The Survivors

by Dan Willis

  The sight of the monstrous Disir with the doll impaled on its ugly arm made Bradok angrier than he’d ever been. It seemed like more than a simple insult to Teal’s memory; it felt like a blow against everything that Bradok held as good and decent.

  He could hear his heart pound in his chest as he tightened his grip on his sword. Whatever else happened next, he would do his best to chop that despicable Disir to bits.

  “Teal!”

  It surprised Bradok that the voice was not his own.

  “No!” Omer yelled.

  The young dwarf with the child’s mind ran by Bradok, knocking Thurl down in the process. He rushed up to the Disir, reaching in vain for the doll that the monster held just out of reach.

  “Omer, stop!” Corin shouted, horrified.

  The Disir jerked back its arm, dislodging the doll, then lashed forward, slicing it neatly in two. Bradok didn’t know if the thing knew it was just a doll and not a living child, but it clearly didn’t care.

  Omer screamed, though he himself had not been struck. But it was as though he had gone berserk. A flash of orange light erupted in the space before the Disir, and Bradok had to cover his eyes. When it subsided, he saw Omer standing before the Disir, shaking with rage. His skin seemed translucent, and Bradok could see orange fire outlining the veins below his skin.

  “You hurt Teal!” the man-child roared. His voice seemed to shake the very ground with its power, and several of the Disir shrieked in pain as the sound overwhelmed their senses.

  With the casual gesture one might use to pick a mushroom off a cave wall, Omer reached out and tore the sword arm off the Disir that had so offended him. The creature squealed in pain and lashed out with its other arm. Bradok watched in horror as the tip of the blade punched through Omer’s shoulder and out his back.

  Yet miraculously, Omer gave no sign that the wound bothered him. Swinging the arm like a scythe, he lopped off the creature’s head, sending it spinning over the edge and down into the chasm.

  Time, which had seemed to move in slow motion before, leaped forward and everything seemed to happen at once. The Disir rushed forward, and Omer charged into them, taking them on all alone, yet cutting a swath of death through their ranks and roaring in anger as he killed. Black Disir blood splashed over Bradok, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the amazing scene. A splash of red blood was spattered on the wall by some Disir as they surrounded the boy, lashing at him with their razor-sharp arms. All the while, bits of chitin and ichor flew in all directions.

  In a minute it was over. Broken and shattered Disir lay everywhere, their black blood seeping from their body armor and oozing in a dark river over the edge of the chasm. And somehow, there was Omer, alive, standing in the middle of the carnage, slumped and leaning on the Disir arm he’d used as a weapon. The orange fire behind his eyes faded, eventually back to his normal piercing blue. His body shuddered and he fell, finally succumbing to wounds that seemed to have flayed the skin right off his body.

  “Omer!” Corin shouted, rushing forward. He lifted the young dwarf in his arms and carried him out of the mess of dead Disir, laying him reverently on the clean ground by the bridge.

  “Tal!” Corin yelled, tears streaming down his face. “Do something.”

  Bradok looked at Tal, but the hill dwarf only shook his head. What had just happened was beyond his ken. Omer’s wounds were too deep and too many. Bradok wondered that he still lived at all.

  “I couldn’t save Teal,” Omer said, his childlike voice strangely gentle. “I sorry. Tell Teal, I sorry.”

  “I will,” Corin said, holding Omer’s hand in a death grip. “You did good, kid,” he said, brushing away tears.

  “I did?” Omer asked, seeming surprised. “I never did good be … before.”

  Corin cupped the bruised and bloody face. “Sure you did,” he said. “You were always my good boy.”

  Bradok knew that Corin had taken Omer in when they were in prison, but he hadn’t known just how much Corin thought of the boy as his own son.

  “Corinthar,” Omer murmured, using Corin’s full name. “I scared.”

  Corin lifted the boy and hugged him fiercely. “Don’t be scared,” he said. “I have a special job just for you. Would you like that?”

  Omer nodded weakly. “I a good boy,” he said, pride in his faint voice.

  “You go on to Reorx’s Forge now,” Corin said, choking back sobs. “You find a good spot for the rest of us and guide us there. Save the good spot for when we come. Can you do that?”

  Omer nodded. “Teal be there?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Corin said.

  “I tell her not to burn her feet on the sparks,” Omer said, a smile flitting across his face. “Love Teal,” he whispered. “Always love Teal.”

  His head lolled back, and Bradok knew Omer was dead.

  Corin kept holding him for a long time, his shoulders trembling as he sobbed. No one spoke; there wasn’t anything to say. Finally, Corin laid the young dwarf down gently on the stone floor. His hand trembled as he smoothed the unkempt blond hair down and wiped the blood from Omer’s face with the hem of his cloak.

  “He didn’t deserve his fate,” Corin said in a quiet voice. “He was just a boy when that thrice-damned Theiwar took him and tortured him, made him a rat in one of his experiments. He had the strength of a dozen men—you have witnessed that with your own eyes—but the mind of a little boy. My people put him in prison for it.”

  He smoothed the boy’s cheek. “He didn’t deserve this.”

  “Yes, he did,” Bradok said, eliciting a gasp from Kellik and Tal. “This is a death worthy of any dwarf,” Bradok continued, his voice rising with pride. “None of us will ever be worthy of his sacrifice. Only someone as pure as Omer could have this death.”

  Corin looked up at Bradok with a mixture of pain and pleasure on his face.

  “Look at him,” Bradok said as all eyes turned to the fallen boy. “Teal was a mountain dwarf, but Omer didn’t care what clan she came from; he loved her for who she was. He loved her so much, he was willing to face creatures that terrified him—for her.”

  Bradok stared around at the somber faces of his makeshift soldiers, taking the time to look each of them in the face.

  “Someday, Reorx willing, we’ll escape this underground prison,” he vowed. “When that happens, we need to remember the lesson of Omer’s life and his death. If we take that lesson with us wherever we go, then we’ll survive, no matter where we end up.”

  “Pick him up,” Thurl said sternly. “Such a hero should not lie in the dirt.”

  Bradok took off his cloak and handed it to Kellik, who helped Corin wrap the body. When they were finished, Corin lifted the corpse of Omer and, without so much as a hesitating step, strode manfully across the bridge to where the others waited.

  Bradok slipped his sword back in its scabbard and followed.

  CHAPTER 25

  The End of the Road

  Corin carried Omer’s body to the far side of the crevasse and laid it on a shelf of stone that protruded from the wall. He sat next to the wrapped body for a long time with his hand resting on the still form, as if hoping for some sign of life. Bradok didn’t know what it felt like to lose a child, but he could see it in Corin’s eyes.

  “This ground is too hard to dig a grave,” Much said in a soft voice. “Let’s gather some stones for a cairn.”

  As one, everyone moved, gathering loose stones, even ranging up the nearby tunnel. Kellik stood watching over the scene, his warhammer on his shoulder. After a long moment, he turned and walked back out onto the narrow bridge. With an almost casual swing of his hammer, he hefted it off his shoulder and brought it down in the center of the narrow causeway.

  The heavy sound of the hammer on stone drew everyone’s attention.

  “What are you doing?” Rose cried, rushing to the edge of the narrow bridge.

  “The Rhizomorphs and the Disir are still over there on that side,” Kellik said, swinging the hammer
again with a resounding crack. “This is the only way across, so I’m going to close the door on ‘em.”

  Again he swung his hammer hard.

  “Do something!” Rose shouted to Bradok as Kellik struck the bridge again. “He’s going to kill himself.”

  “Tie a rope to yourself, you moron,” Bradok yelled.

  Kellik stopped, hammer in midair, then turned and walked back, looking rather sheepish.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled as Rose and Much cinched a rope around his chest and tied it off to a column of rock.

  “Think next time,” Bradok said with a wry grin. The grin vanished, and he added, “We’ve already lost too many friends.”

  Kellik nodded and went back to work, swinging his hammer. Bradok turned and joined those who were piling rocks around Omer’s body. In a few minutes, the boy was completely covered.

  Corin had moved aside as the other survivors paid their final respects. “Thank you all,” the Daergar said once the cairn was finished. Then he sat down again by the mound of rocks.

  Much took a step toward the Daergar, but Bradok put a restraining hand on the old dwarf’s shoulder.

  “Let him be alone for a while,” he said.

  “Bradok,” said Rose at his shoulder, her voice urgent.

  He didn’t have to ask what caused that urgency as the stench of death washed over him. The Rhizomorphs were coming again.

  “Hurry up, Kellik,” he yelled, turning back to the bridge.

  On the far side, he saw them come shambling out of the tunnel. If the Rhizomorphs noticed or cared about the bodies of the Disir littering the floor, they showed no sign. Instead they locked their gaze on Kellik and the narrow bridge he was trying to destroy.

  Kellik swung his hammer again and again, gouging great chunks out of the bridge. The Rhizomorphs howled and staggered forward, determined to take the bridge before he could bring it down.

  “Run, Kellik!” Rose screamed.

  Bradok swore and grappled with his sword, trying to draw it despate the hobbling pain of his wound. Before he could free the weapon, Chisul charged by him, sword in hand. He leaped over Kellik, heedless of the yawning chasm below, and charged into the advancing Rhizomorphs.

  The first of the mushroom men had already reached the bridge as Chisul met them, bowling them over, sending some screaming into the blackness below. He chopped at arms and legs, keeping the stunned Rhizomorphs at bay as Kellik continued to hammer.

  A thunderous crack echoed through the cavern followed by the creaking and groaning of stone.

  “There she goes,” Kellik yelled, racing along the bridge.

  Beneath him the narrow causeway of stone began to crack away, broken in the center by the smith’s strong blows. Kellik dashed along the collapsing stone, leaping to safety as the last of it dropped away. Across the wide crevasse, the other side of the bridge still stood, reaching out over the expanse like the prow of a ship.

  Chisul had heard the bridge falling, pushed the nearest Rhizomorphs away, turned, and ran. The gap was far too wide, yet Chisul didn’t hesitate, vaulting toward it with a look of grim determination. The Rhizomorphs shot globs of yellow spit at him, which clung to his cloak, but none hit his exposed face.

  He was only two paces away from the gap when one of the fallen creatures behind him darted out its long tongue and caught him fast by the ankle. Chisul’s eyes went wide, and he cursed and screamed as his feet were pulled out from under him.

  The Rhizomorphs were on him in a second, dragging him back, pinning him down, swarming him. One of them, who might have been young and beautiful before the Zhome made a perverse mockery of her body, bent down and pressed her lips to Chisul’s. He thrashed and kicked as she breathed her killing spores into his lungs.

  His body spasmed, his head beating down on the ground and his feet flailing. In just a few moments, his body lay still.

  A gob of yellow Rhizomorph spit sailed across the gap and past Bradok, falling with a heavy, wet slap onto the stone of the ledge. He and the others edged back. Chisul and Kellik had effectively cut off the mushroom men, but they were still trying to figure out how to get at their foes on the opposite side.

  “Get back,” Bradok ordered, stepping back.

  The survivors filed out of the cavern, making sure to keep well away from the edge. The Rhizomorphs on the far side of the gap hooted and called, yelling threats and obscenities that everyone ignored. The last to let them out of their sight were Bradok and Corin. Bradok kept his eyes on Chisul’s still form until the receding passage obscured it. Poor Chisul—Silas’s son wasn’t such a bad sort after all, Bradok thought. He didn’t deserve to be condemned to an eternal death as an abomination of nature.

  The loss of Omer and Chisul affected everyone. As the group moved through the shapeless tunnels following the pointing image of the Seer in the brass compass, the only real sounds to be heard were the intermittent demands for food from little Bradok.

  The tunnel ended after another day’s travel. Beyond it a small cavern promised comfortable sleep for the first time in days. They all needed sleep desperately.

  Four days after Omer’s death, however, Bradok was still haunted by nightmares. Every night he saw images of the boy’s pure blue eyes as the life drained out of them, and of Chisul, kicking his heels on the stone as the spores consumed him.

  Rose told him the nightmares would pass and so would the bad memories.

  Much told him it wasn’t his fault, that Omer and Chisul had saved them all.

  All that was true, of course, but it didn’t assuage Bradok’s guilt. Somehow Omer’s death came to symbolize all the dwarves he’d lost on their journey. He felt himself to be a terrible leader.

  As bad as the dreams were, they didn’t compare to the dread of waking. Every mile they walked, Bradok couldn’t help but wonder what new terror would emerge from the dark to steal away more of his friends. The number of the survivors kept dwindling. Every time anyone asked him to make a decision about something, he had to force himself to appear calm and rational. Inside, he felt worthless.

  “You’re taking too much on yourself,” Rose said as they started out one morning after he had slept so badly.

  “I’m the leader,” he said. “If we find food, I get the glory. If someone dies, I take the responsibility.”

  “That would be true if you’d recklessly sent people to their deaths,” Rose said. “Chisul and Omer gave all they could to protect us. They were willing to fight and to die if necessary.” She put her hand gently on his arm. “Your leadership has kept us from losing more.”

  She was right. Worse, he knew she was right, but he still felt guilty. But if he didn’t feel bad, he told himself, then he wouldn’t be worthy to lead. The kind of leader who didn’t feel the deaths of those he led would be a depraved leader.

  Bradok wanted to answer Rose, but nothing he thought of seemed appropriate to say. He did notice that she hadn’t removed her hand from his arm. As his mind took hold on that, his senses suddenly became aware of something—something changed, different.

  “Wait,” he whispered, holding up his hand.

  Not all the others had heard him, but most stopped in response to the raised hand. Throughout the group, both men and women placed their hands on their weapons.

  At first, Bradok couldn’t say what it was that had caught his attention. Nothing in the dim lantern-light seemed out of place, and no sound reached his waiting ear. Still, something had shifted.

  A puff of air as gentle as a baby’s breath touched his whiskers, carrying with it a strange yet familiar scent. Bradok had to reach back into the archives of his mind to identify it. When, at last he remembered, he shouted.

  More explosive laugh than shout, the sound echoed down the passageway as Bradok kept on laughing and laughing.

  “Wha—?” Rose said, her grip on his arm tightening.

  “Follow me,” Bradok said, turning to face his friends. “Quickly now.”

  He turned back to the tunnel and dashed
forward at a slow jog so even the stragglers could keep up. It had taken him some time to identify the odor that seemed to fill up the tunnel.

  It was the distinctive smell of mountain trees, of pine.

  The others smelled it too, and Bradok could hear their cries of joy and their ringing laughter joining his. The tunnel ended right before him, emptying out into a wide cavern virtually overflowing with peppertops and honey mushrooms, wall root, and blackroot. There was enough food to feed them for a year, longer if they were careful to cultivate new growth.

  A dazzling burst of light burned at the far end of the cave. Bradok had to squint just to see the ground before him, but he did not stop running. Laughing like a schoolboy on holiday, he raced out through the opening and into a humid blanket of warm air.

  The light overwhelmed him, however, and he dropped to his knees after a few strides, feeling the prickle of grass beneath him. Rose fell beside him, laughing as heartily as he had and rolling over him and into the grass. Before he knew what he was doing, he’d pulled her up and kissed her. She kissed him back and for a long moment, the two just lay there in the grass, joined together in a circle of blinding light.

  Bradok let her go as his vision began to return to normal. They’d been in the darkness so long, it took a full ten minutes before he could see anything farther than a few feet away. When his vision did clear, it felt like coming out of a dream.

  “What happened?” Rose gasped as her vision also returned.

  Above them, the sky was burning red with great, undulating clouds that appeared black against the sky. They found themselves sitting above a little mountain valley lined with trees and green meadows. A coursing stream cut its way through the valley and continued on down the mountain into the far side.

  Beyond the valley, however, smoke arose along every horizon, great black gouts that reached up and stained the sky.