Martin Hengst - The Darkest Hour

The corridors of the Warrens were not easy to navigate in his condition. The passages were made for padded feet and claw to find purchase and the tip of the crutch often slipped one direction or the other, forcing Zarfensis to fight for his balance. Their descent was agonizingly slow, but they eventually entered the lower caverns where the workshops were located. They were fortunate that the Chosen were so reduced in number. They encountered no one else on their way to the workshop.

Greneks, appearing from the tunnel behind Zarfensis, squealed with delight and dashed past the startled Xarundi and through the archway into the first of several workshops spread out along the cavern wall.

When Zarfensis managed to catch up, he found the technician climbing head first into a trash bin. With only his ankles visible, the gnome chattered away to himself, the bin making the sound echo hollowly.

An arm appeared, tossing debris out of the bin. The High Priest couldn’t imagine what the gnome wanted with these long broken machines, but he remained silent. Before long, the gnome climbed out of the container and dashed down the cavern to the next workshop. There he climbed into another bin of discards.

Twice more Greneks repeated the performance. Each item he tossed items out of the bins and into a pile. Still in the last bin, the technician’s head popped up over the side and he grinned, a wide smile stretching from ear to bat-like ear.

“So many treasures!” he said happily. “Much material to work with. You will have your device, yes.”

"When will you begin?" Zarfensis asked. He was tired and his arm was sore from leaning on the crutch too long and too often.

"Has already begun, yes! In the finding. Will begin with the making straight away."

Without another word, the gnome leaped from the bin and began to scamper back and forth between the piles, sorting the parts into smaller piles that the Xarundi couldn't hope to understand. He beckoned to an adolescent Chosen who had stopped tinkering with a machine of his own and was watching the gnome curiously.

"Yes, Your Holiness?"

"Keep an eye on that…creature. If he asks for anything, please see that he gets it. I'll be in my warren."

"As you command, Your Holiness."

Zarfensis suspected that if the gnome knew half as much as he was purported to, that the young Chosen might find himself apprenticing to the loathsome creature. He chastised himself for such an obscene thought and began the laborious trek to his warren.

Repugnant as it was, if Greneks could deliver what he promised, things would rapidly turn around within the Warrens. With two good legs, he would be as fearsome as ever and he would remind all of them of their place.

* * *

No longer permitted in his traditional quarters, Zarfensis kept a small warren in the upper tunnels. Although the climb was greatly hampered by his crutch, he was in better spirits than when he had descended. However, by the time Zarfensis reached the warren, all he wanted to do was tuck his nose under his tail and go to sleep. Alas, that was not to be the case. His sensitive nose picked up the smell of another Chosen as soon as he neared his quarters. Xenir was waiting for him.

The Warleader's tail twitched vigorously, his ears flicking forward and back. The tells of his anticipation were as evident as the burning excitement in his one good eye. The blue fire positively danced with delight.

“I have news, Your Holiness,” Xenir said without preamble. “The northwestern team has sent back a runner. During one of the supply raids, they found the passage I saw in my vision.”

The High Priest lowered himself into a chair, propping the crutch against the wall beside him. That motion had become all too comfortable, almost a habit. Hopefully, soon, it would be a habit to be broken.

“Any idea what we might be chasing here, Xenir?”

The Warleader shook his head, visibly aggravated. “No, Your Holiness. Only that there is an object of immense power somewhere in the north, buried in the ice. I know it isn’t much to go on, but this vision is strong and it is insistent.”

Zarfensis rubbed his muzzle with both hands. He was so tired. Still, if Xenir's vision were accurate, they would have an item powerful enough to ensure that no one challenged their rule of the Chosen again. The risk they took in sending out raiding parties without the knowledge or consent of the council was great. However, if the raiders had located the tunnel that Xenir saw in his vision, the reward could be greater. He had no reason to doubt the Warleader. He had, after all, foretold their defeat at the hands of the Imperium.

“Then perhaps it’s time we consulted the Deep Oracle,” Zarfensis sighed.

Xenir tucked his tail between his legs, his ears laid back and his gums pulled up over his teeth. The stink of his fear was becoming more pervasive by the second.

“Is that…” Xenir licked his maw nervously. “Is that necessary?”

“Yes, Warleader, I believe it is.” Zarfensis could understand the Warleader's reluctance.

Buried in the deepest bowels of the Warrens, the Deep Oracle was an ancient spirit of immeasurable power. Zarfensis could count on one hand the number of times the Oracle had been consulted in the written history of the Chosen. It was an insidious thing, trapped there by a powerful shaman long ago with magic that had since been lost to the Xarundi. Its hunger for power could only be fed by runedust. The more it fed, the more powerful it was. The more powerful it was, the higher the chance that it might find a way to escape.

Consulting the Deep Oracle wasn't something to be considered lightly, but if there were an ancient relic buried somewhere in the north, it was likely that the Oracle would know of it.

“That journey isn't well managed on one leg, Your Holiness.” Xenir's tone was apologetic.

“That might not be as much of an issue as you think, Xenir.” Zarfensis replied, his eyes flicking to the doorway where the adolescent Xarundi from the workshop had just appeared. “Yes?”

“The gnome wishes to see you, Your Holiness.”

Zarfensis was startled. “So soon? Did something go wrong?”

“It-“ The youngster had dropped his jaw in a grin. “You need to go see for yourself, High Priest. It is most impressive.”

“A gnome?” Xenir was aghast. “In the Warrens?”

Zarfensis struggled to his foot, tucking the crutch under his arm. He nodded at the Warleader. “A means to an end, my old friend.”

He dismissed the adolescent and turned to Xenir.

“The journey back down to the workshops will go faster with two. Will you accompany me, Brother?”

“Of course Your Holiness.”

* * *

The thing that sat on the floor of the workshop only vaguely resembled his missing leg. In fact, the most familiar part of the contraption was the large set of articulated claws at the end of the device. The rest of it was a mass of tubes, valves, and rods, connected by bundles of thick black cording. Xenir looked dubiously at the device. Zarfensis couldn't blame him.

Greneks, however, was delighted. He danced back and forth from one foot to the other, his large, thin fingers dancing to and fro in time to his antics. The High Priest thought that the little creature must have lost its mind.

"Is very good!" He said, his large eyes twinkling. "Is very good indeed. Much success with the finding and making. You will be a proud warrior again!"

"That remains to be seen," Zarfensis countered gruffly. "This looks as if a strong breeze would blow it to pieces."

Xenir chuckled and the gnome's ears went red. His eyes narrowed and he stabbed a narrow finger in the direction of the High Priest.

"You know nothing, Xarundi. The device is not attached and activated." He paused, peering at the large predator. "Perhaps if you lack such faith, I should just push the whole works into the furnace!"