Soldiers of Ruin

by Stephen L. Nowland

“Whatever you’re doing, it’s not working!” Sir William called.

  “That prayer was supposed to rust it, but it’s not made of iron,” Maggie explained, keeping back behind Aiden and Alain — not that they could provide any better protection, of course.

  “It’s made of the same thing as the rest of the complex,” Alain said, “and although you may not recognise it, the entire place is made of auldsteel. Wait, I’ve got it! We drop it into the cavern at the end of the hall.”

  “Brilliant…” Maggie breathed, “except we will need to lure it there first.”

  “Aiden, it’s not bothering me, but Sir William here would really like it if you killed this thing,” Ronan called, still managing to sound laconic even while facing the giant construct.

  “Lead it back to the crevasse, we’re going to figure something out,” Aiden called back, shrugging at Maggie for lack of a better idea.

  “That’s not going to be a problem,” Ronan answered, ducking underneath another laborious swing from the massive metal arm. Aiden noticed that it was only using its right arm, while the left one seemed to be seized into place.

  “So how are you going to prevent them falling to their deaths?” Maggie whispered.

  “I’ve got an idea,” Alain replied. “Do any of you have rope?”

  “Ronan’s got it,” Aiden said, shaking his head.

  “That makes it even easier,” the explorer said with a half-smile. To Aiden’s astonishment, he placed one foot on the wall next to him and walked up to the ceiling above. It was as if he was being pulled to the wall instead of the floor, and when he reached the ceiling, he walked onto it as if it was the ground.

  Quickly, the explorer ran around the head of the golem, which lifted its arm up to try and grab him. He hung over the top of where the two men were backing away from the monster and Aiden could only imagine the astonished looks on their faces.

  “Give me your rope, quickly,” Alain ordered. “No, just one end — tie the other around your waists and follow me.”

  “I hope he doesn’t mean that literally,” Sir William grumbled before they disappeared completely. Aiden and Maggie held back for a moment as the construct followed the three men, attempting to speed up but failing to accomplish anything aside from generating more sparks and a horrid screeching noise that set Aiden’s teeth on edge.

  When it finally stomped around the corner, they hurried along to catch up, in case things didn’t go as planned.

  The explorer was tying the rope around the jagged edge where the tunnel had been torn open, and the two men below him were slowly backing up to where the floor fell away.

  “It’s done,” Alain confirmed, finishing the last of the knots that would prevent them from falling to their deaths. “Jump across to the other side, and hopefully this thing will follow.”

  “And what if it doesn’t?” Ronan dared to ask, but he didn’t wait around for an answer as he and Sir William built up some speed and leapt over the chasm. Holding onto the rope for dear life, they sailed through the air, but when they came to the end of the rope’s travel, they were over a yard short of making it to the other side.

  The golem reached the edge of the floor, but clearly sensed that the two men were about to swing back within range, and stopped with its balled fist at the ready. Alain, watching the situation unfold, heaved on the rope and managed to slow them down enough that they avoided the golem’s fist, but the stubborn construct just stood at the edge of the chasm, waiting for its next chance.

  “We have to do something,” Aiden cried, trying to think of a way to push the golem off the edge. He considered shoulder-rushing it but didn’t think his body had enough mass to move the damned thing. Remembering his magical ring, Aiden raised his hand only to recall that the ring was lost.

  In times past, when he had used relics such as the jewelled glove that summoned his shield of force, Aiden had been able to duplicate their effects once the relic ceased to function. On an impulse, he held his hand steady and imagined the ring still on his finger, then spoke the command word.

  The golem was shoved forward a few inches as Aiden felt energy surge through his extended arm, and he knew then he was able to imitate the ring’s effects.

  “Do that again,” Maggie said, having noticed Aiden’s sorcery. She whispered a prayer towards the golem and an oozing black grease formed at its feet. Aiden knew what she was up to and once more, spoke the command word to activate the non-existent ring. The golem lurched forward again, and this time kept sliding forward every so slowly.

  Whatever it had in place of a mind realised what was about to happen, and it started to backpedal away from the chasm. Its metal feet, slick with grease, could find no purchase on the metal floor. The golem soon ran out of floor and toppled into the abyss, striking the rocky walls on its way down.

  Aiden felt a wave of dizziness come over him, but it quickly subsided. He looked back down the corridor at the two men who still hung by the rope, and felt a wind rising in the stale air. Ronan and Sir William found themselves pushed by the wind onto the slippery floor, where they were deposited when Alain, still on the ceiling, untied the rope.

  The wind died down again and returned to the slow, mournful howl they’d heard upon arriving, and Maggie lowered her hands.

  “Nice trick,” Aiden said to her as the effects of her conjuration subsided. She smiled and nodded as the three men were content to lay there, catching their breath as the shock of his fight receded.

  “Are you all okay?” Maggie asked, peering at them inquisitively.

  “I will be, so long as you promise to never tell me what this goo is,” Ronan answered, trying to wipe the slippery stuff off his leathers.

  “You have a deal,” Maggie said with a wistful grin.

  * * *

  Once they’d recovered, Alain headed straight into the newly-opened room, eager to find what secrets lay inside. By their flickering torchlight, he discovered a wealth of debris, but with another of those strange skeletons piled on top — with an amulet around its bony neck. Alain’s knowledge of arcane devices was even greater than Aiden’s, and it only took him a minute to figure out that this was the key to the other door, the one they really wanted to see behind.

  “Behold!” Alain said with a flourish as the ensorcelled door opened without a sound. Inside was a stark contrast to the rest of the complex, for the furniture, shelves and books that sat upon them appeared to be in excellent condition.

  “It’s a library?” Sir William wondered, stepping inside after the others.

  “More than that, I suspect,” Alain breathed, glancing at the items placed upon a large desk. “A repository of relics, as well as knowledge.”

  “Any chance there’s a door out of here, someplace?” Ronan asked, unimpressed by what he saw.

  “Take a look around, while Aiden and I investigate our findings,” the explorer replied tiredly, suddenly appearing worn. It turned out there was no other door, as one would expect from a vault, but after two hours of searching through the sheaves of parchments, they had discovered some arcane scrolls of immense value. In particular, one of them just might be able to get them back to Alain’s house, if the explorer could read it correctly.

  “So, it’s much like the incantation that brought us here?” Aiden inquired, having practically forgotten the events of the day in his excitement at the find.

  “Yes, though it will require me to specify something unique about the destination, since I have no sigils on my floor,” Alain explained, his eyelids heavy. “Fortunately, I am well acquainted with my house. I must say, in spite of the hardships, this place has turned out to be quite a discovery. Though you came here by accident, I am glad that you did.”

  “I might even forgive him, one of these days,” Maggie grumbled.

  “Well, now that we’ve uncovered the place, I shall be returning here — with adequate supplies this time — to uncover as much as I can,” Alain said. “There’s probably a few years worth of research to be d
one, all in good time. I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m bloody tired. Let’s go home, shall we?” After they had gathered up their belongings, Alain had them all gather together in a tight circle as he read from the scroll, and after a brief flash of light, they found themselves standing once more in his empty laboratory back in Amalis.

  “Thank God that actually worked,” Sir William breathed, appearing exhausted in the dim torchlight.

  “I’ve used incantations like that before, so the result was never in doubt,” Alain responded confidently, and then yawned widely. “I am in your debt, friends — please feel free to make use of my spare rooms to rest yourselves in. I personally haven’t slept in some time, so I’ll take my leave of you. Goodnight, and thank you again.” The explorer staggered out of the room and headed into the master bedroom, where he promptly collapsed onto the bed and was snoring within moments.

  Aiden had wanted to bring up the subject of the Sceptre of Oblivion, but suddenly found it difficult to keep his eyes open. He realised they had travelled all day to reach Amalis, and then spent most of the night dealing with the situation in that damned ruin, nearly perishing in the process. Bidding the others farewell, he found his way into a spare bedroom and within moments was drifting off to sleep.

  Chapter Seven

  Pacian sat near a burning brazier for warmth, for the old monastery they had taken shelter in was only slightly warmer than the surrounding mountains. As the sun set over the mountains in the west, the two dozen or so dwarven soldiers who had survived the battle, sat along the walls of the great hall.

  The monastery itself was huge, with vaulted ceilings supported by ornate columns, lit by braziers and fireplaces along its length. The smoke carried with it the aroma of pungent herbs burning in the fires. The place had a solemn, austere feeling to it and the ascetics themselves wore only thick robes and shoes.

  Pacian winced as he looked at three deep gashes on his left side where the dragon’s claw had struck him. He hadn’t even noticed being hit, in the heat of the battle. A huge, savage-looking man with a tattooed face bandaged his injuries. If Pacian was to judge a man by his appearance, he would classify this chap as a “violent thug”. Despite this, he tended to Pacian’s wounds with gentle consideration.

  “So, what’s your story?” Pacian asked, glancing cautiously at the monk.

  “Just relax,” the rough-looking priest advised with a voice like gravel.

  “You’re not making it easy,” Pacian answered dryly. Nellise had mentioned the place was the last refuge of scoundrels and criminals, seeking to do penance for their sordid pasts. This character certainly fit the description.

  “This is the one place in the entire country that you’re guaranteed safety. Try not to jump to conclusions based on appearances, friend. This advice will serve you well throughout your life.”

  “Thanks, I’ll keep it in mind,” Pacian replied blandly, not at all taken with the idea of accepting advice from someone who ruined his own life so badly, he had to join a monastery. After he had wrapped bandages around Pacian’s chest, the monk held a crystal in one hand and started to pray, bathing them in a healing radiance that slowly began to heal his wounds.

  Across the room, Pacian noticed Sergeant MacIntosh hobbling towards him. Like most dwarven men, he sported a respectable beard, and his piercing blue eyes seemed both intelligent and observant.

  “Nice to see you in one piece, sarge,” Pacian remarked, gesturing to the empty space next to him. “Have a seat — you look like you could use one.”

  “Ne’er has a truer word been spoken,” the dwarven soldier muttered as he awkwardly manoeuvred his stout frame onto the plain hessian carpet covering the stone floor. “Call me Tosh, if ya like. Me friends do, and I think ye’ve earned the right.”

  “Okay Tosh, it’s nice to meet you,” Pacian replied, offering his hand, which the burly sergeant shook firmly. “I’m Pacian, by the way.”

  “Yeah we know yer names,” Tosh responded. “Four longshanks walking with a war party o’ dwarves, word gets around, y’know? Anyways, I came by to thank ya for saving our lives back there. If it’d been me in yer shoes, I woulda gotten outta there, quick as can be.”

  “You’re welcome,” Pacian replied.

  “O’ course, I have to wonder if yer brave or foolish for dancin’ around in front o’ the dragon like ya did.”

  “Tosh my friend, we both know it wasn’t bravery,” Pacian said with a wink, drawing a tired chuckle from the wounded soldier. “But in all modesty, we should be thanking Sayana. She does most of the work in a situation like that and well, she got me out of there despite harbouring an unreasoning dislike of yours truly.”

  Tosh turned around and gave the red-haired sorceress an appraising look. She was sitting with the other ladies, both of them keeping the badly-wounded Valennia company near one of the fireplaces. The akoran warrior-maiden suffered several broken ribs, a broken arm and a fractured collarbone, but Nellise assured them she’d be fighting-fit in a few days. Pacian noted that many of the other dwarves were paying them close attention, and he was reasonably sure it wasn’t because they were easy on the eye.

  “Are your men starved for female attention after only two days away from home, or is there another reason they’re gawking at my ladies?”

  “Yours, are they?” Tosh asked with a raised eyebrow. “They’ve barely been civil to ya, from what I’ve heard.”

  “Theirs is a tough love,” Pacian explained patiently. “But seriously, it’s a little strange, seeing a couple dozen soldiers staring at them like that.”

  “You and yer ladies did kinda save our backsides out there,” Tosh reminded him. “Think of it as hero worship.”

  “Well, when you put it that way,” Pacian shrugged, and the dwarven soldier laughed heartily.

  “It’s been a hard day, lad,” Tosh said, clapping Pacian on the back and causing him a moment of pain. “Get yerself some rest, and we’ll be back at Stonegaard afore tomorrow evening. I’ve a feelin’ that things are likely to get a little heated once we’re back home, and ye and yer friends are gonna need yer wits about ya.”

  “What are you talking about?” Pacian asked curiously.

  “We lost two thirds o’ our company,” Tosh explained solemnly. “The dragon’s still there, even if she’s wounded. It’s a debacle, no matter which way ya swing it, and I heard the king had to call in a lot of favours to make this happen in t’ first place.”

  “Why does a king need to call in favours?” Pacian asked dryly.

  “Now that, is a very good question,” Tosh replied as he stood. “Ya might want to think about that before we get back tomorrow.” Pacian watched Tosh hobble over to his men, then turned his attention back to the man tending his wounds.

  “I think that’ll do for the evening,” he informed the thuggish monk. “It’ll heal up on its own, now.”

  “As you say,” the ascetic gruffly replied, putting away his crystal and walking off. Pacian settled down for the evening, taking out some rations from his pack to nibble on as he unpacked his bedroll and planned to get some rest. As he lay down, he gazed over at the ladies and noticed that Valennia appeared to be utterly miserable, but chalked it up to her near-death experience.

  * * *

  Although they had been patched-up at the monastery, the column of soldiers still moved slowly on their journey back home the next day. It struck Pacian that it was more about poor morale than physical injury. The warriors of Stonegaard were proud and determined upon leaving their city, but the experience with the dragon had brought them low, a humbling experience by anyone’s measure.

  Their arrival at Stonegaard was not the great cause for celebration the dwarves had hoped for. The light camaraderie upon their departure was gone, and the brief cheering from the citizens of Stonegaard dissipated moments after the weary group entered the main gate shortly before sundown, with only a third of their original number.

  Up and down the main thoroughfare, the hardy citi
zens of the city stopped what they were doing and gazed at the arriving soldiers. The silence was deafening, broken only by the muted weeping of women who discovered their loved ones had not returned from the fight.

  An ancient dwarf with a bristling grey beard walked up to the group and started asking questions. From his place near the rear of the column, Pacian couldn’t make out what was being said, but he assumed the greybeard was demanding to know what had happened.

  It was only when the old dwarf started moving through the ranks of the soldiers that Pacian began to feel uneasy, for he recognised the ancient dwarf as the one Sloane had been talking to as they’d left Stonegaard, a few days earlier. When he reached Sayana, he turned the surprised woman around and stared at the shining vythiric axe on her back.

  He stepped back and called out to the crowd in his native language, pointing at the weapon and the bewildered sorceress who suddenly found herself to be the centre of attention. Pacian rushed to the front of the column where Tosh was watching events unfold with one hand on the hilt of his axe.

  “What’s going on?” Pacian demanded, watching as many in the crowd seemed to be responding to the ancient dwarf’s rantings.

  “Old Hamish is making a bit of a scene,” Tosh grunted in reply. “He’s tellin’ the crowd that yer friend has the Cul Alin Maclagh, also known as ‘Thanesedge’ in the tongue o’ men.”

  “What the hell does any of that mean, and why aren’t you stopping him?” Pacian practically yelled to his face.

  “Because I think he’s right!” Tosh replied with equal volume. “I thought I recognised it when I first saw ‘er, but I wasn’t sure ‘til we got into the fight and she threw it at the dragon. The design is unmistakeable — it’s the Axe o’ the Dwarven Kings, thought lost in Ferrumgaard.” As Pacian listened, he saw that the Hamish’s little display was garnering more attention, even from the other soldiers.