Soldiers of Ruin

by Stephen L. Nowland

  A light snowfall danced through the air a few hours after they set out, swirling around them in the mountain air. They were amongst the Stonegaards properly now, with the mighty peaks towering around them. The road wended its way through them on the path of least resistance, extending what would ordinarily be a short trip from Fairloch to the dwarven lands. The magnificent view over the northern coast was obscured by the weather for the remainder of the day, until the first signs of civilisation could be seen emerging from the mists ahead.

  A number of squat homesteads were visible in the snow, with smoke wafting up from chimneys, and a warm glow coming from the windows. More of them could be seen over the next few minutes as the wagon plodded along, the quaint little cottages home to the dwarven families that farmed the surrounding lands. With winter heavy upon the land, they had little to do now but wait for spring.

  Austin brought the wagon to a halt at a large building that loomed out of the mist, with “Auchlevie Inn” written in large letters upon a sign that hung over the front door. Other script, no doubt the heavy language of the dwarves, was written underneath it and a number of the stout folk were busy unloading from another wagon.

  “This is as far as I go,” Austin advised Pacian as he clambered down off the wagon, his breath causing a torrent of mist to issue forth with each word. “I thank you and the ladies for your company, quiet though it was. You will need to find your way to Stonegaard on foot from here, unless you are fortunate enough to find a dwarven merchant with some room.”

  “We are more than capable of travelling the rest of the way on foot,” Valennia replied before Pacian could say anything.

  “Then I shall leave you to it,” Campbell said, clapping his hands together for warmth.

  “What?” Valennia asked of Pacian, who gave her an accusing stare. “The exercise will do the three of you well —too long have you sat on that conveyance, allowing your muscles to waste away.”

  “I suppose we can’t argue with that,” Nellise mused. “It’s only an hour from here, so if we start out now, we should arrive long before sunset.”

  “Are we in that much of a hurry?” Pacian protested. “That inn looks like a nice place to warm up.”

  “I’m sure we’ll find something similar at Stonegaard,” Sayana said. “Besides, you and Val should be able to warm up just fine on your own.” Pacian felt his ears burning as he glowered at the smirking redhead. Damn her and her elven ears, he thought to himself.

  He glanced sheepishly at Nellise, whose beautiful face was so unreadable it might have been carved from marble. Without further word, she led them out of the small hamlet and further along the road, with only the sound of the mournful wind blowing across the landscape to break up the silence.

  It was close to sundown by the time they reached a frost-covered signpost that pointed toward their destination. The traffic along the road had been sparse to say the least, but as they turned off the main highway towards Stonegaard, the small group suddenly found themselves walking on the edge to avoid the crowd.

  Dozens of the stout folk were gathered along the short road, most of them wearing metal armour of some sort. Mules and wagons laden with equipment, covered in burlap, were queued up as dwarven men and women came along and deposited more gear into the convoy.

  Some of the wagons were clearly merchants, hauling loads of ore dug from beneath the mountain and complaining about the holdup. For the most part, the convoy seemed to be of a military bent, the protruding points of crossbow and ballista bolts visible under the cloth.

  “What in heaven’s name is going on here?” Nellise wondered rhetorically as they made their way past. Pacian could hear the dwarves talking in their native language, but he couldn’t understand a word of it. Valennia had her own insights, however.

  “They are preparing for battle,” she declared. “You can see it in their eyes.”

  “Who is there to fight around here?” Sayana asked curiously. Nobody had the answer. They continued past the assemblage until they reached the main gate to the city, a massive, round portal that was almost identical to the one they had seen at Ferrumgaard, the doomed dwarven city far to the west of here.

  This gate was in far better condition, as one would expect, and was covered in elaborate sculpting that said much for the skills of the dwarven craftsmen who had built it. Burly guards stood watch over the entrance, heavily armoured and carrying broad-headed axes. They stopped the small group as they approached, asking their business in a casual way that belied the tension in the air.

  Memories of Ferrumgaard came flashing back as Pacian stepped inside, most of them unpleasant. He spared a thought for their old comrade, Clavis MacAliese, who had given his life so the rest of them could escape the cursed city of Ferrumgaard. Of course, Clavis had been responsible for getting them into that mess in the first place, so Pacian didn’t shed any tears over his demise.

  The air was a little smoky and a good deal warmer than outside, the kind of warmth that seemed to rise up through the ground. Someone had mentioned the previous night around the campfire that Stonegaard was built above a river of lava, and so it was always warm, even in the middle of winter. Metal tubes soared up to the ceiling and disappeared into the rock, what Clavis described as ventilation tubes so the people in the city didn’t suffocate. Shops lined the main thoroughfare, as in any city, with merchants hawking their wares to the passers-by.

  Pacian’s instincts detected opportunities to lift a few coin pouches here and there, but he resisted the impulse, realising that they were here to seek the aid of these people. A dwarven woman with dark, braided hair bumped into him and in the momentary confusion, Pacian couldn’t resist lifting her purse.

  “Pardon me,” he apologised, the giddy thrill of a successful theft surging through him. The woman hardly glanced at him, and he could easily have walked off with the money. “Ma’am, I think you dropped something,” he called after a moment’s consideration, reaching over to hand back the coin pouch.

  “Oh, thank you sir,” she replied in mild astonishment. “I can’t imagine how I dropped it.”

  “These things happen to the best of us,” Pacian opined sagely. “Think nothing of it.” She smiled up at him as he gave the pouch back, and Pacian didn’t dislike what he saw. It was the first time he’d seen a dwarven woman, and she wasn’t what he’d expected in the least. Although of a robust frame, she had full lips, large brown eyes and impressive curves.

  “What are you up to?” Sayana asked suspiciously, peaking around him to see what the commotion was about.

  “Just helping someone out,” Pacian replied innocently, though his tone did nothing to allay her disbelieving gaze. Satisfied his skills weren’t diminishing, he continued on his way through the throng to catch up with Nellise, with Sayana following closely behind.

  “Do you even know where you’re going?” Sayana asked of Nellise.

  “I was informed there was a diplomatic office just up ahead,” she replied, pointing at a shopfront carved out of the rock itself. “We need to request an audience before the king will see us.”

  “Isn’t our mission urgent enough to get us in there?”

  “I was instructed to only speak with the king and his closest advisors about that,” Nellise informed her. “I shall go there now and arrange the meeting, but the three of you can head straight to the tavern and wait, if you please.”

  “Now there’s a plan I can get behind,” Pacian said with relief. “Where is this place?”

  “We passed it on the way in,” Nellise responded. “Look for the spiral staircase on the right near the entrance. I’ll meet you there shortly.” She threaded her way to the diplomatic office, leaving the three of them to make their way back to the tavern.

  It turned out to be a fully-fledged inn with the rather alarming name of the “Rockslide”. Although Pacian didn’t care much for architecture, even he was impressed by the construction of the building. Like most of the shops on the top level of Stonegaard, it was
carved into the surrounding earth, but the Rockslide went one step further, elevating the inner floors up through the strata and back outside again, effectively perching the top levels on the side of the mountain.

  The narrow staircase wound upwards through the rock and opened out into a brightly-lit common room. Ceiling-high windows encased the building in a wall of glass, offering a breathtaking view of the mountainside. It was still heavily shrouded in fog and snow, but during clear weather Pacian could well imagine clear blue skies framing the picturesque landscape.

  Men and women from Fairloch seemed to be the primary clientele for the Rockslide, though the inn itself was managed by the local dwarven owners. Elegantly carved wooden furniture and plush red carpets gave the place a refined look, with crackling fireplaces on either end of the large common room providing ample heat to take the chill from the air.

  “Now this is more like it,” Pacian murmured appreciatively, heading straight to the bar. He’d heard of the dwarven people’s love of fine ales, and after a few minutes of sampling, he came to the conclusion the reputation was well-deserved. Sayana and Valennia ordered food, and as the light faded from the sky, heavy curtains were drawn over the large windows. It was at this point that Pacian was required to pay for his drinks, and led to the discovery he had lost his coin pouch.

  A moment of panic washed over him as he realised exactly how much money was in that pouch, and it took a feat of willpower to stifle the urge to swear loudly.

  “Missing something?” a smooth, feminine voice asked from nearby. Turning to see who was speaking to him, Pacian recognised the dwarven woman from whom he had pilfered a coin pouch. She was sitting on a stool, legs crossed and covered in a dark blue pleated dress, watching him with mild amusement. It occurred to Pacian at that moment that she had bumped into him on purpose, and he silently berated himself for giving her money back.

  “You’re good,” Pacian grumbled, sauntering over with drink in hand to take a closer look at his dwarven counterpart. “I don’t think I’ve been taken like that before. Perhaps I should call for the guards to haul you away?”

  “Why would they do that when I’m simply returning a coin pouch you dropped earlier?” she replied, her sonorous voice smooth and surprisingly deep. With a sly smile, she dropped Pacian’s pouch onto the counter-top, which he promptly snatched away and placed securely on his belt. “Think of it as professional courtesy,” she continued. “After all, you had the decency to return my coins.”

  “I wish I could say that it’s nice to meet a fellow professional, but it’s really not,” Pacian remarked.

  “Just refrain from practicing your skills on our streets and we’ll get along famously,” she replied, more than a hint of a threat behind her smile. “What’s your name, Blondie?”

  “Pacian Savidge,” he informed her, carefully scrutinizing her features for signs of deception.

  “I’m Sloane MacAliese,” she said, taking a sip from her own drink. “I hope you’re here on pleasure, not business, or my associates and I might have to ask you to leave.”

  “It’s business, but nothing to do with you and yours,” Pacian assured her evenly. “One of my associates represents the throne of Aielund, and we’re here in an official capacity. MacAliese, was it? I met a Clavis MacAliese a few weeks back. Any relation?” Pacian’s casual inquiry had a startling effect upon the dwarven woman. Her sly, guarded expression was replaced by surprise and concern.

  “That’s my father,” she replied quietly. “I haven’t seen him in two years… where did you meet him?”

  “Culdeny first, but we worked together for a little while over in the west,” Pacian explained casually, pleased that he had some measure of control over the conversation now.

  “How is he?”

  “Dead, the last time I saw him,” Pacian said, watching the play of emotions over her face. Her affiliation with Clavis seemed to be genuine, judging by her reaction.

  “I don’t suppose you’d care to elaborate,” Sloane hinted darkly, her suspicious gaze returning once more. Pacian took the time to explain their expedition into Ferrumgaard, and at the mention of that cursed place, her resolve crumbled. Pacian gave her some time to compose herself, as tears made their way down her distraught face.

  As he sipped his ale, he noticed Nellise emerge from the top of the stairwell, walking purposefully over to him. Before she could speak, Pacian intercepted her and guided her to one side so as not to disturb Sloane.

  “Why is that woman crying?” Nellise whispered accusingly.

  “She just learned of her father’s death,” Pacian explained. “Give her a minute.”

  “I don’t understand,” the cleric protested, peering at the sobbing woman over Pacian’s shoulder.

  “She’s Clavis’ daughter,” Pacian whispered. Nellise nodded solemnly, and stepped past him to offer her condolences. Pacian gave them a little time to themselves before rejoining the conversation.

  “He was always so driven,” Sloane was saying, wiping the tears from her face. “Every day after work he would study maps, diagrams, anything he could get his hands on that might tell him how to get inside that damned place. After all that, he ended up dying there… I can hardly believe it. Wait, is that his repeater you have on your back?”

  “Yes, it is, actually,” Nellise replied self-consciously, touching the handle of the repeating crossbow. “I’ve been putting it to good use since we escaped Ferrumgaard, but if you feel you’d like to have it as a keepsake…”

  “No, it’s a weapon, don’t be ridiculous,” Sloane scoffed in-between sobs. “Better that you keep using it, since you had the courage to stand by him in the end.”

  “Yes, there is that,” Nellise hedged, glancing at Pacian who gave her a subtle shake of his head. It was best that Sloane didn’t hear of Clavis’ deceptions, and how he nearly left them all to die facing a giant water serpent.

  “Well, I’m sorry to have met you under such circumstances, Miss MacAliese,” Nellise sighed, “but my friends and I have an important meeting to attend, so I shall leave you to grieve in peace.”

  “We do?” Sayana asked as she and Valennia came over to find out what was going on.

  “I have arranged a meeting with a representative of King Sulinus,” Nellise explained.

  “That was fast,” Pacian remarked as he took a final swig of his drink and placed the empty mug on the counter, along with a few coins from his recovered pouch.

  “Once I had established my credentials, they seemed eager to hear what I had to say,” Nellise shrugged.

  “Lead on, then,” Valennia said, eager to get on with their task. Pacian turned and put his hand on Sloane’s. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he offered. “Perhaps I’ll see you around in the next day or two, and we can talk some more?”

  “Thank you both for bringing me this news,” she whispered, fighting back the tears. Pacian turned and followed Nellise to the stairwell, walking alongside Sayana. On an impulse, he turned and looked back at the dwarf before they descended the stairs and saw her looking incredulously at Sayana, just before they dropped out of sight. Pacian was uncertain what that was about until he noticed the shining vythiric axe strapped to her back, and recalled that it was of some importance to the dwarven people.

  “That’s gonna be trouble,” he muttered to himself as they continued on through the city.

  * * *

  “I bid ya all welcome, on behalf o’ His Majesty King Sulinus MacTavish, ruler of Stonegaard and Thane of Thanes,” the official greeted them as the group entered his modest chambers. “I am Chamberlain MacKenner, liaison to the Kingdom of Aielund. Please, be seated.” The ceiling was high enough to accommodate humans, although Valennia put that theory to the test, scraping by with barely an inch to spare.

  The room was sparsely decorated with stone carvings atop modestly sized furniture, reflecting the no-nonsense approach to business the dwarven people were renowned for. The chamberlain himself however, was dressed in expensive clothing,
and his grey hair was neatly combed to one side. His beard was short and crisply cut along the edge, giving Pacian the impression he was a little too obsessed with his appearance.

  “Now, I am led to understand that yer seekin’ some kind o’ weapon?” the chamberlain inquired, his hands clasped in front of him on the desk.

  “From what I’ve been informed,” Nellise replied, “it’s more of an arcane tool than a weapon, one that will serve us all greatly in the near future.”

  “In what capacity?”

  “I’m not at liberty to discuss it at this time,” Nellise hedged. “Suffice it to say, Aielund places a great deal of importance on the recovery of this relic, and we are willing to pay handsomely for it.”

  “I see,” MacKenner said, smoothing his beard thoughtfully. He lifted a sheet of paper and took a few moments to read the scrawled handwriting upon it. Pacian shifted impatiently in his seat and glanced over at Valennia, who seemed to be experiencing similar discomfort. “The Sceptre of Oblivion,” the Chamberlain read aloud, “said to banish one’s enemies from existence. Sounds like a weapon to me.”

  “If it helps, you may consider it as such,” Nellise said diplomatically.

  “I can’t say I’ve ever heard o’ such a device before, but I’m neither a librarian nor a wizard. What makes ya think me people have this little trinket?”

  “It is thought that it was stored in Ferrumgaard, long ago,” the cleric went on, crossing her legs in a relaxed fashion.

  “Then it is lost,” MacKenner stated flatly. “And I’ll thank ye not to mention the name o’ that cursed place, if ya can avoid it.”

  “I understand that it’s a touchy subject for your people, and I’m not insensitive to your discomfort. It is thought the relic might have been saved and brought along when your people evacuated the city.”

  “We were all pretty busy running fer our lives, and the only things we grabbed were our loved ones, fer the most part,” the chamberlain explained grimly.