T Lain - The Sundered Arms

Spitting, he turned just in time to see the second crawler arrive. Devis was already there, the faint shimmering of his mage armor surrounding his body. He thrust cautiously with his longsword, trying to keep the monster at bay. The worm hissed furiously, its poisoned tendrils wriggling in a fan beneath its huge jaws. Its eyestalks were perfectly erect, craning to spy the body of its mate.

Tordek stepped over the fallen dwarf and the paralyzed Vadania. He felt bones crunch under the soles of his boots and almost tripped. A mighty chop at the furious worm severed two of its tendrils as they slipped down to snatch at the dwarf’s legs. A few more stuck, and he felt their brief tug at his armored legs.

Lidda put another arrow in the beast’s flank. Devis drew a dark slash along its skull, right between the eyestalks. The crawler lunged for him, and the half-elf stepped deftly aside. The attack brought the creature’s head well past Tordek’s blade, and the result was inevitable.

The axe swung down and bit halfway through the monster’s neck. With another powerful chop, Tordek severed its head from its nine-foot body.

Lidda climbed to the top of a nearby mushroom to look out for further attacks. Devis stabbed his sword into the ground and knelt beside Vadania, who gagged pitifully beside the corpse of the first crawler. Its spilled guts smelled revolting.

“You thought they smelled bad on the outside,” quipped Devis, smiling down at her as he held up her head and carefully wiped away the slime on her face. He moved her gently off the fallen dwarf and tried making her comfortable while the effects of the paralysis wore off.

Tordek knelt beside the graybeard. The old dwarf was breathing, but just barely. Vadania’s quick action had undoubtedly saved his life, but if he did not receive more help soon, he would not live to thank her. Tordek said as much to Devis, who nodded and reluctantly left Vadania’s side. Again he sang as his hand made a theatrical flourish over the graybeard’s face and chest:

Sinew knit and flesh restore,

Render this poor fellow whole.

A rosy glow briefly suffused the dwarf’s face, and the bruises on his forehead faded with the light.

“That doesn’t rhyme,” commented Lidda from her perch.

“It’s known as near rhyme to those of us in the arts,” said Devis. “Anyway, it works.”

“Calls himself a bard,” snorted Lidda. She kept scanning the surrounding darkness and glanced frequently at the portal above.

The dwarf shifted and snuffled then blinked.

“You are safe, grandfather,” Tordek said in the dwarven tongue. He offered the graybeard his waterskin. The old dwarf took a long look at Tordek’s face. He looked around at the others and seemed satisfied that it was a rescue, not a ruse.

“I am Karnoth of Oak Dale,” he replied in the same language. “Son of Brandok Iron-Monger, grandson of Helsa of the Flaxen Hair.”

Tordek introduced himself and his companions using the Common tongue.

“Why have you come to Andaron’s Delve?” asked Karnoth. Lidda and Devis bristled at his suspicious tone, but Tordek liked the dwarf’s reticence. It was wise.

“Not to stoke ancient curses,” said Tordek, “but to stop those who would.”

The gray-bearded dwarf nodded his approval. “I will help you as I am able.”

“Tell us how you came here.”

Karnoth’s tale was not surprising to those who had heard the tale of Croaker Norge. More than a month earlier, insect-riding goblins and powerful monsters attacked his village. They captured as many able-bodied workers as they had shackles to bind them, slaying the rest along with the children and the infirm. Retired from the smithy for decades, Karnoth had been sure he would be murdered, but when the goblins learned that he was a blacksmith, they spared his life. After the long march from their ruined homes, the predominantly human survivors passed through an excavation on the top of Jorgund Peak and descended into Andaron’s Delve. On the way down, they passed a small army of goblins reinforced by giants and eventually joined dozens of other captives.

Vadania stirred, and Devis was at her side, helping her to sit up.

“Why did they throw you down here?”

“I refused to work,” said Karnoth. “Some of the others did the same, but the goblins were crafty enough to capture at least one member of each smith’s family. Those who refused to work watched their sons and daughters tormented to death then thrown down into this pit.”

He said nothing else for a minute, and Tordek looked away out of respect for what Karnoth was leaving unsaid.

“Didn’t they have any of your family?” asked Lidda at last.

Tordek silently cursed her inquisitive little heart, but in truth he too wondered about that question.

“My grandson,” said Karnoth. “He was a valuable dwarf.”

Tordek thought about the bones he had trod upon earlier and understood the full meaning of Karnoth’s term, even in the Common tongue. Among dwarves—especially dwarven blacksmiths—“valuable” was a term exceeding even “honorable.” A valuable dwarf would never consent to perform any task that would harm his kin or any other dwarven clan.

“I could not shame him by agreeing to their demands. They wished that I should ignite the dead coals within the Forge of Andaron.”

“How could you do that?” asked Devis. “The stories tell that the forge was cursed to hold no fire.”

“No earthly fire,” corrected Karnoth. “There are dwarven ways, and I know some of them. It does not matter now. They have done what I refused to do. There is a dragon-spawn with them. He breathed into the forge and set it leaping with unholy flame. Once I saw him grasp a blade still glowing from the forge, and it did not burn him. They call him Zagreb.”

“Is he the leader?” asked Tordek.

“No,” said Karnoth. “He is the one who oversees the forge. He answers to an enormous goblin with skin as blue as slate. He is attended by a ghost-pale elf. I do not think she breathes. Her name is Sandrine.”

“Aha!” said Devis. “That’s where she went.”

“There is also some little fiend who delights in tormenting the prisoners. Zagreb calls him Yupa. Whenever the imp torments the wrong prisoner to death, Zagreb threatens to feed him to something called Murdark.”

“Some thing?” said Devis.

“None of us has seen it,” said Karnoth. “They say it prowls the lower caverns in search of food.”

“Um,” said Lidda. She looked up at the unhewn stone that arched above them. Water glistened on its dark surface, and from its crags hung streaks of black and red moss like wet fur from some gargantuan animal’s belly. “Aren’t these the lower caverns?”

The dwarf shrugged. “I have seen only the forge and a few nearby chambers, but I think there are even greater depths to this place. I hope that is where Murdark prowls.”

“Can you lead us back to the forge?” asked Tordek.

Karnoth nodded slowly. “I think so. What will you do when you reach it?”

“Do you know why they have relit the forge?” asked Tordek.

Karnoth nodded, not daring to say the truth aloud in this place. “They have begun their fell work. They kept me alive after forcing me to watch Yupa torment my grandson to death. Since then they have set me to menial chores. Because my work helped ease the suffering of my fellow captives, I obeyed. It was when I refused to work the bellows that they finally dragged me down here.”

“Which of the Arms of Andaron have they brought to reforge? Is it the hammer?”

The old dwarf gaped at him. “You did not know before you came?”

“Know what?” asked Tordek.

Karnoth swallowed. “They brought them all.”