by A. Giannetti
Ascilius extinguished his small mage light before speaking a word of command. At the sound of his deep voice, a set of double doors outlined with a silver thread of argentum sprang into view in the stone wall before him. The doors silently swung inward, revealing a thick, impenetrable darkness. From past experience, Elerian knew that a large cavern lay on the other side of the entryway before him, housing the stables that were contained in the lowest level of every Dwarf city and fortress. The faint sound of voices suddenly came to Elerian’s keen ears. Looking off to his left, he saw a small, flickering pinpoint of red that might have come from either a fire or a torch.
“There is a guard here,” whispered Ascilius to Elerian in a disappointed voice, for he had also seen the distant light. “We will have to deal with them first.”
Silently, Ascilius led his Dwarves out of the passageway, splitting them into two equal groups with whispered commands. Well used to moving through darkness, they quickly and quietly followed his orders. Falx and Ennecus led half the company toward the ramp located in the center of the stables. It would be their task to secure the door into the ramp so that none of the enemy could escape into the upper levels of the fortress. After the two captains set off with their Dwarves, Ascilius directed Falco and Crito to follow him with the rest of the company. With Elerian by his right side, Ascilius cautiously led the way toward the faint light on the far side of the stables, following one of the streets that ran between the stalls that filled the cavern around them. The Dwarves did their best to be silent and stealthy, but to Elerian’s sharp ears, their advance seemed anything but quiet. All too often, he heard the tramp of a booted foot or the muffled sound of one Dwarf bumping into another in the darkness.
“We will never make it across without being discovered,” he thought to himself anxiously. “The keen ears of a Wood Goblin or a mutare can hear the racket they are making from halfway across this chamber.” At any moment, he expected an alarm to ring out, but surprisingly, none came. The faint sounds Elerian had heard earlier, however, became plainer now.
“It sounds like revelry, as if there is a party in progress,” thought Elerian to himself, wondering at the source of the noise. After an endless time creeping through the darkness beside Ascilius, he finally saw a large entranceway outlined in the northwest wall of the stables. The steel double doors that sealed it shut reflected the crimson rays of flickering torches, the source of the light they had seen from across the stables.
In the wide street that ran in front of the doorway, Elerian counted at least thirty mutare and a dozen Mordi. In keeping with their dislike for each other, the changelings and the Wood Goblins had gathered with their own kind on opposite sides of the entryway. Some were eating and drinking, seated on benches drawn up to wooden tables. Others were gaming on the floor. Loud voices and snarls filled the air, and several minor arguments were already in progress. Not one of the sentries, Goblin or mutare, was paying the least attention to the dark chamber that lay beyond the pool of reddish light cast by their torches.
“Stay here and deal with any who try to run off,” whispered Ascilius to Elerian before silently rushing toward the unsuspecting enemy guards with Falco, Crito, and the rest of the Dwarves at his back. In a compact mass, holding their round shields in front of them, the stocky Dwarves struck the startled Goblins and their changeling allies like a battering ram, pushing everyone and everything irresistibly backwards toward the outer wall of the stables. Many of the guards did not even have time to reach for their weapons before they were thrust back by a line of powerful Dwarves who stabbed at them with short swords or knives through the gaps between their shields. The changelings roared like wild beasts, tearing at the Dwarves with fang and claw, but the Mordi fell back, calling loudly for help or blowing on their horns to summon aid. The Dwarves bellowed war cries in return, adding to the din. Elerian, who stood with Acris held ready in his right hand where Ascilius had instructed him to wait, felt no regret at being left out of the battle.
“There is no place for an Elf in this brawl, for there is no room for the deft, deadly use of knife or sword, only brute strength against brute strength,” he thought critically to himself. “I only hope that the uproar does not carry to the upper levels of the fortress, warning the enemy that they are under attack.”
The fierce battle Elerian was witnessing between the Dwarves and the guards did not last long. Outnumbering the Goblins and their allies by better than two to one, the Dwarves quickly overcame and slew the last of their enemies. Elerian listened carefully as silence fell over the stables once more, but he heard nothing from the ramp in the center of the stables.
“The sounds of the battle must not have carried to the upper levels of the fortress,” was his relived thought as the silence around him continued unbroken, for by now any reinforcements that might have been summoned would be battling the Dwarves guarding the ramp. Ascilius strode up to Elerian then, his dark eyes gleaming and his face flushed from his exertions. Fresh blood spattered his shield and mail, and there was a bloody scratch across his right cheek where the claw of a mutare had scored it.
“Nothing like a little carnage to liven a Dwarf,” thought Elerian dryly to himself as he observed Ascilius’s pleased demeanor.
“We have made a good start,” said Ascilius cheerfully. “I did not lose a single Dwarf and only five are wounded. If I can open the doors into the city, everyone will be safe inside Galenus before the sun sets tonight.”
“I hope that he has better luck than he did in Ennodius,” thought Elerian to himself as he followed Ascilius to the entryway. Around him, the members of the company had begun the grim task of clearing away the bodies of the enemy and debris of the battle, but pools of dark, slick blood remained behind, making the footing treacherous. Elerian carefully avoided them, but Ascilius impatiently strode over to the doors, ignoring the gore beneath his booted feet. Standing a few feet from the entryway, Ascilius spoke a word of command in a firm voice.
The doors trembled, but as Elerian had feared, they did not open the least little bit. Crossly, Ascilius began beating on them with his hammer and shouting for admittance at the top of his lungs. The argentum inlaid in Fulmen’s handle and head flashed like lightning with each blow, but when Ascilius finally ceased his assault on the portal, both doors still remained firmly closed, a few small dents on their smooth surface the only result of his hammer blows.
“That did not work in Ennodius either,” said Elerian dryly.
“It was worth a try,” replied Ascilius to Elerian in a disappointed, frustrated voice. “I was hoping that there might still be a sentry behind the doors.”
“Is there any way we could force them open?” asked Elerian.
“It would do no good,” replied Ascilius glumly. “The passageway behind them is almost certainly set to collapse if the doors are pried open or destroyed. That is why the Goblins have not bothered to use a ram to burst open the portal. It appears that we must take the upper levels of the fortress after all if we are to have any hope of entering the city.”
Shrugging off the blow to his hopes of a quick, bloodless entry into the city, Ascilius chose ten Dwarves, the five wounded among them, to remain behind in case the doors should suddenly open. After lighting his mage light again, he led the rest of his Dwarves to the center of the stables where they joined forces with Ennecus and Falx, who were waiting before the great doors that opened onto the ramp. The two captains and their Dwarves had heard the sounds of Ascilius’s assault on the enemy and were waiting impatiently for word of the outcome of the battle.
“We have overcome the guards, but I was not able to open the doors into the city,” Ascilius grimly informed his two captains. “We have no choice but to take the fortress, following the plan that I gave you on the road last night.”
“Lead on then,” replied Ennecus fiercely. “I am anxious to stain my ax with Goblin blood.” Behind the Dwarf captain, Elerian heard other Dwarves express similar sentiments.
“Th
ey are a stout crew,” thought Elerian to himself. “I hope their fierceness will make up for what we lack in numbers, for it seems to me now that Ascilius should have brought a larger force. Who knows how many of the enemy are laired in the upper levels of this place.”
“Quiet now, all of you,” said Ascilius addressing his Dwarves sternly and interrupting Elerian’s thoughts all in the same moment. “There must be no more noise now of any kind.”
When everyone was silent again, Ascilius pulled the right hand ramp door partially open. Standing motionless, he listened carefully for any sounds that might indicate the Goblins in the fortress were aware of the company of Dwarves in the stables. Soundlessly, Elerian walked to Ascilius right side and listened, too, but he heard nothing stirring in the dark passageway beyond the doorway. Reassured by the silence, Ascilius began to walk quietly up the ramp, followed by Elerian and the rest of the company, his single mage light providing the only illumination.
When the company reached the entrance to the next level, Ascilius drew Elerian aside and said softly, “This fortress is laid out much the same as Ennodius. Beyond this doorway is a large chamber. After you cross it, follow the passageway opposite this door. It will lead you through this level of the fortress to the great hall in front of the gates. To the right and left sides of the inner gate, you will find guardrooms, which are likely to be occupied. After overcoming the guards, you must close and bar the gates.”
“It sounds like a simple enough task,” said Elerian lightly.
“Impossible describes it better,” replied Ascilius grimly. “Try not to get yourself killed,” he concluded brusquely.
“Would you miss me if I did not come back?” asked Elerian slyly.
“Does one miss a splinter after it is plucked from one’s finger?” asked Ascilius gruffly. “I simply would not like to bring Anthea the news of your demise.”Ascilius and Elerian both fell silent as they grasped each other's right forearms with their right hands in farewell, their firm grip conveying better than any words the affection and respect they felt for each other but would not voice aloud. Turning to the Dwarves who would follow Elerian, Ascilius said sternly, “Obey his orders as you would my own. Remember, if you fail to take and hold the entrance to the fortress, all is lost.”
“We will not fail you my lord,” said Falco. All around him, the eyes of his troop gleamed with determination and many voices softly expressed the same sentiment. Ascilius at once began to ascend the ramp with his company of Dwarves.
Lighting a single, dim mage light for illumination, Elerian stepped through the doorway that led into the large, circular chamber that surrounded the central ramp. He waited there surrounded by darkness and a profound silence while Falco and the rest of the company assembled around him.
THE BATTLE FOR THE GATE
“Stay close,” said Elerian softly to Falco when everyone had left the ramp. With a light, silent stride, he crossed the chamber in front of him, heading for the doorway that was opposite the ramp entrance as Ascilius had directed him to do. His dim light revealed the debris left by a battle on the floor: broken arrows, shivered swords, and dented shields and helmets, but nowhere was there any sign of bodies. All too familiar with the Goblins’ and mutares’ fondness for flesh, it was not difficult for Elerian to guess the fate of those slain in the battle.
When he neared the exit that he had selected, Elerian saw that the heavy steel doors that had sealed the doorway before him were open, burst inward and hanging from massive, twisted hinges. The sight troubled Elerian.
“Even if I secure the gates, how long can I keep them closed if the enemy has a ram of this potency?” he wondered to himself as he set off down the passageway beyond the ruined portal, his small company of Dwarves following closely behind him. They were no doubt doing their best to emulate his own shadowy footsteps, but Elerian clearly heard the tramp of their boots and the occasional creak of their gear. Even their breathing seemed overly loud to him, and at any moment, he expected an alarm to ring out from the rooms that lined both sides of the tunnel, their broken windows resembling dark empty eyes. Behind Elerian, the Dwarves were equally on edge, holding their weapons tightly in their powerful hands and starting now and then when one of the moving shadows cast by Elerian’s mage light appeared to take on the form of a stealthy Wood Goblin or a hulking mutare. Despite the seriousness of the situation, Elerian could not help but sigh over the lost opportunity to frighten the nervous Dwarves following him.
“I could scatter them like a covey of partridges with the right illusion,” he thought regretfully to himself, a hard, predatory gleam suddenly lighting his clear gray eyes.
The sight, in the distance, of the entrance to the great hall that lay before the gate to the castella immediately brought Elerian’s mind back to the business at hand. He extinguished his mage light, but the passageway he stood in was not plunged into darkness as he expected. Instead, a faint, reddish hued light visible through the entranceway to the hall gave his night wise eyes more than enough light to see by. The sight of the Dwarves following him was not so acute, but they still saw well enough to follow Elerian to the entryway without jostling each other or tripping over the debris that littered the floor of the passageway, the remains of yet another fierce battle.
When Elerian reached the doorway, he saw that its gates had been wrenched open like those of the ramp chamber. Stepping cautiously past them, he saw that a few red mage lights hung from the thick, unadorned pillars which supported the stone ceiling of the hall, casting the faint light that he had first seen from the passageway behind him. Nothing stirred in the huge chamber, and the only sound Elerian heard with his keen ears was the subdued breathing of the Dwarves behind him. When he turned his head and looked over his left shoulder, he felt an involuntary shiver course through his body, for the Dwarves and all that they wore or carried had taken on a ghastly crimson hue as if the whole company had suddenly been drenched blood.
“It is only the mage lights,” Elerian reassured himself, but the sight continued to haunt him, for it seemed a bad omen for the future. “We are too few for this work,” thought Elerian grimly to himself. “Ascilius should have taken a larger force despite the risks it would have presented. If the entryway to the fortress is not as lightly guarded as he supposed, the portent I just saw might easily come true.”
Shaking off his doubts, Elerian looked instead at the far side of the hall where two steel doors, each ten feet wide and twelve high, stood wide open. They were flanked on either side by the smaller doors that led into guardrooms carved into the outer wall of the great hall. Beyond the inner gates, at the end of a passageway about thirty feet long, Elerian could see the buckled outer doors of the castella, burst apart by some irresistible force.
Through the outer entrance to the fortress, Elerian could see a small portion of the night sky, strewn with countless, bright stars, for it was now well past midnight. He turned to face Falco and the rest of the Dwarves. Their dark eyes gleamed redly in the faint light of the hall as they waited quietly for his orders. If they had any doubts about his ability to lead them, it did not show in their grim faces.
“Let us begin,” whispered Elerian to Falco. “Follow me quick and quiet as you can.”
Drawing Acris out of its sheath, Elerian began to move across the dimly lit hall on silent feet. He expected an alarm to ring out at any moment, but amazingly, the hall remained deathly quiet except for the small noises made by the Dwarves behind him. He breathed a sigh of relief when they reached the inner gates without being discovered. Motioning Falco and the others to wait, Elerian glided past the inner doors, which did not seem badly damaged despite having been forced open. The outer gates were another matter. They would never close again, for they were bowed inward, and their hinges were bent and twisted.
Taking a risk, for he did not know if someone would see his spell, Elerian called his silver ring to his right hand. With his magical third eye, he saw a tide of golden light spill from the ring, coverin
g him from head to toe. Invisible, now, to normal sight, he stepped silently past the outer gates into the open, breathing deeply of the sweet night air. Looking quickly to his left, Elerian saw no one, but when he turned his head to the right, he saw a single Goblin sentry dressed in black leather armor sitting on a small wooden bench and staring straight ahead with a bored, sullen expression on his thin, pale face. Elerian approached the Wood Goblin on silent feet, but some hidden sense must have warned him that an enemy was about, for he suddenly sprang erect and drew his black bladed sword. Before he could make any outcry, Elerian grimly slid the keen point of Acris through his throat with a single swift thrust, the flash of light from the argentum inlaid in its blade concealed by his ring’s invisibility spell. As the Mordi dropped lifeless to the ground, Elerian waited anxiously to see if anyone had noticed the guard’s death, but the night around him remained still and silent.
Sheathing his sword, Elerian propped the Goblin back up on the bench in a lifelike pose, resting his back against the outer wall of the castella. Then, after passing through the outer gates, he sent away his ring before returning to where Falco and the others were waiting. Falco immediately came close and whispered in his ear.
“I heard voices behind both doors when I put my ear to them.”
“Leave enough Dwarves here to close and bar the inner gate,” replied Elerian softly. “Of those who remain, let us each take half. I will lead an assault on the room on the right while you and your Dwarves secure the room on the left.”