Empire of Bones (30 page)

At last they halted on the final landing where many struggled to catch their breath. Anienam, Bahr, and Boen all secretly cursed getting old. Their bodies were sore, haggard representations of what they’d once been. Time was an ever cruel trickster intent on beating them down until only dust and bones remained. When they finally managed to regain a small measure of self-control they looked in amazement at their surroundings. Grand, cavernous halls spread out in each cardinal direction. Each was large enough to fit an army and filled with hundreds of torches and hanging braziers. The walls were smooth, the dirt the color of a burning sun. The floors compacted to the point where not a speck of dust was visible. Surprisingly, there was great warmth. The caverns were brightly lit and almost enjoyable to be in.

Ironfoot whistled low. “In all my years I never imagined to take in such sights. This must rival even the tombs under the Twin Spires of Ragnash.”

“Surpass is more appropriate, Ironfoot,” Anienam corrected. “There is no equivalent in all Malweir to what we are witnessing, except perhaps the dragon roosts far to the west. Rekka, how far underground are we?”

“A half of a mile,” she replied. “Master Gran is waiting. The vault is down the southern corridor.”

They shuffled down more than a mile of corridor to come to a massive, vaulted door made of a strange metal none of them had ever seen. Wooden crossbeams formed a large cross similar to what the Giants of Venheim used in their worship to their one god. Anienam puzzled over the similarities of faith, certain the emblem was symbolic of religion. Each culture worshipped their own gods with specific rules and rituals. Finding evidence of contrary religious beliefs in the temple of the gods of light puzzled him to great ends. The vault door groaned open before he could ask the obvious questions distracting him.

Artiss Gran floated out towards them, arms folded within his pristine white robes. “My friends, what you are about to witness is a sight none have seen since the foundations of this great castle. I warn you to stay on the path. I will not be held responsible for you should you fail to follow this one instruction.”

“What could be so dangerous?” Dorl asked sharply.

Artiss blinked twice. “Trennaron holds many powers; some for good, others not. Heed my advice, Master Theed. Now, if there are no other simplistic questions, please follow me.”

He turned and went inside, followed closely by Rekka and then the others. Nothol reached out and slapped Dorl hard on the shoulder and gave a deep scowl. Dorl shrugged and kept walking. Intense heat washed over him the moment his boot stepped into the chamber. Sweat drenched his face and chest in moments. His eyes stung. His hair dripped wetness. Dorl raised an arm in a futile attempt at blocking the heat and looked ahead. What he saw dropped his jaw. The majesty of the corridors was immediately dwarfed by the intensity of what sat ahead.

A diamond-shaped structure stabbed towards the ceiling. The walls were made of glass, perfect and reflecting the heat of the flames surrounding the octagon-shaped stairwells leading up to the diamond. Dorl had grown up with legends of the underworld yet none of them were close to the hell of what he saw. The ground was blackened. The air smelled of brimstone. Dorl had the urge to vomit.

Artiss stopped them just inside the vault. “Behold! The resting place of the fabled Blud Hamr. This tool was crafted with singular purpose. Only you, Groge, have the ability to wield it. It is your responsibility to use the hammer to destroy the Olagath Stone, thus severing the link between dimensions and trapping the dark gods forever. Are you willing to accept this task?”

All eyes turned to the Giant. While he was more than humble as a traveling companion, his reluctance to engage in combat proved disturbing, leaving each with doubts as to whether or not he was going to fulfill his part of the quest. Groge took a deep, calming breath. He hadn’t thought about this moment. It seemed so far away, even as they drew nearer to Trennaron. Now, confronted with his basest beliefs and the knowledge only he could wield the hammer, he found all doubts gradually flee. Groge stepped forward with Gaimosian confidence.

“I do,” he said sternly.

The unspoken tension separating the group dissolved. The time had finally arrived for the realization of the weight of what they were attempting to do to strike. Gouts of flame easily the size of small houses burst skyward, throwing molten rock and quickly fading flames up in torrents. Artiss Gran felt great relief. Even his foresight wasn’t able to predict whether Groge was going to accept the challenge or not.

“A wise decision,” the Dae’shan replied. “All of you know this, once you step foot into the vault you will forever be cast down a path that will ultimately end in direct conflict with the Dae’shan and possibly the dark gods themselves. There will be no turning back.”

“We understand,” Bahr answered for them after pausing to stare into each of their eyes. Any personal doubts were forgotten after seeing the wary confidence looking back at him.

Boen grunted and folded his thick arms across his chest after moving to stand beside Bahr. “I’ve been waiting for this for months. Let’s get on with it.”

Nothol seconded the sentiment. “Now’s as good a time as any. Besides, we’ll at least get to go home.”

“Under the pretense that you might perish,” Artiss explained. He needed each to declare their intentions freely. Otherwise the quest was doomed to fail.

“We’re not getting any younger,” Bahr said.

“Very well. Follow me and do watch your step. Malweir needs you all.”

The Dae’shan glided across the long-forgotten floor. Small trails of dust kicked up in his wake. One by one the others fell in line behind him, careful to take the exact route as Artiss. They’d only walked a few meters before arriving at the base of the first set of steps. A moment earlier it appeared far away. The ground shook frightfully, as if it knew what was about to take place. The walls closed in only to dart away. Rocks and dust fell from the cavernous ceiling. Flames exploded in dynamic displays of force. More than once the group halted as they felt sure the very ground was about to crack under their feet. Only Artiss’s confidence kept them moving.

The stairs were made of alabaster, their pale white glow in stark contrast to the hues of red and brown surrounding them. Artiss Gran ascended the stairs with utter surety. A faint thumping could be heard over the roar of flames: subtle, reminiscent of a heartbeat. Bahr passed Anienam a sidelong glance but the wizard ignored him. This was neither the time nor place to cast the shroud of doubt.

They gained the level surrounding the diamond chamber housing the hammer. Slick, the floor was smooth glass. Nearly lost within the reflections of flame were thousands of faces, ghosts of souls long condemned to eternal darkness. They cried wordlessly. They implored for release. Bahr felt sickened. Of all the strange sights he’d witnessed this was by far the most unsettling. He’d never bothered to put much thought into what happened after death. A Man in his profession merely assumed there was only darkness and he’d return to the earth from where he came. The faces haunting the vault turned his stomach. Were they trapped or summoned by powers he failed to understand?

“Pay no heed to the faces,” Artiss warned. “They will pull you down and make you one of their ranks if you peer too closely.”

“What are they?” Boen asked. The Gaimosian felt on edge. His thoughts instantly went back to the confrontation with the ghosts of his ancestors in the Borgin Pass at the beginning of their quest.

“Fools mostly. They once served the powers of darkness. Each was captured and brought back to serve. Whatever corruption was in their hearts at their time of death binds them to Trennaron. They are now guardians for each of the vaults in the sublevels.” Artiss kept moving towards the small doorway at the center of the diamond. “The gods of light are both wise and vindictive towards those who abuse them. So long as you avoid temptation and keep moving these ghosts will not harm you.”

Dorl told Nothol from the corner of his mouth, “That doesn’t sound very reassuring.”

“What does? This place shouldn’t exist. I feel haunted just stepping foot here.”

“There are many places in the world that
shouldn’t
exist, yet they do and it will do us all well to remain wary until the final battle is finished.” Artiss scolded softly. “Groge, be mindful and watch your head. The hammer may have been specifically designed for Giants to wield, but the vault most assuredly was not.”

He slipped inside the diamond, leaving the others in the doorway.

“After you, wizard,” Bahr said, picking up on the initial reluctance of the group.
If anything bad is going to happen, this is the time. Better Anienam take the brunt of an attack than the rest of us
.

Anienam followed without hesitation, ever eager to gain new insight and knowledge he might be able to use to further his cause. Deep inside he knew that rebuilding the order of Mages was borderline impossible, but he refused to strop striving for a return to the glory days. Ipn Shal would rise from the ashes again, hopefully with better results than the previous version. Whatever he managed to glean from Artiss Gran and Trennaron only furthered his cause, provided they were able to stop the dark gods from returning.

Momentary darkness blinded him. He stumbled from the depravation before his vision returned. Eyes wide open, Anienam gazed up at the pointed ceiling. Reflections of sparkling light dazzled the chamber. He’d seen many incredible, implausible sights over the course of his lifetime but nothing comparable to the vault of the Blud Hamr. Power resonated from the planet’s core, vibrating the ground subtly.

The short tunnel behind suddenly filled with Bahr and the others, all eager to catch a glimpse of the fabled weapon necessary to win the war. All expectations were dwarfed by the majesty of the hammer. Suspended through invisible nets of power, the Blud Hamr hung in the air, gently rotating. Old, leather straps were wrapped around the handle. Strange emblems were carved on the exposed black wood handle. Runes no living being on Malweir could remember. The massive head was roughly the size of a small boulder yet shaped and crafted into a block with sharp edges. Gems were crafted within the stone, lending a magical appearance unseen in any weapon since. Crisscrossing straps secured the stone to the handle, though Anienam suspected it was more than simple straps. A weapon of this stature was imbibed with more magic than a wizard of his caliber was capable of.

Artiss Gran halted beneath the hammer and turned. “Behold! The Blud Hamr. Only with this weapon can the Olagath Stone be destroyed. Only you, Groge, are able to wield it. You all are the first living souls to witness this sight in fifty thousand years. Take in the majesty. Let the power fill your weary hearts, give you strength, and open your minds. Purge your souls of impurity and venom. Only through total dedication to light, to justice, will you be able to succeed in your appointed task.”

“It’s a sight, that’s for sure, but now that I see it I don’t know if I have the proper strength to follow through,” Groge replied.

His mind raced back to their earlier conversation concerning the Olagath Stone. It was an artifact previously unmentioned by Anienam. Almost as old as the Blud Hamr, the Stone contained the misery of souls; forever suffering until the moment of release. If Amar Kit’han managed to fill the stone he and the other Dae’shan would be able to open the pathway between dimensions and bring forth the dark gods. The Stone needed to be destroyed in order to seal the rift. Getting the Olagath Stone away from the Dae’shan in time was another matter altogether.

“Each soul has different degrees of strength. You will find yours before the end, Groge of Venheim,” Artiss reassured him. “The time has come for you to claim your birthright. Step forward and take the hammer.”

Reluctance stiffened his twelve foot frame. Talking about doing it was one thing, reaching out to take it another matter altogether. None of his dreams adequately prepared him for the weight of what he
had
to do. He thought back to Joden’s teachings. The elder forge master was considered one of the wisest of their kind yet even he had no advice on what the young apprentice was going to encounter.

The young Giant gathered what courage remained and stepped up beside Artiss. He closed his eyes, whispering prayers to his god for strength. His hand rose in slow motion. Thick fingers curled around the hammer. Warmth spread through his body. Massive thunderclaps assaulted his eardrums. Spots of colors blossomed and collided before his eyes. The world went white.

The War Goes West

“Report, Sergeant.”

A crisp salute followed. “Sir, we followed a large body of tracks right up to the town’s border. There’s no doubt it was Badron and the Goblins.” Anger flashed behind his eyes. Speaking the words were nearly as bad as discovering the truth.

Piper idly scratched at the stubble irritating his jaw. He’d been hoping to catch his former king out in the open. “Is there a chance he hasn’t fled back to Delranan?”

“Doubtful but I’ll have the lads sneak in at dusk. We can move faster under cover of darkness. I didn’t notice any masts in the harbor though,” he added in afterthought.

That says it all. Our prey has escaped the trap. Rolnir won’t take this well, nor will young Aurec. It looks as if the war is going to continue on into spring
. “I want every house, building, and tavern thoroughly searched. Detain anyone who protests but ensure Rogscroft soldiers are the ones doing it. We don’t want to incite another rebellion. Cavalry will canvas the surrounding forests in the event Badron’s holed up waiting for a ship to come in. If he’s still in country I want him found and captured before dawn.”
This war has gone on long enough. We’re all strung out and ready to go home. Only, we can’t go home until Badron is removed. Of course then we have Harnin One Eye to deal with. Either way, we’ve got a hard road ahead
.

“Yes, Commander,” the sergeant said and saluted again and rode back towards his waiting troops.

Piper frowned deeply. The furrow creased his exposed forehead. Helmet strapped to his horse, Piper Joach enjoyed the momentary feel of the cold wind in his hair. He’d been in the field for far too long and, despite being borderline exhausted, wanted to end the campaign in Rogscroft personally. After all, he’d been in command of the first skirmish. It was only fitting he brought it all to a close. General Rolnir agreed with his point of view, thus sending a large contingent of soldiers north in a seemingly futile attempt at cutting off Badron’s escape route.

The port town of Dredl hadn’t suffered many effects of the war. It was a major sea port, for Rogscroft, and had a steady stream of supplies coming in throughout the course of the winter. Rudimentary defenses were established along the perimeter. Piper approved of the townsfolk wanting to protect their homes but their defenses were more than inadequate to keep out a force larger than a squad. Badron and his Goblins would have rolled through Dredl like a harsh winter storm.
Only there’s no sign of a struggle. No wreckage or debris. Not even a corpse in the snow. Where have you gone, Badron?

“Lieutenant Klevk, dispatch a team of runners back to General Rolnir. Inform him and the king that we have reached Dredl and there is no sign of our enemy.” He paused, knowing he should wait until the scouts returned with positive confirmation before sending a report back to headquarters. Misinformation might easily prove more damning to their cause. Still, Rolnir and Aurec needed up-to-date information in order to facilitate the execution of the next phase of the war. Piper felt trapped between the proverbial rock and hard place but was left with little real choice. The king needed to know.

* * * * *

Badron despised the salt spray coating his beard and cloak. He failed to see what his errant brother found appealing about the sea. It was too cold, too turbulent to accomplish much of anything. He didn’t recall the last time his stomach felt so rebellious. Three times since dawn he emptied his guts into the roiling sea. Harsh winds slashed through his clothing, digging deep to the bone. Nothing but dark water splashed and rolled for as far as his eyes could see. The boat would roll and sink if a bad storm came south, killing all aboard without a trace. Badron had grown to hate everything about the water in a very short period of time.

Six other boats trailed behind, stretched out for nearly a league. Each carried remnants of his once powerful army, now reduced to mere hundreds of half-starved survivors eager to get home or get revenge in equal amounts. None of them knew the truth of what awaited, the carnage and depravation Harnin committed in the name of his personal brand of justice. Many had lost families, loved ones. Their lands razed to the ground or taken by the crown in a greedy attempt at consolidating power. Delranan was no longer the kingdom they remembered. It had become much, much worse.

Whispered promises by the Dae’shan did little to assuage Badron’s grief. He only wanted what was best for his legacy when first undertaking the endeavor in Rogscroft. Necessity made him a harsh Man but he never wished for harm to befall his mighty kingdom. The desire to conquer Stelskor drove him forward while exposing a terrible flaw: Harnin One Eye. His former right hand had grown decadent, if all reports from Amar Kit’han were to be believed, and transformed Delranan into a fragment of itself.
The One Eye has much to answer for. I’ll crush the life from his throat with my bare hands
.

Badron harbored no illusions as to the state of his kingdom. If his own actions in Rogscroft were any indication, Delranan surely suffered worse, especially if the Dae’shan were involved. The king couldn’t prove it, but his instincts screamed Amar Kit’han and the other were playing both sides off each other. To what purpose he couldn’t figure out. There was an undeniable air of evil about the mysterious, hooded beings, though what their true intent in the north was went beyond his rationale.

Knowing would solve a great many issues but Badron detested being in their presence. His skin crawled each time the Dae’shan opened his mouth. How much hatred and venom could a single being contain before becoming consumed with his own fires? Badron briefly considered enlisting Grugnak and the Goblins to help take down the Dae’shan but the swarthy cave dwellers seemed intent on serving their dark masters. Frustrated, the deposed king of Delranan could do nothing more than stare off into the ocean and wish.

His thoughts turned to his daughter. Maleela was the unwanted child. The killer of his wife, her mother. Inadvertent as it might have been, she ruined all of his plans for life. He knew, without wanting to admit it, that he’d never have acted on his urges of conquest. Rogscroft would still be standing and Stelskor would still be an unspoken rival trapped on the far side of an imposing mountain range filled with the hostile Pell Darga. No harm would have befallen the north. Of course he had no way of knowing the depths of events unfolding around him.

Amar Kit’han never told him of the Dwarf rebellion the Dae’shan had incited. Or how an entire clan of Dwarves had fallen to the darkness. He didn’t know far along the quest to reclaim the Blud Hamr was, or if any of the heroes still drew breath. Fifty thousand battle-hungry Goblins were coming to change the face of the north for all times. The kingdoms of Men would fail and darkness would sweep across the world. All it required was a spark. A spark Badron had unwittingly lit when he ordered the Wolfsreik to march on Rogscroft.

He never regretted that decision. Stelskor had been a constant thorn in his side for decades, more so than his own brother. The two might have begun as friends but their friendly rivalry turned into jealousy, at least on Badron’s part. He wanted access to the central kingdoms of Malweir. The trade benefits would enhance his coffers and increase his standing among the ruling class. Rolnir’s betrayal robbed all that. The former king of Delranan was forced to slink away from his conquests and back into his own kingdom without getting caught. He’d been hunted all the way out of the capitol city to the coast and would assuredly be hunted from the moment he arrived in Delranan unless they found port somewhere along the coast that wasn’t being guarded.

The possibility was narrow. Much of the coast was filled with barren crags incapable of landing anything larger than a fishing vessel. Forests of thick pines blanketed the land for leagues inland, providing more than adequate protection against prying eyes. It would also conceal any spies, making the crossing dangerous. Badron wasn’t concerned with danger. It was the one constant that had been in his life since he attained adulthood and took the crown from his father. He relished the opportunity to engage in deceit as well as the occasional battle. The sad reality was he wasn’t prepared for either. He’d run his gambit but fell short. Now armies from three kingdoms were actively hunting him. Reaching Chadra Keep was going to prove more problematic than anything he had done up to this point.

“We’ll make landfall by tomorrow night if this storm blows out instead of in,” the captain mentioned idly.

His black hair was thinning and matted to his head. His beard had fragments of bone and worse burrowed all the way down to his chest. His eyes were hard and never stopped watching Badron. Thoughts of robbing the monarch and dumping his corpse into the frigid northern waters entertained him from the moment he agreed to contract. A Man like Badron wasn’t worth much in ransom so the captain would have to make do with robbing whatever he could take and be done with it.

No fool, Badron knew exactly the sort of Man he’d hired and fully expected to be confronted before making landfall. He grinned tightly. The captain didn’t know the Dae’shan was lurking below decks, clinging to the shadows and gathering information. He didn’t think Amar Kit’han was finished with him yet but couldn’t trust to complacency. Badron already had plans of his own. The moment the captain made his move, it would be his final on Malweir. Grugnak and a small contingent of Goblins were prepared to take over the ship, leaving just enough crew alive to pilot them ashore.

Badron nodded absently, his mind exploring the different possibilities ahead. “Have you a place large enough and secretive enough to put us in?”

“Aye. The coast is rocky but there are small bays and draws capable of landing our boarding craft. I’ll get you back on dry ground no problem, so long as you pay what you promised,” he added with latent threat.

Typical. Thieves always think of their purses before their necks
. “You’ll be paid in fullfor your services, Captain. All you have to do is get us there without being spotted.”

He dismissed Badron with a flip of his hair. “Shouldn’t be too hard. Delranan doesn’t have a navy, nothing worth worrying about that is.”

A problem I am going to have to remedy when I regain the throne. Men like you are the scum on the bottom of my boots
. “We’ve never had great need for one. Who needs to worry over pirates or raiders when I have a ten-thousand-Man army at my fingers?”

The captain laughed. “Had. Last I heard those Wolf soldiers had gone over to the enemy and left you high and dry with this pack of gray skins. Seems a damned shame for a king to lose everything and get left with the scraps.”

“Circumstances don’t stay the same for very long,” Badron replied tartly. “The day is fast approaching when all of the north shall fear my name again.”

Hiding his concern, the captain played off Badron as being arrogant. “Words don’t win kingdoms. Your enemies are lining up to have a go at your throat. Delranan is a dark place these days. Lots of evil deeds and folk moving about. What with the plague I’m surprised there’s anything left worth owning.”

“What plague?” Instant concern sparked his attention.

“You hadn’t heard?”

Badron shook his head. “Tell me.”

“A few weeks back there was a terrible plague that swept through the kingdom. I heard it began in Chadra and pushed outward. Hundreds died in the first few days. Thousands more in the following weeks. Between that and the rebellion I’m guessing a large portion of the population is lost.”

Badron felt true pain in his heart, though he refused to show it. He’d given Delranan his life only to see it all fall to ruin. He listened as the captain explained all that had occurred since the war in Rogscroft began. It seemed almost too surreal despite everything he’d done and been through. He truly was the ruler of an empire of bones. Images of fields of sun-bleached skeletons haunted him as the captain talked. He didn’t know what to do. How to make it all better. Life had spiraled out of his control.

He still had the ability to change it all. To reclaim the stolen glory in the name of his family’s honor. Delranan would be great again. He’d raise another army, more powerful than the first. Any who’d oppose him would be swept away like flotsam on the tides. A new dawn was approaching, one in which the house of Badron would awaken and find itself strong. Killing Harnin was but the first step.

Badron walked away while the captain was in midsentence. Waves crashed against the hull as the ship drove closer to Delranan and the new front of the war.

* * * * *

Grugnak spied the conversation from his bolt hole just under the quarterdeck. Too much sunlight and the natural revulsion exhibited by the crew all but confined the Goblins below decks. Being back in the gloom comforted many, Grugnak included. He’d been away from the Deadlands for too long. Walking amongst Men in the open chafed at his instincts. Goblins belonged in darkness. It was the purpose of their existence. Any opportunity he found to return to the darkness was a welcome respite.

Badron’s words echoed in his mind. The Dae’shan never bothered explaining their purpose or reasoning. Grugnak didn’t care. He’d been given the opportunity to travel unhindered into a kingdom of Man to plunder and kill as much as possible without reprisal. It had been grand for a time, until the wolf soldiers turned on their king and persecuted the Goblins. Now they were both hunted. Badron lost his army while Grugnak’s was all but destroyed. There wasn’t enough time left in his life to extract the necessary amount of revenge. Still, the Goblin commander had a special dagger reserved for Badron the moment he was no longer necessary. Silently, patiently, the Goblin listened, watched, and waited.