Chapter 7
Kiira Ironcast is cool and motionless beneath the blanket. She was placed on a raised stone platform for the burial rituals. They'd only cover her if her body was desecrated. He knows she's missing her head. Idly Hamezaar studies the blanket, shimmering gold with white symbols for Morndinsamman, the Dwarven Pantheon.
"We can go to the priests of Moradin and plead for a resurrection," Barund suggests, stroking his white beard. "The priests said… they can't raise her from the dead."
"They'll say no! Bloody hells, they'll say no! They ain't risking Moradin's wroth over a Duergar, no matter whose paramour she was." Yerdan paces. "A hundred years since Laduguer and Deep Derra fell, since we returned with the Army of Gold and they still don't value us."
"A donation, a heavy donation to the church may sway their minds," Barund scowls.
"She was neither paladin nor priest. She did not die in a battle against the servants or priests of a vile god. They will not resurrect her." Hame's heart sinks. "I should have married her Yerdan. I should have ignored tradition and politics and made her my wife."
"You would have lost half your vassals," Berund replies softly. "They'd revolt."
"You've said that a hundred times but the important ones would stay. The rest would face the consequences for their decisions…for generations."
Yerdan sighs, "No. Kiira understood that the right marriage, the right alliance could place you on the throne. It would have changed everything. It will change everything."
"We need the Rift united," Berund insists.
"The Drow will pay," Hame clenches his hands into fists. "I swear it."
Berund and Yerdan share a look before Yerdan says, "It wasn't Drow."
"Witnesses saw Dwarves chasing her into that alley," Berund continues.
"They have allies and illusions; the Drow I fought were disguised as Dwarves by magic."
"There's an impression on a wall, Dwarf sized, with blood. The healers of Sharindlar claim that her wound is at a sharp upward angle. A Drow's height would make a straight or slightly inclined wound to her back. Only someone crouched, her height, or shorter would make such a wound. If anyone died their bodies were removed, nothing else was found at the scene."
"The priests of the Lady of Life and Mercy would know," Yerdan admits. "They care for wounds and injuries all the time."
"High Lord Wilfgurd Amplewrought," Hamezaar recalls. "He knew. He said I should be more worried about my clan. The Drow knew the hall was empty too, someone told them."
"That's no coincidence," Yerdan snaps. "That it happened on the same day."
"It's not a coincidence but that's hardly evidence," Berund shakes his head.
"We didn't know until after the assassination attempt. They couldn't identify her until the investigators discovered her Wyrmforge sigil on her cloak. A footman recognized her clothing."
"Even if we caught them there's no way they'd admit to his involvement. They'd demand legal advocates and close gates. Amplewrought will claim his words were good council."
"This was skillfully done, publically too," Yerdan points out. "They were professionals."
"Only a few clans that would dare to do this," Hamezaar interjects. "That would dare and had the skill needed. She wasn't crushed, so it wasn't the Shadowhammers, and that eliminates Simmerforge. At least it eliminates them directly, that doesn't mean they didn't know or have a hand in it. That leaves Gloomguard and Amplewrought's Piercesteel."
"Why would Gloomguard kill her?" Berund asks. "They have more Duergar than us."
"Why would anyone kill her?" Yerdan says it as if it's obvious. "To hurt Wyrmforge and our lord but you don't want to hear it. All you do is argue! You never liked my sister!"
"That's not true," Berund barks. "The Council will say the same thing!"
Both Dwarves took a threatening step before Hame stops them.
"Enough! Berund is right and the Council will make the same arguments. We'll go to Gloomtown and I'll speak to the patriarch," Hamezaar huffs. "We're not friends but he won't lie to me. He will not and swear before Moradin. We'll go alone, just the three of us."
"You know the house is watched. We'll be recognized for sure," Berund cautions.
"I'm depending on it."
They head for the switchback stairways. The stair is swung away from them and Berund grumbles, "A hundred years ago they'd have two stairs."
"Aye and an army would have a straight run up to the next level," Yerdan replies.
"A hundred years ago the Drow didn't rule Underhome and our people didn't make up excuses to ignore them," Hame grumbles.
They continue without another word. Clan symbols are common depending on region of Eartheart. As they move closer to Gloomtown, the Gloomguard emblem appears everywhere, a grey shield centered on a white tower surrounded by a field of black. Dimness is ever present where it's not concealed in darkness, hence the name. A stone hood creates a roof, to protect from flying opponents and those looking to escape over the side of the cliff. The poorer sections of Eartheart have torches and the richer levels often employ magical lanterns. Gloomguard's domain uses eerie blue glowing lanterns that barely provide light, despite their even spacing and overlapping glow. The lanterns taint everything with a grey cast, even where it should not.
"I know we must do this. But now that we're here, I have concerns," Berund whispers.
"There are dark rumors about Gloomguard, about their magic and where it comes from." Yerdan adds. "There are rumors that they secretly worship Shar, the Mistress of the Night."
Even the citizens living in this section reflect the closed mouth and secluded nature of the level. As they go about normal chores, they avoid the light, creeping along walls without a word. "These are a people of silence," Hame reminds them.
The gate leading into Gloomguard's keep is only a small part of the wall that stretches up to the roof. Evenly spaced both from the ground and the ceiling, three rows of the blue lanterns light the entrance. Instead of the traditional square gate, Gloomguard have a hinged stone. Around the edge of the gate are enchanted symbols that Hamezaar recognizes but cannot read. He could only imagine what they entailed.
"We're being watched," Yerdan warns.
"We're in Gloomtown," Berund mutters. "What do you expect?"
"What do you want here Deep Lord?" The whisper comes from beneath a lantern. A rogue swathed in black appears, leaning casually against the lantern post.
"I'm going to speak with the Patriarch of Gloomguard-"
"The Patriarch is quite busy, perhaps if you had forewarned of your coming or sent a-"
"Do I look like I am playing games!?" Hamezaar roars. His voice is thunderous as it echoes down the corridor. "Perhaps I will return at the head of ten thousand soldiers!"
The Dwarf pales, difficult to do with his dark brown skin, "High Lord if-maybe-give me a moment and I will-"
"Leave the lad be Hamezaar," someone calls from behind him.
Six Dwarves appear behind the trio. A mixture of Gold, Grey, and Shield Dwarves surround the Patriarch of Gloomguard. All of them wear black and are hard to discern.
"Guurne," Hamezaar bows his head slightly. "Did you have anything to do with this?"
"I'm a busy Dwarf Hamezaar; you'll have to be more specific." Hame's look darkened, his fury reaching his eyes as he looks upon the patriarch. Guurne recoils, "No, I have no knowledge of the attack on your mistress, I swear."
"No knowledge? Who are you toying with!? Next you'll say the accusation is offensive!"
"Whom do you think you're threatening Hamezaar?" Shadows creep in from the walls and from behind Guurne. "You threaten to bring an army and I promise we would cut you a thousand times before you ever reach our gates."
"Your rogues are of no use if we burn every inch of this place before we bother with your cheap gate. Berund give us some daylight."
A spell cast and a second later brilliant yellow light fills the space around them, instantly revealing the score of Dwarves surrounding them. Many of them hiss or wince from the sudden brightness. Some withdraw to the edges of the light while a rare few stubbornly refuse to move. Yerdan spins to face them, a handax in each hand, hard-eyed and unconcerned by their numbers.
Guurne Gloomguard takes a moment to seriously consider the situation. Suddenly whispers ripple through them and a Dwarf whispers to him. Guurne informs them, "High Lord Wilfgurd Amplewrought has arrived with twenty guardsmen. Is this your doing?"
"No but I expected it," Hamezaar admits.
"I can help you Hamezaar."
"The only thing I want High Lord, is for you to swear before the Morndinsamman. Swear upon your clan that Gloomguard had nothing to do with Kiira's death."
He swallows and looks away from Hamezaar's glare, "I swear by Moradin and upon the honor of my clan and vassals. We had nothing to do with her death Hame. If this was done by one of my Dwarves' hands, if it was done without my knowledge and behind my back, I will burn their whole clan out of Eartheart and the Shaar. It will be as if they had never lived."
Hamezaar lowers his gaze respectfully and bows to him, "I apologize for my coarse tongue and my lack of etiquette High Lord."
"Would you have destroyed my clan and plunged Eartheart into war just for revenge?"
Lowering his voice and stepping closer, Hame whispers, "An attack upon my lover is an attack upon me and my clan. I'd lose the trust of hundreds if not thousands of sworn vassals if I didn't respond. I knew you had nothing to do with it. If you had, no one would have witnessed it. She merely would have disappeared…but I had to be certain."
"You are playing a dangerous game. I can still help you."
"Fancy that!" Wilfgurd Amplewrought shouts across the distance. Gloomguard's rogues fade away with the soldiers' arrival and once they're beyond the range of the daylight spell, they disappear completely. Wilfgurd and his soldiers march until they're within a pace of the trio. "It's funny how we keep running into each other Wyrmforge."
"All I ask is that you bear witness before Moradin," Hamezaar whispers to Guurne, who subsequently disappears. Then he turns to Wilfgurd, "How long have you served the Drow?"
High Lord Amplewrought sputters, "Wha-No! How dare you say that! Such an accusation is offensive!"
"It's just us here, unless you can't trust your soldiers High Lord. Come out with it."
"My patience is running out Hame, if you continue such an affront, I'll seek reprisal." The Deep Lord's hand wraps around the battleax at his side, his shield already on his arm.
"You were always weak Wilfgurd but you were virtuous…once. Do you think you're saving your clan by allying with them? No, wait; this is your wife's scheming. Isn't it?"
"Silence!" Wilfgurd screams and his men charge.
"Remain within the sunlight," Hamezaar orders as he raises his shield. Wilfgurd's ax slams against it, throwing Hame back. He barely ducks another guard's sword and knocks aside a warhammer. A kick hurls the last Dwarf back. Yerdan suddenly disappears, shocking the guards before appearing behind them twice as large. He hacks a leg and then an arm. He ducks an ax and trips the attacker before shoving another Dwarf back. Berund knocks aside an ax with his shield, breaks a leg with his hammer and then calls upon Moradin. The Soulforger blessing arrives with a flicker of light. Their attacks become surer, their nerve steeled for battle.
"Priest!" A guard points at Berund. Crossbowmen shot but the proximity of the other guards ruins their aim. A lucky shot ricochets off Berund's helm. He places his back to Hamezaar and calls upon Moradin again. His chant grows, calling upon Moradin's link to the land, mountain, and stone. The guards realize the danger and charge. They strike his shield and a lucky hit batters his pauldron but they don't interrupt him in time.
Sharp rock tears through the stone floor, shredding leather boots and flesh alike. Guards scream as they fall and others cry a warning. A few dart away or keep their feet but most tumble. The spike stones create a barrier between the Deep Lord Amplewrought and his guards. Only three guards escape the magic because they were so close to the group. A few bold and reckless Dwarves try to cross the spikes only to fail, often with injury.
Towering eight feet over the guards, a result of the Duergar's inherent magic, Yerdan throws an uppercut that hurls a guard back. "Stay back! This is between them!"
Hamezaar and Wilfgurd smash into each other like bulls. Metal bangs and wood creaks. Neither retreats so they battered each other furiously. Equally matched in armor, strength, and pure stubbornness they fight savagely. They break, huffing and puffing for breath. They circle before Wilfgurd slashes through Hame's shield, thoroughly ruining it. Hame backpedals to dump his shield and then he takes his morningstar in both hands. Wilfgurd smirks. Hame knocks the ax aside before batting his shield away. Wilfgurd retreats but not before Hame crushes his shoulder. A frantic swing nails Hame's wrists, knocking his morningstar loose.
"Yes!" Guardsmen scream after what they thought was their master's certain doom. The roles reversed, another screams, "Kill him! Finish it high lord!"
Wilfgurd's eyes glow feverish with his impending victory. Yerdan and Berund both lean forward, ready to support their lord before he waves them off. Wilfgurd spares his limp arm a glance and Hamezaar raises his fists.
"Your grey bitch put up more of a fight than this," Wilfgurd snarls before he attacks.
Hame steps in and blocks the ax mid-swing. His punch stuns the Deep Lord. Then Hame claws for a weapon from his belt, wraps his fingers around a hilt, draws and thrusts. It was foolish, frantic, and desperate. Nothing should pierce the fine steel plate armor but the shortblade slices it effortlessly. It runs right up to the handle. Wilfgurd gasps and gags. He trembles and falls to his knees. Hame releases the shortsword and tears the battleax out of Wilfgurd's hands.
"JUSTICE!" Hame roars with the ax above his head. Amplewrought's guards groan in horror. Their Lord falls back and lies helpless before a chill runs up Hamezaar's spine. The shortsword was the one he took from the Drow rogue. That's why it pierced Dwarfwrought steel so easily. The same way it had Hame's own armor.
His hesitation gave Wilfgurd a chance, "No! Please Hame, there's more, it's not just your woman. There's more to it and the Drow!"
"By my beard, he admits it," Guurne gasps, appearing at Hame's shoulder.
"Go on traitor, speak!" Hame demands. Suddenly a crossbow bolt pierces Wilfgurd's helm. Hame only has enough time to flinch before the bolt explodes.