Nowhere to Run

by Elliott Kay

  “We should remove it all,” said War Cloud.

  “Shadows are already pouring through the carvings again,” said Yargol. He threw an Icefire Dagger at the tendrils, then another. The spell didn’t accomplish as much in the chamber as it did on the surface. “We must resolve this fast.”

  DigDig didn’t wait for more debate. Rather than hurling the chunks away, he split much of the remaining stone with a few forceful jabs from his shovel and let gravity do the rest. Masonry tumbled into the chamber to shatter against the floor. Where Yargol’s magic at least split and diminished the spreading darkness, the stone had no visible effect at all.

  “Is that a door there?” War Cloud pointed to a deeper line carved into the chamber wall along one side, arcing up from the floor to human height and down again. Thick shadows spilled from the gap, joining the shadows emerging along the floor.

  “Possibly.” Yargol stepped around for a better angle. “I can’t tell from here, and I see no handle. We have to get in there.” He shook back the sleeve of his robe over his open hand to cast another spell, hissing out the words to a simpler invocation than the elf maiden. Flames poured from his hand in an arc across the chamber floor and the sealed doorway to burn away the shadows.

  “Shit. Problem up here first,” warned DigDig. He’d been looking away from his friends, but now he brought his shovel up with both hands at the ready...facing the same direction the greater shadow had fled.

  Chatter crossed the grove, flanked by a pair of hobgoblins and orcs to each side. Only one of the orcs held a weapon with metal, and that was merely a hatchet. The others wielded crude clubs. None wore any armor. Yet they were all fit and grim, and all looking on with dark expressions. So did their apparent leader. “What are you lot up to now?” asked Chatter. “Why aren’t you at the wall with the rest?”

  “Why aren’t you?” War Cloud replied.

  “I asked you first. You’re the ones digging things up. And hiding it from the rest of us.”

  “We’ve hired dozens of hands to clear this place out!”

  “Didn’t hire us. Didn’t come to me,” said Chatter.

  “You’re an asshole,” said War Cloud.

  “Personal insults aren’t how you win arguments or show you’re right. If you were smarter, you’d know that.”

  “They’ve got it open now,” said one of the orcs at Chatter’s side. He gestured with his hatchet to the pit behind the crew. “We can get in.”

  “Don’t try it,” said War Cloud.

  “No, Prag’s right,” said Chatter. Then he tilted his head. “My orc friends here are Prag and Murg. The hobgoblins are Tengi and Jolko. Guess where their family worked.”

  “You get that axe from our raid on the humans?” asked DigDig.

  “Yeah, and you stole all you carry from the wizard—and his workers,” said Jolko. “We know all about you now.”

  “None of this matters,” hissed Prag. “They’re in the way.”

  “Dealing with that,” grunted Chatter.

  Yargol spoke only once he knew for certain: “War Cloud,” he murmured. “Look at Prag’s eyes. They’ve gone black.”

  “Yeah, I can feel it on him. The hobgoblins, too,” said War Cloud.

  “Feel what?” asked Murg.

  “But not on Chatter?” wondered Yargol.

  “No. Maybe he’s too much of a pain in the ass even for the Devourer.”

  “What are they saying?” Murg asked.

  “Doesn’t matter,” answered one of the hobgoblins.

  “The treasure is in there,” agreed Prag. “They’re in the way. Don’t you want revenge?”

  “Yeah,” said Chatter. He crouched for a leap.

  “Hell,” War Cloud spat.

  They moved with a unity the crew didn’t expect, but their banter gave plenty of warning. Chatter went straight for War Cloud with long and sickly blue-green arms ending in taloned fingers. The two orcs bore down on DigDig as the hobgoblins came at Yargol by default.

  The little magician stopped most of them with a sweep of his staff and a forceful blast of wind. Both of the hobgoblins tumbled back, as did Murg at Chatter’s side. The other orc didn’t go down. Neither did Chatter.

  War Cloud met the charge with a thrust of his greatsword that dug deep into Chatter’s hip, but didn’t bring him down. Those nasty talons clawed at his shoulders, scraping through gaps and weak points in War Cloud’s leather and chain. DigDig blocked the swing of Prag’s hatchet with his shovel, but like War Cloud, he faced a much larger and stronger opponent. Both fights fell into struggles of strength against desperation. The smaller combatant in each fight still had one ally free to aid them.

  He wasn’t immediately threatened. He had plenty of energy. It wasn’t the situation that made him hesitate, nor the targets, but rather the sharp, sudden chill running up Yargol’s leg—and the whisper that followed. “We can kill Chatter. You’ll never have to deal with him again.”

  The offer made Yargol doubt. The chill in his leg reminded him of the danger. War Cloud’s shout of pain as Chatter’s talons dug into his shoulder erased it all. Yargol snapped off another Icefire Dagger into Chatter’s side, if only to distract and pick an easy target, but it made enough of a difference for his friend. War Cloud shoved Chatter back and tore his blade free. He had another shot at this. DigDig held firm in his fight, too.

  Yargol spun back, wanting to cut off the tendril that surely had his leg, but he saw only black forms undulating and reaching across his entire field of vision. Inky tentacles swiftly battered and pummeled everyone to the ground. Still more hooked around limbs and bodies. Yargol felt a violent tug on his feet as he was dragged across bare dirt and rock until his head hit something hard and unyielding.

  He felt himself falling as the world went black.

  * * *

  “We can make you whole, Yargol,” came the whisper. Louder this time. Soft, but clearer.

  His eyes opened to darkness, but not the impenetrable sort. Traces of natural light filtered into the chamber, probably reflecting off walls leading outside. His eyes were not from the same pair, not even the same breed, but they could both work easily in deeper darkness than this. The walls and ceiling matched the stonework in the pit, all of it covered in runes and sinuous lines reaching to the same direction. There he found a darkness his eyes could not penetrate. He suspected no mortal eyes could.

  The inky black shadow reached from floor to ceiling in the center of the chamber, filling a circular border at each like a frame or perhaps a channel. More runes covered the blocks making up each border. Yargol recognized some as the same he’d deciphered on the surface, giving praise and supplication to the Devourer. He wasn’t sure of the rest. He wondered if they might restrain it somehow.

  Thinner and weaker tendrils of shadow reached out everywhere from the black mass. Some withdrew from his hands and feet. His body felt cold, but not as cold as before.

  They’d learned what they wanted to know.

  “We can mend you, Yargol,” whispered the shadow. “You will be whole. You will belong.”

  He pushed himself upright and looked around again. Bodies littered the dark floor. DigDig and War Cloud were nearby. The other orcs and hobgoblins were there, too. Of them all, only Chatter was upright, kneeling and slouched, with more tendrils in contact with his outstretched hands.

  “It is what you want. All you want. We can give you all you want.”

  “For what?” asked Yargol. His voice shook as he looked at his friends. They didn’t move.

  “Your power. We need your power. We need you to act for us, to set us free. Help us, and all you desires shall be fulfilled. You will learn every secret that matters. Your power will grow. You will be safe.

  “You will be whole. You will belong. You will be appreciated. Even loved.”

  His bright eyes narrowed. The Devourer no longer promised generic rewards. Its words grew specific once the shadow touched him. It knew his real desires, but not the rest of his thought
s and feelings about them. It couldn’t read his mind, or its language would be different already, as would its tactics.

  “You dragged us down here,” said Yargol. “You already have power.”

  “Not the power of this world,” replied the shadows. “We are limited here. We need the help of this world to aid our crossing. We need magic. You have it. The others do not. The souls we have taken are not enough.”

  “No.” His voice cracked. He looked to the bodies beside him. “Not my friends.”

  “With us, you will have friends. You will be whole. You will belong.”

  “I already belong.”

  “You doubt.”

  “So what if I doubt? I’ve had a life of reasons for it!” Yargol snapped.

  He heard a tiny groan. His breath caught. DigDig’s head rolled to one side against the floor, his horned helmet falling loose. “They’re alive?” Yargol asked.

  “The orcs and the hobgoblins have joined with us. The troll is difficult. Those with you may yet join if they are of use. We require power. Yours is greatest. Yours is the power we seek the most.”

  “You mean magic,” said Yargol.

  “Yes. Power. It sets you apart like so much else,” whispered the shadows. “With us, you will know greater power. You will be whole. You will belong.”

  He looked over the portal again, his mind racing. The floor was cold, bare, and utterly normal stonework like the seal up above. The walls looked much the same. He didn’t know the shadow’s true power down here, but he knew what he had to work with. DigDig’s shovel lay at his side.

  “Not without my friends,” said Yargol.

  More tendrils emerged. DigDig snapped awake as they touched his boots. He crawled up to his hands and knees, looking to the black form with his yellow eyes wide. His first word came through a choking throat: “Dachi?”

  “What do you see?” asked Yargol.

  He kept staring. A tear ran down his face. “My sister.”

  “It’s the Devourer,” said Yargol.

  DigDig nodded. “Says he can give her back.”

  “He can’t be trusted, DigDig. It’s no different than the rest. You know this.”

  The goblin sobbed. Yargol wasn’t sure if he saw a nod. “There’s so much candy.”

  “DigDig, no,” Yargol hissed at him. “You can’t.”

  Whatever else DigDig saw and heard, Yargol couldn’t tell. The magician’s heart pounded as he could only hope his instincts about DigDig’s sensibilities were right. Then the choked-up goblin shook his head and pointed to the unconscious gnoll at his side. “What about my other friend? What does he want?”

  Shadowy tendrils reached out again. The tiny, grim satisfaction on DigDig’s face gave Yargol all the assurance he needed. At a single touch of shadow against his ankle, War Cloud sat bolt upright with an angry growl and blood in his eyes.

  “That is so offensive,” the shadows whispered out loud.

  “Fucking wretch!” War Cloud roared, snatching up his blade.

  He didn’t get far. Orcs and hobgoblins tackled him and fought to keep his hand from his sword. DigDig rolled over for it, too, only to be grabbed by stronger shadow tendrils.

  The scrum presented too many bodies and too much movement for any of Yargol’s battle magic. He couldn’t risk hurting one of his friends. He dove in, spotting another opportunity to help, if only he could reach it.

  “If you want power, it’s in that shovel,” spoke up another voice. Chatter rose up from behind the others, his eyes not yet black but his voice as cold and careless as ever. The chamber barely allowed him to stand his full height. He only needed to take a couple of steps to reach for the shovel lying on the floor beside its restrained owner. DigDig couldn’t do anything about his outstretched hand.

  A hatchet chopped through Chatter’s fingers, severing them against the floor. Chatter howled in pain and shock as Yargol stepped in to follow through on his blow. Shorter even than DigDig, Yargol wielded the hatchet more like a full-sized battle axe, but he swung the weapon as if born to it. His backswing crashed into the bridge of Chatter’s nose, knocking the troll’s face back and blinding him for a critical second. Yargol brought the axe down again, this time landing it solidly over the troll’s knee. Chatter fell back clutching his wounds with more screams of pain.

  Yargol spun to face the shadows. “I am goblin folk. I already belong, and I am whole.”

  The shadows seethed, but cries of pain drowned out every other noise. War Cloud’s hyena-like jaws clamped down hard on Prag’s arm, instantly creating a bloody mess. The gnoll surged up despite the bodies trying to hold him down. With one orc wounded and panicked, War Cloud managed to knock the other one away. Thick tentacles of shadow burst from the portal and lunged at him as others abandoned their efforts at DigDig to focus on the greater threat.

  It was all the space Yargol needed. Chatter was a good target for Yargol’s magic, but the troll wasn’t the greatest threat and the hatchet had warded him off well enough. Yargol dropped the weapon in favor of a spell, pouring his will and his energy into a stream of flames that shot from his hands into the writhing black mass.

  Whispers turned to shrieks. Tentacles crumbled under the flames or retracted in pain. Yargol could hardly purge the greater shadows on his own, but it bought his friends more breathing room. “DigDig!” he shouted. “Can you move?”

  “Yeah!” The goblin rolled off the floor and snatched up his preferred weapon. Shadows still loomed large, but War Cloud was closer. DigDig leaped up off his feet to slam his shovel down hard on the head of one hobgoblin grappling with War Cloud. His target slumped over in a heap on the floor, allowing War Cloud to get a better grip on the other. War Cloud released Prag from his jaws, leaving the orc to collapse and clutch at his gory and wounded arm. He grabbed and flung the other hobgoblin across the room and into the wall.

  Free of enemies and clear for a wind-up, Yargol hurled his most powerful spell at the mass of shadow. The elf maiden’s shriek split the air and flames trailed her as she flew at the portal, but the main body proved far more resilient than the tentacles. Shadows muffled her usual explosive end—or rather, something else did, Yargol realized. “The portal diminishes power from both sides,” he warned. “Its reach isn’t as strong on this side, but my spells are also weakened when they cross the circle.”

  “Good to know.” War Cloud pulled his great blade off the floor. “I may have something more piercing than fire, anyway. DigDig. We hit it together. Go for the portal.”

  “Got it,” said the goblin.

  “No,” whispered the shadows.

  Yargol snapped off another blast of fire. “No one asked you.”

  His friends rushed in after the tail end of the flames. War Cloud’s blade lit up the room in bright contrast to the shadows. DigDig made a spearman’s rush at the raised border around the portal. Stonework at the portal’s base cracked and burst upward as the rest of the floor rippled backward.

  War Cloud swung his glowing blade in over DigDig’s head. As before, the sword cut into the shadow against tangible resistance. It couldn’t withstand his rage or his faith.

  Embedded in the formless shadows, the light of Dastia dimmed, but the shadows weakened as well. Instead of an opaque black mass, Yargol could now see through the shadow to its source. Rather than an endless void, Yargol saw more concrete on the floor, inscribed with runes and gemstones with a function he could recognize. “Keep digging!” he urged. “Break it up!”

  DigDig stabbed, pried, and pulled. Light and shadow flickered with each move, but the glow of War Cloud’s sword grew steadily brighter. With the fourth shattering thrust of the shovel, the remaining shadows evaporated. War Cloud’s blade lit up the room in furious triumph before the glow faded out again.

  They stopped. Breathed. Listened.

  “Shouldn’t we run?” asked DigDig. “This place gonna collapse?”

  “Pretty sure that only happens in stories,” said War Cloud.

  “Why?”


  “I don’t know. Ask Scars.”

  “Right. Scars,” said Yargol. “We don’t know what’s happening out there. We should go.”

  They turned to leave, their path strewn with bodies and debris...and a troll down on one knee, clutching a horrible wound over the other. Spit flew from Chatter’s every breath through gritted teeth. “You idiots pissed away unlimited power.”

  “That power wants to consume all of our souls and destroy the sun,” said War Cloud.

  “Oh, that’s a bunch of extremist fearmongering bullshit,” Chatter spat. “You have to listen to both sides.”

  “Chatter,” said Yargol. “I still have power left.”

  “Yeah? What’s that matter to—?” He stopped. Blinked. As Yargol drew back his hands, the troll forced himself up onto both feet regardless of his injuries.

  Yargol hurled a spell of fire at him, elven and slender in origin, but this time with modest clothes and a coherent word sounded out through her shriek: “Asshole!”

  The elf maiden’s fist slammed into Chatter’s face in a burst of flame that engulfed them both. Howling in pain, Chatter scrambled out of the chamber and ran until he hit the wall of the pit beyond. As if knocked out of the worst of his panic, he had the sense to roll on the stone floor to extinguish the flames.

  Yargol shrugged. “I was wrong. The spell is easier to modify than I thought.”

  Chapter Eleven

  No more arrows rained from the sky. Teryn could shoot unimpeded at enemies now close enough to pick her targets.

  She didn’t see any of it as an improvement.

  Fighters shouted on both sides of the wall while those at the top screamed out warnings and calls for aid. The sudden collapse of the barrier took down archers, leaders, and friends. It also filled a portion of the trench every bit as wide as the breach above it. Rather than spilling out to either side, the fill held firm as if instantly packed in by the shadow tentacles that moved it. The plan seemed obvious.