A March of Woe (Overthrown Book 3)

by Aaron Bunce

  “Shut up, Jandi. A woman’s got no say in all of this,” another cleric quipped. He was stalky, with mousy brown hair and a short, piggish nose.

  “Her voice caries just as much reason as yours, Ryon,” another cleric shot back, pushing the stalky young man forward.

  Ryon turned and swung at the person closest to him, but missed and staggered into the wall. The young woman pulled the girl back as the group dissolved into complete chaos. El’bryliz flinched, shoving his body back again as someone staggered and fell towards him.

  * * * *

  Gaston watched the group argue, the handle of his hammer growing damp in his palm. His amusement with their bickering was short lived.

  Death had swarmed over their city, and they were busy fighting over who to blame? The boy was injured, mutilated, but led them some place safe. Can’t they see that they are safe?

  He didn’t understand these people.

  “Yer safe! Cannot you see that?” he rumbled as the tall men in tunics started fighting, swinging their fists and gnashing the air with their teeth and making ugly faces. They made entirely too much noise.

  Nirnan waded into the group, trying to pull them apart, but they only seemed to get more frantic. Gaston looked to Tristan. The archer caught his gaze and tried to stand, but winced and slumped back to the floor. One of the clerics emerged from the throng suddenly and fell over El’bryliz. Gaston lurched forward, but stopped when he caught the glint of steel in the candlelight.

  “You’ll tell us. No, you’re going to tell us right now. Where is it? Where is the exit? You said there was a way out down here! I want to go. I need out of this place, right now!” Ryon, the stalky cleric hissed, spittle covering his lip and chin.

  “Put down that knife before you do something you regret!” Nirnan warned, inching towards the young man.

  Ryon moved forward shakily, the tip of the kitchen knife wobbling in the air right before El’bryliz’s face. “No!” he yelled, “not until he tells us where to go!”

  Gaston pushed away from the wall, the grip on his hammer tightening. He watched Asofel inch forward, eyeing the knife, but Ryon clenched his teeth and took another half step forward, laying the shaky blade against El’bryliz’s cheek. Banner stood behind the stalky young man, his face tight, but made no move to stop him.

  “You’re going to tell us. Please, just tell us!” Ryon shouted.

  Gaston moved forward. He’d seen enough needless bloodletting, and he wasn’t about to let some fool poisoned by fear harm the poor boy. Dropping his hammer back into the loop on his belt, Gaston sidestepped, his supple boots quiet against the dusty stone.

  “Ee think the boy’d tell ye if he knew,” he said softly, “remember yourself that he’s no more safer than ye are, right now.”

  “He knows! He knows! I can see it in his eyes. He just needs to…you just need to tell us!” Ryon yelled, the movement shaking the blade and drawing a thin line of blood on El’bryliz’s cheek.

  “Yer scared, ee know. We’re all scared. Putting a knife to the boy ain’t gonna change that right now. Ee think ye should put down the blade, and we can all look for a way out,” Gaston reasoned, moving forward yet again, watching the cleric’s movements.

  “Look around you,” Ryon laughed hysterically, turning his head away from El’bryliz to accentuate his point.

  Gaston waited for this moment, and didn’t hesitate. He slid forward in a large step and dropped his hand around the knife’s blade, clamping his fingers down and pulling it away from El’bryliz’s face at the same time.

  Ryon cursed and flinched, pulling away suddenly. The knife jerked free from Gaston’s grasp, the sharp blade cutting cleanly through the meat of his palm and fingers.

  “Gah,” he cursed, white-hot pain igniting in his hand as he stumbled back, his feet tangling beneath him. Gaston turned and caught the wall with both hands, his momentum almost carrying him face first into the stone.

  The tussle resumed behind him. He heard El’bryliz curse, then a loud thud as someone smacked against the ground. Gaston pushed off from the wall, his left hand sliding across the porous stone, a large smear of dark blood appearing in the candlelight. He took a breath to speak, but the stone started to sparkle, as if dotted with innumerable twinkling stars. A soft noise rang in his ears – one like the distant ring of hammers striking anvils.

  “Gunta, seeing things…” Gaston grunted, his head abruptly swimming and his vision going fuzzy.

  The ringing in his ears grew louder, until it sounded as if he were standing before the Forge God’s anvil, every hammer strike sending lightning arcing into the sky around him.

  Gaston was falling forward in the next moment, tumbling into the stone itself. He flinched but felt no pain, only the warm embrace of natural, living rock. The stone came alive, flowing around him until he was standing before a long rock wall, stretching into the distance beyond the limits of his sight.

  A symbol glowed directly ahead, the shape appearing in the stone as if by an invisible hammer and chisel. Gaston stepped forward, every fiber of his being pulling him towards the glyph. He lifted a bloodstained hand tentatively, but before he could stop himself, he touched the glowing stone. The light burned brighter, but when he pulled away it was no longer radiating from the wall, but the cut in his palm.

  The light moved up his arm, burning bright red in every blood vessel and artery. It was in his chest, moving up into his neck, and then it washed everything else away.

  * * * *

  El’bryliz watched Nirnan’s sizeable fist crack into the cleric’s face, sending the young man toppling in a heap on the ground. The knife clattered to the stone between his feet, the blade still stained with Gaston’s blood.

  He turned as the half-blood pushed off from the wall, turned, grunted something in his thick accent, and fell face first towards the ground. El’bryliz lurched forward, but couldn’t keep the short man from falling, his head snapping back as it bounced off the ground.

  “You killed him!” El’bryliz yelled, turning Gaston over and cradling his large head in his lap.

  “He grabbed the knife, why would someone grab a knife by the blade?” Banner asked.

  “Because he would rather see it cut his hand than El’s throat. If you idiots had kept your heads this wouldn’t have happened,” Tristan scolded his friend.

  “But it was just his hand. He collapsed as if someone ran him through. Is he…” Banner asked, moving forward.

  “You’re healers! One of you, heal him!” El’bryliz yelled, his mangled hand balling up into a fist. If Ryon weren’t already on the ground, he would pummel him. He didn’t care how much it hurt.

  None of the clerics moved, except the young woman, who shuffled forward, the girl still wrapped protectively in her arms. She knelt down next to Gaston, the girl copying her movements.

  “He is alive,” she said, quietly, cupping a hand over Gaston’s mouth and then inspected a lump forming on his head. “I’ll do what I can,” she whispered to El’bryliz, and cupped both hands over the lump.

  The young woman’s prayer was quiet, barely a whisper, but carried enough strength to make El’bryliz’s scalp tickle and hair stand on end. After a few moments she ended and pulled her hands away. The lump was gone, a small dent above his right eye the only indication that Gaston had struck the ground at all. Yet, he did not open his eyes.

  The young woman moved off with the girl, but El’bryliz refused to leave Gaston’s side. Time ticked by, the candles burning out one by one. Finally, when only two remained, Nirnan dragged Banner and a number of the clerics out into the hall. When they returned, they unloaded a shirt full of waxy stubs. They picked through them, one by one, lighting those long enough to burn and throwing the rest against the far wall.

  Nirnan and Banner argued quietly after that. The big man wanted to take a candle to scout the passages, while Banner was in favor of corralling everyone together and trying to sneak back into the library. El’bryliz listened halfheartedly, maint
aining most of his focus on Gaston. The short man had likely saved his life. Part of him argued that Ryon wouldn’t have hurt him – that he was a gentle person, dedicated to helping others. But his recent time spent at Father Pallum’s mercy had changed him – made him view people very differently.

  Tanea risked her life, returning to the Chapterhouse to help him. Gaston had done the same, in his own, small way. There were two people El’bryliz now trusted in his life. He could only hope that the former was still alive, and the latter woke up again.

  A boom sounded beyond the door, the crash resonating through the stone beneath him. A trickle of dust broke free from overhead.

  “Was that from the library?” Banner asked, standing.

  El’bryliz turned to the two men just as Gaston gasped, taking in a loud breath and sitting bolt upright. He fell back against the wall, painfully smacking his hand as the half-blood leapt to his feet, his eyes like wide saucers.

  “The blood…the stone, talking. So many memories. Me head fit ta’ burst!” Gaston blurted, turning in a wide circle, his hands cradling his head.

  “You’re okay!” El’bryliz cried out in relief as he stood, but Gaston didn’t seem to hear or see him.

  “So much. Ee feel, ee smell it all,” the short smith growled, bending low and shaking his head viscously.

  “Get back, he’s gone mad!” one of the clerics yelled, pushing those closest to him away.

  Nirnan hooked the young woman in a large arm and pulled her and the child back as Gaston staggered in their direction, his twisted, garbled speech unintelligible gibberish.

  El’bryliz felt another tremor through his feet. What was happening?

  “The stone cries! Its song is soft but old,” Gaston yelled.

  “Move them out of here, now!” Banner said, skirting the smith and pulling Tristan off the ground. The door screeched as the archer heaved on it, using his body to leverage it open.

  “Wait. He’s not dangerous!” El’bryliz said, searching each passing face, but they all shook their heads or looked away. Gaston moaned and mumbled something in a language beyond either common tongue or Ishmandi.

  He helped me, I will help him, El’bryliz thought, and limped right up to the smith. When Gaston turned, El’bryliz reached out and grabbed for the smith’s hands, but the stout man turned away again.

  “Gaston! I’m here,” he said, quietly.

  The smith turned as if tracking his voice. “Ee hear ya. But ee can’t see ya,” he whispered, wincing and turning his head. “There’s too much. All stone. All memories. Ee remember so much all at once. I hear the stone’s song.”

  “Gaston, I’m right here. Listen to my voice. Focus on my voice and only my voice. We’re in a chamber under the chapterhouse. It is dark. It is quiet,” he said, just as the floor rumbled once again.

  Gaston rambled again and started to turn away, but El’bryliz reached out and grasped both of his hands. He squeezed the smith’s hands, “Listen to my voice! I am your friend. I am right in front of you. Block it all out. Do you feel me squeezing your hands? Focus on that,” he said, squeezing the man’s massive, thick hands as hard as he could. Something popped in El’bryliz’s mangled hand but he didn’t stop squeezing.

  Finally, the pain became too much to bear, and he released his grip. El’bryliz staggered to a knee, gagging, the pain very nearly making him sick. Strong hands clamped under his arms and he was lifted upright.

  “Ee see ya! Ee feel ya!’ Gaston said, his gaze focused. “Where are ta others?”

  “They left,” El’bryliz offered weakly, not wanting to tell the young smith that he had scared them away.

  “Ee know now. Ee know a way out! The stone’s song. Dwarf song, ee hear it. All around us. These tunnels are dwarf made.”

  El’bryliz felt his spike of excitement fall. Gaston was rambling again, talking in riddles made up of gibberish. He slumped to the floor and glanced back towards the door. Someone was standing in the dark doorway, watching them.

  Gaston continued to ramble on, moving straight towards the closest wall. He whispered, as if talking to the stone and then leaned in close, listening. He moved down the wall after a moment.

  “Ee knew it once ye squeezed me hands. Ee felt them settle into place. The memories, too much all at once,” the smith said, considering El’bryliz before turning back to the stone.

  “Best we leave him to it,” Nirnan said, stepping up behind El’bryliz quietly, and pulling him to his feet. El’bryliz didn’t fight. He didn’t have any reason to.

  “Ah, the song is louder here. Ee hear it,” Gaston said, crumbling a bookshelf beneath his boot and leaning in to the wall.

  The smith listened for a moment, and then started talking to the stone again. No, he wasn’t talking. It sounded like he was singing. Singing, El’bryliz thought, and then something Gaston said rung like a bell in his mind. He’d said “memories”.

  “Run, boy. It’s a cave-in!” Nirnan yelled, muscling him back.

  Stone cracked, shifting loudly, punctuating the strange notes of Gaston’s dwarvish song. Nirnan pulled El’bryliz back, but he struggled. It wasn’t a cave in.

  “Stop. No! It isn’t a cave-in. The stone. It is responding to him,” he said quickly, trying to squirm out of Nirnan’s grasp, but the big man was so incredibly strong.

  “He’s out of his mind, son. Best if we’re away before he turns on us,” Nirnan argued, and heaved him back towards the door.

  “He said ‘memories’,” El’bryliz argued, “don’t you see? The dwarves can pass knowledge on down their lineage. They call them ‘blood memories’. The cut on his hand…may have…unlocked knowledge and…abilities!”

  “Never heard of such a thing,” Nirnan grumbled and slid him back and through the door.

  El’bryliz watched as the wall before Gaston changed, dust, dirt, and the paint of the ancient mural chipping and pluming into the air. But he wasn’t moving anymore. Nirnan’s arm was still wrapped around him, but he wasn’t pulling.

  Squirming, El’bryliz wrestled free of the large man’s grasp and dashed forward. Gaston turned to him, a wide smile cracked beneath his bushy beard.

  “Ee heard it! The door, t’was here all along, calling out to dwarf ears, begging ta’ be opened!” the half-blood smith said, beaming.

  Stone jutted out suddenly, a wide, square doorway appearing in the formerly flat rock. Curving ivy and other decorative reliefs pushed out from the stone, the rough, porous surface changing before their eyes.

  “I don’t believe…” Nirnan muttered, stepping up behind him.

  MINDAS UNDA appeared above the door, just as the stone split, swinging open in two thick slab doors. The two doors ground to a sudden and violent stop, the gap between them a sliver of darkness. Dust and rock rained down as Gaston dashed forward, his hands crawling over the stone. The smith wedged his body into the gap, but couldn’t fit more than an arm and leg through.

  “It’s a door!” someone whispered behind him.

  “He was right,” another voice added.

  El’bryliz turned to find the rest of the group huddled in the darkness beyond the door. They slowly crept forward, until the entire group stood behind Nirnan.

  “Why won’t it open all the way?” El’bryliz asked, stepping up behind Gaston.

  The smith turned, his mouth pulled tightly into a frown. He leaned in and listened to the stone for a moment, and abruptly turned back to El’bryliz.

  “Jammed up,” he grunted.

  “So we help it along,” Nirnan responded, coming forward and throwing his weight into the doors. His broad shoulders flexed as he growled, but the slabs refused to move.

  “Ee feel it. There be a lever just beyond, ta help ‘em along. But ee be too big to squeeze through,” Gaston said as Nirnan slumped in defeat.

  “So we send someone through…to open it the rest of the way,” Ryon offered, coming forward and wedging his body into the gap between doors. He was thinner than Gaston, but still too large to fit t
hrough. One by one the group came forward and tried to push through the gap, until it was only El’bryliz and the young woman tending to the girl left.

  “Send the girl. Ryon said,” but the young woman held her protectively.

  “We don’t know what’s through there,” Banner said, pointing to the darkness. “And you want to send a child?”

  “If she’s the only one that will fit, then yes!” Ryon argued, and turned to the girl. “You can be brave. Right, little one. Just a moment in the darkness and you can save us all.”

  The group fell into turmoil again, half the group circling the young woman, trying to encourage the child to slip through the door, while the others tried to push them away in protest.

  El’bryliz sized up the gap between doors with his hands, and held it to his chest and then his waist. It would be tight, but he was the smallest by far, and had spent a great deal of his life squeezing into tight places.

  He scooped a candle off the ground and limped forward, passing the candle through the gap in his right hand first and then his right leg, turning and blowing out as much breath as possible. The stone crowded in around him as he wriggled. He closed his eyes, fighting off the panic, and slowing squirmed through. Several moments passed where he thought that he had become stuck, but a turn or twist in the right direction and he was able to finally scrape through and into the darkness.

  The space beyond the door felt large, the meager candle flame unable to fully pierce the darkness. The air was cool and stuffy, goosebumps peppering his skin almost instantly. He turned to his right, and then his left, searching the walls for any sign of a lever.

  El’bryliz almost tripped over a knee-high bench as he moved left. Just beyond the bench, a slightly curved, metal contraption jutted out from the wall.

  “I found it!” he whisper-shouted back towards the door, keenly aware of how his voice carried and echoed within the space. He moved the candle to his mangled hand and grabbed ahold of the lever, preparing to pull it down when his gaze caught on something in the dark.

  Not three paces ahead of him, another of the knee-high benches sat against the wall. Only, it wasn’t a bench at all. The lid, covered so thickly in dust that it appeared as stone, was askew, and fell to the ground, breaking into several large pieces when he nudged it with a foot.