There were few questions as flight after flight of stairs went past. Many of them found the trip exhausting while imaging how difficult the return trip was going to be. Not even months on the trail conditioned them enough to keep their knees from burning or their breathing labored. Dorl was certain they were going down to the center of the world. Only Ironfoot bore no qualms. Dwarves were a stout race used to pushing deep underground.
At last they halted on the final landing where many struggled to catch their breath. Anienam, Bahr, and Boen all secretly cursed getting old. Their bodies were sore, haggard representations of what they’d once been. Time was an ever cruel trickster intent on beating them down until only dust and bones remained. When they finally managed to regain a small measure of self-control they looked in amazement at their surroundings. Grand, cavernous halls spread out in each cardinal direction. Each was large enough to fit an army and filled with hundreds of torches and hanging braziers. The walls were smooth, the dirt the color of a burning sun. The floors compacted to the point where not a speck of dust was visible. Surprisingly, there was great warmth. The caverns were brightly lit and almost enjoyable to be in.
Ironfoot whistled low. “In all my years I never imagined to take in such sights. This must rival even the tombs under the Twin Spires of Ragnash.”
“Surpass is more appropriate, Ironfoot,” Anienam corrected. “There is no equivalent in all Malweir to what we are witnessing, except perhaps the dragon roosts far to the west. Rekka, how far underground are we?”
“A half of a mile,” she replied. “Master Gran is waiting. The vault is down the southern corridor.”
They shuffled down more than a mile of corridor to come to a massive, vaulted door made of a strange metal none of them had ever seen. Wooden crossbeams formed a large cross similar to what the Giants of Venheim used in their worship to their one god. Anienam puzzled over the similarities of faith, certain the emblem was symbolic of religion. Each culture worshipped their own gods with specific rules and rituals. Finding evidence of contrary religious beliefs in the temple of the gods of light puzzled him to great ends. The vault door groaned open before he could ask the obvious questions distracting him.
Artiss Gran floated out towards them, arms folded within his pristine white robes. “My friends, what you are about to witness is a sight none have seen since the foundations of this great castle. I warn you to stay on the path. I will not be held responsible for you should you fail to follow this one instruction.”
“What could be so dangerous?” Dorl asked sharply.
Artiss blinked twice. “Trennaron holds many powers; some for good, others not. Heed my advice, Master Theed. Now, if there are no other simplistic questions, please follow me.”
He turned and went inside, followed closely by Rekka and then the others. Nothol reached out and slapped Dorl hard on the shoulder and gave a deep scowl. Dorl shrugged and kept walking. Intense heat washed over him the moment his boot stepped into the chamber. Sweat drenched his face and chest in moments. His eyes stung. His hair dripped wetness. Dorl raised an arm in a futile attempt at blocking the heat and looked ahead. What he saw dropped his jaw. The majesty of the corridors was immediately dwarfed by the intensity of what sat ahead.
A diamond-shaped structure stabbed towards the ceiling. The walls were made of glass, perfect and reflecting the heat of the flames surrounding the octagon-shaped stairwells leading up to the diamond. Dorl had grown up with legends of the underworld yet none of them were close to the hell of what he saw. The ground was blackened. The air smelled of brimstone. Dorl had the urge to vomit.
Artiss stopped them just inside the vault. “Behold! The resting place of the fabled Blud Hamr. This tool was crafted with singular purpose. Only you, Groge, have the ability to wield it. It is your responsibility to use the hammer to destroy the Olagath Stone, thus severing the link between dimensions and trapping the dark gods forever. Are you willing to accept this task?”
All eyes turned to the Giant. While he was more than humble as a traveling companion, his reluctance to engage in combat proved disturbing, leaving each with doubts as to whether or not he was going to fulfill his part of the quest. Groge took a deep, calming breath. He hadn’t thought about this moment. It seemed so far away, even as they drew nearer to Trennaron. Now, confronted with his basest beliefs and the knowledge only he could wield the hammer, he found all doubts gradually flee. Groge stepped forward with Gaimosian confidence.
“I do,” he said sternly.
The unspoken tension separating the group dissolved. The time had finally arrived for the realization of the weight of what they were attempting to do to strike. Gouts of flame easily the size of small houses burst skyward, throwing molten rock and quickly fading flames up in torrents. Artiss Gran felt great relief. Even his foresight wasn’t able to predict whether Groge was going to accept the challenge or not.
“A wise decision,” the Dae’shan replied. “All of you know this, once you step foot into the vault you will forever be cast down a path that will ultimately end in direct conflict with the Dae’shan and possibly the dark gods themselves. There will be no turning back.”
“We understand,” Bahr answered for them after pausing to stare into each of their eyes. Any personal doubts were forgotten after seeing the wary confidence looking back at him.
Boen grunted and folded his thick arms across his chest after moving to stand beside Bahr. “I’ve been waiting for this for months. Let’s get on with it.”
Nothol seconded the sentiment. “Now’s as good a time as any. Besides, we’ll at least get to go home.”
“Under the pretense that you might perish,” Artiss explained. He needed each to declare their intentions freely. Otherwise the quest was doomed to fail.
“We’re not getting any younger,” Bahr said.
“Very well. Follow me and do watch your step. Malweir needs you all.”
The Dae’shan glided across the long-forgotten floor. Small trails of dust kicked up in his wake. One by one the others fell in line behind him, careful to take the exact route as Artiss. They’d only walked a few meters before arriving at the base of the first set of steps. A moment earlier it appeared far away. The ground shook frightfully, as if it knew what was about to take place. The walls closed in only to dart away. Rocks and dust fell from the cavernous ceiling. Flames exploded in dynamic displays of force. More than once the group halted as they felt sure the very ground was about to crack under their feet. Only Artiss’s confidence kept them moving.
The stairs were made of alabaster, their pale white glow in stark contrast to the hues of red and brown surrounding them. Artiss Gran ascended the stairs with utter surety. A faint thumping could be heard over the roar of flames: subtle, reminiscent of a heartbeat. Bahr passed Anienam a sidelong glance but the wizard ignored him. This was neither the time nor place to cast the shroud of doubt.
They gained the level surrounding the diamond chamber housing the hammer. Slick, the floor was smooth glass. Nearly lost within the reflections of flame were thousands of faces, ghosts of souls long condemned to eternal darkness. They cried wordlessly. They implored for release. Bahr felt sickened. Of all the strange sights he’d witnessed this was by far the most unsettling. He’d never bothered to put much thought into what happened after death. A Man in his profession merely assumed there was only darkness and he’d return to the earth from where he came. The faces haunting the vault turned his stomach. Were they trapped or summoned by powers he failed to understand?
“Pay no heed to the faces,” Artiss warned. “They will pull you down and make you one of their ranks if you peer too closely.”
“What are they?” Boen asked. The Gaimosian felt on edge. His thoughts instantly went back to the confrontation with the ghosts of his ancestors in the Borgin Pass at the beginning of their quest.
“Fools mostly. They once served the powers of darkness. Each was captured and brought back to serve. Whatever corruption was in their hearts at their tim
e of death binds them to Trennaron. They are now guardians for each of the vaults in the sublevels.” Artiss kept moving towards the small doorway at the center of the diamond. “The gods of light are both wise and vindictive towards those who abuse them. So long as you avoid temptation and keep moving these ghosts will not harm you.”
Dorl told Nothol from the corner of his mouth, “That doesn’t sound very reassuring.”
“What does? This place shouldn’t exist. I feel haunted just stepping foot here.”
“There are many places in the world that shouldn’t exist, yet they do and it will do us all well to remain wary until the final battle is finished.” Artiss scolded softly. “Groge, be mindful and watch your head. The hammer may have been specifically designed for Giants to wield, but the vault most assuredly was not.”
He slipped inside the diamond, leaving the others in the doorway.
“After you, wizard,” Bahr said, picking up on the initial reluctance of the group. If anything bad is going to happen, this is the time. Better Anienam take the brunt of an attack than the rest of us.
Anienam followed without hesitation, ever eager to gain new insight and knowledge he might be able to use to further his cause. Deep inside he knew that rebuilding the order of Mages was borderline impossible, but he refused to strop striving for a return to the glory days. Ipn Shal would rise from the ashes again, hopefully with better results than the previous version. Whatever he managed to glean from Artiss Gran and Trennaron only furthered his cause, provided they were able to stop the dark gods from returning.
Momentary darkness blinded him. He stumbled from the depravation before his vision returned. Eyes wide open, Anienam gazed up at the pointed ceiling. Reflections of sparkling light dazzled the chamber. He’d seen many incredible, implausible sights over the course of his lifetime but nothing comparable to the vault of the Blud Hamr. Power resonated from the planet’s core, vibrating the ground subtly.
The short tunnel behind suddenly filled with Bahr and the others, all eager to catch a glimpse of the fabled weapon necessary to win the war. All expectations were dwarfed by the majesty of the hammer. Suspended through invisible nets of power, the Blud Hamr hung in the air, gently rotating. Old, leather straps were wrapped around the handle. Strange emblems were carved on the exposed black wood handle. Runes no living being on Malweir could remember. The massive head was roughly the size of a small boulder yet shaped and crafted into a block with sharp edges. Gems were crafted within the stone, lending a magical appearance unseen in any weapon since. Crisscrossing straps secured the stone to the handle, though Anienam suspected it was more than simple straps. A weapon of this stature was imbibed with more magic than a wizard of his caliber was capable of.
Artiss Gran halted beneath the hammer and turned. “Behold! The Blud Hamr. Only with this weapon can the Olagath Stone be destroyed. Only you, Groge, are able to wield it. You all are the first living souls to witness this sight in fifty thousand years. Take in the majesty. Let the power fill your weary hearts, give you strength, and open your minds. Purge your souls of impurity and venom. Only through total dedication to light, to justice, will you be able to succeed in your appointed task.”
“It’s a sight, that’s for sure, but now that I see it I don’t know if I have the proper strength to follow through,” Groge replied.
His mind raced back to their earlier conversation concerning the Olagath Stone. It was an artifact previously unmentioned by Anienam. Almost as old as the Blud Hamr, the Stone contained the misery of souls; forever suffering until the moment of release. If Amar Kit’han managed to fill the stone he and the other Dae’shan would be able to open the pathway between dimensions and bring forth the dark gods. The Stone needed to be destroyed in order to seal the rift. Getting the Olagath Stone away from the Dae’shan in time was another matter altogether.
“Each soul has different degrees of strength. You will find yours before the end, Groge of Venheim,” Artiss reassured him. “The time has come for you to claim your birthright. Step forward and take the hammer.”
Reluctance stiffened his twelve foot frame. Talking about doing it was one thing, reaching out to take it another matter altogether. None of his dreams adequately prepared him for the weight of what he had to do. He thought back to Joden’s teachings. The elder forge master was considered one of the wisest of their kind yet even he had no advice on what the young apprentice was going to encounter.
The young Giant gathered what courage remained and stepped up beside Artiss. He closed his eyes, whispering prayers to his god for strength. His hand rose in slow motion. Thick fingers curled around the hammer. Warmth spread through his body. Massive thunderclaps assaulted his eardrums. Spots of colors blossomed and collided before his eyes. The world went white.
THIRTY-ONE
The War Goes West
“Report, Sergeant.”
A crisp salute followed. “Sir, we followed a large body of tracks right up to the town’s border. There’s no doubt it was Badron and the Goblins.” Anger flashed behind his eyes. Speaking the words were nearly as bad as discovering the truth.
Piper idly scratched at the stubble irritating his jaw. He’d been hoping to catch his former king out in the open. “Is there a chance he hasn’t fled back to Delranan?”
“Doubtful but I’ll have the lads sneak in at dusk. We can move faster under cover of darkness. I didn’t notice any masts in the harbor though,” he added in afterthought.
That says it all. Our prey has escaped the trap. Rolnir won’t take this well, nor will young Aurec. It looks as if the war is going to continue on into spring. “I want every house, building, and tavern thoroughly searched. Detain anyone who protests but ensure Rogscroft soldiers are the ones doing it. We don’t want to incite another rebellion. Cavalry will canvas the surrounding forests in the event Badron’s holed up waiting for a ship to come in. If he’s still in country I want him found and captured before dawn.” This war has gone on long enough. We’re all strung out and ready to go home. Only, we can’t go home until Badron is removed. Of course then we have Harnin One Eye to deal with. Either way, we’ve got a hard road ahead.
“Yes, Commander,” the sergeant said and saluted again and rode back towards his waiting troops.
Piper frowned deeply. The furrow creased his exposed forehead. Helmet strapped to his horse, Piper Joach enjoyed the momentary feel of the cold wind in his hair. He’d been in the field for far too long and, despite being borderline exhausted, wanted to end the campaign in Rogscroft personally. After all, he’d been in command of the first skirmish. It was only fitting he brought it all to a close. General Rolnir agreed with his point of view, thus sending a large contingent of soldiers north in a seemingly futile attempt at cutting off Badron’s escape route.
The port town of Dredl hadn’t suffered many effects of the war. It was a major sea port, for Rogscroft, and had a steady stream of supplies coming in throughout the course of the winter. Rudimentary defenses were established along the perimeter. Piper approved of the townsfolk wanting to protect their homes but their defenses were more than inadequate to keep out a force larger than a squad. Badron and his Goblins would have rolled through Dredl like a harsh winter storm. Only there’s no sign of a struggle. No wreckage or debris. Not even a corpse in the snow. Where have you gone, Badron?
“Lieutenant Klevk, dispatch a team of runners back to General Rolnir. Inform him and the king that we have reached Dredl and there is no sign of our enemy.” He paused, knowing he should wait until the scouts returned with positive confirmation before sending a report back to headquarters. Misinformation might easily prove more damning to their cause. Still, Rolnir and Aurec needed up-to-date information in order to facilitate the execution of the next phase of the war. Piper felt trapped between the proverbial rock and hard place but was left with little real choice. The king needed to know.
* * * * *
Badron despised the salt spray coating his beard and cloak. He failed to see what hi
s errant brother found appealing about the sea. It was too cold, too turbulent to accomplish much of anything. He didn’t recall the last time his stomach felt so rebellious. Three times since dawn he emptied his guts into the roiling sea. Harsh winds slashed through his clothing, digging deep to the bone. Nothing but dark water splashed and rolled for as far as his eyes could see. The boat would roll and sink if a bad storm came south, killing all aboard without a trace. Badron had grown to hate everything about the water in a very short period of time.
Six other boats trailed behind, stretched out for nearly a league. Each carried remnants of his once powerful army, now reduced to mere hundreds of half-starved survivors eager to get home or get revenge in equal amounts. None of them knew the truth of what awaited, the carnage and depravation Harnin committed in the name of his personal brand of justice. Many had lost families, loved ones. Their lands razed to the ground or taken by the crown in a greedy attempt at consolidating power. Delranan was no longer the kingdom they remembered. It had become much, much worse.
Whispered promises by the Dae’shan did little to assuage Badron’s grief. He only wanted what was best for his legacy when first undertaking the endeavor in Rogscroft. Necessity made him a harsh Man but he never wished for harm to befall his mighty kingdom. The desire to conquer Stelskor drove him forward while exposing a terrible flaw: Harnin One Eye. His former right hand had grown decadent, if all reports from Amar Kit’han were to be believed, and transformed Delranan into a fragment of itself. The One Eye has much to answer for. I’ll crush the life from his throat with my bare hands.
Badron harbored no illusions as to the state of his kingdom. If his own actions in Rogscroft were any indication, Delranan surely suffered worse, especially if the Dae’shan were involved. The king couldn’t prove it, but his instincts screamed Amar Kit’han and the other were playing both sides off each other. To what purpose he couldn’t figure out. There was an undeniable air of evil about the mysterious, hooded beings, though what their true intent in the north was went beyond his rationale.
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