Chapter 74

Day 263/264:

Mokul kept John awake for several hours as the man from Earth described his adventures. He avoided giving too much detail about Earth and his life before becoming trapped on this world. But otherwise, he saw no reason to lie about anything he’d experienced since coming through the portals. Dulgan knew almost all of it anyway, and John knew all too well how impossible it was for that one to keep a secret. The Dwimar Huntmaster listened intently throughout, though many of his questions showed skepticism for John’s truthfulness. The things he showed the greatest doubt about were the Dwarf city in the far North, the Vampyr’s transformation into Ariel, and John’s use of the portal stones. In the end, John didn’t have much invested in getting the Wraithguard assassin to believe him anyway.

Rhys too listened to John’s tale with intense focus. He asked far fewer questions, and those he did pose were more insightful. The Fey was close-mouthed about his own past, and his aloof demeanor made John wonder if Rhys viewed him as a friend, ally, mark or enemy. John had to remind himself to keep a close eye on the Gancana. Though his Fey charisma didn’t seem to work well on John, he couldn’t discount its effect on the others, too.

No one knew what time of day or night it was when they awoke. Mokul didn’t care, telling them that Dwarves (especially Dwimar) weren’t beholden to the sun for their sleep cycles. Luckily, Gradmun Oakfall (who was still running the Clan while his brother Dadem grieved) had pressed rations and full canteens on them before departing. They ate a cold, quiet meal before Mokul led them farther away from Gluboskal.

The tunnel they followed was much smaller than the grand underground highway from before. Mokul explained that the city was once a major bastion for the Dark Watch, several thousand years prior. After that group splintered in the War of the Schism (ignited by Ruzzamora the Honorless Heretic according to Duin), what became Clan Wraithguard later took possession of it. Under their protection, a small trading town sprung up, but was razed during the Five Races War. Though the Wraithguard never left, they knew allies were the only way to prevent it from happening again.

Sometime during the Five Races War an earthquake destroyed the eastern half of the tunnel connecting the main bastion to an outpost at the Contested Oasis. That watering hole had been a regular stopping point for caravans and travel between the eastern Plains and the desert to the south. Gluboskal and Kokebi Bedaran fought a decade-long war over the spot themselves, which was why nobody was willing to settle there permanently. But the necessity of supplying the Dwarf fortification there prompted the newly-formed city to re-dig the tunnel connecting it.

Gluboskal won that war, and with it exclusive rights to tax any who wanted the water’s use. Unfortunately, it was a Pyrrhic victory. During that time, trade and travel routes shifted. The Southern Dwarven Clandom route moved west, onto the roads connecting the western Plains. Trade between the desert peoples headed east, to the coast where ships from the Harmonious Archipelago and coastal cities plied their trade.

At the tunnel’s end was a narrow stairway spiraling upward to the left. Mokul stopped everyone at the first step.

“Clan Slagborn operates this tower.” He told them. “I do not know if they are aware of what has happened to the city. I would guess not. My authority over them is nonexistent; and given my mission, I think it prudent to avoid identifying myself.”

“So, we’re on our own? That’s what you’re saying?” Veronyka asked unhappily.

Mokul bowed. “You are. From here, our paths diverge. I wish you good fortune.”

“Thanks for your help.” John said. “If our paths cross again, feel free to come talk. I’d always appreciate news of your Clan and my friend.”

“Should it not endanger my task; I will do so.” Mokul promised.

With that, he activated his power and stepped to the other side of the tunnel. John pretended not to notice.

“Hal,” John turned to the Cambion, “can you hide Sygraid and your appearance? I think it would be best for Vee and I to use our real faces.”

Rhys spoke up. “If you are able, I suggest myself as well.”

John snapped his fingers, pointing at the Fey. “Good point. Can you do three?”

Hal bowed. “As you wish, friend Shon. But if a battle begins...”

“Got it.” John agreed. “No fighting intended.”

Dvergyr-seeming images descended over both of them. For the first time, John noticed that he could clearly see both the truth and the illusion simultaneously, and without effort.

This helmet is really paying dividends now. John mused.

The Dwarf Master has given us a significant boon. Aurbyda echoed. Your mind now feels like a lock; one which accepts each of our keys at the same time. You absorb our skill with little effort, when we offer it in battle. Our enemies will learn to fear your tread.

As unstoppable as an Avalanche! Vafthundyr announced.

Steadfast as a Dwarven cohort. Duin added.

“Syg, you follow, then Vee.” John instructed, feeling an energy boost after the day-long hike. “Hal, watch our backs. I don’t hear anything, but you never know.”

The stone-lined spiral stairs wound their way around a large volume as they moved upward. They passed numerous iron doors along the way, but John didn’t stop to knock. At the top, they found an archery deck capping a tall, wide tower. A ladder across the space led to another level above, but a double-handful of Dwarves occupied the room. Each of them were manning an arrow slit, though none had a missile nocked. A second spiral staircase wound downward from the very center of the floor. This one was even narrower than the one they’d come up.

“Um, hello?” John offered, after all four of them spread out and none of the Dwarves noticed.

About half spun around, and they found out how quickly these archers could draw and aim.

“Whoa! Whoa!” John held his empty hands up.

“Where’d ya come from?” One demanded.

John jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “The city. Haven’t you heard?”

A resigned frown descended over several faces.

“Nay, we’ve got our own probl’ms.” The Dwarf cocked his head towards the slits. “Wha’ tis it?”

“Legionnaires from King Morgan have penetrated the city walls.” John informed them. “They’re even inside the mountain itself. Many of your Clan-mates are fighting them at the other end of this tunnel.”

Groans of despair greeted his news. Bows were lowered.

“Oss! Oss! Get down ‘ere!” The unofficial spokes-Dwarf shouted.

“Wha’?” Came a voice from the floor above. “Ya know I’m busy!”

“Comp’ny!” The Dwarf retorted sourly. “An’ worse news!”

“Blast it all to the depths!” The voice roared.

Footsteps stomped and another Dwarf slid down the ladder like a submariner veteran. He turned and gave John and Co. an unhappy glare.

“Well?” He near-shouted, when nobody said anything.

“I greet you in peace.” John offered. “My name is John, and these are my companions: Veronyka, Sygraid, Rhys and Hal. We’ve just come from Gluboskal, and the Dwarven Legion is both inside the city, and even inside the mountain itself.”

The new Dwarf eyed their position next to the stairs. “Ya came via the Undercity tunnel?”

“We did.” John confirmed. “Others from your Clan were fighting Legionnaires when we fled.”

“How’d ya know ‘bout it?” He demanded.

“Another of our friends is allied with Clan Wraithguard.” John explained. “One of them showed us the way.”

The Dwarf’s eyes flashed to Sygraid, then Hal. “One o’ ya?”

Both shook their head while John spoke. “No sir. He has since left us, to pursue his own affairs.”

As if conjured, Mokul picked that moment to appear. Walking silently, but confidently the Huntmaster went directly to the center stairs and descended out of sight. Nobody else acted like they’d noticed.

“Well,” the Dwarf mused, “yer obviously no’ with them. Do ya know much ‘bout th’ Legions?”

John nodded. “I’ve fought them before, down in the Southern Clandom. Individually, they’re so-so warriors, but as a group they’re disciplined, tough and fanatical.”

“Well, there’s plenty o’em out there. Come look.” The Dwarf offered one of the slits.

John walked over to take a peek. The tower they occupied was high above the ground. A cliff-lined bowl, one hundred yards across sat at the tower’s base. Directly on the opposite side were the ruins of an even larger fortification. Dust-worn scorch marks indicated that whatever felled it happened long ago. A road curved in from the northwest, intersecting a small break in the cliffs there but continuing to curve back as it continued northeast. To the south was another road, this one following a canyon which paralleled the ridge that the tower occupied. Other canyons broke off farther south, a network of channels and mesas which petered out into the Endless Sands out by the horizon. The area strongly reminded John of the Grand Canyon in northern Arizona back on Earth.

The problem was: those canyons were flooded with troops. Legion troops. After studying it for a minute, John realized they’d set up a resupply point. On the road, John caught sight of the largest khimeran type. They looked like a cross between a triceratops, elephant, rhinoceros and boar; with all the worst parts of each. Each one had two riders on its back, sitting in a saddle designed for the pair. The heavy cavalry column was peeling off into a staging area and animals were led to drink by ones and twos.

The rest of the quartermaster group occupied tents, surrounded by livestock pens and other packaged stores. The number of actual guards were few, given the size of the area, but with a continuous stream of northeast-bound units on the road, John figured whoever was in charge didn’t have much to worry about.

“Where does that road go—ah, never caught your name?” John asked, turning to the Dwarf.

“Ah’m Oss. Ossior Leatherborn, ta be formal ‘bout it. Captain o’ this ‘ere tower, such as it is.” The Dwarf replied. “Yon road goes ta Kokebi Bedaran. Ya didna know tha’?”

“It’s what I figured.” John assured him. “But I’ve never been to this area before, so I had to make sure.”

At John’s silent question, Ossior waved for John’s friends to come take a look.

“Lemme guess, tha’s where ya headed?” Ossior inquired.

“We have some friends who went there.” John admitted. “I hope they’re all right.”

“If’n they had any sense, they kept goin’ north.” Ossior remarked. “We’ve seen enough troops pass ta lay siege ‘round the whole city.”

“What about that road?” John pointed at the one to the north.

“Tha’ one too. Both meet up, ‘bout an hour’s walk tha’ way. Past tha’ tis bu’ one road, an’ it leads right ta the gates o’ the city.”

“They haven’t attacked you?” John wondered.

“Nah. No worth th’ time.” Ossior scoffed. “We knew there had ta be trouble when no answer came ta the signal fire. Big War-chyld, half-naked came an’ taunted us when we lit th’ fire. Twas like he knew we’re trapped in here.”

John’s heart sank. “Did he have a bunch of tattoes on his head and body?”

“Aye. Ya know ‘im?” Ossior looked interested now.

“Yeah.” John sighed. “His name’s Kertug. He’s one of King Morgan’s personal thugs. Killed a bunch of Dwarves I was with down in the Dead Swamp. Nasty piece of work. Is he still here, or did he go to the city?”

Ossior pointed at the center of the supply depot. A pair of large tents sat there, with only a guard for each.

“He an’ a hooded one ‘r’ in charge, though I see several Plainsmen actually doin’ th’ work. Those two’re only interested in the patrols tha’ report in every evening.”

“You don’t have anything that might affect them?” John pressed. “Those two are bad news.”

“Unfortunately, no.” Ossior grumbled. “Th’ siege-bow no longer works. Clan hasn’t seen fit ta ask fer a repair from Runefell.”

John and Veronyka exchanged a glance.

“I could take a look, if you want.” She offered.

“Ya? Ya know ‘bout machines ‘n’ such?” Ossior looked skeptical.

“I know a little.” Veronyka said humbly. “Given the situation, it’s not like I can make things worse.”

“Ya gotta point.” Ossior admitted. “C’mon.”

He led them back up the ladder to the top floor. This was even wider than the place below. On the back was a curved sheet of highly-polished metal half-surrounding the remains of what must have been the signal fire Ossior mentioned. The gray and black ashes still smoldered.

At the front was a massive Scorpion-style anti-siege crossbow. Several stands with bolts stood to one side, but the rusted tips told John these Dwarves didn’t put much effort into maintaining the weapon. John and Veronyka stepped to the edge and surveyed the terrain with greater ease than using the arrow slits below.

Something north of the northern road caught John’s eye.

“Is that... ?” He pointed.

“Aye.” Ossior confirmed. “Tis a large group, comin’ this way.”

“John.” Something in Veronyka’s voice made him turn.

She was pointing at the ruins across the oasis from them.

“What?” John asked, scanning. “What is it?”

“A portal stone.”

He’d been searching for enemies or some other trouble. But his eye jumped right to the distant arch like it had a homing device.

He turned to Ossior. “How long would it take us to get over there?”

“Ta th’ Djinn fort?” Ossior clarified. “Couple hours. Why?”

John eyed the approaching dust cloud to the north.

“I don’t think we have enough time.”

“Well,” Veronyka turned to the Scorpion, “let’s see what I can do with this thing.”

John hated sitting still and letting everything else happen around him. There wasn’t much he could do about what sounded like Kertug and Xenos in the Legion supply camp. Tackling either by themselves would be a chore guaranteed to draw every soldier for miles. Both of them together was a nightmare he could do without.

If the group heading their way from the other side was another Legion force, they were about to be pinned with no way out. If it wasn’t, they had a slim chance to escape. But given how quickly the lead elements were approaching, John knew they were mounted. As much as it galled, he needed to wait and see. Let the situation develop, as his old team lead would’ve said.