Stell searched deep within himself and could actually see her point. Indeed, he was brave. Indeed he was a warrior. He was just too preoccupied with wondering about it that he remained blind to how courageous he really was.
“I am my father’s son!” he replied, sheltering a newfound strength. “I do have his courage; his strength! Don’t I?”
“Indubitably!” she claimed; the others were inclined to agree. “But it’s no surprise to us, for we’ve always known this. And it’s high time you realised it, too. Now! Our poor Pew is probably wetting himself over there, so let us all put our heads together and conduct some manner of plan to save him, yes?”
They thronged together to discuss their strategy. Little did they know, they were a man short. A lone wolf was in their pack now, and he was devising a little plan of his own.
Stell was probing the vast hall, assessing all options; thinking clearer. He noticed how some of the arrows were changing their direction; flying instead by way of the Poppum, with some coming dangerously close to hitting him. Almost in scent’s reach of him too were those climbing Goblins. But Stell had a plan.
With fresh fluidity in his form, he released his spear with a sharp, slicing chime.
Wren turned and asked, “Um…S-Stell? What are you doing?”
“Too long have I questioned this blood which runs through my veins. Too long has fear conquered the heart which had once cherished, so fondly, my sweet sister. Now is the time for me to take back what is mine. To reclaim my honour. To reclaim my heart. No longer will fear have a place inside me to hide. For I, too, am Ewval’s son, and now is the hour for me to honour it, and to win back her vengeance!”
‘Twas a new Stell Crimpleton they saw before them, and their hearts fluttered.
Arrows went cutting through the air. Goblins were crawling up fast from below. And that monstrous bow continued to fire bolt after deadly bolt. The cave was under siege, making rescue of the Poppum seem utterly unachievable. But this wasn’t going to stop our Stell.
To his right, he found a length of chain, fairly rusted. It’d been bolted, right the way up, to the very midpoint of the dome above. Stell, quick on his wits, slashed it like a vine and yanked it clean from all but the last few pins. He then wrapped it around his waist in a stiff knot and waited by the ledge for the precise moment.
Goblin snarls were heard, as if but metres away. Their dirty stench was all the more potent. Their veins thumped harder the nearer they got. William was out front, his sword held aloft. Stell, however, stayed hidden by the edge.
His gaze was glued to every diminutive movement of that siege-bow, devoting the same amount of application as a stalking eagle. All other sounds were distorted behind his concentration.
Studying it, he waited, while eagerly whispering to himself, “Come on! Reload. Reload!”
That ‘precise moment’ he lusted for felt like it would never come. Meanwhile, the Poppum was across the way, curled up in a ball, with showers of arrows flying in at him, sometimes bouncing off the rocks and into where he was hiding.
But then, Stell’s long-awaited moment had finally dawned. The machine’s last arrow had flown, and the Ahueé were prepping the next cylinder.
Bounding to his feet, the Elf broke into a charge, heading straight for the edge of the lip. Then, with a heroic cry, he leapt boldly into the air when the chain caught him with a tight twang and swung him round by the far wall like a human pendulum. Three Ahueé saw this and readied their own bows, but Stell’s bow was ready first. He released one arrow—head shot. Quickly, he released a second—between the eyes. He was on the verge of firing a third, when dust broke and another pin dislodged from above, dropping Stell half a foot in mid-swing, making him miss the shot completely. None of his fellow friends could stand to watch. Their hands covered their faces; their eyes barely peeping out. But the chain held strong; swinging him over to the far ledge at a most blazing speed.
The winds flamed by him. Closer and closer he sailed, every second focusing on his approach. It had to be perfect, or else it wouldn’t work. Then, as the ledge passed beneath him, Stell hopped and skipped across it on his toes, never stopping. Ducking low through a hail of coming arrows, he scooped up the Poppum and swung off the other side; all in one seamless movement. Almost faint from the excitement, they all cheered him on from the other side. What a rescue. But he wasn’t done yet, and the final archer was already re-aiming.
Stell bared the shimmering edge of his brilliant spear and, in swooping past the Ahueé, he swiped his head off with one burning thrust, only to have it trundle down into the Goblin lair where they all fought for this fresh meat. Stell then cut himself free of his trusty line and landed safely beside Icrick with a sprightly roll. Both he and Pew were unhurt. Of course, the Poppum was wriggling around happily in Stell’s arms trying to lick his cheek, as he was most grateful for what he’d done for him. Stell was vastly thankful, too. For without his companions, he would never would’ve been able to confront those Goblins.
They were all congratulating him on this fine display when they were hushed by the occurrence of something the Elf did not intend. Alit with some curious sense of luck, the ceiling simply decided to crack like a chocolate egg on a hot day. And so it was that the entire top of the cavern opened up to the black rainstorm outside, to then crumble down on top of the Goblins below. A glorious spectacle. But at risk of getting crushed themselves, our friends were forced to flee.
In through the crevice they crammed, to where all light was hidden and a mighty gust blew across their faces. Were they falling? No, sliding. It was too dark to see where they were sliding to. But after a tumble or two, and a few knocks and grazes, they eventually slowed at the slide’s end. A faint bloom of plum-tinted light lit some of the darkness down there. It shone from a huge drop below.
Once they’d halted, and all deposits of debris had passed them by, they shuffled to the ledge. This was the last place they expected to be; not to mention one of the last places they actually wanted to be.
“Oh, bless my soul!” gasped Icrick, his face shining slate-blue by the hovering light. “Where in the name…?!”
They were looking down into what appeared to be a tunnel, or an underground tower of sorts. Accommodating no levels (save for a slight mantle, way down, which actually led nowhere) this circular chamber of mud and brick may not have been very wide, wall to wall, but in stature it buried far underground, to the very slight tell of yellow-lit cobbles at its end. Many torches of purple fire were winding down from ceiling to floor; coiling down, down, downwards like a helter-skelter.
The drop made William so dizzy that he had to sit back and catch his breath. As for Icrick…well…he barely took one peek and was already baking in sweat as he tried clawing his way back up the slide. He wasn’t making very good progress, however, so he just gave up and plodded back with a slouch.
Lots of tiny black shapes fluttered around down there; guarding a gate. Birds of night feather. Those same dark birds which chased the swallows all those centuries ago. And like the Goblins, this was their meeting place—the catacombs of Unú—whose own iron gate would certainly have been a way out for them, had it not been too dangerous to try. They needed to find some other way out of those godforsaken dungeons.
Directly across from their position began an upright thread of large windows, glassless, with the topmost leading onto some other manner of upper level. A slim channel. A back alley, I’d even say, alit by that same flickering thread from before. Chances are, this way could escort them back onto their path again. Stell, taking a minute to mull over their options, seeing as he now felt competent to lead again, went to test the sturdiness of the bricks. Shimmying seemed the only route across.
Suddenly, a filthy skeleton lunged out at him from inside the wall, crying no words save for that of a mute-like, hair-raising wail. No sooner had Stell stumbled back than the demon was already back behind the bricks like it was never there. It was hardly surprising, to find more corpses in t
hose walls, for Lór had been built on dead remains ever since Drevol took over.
They inspected their whereabouts a bit more, and noticed how some of the bricks, if not most, had vague impressions on them. Those of skulls, with nasty grins and black, lifeless eyes, which watched all goings on, in readiness to lunge again. What they did not yet realise was that the remains of Unú belonged to evil necromancers who had once prowled this ancient realm after the great flee.
Tales were told of how, once an evil necromancer died, whether it was natural or not, that their bones would rot into the black soils to then find their way back to the catacombs of Unú, where they would rest eternal.
Wren recalled this same account, and she exclaimed, almost elatedly, “I’ve heard of this place! Percy told me about it one night during dinner; about these old catacombs, and how they’ve lodged the souls of all who were once deemed evil upon these lands. If we are victorious in our endeavour…and Drevol dies…then this will be the grave for him.”
William could made sense of Stell’s remark now; regarding Sidell’s remains and if they’d find their way to the catacombs. It made his hairs tingle to think that he was surrounded by such malice and, as it were, malicious beings who weren’t entirely dead, either; instead pouncing out at people like spring-snakes, and scaring them half to death. He then noticed Khrum, and how he looked to have other things on his mind.
Half-squinting, with his right ear cocked to the air, he was listening. He had a look to say that he was fiercely irritated, like he was itching to get to the bottom of something. Something other than the end of that pit.
So, when asked what the matter was, he grouched, “What in blazes is that noise?! It’s that same noise we heard earlier. Remember? Back in the tomb that time. What ‘n’ the hell is it? It’s really shtartin’ ta bug me.”
In fairness, it was dreadfully unsettling. It sounded like vast numbers of tiny claw-like fingers were scratching behind the walls. Unnervingly it uttered, and what made it ever more disheartening was the fact that nobody knew what it was.
“Could be any amount o’ things, I’d say,” William guessed, watching the walls closely. “This place looks run-down…so it could be that, too. The wind and that. You know, like what people say when you first step inside a creaky old house. It doesn’t half play tricks on you, though. Sounds almost like thousands o’ creatures are scraping away with their nails, trying to get out. Or else maybe it’s the skeletons that are doing it, and they’re trying to get free.”
He then paused to deliberate, then added, “Right, I’m only upsetting myself now, so we’d better just focus on getting over to that window.”
“Well, how will we get across?” Icrick trembled, in a tizzy after those weird notions had, so kindly, been lodged in his brain. “There are no bridges! There are no ropes! There are no ladders! Nothing other than a flock of killer pigeons, about a million dead bodies, and a plethora of ‘Who knows what’ scratching their way through the bricks so they can bite our arses off. We’re stuffed!”
“Icrick! Language!” Khrum scolded, giving him a dose of this own medicine.
“That’s right, I said it.” he declared, caring not. “Arses! Arses! Big spotty arses! What are you going to do about it?”
Then Khrum hailed, clapping in awe, “Good man, yourself. Finally sproutin’ some hairs on your chest, boy. Gettin’ some nip into ya! That’s the ssshtuff!”
“You may have a point there, good Grogoch,” Stell put in, attempting to fashion some new plan. “Come what may, we shall get our ‘arses,’ as you say, out of here shortly. It’s simply a matter of finding out how! By the way, Khrum…you’re a bad influence.”
Khrum chuckled. Most surprised with himself, Icrick grinned as well. All the Elf was really trying to do was lighten the mood between them, and it worked.
William poked his head over the ledge again, and asked, “Well, if we can’t get across a twenty-foot gap, then it’s safe to say, climbing down two-hundred feet to that gate is out o’ the question too. Speaking o’ which, are those birds really that much of a threat?”
“Yes. However, we should be quite safe up he…” Stell started saying, when he was cut short by a distinct cracking sound above him.
Having contracted a serious fracture from the adjoining cave bygone, an ungodly boulder jerked not three men’s height above their fragile skulls, and it didn’t look like it was going to hold.
Many chains meshed that roof. Old chains. Mostly brown and cracked. Far from trusty ropes. So swinging from them was out of the question. Monkeying across was an equally silly notion, should the whole lot come tumbling down on top of them. However, they could probably slow those boulders down, if just for long enough.
“That cave-in must have caused more damage than we thought,” Wren trembled, highlighting the obvious. “That rock is going to crash down on top of us if we don’t hurry on. Break our little heads like eggshells. Back up the slope! Everyone!”
They were willing to try anything at this stage, so they scrabbled back up the same way they came in, only to be defeated by that gritty slide time and again, just as the Grogoch had been before. The only one who wasn’t panicking was Stell. He was too busy thinking.
“Oh, how can you be so calm?!” The Grogoch whined in a twist. “We are in serious trouble here, and you just sit there, pondering? As for that scratching. Oooh, that scratching! It’s growing worse! Something’s on its way to put our eyes out, I just know it. Just our damn luck! And here you are, Stell. All calm, like you were out fishing or something! How so?”
“I am attempting to formulate a plan, Icrick, old friend,” the Elf clarified. “Now, if you would be so kind as to leave me to it.”
All of sudden, another dull thud rattled them, followed by a screen of falling dust.
A gigantic clump of rock gave way above the window on the far side. It got caught up in the chains, and fell, with a heavy yawn, down to the bottom of the pit, where it shattered into a puddle of small stones. Between its sheer weight and getting all tangled up, the boulder rolled so slowly and, likewise, predictably on its descent. This intrigued Stell, resulting in a fine, if not somewhat loony, solution.
“I have another idea!” smiled he.
“Another one?!” Khrum howled, slapping his knee. “Boy, are ya on a roll today, ha?”
Altering Khrum’s smile into a thing of horror, Stell knotted some of his twine around one of his arrows. He then sent it, with a mighty release, straight into one of the forked factures overhead, then started tugging on it with everything he had.
Impressed, but wary, Wren said, “We’re going to swing it?”
“No,” Stell said. “Like these chains, I wouldn’t trust the line. I’m going to bring down the roof instead.”
“An’ ya call that a plan?” Khrum squealed, yanking the brim of his hat down over his ears. “This is a bloody mass suicide attempt, is what it is. An’ I didn’t sign up ta be no pancake, right!”
He jumped on Stell’s arm and managed to swipe the line from his hand, when the Elf contended, “What are you doing, Khrum? Have you gone mad?”
“Me?! You’re the one who’s losht it, matey! Ya don’t see me trying ta bring the place down around us, do ya?”
“As the rocks fall through the chains, we shall use them as stepping stones to get across.” Stell sighed. “You know? Bound from one to the next! Now, if you please! The twine.”
Everybody grumbled at this; agreeing that it was a notion of altogether lunatic proportions, and they were all united in their reluctance.
“Well, I hate to be the bringer of bad news,” the Elf went on, “but this is the only way across. Unless of course you want to climb, and are thereby running the risk of being shoved to an early grave by one of the undead. Or else we can spend a half a day trying to conquer that slope again, although we’d likely squander more time than we can afford, and still face even greater dangers on the outskirts when we get there—if we get there! Or maybe you want to shimmy acr
oss using the chains? Well, we could try that, but, personally, I’d rather be above the rocks when they are falling as opposed to being underneath them! But, it is entirely up to you.”
Answered by a drumming far below, they glanced down to see, pouring from the shadows, as though from a hidden shaft, a river of Goblins; the ones who’d escaped the rock-fall.
They dug their nails into those corpse-ridden walls and raced upwards with the greatest of ease, in the direction of William’s company. Skulls champed at their hairy fingers, but this didn’t bother the Goblins. If any of them were dealt a nasty nip, they’d simply rip the cadaver from its resting place and then fling it back down the shaft.
More flustered than they’d already been, they knew not what they should do. Be it joining Stell on his ridiculously foolish plan…or getting mauled by those devils. Either way they needed to act fast, because those animals were already halfway up the tower.
“More Goblins! That’s the last thing we need.” said William, who was more nervous now than ever.
“Now will you try my plan?” Stell asked, not that he needed to, as Khrum was already pull-pull-pulling on the twine, as hard as he could.
“C’mon.” he squeaked. “Let’s rip this damned place ta the ground!”
Together, with one behind the other, they tugged, and hauled, and yanked upon that line so urgently that it snapped, and sent them tumbling over the person behind them. Stell acted sharply. Spending the last of his twine, he doubled up on it this time, tying it off to a second arrow.
By then, one of the Goblins had nearly reached the top.
Stell set the arrow on the bow-shelf, but he was in such a rush that he fumbled it. It fell on the ground and trickled down the slope to where a Goblin’s claw had already plunged. They shuddered. But Khrum was on it. He rushed down with a skid, grabbed the arrow, and then ran back up before the Goblin could snatch him up.
The Other of One: Book Two Page 48