by Lucinda Hare
'Ahhh!'
The shock of it made the gnome shudder and gasp. The ferocious power knocked him to his knees and soaked him in seconds. He scrambled forward, scuttling like a crab, trying to find refuge, searching for any grip on the slippery slabs of rock. Hobgoblin slime coated his hands and knees as he flailed like a leaping salmon trying to rise upstream. Water flooded over him, the weight of it almost lifting him off his feet. Gasping and spluttering, he was finally through and behind the curtain of water.
The sound of the river exploding from the mountain was deafening. Removing his mask, Bark knuckled water from his eyes and let them adjust to the gloom. Thin silvery moonlight seeped in from outside, just enough to see the thick slime that covered the floor of the jutting rock slab.
'So!' he exclaimed softly, pleased his instinct had not let him down. A darker fissure opened up in the rock face to his right, tall and wide enough for hobgoblins. Without hesitating he stepped through and into the mountain.
A rough curving passage descended rapidly into utter darkness. Slime stuck to the soles of his boots as he moved forward. The passageway branched. Unsheathing the knife strapped to his boot, Bark carved a shallow rune into the stone. He took a deep breath of stale air and continued on down the passage, softly, stealthy as a hunting lynx, ears alert to any unexpected sound, eyes searching the dark for traps.
The hobgoblins loathed the scouts who led the SDS into their secret lairs. Bark could not afford to be captured by the hobgoblins. If he was, he would not die an easy death. The hobgoblins loved their sport, and the Killing Caves of the Westering Isles were well named.
The thunder of the water gradually receded to a dull boom that vibrated through the rock. Discarded cattle bones littered the passageway, gnawed by sharp serrated teeth. The odd dragon scale gleamed coldly. Time and time again the passageway forked and then forked again, and at each junction in the bewildering maze of tunnels Bark scratched a rune to mark his route, blessing the acute night vision that took advantage of every scrap of available light and made gnomes such effective scouts below ground.
It grew colder and colder as he moved deeper into the mountain's heart. The sound of the waterfall receded into silence. Then at last a faint phosphorescent glow ghosted through the tunnels. Ahead, Bark found his way blocked by a rock fall. He bent down and touched the ground, examining it. No creature had passed this way for days, but he could smell the hobgoblins on the cold air that flowed up ahead. Returning, he chose another tunnel heading down in the same direction.
Suddenly a pit yawned in front of him. He stopped and listened. The sound of frothing, foaming water grew louder. Where there was water there were hobgoblins. Taking a metal peg and a small hammer from his belt, he unravelled a thin rope, secured it, and swiftly let himself down. The crash of water grew louder, then it was there in front of him, cascading down its hidden watercourse.
Sssssssssssssssssss ... The sinister sound echoed softly through the passageways. It was no different to the whisper of wind through the heather, but the hairs on the back of Bark's neck stood up, sending shivers down his spine. Up ahead the faint glow, almost like moonlight, penetrated the darkness, and the repugnant stench of rotting fish reached his nostrils.
The water flume blocked his passage ahead, leaving a ragged crack to his left as the only other choice. He squeezed through. The roof above him began to slope down towards the floor so that he was soon forced to bend and then to crawl forward on all fours. Carefully he wriggled further into the black crevice, feeling his way with fingers that ached with cold. The green glow and the ghostly whispering grew stronger.
Finally Bark could go no further between the pressing slabs of rock, so he began to edge sideways. Breathing slowly through his mask, he let his heart rate slow before moving on. The sound of popping and slithering filled his ears. He was almost upon them!
Sssssssssssssssssssss ...
As he slid a few inches further, a great cavern yawned ahead of him; a river of hobgoblins poured through it. Bark could barely breathe for the smell of fish and rotting offal. Patiently he lurked in the shadows while his soaked clothing stiffened and his muscles cramped. Still the hobgoblins came on.
And they were all heavily armoured. Metal breastplates and skull helmets gleamed in the sickly cold light. Some wore fearsome face masks and armour carved from white bone. They all carried a fearsome array of weapons: spiked flails and maces, spiral swords, spears and bows. Bark shivered and shifted slightly. His cold muscles ached and trembled with tension. Even his boots, waxed with bear fat, were soaked through. And still the hobgoblins thronged past him.
Bark trembled with horror. This was no scouting party, or even a marauding war band; there must be a full banner, perhaps two or three. There was one last detail the Earl would want to know, but for that he needed to move closer. His heart was thumping loudly in his ears as he edged towards the lip of an outcrop. Slowly, so slowly, he inched out of the comforting shadows into the sickly green light.
Eyes narrowed to slits, he studied the hobgoblins' tattoos, the subtle difference in jewellery and weaponry that distinguished each of the thirteen tribes. Those who carried blowpipes with their deadly darts; others who fought only with nets and spears. He counted eight different tribes. The Earl's instinct had been right: the tribes had united – and was that their leader they were all swarming around? The huge, powerfully built hobgoblin in the centre of the cave?
'Galtekerion ... Galtekerion ... Galtekerion ...' The hobgoblins hissed the name in unison, and the creature in their centre raised a webbed hand for silence.
'Prepare for our assault. We will catch the SDSsssss totally unawaresss in the Howling Glen passss. Firssst our brothersss will lure out their troopsss by attacking the brimstone ore caravan, then we attack the fortress. Victory will be oursss!'
The cave erupted in violent hissing, the assembled hobgoblins stamping their feet in excitement at the prospect of the ambush.
Bark's heart beat hard in his chest. The SDS were soon to be under attack. 'The Earl! I must warn him!' he whispered under his breath.
Thump ... thump ...
He began to move backwards inch by inch, once more edging into the comforting darkness, forcing his cold aching muscles to respond. But his clothes were frozen to the rock! He tried not to panic, but his breath was coming out in gasps that bloomed in the cold. Something tore. Finally he was free! As he began to turn, he heard a loud sucking sound. Silhouetted against the cavern's glow a young hobgoblin warrior crouched. Its head swayed from side to side as it drew in air over the sensitive glands in the roof of its mouth. Two glowing eyes turned to search the dark where Bark lay hidden.
The scout held his breath.
Sssssssssssssssssssssss ...
He heard its angry uncertain hiss, then a high-pitched croak of excitement rattled from its throat. More young hobgoblins hopped onto the rocky outcrop where he had lain, snuffling and sniffing. Flails and spears were rattled on shields; the drums took up a different rhythm. The hunt was on! The time for stealth was over.
Frantically Bark scrabbled backwards. He wiggled along, fingers feeling the edges of the tunnel until it began to open up again.
Thump! Thump!
He stumbled to his feet, scraping his head against the roof as he did so. He touched his fingers to the warm stickiness that snaked down his face. His heart hammered in his chest. Blood! If the hobgoblins didn't already know where he was, they soon would. They were predators and could smell tiny particles of blood in air or water from a great distance. Once a frenzy came upon them they would stop at nothing to find him and rend him limb from limb. Bark ran. He barely paused at a junction, checked for his rune with frozen fingertips and sped along a second tunnel. Behind him he heard the slap of webbed feet and the excited croaks of the hobgoblins.
He reached his rope. Flexing his fingers, frantically trying to regain some feeling, he reached up and began to haul himself up. He had barely reached the top and was pulling himself onto fi
rm ground when frenzied croaks rose up beneath him. Swiftly he sliced through the rope: this would scarcely hold them back, but he had sorcerer weapons that would. He pulled a small spherical object the size of a walnut from one of his pouches and dropped it into the pit. He raced away, counting beneath his breath.
'One, two, three ...' He put his hands up to cover his ears and squeezed his eyes tight shut. There was a flash like lightning.
BOOM!
A second flash was followed by a second explosion.
BOOM!
Bark's ears popped. He waited until the brilliant light had faded. That would stop any warriors within fifty strides of the detonation, bursting their eardrums and
ruining their night sight. Shaking his head, he sped on, but he was disoriented in the darkness, and when he came upon five tunnels branching from the path, he did not know which one to take to safety. Think! He closed his eyes, allowing his senses to reach out. Time to trust his instincts. Bark ran to each entrance until he felt a cold draught of fresh air blowing through one of them. Praying that he was not turning back into the path of the pursuing hobgoblins, he hurled himself through the narrow opening.
'Kkkkkrrrrooooakkk!'
The hobgoblins were right behind him. His heart leaped as he saw the ragged triangle of starlit sky. Freedom!
But they were almost upon him. Plucking another metal sphere from his bandolier, Bark let it fall. He heard it roll downwards towards the pursuing hobgoblins and waited for impact.
BOOM! The explosion blasted a wall of hot air up the passageway that punched him out of the mountain. Finally he was free, gulping in great lungfuls of clean night air. Where was he? The waterfall crashed down to his right. Moonshine Shadow must be just above him.
'Moonshine! Moonshine!' He called out to her, his voice thin in the vast silence of the night. Would she hear him above the crash and roar of the water?
In moments his dragon was swooping towards him. He was safe!
The dart took him in the neck, the pain exploding in his head. The shock forced him to his knees. Then ghostly figures rose from the rocks above and hopped towards him, croaking their excitement, their great bounds eating up the distance.
'Must escape ... Must warn the Earl ... Must warn ...' Already he was feeling disorientated, his vision blurring at the edges. He stumbled, falling heavily. Sweat was pouring from his body now, and his movements were becoming jerky. He did not have much time. Gasping for air, he reached for his mount.
'Moonshine, hush ...' Gathering up the reins, he lifted his foot to the stirrup, then doubled up in sudden agony as the first spasm took him. They would be upon him in moments.
Zzzzzzzzzzzzing! Arrows and darts whizzed past, breaking into lethal shards as they ricocheted off the rocks.
'Steady there, girl.' The gnome gripped the pommel and dragged himself into the saddle as a dart lodged itself in the leather. Collapsing forwards, he wrapped his jerking arms around the slender neck. He was shaking uncontrollably, teeth rattling.
'C-c-come on, girl ... g-g-got ... got to warn ... the Earl ...'
With a snort the dragon took to the air, fear lending her strength. As she rose, her pigmentation changed to the dark hue of the sky and she faded from sight. Slowly gathering speed, they swept down the mountainside towards the fort – but not swiftly enough. Bolts and darts whistled through the air. One passed through the delicate membrane of the dragon's right wing and the second lodged close to her spine. She screamed, and for a breathtaking moment hung limply in the air; then she passed beyond the reach of the hobgoblins.
Bark could barely see the great fortress up ahead, the red-hot glow of the battleroosts beckoning him home one final time. He was cold again, so achingly cold and heavy that he felt as if he were cast from stone. Even breathing was becoming an effort as the poison spread through his veins. Sluggishly fumbling at his harness, he pulled out a flare and flung it upwards with all his strength. In seconds it exploded bright red, fading slowly, lighting the sky with its warning glow: Danger! Danger! Request immediate extraction! He hoped the SDS would find him quickly ...
Three heavily armoured Vampires loomed out of the dark around him, but by then the wounded gnome and his dragon were spiralling down out of control. The rocky mountainside hurtled towards them. With nothing to break her fall, his mare slammed into the ground, throwing Bark heavily. He heard the crack as her neck broke, and screamed as his own leg splintered beneath him. Then darkness took him.
Bark opened his gummy eyes as he swam into consciousness. He heard voices, anxious, concerned, shapes looming out of the dark carrying flickering brands. The downdraught from a nearby dragon's wings blasted him. He groaned, his shattered leg trapped beneath the cooling body of his mount.
A voice cried in the rough tongue of the dwarfs, 'Over here. He's over here!'
His mouth opened but no words came out. His teeth chattered so hard a tooth fractured and still his jaw clamped down. He tried to grasp an arm, to tell them what was happening.
'It's the Earl's scout!'
'Move his mount. He's trapped ... she's dead.'
'Pull the dart—'
'Nay, it's barbed.'
'It's also poisoned!'
'It's too late ... To pull it would kill him now. He's lost a lot of blood. Tell the Earl ... Move, man! Lift him onto my cloak.'
'Gently ...' Another deeper voice cursed. 'Gently! Keep him warm. He's as cold as ice.'
He was lifted up and carried onto the back of an Imperial.
'You're safe.' A Bonecracker gruffly reached forward to cover the scout with his own heavy cloak. 'Hang on, Bark Oakley ...'
Great wings lifted him smoothly up into the night sky. The stars spun silver as they sped over the high ramparts and into the fortress. Bark passed out again, awaking to find himself being laid on a pallet. Oil lamps glowed softly; all else was shadow.
Now he was burning, steam rising from his broken body. A damp cloth wiped his forehead.
'Bark? Can you hear me?' The physician's voice was distant, his cool finger on the erratic pulse at his neck. 'The Earl is coming. Hang on, Bark.'
Uneven footsteps drew closer, the crash of armour loud on the stone-flagged floor. A sentry saluted, fist thumping leather breastplate. Two strides, a jingle of spurs, and then the Earl was at his side.
'Bark ...' The familiar voice, now rough with concern, came closer.
Bark tried to lift his head but his neck was not strong enough. His head lolled from side to side, blindly seeking the Earl. Taking the gnome's hand, the SDS Commander turned questioningly to his physician.
The old man shook his head. 'My lord ...' The words held a weight of sorrow.
'My ...' Bark summoned every last ounce of strength. Spittle foamed about his lips. 'M-m-my l-l ... my l-lor—' A spasm took him so that he bucked and kicked, his spine straining. 'Y-you were right. Two banners ...' His voice was growing fainter. 'Eight tribes, under one leader ... Two banners ...'
'One leader?' the Earl leaned forward intently.
'Yes, my lord. Named Galtekerion. They h-h-have found a way through the mountains; even now ... they are descending from the ... ravines and gorges, gathering in the shadows. I think they will ... attack the brimstone supply column.' The gnome sucked in a rasping breath. 'Eight t-t-tribes, my lord ... B-b-but ... this fortress ... we are ... their t-true target.' He groaned as his muscles spasmed again. His breath came in short gasps. 'Th-th-they ... will draw m-more ... of our forces out before falling on the fortress. They will attack just b-before dawn when we ... when we ...'
'Least expect them,' the Earl finished, looking at the tall armoured Dragon Lord who was waiting by the door for orders. If they succeeded, they would fire the unstable brimstone and take a fortress. It would be a double hammer blow for the SDS.
'Combat liftoff,' the Earl commanded. 'To arms immediately! I want all Imperials fully prepped, armed and cloaked within the hour. Now! Raise the dragonpads. Rouse the camp. We are under attack.'
His
bugler ran from the tent. Urgent notes rang out, crystal clear in the silence. Scramble! Scramble! Scramble!
Bark heard orders being relayed, the shock and disbelief of answering voices. 'Shut the north portal, now! Send skirmishers to warn those guarding the brimstone caravan, and scramble the Vampires in support. All of them!'
In the barracks men-at-arms tumbled from hammocks to snatch up their chain mail, armour and weapons. Bonecrackers pounded out across the parade ground towards the dragonpads.
Bark heard the Earl give another order, but the words no longer made any sense to him. Again the bugler's urgent notes split the night. His jaw grated to one side. Darkness coiled and swirled about him, sucking him down into its depths. His legs thrashed and kicked.
'Hold him, gently now!' the Earl commanded.
Bark's strength suddenly flowed out of him. Now he could rest. The Earl was forewarned ... A face floated before him. A tear spilled from his eye as he realized he would never see his son again. 'M-m-my s-s-s ... R-R ...'
The Earl leaned forward to hear the whisper.
Taking a breath was becoming harder and harder, as if a great weight lay on his chest. 'Root ... my ... son ...' he tried again.
'Do not fear,' the Earl said, cradling Bark's head. 'He shall be brought into my household and taken care of. I swear it.'
'My lord ...' The ghost of a smile was followed by a crack as Bark's spine broke and the air sighed from his lungs one final time.
The SDS Commander cursed, but there was no time for grief. Laying the head gently on the pallet, the Earl Rufus got to his feet. 'My helmet, my staff!' His esquires ran to where his armour and weaponry hung. His standard bearer unfurled his flag and followed his commander out to prepare for battle.
'Combat takeoff! Combat takeoff!'
'Go! Go! Go!'
'Up, Stormcracker!' the Earl Rufus urged his dragon, standing in his stirrups, battlestaff at the ready. 'Up, old friend!'
