Forsaken

by Cebelius

  The elder was beckoning them forward, and Abram said in a voice too low for the dwarves to hear, "Well? What do you think?"

  Sif said, "It kind of looks like they knew we were coming ... and this is their offer?"

  "It does look that way," Angie agreed. "We won't know for sure unless we go talk to them though. Shall we?"

  "This doesn't seem weird to you?" Abram asked. "I mean, who could possibly have told them about us, and even if someone had, why would they be so ready to give us what we need?"

  "This isn't what we need," Sif said. "There are at least a hundred hobs left in Svartheim. Ten dwarves won't be enough."

  "They might be," Angie said, "if they're the right dwarves."

  Angie started walking, and with no better ideas Abram followed, with Sif close behind him.

  She stopped when they were ten feet from the dwarven line, which parted to let the elder in beautiful robes pass. Her hair looked like spun silver, though her face was unlined. She had a stern cast to her features and as she approached it was hard for Abram to recognize that she couldn't be more than four-and-a-half-feet tall. Her stature simply wasn't physical, and the idea that she was short barely scraped across his mind.

  "It seems that you've anticipated us," Sif said, stepping past him and resuming her role as the leader of their little group.

  "I have," the elder dwarven woman said with a simple shrug. "How is mine to know, but I have these assembled, and they have agreed to help you not only liberate Svartheim, but to stay and rebuild it. In return for your success, you will provide half of what wealth the dungeon currently possesses to the survivors here in Sidastrgeil. Should you fail ... or fall, these I send along will complete the raid on their own for whatever wealth they can acquire, by whatever means they can acquire it. That is the deal I offer. Refuse, and you will have no help at all from Sidastrgeil, or any dwarf ... anywhere."

  The elder's eyes were locked on Sif as she asked, "Do you agree to these terms?"

  Sif looked past the elder to those she had assembled and said, "More importantly, do they?"

  The dwarves all straightened slightly, and spoke in unison. As they did so, the same shimmering that Abram remembered seeing from the three survivors they'd picked up from the Broodmother's campaign came again.

  "We pledge our lives, our honor, and our sacred fortunes: the offer made is good."

  Sif held out her hand, but the elder glanced back toward the dwarf in the silver and blue armor as she said, "Brenna. You will lead our forces in this matter. It is yours to seal the deal."

  Brenna seemed surprised, but gamely stepped forward and took Sif's hand. When she did so, the shimmering vanished.

  I need to ask about that, Abram silently mused. It must be some sort of uniquely dwarven trait. Some kind of geas related to their oath maybe?

  'The special effects do make it rather hard to doubt their word at the least,' Hantu said. 'Angrboda would probably know something about it. Dwarves are not within my normal sphere, so I can't say personally.'

  "This letter of mark should be given to the troglodytes at the pier," the elder was saying to Sif. "It will get you back across the Sea. They'll be happy to have the custom I expect, seeing as how we'll be paying them full price to transport a fraction of a full compliment. Still, the profit we'll make from a successful venture here will make it all worthwhile. If you hurry, you should be able to make it before the barge sets out again. I'm impressed that you managed to convince them to bring you here. Their schedule ordinarily puts them on the other side of the Sea this time of year. If you don't hurry, they may disembark, forcing you to take one of the coastal routes."

  As Sif turned and immediately headed back the way they'd come, Abram glanced over at Angie and murmured, "I guess shopping is out of the question."

  She nodded, shrugged, and half-turned to watch as the dwarves fell out of their formation and followed the bergsrå. Abram did likewise, then glanced back toward the elder. She had folded her hands into her robes and was watching them patiently. The two guards that remained with her were as still as statues, but that might be because the armor they were wearing was so damn heavy it was just easier not to move. Abram couldn't even conceive of the strength and endurance it must take to not only wear that shit, but march and fight in it.

  Angie set a hand on his shoulder, and as they walked away she said, "I'm relieved, quite honestly. They must have a diviner. Knowing what we intended, they accepted our terms without having us go through the trouble of actually making our case."

  He blinked, then tilted his head as he thought about that. In truth, he hadn't even taken it that far. He'd simply presumed lazy writing, or that they were being punished for failing to deliver the dwarves from the side quest.

  He glanced back, but they were already out of visual range and for some reason, the torches that had been lit at the gates for their arrival were out.

  "Take off your helmets," the elder said as she tilted her head to glance at the guards. "I want to see your faces."

  The two dwarven guards glanced at each other, then did as they were told. Having the Mistress come to the front gates was unheard of in the first place, so what was one more unusual detail in an already remarkably unusual day?

  Once their heads were exposed, she killed them with practiced ease. One dart each, negligently tossed. The bodies of the slain settled, and the armor was constructed such that since they died standing, they stayed that way. She swept the helm of each from the air as it fell from nerveless fingers, and set them artfully at the feet of each corpse. It wouldn't do for the clatter to alert those she had worked so hard to send on their way.

  She then retrieved her darts from the eye sockets they were lodged in, and waved a hand in a quick magical gesture that stole the air from the torches, extinguishing them.

  Then she waited patiently for her prey and his company to truly get out of range. She could sense Abram, had his scent, and knew when he was over a mile distant.

  Her patience thus rewarded, she waved a hand toward the double doors. They opened just enough to admit her before closing again. Another casual gesture sealed them. There were six entrances to Sidastrgeil, but with this one sealed the trap was sprung, and it would now be a simple matter to finish her preparations.

  She summoned her xun, placed it gently at her lips, and began to play as she wandered the halls of Sidastrgeil. The xun was an ancient instrument, little more than a peculiarly crafted bone with five holes she could use to shape the melody. She had entertained King Zhou himself with this very xun, and as her fingers danced across the holes in the ornately carved instrument, the melody she played flooded the halls of the dwarven outpost. Through its music she cast her summons, and languidly strode each hallway. Despite her disguise, her beauty was undeniable, her music irresistible, and she did not need to look back to know that she was followed.

  The campaign to attack the Broodmother had drained the outpost of most of its soldiery, and as a military post there were few others who remained. The most competent of these she had sent with the template and his women. The rest were now a liability. She therefore led them, one and all, to the great hall that took up the top floor of the outpost. She played for them the sweetest melody, entrancing them as she worked her will into the soft sound.

  Dwarves were ordinarily very resistant to magic, and a normal enchantment would never have worked against even the poorest dwarf, but she was no normal enchantress, and her magic was not of the mortal kind. Once inside the hall she ascended the dais, passing the discarded skin of Lygi, and moved to stand next to the throne, turning finally to behold her audience.

  They watched her, every face raised to bask in the glow of her surpassing beauty, their eyes almost but not quite closed to savor the sweet sound of her xun, heads floating to and fro with every slow shift in her melody. Not one shouted in dismay at the sight of the skinless corpse still seated upon the throne. Not one showed alarm at the spreading pool of blood that still dripped down the ste
ps of the dais, or the empty flesh of a skinned dwarven woman at its foot. Her performance was so masterful that brutal murder and obscenity were completely beneath their notice.

  Their curiosity in hearing the music had begun the spell. Their willingness to follow the sound in order to hear more had deepened its hold. Her radiant beauty — even through the flesh of her disguise — completed it, and now they one and all listened patiently, giving more and more of themselves to her performance. Within each was a wish, an ardent desire that the music continue, that they might continue to watch, to listen, to bask in the glow. She fostered that desire. As she made brief eye contact with each, she asked them with her eyes, with her music, if they would spend the rest of their lives with her.

  The first to agree was little more than a child. Weak of will and uncertain of his purpose, he committed his life to her with the fondest wish of his heart, and she took that life without hesitation. A living youth in one moment died an ancient old man in the next, spending everything he was within the heart of her seductive melody.

  One by one, she killed them. As each dwarf died her xun's notes became more soulful, more beautiful, its siren call that much harder to resist. As they died, their skin cracked and flaked, their bones broke and crumbled, but such was the power of her song that they traded their own beauty for hers willingly, and in the end, Daji stood alone once more.

  She lowered her xun and smiled softly as she looked at the sea of ashes and fragmentary remains still settling across the floor. She tossed the instrument up into the air and it vanished in a blaze of radiant light as the fox demon slid from the now useless flesh of her disguise and began to dance, spinning and whirling through the ashes of the slain as the dust of corpses arose behind her.

  Even in death they followed her, and as she spun and twirled she directed the ashes and even the blood of the unwillingly slain elder, soaking it up with the grit of sacrifice and using the infernal ink thus fashioned to forge her curse on the stone wall behind the throne. Her ink scoured the wall, utterly destroyed the geometric designs once graven there, smoothing the surface so that her work would stand alone. She was meticulous in her calligraphy, wasting not a drop of the blood and ash in the creation of her elegant horror. It was both macabre masterpiece and unmistakable invitation. She wove enchantments into her work: defenses against scrying, subtle traps for the unwary mind, deadly distractions, poisonous thoughts, and all manner of pleasing torments.

  Finally she ended her dance, and her eyes traced the word. Just as she, the word was superlative, beautiful, and deadly. She knew it would most likely beguile the first who found it. They would probably die without delivering its message. That was acceptable. Daji knew where one came, others would follow.

  Eventually, someone with a strong will or sufficient magical defenses would see her invitation and when they did, her plans would advance.

  Ordinarily Daji would have stayed to see the suffering her work would cause, but in this case she had a boat to catch and time was pressing ... though not so pressing that she could not make jiangshi of the guard corpses outside. The idea of them trying to hop around in all that armor was amusing. She offered mocking obeisance to the skinless, now bone-dry corpse seated on the throne before turning away in a swirl of tails. Without another thought she left what could now only properly be called the Tomb of Sidastrgeil.

  Even after she had gone, the word she left behind glowed with a subtle, hellish radiance:

  Svartheim

  23

  It's Off To Work We Go

  By the time they reached the barge, Abram was all but dead on his feet. Sif wasn't much better off, and even Angie seemed to be nodding.

  Much as he'd wanted to stop, there simply had been no way to do so. With so many dwarves now included in their party they had to reach the barge — and the privacy of the rooms they'd be afforded therein — before rest was a real option, at least for him. After what happened with Lygi he couldn't afford even the chance he might be recognized for what he was. The support of this crew was too important, and their defection or betrayal too likely, should they find him out.

  It was a small bit of fortune that when they reached the dockside town, the barge was still there. Even better, the trog they eventually met to arrange passage was not the one they called 'Bammy.' That particular worthy had gone missing shortly after the three of them had disembarked. The timing of his disappearance was such that the trogs were certain they hadn't been involved and it was rapidly apparent that while he was missing, he wasn't particularly missed.

  The room they were shown to this time was considerably less opulent. It was four wooden bunks, a porthole, and a door with no lock. The dwarves were initially divided up on either side of and across from them, but Abram insisted they be given a room further down, such that they were isolated from the others by empty rooms. Since there were no other passengers this wasn't a problem. The trog simply shrugged and let them have their way.

  Once the door was closed Abram sighed, pulled down his cowl, and immediately laid down on the rude wooden frame of one of the bottom bunks.

  "Do you want a blanket? I have one, and there's another in Lygi's pack."

  "It's our pack now, and no, I don't need one. You guys use it. When I wake up, we'll talk over our strategy. I'm tired, going to log out for a bit."

  He closed his eyes, and Hantu Raya pulled him out of the game.

  Angie frowned as she looked down at Abram's sleeping form, then glanced over at Sif as she said, "You take Lygi's. It's too small for me."

  The bergsrå nodded and took the upper bunk across from Abram's, while Angie took the lower.

  "Log out?" Sif asked, once she was in place. "I've never heard that phrase before. Is it from the template world?"

  "I presume so," Angie said, though she rather suspected that even there it didn't mean what Sif thought it meant.

  There was a sharp rap at the door, and Angie held a hand out to Sif, checked that the door would open away from Abram, then cracked it to reveal Brenna. She was out of her armor and now wore a sleeveless blue tunic belted at the waist along with white pantaloons. Angie looked her up and down. Sandy blond hair was plaited down to her waist and she had dark blue eyes set in a round face with full lips and a straight nose. Her body was curvy, her arms heavily muscled. It had been obvious earlier, but even now Angie could tell that she was a paragon of her kind.

  "I wanted to discuss strategy with you, and if possible receive news of the campaign," she said, skipping pleasantries.

  "My companions are weary, and already bedded down," Angie said with a glance back at Sif, who nodded and shrugged.

  "You'll do," Brenna said. "It's too soon to come up with detailed plans, but you should at least be able to outline the basics for us. It'll just be me, Tyra, Sigrid, and Ingvar."

  Angie shrugged and stepped out. Brenna made room in the hallway for her and she closed the door behind herself before following the dwarven paragon down the hall.

  The room was crowded with the five of them and four dwarves worth of gear. A lantern hung from the chain in the middle of the ceiling and had been lit, which Angie presumed was simply to allow everyone to see colors. Brenna preceded her in. Angie closed the door and leaned back against it as she looked over the group.

  Ingvar — as the only man — was easy to pick out, though his face was almost entirely obscured by his bushy beard. His hair and eyes were brown and he was dressed in a sweat-stained, undyed gambeson. The tank-like suit of armor was neatly sorted under the bunk next to him. Just as she leaned against the door, he propped up the wall next to the porthole. He made no secret of looking her up and down with appreciative eyes.

  The other two were women, but Angie was saved from guessing when Brenna waved a hand at each as she introduced them.

  Sigrid was on the lower bunk across from Ingvar and was leaning against the back wall with her legs stretched out on her bedroll. She had black hair, green eyes, and it was obvious that her slightly crooked n
ose had been badly broken at some point. She had a heavy build and, given the tools attached to her discarded bandolier and the backpack under the bunk, Angie would have known her for a smith even if Brenna hadn't introduced her as such.

  The last dwarf in the room was Tyra. She had a striking head of white hair shot through with black streaks, but the hair was obviously not a consequence of age. Her body was lithe for a dwarf, and she wore robes. Of them all, her pack was the smallest, and the crafting tools Angie could see were of a far finer sort than those of a smith. She was introduced as a runesmith and enchantress, and Angie nodded pleasantly to each in turn.

  "So! First thing's first, tell us about the campaign!" Invgar said, popping the knuckles of each finger idly with his thumbs. "The Mistress said we'd had news, then didn't give it to us!"

  "Not much I could tell you," Angie said, having taken the last few moments to decide just what to say regarding the ill-fated dwarvish march against the broodmother. She obviously couldn't tell them that not only had they sided against the dwarves, but had helped to wipe them out. "We passed bodies, but the only living dwarves we ran into had been left at the bridge to collect the fallen, and they didn't survive the encounter we had with a ... well, it was described to us as a rogue dwarven construct."

  "You ran into Kappi?!" Tyra said, green eyes bright with curiosity. "How did you get away?"

  "We didn't. We destroyed it," Angie said, glancing from Ingvar to the runesmith, who boggled at the news.

  "You destroyed Kappi? By the Powers, really? How under stone did you manage that?"

  "Our wizard tripped it over a small rift in the ground. We collected most of the gems used in its construction. We had to use a few to purchase provisions, but I can let you see those we didn't spend later if you're interested."