As they rode north along the narrow mountain tracks, Prince Rhoghûn motioned Toran to fall back with him a bit for a private interview. The Prince’s Guard drew away to give them a small bubble of space wherein they could speak quietly and not be overheard. Only the head of the Shadow Guard remained near his ruler, riding on his left.
Like most of the Prince’s supporters, Toran was glad to see that Rhoghûn was personally leading the army against the gülvini of Fächnor. He also inwardly smiled at the mingled frustration and hope he’d noted in those who still, however silently for now, opposed Prince Rhoghûn’s efforts to open up Dürkon to the world once more. Frustrated, because victory would only cement the Prince’s popularity and enshrine his policies; hopeful, because failure might yet turn popular sentiment against him. And his actual death might lead to a fundament more to their liking resting on the Seat of Thürox…
“I have something for you, Toran,” the Prince began when they were sufficiently isolated. He reached into a leather satchel at his side and pulled out two palm-sized, egg-shaped objects. The bottom half of each was made of common stone, the upper half of cloudy, gold-flecked quartz. They seemed to be perfectly, seamlessly joined, even though the lower piece had a rough finish, while the upper was polished to perfect smoothness.
“These, as you may recognize, are traditional army egg timers,” he continued, handing one to Toran and holding up the other to examine himself. “While they may be used in several ways to communicate between commanders in the field, in this case the simplest of their functions will suffice.
“When you have achieved your goals, and most especially when you have neutralized whatever arcane aid the gül-Bogabai possess, twist the two halves of your timer – when you do, the crystal will begin to glow. At the same time the crystal of it’s mate, which I will retain in my possession, will also begin to glow. This will be our signal to attack, and as my troops move into position I will likeswise twist my own device – at which point both will begin to glow red, and slowly pulse. Then you will know that within the hour the battle will be joined!”
“I understand, your Highness,” Toran replied, examining the device closely. “But, if I may ask, why such caution in giving me this?”
“It is not that I don’t trust our allies,” the Prince replied, smiling and answering the unspoken question. “Quite the contrary! But you do not lead the group, and this is a Khundari army, dealing with a Khundari problem – however much the other races may appreciate what we do here. I would rather that a Khundari warrior be the one to make the decision to summon us to battle, for I have no doubt you will only do so if you are certain we’ll have a level battlefield.”
“I understand, my lord,” Toran replied, tucking the stone away in his own scrip. “Do you wish me to keep this a secret…?”
The Prince smiled again. “No need, young Shadow Warrior, I wish to slide no wedge of distrust between you and your comrades, our allies. But only you can activate the device – that is, only a Khundari can – for I cannot risk it falling into enemy hands, where it might lead us into a trap.”
With a nod and a wave of his hand the Prince dismissed Toran back to his friends, and himself pulled ahead to rejoin his vanguard.
♦ ♦ ♦
The next day the Hand and the Army of Dürkon parted ways, with squads of Khundari warriors peeling off to take lesser mountain paths to their positions around, but hidden from, the gülvini colony. Scouts had gone ahead to remove any outlying sentries or patrols, and the Hand was assured of a safe approach to the environs of Fächnor.
They left the ponies tied in a dense copse of fir and mountain ash over a mile from the entrance to the ancient mining colony, making their way stealthily and on foot the rest of the way. Khundari intelligence had assured them that the ruins of the old village, despite being a little over 100 meters from the main gate, would be the safest place to reconnoiter the lay of the land.
Laying on the north side of the large creek that flowed down southeast of the cliffs of Fächnor, and nearby the fishing pond created by an ancient dam, the village had once housed Umantari subjects, who provided their Khundari overlords with grain, fruits and vegetables, and tended their herd beasts. Five hundred years of abandonment had left nothing but ruins, even the sturdy Khundari stonemason’s walls only half standing, blurred by thickets of blackberry, mountain grape and blueberry, as well as numerous stands of mountain ash and one immense oak tree.
“For whatever reason, no doubt long forgotten by the cursed creatures themselves, the area has become taboo to them,” Lekorm Darkeye had explained back in Dürkon. “They never come there, under any circumstances… although I would not slack my vigilance, and would take care to stay hidden. Even the gülvini are not such fools as to fail to act on enemies so close, whatever fears they have of the place!”
The trees, ruins and brambles did indeed turn out to be more than adequate cover for the Hand, who settled in to observe their enemies, the late morning sun filtering through the red-golden autumn leaves. Jeb and B Fiddy-five gathered a bounty of blackberries and blueberries while the others made their plans…
The area around the Gate of Fächnor was cleared of trees and brush for perhaps 80 meters to the west, south and north. To the east steep hills and bare cliffs rose 30 meters to a ridge running NW to SE. At the NW end a taller prominence, maybe 40 meters high, was crowned by a stone tower some seven meters tall. Three gülvini sentries could be glimpsed occasionally, moving about atop the tower.
Below, the ancient Khundari roadway, known in happier times as the Silver Path, ran west to east, ending in the steep hillside where the old gate of the mining colony still stood. For all the length of it that they could see, the roadway was lined with pyramids of skulls, human, dwarven and gülvini, giving the path it’s current name: the Avenue of Skulls.
But there was a new gate the road passed through before reaching the Main Gate – the gülvini had erected a 3 meter high palisade of logs, sharpened to points at the top, in a great arc from the base of the tower, sweeping south and east, to the cliff face nearest the old village. A crude tower rose above the wall inside and to the north of where the road pierced it, manned by a single sentry.
A second lone sentry stood hunched and miserable looking in the fall sunlight near the large corral/pen, north of the road and outside the palisade. The enclosure contained several score of pigs, at least a score of goats, and a few sick-looking sheep.
Unfortunately, the new palisade, although not entirely finished on the SE side nearest them, blocked any good view of the Main Gate itself and much of the space before it. But Vulk took the hood off of his familiar, the falcon Cherdon, stroked its head for a moment, and then let it fly. The cleric then settled back against a tree trunk and closed his eyes…
The mental link he shared with his familiar sharpened, and suddenly he was seeing through the eyes of the bird as it soared above the land. It was all laid out before him like a map on a table, and after the momentary disorientation that always came with this change in perception (at least he wasn’t vomiting any more), he was able to note what had been invisible to them before.
“There are no other gülvini within the palisade,” he murmured to his companions. “Except the four clustered around the Main Gate itself. They are crowding into the slight recess… trying to stay out of the direct sunlight as much as possible, I think… the gate is crude, compared to the Khundari stonework around it… obviously inferior gül-work, after they took the place… yes, just three guards in the stone tower… but no opening in it anywhere except the trap door up top…”
“There wouldn’t be,” Toran confirmed. “The only entrance would be from below, a tunnel from the colony itself.”
“Any sign of the hidden entrance to the secret escape tunnel mentioned in the Archives of Dürkon?” asked Korwin.
Toran snorted at the absurdity of any non-Khundari spotting one of his people’s hidden doors, even on the ground and much less from high in the air and moving. Nonetheless, Vulk directed Cherdon over the general area they knew the hidden egress to be located, and focused intently…
“No clue, I’m afraid,” he finally had to admit. “Secret Khundari work, plus more than five centuries of weathering and plant growth… hardly surprising.”
It was obvious the Main Gate was not a viable option for entering the gülvini hive, and there was some discussion of diversions or scaling the stone tower, or both; but in the end it was agreed searching for the hidden escape route was their best option, and Toran the obvious choice to do the searching.
Both Mariala and Korwin cast their separate spells of concealment on the Khundari warrior, and it was an unnoticeable gray shadow that slipped into the woods an hour before noon, followed by the sinuous gray shape of Grover, Erol’s ferret friend. Screened by magic, forest and the shoulder of the hill south of the Main Gate, Toran made his way to the steep, stoney area south and east of the unfinished section of palisade, Grover silent and stealthy behind him.
It took forty-five minutes, but in the end he found the hidden door. High enough in a stone wall to be unobscured by vegetation, the stone work was so cunningly wrought that even he might not have spotted it if not for the wear and weathering of five centuries and no maintenance. Once found, the Dwarf had the door opened in just minutes, and sent Grover back to bring the rest of the group.
While Toran was searching for the way in, Devrik had settled himself down in front of the small, smokeless fire he’d made and cast his Flame Harken spell. Staring into the flames, he’d slipped into a semi-trance and the sounds of the woods around him had faded, to be replaced by the harsh grunts, barks and chitterings that made up the speech of the gülvini. Somewhere nearby, at least two of the beastmen were talking near a moderate-sized fire, and Devrik could hear every sound as if he were there himself.
Unfortunately, he couldn’t understand a single word that was spoken – the two must be of the same subspecies, and thus had no need to use Yashparic or Khundaic. Nonetheless, the fire mage listened for as long as he could before the spell began to fade, in hopes of gleaning something useful. With a sigh he shook his head, coming out of his trance and back to the world around him.
Grover returned shortly thereafter, running up Erol’s body, chirping in his ear, and then running back down and away. Moving stealthily and quietly, the Hand followed the ferret to the hidden door without being spotted by the gülvini sentries.
Vulk gave thanks to Kasira for the bright day, after so many rainy, gray ones recently – with human guards it would have been a problem, but the gülvini hated and feared the sun, even if they could function under its light at need… and their eyesight was not well adapted to the day.
The sun was no more than a turn or two past noon when the last of the Hand slipped through the rough square opening and into the secret escape tunnel of the old Khundari Governors of Fächnor, Jeb pulling the door closed behind them. No one had used the door or passage since it had been built, the gülvini attack that took the mining colony having been so fast, so overwhelming, that no one had had a chance to escape this way.
Vulk took a moment as they stood in total darkness to murmur an invocation to Kasira, and as his words faded away the darkness began to fade. In a moment everyone in the party could see as well as if outside on a cloudy day, although no actual light was being cast… no tell-tale torch or lantern would give them away as they moved through the tunnel.
With Toran and Erol in the lead, the group headed into the narrow, low-ceilinged passage, the taller members of the party forced to stoop or crouch-walk to avoid bashing their heads. The tunnel sloped steeply down for 20 or 30 meters, then leveled out some and turned sharply to the left. Another 50 meters, then it began to descend once more, before coming to a T-junction.
Left or right, both passages led to seeming cul-de-sacs, but it took Toran only seconds to spot the mechanism to operate the hidden doors. It was decided to try the northern route first (the others took Toran’s word for it that they faced north).
The small square opening debouched into what was obviously a Dwarven crypt, and not a few members of the party shuddered as they crawled over the scattered and obviously desecrated bones of some long-dead Khundari – lord, lady, artisan or miner, who could tell now?
The crypt opening was about a meter above the floor of the long, narrow chamber. Three meters wide and perhaps 30 long, it was lined on both sides by other crypt openings, eight to the north and eight to the south. But all of the crypts seemed to have been long ago looted of whatever barrow goods they once held, the gnawed and broken bones of the occupants scattered about. The gülvini could hardly have derived any nourishment from such long-interred bones – the vandalism had been simply malicious and wanton.
Cracked or shattered glow-stones were set in the walls between crypts, drained of all light, and at the far end of the chamber a great bronze door stood ajar. The group cautiously made thier way to the door, careful to disturb the scattered bones that littered floor as little as possible.
Beyond the door was a 3-meter wide corridor that ran perpendicular to the crypt. To the left it faded into darkness, but to the right a flight of stone steps led upward towards some dim light source. Toran started slowly up the stairs, his crossbow at the ready, while the others gathered near the foot, waiting to see what he found.
But before Toran had reached the top of the stairs there came a harsh cry from the darkness behind them, angry words spoken in Khundari. As everyone whirled to see what was behind them, weapons at the ready, a strange figure stepped within the circle of their goddess-given sight.
He was short and stocky, with a dark beard well streaked with gray, and quite obviously a Khundari. But he was dressed in elaborate robes of red, orange and midnight blue, embroidered with arcane symbols in gold and silver. A wide belt of gold-chased leather was at his waist, and on his head was a traditional skullcap of black and copper. In his hand was a gnarled staff, which he pointed at the group in furious punctuation to his words.
Despite months of studying Khundaic, few in the group were very fluent, and the apparition before them was speaking quickly and with passion – it was hard to follow his full meaning. But they caught enough to know he seemed to think that they were gülvini of some sort, and was promising to drive them from the colony. Then his words turned into a completely unintelligible chant, and the head of his staff began to glow faintly…
But he abruptly cut himself off when he caught sight of Toran, who was descending the steps quickly to see what was going on. He passed through his friends and slowly approached the strange figure, crossbow at his side, his left hand held out and open.
The old Khundari’s face lit with a mixture of joy and confusion, and he began speaking even more rapidly and in lower tones, slowly moving forward as if only half believing what he saw. He seemed to be greeting Toran as a long-sought friend and ally. Toran replied in their shared language, and in a moment he motioned his friends forward.
“You see,” he said to the older Khundari, gesturing at the others. “They are not gülvini at all – they are Umantari. Well, and one Telnori… sort of. It’s a long story. Anyway, they are allies… friends, come to help us.”
The old man’s grey eyes lit with sudden hope, and the etched lines of his face seemed not so deep. He bowed low to the group, and spoke in deeply accented Yashparic.
“Forgive my rash greeting, friends,” he croaked. “For so long it has been only the vile –” here he burst into a string of harsh-sounding words that only Toran seemed to understand – “the beastmen! Long have I held them at bay, smiting them with my magics when they try to enter the crypts, protecting the children…
“Yes, the children… I must protect them, I can never leave them, to take the fight to the enemy… at all costs I must get the children away to safety!”
It was during this speech that Mariala’s eyes widened, and she nudged Devrik, who stood next to her. She pointed to the floor behind the old Khundari. The dust of five centuries laid thick and undisturbed back into the darkness… yet where the Hand had trod, the dust was blurred and marked by footprints.
“But how have you come to be here, in the middle of of our enemies, alone, grandfather?” Toran asked, intent on the other’s face and missing the byplay behind him. “Did you enter by the secret way, as we did?”
“The secret way? You know of it? Yes, of course… but we did not enter, no, we must leave that way! I must get the Governor’s children to safety! Ah! The Bogabai came upon us in the night… so suddenly, we had no warning… their numbers overwhelmed us!”
“I don’t understand–” Toran began, but then he, too, noticed the lack of footprints behind the old Khundari, and he felt a chill run up his spine. He took an involuntary step back, but then steeled himself. “How… how long have you been fighting the gülvini, grandfather? How long have you been here, protecting the children?”
‘”How long?” For a moment the old mage looked uncertain. “It was this very night that… no, no… it has been longer than that… it seems almost like centuries… but how could that…” A sudden look of immense grief and sadness fell on the old man’s face, and he looked away into the darkness.
“I failed,” he whispered, as if to himself. “I failed the children… the creatures were already in the southern tunnels, they cut us off… we were so close, so very close… a score of the cursed things died screaming in flames, by Gheas they did! But they had arrows…” His hand went involuntarily to his throat. “And we died…”
For a moment there was utter silence in the crypts of Fächnor. Then Vulk spoke, a whisper, almost a prayer. “Where did you die, my lord? Where are the children?”
Without a word the ghost motioned beyond the group and to the left. They parted as he moved forward, then closed in behind to follow him into another crypt chamber, virtual twin to the one through which they had entered. Scattered bones covered the floor here, as well, ripped from the 16 burial chambers, gnawed and broken.
But amidst the more ancient bones, near the center of the chamber, where three less old skeletons, mostly whole, rotted fabrics still covering the whiter bones. Two small skeletons, one larger one, and beneath the larger lay a broken, gnarled staff. The shafts and feathers of the arrows that had killed them were brittle and collapsed into dust as Derik knelt to examine them, but the iron arrowheads remained.
“It comes back to me,” the old mage said quietly. “How had I forgotten? We were trapped… if I could but hold them off, help must come… but it didn’t, not soon enough… not ever…
“But Zarak Firehand had driven the fear deep into the vile creatures, by the burned and strangled corpses of their fellows I did! Their leaders forced them into the chamber, eventually… to loot our bodies… but they still feared even my corpse… as well they should… for I will never rest until their kind is driven from our home!
“They despoiled my body, tentatively, fearfully, at first… but they grew bolder as no bolt struck them, no vine ensnared them… but before they could touch the children… then they saw me as I am now! Too weak then, too new to this deathless state, to truly harm them but still they shrieked and fled in terror... and eventually, when they dared to return, hungry and greedy… by then I had learned to wield the T’ara again. If not as strongly as in life, it was yet enough to maim and slay any that came within my compass.
“And slay them I did, by fire and wind and vine… and always they try to seal up the crypts, but always I tear down their seals… it has been long years, I think, since any have dared these passages, but they do not forget the terror that awaits them here!
“Ah, that night, it seems just yesterday… if only I had not dined with the Governor that night… I would have been in my own chambers… I would have taken the Horn and used it, and perhaps… perhaps…”
The sad ghost of Zarak sighed and seemed to grow translucent.
“Wait!” cried Toran, in Khundaic. “We have come as the spearhead of an army out of Dürkon, to take back what is ours. Soon your long battle will be over, and you can rest… but will you not help us? What is this horn you speak of? Do the gül-Bogabai possess it?”
Zarak seemed suddenly to be aware that he was not alone, as if he had forgotten. He became solid looking again, and nodded at Toran.
“The Horn of Korgis,” he sighed regretfully. “A great relic, the gift of my teacher of old… whoever holds the Horn and winds it at need will find himself and all friends who hear it heartened, renewed in strength and hope and the will to fight; but all enemies who hear those same notes will loose their hope and sink into despair, their hands and souls becoming weak and nerveless.
“If only I had been able to reach it that night… but Gharez had to go to the battle, and he begged me to protect his children… if only…”
Toran interrupted before this slide into memory and regret could pull the ghost from them. “Master Zarak, do the gül-Bogabai now possess the Horn? Have they used it over the years, in battle against our people?”
“I fear so, my young warrior… for in looting my body they took the key to the chest wherein all my greatest treasures lay…” He reached into his ghostly robes and pulled out a chain, upon which was a large key. It’s head was carved in the spiral symbol of Khundari neutral magic. “The chest cannot be opened, nay, not even moved, without this key inserted within its lock. But they have the key, and they have the Horn… I have heard it blown… more than once, I think…”
With this he became silent, and seemed sunk in grief and despair. Even when Vulk led the others in collecting the bones of the Khundari children and laying them side-by-side in an empty crypt he said nothing, though he nodded in grim approval.
But when Vulk would have gathered up the mage’s own bones, he spoke one last time. “No! Let me lay where I fell, for I will not rest until the gülvini are either dead or driven from this place. Drive them to me, if you will, and I shall slay them. But only when the last deathspawn in these halls has joined me in death itself, then come and lay my bones to rest… for only then will my long battle be ended and my oaths fulfilled…”
With that the apparition faded from their sight.
♦ ♦ ♦
After taking a few minutes to gather themselves together, the Hand resumed their mission, leaving the bones of Zarak Firehand as they lay in the crypt where he had died. Vulk murmured a last prayer as he pulled the bronze door shut.
They found Jeb and Therok waiting for them in the main crypt corridor – the barbarian had flatly refused to follow them when he had realized the mysterious Dwarf was an actual ghost, and Jeb had stayed to keep an eye on him. Or so he said, though Erol hadn’t noticed any particular enthusiasm on Jeb’s part to gain a closer acquaintance with the apparition himself.
At the head of the stairs leading up from the crypts they found a well-lit intersection of two major corridors. Steady glow-stones illuminated three possible direction, beyond the one from which they’d come.
Although the area was guarded, the sentries failed to immediately note Erol and Toran bearing down on them, and were dispatched with relative ease and in almost total silence. Jeb and Therok were tasked with dragging the corpses back to the crypt to hide them, a task the barbarian had to be shamed into performing, given his fear of “haunts.” But his admiration for Vulk was so great that he swallowed his fear and only looked a little pale as he and Jeb lugged the first gül corpse away, trying to leave as little of a blood trail as possible.
After a quick debate it was decided to take the right hand passage as they looked for the stairs that would take them to the upper level and, presumably, what they sought. Coming to a short flight of stairs leading down, it seemed a promising start for they could see two guards slouching before a set of large double doors.
Toran, enchanted in spells of cloaking (and being a Shadow ninja dwarf in any case), snuck down the stairs and took out the first guard, at which Devrik leapt after him and dispatched the second gül equally quickly. Jeb and Therok, just returning from disposing of the first bodies, were dismayed to find two more awaiting removal…
As the two lackeys resignedly hauled the new corpses up the stairs, Toran and Devrik listened intently at the doors. No sounds came from within, and they slowly swung them open. They found themselves in the corner of a large chamber, some 40 meters long by 32 meters wide.
To their left a 3-meter wide walk led north before turning east to run the length of the north wall; to their right the walkway abutted another large open space containing two enormous smelters, their fires banked for the night but giving off a faint red glow.
The bulk of the space was sunken 2.5 meters below the walk and the smelters, with a mine rail running from a tunnel in the east wall to a two-way split just before the western stairs that down to them. Stone pillars lined the track and rose 12 meters to a shadowy ceiling. Great piles of stone and ore were littered about the area, and at least one great boulder seemed to have fallen from the ceiling.
Despite the glow-stones scattered about the walls, and the ruddy light from the smelters, the Hand did not immediately see the two gül-Bogabai guards stationed just within the mouth of the mine tunnel, and began to spread out to explore the chamber. Not, at least, until one of the gül leaped from the dark tunnel mouth, shouting in surprise, short sword drawn. His companion was not far behind him.
Toran instantly whipped up his crossbow and fired a bolt, which pierced the foot of the creature on the right, pinning it to the wooden tie of the rail. Even as it opened its mouth to shriek a second bolt took it between the eyes. Mariala lowered her new crossbow and smiled in satisfaction – she was obviously a natural at this!
As the crossbow bolts flew Devrik had leaped down and quickly dispatched the second guard, who had been fatally distracted by his companions sudden demise. Thus, when Therok and Jeb again returned to the group, they found two MORE bodies to dispose of. With deep sighs they trudged over and hefted the first corpse…
After making sure there were no more surprises hiding in the mine, the group began to quickly examine the mine head. Two doors in the west wall, north of the main entrance, were the only other apparent exits beside the mine tunnel. Mariala listened carefully at the northern door, Korwin beside her, and then slowly opened it. It creaked faintly.
The room beyond was clearly a weapons forging shop, with a massive table in the center, two small forges and several anvils of various sizes in various spots around the room. Mangs and crude copies of Khundari short swords lay on the table in various stages of creation, and hammers, tongs and more esoteric tools of the weaponcrafter trade hung from the walls.
A door in the north wall and a corresponding one in the south wall were the only other exits from the chamber. After a quick scan around to make sure there were no surprises hiding anywhere Mariala approached the northern door. Like all the ancient Khundari doors that had survived the original gülvini invasion this one was thick and heavy, and she could hear nothing beyond it. Slowly she pushed it open…
In the dim light of the glow-stones she could see several racks of finished weapons lining the walls, and one large free-standing rack in the center of the room. An armory then – except why was there a large bed over in the far corner to her left? Even as her mind formed the question Mariala realized the bed was occupied… by a largish gül who was furiously… she had to gag back a sudden urge to vomit, and her retching gasp echoed loudly in the room…
The creature, suddenly aware of her, grunted in surprise, then growled in lust. Still fully rampant, it leapt from its bed and charged at her. Mariala raised her Khundari dagger and tried to counterstrike as the gül punched her hard in the stomach. Her armor took the brunt of the impact, but her breath was knocked from her, and her blade only sliced air.
She staggered back and swiped hard at her attacker’s face, but he easily dodged the frantic attack. The beastman’s arms and shoulders were immense and immensely powerful… probably the blacksmith, Mariala realized in a corner of her mind as she gasped for breath… time slowed in that strange adrenaline-fueled state of fear and calm of battle…
But before the gül could take advantage of his strength and her stunned gasping, Korwin was upon him, cutlass steaming with the Frost Brand. The creature tried to dodge, but the freezing blade pierced his shoulder and he stumbled to his knees, shrieking in pain. That moment was all Mariala needed to gather her breath, her wits and her power – as the vile thing tried to stagger up her Fire Nerves spell took it full in the chest.
As the creature writhed in agony on the floor, his already hideous face made even more horrible by a rictus of silent anguish, Korwin drove his sub-freezing blade through its skull. The body relaxed into death. One nice thing about Frost Brand, Korwin thought as he pulled his cutlass free, was that you never had to clean the gore from your weapon – it just dropped off in frozen chunks.
“Very timely, Korwin,” Mariala said gratefully, as she sheathed her dagger and tried to regain her composure. “I’ve never seen one of this species so big before!”
“Well, I’m no expert, but it didn’t seem that large to me,” Korwin said, glancing down at the naked corpse. “But perhaps you’ve seen more gül-Bogabai in flagrante delicto than I have…”
With a half-swallowed growl of rage Mariala slugged him in the stomach as she stormed out of the room, her face crimson. Korwin grinned unrepentantly and followed her out – after a quick scan for further enemies.
The others, meanwhile, had found nothing of interest in their search of the rest of the mine head and it’s adjoining chambers. Once Jeb and B Fiddy-five had disposed of the latest bodies, having been spared moving the blacksmith’s since he was in a dead-end room anyway, the group headed back into the main corridor from whence they’d come.
Returning to the intersection near the crypts, they paused to discuss, sotto voce, their next move. But at that moment their luck ran out. A lone guard posted somewhere up the northern corridor must have heard something for, he came to the head of the short flight of stairs about six meters from the group and stared in shock. But only for only an instant. He let out a piercing cry and turned to run back up the corridor.
In a flash Erol was after him, Grover hot on his heels. Before the others could do more than draw their weapons, a door to the west slammed open and a grizzled gül stormed into the hallway, scimitar in hand and roaring what sounded like a question. Whatever the question, it was obviously answered by the sight of the Hand just 3 meters away. His next roar was equally obviously a summons to arms to his hive-mates!
From two doors further west down the corridor more gülvini stumbled into the hall, buckling armor and brandishing mangs and short swords, three from each door. Toran stepped forward and fired his crossbow at the roaring leader, but the bolt whizzed past his heads he dodged aside.
The threat of ranged weapons momentarily stalled the foulspawn’s rush, however, giving Devrik and Mariala the few seconds they needed to launch their own more esoteric attacks. The leader and the nearer three warriors fell in writhing agony as Mariala’s Fire Nerves again came into play; the three warriors beyond them found themselves engulfed in searing flames as Devrik’s Orb of Vorol exploded between them.
Korwin dashed forward as the leader tried to stagger to his feet, finishing him off with a deep thrust to the guts. Toran unlimbered his battleaxe and waded into the other gülvini, his blade whirling about in a blur, as if he were chopping cabbages. In seconds the corridor was again silent, filled only with the coppery smell of blood and the stench of burning gül flesh.
Erol returned just then, to report that the other guard had been dispatched.
“A few well-placed jabs with my trident brought him to the ground,” he said laconically, “and Grover finished him off once he was down. Didn’t see any point in dragging the body back, I think our moment of stealth has passed.”
But in that Erol appeared to be mistaken. Despite the commotion and nosie, there was no sound of alarm and no further rush of attacking gülvini.
“Maybe we’ve cleared out this level,” Vulk said after a few tense moments had passed. The others agreed, and it was decided to try for the upper level again. The great double doors just up the north corridor were still closed, and apparently quite soundproof.
But before they could be opened Vulk had a sudden thought. “What was it that guard was guarding up the corridor? Did you check any doors Erol?”
“No,” the former gladiator shrugged. “There was just the one, and nothing popped out, despite the sounds of violence and death, and I didn’t see the point of borrowing trouble when you all might have been in need of me.”
“Maybe we should check it out,” the cantor suggested. “I don’t like leaving anything behind us if we can avoid it.”
“A good point,” Devrik agreed. “I’m not fond of surprises myself. Better to be sure there are none blocking our line of retreat!”
So the group moved up the short flight of stairs to the north and stopped before the solid black oak door the lone gülvini had been guarding. A quick search of his nearby body found a single iron key on an iron ring, and Toran quickly had the door unlocked.
Inside, they found four large iron cages, a bloody table, and a single large brazier full of hot coals. The latter provided the only illumination in the room, and revealed two cowering figures in separate cages. Devrik summoned up a hand flame to better see, and it was soon obvious that these prisoners were Umantari, and in a pitiable state.
“We don’t have time for this,” he grated after a few minutes of Mariala and Vulk trying to calm the poor wretches and get information from them. “We have a mission and a tight time table… getting tighter every minute. It’s a miracle we haven’t raised a general alarm yet.”
But neither of his friends were willing to just leave the prisoners, and after Toran managed to pick the lock on one cell, and smash the other when it proved intractable, the men calmed down a bit. They were merchants from the Republic, taken in a high pass the better part of a tenday ago, when their caravan was overwhelmed. Four others were taken as well, but one by one they’ve been taken away, never to return.
Unwilling to take the men with them, and at least some of the party unwilling to leave them to their own devices, it was eventually decided to take them to one of the gülvini sleeping chambers. There Mariala cast her sleeping syncope on them, with promises to return for them when their mission was accomplished. The men seemed inclined to object, but only manage a few outraged words before they slipped into deep sleep.
Finally the group was ready to ascend the great staircase the ancient map had indicated would take them to the main level of the colony. Wide and high-ceilinged, the stairs rose steeply to a wide landing, turning left and then left again at a second landing. At the top the stairs opened onto another wide north-south corridor.
After some quite debate, Korwin’s desire to try the wide double doors just across the corridor and slightly to the right of the them won the day. Listening at the doors, the sound of at least two people, probably guards, could be faintly heard. Erol smiled and pulled out his Balls of Wonder…
When the doors were pushed quickly open, the two surprised guards whirled instantly around, spears coming down, only to be mesmerized by the spinning, swirling lights of the Erol’s Balls.
“That one’s good for the duration,” Erol assured his companions in a whisper, motioning to the gül on the left. “But this one… hmmm, he may shake it off soon…”
So, while he was still stunned and under the enchantment of Erol’s Balls, Devrik gently bound the creature’s hands and hobbled his legs, then the two fighters stuffed a rag in his mouth and swiftly dragged him out of the room and into the stairwell. This brought the beastman out of his stuppor, of course, but left him unable to do more than squirm in their grasp and make muffled grunts.
Once on the lower landing, and hopefully safe from hostile ears, Vulk began to question their captive, while Mariala listened with her Truth Sense active. The interrogation was long and twisting, to the annoyance of the more impatient members of the party, but in the end Vulk found the key to cooperation.
“You’d make a better king than this young upstart Gunük,” he cajoled. “He’s barely even seen six summers, you say? Far too young, I agree… the wisdom of 15 years would make King Fârchul a much better ruler! And the females would no doubt appreciate a more mature male, yes.”
“Yessss,” Fârchul hissed reluctantly, his imagination caught in spite of himself. “But why would you see me on the Great Seat? You Pale Ones come to kill us all…”
“No, no, my friend,” Vulk assured him. “We come only for treasure… help us to take Gunük’s treasure, and we will leave all the rest to you… we have no interest in the gül-Bogabai beyond that…” Fortunately Toran had stayed to keep an eye on the entranced guard, and Fârchul had never seen him, or this gambit would never have flown. The gülvini know of the implacable hatred of the Dwarves, and share it; whatever his greed and ambition, the captive would never have believed a Khundari would help any gül!
It took a long, tedious time, but eventually Vulk got the creature to tell them what they needed to know. It turned out they had made a fortuitous choice in going north first – the complex of rooms Fârchul and his companion guarded included the King’s chamber as well as the Queen’s, with the hive’s main egg crèche, and the Princesses’ rooms, all to the south.
Unfortunately, it also contained the barracks of the Queen’s Guard, perhaps the most vicious and capable of the hive’s fighters, females everyone. Only three males were permitted beyond the double doors – the King and two of his King’s Guard. Over a score of female fighters, eight nasty Princesses, one tough old queen, and the King remained to deal with, if Fârchul’s intelligence was accurate.
Mariala assured her companions it was, and then cast her Syncope on Fârchul, causing him to slip into a deep sleep. They carried him back up the stairs and set him in a corner near his still mesmerized companion. While they considered their situation Vulk cast Virtue’s Armor on Devrik, who then called up Goraten’s Brand on his battlesword, causing a sheen of flame to flicker across the blade.
Five doorways lined the corridor they stood in: two to the south, the nearer of which was the King’s chamber, the further leading to the Queen’s suite, including the Princesses and crèche; two to the north, both of which led to barracks for the Queen’s Guard; and a curtained alcove at the far end, which led to the privy.
The big problem was that the nearer of the two barracks chambers had no door, unlike the other chambers. Peering in, although the light was dim, the rows of crude bunks and the sleeping fighters in them could be dimly seen, and their sleepy grunts and loud snoring clearly heard.
If they could kill Gunük quietly, in his sleep, and recover the Horn (which was unlikely to be far from the king), they might make their escape and leave the colony in chaos come morning or whenever Fârchul woke up – whatever promises they had made, once it was learned Gunük was dead the Hand knew the little creep would have to fight to claim his “throne.”
But how likely was it they could pull it off? Toran carefully tested the door to the King’s chamber, and found it locked. He pulled his magic key from its pouch and inserted it quietly into the lock… with a twist the tumblers fell into place, and the door was unlocked. As his friends prepared spells and weapons and kept an eye on the open barracks archway, he slowly pushed the door open.
But no gülvini, and most especially a king, sleeps in a room with oiled and silent hinges. Gunük was no exception, nor was he actually asleep. He sat at a table before a large fireplace, apparently reading some papers, a tarnished silver goblet and a wineskin at his left hand. At the creak of the door, he was up and grasping his sword, dropping into a fighters crouch faster than Toran would have believed possible.
Gunük was the largest gül-Bogabai he’d had ever seen, even bigger and more muscular than the blacksmith Korwin and Mariala had killed. But he was also shockingly fast – Toran leaped as soon as he saw the gül, his battleaxe swinging at the creature’s gut, but Gunük dodged aside and counter-struck, dealing the Khundari a glancing blow to the head with his bastard sword.
Toran staggered back as the King rushed on him, roaring in his beastial language… so much for doing this quietly. Gunük’s sword flashed in, and Toran’s own counter was too slow – the blade bit deep into his shoulder, and the world whirled down into darkness…
Fortunately for Toran, Devrik had been right behind him, with Mariala framed in the doorway – she hurled Fire Nerves at Gunük and the flickering fire on Devrik’s sword burst into full flame. The gülvini was staggered by the sudden onslaught of pain, hissing in agony, but managing to stay on his feet and even to block Devrik’s first stroke.
But his own return thrust was sloppy and weak, enervated as he was my Mariala’s magic, and Devrik’s counterattack took him in the face, leaving a deep gash from forehead, across his right eye and nose, to his left cheek. The wound cauterized instantly from the searing heat of the blade, and the creature’s whole face began to blister. With a strangled cry of pain and rage, Gunük collapsed next to Toran.
Unfortunately, his bellows had awakened the Queen’s Guard across the hallway, who began to surge up from their beds, slapping armor on and seizing weapons. But Erol, trident out and blocking the doorway, had been prepared for this. As soon as there was a sufficient density of fighters on their feet he tossed a small glass sphere into the center of the large room… three seconds later a blast of searing white filled the space with jagged shards of solid light, scything through everything in their path.
Six of the gülvini females died almost instantly, shredded by the Blast of Norinos; the other four staggered around, blood leaking from a dozen wounds, dazed and confused. Vulk summoned another Virtue’s Armor, this time on Erol, who quickly dispatched the remaining warriors as they tried to force the door.
Meanwhile, others of the Queen’s Guard had begun pouring from both the far barracks and the the guard post in the Queen’s suite. Mariala again wielded her Fire Nerves to good effect, striking down the leading four screaming females and slowing those behind.
This gave Korwin time to recover from his first failed attempt to cast Strands of Lakira, and for Devrik to send Arkels Fiery Ribbons down the hallway. Half a dozen gülvini went down shrieking in pain as the colorful ribbons of flames engulfed them, and a few seconds later their sisters, leaping out of the doorways over their smoldering bodies, found themselves trapped and entangled in a mass of sticky webs that suddenly filled the passage from wall to wall and ceiling to floor.
“The Strands of Lakira will hold them for maybe ten minutes,” Korwin said, smiling in satisfaction. “I suggest we be well on our way by then!”
The others heartily agreed, and they all turned their attention to the King’s chamber, where Vulk had applied one of Toran’s vials of baylorium to his wound, and then bound up the unconscious gülvini leader. Toran was already on his feet, and while favoring his left shoulder, seemed ready for another fight.
“This must be the chest the ghost told us of,” he said as everyone crowded into the room, pointing to a solid, well built chest of iron and oak in one corner. He tried to open it, but had no luck, and even his magic key failed to do the trick. He couldn’t lift the chest or even shift it in the slightest. It was definitely Zarak’s old chest.
“I think this is what we need,” Vulk cried triumphantly from near the fireplace, where he’d been searching Gunük. He held up a key that was the living twin of the ghostly one Zarak had shown them. It had been on a chain around the gülvini king’s neck, under his crude armor.
Taking the key, Toran inserted it into the chest’s lock, and instantly the lid sprang up. Inside were a variety of items, including gold and silver coins and ingots, gems… and right on top, a beautiful horn of bone and bronze. There was no time to dig deeper, so Toran slung the Horn of Korgis around his neck, shut the lid, and then he and Korwin hefted the chest between them.
Devrik slung the still unconscious Gunük over his shoulder, Mariala grabbed all the papers he’d been reading, and Vulk called out “Hand, we are LEAVING!” Toran pulled the stone-and-crystal egg from his scrip and gave it a sharp twist… the crystal began to glow amber… the signal was given. As he slipped it back into his scrip the amber glow turned red, and began to pulse. “The army will be here within the hour!” he announced to murmurs of relieve and approval.
But as the Hand passed out of the king’s room into the hallway Vulk stopped, with a sharp “oh shit!” In the deep confusion of the last ten minutes it seemed that Fârchul had awakened, slipped his bonds, and escaped. His mesmerized partner still stood gazing at Erol’s Balls of Wonder, however.
“Done is done,” said Erol with a shrug. “Let’s just move and hope we can escape before the little rat can organize help.” With that he stabbed the mesmerized gül in the back and scooped up his Balls.
But his advice proved futile, for as the Hand came to the head of the stairs leading down to the crypt level they ran into Fârchul, at the head of a squad of what was almost certainly the King’s Guard, coming up. By some quirk of fate Therok was at the head of party and, without hesitation, the barbarian ran the would-be king straight through, then hurled his body down into the midst of his followers.
This gave Devrik time to once again summon Arkel’s Fiery Ribbons; but although the colorful tentacles of flame slithered down the stairs, most of the gülvini somehow managed to avoid anything worse than a mild singeing.
“We don’t have time for this,” muttered the fire mage, and this time he called up an Orb of Vorol. “Dodge this!” The flaming ball hit the landing just below the massed gülvini, and when it exploded only two were left standing. These suddenly remembered there were other things they should be doing, and ran shrieking back down the stairs.
The alarm was certainly up now, and the Hand wasted no time in following them, slowed only slightly by having to step over and around the charred and still smoking (in some cases burning) bodies of their former enemies. They woke the merchants from their arcane sleep, and herded them quickly into the crypts and toward the escape tunnel.
Toran and Korwin where the last to enter the crypt, and as he glanced into the dark to the south, the Khundari Shadow Warrior saw the ghost of Zarak Firehand standing there. The spectre raised his staff in salute, nodding his head in slow approval. Toran nodded in return, and the figure faded away into the darkness… but the Shadow Warrior was certain that any gülvini who tried to escape this way would meet a messy end.
The rest of the escape from Fächnor was relatively uneventful. With most of the gül-Bogabai focused on events inside the colony, it proved easy enough to retrace their steps to the ruined village. There they stopped to consider their next step.
“Whatever else we may do,” Toran said at once, “it is my clear duty to get the Horn of Korgis to Prince Rhoghûn and the army. If it has helped the cursed foulspawn defeat us all these years, it will certainly help us this time!”
Devrik and Erol, having little interest in interrogating the ex-king of Fächnor, agreed to ride with him to find the approaching Khundari force and lend their own swords to the cause. Within minutes the three were off, knowing exactly where to go thanks to Vulk and his connection to Cherdon, who again rode the updrafts over the colony.
As soon as their companions were gone Mariala and Vulk took to questioning their prisioner, who had been awake for the last 15 minutes or so. It was a long and torturous session, despite the arcane and holy aid they brought to bear, but in the end they were able to piece together a timeline of recent events in Fächnor…
It seemed that the six-year-old, who really was very young for a “king” even amongst the fast breeding, fast developing gülvini, had ruled for five months now, having challenged his predecessor to open combat and slain him within seconds.
The precipitate reason for the challenge was the old king’s refusal to accept the teachings of an Umantari priestess who had been taken prisoner about a month earlier. Gunük, apparently unusually thoughtful for one of his breed, as well as unusually large and strong, had found her message of a “Death God” to be compelling. He seemed to see in it a way to increase his tribe’s (and thereby his own) power. Zhügok, the old king, lacked this sense of vision and it took only a little prompting from the priestess, Zeliona, to convince Gunük that he had to go.
Once that inconvenient roadblock had been eliminated, the new king allowed Mistress Zeliona to set up a temple in the complex, and began learning from her. With her displays of power and his own physical might, the gül-Bogabai were quickly brought into line with the new teachings, and so began the organization of the colony.
Gunük greatly desired to conquer the nearby gül-Nomai colony of Zabfel whose king, in his own bid for hegemony, had been making demands for tribute from Fächnor and other regional hive-colonies. Zeliona, who came & went as she wished once the “faith” had taken hold amongst her new flock, encouraged Gunük in his ambition, and even planted the seeds of a larger “realm” in his imagination…
Gunük recognized that Fächnor was near its population limit, which meant a civil war or swarm was imminent. If the assault on Zabfel were to go well, his people would have room to grow; if it failed, the casualties would be enough to postpone a civil war or swarm. Regardless of success, he also knew that many of his Bogabai would be killed and Fächnor thus made vulnerable to counter-attack by either another tribe or the Khundari. He was therefore improving his fortifications before launching his attack on Zabfel.
The priestess Zeliona left Fächnor five days ago, going where the young king didn’t know; but if she held true to her custom, she would return in a tenday or so. Nothing more could he tell them of this human “priestess,” although he went on at length about the virtues of her “Death God.” This supposed deity had no other name, needing none beyond that of his function – to bring death and destruction to his enemies.
By the time they had prised all they could from the ex-king of Fächnor the Khundari army of Dürkon had arrived and begun the assault. From the safety of their redoubt amongst the old ruins Vulk, Mariala, Korwin, Jeb, Therok and the two rescued merchants watched the battle unfold as best they could. Vulk supplemented their own restricted view with descriptions of what Cherdon saw from high overhead, as the gülvini poured from the various entrances to meet their ancient enemy.
But though they seemed in some confusion, they still fought well enough in defense of their home, even without a king. As the Khundari fought to throw down the outer defenses Korwin had a sudden idea, with which the others agreed readily enough. Vulk especially, who could see his friends easily enough in the midst of the Khundari fighters, was anxious to maximize their chances of surviving the battle.
So, while Vulk summoned Cherdon back to his wrist, Therok pulled back Gunük’s head by his greasy hair, stretching his neck over a rock, and decapitated the squealing, struggling gül. It was a heavy load for the raptor to bear, but with Vulk’s encouragement the bird managed to get aloft with the severed head, its talons clutching the long hair… moments later it dropped the blankly staring head of their king into the middle of the gülvini horde.
It was like dropping a stone into still water, Vulk told the others, watching through Cherdon’s eyes as the ripples of panic, confusion and chaos spread out in concentric circles. And a moment later, when a loud, clear horn call sounded out from the midst of the Khundari host, the gülvini seemed to loose all sense and hope, and their lines fell apart like a parchment in a rainstorm.
The watchers felt their own hearts lifted at the sound of the Horn of Korgis, blown by Toran himself, at the Prince’s behest. They had to check themselves from rushing to join the battle as well, but as it turned out the battle eventually came to them, in the form of a few stragglers fleeing defeat. In their fear and panic, ignoring the taboo on the village, they stumbled into the Hand’s lair, only to de dispatched by the swords of Therok, Korwin and Vulk.
By sundown the battle was over. The Dwarves of Dürkon had at last taken back the mines of Fächnor!
