“As guests,” continued Ser Greenfield, “for the right price, of course. You do understand that it will take a lot of—”
“Yes, yes,” said King Odok-Kram impatiently. “We have generous reserves of gold, and we will compensate King Pavanir handsomely for his kindness. I just want to emphasize to you the temporary nature of this situation. We know that relations between Men and Dwarves have been … strained … in the past, and I assure you, we do not wish to add any more fuel to the fire.
“We only ask this favor of you because of how dire our circumstances are. But what is more, and this is something I am sure King Pavanir will want to know, the threat of the Demon Horde may not be confined only to the Below World for long.”
Ser Greenfield’s expression finally changed; now traces of worry and uncertainty began to show on his face. “What do you mean, your grace?” he asked.
Archwright Bomfrey took over here.
“Ser, the demons are not simply looking to destroy the world of we Dwarves. They want to destroy everything. Once they have obliterated life from the Below World, they will look for ways to get to the Above World. And once they find passage to it, no life will be safe from them.”
“My warriors have already observed demons tunneling upwards, using captured rock-blasters from miners they killed,” growled General Khazum. “The world of Men may be safe from the scourge of demons now. But it will not be that way for long.”
Ser Greenfield was looking increasingly alarmed by what these dwarves were saying.
“There is hope, though,” said Archwright Bomfrey. “We have a secret weapon that we are ready to deploy. A weapon that may not simply save our world, but yours too. It will take time to perform its mission, though. And that is why we need your help. Our people cannot stay down here while this weapon battles the Demon Horde. We must make sure our people are safe, above ground, before we let the device loose to fight.”
“And why is that?” asked Ser Greenfield, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. “Why not just use this super-weapon, whatever it might be, and stay down here in your Below World, without asking we Men for assistance?”
“Because,” growled General Khazum, before Bomfrey could answer, “there is a chance that this weapon could turn on its creators. And if that happens, our civilization would be as doomed as it would be if we opened the gates of all our cities and invited those cursed demons into them.”
“What manner of weapon is this?!” asked Ser Greenfield, looking both awed and horrified.
“It is called the Factory Core,” answered Bomfrey.
CHAPTER 6
“The Factory Core?” murmured Ser Greenfield, looking suddenly confused. “I know you dwarves are inventors of all sorts of outlandish machinery. Is this one of your engineering projects?”
“It is necromancy,” growled General Khazum with a black look on his face before Bomfrey could answer.
Archwright Bomfrey fired a venomous glare at Khazum before turning and speaking to Ser Greenfield. “It is not necromancy,” he said, glaring again at Khazum. “But soul gems have been used in this project, just to be clear. And before you say anything, we did not trap the souls in the gems. General Khazum here, he obtained the soul gems when his army stormed the keep of the Goblin King during the last Goblin War.
“The soul gems, containing the souls of many great Dwarven, Human and Elvish heroes from the Middle Age, were found in the Goblin King’s treasure vaults, and ‘liberated’ as booty of war. If anyone is to blame for possessing these soul gems, it is not us but the goblins. We are simply using our plunder of war for a more noble purpose.”
Ser Greenfield narrowed his eyes and frowned as he flickered between Khazum and Bomfrey. It was obvious to him that there was dissension among the dwarves regarding this mysterious weapon, and it seemed strange that their military leader, General Khazum, would be expressing such reservations about the weapon. Usually, Ser Greenfield had found, military leaders were the ones who pushed hardest for the use of new, untested weapons. Something very odd was afoot here.
“You still have not explained exactly what this weapon does,” said Ser Greenfield. “Would you care to perhaps tell me in detail exactly what this Factory Core is?”
Before General Khazum could drop another of his comments, Bomfrey hastily jumped in to explain. “It is a building, of sorts … but also, it is not a building at all.”
Ser Greenfield raised an eyebrow, looking perplexed.
“It is a factory,” continued Bomfrey, clasping his hands together. “One capable of producing all manner of complex weaponry.”
“A factory?” asked Ser Greenfield with a frown. “Useful for producing weapons, yes, but I do not understand how it can be a weapon itself.”
“The Factory Core has been imbued with the souls, and minds, of the heroes in those soul gems of which I spoke. Using ancient, powerful runes, we have fused the souls and minds of the heroes with the building itself. For all intents and purposes, the Factory Core is … well, it is alive.”
Ser Greenfield’s jaw dropped. For a few moments, all he could do was stare in shock at Bomfrey. Finally, after managing to get his thoughts back together, he spoke. “A factory that is alive? By the gods, what dark magic is this?”
“No, no, it is not black magic, and it is not necromancy,” said Bomfrey hastily. “The Factory Core is not alive in the sense that you and I are, and neither is it a revenant or a demonic being. It has neither a heart, lungs, or blood. Not in the manner of biologically living creatures, that is. Its ‘heart’ is a great engine, powered by steam and coal, its ‘blood’ is oil, and its ‘brain’ is the combined minds and souls of the heroes who are fused to it via the runes and soul gems.
“Perhaps you Men know little of soul gems, but when a soul is captured into one, what is held in the gem is nothing like a mind. Not like you and I have. It is more the essence of what that person or beast used to be. Most memories are erased, and much of what we would call their personality is wiped out too. Just the most basic elements remain. And it is those elements, of these heroes of a past age, that have fused with our Factory Core to give it life. Or, rather, something resembling life.”
“I still do not understand completely,” said Ser Greenfield. “How is this not necromancy?”
“We have not reanimated something that used to be alive, Ser,” said Bomfrey, who was starting to look a little annoyed. “And is that not one of the main tenets of necromancy? Bringing back to life corpses of dead things, or trapping the souls of the living and forcing them to live again in new, monstrous bodies?”
“That is essentially what necromancy is, yes,” admitted Ser Greenfield.
“Well, the Factory Core is not like that at all. It was never a living thing, and we have not resurrected anything, or used the bodies or body parts of anything that used to be living in its construction. It is made of stone, steel, bronze, brass and wood. It does not need to feed on anything to continue to exist, it does not need to drink water or breathe air. And it does not have a sense of good or evil. Also—”
“And that’s what makes it so dangerous,” muttered General Khazum, interrupting Bomfrey. “This thing has no concept of ‘right’ and ‘wrong’. It could just as well decide, after killing all the demons, that we dwarves are its enemy, and turn on us. And after that … who knows, humans? Perhaps it will decide that Men are its enemies, and it will come to your Above World and make war on you.”
Ser Greenfield looked worried.
“The likelihood of that happening,” interjected Bomfrey hastily, “is nearly impossible. Please, Ser, ignore General Khazum’s negativity. He is merely threatened by the fact that my invention is going to do a better job of fighting the Demon Horde than his army ever—”
General Khazum jumped up and whipped his battle-axe off his back, fury shining in his eyes and his teeth gritted with rage as he brandished the weapon.
“My warriors gave their lives and blood to defen
d this city!” he roared. “If you speak another word of insult against them, I’ll have your head, Bomfrey!”
“Sit down Khazum!” bellowed King Odok-Kram, slamming his fist onto the table. “And if you draw a weapon at this table again, I’ll have you hanged from the city walls! You forget your place, General!”
General Khazum glared at both the king and Bomfrey for a few tense moments, but then he shoved the axe back into its sheath on his back and sat back down in a huff.
“I apologize, my lord,” he said to the king, “for that outburst. Forgive me.”
“You are forgiven,” said King Odok-Kram, “this time. But do not let your temper get the best of you again. I will not tolerate such behavior. And as for you, Archwright Bomfrey, please, do not insult the warriors who have given their lives to defend us. Your weapon is spectacular, yes, but that does not give you any reason to belittle the fighters who have battled so bravely against the Demon Horde.”
Bomfrey scowled; he was someone who was not used to—and not fond of—apologizing to anyone, but he realized that the peace needed to be kept here. “Forgive me, my lord,” he said reluctantly.
“You are both forgiven,” said the king. “Now please, let us move on. We are wasting valuable time with this senseless bickering.”
“As I was saying,” said Bomfrey, with a quick and snide sidelong glance at Khazum, “the possibility of the Factory Core turning against us is close to zero. Yes, it has a will of its own, but we must not forget that its will is driven by the souls and minds of great heroes. They were Dwarves, Men and Elves who fought for the Good side during their lives. Why now would they turn to Evil? It would make no sense.”
“Necromancy is an unpredictable art,” said Ser Greenfield warily. “And in saying that, I am not suggesting that what you have done here is necromancy, but it does involve the use of souls trapped in soul gems. And from what we Men know about such things, the results of tampering with trapped souls can be … unpredictable. Uncertain. That is all I am saying.”
“I understand your concerns, Ser,” said Bomfrey with a tight-lipped smile, “but as I said, these are the minds and souls of heroes. There is very little possibility that they will turn to a path of evil and destruction.”
“If you say so,” said Ser Greenfield softly. “Now tell me, how does this weapon actually fight? How will it combat the scourge of demons?”
“The Factory Core is able to move around the tunnels below these mountains,” answered Bomfrey. “And it is able to observe its surroundings. In recent skirmishes against the demons, we have sent the Factory Core to observe the fighting between our warriors and the demons. It makes notes of the demons’ weaknesses, their tactics, their weaponry—and also which of our tactics are most successful against them. It will use all of this information to manufacture effective weapons to use against the Demonic Horde.”
Ser Greenfield held up his forefinger to interrupt Bomfrey.
“You say it is able to create weapons on its own, I understand this. But who will wield the weapons this Factory Core is going to make? As I understand it, you are evacuating your entire population. So who will remain behind to use what your Factory Core produces?”
“The weapons it creates,” said Bomfrey with a strange smile, “will use themselves.”
Ser Greenfield cocked his head, looking puzzled. “A sword needs a man to wield it,” he said slowly, “and without a man to swing it, a sword is just a harmless piece of steel. Regardless of how many swords, axes or crossbows your ‘Factory Core’ churns out, they will be useless lumps of metal without warriors to wield them, surely.”
Bomfrey’s smile broadened as he responded. “The weapons the Factory Core produces,” he said, almost smugly, “will have elements of the Core’s consciousness, if you want to call it that, embedded in them. They will be able to move around on their own … and fight on their own. Well, not entirely on their own. They will be connected to the mind of the Factory Core.
“Think of it this way: with each weapon the Factory Core manufactures and sends out, there is an invisible thread connecting the mind of the Core to the ‘mind’ of the weapon, like a spiderweb thread. The weapon will be an extension of the Core, but not like a body part. If the weapon is destroyed, the Core will not be harmed. You could, perhaps, picture the Factory Core as a great mother spider, sending out hundreds, even thousands of her babies— the weapons the Core makes—into the world. Her will directs her babies, and they remain connected to her via these web-strands. However, if one of them is killed, the web simply falls away, and no damage is incurred.”
“What is to stop these weapons getting ideas of their own? Going rogue, as such?” asked Ser Greenfield. “Surely if one of them breaks away from the Core’s mind, the Core’s consciousness, the results could be disastrous?”
“The Factory Core will retain control over the weapons at all times, we know that much,” said Bomfrey confidently. “The Core can function without them, but they absolutely cannot function without the Core. If one of them becomes ‘detached’ from the Core, so to speak, it will simply ‘die’ and become a useless, inert lump of metal. Whatever the Core builds will always be dependent on the Core for its own survival. Without the Core’s mind, it is nothing.”
“I see,” said Ser Greenfield, seeming somewhat reassured.
“The Factory Core is,” added Bomfrey, “a dangerous weapon, even without producing any other armaments.”
“How so?” asked Ser Greenfield.
“We spent decades designing it,” answered Archwright Bomfrey. “The finest minds of our brightest engineers and inventors went into its creation. And while its primary function is indeed that of a factory, it also works as a trap. As I said, it looks from the outside like a building, like a dungeon. Any demons who wander into it are in for a terrible surprise, though…”
“Exactly what sort of surprise are you talking about?”
“There is extensive, complex machinery in the Factory Core,” said Bomfrey. “Machinery capable of moving its walls, floors, ceilings, doors and staircases around in an almost infinite number of combinations. Essentially, once anyone or anything enters it, it can turn its inner rooms and passages into a gigantic labyrinth, from which there can be no escape. And in this labyrinth are all manner of treacherous traps. No demon, or any other living thing in fact, that enters the Factory Core will come out alive. Only we, who know its secrets and can read the magic runes, can enter it safely.”
“Impressive,” remarked Ser Greenfield, genuinely impressed. “Very impressive indeed.”
“It is a mighty weapon,” said Bomfrey proudly. “One of the mightiest ever built in either the Below or Above World, in fact. Of this I am supremely confident.”
“When will you send the Factory Core into battle against the Demon Horde?” asked Ser Greenfield.
A strange glint sparkled in Bomfrey’s eyes. “We already have, Ser, yes, we already have.”
CHAPTER 7
Grakk’n stared coldly at the dwarf who was stretched on the rack. His black eyes held not an ounce of pity for the broken body of the warrior, and he felt nothing when he perceived the agony in the dwarf’s pleading grimace. He turned to the torturer, a hunch-backed demon with twisted, deformed limbs, and nodded.
The torturer grunted, licking his broken lips with his black, worm-like tongue, and cranked the stretching rack up a notch. The dwarf howled in agony as his limbs were almost pulled out of their sockets.
“Tell me dwarf,” growled Grakk’n, speaking in his deep, gravelly voice that rumbled with menace, “where the weakest points in the walls of Karak-Drang are, and I’ll give you a merciful death. If you insist on keeping your mouth shut, though, I’ll keep stretching you until you’re as tall as a Man.”
“N-, never,” gasped the dwarven warrior, defiant despite the agony he was in.
Grakk’n cracked a dark, humorless smile, his dagger-like teeth gleaming with stinking spittle in the orange l
ight of the fires that burned in the torture room.
“As tall as a man then,” he rumbled. “And after that, we’ll start removing your skin, inch by inch.”
Grakk’n gave the torturer another nod, and the deformed demon cranked the wheel of the stretching rack again, causing the dwarf to howl out with incredible pain.
Before they could continue with the interrogation, a demon warrior stormed into the torture room. “Lord Grakk’n,” the demon growled, “our scouts have located something you may be interested in.”
Anger flashed across Grakk’n’s face. “Can’t you see I’m busy here, you stupid fool?” he snarled. As a demon commander, he was bigger and more powerful than the regular demons; he towered head and shoulders above this warrior, and his limbs were so thick with muscle that he made the warrior—who himself was far more powerfully-built than even a Northern Berserker Barbarian human warrior—look like a weakling. “Do you want me to rip your stupid head off and use it as a cup to drink your blood?”
“I apologize for interrupting you, lord,” said the demon warily, “but this is a matter of great importance.”
“It had better be, fool, or I’ll be dining on your lungs later.”
“It is, lord. Our scouts have found the new dwarven weapon. The strange moving building that has accompanied them during the last few skirmishes. It appears that they have abandoned the weapon, lord. It is sitting in one of the tunnels, unguarded.”
Upon hearing this news, a new light gleamed in Grakk’n’s eyes: greed. “We can take it for ourselves,” he rumbled. “And turn it against the Dwarves, and use their own weapon to ensure their complete destruction. Yes…” He turned to the torturer. “Continue interrogating this pathetic creature on your own, and make a note of any information he gives up before he dies. As for me, I must take some strong warriors and investigate this weapon.”
A few hours later, Grakk’n and a group of some of his strongest warriors were standing in the tunnel in which the Factory Core had been abandoned. Or so it seemed. The tunnel was littered with the corpses of both fallen demons and dwarves. A battle had recently been fought here, and the dwarves had lost the fight, and, apparently, been forced to abandon their strange moving building.
Factory Core Page 4
