Chapter LI: And Indiana Jones Thinks He Has it Bad...
Shouts of the dwarves and echoes of crashing metal resounded through the halls of Khazad as the vampire onslaught continued unchecked. The main entry hall had now been passed by the advancing line of vrylna soldiers, leaving it bloodied and body strewn, and still they came, laying waste to the fleeing dwarves.
Mordae and Celebdraug, though on opposite sides of the hall, continued to maintain contact through their mind link, relaying ideas and communications instantly across the battlefield. The elves had exchanged their longbows for vrylna, and had joined the vampires in firing volleys of the shimmering lizcan down the dark passageways.
Celebdraug had thoroughly enjoyed Mordae's innovative plate armor attack, and had integrated it into a technique of her own; armor shooting. The elf would remove a section of her protective covering, align it on her vrylna, and then launch it – albeit clumsily – into the fray, where it would either strike down a random target, or simply embed itself in one of the walls.
Enjoying yourselves over there? Mordae inquired teasingly, leaning forward to catch a glimpse of Celebdraug and Draylen, who fought beside one another.
Oh, yes, Draylen responded mockingly. I just love battlefield dates.
Really? Celebdraug replied enthusiastically. Me, too!
Lynza and Mordae, who were alongside one another on the opposite side of the hall, laughed in reply.
Draylen shook his head and glanced at Celebdraug. You have severe problems.
Severe is relative.
The vampire tossed a single lizcan disk lightly at the feet of the elf, who kicked it back at him, sticking her tongue out in addition.
The line of soldiers continued their methodical charge, so far taking only a few losses. Above them, the cloud of bats whipped up and down, swarming any stray dwarves that happened to have escaped the slaughter.
Suddenly, several dozen dwarves burst forth from one of the higher elevated tunnels a hundred meters down the hall, surrounding a heavily armored dwarf in the center, which carried a massive torch. The throng raced toward a distant cauldron a few dozen meters away, battering furiously at the cloud of bats that threatened to sweep them away.
"Concentrate fire!"Celebdraug thundered, her order accompanied almost immediately by the hiss of several hundred lizcan shredding the bulk of the group to ribbons as they charged.
As one, the two elves traded their vrylna for bows, nocked three arrows each, then launched them through the skull of the torchbearer, sending his nearly decapitated body spinning from the wall.
I hope this doesn't stay this easy, Lynza quipped, releasing another lizcan into the terrified dwarf resistance.
Mordae let out a small snort of amusement, redrawing his vrylna releasing another trio of projectiles down the hall.
Above them, one of the few survivors of the original horde – missing an arm, limping, and bleeding from many lacerations – stumbled to the sputtering torch, hefted it with his remaining appendage, and then hurled it with all his might at the distant cauldron. A second volley of shimmering lizcan shattered both the torch and the creature, eliminating them both entirely.
I wonder if that hurt, Draylen mused. Oh, well.
The glow of yet another torch burst from underneath the cauldron as several dozen more dwarves burst from a tunnel one level below the massive pot, which was now only forty meters from the advancing line.
Before Celebdraug could order another volley, Draylen raised his vrylna, squinted one eye, and released a shot, sending one disk skipping off the head of a dwarf nearby the torchbearer, which took the other two through the neck.
Nice shot, Celebdraug complimented as Mordae sounded the volley command.
I have lots of time to practice.
Good thing you found me, the elf commented wryly.
The vampire nodded sagely. Moving targets are much better, yes.
Celebdraug stuck her tongue out at her companion, released her lizcan, and then blew a stray strand of her hair from her eyes.
"DOWN!" Mordae's scream echoed down the hall, jolting the gathered soldiers into an immediate response.
A massive blast rocked the stone walls as the torch, hurled by yet another dutiful dwarf, splashed into the center of the oil filled pot.
Hundreds of meters away, the light of the exploding oil flickered into view, galvanizing another torchbearer into motion, igniting the second bonfire. As the third inferno ignited, Celebdraug and Mordae recognized the defense method of the Gondorians; a blazing relay system of warning beacons.
Deep within the mountain, a groaning rumble began to sound, shaking the bones of the attackers.
Mordae rolled his eyes, then glared mock-venomously at Lynza, who shrugged innocently.
I think you're about to have your wish fulfilled, and it's not going to be pretty.
"I cannot believe," Vrayon chattered excitedly, pacing back and forth in anticipation as the orcs and lychens assembled with his selected dozen elites, "Zat novone ever zought of zisss."
"Though of what," Grishnákh growled in frustration. The vampire had refused to let out his 'secret plan' until all the soldiers had gathered, which had taken quite some time. The orc slammed his fist onto the nearby railing. "Would you sit down?"
Vrayon shot a glare at the General, and then continued. "Vere is ze Night Cryssstal?"
"Dol Guldur, in Mirkwood," Garulf replied, absently running his gloved thumb over his axe blade.
"Correct. If ve know vere it isss, zen vhy do ve not have it?"
"Because," Grishnákh groaned, "It's in Mirkwood. Who knows what kind of creatures live in there; spiders, spirits, elves, all kinds of freaks. It would take twenty thousand of my best men to penetrate as far as Dol Guldur."
"Presssisssely," Vrayon agreed.
"Then what in the name of the Moon is your point?" Garulf half-snarled.
"Ve need not penetrate, ve only need to reach ze tower. I can do zat. I zink."
"How?" Garulf inquired, sitting up slightly, intrigued.
"Ze za'vryn," Vrayon responded."Ze Blood Gatesss. Ve usssed zem at New Edorasss, if you recall."
"I do," the lychen nodded. "There is a Gate at Dol Guldur?"
Vrayon shrugged. "If not, there may be one nearby."
"And how can you check?" Grishnákh questioned.
The vampire beamed at the other two Generals, then gestured to them and the other soldiers. "Follow me."
The procession weaved their way down the streets of Dol Sereg, following the cloaked General in the lead. As they passed, the vampire citizens saluted, bowed, or let out patriotic cheers, which the vampire elites responded to warmly.
At last, the group came to a halt before a good-sized structure emblazoned in gold runes and surrounded by hundreds of vampire guards.
"Gentleman," Vrayon began. The vampire shot a slightly-more-than-teasing glance at Garulf, "And ladiesss. Ze Za'vryn Oni, ze birthplassse of the Blood Gatesss. Thisss sssite is holy beyond any other conssstruct in our landsss; zerefore, only my elitesss may accompany me inssside. Onssse ve determine vhezer or not zis gate exisssstssss, I shall return to bring you along."
Tired of arguing, Garulf raised his hand dismissively, then dropped it to his side, toying idly with his axe handle.
The vampire General nodded gratefully, gestured to his men, and then whirled in a half circle, marching toward the massive sanctuary.
Mordae shot a fearful glance toward the roof of the cavern as the rumbling continued, building ominously as large boulders began to tumble from their precarious perches above the army, sending up plumes of ashes where they fell.
Draylen reached out for Celebdraug's hand as the two backed against the wall of the cavern, the vampire covering Celebdraug's head with his arms, much to her protests.
The elf's eyes widened suddenly as she detected a faint vibration behind her, and she pulled hard on the vampire's hand, dragging him away from the wall.
"GET AWAY FROM THE SIDES!" the General screamed as a metallic scraping sound crescendoed to a feverish pitch.
With an explosion of dust, rock, and ash, massive spikes hissed from the walls, driven by the force of the collapsing tunnel. The barbs whistled from their previously concealed launch tubes and flew into the middle of the hall, impaling even more soldiers as they hurled onward.
Mordae pulled Lynza to the ground as the projectiles zipped overhead, then leaped to his feet, pulling her to the side as heavy boulders dropped from the ceiling, crushing hundreds of the swarming bats above them. With a crack like thunder, the roof began to drop downward, completely intact, with spikes pointed straight toward the surviving soldiers.
Needing no command to do so, the vampires transformed and whirled down the hall, attempting to escape the impending doom. Below them, Mordae and Celebdraug sprinted, dodging falling rocks and clouds of ash, weapons sheathed.
As the hall narrowed, the existing roof began to sink lower as well, forcing the bats to drop altitude, several transforming back into humanoid form, racing behind the elves. The ground began to shake as more and more soldiers set foot on the floor until finally, the crust gave way, revealing the rocks to have been chiseled only a few millimeters thick, previously held by boards that had dropped the several meters onto the spiked pit below, where dozens of vampire soldiers fell to their ashy deaths.
The elves scrambled frantically to maintain their balance on the ever-receding ground as the bats pressed closer and closer to them until the cloud had completely surrounded the heads of the Noldor. Mordae was forced to crouch as the ceiling dropped, and soon after, Celebdraug was obliged to join him, sprinting for all they were worth as the ground gave way. Behind the two, the falling ceiling finally struck, sending a massive shockwave that shattered the remaining rock floor and knocked bats from the sky in every direction.
The Noldor felt themselves swept up as the swarm lifted them over the remaining meters, dropping them on the cold rocks at the entrance to the first of the gargantuan dwarf rooms. With thunderous bangs, the surviving vampires, still numbering in the several thousands, unfurled into their ranks, blades at the ready.
Directly before them stood the massive bulk of the dwarven army, axes poised, and a look of vengeance on every face.
Draylen dropped beside Celebdraug, who threw her arms around him, breathing heavily from the trauma of the cave-in. Lynza appeared beside the two elves, placing a hand on Mordae's slightly quivering shoulders.
The elf glanced at the vampire girl, whose dark eyes offered a look of question. He smiled reassuringly, tossing the dust from his shoulder-length hair.
The elf grinned, drawing his massive broadsword. "I hope the rest of this isn't as easy as that was."
Vrayon gave a subtle nod to the guards as he passed each of them on his trek into the holy building, his gesture returned with salutes on every side. Behind him, the elites had formed two lines and marched in step, heads held high.
After passing thorough many sub-chambers, the vampires finally reached one final, massive door, surrounded by the Qay'vrn, the Holy Guard of the vampires, bearing the traditional bladed staffs. Akin to the Udunaedos of the Noldor and the Halda'ohtar of the Drow, the Qay'vrn were feared throughout history, having never lost a battle. The Guard had been the force united by Vrayon and Lynza in the Second Age that had driven off the Lychen attack; many of the Tvhesta had once been Qay'vrn, including Draylen, who had been the commander of the Holy Guard before the civil war.
These soldiers guarded the Two Gates with fanatical devotion, forming colonies around their charge, which they defended from any trespassers with an unparalleled ferocity. Of the various cells of Qay'vrn, the Za'vryn Oni was the most dangerous of all, though they rarely ventured from their post into battle.
Upon reaching the solid gold doors, Vrayon was inspected by a Qay'vrn Captain, who determined that he was indeed the General; then, and only then,was he admitted entry.
The Gate itself was a sight to behold, an arch standing several hundred meters high, and nearly one and a half times as long, though it was only twenty meters wide at the base. Inside the arch swirled a red hurricane of unknown substance that spelled death for any who entered without having first been admitted by the bloodline of the Empire.
As the elites lined the doorway, Vrayon strode to the mosaic of Middle Earth sprawling across the ground before the Gate. The General closed his eyes, inhaling deeply as he began to reach out with his mind, searching the world represented by the art on the floor.
As his mind raced across the green strewn forests of Mirkwood, Vrayon searched for the presence of a Gate through which he could travel.
Suddenly, he could feel it, the pull of the ancient technology, drawing him toward itself. As he neared, the ruins around Dol Guldur began to materialize. Charred stone, broken trees, remaining from the battle that had ousted Sauron from his stronghold.
And there, in the center, he could see it. A swirling mass of red, invisible to any eyes but Lynza's and his own. The Gate.
Exhaling sharply, Vrayon snapped open his eyes, spinning on his heel and marching back toward the elites, who followed him from the room without a sound.
As the General and his entourage exited the site, Vrayon noted the crumpled body of an orc soldier laying on the cold ground twenty meters from the Temple steps.
"I told him not to go close to them," Garulf sighed as Vrayon neared. "But he wanted to see inside. They are fast, those Holy Guard of yours."
"Zank you," the vampire acknowledged with a slight bow.
"Did you find the bloody gate?" Grishnákh snarled, storming forward.
"It isss 'Blood Gate', and yesss, I did," Vrayon hissed, coming to a halt in the center of the group.
The sound of a creature clearing its throat behind the General caused him to jump slightly, and he whirled to face the golden armored Qay'vrn Captain, who stood with an angered look on his face.
"Zvran lin kciln ylorn scrvitz Za'vryn!" the vampire thundered in his native tongue.
"Ssspeak ze Common Tongue, pleassse," Vrayon replied coolly. "It isss Remnant law."
The two vampires stood staring harshly into one another's eyes, staffs at the ready. The Captain would have struck any lesser creature dead, but as Vrayon was of the royal bloodline, it would be far greater sacrilege to strike him down, not to mention the fact that the General would most likely have been able to defeat the Qay'vrn.
"You cannot take ze infidelsss into ze Temple," the Captain repeated calmly.
"No, I cannot, and I commend your men for ssslaying ze fool who neared it."
"Are you going to use our sacred gates to transport these scum?" the Captain snarled in anger.
"I am," Vrayon admitted defiantly. "It isss for ze greater good of our people."
"It isss sssacrilege!"
"I am of ze royal bloodline!" the General cried. "My vord isss holy! Ssstand down, Captain!"
With an angry salute, the Qay'vrn spun his staff and whirled back to his post, where he stood stoically, as if the confrontation had never occurred.
Vrayon grinned sheepishly at the other two Generals, spun his own staff in a small circle, then spread his arms.
"Vat can I sssay? My sssubjectsss are loyal to zeir traditionsss."
"Your subjects have a very bad habit of being over-fanatical," Garulf growled to himself, lowering his axe, which he had raised into attack position at the sight of the angry Holy Guard.
"Isss there sssuch a zing?" the vampire inquired in mock-disbelief.
"Yes," Grishnákh snarled. "Not allowing senior officers of the Remnant into fortresses is fanatical. Killing an elite member of the Remnant is fanatical."
Vrayon shrugged innocently.
"In any event," Garulf snarled with a sigh. "Are we going to use the...za...vryn?"
"Exsssellent," Vrayon offered in a rare compliment to the Lychen. "Yesss, ve are."
The General gestured to the surrounding Remnant troops. "If you vould all come a bit clossser. Gazer into a sssircle, pleassse..."
A few moments later, the group had assembled in a tight circle around the vampire, who held up one hand.
"Zisss may feel a bit ssstrange, but do not vorry." The General beamed. "I probably vill not let you die."
With that, a rapidly expanding bubble of red mist emanated from the vampire's hand, enveloping the Remnant troops. There was a pause, followed by a deafening crack, and when the mist had cleared, there was not a trace that the soldiers had ever been in Ramgost.
