Douglas Niles - Lord of the Rose

The man twisted the hilt of his great sword as he slashed the long blade through the air. Flames burst, hot and blue, along its metal edge, light spilling through the shadows, revealing a door before him. The man struck one side of the wall, then the other, with the fiery blade. Flames surged eagerly into the dried logs, licking upward, spreading.

Dram stepped to his side, waving away the thickening smoke with the broad blade of his axe. He pointed at the fire-framed doorway. “Well, it looks like he got away. He musta gone through there.”

Tongues of flame still flickered along the long, broad sword blade. Raising it over his shoulder, turning his other side toward the door, the man gave a shout of frustration and brought his weapon around in a long swing. Flames and sparks trailed from the blade, lingering in the air. The sword struck the door and sliced through the stout, metal-banded boards as though they were a tapestry. With a grunt, followed by a sharp backswing and vertical slash, the man used the sword to carve his way through the locked door.

The bandit lord Cornellus stared at them through the hole, wild-eyed, deep within another cavernous room, this one a hall with many stout timbers, whole tree-trunks, supporting a lofty roof. The huge, blubbery half-ogre backed away from them as they kicked their way through the door. With a sudden move he lunged for a piece of lumber and lifted it like a club.

“Stay back!” he warned.

“Or what?” sneered Dram Feldspar, swaggering forward.

The man edged closer, waving his burning sword, then turned and chopped into one of the support pillars. Flames immediately took hold there, crackling eagerly, licking up the length of dry wood into the dry roof.

“You’re crazy, the both of you,” spat the bandit lord, watching the growing fire. “Let me out of here, or my retainers will take their vengeance. Even now, dozens of them are flocking outside, ready to kill you.”

“Why ain’t I scared?” the dwarf asked. He lunged, and Cornellus stumbled backward in his haste to elude the dwarf’s deadly axe.

The warrior followed close behind. His sword no longer blazed, though the blade still flickered and pulsed as if the fires lingered below the hard surface of the metal. He held the hilt in both hands.

“Tell us what you know about that shard,” the human said coldly. “You recognized it-I saw the spark in your greedy little eyes. You knew that Brilliss was the name of a gnome. If you tell us what you know, I might yet decide to let you live.”

“No! Yes! That is, perhaps there was a glimmer there, something I had heard rumored long ago,” stammered the half-ogre. He looked to either side of them, seeing no means of escape, no rescuers on their way, then back at his two tormentors. “The name… what was it again?”

“The part I can read is ‘Brilliss,’ but it looks like that’s only part of the word. What is the rest? Tell me!” The tip of the man’s mighty sword was raised and pointed at the bandit’s hammering heart.

“I–I can’t be sure. There was a band of gnomes that lived in these mountains one time, south of here. Every so often they would come here to trade. I believe they had a master named Brillissander Firesplasher or something like that. The first part of his name, anyway, I remember-it was something like Brilliss. You know how gnomes are with their names.”

“Aye,” the dwarf said, his axe poised. “Your memory is getting better. What about this Brillissander? Where is he nowadays?”

“Dead as far as I know, I swear it! The whole town-Dungarden they called it-was destroyed three years ago. It was underground, like a dwarf cavern-but full of gnomes. They were always working on foolish things. Dangerous, too! The whole heart of the place was ripped out, I think one of the dragon overlords went in there and devoured it.”

“Dead?” The dwarf scowled. “All of ’em? Not a single survivor?”

“Please-the whole town was destroyed! Firesplasher was killed! It wasn’t my fault.”

“Tell us about it,” the human pressed. “Even destruction such as you describe would not have claimed the lives of all who lived there. Where did the survivors go?”

“I don’t kn-!”

The advancing tip of the sword now pressed against Cornellus’s leather vest, sinking an inch into the soft flesh.

“Wait! Please!”

He held up his two fat hands, pleading. “There might have been a few who lived-gnomes are hardy souls, after all!”

“Where would these few survivors be?”

“I don’t-wait, there is one place perhaps. Yes, it’s the only one that makes sense. Caergoth!”

“Caergoth?” Dram spat contemptuously. “Why would they have gone to Caergoth?”

The human eased back on his sword, squinting at the blubbering bandit lord.

“The ghetto-they call it the ‘Gnome Ghetto.’ It’s a filthy place along the waterfront. No decent person would go there, but the gnomes are living there, teeming like rats! All gnomes are welcome there!”

“What makes you so certain?” the warrior rasped. “You are certain, aren’t you?”

“Because-all right, I admit it, because some of them came through here! I sold them two wagons and four oxen-there were twenty or thirty of the little wretches. All that was left of Dungarden. They needed wagons large and sturdy enough to get to Caergoth.”

“Are you telling us the truth finally?” demanded the dwarf, brandishing the axe and baring his teeth.

“I think he’s lying,” the man said, holding the blade steady.

“No, it’s the truth, I swear!” squawked the lord. “You said that you’d leave here, leave me alive if I told you the truth.”

“I did? No, uh-uh, sorry. I don’t recall saying that.” The warrior swung his sword back, and flames exploded along the whole of the metallic edge. Cornellus cried out and hurled himself backward, tumbling across the floor. The human raised his blazing weapon high, took a swing at the hulking bandit lord-and missed, distracted by his companion’s shout.

“To your right!” cried the dwarf, springing at the first of two or three draconians who crashed through part of the fire-weakened wall behind Cornellus. The winged creatures swarmed at them out of the dark, as the bandit lord shouted orders and curses and scrambled away.

With one axe blow, the dwarf dispatched the first draconian, who petrified instantly. The second one pounced atop the dwarf and bore him to the floor, snapping wildly with his huge jaws. The third kicked and stomped, but the human warrior materialized from behind, swinging his blazing sword, killing first the one atop Dram, then his gaping fellow. He kicked away the bodies as they began to petrify.

“Where’s Cornellus?” asked Dram, springing to his feet, axe still in hand.

The warrior peered ahead, realizing that the draconians had entered through a hidden storeroom. “There’s a door back there-he went out that way.” He started in that direction, his fiery sword raised over his head.

Above, flames roared through the ceiling, consuming the straw thatching overhead, sending cinders and ash spilling down into the warren of rooms. Smoke grew thicker, radiating heat. Burning straw and pieces of the ceiling fell, crackling and blazing, cascading sparks across the floor.

“Damn.” The man frowned then turned and hacked the blazing sword into one wooden support pillar, then another. Fire ran up the dried poles, crackling hungrily, adding to the rapidly growing conflagration.

The dwarf laid a firm hand on his elbow. “Wait!” Dram said urgently

“For what?” demanded the human.

They heard shouts, the stamping of running feet, cries of warning and fury. The man grimaced and shook his head as the dwarf looked into his face and spoke. “Time to get out of here.”