“Get on my back,” he told her.
Mara did so, wrapping one arm over his shoulder, and the other under his opposite arm, that she might have a firm hold without the possibility of her slipping off. Her hands gripped the strap of his holster in an iron grip. Slowly, but steadily, Gash moved from handhold to handhold. The mountainside continued to twist and the path with it. Eventually, the path turned into steps carved into the underside of the bend. Gash and Mara found themselves dangling thousands of feet above the ground, held up only by the strength of Gash’s arms, and the strange handholds of which they were becoming convinced had been carved into the steps. It was not long before they were close enough to the tower to see clearly just how derelict it was.
The dilapidated structure was twisted and wrecked; the many sections held to each other and to the mountain by thick ropes and loops of metal that seemed well-aged and half-undone. Far below hung the final section, completely separated from the rest of the tower and held to it by several twisting and knotted ropes.
Mara felt a slight sense of creeping horror growing upon her as they approached the base of the tower. At last the hand-holds ceased three feet from the entrance. The air wafted from inside and a rank smell of death blew past them. The inner chamber beyond the doorway lay blanketed in darkness, as though the light from outside could not penetrate it. The air became eerily still and quiet. Only the creaking of the ropes was heard. As the two hung there, staring into the blackness, they felt as if the tower itself was calling them to its own fate.
“Promise me one thing, Gash,” Mara finally managed through a dry throat. “Promise me you will not let me die in such a cursed place.”
Gash looked back over his shoulder at the young woman.
“I cannot promise that,” he replied. “But I will not leave you, even to death.”
Mara closed her eyes and gripped Gash tightly as he swung his body, gathered momentum, and finally released his grip, throwing himself and Mara into the darkness of the tower.
XXV. Tower
The floor was farther from the doorway than the two of them anticipated. Even through her fear, Mara realized this and took measures to ensure they did not land on and thus crush one another. Releasing her grip, she pushed against Gash’ massive form, separating the two of them. They parted just before the floor came and the two managed to roll somewhat with the impact. After taking a few moments to recover, Gash painfully pushed himself to his feet and called out for Mara.
“I am here,” Mara’s voice came out of the darkness. “Can you see?”
“No,” Gash replied.
“I did not think to bring any torches,” Mara said. “And I do not have any more sticks to burn.”
“Find the wall,” Gash replied. “Search for loose stones.”
Gash then began walking and reaching out in front of him, searching.
“Ugh!” he heard from across the room. “I had not thought about the skeletons that might be in this place. I think this stone here is loose. Let me try- ughn!”
He then heard Mara grunting amidst a grinding sound. He turned in her direction and saw a small sliver of light appear. Another grunt and a small window of light shone in, providing the light needed for Gash to see.
The chamber was empty save for the few orcish skeletons lying in various places, dressed in half-rotted robes. The only other things in the chamber were Mara and a staircase running from the floor- now the ceiling- to the ceiling- now the floor. Gash immediately moved to it and looked down into the opening into which the staircase disappeared.
“What do you see?” Mara asked as she made her way over. There was enough light that even she could see a little once her eyes had adjusted.
“Darkness,” was Gash’s reply.
“Well we cannot keep knocking stones out of walls.” Mara stated.
Gash left the opening and walked over to one of the skeletons. Snatching up a leg bone, subsequently causing the skeleton to collapse, he took up the remains of the cloak and wrapped it around the end of the bone.
“Your stones,” he said as he walked back over.
“That is completely disgusting,” Mara said as she took off her pack and dug out her stones. She then sparked them until they caught the cloth ablaze. The stink of burning dust filled their senses as she replaced her stones and threw her travel pack back over her shoulders. Gash then placed one hand on the opening and swung down into the chamber below. Mara followed, encouraged by the bravery of her friend and comforted by the fact that he had gone first.
This chamber, they found, was also empty. It was a good deal smaller than the chamber above and its walls were lined with doors, most of them half-rotted, hanging by a hinge, or completely missing. Walking together, the two of them looked into some of the openings the doors of which were missing. Under the doorways on the outside were strange symbols encircling a larger one. The smaller symbols were unrecognizable and differed from doorway to doorway. The larger one the others surrounded was the same on every doorway: the symbol of Grot.
The chambers that lie beyond the doorways were small, only large enough for one piece of furniture off to one side and a small open space directly in front of the doorway. The piece of furniture was always a table or bed (they couldn’t tell which) stuck to the ceiling or the remains of what they guessed to be the same strewn about on the floor. They were formed from what appeared to be the bones of some creature smaller than would be possible for an orc and they were always the color of red so dark, it was almost black.
In most rooms on the ceiling of the empty space, they viewed arrangements of dusty candles lining the ceilings and some painted symbols they couldn’t quite make out. After seeing that most rooms were alike, the two decided to move on and headed again for the staircase.
They did not bother to attempt to see inside the next chamber, knowing they would not be able to see beyond the torchlight and so simply alighted down into it. The moment they entered they knew something was amiss. The room was cold, much colder than those before it. Fear coursed through them both and both carried a sense of some other presence with them in the room. But they could see nothing. The darkness surrounded them. It was like a wall before their eyes. Even the light of the torch could not penetrate it. Only the flame of the torch was visible, but it shed light on nothing else, not even the bone upon which it burned.
Gash felt Mara’s hand find his and he grabbed it and squeezed it reassuringly.
“This is a cursed place,” he heard Mara say from the darkness. Her voice shaking. “Something is-“
He heard a gasp and felt her hand slip from his. He turned to where her voice had been and called out to her. He received no answer and reached out in front of him searching for her as he waved the torch back and forth in a vain attempt to find her.
Without warning he felt a lithe body slam into him as Mara’s voice rang in his ears in mad screams and ramblings. Her arms flailed wildly, smacking him in the face. He reached to grab her arm with his usual quickness, but being unable to see, his hand missed its target and she was again lost to the darkness.
He again called to her, searching for her, again getting no reply, but hearing mumbling and the mad rambling indistinctly and inconsistently in different areas of the chamber. At last he stood still, opting to ready himself for the next time she approached. As if reading his thoughts, the chamber went silent. Gash stood there for long moments in the utter silence and darkness, his body tense and ready to spring.
Something slapped at the torch with a force strong enough to knock it from his grasp. He did not allow himself to be stunned, but immediately reached out a massive hand to where he could guess his friend was standing. He was rewarded with his open hand impacting cloth over the flesh. His hand clamped down upon impact and he pulled the body toward him with all the force he could muster. Mara’s mad rambling and screams resumed as he felt her lithe body impact him a second time. He wrapped his other massive arm around her and clamped her to him. Her arms flailed w
ildly, smacking and clawing him in the face and head. Her head beat madly against his chest. He began to back away, hoping the stairs were behind him. He felt her teeth bite down and tear at the flesh on his chest. Her body convulsed in his grip. His embrace held fast. He needed to find the stairs. He needed to get her from that place. Mara continued to shout, her voice screaming and gurgling, her body convulsing against him with unnatural strength. Gash continued to back away. Her teeth bit hard into his chest. His arm tightened around her. His foot stepped back. It found no floor and the two began to fall.
In a moment they were out of the darkness and in another chamber filled with the light of the late afternoon. Gash impacted the stone floor of the chamber, knocking loose the grip he held on his captive. The air rushed from his lungs and his arms were suddenly limp. His head rested on the cold stone of the floor having somehow been saved from cracking itself open upon it. He raised it to see Mara, who had been in his grip, suddenly bolt upright and give a final death-scream, her back unnaturally arched and her head and arms flung behind her. She then collapsed upon him and became silent and still as death.
It was many long moments before Gash could breath. But at last he could and he found at the same time that he could move his limbs. Cradling Mara in his arms, he sat up and looked at her. She was limp, but breathing. He called her. She did not respond. He called her again, louder this time, and shook her. A short mumble exited her throat and her eyes opened to slits.
“Mara,” Gash called to her again.
“Wha…” she began to mumble.
Her eyes shot open and then shut tight again as she attempted to pull away from him.
“No, no, no…” was all she said over and over in a trembling voice that was full of terror and sorrow. Her face reflected the same. Gash held her fast and shook her again.
“Mara!” he shouted. “It is Gash!”
Mara’s eyes again shot open as she took in a sharp breath. For a moment, her eyes were on nothing at all. Then they seemed to find him.
“You are safe,” Gash told her.
Relief filled her eyes. The fear left her features leaving only sadness in its wake. She collapsed upon him, sobbing deeply. They sat there for some time, Gash feeling responsible for her torture, however brief that torture may have been. He held her, allowing her to sob unrelenting upon him.
“I should not have brought you here,” he said at last, her sobs having slowed to deep sniffs. “Forgive me.”
Mara did not lift her head, but merely turned it in a slow, back-and-forth motion, her short hair pressing into his chest.
“I chose to come,” she said in a voice still riddled with tears.
She said no more and neither spoke again for many long moments. At length, Mara leaned back on her haunches, but continued to stare at the floor. She gave a large sniff, and spoke in a voice much steadier.
“But I shall not call it folly,” she said, forcibly wiping her cheeks. “Let us just be done with this accursed place…and swear to never return.”
Gash nodded and guided her to move off of his legs. She did so and stood, at last raising her head. Gash regarded her a moment. The immense sorrow had mostly gone from her face. She now looked tired and worn, as though little strength was left to her. She wiped her dripping nose on the furry band on her arm and then moved to take off her pack as the two looked about their surroundings.
The chamber in which they found themselves had only on its ceiling a single slab of stone, an immense symbol of Grot painted in that same dark, red substance across the entirety of the slab and the ceiling. The floor was littered with tools large and small, all rusted. To the relief of the two, the light that filled the chamber poured in from an open doorway, which stretched floor-to-ceiling. Mara was the first to move towards it, blowing her nose in a cloth as she did so. Gash joined her and the two looked out and down.
Just outside the doorway, metal spikes had been thrust into the stone, cracking it in several places. Tied to the spikes were thick ropes, taught and some half rotted. The two followed the ropes with their eyes until, a good distance below them, they saw the final section of the tower hanging and swaying in the cold mountain air.
Neither said a word. Gash merely reached out and gripped one of the spikes. Its crude construction told him who had done the work and he attempted to dislodge the spike. It held fast. The rope, at least on that end, seemed thick and unrotted. He moved to it and began climbing down.
Mara’s head swam. She could see the sea of green far below. It looked as some great, sinister anthill. She could hear the echoes of the enormous wheels rolling across the ground and she shuddered. Not willing to be left behind in that place, Mara stuffed the cloth back in her back and then, gathering courage, reached out and gripped the icy steel of the spike. She then swung out onto the rope and began to climb down after Gash.
The wind had picked up and Mara’s fingers were soon frozen and stiff. Her ears pained her and her nose ran. She ignored them as best she could as she clambered down the rope, one hand over the other, keeping her legs wrapped around the lower portion and keeping her grip as tight as she could make it.
The distant, but surprisingly loud sound of a horn cut through the wintery chill of the afternoon air. Not a moment later, a tremendous vibration shot through the tower. It lurched, throwing the final section out like a tether. The rope the two warriors were descending became slack as the final section swung slightly upwards and out. It then swung back, snapping the rope like a whip. Mara and Gash held on with tight, but frozen grips. The rope whipped them around like flags in a boisterous wind. Mara’s legs came free. She felt the rope jerk from her frozen hands. She was freefalling. Her hands reached out in a desperate grasp for the rope. Her finger skimmed it and burned as she continued to fall. She reached with all her might. Her palm found the rope and she forced her frozen fingers to close over it as her other hand copied the action. The rope slid through her loose grip, burning her palm. At last her grip tightened enough to halt her momentum. She sat there a moment, gripping the rope and attempting to calm her breathing. At last she looked down to see Gash a few feet below her. He was standing in the open doorway of the final section looking up at her, a hand extended, as if ready to catch her.
Mara didn’t stay there any longer than she had to, but made her way into the final section with Gash’s help. Bracing themselves cautiously against the inner wall of the doorway (for the chamber sat at a tilt), the two looked to the army far below. The anthill was slowly ebbing forward, leaving the mountain to sit. Far in the distance, standing on what looked like an open plateau of rock, they could make out what looked like a forest, or a vast field of shrubbery. But its shape seemed odd to Mara. It glinted and sparkled in the sunlight, a small section of it burnt to blackness. Then Mara realized what she was staring at.
“The dwarven army,” she said. “They have reached them already. There are so many of them, yet so few compared to the orcs.”
Mara tried to bring to recollection the skill and determination she had seen in the Dwarves as she trained with them. But the sheer mass of orcs and their horrifying strength would not leave her mind. She despaired for the dwarves and for all of Sylrin.
“We must hurry,” Gash stated, turning to face the inside of the chamber.
Mara copied him and looked to see an empty chamber of stone, sections of it crumbling away, bringing in much light. In the center of the chamber, hanging from the ceiling was a simple, stone doorframe. It reached half the distance between the ceiling and the floor. As the two approached, they could see markings etched into its face from post to post. There was no other adornment; no blood, no bones, not even a symbol of Grot to be found. The two stared at it a moment, the wind and the creaking of the ropes the only sound.
“This…this must be the entrance to the Kruss-na’s realm,” Mara said, swallowing, her mouth suddenly dry.
Gash could hear the trembling in her voice. He was about to tell her to stay, but remembering her person, tho
ught better of it, and so just stared at her. Mara felt the trembling in her hands and suddenly realized her fear. She felt Gash’s eyes upon her and realized she must be making herself to look very much afraid. Her fist tightened its grip on her staff and her resolve hardened.
“I know what you would ask, Gash,” she stated, still staring at the doorway. “And, yes, I am afraid. But the defeat of this Kruss-na may be the key to freeing me from the grip of the Kru-iss who seek to consume me. They yielded to him, therefore he must be their master. But even if that is not true, I will not let you walk alone into death.”
She looked at him then, her eyes locking with his. Gash could see in them a determination of heart as well as passion and love. Unlike him, her emotions had been many times clearly displayed. He was thankful for it, for he always knew where she stood and the depth of sincerity she held in every word.
“I told you that I am with you wherever,” she continued. “I will not leave you, even to death.”
She then extended her arm for him to grip. Gash reached out and they gripped each other’s arm in a firm grasp. Gash surprised her then, for in a swift motion, he pulled her forward into him and embraced her with his other arm. Her surprise melted into affection. A smile spread across her face partly pressed against his chest as tears welled up in her eyes. She returned his embrace and the two held each other for a long moment.
At last, they released. Mara wiped her face and looked up at Gash with a confident smile.
“Well, then,” she said. “Into the face of this Kruss-na let us fly!”
She then turned, and deftly using her staff, vaulted herself up and through the doorway. Gash watched as she came down on the other side, landing on the floor in a defensive posture, a small cloud of dust kicking up around her feet. She stood there a moment and then turned around to look at Gash, confusion clearly displayed on her face. They both looked at the doorway.
Half-Orc Redemption Page 39
