39 – Hornet's Nest
"My advice on attacking a prepared mage in his own home? Don't do it." –Ren O' The Blade, A Hero's Handbook
Keep moving. Always moving. That's what every instinct told Ashura.
More importantly it's what the arrow-sensing boots were telling her, as she shifted her hips and felt something glance off her chainmail. Her head tilted at the same instant and a rush of wind passed by; the feathers tickling her cheek.
Something slammed into her side, too fast to avoid. Felt like a punch instead of a stab though. Nothing like enchanted armor.
Dodging and weaving past the arrows, she pushed forward. If she could jump one of the barriers; plant a sword in one of the soldiers…
Something white-hot flashed into existence at the tip of the Luskan mage's fingers. A pinprick of expanding light, wisps of crackling flame appearing at the edges. A word snarled out in draconic and a flick of his wrist sent the sphere flying, and Ashura realized that this was something she could not dodge.
She rushed forward anyway; quick, desperate steps. The crackling sphere flew by, her skin instantly parched on the side it passed. A furnace-roar filled her ears, her vision nothing but white light, and the searing wind of the explosion lifted her off her feet and threw her flat against the dirt. Wind and heat and light and scalding skin.
It passed in an instant and Ashura lurched to her feet. There was a relentless crackling everywhere, and intense heat at her arms.
A glance and she saw that her cloak was on fire. With a snarl of disgust she tore it from her shoulder and let it flutter, smoking, to the floor. There was a foul smell of burning flesh in her nostrils, but she couldn't worry about that.
Right now she had a mage to kill.
A glare across the room, focused on the grey-haired bastard and nothing else, and then she was charging, burns and flames and fury and all. The hobgoblins nearby knocked fresh arrows, but their hands began to tremble before they could shoot, the fear that rolled off Ashura striking them in palpable waves.
The Master of the Mines just narrowed his eyes and aimed a finger, barking out a few quick words as Ashura closed. Words that were meaningless to her. His voice also echoed in her head, but it sounded like gibberish.
Words of command, she would realize later, but it was as pointless as trying to lecture a wildfire. To shout orders at a hurricane.
The tip of her sword struck the mage's chest with a flash of light that rippled outward, her hand jarred away by a barrier. She struck again, a mighty swing, and he took a stumbling step back, frustration creeping into his controlled features.
"You!" he snarled at her through a growing scowl. "The sister!"
Another word and a flutter of his fingers launched a storm of red, glowing points of light. Ashura's body twisted to one side or the other as each projectile struck, sizzling and sending up wisps of smoke.
They did not slow her, and she unleashed a flurry of blows against the barrier, sparks and waves of energy flying. The mage backed up three more steps, his hands falling to his sides as he shook his head and growled out a few more words.
"Siltir varak – keev!" With a flicker and rush of wind he simply vanished, shimmering barriers and all.
Ashura's swords slashed out at empty air, searching and finding nothing. She whirled away, looking for another target. No pain yet, but those spells must have taken their toll.
There was a hobgoblin nearby, mindlessly clutching his longbow and holding it out like he was going to block something with the wood. Two steps closer and Ashura rammed her swords into the leg of an upturned table.
Both of her hands flashed forward and sent the power that dwelled within them out, gripping at the goblin's lifeforce and pulling it to her. His dazed look turned to horror and agony as his chest was yanked forward, liquid draining from his thinning face. In an instant he was slack, sickly; barely alive. With renewed vigor Ashura yanked her swords free and finished him.
She turned, lashing out at cowering foe after foe, though now she was panting hard. Sweating, breathless and burnt; the fury dimming. All around her were immobilized archers; cowering in terror, chanting nonsense, or staring blankly at the wall, likely caught up in one of Xan's spells if they hadn't succumbed to her aura.
Once Ashura had kicked a fleeing Black Talon off his feet and run him through the back, she spared a glance over at the other side of the room. The floor was blackened in a great, uneven circle, dark trails of smoke curling to the ceiling here and there from smoldering spots of red.
Xan stood in what must have been the center of the blast, oddly untouched. Imoen was closer by, also clear of soot or burns, her dagger out and dripping where she had waded into the melee. She gave Ashura a cautious look.
Others were not so lucky. There were forms with blacked clothes slumped against the far wall, Faldorn kneeling beside one of them, hands aglow and head bowed in concentration. Ashura's heart sank at the sight of Garrick, clutching weakly at the shaft of an arrow in his side. His face was raw and red, lips all blisters and eyes clenched tight with pain.
She bolted as fast as she could to his side, snatching up the healing potion that she kept on her belt as she went. The cork came out with her teeth as her fingers wrapped around the shaft of the arrow, fletching still smoldering. "Stay with me, okay?"
"Always," Garrick managed with a grimace. A little blood dribbled from the corner of his mouth when he spoke.
Shit! Not good. Not good. She pressed the end of the bottle to his lips. "Drink this fast. Swallow, no matter what. Okay?"
He nodded and she tilted the vial. A few gulps and then she yanked on the arrow as hard as she could. It came out with a gush and a shudder ran through Garrick, but he gulped another mouthful of the potion. And another.
Don't pass out. Please don't pass out.
The bottle was tilted all the way now, rapidly emptying, and her other hand held his chin up. A few more contractions of his throat and the potion was gone, the blisters starting to shrink and disappear from his lips. She let go of him and he slumped a bit, wheezing breaths escaping his mouth and his hand clutching his side.
"Is it closed?" Ashura asked. "The wound."
"Think…think so."
She nodded with relief. No shape for fighting, but at least he didn't seem to be choking on blood. They needed to regroup, take stock of their healing potions and figure out the next step.
Once again Ashura's heart lurched, this time at the sounds of boots stomping against the packed earth. Lots of them. Both swords in hand she stepped in front of Garrick and readied herself. Another hornet's nest. More hornets.
She walked towards the hallway where the footsteps echoed. No reason to keep the bastards waiting.
On instinct Kivan hopped backwards as the circular seal rolled into place, steel clicking with a ring of finality. He lunged forward in the next instant, growling and ramming the butt of his halberd against the metal door. The result was nothing but a jolt through his arms. It was solid and sturdy, and though there was a keyhole in the center he knew nothing of such mechanisms.
Another frustrated growl and Kivan whirled, planting his feet in a fighting stance and pointing the halberd out like a spear. The sharp metal tip was aimed at the drow. Her face was half-hidden by her hood, but her lips were set in a hard line. She held two of her chakrams out and ready, just a flick away from throwing the first.
There was a long silence, and they shared a glare. Eventually Viconia spoke, her voice low and measured. "I suppose this is the point where we attempt to kill each other?"
"You were readying those blades. To throw at me."
"I was preparing to defend myself, dos vrukaphol! You've made no secret of your hate for me. And my kind. From when first we met, if you need reminding. You called me a 'Savalsen esser,' and you would have let the Flaming Fists hang me for nothing!"
"I remember." A pause. "Xanisteirial said you had much to prove. And you've yet to prove anything to me."
"Bah!"
"You are a savalir. A murderer."
She tossed her head back, the hood sliding away and long white hair spilling out. Violet eyes gleamed in the dark. "Phlysh zhaunil! Of course I am a murderer."
He tensed and adjusted the halberd. She could be quick. No doubt she would dodge the initial stab. He would have to feint first.
"You are a murderer as well. You are only here because you seek a murder. I have not been privy to the details but I have certainly picked up that you want Tazok's head."
"That is not-"
"That you have not murdered him yet makes you more innocent than I?" She shook her head. "I saw you at Tazok's camp, when we razed the place. So eager to let your arrows loose, catching unsuspecting sentries in the chest. The neck. The back. You were a glutton for the killing, happy to rid the world of them as you struck from the dark. It was a magnificent sight. And if it was not murder, well, then my skin is pale as quartz."
His weapon did not waver. "Whatever I am, it does not change the fact that I cannot trust you."
"I do not ask for your trust. Only that we be abban."
"I do not speak your tongue," Kivan growled.
She cocked her head, thinking. When she spoke she fumbled a bit with the Chondathan, as usual. "It means one who is a neutral acquaintance. One who is not yet an enemy."
"Not yet?"
"We need not ever be." She glanced around at the stairway. "Can we at least put aside our enmity to seek a way back to our companions?"
Another pause and a mutual glare, then Kivan raised the halberd slightly and began to walk up the stairs, passing the drow. He took two steps beyond her before he spun around and gave her another suspicious look, pointed glances at the rings that still hung in her hands. "I will not turn my back on you."
She nodded; almost smiled. "Wise. Trust is for the foolish. And the dead." Uneasily they began to climb the steps side by side.
"And you really wish to seek the girl out?" Kivan asked. "Risk yourself to help her, and the other members of our band?"
"Of course," Viconia instantly replied.
"Why?"
"A simple matter. She is the only being who has shown me kindness in…decades. Perhaps nearly a century." A pause. "It is not sentiment, if that is what you think. It is simply a practical matter to cling to such things when one finds them. Better than being alone in a cold, hostile world."
Kivan suspected there was more to it than that, but he remained silent. Silent and practical. He had no trust for the drow, but perhaps walking through the dark beside her would be safer than walking alone.
The unused passageways were damp and slick, the echo of dripping water constant and the old dwarven stonework deformed by a century of erosion. Sputtering lamplight barely lit the gnarled face of the wall as the five human slaves shuffled by behind their dwarven guide.
"Do you actually know where we're going?" Shar-Teel asked through clenched teeth.
"Suppose I do," Yeslick said in a tone that was not encouraging. "This place be a bit different than it was in me youth of course." A small laugh. "Ah. The back-passages were perfect for getting a little peace when you needed it. Or hiding when we were playing trollbait."
"But where are we going?" Shar-Teel snapped.
"End of the passage. Forge by my reckoning. And you could scowl a bit less, Loovah. You're going to wear down your pretty teeth that way."
"I am not Loovah, whoever the hells that is," Shar-Teel growled.
The dwarf halted and gave her a long look, his tired eyes appraising her. "Hm. I suppose ye aren't. You remind me of her though. Me little niece Loovah. Had a bit of a hot forge on her shoulders, as they say. She's somewhere down here." He swept the tunnel with sad, unfocused eyes. "Down here with all of them. Lost in the flood long ago." He let out a sigh.
Shar-Teel rubbed the bridge of her nose. Oh, abyss take me now!
"You see, this clanhold used to be a fine, dry place. Bustling with life and industry, we-"
"I've told you ten times already!" Shar-Teel shouted, her voice echoing off the wet stone. "I don't give a shit about your life's story!"
The dwarf shrugged. "Suit yourself. Just reckon that knowing the story of this place…" His voice trailed off as his eyes caught something, and Shar-Teel's hand snapped to the hilt of her sword, seeing it as well.
Movement in the damp dark.
The slaves had also noticed, and were huddled against one of the walls together, their pikes and maces held out in clumsy hands. All was silent, save the scraping of feet across the stone floor. Then the female slave pressed her hand to her mouth to stifle a scream, and one of the others whimpered.
Out of the shadows four figures shambled, approaching two by two: short, stocky and hunched forward, clawed knuckles dragging along the floor. They were bloated like the drowned dead, their gleaming skin an ugly shade of grey; clammy and marred here and there with huge spots where the skin was bruised black. Naked and hairless, any clue as to their former sex lost under rolls of knobby flesh, the creatures hissed as they approached. Their lips peeled away to display sharp teeth and gums caked with black beneath eyes that were empty of anything save hunger.
Undead, and some of the nastier kind, Shar-Teel guessed. Dwarves by the look of them, probably drowned when the clanhold flooded. Her sword sang in the air before her, but the sound had no effect on the advancing ghouls. "So which one of you is Loovah?" she asked.
The answer was just more hissing, and Yeslick snarled as well.
"Don't ye mock the dead, wench," he growled at Shar-Teel, stepping forward to face the ghouls. "These abominations are insult enough to their memory!" He held an open palm up, righteous indignation growing in his voice. "An insult to Clangeddin and his fine works. And in his name I banish ye!"
Shar-Teel found herself squinting and turning her head as brightness bloomed from the old dwarf's hand, illuminating the entire hallway for a moment. The blinding effect was even stronger for the undead. They screeched -a sound like nails on slate- whirled on their heels with arms across their faces, and fled from the light.
As the burst of white faded Yeslick whipped his mace from his belt, advancing down the hall. "With me!" he shouted. "Let's crush these blasphemous things!" His little legs started pumping, and with a shrug Shar-Teel followed. "Shame I don't have me holy symbol," Yeslick huffed as they went. "Might've turned the things to dust. Put the dead true to rest."
For fat, waddling little things the dwarven ghouls were fast when they needed to be, pushing against the floor with their deformed arms like apes. Shar-Teel and Yeslick were closing the distance when they reached a dead end, and one of the ghouls slammed face-first into the rock. There was a stony scrape and part of the wall slid away, suddenly flooding the passage with bright light that had Shar-Teel blinking and covering her eyes.
Bright light and intense heat, the yellow of the glowlamps mixed with the hellish red of molten iron, which sat in pools and flowed along channels in the floor of the chamber. The forge, Shar-Teel guessed. The senile fool had actually been leading them somewhere.
The ghouls kept fleeing, one dipping a foot in a stream of glowing iron before pulling it out with a hiss and a terrible smell. Men in leather armor fled before them, and Shar-Teel picked up the pace as she ducked through the opening and into the forge-chamber.
What a perfect bloody entrance! Her sword flashed before her, first slicing through the knee of a ghoul and sending it plunging into a pool of smoldering slag before she rammed the blade into the back of the man who had been fleeing from the creature.
Chaos and slaughter ensued, and in moments Shar-Teel was panting hard and standing close to four men in loincloths who were cowering against a wall, two of them holding hammers out to ward her back.
"Don't worry," Shar-Teel growled at them, a wicked edge to her voice. "Fucked up as it is, seems we're here to rescue you!" Her eyes swept the room: Yeslick bashing the last of the undead to a pulp with his mace while the five armed slaves stood over the bodies of the guards, pikes and maces trembling in their hands.
She couldn't help but laugh.
There was no end to the bastards, but at least the narrow hallway forced them to come a few at a time. It was a familiar situation for Ashura: one quick, ferocious duel after another, each fresh hobgoblin that pressed her forcing a few stuttering steps backwards.
Eldoth stood at her shoulder, hacking away with his cutlass and finally proving that his muscles weren't simply for show. The Illuskan fought dirty too, his free hand constantly launching flickering patterns of magic that had the Chill hobs swooning or staring absently at nothing, and his body a wavering blur due to some defensive spell.
"Shura!" The harsh whisper of Imoen's voice in her ear. "Keep backing! Take 'em to the next room!"
"Uh," Ashura muttered, catching a hobgoblin axe on her right sword as the left pierced his gut. "Narrow…better…"
"Do it! There's a surprise in the next room!"
"Huh," was all she could manage to grunt as a female hob pressed her. She gave the creature more ground, which wasn't difficult since the goblin was wielding a spear and striking with quick, snake-like jabs.
A surprise sounded good. So long as it wasn't that mage showing up again and ending everything with another fireball in close quarters.
Seven steps back and they passed under a doorway, intense heat buffeting Ashura's back and a smell in the air that vaguely reminded her of the Candlekeep smithy. As they withdrew into the room and the pair of hobs followed, a man in a loincloth and a woman in a roughspun green dress stepped up beside the doorway, both wielding pikes and stabbing fiercely.
There was room now for Imoen, Coran, and Garrick to use their bows. Between that and the pike-wielding slaves they cut down the hobgoblins as fast as they could charge in; two, four, six, eight. After that there was a scuffling noise in the hall and the enemy receded, probably to regroup.
With an exhausted wave of his hand and a few muttered words Xan conjured up a wall of bricks in the doorframe. "That's an illusion," he whispered to no one in particular, "but hopefully it will at least confuse them."
For now they could catch their breath at least, and Ashura spared the foundry and its occupants a glance. Nine people dressed in the garb of the Cloakwood slaves held weapons, and they seemed to be led by a dwarf who was more beard than body. There was a woman in leather armor as well, with a toothy grin on her blood-and-dirt-caked face. She had walked over to Xan and given him a firm clap on the arm that nearly knocked the spindly elf over.
"You're actually alive!" she shouted to him by way of greeting. "I was sure you'd be dead by now. Would have bet on 'crapped out by a hobgoblin,' if I had any money to wager."
Xan cringed at the description, and the smile on the woman's face grew. It took Ashura a moment to place her: Shar-Teel, the mercenary she had traveled with briefly.
"I assure you that I am just as surprised," Xan muttered, shifting away from the tall woman. "It is good to see you as well, Shar-Teel."
"Really? You're sure not acting like it." She planted her feet, placed her hands on her hips and leaned close. "How 'bout a kiss huh? If you're so glad." She puffed her lips out.
Xan tried and completely failed to contain the horror on his face, and Shar-Teel let out a hearty laugh. Instead of a kiss she balled her fist and planted a soft, mock-punch on Xan's cheek. "Ha! Still the easiest man in the world to mess with." She swiveled away from him.
"Nice little army you've got," Imoen noted, an arrow knocked and her eyes trained on the illusory wall.
Shar-Teel shrugged. "Was hoping we could fight our way out."
"That may not be an option now," Xan said. "The man who appears to rule here did something to activate a heavy steel door, sealing the way behind us."
"Hm." Shar-Teel glanced at an open doorway nearby. "Maybe we can use the secret passages? They're infested with undead dwarves, but they've come in handy."
The dwarf shook his head. "Don't think so. Can use that passage to get to the level above this one, but if he's activated the seals there'll be one just before the tunnel that leads up and out."
Shar-Teel cocked her head at him. "Know that for a fact?"
"Aye. I made the sealing mechanisms meself. Built 'em for Rieltar Anchev when he brought me here, after I acted like a fool and told him 'bout this old iron mine. One seal ta keep the water from the underground river out, then one for this level, one that locks the winch-and-pulley lift up tight, and finally a seal at the top. Fine dwarven mechanisms all. The bastard wanted this place secure in case of…well, invasion. That'n he wanted to be able to seal things up tight an tidy if he ever felt like flooding the place again."
Ashura glared at the dwarf. "So you built this fucking deathtrap?"
He raised an empty hand. "Not by choice. Took a lot of beatings before I finally put hammer to steel. Hopin' now I can atone for it. Help get me fellows out and destroy this place."
Ashura nodded slightly. "Sounds like a plan. How do we do it?"
"Ye need the key. Davaeorn, the pesky wizard who sealed the place, keeps it on his person. He's probably in his chambers at the bottom of the clanhold. Get the key off him and it can open every seal, including the one that blocks the river, on the top level."
Ashura sighed. "Going down to get back up then?"
"Think it's the only…" The dwarf's voice trailed off as an inhuman roar sounded, echoing through the tunnels. The illusionary wall wavered as a massive, armored figure plunged through it, a greatsword taller than a full-sized human leading the way.
Tazok bellowed as he caught one of the slave's pikes with his hand, using the other to effortlessly swing his sword down at the second slave. The blade plunged through the woman's forehead and split her skull with a gush of glistening red and black, and the ogre turned and pulled at the pike, impaling the other slave on his sword before the man could react.
As Tazok lifted the man, kicking and gurgling, off his feet he shot a wide-eyed glare at the rest of them. "Dosan!" he howled.
"Right here," Shar-Teel snarled, her stolen sword in one hand and a dagger in the other.
"I don't care who your father is! I'm going to KILL you!" And with that the ogre charged. Imoen, Coran and Garrick all fired their weapons at once, two arrows and a bolt striking and sinking into the ogre's thick hide, but he seemed oblivious. Even the hasty spell that Xan shot in his direction had no effect. Tazok's eyes and his bloody weapon were unwaveringly focused on Shar-Teel.
"Good!" she growled just before the blade came down and hacked into the dirt as she leapt aside. She backed away as the ogre hefted his sword and lashed out again with a wide slash that she managed to duck. Another arrow struck Tazok's back, shallow and wobbling, as Shar-Teel hopped backwards through a narrow opening and the ogre shrugged his body under the arch in pursuit.
A grinding of stone and the door to the secret passage slid back into place, one large rock among the many that formed the wall of the foundry. And with that they were gone.
"Ack!" Imoen exclaimed, rushing to the wall and pressing her hands against it. "Where's the switch? We need to go after him!"
"That…may not be wise," Xan said, biting is lower lip. "You saw how that creature ignored arrows, and even spells. I am not even sure all of us combined could take him down, especially in a confined space."
"What? You're just gonna let her die? Abandon her?"
"She is buying us time. Time we desperately need to be taking advantage of."
Ashura nodded. "We need that key. To get out of here, and to end this place." Her eyes fell on the dwarf. "Which way to the 'Master of the Mines?'"
Imoen gave the stone wall another hurt look, then turned her gaze to Xan.
"She is making a noble sacrifice," the Greycloak stated glumly.
In the dark confines of the ancient dwarven tunnel Shar-Teel's teeth gleamed, a clenched combination of a grimace and a grin. The lamp the dwarf had brought would have been nice, but she could see well enough by the ambient light that flitted in from the inhabited section of the Clanhold through cracks in the wall. Well enough to make out the gleam of Tazok's greatsword as he lunged forward and stabbed. Well enough to dodge. Again and again and again.
Her snarling smile grew. This was perfect. The weapon was far too massive to swing in the narrow tunnel, and all he could do was jab and jab. Quick little thrusts that she saw coming, weaving and ducking and backing from the sword. "Going to kill me huh?" Shar-Teel taunted. "Funny. Still feel very much alive!"
The ogre simply growled and tried to swing, his blade sending up a puff of dust as it struck a wall, then the ceiling. Seeing an opening, Shar-Teel managed to press her sword to his and get enough leverage to hold it against the wall, slipping in and sinking her dagger into one of his meaty fists.
As the ogre howled Shar-Teel managed to skip back a few steps, lightning quick, once again bobbing away from the awkward stabs of the greatsword. On open ground he could have speared her easily, but here in the cramped dark it was a simple matter to weave away, showing Tazok her sharp grin all the while.
Hop back. Duck. Shift to the right. Another bob of her head as steel whistled over. Another opening and she slashed at his knuckles. Another exhilarating dance away from the flashing steel. There was foam in a corner of the ogre's mouth now, and Shar-Teel's face hurt from the constant barring of her teeth.
This was it! This was what she was made for. Fooling a big raging hulk of a man into letting her choose the ground; letting her control the duel. And there was no bigger, more raging, more obnoxious hulk of muscle and confidence and spite than Tazok the Bandit King.
His skin seemed waxy, and the sword had slowed. "You're getting sloppy," Shar-Teel taunted. "I bet…one of those," a huff, "…arrows was poisoned."
"Yeah, maybe," Tazok growled, a little composure returning to his face. "But at least I'm not out of BREATH!" On the last word he stopped stabbing and bull-rushed her, head pitched forward and one armored arm leading protectively.
The burst of speed was enough to overtake her, their swords locking and ringing against a wall and her dagger slipping past the steel plate. She buried the blade into his forearm but that didn't stop it from bashing into her face, nor his knee from slamming into her ribs at nearly the same instant and sending her flying backwards.
Shar-Teel skidded and rolled across the stone floor, dagger lost and all her effort on keeping the grip on her sword. Rolling, then she swiftly found her feet and dashed backwards as fast as she could, barely ducking under a stab that would have split her skull.
By all the Hells and the maw of the Abyss! Even on unfavorable ground he was a bloody monster.
Author's Note: In the Enhanced Edition Eldoth is armed with a scimitar, and since he kind of looks like a pirate and comes from an island of viking-types I couldn't help but think 'cutlass.'
The elven and drow words used in the conversation between Viconia and Kivan come partly from Forgotten Realms sources and are partly things I just made up to fill in the gaps.
dos – 'You'
vrukaphol – Literally translates as 'Diseased penis.' Originally associated with a particular venereal disease, but far more commonly used as a catchall insult for drow males.
savalsen esser –'Murdering harpy.' It's the 'elven curse' Kivan used when he first met Viconia many chapters back.
phlysh zhaunil – 'Some (small) wisdom.'