‘Nobody will get in or out now without my permission’, she said firmly.
Ahren couldn’t help feeling that she had just locked them in with an extremely dangerous creature, but he decided to keep that thought to himself.
Chapter 21
They were standing in a circular hall, which was illuminated by the flame coming from a small Deep Fire in a bowl hanging from the ceiling, which lent the room the characteristic red light that this hot and eternal molten metal gave off. They saw no dwarves and only three passageways leading in the cardinal directions.
Trogadon clicked his tongue dismissively. ‘The classical building style. Not very original, but useful for our purposes.’ He pointed east. ‘Over there are the sleeping quarters, where most of the dwarves are at this time. As far as I know, the Brazen Clan have adapted to the human life-rhythms.’ His hand pointed to the western corridor. ‘In that direction are the mines. A confusing labyrinth, given the position and mining of the ore.’ Then he pointed north. ‘That way you’ll find rooms like the kitchen, the chamber of the Clan Elders and the common room. I think we should start there.’ The others agreed and he went to the front. ‘It’s better that any dwarves we meet see one of their own first. Partly because you’re only here on account of my having threatened the guards’, he explained.
‘What did you say?’ asked Ahren curiously.
‘That I’d open the gate one way or the other. Either with their help or with my hammer. They thought I was joking’, said the warrior drily.
Ahren had experienced how he could operate the venerable weapon and had no doubt that he would have got it open. But it would have been loud and wearisome, and he was glad that the gate had remained attached to its hinges.
‘Culhen is bound to be able to get the scent of the Doppelganger’, said Ahren, and he gave the wolf a quick command. Culhen stretched his nose into the air.
He’s here, but the air smells funny. Too many people in too small a space. Culhen gave his master a pained look. And they don’t wash very often, and they eat too much fermented fish.
‘Culhen has confirmed that he is here, but the air is too full of different smells. It might take him some time’, he said, translating the essentials to the others.
‘Yes, even I can smell the fish’, said Trogadon, shaking his head. ‘It’s actually a traditional dish of the Ice Landers. The Brazen Clan adopted it and they have it specially carted here from a harbour four leagues away.’
‘Less talking and more scouting’, said Khara curtly, her hand on Wind Blade. Ahren noticed that Whisper Blade was tied behind her back, out of the way. She saw his reaction and whispered: ‘I need to practise before using it in an emergency.’
Ahren gave a nod of approval. He remembered the problems he’d had with his bow the previous year, after its string had been replaced with Selsena’s hair. It had taken him considerable time to master the changes and his fighting ability had temporarily suffered. It made perfect sense to him that she wanted to master her new weapon first.
‘Can you cast another Charm Net?’ he asked Jelninolan, but she shook her head.
‘Then the Doppelganger will know exactly where we are, and I don’t want us to fall into a trap’, she replied in a low voice.
Ahren groaned and he too placed his hand on his weapon. ‘We need to find Xobutumbur first’, he whispered, and Trogadon pointed along the corridor they had just entered, and moved forwards. Oil was burning in two gullies along the walls, casting a consistent, warm light onto the ceiling and enabling them to see further down the tunnel. The air was warm and sticky, the scent from the burning oil combining with the musty smell you would find in a poorly ventilated room. The ceiling was only high enough for them to stand upright, and Falk’s helmet kept scratching the ceiling. Luckily, it didn’t take them long to reach the common room, which only barely reminded Ahren of the hall they had seen that time in the Silver Cliff. The ceiling of the room was considerably lower than the other one; there were ten small fire-pits instead of one big one; and the benches were decidedly narrower and lower. There were also no upper tiers and doorways that Ahren had seen by the dozen in the Trading Hall. Everything seemed much more private here, and also more isolated, and Ahren felt the vaults to be more threatening than in the Silver Cliff.
Two very young dwarves were tending the fires, and they looked terrified when they saw the intruders. Ahren noticed that to their credit, they didn’t take to their heels, but grasped their pokers instead and slowly approached the group.
One of the dwarves, blond-haired and with only the beginnings of a beard, called out to them hastily, and Trogadon answered severely. The two had a brief discussion, during which time the young dwarf kept glancing over at the non-dwarf visitors. Finally, Trogadon dismissed him with an imperious wave of his hand, and the two young dwarves returned to their work, nervously glancing over at the strangers.
‘They say that Xobutumbur went into his chamber some time ago and hasn’t come out since. Hulrigum, the Lord of the Arsenal is the only person who has been with him’, said Trogadon, summarising the conversation.
‘Did they tell you where his chamber is?’ asked Falk, on edge.
Trogadon pointed at one of the few doors that led out of the room. ‘Just behind that.’
‘Quick, then!’ ordered Jelninolan.
They approached the dark-grey stone door with its insignia of a hammer lying on top of a flattened mountain-top. The Brazen Clan coat-of-arms, thought Ahren, having seen a similar sign outside on the entrance door. It was closed, and when Trogadon knocked, nobody answered.
Trogadon gave the others a worried look, and Falk signalled to him to enter. They each pulled a weapon, and Trogadon was just placing his hand on the stone handle when Culhen caught a whiff of something.
The man with the many faces was here, he said nervously, and the wolf’s head turned, searching from left to right.
‘Be careful, the shape-changer could be nearby’, warned Ahren. A wave of tension rippled through the little group, and when Trogadon shouldered the door violently open, everybody was poised for action. Ahren tried to take in every detail of what he could see, and his eyes were immediately drawn to the pool of blood on the floor, at the far end of the modestly furnished room.
They all ran into the room, Trogadon in front, his face ashen-white. He gestured urgently to Jelninolan to join him. Whatever he had seen, Jelninolan started violently backwards as if she’d been hit. Then she stormed forward and disappeared behind the large stone writing desk which took up the far half of the room, and from under which blood was oozing towards them. Ahren craned his neck, and then wished he hadn’t, overcome by a feeling of nausea.
Xobutumbur’s right arm and left leg were lying covered in blood in two corners of the room. The mutilated dwarf was literally swimming in his own blood, which was streaming from the gaping wounds and the cuts on his face. In a heartbeat Jelninolan’s hands were glowing green as she cauterised the stumps with magic flames and then laid her healing hands over the face with its unkempt beard.
Ahren was astounded at how tough the dwarf was, who didn’t even scream. The apprentice was furious at the sight of the poor maimed soul.
‘I might be able to save him, but it will take time’, said the elf over her shoulder. ‘You’d better find the Doppelganger before he causes any more damage.’
Xobutumbur gasped for breath and uttered forth two words: ‘Hulrigum. Deep Fire.’ His words echoed spine-chillingly in the over-full yet quiet room.
Trogadon and Falk looked at each other, and then ran cursing towards the common room. Khara and Ahren followed, along with Culhen, who was sniffing the ground.
‘If he’s taken on the figure of the Master of the Arsenal, then he’ll have access to the complete weaponry of the Clan’, shouted Trogadon as he ran ahead.
I can follow him. Have his scent, now I know what his present shape smells like, said Culhen, his nose close to the floor.
‘Culhen has his scent
!’ shouted Ahren, and the dwarf let the wolf take the lead.
He led them back to the reception hall and then into the western passage, where the mines were. Culhen determinedly led them through a maze of tunnels which had been formed for the sole purpose of reaching as many ore veins as possible as quickly as possible. The tunnels were only dimly lit, which proved lucky for them, because they spotted the torchlight in front of them in good time. They stood and then proceeded to creep quietly forward. They could hear a Dwarfish voice which seemed to be lecturing in the Dwarfish tongue.
‘The speaker is talking about the perfidy of the Sun Emperor’, whispered Trogadon. The warrior continued to translate in hushed tones as they crept forward. ‘It’s time that the Brazen Clan took up arms. Dwarf honour demands it, and so on.’ Then Trogadon’s face drained of colour. ‘He says, it’s a nice irony that the Legion will be killed by the very heat they yearn for so much.’ His eyes opened wide as he looked at the others. ‘He wants to flood the side of the mountain where the switchback is with Deep Fire.’ Everyone looked shell-shocked. ‘That will mean war between the Sunplainers and Thousand Halls’, whispered Falk hoarsely. ‘Forwards!’ he commanded urgently.
They stormed into a large storeroom, roughly twenty paces long and broad and with no other exit. Half a dozen dwarves were stacking barrels on top of each other near a small square hole on the opposite wall. A seventh dwarf with a golden chain, from which a stylised hammer was hanging, was preaching to them. None of the seven were armed, and Ahren could see on the faces of the workers that they were performing their duties half-heartedly.
Trogadon didn’t waste a heartbeat. Before anybody had a chance to react, the warrior had already stormed into the room and without saying a word smashed his hammer into the side of the dwarf with the golden chain, sending him flying in a wide arc and smashing him into the wall, from where he slid to the ground as a lifeless heap. With his voice sounding like a bugle, Trogadon bellowed a single command, and the other dwarves fled out of the rom. Contented with his work, Trogadon shouldered his hammer and turned to face his friends. ‘Well, that was easy’, he said with a laugh as Ahren pointed behind him in horror. The shattered body of the dwarf seemed to smelt together and gradually produce strange-looking limbs, as well as gain weight.
Trogadon retreated at this peculiar performance back to his friends and Falk grimly drew his sword.
‘He’s taking on his war-shape. You need to damage his brain; every other organ and bone will heal within moments!’ the old Paladin shouted. He stepped forward and ordered the others to form a semi-circle. ‘Don’t let him escape into the tunnel, or there will be a massacre among the dwarves.’
Ahren took his bow from his shoulder and went down on one knee. There were more than enough blades in the room, and if the brain was a weak point in the creature, then maybe an arrow at the right moment would end the battle. He placed Wind Blade on the ground in front of him, ready for defence purposes if needed. Then he placed an arrow in position and watched the others as they stepped closer to the Doppelganger, who was still transforming himself.
The apprentice felt nauseous as he saw four spidery legs breaking out of the tuberous body and straightening out in a flash. Four equally long, spindly and strange-looking limbs, ending in deadly points with sharp bone-blades grew out of the upper part of the being. To Ahren’s horror, the figure in front of him didn’t seem to have any distinguishable head, but rather a circle of eyes all around the whole body which was covered in bone plate. Ahren could make out neither throat nor mouth, just two tiny nostrils and two bulbous earlobes. The battle-creature seemed to combine maximum deadliness with maximum invulnerability. When it finally began to run forward on its blade-like legs, Ahren screamed in horror. Its movements were so jerky that Ahren could hardly follow them, and Trogadon was already bleeding from two slight cuts on his arms.
‘It’s too fast for me’, roared the dwarf as the bulbous creature easily and lithely evaded the warrior’s hammer-blows. ‘I’ll pull back to the doorway’, he called as the Doppelganger began scrabbling up to the low ceiling in preparation for an attack from above. Khara’s and Falk’s weapons clanged loudly as they fought hard to parry the spinning forelegs of their enemy.
Trogadon stepped quickly behind Ahren and took up a wide-legged posture at the door. Speed was of no use to the creature there and the dwarf was at an advantage. If it wanted to flee, it would have to get past the dwarf and his hammer, while the others could sandwich it in from behind.
Ahren was amazed by the cool calculation of the warrior, who acknowledged his weakness in the face of his seemingly superior opponent but changed his strategy in the blink of an eye so that he could still be useful.
As opposed to me, thought Ahren as Falk glanced over to him, looking for help. The strange-looking creature had turned him into a silent observer, while his friends were trying desperately to keep it in check. Khara had managed to connect a few times with the Doppelganger’s stomach, but the bone-protected skin prevented the blade from penetrating through to the flesh, and any cuts she made, healed before her eyes.
Ahren shot a trial arrow, aiming at one of the creature’s eyes, but his enemy jerked sideways, and the projectile ricocheted harmlessly off the bone-armour.
Culhen threw himself into the fray too, and Ahren’s heart missed a beat as one of the spear-like forelegs came flashing towards the wolf. Culhen evaded the danger however and the Paladin breathed a sigh of relief. He took another arrow from his quiver and considered his options. In the end he decided to aim for another eye but waited for the moment Khara was attacking the Doppelganger and with such violence that it was momentarily distracted. The arrow sank into the bulbous black eye of the creature with a soft squelching sound, and the Doppelganger jerked convulsively.
The apprentice let out a yell of joy, thinking he had had hit the battle-figure’s brain, but then he watched in disbelief as the arrow was driven back out of the wound, which slowly but surely closed up.
‘Where is his brain?’ asked Ahren in frustration. The thing was hard enough to fight as it was, but the fact that it regenerated itself so quickly made victory ultimately impossible. Falk’s chest was already rising and falling under the strain of the relentless attacks, and it was only his Deep Steel armour and his shield that were protecting him from injury. Khara had three stab wounds on her left arm, where the tip of one of the creature’s bone-arms had effortlessly sliced through the chainmail.
‘No idea’, panted Falk laboriously. ‘It’s in a different place every time’, he gasped, before being set upon again by the creature.
Ahren feverishly thought for a moment and then decided to have another go. As Falk was beginning a counterattack, Ahren extended his bow to the maximum. His arms were burning, and the wood creaked in protest as the tension in the unicorn hair became incredible. Then he let the arrow fly, having angled the direction in such a way that the projectile flew upwards and plunged into one of the eyes in the torso.
The Doppelganger shuddered once again, but this time the shaft was sticking so deep in its body that it wasn’t expelled as the wound closed together. Satisfied, Ahren drew another arrow out of his quiver. He would carry on shooting into the eyes of the creature, and from different angles until he finally connected with the brain. He was about to take aim again, when he realised that his enemy knew what was on his mind. Following a wild hail of blows that forced Khara to retreat, the creature spun to the left and stormed forward on its circling forelegs towards Ahren, who threw himself sideways at the last moment, rolling over in the process. He felt sharp pains when one of the bone-blades stroked along the hands which were gripping his bow.
He’s trying to destroy my weapon! shot through his head as he did a diving roll behind Falk, who was giving him cover with his shield.
The Doppelganger seemed to hesitate, before trying to pass Trogadon, but the dwarf planted his hammer in the middle of the creature’s body, causing it to crash into the nearest wall. New wo
unds decorated the dwarf’s neck just above his chainmail, but that didn’t seem to bother him in the slightest.
Ahren took advantage of the creature’s temporary wooziness to shoot another arrow into its body, this time angling downwards, but that still didn’t finish the Doppelganger off.
Falk, Khara and Culhen encircled the ugly deformity as it pulled itself together, and Ahren noticed that the two humans were imitating its tactics with their weapons while Culhen distracted it with a leaping attack. The four forelegs shot upwards, preparing to stab the flying wolf, as Falk and Khara stabbed their weapons deep into either end of their monstrous enemy’s torso. It was only this action that saved the wolf’s life, for the Doppler threw itself round, pulling its forelegs in, just as the animal was about to land with all its weight on the creature, which a fraction of a heartbeat earlier had its bone-spears ready to skewer the attacking wolf. Although that had been avoided, Ahren could see flecks of blood on the wolf’s white fur, and a red mist descended on the apprentice.
He sprang up and began shooting arrow after arrow into his writhing enemy. Half of the missiles ricocheted harmlessly off the bone-plate; the other half dug deep into the flesh. Ahren was completely out of his mind with rage and he moved ever closer to the creature. He was standing no more than a pace away from the monster when he shot a single arrow with such force and at such close range that it pierced through the bone-plate in the lower part of the body and penetrated with a satisfied squelch deep into the flesh. The blade-like forelegs shot towards him and Ahren noticed too late that he was within his enemy’s range, but luckily Falk slammed his shield in a downward direction, thus saving his apprentice from injury.
The Brazen City Page 36
