Southern Kingdoms, Part 6
December 27, 2008By David Scott and Andrew Getting
The Temple of St. Leda Stonehand, Ironhall. Three months ago.
The clerics worked frantically, comforted the scores of dying, tended to the hundreds of casualties, reassured the smallest of the children huddled within the temple for protection, and prayed to Kor – for a miracle, for aid, for anything. Many of the clerics were glad that Ahdi had preferred them to stay in the temple rather than drag unseasoned troops along with him. The shroud-covered dead littered the floor like mushrooms, and the soft whimpering of the wounded flowed together into a dissonant river of sound. A score of clerics tended whatever wounded were near by, breaking the temple into unspoken segments, each large enough to hold over fifty wounded, and already overfull. Byaal stood above it all on the grand altar in the center, sending the wounded to the clerics most qualified, replacing healers as they tired, and dispatching the children acting as messengers to the battlefield.
Byall focused on the black, gritty skin of the gargoyle in front of him before returning to the wounded dwarf he was tending. “Kor grant us protection and life,:” he whispered, and his holy symbol flared. Then he stood and stared at the silent gargoyle, his duties to the wounded momentarily forgotten.
“Any news from Sjonegaard?” asked Byaal. The gargoyle slowly nodded, sand trickling from its moving joints. “Leave Ironhall.”
“What? Why? What help does Sjonegaard send? How long do we have to move the wounded?”
“Leave the city. Now.”
With that, the black sand gargoyle stalked off, a barely perceptible scraping the only sign of its passage, and left Byaal to gape in surprise. Byaal shook off his confusion and started shouting.
“All who can walk without aid help each other up and to the west exit of the temple! Devotion, Hymn, leave the dying, and any we cannot help with mass healing spells.”
“But, Byaal, we will be leaving many to their deaths who might still be saved!” Hymn objected.
“Yes, we can not abandon those who fought for us so bravely,” Devotion added.
“It pains me, but we can, and we will. We leave the city in twenty minutes. You!” Byall pointed at a tall, thin dwarf tending the wounded in a corner of the temple. The other dwarf’s strong arms and soft, pale skin glowed with sweat as he approached.
“Ardenal, you must go find Ahdi and bring him back. Do not let him argue.”
Ardenal nodded. “As you say.”
The battlefield, a few hundred feet away…
Ahdi Akkhar strode towards the battle, a metal cinch binding his long, black hair. His anger rose and boiled within him, righteous fury at the abyssal incursion mounting, and spreading warmth through his blood and muscles. The lines of defense were directly before him, and his axe thirsted for blood.
As Ahdi reached the front lines, he glared at his enemies. The abyssals fought with a small degree of organization against the mixed legions of dwarves and gargoyles, like someone was herding groups to key points in the Ironhall defense. Ahdi coldly filed this information and swung his axe in a great arc into the abyssal ranks, cutting down three abyssals with his attack.
From Ahdi’s left, War shouted, his words lost in the cacophony, but the cry was enough for Ahdi to turn in time to deflect the falling blow of a massive golgoth’s claws with his axe blade. He swung his axe in a half-moon arc cutting towards the golgoth’s chest, only to divert the swing to decapitate an unfortunately short abyssal who got in the way. A nightclaw tried to slip under his guard, but Ahdi’s next swing clove it in half. The blow retained enough power to drive into the side of the golgoth, cutting several inches deep. The golgoth roared with rage and slashed at Ahdi, who narrowly parried the blow with his axe. Spent and bleeding, the golgoth fell, and the slavering abyssals behind it quickly trampled it in the rush to sate their hunger for Ahdi’s flesh.
The fury upon them, Ahdi’s men needed no orders as he led them deeper into the abyssal lines. Axes and hammers swung at abyssals, meeting air as often as flesh as the abyssals flickered in and out of substance. Gargoyles waded ponderously though the battle, abyssal claws ricocheting off of stone skin as rock hands crushed astral bodies. Still the battle wore on, and a clever zhul dragged a steel gargoyle down, tearing it to scrap. Through his mad haze, Ahdi saw a nightclaw’s poisoned blade run Pillar through before the dying dwarf lunged, warhammer first, at the zhul that had slain the steel gargoyle.
At last, Ahdi saw an opening in the battle. Rushing forward, he broke free of the claws and fangs catching at his back and the confines of the abyssal horde.
A broad-shouldered dwarf stared at him, a vile and perverse gleam in his eyes. The traitor’s breastplate was black with soot, and his right hand held a black axe crackling with power – Redeemer, the axe Xod had entrusted to Zeal. Zhuls stood around him, as if part of his war council.
Soren smiled coldly at Ahdi, and shook his head slightly. Before Ahdi could press an attack, a hand grabbed him from behind. Ahdi whirled, axe at the ready for an attack, but he recognized Ardenal and pulled the weapon to the right.
“Byaal has need of you in the temple! We are to abandon Ironhall immediately…”
A few minutes later
As Ardenal followed Ahdi out of the city, the capable wounded hobbling behind him, Ardenal cast a despairing eye back at his lifelong home. Only a few hundred dwarves had escaped, with the bulk of the citizens remaining to cover the escape. A few decoys had left through other tunnels. Ardenal turned to gaze at his city, looking over the cavern and the band of refugees behind him. He stood there, taking a moment to mourn those who had and would die so that the others could escape.
As he choked back his sorrow, he noticed a deep rumbling below his feet. The earth itself groaned, the groan crescendoing into a howl, the howl giving way to a scream as the earth itself shook, rocks shattering, dust billowing outwards until, with a calamitous crash, the ceiling of the cavern above the battle cascaded down. Rubble and boulders plummeted down over abyssals, gargoyles, and dwarves alike, knocking homes into the streets. Even the temple of St. Leda collapsed inward.
Ardenal’s blue eyes filled with tears as he turned sadly from his home, and slowly walked away from all that he knew.
Somewhere in the World Below, three months later…
“Damnable Soren, damnable tunnels, damnable abyssals! We’ve wasted weeks exploring tunnels to the other dwarven cities only to find each one blocked by cave-ins! Where in the world below are we now?!” Ahdi raged to Ardenal.
Ardenal glanced mildly back over his shoulder at Ahdi. “We are in the lands to the south, and the tunnels, while abandoned for many years, will hopefully lead us back to the dwarven cities. At least the abyssals no longer travel these ways, either,” he calmly replied. “Kor is with us, and knows our plight. For good or ill, I choose to bear my love and duty as a badge of honor, no matter how bitter the taste can be sometimes. If we suffer, there is always a reason.”
Ahdi grimaced, then opened his mouth to speak. A frigid wind passed though the tunnel, cutting him off, and the air crackled. Ardenal felt a deluge of pain flood the tunnel, and suck the breath from his lungs. Reality shattered and coalesced. A sudden weight bore down on him, pulling him to the ground, and he dimly heard Ahdi scream in pain. Hymn cried out and Suffering moaned as an invisible fire lanced through them all. Then, a sudden pull upwards, as though a great hand had grabbed them and roughly transplanted the Ironhall survivors elsewhere.
Then the sensation passed. Ahdi groaned and stirred, then rose, his hair a stark white against blackened skin. Ardenal slowly stood, his back straining under a strange burden on his back tugging at him.
“Ahdi, you yet live!” Ardenal babbled, aghast. “And you have grown taller… no, I, shorter… Oh, Ahdi, I thought you dead, your skin… Let me heal you. It will take away the pain.”
“No, Ardenal, I don’t hurt, and I don’t have time for this nonsense. Are the others – What in Kor’s name?!” Ahdi gasped, a strange sound to Ardenal’s ears.
“What?”
“Ardenal- your skin is like stone… and your eyes, they glow red… Your back… you have wings… like a gargoyle,” Ahdi stuttered.
The rest of the dwarves scrambled to their feet, and gazed at their transformed companions. A great many of the refugees shared the coal-black skin tone. For some, other transformations had manifested, though few as dramatic as Ardenal’s wings. Another cleric’s arms had withered away to nothing more than a stub. A fighter’s sword had melted into his leg, and clanged noisily as he walked about, trying to shake off the shock of his change.
The dwarves had barely recovered when a loud crack snapped through the air. The ceiling began to trickle down, picking up speed to a torrent. Small stones, then larger chunks cascaded, and then beams of bright blazing light tore downwards. Large, dark bodies also fell, screaming wordlessly until they met their deaths on the rocky floors. Ardenal shouted, and the falling rubble angled away from the dwarves, arching through the air, but leaving the dwarves untouched. The earth under them shifted, and the light grew closer.
“Well, the tunnels are gone,” Byaal, one of the few untouched by the madness, stood over one of the fallen creatures. In life, it must have stood twice as tall as any dwarf, and even dead, Byaal could smell the magic and evil in its blood. Its neck had twisted in the fall, but a slow chill spread over Byaal as he saw the thing’s wicked horns.
“Abyssals. Up we go. Ardenal, Ahdi, you lead. Do not risk any more than we must. Be careful, but we must stop this.”
Ardenal was already cresting the ridge as most dwarves were only just securing their ropes. He saw a great battlefield littered with the dead of the same races that had plummeted into the crevice. The near-mythical sun, far brighter than he’d ever guessed, burned his eyes from behind an enormous, regular-shaped stalagmite. To his surprise, he found he could still see, and found himself standing amid other creatures like the ones he had seen below.
Ahdi mounted the top of the pile of rock to stand beside Ardenal and his eyes wandered to the creatures.
“Hah. They stand and gape, surprised that we have found them!” Ahdi laughed, and shouted. “Abyssals! To arms! They have found the World Above!”
Without waiting to see who was behind him, Ahdi drew his axe, and bull rushed into the lines of the enemy. War and the other barbarians streamed behind him. Ahdi let loose a resounding battle cry, and his troops’ weapons fell, splitting flesh and iron alike with a sudden furor that infused the dwarven ranks.
Ahdi swung his axe in an overhead arch. The strange abyssal raised its shield to block the blow, but a loud popping noise echoed as the force of the blow shattered its arm. Ahdi’s axe slid off the shield and he whirled in low. The abyssal cradled its arm, but stepped of the way of the strike. Uncaring, Ahdi let go of his cherished weapon, throwing it into the monster’s chest. The horned warrior fell, as did a score of its brethren.
Will howled, and a wave of heat lanced from his body, slamming into two tremendous foes and knocking them from their feet.
Mekk’iah approached his troops from the other side just as the dwarves attacked. The ferocity of the attack, combined with the sheer surprise of it, had left the already decimated VoTaurr ranks defenseless. Mekk’iah growled, hefting a large bag over his back, and threw up a wall of blue light between the dwarves and his troops.
“Hurr’aal! Sound the retreat! Stone Spider! Gather your troops and cover the left flank! Biall’stal! The right!”
The dwarves battered against the magical wards, the shimmering barrier shaking under the force of the barbarians’ might. A few particularly mighty blows ripped through the barricade and crushed an unlucky combatant.
“Hurry,” Mekk’iah shouted. “The wall will not last!”
As he unslung his moaning burden, however, he spied movement along the dwarves’ right. “On second thought, full retreat.”
Kedric’s wrappings had soaked in blood, but he could feel no wounds, or even any pain. Even before he opened his eyes, he felt the charred stone beneath his head, and knew he was back in the Temple of the Doomed Sky. He also knew that the nimbics had already rejoined the battle outside, and that his companions had not regained consciousness. He could not feel Fatima at all.
He did not know how he knew this, only that he did.
With a thought, he was on his feet, and raced past fresh rubble. In his mind, he saw as the Narawati rose indignantly and bore down upon black-skinned dwarves. Surprised by the Narawati’s sudden assault, the dwarves turned about from the assault on the VoTaurr, and focused on survival. Kedric concentrated further, and reached to a familiar man to the north.
“Hurry,” he whispered.
Ardenal gazed over the battle in confusion from atop the crevice. He had remained to aid those wounded by the tunnel’s collapse. “Why are the humans attacking them?! Byaal! Can the humans have forgotten the Accord? Is that why they never sent aid to the World Below? How can that be?”
Byaal hurried up the rubble from below, where he had been directing the evacuation of the dwarves. “I don’t know, but they need us below. Gather the others and follow me.”
Byaal brandished his holy symbol as his voice raised in healing chants. He approached the battlefield, plunging into the dwarven ranks, seeking those who needed his aid the most.
Beside Byaal, Suffering silently worked, laying his hands on the wounded. As he touched them, their wounds would disappear, and bleeding cracks would render Suffering’s flesh, and then slowly and painfully knit back together as he moved on to the next companion in need of healing. He tried not to think about how natural this new talent felt.
Within the Narawati ranks, shouts of “Blasphemers!” and “Trespassers!” echoed. Inside the temple, Chioke Addo awoke, and pulled on the unconscious form of Callenor Tzin. “We are on our way, Kedric.”
Chioke Addo sprinted forward, taking a few running steps before his form blurred beyond recognition as space wrapped around him and unwrapped, skipping him through reality faster than the eye could see. Callenor Tzin strode through the ranks, and as he grew near each Narawati fighter in turn, the weariness drained from their faces, and they fought with new strength and urgency.
Baqbou stumbled onward, his wounds protesting with every step. The voice was insistent, and he could not even glance at the ranks of elves and nimbics as they walked by him, jeering. He knew he should have remembered how to cross the distance to the temple, but one of the nimbics had laughed at him as he had tried to do so. Perhaps the fever had forced him to forget.
“Amoudasi give me strength,” he mumbled to himself, struggling onward.
Step by agonizing step, he drew closer to the battle. The Narawati were fighting short dark manlike creatures, and more were pouring up from the edge of a crevice.
Baqbuo choked, and remembered the vision from so long ago. Where he had expected to find the gods in their home far below the earth, he saw only darkness.
He could no longer wait. The abominations were killing the chosen people of the gods.
“Mimi Amoudasi msaada. Watu agnu moto msaada. Help me, Amoudasi. Fires, aid my people.” Baqbou called to the earth, and the earth replied. Fires shot from the ground where the two armies met, driving them apart. So high and scorching were the conflagrations that none dared brave them, and both armies retreated to safer ground.
The last of his energy spent, Baqbou collapsed into the warm embrace of the sand, the last words escaping his lips as he fell unheard. “These infidels that have violated your home will not be unpunished, Amoudasi.”
“Stand down!” Kedric shouted as the flames subsided. “They’re retreating. Let them go.”
“They are affronts to the gods,” a havat-lahn hissed. “We must destroy them!”
“You’ll only succeed in killing yourselves. They’re outnumbering us, and we’ve got other problems,” Kedric replied. “Baqbuo Umbala is a short ride north of here, but he’s in trouble. Go get him. Now.”
“Damnable humans,” Ahdi grumbled as he trudged through soft, light dirt under the hot sun. “They side with abyssals over us.”
“They’re not abyssals,” Will said flatly. “I don’t know what they are, but they’re not. Most of them didn’t even know what we were.”
“How do you know this, Will?” Byaal asked.
“The magic that brought us to the surface touched some of us. Our minds are not as they were. It… It is a blessing from Kor,” Will lied, not knowing why he did so. “Where do we go now?” he asked, changing to a more comfortable subject that he knew Byaal was considering.
“Well, the elves tracked north, and from what I recall of Word’s messages, our allies are north and east of the elves. We must find New Goldenaxe.”
“Talk.”
“I have nothing to say to you,” Anasasia whispered to the darkness.
“You will know better, and soon. If these last days have taught you anything, it is that prophecy will not be denied.”
“You must tell our master of this change, Raziel,” the woman spoke near the campfire. “It is your duty.”
“He’s not my master, Xiola, anymore than you are,” the nimbic replied as he stared into the flames. “Oh, I know you think he’ll have something important to tell us. Perhaps he’s heard of this talent before.”
“Right, that’s why I-” Xiola stopped speaking suddenly, though her lips kept moving.
“Enough of it. King Netheryn’s father spawned us, but we know the nature of those experiments. My kind has served him since his birth, but I will not allow him to reduce my people to subjects for dissection.” Raziel looked up from the fire. “You may speak now.”
Xiola rubbed her throat, uneasy at the nimbic’s sudden mastery of his new powers. “He will not do that. Trust me, and your loyalty will be rewarded.”
Raziel’s pupils dilated visibly in the dim light. “You don’t say.”
Xiola’s neck snapped back as a sudden pain overwhelmed her – a bare hint, she knew, of the abuse the nimbics had felt they had suffered in House Netheryn’s service – before Raziel released her.
“If you’re so convinced of your master’s good will, show him yourself,” the nimbic said, then chuckled darkly.
Baqbuo would heal, but Shomari Jowara had returned to confirm the worst – that the elven attack on the temple was a feint, with Narawi itself as the true target. Jowara said that the elves’ recruits were minimal, but included too many major figures in the city to be coincidence. They had been betrayed, and Bem Lutalo felt that it was the Free Kingdoms who had done so. Jowara’s voice kept Bem’s in check, but Baqbuo would need to decide his people’s future once he awoke.
Kedric, for his part, was unconcerned. Baqbuo would side with the Free Kingdoms, and seal the alliance. The wounded priest was more concerned with his fever-visions from the gods.
The desert night was cool, but Kedric felt uneasy as he paced the length of the canyon at the temple’s base, now a dark scar in the sands.
“Hello, Fatima,” he whispered.
“We failed,” she replied sadly, her body suddenly close to his.
“I know. I… I saw the Manjushree’s prisoner released.” Kedric looked down into the darkness at his feet. A tiny bit of dirt crumbled away, falling into unfathomable oblivion below. “This is his – its – will at work in us, isn’t it?”
“We must prepare, and find Sanaa’s husband, the smith-god,” Fatima whispered. Kedric knew that she was trying not to pry into his thoughts, even as he tried not to invade her own. Both were failing, but pretended anyway – a small comfort.
Kedric sat on his knees, and tried to see the bottom of the shadowy crevasse. “I’m afraid finding them’s no longer the problem.”
The Plane of Secrets.
The roads moved. Oh, they never moved when anyone was at hand, Dallen realized, but it was only a distraction, a ruse, to draw the unwary further into the lust for blasphemous lore.. Temptation, he had decided long ago, was for lesser men than he.
“How much farther, predicant?” his solitary companion asked, her tone sour.
“Lady Eryne, I know the rite exacted a toll on thee, but didst thou not profit o’ it?” Dallen raised an eyebrow, a gesture he knew unsettled those unaccustomed to such motions from blind men. He paused for a moment, listening to her breathing – calm, regular. Unfazed, he realized, then chuckled. “I hath arrayed true bulwarks; I am inviolable to certain onslaughts. Worry not that thou canst not reach me with thy talents.”
Only breathing. For a moment, Dallen wondered if perhaps some stray elemental had claimed her, before he felt her fingers close on his throat with inhuman speed.
“You,” she said, her voice suddenly crystalline, emotionless for the first time Dallen had known her.
“Ah,” he croaked, allowing the smirk to rise. “I was wondering when you would show.”
“You violated the compact, Dallen Stormlost,” the thing beyond Lady Eryne replied. “You know much, but your magic has atrophied in this Hell. You may have power enough to shield your mind, but flesh is unequal to thought and motion. This woman could rend you.” Lady Eryne’s grip relaxed slightly, allowing just enough air to speak with some pain. “Answer.”
“I broke no deals, old one,” Dallen replied, swallowing a cough rather than show weakness. “We bartered for specific ends – you, your freedom, and me, this place’s wisdom unlocked before me. I upheld my part.”
“And the forge-god’s supplicants?” Lady Eryne asked, shaking Dallen.
“I would not leave unchecked a threat to my own plans,” Dallen answered. “Before even considering my own aims, I sought your true nature. I fulfilled my part. If you wanted more than your immediate freedom, you should have asked for such.”
Lady Eryne released Dallen, who grabbed his throat and resumed a steady breath. “You have met the word of the compact, if not the spirit. Law perseveres.”
“That’s it, then?” Dallen asked, willing the bruises to heal.
“No, Dallen Stormlost. You upheld law, but your actions marked you as an enemy. The forge-god and his prodigal servants remain a higher priority, but the pact does not protect you if you meddle further.” Lady Eryne fell to her knees, then looked up at Dallen.
“What happened to me?”
“I fear thy pressed thy abilities too much, too soon,” Dallen replied smoothly. “Thou art fine now,” he said, and offered her his hand. “Come, Deverenia’s glorious future awaits.”
