by Jason Jones
“Yes she did, it seems she knows who is coming to kill her.” Saberrak stared down past his tattooes and nose, right at Zen.
“Scared?”
“Aye, she had better be scared, scared o’ me that is.” Azenairk chuckled, and waved his warhammer for the rest fo follow him.
“That’s what I like to hear.” Saberrak huffed, smiling wide, and began sniffing the empty air of this forgotten place. He slapped Zen on the back and followed him in.
“Before we go in though, let’s agree to meet down there, the secret door to that water temple place. In case we get separated then.” Zen turned and nodded to the others.
“Agreed. Shall we?” Gwenneth smiled and gestured toward the dark passage.
“Better hurry, those things are getting closer.” James glanced behind them as Shinayne and Gwenne entered. He squinted, just about to sheath his blade, and suddenly they disappeared below the ledge and out of sight, into the ruins. The knight of Southwind walked and peered over the edge of the plateau, curious about the flock of birds in this empty place.
Zen looked into the darkness of the massive grand entrance to Kakisteele, his grin could not be contained. His mind thought of his father, his family, and his allies here and now. He wanted them all close, for he had not the words to thank them, but without them, none of these steps would he be taking.
“Come, James of Chazzrynn, I need ye’ here with me as---“
“No time, they’re here!”
“Where?!” Shinayne was on guard, both blades ready, her stance low.
“Coming up the rock face, flying fast! Close the doors!””
“What are they?!” Gwenneth focused her arcane energies, making her skin hard as iron.
James went to say it, just as they rose over the edge. Flapping bat-like wings beat with their shrieks and howls, their black charred skin and ruby eyes gave their nature away, as did their barbed tails. Standing as tall as Saberrak, covered in black dripping blood over their emaciated tight flesh, the horde of fanged creatures pointed their smoldering claws at the five that dared enter the cursed mines, and then screamed in unison.
“Demons, Alden save us, there are hundreds of them!” James saluted with his blade and readied his ancient shield.
“Tandorial demons, to be precise. I have never seen one so big, but they are from the infernal realms of Nirakas, I have dealt---” Gwenneth was cut off.
“Skip the lesson and send them back to where they came from, wizard!” Saberrak passed by Gwenneth, axes in hand as the mass of black winged and curly horned avians landed on the plateau.
“This be my set o’ doors, demons! Time for dwarven justice!” Zen ran ahead of Gwenne, slammed his hammer to the stone, and chanted loud as golden light ripped from his presented shield and into a screeching demon.
“Vastri uth um davunda!”
Shinayne rolled under the beam of holy light incinerating one after another of the demons and came up between three more. She felt the heat from their claws, their hot breath foul with rot, and crimson flaming eyes with no pupils glared at her. Carice glared back as it cut through its flesh as if it were parchment. Elicras answered to her right, two quick thrusts into another, then she spun. Carice went high, her shortblade low, each cleaving through demonic flesh as ashes erupted and bloody screams echoed off the edge they fell from. Five Tandorial demons felt the elven swords of the whitemoon take their unholy lives. She cast a quick look to her now shimmering blades, amazed at how easily they cut through these enemies, then continued her grinning dance of steel.
James led with his shield, he felt the claws rake across it, then cut fast horizontal across the top. His hand was ignited with silent blue flame, it inched up the length of his broadsword, and the head of the demon fell over him, clean off. Blood of hot black and ash erupted from the neck, showering James and turning his stomach with the smell. James turned to his right, plunging into another, then left and cleaved the arm from a screeching fiend. He spun, blocking the snapping barbed tail of the beast with his shield, and landing his blue glowing steel into its ribs. The demon exploded all over him, forcing him to back up and stifle his rising vomit. Still, the knight of Chazzrynn slashed at his swarm of fiends, his blade taking heads and appendages as more landed on the plateau than they were killing.
Right between twirling Shinayne and withdrawing James, came a hulking gray mass. Saberrak Agrannar lowered his horns, dove into four demons, and ended his roll not ten feet from the edge of a five hundred foot drop to the ruins below. They swarmed him, his scalemail armor raked with claws, he was buried so deep his friends could not tell where he was.
Snap, pop, screech, crack, sploosh, hiss, shriek, clang,
“Oohrrooaaahrrr!”
Six or more demons launched in every direction with his savage roar, most of them with arms and heads twisted into painful postitions. Saberrak stood in the middle, surrounded by at least ten more, and his greataxes spun round once. First into his right, a brutal chop into black flesh took off a horned head. Then his left swung ahead vertically and cleaved into the chest of another demon, it was impaled. The gladiator cleaved it off below the waist, then used the upper torso on his axe as a club. He began smashing it into more demons until it fell off and disintegrated.
More came, and Saberrak whipped his arms out at full length, killing two more as he marched to cover James. Another pair charged, their bodies were cut from groin to neck, then beheaded. Three more dove from above, and the gray minotaur jumped up and came down with two more piles of smoldering demon on the edge of each greataxe. The third grabbed hold of his horns, raked his muscled neck, and blood poured out as it burned its claws into gray flesh. Saberrak dropped an axe, grabbed it by the throat, and squeezed so hard the head burst with black gore and fiery blood.
Zen had four reach him, his warhammer was aglow with the same light he had unleashed with his shield. Blow after blow, while not killing them outright, he stunned them with his attacks and the light that seemed to burn their flesh. As he knocked one back, James finished it with his blade. When one got close, the knight blocked its path and Zen took out its legs with his warhammer. One by one, the dwarf and the knight fought back to back, and held their ground as the unholy bodies mounted around them.
“Too many!” Shinayne backed up, closer to James and Zen, the three forming a small perimeter at the doors to the mountains. “Saberrak, get back!”
Gwenneth was finally ready, she had chanted the incantation three times perfectly, and as quietly as she could. She had only done this once before, never in combat, and never empowered to affect so many. Three tandorial demons were flying straight for her, having gotten past Shinayne and Saberrak, she had little time. She saw at least one hundred fifty more, swarming above, circling the plateau, trying to find room to land. She smiled wickedly, and her staff flashed green from the emerald.
“Othiortes de manthu vushra vin duarte sembren Nirakas deth tandorial estre!”
Screams of countless demons in excrutiating pain made everyone stop and cover their ears. The eyes of the fiends burst with black blood, their bodies eroding rapidly with ash, and a deep red swirling glow began to hum and emnate from each of their chests. They fell from the sky, turned to flee, and crawled across the sandstone plateau as fast as they could. It was too late. Their horrid faces showed fear, terror even. Gwenneth’s hair whipped in all directions, her arms raised, and she pointed with her hand as her eyes went white and flashed with her final words.
“Uthartes mog mintarre exilius!”
Suddenly they burst, all of them, into the swirling fires that they had come from. Consumed with arcane banishment to the netherworlds, the demons screamed out at once, and were gone and silent the next moment. Nothing but ash remained, and even that blew away with the winds over Mooncrest. She lowered back to the ground, a trickle of sweat rolling down from her forehead, and she smiled.
Saberrak turned to her, with no enemy to fight, and just stared. James and Zen did the same, in awe at
what she had just done. Shinayne smiled back, sheathed her blades, and walked up to Gwenneth.
“I was just starting to have fun there. Nice work, lady of Lazlette. Most impressive.”
“Took you long enough.” Saberrak huffed, then knelt down to let James place his healing hand on his blood pouring neck.
“By Vundren’s left ear, that was…somethin’.” Azenairk walked past James and Saberrak, noting the blood covered scalemail of the minotaur, and also that it was more blood than any dwarf likely held inside. He shook his head.
“Thank ye’ Vundren, for giving me such mighty friends.”
James held his hand in place until the cuts were but faint scratches, it took perhaps a minute. He remembered in his youth that something like this would take hours of concentration to heal. He looked up to Gwenneth, smiled, but he was still in mild shock over her powers compared to his own. He shook his head as Saberrak stood and turned to take one last look to the ruins before they went inside.
“Everyone, how fast can we get those doors shut?” James was walking backwards.
“Why, you see…oh by Siril…” Shinayne turned to James and let a small gasp escape her lips. Countless, thousands for certain, more winged forms of black began falling from the black clouds over the ruins as laughter slowly rolled in whispers from deep inside.
“Look, old friends coming up the road to the mines!” Zen pointed to the thousands of undead on horse beginning their charge up toward them as well.
They all saw it, no one said anything, and they ran inside as the swarm of flying demons began to cloud the gray skies and block out even the black cloud they had come from. Saberrak and James pulled on the left handle, inching the two foot thick door shut. Zen, Gwenneth, and Shinayne pulled on the right. Grunting, struggling, the left door closed with a slam of golden metal.
Screeching and shrieks of hellborne creatures rose over the plateau, then all went dark. Trampling dead on bone steeds thundered up the mountain road. The gray light of the cursed place was blocked, and the five pulled together on the right door as nothing but countless red flaming eyes shone outside.
Slam!
The doors were closed, the handles on the inside pulled tight. Saberrak breathed out finally, in the black of this place, he could hear his friends breathing but saw nothing.
Scrape, smack, smack, shriek, hiss, smack…
“Light, we need light Gwenneth!” Zen shouted.
The entry chamber glowed with bright green from her emerald atop the staff of Imoch. They backed up from the door, hearing the horde of Tandorial demons assault it. Then they looked to the ground.
Scrape, scrape..
Hair by hair, inch by inch, the doors were being pulled open. They all lurched ahead and grabbed the handles once more, pulling against the demons and dead on the other side.
“Who puts handles on each side o’ a blasted door then!” Zen looked around, and saw fitted iron shelves up above his head. He turned, looking for the bar that would set inside.
“Dwarves, dwarves would be my guess.” Shinayne struggled, trying to hold the doors closed, then she was shoved aside.
Saberrak pushed Zen and James back, dropped his axes, and growled. His eyes were glowing blue with faint flickers of flame. He wrapped his forearms into each handle, one on the right, one on the left. Every muscle in his body heaved, bulged, and he lowered his horns. The minotaur kicked his feet down hard, then arched his back with an intense jerk, then again, then threw his head and horns back and roared.
Slam!
His arms were trembling, holding the doors shut as claws reached the gaps, and demons untold pulled against him.
“Get…the…bar…and…lock..it..soon!”
James and Zen scrambled, Gwenneth and Shinayne searched their surroundings, and spotted a massive bar of solid iron. It was twelve feet long, a foot thick, and leaning against a rock wall.
Crunch, crunch…
“Oh Vundren, help me now, don’t be doin that.” Zen tried not to look as they stepped. Bones and skulls he surmised, likely of ancient dead dwarves, crumbling underfoot.
They grabbed each end, two to a side, yet it was too heavy. Gwenneth backed up, leaving the three to struggle with dragging it slowly to the doors.
“Hivalsh, uthumbra, divaste!”
She pointed her hand, and the iron bar rose and shook. Her hand shook, it was heavy indeed. Foot by foot, it levitated through the air, as the elf, the dwarf, and the knight assisted and guided it toward the hanging shelves. Saberrak ducked under it, the doors open two inches, and claws began to reach for him. Then arms, the smoldering fingers scraping his scale armor, and their breath was pouring through and fouling the air.
“Hurry…can’t…hold…it…” The doors pushed and Saberrak pushed back with all his might. Then he rolled back to get his axes from the floor, sure that a thousand demons would be ontop of them right now.
Slam!
The bar fell into place, on both doors, and the slamming barely moved them a hair. A few tugs to no avail let them know their was no way for the horde to come through. They all collapsed onto their backsides, finally taking breaths that were not hurried. The demons continued to assault the doors to Kakisteele for a few minutes more, then it stopped.
Their eyes opened, one by one, and the five sat silently staring into the green lit cavern. The ceilings were high, groomed with decorative etchings, over fifty feet up into the mountain. They looked over to the south, where they had found the bar, had heard the bones break under their boots, and they all stood as they now saw the source. No piles of dwarven soldiers, no remnants of wars long past, it was the remains of something else that had their attention.
“Is that?” James whispered as he walked closer.
“Yes, yes it is.” Shinayne knelt low and touched the skull.
Her hand caressed the ancient bones of a dragon, stretching farther than the green light carried, its pose was that of a resting magnificent creature. Forearms crossed over, head laying atop of them, wings folded far behind. It had been the claws and finger bones they had stepped on.
Saberrak walked up with Zen and Gwenneth, admiring the massive length of the long dead dragon. He saw dust on the floor around it, patterned as scales, and his feet scattered it as he walked. He followed the bones down, the passage was declining slowly, and not a single track in the dust could be seen. He smelled nothing here, and nothing moved nor made noise.
“Ansharr said there was a dragon here, I remember. It looks so peaceful, it does.” Azenairk put his keys back on his belt, felt inside the iron box for the dust, it was there.
“Door ahead, let’s go.” Saberrak broke the melancholy stares as they all passed by the ancient wyrm of bone and dust that time had forgotten.
Deeper into the dark they walked, quiet as they could, each abreast of one another in the ever widening tunnels. The double doors ahead were closed, yet dwarven words were written upon them. More gold, more dust of precious stones powdered into the words, this time it was emerald.
“Virnu borda, second born son.” Zen looked up to the words, then to Saberrak.
“Siril was the second born of the Caricians.” The minotaur replied.
“Thank ye’, me horned sage.” He took out the keyring, and placed the key with the crescent moon and stars into the lock. Again, a brief flash of peaceful white light emitted from the door. Before he could pull his hand back with the key, he already had, without seeing it. The doors creaked open on their own, and they saw light that was not their own, somewhere beyond.
First Zen walked in, then Saberrak, and the rest followed. It was not what they expected to see, none of them. A cavern stretched below them as they stood on a balcony of sandstone. It was half a mile deep, twice that wide, and nearly a thousand feet down. Stalagmites and stalactites of yellow and gold grew motionless in many a spot, preserved and untouched. They were as great pillars when they touched one another, forming columns the size of the largest of towers. Flowstone draped the wall
s on every side, still moist and smooth, and straw like fields of spiked rock hung from the cavern ceiling.
Stairs on either side of them spiraled down, connecting at small platforms to yet more stairs. Their breath still held, the beauty of what was inside this ancient natural wonder awaited. It was a city, along the rock walls and ledges were homes by the thousands, smooth rock homes with colored glass windows that sagged with time, and thick square wooden doors that curled with antiquity. Lights, greens and blues and golden whites, all shone from eternal spots atop silver pillars of dwarven craft. It was too much to take in with a glance from so high, but they tried.
“Beautiful, what a place this---“ Shinayne saw Zen stumble forward, eyes on something in the empty dwelling.
“No, by Vundren, no.”
Zen whispered in a sorrowful tone, seeing a black spot in the center of the city. It may have been a temple, perhaps a shrine or dwarven castle, but now it was something black and dark. He saw spears, many, many steel spears, planted into the stone floor. Only a few still held their victims, skeletons that had once been impaled from end through end, dwarven victims. But below the spears, on the floor, were piles of black bones, a small mountain of the long dead people of Kakisteele.
“Zen, wait now…” James tried to grab his shoulder, but it was too late.
As he ran toward the stairs, he could not take his eyes off the horrific scene. Zen saw a stone slab, not of sandstone, but of dark gray rock with words not in dwarven. He saw a symbol, a triangle with three eyes inside. He saw a banner, not unfurreled, yet he knew it held the three dragons of Altestan, he just knew. Azenairk neared the bottom, closer as he ran down old steps of his ancestors, and he could see the skeletons. Some large dwarves, some not so big, and some were tiny indeed. All dwarves, all long dead, thousands in some mass impalement and scorched pile.
“Bastards! Rotten bastards!” He yelled it into the city, he heard his friends right behind him, through the streets he kept his pace, hoping when he arrived it would not be so. His hopes were not granted.
Past the great columns, around stalagmites from forgotten ages, and down streets of sandstone bricks, Zen ran. He stopped, falling into a slow walk, then slower steps, and he dropped to his knees.
