At Storm's Edge

by Logan Petty

  "What will I find there?"

  Magina's eyes lit up as she glanced at Sawain. "The Stones of the Storm God. They're charged with unimaginable power. We've been using them for generations to power the city and the World Forge. They're inert right now, their links cut by the Forgemaster before we lost the hold. You shouldn't need that, though. You just need the stones in their natural glory. Your god will do the rest. I hope. Now, Kyra."

  A tall goblin, bound in muscle and wrapped in furs appeared beside Magina. He silently nodded to Kyra, his golden eyes glimmering beneath a threadbare hood as the dwarfess introduced him.

  "This is Firbalg, expert sneak-thief and master cartographer. He'll be your guide through the tunnels."

  "I knows every hall 'n dark place in Caer Teallagh. I also knows where to find yer friends. Malsivith has holding cells for fresh meat in the palace. Most likely, they'll be there."

  Kyra exchanged hopeful smiles with Sawain before bowing to the goblin. "Pleasure to meet you, Master Firbalg. I look forward to working with you."

  The goblin looked away, rubbing his finger under his nose in an attempt to hide his blush. "Yeah, well don't gets too attached. Gobs n' hummies only be friends while the Grey King is badder'n gobs."

  Kyra flashed a winning smile. "Oh, not all humans feel that way. We will not soon forget the kindness the Uuthri have shown us in our time of need."

  Firbalg snorted, stalking off. He grumbled over his shoulder before he passed out of earshot. "We leaves in ten minutes. Malsivith will be’s expecting us. Best be ready for resistance."

  Magina crossed her arms as she watched the goblin exit. "I was afraid of that. Well, tomorrow's going to be interesting. Oh, Sawain, let me introduce you to your guide."

  Sawain jumped as something pinched his rear. He turned to find a small female goblin rolling on the ground in a fit of laughter.

  "EEE HEE HEE! Ye should sees yer face! Priceless! Ooh some'n bits me on the bum! HEEEE!" She pulled herself up, gasping for breath. Black curls of springy hair clung to her head and fell about her ears and just above her big purple eyes. She dusted off her purple dress, and then held out a clawed hand. "Name's Violet! Well, not me real name, but the one I likes! I likes yer name too! Sawain! Sounds real strong! Ooh, I wagers ye get all the ladies up top!"

  Sawain reluctantly reached out and shook her hand, which triggered another fit of giggles.

  "Ooh hoo hoo! Such strong grip! Careful Sawain! You'll breaks me delicate girly hand! Oh, I's only joking! Don't looks so frighted!"

  Sawain shook his head, exasperated by Violet's antics. "Umm, right. I look forward to working with you."

  Violet curtsied deeply. "Likewise, big boy!"

  Magina waved dismissively. "Off with you now, trouble maker! Get your other boys ready to start walking."

  Violet winked at Sawain as she skipped off. "No worries, Sawain, you's the only boy fer me!"

  Once she scampered away, Magina let a fond smile slip onto her face. "She's a good kid, if a bit rambunctious. She's only ten, but already an expert at navigation. Gets it from her father."

  Sawain subconsciously rubbed the sore on his behind. "Yeah, are you sure that's a good idea? Shouldn't I get someone more experienced?"

  Magina laughed. "That kid was born in these tunnels. I caught her robbing my store when she was six. She nearly got away from me then. Would have cost her a hand under the Dwarven law, except I already had a working relationship with old Firbalg, so I knew the whole family. She's matured a lot since then, trust me. She won't let you down."

  Sawain sighed, "If you say so. Back to the business at hand. We have our guides, we have our teams. What's your plan once we are all in place?"

  "Right. Kyra and I will move in first. Once the fighting breaks out, Malsivith's forces will have to respond. Once they do, that's when your lot will make your move. The commotion we'll be making will draw the guards in the forge away and give you easy access to the stones. Once you have your fancy sword, we'll tear those squatters apart and give the Vampyr King the boot. Simple really. So what are we waiting for? Let's get Operation Stormfront rolling!"

  Timbrell scurried up to Kyra, saluting smartly. "Permission to travel with you, lassie? I'd very much like to be back with Mari soon as possible."

  Kyra raised an eyebrow at Sawain, who nodded approval. She smiled down at Timbrell and returned the salute. "Permission granted. Welcome to team Kyra, Master Timbrell."

  He grinned broadly. "I won't let ye down, miss!"

  Magina climbed into Maggy-II and strapped herself up. As the machine's servos whirred to life, a malicious glee flickered in Magina's eyes. "Alright! All teams to your positions! Let's go smash some skulls!"

  Chapter Nine:

  Aerabis limped down the vaulted corridors of Caer Teallagh, cradling a bloodied arm wrapped in rags. His mood had not improved since he and his army fled Glittervein Gulch. He did not understand how that farm boy kept besting him at every turn. Thinking about it stirred hot coals in his otherwise empty belly. Only a handful of his brethren remained, and a quick survey gave him a guess of roughly a dozen living mercenaries and twenty or so dead ones. He sighed. This was no army. It was barely a raiding party.

  He turned a corner and halted abruptly, causing three of his trollkin to collide with his back. Two ghostly figures floated before him. One was a stately dwarf in aetherial armor and the other an old human, his spectral visage still bearing the scars of his days among the living. He recognized them as two of the boss's pets.

  "Oh, it's you," the dwarven ghost spoke, unable to hide his lack of enthusiasm. "The king is expecting you."

  Aerabis smirked, "How's it taste to call yer murderer king, Stonechewer? Do ghosts taste anything?"

  The dwarf glared at him a moment before answering. "You'll know soon enough. Follow us."

  He swallowed a growing lump in his throat as the trollkin behind him muttered under their breaths. He knew the boss had a tendency to be failure intolerant, but he hoped the prize he brought with him would allow him to keep his head on his shoulders and his soul inside his chest, or wherever the thing hid. He just didn't feel like handing it over to Malsivith today.

  The constant ringing of hundreds of metal picks against stone pinged a steady cadence through the halls as he followed the ghosts. Not all of Malsivith's subjects were dead. He reminded himself that the vampyr king still had his uses for the living, and Aerabis, the Hunter of Men was without a doubt one of his most valuable assets. He hoped.

  The hall twisted past perpendicular mineshafts where lines of dwarven slaves hacked away at the walls, harvesting chunks of silvery metal. A mournful song rose from the pits and tunnels that bore through the sacred masonry of the city. The words were in a language Aerabis did not understand, but the melody itself stabbed at his hard heart like the axes that tore away at the city. It nearly moved him to tears as he listened to the rising and falling notes, punctuated by the staccato strikes of the tools.

  The left side of the hall opened up, revealing a breath-taking vista that looked out onto the city proper. Darkness prevailed now, but Aerabis's eyes could still see the myriad houses and public buildings that protruded from the very walls of the mountain's insides. They cascaded downward in tight spirals until their streets connected at a large town square. A circular mosaic larger than Aerabis's home village adorned the center of the square. It depicted the city's symbol, a shining star of silver surrounded by a wreath of interweaving lightning bolts. The intricacy impressed even Aerabis, who never considered himself much of an art lover.

  The ghostly escort spent several minutes leading his entourage up a spiral stairwell that eventually opened up into a wide antechamber. A large silvery double door stood at the far end. It also bore the city's emblem upon it. The room smelled horrible, even by troll standards. Piles of bones and refuse littered the floors, accumulating in the corners. Aerabis ventured a sweeping glance upward and noticed the high vaulted ceiling crawled with dozens of vampyr. Their fiery eyes shon
e back at him, revealing a hunger that made him shudder. His sudden spike of fear evoked a reaction from them as they started to chatter among themselves. He snapped his attention forward and quickly followed his guides to the door.

  The phantom Stonechewer turned and held out a halting hand. "Wait here."

  With that, the dwarf faded through the door, leaving Aerabis, his crew, and the other ghost in the room with the vampyr, who had started creeping along the walls.

  The ghost smirked. "Not afraid, are you? Hunter of Men?"

  Aerabis snarled, "Only afraid of killing too many of the big guy's pets. Speaking of, learned any new tricks lately, old man?"

  The ghost growled and reached for an axe that hung from his belt just as the doors swung inward. Aerabis smirked and strode through the spectral guard. It was an experience cold as winter, but he knew the ghosts found it incredibly offensive, so that warmed him through.

  The throne room of Caer Teallagh was once an impressive sight. Now, the dozens of statues that lined the walk up to the throne itself had been toppled, their heroic visages smashed to rubble. Atop their pedestals now floated a macabre collection of deceased warriors and mages, their aetherial forms reflections of their former selves. Aerabis studied them briefly as he passed. He noticed the walls of this room also crawled with vampyr. The walkway ended at a raised marble dias on which the legendary Mythril Throne of Caer Teallagh sat.

  Sitting on the throne, or rather laying upside-down on it, his feet leisurely crossed in the air and his head hanging down where his feet should be, with his hands clasped behind his head and elbows jutting out at sharp angles, was Malsivith himself. The Vampyr King wore a fitted leather vest dyed purple and black leather pants. Over that, he wore a more traditional fur coat with a large collar of white down that cradled his face. His lavender hair stood on end, cut in the shape of a Mohawk. The deep purple lipstick he wore stood out in stark contrast to his ashen pale skin. Fiery orange eyes glowed like hot coals on his admittedly handsome face and a mischievous smirk flashed sharp white fangs.

  "Ah, Aerabis. I wondered when you'd work up the gall to visit again. It's been... what? Two months? Three? Oh, it's so hard to keep track of time in this dungeon of a city. What day is it again?" He directed the last question to his attendant, Riora.

  The voluptuous human wore a black lace dress that reminded Aerabis of a fly trapped in a spider's web. Her gossamer hair glimmered in the firelight of Malsivith's stare as she looked over a ledger. "It is the fourth day of Nor, by the Dwarven calendar."

  Malsivith grinned gleefully as he slipped from his chair and stood upright quicker than Aerabis's eyes could follow. He clapped his gloved hands manically. "Oh joy! Torture day! Riora, have our scheduled guests escorted in. Aerabis, you and your ilk will have to wait. It's not your turn!"

  Aerabis hesitantly bowed and motioned for his crew to move aside as a line of slaves marched in, goaded by their vampyr taskmasters.

  They lined up in profile before Malsivith, who silently prowled among them for a moment, clacking the heels of his boots loudly against the marble floor as he went. He stopped just behind a woman who shivered visibly. "What's wrong, dear? Are you cold? It is dreadfully frigid in this meat locker of a town. Where did I put that smith? Oh yes, there he is!"

  Another massive vampyr, twice the size of any one Aerabis had ever seen, lurched into the room dragging a chained up dwarf who looked more like a corpse than a living being. As they came close, the vampyr tugged his chain, pulling the dwarf to his feet, though his head still hung down, resting against his blood soaked chest.

  "Galvas!" The woman half whispered, half gasped.

  Her voice stirred him to life. He looked up, only one eye opening in a slit, the other too swollen to bother. His mouth hung open as he slowly recognized her. Malsivith adopted an expression of mock surprise as he looked from him to the woman.

  "Ooh, so you two know each other already? Well, small world! Master Smith, look how this poor woman shivers! She can barely contain herself! Now, I've implored you for months to rekindle the World Forge and you've been so stubborn! Look at these poor people..."

  He continued down the line, a mythril blade appearing in his hand as if it had been drawn from an invisible scabbard. He stopped behind an old man with imploring eyes that locked onto Galvas. Malsivith's blade hovered above the old dwarf.

  "They work day in and day out in these freezing conditions! It's killing them!" His blade punctuated the last exclamation by thrusting down into the old man's back. He gasped in pain and shock as his eyes rolled back into his head and his body lurched forward. Malsivith bent down, tutting as he reached for the wound in his victim's back. "How can you live with yourself? This makes…”

  Riora interjected on cue, “Fifty eight this month.”

  “Fifty eight this month that have died because of your neglect to the World Forge! Your selfishness is appalling!" He dug his hand into the corpse and grabbed onto something. He slowly pulled a glowing wisp of ethereal energy from the body and examined it a moment. He sighed, shaking his head. "What a sad specimen. So much fear. It reeks of greed. Hah, I suspect it's similar to your essence, Forgemaster."

  He flicked the soul away and it hovered up to the ceiling, where it was promptly devoured by one of the vampyr. The others gasped as the soul let out a scream that echoed throughout the chamber.

  Malsivith giggled gleefully. "Oooh! Now that was a delicious sound! I do love a good death scream! Oh, but back to the matter at hand..." He paced back to the previous woman, daintily licking blood from his blade as he went. Smoke rose from his tongue, causing him to inhale sharply, a look of ecstasy in his burning eyes.

  "Aah, stings so good. This mythril is something else..." He muttered to himself as he stopped behind the woman. He crouched down, lowering himself to her level. He caressed her cheek with a shimmering fingernail as he glared at Galvas. "Won't you reconsider igniting the forge? I'd hate to see your people suffer more than is necessary. Care to make it fifty nine?" His blade hovered dangerously close to the woman's throat, causing Galvas to squirm.

  She whispered to him through freshly falling tears. "Don't do it, Galvas..."

  Malsivith tutted, "Such a brave soul, isn't she Galvas? I wager she'd be almost worth collecting..."

  As the blade pressed against her skin, Galvas shouted. "Stop!"

  Malsivith's eyes flickered dangerously as the edge of his knife pressed harder. "Let's make a deal, Forgemaster. You get that oversized furnace of yours going right now, and I won't devour you wife's soul myself."

  Galvas's good eye opened wider as Malsivith giggled. "Oh yes, I know all about her. Took a little digging, but that’s what you dwarves like in a leader. Bedalia Forgemistress, wife of the legendary Galvas Forgemaster. Mother to two strapping young lads who are hard at work in labor camp R-5."

  Riora interrupted, "L-5 sir."

  Malsivith rolled his eyes. "L-5. Look, the point is either we make a deal here and now, or I go on a killing spree that will start with your entire family and end just before you. So what do you say, Forgemaster?"

  A bloody tear spilled from Galvas's good eye. "You're a monster... I'll never make a deal with you."

  Malsivith sighed, "You leave me no choice, forgemaster. Riora, bring in the boys. It's time to make a mess."

  Riora rang a hand bell that sat upon the arm of the throne. Shortly after, more vampyr taskmasters scurried in, pulling two young dwarves in their teenage years behind them. Galvas shook his head violently as they came into sight. The taskmasters lined them up before Malsivith, who stood up and sauntered over to them, brandishing his blade. Without warning and without reserve, he plunged the blade into one of the young men. He winced, gritting his teeth as the blade bit into his shoulder.

  Galvas roared as Malsivith twisted the blade, crooning to the lad. "Come on now... scream for me..." The twisting blade proved too much for him as his choked back wail mingled with those of his parents and brother. Malsivith inhaled deeply, as if takin
g in the smell of a bouquet of flowers. "Aahhh... wonderful! Simply wonderful!"

  "Enough, fiend!" Galvas shouted. "You'll have your deal... Just spare my family... Please..."

  In the flash of an instant, Malsivith knelt face to face with the Forgemaster. "Now you're speaking my language master dwarf. Very well, let's strike a deal. You fire up the World Forge, and in exchange, I won't kill every last dwarf in this disgusting hole."

  Galvas nodded silently.

  Malsivith's eyes glowed violently. "Say it, Forgemaster. Do we have a deal, or do I go back to my killing spree?"

  "We have a deal."

  Malsivith stuck a hand out. "Shake. On. It."

  The old dwarf sighed and wriggled until he could free his hand enough to grasp Malsivith's. A series of ancient runes made of fire wrapped around both their wrists, forming elaborate rings of fine print in their skin. The dwarf groaned in pain as Malsivith looked to be enjoying himself. "The deal has been struck. The terms laid bare in flesh. Go, keep up your side of the bargain and I'll keep mine."

  Aerabis winced, realizing the trap the Forgemaster fell into so unconsciously. Without another word, the jailer dragged the Forgemaster away, slamming the door behind him. Malsivith grinned at the two young boys, who returned hateful glares.

  "Your father's not half bad, though somewhat the selfish type. And perhaps not the most well versed in contract forging." He hopped over to their mother, who gasped as he lifted her off her feet. Aerabis looked away as Malsivith opened wide his maw of razor sharp teeth. Though he could not see the carnage, he was certain the sounds would haunt his dreams tonight. Once the screaming and crunching stopped, he ventured a peek back to witness a blood soaked Malsivith standing over a headless corpse, licking the blood from his fingers.

  The wounded boy screamed through his tears. "You unholy pitspawn! I'll tear you apart! I won't forget this!"