The Iron Tower Omnibus

by Dennis L McKiernan

  Out through an eastern portal they went, and entered a lightly delved corridor: though the floor was smooth, the walls and ceiling were but little worked by Dwarven tools and had a rough look. The floor sloped up and the corridor curved this way and that, once turning in a great long spiral upward. There were many side fissures cleaving off into the darkness, their ends beyond seeing.

  “If I am right,” said Brega, excitement rising in his voice, “Châkka lore calls this the Upward Way. It is part of the trade road through Kraggen-cor, and runs from the Broad Háll to the Great Chamber of the Sixth Rise. That must have been the Broad Háll we just left. And though I know not the way, we indeed stride toward the eastern portal, for the spoken lore tells that the Great Chamber is just under two miles from the Daûn Gate.”

  Up they went, their hopes rising, but so, too, rose their fear, for they strode toward the Dread.

  “Hsst!” Again Gildor shushed the others and Brega shuttered the lantern. Red Bale’s flame grew, and the clatter of Rûcks came toward them.

  They slipped aside into a crevice, hiding deep in its dark recesses. Bale was sheathed so that its ruby light would not give them away, and they waited.

  Now they could hear voices, speaking in the foul Slûk tongue, and louder came the tramp of feet and the rattle of arms. Torchlight grew, and passed the mouth of the crevice. And Tuck’s pulse hammered in his ears. And one of the Rûcks stepped in to search the fissure, his burning brand held aloft!

  Deep in the dark at the back of the crack and as yet unseen by the Rûck, Tuck reached for an arrow, but ere he could string it to bow, the lash of the dire Dread swept across them all, and a wail of fear rose up from the Rûcks, and the one coming along the crevice shrieked and dropped the brand and covered his ears in terror. And then the surging horror was past, and the Rûck snatched up the torch and ran back to join the others, abandoning his search of this fissure.

  A snarling Hlôk amongst the Rûcks flailed about with a whip, and drove them back to their hunt. But they had moved beyond the crevice hiding the four, and so found them not, as onward tramped the squad, ferreting out the other fissures as they went, their torchlight fading in the distance.

  “The Dread has foiled his own search,” whispered Tuck, his hands still trembling. “Yet it surprises me that his power whelms the Rûcks, too.”

  “To his fear casting none are immune,” said Gildor, “perhaps not even Modru, himself.”

  “Let us go ere other Squam come this way,” insisted Brega.

  Gildor withdrew Bale and the blade-jewel’s light faded as they watched, for the Rûcken squad had moved on, passing beyond seeing. Swiftly, back out of the crevice the four stepped and to the east, and soon they came to another huge cavern, and great square-cut stone blocks were scattered across the floor.

  Brega pointed at one of the cubes. “I name this the Rest Chamber, for I think the Waeran’s wee legs grow weary, and we can rest among these stone seats, and hide among them should searchers come.”

  “Good advice, Warrior Brega,” said Galen, sitting upon the floor with his back to stone, “for on our next leg I deem we must be prepared for swiftness, and rest is needed.”

  And so, with Red Bale standing silent sentry, they sat in the Rest Chamber and took mian and water, and their hearts pounded in fear.

  ~

  According to Brega’s measure, they had marched thirty-nine miles since leaving the Dusk-Door, and had taken but six hours’ sleep in the Bottom Chamber and no more than an hour’s rest at their other stops. Drained, they sat in the Rest Chamber for perhaps another hour, gathering strength for the final dash to the Dawn-Gate, estimated by Lord Gildor to be less than ten miles eastward.

  Once more an intense lash of fear brought them to their feet ere it swept on, leaving them standing in grim alarm.

  “Aie,” moaned Brega, “we must get out.”

  “Let us go now,” said Gildor, taking up Bale, “for to wait invites disaster.”

  “Tuck?” questioned Galen, and at the buccan’s nod, eastward they went upon weary legs.

  Upward the passage led, rising gently, curving leftward then right again. Bale’s blade-jewel flickered a faint ruby, the glimmer slowly growing, warning of a distant danger coming closer as the four strode on. Quickly they marched between vertical walls and under an arched roof. Along the way, deep-carven runes were etched in the walls, but the Deevewalkers took no time to read the ancient messages. Long they strode, nearly two hours, and no side entrances nor exits did they see; neither were there crevices, only smooth carven walls. And the roadway continued to curve gently upward, turning left once more and again rightward.

  At last they came to a huge cavern, its ends lost beyond seeing in black emptiness. Bale now cried that evil lurked near, and their hearts pounded in dread, but no sign of any foe did they see.

  “Quick, across the floor and out the passage to the east,” said Gildor, “for evil is coming.”

  They strode great strides upon the stone, and Tuck trotted, setting the pace. Two-hundred yards, three-hundred, and more they went, and still the blank emptiness stretched out before them.

  “This is the Great Chamber of the Sixth Rise,” panted Brega. “We are less than two miles from the Daûn Gate.”

  “Hsst!” shushed Gildor, sheathing Bale. “Look ahead. Lights. Someone comes. Shutter the lantern, Brega.”

  Tuck could see torchlight reflected from a portal far to the east.

  “South, too,” hissed Galen, pointing to lights coming up a passage that way also.

  “To the north a passage stands dark.” Brega’s voice was low and urgent.

  “North it is!” barked Galen, and they bolted across the stone floor, Brega’s lantern hood now but barely cracked, the faint light showing them the way.

  No sooner had they entered the north passage than from the east and south, Rûcks and Hlôks beyond count boiled into the Great Chamber.

  “It is the Horde,” said Galen, his voice weary as he peered out at the distant tide of Spawn flooding into the Great Chamber. “They have come at last across the Quadran Pass and into the Black Hole to join the Gargon.”

  “Ai, and the Horror will use the Deeves as a black fortress and launch War against Darda Galion, and the Spaunen will be his army.” Gildor’s words fell grim.

  “But first the Squam will search for us,” snapped Brega, “and if we would escape to warn the Larkenwald, let us fly now.”

  North they fled, nearly two furlongs ere coming to a broken door upon the right. The corridor stretched on before them, turning to the left in the distance, but they could see torchlight reflected around its curve.

  “Quick, in here!” cried Brega, and they bolted through the damaged door.

  They came into another great chamber, narrow but lengthy, and with a low ceiling. One-hundred paces long it was and only twelve wide, and an exit could be seen at the far eastern end.

  But supporting the ceiling mid-way was a massive arch, and great runes of power were carven into its stone.

  And as they started across the floor for the distant exit, Tuck’s eye fell upon signs of an ancient battle: broken weapons, shattered armor, the skulls and bones of long-dead combatants.

  And smeared upon the walls in a black ichor now dried were the Dwarven runes:

  Brega looked, too. “Braggi!” he cried. “That is Braggi’s rune, written with the blood of Squam. He came to slay the Ghath but was nevermore seen.”

  On they strode without pause, passing now among the remains of the battle-slain. Dwarf armor there was, and the plate of Spawn, as well as shattered axes, broken scimitars, War hammers, and cudgels.

  Brega cast his hood over his head as they hurried onward. “Here in the Háll of the Gravenarch, Braggi made his stand. But the signs tell the tale that the Ghath came and slew Braggi and his raiders as they stood frozen.”

  Tuck shuddered, his gaze darting into the far reaches of the hall, his glance seeking to avoid the mute evidence from that long-ago
time when the Gargon stalked down the length of a fear-rooted Dwarven column, the monster slaying as it went—and when the hideous creature had come to the last Dwarf, Braggi and his valiant raiders were no more.

  Across the floor swiftly the four strode for the eastern portal, coming to the rune-marked Gravenarch. Just as they passed below it, the surging fear of the Dread pounded through their veins, yet this time it did not sweep on past them but stayed locked upon their hammering hearts, and terror arrested their steps.

  “He has found us!” gasped Gildor. “He comes, and is near!”

  Tuck’s lungs were heaving, yet he could not seem to get enough to breathe, and his limbs were nearly beyond his control, for he could but barely move.

  Brega clutched his arms across his chest and air hissed in through clenched teeth; his face turned upward and his hood fell back from his head. His eyes widened. “The arch,” his voice jerked out. “The keystone . . . like a linchpin . . . cut off pursuit.”

  Dread pulsed through them as Brega forced himself to stoop and grasp a broken War hammer. “Lift me up,” he gritted. “Lift me . . . when I smite it, drop me . . . run . . . the ceiling will collapse.”

  “But you may be killed!” Tuck’s words seemed muffled in the waves of fear.

  Now Brega’s rage crested above the numbing dread. “Lift, by Adon, I command it!”

  Galen and Gildor hoisted the Dwarf and he stood upon their shoulders as they braced him, his left hand upon the stone of the arch, the War hammer in his right. Tuck stood behind them, and only the Warrow’s eyes were upon the portal where stood the broken door. And it seemed as if he could hear massive steps stalking through the terror, ponderous feet of stone pacing toward the door. And just as something dreadful loomed forth through the shadows: “Yah!” cried Brega, and swung the hammer with all the might of his powerful shoulders. Crack: The maul shattered through the keystone of the Gravenarch, and with a great rumble the vault above gave way. Gildor, Galen, and Brega tumbled backward, scrambling as stone fell ’round them. And Brega grabbed up Tuck and ran, for only the Warrow had glimpsed the shadow-wrapped Gargon, and the buccan could not cause his legs to move.

  East they dashed for the door just ahead of the ceiling crashing unto the floor behind them, filling the chamber with shattered stone.

  And as they raced through the portal and down a flight of steps, the roof gave completely away in one great roar, blocking all pursuit.

  And waves of numbing dread beat through the stone and whelmed at them, and Tuck thought his heart would burst, yet now the Warrow could move again under his own power, and down a narrow hall they struggled while behind them endless horror ravened.

  ~

  “Down,” gasped Brega, “we’ve got to get down to the Mustering Chamber of the First Neath—the War Háll—for there is the drawbridge over the Great Dêop. And we must pass over it to come to the Daûn Gate. At least the lore says so.”

  “Ai, Drimm Brega, we crossed the Great Deep by drawbridge,” answered Lord Gildor, his voice thin with fear, “though we came not this way, but instead passed down long steps to come to an enormous chamber: your War Háll.”

  “We are here upon the Fifth Rise,” gritted Brega, his face blanched, for the power of the Dread was now locked onto their hammering hearts. “Six flights we must go down to reach the War Háll.”

  Passing by a tunnel on the left, east they reeled curving south, down another flight of steps. “Fourth Rise,” Brega grated, as southward the narrow passage led. They passed one more tunnel to the left and kept on straight and down another staircase. “Third Rise,” said Brega, and still the fear coursed through them and they knew the Gargon pursued by a different route. The tunnel they entered bore east and west, and to the east they fled, their legs seeming nearly too cumbersome to control. Another flight of stairs; “Second Rise,” came Brega’s trembling voice.

  Tuck and his companions were weary beyond measure and the hideous fear sapped at their will, yet onward they fled, for to stop meant certain destruction. North and south the passage now went, and rightward they turned, southward, and once more steep steps pitched downward. “First Rise,” Brega counted, and beyond a footway leading west the tunnel curved east.

  On they faltered in abject fear, the Dread power lashing after, and then came once more to stone steps down; “Gate Level,” Brega croaked at the bottom, and still they staggered on.

  Again the passage arced to the south, and, as before, they ignored another tunnel on the left, for the ways they chose bore down, south, and east, and all other paths were rejected.

  One more long flight of steps they stumbled down, and lo: they came into a great dark hall. And they tottered outward into the chamber, and still the terror whelmed their hearts, and they could but barely carry forth.

  “Ai, a Dragon Pillar,” gasped Brega, pointing to a huge delved column carven to resemble a great Dragon coiling up an enormous fluted shaft. “This is the War Háll of the First Neath. To the east will be the bridge over the Great Dêop.”

  Leftward they reeled, their legs trembling with fear and barely under their control. Now along the lip of a deep abyss they staggered, to come to a great wooden span springing across the chasm. And behold: the bascule was down, the bridge unguarded!

  “Great was the Gargon’s pride,” Galen’s voice grated, “for he ne’er thought we would reach this place, else he would have posted a Swarm here to greet us.”

  They passed through barrels of pitch and oil and past rope-bound bundles of torches used by the maggot-folk to light their way through the black halls of Drimmen-deeve; and they came to the bridge at the edge of the Great Deep, a huge fissure that yawned blackly at their feet, jagging out of the darkness on their left, disappearing beyond the ebon shadows to their right, as much as a hundred feet wide where Tuck could see, pinching down to fifty where stood the bridge. And sheer sides dropped into bottomless depths below.

  And as they stepped upon the span: “Hold!” cried Galen. “If we fell this bridge then pursuit will be cut off.”

  “How?” Tuck’s heart hammered, and every fiber in his being cried out, Run, fool, run: yet he knew Galen was right. “How do we fell the bridge?”

  “Fire!” Galen’s voice was hoarse. “With fire!”

  No sooner were the words out of Galen’s mouth than Brega, spurred by hope, sprang to a barrel of pitch and rolled it out upon the span, smashing the wooden keg open with his axe. Gildor, too, as well as Galen, rolled great casks out to Brega, and these the Dwarf smashed open as well, the pitch flowing viscidly over the wooden span.

  “A torch, Tuck!” cried Galen as he pressed back for another keg.

  And the buccan drew blue-flaming Bane and cut the binding on a stack of torches, and he ran across the span while Brega crashed open two more kegs of the oily pitch.

  Standing at the eastern end of the bridge, Tuck struck steel to flint and lighted the torch. And now Gildor, Galen, and Brega came, and Tuck gave the burning brand to the Elf, saying, “You led us through, Lord Gildor; now cut off our pursuers.”

  The Lian Guardian hefted the torch to throw it, and Horror stepped forth out of the shadows at the far end of the span and fixed them with its unendurable gaze.

  ~

  The Dread had come to slay them.

  ~

  Tuck fell to his knees, engulfed in unbearable terror, and he was not at all aware that the shrill, piercing screams filling the air were rent from his own throat.

  Thdd: Thdd: Onward came the grey, stone-like creature, scaled like a serpent, but walking upright upon two legs, a malevolent, evil, parody of a huge reptilian Man.

  Gildor stood paralyzed, transfixed in limitless horror, his eyes fastened inextricably upon a vision beyond seeing.

  Thdd: Thdd: The ponderous Mandrak stalked forward, eight-feet tall, taloned hands and feet, glittering rows of fangs in a lizard-snouted face.

  Beads of sweat stood forth upon Galen’s brow, and his entire being quivered with an effort beyond all
measure. And slowly he raised up the tip of his sword until it was pointed level at the Gargon, but then he froze, unable to do more, for the Dread’s gaze flicked upon him and the hideous power bereft him of his will.

  Thdd: Thdd: Now the evil Gargon stalked past Tuck, the shrill-screaming Warrow beneath his contempt. And the stench of vipers reeked upon the air.

  And as the Gargon passed him, the buccan was no longer under the direct gaze of Modru’s Dread, and in that moment Tuck’s horror-filled eyes saw Bane’s blue light blazing up wildly; and shrieking in unending shock, with fear beyond comprehension racking through his very substance, Tuck desperately lashed out with all the terror-driven force of his being, spastically hewing the Elven long-knife into the sinews of the Gargon’s leg, Thkk: Keen beyond reckoning, the elden blade of Duellin rived through reptilian scales and chopped deeply into the creature’s massive shank, and a blinding blast of cobalt flame burst forth from the blade-jewel.

  With a brazen roar of pain, the Gargon began to turn, reaching for Tuck, the massive talons set to rend the shrilling Warrow to shreds.

  Yet the Dread’s eyes now had left Galen, and the Man plunged Jarriel’s sword straight and deep into the Gargon’s gut, Shkk: the blade shattering at the hilt as the hideous creature bellowed again and glared directly into Galen’s eyes, blasting him with a dread so deep that it would burst a Man’s heart. And Galen was hurled back by the horrendous power.

  But at that moment came a tumbling glitter as Brega’s axe flashed end over end through the air to strike the creature full in the forehead, Chnk: and the roaring monster staggered hindward upon the span.

  And Gildor threw the torch upon the pitch-drenched wood, and with a great Phoom: flames exploded upward, and Brega snatched Tuck forth from the bridge as the fire blasted outward.

  And they dragged stunned Galen away from the whooshing blaze, for the Man had been whelmed by the Gargon’s dreadful burst of power.

  And upon the bridge the Gargon bellowed brazen roars, engulfed in raging flame, an axe cloven deep in his skull, a shivered sword plunged through his gut.