The dwarf knelt to reload his weapon as the third rank fired over his head. His well-practiced hands worked as if of their own accord as he watched the volley impact. This time the slugs smashed through the weakened armor. Blood sprayed, and the creature bellowed in rage. Its great mace descended and caught one of the guards on the shield, tumbling him into the front rank of the dwarves to Bulewef’s right.
The fourth, final rank fired, and the armored hulk staggered back, mortally wounded. The Guard closed in, stabbing and slashing.
“Shift Fire Left! Volley by ranks! Fire!”
Half the first rank was untangling themselves from the fallen guardsman, but the others fired on cue. By now the City Guards were falling back from the mighty blows of the giant before them, exposing his body to the dwarves’ fire. While its upper body and legs were encased in thick plate, mail covered its hips and groin and the dwarves focused their aim there. Where the heavy slugs had only dimpled the steel plate, they smashed through the riveted links, staggering the huge figure. Bulewef and his comrades fired, and the creature sagged to its knees. He had to give the City Guards credit—as soon as they saw weakness, they swarmed forward, cutting the straps of its armor and thrusting their short swords through the gaps.
The dwarves had sorted themselves out by the time afmaeltinn finished their grim work. Half of the tall folk were dead or wounded, the others spattered with their blood or that of their fallen foes. The fight was not yet over, however; as the dwarves reloaded and the afmaeltinn discarded shattered shields or turned to tend their wounded, a swarm of pale creatures bounded from the darkness at the back of the warehouse.
Bulewef’s first impression was that they were huge furless hounds. They leapt onto the watchmen, tearing at them with tooth and claw. The situation instantly devolved into melee, and the dwarven sergeant yelled, “Engage at will! CHARGE!”
The dwarves that had clean shots fired. The rest lowered their bayonets and lunged forward, plunging the broad blades into the creatures. Bulewef stabbed and slashed with the blade and struck with the gun’s iron-shod butt. As he yanked his bayonet from the chest of one of the creatures, another reared up before him. He leveled his gun and hammered a slug into its body. The creature lunged for him even as blood poured from the wound, clawing at his tough buff-coat and skidding its talons across his breastplate. He slammed his gun-butt into its ribs and felt bones crunch, but the creature pressed its attack, driving him over backwards and snapping at his face before his comrades impaled it on their own bayonets and drove it off him.
He scrambled to his feet and looked around, but the fight was over. A dozen of the pale creatures lay dead or writhed, broken and mortally wounded, on the floor.
Bulewef reloaded mechanically as he looked at the dead creatures scattered among the bodies of afmaeltinn guards and dwarven soldiers—few of those, thankfully. The pale beasts did resemble large, lean hounds, but they had a repulsively human aspect to them. Their short muzzles had chisel-like teeth framed by thin lips, and their eyes were set side by side, deep under a protective ridge of bone. He followed the contours of the creature with his gaze. The shortened thighs, the ankles like reversed-knees, the feet elongated, dog-like into a lower segment of leg. And the forepaws—hands?—bore short, stubby finger-like toes with nails folded into talons and opposable thumbs.
He felt a shock, then a wave of nausea as he realized what he was looking at: not an animal with human-like elements, but rather, the distorted form of something that had once been human—specifically, judging from the brand on its right shoulder, a braell. A dwarf.
“Search the warehouse,” the sergeant commanded. “Stay in pairs and watch each others' backs! Lord and Lady only know what other deviltry is mucking’ about in this cursed place.”
Setting aside his turmoil and questions about the transformed creature, Bulewef caught the eye of one of his squad-mates and jerked his head. The other soldier, Buren, nodded and joined him as they moved into the dimness of the building, weapons ready and senses straining for the first hint of a threat.
* * *
Sergeant Fregga frowned at the gathering on the docks, then turned to the local Guard officer next to her. “They don’t seem much inclined to cooperate.”
The Lieutenant nodded unhappily. The stone jetty that the vessels of the suspected slavers were moored to was twenty feet wide, and across it was a make-shift barricade. Most of the forces behind it were sailors armed with axes and pikes, but three giant armored figures, each twice the height of a dwarf, could be seen towering over obstacles as well. The defenders outnumbered the squad of City Guard and the platoon of dwarves accompanying them.
Early that morning, the Great Chains had been drawn up across the mouth of the harbor, blocking the half-dozen of the slavers ships that were at anchor from sailing free. Though they might be blocking access to the two docked vessels, these sailors had to know that they couldn’t hold out forever, and there was nowhere for them to go.
“My orders were to search those ships,” he said, “and arrest anyone who doesn't cooperate. But now I’m going to have to send for instructions, and maybe reinforcements. I don’t think the Captain anticipated a full-scale assault would be needed.”
“Yeah, I’m guessing not,” Fregga agreed, shaking her head. “Look, it’s your show; do what you must. Just understand that my orders are to secure those vessels and prevent the crew from escaping. I’m willing to hold off for the moment; bottling them up on these piers ‘secures’ them well enough. But we’ll not let them leave, and if they make any attempt to cast off, we’ll do whatever's necessary to stop them.”
“Fair enough,” the Lieutenant said, gesturing for one of his men. They conferred briefly, and the man headed back up the street.
The dwarf examined the improvised fortification again. It was chest-high on the afmaeltinn guarding it, made of shipping crates and bags of coffee or grain. Whatever was in them was likely to be enough to stop the bullets from her platoon’s rifles. The ships to either side effectively blocked fire from the nearby piers; of course that wouldn’t prevent them from raking the decks with gunfire should the sailors get up to any mischief. They’d already ignored orders to stand down for the search, so odds were that violence was in the offing.
She looked at one of the giant armored figures towering over the sailors. Their steel helmets had pierced plates over the face, allowing those within to see and breathe without their own features being visible. The blackened armor seemed to be well-made, at least from this distance, and the figures within were bulky. They bore two-handed maces, six feet long with flanged heads that must be easily several times the weight of a weapon that a normal man might wield.
“Hey," she asked the lieutenant, "who are those big bastards, anyway? Big as bloody trolls, they are. Where did they come from?”
He shrugged. “Can’t really say; never seen the like. At a guess they came on the ships with the traders, who mostly keep to themselves and only come ashore to run their booths in the market. Hell, until this morning they didn’t much leave the ships at all once their cargo was sold. Anyway, today is the first we’ve seen of the giants.”
“Well, if worst come to, you let my riflemen deal with those brutes. I don’t fancy what will happen to your men if’n they come within the swing of those bloody maces,” Fregga said.
“You and me both!” The lieutenant agreed. “Those’d bust a shield up proper, and do no good to him as held it, either.”
They waited in silence for a time, then the afmaeltinn officer gave her a sideways look and said, “Meaning no offense, but I’ve not much worked with your folk before. Is it usual to have so many women among your soldiers?”
Fregga shrugged. "I suppose so." She was taken aback for a moment; it had never occurred to her to think about it. Roughly a quarter of Fregga’s platoon were, in fact, women—including one of her squad leaders. Finally she shrugged. “I suppose so. "The army’s a hard life," she continued, "and not so many women choose it
as menfolk do. I reckon what you see here is about normal. I guess it’s not for your folk?” Now that she thought about it, she'd seen no women among the City Guards.
The Lieutenant, eyes fixed on the barricade and the men behind it said, “Oh, you get one now and again, but it’s pretty unusual. As you say, it’s a hard life, and it runs against custom. Some of the fellas are inclined to give a woman a hard time if she takes to it, and if she gets with child she's out. Can’t stand watch the day through with full kit and a full belly.”
Fregga gestured to one of her female soldiers. “Gertrid has her a son; she took a five years leave, but when he was grown-up enough for her husband to mind him, she came back to the ranks. But most soldiers don’t serve more than a century, so there's plenty a’ time to think of a family after.”
The afmaeltinn officer gawped at her. “A century?” He shook his head in wonderment. “Easy to forget how long you people live. Not one in a thousand among my people live even hundred years, and if’n they do, they’re long past child-bearing.”
“Different folk, different ways." Fregga was tiring of the topic, and anxious to be doing something relevant to their current situation. “And speaking of time," she said, "you have to wonder what these boys are waitin’ on. They have to know they can’t hold out indefinitely; sooner or later we’ll bring up enough folk to sweep them up. What is it they expect to happen?”
“Nothing we’ll like, I reckon.” The lieutenant replied. Fregga nodded agreement. That, much I’d put good money on…
* * *
Ageyra shook her head, as much to clear it from the overwhelming sense of wrongness that emanated from the corpse as in negation. “It’s magery, right enough, but not like anything I’ve ever seen,” she said, looking at the pair of sergeants, one dwarven and the other afmaeltinn.
Several of the bodies had been laid out for inspection, and while broadly similar, no two were exactly alike. Though Ageyra was a Stonewright, her training as a Battlemage had made her sensitive to other magics and what she felt from these corpses turned her stomach.
“Yes, this is… foul,” agreed Henkvis, the human mage who had accompanied them. “To use magic to twist the flesh in this fashion….”
Ageyra nodded. “I’ve rarely seen fit to use the term ‘abomination,’ but it sure suits this here. I didn’t even know magic could be used this way.”
Even as she said it she realized that in fact she had heard of such a thing before, and she longed to dismiss the thought. It can’t be; he’s been dead nigh on thirty centuries….
They followed the soldiers deeper into the warehouse. The only light came from narrow windows mounted high in the wall, and the dim interior was thick with a foul, animal smell.
A shout from one of the dwarven gunners led them around a stack of crates to an open area. There were dozens of rings set into the wall, with chains and shackles still hanging from a few of them. About five feet from the wall, the cobbles of the floor had been taken up and a trench dug—from the smell it was a makeshift latrine for the prisoners that had been chained to the wall. Buckets of what she guessed to be lime sat nearby to scatter over the waste, which was likely why it could not be smelled from the street. Ageyra estimated that at least a hundred braell could have been confined here at any given time.
Nearby stood four iron cages, each some five feet on a side, and raised up off the floor on blocks. Slick mounds of filth had collected underneath—a simpler solution to waste than the trenches. Extending her senses, Ageyra could feel, emanating from the cages, the same foulness as exhibited by the corpses.
“At a guess I’d say this is where those poor bastards were kept,” she said, gesturing at the cages. “Their transformation cannot have been a quick or pleasant process.”
Henkvis nodded agreement. “I imagine if the, uh, alterations were undertaken too quickly, they might have died from the shock of it. I cannot fathom the minds that performed this.”
Ageyra frowned. Part of magic was the ability to feel the materials that you affected. She guessed that in the case of living beings, that would include the pain and horror they experienced during transformation. She had no desire to meet a person who might embrace such terror as a feature of their work… unless it were to put a ball from her carbine through their skull. She suppressed her swelling revulsion—and rage—and focused on the job at hand. Plenty of time for nightmares later.
Her reflections were interrupted by another shout from within the warehouse. The soldiers searching the place had found the tunnel that the building’s occupants had used to escape. She followed the two officers and Henkvis deeper inside the structure until they came to a set of crudely fashioned stairs leading down into darkness. One of the Guards shone his lamp into the opening and pointed to fresh scuff-marks and fragmentary footprints in the underground damp. As the battlemage peered into the tunnel she could feel a breeze on her face, carrying from the tunnels an unclean, earthy odor and a faint whiff of unwashed bodies.
“Looks like a number of braell, mixed in with shod feet. Recent too; I’d guess they fled when we arrived,” the soldier reported.
“Ageyra?” the dwarven sergeant asked.
The old dwarf nodded and closed her eyes, casting her senses into the stone and earth around the tunnel, feeling for vibrations and minute disturbances. She caught a sense of foulness similar to the magical aura of the corpses, but it was faint and distant. Beyond that she could feel the damp and salt working its way between and among the stones. Opening her eyes, she looked at the sergeant and said, “They’re down there, right enough. This passage leads straight to the harbor and opens out at the water."
“Can you close it off—trap them?”
She shook her head. “Not at this distance—maybe not at all. This tunnel is old and well settled; it would take blasting powder to bring it down.”
The dwarven Sergeant looked at his afmaeltinn counterpart. “Can you send a couple of men ahead on the surface to alert the forces at the harbor? We need to catch them as they emerge. The rest of us can gather some lamps and follow the tunnel.”
The Guard eyed the tunnel, about six feet high and a bit more that that wide. “Might be best for your folk to go first. You can go two abreast and not worry so much about the roof.”
Henkvis nodded sharply. “Aye, that’s good sense. If it comes to a fight in the tunnel, we’ll be in much better shape than your men. Swords and shields first, backed by gunners, I think. Ageyra, is it just the one tunnel or does it branch further on?”
She shook her head. “Just the one, straight on towards the harbor as far as I can tell.”
“Well enough then,” the sergeant said. “Two squads, and Ageyra bringing up the rear in case we run into anything unexpected. Lord and Lady know what our friends might have in store for us down there. Let’s get to it.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Diplomatic niceties are too often used to conceal the realities that we don't want to accept. In these instances, clear, plain speech is needed, and if it offends the tender sensibilities of cosseted politicians, so be it; they must occasionally be reminded that they are operating in a real world with real consequences. “
From the Diaries of Engvyr Gunnarson
Engvyr strode into the grand room for the second time in two days. He stopped short of the table and stood at ease. “Greetings Chairman Nialle, my Lords and Ladies,” he said, bowing.
The Chairman nodded. “Honored as we are to be blessed with your august presence for two days running, we must wonder what occasions the privilege? We have acted as you requested, even invited your folk to observe and aid us. Is there some other matter that brings you before us now?”
Engvyr made a show of considering the Chairman’s words, then smiled pleasantly and angled his body to address the man directly. “Let us, you and I, come to a right understanding. That I stand before you, that my soldiers are even now aiding your watch in apprehending these criminals, is by no action of this council. It is bec
ause Captain Garvin, in a gesture of good faith and sensitivity to the culture of my people, saw fit to accept my request to assist your City Watch. I’ll not cater to a lie to salve your wounded egos by pretending that your hands were behind this. I am here, not to address this council, but as a liaison between Captain Garvin and my own forces, to help direct our mutual efforts and, if necessary, support him in action against members of this body should they be implicated by intelligence uncovered in the course of the day's events.”
Several of the council made affronted noises, and Chairman Nialle drew himself up. “How dare you, sir! To come before us as a guest of the Ruling council, and then to insult us by implying that any among us might have a hand in this abominable affair? It is unconscionable, and I demand that you apologize to the esteemed councilors!”
From his chair farther down the table, Albrekk drawled, “Interesting, that you take such offense at the dwarf’s implication, when you took no such offense yesterday when I stated outright that members of this council were involved.”
The Chairman’s face reddened to the point that Engvyr wondered that his head didn’t burst. “Councilman Albrekk,” he said tightly, “You do not have the floor.”
Albrekk nodded mockingly. “My apologies, Chairman Nialle. Pray proceed.”
The chairman glared at Albrekk a moment, then turned back to Engvyr. The dwarf stood placidly returning his regard.
After several moments of silence, Engvyr said, “Oh! Is it my turn, then?” He raised an eyebrow and shrugged, a motion exaggerated by his black steel paldrons. “Very well. First and foremost, I am not here as a guest of the Ruling council. You will recall that I declined the hospitality of the council when it was offered. I am here as the emissary of my people, and as a military ally to your watch, assisting them in an operation to enforce your laws. You speak of insults? When you insult my wit intelligence by suggesting that a criminal enterprise of this scope and magnitude could take place without at least tacit acceptance by members of this council? I think we’d do well to take what insults have been offered as given, and move on. I am here to work with your own lawful authorities; the actions, decisions, and tender sensibilities of this council are of no matter to me.”
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