Blue Scales nodded. “Such Signs are feared and detested by the crabs, but they can still enter if they try hard enough.” He gestured with his trident. “Worse, such things can be destroyed or temporarily disabled by the surging waters the crabs can call upon. And even if they could keep the crabs out, the dwarves would still have been forced to flee once the chamber was flooded.”
Jonathan knelt by the body of one of the adventurers. “I recognise this book.” He eased it free of the dead man’s grasp and whispered a prayer. “It’s about eldritch lore. He must have been a specialist of some sort. He could very well have recognised the Signs and then repaired them before succumbing to his injuries.”
“Could you do the same?” Aria asked.
Jonathan glanced between the Signs on the doorways and several pages of the book before nodding. “I think so, but it’s not something I can test right now. The process is draining, and I don’t have the power to complete the ritual now and then repeat it again if we run into more crabs.”
“Then don’t worry about it.” Aria peered around the hall. “Which way should we go from here?”
Miles knelt to close the eyes of the other adventurers. There was little else he could do for them. It was easy to get confused in here. The massive halls were linked by twisting, labyrinthine passageways. However, Miles had always possessed an excellent sense of direction, no doubt honed over years of serving in his master’s castle, which was hardly a testament to good design. Even so, they took a moment to check their map. There was no sense in taking such a big risk.
“The passageway to the left will take us the deepest,” Miles pointed out, running his finger along the map. “But it may well be flooded. Indeed, it connects to several other passageways that we know to be flooded from when we first entered Mordrath. The middle passageway won’t take us as far although it should be clear of water, but we’ll have to choose another path later on. As for the passageway on the right, it goes the shortest distance, but it doesn’t connect to any passageways that are flooded.”
Aria paused for a moment, deep in thought. “We’ll take the safest route. Now that we’ve run into the crabs, I don’t want to give them any extra advantages over us.”
Jonathan swallowed thickly. “I agree.”
Miles glanced back at the dead adventurers, and his heart clenched. He hadn’t noticed until now, but two of them were young, barely out of their teens. They must have been extremely skilled to be hired by the duke, yet to fall at such a young age… “Yes, avoiding unnecessary trouble sounds like a prudent idea.”
As they left, Susannah stopped to take the arrows out of the quiver of the fallen group’s archer. It did not escape his notice that she stopped to whisper a few words as she did and that there was a savage smile on her face as she spoke. She must have promised to avenge them. Fists clenched, Miles promised to do the same. One way or another, they’d have to kill plenty of crabs to get the sword and escape alive.
* * *
Jonathan kept a watchful eye on their surroundings as they proceeded ever deeper into Mordrath. The walls here were less decorative and more functional in form. They must have passed the area set aside for residential, commercial, and ceremonial use and were now finally in the areas used for industry and mining. It would have made little sense to have ornate decorations in an area that would face constant damage from dust, debris, and the rough and tumble business of mining and other such crafts.
They had come across the remains of more groups, and he wondered why they hadn’t been turned into zombies or skeletons by the crabs. Then again, why hadn’t all of the dwarves been turned into zombies or skeletons? There must be some explanation although he did vaguely recall something about certain groups being more resistant to necromancy than others, even in death. Then again, given the estimates of Mordrath’s population prior to its fall, the dwarf corpses they’d passed represented only a minute fraction of the kingdom’s people.
They had also come across more and more signs of battle. Clearly, the dwarves had tried to draw a proverbial line in the sand here only to be thrown back by the unrelenting forces of the crabs. He saw a large pile of bones and armour and went to take a closer look. Oh. The bones and armour all bore the marks of fire, and the floor beneath them was scorched and blackened. The dwarves must have burnt the bodies to try and prevent them being turned into zombies. The dwarves must have held this area for a while, then, if they’d been able to take such precautions. Further up, the bodies had simply been abandoned where they fell.
Along the way, they picked up any weapons that were in good condition, using special pouches or some of Eileen’s summons to store them. The crabs’ claws should be able to break a weapon fairly easily, so it made sense to carry spares although Jonathan still held onto the hope – likely futile – that they could avoid facing any more of the wicked crustaceans.
When they finally reached one of the main halls set aside for the fruits of the dwarves’ mining labours, Jonathan gasped. He had read tales of the heroic last stand of the dwarves. It had been the last truly meaningful resistance they’d been able to mount, so their civilians could escape. However, he’d never thought he would see it. It was said that the king and his elite guard, along with as many others as they could muster, had marched forth to draw the attention of the crabs. They had succeeded too. There were still several dwarf kingdoms that claimed descent from the king’s children who had managed to escape to safety. This is where it must have happened, and he quietly murmured a Word to capture the sight of it in his mind forever.
The hall was large, but the stone floor was not made of polished marble or some other precious stone, nor were there any decorations. Instead, the floor was rugged, made to survive the wear and tear of equipment and the tromping of heavy, iron-shod boots. Around the hall were the remains of fallen dwarf warriors, all of them surrounded by the shells of crabs that had been slain in a manner that made it impossible to turn them into zombies or skeletons. In many places, the crabs were piled so high that it was difficult to see the dwarves buried underneath them. The dwarves had not gone meekly to their deaths. No. They had fought and killed countless times their number before being cut down. In his hand, the spirit lantern flickered and pulsed, a cold heat emanating from it, not unlike the shiver that ran through him whenever he dared to look at a patch of sunlight from the safety of a dark room.
The dead are restless here. I can hear them whispering. The Blood Emperor’s tone was respectful and curious. Were the necromancers unable to enslave them even in death? If so, it would speak mightily of their fighting spirit.
Looking more closely at the corpses, Jonathan took note of how similar to metal and stone their bones looked. It was said that as dwarves grew stronger, their bones grew more and more like metal and stone, a testament to their heritage as children of the earth, beings born of rock and stone. These dwarves must have been powerful indeed.
At the centre of the hall, atop the highest pile of broken crabs, was the one who must have been the last king of the dwarves of Mordrath. His armour was rent and broken in dozens of places, and even his weapons were in tatters. Yet despite all the years that had passed, there was still something regal about him, some air of long-dead splendour and majesty that hinted at the glory of the dwarf kings of old that had ruled when the dwarves had been united and strong. The crown of iron upon his brow was somehow free of rust despite the passage of countless years and the water that must have flooded this place from time to time.
It was often said that the greatest of dwarf kings now was but a pale shadow of his ancestors, the lesser son of greater sires. Jonathan had not believed it before. Staring at this dwarf who must have slain all of his enemies before succumbing to his wounds – how else could he be at the top of the pile instead of buried under crabs – he believed it now. The sheer number of dead crabs was ridiculous, and the way he sat atop them was telling. He had not been one of the weak, flimsy kings of the modern age, not some cowardly ruler conte
nt to hide behind thick walls and endless ranks of soldiers. This man had been a king in deed as well as name – the greater sire that the dwarves of the present day aspired to be.
He was a worthy king. The Blood Emperor radiated approval. They say the dwarves are gifted with the temperament of the god of smithing and crafting – stubborn and unyielding, greedy at times, yet also brave beyond all doubt and reason. Such was this king. No wonder the crabs left him and his elite unsullied. No necromancer could ever hope to command the spirits or bodies of such warriors.
“What a dwarf,” Blue Scales said reverently. “To have slain so many of them before falling. There are none amongst my people who can claim to have done so, and we have warred with the crabs many times.” He looked at Jonathan. “Tell me, Jonathan, what do you know of this dwarf?”
“He was the last king of the dwarves,” Jonathan said. “But the records are far from clear. Most scholars believe his name was King Dalendin IX, the one often referred to as the Troll Slayer in ancient texts, for he was said to have led a mighty campaign to wipe out the great troll tribes that plagued his kin on the mainland. From what little we know, his sons, who were but children at the time, supposedly survived the fall of Mordrath but were separated. The kings of the various dwarf kingdoms that exist today claim their descent from them although the truth of those claims has never been proven.” He would have used [Trace Memory] to view the battle for himself, but he couldn’t risk getting lost in thousands of years of memories.
Blue Scales nodded solemnly and then raised his trident high. “Hail to you then, Dalendin, Last King of Mordrath. You were a fine warrior, and this son of the Deep acknowledges your valour and your resolve.”
“He must have been a tough bastard.” Eric chuckled. “When I go back, I might ask Alaric if he knew him. He’s old enough that he might actually have met the guy.”
They left the hall, but Jonathan couldn’t shake the sense of being watched. It was likely the crabs or their minions, but now and then he caught another glimpse of what he could have sworn was a ghost of a dwarf. It had been far too quiet, and it was only a matter of time before they ran into trouble. He could only hope they could fight their way out of it. Finally, they came to a halt when they reached a stout bridge that spanned a vast, yawning chasm, below which churned the dark, murky waters that had drowned the greatest of the dwarf kingdoms.
“Okay.” Eric shook his head. “This is obviously a trap. Is there any way past this that doesn’t involve us walking straight into it?”
Aria shook her head. “Not according to the map. There was supposed to be another bridge, but….” She trailed off and pointed to where the remains of a second bridge were. “I think it’s safe to say that’s no longer an option.”
The Blood Emperor spoke in his mind, and Jonathan relayed his thoughts to the others. “The dwarves must have tried to hold them here before being forced back to the hall we passed. It is likely they destroyed the other bridge themselves, and this bridge shows marks of attempted demolition as well.”
Aria grimaced. “Well, let’s get this over with. The longer we just stand around, the worse it’ll be. If we can get across quickly enough, we might be okay… if we’re lucky.” Jonathan refrained from pointing out that neither he nor she was known for their fantastic luck.
With Eric in the lead, they moved across the bridge as quickly as they dared. It had clearly seen better days, and there were cracks all over it. Alas, they were only halfway across before Eric’s fears were realised.
“And here comes the ambush,” Eric muttered as crabs scuttled onto the bridge from below, cutting off their advance and their retreat. “I hate being right all the time.” His eyes narrowed, and his muscles tensed. “I say we go right at the ones in front of us. It’s not that far to the other side. We can force our way through.”
“I agree.” Susannah had her bow at the ready. “This bridge is in bad shape. I doubt it’ll last long with so much extra weight on it.”
“All right.” Aria steeled herself. “We push forward.” She nodded at Roger. “Get us started.”
An [Ash Bolt] slammed into the crabs in front of them, and they charged forward. The crabs at the front immediately bunched up, forming a thick wall of virtually impenetrable shell. Roger hurled an [Ash Blast] to break up the formation and then turned to hold off the crabs behind them. Eileen looked like she wanted to transform into something bigger than a bear, but anything larger might break the bridge. Turning into a flier would also be hazardous. There were far more magic-wielding crabs here, and already, Aria had been forced to focus entirely on defence after a barrage of foul, corrupting energy hurtled their way.
“Be careful, sir,” Miles urged as he leapt forward and kicked one crab off the bridge. The blow wasn’t fatal, but it didn’t have to be. They just needed to get across the bridge.
“This is bad,” Jonathan muttered. He awkwardly clubbed a crab off the bridge before almost losing his arm to the crushing claws of another. The pointed end of a crab leg skittered off his shoulder armour while another clattered into his shield. He snarled. If only he was better with a blade, he could help more. Wait! There were Signs he could use. His mind drifted back to the Signs he’d glimpsed carved onto the doorways near the downed adventurers, and he reached for his magic and his willpower to make one. The Sign flared to life, alight with indescribable, eldritch radiance. The crabs reeled back, some even shielding themselves with their claws.
“Was that a Sign?” Aria asked. “How many more times can you use it?” Her sword was blazing like a second sun, but the glowing barriers she’d summoned had begun to crack as they pushed forward. Tendrils of inky darkness spread through the air, and Jonathan fought the urge to recoil. Wherever the darkness touched Aria’s barriers, there was a sound like two blades being dragged against one another and a smell like old, rotting meat.
“A few more times,” Jonathan said as the Sign faded away. “It’s easier since they’re not being etched onto anything even if they don’t last as long.” He would have said more, but the bridge chose that exact moment to give a low, ominous groan. “What was that?” he yelped.
The cracks all over the bridge began to widen alarmingly. Roger’s eyes widened, and the raccoon abandoned attacking in favour of using his magic to try to put the bridge back together, but it was far too little, far too late. There was a thunderous crack, and the bridge split apart.
“Damn it!” Eric cursed as the stone beneath him gave way. “I should have known this would happen!” He glanced down at the water. “This is not going to be fun.”
Desperately, Eileen tried to turn into a giant eagle, but the sheer volume of debris, to say nothing of the falling crabs, knocked her out of the air to plummet alongside them. Jonathan hissed as the Blood Emperor shoved his power at him. It hurt, but he could understand the ancient vampire’s concern. There was running water down there, a lot of it. This… this was going to be very, very unpleasant. Hopefully, he didn’t end up like his father.
He hit the water – hard – and immediately struggled to move. It wasn’t as damaging as a proper river would have been, but the water felt as thick and tough as tar. It was draining him of what strength he had, and he fought for the surface only to fail and be dragged deeper. Dimly, he was aware of the current carrying him along. The spirit lantern was still there – he’d tied it onto his armour – and the light it cast pulsed with cold, bitter brightness. He was tossed and battered, his armour dented and torn, before the raging waters finally threw him against a ledge of sorts. With the last of his strength, he hauled himself up onto the ledge and rolled onto his back. He was alive.
He wasn’t sure how long he simply stared up into the darkness, his body aching, and his armour feeling as though it weighed as much as a castle. Little by little, strength returned to his limbs, and he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. It was Miles – and there weren’t any crabs nearby either.
“Miles!” he croaked. The water was no longer drain
ing his strength, but he was still far from his best. He needed blood. He reached for the gourd he always carried, but it was gone. The current must have jarred it loose. However, Miles always carried a spare for him. “Miles!”
Miles dragged himself out of the water and staggered over. “Thank the gods, sir!” Around his neck was one of the necklaces they’d taken from the fallen adventurers. It was doubtful he’d have survived without it. “Here, sir.” Miles handed him a gourd full of rich, nourishing blood. “Have you seen any of the others?”
Jonathan sat up and took a long sip of the blood. Fresh strength filled his veins, and his weariness lifted. His mind was clear once more, and he no longer felt as though he was stuck in tar. “No.” He coughed and shook his head. “You’re the only one I’ve seen.” He stumbled to his feet. “I don’t think we should stay near the water, Miles.”
“Indeed, sir.”
“We can stay nearby for a few minutes. It shouldn’t be long before the others show up unless the current swept them in another direction.” He took another sip and then handed the gourd back to Miles. By some miracle, the spirit lantern was still there and undamaged. In its cold light, Miles looked every bit his age. “We need to be ready to run, Miles. If more crabs come, I don’t think the two of us will be able to fight them off.”
“I agree. Discretion may well be the better part of valour – at least until we find the others.”
Interlude Two – Best Friends
“In retrospect,” Susannah drawled as she calmly plucked an arrow out of her quiver and stabbed the giant badger square in the eye. “I probably should have grabbed one of my family’s special heirloom swords or at least one of the magical ones before we decided to run away from home.”
Roger rolled his eyes and blasted the wounded beast with a bolt of lightning as Susannah leapt clear, spinning end over end through the air before landing with a flourish and catching her hat. It was, he conceded, a pretty nice hat, not that someone who indulged in so much extravagant acrobatics should be wearing a hat. Honestly, he’d made a mistake teaching her the runes he used to make sure that his war wizard hat stayed on and always returned to him no matter what. She hadn’t gotten them to work properly yet, but she was getting better. Her hat still fell off, but it always found its way back to her.
Attempted Adventuring (The Attempted Vampirism Series Book 2) Page 18
