For the two shades before him were Areck and Cerestin.
***
The warriors trampled along the shrouded corridor, searching for a staircase leading down which hopefully would take them out of the building. Holding their lanterns aloft, the men were at the brink of mental and physical exhaustion. The cares and dangers of their journey had taken a harsh toll upon their collective morale, and it was through the strength of Grundel alone, his determination and confidence, that they still remained a group of cohesive, and capable, fighters.
Chertron again took the lead, the captain next, Forlern at his heels, and Rundin bringing up the rear guard. Now only four. The corridor was high and wide, made to permit the giants to travel with ease. The structure loomed silent and empty about them, just as the other building had been. The entire fortress seemed to have been pillaged, the plunderers leaving behind only death and despair. The captain knew it had been a trap all along, and he wondered if the enemy even suspected his true identity. The implication was ghastly. Could it be possible? He almost stopped in his tracks, Forlern bumping him from behind. "Anything wrong?" The fighter queried him.
"No -- keep moving." The captain nodded ahead to Chertron, who had also paused. The men resumed their pace, Grundel consumed in black thoughts. Chertron whistled, whispering back to the others. "Stairs leading down. Let's hope we find more than just empty chambers."
They bounded down the large steps, hewn from rock, broad and deep, going lower dozens of yards before reaching bottom. They entered a musty room, which may have been used as storage, the length disappearing into shadows, their pale lanterns failing to encompass the full dimensions of the area. Chertron eased ahead with weapon raised, and they walked in single file until they were half-way across.
"Hurry." Rundin whispered. "Something comes."
The captain spun around in alarm, signaling to keep moving. Chertron sprinted towards the far end, gesturing sharply. There was only a blank wall, a dead-end. Chertron spat in frustration as the other warriors joined him.
"Rundin, what did you hear?" Forlern stared into the blackness, waving his sword.
"Echoes from above, it sounded like scratching, but I can't be certain." The captain and Chertron spread out, searching along the walls for another exit.
"Trapped." Forlern patted his blade. "Well, it won't catch us unawares like the others. I'll split its eyes open, whatever Captain Grundel believes."
"That might not be necessary…Over here." Grundel sounded excited and the fighters quickly joined him. "A sewer grate, if I'm not mistaken." He crouched down next to a set of iron bars sunken into the floor, a dark opening lying beneath it. "Our only hope. Let's lift it, and quickly."
Rundin and Chertron immediately assisted him, their strong arms pulling mightily at the fastenings which were loose from centuries of disuse. After several seconds they had it out, and Chertron poked his head inside. "A tunnel, though who can tell where it leads."
"Go." The captain nudged him, following behind. When Rundin had entered, he turned around and pulled the bars tight, trying to find a means to secure it. "I don't know how to hold this down." He looked to Grundel for suggestions, and the captain shook his head.
"We've not the means to secure it tighter. We'll pull it fast, and hope to gain a few moments of time if something pursues." They struggled with the iron until they were satisfied, then fled down the narrow tunnel. It was damp and cool, the top high enough to permit them to move along without hindrance. They scurried along the corridor and soon found themselves to be within a maze-like network, the underground spillway system of the fortress. Time was meaningless inside the tunnels, and they went swiftly, feeling the invisible presence of pursuit behind them. Grundel was fairly sure the Killworm had tracked them into the lower levels of the building, and was hunting them even now. They took several turns, coming at times to branches, Chertron maintaining what he thought was the proper direction, but there was no way to be certain. Some of the corridors were flooded, and he thought it might help to throw off the Killworm. They splashed as quietly as possible, trudging through black water up to their ankles. They soon entered a large corridor, which appeared to be a major runway. Staying to the main tunnel, Grundel realized that the smaller passages were outlets originating from buildings or streets. He recalled seeing several of them as they traveled through the fortress, and his hope was to find a way out near the gates. It was a slim hope, but all his expectations were fragile.
He grew increasingly nervous about staying in there for too long, and he told Chertron to seek another branch. Shortly, they reached a narrow fork, and they chose the right, moving into a smaller tunnel. It was a terrifying flight, oblivious of their true direction or location. The tunnel sloped gradually upwards and they came at last to the end, stopping at the bottom of a well. The captain motioned them upwards, where handholds had been carved into the stone. The rock was moist but the notches were deep, and the fighters ascended.
It was a harrowing climb. They moved higher, to such an extent that a fall would prove fatal. Several times one of them gasped, slipping on the dank walls, but caught himself. Long minutes dragged by and Chertron called back to them, spotting another grate above their heads. They had reached the surface at last, and Chertron pushed heavily up, moving the rusted iron which lay between them and the streets of the fortress. Fortunately, this one was also easily maneuvered due to its age, and the warriors finally breached the sewers, emerging once more into the hazy morning.
Although glad to be out of the tunnels once again, their trepidation was no less. They were far from being out of danger. They didn't know for sure where the Killworm was, either still hunting them in the sewers below, or perhaps it had left also, moving into some other passage. The captain helped Rundin from the hole, and they immediately slapped the grate back in place, knowing that there was no way to fasten it any tighter.
"Did you hear anything as we climbed out?" Grundel looked into the tunnel as he queried the fighter.
"Can't say that I did," replied Rundin. "The creature could be anywhere. Maybe we lost it in the water, but we have to make haste and leave this dreadful city behind. I think we have enough answers to our questions, Captain Grundel."
Their leader looked sad, his eyes narrowing. He keenly felt the loss of his men, and it was as if all the burdens of Trencit now rested upon his shoulders. He was one man, and could only do so much. His mission simply could not end here -- King Gregor relied on him, and the demands of his high position commanded him not to fail. His thoughts drifted, swirling in the vortex of recent memories, from the beginning of their quest and the subsequent hazards they had faced. And the catastrophic results. The brave warriors who would not be returning back to their homeland or families. The dead were nearby, and he felt their solemn presence. Their accusations. No, he must not fail.
"Yes, it is time to go. Chertron, that building to our right seems familiar. We may not be too far from the gates. Head for the near side, single file. Keep a sharp lookout to the rooftops, as I believe the creature is more comfortable at higher elevations. It can move quickly and quietly. I don't want any more nasty surprises."
They hurried off, holding the same position of order. The reliable Chertron doused the dangling lantern he yet held, loosening arrows from his pouch, his sword arm ready. The others followed his lead, all of them tired and hungry, but willing to continue onward without either food or rest until they had left the forsaken stronghold far behind.
The air was silent, the mist crouching behind corners, swirling above the turrets and lofty walls, spiraling upwards in lazy circles. It was the most consistent feature of the Lowlands -- a wretched, unwelcome companion which served to conceal lurking dangers and to dampen morale. Whether they traveled beneath wood or dale, the mist was there. Grundel felt it to be almost a living entity, constantly prying into their clothes and skin, tugging at their fears, whispering to their minds. Trying to bring them down, give up, admit defeat to Grammore and its si
nister denizens. It would be so easy...The magnitude of the Lowlands was staggering. Men and beasts seemed insignificant compared to the immense wilderness and the unspeakable monsters which dwelled there. Visions of the horrendous Jurvech materialized within the captain's mind. A beast of unfathomable violence and destruction. Its very existence alone was a threat to any who dared set foot within the Lowlands. And a more terrible thought was the notion that there might be other creatures of similar power and stature inside Grammore, perhaps ones even deadlier.
This thought had been festering inside Grundel's mind for a while, after he'd realized there might be a concentrated purpose behind the old horrors, manipulating them for unknown reasons. If such energy was directed at Trencit, the kingdom would find war upon all sides, and this was Grundel's greatest fear. And that was why he would never give up.
The fighters rounded a bend, and Chertron snapped his head back. "Captain Grundel, I'm certain we passed this area shortly after entering the city. Unless my memory fails me there is a wide corridor after this section, and then a pathway of several hundred yards leading to the gates. We cannot be very far."
Chertron's face glimmered with hope, and it sent a thrill of warmth throughout Grundel's body, seeing such an indication of the man's unquenchable faith. As long as warriors like Chertron lived and fought, he knew Trencit could not be overcome.
They increased their pace, scurrying forward, eager to put the fortress behind them and make for their own lands once more, but their excitement quickly melted into dread as a huge figure lumbered into view from out of the mist.
***
Sarion was utterly shocked.
Nothing could have prepared him for the sight of the two fighters, Areck and Cerestin, in the midst of the ghostly company. Their forms were ethereal and hazy, but the faces were unmistakable. He felt as if a lance of ice had just pierced his heart, cold and unforgiving. His eyes stung as tears of bitterness appeared at the corners.
Areck and Cerestin were dead!
Black night wings flapped invisibly around his head, pressing in, threatening to overwhelm and drown him in fear and despair. His throat constricted, and he was unable to swallow. He was crushed. The phantoms hovered before him with vacant orbs, staring through him and beyond, to unspeakable realms past the scope of his human imagination.
Dead!
Sarion shuddered in front of them, and he felt the giant-spirits closing in -- watching, and waiting. His sword dropped to his side, and he felt incredibly weak and vulnerable, more so than he had ever felt before. The warriors had met with death and disaster, led by General Charadan, under the direct command of King Gregor. The man had been traveling in disguise as Captain Grundel. And they were gone.
He wept.
The tears rolled down his face, and he sobbed at the loss of his friends. Sarion knew he'd failed them. Despite the captain's arguments, Sarion felt that he should have convinced him otherwise, and they might have avoided entering the citadel. Or another thought occurred to him, that he could have followed after them sooner, and led them away from danger. Anything, except for what he had done.
Waited. He'd waited at the edge of the ridge.
Against his better judgment, staying behind out of the valley. He knew it had been a fateful choice from the beginning. Yet he'd taken no action.
Failed the warriors, failed Trencit -- failed himself.
Sarion sunk to his knees, letting the tears wash across his cheeks, cleaning the dirt away. But they could never erase the stain of guilt which twisted his heart in a terrible grip.
The shades remained there, ignoring him, lost. Sarion reached out with his senses, trying to communicate, form a link between worlds. To say he was sorry. The figures seemed to ignore him, appearing sad and forsaken. And they were fading as he looked on, heads moving from side to side. What could he do to reach them, he thought? Was it even possible?
Sarion moved forward, opening his heart and mind fully, letting all his emotions pour forth in the hope of a connection.
The spirits focused on him then, as if for the first time noticing his presence. They were nearly gone. Sarion stared intently at them, helpless and stricken. Words echoed through his mind, faint and elusive, like the dream-fragments scattering when one immediately awakens from a deep sleep, chasing the fantasy-memories until they are forever gone.
Help them, Sarion. It is not your fault. Trencit needs you. Stay true.
Then they vanished.
He staggered back from the force of their touch. They had spoken to him, breached the gap before it had closed. But what did it mean? He was sure it had been a message to him -- there was no doubt in his mind. Help them? Help who? Were the others still within the fortress?
Sarion lifted his head upwards and he looked to either side, gazing at the looming shadows of the giants. Is this what they wanted? For him to give up? Areck and Cerestin had come to him, seeking him out. Perhaps in one final warning, but also encouraging him. Sarion felt a fire raging inside, an outlet to his grief and anger. He was a man of action, and the two fighters had sparked the flame within his heart once more. The guilt and hurt remained, but if there was still any chance of helping the others he would pursue it, though it cost him his life as well. Their sacrifice demanded no less.
Sarion glared at the phantoms, scorching their airy figures with his terrible gaze. He would not admit defeat. His eyes challenged their unnatural horror, defying them to renew their assault. Quickly they faded, and Sarion knew it would take more than barren shadows to overcome him. He sprang forward, alone once more.
Alone but determined.
***
The four warriors stared in disbelief at the huge figure emerging from the mist before them. Grundel's heart sunk, as he knew the entrance to the fortress lay just ahead, within their reach. But now his hopes had been dashed as he recognized the trap which had been carefully set, patiently planned, and cleverly sprung. He didn't know what danger faced them now, but knew it had to be formidable. They'd eluded the Killworm, at least for the moment, and now a new horror faced them. What form would it take this time? Did it even matter anymore, he thought? Many obstacles had been lined up against them, and he felt like a toy within the grips of a monstrously evil and powerful cat's paw.
Grimly, he raised his weapon in resignation, the other men scattering to the side in order to make themselves more difficult as targets. Chertron held his bow, Forlern hefted his blade in one hand, a wicked-looking dagger in the other, his face set and confident. The captain knew this was one man ready to strike blows against the enemy. Rundin flexed his bearish arms, looking eager to fight the entire nation of giants should they appear unearthed from the dank earth for a final battle.
The figure grew larger, moving quietly and boldly forward, and a brutish face leered at them, a large, spiked club held within cruel arms. Cries of astonishment echoed from the fighters, and the captain's mouth opened wide in disbelief.
It was the ogre.
Across hill, swamp, and dale, tracked through the most inhospitable terrain known to them, they had relentlessly pursued the fiercesome beast, and now, impossibly, they faced it once again. Grundel nodded, his face dark and impassive -- he knew this would be the last meeting between both adversaries. And the odds were extremely tilted this time -- he was not foolish enough to believe otherwise. In their first conflict, they had fought the creature to a stalemate, suffering the loss of two of his men. Now, his force was terribly diminished, and they numbered only four.
Four men, he thought. Against such a savage and powerful foe. But they were four of the finest warriors in all of Trencit, a country of determined fighters, a population of durable people. He lifted his sword, pointing it directly at the ogre in challenge.
"So it has come to this at last. This is what we wanted all along, is it not?"
"Aye." Forlern and Chertron both called over to him, voicing their agreement. Rundin was focused on the enemy, his face implacable.
The captain co
ntinued speaking as the monster steadily approached. "Stand fast, men. We meet our quarry again, unexpectedly. Remember those who have fallen because of this foul beast, and let us avenge their sacrifice. Beware its speed and cunning. Spread out."
They formed a semi-circle around the brute, Chertron firing a volley of arrows already, scoring hits on the ogre's chest and neck. The creature roared in fury, charging towards him, the club swinging in a huge sweeping arc. Forlern took an early gamble, waiting until the ogre was only yards from him, sidestepping the club and avoiding a fatal blow by mere inches, and throwing one of his knives at the creature's throat. It cut deeply into the monster's flesh, and the ogre pulled the weapon out, casting it to the side. Chertron and Rundin fired several more arrows, taking advantage of the early distraction.
Grundel's heart leaped at the sight of the ogre's pain and confusion, hope springing within his breast. If they could keep the beast off-guard, they might yet have a chance. He raced forward, flashing his sword before the creature, taunting it by remaining just out of reach. It was a courageous but desperate move, as the ogre continued swinging the club, missing the elusive man by only scant inches with each swipe. Rundin and Chertron closed in from the flanks, each of them attempting to score a direct strike, but the ogre was not to be so easily fooled.
It grunted in fury and hurtled itself to one side, straight at Rundin. The others watched in horror as it heaved the club at the warrior's feet, causing him to lose his balance. For one second, everything seemed to hover precariously in the twilight, the ogre poised to move, then it plummeted forward and smacked Rundin to the ground with one massive arm. The fighter fell hard, a sickening crunch sounding as he hit the stone and lay still.
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