T Lain - The Sundered Arms

He did not really hold her to blame, though. He was more than half certain the bard was overplaying his injury for more attention. The only reason Tordek did not say so was that he was sure his accusation would only generate more sympathy for the damned rascal.

Instead Tordek led them farther north, along a great cavern lined with long-abandoned homes and shops stripped of their original contents. Except for their subterranean location, the structures were not so different from the houses of the hill dwarves, who lived their lives above the ground. The only obvious difference was that the peaked roofs were reinforced for rockslides, not mere rain.

The cobbled streets smelled of dry rat dung, and the shredded remains of old spider webs waved in the gated air vents that remained open. From others, the stains of rain-soaked soil ran down the walls, and mounds of pebbles and dirt gathered at their bases, proof of the centuries of neglect the abandoned stronghold had endured. Now and then they found a few scattered bones, cracked and sucked dry of marrow. Centipedes and ants the size of Tordek’s thumb crawled away as their light approached.

They crossed a bridge over a vast chasm. Looking up, Tordek saw reflected light over another bridge high above. The silhouettes of two more bridges appeared between them and the light, showing that Andaron’s Delve was once far more than the shelter for a great smithy; it was a city unto itself. The distant echo of hammers drifted down from the heights, confirming his earlier estimate that they had plunged about three hundred yards below the foundry before splashing into the subterranean lake.

Lidda whistled low and appreciatively. “That’s some climb.”

Tordek nodded. “Unless their forces are far greater than we realized, they might never find us down here. Still, I would like to find a defensible room before we rest.”

No one argued that point.

They crossed the bridge and entered a region of wide avenues paved with hexagonal tiles. Grand fountains, cracked and filled with dust, formed a roundabout at every intersection, and between the ornate houses jutting from the stone stood great half-pillars carved in the likeness of dwarven heroes. Despite the strength of their construction, inexorable time had dropped stones, pulled apart the earth, and shaken the walls to form long cracks. Most of the buildings had even greater injuries, with entire rooms crumbled to gravel or roofs collapsed into the chambers they once sheltered from avalanche. One narrow alley between a pair of squat domiciles was completely filled with deep, red clay fallen from a rupture in the cavern. Condensation from the walls trickled down its length, forming a miserable little creek across the street.

Tordek led them past all the crumbling monuments to a square of temples surrounding a huge statue of Moradin above his anvil. The Soul Forger’s arm was raised above his head, but it ended just short of the elbow. Great fragments of his hammer and forearm lay tumbled on the street. Tordek knelt briefly and said a prayer to the great god of the dwarves, asking his pardon for this intrusion into accursed chambers and permission to take shelter within his once-holy refuge.

“How about this one?” said Lidda. She stood before a squat edifice with a row of scalloped columns for a facade. Unlike its neighbors, it had suffered few cracks, none larger than a snake could penetrate. Its walls looked thick and sturdy. Its only visible door was a great bronze portal turned dull green with age.

“If you can open that door,” said Tordek, “I’ll be impressed. That is a coin vault.”

“Ha,” said Lidda, bending her entwined fingers backward to crack her knuckles. “Brace yourself for being impressed.”

She set to work with an intensity Tordek had never before witnessed, exchanging picks every few moments as she quickly got a sense of the lock’s inner mechanism. When he saw her furtive glances to check whether Devis was watching her progress, he realized the source of her inspiration. He turned back to the broken statue of Moradin and made a silent prayer for endurance.

Lidda worked silently for half an hour, then the excuses began.

“There really is a lot of corrosion in here,” she said.

Devis complained of a pain in his neck, and Vadania massaged his shoulders. The druid didn’t seem to notice when Gulo whuffed indignantly and wandered out to explore the nearby buildings for vermin. Tordek wished he could go with the big fellow.

Lidda did a double take when she heard Devis sigh with pleasure and noticed the elf’s ministrations.

“Damn it!” she said. When everyone looked at her querulously, she hastily added, “Almost had it that time.”

Irritation made her difficult task downright impossible. Tordek saw her drop a pick and curse under her breath, so he decided to let her off the hook.

“Forget that lock,” he said. “It’s probably ruined, fused shut over the centuries.”

“No,” protested Lidda. “I’m going to show this bitch who’s boss.”

Tordek kept the smile off his face with a supreme effort. He knew it wasn’t the lock she was cursing.

Devis took his lute out from its bag and tuned it by ear. Vadania sat back to listen, and Lidda noticeably relaxed as the elf took her hands off the bard.

“I once knew a great lockpick,” said Devis, plucking out a tune that started slow and gradually picked up to a lively pace. He smiled at Lidda and added, “Not quite in your league, of course. In his land, he was known as the phantom, because he could pass through any door.”

Spend all the coins kept in your purse,

The phantom’s come to town.

Your vaults will go from bad to worse,

When he comes through the ground.

Lidda grinned and turned back to her task, a new gleam of determination in her eye. Tordek knew this sort of sport could cause trouble in the long run, but if it kept up her spirits while she was helping them find shelter, he had nothing to say about it.

They laid a trap in every house,

But he was warned before.

Their cage was bare but for a mouse,

And he was out the door.

The lyrics didn’t get any better, but at least he sang it quietly. Tordek had to admit that the lad could carry a tune. Maybe later he would teach him some proper dwarven drinking songs, if there was a later for them all.

“I got it!” cried Lidda exuberantly. When she realized how loud she had been, she grimaced her apology and whispered, “See? Are you impressed now, Tordek?”

“I’m impressed,” said Devis. He stowed his lute and made for the unlocked vault door, pausing only to give the halfling a congratulatory kiss on the cheek.

Tordek looked to see what reaction Vadania had to this turn of events, but the elf’s serene face was unreadable. To Tordek, that composure was more frightening than any sign of ire.

“Let’s go in,” he said. “Carefully.”

The outer vault was merely the entrance to a wide hall of individual repositories, each sealed by a much more impressive, much less ornate iron door. Once Gulo ambled in to join them, Tordek made sure the door opened with a latch from the inside and pushed it closed.

“At last,” he said, “we can get some proper rest.”

He spied Lidda standing beside one of the iron vaults. Upon the wall was a row of short, iron levers and four corroded wheels. Lidda reached for one of the handles.

“I wonder what happens if I pull this lever…”

“No!” shouted Tordek, Devis, and Vadania in unison.

“I was only kidding!” she said. “Gee, I’d think you could trust me by now.”

“How should we know when you’re joking?” said Tordek. “You’re a halfling.”

“Yeah, a halfling, not a moron!”

“What’s the diff—?” began Tordek in an innocent tone.