by Ben Stovall
“Uldrik … please …” Barduss managed to beg, his voice hoarse. Uldrik smirked.
“One mistake is all it took, Barduss. Your clan is now mine. Your legacy is destroyed. You. Are. Nothing.” With that, Uldrik slammed the mace into his skull, and a sickening crack resounded over the crowd’s stunned silence. Warchief Uldrik dropped the broken orc to the ground, and even went so far as to kick the corpse as it splayed out lifelessly.
Inaru noticed Lytha’s stare of abject horror. He placed an arm around her to pull her eyes away as Uldrik approached him and the other orcs.
“Dark Ravens,” Uldrik regarded them, “do any of you seek to challenge me, to win back your clan?” There was a long pause as Uldrik awaited a response. None came, and he sneered devilishly. “Very well, then. You now are my soldiers. However, I do not wish to taint my clan’s name with your reputation. Choose one among your number who will be your leader and present him to me.”
Inaru was bewildered, as were the former Dark Ravens, and they quickly murmured about themselves as they searched for a suitable replacement. An agreement was met, and another thin, lean orc stepped in front of Uldrik.
“What is your name?” Uldrik asked.
“I am Rhu, Warchief.”
“Rhu. Very well.” Uldrik clapped the orc’s shoulder. “Rhu, you are the new warchief of this clan, now dubbed the Blood Ravens. You answer to me. Your clan is mine. Everything it settles and finds is mine. You are mine. Are we clear?”
“Y-yes … warchief.”
“Good.” Uldrik turned to Inaru, his malicious smile spread from ear to ear, blood dripping off his chin. “The clans are agreed, Inaru. Souhal will have the orcs’ aid.”
Inaru wished he knew why that statement unsettled him.
Eight
Ellaria gaped at the large bronze and stone door that was the entrance to Aljorn. Andor drew the key from his belt, his breath hitching. Tyrdun laid a hand on his shoulder and urged him on. The king nodded his thanks and stepped forward. The two crown wardens tensed, and Baridan and Llyor seemed like they’d prefer to be anywhere but here.
Andor turned the key and stepped aside as the bodyguards pushed the doors open. A large staircase descended into the earth under the mountain, a few small braziers on the sides of it had embers glowering, producing just enough light to see the steps. Nonetheless, Llyor and one of the kingsguard lit torches.
As the band approached the depths of the cavern, hundreds of bones were strewn about the stairs. Ellaria wondered how many skeletons had been raised in the city. They neared a large antechamber filled with statues of dwarven people, ranging from craftsmen responsible for great inventions, powerful leaders, war heroes, anything. Debris cluttered the floor from broken and ransacked carts and stalls. Ellaria surmised this area must have been a small marketplace of some kind, useful to surface-dwellers who didn’t need to enter the city fully, or for dwarves looking to peddle their wares to the humans and elves above without leaving the warmth of their mountain home.
At the end of the hall stood another pair of large metal doors, these were, however, twisted, bent, and thrown open. As they approached the threshold, Ellaria realized there was some light emanating from the chamber within. Through the door, Aljorn stood. Braziers hung from the large roof of the cavern, built into walls, on rooftops, and hanging from pillars to light the walkways. They were lit, though not with natural fire. Purple embers blazed from the basins casting an eerie light that almost remained dark over the city, throwing wicked shadows on the large stone buildings that crowded the cavern. Along the left side was a large underground lake the dwarves used for freshwater. It dominated that side of the cavern, the surface churning with shallow waves. Ellaria wondered how long it extended under the earth.
On the far wall of the cavern was a large building that seemed brighter than all the others, a thick jade fog shrouding it and yet forcing it to dominate the view. Ellaria felt her spirit shrink.
“That’s the palace,” Andor said. The dwarven king’s voice was thick with emotion. One look showed he was not alone in his despair.
The outer edges of the town were well-maintained, all things considered. The buildings seemed purposeful. Housing, workshops, and stores – Ellaria assumed this area of Aljorn was where the well-off dwarves lived. Not the particularly wealthy, nor the destitute. As they neared the center, however, the city was in shambles, and Ellaria could tell it was not just from the undead. She quickly deduced this area was the slums; large buildings loomed overhead that were filled with small apartments for the less-fortunate dwarves.
Piles of bones crowded the sides of the avenue – and worse. Corpses of dwarves not converted reeked of decay and rot, bugs feasting on their bounty. Blood painted the masterfully laid cobblestones, along with more grotesque viscera. It was enough to make Ellaria’s stomach turn.
She caught a distressed look on King Andor’s face and raised an eyebrow. Heavy sorrow rolled off the king in palpable waves. Tears crawled down his cheeks into his beard. A sob tore from his throat.
“My king?” Tyrdun asked, concern evident.
The king searched for the words. “Tyrdun … I …” The king winced. “We ran out of time during the evacuation. We had to seal the doors with many of these people inside.”
“What?” Ellaria faced the dwarf, seething. “You locked dwarven men and women in here? To die?”
The crown wardens moved toward Andor defensively, fingering their weapon hilts. Llyor bit his lip nervously and looked at Ellaria. “It was I who advised him to do so.”
She scowled at him, horrified. “How could you even consider such a thing? People died because of what you did! You killed those—”
“Ellaria,” Tyrdun said, with quiet warning, “many more would have died had they left the gates unsealed.”
“You’re defending this?” she shouted. “How? They left their people to die!”
He flinched at her words but remained resolute. “Lass, sometimes you can’t save them all.”
“Some people lost everything because of this!”
“And what do you know of loss, elf?” Andor asked. “What great pain have you suffered that gives you the right to lecture us on our failures? I took no pleasure in giving the order. If there had been any other option I would have taken it. It was my duty as king to lead and protect those I could; I did what I had to do. I made the hard choices no one else could. I will not be spoken to of leadership by a child.”
Ellaria’s scowl deepened, and she opened her mouth to respond, heat in her face, when a low crack echoed through the alleyway. Ellaria turned to face a dwarf-sized skeleton, its bones black as night with blazing purple eyes staring at her and the others. She clenched her teeth, both furious at the interruption but thankful to have a target she could take her boiling rage out on. Ellaria readied an arrow and took aim. The skeleton shrieked a loud, chilling cry alerting the others of its rank to the presence of the intruders. She fired the arrow and pierced its skull, flinging it from its shoulders.
“Incoming!” one of the crown wardens yelled. More skeletons came shambling out from the dark corridors into the alleyway. Ellaria wasted no time in preparing for a fight, drawing another arrow. The six dwarves drew their weapons and formed up around her. She took the shot, forcing another skeleton to fall into pieces as the other monsters descended upon the group. She reached for her quiver, stopping short as she remembered her shortened supply. Counting quickly, she realized she only had thirty-eight remaining. She would have to use them sparingly.
Begrudgingly, she drew another and took aim at a skeleton approaching their lines with a small hammer and shield in its boned hands. She let it fly. With a twitch reaction the skeleton’s shield blocked the projectile. The apparition shrieked as it continued forward. Tyrdun smashed its skull in with his mace in response.
The dwarves made quick work of any of the skeletons that made their way to their line, and eventually Llyor called for them to begin moving forward through the street
. Ellaria landed a shot in the arm of an approaching skeleton, shattering the clavicle forcing the weapon it held to clang toward the ground.
A pained shout went up from the line as Baridan took a hit from one of the skeletons. Tyrdun cringed and yelled, “There’s too many of the bastards!”
“Up ahead!” Andor called out. “There’s a library over there – we can barricade ourselves in!”
“That doesn’t seem to solve the problem, exactly, my lord!” Llyor cried.
“Trust me!” the king called, striking another skeleton down.
Llyor charged toward the library. The dwarves rushed through the street, dodging and swinging their weapons. They ascended the steps toward the large ajar doors. The crown wardens brought up the rear, Tyrdun and Baridan just ahead of them. Ellaria kept pace with Andor, stopping only to fire an arrow to save one of the dwarves from a skeleton he had not seen.
Upon entering the two crown wardens held a position at the doorway. “Find something to block the doors; we’ll hold them off!”
Baridan and Llyor rushed to a nearby desk and began pushing it forward. It wouldn’t be heavy enough to block the door no matter how they angled it, though, and Ellaria looked around for something bigger. The bookshelves seemed a fine alternative, but they were filled with so many books that the kingsguard would be dead before she and the dwarves could move it to the entryway. A pained cry went up from the doorway and Ellaria hastened her search dashing through the shelves in a weak gambit to find something. But nothing seemed to be able to do the job quick enough.
“Over here!” Tyrdun called out from the other side of the library. Ellaria darted toward him and arrived with Andor and Baridan with Llyor hobbling toward them a moment later. Tyrdun stood in front of a large, steel plate with a carving inlaid onto its face. The dwarves all shuffled around the artwork and the five of them hoisted it up from its stand and began moving it toward the entrance. The kingsguard noticed their progress and surged outward for a moment to clear the stairs for a few, precious seconds. The dwarves re-entered and shut the doors. With a final heave, they placed the steel slab down and barred the threshold with it.
The skeletons pounded from the other side of the wall on the door and failed to force the slab to move. The seven of them sighed in relief. Baridan looked around and asked, “What do we do now?”
“Follow me,” Andor said. Out of the dwarves, only Llyor and Baridan hesitated, exchanging worried glances with Ellaria. Swallowing their trepidation, they moved into the king’s wake.
They came to a secluded office toward the back of the building. “Move the desk,” Andor commanded, and his crown wardens made quick work of the task. The king knelt and tossed the rug away, revealing a trapdoor.
“This linked to the ones under the palace?” Tyrdun asked.
“No,” Andor said. “This is one of the Quicklocks’. Leads to a cove on the other side of the lake. They found a natural entrance to the tunnels – they use it for smuggling. Right, Baridan?”
The dwarf flinched. Llyor shot him a wounded look. “You’re with the Quicklocks?”
Baridan grimaced. “Yeah.”
“Got your key?” Andor asked.
Baridan stepped forward and unlocked the hatch. “Lead the way,” the king said.
✽ ✽ ✽
The tunnel had clearly fallen out of use sometime ago. Cobwebs and rotting crates obstructed the path, inconvenient enough that Ellaria had made her way to the front of the line to question Baridan.
“Still used,” the dwarf claimed. “This shit’s just for show if someone wanders in by mistake. An overlooked bit of masonry or abandoned storage.”
She shrugged at that. Good enough for me.
They came to the end of the tunnel abruptly. A straight, unmarked plain wall stood before them. Baridan muttered a curse. “The ladders up.”
Ellaria looked above to see an opening with a ladder inches out of reach – for the dwarves. She rose to her full height and pulled it down. Baridan snorted. “Ladies first.”
Rolling her eyes, she ascended. She poked her head out of the hole and surveyed the area. To her right was Aljorn, the underground lake between them. A few small boats were pulled ashore, covered in disguised sheets to leave them indistinct from the distant city.
A rumbling snore drew her attention around. Coiled upon itself slept a large, crimson scaled beast. She nearly leaped off the ladder. Her eyes found Tyrdun. “We need to turn around.”
“Why?” he asked.
Her hands cradled her temples. She drew a rasping breath. “There’s a dragon,” she said.
“It saw you?” He shouldered through the other dwarves to her side.
She shook her head. “No. No. It’s asleep.”
Andor moved toward the ladder. He said, “Then let’s go.”
“Andor—”
“It’s either it or the undead horde. This is our best chance.” He faced them, a step up the ladder. “He won’t even know we were here.”
Ellaria blanched. “If it wakes—”
“It won’t. Let’s go.”
One by one, they ascended the ladder. Together, they crept to the shore. With careful, yet jittering hands, they moved the sheets away from two of the boats. Ellaria, Tyrdun, Andor, and Llyor set up around one. Llyor held three fingers and made a show of counting down. As one they lifted the boat and set it into the water, the rope keeping it from drifting away. Each small noise the rocking vessel made set Ellaria on edge.
Meanwhile, the crown wardens took one side, Baridan the other. They signaled and—
“Ackh!” Baridan shouted. The additional weight on his leg—he slipped—
The boat crashed onto the rocky shore, the noise echoing off the cavern walls.
Ellaria winced and looked over. The wedge-shaped head rose from the mass. Its golden eyes glittered as they scanned over them. “Charge!” Tyrdun screamed. “Go! NOW!”
They drew their weapons. Sprinting, the two crown wardens arrived first. As the beast lumbered upright, they leaped, one on each flank. They swung their axes into the dragon’s wing bones, their weapons striking deep enough to force a pained, furious roar from the dragon. They landed, rolling deeper into the beast’s lair.
Tyrdun and Llyor were the next to arrive. The dragon swiped at them. Tyrdun was swatted away while Llyor dove under the clawed hand. He whirled, blade flashing, striking up into the dragon’s looming face. Its brow twisted into a scowl as it darted forward, closing its jaw around the dwarf. It shook its head viciously, flinging Llyor’s limp body across the cavern to land with a sickening thump.
“Llyor!” Baridan screamed. The bald dwarf closed the remaining distance and thrust his blade forward. It sunk into the dragon’s side, which won a pained cry from the beast. And his attention. With a savage swipe, it tossed Baridan away. He landed on his wounded leg, and the horrifying crunch told them all it was broken in truth.
Ellaria fired arrow after arrow to no discernable effect – they weren’t made as carefully as her normal stock. They were blunted, meant to battle skeletons, not a dragon! Her breathing grew quick as fear took root in her chest.
The crown wardens, Andor, and Tyrdun pushed in once again. Its maw darted, clamping shut just shy of Andor who swung wild in response, missing as well. Tyrdun roared, slamming his mace down on the dragon’s right clawed hand. A crack, lost in the undulating roar loosed in response, sounded. The arm slipped from under the dragon, and the four dwarves struck. The crown wardens rained blows upon the left foreleg, chopping as deep as they could manage. Andor brought his war hammer around in an upward arc, striking the dragon’s jaw, breaking its furious wail for a moment. Tyrdun focused on inflicting pain, striking the broken hand as many times as he could before—
The dragon’s head rose, rage palpable. It looked to the crown wardens. A swift inhale. “Look out!” yelled Tyrdun. One of them dived away immediately, but the other tried to pull his axe free – a mistake that cost him everything. Light blossomed, illuminatin
g the cavern fully. A scream of complete anguish was cut short as the flames roasted him into silence.
Ellaria kept firing – she didn’t dare stop. Even if they only ricocheted off, the bludgeoning of the blunted tips had to do something, right?
Tyrdun and Andor stood side by side, striking in syncopated rhythm. The remaining crown warden joined them at Andor’s side. And Baridan, using his sword as a crutch, ambled to Tyrdun’s flank. It answered with ferocious bites, it’s legs too wounded to swipe at the dwarves. Its head drooped – it was nearly finished.
The dragon reared its head back, snarling, flames licking the space between its fangs.
“Down! Get down!” Tyrdun bellowed. The crown warden threw Andor back with a shove. Tyrdun dove away—
Baridan froze. The fire once again lit the cavern, claiming both crown warden and thief. Roaring their fury, Tyrdun and Andor charged the beast, swinging their hammers toward the wedge-shaped head. They impacted simultaneously, smashing the dragon’s skull.
The beast ceased struggling, falling to a lifeless heap. Tyrdun and Andor shared a look heavy with grief, then eyed the palace across the lake.
✽ ✽ ✽
The ship rocked against the stones, clacking quietly. As the dwarves climbed out, Ellaria looked to the palace. The ephemeral jade fog was thicker than before; wisps of ghostly blue energy swirled around the edifice as if trapped or mesmerized by the stonework. Summoning their resolve, the three made their way to the palace doors.
The inside of the castle was surprisingly orderly. A long carpet stretched out ahead, a cool blue color. The only thing out of the ordinary were the braziers that were blazing with sickly green flames. Ellaria took cautionary steps toward the throne room ahead, staying a good distance behind Tyrdun and Andor, her eyes darting back and forth to the dark corners of the room, waiting for something to emerge.
The three of them arrived at the large double doors, and Andor pushed them open. This room was in complete disarray; books were strewn all over the floor, chairs and tables overturned, and a horrific pile of corpses sat in the corner, littered with pieces of crown warden armor. Two long tables were on either side of the long carpet that stretched from the door to the dais. Both were turned on their side. The throne room stank of rot, the decaying bodies dominating the room in that regard, though not in sight – for on the throne sat a corpse, with a withering beard, wispy hair, and a crown atop his head. His eyes were burning red as he regarded them contemptuously. He wore armor, not unlike Andor’s, though admittedly much more ornate. A large blade was stabbed into the ground in front of the throne, the steel of it glowing an eerie bright purple. Wisps of energy flowed from the blade toward the pile of dead dwarves. They surged into the bodies there, causing the mound to shudder. The sight made her uneasy, but Andor looked mortified.
