T Lain - The Sundered Arms

They climbed down to find their way up.

Below the fungus-choked caverns they found even more natural passages, some leading to ancient stores chiseled out of the limestone, others twisting away in patterns known only to the gods of earth and stone. Veins of minerals shot through the bedrock to form graceful shapes on the walls, tendrils of pale blue and deep red with glittering flecks.

Where the dwarves had carved their own passages, there was no less beauty. Even after centuries of abandonment and the smut of generations of vermin, the stonework remained strong and glorious, with artful flourishes at every arched portal. Symmetrical dwarven braids lined the corridors. The perfectly fitted floor tiles formed firm but elegant mosaic patterns. Twice they found basins filled with spring water jutting from the walls. The contents of one were murky, but the second looked clear and pure. No one dared to test the water while their own waterskins were still full.

Molds and slimes glistened on the walls, but Vadania declared most of them harmless. When a gray mass oozed out of a still pool and began tracking them, Tordek ordered a hasty retreat rather than expend their strength in an unnecessary fight.

They found stairs both ascending and descending, and they traveled upward around a grand spiral stair until they came to a closed wooden door. Neither rot nor infirmity of age was apparent on its grayed surface, which seemed to have drunk in the strength of stone over the centuries. The group moved quietly around the portal, communicating with gestures and the barest of whispers as Lidda knelt to listen at the seam between the door and the stone floor.

“Nothing,” she whispered in report. Still, the others remained quiet, weapons in hand. Lidda had loaned Karnoth a dagger, but her fine short sword remained handy in its scabbard.

The door’s great, metal lock was grown black with age, but Lidda produced a tiny oil tin and greased the ancient tumblers. Probing with a pair of picks and a strong piece of wire, she felt out the lock’s secrets. At first she attacked the job with a confident grin, but as the intricate workings of the lock defied her efforts, she bit down hard on the picks she held in her teeth. The others waited as patiently as they could, but it was well over twenty minutes later before they heard the last, satisfying click of success. Lidda returned her tools to their leather sheath and stood back, letting Tordek lead the way.

They found another barren passageway, this one dry and relatively free of floral infestation. The regular spacing of the doors along its length suggested a dormitory wing. Tordek looked to Karnoth for some sign of recognition.

“I’ve been through an area like this,” he whispered, “but not here. Maybe at the same level.”

Tordek nodded and led the way once more. Each time they spied a new turn in the corridor, he made a sign to cover the lights and crept forward alone, as quietly as his heavy armor would permit. He peered around the corners. When he spied no danger, he beckoned Karnoth to join him. The first few times, the old dwarf merely shook his head and shrugged. At last, however, he nodded in recognition.

“They brought me down from that stairway,” he said, pointing east.

From that point, their exploration became an exercise in stealth, made more tricky by the appearance of torches in wall sconces every ten feet or so. The light revealed two layers of crude writing on the walls, an ancient script drawn in thick, black runes covered by a far more recent scrawl in red and gray chalk. The latter was so prolific and hectic that it all but obliterated the older characters. Most of it was scribbling, but here and there were rude drawings of improbable pornography or boastful goblin mottoes. Devis paused to rub away some of the chalk and identify what lay beneath.

“Don’t bother,” said Tordek. “It is the curse that doomed this place, scratched on every wall once sanctified by the clerics. Its magic is long since expended, and its words mean nothing except to those whose corrupt souls still burn in the lowest hell for the evil that they nurtured here.”

“Oh,” said Devis, looking disappointed. He brightened slightly as he looked Tordek in the eye. “You know, that was pretty eloquent. Ever think about—?”

“No,” said Tordek.

Twice as they crept carefully up the lighted corridors, Lidda’s keen ears warned them of approaching goblins. Tordek’s fingers itched to throttle them one by one, but he smothered his desire and hid with the others as the ragged troops marched past. If they escorted another slave for the oubliette, he decided, he would abandon all subterfuge and slaughter them despite the risk of alarm. Fortunately for the goblins, they were merely changing the guard or patrolling incompetently.

“Hear that?” asked Lidda. Vadania was the first to nod, but soon after Tordek also heard the sound, a low, rhythmic bombination punctuated by muted tolling of iron striking iron.

Karnoth pointed up the passageway, indicating another rising stairway that ended in a solid double door. “Two chambers beyond lies the foundry. The way is well guarded, mostly to prevent escape. Still, you won’t get in without a fight.”

“I don’t mind a fight,” said Tordek, “but let us not endanger the prisoners needlessly. How many are there?”

“Thirty-two, if none have died since the goblins dragged me away.”

Tordek considered that number. “Are they fit for combat? Will they fight if armed?”

“A few, perhaps,” said Karnoth. “The goblins give us precious little time to rest, and those who falter share the fate from which you rescued me.”

“Tell us more about the layout of the forge. I would know the battlefield before we step upon it.”

The old dwarf nodded his endorsement of Tordek’s caution and described the circular forge area with a battery of sloping shafts into the mines. “There are five entrances to the main floor, one of them grander than the others. I have seen balconies on a higher level in the forge, but only the goblins go up there.”

“Let’s find them, then,” said Tordek. Once again he led the way, letting the stealthy Lidda scout the corners now that his darkvision was no longer an advantage. When they came to locked doors, Lidda listened for occupants on the other side before thwarting their mechanisms with her arsenal of picks. Each door took successively less time to unlock, as she became increasingly familiar with their type.

“There’s a master key for most of these,” she said. “Next time we see a goblin with a key ring, we should thump ’im.”

“Thump ’im at the very least,” agreed Tordek. His tone was far darker than his words.

“Why the grudge?” asked Devis. “I mean, I don’t like them, either. You’ve probably faced a lot of different foes over the years. I’m surprised that those little runts bother you so much. What is it with you and goblins?”

When Tordek did not immediately answer, Devis opened his mouth to voice another question, but Vadania put a hand on his shoulder and shook her head, No. The bard’s jaw jutted in a brief display of petulance, but he drew a deep breath and nodded, sighing.

After half an hour of furtive exploration, they found another passage to the upper level. This one was also well lighted but with wide braziers set deep into the walls at dwarf height. Their coals cast a red glow upon the carved ceiling while their smoke drifted up through narrow ventilation shafts cleverly hidden by the ornamentation. The ancient dwarven curses marked the walls, absent the goblin scrawl.

The sound from the forge was louder here, especially from around a bend at the far end of the corridor, past three doors on the right side of the passage, where two goblins stood before a grand door. Their gazes were fixed on some bright area around the corner, so they remained oblivious to the intruders.