The Lone Wolf Saga: The Lone Wolf Page 9
Tressnou looked off into space, a stern expression on his brow. He was pondering this new dream. “I have a theory, but a loose one,” he said after a long moment, “Pyr is drow for fire I might add. That choice in name also made a difference to me while I thought. By your description it seems that a necromancer, the drow, is being possessed. The garb gives him away as a necromancer. He would have to be a relatively gifted and experienced necromancer to intercept the message. Though if a demon is possessing him, then his power and sensitivity to magic would be magnified beyond his own means.
“I am not sure what you know about demonic possession Artirius, but let me explain what I do. Some demons do not have the ability to take a particular form in our plane. What they do instead is seek out evil beings to take control of. They seek out powerful and intelligent things as a vessel to reside in. The vessel is more or less controlled by the demon. The possessed retains all of its abilities, controlled of course by the demon, and depending on the demon in question, whatever powers the demon may have. In some vessels they are limited because the creature cannot handle their power to their full extent. Now this is the last thing. The possessed being does not recall any of the happenings. It is basically in a dream.
“Now, as an evil elf it would be an intelligent target to possess, which would benefit the demon greatly. It would also be the best choice to sway the masses that are assembled here. He could show them power and they respect that above all else. Why he is choosing this place and this method I do not understand though. Realistically, if the dwarves opened up in combat against these forces they would be at the advantage. The dwarves in the region have a sizable army at their disposal as well as superior gear, arms and siege equipment, let alone tactics and knowledge of the region. The only reason would be to divert their attention. It is a common move for an intelligent tactician. Of course the beasts at our door would not be able to devise such plans alone.
“This is the most logical conclusion I can come up with. The demon possessing the drow, this Pyr, he wants open war. If we don’t handle this well, then the dwarven council will grant that, and try and purge the monsters they face in the north. If that happens then Pyr gets what he wants. We cannot have that. Given war, it would grant him the opportunity he desires. We must snuff this, Artirius. If only it were just the stupid creatures at our door then it would not be so complicated.”
Alone with Tressnou in Derril’s room the barbarian thought to himself a moment taking in what the elf had told him. After thinking he looked up from the bed he sat on and said, “Yes, but we still need to finish things here. Daelin would not give up this fight, or for that matter Derril. He would fight them alone to protect this place. If they did not have me they would work it one way or the other. For now let’s play this out here. The most important thing is getting to Atriel. Now that the demon knows of him it is important to move quickly. If we are lucky maybe I can put an end to Pyr’s plans-here, anyway.”
It was not often Tressnou did not know the answers and much more seldom someone else did. He looked toward Artirius curiously, “You have an idea then, friend?”
“Yes, just a long shot, we will see how it plays out. I will be the one to handle it though. No one else really can. I am less worried about what I face in a few hours than I am of getting to Atriel. He is meaning to me. He is purpose. What he knows may also be of utmost importance to all those of Norta Masa,” Artirius looked to the door silently. He was lost in that space. Time was not something he had much of, or at least that is how it felt. Anxiety could not be with him though, not now. He swallowed his emotions and centered his mind. His task at hand would not be simple. If he fouled, even slightly, he could end up dead in the halls.
Tressnou looked to the human, unsure as always as to his thoughts. Few humans, and only one barbarian, had ever been such deep thinkers as this one. He was so complex it baffled Tressnou. Granted he was not only of human descent. Titan blood, elven blood, and human blood, what an odd mix of cultures and histories. In him was a rare spawn of creation that Tressnou had never seen before. For all this though, he was still human, still dying in this world more each day. There was nothing to stop that. What affected Tressnou the most was that among all creatures living, he found himself bonded to this man. He loved him as a brother. He loved him more than any living elf. This man was wise not only for his age, but also for a human. He was honorable as the dwarf, without their need for glory. He did not want it. This man was good, simply and honestly good. Tressnou saw this in him and knew that he would help him as long as he was able.
“Well, we may as well see what our dwarven friends have accomplished while we both sat here and stared off into the space around us. I don’t think we can find anything else here,” Tressnou smiled at Artirius.
“Old, and wise,” Artirius nodded in return, “mostly old of course,” he winked.
“Better old and handsome than young and ugly,” the elf replied.
“Better off drunk,” both laughed at the barbarian’s words. If possible death lay at your feet, it might as well be a time to laugh. “Let’s go old friend,” the two got up, and went out to the main passage in the service quarters.
In the time Artirius had been asleep, the dwarves had accomplished much. Those that had been assigned to leave had already gone. The remaining dwarves had set to work on the ventilation systems above the entrance hall and thus far had no trouble whatsoever. They had established three drop points near the main doors leading to the outside, and when they dropped, each slab of stone would be about twenty feet long. Only thirty soldiers, ten per slab, would be able to fall initially, but others could follow quickly enough. This was not Deep Hollow. The ceilings here were no more than ten feet high, so the jump would not be hard. The berserkers were crammed in the area near the door Artirius would be using, some had to wait in the hall. The regulars and defenders would drop down the holes from above. Olie, Browlie, Daelin, Tressnou, and Bulzad would also join them there. Derril and Norrak would be going through the door. Artirius already knew his role in all this, so he was mostly content.
An hour before they planned to make their move, they ate. It was a good simple dwarven meal. Some roasted meat with potatoes and bread. Beer, of course, was used to toast the name of Maldor, ‘May his hammer fall on our enemies, swiftly and justly,’ as the prayer went.
“Daelin, the work in the vents is complete,” Derril informed the general.
“Good, good. Then let’s get up there. Remember, when the beasts start cheering and jeering, make sure to call it down the line and up to us in the vents so we can start cutting the rest of the way. We may hear them, but in case we don’t we need to know when it is safe to get to work. Alright then,” he began to call out those who were assigned to the vents, as he did the ones called for scurried up into the ceiling, “twins first. Next I need the defenders up, lets go. Bulzad, you are next. Well that leaves you and me Tressnou.”
“I will be coming too, if you do not mind,” Balic stepped forward, “You need thirty and as I count after you two there would be one spot left.”
“How noble,” Tressnou smiled down to Balic.
“Ah, nothing noble about it, if you die I don’t have a job anymore. Looking out for number one,” as he said that he pointed to himself. He walked by Tressnou and patted him as he did so. Up the to the ceiling he scurried.
“And to think I hired that dwarf, ah. Oh well we all make mistakes.”
Daelin looked to the corner of the room, “Tressnou, your staff?” As he saw the weapon leaning against one wall.
“To be honest it is a little bit too awkward to carry up here. Besides when I need it, it will come to me,” he looked to Artirius, “Good luck.” And up he went as well.
“All right son, you are it,” Daelin nodded to the massive man, “as the elf said, good luck.” He put out his arm and Artirius clasped it in the farewell shake. Up Daelin went, the regulars falling in line, too. Some went up to fill the vents behind the first dwarves that were assigned to
jump into the entrance hall, others waited below to relay the message up to those waiting. Artirius turned and walked to the hallway and to the sealed door that held the tidal wave of evil at bay. As he walked the dwarves all acknowledged him, some with pats, some with nods, and still others with respectful words. He was a man worthy of these things, though he did not want them. As he walked he thought to himself, ‘I could have been born a farmer, or to some baker, or something else. Sometimes I really wish I was, but then again, who would I be if I were not what I am.’ He chuckled at his silliness. He was not a philosopher and such play of words was not his tool. He looked at the hammer he clasped in his hand. This was his tool.
He arrived at the door and greeted Norrak and Derril. “All right then Art (Norrak found this a better name for the human and called him that) we’ll be here when the time comes. You all ready?”
“Yes,” was the short, simple reply.
“Be careful son, it is a dangerous place you put yourself in,” Derril looked to the man with concern of a father. Derril was very old. It instilled in him that fatherly aura for all those around him. “When you’re ready, we will open that door.”
Artirius grasped his hammer at his side. He stood before the doorway, “Ok, let us open it.” At that the dwarves activated the mechanisms to pull the stone slab into the ceiling, one grabbed the steel bar that lay across the door, and then another pulled the door open.
Nothing happened. They were waiting, just as Artirius thought they would. He took slow, steady, and deliberate steps. He was ten feet in the room, nothing still, but they were there. They were hiding he could tell, he could nearly smell the creatures. Though in a situation beyond dangerous, Artirius was not nervous in the least. His heart beat steady and true, as it always had and always did. At any second his plan could fail him and certain death would follow. These monsters, driven by this drow, may change their very nature, and simply smite him as he walked. Knowing all this, he took yet another step. He was nearly in the center of the hall. It was not the same as Deep Hollow. Not so majestic and awe inspiring as the capital of the dwarves, this was of course a mine. Artirius could see a passageway off to either side. In front of him the ten foot square entrance stood wide open. Pillars in the hall created shadows as torches burned in sconces. He took one more step, reaching the center of the room.
From the shadows an arrow flew. Artirius felt it as it came, he did not move but watched it come. He did not blink or flinch in the least. It hit the ground at his feet, just missing him. Another arrow came from the other side and the same thing happened. Artirius did not flinch. He smiled. Then he began to laugh lightly. Then he laughed a bit harder and harder in a deep brawny tone. He hoped the laugh had the desired effect. He prayed he understood his foes better then he thought he did. Luck was on his side.
Out from behind the pillars they moved in toward him. Orcs, gnolls, and now ogres were present. They surrounded him in a short span of time, forming a circle, staring at him with intense ferocity. They howled and grunted. Some drooled and snarled. They showed a bestial vigor. They wanted his blood. So far Artirius was correct, now as long as they all didn’t swallow him right now this may work. He held his head high and roared the battle cry of his people. It inspired terror in foes and empowered the user with great strength. The monsters all around him quieted for a moment. Then yelling picked up and out from the ranks a large orc stepped forward wielding an impressive great ax in its hands. In a gargling bubbly voice it attempted to speak in common tongue, but was very poor at it, “You, hueman. You diiie. I keelll you, eat you and steal soul, steal power. I be greatest and you be dead. You die now. Die, die, die, die….” He continued on ranting the same thing as he charged forward. He raised his ax high over head and brought it down.
Artirius’s hand caught the beast’s hands on the hilt of the weapon and stopped it in mid air. His other hand found the creatures neck. Artirius looked into the orc’s eyes. There was nothing but surprise and fear. The orc shook slightly, unsure what to do. Artirius looked over the creatures that would see him dead, so that they could consume him and drink his blood. They seemed like little more than ugly, savage beasts, hungry for a long overdue drink.
Again Artirius was right. It was time to handle this properly. He had to keep his audience entertained now so the dwarves could get to work. He lifted his head to the ceiling and laughed and howled. Then with a quick snap he broke the creature’s neck and threw him over the crowd of monsters. As the orc landed small cries came from the throng. The horde about him cheered and jeered loudly. They were held in the grasp of Artirius now. He knew that it would happen quickly, but he needed to drag this out and not kill them too fast. He would tire or may scare his enemies into just rushing him and finishing him out right. He was formidable, but taking on the hundreds, perhaps even a thousand at once was not wise even when they were pathetic. A lucky swipe, poke, or slash could end him. Dying was not really an option for the barbarian. So, it was time to play.
As another orc broke rank and came to him, he hoped that the dwarves were working, because the sounds were deafening in this room. He brushed aside the creature with one of his strong arms, and swung his hammer around behind his back with the other. The blow caught the creature solidly and sent him sprawling. A gnoll jumped over several orcs, and, snapping and snarling, swung its mace down hard. Artirius ducked the blow and with his great strength rammed the gnoll into the crowd. It stumbled and tripped over the much shorter orcs. Sensing the swing without looking, Artirius spun around with his hammer held by both hands, catching the ogre’s great club on the hilt of his weapon. With a spin and an upward swing he caught the jaw of the ogre squarely, lifting it off the ground and laying him out. The gnoll was flung back toward him and as it stumbled it too felt the great hammer’s strike. The blow to the head put down another dog.
Turning, Artirius found two orcs bearing down on him. With a swing to the left and one back to the right, both orcs were sent away into the air, each in their respective directions. From each side a gnoll approached now. Both raised their arm to bring down their mace on Artirius’s head. He turned to the right and swung as the gnoll brought down its weapon, causing the one that had been to his left to miss horribly. He hit his target, the weapon itself. The force was so great that the mace flew through the air catching an orc in the face as it stepped into the fray. The now weaponless gnoll swung its paw like hand toward Artirius, who simply knocked it aside with his hammer, the blow breaking the limb in the process. Following the flow of the swing, Artirius turned to face the gnoll who had missed him. It held up its mace high in the air, ready to place a crushing blow.
As the arm came down Artirius rolled past the beast and as he did he swung his mace catching hard in the back of its legs. It fell hard to the ground, laying on its back. From Artirius’s side another orc came now. He stepped into it allowing an elbow to catch the creature in the face. As he did he turned back to the gnoll on the ground and brought his mace down on the beast. He sidestepped toward the gnoll whose arm had been broken. Letting the motion of his own body carry his mace across his torso the gnoll felt for only a brief moment the power of the weapon against his face, then was flying into the crowd.
The fighting went on intensely for what felt much longer than minutes to Artirius. Time seemed to slow more and more as he swung and dodged and pummeled his foes. His body began to sweat as he danced around the circle, sometimes having to step on or over a body on the floor. He slammed a shoulder into an orc and put him to the ground. He swung his hammer and another orc fell. On and on, dozens already felled, the barbarian seemed to have limitless energy.
Then as he laid out a gnoll the barbarian felt the blow on his back. Had he been any other human the force would have broken him. He fell to a knee from the force of the club, but quickly spun around low with his mace catching the ogre who had struck him solidly in a knee. The joint was destroyed instantly. With a quick step the hammer fell again stifling the cries of the ogre.
The beasts kept coming and coming. It was a tidal wave of evil that Artirius held at bay with a hammer. Now with over thirty dead, the monsters were voracious. The wave turned to a storm. More and more, faster and faster. Artirius was a whirlwind of righteous fury. The circle seemed to collapse as he spun now, round and round in a flurry of attacks. He was like a top. The front lines were pushed back and caught by surprise as many were felled by the power of the barbarian. Momentarily the circle was pushed back. Artirius slowed the spin and stopped when his momentum allowed it. The sounds of dying were all around him. They came not only from those on the ground, but also from those who remained. The sound of his death was chanted by the ugly beasts. The circle was nearing another collapse on the great hero.
Then a snapping sound was heard above the roar. At first it did not stop the horde of foes from their ranting and raving, but then the sound was reverberated again, and again. The attackers’ baying was calmed as intrigue entered their minds, as simple as they were for this emotion. Cracking and splitting, the earth above moaned. Artirius let out a shout that made every creature in the hall cower away from him. As the cry ended, the ceiling slabs fell in a great crash. Three of them, just as Derril had promised. They made a line in front of the main doors. In the center was Tressnou.
As his slab landed, before the cowering creatures grasped the situation and instead looked in awe on their crushed brethren, Tressnou acted. He clapped his hands summoning his staff. Grasping the weapon widely, he thrust it forward horizontally in front of himself. Every creature that stood before the great door was thrown away, many feet clear of the entrance. With a quick twist of his wrist and tug to his body the door shut, and the locks were engaged. As the main door closed, the service entrance opened, and the beserkers came.
From there things became wild. The dwarves poured out from the vents as they made a defensive footing near the door. They quickly began to push the monsters back. The berserkers came in their battle gear. They were unlike other dwarven warriors. Most fought with their dwarven axes, pikes and shields or other various means, not the berserkers. They were their own weapons. Their bracers were lined with blades, and the hands spiked. The backs of their plate mail were barbed and their shoulders spiked for ramming. Their boots had three spikes in a triangle formation on the toe as well as a spur and more spikes on the heel. Both the knee and the elbow were spiked as well. Lastly the helmet was adorned with many studs, and a curved blade from the forehead to the back of the neck. It would bring fear to any who saw it. Leading the berserker charge was Norrak. His was the only blade painted red. His berserkers’ blades were all painted black.
As they attacked nothing but relentless rage and power was exhibited. They came in hard from many different angles as the poured through the door. Some lead with shoulder rams and others with their heads. Many leaped through the air allowing every part of their armor to slice and tear the targets they struck. Norrak himself found head butting a rewarding way to meet his foes though they did not return the feeling. In the fray Derril could be seen swinging his pick ax wildly at the intruders of his home. This was personal to any dwarf in the fray but none more than Derril. He had moved the first stone, had dug the first tunnel. If anyone had the desire to purge these halls it was he.
In the commotion, the circle around Artirius was turned outward to combat the newfound danger. This of course was a fatal error. With backs to Artirius many fell to his hammer and fist. As they moved to attack an unobservant dwarf, Artirius’s great hands would pull them back, and they would quickly meet their end.
The fighting was most intense where the vents had been dropped. More of the ogres had been sitting here than around the rest of the room. The defenders held a tight line though and even with a few injuries they managed to spread out allowing the regulars to fall into place. Finding holes to sneak through they would poke out spears and move forward with their axes. Tressnou stood on a slab in the center, moving with the fluidity of a dancer silently motioning and lashing his body. Each motion was a powerful blow against a foe. Some were flashes of light as fire flared, and others were unseen forces thrusting the enemies backwards. Some were even thrown in the air and onto their allies. Anywhere the line of dwarves seemed weak Tressnou would concentrate his efforts there the most. Balic stayed near his master. If any unruly creature managed to get through the ranks the swift dwarf would cut them down. He was not like his fellow dwarves. He wielded daggers and wore light chain coats of armor. His attacks were not brutish, but accurate and critical blows.
After several minutes of fighting the way to the main door had been cleared and now the dwarves had a better foot hold on the room. Several regulars and two defenders had fallen, but these losses were slim in comparison to the horde they faced. Dozens and dozens of orcs were piled about. Thirty odd gnolls were strewn around the entrance hall and several ogres lay dead. Artirius had broken a hole through the ranks and joined the beserkers now. Slowly the dwarves pushed their foes back and surrounded them in the center of the room. Here the remainder of ogres and gnolls made their last stand. Some orcs scurried down the side halls, only to be followed down and obliterated by the beserkers fury.
Knowing their fate was soon at hand, the ogres efforts were redoubled. One that seamed taller than the others flailed his club about. He swiped beserker after beserker aside. Norrak, in a rage, charged in allowing a crushing blow to catch a shoulder. The blow clearly broke Norrak’s arm and made it all but useless. Norrak did not show it as his knees and elbow lunged into the monstrous creature. Daelin and Bulzad came from the behind each piking the ogre in the neck. It had fought fiercely, but was not able to take the punishment. It fell to the ground hard. As he did so it seemed the last of the creatures were felled.
After fighting fiercely for nearly twenty minutes the group was sweating and panting. They were also covered in the blood of those they had put to rest. Most cheered, hooted and hollered. They had won. A few, like Artirius, Tressnou, Daelin, and Derril, did not. Though they had won the battle, fighting was not something they loved. It was an evil thing that was part of this world, and killing did not make them happy. It could be argued that the killing was done, but these wise ones realized that it was not. They let the dwarves have their victory dance for the time being.
As Balic looked to Tressnou to congratulate him, something caught the elf’s eye. He quickly pushed aside the dwarf and with reflexes beyond even an elf, he stopped the dagger thrown by a not yet dead orc, using his staff to catch it. This quieted the room a bit. Before anyone could react, Tressnou did. He uttered under his breath an elvish incantation, and with a swirl of his arms he brought them together in a clap.
The orc vanished. Looking to his master Balic asked, “What have you done with him?”
A cold resolute look was on Tressnou’s face as he responded, “I transported him away from here.”
“Yes, but where?”
“He is at the bottom of the deepest part of a lake I once traveled to. If he were able to survive the half hour swim to the surface it really would not matter, because the beast of the lake will see that he never reaches that point.” Tressnou looked to Balic, “You are all right, friend?”
The dwarf nodded and sighed, glad not to be the one offending his master.
Daelin seemed unfazed by the occurrence. He looked around and barked above the crowd for attention. The soldiers all soon were in order. “Tressnou has reminded me of an important lesson. See that everything in this room that is supposed to be dead is, and move our brethren that are injured or dead to the infirmary to be tended by the clerics. Olie, Browli
e, each take a team and investigate the side corridors, see that nothing potentially dangerous is waiting. Also make sure no one has been digging any new holes.
The twins smiled and nodded to Daelin. “All right you heard him. If you want to go with ugly head that way,” Olie pointed to one of the side corridors, “I will be heading to this one,” he pointed to the opposite side. Browlie simply looked on shaking his head. It was not worth flogging his brother now, it could wait.
Daelin continued, “Bulzad, get some boys back to the trade road, I don’t want them making a push to our backs now that we have made a footing here.”
Bulzad nodded, “Would you like us to close off the path?”
“No, if Deep Hollow heads this way we will not know what is happening, and besides, we can close it fast enough if needed.”
Bulzad nodded again and turned away in a bow. He motioned to some dwarves and they moved to the service area.
“Norrak, if you will. Have your men secure this hall. I need some barricades and more fortifications put in place at the front door there. Derril if you don’t mind helping Norrak I would appreciate it.”
Norrak, still dripping in blood, nodded. He seemed to be totally content with the dead around him and had still not removed his helmet which was coated thickly. One of the studs actually had an ear on it making him look very macabre. “Would you like the boys and me to burn the bodies as well? With the vents open in the ceiling as much as they are now, it should be fine.” He talked in a business manner.
“That will do very well,” Daelin nodded, a bit put back. There really was nothing quiet like a hill dwarf.
Derril looked over the carnage, “My home is bathed in blood now. I became a miner nearly four hundred and fifty years ago. I thought I would be lucky and leave this sort of thing behind, but I guess I was not as lucky as I had hoped,” he walked toward the main door and looked about. He was distracting himself with work, drawing in his head plans for fortifications not yet built. It was work he knew better than most any dwarf alive.
Artirius looked to Daelin, “What is he talking about?”
Daelin looked toward Derril. It seemed more like he was looking through him though. “When I was a much younger dwarf, Derril was one of the greatest soldiers alive. One day he and a team of defenders investigated reports of a drow invasion on a small dwarven settlement. It was located a bit north of here underground off the trade roads. He had a team of eight-teen. The drow had killed everyone. Some had clearly been tortured. As the team made its’ way into the heart of the town they were ambushed. Most were taken quickly, their screams were vivid. Derril managed to kill several as he fell back with the remainder of his force but one by one they were picked off and drug away. He and only one other made it out alive. He and the other closed the path to the settlement as they escaped, cutting off the drow and any chance of saving their friends. They grieved for a day before turning back to the Hollow. Both of them had been injured and in the process poisoned by the drow, but they made it back home after a week. They were both nearly dead when they got back to Deep Hollow. Derril quit that day, the other continued on in service. He even got promoted for his efforts.” As Daelin finished the sentence it seemed that a tear was blinked out from his eye.
“Who was the dwarf,” Artirius looked to Daelin.
The general chuckled lightly, “Some young foolish pup, who didn’t have the brains to realize that honor and glory only give you so much in the line of duty. Probably became a general or something, too. Well,” with a brief pause and a cursory glance around the hall, “let’s get to work moving out the dead and the injured.” Without a backward glance Daelin moved to an injured dwarf and helped him on his way to the clerics.
Artirius looked around. He saw the beserkers finishing off the attackers and dragging them to a pile to be burned. Some of the dwarves were at work cutting new fortifications. He could hear commotion down Olie’s corridor but it quickly faded off, most likely another dead orc or other creature was there. Artirius was tired but there was more to do. He looked to Tressnou who was talking over matters with Balic. So the man turned to the injured and began helping them off two at a time.
Chapter 10