Dragondoom: A Novel of Mithgar

by Dennis L McKiernan

  Glancing at Thork, Elyn stepped forward, ready to slay the warder, Thork coming after. The Rutch paid no heed, and the two swiftly strode past, under the barbican and into the open bailey. Behind, they could hear the booming of the bridge as the chariot raced over its surface. Arrayed before them in the light of burning cressets atop hand-held standards were two ranks of standing Rutchen guards as well as corpse-white Guula mounted upon Hèlsteeds, drawn up and awaiting the arrival of their vile master, forming a path through which he would drive.

  And not an eye flickered in the direction of these intruders.

  But a Hèlsteed-drawn chariot could be heard hurtling toward the portal.

  Glancing leftward, in a great black building conjoined with the northwest quadrant of the inner wall, Elyn espied an open doorway and dashed for it, Thork at her heels. And just as they scurried within and leftward, the chariot thundered into the courtyard, racing past, wheels slamming across the bailey cobbles, Andrak’s merciless whip flailing, the Hèlsteeds plunging through the wayguard corridor and toward the base of a tall ebon tower abutted ’gainst the southeast corner of the wide ramparts.

  And amid squeals of pain the Hèlsteeds were hauled up short, the chariot skidding to a halt before the dark door at the foot of the black turret. Shouting out some command to the warders, Andrak hurled his whip into the face of a cringing Rutchen lackey and stepped down from the platform and strode up the steps and into the spire, while behind him Spawn scrambled to obey.

  ’Mid shouts and curses and protesting axles, the drawbridge was wrenched back from across the gap and to the near side. And with hinges shrieking, the main gate was slammed to, Boom! the great bar falling into place, Clang! Gears clattered and ratchets clacked as the massive portcullis was lowered, iron squealing, huge teeth grinding down to bottom out with a juddering Doon! in deep socket holes drilled into the stone roadway below the barbican.

  And Elyn and Thork were shut inside dark ramparts, the way out locked and barred, shut inside a black bastion, its very stones teeming with foe, shut inside an ebon fortress with a vile host who would surely murder them if he but knew.

  CHAPTER 36

  Tower of Darkness

  Early Winter, 3E1602

  [The Present]

  Dimly lighted by the cressets without, Elyn and Thork found themselves facing a great dark main hall filled with clotted shadows, strangely churning—confusing mind and vision. To their right they could see the murky beginnings of a cramped stairwell wrenching up and inward. To the left, the wall fetched up in the darkness against an angled corner. To the fore, all that Elyn could see were vague shifting ebon shapes, and she could hear a scrabbling. “Long-tables and benches, Princess,” whispered Thork, conscious of her inability to see through deep gloom. “Scraps of food rotting upon the boards. Rats scuttling.”

  Without, they could hear the tramp of feet, and the light grew brighter.

  “Whither, Thork?” hissed Elyn. “They come, and I cannot see as can thee.”

  “To the fore, Lady,” answered Thork, “for I would not be trapped upon those narrow stairs. Better we seek safety in this great hall than chance it upon the steps.”

  Swiftly, Thork stepped through the viscid shadows and among the tables, suddenly coming to an opening along the right-hand wall through which reddish light shone. And Thork could not fathom why he had not seen its glow before. But ere they could investigate, Spawn entered the door behind, and Elyn and Thork shrank back into the shadows.

  Troops of Rutcha and Drōkha tramped inward from the bailey, their torchlight casting leaping shadows, luminance sputtering across the darkness to shove at the twisting murk, as if a struggle for dominance took place, some pools of blackness not yielding at all to the guttering light. And inward came Andrak’s wayguard, standing down from their duty. And with them came the Guula: corpse-white with flat dead-looking ebon eyes; like wounds, red mouths slashed across pallid faces, and their pale hands had long grasping fingers; Man height, but no Man ever was this creature of Neddra. Without a glance at the two intruders, warders turned leftward into the angled corner and disappeared down a stairwell that neither Thork nor Elyn had seen till this moment.

  “Ai oi, Thork,” whispered Elyn, “they pass through a door that was not there before.”

  “Nay, Lady,” Thork gritted, “the door was always there, yet we could not see it. These accursed shadows: they twist the eyes. . . . Look you, my Lady, by the light of the burning brands, see: there be a strange coiling to this murk, and clots of shadows that form churning walls of darkness, and even my eyes see not past those writhings.”

  Elyn’s gaze swept across the dark chamber, blackness curling in the torchlight. “The Wolfmage warned us that Andrak, too, was versed in the art of concealment; no doubt this is his hand at work.”

  Thork grunted but said nought as Foul Folk continued to tramp inward and down, though occasionally a Rutch or two, laughing vilely, would pause a moment in sport to swing scimitars at scattering rats, blades futilely thunking into wooden tabletops, cleaving no victims, skewering none. Finally, the last of the wayguard disappeared down the dark stairwell, and when all had passed beyond seeing, once more the hall fell into seething gloom.

  “Princess”—Thork’s voice was low—“if the rest of the castle be as this, then I would as soon wait until daylight ere continuing our quest, for you are nigh sightless in this murk, and at risk.”

  Thork held up a hand to forestall protest. “List, what would you say were the boot on the other foot? Would you have me walk about blindfolded? Nay, Lady, for not only would that be foolhardy, it would go ill for us should we need to engage the foe in combat. And just as you would not care to lose my axe in that event, I care not to lose your sword should it be needed.” Thork paused a moment, then spoke on: “Too, I deem that it will take your eyes as well as mine to find that which we seek.”

  “I agree, Warrior,” responded Elyn. “Though vague shapes loom before me, they are as black on black; in these environs I am the same as blind. Yet were we to carry torches or lanterns so that I could see clearly, then I misdoubt that e’en this silveron stone I bear would conceal the blare of our bobbing brands from hostile eyes, and they would wonder at who bore the light, and wondering, would at last know to look at us instead of around our edges.

  “But there is this to consider as well: to search in the daytime will be to search not only when the Kammerling is likely to be more exposed, but also when we are more exposed as well, exposed to Andrak’s eyes, and he knows how to see us.”

  “Aye, Lady,” responded Thork, “yet heed: The only time that we have seen Andrak is at nighttime. Mayhap he suffers the Ban, and will not be about in the daylight.”

  “Perhaps none will be about in the daylight, Thork”—Elyn continued the line of reasoning—“for the Foul Folk cannot abide its touch. They will hole up somewhere in chambers below when the Sun is in the sky.”

  “Aye then, Princess, are we agreed?” At Elyn’s nod Thork gestured at the dimly lit passage at hand. “Our plan was to get in, get the Hammer, get out: the first step is accomplished; the next two are yet to be done. If the remainder of Andrak’s holt be as is this twisted hall of darkness, then let us seek a place of safe hiding to await the dawn.”

  Axe and saber in hand, they stepped into the opening whence came the reddish glow and paced down the length of a short passage; suddenly, ere coming to the end, they could hear the clatter of pots and pans and crockery, a noise that seemed to have always been there but was somehow unperceived till now. They emerged into a smoke-filled, shadow-wrapped kitchen flickering with the rudden light of cooking fires, distorted silhouettes writhing upon the walls. And rushing thither and yon were Men! Swarthy, dark Men, and some yellow-hued, from Hyree or Kistan or mayhap the mountain villages within Xian. Cooks and scullery Men. Butchers hacking away at gobbets of an unknown dark meat. Serving thralls. Kitchen drudges. And Elyn and Thork glanced at one another, and a silent understanding passed between them:
now they knew who would ward the castle during the daylight hours: Men!

  Drawing Thork behind, by a circuitous route Elyn led the way across the chamber and toward an exit catercorner, stepping ’round tables and slipping along walls, avoiding the scurrying workers, none of them apprehending that aught was amiss. But just as the pair started through the distant portal, a tray-bearing thrall, hastening in the opposite direction, nearly crashed into them; yet at the very last instant he stopped in seeming confusion, nearly tripping over his own feet, the two intruders shrinking against the wall and passing within touching distance. And as they sidled past, the thrall’s confused eyes darted furtively this way and that, as if trying to catch hold of an elusive sight. Seeing nought, he wiped his brow in puzzlement, and rushed on into the kitchen.

  Elyn and Thork found themselves on the threshold of another dining hall, noisy and filled with Men eating. Overhead, a great chain-hung bronze oil lamp burned, its light struggling against the darkness churning within this chamber as well.

  “Why two dining halls, Thork?” whispered Elyn. “One before and one behind.”

  Thork shrugged his shoulders, then inclined his head, silently indicating that they should press onward.

  And as they crossed this room, the shadows oozed and writhed, first revealing and then concealing the dimensions of the hall, as well as the shapes within. Yet as they went, the two could see that it was a large chamber, filled with tables and benches and warriors at mess; and in the north-east corner a spiral stairwell twisted upward, while along the center of the eastern wall gaped another black opening.

  Through this latter portal they slipped, and came into another dark chamber. And Elyn could see nought but gloom, though just below the threshold of hearing it seemed that she could detect mutterings: obscene whisperings. And she drew back in revulsion, her feet hesitating to carry her into this vile place. Yet Thork drew her inward; and reluctantly, without sight, she followed his lead.

  “It is a gathering hall of some sort,” he growled, “empty.”>

  Suddenly he stopped, then led her sideways, as if stepping around some barrier. “Symbols inlaid upon the floor, Princess.”

  Again Thork stopped, and Elyn stood in the murmuring murk, unheard mutterings, chantings, filling her with loathing, unable to see aught but a vague squat ebon shape in the blackness before her. “An altar, Princess”—Thork’s voice was grim—“stained, etched with runes, carven channels to runnel sacrificial blood into a stone basin. Behind the altar is a dais, and a great throne sits against the wall—” Thork’s words jerked to a halt, and his grip tightened upon Elyn’s hand, and after a pause he whispered, “There is a great silver warhammer hanging upon the wall above the throne.”

  Leading Elyn around the altar, “Three steps rising to the throne,” he said quietly, his voice nearly swallowed by the silently gibbering blackness, and she followed him up onto the dais. “I’ll climb,” he breathed, releasing her hand.

  Elyn stood in the blackness, listening, hearing Thork’s axe tnk against stone as he set it to the floor, leaning the helve against the arm of the throne, listening to the press of his foot as he stepped upon the seat before them. She could see dark moving upon dark, and hear the creak of his leather boots as he mounted up on one arm of the chair. “Thork, hold!” she whispered urgently. “I cannot believe that Adon’s Hammer would be left unguarded. ’Ware, for this could be a trap.”

  Long she waited, the muttering shadows whispering obscenely. At last Thork’s words came down to her: “You are right, my Lady: it is a trap. And this hammer be not silveron, for it has not the feel nor the heft of that metal. I have placed it back upon the pegs, one of which I deem would have sprung a snare or caused an alarm to sound were I to have let it pivot upward when free of the maul’s weight.”

  Thork climbed back down. “It is not the Rage Hammer, Princess, but instead a snare with a glamour set upon it to deceive the unwary. The true Kammerling be elsewhere.”

  “Oh, Thork, mayhap Adon’s Hammer is not here at all,” whispered Elyn, dismay in her voice. “Perhaps all that is here is a hammer under a glamour, and those who say that the Kammerling lies in this castle have been fooled by this deception.”

  “Nay, Lady,” growled Thork. “Andrak has no cause to have a false Kammerling on display within this holt unless it be a ruse to protect the true hammer lying elsewhere in his keep.”

  “True or false, we must carry on. Yet let us do so when I can see,” hissed Elyn, frustrated by her lack of sight. “Let us get to a place where we can hide, and take our rest, and resume the search at first light on the morrow.”

  And so they withdrew from the evil sanctum and went back through the dining hall and kitchen and into the great hall beyond, keeping to the walls and threading among the whispering shadows. Back to the stairwell leading up from the great hall they went, and upward, where they found quarters for the dayguard; and therein were water barrels, and the twain replenished their supply.

  And ebon shadows and veering twists and unexpected edges and silent mutterings filled the ways they traversed, confusing the eyes and mazing the mind. Yet now Thork led, for Elyn was easily turned about, at times insisting that they had come this way before. But with Dwarven surety, Thork’s feet were not fooled, and steadily he pressed upward through the ebon shadows, seeking a sanctuary where they could rest.

  Up another set of stairs they went, and still one more flight, and everywhere the way was glutted with darkness mouthing obscenities. And now and again, even Thork had to pause, had to feel his way, for Châkka eyes, as marvelous as they are, still cannot see in total darkness, and in many places where they trod there was a complete absence of light. Yet onward they forged, looking ever for a place of safety, a place of rest.

  At last the two came up into a storage attic within the great black building, cold and dark. And there they sat down in the mad, tittering gloom, in a distant corner, taking crue and water ere attempting to sleep.

  And Elyn’s dreams were filled with darkness and fright, whispering shadows clutching at her, giggling obscenely, muttering abominable blasphemies in her ear, trapping her in wrappings of wicked murk. And she could not escape.

  Elyn came awake with a start, reaching for the saber lying at her side. Soft footsteps approached, and a dark form moved toward her. To one side, pale day shone weakly through a small round window below the peak of the attic roof, the wan light struggling with the writhing darkness within. Elyn lay quietly, feigning sleep, yet the hilt of the saber was in her grip, and she was fully ready to attack. But as the figure stepped quietly into the light, Elyn clapped her free hand over her mouth, stifling laughter: it was Thork, bearing a chamber pot.

  Having taken care of their immediate needs, Elyn and Thork sat below the round window and ate crue and sipped water and stared into the whispering blackness, wondering at its foulness.

  “There is this about it, Prince Thork,” said Elyn. “Even had we not this silveron amulet to hide us from hostile eyes, Andrak’s own ensorcellment of the light and shadows would work to protect us as well. For though it serves to obscure the detail of the keep within, so too would it provide us with concealment.”

  “Aye, Princess,” responded Thork after a pause, “there is that. But were this twisting darkness not here, our task would be eased considerably. For as it stands, we will have to search every square foot of this strongholt, else we could pass within touching distance of the Rage Hammer and never see it.”

  Elyn took another bite of crue and chewed thoughtfully. “Now that we are here, Thork, and have seen somewhat the layout of Andrak’s castle, at least from the outside, what we need is a plan.

  “I propose the following: First, let us keep to the inside of this building and spy through the windows until we garner what watches are stood and when Andrak stirs about, for I would not have him come upon us unawares. Second, we should avoid the bailey if at all possible, for Andrak’s eyes might espy us from afar should we step into the open. Thir
d, we should try to deduce where the Kammerling lies, given that it is somewhere within this holt. Fourth, we must think upon just how we are to escape once we have Adon’s Hammer, for the way we entered is not likely to be open to us: we must get out of these walls and down from this spire; the portcullis and gate are apt to be shut, and the bridge will most likely be drawn, not spanning the gulf. Lastly, our supplies run low, hence, we must search for sustenance to see us out of these mountains, for they are barren of wildlife and we are like to starve; it will not do for us to make off with the Kammerling only to have it lie lost in the wilderness, guarded by our two skeletons; nay, we must survive to bear it to Black Kalgalath’s lair and deal him a deathblow.”

  “Ever the tactical thinker, Princess,” responded Thork. “I could have laid it out no better. We will hew to this plan of yours and see what comes.

  “But first, let us rummage among the things stored within this attic, for it may hold that which we can use . . . other than chamber pots.”

  Quietly, they passed down the length of the attic, searching among the stored goods. Worn carpets and broken furniture and bolts of mouldy cloth they found hidden among the whispering shadows. They came upon empty chests and vacant crates, along with those filled with crockery and clothing. Too, there were rats’ nests and spiderwebs, but these denizens scuttled away as cartons and crates were moved, disturbing their crannies. Often Elyn discovered that she was sifting through goods that she had examined before, for the shadows continued to bewilder her mind and turn her about. But though his vision was often fooled, Thork’s unerring Dwarven footsteps were never lost, and when he noted Elyn’s plight, he guided her as well. Yet in the end, they found nothing of immediate use.

  “Kruk! I was hoping that we would find rope,” growled Thork. “If we had enough rope, some to add to that which we already bear, we could use it to rappel down from this spire to the valley below.”