“It is very loud in there, so no one will hear us,” Malowan
whispered softly. “There are dwarves in there. The ones I could see are chained,
but there were others that I could sense but not see.”
Vlandar frowned at the opposite wall. “Some are prisoners,
but some might not be. Some of them might be allies of the giants, especially if
they are not all from the same tribe. You could not tell, Mal?”
“I would have to get closer to use such a spell.”
“Hmmm.” Vlandar considered this briefly. “Some are prisoners
at least. How many giants?”
“Two,” Agya whispered. Lhors thought her eyes seemed huge.
Whatever was in that room had scared
her,
it seemed. “And they’re
bigger’n those rotters up above and blacker’n a cook pot.”
“Fire giants,” the paladin said evenly. “We will need to hit
them hard and fast.”
“I know,” Vlandar replied tiredly. “No Mal, I’m not arguing.
I’m of your mind. A warrior who won’t help the broken and downtrodden is nothing
but a thug with free room and board from his king. I just—”
“Consider this,” Malowan broke in. “The guard-change off that
big chamber happened just as we came out. Have you ever known a lair where
guard-changes were not all done at the same time? So the guard on that rockslide
likely just changed also.”
“You’d trust to that?” Maera demanded.
“No,” Malowan said, “I call it likely. But stay ready for the
unlikely all the same. It is
likely
that any dwarves imprisoned down here
are not used only in the smithy. Once the fires here are banked, they would be
put to work elsewhere. If that is so, at least some of them will know their way
around down here. Freed, they could be strong allies.”
“Damn you for a logical man anyway,” Vlandar said with a
faint smile. “I wish I could find fault in your argument, but I can’t.” He
tapped Nemis on the shoulder.
The mage, who had been keeping an eye on the corridor, turned
and asked acerbically, “Can we leave this place before we are discovered
dithering out here?”
“At once,” the paladin assured him. “One question. Do you
have a spell to make a wall of silence across the entry to the smithy, should we
need one?”
Nemis shrugged. “I memorized a number of them, knowing we
would need them.”
“As soon as we’re ready,” said Vlandar, “put it up so that
the noise doesn’t travel.”
Agya started and shivered as the distant roar of a great ape
suddenly echoed down passage.
“Yes, we are getting away from that,” Vlandar assured her.
“Aye. To go after brutes in a room wi’ more swords’n I can
count. You’re certain on this?” she demanded of the paladin.
“Certain I must try,” he said with an unapologetic shrug.
“Get yourself killed yet,” she said tiredly, “but if you’re
on, so’m I.”
Khlened licked his lips. “I’ve fought with dwarves before.
They’re not all so bad, though it’s a job o’ work to make ’em divide treasure
up.”
Maera stirred, but Rowan gave her an urgent and complex sign.
Maera cast her eyes up and shrugged when Vlandar glanced at her, clearly
awaiting her response.
“It wouldn’t be my choice,” she said brusquely, “but I’ve no
say. Go on.”
“Thank you,” Malowan replied simply. He led the way down-hall
and then down the angled passage toward firelight and an increasingly loud din
of hammers and harsh voices that sang a guttural song to match the rhythm of the
hammer strikes.
Vlandar eased to the fore, stopping just short of the ruddy
light, and waited for Nemis to create his wall of silence. The mage knelt and
drew a square of red cloth from his pack. The man was grinning, Lhors realized
in astonishment. His black eyes glittered as he got back to his feet and moved
up next to Vlandar. The warrior eyed him curiously, then shrugged and moved to
the other side of the hallway so he could see more of the chamber. He beckoned
for Lhors to join him.
The smithy was an odd-shaped room, almost a corridor that
ended abruptly. One branch seemed to go around a corner north, the other east.
Storage, perhaps. Lhors could see two dwarves, bound with enormous chains around
their throats and one wrist, carrying pikes and swords in the direction of a—
No wonder Agya looked scared, Lhors thought. The brute he
could see was much taller than the hill giants he had seen, and his skin was a
glistening black. He wore only thick hide pants and a buckler that held a hammer
so huge that even he must need two hands to use it. The only other giant in
view, his skin also a deep black that seemed almost blue in the firelight, was
the smith. Slightly shorter but much more muscular than his companion, he wore
pants, a leather apron, and a close-fitting cap.
Malowan said there were only two, Lhors reminded himself. The
paladin had ways of knowing these things.
Only
two. Vlandar seemed aware
of his thoughts, or maybe his fear was showing on his face, because the warrior
gripped his shoulder and gave him a reassuring smile. Lhors managed a smile in
reply, then turned back to study what he could see of the chamber.
The hammer wielder waited just at the edge of sight while his
two captive dwarves trudged out of sight along the southern wall. They returned
empty handed some moments later. As they passed the giant, he reached down and
yanked at the loose chain snaking across the floor, then burst into harsh
laughter as the two fell.
The smith turned and snarled something at him. He had to
bellow to be heard above the racket of hammers. Five other dwarves were chained
at anvils, two working bellows while two others beat spear blades. A fifth
sorted through a pile of spears, separating heads from broken shafts and
apparently choosing which weapons were capable of being mended and which would
need to be melted down and reforged.
Vlandar eased back a pace and cautiously pointed out to his
young companion the several piles of weaponry between them and the forge. There
were stacks of pikes and spears, another pile of shields and warhammers, a
double handful of maces leaning against a wobbly-looking metal rack. Lhors
nodded his understanding.
Don’t trip on anything.
Across the hallway, the rest of the company was eyeing the
room and the obstacle course. Malowan gestured an assent. Better if they don’t
know we’re here until we want them to, Lhors thought. He wasn’t sure he wanted
those two giants to know he was anywhere about, but when Vlandar stealthily
eased his sword free and raised a hand, Lhors drew a boar-spear and nodded. He
eased back to his usual place with the rangers while Malowan moved back into
shadow to draw his blades. Khlened came forward to join him. Agya, to Lhors’
surprise, also came back to join the rangers—either Malowan had convinced her or
sight of those two monsters had. A thief whose best weapons were knives had no
business in there. Nemis eased over to a place between Vlandar and the paladin.
Vlandar looked at his people, nodded, then brought his hand
down.
Lhors and the rangers ran into the open, Rowan flanked by her
sister and the youth. Maera threw two javelins in quick order, Lhors one that
just missed its target. Maera’s were foiled by the smith’s apron and bounced
away. Rowan’s arrow caught the second giant high in the shoulder, but her next
struck the hammer and spun high, lodging in the ceiling.
The two giants bellowed in fury, and all the dwarves fell to
the ground and covered their ears. The one giant drew his hammer and strode
forward, bringing his weapon up to strike while the smith was howling for aid.
“That spell of Nemis’ had better work!” Khlened yelled.
Vlandar ran past him. “Rangers! Lhors! Get back! Pick your
shots and don’t waste any! Khlened, Mal, to me!”
The three men fanned out, forming a human shield as the two
giants came at them.
Agya shrieked, then clapped her hands over her mouth so as
not to distract the paladin. Even against such enormous brutes, Malowan still
gave the smith first strike.
The hammer arced down, roaring through the air. Malowan
leaped aside, and the huge weapon splintered stone as it struck the floor. Lhors
swallowed. Anyone struck with that would not get up again.
Malowan brought his sword around in a blurring sweep. The tip
pierced the giant’s thick pants. The monster roared with pain and fell back just
enough to rip the sword from the paladin’s hand. One of Rowan’s arrows buried
itself just above the giant’s waist, and the creature retreated in pain. Malowan
threw himself forward, snatched his sword off the ground and eased into line
with the other two.
Khlened held his heavy slashing sword in his left hand, and
with his right swung one of the bugbear’s morning stars. The second giant swung
his hammer, intercepting the chain, and ripped the thing from the barbarian’s
hand. Khlened howled a berserker oath, reversed his sword and plunged straight
up, but the giant was more agile than he’d expected and was already out of
reach.
“Damn ye!” Khlened roared. “Stand and fight!”
Vlandar shouted suddenly, mixed surprise and pain. The
smith’s weapon had bounced off a hanging chain and recoiled into the warrior’s
shoulder. A direct blow would probably have taken the arm, Lhors realized. As it
was, Vlandar’s armor was dented and his arm hung limp. Without Malowan braced
against him, he would have fallen.
The giant brought his weapon back to finish Vlandar. In that
instant, the smoldering fire that had been building in Lhors suddenly blazed.
Between one heartbeat and the next, he saw his father impaled on a giant’s
spear, saw the blood gush from his father’s mouth, saw women and children
wailing in terror as they were cut down or trampled, saw little Amyn as the life
departed his eyes.
“Noooo!” In one swift, fluid motion, Lhors hefted his spear,
stepped, and threw.
The spear sailed through the air and plunged through the
startled giant’s throat. The massive hammer fell to the floor as the monster
tried to scream and pull the shaft from his throat. Malowan dragged Vlandar away
and deposited him next to Rowan. The smith finally managed to grab hold of the
spear and yanked. The javelin came out, followed by a gush of blood that pumped
with the beat of his heart. He stared for a moment as his knees gave way, then
his eyelids sagged and he slumped to the floor. He did not move again.
There was roaring in Lhors’ ears, his heart was racing, and
he was having trouble seeing. He took a deep breath, and the room slowly
solidified about him.
“Khlened! Get back!” he heard Nemis shout.
The barbarian swore furiously but began slowly backing away.
The giant came after him, howling what Lhors thought must be curses or threats
in his own language. Nemis yelled again, more urgently.
“Damn it all, I’m doing it!” Khlened snarled. “Tell
him!”
“Not like that! Turn and run!”
“You’re mad!” The barbarian clearly had his hands full and
then some. As far as Lhors could tell, the giant either hadn’t understood the
exchange or was making too much noise to hear them.
Malowan came running, his reclaimed sword a dark red.
“Do it!” he bellowed. “One, two,
go!”
Khlened bellowed, turned on his heel, and sprinted back
toward the corridor. He leaped over a pile of spears, but one shaft caught his
foot and he stumbled, sending poles spilling in all directions. He managed to
keep his feet and gasping for air, shot past Nemis, who was muttering into his
scrap of red cloth. Once past Lhors and the rangers, the barbarian turned back,
sword at the ready.
The giant was coming toward them, licking his lips and
shifting the hammer from hand to hand. Suddenly, he stopped dead, stumbled back
a pace, and dropped the hammer as a cloud of enormous bees arrowed straight for
him. He yelped in surprise and then in pain. Swinging his arms wildly, he
suddenly bolted forward in a panic, but his foot caught on his fallen hammer. He
tripped and went sprawling.
Maera was ready. She took three quick strides and threw her
javelin. It pierced the vulnerable skin between neck and shoulder. Nemis came
right behind her and ripped a torch from the wall. At his order, Rowan and Lhors
also grabbed torches and the three moved to contain the maddened swarm and try
to drive it away.
The thick swarm buzzed in a black cloud about the giant, but
the smoke of the smithy combined with the nearby torches was too much for the
bees. Before long, they had all dissipated into the hall and were gone.
The giant was a dreadful sight. Bleeding freely from the
neck, his face puffy, his hands already too swollen to even try to pluck the
shaft from his shoulder, he wheezed fearfully. Possibly, Lhors thought, he’d
been stung in the mouth. He almost felt sorry for the creature, but Khlened
swore a vicious sounding oath and ran forward, sword high over his head. He had
to bring it down across the back of the giant’s neck twice before the brute lay
still.
Malowan eased past the two dead giants and contemplated the
dwarves. They gazed back at him, quiet for the moment. Most looked wary, but one
fellow—shorter than his fellows, his brown hair shot with gray, and his beard
and moustache a mix of brown, gray, and red—gave the paladin back the same
measuring, thoughtful look. Malowan broke the silence. He tried two different
languages before the dwarves seemed to understand him. The ruddy-bearded one
answered him at some length.
Suddenly, Khlened came across to stare closely at him.
“Bleryn?” he asked. “Is that you?”
“Fist?” the dwarf replied in guttural common. He grinned
suddenly and would have come forward to embrace the barbarian, but his chain
caught. “My old friend Khlened, the fool of a Fist?”
Khlened swore, happily this time, and closed the space
between them, pounding the dwarf on the back. “Ye great idiot, which of us is
fool now? Knew ye’d wind up some place like this someday.”