by J. W. Webb
As Corin struggled the sweat trickled down his face, occluding his vision. Bleyne’s shafts claimed more Groil but now the archer was preoccupied with the fighting below.
Someone yelled up at him. Straining his head, Corin saw Prince Tarin was climbing the stair. Somehow the boy must have slipped past the Groil unnoticed.
“Piss off!” Corin hissed between his teeth.
“Those shards are my responsibility,” Tarin shouted across to him. “Only I can waken the Smith!”
A pox on your responsibility, shithead. If it wasn’t for your stupid—
Corin’s foot slipped on a glowing vein of rock. He hung suspended, legs flailing the in air for what seemed like an age. He kicked at the stone with his feet, seeking purchase however tenuous.
“I’m coming!” Tarin yelled.
“Fuck off!” Corin dribbled back. At last Corin regained a foothold. He braced himself, inched his way closer to the chain ignoring Tarin’s shouts. Stubborn, the prince followed. Serve the boy right if he should fall.
Far below them the sound of clashing steel again rebounded through the cavern. Ulani’s booming war cry accompanying it. Corin pulled his tired body across. One…two…three! He swung out reaching for the giant chain with his right hand.
***
Zallerak was drained by his challenge 0f freeing the prince. He was weary—uncertain he could win this battle of wills. But the Urgolais were weary also.
The week-long chanting spells to snare Croagon’s mind had sapped their strength. Moreover they were only recently returned to flesh after millennia flitting about in shadow form.
Like many who followed Old Night they had awoken sensing He too was returning to wakefulness and stirring below His dreadful mountain. The dog-lords were vengeful, and now they had an Aralais intruder to deal with. Hungry for his destruction, they stepped up their game to break their enemy’s will.
The three steadied their triangulation, tapped their full malice and spellcraft at Zallerak.
But Zallerak faced them down, his lips moving as he silently worded the blocking spell. So passed the silent battle with increasingly intensity. Power and light crackled all around the cavern. Ignored, Ulani and Bleyne battled the crimson elite close by, whilst high above Corin approached the chains binding the Smith, with yelling Prince Tarin close behind.
Then the Urgolais took the offensive and resumed their doleful chant.
As one they pointed to Zallerak’s midriff. The chanting grew louder and more intense. Their searching fingers crackled with heat and potency. The air shimmered and popped, blue fire blazed forth from their fingers licking the ground at Zallerak’s feet.
He leapt back, spear held high in defence. Desperation seized him. Zallerak yelled out the words to his blocking spell. Just in time he raised his astral shield, stopping the next blast of deadly fire bolts. The Urgolais chanting rose louder and louder. More fire bolts streamed forth.
Then Zallerak answered. Spear discarded, he stood before them. Tall and stern, a demigod from a distant time of fable. The golden harp rested in the fold of his left arm. His right fingers plucked chords of power, whilst with a clear resonant voice Zallerak sang his interdict.
His voice was intoxicating like strong wine. It filled the cavern, drowning out the Urgolais’s dirge. Behind and above, the huge crystal dome pulsed strobes accompanying his words, filling the cavern with argent fire.
The tide had turned again.
The Urgolais’s chanting took on a desperate edge. Above their heads a dark wave mustered threatening to consume the crystal light. It lowered over Zallerak like a great smoky bat, swallowing light and draining his power.
But Zallerak’s spell shield held firm. Faster and faster he worked his chords. The song grew in definition. The blackness filtered and fell away. Zallerak’s chords stung the Urgolais like winter hail. His song reached out, sapping the malice of their incantation.
Zallerak voiced a single word. The forge blazed in answer. A jet of silver fire shrieked out from the hearth, engulfing the three sorcerers and blinding their vision. The dog-lords screamed horribly as that crystal flame seared their flesh. They lost their balance and control. Their triangulation shattered and the three fell back in disarray, pain and confusion.
Zallerak didn’t hesitate. He seized his spear from the ground, and leapt toward his foe striking each in turn with the glowing tip. As it pierced their faces the spear burnt deep into the Urgolais’s flesh. They screamed and gurgled, then their cloaks melted away revealing emaciated starved bodies, mummified doglike skulls and thin twisted frames, all broken veins and blotches.
Zallerak, triumphant, raised his lance for the kill. He froze. An icy wind had entered the cavern. Zallerak stumbled—his concentration broken.
A huge shadow crawled along the wall of the cavern; where it passed the light petered and then went out. That darkness swelled like gangrene on ruined flesh, spreading outwards toward where Zallerak stood desperately gripping his spear and harp.
The shadow took on form and from it a cold voice whispered words of heavy power. Zallerak staggered as one struck by an invisible blow. His lips trembled and his body shook. The shadow was all around him, he couldn’t withstand it. At last his knees buckled. Zallerak, defeated, collapsed in a crumpled heap. Then the shadow fell upon him.
***
Ulani was still holding his own. Just. He’d sent nine of the elite to Yffarn. But the rest were wary, they circled him awaiting a chance with their spears. One jabbed close, Ulani yanked the spear shaft forward and stove the Permian’s head in with his mace. He spat bloody phlegm and dared them to come at him one at a time.
Instead all six lunged at him at once.
That attack never came. The elite’s spears stopped inches from Ulani’s face. He blinked. Glancing round in horror, the Permians and Ulani witnessed the shadow creature swelling like a bruise along the cavern’s inner face. The sultan’s elite muttered in fear. They had heard rumours of this place and hadn’t wanted to come. They were terrified, eyes wild and panicky.
The crystal light sputtered and faded as icy darkness claimed the cavern. Ulani gasped, chasing breaths. He too watched in dread, shuddering as evil incarnate fell upon the Cavern of the Crystal.
The forge fire grew dim, the flames contemptuously quenched by he who had recently arrived. A shadow within the shadow. Bat-like, it settled silent on the hearth. The flames puckered then died.
Sudden chill filled the cavern. Bleak cold accompanied by stale gloom—the void of forgotten dead worlds spinning outside the Weaver’s Dance.
Friend and foe watched terrified as the shadow took sinewy form in the hearth. Zallerak summoned his last reserve and struggled to his knees. The shadow was all around him. A face showed at last, grey black as burnt wood and canine in form. Yellow eyes and lolling tongue. Razor teeth and scarred tissue. Morak had returned.
“So there you are again, Arollas. Meddling where you shouldn’t.”
High above, Corin chose that precise moment to swing out for the chain. His wild swing went wide, Morak’s grating snarl catching him off-guard. Desperately he clung onto a thin flake of stone, his fingers bleeding and the bag of shards dangling from his teeth.
So the scorched hound had come to join the party. Corin wasn’t surprised. The more the merrier. A perfect finish to a wonderful fortnight’s excursion. The crystal shards weighed heavy in his mouth. Close by Tarin yelled but Corin ignored him. He focused on the chain again.
***
Morak’s ravaged visage grew to fill the cavern.
“You have failed, Aralais. I have unlocked the key to the ancient fortress. Golganak will soon be in my grasp.”
“You’re full of shit, Morak. You surprised me, is all. But now I’m ready for you.” Zallerak had regained his feet. He clung to his spear again, weakened but not yet beaten. “You are still weak, Urgolais. All bluff and bluster and your spear’s lost forever. Without Golganak you are nothing but a rumour. A shadow within a shadow. S
ee how I snapped your kin like rotten twigs! Now it’s your turn!”
In reply the shadow rose up from the hearth in icy rage.
“You are a fool, Arollas—you always were! You were lucky on that island. I was unprepared. This time you die!” Morak’s shadow unfolded over Zallerak, choking the bard and again forcing him to his knees.
“DIE!”
***
Corin grabbed the nearest shackle. Swinging like a mad thing, he locked his left arm around the heavy chain. He opened his mouth and spat the bag of shards into his right palm. Corin’s fingers closed around the crystal. He slammed the bag into the iron chain. There was a violent clang and a huge chunk of rock split along the cavern wall. A noise of growling thunder filled the cavern. Somehow Corin clung on as pain and giddiness tried to dislodge him.
BOOM!
There followed a blinding stab of light accompanied by a steely snap.
THUD—CLINK…TWANG!
Then the booming roar of a new voice eclipsed all other sounds.
Croagon the Smith was free of His bonds!
Chapter 35
The Smith
The giant crystal blazed anew. Dome, shards and veins of rock were all throbbing with urgent, hungry speed. The giant dislodged His remaining manacles as though they were made of paper. With a wrench Croagon pulled them from the wall.
Corin was sent swinging like a baboon on the severed chain. Barely hanging onto consciousness, he watched with bulging eyes as the next scene unravelled. He still clung to the bag of shards but his purchase was weakening. So was his strength, and it was a very long way down.
Terrible in anger, Croagon turned on His former tormenters. Behind the Smith’s shoulders and forgotten, Corin swung and clung, and Prince Tarin gawped in stunned silence. Far below all eyes were on the giant.
Croagon reached down with a yard-thick finger. He scooped up the three Urgolais bodies and crushed them to powder in His hand. Bones crunched and dark ooze spilled out between His hoary knuckles. Croagon cast the mess into the hearth. It blazed afresh.
The blind god turned on Morak. The shadow containing the Dog-Lord had retreated beyond the hearth. Croagon moved a leg in that direction. The Smith’s tread shook the cavern as He lumbered forward. His arms stretched with finger searching.
Morak remained defiant. He was the greatest of his people and not easily defeated, even by a god. The Urgolais lord worded a terrible spell and pointed a claw at the lumbering god.
Amber jagged spears of lightning lashed Croagon’s knees. He bellowed, slammed His left foot down seeking to crush Morak were he in reach.
The Dog-Lord’s shadow faded back along the wall. Again he struck out at the god and Croagon lurched like a ship striking shallows. His booming roar thundered through the cavern. Groil scattered like dust in a gale, while King Ulani, Bleyne and the crimson elite covered their ears and prayed this nightmare would end soon.
Corin and Tarin gaped down liked bugs stuck on the wall. Corin had found a foothold and got back some of his gunk. He wasn’t feeling well, however. Even by his standards this was proving a shite day.
Morak sent another blast toward the god. But in his haste he misjudged. Croagon, more than any other being, save perhaps His twin brother Crun, was well accustomed to pain. And the Smith had a god’s patience. He let that blast assault His bulk, absorbed it, and reached down fumbling for His great hammer, at last finding it and lifting it from its resting place at the forge.
Gripping the hammer with both hands Croagon brought it down on the crystal anvil with a deafening blow. He growled a command and the hearth fire leapt to obey.
Argent flame exploded outward from the forge. It fused with the crystal’s light. Then like starburst exploded over Morak’s shadow. The Urgolais screamed as silver fire tore deep into his half-formed flesh. It burnt and burnt and burnt, until Morak’s tangible shadow had blistered to a hissing lump of charcoal. From somewhere very far away Morak wailed and mewed and then fell silent.
***
For a time there was silence, discounting the sobbing of Croagon who at last had come to terms with the fact that He was free. The Smith sat huge and horrible, moping on His anvil, staring sightlessly into the hearth pit, tears welling from sightless sockets. All around Him was carnage: broken stone and rubble, and corpses of both Groil and men. And a large gooey stain—the only evidence of Morak’s social call.
Those crimson elite still living lay prostrate on the cavern floor, muttering and wailing. Ulani remained on his feet, his eyes wild and staring. Bleyne knelt grim-faced recovering arrows, whilst Zallerak managed a sly smile. High above, Corin and Tarin still clung to rock like stranded limpets at low tide.
One of the elite found his feet. He gaped about, kicked his closest companion who joined him blinking and mouthing unnecessariness. The other Permians followed suit and, ignoring the jeers from the king of Yamondo, fled back whence they’d come.
Ulani, face bloodied and scarred, slumped wearily toward Zallerak. The bard looked exhausted, more like a tired old wayfarer than the scion of an ancient powerful race. Despite that weariness he also looked smug.
He nodded weakly to Ulani who had offered him water from his gourd. The king watched on as Zallerak drank deeply before wiping his mouth and muttering thanks.
Ulani turned, hearing Bleyne’s bow twang and saw the last of the Groil creatures collapse lifeless to the floor. Then a shout announced the return of Corin.
“Been having fun?” Ulani raised a brow.
“Lots.”
“Been quite eventful down here too.”
“Yes, I noticed.” Behind Corin stood the prince. Tarin looked pale and wretched.
“Good job up there, both of you,” muttered Zallerak.
“He didn’t help,” Corin couldn’t resist saying and Tarin scowled at him.
“I wanted to,” the prince said.
Croagon had been listening. The Smith wiped His ruined face free of tears and turned His massive head toward the sound of their voices.
“WHICH OF YOU TINY BEINGS FREED ME?”
“I did,” Corin said
“And me,” Tarin added. The god’s blind face loomed over them.
“WHO?”
“Actually it was all him.” Tarin pointed at Corin beside him, despite the god not being able to see him. The Smith, grunted, straightened His back painfully and then flexed those monstrous arms.
“YOU FREED ME, MORTAL? THEN I AM IN YOUR DEBT.”
Corin yawned. “It’s alright, I had nothing else planned for today.”
“I MUST REPAY YOU.” Croagon’s ravaged face seemed to stare at the place where Corin stood with the others all gaping up at the god. Corin thought for a moment.
“I would like to—”
“Mighty Croagon,” Zallerak interrupted. “We four questers and this young prince have sought you out deliberately, knowing your skills alone can help us.”
“GO ON—I’M LISTENING.”
“We seek to address the harm done by the traitor Caswallon and his advisers, (foremost of which you have just defeated. And jolly well done too!)”
“YOU DON’T SMELL HUMAN. WHAT ARE YOU?”
“Ansu is on the brink of a war so catastrophic it could unleash Old Night’s malice again and warp the Maker’s pattern. Your eldest brother wakes, Smith. We are confederates united against the return of Old Night. All friends here. We need your assistance in one small matter.”
The giant’s blind sockets rested on Zallerak. Something akin to dark humour accompanied His gravel voice when next He spoke.
“AROLLAS—NOW I RECALL YOUR ODOUR. YOU SMELL LIKE TREACHERY, YOU ARALAIS ALWAYS DID. WHY SHOULD I ASSIST YOU, WHOSE PROUD KIND ONCE SOUGHT TO TOPPLE OUR RULE IN ANSU?”
The Smith’s booming voice echoed around the cavern. Zallerak’s face was white but he showed no sign of giving in. “That was an old misunderstanding—we’ve all moved on since those days.”
“HMM. YOUR LOT WERE ALMOST AS BAD AS THE URGOLAIS WITH
YOUR CONNIVING AND BACKSLIDING. PERHAPS I SHOULD STEP ON YOU NOW AND BE DONE.”
“You are ill informed.” Zallerak’s eyes blazed angrily up at the towering bulk of the god. “I was never your enemy. Neither were my kin. It was your other brother and His deranged pet started that misunderstanding back then. And it was the Aralais people that paid the highest price, as you should recall.”
“THE TY-TANDER IS MY GAOLER. TELCANNA SERVES HIS BROTHER ILL.”
“No longer—you are free. We few have slain the beast. Yes I know, we’re quite a team. The Ty-Tander is no more. His scaly arse carcass feeds a billion ants beneath the pitiless sun of the Copper Desert.”
“THAT WAS A VALIANT DEED—IF IT BE TRUE.” Croagon paused in contemplation. He rubbed His filthy beard thoughtfully. He was about to speak but Corin got in first.
Corin never knew why he interrupted when he did. It was as if someone else put him up to it. And perhaps they had.
“These need attention.” He waved the bag of shards in front of his head as if the Smith could see them.
“This idiot,” (he motioned Tarin who glared back at him), “broke them last autumn. Apparently you’re the only one up to the job, sir. We’ve come a very long way and we’re all bloody knackered. So I ask of you, glue these shards together in payment for my freeing of your bonds.
“We’ll call it quits after that. Reforge the crown so we can deal with this Caswallon bastard—and those doggy-bastards too, should any still be lurking about. And any other buggering bastard for that matter. You can do what you like with Zallerak. I don’t trust him either.” Corin winked at the bard who for his part failed to see the joke.
“YOU SPEAK BOLDLY.”
“I’m tired—crabby. It’s been a long month.”
The Smith rubbed His bearded chin. Those black sockets gaped at down Corin.
“YOU ARE A STRANGE ONE.”
“It’s been said before. But never mind that. Are you going to help us or not? It’s a long way back through horrible country—I’d hate for all this to have been for nothing.”
