D&D 08-The Sundered Arms

by T. H. Lain

  "Don't we want to go up?" said Devis. "I thought the forge would be higher. Drier."

  Tordek grunted an affirmative. "Let's search a while longer for another passage. If we don't find anything leading up, then down we go."

  Half an hour later, they gave up their search for an alternative passage and turned back toward the overgrown staircase. If there was another egress, it had to be completely smothered by fungus or mold, and none of them wished to poke too deeply into the subterranean forest.

  Before they reached their destination, a distant cry echoed through the caverns behind them. A jabber of goblin voices responded, and soon there followed a clamor of jostled armor, dire curses, and shouts for help from someone decidedly not a goblin.

  "That's a dwarf they have!" said Tordek. He hustled toward the voices, and the others followed close behind. The sounds led them to a cavern choked with fungal growth, one they had skirted earlier because of its particularly foul stench and lack of a clear path.

  "Cover the lights," he whispered, shoving his everburning torch into its shroud. Lidda did the same with her sunrod. In the resulting gloom, they all saw the crescent of light opening twenty feet above their heads. It had not been obvious on their earlier passage, but now they saw a small square of worked stone amid the natural stone of the ceiling.

  The crescent soon became a circle through which they spied a struggle of ruddy goblin limbs and the bigger but outnumbered figure of an old dwarf with a long, snowy beard. The scuffle was brief, abruptly punctuated by the sound of a truncheon rapping against the dwarf's skull. The goblins chortled as they dropped the limp body through the hole, and they watched as it struck the dense fungus below and sent waves through the nearby fronds.

  Tordek lurched toward the fallen dwarf, but Vadania held him back.

  "Wait," she whispered.

  Light from the goblins' torches illuminated the point where the dwarf had fallen. Tordek marked it and crouched impatiently. Even as the initial disturbance subsided, he saw two new waves form in the fungal growth. A fan of writhing tentacles rose briefly above the mushroom caps to taste the scent of the fallen dwarf before homing in on his location. He caught a glimpse of vivid, green flesh as some huge, wormlike body passed through the fungal trees.

  The goblins cackled gleefully until one of them cracked a lash and scolded the others. Grumbling, they replaced the cover to the oubliette.

  Tordek rushed forward. He drew out his everburning torch and stuck it in his shield hand, his right moving to unsling his war axe. After ten paces, he had to hack his way through huge stalks of mushrooms but still he plunged forward, for every step a stroke of his blade to clear the path. With every yard he gained, he saw the carrion crawlers move closer to the dwarf who lay motionless beneath the oubliette hatch.

  Vadania ran past Tordek, seemingly unhindered by the thick barrier. Where her slender form slipped through the stalks, she left no sign of her passage. As she reached the gray-bearded dwarf, a prayer to nature was already on her lips. She knelt and pressed one hand flat on the dwarf's chest while holding her scimitar defensively above her head. It was a useless gesture, since her curing spell demanded her concentration.

  Tordek saw that one of the crawlers would be on her before he could intercept it. He shouted a warning and hewed furiously, barely speeding his progress. Behind him came the twang of Lidda's bowstring, but her arrow sank into a thick black mushroom cap as big as an ogre's shield, never reaching its intended target. Near her, the bard sang a couplet:

  When off to fight my dearest girl goes,

  She stalks her prey on kitty-cat toes!

  Tordek clenched his jaw and hoped that was a spell and not some damned silly flirtation. He sliced away another massive stalk and clambered over the stump. In just a few more steps, he could stand over the fallen dwarf and Vadania, shielding them from the crawlers.

  Unfortunately, he was out of time. Even as the druid completed her spell, eight writhing tendrils curled over her blade and reached for her unprotected face. She ducked her head, and two of the intruding members recoiled with her headpiece in their grip. Another three clung to her silver hair, but three more found her flesh and stroked her bare skin. Where they touched, they left yellow trails of slime.

  "Gah!" Vadania retched at the disgusting feeling. She rose to a crouch and slashed at the tendrils, barely slapping them before her limbs seized up in a paralytic rictus.

  "Yes!" cried Lidda as her next arrow flew neatly between the obscuring fungus and punched deep into the worm's side. It shrieked and champed its huge jaws, stretching its cruel mandibles wide enough to grasp Vadania around the waist. The monster reared up, revealing dozens of tiny claws on either side of its segmented belly. Dark ichor spurted from the wound, and Tordek noted that the thing was green on the inside, too.

  Devis was already crooning another spell, but Tordek paid no heed to the words. At last he was close enough to strike. With obstructions to either side, he had no choice but to raise his axe in an overhead arc. His blade cut through the creature's gummy hide and drew a dark, green line down its pale belly. Its final scream was a breathy spray that wet Tordek's face and beard as the monster fell down onto him. Clamping his lips tightly shut against the foul mess, he braced both hands upon his axe and used it to push the stinking carcass to the side.

  Spitting, he turned just in time to see the second crawler arrive. Devis was already there, the faint shimmering of his mage armor surrounding his body. He thrust cautiously with his longsword, trying to keep the monster at bay. The worm hissed furiously, its poisoned tendrils wriggling in a fan beneath its huge jaws. Its eyestalks were perfectly erect, craning to spy the body of its mate.

  Tordek stepped over the fallen dwarf and the paralyzed Vadania. He felt bones crunch under the soles of his boots and almost tripped. A mighty chop at the furious worm severed two of its tendrils as they slipped down to snatch at the dwarf's legs. A few more stuck, and he felt their brief tug at his armored legs.

  Lidda put another arrow in the beast's flank. Devis drew a dark slash along its skull, right between the eyestalks. The crawler lunged for him, and the half-elf stepped deftly aside. The attack brought the creature's head well past Tordek's blade, and the result was inevitable.

  The axe swung down and bit halfway through the monster's neck. With another powerful chop, Tordek severed its head from its nine-foot body.

  Lidda climbed to the top of a nearby mushroom to look out for further attacks. Devis stabbed his sword into the ground and knelt beside Vadania, who gagged pitifully beside the corpse of the first crawler. Its spilled guts smelled revolting.

  "You thought they smelled bad on the outside," quipped Devis, smiling down at her as he held up her head and carefully wiped away the slime on her face. He moved her gently off the fallen dwarf and tried making her comfortable while the effects of the paralysis wore off.

  Tordek knelt beside the graybeard. The old dwarf was breathing, but just barely. Vadania's quick action had undoubtedly saved his life, but if he did not receive more help soon, he would not live to thank her. Tordek said as much to Devis, who nodded and reluctantly left Vadania's side. Again he sang as his hand made a theatrical flourish over the graybeard's face and chest:

  Sinew knit and flesh restore,

  Render this poor fellow whole.

  A rosy glow briefly suffused the dwarf's face, and the bruises on his forehead faded with the light.

  "That doesn't rhyme," commented Lidda from her perch.

  "It's known as near rhyme to those of us in the arts," said Devis. "Anyway, it works."

  "Calls himself a bard," snorted Lidda. She kept scanning the surrounding darkness and glanced frequently at the portal above.

  The dwarf shifted and snuffled then blinked.

  "You are safe, grandfather," Tordek said in the dwarven tongue. He offered the graybeard his waterskin. The old dwarf took a long look at Tordek's face. He looked around at the others and seemed satisfied that it was a rescue, not a ru
se.

  "I am Karnoth of Oak Dale," he replied in the same language. "Son of Brandok Iron-Monger, grandson of Helsa of the Flaxen Hair."

  Tordek introduced himself and his companions using the Common tongue.

  "Why have you come to Andaron's Delve?" asked Karnoth. Lidda and Devis bristled at his suspicious tone, but Tordek liked the dwarf's reticence. It was wise.

  "Not to stoke ancient curses," said Tordek, "but to stop those who would."

  The gray-bearded dwarf nodded his approval. "I will help you as I am able."

  "Tell us how you came here."

  Karnoth's tale was not surprising to those who had heard the tale of Croaker Norge. More than a month earlier, insect-riding goblins and powerful monsters attacked his village. They captured as many able-bodied workers as they had shackles to bind them, slaying the rest along with the children and the infirm. Retired from the smithy for decades, Karnoth had been sure he would be murdered, but when the goblins learned that he was a blacksmith, they spared his life. After the long march from their ruined homes, the predominantly human survivors passed through an excavation on the top of Jorgund Peak and descended into Andaron's Delve. On the way down, they passed a small army of goblins reinforced by giants and eventually joined dozens of other captives.

  Vadania stirred, and Devis was at her side, helping her to sit up.

  "Why did they throw you down here?"

  "I refused to work," said Karnoth. "Some of the others did the same, but the goblins were crafty enough to capture at least one member of each smith's family. Those who refused to work watched their sons and daughters tormented to death then thrown down into this pit."

  He said nothing else for a minute, and Tordek looked away out of respect for what Karnoth was leaving unsaid.

  "Didn't they have any of your family?" asked Lidda at last.

  Tordek silently cursed her inquisitive little heart, but in truth he too wondered about that question.

  "My grandson," said Karnoth. "He was a valuable dwarf."

  Tordek thought about the bones he had trod upon earlier and understood the full meaning of Karnoth's term, even in the Common tongue. Among dwarves—especially dwarven blacksmiths—"valuable" was a term exceeding even "honorable." A valuable dwarf would never consent to perform any task that would harm his kin or any other dwarven clan.

  "I could not shame him by agreeing to their demands. They wished that I should ignite the dead coals within the Forge of Andaron."

  "How could you do that?" asked Devis. "The stories tell that the forge was cursed to hold no fire."

  "No earthly fire," corrected Karnoth. "There are dwarven ways, and I know some of them. It does not matter now. They have done what I refused to do. There is a dragon-spawn with them. He breathed into the forge and set it leaping with unholy flame. Once I saw him grasp a blade still glowing from the forge, and it did not burn him. They call him Zagreb."

  "Is he the leader?" asked Tordek.

  "No," said Karnoth. "He is the one who oversees the forge. He answers to an enormous goblin with skin as blue as slate. He is attended by a ghost-pale elf. I do not think she breathes. Her name is Sandrine."

  "Aha!" said Devis. "That's where she went."

  "There is also some little fiend who delights in tormenting the prisoners. Zagreb calls him Yupa. Whenever the imp torments the wrong prisoner to death, Zagreb threatens to feed him to something called Murdark."

  "Some thing?" said Devis.

  "None of us has seen it," said Karnoth. "They say it prowls the lower caverns in search of food."

  "Um," said Lidda. She looked up at the unhewn stone that arched above them. Water glistened on its dark surface, and from its crags hung streaks of black and red moss like wet fur from some gargantuan animal's belly. "Aren't these the lower caverns?"

  The dwarf shrugged. "I have seen only the forge and a few nearby chambers, but I think there are even greater depths to this place. I hope that is where Murdark prowls."

  "Can you lead us back to the forge?" asked Tordek.

  Karnoth nodded slowly. "I think so. What will you do when you reach it?"

  "Do you know why they have relit the forge?" asked Tordek.

  Karnoth nodded, not daring to say the truth aloud in this place. "They have begun their fell work. They kept me alive after forcing me to watch Yupa torment my grandson to death. Since then they have set me to menial chores. Because my work helped ease the suffering of my fellow captives, I obeyed. It was when I refused to work the bellows that they finally dragged me down here."

  "Which of the Arms of Andaron have they brought to reforge? Is it the hammer?"

  The old dwarf gaped at him. "You did not know before you came?"

  "Know what?" asked Tordek.

  Karnoth swallowed. "They brought them all."

  THE HELLFORGED

  They climbed down to find their way up.

  Below the fungus-choked caverns they found even more natural passages, some leading to ancient stores chiseled out of the limestone, others twisting away in patterns known only to the gods of earth and stone. Veins of minerals shot through the bedrock to form graceful shapes on the walls, tendrils of pale blue and deep red with glittering flecks.

  Where the dwarves had carved their own passages, there was no less beauty. Even after centuries of abandonment and the smut of generations of vermin, the stonework remained strong and glorious, with artful flourishes at every arched portal. Symmetrical dwarven braids lined the corridors. The perfectly fitted floor tiles formed firm but elegant mosaic patterns. Twice they found basins filled with spring water jutting from the walls. The contents of one were murky, but the second looked clear and pure. No one dared to test the water while their own waterskins were still full.

  Molds and slimes glistened on the walls, but Vadania declared most of them harmless. When a gray mass oozed out of a still pool and began tracking them, Tordek ordered a hasty retreat rather than expend their strength in an unnecessary fight.

  They found stairs both ascending and descending, and they traveled upward around a grand spiral stair until they came to a closed wooden door. Neither rot nor infirmity of age was apparent on its grayed surface, which seemed to have drunk in the strength of stone over the centuries. The group moved quietly around the portal, communicating with gestures and the barest of whispers as Lidda knelt to listen at the seam between the door and the stone floor.

  "Nothing," she whispered in report. Still, the others remained quiet, weapons in hand. Lidda had loaned Karnoth a dagger, but her fine short sword remained handy in its scabbard.

  The door's great, metal lock was grown black with age, but Lidda produced a tiny oil tin and greased the ancient tumblers. Probing with a pair of picks and a strong piece of wire, she felt out the lock's secrets. At first she attacked the job with a confident grin, but as the intricate workings of the lock defied her efforts, she bit down hard on the picks she held in her teeth. The others waited as patiently as they could, but it was well over twenty minutes later before they heard the last, satisfying click of success. Lidda returned her tools to their leather sheath and stood back, letting Tordek lead the way.

  They found another barren passageway, this one dry and relatively free of floral infestation. The regular spacing of the doors along its length suggested a dormitory wing. Tordek looked to Karnoth for some sign of recognition.

  "I've been through an area like this," he whispered, "but not here. Maybe at the same level."

  Tordek nodded and led the way once more. Each time they spied a new turn in the corridor, he made a sign to cover the lights and crept forward alone, as quietly as his heavy armor would permit. He peered around the corners. When he spied no danger, he beckoned Karnoth to join him. The first few times, the old dwarf merely shook his head and shrugged. At last, however, he nodded in recognition.

  "They brought me down from that stairway," he said, pointing east.

  From that point, their exploration became an exercise in stealth, made more trick
y by the appearance of torches in wall sconces every ten feet or so. The light revealed two layers of crude writing on the walls, an ancient script drawn in thick, black runes covered by a far more recent scrawl in red and gray chalk. The latter was so prolific and hectic that it all but obliterated the older characters. Most of it was scribbling, but here and there were rude drawings of improbable pornography or boastful goblin mottoes. Devis paused to rub away some of the chalk and identify what lay beneath.

  "Don't bother," said Tordek. "It is the curse that doomed this place, scratched on every wall once sanctified by the clerics. Its magic is long since expended, and its words mean nothing except to those whose corrupt souls still burn in the lowest hell for the evil that they nurtured here."

  "Oh," said Devis, looking disappointed. He brightened slightly as he looked Tordek in the eye. "You know, that was pretty eloquent. Ever think about—?"

  "No," said Tordek.

  Twice as they crept carefully up the lighted corridors, Lidda's keen ears warned them of approaching goblins. Tordek's fingers itched to throttle them one by one, but he smothered his desire and hid with the others as the ragged troops marched past. If they escorted another slave for the oubliette, he decided, he would abandon all subterfuge and slaughter them despite the risk of alarm. Fortunately for the goblins, they were merely changing the guard or patrolling incompetently.

  "Hear that?" asked Lidda. Vadania was the first to nod, but soon after Tordek also heard the sound, a low, rhythmic bombination punctuated by muted tolling of iron striking iron.

  Karnoth pointed up the passageway, indicating another rising stairway that ended in a solid double door. "Two chambers beyond lies the foundry. The way is well guarded, mostly to prevent escape. Still, you won't get in without a fight."

  "I don't mind a fight," said Tordek, "but let us not endanger the prisoners needlessly. How many are there?"

  "Thirty-two, if none have died since the goblins dragged me away."