D&D 08-The Sundered Arms

by T. H. Lain

  "You are not going anywhere," said Tordek. "Not with us. This business is between me and Vadania."

  "Actually," said the elf, "after last night's rescue, I suggest that all three of you owe me a favor."

  Tordek scowled but did not dispute her claim.

  "Sounds fair to me!" said Lidda. Tordek shook his head at how blithely the halfling promised her help, but he knew her well enough to realize she could never pass up an opportunity for adventure or treasure.

  "Say, I didn't ask to be rescued," complained Devis.

  "Perhaps you would like Gulo to take you back to Caravans Cross and return you to the merchant lord?" suggested Vadania.

  "On the other hand," allowed Devis, nodding toward Tordek, "I am curious why you went to the trouble of tracking down this sour-faced gargoyle."

  Lidda kicked his shin.

  "Ow," complained the bard, but he gave the halfling a flirty wink in return for her rebuke. She turned away a second too late to hide her pleased expression.

  "Listen," said Vadania, "and I shall tell you a story."

  "Yes!" Lidda clapped. "I love a good story."

  Tordek leaned forward attentively, and even Devis perked up at the prospect of a tale.

  "Twenty-two days ago," said the silver-haired elf, "the streams near my home began running red."

  "With blood?" gasped Lidda.

  "Don't interrupt," said Devis, kicking at the halfling's shin but missing.

  "With iron slag and some stinking, steaming poison," continued Vadania. "It sullied the water and killed the creatures that lived within it. I tracked the filth to the vents of an ancient dwarven stronghold."

  She paused as if for dramatic effect and watched Tordek for a reaction. At last, the dwarf spoke.

  "Andaron's Delve." It was not a question.

  "Aye," said Vadania, "the very place."

  "I've heard of that," said Devis. "The dwarves themselves turned against the master of the place, a blacksmith of fabled skill."

  "Andaron the Black," said Tordek. "A name accursed for over three hundred years."

  "Why was he cursed?" asked Lidda.

  Vadania shrugged, and Tordek stared at the fire, refusing to speak.

  "In his pride," said Devis, his voice falling into a taleteller's cadence, "the smith-king forged a battery of arms for his most loyal thanes. Not content to invest the weapons with the meager blessings of Moradin—"

  "Have a care, bard," warned Tordek, displeased at any slight to the great god of his people.

  "It's a literal translation from the Dwarvish," protested Devis, "not my personal opinion. Anyway, Andaron summoned an ancient demon, one Grolnark—or something like that—and commanded him to infuse his weapons with infernal power. It worked, or at least it seemed to work. Andaron granted the weapons to his greatest warriors. There were a pair of short swords, a greatsword, a dwarven urgrosh, and a mace."

  "A warhammer," corrected Tordek. Pronouncing the word made his brows converge in a dark crease over his nose. Unconsciously, he reached beneath his armor and tugged out a leather thong threaded through six long finger bones.

  "A warhammer," repeated Devis, squinting at the necklace. "I had a feeling you knew more about this story than you were letting on."

  "The weapons are cursed," said Tordek. "Those who wield them turn against their lords and allies. They become nefarious, oath breakers, lower than goblins."

  "Indeed," said Devis. "They can never turn on each other, however, for those who have wielded the weapons of Andaron the Black become brothers in arms, bound by the same infernal enchantments that imbue their weapons with power. The weapons will not sunder the flesh of those who wield the others, and once one has taken a life with one of the arms, forever is he bound to the other armsbearers. At least, that's what the legend says."

  "Once they saw how the weapons changed those who wielded them, the other clans realized Andaron's folly," said Tordek. "They turned against him and his dark champions in a short but bloody war. After Andaron was slain, they sundered the evil weapons and scattered the fragments. What is more, they buried the anvil on which they were shaped so that they might never be repaired."

  "Yet someone has lit the fires of Andaron's Delve," said Vadania. "The waste that pours from its grates is not simply iron slag. It is some noxious pollution, the excrement of foul magic."

  "Someone has restored Andaron's hell-forge," said Tordek. "Whoever it is must have found one of the cursed weapons."

  "I thought you said they were destroyed," said Lidda.

  "Only broken," said Tordek. "They can never be destroyed by mortal hands, and thus their curse lingers on in tale-telling, luring foolish young dwarves to their doom as they seek to recover the lost weapons and employ their powers in chase of glory."

  "Did you?" asked Lidda. "Did you search for them?"

  "Nay, not I," said Tordek. He did not continue, and the other three stared at him from their places around the fire. For a long time, he said nothing. He only stroked the bones on his necklace. At last, their combined gazes broke his composure, and he said, "My brother, Holten."

  Devis and Lidda recoiled and grimaced at the bones around Tordek's neck.

  Tordek stared at them blankly for a moment before realizing the direction of their thoughts. "These are not my brother's fingers!"

  "Whew!" said Lidda.

  "Glad to hear it!" said Devis.

  "Whose are they?" asked the halfling.

  "A demon's," said Tordek, glaring at one pointed finger bone before stuffing the necklace back down beneath his breastplate. "They belonged to the fiend who slew my brother."

  "So you killed the demon?" asked Lidda, a note of eagerness spoiling her somber facade.

  "Nay," said Tordek, "but one day, with Moradin's allowance, I shall."

  Devis shivered with delight and snapped his fingers. "That does it. I'm in!"

  "What?" said Lidda. "I thought you said—"

  "Doesn't matter," said Devis, shaking his head and grinning. "What a great story this will make!"

  "I don't want your help," said Tordek." I want you singing the tale of this venture even less." He scowled at the half-elf but would not look him in the eye.

  "Perhaps not," said Vadania, "but I do. We shall need all the assistance we can get. I came for you because you owe me a debt, and because it is said that the seals to Andaron's Delve can be opened only by a dwarf."

  "Then how did someone get in to fire the forges?" asked Lidda.

  "Perhaps someone came from the great below," said Vadania. "The underdark."

  "Orcs," suggested Tordek, nodding.

  "Drow," said Devis, both hopefully and fearfully.

  "Or worse," said Vadania. "Illithids, umber hulks, aboleths, aberrations of every—"

  "Stop right there!" said Lidda, hugging her arms. "Name anything else with too much mucous and I'll change my mind about helping you."

  Despite her admonition, excitement glimmered in her eyes. Tordek had seen that look before, and he knew that nothing would frighten the lithe halfling away from the prospect of adventure.

  "Maybe it is another dwarf," suggested Devis.

  "Impossible," grumbled Tordek. "No dwarf would break the taboo on such a place."

  "Well," said Devis, "after all, it was a dwarf who summoned the demon and made the weapons in the first place. You said yourself that many dwarves have lost their lives searching for the weapons."

  Tordek growled at him.

  Vadania looked from dwarf to half-elf and shrugged. "I do not know who relit the fires of Andaron's Delve, and I found no opened seals. However, there were other signs of peril. A ranger I knew went to scout Andaron's Delve soon after the river became tainted. I discovered his remains three days later in a patch of blackened forest large enough to hold six Caravans Crosses."

  "Dragon," whispered Devis, a little too dramatically for Tordek's liking.

  The word was a charm to stave off further speculation as to the nature of the foes they wou
ld face. After a long silence, they quietly agreed to set out together after a quick inventory of their supplies. Vadania assured the others that she and Gulo could provide all necessary sustenance through hunting, but one glance at the remains of the deer Vadania had left for Gulo after breakfast made them wonder what would become of them should the gigantic wolverine be forced to go hungry.

  Tordek insisted on an oath to divide equally any shares of treasure they might find in their quest. Lidda and Vadania were not surprised by the suggestion, but Devis found the proposal excessively formal. Lidda kicked the half-elfin the shins until he agreed to swear. Tordek intoned a simple oath in the Common tongue, but its cadences were purely dwarven. The others repeated it solemnly.

  "By the gods who watch us," Tordek added, "by Moradin's beard and by our own honor, we swear not to wield the hammer of Andaron for ourselves."

  "What makes you think it's the hammer?" asked Lidda.

  "I just know," said Tordek. He exchanged a conspiratorial look with Vadania, but neither elaborated.

  "Right," said Devis. "No problem. It will probably fetch a pretty price in New Koratia, and it'll be easier to split the loot that way."

  "Idiot," spat Tordek, "we won't be selling it. We must shatter it and bury the pieces under the corners of the world."

  "What if we can't break it?" asked Lidda. "You said mortals couldn't destroy it."

  "In that case, we'll hide it where it'll never be found again."

  "What if we sell it to someone we trust to keep it safe?" suggested Devis. "Maybe some powerful lord would keep it under guard in his feast hall."

  Tordek stepped forward and grabbed the bard by his jacket. Lidda barely managed to wiggle her way between them.

  "Boys, boys," she said. "No need to quarrel. Just swear it, Devis. You're in this for the story, remember?"

  "Right," said the half-elf. "I swear it. I swear it! We don't keep the weapon, and we don't sell it. All right, now?"

  Tordek grunted and let him go, but his eyes were wary beneath his shaggy brows.

  They marched across the western fields, stopping at midday for a brief dinner of sausages and ale from Tordek's pack before continuing their journey. When they hacked through walls of brambles and felt scratches on their faces, Vadania healed them with a simple orison to Obad-Hai or nature itself. When their feet grew weary, Devis lightened their steps with a song about the adventures of mischievous Fharlanghn, the Dweller on the Far Horizon. Even Tordek sang along, his bass rumble providing an anchor for his companion's high voices.

  They reached Gossamer Wood an hour before dusk on the second day of their journey. Before they penetrated a hundred yards into the forest, the setting sun burnished the white webs that hung between the boughs, transforming them into veils of spun gold. Despite the implications of the obvious origin of the webs, the vision formed a glorious tableau that inspired Vadania to sing a dulcet praise to Elhonnna, Lady of the Forests. Devis provided a subtle counterpoint on his lute, and they entered the bower in a peaceful reverie that made Tordek nervous even as it lulled his companions. Even Gulo paused to rub his face upon the bark of an old oak, whuffling at the scent of forest pollen. This was the last sort of place in which they could afford to enchant themselves into a false sense of safety.

  Before Tordek could decide how to bring his companions back to their senses, Lidda saved him the bother.

  "Spiders are nasty," she said, sticking out her tongue as they passed under the webs.

  "I think they are beautiful," said Vadania. She walked on blissfully, unaware of her companions' pointed looks.

  Everyone else walked a little farther away from the elf druid after her remark.

  "Well," said Vadania, finally noticing the effect her words had on her companions. "I do."

  They spread out to find a suitable campsite before nightfall. Soon after, the others came running when Devis began shouting, "Over here! Hurry!"

  They found the bard standing over the corpse of an enormous spider, its body bigger than that of a pony. The vivid hues of its black-and-red carapace were faded, and crusty black trails of blood streaked down from the deep, triangular punctures all over its body. Beside it lay the clumped remnants of its demolished web and the cocooned bodies of its prey, apparently untouched by whatever predator had slain the arachnid.

  "Oh, thank you very much," said Lidda. "I was beginning to worry I wouldn't have any nightmares on this trip before you showed us this. I'm not sure I like you anymore."

  "No, look," said Devis. He crouched down and poked the dead spider with a branch.

  Something wriggled beneath the softer flesh of the spider's abdomen.

  "Ah! Now I know I hate you," said Lidda, making a great show of gagging.

  "Burn it," said Vadania. "Quickly"

  "I thought you said spiders are beautiful," said Tordek. Even so, he knelt and opened a tinderbox. Soon he was urging fire out of a spark from his knife and flint, and with it he ignited a torch. Vadania dragged the arachnid's corpse and the detritus of its web away from a tree and cleared the brush beneath it. Afterward, she helped Devis pack kindling under the spider's body.

  Tordek lit the pyre on all sides and stood back with the others to watch it burn. The carcass whistled and popped as its flesh withered in the flames. The webs burned first, revealing a jumble of humanoid bones within the fat white sacs, along with thick leather armor and a spear. Soon the spider's skin burned away to reveal dark, wriggling larvae imbedded in the flesh beneath.

  "We will sleep safe from the web-spinners tonight," Vadania told Lidda. "Spiders shun a place where one of them has fallen to a spider-eater."

  "Yeah?" said Lidda dubiously. "Maybe we should shun it, too."

  After they set camp nearby, Devis plucked out a bright tune while Lidda sat with her back to the fire, scanning the gloom for any sign of beady spider eyes gleaming in the forest. Despite the bard's frequent attempts to turn his song about a brave young lad into a tale of a courageous halfling facing the wicked spider queen, Lidda remained wary and restless.

  "I'm not afraid of them," she insisted. "I just don't like 'em."

  After a supper of pan bread and the last strips of venison, Vadania and Tordek took turns minding the smoldering remains of the dead spider lest its last embers leap out onto new tinder. Eventually, assured that the fire would not spread, they returned to camp where they found Lidda finally, reluctantly asleep beside the campfire. Devis put a finger to his lips as he finished tying the strings of his padded lute bag.

  "I'll take first watch," he mouthed, pressing the tip of his thumb into his chest.

  Tordek shook his head. "I'll wake you later."

  Devis shrugged and smiled his thanks before lying down beside the banked campfire. As he snuggled into his worn blanket, Tordek and Vadania found a spot just beyond the dim firelight and sat back-to-back, each watching the opposite direction as they spoke in whispers.

  "Goblins?" said Tordek.

  Vadania made an affirmative hum. "Not the same ones, surely. Their lives are so brief, and it has been so long."

  "Perhaps," said Tordek. His fingers moved as of their own will to the thong around his neck. They spoke no more throughout the long, quiet hours of the night.

  CROAKER NORGE

  Four days later they skirted the northern shores of Adder Lake and turned south to find a naked road, muddy from the steady summer drizzle that had followed them since the previous night. Except for the ruts carved by the occasional passage of wagons over the course of decades, it was barely more than a path marked with crude milestones. After counting six of them, they came to a forking path where Devis found a fallen post with three pairs of nails. On the ground nearby he found a pointed sign whose faded paint read "New Koratia, 80 Leagues." Lidda pulled a second sign from the muck. "Croaker Norge," it read. "6 Leagues."

  "Which way?" asked Tordek.

  Vadania pointed west. "Toward the fens."

  "Joy," grumbled Devis, "and me without netting for my tent.
"

  "Without a tent, even," said Lidda. "Don't be such a dandy."

  "Besides," said Vadania, "the mosquitoes will not pester us while it rains."

  Less than an hour later, the rain stopped.

  As the day wore down, the ground to either side of the road grew increasingly damp. Even Gulo remained on the road, where before he had been happy to stray just out of sight of his two-legged companions. Where they had seen occasional streams, now they passed more and more still ponds, many darkened by black, buzzing clouds.

  "Why does anyone live here?" complained Devis, slapping his bare arm and grimacing at the three bloody stains where the tiny bloodsuckers had been perched.

  "Mud," said Vadania.

  "What?"

  "Clay, actually. For years the swamp folk sold the finest clay to potters in New Koratia."

  "What happened?" asked Lidda.

  "I know little of such things. Prices dropped, fashions changed, the gods frowned." The druid shrugged. "What I do know is that those who remained can barely eke out a living."

  "Why do they stay?" asked Lidda.

  "Because it's home," suggested Tordek.

  "That's no good reason," replied the halfling. Behind her, Devis nodded agreement. Vadania looked to Tordek for support, and a look of old veterans among striplings passed between them.

  They camped near the road that night, for they could find precious few dry spots in the marshy terrain. With nightfall, a choir of frogs kept up an incessant serenade. The sound seemed to soothe Lidda, who had been complaining of spider dreams since they emerged from the Gossamer Wood, but the constant noise put Tordek on edge. He became downright irritable when Vadania took her reverie on first watch, leaning back into Gulo's vast flank as she closed her eyes, leaving Tordek with only the bard for company.

  For hours, Devis pestered him for more details on the fall of Andaron's Delve, but Tordek was in no mood to humor the half-elf. Unlike most of human blood, Devis did not seem to understand that Tordek wished to sit in silence. Despite the dwarf's refusal to answer his inquiries with anything other than a short grunt, Devis continued to press him for the details of Holten's ill-fated quest for Andaron's warhammer.