Residual: The Gray-Matter Chronicles Book 3 (The Matter Chronicles 6)

by P. G. Thomas

  In the courtyard below, the Ironhouse dwarves and their Trollmare Slayers continued to wage their large battle against the giant opponents. Zack with his children, having gravely maimed or killed off the last of the shapeshifters, were now engaging the rock soldiers. Eric used his lightning when safe but engaged most with the demi-mortal sword in hand; the blade so sharp, they were like butter to the hot knife he held. Dozens of the Ironhouse dwarves were lying dead in pits or in the courtyard, yet those who still stood fought on. The dwarves that had toppled the stone warriors quickly attacked them, turning them into rubble, which they threw under the feet of the advancing animated sculptures. In turn, they would lose their footing, toppling over, and quickly becoming more rubble that the dwarves used to level the corrupt playing field.

  Then Jedimac turned to see Corackas, Tiny, and six others from his guild on the wall, “What are you doing here?”

  “What, miss this?” replied his second in command.

  When the catapults fired, the oil fell on the rock soldiers, making them lose traction, causing them to fall to the ground. The dwarves rallied, rushing forward to crush rock into rubble, but not all fared well in the battle.

  “Boss, they gonna hurt dem dwarves!” stated Tiny.

  He was looking at Jedimac, not Corackas.

  “I do not think there is any more that we can do.”

  “Boss, you don’t picks on somebody smaller, unlessens they asks for it or deserves it. Dem dwarves just trying to help, just like we doing!”

  Jedimac shook his head, knowing the only thing bigger than his massive friend’s fists was his heart. “Tiny, you can’t be serious? That is chaos down there!”

  “Boss, ain’t gonna break guild rules. I dun needs permission.”

  “If you want to go, then go.”

  Tiny smiled, jumped off the wall onto a pile of rocks, and at the bottom, he picked up four very large rock-crushing hammers, two in both hands. Trudging forward, he easily navigated around the tallest and slow moving ones. When he saw two dwarves lying on their backs, about to be smashed by the strange creatures, he increased his lumbering pace, stopping when he stood over top of one of them. He looked up at the rock that was raising its spiked ball fists in the air, “YOUSE WANTS TO FIGHT, FIGHTS ME!” Lifting the four demonstratively heavy hammers up, he swung them into the statue that stood before him, causing rock shards to explode outwards. He looked down at the two dwarves, “You two goes find safety. I’s teach these things a lessons,” and he advanced to the next stone menace.

  Tiny had always been large for his size, but even as a child, it had never stopped the other kids from making fun of him. Even to this day, he knew the reason for his nickname was not an oxymoron based on his mass, but an insult on the apparent size of his intellect, except he no longer cared. He understood that the majority avoided him because they dwarfed his conversation skills, and most had no interest to see him at guild functions, his invitation only extended because Jedimac had strongly suggested it. However, when one needed back up, the name always asked for was small, unlike the giant that it belonged to. As well, whenever he thought that somebody was undeserving of a beating, Jedimac would always respect his opinion, finding another to deliver the message. Even though Tiny may have been less than six-feet tall, the strange stone statues towered over him, but they lacked emotion. Tiny, he did not, and the hammers that looked small in his hands, filled the air with an enormous cloud of rock shards.

  The unusual victories won by the midlander caught the attention of Bor, who watched the multi-hammered giant in awe. Working his way back to Gayne, he commanded him, “Back to Ironhouse you must go! Tell Aaro, Rockeaters I need!” Not waiting for a response, his order given, expecting it to be followed, he advanced back into the battle.

  Gayne searched his pockets, his face white with fear. He then looked to Steve, “I have no stones from the stable!”

  “JUST TELL THE DAMN THING WHERE YOU WANT TO GO!”

  Gayne looked at the bracelet, “A portal to Ironhouse,” and one began to form.

  Steve slapped him on the back, “GO BEFORE IT CLOSES!”

  The battle waged on. Even though half of the short rock soldiers were no more, it only made room for the larger ones, and the biggest would soon engage all. Eric cautiously sent magic lightning into the advancing statues, as Ryan tried to battle his way to the front. With Trollmares appearing out of nowhere, the specially armed and armored Ironhouse dwarves on the blood wolves engaged them, but unlike previous encounters, they were unable to control the situation. When the hellish creatures knew they were losing, they would run behind the advancing statues, seeking victims that were more accommodating. While the Ironhouse dwarves used the poles to flatten their opponents, some of the bravest would attack directly. As the Crimson Shields tried to engage the smallest stone golems, other than the Swords from the First Champions, the rest did little damage. Breaking into teams, they would taunt the stone men until one of the blessed swords could strike, crippling the rocks that advanced. Lauren with her Granite Guardians, and John tried every possible idea to slow down the rock army, having little success. Even when Lauren turned the courtyard stones into mud and back to rock, the larger golems would effortlessly trample over their trapped relations. Observing from the center of the group, Mirtza with Steve stayed close to Bor, who were all shivering like the rest.

  *******

  In his younger days, Bor realized he would have reveled in the battle that he now found himself immersed in, should he have been given a chance to prepare. When Gayne had appeared with John’s request for help, he was expecting—something different. For the first time in his long life, he felt helpless as he watched dwarves die. Even with all of his strategies, including the unexpected help from those who manned the wall, he was unsure if there was some way to stop this avalanche of doom. Everywhere he looked, he saw dead Ironhouse on the ground, except for where the giant waged war, protecting his clan. Even the legends were finding it difficult to penetrate the wall of dwarf-blood-covered statues. Numerous times, when Bor had sounded the Ironhouse whistle, his clan had responded so loud that it echoed for minutes from the tall walls that surrounded them. A sound that normally sent a shudder of fear through their opponents, but those they now faced had no ears. While he continued to call out commands, directing his clan to the best of his abilities, the bloodless stone opponents exceeded his options. As he did, he waged a mental war within himself, trying to determine an order that would strategically regroup his clan so it did not sound like the word he would not speak.

  Then, from behind, he heard what sounded like a metallic thunderclap. Turning, he saw Aaro standing in front of forty Rockeaters. They were an unusual breed of dwarves, who worked in the deepest of the mines creating the new tunnels. Few had ever seen them, as few Rockeaters had ever felt the heat from the suns. They were born in the dark, lived their entire lives so far underground that they had never tasted a hot meal, and their beer was always served at room temperature. However, when you live that far underground, the mugs always had frost on them, if not ice. They looked like dwarves, having the same muscular frame, and of course, the long beards. The primary difference was that their beards measured longer than an average dwarf stood tall, as Rockeaters dwarfed their brothers by well over a foot, some even more. Long ago, so long that even the dwarves forgot when, the Rockeaters began an extraordinary evolution or de-evolution, possibly both. Their eyesight began to diminish until they were no longer born with eyes, but their sense of smell, it adapted to their environment the same way their eyes had, as they were able to identify rocks by scent.

  The Rockeaters inhaled deeply, and then with their huge arms, which looked like tree trunks, they quickly raised the two massive hammers they carried together over their heads. Aaro, Bor, and the remaining members of the Ironhouse Clan immediately covered their ears. A colossal metallic clash echoed inside the stone fortress, causing windows to break, and any that had failed to protect their ears, cringed in pai
n. The percussive impact being so intense that even the stone golems took a step backward. When the Rockeaters took one-step forward, it felt like the ground shook, but they did not rush forward. Having no understanding of battle, they only understood that the Clan Leader of Ironhouse needed rocks smashed.

  Bor called out, “OUR BROTHERS FROM THE DEEP, THIS BATTLE THEY WILL NOW FIGHT!” All of the dwarves strategically deployed around the stone sniffing, hammer-wielding blind, gigantic dwarves.

  In the center of the Rockeaters stood one, the Tunnel Master, who measured six feet tall, having a beard five feet long. His massive arms were the size of a normal elf, and each held a hammer whose handle measured inches thick, and mounted on the ends, enormous anvils. From his sides, he raised them over his head with tremendous speed, and when the two crashed together, they created a thunderous explosion, which bestowed sight upon the Rockeaters. Rushing forward, they immediately began to devastate the walking stones. The central Rockeater continued to smash his hammers together, creating an ominous beat, like a drummer on a Viking ship. In the courtyard, rock shards exploded from the battles, but not all of the blind dwarves would live to tell their story in the deep mines, as some would never return.

  Abruptly, the courtyard went quiet, as the sight giver of the Rockeaters lay dead in the courtyard, but none saw the black evaporate from his fallen body, yet the others raised their own hammers, creating their own sight.

  Shivering, Aaro and Bor were planning strategy, and Steve listened, providing input where he could. Unexpectedly, the tide began to change, and Eric started to retreat. The others could tell something was wrong since lightning no longer was heard. Then Rage Heart seemed to flicker, was Ryan, and then Rage Heart again, but he also followed after Eric. The Crimson Shields did the same, and it was evident that the black cold was also affecting them. Sensing they were outnumbered, the Rockeaters also began to regroup, heading back to where they had last heard the chimes of the great hammers.

  *******

  Jedimac called out to the one thief he had hand-selected for the Black Watch, as very few elves turned from the woods, seeking out a life of sanctioned crime in the large towns. He pointed to the Earth Mothers in the center of the courtyard, “Torango, What do you see and hear.”

  “They shiver and complain of cold, of Black Bastards.”

  “Go, get them now.” Heading to the nearest ladder, Torango climbed down it. When Jedimac threw a large earthen sphere onto the outside street, red smoke quickly raced to the sky, signaling to all the next card to be played. Scanning the walls, he saw them carefully pass over the large glass jars and casks carried up the ladders, watching them distributed along its length.

  *******

  An unusual silence embraced the battle, as the dwarves no longer heard the lightning from the Champion or the howls from Rage Heart, and the only sounds heard were of dying dwarves. The tides changed at that moment, as it was the sight of seeing the legends flee the battle that caused the hope in the hearts of the dwarves to break, like impurities left in hot molten metal, failure was imminent.

  “RETREAT!”

  While they may not have understood the word, they recognized the direction and followed after the legends.

  Even though Bor wanted to hit Steve, seeing his clan strategically back step, he began to look for advantages in a battlefield, which was now covered with dwarf blood and bodies.

  Then in the center of the courtyard, a mixed mass of one hundred stood: elves, Bastards, dwarves, and legends. The Crimson Shields formed a line around the front perimeter with Lauren at the center, surrounded by her Granite Guardians, and Ryan with Eric at her side. Behind her Steve, John, Gayne, and Mirtza. The twenty Bastards from Alron formed an inner wall, and what was left of Ironhouse protected the back of the group, but they now numbered less than one hundred. Only four Trollmare Slayers had survived, and beside them twenty Rockeaters, hoping sounds would once again gift them sight, and with them, the thief named Tiny. In the middle of the Ironhouse clan, Aaro and Bor stood with his Granite Guardians. Pushing his way through the compacted crowd, naked Zack shielded his young children that clung to his furry body in the form of squirrels. Thirty feet beyond all, two hundred statues, ten feet tall, had formed a ring around them, and the tallest that measured fifteen feet still shuffled towards them. All were shaking from the black cold, and some even had blue lips and frostbitten fingers.

  Lauren was still holding her Core Wood staff high, issuing magical commands that had no effect, as she had failed to grow it large enough.

  “The lightning,” began Eric, “it’s gone. I tried to conserve it, but…”

  Ryan was unable to look into his wive’s eyes, “There’s too many, I tried…”

  John turned to Mirtza and Gayne, “Go to Ironhouse!” When he saw the lead bracelets they both held up, he realized Zymse had transmuted the gold. Concentrating on the atomic structures of the metal, he pulled the necessary elements from Mirtza’s, adding it to the second. Then the bracelet in Gayne’s hand was gold again. “Go.”

  “To Ironhouse,” Gayne commanded, but no portal opened. “John, it is gold but not pure. The magic is gone.”

  Steve silently muttered his apology, “I’m sorry.”

  Jasmine looked at Panry, “We have failed Mother?”

  His hand reached under his cape, “No!”

  Bor turned to Aaro, “Brother, our clan I will rally.” Pulling a familiar but injured dwarf to his side, he addressed his Granite Guardians, “Clan Leader and brother, you will protect. One will lead, and the second will tell our story to the bards.” Grabbing one of the Rockeater hammers, he walked to the perimeter of the mass and began to bang it on the courtyard stones. Ironhouse answered, doing the same, including those injured who now stood tall, as they knew more legends waited to be birthed this day. The Rockeaters, receiving a blurred image that reflected off the stone opponents surrounding them, smiled.

  Before the rally could start, it stopped. The courtyard stones instantly changed into mud, then back, trapping them all. When an opening in the line of animated statues appeared, on the other side stood a man wearing furs wet from melted snow, holding two leashes that held back four of the demon beasts.

  Beside him, Zymse Darpac, in his black flowing robes and veils. “That, that is what I was expecting. That vision kept me awake long into the night, chasing away my pleasant dreams, until I knew what nightmares I needed to create so I could intern the legends into history. WHERE THEY SHALL REMAIN FOREVER!” As he advanced, two hundred black armored soldiers followed behind or worked their way between the stone golems, yet staying a healthy distance away from the trollmares. Hearing Steve’s call that his robe was on fire, John pulled it off, watching as the flames quickly consumed it. “Even though I knew you had limited powers, I was uncertain if the Poorly Chosen had consumed his. How would I know that? I watched that stupid play so many times that it made me physically sick the last time. It was the biggest mistake you made. IT TOLD ME OF YOUR WEAKNESSES! OF YOUR LIMITED POWERS, WHICH ARE NOW SPENT!” Advancing, Zymse began to laugh. When he stood thirty feet away, he smiled under his black veil, “Did you really think you could beat me. I was expecting more, as I still have other ways to deplete your limited powers, but if you surrender now, I WILL MAKE YOUR DEATHS QUICK!”

  Lauren, with defeat in her eyes, looked down at her trapped feet. She called to Mother’s magic, “MUD!” Her command, however, did not solidify.

  *******

  Looking out into the courtyard, Jedimac saw the group surrounded by the rock statues covered in dwarf blood, encircled by black-clad soldiers, and behind them, a dozen squads of similar stood at the ready, and he felt certain that mixed in with them were the Black Bastards. Knowing Zymse had to play them, he had never expected him to hide them in the open. He turned to the girls standing beside him, “You have to try!”

  Krisp turned around, looked at the carnage and defeat, and began to cry, “I have no idea on what to do.”

  Jedimac c
almed himself, “I believe Earth Mother selected you all because you are special, and she needs you today.”

  “What do we do?”

  Having only two aces hidden, Jedimac was desperate because, if they failed, he would lose the game. “Mixed in with all of those troops are Black Bastards, who are attacking the Earth Mother and her friends with cold. When I signal my men, they will throw hornet nests, including giant ones, into the courtyard. When you sense the insects, tell them to sting anybody on the ground, but keep them away from the middle.”

  “How?”

  “YOU ARE A DAMN—,” he stopped, checked his anger. “You have heard the stories of how Earth Mother attacked an army with bugs? This is the same. As they are from Mother, they will hear your words…thoughts—commands? Are you ready?” When they all nodded yes, he looked at Torango, who then fired a flaming arrow straight up, and from the walls, the insect-filled containers rained down.

  “Now, Earth Daughters. NOW!”

  Seeing the swarms of wasps, they tried to sense their gift bestowed by the Earth Mother, but they had no knowledge of such since they were not a bounty that grew. Krisp, on the other hand, saw an image of the insects and directed them. Sending her message to the angered clouds, when they attacked, black-clad armored squads began to run in every direction. Those that surrounded the Earth Mother in the courtyard abruptly felt the cold end, and the Bastards from Alron started to rub their red feather tattoos, pulling heat from the stone statues, and bestowing it upon those who shivered.

  *******

  Zymse gloating continued. “Her magic is weak, like she is. I imagine these are the lying Ironhouse dwarves, who penned that stupid performance. I have no idea if I should thank them, OR MAKE THEM SUFFER LIKE THEY MADE ME!” Then he scanned the dwarves sitting on the wolves, “So this is the plague that kills my nightmares? I will start to formulate a plan to eradicate them, like the hopes of all others, when I am done here.” He stepped to the side, creating an unobstructed view to his house, where the front door opened. Three branded slave girls, each carrying a small baby, entered the courtyard.