The Fall of Neverdark

by Philip C. Quaintrell

  Vighon inhaled a deep breath and took in the sight of a few thousand people, all panicked and several injured. It was going to be a longer night than he thought…

  40

  The Enemy of my Enemy…

  The sound of small pumice raining over his armour roused Doran Heavybelly with a start. The dwarf snapped his eyes open and reached instinctively for the axe on his hip.

  Then the very rock under his feet shook, rattling the loose stones and pebbles. The Namdhorian soldiers jumped to their feet, snatching at their swords.

  “They’re attacking!” one of them cried.

  Nathaniel and Reyna huddled closer together, wary of the ceiling above. Doran picked himself up and pressed his palm to the nearest wall.

  “Whatever that is,” he said, “it’s comin’ from the deep, not in these tunnels.”

  “You can feel it?” Nathaniel asked incredulously.

  “Aye.” Doran listened to the mountain through his hand. “It’s mighty strong whatever it is…”

  The quake stopped as abruptly as it began, leaving them all clueless to its source. Doran had felt quakes for months now, but nothing strong enough to shake Vengora.

  Captain Adan sent six more of his men into the tunnels, just to be sure that the dwarves weren’t in the midst of planning an attack. Doran left them to it.

  “Are ye a’right?” he asked the Galfreys.

  They stood to their full height, still cautious of the ceiling and the tons of rock that concealed the night’s sky.

  “Those quakes are getting worse, it seems,” Reyna said.

  “It’s over now,” Doran assured. Now that he was awake, he was confident he would feel any more before they affected the structure of the tunnels.

  Nathaniel looked at the dwarf. “I can’t believe you can sleep at a time like this. Your brother just told us—”

  “I know what he told us,” Doran snapped, irritated by the whole situation. “Sorry, lad. This is just… Well, it’s not what I wanted. Threats from me father don’ help either. I don’ suppose ye’ve figured out how to open those doors then?”

  Reyna glanced at her husband. “Actually we were about to try something a little more drastic.”

  Doran followed her eyes to the bow in her hand. “Ye mean to hit ‘em with that?” The dwarf had seen the power of that enchanted bow many times and knew better than to get in front of it.

  “I’ve yet to see anything it can’t penetrate,” Reyna replied, admiring the weapon.

  Doran shrugged. “I’d be more concerned with the damage it does on the other side…”

  Taking up their positions in the middle of the T-junction, the elf nocked an arrow and aimed at the doors.

  “You must be joking,” Captain Adan remarked. “You think an arrow can open those doors?”

  Nathaniel turned to the captain. “This is the bow of Adellum, general to Valanis for over a thousand years.” Captain Adan looked at the bow again, his eyes betraying the awe he felt. “They called Adellum Valanis’s battering ram during The Dark War,” Nathaniel continued. “There was a reason for that…”

  Reyna pulled back the bowstring until her hand rested comfortably by the corner of her mouth. The arrow was launched from the bow as any other only, from this bow, the arrow was gifted the strength of magic.

  The arrow bounced off the doors.

  Doran had been bracing himself for the almighty explosion. “Are ye sure ye brought the right bow, me Lady?”

  Reyna’s elven composure had been cracked, exposing a confusion seen more often on humans. The ambassador retrieved the arrow from the floor and inspected the head.

  “It’s blunted…” she said to herself.

  Nathaniel came to stand before the doors of the workshop and ran his hand over the area where the arrowhead struck. “It didn’t even dent the doors.”

  “I told you,” Captain Adan said. “We’ve tried all manner of magic. That’s why Master Devron was sent for.”

  “Yes!” Petur Devron burst forth from the Namdhorian soldiers with two arms full of scrolls and parchments.

  Doran sighed. “Here we go,” he said quietly. “His voice is like a hammer to me head…”

  “Queen Skalaf, erm, well, that is Lord Draqaro, believes the dwarven symbols tell us how to gain entry,” Petur continued happily.

  “The more Arlon Draqaro wants to get inside,” Nathaniel commented, “the more inclined I am to hand it over to the dwarves.”

  “Those are treasonous words, Ambassador Galfrey.” Captain Adan’s voice had the edge of a threat.

  Never one to back down, Nathaniel pressed, “Is that because Arlon Draqaro is the one ruling Namdhor?”

  Adan raised his chin. “He might not be on the throne, but Arlon Draqaro is still a lord of Namdhor. That means we serve him.”

  Nathaniel nodded along. “Remind me, Captain, what was Lord Draqaro before he became a lord?”

  Adan glanced back at his men nervously. Doran looked to the soldiers as well and wondered which of them were in Arlon’s pocket, more than ready to stab Captain Adan in the back.

  “He was a businessman,” the captain replied confidently, as if he had been given the line previously. “When the north was fighting for the throne, he maintained the supply of food and drink for the city. He was granted the title of lord by way of a gift, from Queen Skalaf herself.”

  Reyna discarded her blunted arrow. “Perhaps we should focus our efforts on the door,” she said, her melodic voice extinguishing the tension. “First Commander Dakmund warned us of our timeframe.”

  “Bah!” Doran was becoming frustrated as the eve of battle approached. “We’ve been tryin’ to open this door for two days. They’ve been tryin’ for even longer. This door is sealed by magic an’ it ain’t dwarven magic, I’ll tell ye that for nothin’.”

  “How do you know it’s not dwarven magic?” Petur asked before anyone else, his eyes reflecting his hunger for knowledge.

  “Dwarves have a natural resilience to the affects of magic, praise Grarfath, but there are a few who possess the talents to use it. Trust me, dwarves don’t know how to do anythin’ with magic that ain’t destroyin’ stuff.”

  Petur Devron didn’t look so convinced. “But this is a dwarven kingdom. It stands to reason that dwarves placed the spell over the doors. The writing is—”

  “I know what the writin’ is an’ I know where we are,” Doran cut him off. “An’ I’m still tellin’ ye, that ain’t dwarven magic, lad!”

  “This chamber is thousands of years old,” Master Devron argued, still wearing his idiot’s smile. “Who else could it be?”

  “Elves…” Reyna’s answer came from behind them.

  Doran turned around to see Reyna with her hand pressed to one of the doors. The elf closed her eyes as if listening for something. Then her attention turned to the hole in the rock, opposite the doors.

  “What is it?” Nathaniel asked.

  “I do not know,” Reyna admitted. “But I believe it was my kin who sealed these doors, not dwarves.”

  Petur scratched his head through his wild mane. “I don’t mean to cast doubt on you, Ambassador Reyna, but from all that we know about dwarves, both ancient and present, they never got on with elves. Present company excluded, of course!” he added, looking down on Doran.

  “They were allies during The Great War,” Reyna replied, her attention still on the doors.

  Petur’s mouth twisted into an apologetic grin. “Sorry, which war was that?”

  Reyna’s attention had flitted up to the engraved symbols now. “Five thousand years ago, our two people allied to fight the orcs,” she said absently.

  This did nothing to clear things up for Master Devron. “Fight what? I don’t… I…” the master looked at his many scrolls in confusion.

  “Orcs, lad! Ye must o’ seen those ugly skeletons on yer way in!”

  “Yes, yes, yes…” Petur’s face screwed up. “There’s no mention of any Great War in the archives.”


  Doran laughed. “Maybe ye should think o’ changin’ the name from All-Tower to Some-Tower!”

  Nathaniel joined his wife. “Reyna, what are you thinking?”

  The elf couldn’t rightly say. “This magic reminds me of the spell Lady Syla placed upon the gates in The Arid Lands. It will budge for nothing.”

  “What were elves doin’ this far into Vengora?” Doran asked. “Even durin’ the war, they fought on the surface, never in the mountains.”

  Reyna looked to reply, only the words were drowned out by the loud echo of chanting dwarfs. It had been a long time since Doran had heard one of the Heavybelly’s rhythmic war cries. It certainly sounded different on the receiving end of their march.

  “Doran?” Nathaniel gripped the hilt of his sword.

  “Times up,” the dwarf replied solemnly.

  “Shields!” Captain Adan barked. “Corbyn, find the patrols and bring them back, now!”

  The son of Dorain watched the Namdhorians form up and draw their swords behind their pointed shields. They looked fierce packed together, well trained too judging by their reactions. It would make no difference, he knew. Those shields wouldn’t stand up to silvyr weapons, nor would their fine white armour.

  Petur Devron didn’t seem to grasp the gravity of their situation. “Perhaps we could get a message to the elves in Ayda? There might be someone who—”

  “Get behind us, ye fool!” Doran pushed the wiry man back and drew his sword and his axe.

  The chanting resounded off the stone, growing louder with its promise of violence and death. Between their words, the dwarves of the Heavybelly clan beat their weapons against their armour.

  Reyna nocked an arrow and strode out in front of the Namdhorian line. Her defiant stance reminded Doran that this elf wasn’t just an ambassador, she was an elven princess and a veteran of war. A man without fear, Nathaniel drew his blade and joined his wife in front of the soldiers. All the silvyr in Dhenaheim wouldn’t keep these two from laying low any dwarf who attacked them.

  “Get out of the way, ambassadors!” Adan ordered from behind his shield.

  Doran walked out to meet them. “Yer gonna want them right where they are.” The dwarf examined the state of his weapons, all too aware that they wouldn’t be enough to keep him alive.

  First Commander Dakmund, son of King Dorain of clan Heavybelly marched around the corner at the end of the tunnel. Behind him, nearly twenty dwarves beat their armour and cried out to Grarfath and Yamnomora. They were quite the sight.

  His brother had surprised him when first they met, but there was nothing of that dwarf marching towards them now. Dakmund’s face was one of bloodlust, his war cry louder than the others behind him.

  “You cannot kill your brother,” Reyna commented.

  “He doesn’ look to be givin’ me much choice,” Doran replied through gritted teeth.

  “Brace!” Captain Adan shouted behind them. “No mercy, boys! We kill ‘em all!”

  Doran shook his head. His kin didn’t even have a word for mercy.

  The marching and chanting came to a sudden stop. The dwarves were breathing heavily, every one of them pent up and eager to spill the blood of their enemies. It was a frenzy Doran had often whipped up among his ranks when he was in command.

  “This is ye last chance, Doran!” Dakmund bellowed down the tunnel. “Fight with us… or die today.”

  Captain Adan seethed as he threatened, “If you turn on us dwarf, I will gut you first.”

  That alone made Doran want to turn around and bury his axe in the man’s head. Reyna and Nathaniel met the dwarf’s gaze, their eyes full of sorrow. They knew their friend would never turn on them; they were just sorry it had come to this.

  Doran called back, “I’ll see ye in Grarfath’s hall, brother!” The son of Dorain hefted his axe and sword.

  Dakmund’s face dropped and he lost some of his rage. “So be it…”

  In the silence that followed, dread filled every beating heart as distant howls and screeches echoed through the tunnels. Doran knew that sound, though he had never heard quite so many at the same time.

  “What was that?” Captain Adan asked, his mounting horror mirrored in his soldiers.

  Nathaniel sneered and gripped his sword with both hands. “Gobbers!”

  “A whole damned pack by the sound o’ it!” Doran added.

  The howls and screeches were complemented by feral roars and beastly growls. Their monstrous cries were soon followed by their deadly claws scraping against the tunnel floors. They were getting louder.

  “Where are they coming from?” Dakmund demanded in dwarvish.

  The Heavybelly dwarves turned every which way as they tried to locate the source. Doran copied his brother and placed a hand to the stone under his feet. The mountain told them everything they needed to know.

  “They’re comin’ from everywhere!” Doran warned.

  Both dwarven and human ranks turned around to search the darkened tunnels behind them. Being in the middle of both, Doran couldn’t see a thing past their tight formations. It wasn’t long, however, before the hungry roars and foul stench of the Gobbers found their tunnel.

  “Move,” Reyna commanded the knights of Namdhor.

  The soldiers parted as she aimed along her arrow, down the tunnel. The faintest of whispers left her lips in time with the departing arrow, a spell to ignite the missile. The flaming arrow cut through the tunnel and briefly illuminated the Gobbers, who numbered so many they were crawling over each other, their lizard-like heads snapping at the air.

  War cries from the dwarven end indicated that they were similarly challenged.

  “We’ve been cornered…” Doran grumbled.

  Captain Adan pushed his way to what had become the new front line, facing the Gobbers. He had no encouraging words to bolster his men this time.

  Without provocation, the Gobbers charged, sprinting down the tunnel on all four of their scaly limbs.

  The thunderous clash of claws and steel filled the halls of Vengora. Their gnashing teeth snapped at the soldiers of Namdhor and blood shot across their formation. Beastly limbs and heads were chopped from their bodies, creating a bloody and chaotic mess.

  Reyna loosed an arrow with perfect precision, sending the bolt between the clamouring soldiers and into the eye of a Gobber. The arrow passed straight through and continued down the tunnel, slaying another six before it met the wall.

  Nathaniel and Doran braced themselves, waiting for the inevitable break in the soldiers’ ranks. Once the Gobbers poured through, the tunnel would become a dangerously tight field of battle.

  Petur Devron caught Doran’s eye as he scrambled into the workshop’s antechamber. Now he seemed to be grasping the gravity of the situation.

  Farther down the tunnel, Dakmund and his dwarves laid into the Gobbers with axe, sword, and hammer. It would be a while before the Gobbers broke through their ranks.

  The back line of the Namdhorians fell into disarray when three Gobbers leaped over the top and came crashing down on them. Claws raked at their armour and dug into their skin as the soldiers viciously stabbed at the monsters’ green hides.

  “Come ‘ere!” Doran brought his axe down with enviable strength and buried the entire blade in the Gobber’s back before it could bite off the soldier’s face.

  Dragging it off the man, Doran proceeded to thrust his sword into the beastie’s head. When it went limp, the dwarf launched it at the others breaking through.

  With the sound of his kin singing behind him, Doran was taken back to his days on the dwarven battlefields. He spat the Gobber’s blood from his mouth and roared.

  Nathaniel’s warning fell on deaf ears, the son of Dorain lost in the fray. The soldiers around him dropped under the barrage of claws and teeth, leaving the dwarf to face the monsters. Captain Adan had been forced back into the antechamber, his life saved more than once by Reyna’s aim.

  Doran barrelled into the Gobbers. His axe and sword swung freely, easily cutting
through their unprotected flesh. One particularly brave, or perhaps stupid, Gobber charged directly at Doran. The dwarf slammed his axe into the beast’s chest and pushed forward, using the creature as a shield while he stormed through their ranks.

  “Is that all ye got?” he bawled, finally throwing the Gobber off his axe and swinging with his sword.

  The tunnel floor was beginning to feel slippery under his boots, slick with blood. Still, they came, a relentless force of starving monsters. Doran’s black and gold armour kept the clamping teeth at bay, but the numerous claws eventually found his body between the joints. The son of Dorain ignored them all, focusing on the strength in his arms and the angle of his blades.

  The sound of Dakmund gleefully swinging his mighty sword proved a distraction. He had never heard his brother so happy in the middle of a slaughter.

  Taking advantage of his divided attention, the Gobbers swarmed him. Their combined weight was enough to topple the dwarf, piling him on top of Namdhorian bodies. Doran shifted his head this way and that to avoid the biting jaws filled with rows of teeth. The weight was crushing, preventing him from swinging his weapons with any efficiency.

  A slightly larger Gobber than the rest hunched over him, his scarred maw opening to fit Doran’s entire head. There was nothing he could do to stop the beastie from clamping his teeth around his face and ripping him to shreds.

  A flash of steel passed over Doran’s face and through the Gobber’s head, splitting it nicely into two halves. Nathaniel Galfrey didn’t stop there. The old knight hacked and chopped at the Gobbers, pushing them back and giving them something to think about beside Doran. A product of Graycoat training, Nathaniel danced with his sword, swinging it into arcs and patterns that gave the monsters pause. Any who crawled within reach of his sword arm found themselves missing a limb.

  “Get up Heavybelly!” he cried.

  Doran only got to his knees before the next Gobber needed the taste of his axe. The dwarf joined the old knight and the two slowly retreated towards the antechamber, where Adan and Reyna were making short work of the Gobbers who slipped past.