Viridian Gate Online- Doom Forge

by J. A. Hunter

  Carl leaned over, cupping one hand over his mouth, “That’s a Dwarven idiom for forever,” he whispered.

  “Thanks, Carl,” I said, patting him on the shoulder.

  Ari’s voice whispered in my ear, “Need me to launch a distraction?” She was cloaked in a glamor, so the guards wouldn’t even see the attack coming. “I can sow enough chaos to buy you the time you need.”

  “No, it’s fine,” I replied with a tight shake of my head. “Forge,” I said a touch more loudly, focusing on the hotheaded Risi. “It’s fine. Put your weapon away. These guys are just trying to do their job. We can’t hurt them. Wouldn’t be right. You know that.”

  He grunted. Nodded. “Yeah. You’re right, hoss. Sorry ’bout that. Just don’t like people pushing me around is all.” Still, he had the good graces to looked abashed as he stowed his weapon.

  I fixed my gaze on spark-plug Garth. “Name’s Jack. We don’t intend to hurt anyone.” I turned, shooting a look at Cutter and Amara in turn, since they were the other two who were liable to try something clever. “We’ll be more than happy to cooperate with you. I’m really not sure what you’re talking about, but please take us to your captain—I’m sure we can clear this misunderstanding up in no time. Lead the way.” I gestured with one hand toward the road ahead.

  “Glad you see fit to do it the easy way, though word of warning. Any funny business and my men won’t hesitate to pepper you with poison-tipped bolts. And we know just how powerful your kind can be, so know that the poison we use is strong enough to put down a Stone Drake at ten paces.”

  Cutter snorted. “Bullshite, friend. No poison is strong enough to do that. I would know. Something of a poison expert, myself.”

  “Well. Maybe not with a single bolt,” the guard admitted with a cold, toothy grin that didn’t hold a lick of amusement, “but you have fifteen men ready to drop a bolt every three seconds. And thanks to your loud mouth, I’ll make sure you’re the first to get a taste.” The grin slipped away entirely. “Now, if you’d kindly shut your trap and follow me.” With that, he wheeled around and marched up the street, his host of armed guards forming up around us in a circle.

  Treason and Heresy

  WE FOLLOWED THE SERGEANT through the neatly laid out streets—a left, a right, another right, followed by a straightaway and a brief switchback. The whole time the guards surrounding us never dropped their weapons or gazes for a moment. These guys were ready to throw down at the drop of a hat. I also couldn’t help but notice that the archers moved from rooftop to rooftop along the route, ensuring they had suppressive cover fire on us from every possible vantage. Impressive.

  Not impressive enough to actually stop us if we decided to put up a fight, but it wouldn’t be an easy fight, that was for sure.

  The sergeant eventually ushered us to a three-story building of gray stone with a slate-tiled roof. Thin windows dotted the third floor; none were big enough for someone my size to slip through, but Ari could probably manage it if push came to shove—the advantages of being Barbie-sized. They were, however, the perfect size for an archer to rain fire down from above and were obviously built with practicality in mind. Instead of entering into the building through a set of hulking, reinforced steel doors at the front, the sergeant at arms guided us to a smaller door in the side that let out into a wide square courtyard right in the middle of the building.

  From this vantage it was easy to see the building was actually a giant square, the middle carved out as a training ground. The courtyard wasn’t much more than a sandy pit; weapon racks edged the interior walls. It was a barracks, though it looked closer to the Imperial-style barracks in New Viridia than the ones we had down in the Storme Marshes.

  The sergeant motioned for us to form up in the center of the training grounds and as we took our place, the side door slammed closed, and the Dwarven archer brigade popped up along the roof. My stomach lurched up into my throat as I took a rough count. There were at least fifty men—and that was just the archers—and they had us completely boxed in without any easy escape route in sight. Reinforced doors popped open and more Dwarves poured into the courtyard, these heavily armored ground pounders who quickly took up positions at even intervals along the walls.

  A full squad, eight deep, posted up in front of the side exit, which was the only direct way out from the courtyard proper.

  With Devil and Valkyrie, we could hypothetically take to the skies, but we’d be completely in the open without so much as a cloud for cover.

  I quickly recalculated our odds of getting out of this place alive if things went south.

  Yeah. They weren’t looking good. These guys were weaker than us, no doubt, but they’d made up for that with good planning and superior numbers.

  “Now, you there,” the sergeant said, turning on me. “You seem like the leader of this little group, so why don’t you and the priest come with me, huh? Talk to the captain while the rest of your group stays out here, under our friendly and ever so courteous supervision. So long as you and your friends keep playing nice, so will my friends.”

  And now they were splitting the party. Clearly, this wasn’t their first rodeo.

  “We didn’t do anything wrong,” I replied, “so we’re happy to comply. But since we’re being so friendly, I’ll offer you a polite word of warning in return. My crew will behave. But if any of your men get trigger happy, I won’t hesitate to burn this place to the ground. There’s too much on the line for anything else. Abby,” I said, stealing a sidelong glance at the Firebrand, “you’re in charge here. Don’t rock the boat unless you absolutely have to. But if you do have to, go full Titanic. Now”—I turned back toward the sergeant—“why don’t you show us the way.”

  The sergeant seemed to take my threat in stride. I had to admit, these Dwarves were growing on me. Tough bunch. I could see why Nangkri had liked them so much. As Carl and I made our way from the courtyard, I felt something light touch down on my shoulder. “I’m right here if you need me, Jack,” Ari said in my ear. “You just say the word and I’ll cut this guy up like a side of beef.”

  I grinned and gave a brief dip of my head. Having her with me certainly wouldn’t even the odds, but it was always nice to have at least one ace tucked up my sleeve.

  The sergeant guided us down a wide hallway with a claustrophobically low ceiling—another inspired innovation. Since this was a Dwarven barracks, it followed that only Dwarves would live and work here. The ceilings wouldn’t bother them in the least, but it would give them a decided advantage over any taller opponents that might try to invade. Fighting while stooped over and constantly in fear of slamming your head into the ceiling would certainly make this place a nightmare to take.

  The sergeant came to a halt outside a plain brown door no different than any of the others we’d passed and gave it a sharp rap. “Captain Raginolf, I have our guests if you’re ready to see them.”

  “Aye, aye. Go ahead and show ’em in, Sergeant.”

  Our guide shouldered the heavy door open, then motioned for us to enter.

  “Ah’ll take it from here,” Captain Raginolf said, spearing the Dwarf with his steely gaze. “Close the door on yer way out, eh? Now there’s a good lad.” The sergeant at arms was wise enough to follow the order without a word of protest, leaving Carl, Ari, and me alone with the surly captain of the guard. He sat behind a blocky, unassuming wooden desk. Well-made, but plain and practical. Everything about the room was the same. A leather chair, comfortable, but far from fancy. A small bed in one corner, the sheets and blankets pulled tight and meticulously folded—a military rack through and through.

  There was a chest at the foot of the bed, covered with heavy brass rivets, but no lock. A trusting man. Or maybe he figured that anyone dumb enough to rob him here deserved whatever they got. A stand-up armor rack adorned another corner, and I was surprised to see it actually held his bulky plate mail and gold-and-black tabard.

  “Take a seat,” he barked, waving at a pair of stools in front
of him. “Ah’ll be with ya lot in ah moment,” he said, eyes still fixed on a spattering of loose-leaf papers on his desk. He dipped the nib of a quill in a nearby inkpot, then hastily scribbled something at the bottom of a page. Curious, I tried to steal a glance at whatever he was writing, but his chicken-scratch handwriting was nearly impossible to read. Eventually, the scritch-scratch of quill on parchment ceased, and Raginolf raised his eyes, pinning us with a gaze fierce enough to strip paint.

  “Well now, if it isn’t my heroic merchant friend. May I ask how you’re enjoying our fair city?”

  “Ummm. It’s a great place you have here,” I offered sheepishly. “Very clean. Nice. Friendly.”

  “Oh, is that so? Well then... why in the nine bloody hells did you see fit to BURN HALF OF IT TO THE GROUND, EH?” His voice rose as he spoke, until he was full-on yelling by the end, spittle flying from his beet-red face. “That little fire you and yours started over at the Smoked Pig spread to four other buildings.” He thrust four plump fingers into the air. “And yer damned lucky we got there when we did, or ya might’ve burned down half the damned city in truth.”

  “Look, I can explain that,” I shot back. “Yes, we’re responsible for that, but not entirely responsible.”

  “Stow it, lad!” he boomed, slamming his hands down on the table. “Against my better judgment Ah let ya lot in. Ah stuck my neck out and told ya na ta cause trouble, and ya saw fit tae shite right on me bloody goodwill. Ah’ve been moppin’ up yer bloody mess all night and now Stone Reach is on lockdown because someone murdered a whole temple full of priests. Ya are new here, so you ought to know that Dwarves are a pious lot. Even speaking against a Cleric is borderline heresy. Many a Dwarf has been exiled for far less. But killing an entire bloody order?”

  He shook his head and ran a hand over his beard. “It’s never even been hear of! Gods be damned heresy and treason is what it is. And who should ya show up with in tow, but the last bloody priest alive from the order! The man who would stand tae benefit the most from the deaths of his fellows. A washed-up acolyte, only recently readmitted to the order’s ranks. Ya’ve made quite the mess, lad.”

  “Whoa,” Carl said, throwing up his hands. “Are you telling me the other Acolytes of the Shield and Hammer are all...” He trailed off, shifting uncomfortably on his stool. “Dead,” he finished weakly.

  “Damned right. And not just the locals, neither, but the Travelers too. Killed with Vogthar blades. No fancy respawn fer them. All gone. You’re the only living member.”

  “And I’m a suspect?” Carl asked.

  “Does a Dwarf have a beard?” he replied, folding his arms across his barrel chest.

  “Look, Captain,” I said, “we didn’t do this. I mean, yes, we did burn down the Smoked Pig, though there’s more to that story that you need to hear. But kill a temple full of priests? We couldn’t have done that. We were holed up at the thieves’ headquarters all night and were a hundred miles away in a dungeon dive all morning. Besides, we wouldn’t have done it. We’ve been working with Carl, here, because he was our key into the order. There are resources in that library that we need.”

  “Oh, do tell. So now ya admit tae bein’ involved with the order. And ya’ve bloody given me a proper motive, not to mention yer alibi will fall apart because no one at the Thieves Guild is gonna go on record and talk to us—testifying to the city guards would be career bloody suicide fer a professional cutpurse.”

  “It wasn’t us, okay,” I snapped back. “I’m telling you, Captain, you have to trust us. We’re the good guys here.”

  “Oh, is that right?” he shot back. “Don’t play me fer a fool, lad. I know who ya bloody well are. Grim Jack Shadowstrider, Rebel leader of the Crimson Alliance. And it seems to me that about half of bloody Eldgard, the Imperial half—who are close trading partners with Stone Reach, might I add—might well see things a bit differently.”

  That caught me off guard. “How long have you known?”

  “Ah had my suspicions from the get-go—Ah’m no eejit with his head stuck in the bloody sand—but ya intervened and pulled our arses out of the fire. Ah thought maybe it was coincidence. After yer tussle at the Smoked Pig, though, a blind beggar could piece it together. There were at least twenty witnesses, and last time I checked, there’s only one Murky bastard with a pet Shadow Drake.”

  “Fine. All of that’s true, but I swear I’m not your enemy, and we didn’t kill those priests. We’re working against a man named Peng Jun. He’s a Darkling general, and he’s looking to assemble a weapon that could kill all of us. And, for the record, Peng doesn’t care about Imperial or Rebel. He’s a rabid dog, and he’ll do whatever he needs to do to get his hands on that weapon. And it just so happens the Acolytes of the Shield and Hammer are the key to this whole thing. I’m going to show you something, Captain. You’ve shown me trust, so I’m going to return the favor.”

  Slowly I reached into my inventory and pulled out one of the Doom-Forged relics, placing it gently on the desk between us. Raginolf’s eyes focused, his wind-beaten forehead scrunching as he stretched out a hand and ran his plump digits across the item. His breath caught. “The Doom Forge? It cannae be. It’s a legend.”

  “No, it isn’t. And like I said, the acolytes hold the secret to finding the forge. We ran up against Peng and his thugs at the Smoked Pig. They were after this guy”—I jerked my head at Carl—“but we got to him first. My guess is that after losing him, Peng and his crew headed to Stone Reach, hoping to pressure the priests into divulging their secrets. And when they didn’t, he slaughtered them all, because Peng has some serious anger control issues. He’s the one responsible for all of this, and he’s still inside Stone Reach.”

  I picked up the relic and slipped it back into my inventory.

  Raginolf stood, puffing out his cheeks and folding his hands behind his back at parade rest. “What a giant shitestorm ya’ve dropped in me lap, lad. Ah headache like ya wouldn’t bloody believe.” He turned pensive for a beat. “So, Ah suppose you’re looking for the Doom Forge as well, then, eh? And what would you do if you find it? Build yer Alliance a weapon capable of turning the war in yer favor, I suppose?”

  I paused, processing the question. “I’ll bring justice to people like Peng,” I finally said, “and hopefully stop the Vogthar incursions for good. And speaking of Peng, if you let us into Stone Reach, I can get him for you.”

  “Oh, and why do ya think that?”

  “Because he knows I have the Doom-Forged relics. He’ll come for me, and when he does, we’ll be ready. I’m telling you, Captain, we can get the guy responsible for those murders if you give us a shot.”

  Raginolf sighed and turned, offering us his back. A perfect opportunity to attack if we’d had ulterior motives... I half wondered if that wasn’t the point—a test to see if we were leveling with him. Eventually, he faced us, then bent over and scooped up the letter from his desk. “This is a writ, authorizing yer party to enter Stone Reach.”

  Once more he caught me flatfooted, and I’m sure it showed on my face.

  He grinned and winked. “Ah might be a guard in a backwater town, but Ah wasn’t always. In my experience, ya don’t live long as a captain in the guard unless ya can read people like a book. Ah knew ya were trouble, but Ah also knew ya were good. Still, Ah wanted to hear it from yer own lips—make damned sure Ah wasn’t making a mistake before unleashing ya on me city. Because you, Grim Jack, bring death and destruction with ya wherever ya go.”

  I opened my mouth to speak, but he cut me off with a glare and a raised hand.

  “Ah’m not judging. And Ah am sure it’s not yer intention, lad, but those are the facts. It is what it is. Now, this writ, it won’t just get ya inta Stone Reach. It’ll get ya into the temple and will obligate any of the Stone Reach guards to give you aid, should ya so request it. It’s unorthodox, but it’ll fly.” He pursed his lips and nodded. “Aye. It’ll fly. Though ya have ta promise me one thing. Ya find this bastard, Peng, and ya bury him.” He e
xtended the paper toward me, a fat wax seal at the bottom.

  “I will.”

  “Good. Now get on over to the Mystica Ordo, they’re on standby ready to port ya over to the city. Give ’em hell, Grim Jack, and don’t make me regret stickin’ my bloody neck out. Again.”

  Soul Smith

  THE TRIP TO THE MYSTICA Ordo in Cliffburgh was uneventful and, with Captain Raginolf’s writ in hand, getting into Stone Reach was even more so. Sure, we got a few odd looks from the Dwarven mages managing the enormous transference portal, but no one wanted to get on Raginolf’s bad side, so they waved us through without a hassle. The Mystica Ordo chapter hall inside Stone Reach was nearly identical to every other chapter hall I’d ever been in—marbled floors, walls covered with expensive silk tapestries, mounted torches, stuffy Portomancers—but the city beyond was unlike anything I’d ever seen.

  We stepped into something straight out of the Lord of the Rings.

  Forge let out a low whistle.

  “Well, bugger me good,” Cutter said, awe coating the words, which was a rarity with him. It seemed like he’d traveled to just about everywhere in Eldgard in his capacity as a thief, but gaining access to Stone Reach was new even to him.

  We were inside a mountain, I knew we were, but glancing up it would’ve been nearly impossible to tell. There should’ve been craggy rock and hanging stalactites, but instead we had an unobstructed view of the twilight sky, glimmering stars starting to peek their faces out for the night. Paper lanterns in a multitude of hues filled the air, shining with spelled light.

  “But how?” Amara asked, gaze fixed on the stars, her mouth open.