Forsaken

by Cebelius

  Abram turned away and started walking. He'd almost reached the juncture when Angie put a hand on his shoulder and said, "I will go first. You are not replaceable. My proxy is."

  He nodded, and stepped aside. She took the lead and they continued to explore until they reached the stairwell up to the next floor. The hallway was still completely clogged with statuary, but to Abram's surprise, the stone block that had been hauled over the top of the stairs was gone.

  Glaringly obvious invitation much?

  As though to punctuate his thought, Angie said, "I could clear these statues away, but it would take time and I very much doubt there is anything alive beyond them."

  For a moment, Abram thought about being stubborn, but given the maps he already had, he didn't think there would be that much to see back there even if they did clear away the mess.

  "Yeah, let's just go up."

  He put a foot on the bottom stair only to feel her hand on his shoulder. He rolled his eyes and said, "Right ... right, you first."

  She turned him to face her and looked earnestly into his eyes. "Again, this is not a game, Abram. If you die, I am once again trapped. My limits are fundamentally increased, but they are still limits. I will not be free."

  He took a breath and nodded as he let the air out again. He knew he was supposed to empathize with Angrboda — and he did — but the fact that this game could jerk his emotions around the way it did made every emotion suspect.

  He lifted a hand in a be-my-guest gesture, and with a last wary look at him, Angie mounted the stair, angling her shield over her shoulder to cover behind her as she advanced.

  Once her head was exposed from the front, she peeked around her shield, then took a slightly longer look before she said, "Clear. Come up after me."

  The heavy stone block that had earlier barred the way was still present, though it had been moved to one side, as was something that caught and held Abram's attention: a crude travois.

  Made with what looked like pieces of a door frame and a mess of hemp rope, it was sizable and blood-spattered. Heavy drag marks had been carved through the now drying gore that clung to the floor here, pointing the way deeper into the dungeon.

  "What do you make of this?" Angie asked as she waved a hand at the travois, obviously ignoring the heavily armored and very dead hobgoblins littering the area.

  Abram squatted and took a closer look. His first thought was that this had been used to haul treasure. As he looked at the travois though, he saw blood not just on the rails and near the floor, but at a few points among the ropes.

  "I think someone was injured, and hauled this far before he was able to get up." He thought for a long moment, then added, "I also think this means that whoever came through here didn't complete the dungeon."

  "Why would you say that?" she asked, glancing from the travois back to him.

  "Because if they had, they either wouldn't have come back this way, or they'd still be here," he said, glancing around. "If they finished the dungeon they'd never have used a travois to haul a person, they'd have used it to haul loot. They'd have waited to rest and recover where the treasure is. Instead, they came right back out, following exactly the same route they used to come in. I think something laid a beat-down on them and forced them to retreat."

  "Nothing I have seen so far suggests to me that anything in Svartheim could 'lay a beatdown' on the group that did this," Angie said wryly.

  "Yeah but ... the only other thing I can think of is that they were coming in after someone, and ..."

  Abram trailed off and his brow furrowed. "Holy shit. Angie, do you think they abandoned me because they came here to save someone else?"

  "Unfortunately, I have not maintained close contact with the denizens of Svartheim in many years. Their doings are largely unknown to me. Clearly, they kept prisoners."

  Abram shook his head, trying to remember. "The gorgon said something like, she didn't want me distracting them, but that her master wouldn't want me left. I think maybe he was the one they were here for."

  "I suppose that what you suggest is possible," Angie said slowly, though it sounded as if she doubted it. "It would stand to reason that they would have come back for you. Particularly if whoever their master is wouldn't have wanted you abandoned."

  "Except I didn't stay in place ..."

  Abram sat down on the cap stone that had been used to block the stairs and put his head in his hands, trying to think through the possibilities. Had he screwed up? How could he have, when he was clearly supposed to have found Angrboda?

  "Perhaps the gorgon never revealed your presence," Angie said. "Besides, if they had found you, they'd have taken you out of the dungeon."

  She didn't say why that would be a bad thing, and didn't have to. Abram's lips twisted. "So the very best interpretation of this is that the gorgon didn't tell anyone about me. Either she or they totally abandoned me in a goblin-infested hell. The fact that I'm agoraphobic could not possibly have been something they knew, or give a shit about if they did."

  He stood, grimacing with impatient anger. "Fuck it. It doesn't matter. What does matter is that they either found who they were looking for, or something ahead of us beat them and they had to retreat."

  "The first option seems far more likely, given the evidence," Angie said.

  Yeah, but in games the more dramatic option, however unlikely, is usually correct.

  Abram didn't say that though. She probably already thought he was more than a little unhinged. He checked his mana, which was back up to 81/90, and said, "From here we need to be careful, but nothing else changes."

  "We aren't going to just follow the track?"

  "Of course not. The bodies we've been stepping over since we got in here was just as obvious a trail. We stick to the plan, map the place out, and when we get to wherever these guys got their shit packed in, we'll hopefully have some better idea of what we're dealing with."

  Abram put his hands on his hips as he glanced around in exasperation. "Unfortunately, hobgoblins aren't much for taking notes either. No coinage, no journals, no letters ... maaan, fuck this place."

  He turned when he heard Angie chuckling. She had her lips pursed to keep from laughing out loud as she asked, "'Got their shit packed in'?"

  "Yeah? You know, from the boot someone shoved up their collective ass?"

  A fresh wave of suppressed laughter struck her and she bent over and cupped her knee with her shield hand as she giggled.

  "'Shit packed in,' 'rip and tear,' you're full of entertaining turns of phrase," she said as she straightened, smiling at him.

  "Yeah well, all I can say is that there's a pithy phrase for everything back where I come from," Abram said, finding himself grinning as he looked at her.

  "I love your smile," he said, reaching up to touch his own cheek as he said, "You've got this dimple right here that's just absurdly cute."

  Her smile broadened into an open grin for a moment, then faded as she said, "Aw, that's sweet. Focus, Abram. The dead all around us notwithstanding, we are almost certainly not alone here."

  He nodded and they continued their exploration. That floor, and the next, were completely abandoned, but the one above that showed a remarkable shift in decor.

  Everywhere he looked, what would have been smooth stone on the lower floors was here decorated with artwork that varied from the simple to the intricate. Everything from mountain valley vistas to still-life images of flowers or fruit, all lovingly shaped into the stone. Not carved ... shaped. As though the stone had been molded like clay.

  "Ah, finally we see some evidence of the bergsrå," Angie said as she smiled at the artwork. "These corridors are from before the goblins."

  "I wouldn't have thought mountain trolls would be much into art," Abram said as he glanced around.

  "Oh yes. Very much so." Angie smiled. "They are also great storytellers."

  "Why'd you cut ties with them?" he asked as, noting the direction the corpses seemed to be going, he turned away, int
ent on mapping that portion of the floor the other party hadn't explored.

  "I fell asleep," she said ruefully, quick-stepping to get ahead of him again. "I sometimes sleep as the ancients do. Generations may pass. This time, when I woke, the goblins were in command of Svartheim. I presumed since such filthy creatures and the bergsrå are not friendly, that the latter had been driven out."

  "Well, if you're imprisoned until Ragnarok, but you can sleep like that, why not just sleep until Ragnarok?" Abram asked.

  Angie turned her head back far enough to look at him out of one eye as she said, "While my destiny is not foretold on that day, those of many of my existing offspring are. Would you want to wake up on the day your children are to be slain, knowing their fates are sealed?"

  "Damn," Abram said, genuinely ashamed of himself. "I'm sorry, Angie. I didn't mean it like that."

  "I know. Suffice it to say, I will stay awake for as long as I can, knowing that my children are alive. Fenrir is beyond my help, but Jörmungandr and Hel are well, and I have many other children. I prefer to live knowing they are alive and, perhaps, some of them are even happy."

  "I'm sorry," Abram said as he struggled to come up with something, anything, to dig himself out of the hole he found himself in. "Do any of them visit you?"

  "A few. One in particular does come back to see me fairly regularly," Angie said as she turned her attention forward again, and he could hear the fondness in her voice. "You may meet her at some point. She is one of the daughters I bore here on Celestine."

  The rooms on this floor turned out to be something of a disappointment, despite the more ornate corridors. It was quickly clear that these were the private chambers of hobgoblins who had some rank within their hierarchy.

  Apparently, though, most of those hobgoblins were dead. It was obvious by the fact that the corridors were empty, and the principle features within each room — namely armor and weapon racks — were stripped of most gear. What was left were typically weapons, all too heavy for Abram to even consider carrying, much less use himself.

  Even here there were no notes, no journals, no books of any kind.

  "Fucking hell, doesn't anyone on this world read?" Abram asked as they went through yet another empty room.

  Angie just shrugged at him and didn't bother to reply.

  They had reached the end of one corridor and were about to turn around when Abram stopped.

  Something was tickling at the back of his mind, something wrong with the space around him.

  He turned a slow circle as he said, "Hold up."

  "What is it?" she asked as she glanced back, then turned to face him.

  "I'm not sure, but something ..."

  He trailed off, looking around in frustration. There was something off about the space. He just needed to figure out what it was.

  There was an archway to his left that led into yet another empty bedroom, the wall across from it with a beautifully depicted female surrounded and seemingly clad only in long, flowing hair, and a blank stone wall that was the end of the corridor.

  The ceiling looked no different than it had anywhere else, and, of course, there were no light sources, so what was nagging at him?

  He turned another slow circle, and was staring in frustration at the end of the corridor when it hit him.

  "I got it!" he said, pointing at the wall. "This wall's not right."

  "What is wrong about it?" Angie asked as she stepped up next to him and peered at the wall he was pointing at. "It looks just like any other stone wall to me."

  "Sure it does, except on this floor, every single other section of wall has art. This is blank."

  Abram glanced back into the room he'd just gone through, then stepped back inside and found a heavy mace on the depleted but not completely empty weapons rack.

  He picked it up and found that it was about as wieldy as a fifty pound sledge, which was to say he could probably swing it, but only after setting his feet and winding up. Even after increasing his strength, he was still weak.

  Angie was at the entrance, watching curiously as he carried the thing with its head swinging near his knees back out into the hallway. He went up to the wall with the woman on it and gently swung the mace like a pendulum. It cracked against the stone with a muted thump.

  Then he moved to the blank stone face and did it again. The sound was notably different.

  "Uh huh! Hollow. Angie, would you kindly use this thing and smash that wall down?"

  "Are we certain that's wise?" she asked as she set her battle ax aside and took the mace from him, lifting it easily in one hand.

  "No, but someone went through the trouble of hiding something here, and I want to know what it is. I presume they were in a rush too, or they'd have done a better job. If whatever's back there isn't friendly, I'll drop a rune and ... well, you know."

  Angie winced, but raised the mace and struck the blank stone with an easy swing.

  The wall cracked. Another swing sent chunks of rock flying into a blank space beyond what was now obviously a facade, and a few more strokes opened a jagged hole roughly two feet in diameter.

  Angie peered inside, then swore softly and said, "It's okay, little one! We aren't here to hurt you!"

  "What, what is it?" Abram asked, impatient at the fact that Angie had deliberately positioned herself to block access for him. He knew she was only doing it to protect him, but now that what was on the other side obviously wasn't a danger, he wanted to know what it was.

  "Would you take this wall down?" Angie asked, ignoring him for the moment. "You have my word no harm will come to you."

  Okay, what the fuck.

  Abram didn't like being ignored, but he swallowed his irritation and decided to treat this like a cut scene. He took a few steps back, folded his arms, and waited to see what would happen.

  A few moments later, the wall Angie had knocked a hole through began to sag as though it were mud, then sloughed away, sinking into the stone floor and leaving faint ripples behind.

  The creature thus revealed made Abram's eyes widen in surprise.

  She was huddled in a corner. The fake wall had only been a few feet in front of the real one, which had a very realistic-looking screaming face on it.

  The girl took up most of his attention though. She was willowy, dressed in a ragged, undyed tunic — unless one counted the variety of stains — bound at her waist by a rough hemp rope. Something about the pallor of her skin left him with the impression that she was an albino, at least until he saw her eyes. She had black sclera and blue irises. He could actually tell their color because they were lit from within. Her white hair hung in lank strands around a face that was thin to the point of emaciation.

  She also looked utterly terrified.

  "Who are you?" she asked, her voice high and thready, not girlish so much as a further demonstration of her malnourishment.

  She practically screams 'save me,' Abram thought. What he said instead was, "So this is a bergsrå?"

  The creature's black-blue eyes shifted to him as Angie nodded and said, "Yes, though she seems hard-used."

  "Wow, that looks ... nothing like what I expected a mountain troll to look like," he commented.

  Angie cast him an exasperated look, then knelt, setting aside the mace to reach out with one hand toward the strange girl as she said, "It's okay. We won't harm you. Why are you hiding?"

  "The Mor is hunting me," the girl said with another apprehensive glance toward Abram. "I hid here hoping the adventurers would finish her, but all they did was kill the Halfrekkr and leave. Now I don't know what to do."

  By the end she was half moaning in fear. "She'll hunt me down!"

  "Who is 'the Mor'? Abram asked.

  "She is the mother of the hobgoblins here. She leads them."

  Angie glanced back at Abram in time to see him bare his teeth. He looked down at the bergsrå, who cowered at his expression as he said, "You don't need to worry about her. That bitch belongs to me."

  "Who are you?
" she asked, squinting at him a moment as though searching for something in his expression.

  Then her eyes widened and she whispered, "The template. By the Powers ... you're alive!"

  Abram heard hope in her voice and immediately snapped, "If you're thinking of turning me over-"

  "No! No no no! I would never!" she cried, thrusting herself forward to fall to her knees before him.

  "Please believe me! Please! She's using me! She held my whole family hostage, but now she's killed everyone but my brother! I'm just like you!"

  Anger flared at her claim, but Abram stifled it as he said, "I doubt that. As for the rest, fine. Angrboda's told me a little about your people, and I'm prepared to believe you were compelled to help the hobgoblins. Tell me everything you know about their current disposition and numbers."

  The bersgrå blinked at him, then got a distant look in her eyes for a long moment. When they refocused, she said, "The Mor and her remaining forces are all gathered on the topmost floor. A watch has been posted by the stair, and they seem to be aware that you are coming."

  She swallowed, then added, "My brother is with them."

  "With them as in present there, or with them?" Abram asked.

  "I ... I think he will fight for them," she said. "He's always resented the fact that ownership of the mountain was given to me."

  "'Ownership’? Abram asked as he glanced from the bergsrå to Angie, who said, "The bergsrå have a hierarchy, and the ability to drastically shape the mountain typically belongs to only one of them at a time."

  "Why was it given to you instead of your brother?" Abram asked, though he suspected he knew the answer.

  She confirmed it when she hung her head and said, "I think it was because the Mor believed I would be easier to control."

  "Was she right?" he asked, with more than a little bite in his tone. This creature had known of him, and done nothing.

  She cringed at his words, and Angie said, "Careful, Abram. This girl is not the proper target for your ire."

  Restraining himself, he asked, "The others who came through here. The ones who freed me and killed most of the hobgoblins. Why did they come?"