D&D 08-The Sundered Arms

by T. H. Lain

  At last they encountered a small group of goblins guarding a passage. For an instant, the savage humanoids snarled and raised their weapons, but their courage quickly dissolved as the foes rushed toward them. Those few that stood to fight did not stand long. Those that ran fell with arrows in their backs. One that survived the initial assault made the mortal mistake of moaning as Gulo lumbered by. The wolverine paused only long enough to crush the goblin's head between his jaws with a perfunctory crack.

  Past that light screen of defenders, they found few more impediments to their journey to the upper level. They approached the highest bridge warily, scanning the ceilings and walls as carefully as the floor ahead of them.

  "Something's wrong," said Vadania. "There should be far more defenders here."

  "Maybe Hargrimm sent too many down to look for us," suggested Devis.

  "Perhaps," allowed the druid, "but surely he would have kept a stronger guard for the forge. Do you agree, Tordek?"

  Tordek nodded to make her stop talking, but he was not truly listening to her. Instead, he harkened to the rhythm of the hammer at his side. He felt its pulse through the palm that he surreptitiously laid upon the weapon's haft beneath the cover of his shield. Even though his hand itched to grip the mighty hammer, he kept it still for all the others to see, lest they question him again.

  How dare they question him? he thought—or something asked him in his thoughts. None of them had ever laid a hand on one of the master smith's weapons. They could not know the honor—the responsibility—that wielding such a weapon conferred. No doubt they would quail in the face of such an awesome duty. Worse, they would deny Tordek the opportunity to do what they dared not. It was an honor he deserved, one that he earned by righteous action throughout his life. Holten thought he was worthy of the hammer of Andaron, but he was a fool to think so. He was rash and unprepared, so he had failed where his ten-year twin would—

  "Tordek!" Lidda tugged at his arm. "Are you all right?"

  "Hmm? Oh, yes, of course."

  "You looked all queer and distant," she said, looking pointedly at the way he held his shield over the hammer.

  Tordek took his hand from the weapon and held the shield from Andaron's tomb properly. He regretted the move immediately, as the lurid glow from the hammer's head spilled out for all to see.

  "Maybe you should let one of us carry that hammer for a while," said Devis.

  Tordek bit his cheek to stop himself from spitting back a hateful retort, but he could not prevent himself from glaring jealously at the bard and holding the shield protectively over the weapon once more. Mustering all his will to compose his face, Tordek replied simply, "No."

  "I think it would be a good idea," said Vadania. "After all, we know the hammer cannot harm those who have wielded it. If each of us takes a turn, then perhaps..."

  "No!" said Tordek. A cool lucidity fell upon him like a gentle snow after long hours in a winter smokehouse. "Do you think I am unaware of the effect the hammer is having on me? Yes, damn you! It's true. I hear its whispers. I feel the curse working on my mind just as it did on Andaron's. Do you want us all to wrestle with these subversions while we face our enemy? Well, none of you has the strength for it. None of you has the guts. I am the only one who can succeed where Holt—" He stopped too late to cover his gaffe, and the others stared at him.

  Both Devis and Lidda looked as though they wanted to say something, but neither of them could look him in the eye. It was Vadania who stepped close and placed a gentle hand upon his cheek rather than his armored shoulder.

  "Very well," she said. "You are indeed the strongest among us, and we trust you to protect us from the curse by bearing it yourself. If it already spurs you to such distemper, though, then we must waste no more time in putting an end to those who would unleash it on the world."

  A wet lump formed in his throat, and Tordek tried to swallow it before speaking. It would not budge, and an uncomfortable emotion warmed his cheeks so that Vadania's hand felt cold upon his face. He turned away to escape it, nodding agreement.

  "Aye," he said. "Let us hurry."

  He ran through the corridors nearest Andaron's forge, and the others followed. He felt their eyes upon his back, and he wondered whether the heat on his face was shame or rage. He wondered how much of his retort was the distortion of the hammer's seductive power and how much was his own arrogance and greed.

  They arrived at the great doors they had seen from inside the foundry. No guards were posted in sight, and the huge portals stood open. Beyond them the foundry was dark but for the deep, red glow of the forge and the cauldrons of molten iron hanging above it. Tordek was the first to perceive the scene of carnage, but as their eyes adjusted to the dimness, the others gasped one by one.

  Dozens of corpses lay upon the design surrounding Andaron's Hellforge. They were not strewn haphazardly but rather arrayed within the pentacle's boundaries. The bodies glistened with blood, each of them sundered by a powerful blade stroke. Some were pierced by gashes large enough that Tordek could have reached inside and clutched the victim's heart. Others were dismembered or beheaded, and all of them still bled slowly into the evil patterns on the floor.

  At the center of the charnel circle squatted the wicked forge itself, the vents from its doors glowing with malign pleasure as the blood drained through the floor and into whatever vile chambers lay beneath its foundation.

  Tordek searched the room with his gaze but spied no living thing on the floor. Still, some numenous feeling told him that they were not alone in the vast chamber.

  "Show yourself!" he demanded. His voice came back to him, reflected down from the cavernous ceiling. Another voice came with the echo, a deep and satisfied chuckle from somewhere upon the catwalk.

  "My henchmen did not believe me when I told them you would return the hammer," said Hargrimm. Tordek followed the voice, walking toward the center of the foundry but stopping short of the circle of corpses. He sensed more than heard Lidda and Devis climbing up the catwalk behind him. Vadania and Gulo crept around the perimeter, the druid chanting a spell. He hoped the wolverine's nose was keen enough to find their prey among all this stench of death and the sulfuric fuel that powered the forge.

  "I had faith in you," said Hargrimm.

  Now the voice sounded as though it came from across the chamber, near the floor by the mineshafts. Tordek followed it as Hargrimm spoke to him.

  "I had faith that you would follow precisely in your brother's footsteps. Dutiful, brave, and utterly, utterly predictable. Now bring me my hammer. Lay it at my feet, and I might spare your life."

  The light spilling in from the corridor narrowed and vanished as someone closed the great doors with a metallic toll. Tordek heard the latches click shut, but even before the sound of the bar falling into place came the fast rhythm of goblin drums summoning back the search parties.

  Tordek's hand moved toward Andaron's hammer. It took a force of will to grasp his war axe instead as he stalked toward one of the iron stairways to the catwalk. He scrambled up the steps just in time to see a purple radiance spill over Hargrimm's figure, making him a brilliant target in the dark foundry. Within a second of Vadania's spell, Lidda's arrow and Devis's bolt flew toward the foe. Each missile found its mark and passed through to shatter on the wall behind Hargrimm's image.

  "It's an illusion!" cried Devis. "He's hiding somewhere within sight of it!"

  Tordek blinked. He still saw the image of Hargrimm illuminated by the druid's faerie fire, but now he perceived its ephemeral nature as the giant, blue goblin put his hands on his hips and leaned back to mock them with his laughter. For a second, Tordek thought the barghest was insane to cavort in such a manner during a fight, but then he realized Hargrimm's true purpose—distraction.

  Near the high ceiling, a dark, red light caught Tordek's attention. He looked up to see Zagreb's leathery wings opening like a blossom, only instead of spreading for the sunlight the unfolding petals revealed the unholy glow of the reforged gr
eatsword of Andaron. Fresh, black scars criss-crossed the monster's muscular arms. He released the grip of his taloned feet on the ceiling and fell, using his wings to turn so that he landed on both feet. The impact of his landing shook the catwalk and the entire network of ironwork surrounding the forge. He crouched momentarily, his blazing eyes fixing on Vadania. With a rumbling purr of anticipation from deep in his chest, he took a step toward her.

  The druid stood only twenty feet away. Her eyes widened when she saw the half-dragon's greatsword erupt with magical light. Despite the peril, she wove the fingers of one hand in a divine prayer and spoke the words of power. She held her shield up with the other arm, but Tordek knew it was a frail shelter from Andaron's enchanted greatsword.

  As Vadania uttered the final syllable, Zagreb closed the distance between them. His blade swept down on the druid's shield. Vadania's magic flickered like a swarm of fireflies in winter fog before dissipating around the blazing brand of Zagreb's sword. The druid shouted in pain as the sword cut a deep, black mark into the wood. Miraculously the enchanted shield held, but the force of the blow deadened Vadania's arm so that it hung limply at her side.

  Lidda shouted from the catwalk. She raised her bow to shoot at Zagreb, but the half-dragon was following the retreating druid up to another of the iron stairways. Beside Lidda, Devis gestured as if wiping a window between them as he softly sang a song. The last note wavered as Sandrine fell hissing atop him, a pair of blazing short swords in her hands. She wielded the weapons inexpertly, but where they struck the bard's body they left deep, weeping wounds.

  "Watch, Tordek, brother of Holten," called Hargrimm. He said something else as Zagreb attacked Vadania, but he spoke the words quietly, too softly for Tordek to hear. The barghest's voice seemed to come simultaneously from his glowing image and from a point on the floor, near the forge. "Witness the futility of defiance, then ask yourself whether it would not be better to serve at my foot than to perish beneath it."

  A flurry of images pelted Tordek's imagination. He saw Vadania throttled in Zagreb's fiery hands, Lidda and Devis hacked to pieces under the clumsy but still deadly flurry of Sandrine's short swords. He thrust away the cruel fantasies and forced himself to look at reality.

  Vadania staggered along the catwalk toward the brightly glowing forge, practically dragging her shield arm as she drew her scimitar from its scabbard. Zagreb followed, taking his time without letting her escape. His wounds from their earlier fight looked severe, but they seemed to have little effect on the monster. He severed an iron support bar with his greatsword, just to show that he could. He was savoring the slow chase and its inevitable outcome.

  Tordek wanted to run to Vadania, but he knew it was futile. She would die before he could reach her. The weight of guilt, heavier than any anvil, pulled his heart deeper into resignation.

  Devis scrambled away on all fours, trying to escape Sandrine's blades. She cut him with every step until at last he drew his longsword and extended it to parry her blows. She spat and screamed at him as she hacked at the blade with her swords. At last, one of her swings beat his guard aside, and the following blow knocked the weapon out of the bard's hand. It tumbled off the catwalk and clattered on the stone floor, far below.

  "Look, Tordek," called Hargrimm. "See the results of my commands, and despair."

  This time the voice came from a lone point, and the projected image wavered and vanished. Tordek turned toward the voice and saw Hargrimm standing alone among the dead bodies of his former slaves. He smiled as he saw the dwarf look at him. He raised his own weapon, the reforged urgrosh of Andaron. Its blades glowed with the same diabolical power as the hammer at Tordek's side. It pulsed with a rhythm that Tordek could feel beneath his shield hand, against his knee.

  "Reach for the hammer, Tordek," crooned Hargrimm. "It calls for you. I can hear it, too. Take it in hand, and bring it to me."

  Never had Tordek felt such desperation, such an overwhelming sense of impotence. It washed over him like the sea, pounding his spirit down upon the unyielding earth. Dimly he was aware that the demon had afflicted him with fell magic to weaken his spirit, but that knowledge was no proof against the result. He had been every bit as foolish and boastful as Holten to think that he could defeat Hargrimm and his unassailable allies. He had been deluded to think he was even worthy of the task, much less capable of succeeding in this foolish quest. Soon he would die, but not before he saw his own allies slaughtered and added to the sacrificial heap surrounding the forge.

  Tordek dropped his war axe. The clang of it striking the iron walk sounded like a death knell that rang throughout the foundry. He let his shield fall beside it. With his hands freed, he struggled mightily to keep them away from the haft of Andaron's hammer, even as its power called to him, telling him nothing else could put an end to his foe.

  Tordek breathed deeply and set his jaw. With quick, practiced motions he grabbed his bow and a magical arrow from his quiver, set Hargrimm in his sight, and let fly.

  Hargrimm seemed merely to step to the side, but he vanished as if that step carried him through an invisible door. The magic arrow sank into the iron face of the forge and burst into flames.

  "So be it," came Hargrimm's voice from behind the forge.

  He shouted a short command in the goblin tongue, and all the foundry's doors clicked open to reveal a mob of goblin warriors beyond. They spilled through the side entrances and poured up out of the mineshafts below even as the great doors opened slowly to reveal a horde bristling with spears and javelins. Even high above, goblins streamed out of the balconies to stomp along the catwalks.

  "You had your chance to bring it to me," Hargrimm called to Tordek. "Now I shall have it fetched from your dead body."

  SUMMONING

  Directly above Tordek, Sandrine screeched.

  It was a sound to shatter crystal and thrust seeds of agony into every tooth. The swarming goblins paused to shove their palms against their ears, many of them adding their own shrieks to the din.

  Tordek glanced up just as one of the vampire's glowing short swords clattered onto the iron walk. Sandrine dropped the weapon as she reached around to clutch a wound in her back. Lidda scampered away from the spitting vampire spawn, no longer cloaked by Devis's invisibility spell. With another pernicious scream, Sandrine threw herself at the halfling, reaching out with a naked hand as she struck with the remaining sword.

  Far around the walkway, Zagreb lurched forward to loom over Vadania. The druid fell to one knee as she struggled to navigate the corner and escape him. The half-dragon's greatsword rose high to strike, but before it could descend, the catwalk shuddered under a tremendous load it was never meant to bear. Gulo had clambered up the outside of the stairway and thundered along the walk, barreling straight into the monster that threatened his friend. He knocked the half-dragon back, and Zagreb redirected his swing. The blade fell across Gulo's shoulder, cutting deep into muscle and bone. The wolverine howled in pain, but the sound turned quickly to a roar of fury and his claws raked over the foe he had marked before.

  Zagreb beat on the shaggy skull with the hard pommel of the greatsword, and Gulo ducked his head. That was all the room the half-dragon needed to step back, stretch to his full height, and raise the sword for a far deadlier blow.

  This time, it was the elf who came to her friend's rescue. Waves of heat rose behind her from a huge cauldron of molten iron. With a harsh, imperious cry she conjured a swirling cloud of bats. They swarmed down from the cavernous ceiling to form a dark halo around the half-dragon's head. They squealed and flapped in his face, pelting him with their tiny wings and needle-sharp fangs. Their attack did little to harm the monstrous foe, but they turned his wrath away from Gulo and onto their own fragile but plentiful bodies.

  Despite the terrible struggles of his companions above, Tordek faced even more outrageous odds on the foundry floor. There was no longer any question that he could prevail without employing Andaron's fell weapon. He gripped it tightly, feeling its
unholy power surge even faster into his body, searing his veins and thrilling every nerve with a promise of dauntless power. Even as he reveled in the ecstasy of magic, a cold dread hung heavy in his gut, an ominous warning that not only did he tread close to damnation but already he had one foot in the Abyss.

  He thrust aside his doubts, forsaking his soul for revenge as he hurled the hammer at the nearest cluster of goblins. It flew like a meteor. Bodies were hurled up and aside as the weapon crushed heads and shattered ribs. The hammer burrowed through the enemy ranks, curving around to slap its haft firmly back in Tordek's hand after completing its murderous arc.

  With the hammer in his grip, Tordek heard all the hymns of war resounding in his head. He swung left and right, slaying with every stroke. He crushed helms, shattered shields, and reduced cold-wrought iron to powder. Without turning, he sensed the approach of enemies from the rear. He threw the hammer blindly, and he knew how many bodies it left in its wake when it returned unerringly to his grip. Tordek's kenning of the battle swelled farther, enveloping the entire forge. He knew the count of enemies, and a distant part of his mind even wondered at the incredible carnage. Goblins perished by the dozen with every toss of the weapon. Tordek knew without looking what transpired on the iron walkways above his head.

  Sandrine grasped Lidda's hair and beat the halfling's head against the unyielding iron grate. Lidda struggled to slip her own short sword up into the vampire spawn's ribs, but every blow dazed her and splattered more of her own blood into her eyes.

  Suddenly the vampire's grip was gone, and Sandrine shrieked again, more hideously than ever. The ruddy tip of Devi's longsword thrust out from her chest, just below one of her fine, white collarbones.