Lorik bent down to look at them. What he saw appeared to be the footprints of several creatures passing through the corridor. Taking the light from Aaron, he pressed his face to the floor to examine the prints more thoroughly.
Lorik carefully traced his fingers along the edge of the tracks. “I’ve never seen a print like this,” he said. “Look here, they’re unevenly spaced and each one leaves a mark as if it has a talon-claw where a heel should be.”
“What do you think?” asked Aaron.
“I don’t know. I would say that there were several down here… perhaps a dozen or more, but I couldn’t begin to tell you what kind of creatures they are. Garam or Braden might be able to identify them.”
“Garam, Braden,” Aaron said, “we need you to identify some footprints.”
“Indeed, Captain,” Garam replied. Both dwarves stood and went to where Aaron had seen the marks.
Garam looked down at the imprints in the dust on the floor. “I’ve never seen anything like these. But I have never been out of Brekken Dahl.”
Braden, however, seemed to know exactly what they were and began to tremble as he stared at them. “These were made by creatures called gremellaks.”
Standing next to the captain, Lorik sighed. “Oh, great, something else we’ve never heard of.” He looked at Aaron. “At least we’re still heading south; these tracks clearly lead down the eastern corridor.”
Braden shook his head. “I don’t think you understand. Gremellaks are creatures that mainly live underground, cave dwellers who despise anyone trespassing in their dens. They are not very intelligent but they run in great numbers. Their talons can rip the best armor to shreds and can tear through flesh like melted wax. They are smaller than trolls, but just as ferocious. I don’t care what tunnel we head down, if they discover our scent they will be on us like a swarm.”
Lorik looked at the dwarf. “Have you come across these creatures?”
“Yes, I have,” Braden responded. “They were said to only live in the Kanton Mountains. We discovered a den of them while on an expedition. I didn’t think that they could cross the expanse of the wastes between here and there.”
“Based on these tracks, I would say they have,” said Aaron. “We still need rest, but we must post a watch through the night. I will take the first watch, Lorik the second, then Garam, and Braden. Two hour watches, no longer.”
Since Garam had given up trying to start a fire, they put the illumine stones in their vest pockets. In complete darkness, the four sat silent. Braden and Lorik quickly fell asleep, their heavy breathing the only sound that filled the cramped space. Soon after, Garam also fell asleep, restless even as he slumbered. Aaron sat just outside the small alcove and listened for any sound, any patter of feet to indicate that some creature was approaching.
A crisp breath of air whispered through the catacombs, reminiscent of the wind that would steal in through the cracks of his old orphanage. His heart thumped in his chest as he recalled his childhood, but he willed himself to dismiss the foolish fears of his adolescent days. Time trudged on and finally the moment arrived to wake Lorik.
The night passed for each of them with the same, silent vigil. No motion, no sound, nothing to indicate that any creature was aware of their travels through the gloomy halls under the Shattered Hills. Braden, having taken the last watch, woke the other three when his two hours had passed, and they all ate silently in the small cave. Collecting their gear, they entered the southern corridor, their stones lighting the way.
Having spent the entire night in absolute darkness, the stones seemed extraordinarily bright. Each one welcomed the illumination as they hurriedly marched up the southern passage, anxious to find their way out from under the earth. As they traveled, they soon discovered that they were walking uphill. The pitch of the floor was slight but it offered a welcome indication that they finally began ascending to the surface. It enlivened all four of them, knowing that they would soon be out of the dark, dismal catacombs.
The way grew steeper as they journeyed so that they panted with the exertion. His muscles burned, but Aaron ignored the strain as he willed each step. The hallway was plain, simple stone, carved out of the granite. Flecks of gold and silver flickered in the passing light of the illumine stones when all of a sudden the wall disappeared in front of them and opened into another massive room.
Their lights were far too dim to see the expanse of the hall they had entered, but towering pillars and massive stone statues stood within reach of the light. Large tapestries, tattered and worn, their images faded and marred by time, still hung with gold chains upon the wall. A pale, white light glowed far to their left.
“Men,” said Aaron, “I think we’ve found our exit!” His enthusiasm resounded in his tired voice. The others patted one another’s backs in excitement, but their joy was short lived.
From behind them, coming up the corridor like the sound of hundreds of clattering stones, echoed the dreadful approach of unseen pursuers. The sound thundered in their ears and their hearts sank, fearing that they would be caught before they could escape.
“They’re upon us!” Lorik shouted.
Aaron drew his sword and it rang from its sheath as he rushed to stand with his sergeant. In the dim glow, he threw himself into the battle, where Lorik fought against more than a dozen diminutive adversaries. The gremellaks wore no more than a jerkin, bound with a leather belt, and they wielded short serrated swords. Their eyes glowed with a greenish-yellow light, and their hands and legs looked thin and stretched. The creatures emanated a stench like rotting flesh. In a moment Aaron and Lorik were completely engulfed by the swarming throng. The soldier’s battled valiantly as they parried and slashed at their attackers.
Braden and Garam rushed to Aaron and Lorik’s defense, swinging their battle-axes with incredible skill. Together they fought with desperation, fending off the gremellaks until the four companions were the only ones standing. A dozen gremellaks lay strewn across the floor, bloodied and dead. Blood trickled from a gash on Braden’s arm, and Lorik could barely wield his sword for the exertion.
“We’ve got to move!” Aaron shouted to the three others. He held Lorik and helped him through the hall. The four of them ran as fast as their weary legs could carry them, muscles burning from exertion. From behind them came the rumbling noise of the approaching hoard—a second wave.
Broken statues and fallen stones littered the floor as they weaved their way through the debris. Drawing nearer the source of light, Aaron hoped that it was a corridor of stairs leading to the surface. A piercing cry went up behind them and they turned to see dozens of green glowing orbs weaving and bobbing up and down, drawing closer with every step. With Aaron’s help, Lorik ran toward their only escape. Braden followed close behind, agile and deft in the underground room, with Garam last of all.
****
The three others couldn’t see it, but Garam did! A large, shadowy figure stood just before the stairwell, mocking and laughing at him. Aaron, Lorik, and Braden ran right through the shadow, unaware of its presence. Garam was caught and stood in stark fear, just three paces from the stairwell and freedom. The gremellaks rushed in from behind and threw him to the ground; his axe flew from his grip.
Serrated swords slashed at his body, cutting his beard and ripping flesh from his arms and legs as he desperately tried to fend off each blow. Above him, Garam could hear the mocking hatred that issued from the wraith’s laughter. He was finished. Struggling against a dozen foes, he writhed and twisted to grasp his weapon which had fallen just beyond his reach.
Then, from somewhere in the distance like the echo of a memory, Garam heard the sound of a dwarf’s battle-cry and in an instant three gremellaks fell, their heads severed from their necks. Through blood-soaked eyes Garam watched Braden, standing over him like a battle-dwarf of old, fierce and powerful. One after another of the gremellaks fell to Braden’s blade. The falling hoard tried to attack but was no match for Braden’s ferocity… and then Garam lost consciousness.
Garam woke as searing pain wracked his entire body. His chest felt like it was being crushed; he fought for every shallow breath, and he could feel life oozing out of multiple open wounds. Above him the faces of his three companions gazed down at him; expressions of sorrow filled their eyes with unabated tears. A cool wind blew across his face, carrying with it the scent of pine. “Are… are we out of the cave?” he asked, gasping with great difficulty for every word.
Aaron knelt beside the dwarf. “Yes, we made it safely to the southern edge of the Shattered Hills.” The captain choked back his grief as he clutched Garam’s hand. “You’ve led us well.”
“How… how did I make it out?” Garam struggled to ask.
“Braden… he realized that you were not among us and went back down the stairs to get you,” Aaron whispered.
Garam reached his hand toward Aaron’s face, motioning him to come closer. Aaron bent down with his ear to the Garam’s mouth.
“I… I’m, sorry.” With a long exhale Garam closed his eyes, and would never open them again.
****
Aaron didn’t try to stop the tears streaming down his cheeks. Finally, Lorik spoke up, “Captain, we should care for the body.”
Aaron nodded. “Yes,” he said, “of course.” Together the three companions gathered enough stones and, having placed Garam’s axe on his chest, they buried their fallen comrade. In silence they stood near the mound for what seemed like hours, motionless and grieving.
Aaron finally broke the stillness just as it started to rain. “It’s time to go.” Leaving behind their fallen companion, they turned and left the Shattered Hills.
4
A New Friend
Grey clouds hung heavy in the morning sky. A steady drizzle of rain continued as the three men looked down into the valley before them. They stood on a ridge and gazed south toward a large expanse of evergreen trees. The forest extended east and west as far as they could see in the dismal light of the winter rain. Farther south and beyond their view lay the massive expanse called the Waste. It was a dismal marshland, legendary for claiming countless lives, unsuitable for travel. To the west, the Shadow Mountains rose in splendor, the white peaks still in the grip of winter. While to the east the sun rose above the summit of the solitary Mount Sonna—a massive, ancient peak shrouded in the grey clouds of the morning.
Aaron led Lorik and Braden as they continued south, descending from the shattered hills along a rough, narrow path, winding and twisting ahead of them as it followed the contour of the hillside. Behind them the Shattered Hills, with their sharp crags and jagged cliffs stood in stark contrast to the pine forest that spread out over the narrow stretch of land between the hills and the Waste. The air was damp and cold and the sky dim as they continued. Though winter was nearly behind them they could still feel the icy hand of the season clinging to their bones.
For hours they walked in silence, no one mentioning their fallen comrade buried on the heights. Whether it was from the grey, dreary day or how their sojourn under the earth finally ended, Aaron felt the weight of despair clinging to his thoughts.
Step by step they descended the slope, drawing closer to the forest before them. Small, stunted trees dotted the landscape they passed through, brief signs of life on an otherwise lifeless terrain. The forest, however, was a welcome sight for the three men who had spent four days wandering under the earth.
Lorik finally broke the silence. “Braden,” he asked, “how are your wounds? Has your arm stopped bleeding?”
Braden’s arm was bandaged with cloth, soaked red with blood from a slash wound when he was struck by a gremellak’s sword. “If it wasn’t for your return into the cavern,” Braden said, “I don’t think that a slight flesh wound would have been my only concern.”
“Well, when I noticed you were gone, I had to go and find you. Then, when I watched as you fought against that horde of creatures, standing over Garam’s body, I couldn’t let you fight alone.”
“I only wished we could have saved Garam,” Braden said, his voice low and filled with emotion. “But I think my arm will be okay. It burns a little, but that’s just from the wound.”
Farther down the path, Aaron kept a steady pace as he listened to the conversation behind him. Their descent from the Shattered Hills was unhindered, and they made their way to the woods quite rapidly. No grasses grew along the stony trail; no briars or other brush seemed to decorate the rocky path, only the occasional pine and fir tree seemed to be able to forge a life from the hard, cold mountainside.
After another hour the trail led them from the hills to the edge of the forest. Looking back, far in the distance they could barely see the high platform where Garam lay buried. The sun broke through the clouds as the rain, which had steadily soaked them, finally relented. The sweet scent of pine hung in the air and brought a freshness to the atmosphere. Ahead of them the thin, spindly trees provided little cover from watching eyes. Now that they were out of the caverns and in the open, Aaron became increasingly cautious, wanting to keep his small party as secretive as possible.
Deeper into the woods the trees grew thick, and the undergrowth hid any path that might have been made through the forest. The three companions took a moment to rest and eat a bit of lunch, weary from the long march. A sense of dread stirred in Aaron’s thoughts and he grew anxious as he considered what mysteries lay hidden in the long-forgotten forest.
Sitting on a fallen tree, the three men took to lightening their hearts with tales from their past. Braden chuckled as Lorik regaled him with stories of the captain’s former days, when Aaron was a young soldier in the ranks of the Royal Guard.
“When I first met the captain,” Lorik smiled as he remembered, “he was so young and scrawny that we couldn’t find a uniform that would fit him properly! He walked around for three months looking like some jester in an oversized outfit. During drills, when the young men were learning how to march, this poor kid would seem to trip over his own shadow!” Aaron chuckled as Lorik recounted his early days as a soldier. “But I’ll tell you this, my dwarf friend,” the sergeant continued, “I’ve never seen a more determined person in my life. It wasn’t long before he was outdoing the older guard.” Lorik took a deep breath. “I knew that someday this young, clumsy lad would make captain… and so he did.”