Crowds of noble children would often roam those streets, attended by servants and guards who indulged them as they played or shopped or simply socialized with each other. It was the ideal that many of the empire's citizens aspired to reach but few ever did. However, things had changed radically in a very short time.
The streets were deserted. A few scattered streetlights still shone here and there around the quarter, but their lonely glow only emphasized how cold and alien the neighborhood now appeared. A palpable sense of dread seemed to emanate from the darkened streets and no ordinary citizens dared to approach its borders.
But someone carrying an electric lantern was now brazenly walking toward the main entrance to the noble quarter. They were holding the lantern at shoulder height and it pushed back the darkness as they reached the ornate arch that separated the rest of the city from the neighborhood of the elites.
The lone dwarf, wrapped in black robes from head to toe, paused at the entrance and raised the lantern high to illuminate the area. The silence was absolute and yet there was a brooding watchfulness that seemed to be aware of the interloper. It was like a thick, unseen miasma of fear reaching out toward the stranger, threatening to engulf them and drag them into itself.
A long moment passed as the figure stood still. They might have been waiting for something, or perhaps they hesitated in fear of what awaited them if they pushed forward into the unknown. And the darkness seemed to hold its breath, waiting for the stranger's decision.
The robed figure walked slowly forward another few steps through the archway into the wide street beyond, until they were truly inside of the forbidding darkness. They set the lantern down at their feet and then stood still again. What was he or she doing? Defying the evil that hovered unseen around it? Foolishly indulging their curiosity? Or were they simply frozen in fear, having come too far to either push forward or run away?
A sound shattered the gloom, a clear bright sound that was now foreign to the streets of the noble's quarter. It was the sound of laughter.
The intruder made a graceful gesture and their robes fell to the ground. Standing exposed in the clean, white light of the lantern was a leather-clad dwarf. He looked around, hands on his hips and an arrogant smile on his lips. It was Hallic Barston.
“I am here,” he called out fearlessly, “to cleanse the filth from this city. Cindercore has been infected by corruption and it needs a thorough cleaning. Begone, foul spirits. Crawl back to the pit from whence you came. The dwarven empire will tolerate your presence no longer!”
Dead silence was all the response he got. Hallic cocked his head to the side and listened, still smiling as he waited.
“Ah, even here in the shadows that hide your foulness, you are afraid to show yourselves,” he said mockingly. “Pathetic.”
Do daemons have feelings? Can they know shame or feel pride? Or were they simply unused to being challenged? Whatever the answer, there was finally a reaction to the rogue's arrogant challenge.
Howls of fury fell on him from all sides. Like a gale of rage, the hellish sounds raced toward Hallic, approaching him like an avalanche of daemonic anger.
The rogue waited another moment and then he turned and ran, moving with such speed that his body was simply a blur of motion. He burst through the archway and raced along the avenue beyond. The rows of lights on both sides of the wide street shone brightly down on him and exposed the wave of dark shapes that boiled out of the noble's quarter at his back.
Some flew just above the ground, while others ran along the cobblestones. All of them were misshapen and semi-transparent, and yet they made noises as they chased the rogue. Screams and growls. The unearthly scraping of claws and talons. Slaps of heavy feet hitting solid stone. The daemons may have been drawn from the Void, but they had substance of some kind. Or else they had assumed mortal form to attack the foolish dwarf who had dared to challenge them. It was a terrifying stampede of evil and if anyone had been able to observe it, they would have been terrified.
But Hallic seemed to be alone. Running straight down the street with Hell at his heels, his gruesome end appeared to be inevitable. The mob of evil chasing him certainly seemed to think so, as their angry howls turned to horrific sounds of hunger and anticipation.
The rogue sprinted through an intersection, still at least a dozen yards ahead of his pursuers and then he slid to a stop. He turned and drew a pair of shining daggers and he stared at the oncoming horrors with a calm resolve. He was no longer smiling, but he showed no fear either. He simply waited for them.
As the horde of monsters reached the intersection, a loud whistling rang out from both side streets and sheets of arrows glowing with a silvery light rained down upon the daemons.
The cries of evil anticipation turned to screams of agony as the missiles, blessed by the high cleric of Kingstone herself, tore into their ethereal flesh. They began burning as they fell in heaps at Hallic's feet. The rogue watched them dispassionately as they died.
The daemons who were not hit in the initial volley stopped and turned back, trying to withdraw to the safety of the noble's quarter. There were dozens of them and they now raced back toward the perceived sanctuary in a blind panic. But they were too late to save themselves.
A rain of fire bathed the avenue, fireballs falling from above that obliterated everything that they touched. The daemons didn't even have time to scream as they were consumed by flame.
An odd smell, like the dust of tombs, rose from the burnt flesh of the monsters, while the dead daemons in front of Hallic simply dissolved away into nothingness like the shadows of a bad dream. One moment they were there, twisted and evil even in death, and then they were gone.
Hallic sheathed his blades and waited. From the side streets came the muted sound of many feet and two groups of royal archers, a dozen in each group, marched out and stopped as they reached the main street. All of them were wearing thick, reinforced leather armor which allowed them to move almost silently and they remained tight-lipped and disciplined even after their attack.
From behind the archers on the left came a small group that walked past them to join the rogue.
“Your plan worked, my lord,” Hallic said with a smile.
Shandon Ironhand grinned and shook his head.
“It was as much your plan as it was mine,” he replied with satisfaction. “And you are the one who risked his life to draw out the daemons. We just sprung the trap.”
The king was in full armor and the royal insignia gleamed on his chest. A massive two-handed hammer was strapped across his back. He had flipped up the visor on his helmet and the gold and platinum beads in his beard glittered cheerfully in the streetlights above them.
“Aye, you did well, Hallic,” Jergen said as he and Pieter walked up to join Shandon.
Both warriors were armored as well, but Jergen's chest plate was made of plain dwarven steel, while Pieter's looked a bit dented and worn. They were armed with swords. Jergen carried a shield on his back, while Pieter's bastard sword was long enough that its sheath occasionally scraped on the ground as he walked.
“I agree,” the older dwarf said brightly. “If you ever enter a race, Hallic, let me know, would you? I'd like to put some gold on you to win.”
The rogue laughed and shook his head.
“I reserve my running for those moments when it will save my life,” he told Pieter.
“Pity.”
“I would say that the real heroes of the hour, besides yourself, are our two mage friends,” Shandon told Hallic. “Their fireballs did the trick.”
Hallic looked past the king to see Larin and Odella walking calmly out of the darkened side street, their plain brown robes making them appear to be much less remarkable than he knew them to be. Odella's metal staff rang bell-like against the ground as she used it to help her walk. Her long white hair hung down her back in a tight braid, but even though her face was deeply lined with wrinkles, she moved steadily next to Larin.
“You surpris
ed me,” the rogue said to them as the pair joined the group. “I wasn't quite sure what you had in store for those daemons. It was amazing.”
Larin and Odella exchanged a look. Both of them seemed startled at the praise.
“Just basic fireball spells,” Larin replied simply. “All mages of high rank can cast such spells. We are happy that they had the desired effect. If those daemons hadn't taken on substance to allow themselves to attack you, Hallic, the fireballs wouldn't even have singed them. Whatever you said must have really angered them.”
“Never underestimate my father's ability to irritate others.”
Hallic turned to grin at his daughter. Mel had walked out of the side street opposite from the one the others had been hiding in. She smiled at Hallic and then looked down the avenue toward the still-dark noble's quarter.
“Shall we pay that neighborhood a visit now?” she asked the king.
“Aye,” Shandon replied. “Larin, contact Walkar, would you? It is time to move forward and see what is happening in there.”
“Yes, my lord,” the mage replied.
He pulled out a small round stone and stared at it for a moment. It began to pulse with light and Larin nodded as if hearing something that the others could not.
“Done,” he said as he put the lodestone away again. “The troops will join us shortly.”
“I wonder how frustrated Brokk was as he waited for your signal,” Jergen asked the king with a smile.
“Very, I'd imagine,” Shandon replied. “But we had to keep the guardsmen back so that our enemies couldn't see or hear them. A few dozen archers are one thing, but a hundred heavily armed and armored troops tend to make a lot of noise. Better to keep them a few blocks away than risk tipping off the daemons.”
The archers remained silently waiting for the king's command and the others stood by, listening for the approaching warriors.
It only took a few minutes before the rumble of armored feet marching in unison began to echo down the long, deserted avenue. Shandon and the others turned around to look behind them and saw several lines of warriors emerge from side streets to form disciplined ranks. They began to walk in lockstep toward the king and his group, Commander Brokk leading the way. His golden epaulets easily identified his rank, even though his visor covered his face.
Shandon smiled at the sight and looked at Jergen and Pieter.
“Takes me back to the old days,” he told them wistfully. “Remember? It seemed so much easier back then to just be an ordinary warrior following the orders of our captains.”
“Aye, that's true enough,” Jergen agreed. “Do as you're told, fight hard when you had to and let the higher-ups made the decisions. Seems like a long time ago.”
“It wasn't though,” Pieter told him. “A few decades, that's all. What is that in a dwarf's life, eh? But I have to disagree,” he said to Shandon. “I much prefer knowing the reasons behind the orders. I remember many times wondering what in blazes the captains were thinking when they ordered us into battle. I fought to the best of my ability, of course, but I'd still question some of the decisions they made.”
“You never said anything at the time,” Shandon replied in surprise.
“Of course not. I was a soldier and I knew my place,” Pieter said with a shrug. “March here, fight there, keep your mouth shut. It was our life. But now that I know why the battles are fought and who the enemies truly are, I am much happier.”
Hallic and Mel listened to the conversation silently, as did Larin and Odella. The four of them exchanged several amused glances, but they kept their opinions to themselves. None of them had any experience in common with regular soldiers.
The king noticed Hallic's expression and raised an eyebrow.
“Not familiar with the reminiscences of old warriors?” he asked with a grin.
“No, but I certainly understand the need for the throne to have a standing army,” Hallic replied as he looked past Shandon at the approaching troops. “We rogues have to work alone most of the time, for obvious reasons, but I do value your troops as well, my lord. We all have a job to do, after all.”
“Good to know.”
Commander Brokk halted his soldiers several yards away from where the king and the others were waiting. He raised his visor, stepped forward and saluted.
“Your majesty,” he said formally. “What are your orders?”
“Commander,” Shandon said with a nod. “We've managed to clear out the daemons, or at least most of them. That does not mean that there aren't more nasty surprises ahead.”
He gestured toward the two groups of archers.
“The archers will advance with the troops,” he told Brokk. “Make a space in the center of your ranks for them so that they can be protected should any other daemons attack as we advance. Their arrows have been blessed and have proven effective against those creatures.”
“Understood, my lord.”
“Good. You have a few army engineers with you, do you not?”
“Yes, my lord. They are ready for battle, of course, but have brought along their tools to repair the electrical grid and get the lights back on in the noble's quarter, just in case the transfer station in there has been damaged.”
“Excellent. We will need light to fight with,” Shandon told him. “As I understand it, the station is only a block away from the main entrance into the quarter. Turning the power back on should be your first priority.”
“I agree, my lord.”
The king turned to the archers.
“Captain Millen?”
One of the archers, a stern-looking woman with a blue scarf tied around her upper arm, stepped forward.
“My lord?”
“You heard my orders to Commander Brokk? Good. Move your archers into the center of the troop formation. They will be protected there in the event that there are more daemons lurking ahead, and your arrows can take down the threat from a distance. When you are ready, we will advance.”
“Yes, my lord,” the captain said.
She saluted and turned to look at her archers. She barked her orders and they started moving quickly. Brokk spoke to one of his lieutenants, who proceeded to organize the armored warriors.
“Your people are very efficient,” Larin said to the king.
Shandon nodded absently as he watched the troops changing their positions.
“When I took over as king, I made it a priority to reform the army from top to bottom,” he said. “My father had been rather lax about discipline and both the royal guards and the regular troops needed some fine tuning. I cleared out the lazy and the foolish and recruited better, more dedicated fighters. It has paid off since then, as you can see.”
“He also raised their stipend,” Pieter told Larin with a wink. “It boosted morale tremendously.”
“Pay your people what they are worth and they will be grateful,” Shandon agreed. “That is something that I have always believed in.”
As the troops settled into their new formation, the king and the other observers moved into one of the side streets. Commander Brokk walked back to the head of the ranks and looked over at Shandon, awaiting his orders.
“Advance, Commander,” the king said loudly. “You know what to do.”
Brokk saluted and turned to face his troops.
“Prepare for battle!” he barked. “Warriors, set your shields!”
As one, all of the armored troops slipped the shields off of their backs and settled them on to their off-hands.
“Draw your weapons!” Brokk ordered.
Most of the warriors carried swords, but some preferred maces or hammers. All of them drew their weapons and then waited silently.
“Archers, ready your bows!”
The archers slipped their bows off of their shoulders and held them ready in one hand.
“We will advance into the noble's quarter ahead,” the commander said loudly, his voice echoing up and down the street. “Steady march. Not too fast. Once we reach the power sta
tion, we will protect the engineers while they get the streetlights back on. Listen for my orders, but keep your eyes open. If we are assaulted, defend yourselves accordingly. Remember your training and we will be victorious.”
He spun around smartly, nodded once to the king and drew his sword. He snapped his visor into place and pointed ahead with his weapon.
“Forward march!”
The commander started moving and all of his troops followed him in lockstep. Their armored feet rose and fell as one and the sound rolled on ahead of them as they marched toward the darkened quarter of the city.
“Impressive,” Hallic said to Shandon as the ranks moved past them.
“They are, aren't they?” the king said proudly. “They've all been briefed about the potential threats they might be facing, including the magical ones, and every soldier still volunteered for this duty.”
As the last of the troops moved by them, Shandon looked at the others.
“Are you all ready?”
“More than ready,” Jergen growled. “Let's not lag behind. We might miss some of the action.”
Pieter rolled his eyes at his friend, but nodded silently at the king.
“Larin, Odella, you know your own talents better than I do,” Shandon said to the mages. “If we are threatened by magical forces, I will leave it to you to choose the best way to respond.”
“Thank you, my lord,” Larin replied. “We are prepared.”
“Good. Hallic and Mel know their roles as well,” the king said with a quick glance at the rogues. “Let's go.”
The seven of them followed behind the troops, leaving about twenty yards between themselves and the last soldier. Hallic lagged behind the others and Mel followed his lead. The pair of them had a special mission of their own.
“Is Annia in place?” Mel asked her father quietly.
Hallic nodded. He was watching the front ranks of the soldiers as they followed Commander Brokk. They were just about to enter the darkened quarter.
The Dwarven Rebellion Page 35
