cautiously. He touched the beam, hoping he would not need to break through it to open the doors, but it was wedged tightly. “I doubt we ever came out ahead in any trade with your people.”

  Yoska glowered and looked genuinely hurt. “Is not our fault you are terrible at negotiations. You should practice more. Besides, is not my family you speak of. Is another clan that may not have such upstanding pride in being kind to the other peoples, yes?”

  “And if I said I had no way of knowing which clan we dealt with?” Raeln asked.

  “Then I say wolves are racists and you should apologize for calling my people liars and thieves. Is only fair, yes?”

  Rolling his eyes, Raeln returned his attention to the doors. The beam was cracked and warped badly from sustained pressure against the other side of the doors. If he released that bar, the doors would burst open, bringing with them anything pushed up against them. It would not budge when he pressed against it, giving him no way to ease the doors open.

  “Are you sure this is the only way through?” he asked Yoska, who shrugged and then nodded. “Do we have any idea what’s on the other side?”

  On’esquin shook his head and took a spare weapon from Raeln. Yoska kept his expression neutral, telling Raeln that he had an idea about what they would find but wished to say nothing. From what Raeln had gathered of him, Yoska would have spoken up if it were something they could avoid or do something about.

  “Allow me,” On’esquin offered, patting Raeln’s arm. “The crazy old man is right. My gifts do provide a good reason to have me go first.”

  Agreeing reluctantly, Raeln backed toward Yoska as On’esquin set his sword to one side of the tunnel and knelt, bracing his shoulder against the bent beam. The orc waited until Raeln was several feet away and then grunted loudly, straining against the beam until his legs trembled. Despite muscles that made his arms thicker than Raeln’s legs, On’esquin barely budged the beam. The warping of the doors and beam had likewise bent the brackets that held it, practically locking the beam into its frame.

  “Move. We don’t want to sit here forever,” Raeln told On’esquin, pushing him aside.

  “Are you sure about trying that?” asked On’esquin as he moved away.

  “I see stubbornness in the wolf,” said Yoska, standing back. “And a future with sore back.”

  Raeln centered himself in front of the door, staring down at the hard and dry wood that the beam was made of. He slid the pads of one hand over the rough surface, searching its few cracks and imperfections for weaknesses.

  “Wolf is big, is true,” Yoska continued chattering at On’esquin, lowering his voice enough that Raeln had to turn his ears to make out his words. “Is limit to all men. Size is one thing, but you are much stronger, no? Wolf will hurt himself and whine great deal. I wager a drink on this. I also do not wish to be one to carry him.”

  “I’ll take that wager,” replied On’esquin a little louder.

  When Raeln glanced back at him, the orc was smirking, his tusks giving him a challenging
and somewhat sinister appearance. To Raeln it appeared On’esquin was happy to win or lose. If he had to guess, On’esquin was using this to size Raeln up.

  Returning his attention to the door, Raeln stopped his hand over one part of the beam, then moved it back an inch. What he had thought might be a poor job sanding the wood turned out to be a bulge where the beam had bowed badly. Scratching at it with his claw, pieces flaked away, exposing a thin crack. The wood was still strong and would have been best dealt with using an axe, but they had swords and knives that would shatter or dull long before getting through the wood.

  Raeln closed his eyes and relaxed his body, resting his hand atop the crack. He let his mind go blank in preparation, as he once had before any battle. It had been months since he had found the calm needed to control his body in this way, but he needed it now or he would hurt himself…to the amusement of the others.

  The calm took far longer than Raeln remembered to fully relax his arm and hand, but once it had come, he hoped he still had the skill necessary to do what he intended. Years had passed since his training, and this had hardly been part of his routine practices. The soldiers from Lantonne that had taught him as a child had given him extensive lessons on dealing with armor or weapons, but he remembered those lessons clearly. What he wanted to do here had been taught by only one man, an old drunk that Raeln had been ashamed to call one of his teachers. That man had shown him how to meditate, to predict the movements of his enemies, and overall to become far more lethal, especially when dealing with wizards. Now, he had to remember those lessons after months of ignoring his practice.

  Rearing back, Raeln came down as hard as he could with his palm, aiming the end of his swing below the beam. The pad that ran across his palm just below the base of his fingers flared with pain and went numb as he connected with the beam, but the wood’s resistance disappeared after a moment’s hesitation and snapped with a deafening crack. His hand went through, splinters driving themselves painfully through his hand’s fur and into his skin.