Forge of Ashes

by Josh Vogt

  In Chains

  Akina hung back, doing her best to look sullen while Izthuri finished sealing the deal with the slavers. She berated herself for not nabbing the elemental's diamond back in the tunnels. Would've been better daring the elemental's wrath than seeing Ondorum standing there, stripped to his loincloth and head bowed like a whipped slave. The wounds on his back and ribs made it easier for Izthuri to spin a tale of a duergar mistress displeased with her property and deciding she'd rather have a bit of extra spending coin than such a troublesome lout.

  The exchange happened quickly enough, and the duergar grinned wide as they shackled Ondorum to the end of the line. Akina cringed as they added an extra precaution—several barbed loops went around his neck and were connected to an intricate system of interlinked chains that they fitted to his bonds in various spots. Multiple padlocks clinched the whole array. If he struggled too much or tried to snap the chains, the barbs would tighten, choking, puncturing, and eventually killing. It seemed a bit much, but Akina guessed they'd had trouble with oread slaves before or other creatures with prodigious strength.

  Izthuri headed back toward Akina, while the slavers got their line moving again. This being Ondorum's idea didn't make it any easier. The thought of him in chains wrenched in directions she couldn't describe. He already chained himself up enough on the inside. Akina marked the two slavers in her mind and started pondering ways to see them dead once the scheme ended.

  Izthuri didn't look at all disturbed at having just sold off one of her companions. To maintain the illusion, she bowed to Akina like a servant having completed a task. They rejoined the caravan flow, keeping enough distance from others to talk in low voices.

  "He call your oread fine specimen. Said pity lost gems. Would pay extra. I tell him mistress has nasty bite."

  Akina sighed."Is it enough?"

  Izthuri opened the pouch and withdrew two square pieces of silver, which she secured under her clothes. Then she handed Akina the rest of the heavy pouch."I pay for you. Am servant. Keep rest. Pay again later."

  Akina sighed."At the gate?"

  "Yes. A span from here. No pay after. Free oread and take tunnel."

  "Perfect." Akina started to scrub her forehead, but then stopped, thinking this might blotch the skin dye. They had their plan in place to cause a diversion and give Ondorum a chance to escape, but who knew what could go wrong between now and then? Plus, Izthuri insisted they move out of sight of the slavers, otherwise Ondorum's new owners might get suspicious. She almost prayed to Torag, to ask him to keep the monk safe, but figured Torag wouldn't be all that pleased with her right then. Nor would Irori listen to someone as jagged-edged as she.

  Noticing Akina's morose mood, Izthuri promised she'd slip up ahead every so often to make sure they weren't beating the oread to death or anything. They wouldn't notice her peeking around because,"Never tell us apart. Rag folk all alike."

  The duergar squads came and went swiftly. Mounted on spiders and beetles, the soldiers wore black armor inlaid with silver. They worked the caravan from both ahead and behind, slowing progress to a crawl while scratching off numbers on a sheet of metal as they tallied and took the toll. Some of them even rode along the wall of the Long Walk, ten or twenty feet above the road, watching to make sure no one evaded their levy. Izthuri passed over the demanded two silver. Once the two collecting squads met and conferred, they all skittered to the sides, spiders and beetles clinging to the walls. They shot up into the thicker darkness near the tunnel's ceiling and navigated in between the stalactites, back the way the caravan had come. No doubt to wait until the next band of merchants passed through so they could repeat the process.

  Akina grumbled a few choice curses in their wake. She tried to tell herself each step forward was another step toward getting Ondorum back at her side, but that didn't make them any lighter. She and Izthuri fell into an uneasy silence as the journey wore on. Their path lay clear, even when the deep gaps in the sides filled in and side tunnels started to connect with the Long Walk once more. Izthuri fulfilled her promise by slipping off every few hours and returning with a simple nod to indicate everything went well up with the slavers.

  Akina tried to embrace the silence. That was what Ondorum did, right? Maybe if she took a temporary vow of silence until they got him back, it'd feel more like he remained nearby in spirit.

  For a while, she reviewed Gromir's note in her mind, since she had it memorized by then. Then she imagined herself using the note itself in all sorts of amusing ways, including crumpling it up and punching it into Gromir's smirking mouth, or burning it and jamming the hot ashes up his nose. That almost got a smile out of her.

  Soon, though, she went from the note to thinking about Selvia and all their interactions on the path underground. What had been the duergar woman's scheme? What was her real relationship with Gromir, and how did he get tangled up with duergar in the first place? What damage had he done to Akina's family, beyond making them a laughingstock of Taggoret with his art of her around the city?

  For so many years, the main issues Akina had to deal with included,"Who do I hit?","How hard do I hit him?", and"How much do I get when I bring the head back?" War and mercenary work simplified things. Now she needed to erupt with convoluted questions. She wanted to run to everyone around and shake them, screaming,"Why? Tell me why, you son-of-an-orc, before I bite your face off!"

  Akina moaned and hung her head. Dust and drudgery, she hated silence. Made one think too much. All those thoughts tumbling over and over with nowhere to go. How did Ondorum stand it?

  Izthuri laid a hand on her shoulder.

  "There. Gate."

  Akina blinked up. How long had they been walking? The realization of time slipping by without her realizing was disconcerting, akin to when she woke up after an intense fight and wondered how many had died, why she still lived, and where one of her boots had gone.

  Nodding thanks to Izthuri, she studied the structure ahead. Spanning the Long Walk, it looked like a mingling of natural walls and artificial construction, yet all craggy and solid. In addition to stretching from wall to wall, it also reached up to the ceiling of the tunnel itself, blocking the way.

  Metal spikes jutted through certain spots in the stone, making it look like a giant had pounded nails through from the other side. A couple dozen dark windows had been carved into the main structure, and Akina imagined these concealed guards or archers, watching for any travelers or trouble. At varying heights, thicker portions of stone had been fashioned into protected walkways that blended back into the structure on either end.

  Akina wondered at the building technique, since the steel and stone appeared interwoven. Had they erected the barrier in an empty section of the tunnel and then used earthen magics to draw the stones around it, concealing its foundations? Or had they carved out a natural barrier and infused it with the metal?

  At the base of it all, four arches stood spaced out, offering what looked to be the only way through. These were currently blocked by a double barrier of black iron portcullises and gates. Random holes and side-tunnels still broke up the walls leading up to the structure, but Akina figured these didn't offer routes that circumvented the gateway itself. Or, if they did, it'd take the traveler days or weeks out of the way through untenable terrain, making it an unprofitable and dangerous option.

  As they neared, she could see that each gate had a symbol carved into it: an arch with a burning flame in the middle—the sign of the duergar god, Droskar.

  This made her pause a second, thinking of Brakisten and the visions that had plagued him. How would he react to being taken down into the realm of the duergar, betrayed by the very dwarf who'd stolen their mother's affections? Would he be riddled with terror, believing his dreams of death were coming true?

  The caravan started to converge into various lines, with a few merchants hastening to be at the front. Ondorum's slavers cut toward the rightmost gate. Akina headed that way, but Izthuri redirected her left.

&nb
sp; "That slave gate," she said."Traveler gate here."

  Akina ground her teeth, but allowed herself to be led over to where more lone caravan members clustered, as well as groups of people who lacked any sort of visible goods to sell. People shuffled and shoved as more of the caravan arrived and tried to press them forward. But the gates themselves had yet to budge to admit them, nor had any guards emerged to shout down instructions or warnings. Soon, various caravan members began hollering up at the openings in the wall, or pounding weapons until the area resounded with cries or demands to open the way.

  Akina peered through a gap in the crowd, glad to see Ondorum's slave line remained on this side, stuck with the rest of them. The wait would've been more torturous if he'd already gone through, plus it'd force them to scramble to catch up and retrieve him. Izthuri had mentioned the tunnel they needed lay just on the other side of the gateway.

  "Does it always take this long?" She leaned in so Izthuri could hear her over the rising disgruntled chorus. Were the duergar who manned the place all drunk or sleeping? Not like they had to rush to ensure nobody slipped past them. She supposed the caravan could be made to wait for days and still have no recourse but to grumble or turn around; that seemed unlikely, given the ruthless efficiency with which the recent squads had processed them.

  Izthuri frowned with her forehead."No." She wove her head from side to side, trying to get a better look."It quiet."

  Quiet? Akina scowled at the noisemakers around them. The caligni must have meant the wall itself, rather than the general atmosphere, for not a peep sounded in reply.

  "Something's wrong," she whispered to herself.

  A robed figure appeared at one of the entrances to the uppermost walkway. The duergar stepped into sight, easing one foot in front of the other. He didn't look down at those assembled, but stared straight ahead as he approached the edge. A few caravan leaders called to him, but the duergar ignored all these, walking until he struck the low lip at the edge.

  Then he toppled over it, and all saw the blade stuck in his back as he fell.

  It must've been a sign, for a shrieking din erupted around them. Two dozen gray-scaled, black-speckled xulgaths filled notches and holes in the wall, shaking clubs and spears. Many of them wore ill-fitting black armor, which Akina realized must have been scavenged from the duergar who once manned this gateway.

  The clamor of their war cries tripled as a hundred more xulgaths poured out of the tunnel openings around them and back up the road. As one, the lizards converged on the trapped caravan.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Ambush

  Ondorum waited along with the rest of the slaves, wondering what might have delayed their progress. The gate remained closed ahead, its gleaming flame-within-the-arch sigil making Ondorum's head ache and stomach twist if he looked at it too long. He kept his head down, but still watched everything around him as much as he could without inciting the slavers' lashes, which they dispensed with glee for the smallest infraction. The line of tattered ones shuffled in place ahead of him, and it wrenched him to see their broken forms mirroring their broken spirits.

  He didn't pay much thought to the rising shouts around them, but wondered if there might be any way for him to free some, if not all, of the slaves when Akina and Izthuri came to help him escape on the other side. It'd have to be near a side tunnel, otherwise any escapees wouldn't stand much of a chance of getting very far on the Long Walk before being chased down.

  As he pondered the possibilities, a horde of xulgaths sprang into sight, and the caravan exploded into chaos. The two xulgaths who'd already been traveling with the caravan suddenly turned to Ondorum's line of slaves and began cutting down the nearest prisoners with vicious rakes of their claws. One then bounded off into the crowd, tearing out throats with its fangs and eviscerating with its talons.

  The chain line jerked every which way as slaves bellowed and screamed and fought to escape. Ondorum gritted his teeth as the chain between him and the next slave yanked, tightening his barbed collar. He followed to ease the pressure and got close enough to grip the other slave's humped shoulders. The tattered one twisted around as much as it could. It had a drooping face and blubbery lips, through which it bleated plaintively. Wide-set eyes the color of yolk blinked at him, and its nose looked more like a beak. Ondorum clapped it on the shoulders again, trying to reassure it and get it to stay put. The tattered one trembled in his hold but didn't try to bolt, and he took the opportunity to survey the scene.

  Xulgaths tumbled out of the wall openings ahead and above them, using the jagged stones and metal spikes to leap down. Some even clambered about the stalactites far above, using their claws to cling to the stone as they leapt from column to column before reaching the wall and scrambling down. More raced out of the tunnels to their back and swept in toward the exposed caravan flanks.

  The duergar slavers raced by Ondorum on their spider mounts, shouting to one another as they headed to the front of the line. They leapt to the ground beside the treacherous xulgath, which had been gnawing on a dead slave's arm. The xulgath whipped around and snarled at them. It lashed out, but quickly fell to the axes, limbs and head flying away. As its body twitched at their feet, the slavers looked up at the descending tide of xulgaths, with the nearest being a series of leaps away. Ondorum tensed. Would they stand and fight for their property?

  One duergar pointed his axe at the slaves and the other nodded. They turned and began hacking down the captives. Ondorum opened his mouth in a silent shout of denial.

  The slave in front of him panicked and thrashed anew. Before its struggles could tighten his bonds and slice his throat open, Ondorum threw the slave to the ground. He grabbed one of the large iron links in the chain connecting his bonds to the other slave's. The metal flowed under his touch and the chain snapped apart, leaving him freed from the line and holding an iron quarterstaff. The tattered one stared up at him in wonder, before being dragged a few feet by the rest of the slaves. The slaves didn't even defend themselves. Some tried to flee, but became tangled in their chains, while others cowered and died beneath the axes.

  Xulgaths shrieked all around as Ondorum briefly tested his bonds. He couldn't snap his chains without possibly killing himself in the process, and he couldn't repeat the link-breaking so soon. The shackles restricted his arms, but still gave his legs enough room. He charged down the line, keeping his staff tucked in tight.

  The duergar slavers paused in their slaughter long enough to see him coming. Their eyes widened in shock, but they raised their axes as he rushed in. Right as he did, two xulgaths leapt onto the duergar to his right and bore him to the ground. More reptilian warriors dropped from overhead, downing caravan members or landing to hiss and attack others. The ones from the tunnels must've struck behind in full, for the cavernous tunnel roared with screams, mad laughter, and clashes of arms.

  The surviving slaver ignored the xulgaths, ashen face twisted in rage as he raised his axe to strike Ondorum.

  Holding his upper arms close to his chest to avoid tangling his chains, Ondorum used the crook of his wrists and palms to lever the staff around, maneuvering it through the fiercest attacks he could manage.

  One end whipped across the slaver's face, cracking bone. As the duergar stumbled back, Ondorum kicked the axe from his fist and snapped a foot into his chest. He whirled and brought the staff down on the slaver's bald head. The duergar dropped into a motionless heap.

  Ondorum turned just as the two xulgaths finished with the other slaver. They rounded on him, slavering jaws dripping with blood and gore. One dug claws into the duergar's body and used it to launch itself at him. Ondorum caught the creature in the chest with a staff end and directed it over his head. It slammed to the ground, and the staff crushed its ribcage. Ondorum ducked without looking and the second xulgath soared over him. As he came up, so did the staff, connecting under the creature's lower jaw and snapping its head back with skull-crunching power.

  Xulgaths continued to drop about l
ike wicked rain. He slammed one out of midair, swept the legs from another. His bare feet brushed across the ground, drawing intricate, invisible designs as he spun and whirled, kicked and crouched, creating a circle of death around him. The ground responded to his touch, sending strength up his legs and into his core, which glowed like a ball of molten steel. Power surged through him, following lines of energy to radiate from his toes to his fingertips to the top of his head.

  The xulgaths seemed to move about him in slow motion. One lunged for his face, while another lashed at his ribs. He grabbed the incoming maw and clamped it shut with one hand, inches from biting his ear off. He speared the staff out twice to strike the other xulgath's arms in precise hits, breaking them both. Then he ducked and smashed the first xulgath's head into the ground with an elbow strike.

  Three came at him from all sides, wearing mismatched black iron armor and swinging blades and cudgels. The clangs of his staff turned into a nonstop drumming as he ricocheted strikes off helmets, swords, and breastplates. Stomps and kicks broke their exposed knees and feet. As one went down, he turned and flung his staff sideways into the helmeted head of a second. As the staff rebounded into the air, he dodged the swipe of the third and threw a flurry of short punches into its side. Holding a palm upward, he caught the falling staff and used it to pound the second one flat. When the third opened its mouth, trying to suck in the air he'd driven from its lungs, a staff end drove out through the back of its head.

  He halted, lacking an immediate target, and swept his gaze across the battleground—for that was what the Long Walk had become. The caravan faced more than equal its number, by his estimate. A dozen xulgaths remained perched on the wall itself, flinging bone javelins, shooting crude bows and arrows, or whipping stones from slings into the fray.

  The fight had compressed the caravan into a shrinking circle as outer defenders met the swarm of reptilian attackers. Even with many of the caravan members armed, the xulgaths attacked two or three to a victim, slashing out eyes, hamstringing from behind, or gutting from crotch to beard.