Shadowrun - Earthdawn - Lliferock

by Jak Koke

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  gether with strips of leather. They carried poleaxes or long swords, standing at attention.

  Pabl stopped behind his brethren, his limbs rooted in the rock, and waited. The cave entrance was huge — at least three obsidimen lengths high — roughly circular with a flat floor. The smell of burning rock billowed from the opening, a cloud of acid fumes which choked Pabl, searing the back of his throat. He felt churning vibrations through his skin as more of the rock was excavated.

  The flagrancy of the transgression stunned him. Who would do such a thing? And why? Only once before had Ganwetrammus been threatened. By Jibn Sra’s Horror long ago, before the Scourge. And even then, the rock hadn’t been harmed physically.

  Suddenly, through the rock, Pabl felt a signal from Gvint.

  We attack! Now!

  The brotherhood moved as one, silently dropping from the rock onto the trail. Pabl went with them, letting himself fall from the arched opening to land in the entrance of the hole.

  Gvint directed them to form a solid line — eighteen obsidimen — across the tunnel opening.

  The dwarfs outside the cave stopped pushing their carts and backed away. Inside, a few dwarfs and humans were shoveling rock into empty carts, but they too stopped to look at the obsidimen.

  The orks noticed and started to close in.

  “Stay back!” Gvint yelled, and he made a swirling motion with his hands. Fire seemed to rise up out of the ground between the orks and the tunnel until a crackling wall of flame spanned the trail, blocking them off.

  A loud screech brought Pabl’s attention back to the tunnel.

  Beyond the miners, at the very back, were several large creatures. Earth elementals, Pabl recognized. Nothing very much wrong with them. But what they carried was evil. Each ele-This Book Belongs to: Andrew Tobin (black _ scarab@mindspring.com) Liferock 

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  mental held a large black slug-shaped creature, pulsating red light gleamed through the cracks in their rhinoceros skin. The slugs squirmed and hissed in an effort to escape.

  Nuinouri.

  A shiver of fear crept through Pabl. He had never seen a Nuinouri, but these were unmistakable. Creatures of hate, leftover from the Scourge. All obsidimen knew about them; they were responsible for breaching numerous liferocks during the Long Dreaming, laying them open for more powerful Horrors to destroy. Legend said that crafty Horrors had created the Nuinouri to burrow through the solid rock which surrounded sealed kaers.

  Gvint turned to speak to the miners, his voice booming.

  “You will stop what you are doing, immediately.”

  The miners inside numbered about ten or fifteen, but there were three magicians among them. The miners glanced from the wall of fire to the tunnelers and back in an attempt to determine which was more dangerous. One of the magicians stepped forward — a dwarf woman wearing black and brown robes. The clasp at her shoulder was fashioned from the claw of a large bird or perhaps a small dragon. “I am Nancri. What is your business here?”

  Gvint stepped forward, towering above Nancri. “I am Gvint Od, Elder of Tepuis Garen. This mesa belongs to us; it is our liferock and you are desecrating it.”

  Nancri backed up a step to allow an elemental with a Nuinouri to move up next to her. “We are here under the author-ity of Sarbeneck Haspain III, master miner of Throal,” she said.

  The other two earth elementals moved slowly to the back of the tunnel. But the mages who controlled them moved up alongside Nancri. Both were dwarf men, one displaying a silver beard, neatly trimmed, the other a long, brown one. Both wore drab robes of russet and green.

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  Gvint stared up into the maw of the Nuinouri, then looked at Nancri. “Nevertheless, you cannot dig here. This is our liferock. Our spirit. Wounding it hurts us, and we will protect it if necessary.”

  Pabl saw no change on Nancri’s face. She either didn’t understand what Gvint meant by liferock or didn’t care.

  “Your threats don’t scare me, obsidiman. I have a job to do and I intend to do it.”

  One of the other mages broke in. “Nancri, don’t you think we should let Sarbeneck —”

  “Shut up, Riann. I’m in charge here.” Her gaze did not stray from Gvint as a Nuinouri at the back of the cave belched out a cloud of black fumes and fire erupted from its hind end. The elemental holding it moved toward the end of the tunnel and pressed the monster against the stone.

  Pabl winced as the creature spat acid onto the rock.

  Smoke filled the small space, coating everything in a thin film of hot soot, burning his lungs with each shallow breath. Pabl waited for a sign from Gvint. The time for violence neared; he could sense it like a palpable surge of anger from his brothers.

  The heat from the wall of fire seared his back as Pabl focused himself, preparing for action. The orks clamored behind the fire, but so far none of them had penetrated it.

  Gavi Arndt stepped out of the line, speaking in a language Pabl didn’t know. The earth elemental holding the active Nuinouri, shifted and stuttered its steps, turning towards Gavi.

  The creature backed away from the wall so that Nuinouri could no longer damage the rock.

  Gvint spoke, “You see, we will not let you continue. We cannot allow it anymore than you can stop eating.”

  “Damn you!” yelled Nancri. “Riann, you’re pathetic.”

  Riann didn’t respond to Nancri, but instead raised his voice, speaking in the same language which Gavi spoke, a gut-tural almost gravelly sound which sent a vibration through This Book Belongs to: Andrew Tobin (black _ scarab@mindspring.com) Liferock 

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  the pit of Pabl’s stomach to hear it.

  The elemental jerked to one side in front of Gavi, swinging the Nuinouri in its arms as Riann struggled to regain mastery.

  The Horror spawn twisted and wriggled, popping loose and landing on the dirt in front of Wennith Nar.

  Wennith jumped back as the slug lurched toward him. He drew upon his half-magic to create water.

  A deafening roar came from the Nuinouri as magical water materialized inside it. Green and black steam billowed from the slug, shrouding the crystal lights. The creature was faster than it looked, squirming along the ground towards Wennith.

  It’s going to get him, Pabl thought. He let out a battle cry and leaped forward for a strike with his magically hardened fists. He caught sight of Chaiel and Tidre on his right, surging out of the line, trying to get between the Nuinouri and Wennith. And Pabl saw Bintr move his hands to form a circle in the air.

  Pabl hit the creature just as Bintr threw his magic circle.

  Pabl’s fists came down hard against the slug’s side, cracked several plates in its thick outer hide. Chaiel’s blade sank deep into the worm’s side, and Tidre buried his troll axe into its flesh.

  The Nuinouri didn’t even slow down. It lurched toward Wennith, spitting thick ichor from its maw. The spray spattered Pabl’s vulnerable brother; Wennith’s piercing scream cut through the haze and smoke.

  Pabl watched as Wennith tried to leap out of the way, but the Nuinouri flared once more, belching fire and acid. The horror-spawn writhed forward, chomping down on the obsidiman’s upper torso, trying to swallow Wennith whole.

  Too late, Bintr’s spell hit, forming a brilliant circle of red light around the creature. Runes of gold glowed around the edges.

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  The Nuinouri froze, immobilized by the spell.

  Pabl looked down at Wennith. He thrashed and jerked, freeing himself from the maw. Then he fell, hitting the hard rock with a dead thud.
He bounced over onto his smoldering back, what was left of his neck twisted at an impossible angle. His skin was blackened all over, and a huge cavity of sinew and gore gaped where his chest used to be.

  Pabl went to him and checked for breath. Nothing. He checked his astral image for life. Nothing.

  Dead.

  The smell hit Pabl as he bent over the body — a stench of burning flesh, dissolving away with acid. He turned away, feeling his stomach rise into his throat, fighting to keep it down.

  “What is going on here?” The voice came from an ork, standing behind Pabl and the line of obsidimen. He was nearly as tall as Pabl, his worn black leather armor covered with rusty studs. The ork’s canines jutted from his lower jaw and distorted his lips as he spoke. “Whoever moves next will die.

  And that includes you, Nancri.”

  Pabl looked up to see that the ork had broken through a section of the fire wall, and was accompanied by a group of ork cavalrymen. He guessed them to number twenty or thirty, but there were more coming up the trail. An espagra flew down to land next to the leader, baring its teeth towards Pabl and the others.

  Many of the orks carried crossbows, all cocked and aimed at the obsidimen. Pabl’s mind went from anger at Wennith’s death to thoughts of escape. Almost the entire brotherhood was here, surrounded. Outnumbered and trapped.

  This Book Belongs to: Andrew Tobin (black _ scarab@mindspring.com)  Chapter Eleven 

  Sarbeneck floated in an ocean of spun silk and feather pillows. Deep, shadowy blues and pinks washed over him as he rolled gently. Comfortably. The swells of his silken sea nudged and buoyed him without disturbing his slumber. His secure sleep, deep inside the safe tunnels of Throal, under miles of mountain and masonry.

  He turned in dream-like slow motion, his arm draping over the naked body of the woman next to him. Her warmth bathed him; the softness of her skin caressed him. Her curves fit snugly against his.

  “Wake up, sir, there’s been an accident.” The words floated into his undulating ocean, accompanied by a slight shake of his shoulder. The woman?

  He rolled over on his cot, feeling the rough scrap of burlap against his cheek.

  “Sir?” More shaking.

  A chill breeze crawled down his back and he jerked awake.

  The memory of silk and Throal retreated against the harsh ache in his neck and the coldness in his toes. He rolled over on his hard straw mattress and sat up. The scent of the na-86

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  ked dream woman dissipated, replaced by the smell of pigs and mud.

  The messenger was a dwarf-sized silhouette holding a crystal lantern.

  “What by Death is going on? Why have you woken me?”

  “There’s been some sort of . . . of . . . accident, sir. At the mine.

  The beastmaster ordered me to wake you.”

  Sarbeneck swung his legs over the edge of his cot and rubbed his eyes. “What sort of accident are you talking about?”

  “Well, um —”

  “Come on, out with it!” Sarbeneck stood, wrapping his robe around him. “Now that you’ve gone to the trouble of getting me out of bed, you might as well tell me what happened.”

  “Well, sir. Some of the rock people tried to stop the mining; they got into a sort of a fight with Nancri. The orks are coming with a few of the rock folk. It’s best if they tell you.”

  “What is your name?”

  “Theo, sir.”

  “Theo what?”

  “Ranghorn, sir. Theo Ranghorn, sir. I’m just an ore purifier.

  I don’t know nothing about rock people and fighting and such.

  Just an ore purifier.”

  “Right, Theo. Well you can leave now. But tell Gingreth to report to me immediately.”

  “Me, sir? But I’m not —”

  “I don’t care about excuses, Theo. Just do it!” And get a spine while you’re at it, he thought.

  Theo hunched over, defeated. “Of course, sir.” He turned and walked out of the tent, taking the lantern with him.

  Sarbeneck touched the light crystal that was set into the tent’s center pole until it cast adequate illumination. Then he retrieved his boots and jacket. He tried to ignore the ache in his muscles and the fleeting images of Throal, silk sheets and This Book Belongs to: Andrew Tobin (black _ scarab@mindspring.com) Liferock 

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  the woman, as he dressed. When he was finished, he stepped outside.

  The night air blew cool, and the sky glimmered bright with silver starlight. The camp was bustling with activity and would stay that way day and night until the operation was finished. Until every last ounce of orichalcum had been mined from the vein of rock and purified.

  He looked up toward the trail which led to the mining site, following the trail of lights. About halfway to the site, the lights bunched and clustered around a group of people coming down the path. Sarbeneck breathed a great sigh.

  Pontin warned me about the rock folk. But I hadn’t really expected something so soon.

  He took another cool breath of air and prepared himself for what he had to do. He had been in less than desirable situations before, where the locals didn’t fully appreciate the benefits of his presence. He didn’t really enjoy telling them that they didn’t have any choice but to cooperate. Well, he had to admit, occasionally he did look forward to the confrontations, but only when the locals were particularly annoying.

  The rock folk are not the same as other Name-givers, he reminded himself. They don’t even have genders. He’d spent a bit of time in the Great Library of Throal reading about them before the expedition. They may react unexpectedly. Dangerously.

  Gingreth and the cavalrymen had reached the encampment and were approaching the tent. The orks numbered about twenty, walking just behind Gingreth, surrounding three large obsidimen, easily visible to Sarbeneck above the heads of the mercenaries. One was obviously older than the other two; his rocky skin seemed harder, crustier. There were thin cracks and crevices in the lines of his face. He wore a flowing tunic of indigo and magenta patterns, and loose trousers, striped red and black.

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  One of the other two was dressed similarly, with a loose shirt and trousers of green and brown, except that he wore silver bracers over his massive forearms, and the third had mean looking black eyes, no whites. He wore only pants made of rough brown fabric like those of his older comrade. His chest was bare of clothing, but had been painted in swirling patterns of purple and blue.

  “Stay here,” said Gingreth to the others. He approached Sarbeneck.

  “Sir, I’m sorry to interrupt your sleep, but mining has been halted temporarily. Several obsidimen attacked our miners.

  Several of the cavalry were seriously burned, and one of the Nuinouri is injured.”

  The old obsidiman stepped forward, and two large orks in chain mail came with him, sword tips in his gut. “My name is Gvint Od, Elder of Tepuis Garen.” He motioned toward the mesa with his massive right arm. “This ork speaks half-truths at best.”

  Gingreth bristled, the muscles in his neck tensing visibly, but he held his temper in check.

  “We did not attack your people.” His dwarven was slightly stilted as though he rarely spoke in that tongue, and his voice carried a strange chanting quality to it. “We merely came to protect our liferock. Your mages challenged us, and one of those Horror spawn — Nuinouri — killed Wennith Nar.”

  “Whoa. Slow down.” Sarbeneck took a step back, casting a hard glance at Gingreth. “Someone has been killed?”

  “When they attacked the tunnelers, one of them erupted.

  One of the obsidimen got caught in the crossfire. We stopped the bloodshed as soon as we could, but they had mounted a wall of flame across the path
.”

  “Three obsidimen were able to penetrate our security and stop the mining? You must be slipping, Gingreth.”

  “There were more than three — ten or fifteen I think all This Book Belongs to: Andrew Tobin (black _ scarab@mindspring.com) Liferock 

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  told. They came down inside the rock or something. Surprised us this time, but it won’t happen again, I assure you.” He gave Gvint a defensive stare.

  “The others melted into the stone and disappeared, leaving only these three behind. They took the wounded one with them. I didn’t know he was dead.”

  “He is, thanks to your nethermancer.”

  Gingreth nodded. “It’s Nancri’s fault. She should never have staged a confrontation.”

  Sarbeneck was silent for a minute. He would have to talk to Nancri later. He stepped forward and gave Gvint a grave look. “I am sorry about your comrade,” he said. “Nancri acted on her own in this regard and she will be punished.”

  Gvint spoke. “We care not about punishment. We wish only that you stop cutting into Tepuis Garen. You are causing us a great deal of harm. Far more than you know.”

  “How is this?” Sarbeneck asked the question more to bide time than from any real curiosity.

  “Tepuis Garen is our liferock — our spiritual force. It is as much a part of us as your soul is a part of you. Your hole is causing it great pain right now.”

  Sarbeneck frowned. He hated this part. He took a deep breath and spoke slowly and clearly. “I’m very sorry, rock friend, but I cannot stop the mining. I am a miner, that’s what I do. That is who I am; it defines my existence. And right now, my livelihood rests in the fate of this expedition. It has cost me a huge sum to get here and set up, a cost that will bank-rupt me if I don’t return with sufficient orichalcum.