Ren of Atikala: The Empire of Dust

by David Adams

  “Yet they still managed to burn the supports,” I said. “If the tower collapses…”

  “Then we will rebuild it.” Sirora folded her arms. “We waste time. Did you bring me here to kill me? If so, hurry up. Your pointless allegations are tiresome.”

  I probably should have, but I didn’t. “Just help me find the wizard,” I said. “And we’ll discuss this later.”

  “We don’t know he’s a wizard,” said Yelora. “Even if our warrior saw a spellbook…” she pointed to the spellbook on her hip. Then to her blade, a sharp looking longsword. “Wizards and sorcerers are not the only path to arcane power.”

  “I doubt a magus teleported here.”

  “It’s not impossible,” said Yelora. “It’s true that magi give up some of their arcane power for martial skill, but this is a pointless discussion.” She looked to me. “Whoever this spellcaster is, we need to find them. Lead on, Ren.”

  I could not wait for Tzala, so lead I did. I led the group further into the eastern tunnels, and I passed the graves where I had laid the dead kobolds to rest. We had so many more corpses to put in there now. The little cave would not be enough.

  “Wizard first,” said Sirora beside me, her voice hard. “Burying the dead later.”

  “Assuming,” said Yelora, “that we are not soon amongst them.”

  I hoped not. I wanted to move on, but there was something I had to do first.

  “Friela. Chali. Shilke. Geefa. Pella. Vris. Thaar. Ivashi. Lharan. Ulorja. Wret. Wekma.”

  “We don’t have time for this,” said Sirora, an edge of annoyance creeping into her voice. “Assuming the wizard has not left already—”

  “Let’s just find Valen and Dorydd,” I said as we moved further into the tunnel. Everyone fell into step behind me. Yelora muttered quietly under her breath as she read from her spellbook, while the rest of us walked in silence.

  It seemed strange to me that she would be so unconcerned about noise. Even the slightest sound travelled far in the underworld. Each of the kobold soldiers behind me took great pains to step as quietly as they could, disturbing nothing, yet Yelora did not seem to care. The three of us walked deeper, our minds turned to magic and to the confrontation ahead.

  I was jolted from these thoughts by Sirora.

  “Ren?” she said, her voice barely a whisper, a bonelike finger extended.

  I saw what she was pointing at. A trail of blood, starting out of nowhere. Thin. Just a few drops. The tails of the drops pointed towards us. Whoever was bleeding was moving deeper into the tunnels.

  “Human blood?” I asked.

  “Impossible to say,” said Yelora.

  “Impossible for you to say,” said Sirora. She knelt beside one of the more prominent drops and touched her finger to it. Then she put her finger in her mouth. Disgusting.

  A flare of light leapt from her eye sockets. I wondered how far it would travel, bouncing down the walls of the winding tunnel. With her bloodied hand she began to write on the floor as though in a trance. From the single drop came a seemingly endless trail of the stuff.

  I am Dorydd Thunderhammer.

  I am a dwarf. A warrior who fights with words when I can and fists when I cannot.

  My blood was shed in battle. A human blade cut my flesh.

  All this was moments ago.

  The light faded from Sirora’s eyes. “Blood speaks to me,” she said. “I hope this is to your satisfaction.”

  “Technically,” said Yelora, her scaled brow furrowing. “Blood writes to you.”

  “The benefits of being a true arcanist.”

  Yelora’s weapon hand twitched. “You taunt me, necromancer. You would be unwise to continue to do so, so far away from your lair and your guardians, now dead by your own admission.”

  “There were mostly dead already,” Sirora muttered, her breath barely above a murmur. “Mostly.”

  “Yelora is right.” I grit my teeth, grinding them together. “Magic is important, but the ability to fight is important too.”

  “Of course,” said Sirora. She couldn’t be more false if she tried.

  Agitated, I turned and began to walk down the tunnel, following the blood. As I did, I could see dark eyes, glinting in the gloom near the bend.

  “Valen?”

  To my relief he stepped out of the darkness, a broken shard of rock in his hands. “Ren!” He threw it down and ran to me.

  Relief. “I’m sorry,” I said, crushing him in his arms. “I shouldn’t have sent you and Dorydd away. I should have stayed with you. I should have—“

  “Should have, shouldn’t have.” Dorydd, hobbling and her hand pressed to her side, smiled grimly as she too appeared. “Don’t worry about it. We’re alive.”

  I put Valen down, then craned my head. “What happened to you?”

  “One of the human stragglers had retreated here. Tried to nab Valen.” She craned her neck. “Don’t worry. He won’t try to kidnap hatchlings ever again.”

  Good. “Where’s the body?” I asked.

  She squinted curiously. “Does it matter?” Dorydd jabbed her thumb over her shoulder. “Just down there.”

  I wanted to add the corpse to the display out the front of the city, but I worried, actually, what Dorydd might think of that.

  Best keep her inside the city gates for now.

  Still, it was a relief that Dorydd would sacrifice her blood for Valen. I smiled. “Thank you.”

  Dorydd waved her hand dismissively, then returned it to her side. She was bleeding again, but I knew she would pull through.

  Knew. Hoped. The two were increasingly the same to me.

  “Let’s head back to Ssarsdale,” said Valen. “I don’t like this place.”

  “We still must find any last humans who brought such calamity to my home.” I clicked my tongue. “But this is not a task I’d have you on, Valen. Despite your growing skill.”

  To my relief he didn’t argue. As much as I wouldn’t mind Valen accompanying us, Dorydd was still hurt. “Valen, actually, there is something you can do…help walk Dorydd back to the city. Make sure she gets there safely.”

  “I will,” said Valen. “And Ilothika will help me.”

  I blinked curiously. “How? She’s back in the city.”

  “No, she’s not,” he said, pointing to the ceiling.

  “Here,” said Ilothika from the roof.

  She scared me nearly to death for the second time. Fortunately my helm obscured my face. I hoped.

  “Good,” I said, biting the inside of my cheek to keep myself focused. “Keep Valen safe, Ilothika.”

  “Naturally,” she said, creeping along the ceiling back towards the city. “Come, student.”

  I didn’t like that. Student. It was too familiar for me.

  With a slow pain that grew as I watched Valen walk away, I realised that he really had grown up. Although the knowledge that he had joined the Darkguard had been welcome, its implications, at that very moment, had only just sunk in.

  He had other alliances. Other friends.

  Other family.

  I waited until they were gone from my sight, and then, shouldering my haversack, I walked deeper into the eastern tunnels.

  We searched for many hours but couldn’t find any trace of the intruder. Eventually, Yelora and Sirora decided that, in all likelihood, they had teleported away.

  I was forced to accept their conclusion, and somewhat dejectedly, marched back to Ssarsdale. I resolved to have extra patrols launched in the area.

  By the time we arrived the fires had been put out. The thick stink of smoke hung over everything; an underground cavern would not air quickly, and the smoke stained the ceiling of our underground home, a constant reminder of what had happened.

  The tower was a ruined skeleton, scorched and blackened, gutted from the inside out. It was too dangerous to even send workers in to recover what might have been spared the flames. It was gone.

  Demolition was Pergru’s responsibility. I could see him strutti
ng around the ruin, inspecting the stone with a critical eye.

  “It will have to come down, yes,” he said, muttering the same phrase over and over. “But where. But where.”

  I left him to his work. I wanted to call a meeting of the council, but where would we meet? Our chambers had been destroyed. The rest of Ssarsdale was intact—thank the dead Gods for that—but all the facilities for leadership had been wiped out.

  The thought gave me pause. Perhaps we should have guarded it better, or perhaps a decentralised model would be more defensible. Kobolds tended to not need such things; everyone knew their place, everyone knew what their role and task was, and they did it. It was only during matters of war that the leadership of a city did much at all.

  Which was why, I mused, it had been targeted so.

  Contremulus understood us better than I feared. And yet I didn’t know him that well at all. A worrying deficiency. And he had, at his side, most of Northaven.

  Pergru had barely turned his back when a shadow stepped up to me, dark as night. Ilothika.

  “Leader Ren,” she said.

  “Ilothika,” I responded, glad that, for once, I had seen her before she had deliberately made her presence noticed. Although that may have only been because she willed it. I tried not to think about that. “Are Valen and Dorydd safe?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then why do you approach me?”

  Her dark red eyes glinted maliciously. “Problem.”

  Of course. Of course there was a problem. Were my kin completely incapable of doing anything on their own?

  “Handle it,” I said.

  “As you wish,” said Ilothika, dipping her head low. She seemed pleased, and I was pleased not to be bothered.

  It was time for me to get some sleep. I had been awake for too long. I had been a patroller in Atikala; perhaps it was time to return to my roots for a bit, and lodge in the communal sleeping quarters that the warriors enjoyed. My needs were few. I should get used to group accomodation once again.

  No. I couldn’t rest. Such things were a luxury I could not afford. Instead, I strode through the gathered crowd and located Dorydd. She was stitching up her wound on her arm. It didn’t look bad, fortunately.

  “Contact your wizard friend,” I said. “We’re going to Irondarrow.”

  “Now?” asked Dorydd, raising an eyebrow curiously. “As in, right now?”

  “As soon as he arrives,” I said, suddenly certain. “If Contremulus is willing to attack me in my own home, then we need allies faster than ever.”

  She nodded. “I will ensure it is done.” She tilted her head. “You look awful.”

  “I need sleep,” I said. “I barely got…” I struggled to find a good answer. “Any before the attack.”

  “Then rest,” said Dorydd. “We’ll head out in the morning.”

  The more I thought about it, the more the prospect appealed to me. I turned towards the warrior’s district, but I had barely taken a step when a kobold approached me.

  “Leader Ren?” he asked. I almost didn’t recognise him; the soot and dust all over his body stained his scales darker than normal, but when he spoke, I knew it was Kresselack.

  Another interruption? “What?” I almost shouted. Would nobody leave me alone for one moment?

  “My apologies,” he said, dipping his head. “I bring news.”

  My temper flared again, and I almost attacked him, but I quelled it as I took in Kresselack’s state. He had probably been inside the tower when it was attacked. If I lost my smith…

  Why couldn’t things be simple, just for once?

  “What is it?” I asked. Then I shook my head. “No, never mind. It can wait.” I stifled a yawn. “Kresselack, I need to sleep. My quarters were destroyed.”

  His tail swayed behind him. “Are you sure you do not wish to know?”

  I went to answer him, but instead, spotted Pergru in the distance, his scaled form pacing back and forth.

  “Wait here,” I said to Kresselack, and I walked to Pergru.

  “I need quarters,” I said, not in the mood to drag this out any further than I had to. “These ones will not do.”

  “Yes,” said Pergru, absently, as though he was not truly listening. “These ones will not do, yes.”

  I waited. “Like I said…”

  Finally he spoke. “For now the structure is solid, yes. You can visit, stay there if you want…not permanently, though, no. Demolition will take two days… after that, take mine,” he said, waving his hand. “Yes. I don’t care. The rebuilding will consume all my effort…south of the spire. Stalagmite. Red tip. Yes.”

  “Thank you,” I said, genuinely impressed. “That is most generous.”

  Pergru didn’t answer. The loss of the tower seemed to have affected him much more than it did me, or anyone else.

  Without wishing to disturb him further, I slipped back over to Kresselack, who was waiting there, head bowed, where I had left him.

  “Sorry,” I said, taking a deep breath. “So. What is your news?”

  No small amount of pride crossed his face as he looked up. “Your armour is ready.”

  CHAPTER X

  THEY BROUGHT IT TO MY ruined quarters in pieces, Kresselack and eight of my forge workers. The group carried the suit with a reverence I had not expected, devout, silence, enigmatic. Each piece was handled with thick iron and leather gloves. The forge workers could only hold it for a few scarce moments before the protection heated through, their burden handed to a new bearer. The heat of the fire elemental trapped within would sear their flesh in moments if they tarried.

  Kresselack carried the shoulder pieces. They seemed heavier than they should have been. Each plate was attached to leather straps and ties, the joints protected by sheets of fine chainmail. I could sense the magic of it before I even put it on.

  He knelt before me, steam rising from his protective gauntlets.

  “Supreme Leader,” he said, his voice croaking. “We are ready for a fitting.”

  The process seemed to have aged him a decade. He seemed worn out, withered, a kobold in need of good food and a year’s rest.

  I had taken so much from him.

  “Let us proceed,” I said, and I removed my old, battered chainmail, setting it aside. I stripped myself bare, and then the attendants began their work.

  They started with my feet, slipping on the steel solleret. To my attendants they seemed made of lead, but I picked them up easily. The inside was surprisingly cool; they felt refreshing and pleasant, despite the heat shimmer rising from them, and was perfectly made for my feet, including gaps for my toe-claws. The soft leather interior was comfortable. Smoke rose from underfoot as the dust below heated and burned.

  Next came the greaves, strapped to my shins, thinner armour than the rest to reduce the weight. They fit perfectly, slotting down over my sollerets to ensure coverage.

  The codpiece came next. I stepped into the leather straps and pulled it up over my groin, wiggling around until it was seated adequately. It was made for a female, flush and smooth.

  The cuisses came next. The first step was an armoured belt I slid around my waist and drew snug around me. Then they connected my greaves. The straps were designed to distribute the weight evenly, and although I was half dressed, I barely felt anything at all.

  One of the workers touched the shoulder pad with the tip of her tail. Her scales hissed as they burned. She whimpered, keeping her cry of pain as silenced as she could, while I threaded the straps of the gambeson, the leather shirt upon which the chainmail and plates would rest.

  I considered her. She was not badly injured, so I paid her no mind. I did not want distractions during this very auspicious moment.

  Then came the cuirass, the breastplate. The central piece. I picked it up to avoid injuring more of my workers; Kresselack assisted me with his thick gloves, although I was forced to strap the sides myself. An inconvenience, but certainly one that was necessary.

  I fit into it perfectly, a
cool armoured carapace surrounding my body, as though it were an extension of my skin. The faint shimmer of heat rose around my vision, but it slowly faded away.

  Arm harness, vambrace, counter, rearbrace and pauldrons—arm armour and shoulder guards—were all attached next. I became a metal kobold, a creature bound in steel and protected. I had expected the armour to be restrictive, heavy, and cumbersome, but in truth, I felt somehow even more agile with it on. I could sense the weight of it, but the metal in no way restricted my ability to move. Paradoxical.

  Curiously, I slid my hands into the gauntlets. These would be the real test. A spellcaster’s gestures had to be precise; I had to position my fingers just so in order to channel my arcane energy. Even a slight misalignment would doom me, and rob me of my greatest advantage: my magic.

  Every part of the armour was perfect, but I could sense, as I focused myself inward and flexed my fingers against the soft leather interior, that the gauntlets would take some getting used to. Although I had worn armour all of my adult life, and cast in it daily, not even I could simply don plate armour and expect to be affected.

  Finally, I picked up the helm. It was a single dome of metal with a flip-down visor; my attendants strapped a padded leather coif to my head to protect it from blows. Then, holding the metal in both hands, I lowered the helm over my head.

  The visor restricted my vision, although that was to be expected. Breathing was actually more difficult. My breath dampened the inside of the metal, and I felt vaguely constricted.

  “Supreme Leader,” said Kresselack, “you look magnificent.”

  You do, came a voice in my head, one that hissed and crackled and burned. Strong and mighty. A warrior’s warrior, all shall gaze upon your visage and be terrified, Ren of Atikala.

  Grand-Ember Magmellion, Lord of Ashes. Now my servant. My armour. His power was mine to wield.

  I straightened my back and took an experimental few steps. The armour was not as heavy as I had anticipated, even considering how light the plates felt to me and how heavy they were to others. I would not be able to hike for long distances, certainly, but it was not significantly heavier than my existing armour and a fully loaded trail pack, including enough water for weeks of journeying.