by David Adams
The scuttling noise was more apparent in the large room, but clearly distant, coming from one of the tunnels or perhaps the pit. Whether the noise moved toward them or away, they could not tell.
They took up positions on the platform, keeping low with weapons drawn. New sounds reached them now—the ring of metal on stone, and worse, the sounds of human shouts, some war cries, some of pain and death.
They fought the urge to run toward the sound of battle, Demetrius and Rowan giving silent warning to Lucien, who started forward at the noise. Instead they moved down the ramp in good order and started around to the nearest tunnel, keeping their backs to the chamber wall for maximum protection.
When they were halfway to the next tunnel, the noises suddenly stopped. Then, like a building ocean wave, the sound of thousands of scurrying, chitinous feet grew.
“Crogs!” Rowan shouted as the creatures poured forth from the tunnel. They were no more than a foot high and a foot long, six clawed feet propelling a cylindrical body whose purpose seemed to be to transport a set of sharp, needle-like teeth. They were fast, and clung to the walls as easily as they moved along the floor. Their dark gray bodies were difficult to see against the stone, which appeared to undulate with movement as the crogs covered it.
The party drew into a circle and began to slash furiously with their blades as the creatures tried to swarm over them. Individual crogs were easily dispatched, but their numbers and speed made them formidable opponents. Tala’s bow was rendered useless, and she was reduced to batting them away. Their attack was so swift that she was unable to reach the level of concentration required to call upon her magic, although she wasn’t sure her spells would do much good against the small beasts.
Dead crogs lay thick about their feet, but the living simply scrambled over the fallen and continued to strike. Swords slowed as arms began to grow weary, and blood began to well up from puncture wounds inflicted by crog teeth.
“Are they poisonous?” Corson asked, while a swift stroke of his blade sliced through two of the creatures.
“No,” Rowan replied. “But if you fall beneath them you will not rise again. Keep your feet at all costs.”
Crogs dropped from the ceiling, trying surprise and having some success, distracting and confusing the adventurers, and sometimes finding purchase to snap with their vicious teeth. One clamped onto the back of Demetrius’ neck, and he yelled out in pain.
Lucien sliced through it cleanly with his warblade, then turned back to the work in front of him in one smooth motion. “They quick, but weak,” he observed.
The crogs backed away, perhaps noting that their numbers had been reduced greatly and that their opponents, though bloodied, still stood resolutely before them. Individual creatures lunged to attack, but were easily brought down. For a moment, a haunting silence fell, broken only by the soft clicking of hungry teeth.
“What holds them back?” asked Rowan. “Crogs are not known to—”
A guttural noise emanated from the pit, the low angry growl of some new monstrosity. The red light flickered as it was interrupted now and then by the shadowy passage of something rising from the depths.
With a belligerent roar it flung itself from the pit. It stood twice the height of any of the awestruck adventurers before it. Glistening black scales covered a body that was roughly human in shape, but the head was all sharp angels and long horns. Huge, membranous wings flared out behind it, and in one clawed hand it held a black metal staff topped with a ruby jewel. It glared at them with bottomless black eyes.
“Pit demon,” Corson breathed. “Never thought to see one. Kind of reminds me of Lucien, though. Maybe a big brother.”
The demon let out a yell of challenge while the crogs skittered into the background, willing to wait out of the way for the sizable meal they expected was coming.
It swung first at Rowan, striking with shocking speed and strength. Rowan brought his weapon up to parry the blow, the blade glowing white with some internal power. The parry was effective, but the force behind the attack buckled Rowan’s knees. He recovered in time to lunge away from a second strike, while the others tried to flank the demon.
Tala took aim at an eye and loosed an arrow, but the thing was too quick, easily batting it aside, then lunging at her before she could ready a second shot. Seeing the speed of its advance, she held her ground as if to engage in hand-to-hand combat, then ducked and rolled through its legs as it brought its staff down, and finally scrambling clear before it could react to her move.
Lucien and Demetrius took advantage of the demon’s momentary imbalance, each striking at one side of the monster. Forced to choose, the demon parried Lucien’s warblade and twisted away from Demetrius’ sword, but only with moderate success. A small wound opened in its side, black blood bubbling slowly out.
The demon let out a roar of primal rage, wildly swinging its staff in Demetrius’ direction. The big man ducked the blow, but Corson and Rowan, who were charging into the fray, were both caught by the staff, and were flung back, arms and legs flailing, weapons clanging against the stone floor.
Lucien connected with his warblade, catching part of a wing and striking a glancing blow to its back. The demon spun, more under control now, and thrust the jeweled end of its staff directly at the goblin’s torso. Lucien could offer only a weak parry, lessening but not eliminating the impact of the staff on his chest. With a grunt of expelled air he was sent sprawling backward. Scrambling to his feet, Lucien took a quick glance at the crogs, relieved that they still waited at the edge of the battle, unwilling to touch the demon’s prey. He shuddered at the thought of what might have befallen him and his companions had the crogs been in attack mode at the same time the five battled the demon.
The monster pressed forward again, oblivious or unconcerned that by doing so it allowed its opponents to gain flanking and rear positions. Given a choice, it again chose Rowan, and Lucien noted for the first time the white glow being cast by Rowan’s blade increased in intensity as the demon approached the Delvishman.
Rowan dodged two overhead blows from the demon’s staff, but was being forced back. Demetrius tried his luck at striking at a leg from behind, but the creature slammed the butt end of the staff backward into Demetrius’ stomach, forcing him to give ground. Feeling his feet beginning to lose their purchase on the floor, Demetrius flung out his hands to try to regain his balance, and peering over his shoulder, he saw he was precariously balanced on the edge of the pit. For an instant he hung there, looking down, gazing into the fiery red glow that came from depths beyond seeing, and then he felt his balance go completely. As he started to fall, a hand took a firm grip on his forearm.
Corson pulled his friend back to safety, but in doing so he had turned his back on the demon. Sensing an opportunity, the dark creature moved to push both Corindors into the pit. Seeing what was happening, Rowan let out a yell and swung at the beast, less to harm it than to draw its attention. Nevertheless, his sword bit into the flesh of its arm, the white shimmer of the weapon standing in stark contrast to the demon’s black, scaly hide.
Now, indeed, Rowan had the creature’s full attention and it charged. Ignoring an arrow from Tala that clicked feebly against its side, it rained one blow after another at Rowan, who could do no more than try to ward them off. He staggered back until the chamber wall forced an end to his retreat.
Rowan held his sword above his head, but was driven down by the endless blows of the staff. He was given a brief respite only once, when the demon whirled to fend off a charge from the others, but it held its ground, looking for a few uninterrupted seconds to finish its work.
The staff slammed down again, ringing against the steel of Rowan’s blade. Again the rod flew down, the ruby jewel a red blur. The sword did not come out of Rowan’s hand, but his grip was weakened, and the blade dipped toward the floor. The path was clear for a killing blow.
The demon reared back, ready to put all its strength, its malice, its hatred into the final smashing str
ike. Rowan detected unexpected movement out of the corner of his eye. A flash of silver split the air above him.
The demon paused, unsure what had happened. A large spear protruded from its chest, the point exiting its back and sending a splash of thick blood onto the floor.
Rowan stood quickly, righting his blade and driving it under the demon’s breastplate, hoping to find its wretched heart. It dropped its staff, but flung a clawed hand up to grip Rowan by the throat and lift him off the ground, ignoring the fact that the motion drove the sword even further into its own body.
It pulled Rowan close, teeth bared, sulfurous breath coming out of its open mouth in ragged gasps. It fell to one knee but tightened its grip, wanting to take Rowan with it into death.
Rowan could feel the muscles and tendons in his neck compressing, his windpipe constricted but not yet crushed. He gave the sword an ineffective twist, staring all the while into the soulless eyes of his enemy.
Suddenly those eyes and the head that held them were gone, severed by Lucien’s warblade. For a moment all was still, then the demon’s body crumpled to the ground, its grip finally slackening enough for Rowan to pull himself free.
The crogs were quick to react, fleeing down the far tunnel. Hungry and vicious as they might be, they had no interest in taking on any group that could kill their dark master. There was easier prey to be had.
Once the small carnivores had fled, attention turned to the wielder of the spear that had begun the demon’s undoing. She slumped against the wall of the tunnel from which the crogs had entered the chamber. Powerfully built and nearly as tall as Lucien, she was instantly recognizable as one of the warriors of Lorgras, a land in the far north of Arkania. Her thick clothes were tattered, and blood flowed freely from dozens of small wounds—it was easy to see that she had encountered the crogs earlier. She tried to stand without support from the wall, failed, and then slid to the ground.
Rowan was first to reach her, ignoring his own injuries. He hesitated for a second, sucking in a short breath as he gazed upon her face. He composed himself quickly. “Be still, lady,” he whispered hoarsely. “You are among friends now.”
She met his eyes for an instant, saw an unspoken message there, and then offered only a weak smile. She tried to speak, but only managed a racking cough.
Rowan placed his hands on her forehead and allowed healing power to flow into her. When he removed his hands they were covered with blood, but the female warrior’s eyes showed renewed strength.
“We will need to clean and bandage your wounds,” he said, “but you will live.”
“Thank you,” she said, trying to rise.
He helped her up. “It is you who deserve my thanks. Your spear saved my life.” He turned to Lucien. “And your blade. I owe you my thanks as well.”
“Live or die together,” Lucien said.
The woman took note of the goblin, and then of the others. To Rowan she said, “You travel with interesting company, paladin.”
“Rowan, my lady.”
“Alexis,” she replied with a quirky smile. The others introduced themselves in turn.
At Rowan’s insistence, Alexis took a bit of water and food while he worked on her wounds, but her focus was on Tala and Demetrius, who had gone to the demon’s body. Demetrius removed Rowan’s sword, which had remained lodged in the creature as it died, and then Alexis’s spear, having to use a foot to hold the body down while he pulled it free.
Tala knelt before the body and closed her eyes as if in prayer. She drew in a steadying breath, then plunged a delicate hand into the entry wound created by the spear. Her eyes remained closed in concentration while she probed, and fortunately her search was a short one. She removed a small object from the demon’s body, and although it was covered in thick gore, everyone in the chamber knew what she had found, even Alexis. Tala wiped it clean as best she could, and with a few whispered words gave it to Demetrius.
“You seek to reassemble the Sphere?” she asked Rowan with a pleased look.
He nodded. “Is that the reason you came to be here as well?”
In reply she pulled a pouch from her belt, one stained with fresh blood. Opening it, she revealed a small piece of the Soul Sphere.
As the others drew near, Alexis began her story. “Our High Queen Alexandra was there when Solek betrayed us all, and both she and King Rodaan were able to escape with small shards of the Sphere.”
“Legend has always held that one shard was taken,” Corson said.
Alexis nodded. “The High Queen and King Rodaan agreed to allow news that a single shard had been saved to spread slowly in Arkania. Solek, in time, would likely realize a piece was missing, but for our peoples such news might give hope in dark days such as these.”
“And by allowing the half-truth that only one shard had been taken,” Demetrius said, “the second shard was further protected.”
“Yes. Solek would want to scatter the pieces, not collect them, so it was hoped he would never discover the reality of what was taken.”
“But how did you come to know this?”
Alexis paused for a moment, then said, “The High Queen found it necessary to confide this in me as I began this quest.”
“Is she well?”
“No one is well these days. But she lives, and still has some vigor in her.” Alexis continued her tale. “So, one piece went north to Lorgras, the other south to Corindor.”
“The second was the piece we began with,” Demetrius told her. “King Rodaan entrusted it to us when he fell to the Dead Legion.”
A haunted look flashed across her face. “I am sorry. Rodaan was a good man and a good king. He will be missed.” She looked at Tala. “I am guessing—hoping actually—that you have the magic.”
“My powers are quite limited, I’m afraid,” Tala said. “But I am able to locate the shards with finding spells.”
“I traveled with a party much like this one—a small group of warriors and a mage. They did not survive the passage into this chamber. We were overrun by crogs, and the tunnel is a poor space in which to fight with weapons such as ours.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” said Rowan. “We were passing through a separate passage when we heard the sounds of your battle.”
“Then the deaths of my companions may not have been in vain. If you had come later, the crogs would have met you in the tunnels as well.”
“They may yet return,” Rowan noted. “Are you well enough to move?”
“I’m fine,” she replied. She retrieved her spear from Demetrius with a nod of thanks.
As Rowan took his sword, Lucien, remembering the blade’s white glow as they fought the demon, pointed at it and said, “Avenger blade? Few skilled enough to earn them.”
“Or devoted enough to the ways of the Savior,” Corson added.
“What would you have me say, my friends. My blade, and my heart, are at your disposal. And I owe all of you my life. Our cause is just, and I will serve it just as I serve my Lord.”
“And we are grateful for your service,” said Tala, “as well as for your friendship. But now we must choose a direction and be away. If you will give me a moment…”
“Wait,” Alexis said. “There is a piece somewhere in the Garden Valley. If you go to Arna’s Forge, the Dwarf King Meldros could give you leave to travel safely, at least until you reach what guards that shard.”
Rowan looked concerned. “You will not come with us?”
“I insist upon it. But I will not go to Arna’s Forge myself. Meldros and the High Queen have disputed the ownership of the valley for years. Open war has been avoided, but the hostility is real. I will wait outside the city and rejoin you after he has given you leave to pass into the valley.”
“Could we not simply bypass Arna’s Forge?” Corson asked.
“If we are found on dwarven lands, especially near the mountains, and do not have proof of the king’s leave to be there, there will be bloodshed.”
“Then we return through
the passage you entered?” Demetrius asked.
“Yes. We will then be in the Westerland. It is only a journey of two days to Arna’s Forge.”
“Two days? You must be a swift and strong runner.”
She smiled. “We left horses with a farmer only a short way from the foot of the mountains. They will speed our journey.”
Tala lit a torch and gave it to Alexis, who led them into the tunnel. She paused only once, among the scant remains of her fallen companions. “Rest well, my friends,” she said softly. “I will greet your souls in the afterworld and sing of your lives in this one.”
Chapter 4: Arna’s Forge and Beyond
They emerged into the biting cold their bodies had had little time to forget. Beneath them the vast fields of the Westerland stretched in every direction. Northeast the Aetos Mountains were visible, hazy blue-gray giants in the distance. At the western foot of these mountains stood the dwarven stronghold of Arna’s Forge.
“The land does not seem so wounded here,” Tala observed. “The grass is green, the trees show their fall colors…”
“Only for a time will it be so,” Alexis said. “Lorgras is sick, as is most of the Westerland, further west and north. Once Solek turns his eye here, this land will suffer. He will not stop until all is under his dominion.”
“Or until we stop him,” said Demetrius.
They made their way down the mountain, slowed by the angry wind, falling darkness, and their rapidly numbing hands and feet. It was several hours past nightfall when they reached level ground and could at least consider taking their ease.
“How far to the horses?” Rowan asked, while trying to shake the aches and cold away from his limbs.
