Chương 29: The Delve

"Hold!" Cinnabinathi whispered. Yureg swept his arms out to bar the others. His powerful arms could nearly span the corridor. Falflets sang from its scabbard. At her will, the Skymetal Scimitar drank the light from their torches and cast the corridor into a deep midnight. A shudder ran through the Hawkmoon. The azure blade was forged from a tear of the Blue Moon. Sorrow spread with every slash. In the sudden dark, the men and the Dwarves who had tarried too long on the surface groped for their weapons.

Thinking themselves hidden, their masks slipped. Cinnabinathi saw all. They were afraid; they were angry. Most of all, they were uncertain. The troops did not trust her leadership. It stung her deep, all the more because she agreed. Too many were gone. This ragtag company felt like a mouthful of missing teeth. Cinnabinathi could not shame the Dwarves with mad valor, as Burbak could. Her voice could not crack like Gunnag's to whip the Halberdiers into line.

Except for Maro, her own troops stared at her with undisguised contempt. All had heard of her scandalous vigil. The army needed a real leader, but the war raged on. No one else was left. With everyone still, she heard an echo that did not belong. The Goblins were sneaky, but not so silent as they supposed.

"They're on our trail. Quench the torches. Grasp arms and follow. We'll throw them off. Relay this message." Cinnabinathi tried to imbue her whisper with the bearing of command. The orders leapt through her troops, no louder than a moth's wing. The Hawkmoon moved into place. Each Elf led a string of Dwarves and Halberdiers. The torches were snuffed and darkness closed over. Soon, all could hear the ones who hunted them. The Gorelord Warband outnumbered the Heartbroken Expedition twenty to one.

Cinnabinathi guided the company through a series of twists and turns that could have baffled a minotaur. She hummed a note at each junction so the route locked into her mind as a melody. At her side, Bobbert nodded along, memorizing the path in case they should become separated. Only Bobbert and Cinnabinathi knew Prescote's secret way. For all her efforts, Cinnabinathi could not throw the Goblins off. The Gorelord had their scent. Likely, some of the Goblins had been born in these very halls.

The echoes multiplied and the tunnels sighed with expectation. No one wanted to die here, where their bodies would be profaned by Goblin filth and where their bones would lie unhallowed and unburied. They could not run forever. Cinnabinathi searched for a place to make their stand. They came to an ancient workroom that would suit. Above their heads the vault had cracked and half-collapsed. Rubble spilled into the corridor, creating a choke-point.

"Here." Cinnabinathi decided. At once the men and Dwarves fired the torches and set to work. They dragged the heavy slabs of the stone benches to build a wall and piled rubble behind it. Then, they upended the broken-down minecarts to give the Hawkmoon a perch where they could shoot over the Halberdiers' heads. The Shieldbearers took up positions on the makeshift rampart, ready to protect the Halberdiers. The moment the company had torchlight and a task, all fear fled.

"Lieutenant Sindermann. A word please," Cinnabinathi drew the Halberdier aside. She'd been dreading this moment for days.

"Who would lead, if you should fall?" Cinnabinathi asked. Sindermann's eyes flashed with sudden understanding. He almost seemed relieved.

"After, after me? Oh, hell. There's no one truly prepared for this. Might as well let Potboy take the helm. He won't break, at least. I'll speak with Sergeant Solidan." Cinnabinathi nodded.

"You'll try to save the Riverlands?" Lieutenant Sindermann asked. His voice was small, but his eyes were hard. He wasn't even thirty years old. Their lives went so fast.

"I will try," Cinnabinathi vowed. The defenses took shape. The Gorelord Warband would be forced into a meat grinder. No one truly believed that twenty could hold against two hundred. Still, they were all certain that they could bleed this tunnel green. Cinnabinathi looked out at their faces: some afraid, some full of hate. Only Solidan was truly sanguine. She could not even hope for a swift end for the defenders. She needed these men to hold for as long as possible.

Their stand was the only chance for her party to find the relic and escape.

"You must hold this wall at all costs. Go dark. Not a sound until you see the yellow of their eyes. Then, fire the torches and curse them. The first wave will rush in blind," Cinnabinathi instructed the soldiers. The Shieldbearers grunted with approval. The Hawkmoon knew all about fighting Goblins.

"Sergeant Solidan. Good luck. Don't get flanked," she advised.

"Yessum." Potboy smiled, as always. In spite of the dire situation, a chuckle went round the chamber. As the defenders prepared, Cinnabinathi gathered the party that would venture into the depths with her. She chose Hilg, his son Bhloki, and Runagir. The dwarves were good in tight quarters, and not so reliant as the men on their leaders. Secretly, she hoped their dull souls might thwart Swyllev's prophecy. Bobbert and Maro were foretold, the only ones she could truly trust. Last, she tapped Yureg.

"Come with us."

"What? No, I'll remain here. This is my kind of fight, I'm worth ten men in a breach."

"Do you want to save your homeland? Then do what I say." Cinnabinathi ordered. Yureg's jaw clacked shut. Cinnabinathi faced the men and the Dwarves who would hold the wall and bid them good fortune. Then she gathered her Hawkmoon and recited the Cada Canta. If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it. The seven adventurers gathered at the exit. A long, dark tunnel loomed ahead. Hilg, Bhloki, and Runagir squinted into the distance, but Cinnabinathi was not fooled.

To be nightblind was a great shame for a Dwarf. The others called them 'dandelions.'

"Maro has your back. Take care when we engage. When the blade tastes blood, Falflets will grow very bright," she warned, partly to reassure the Dwarves and humans they would not fight blind. Bhloki shouldered a heavy coil of rope and Hilg hoisted his pack full of tools. It was time. Cinnabinathi's party advanced into the long tunnel as the defenders completed their preparations. Behind them, the torches went dark.

* Just as they placed their figurines at the dungeon entrance, the lights flickered out and the War Room fell silent. In the sudden hush, Robin listened as the overhead fans spun down and the Coke machine's compressor faded out.

"Woah," Chuck breathed. They were in total darkness. No one moved. Robin thought it was just another of Vlad's tricks.

"Is this a work?" Sandy asked.

"It's not," Vlad answered.

"Maybe we blew a fuse." Outside, the wind built to a howl.

"The storm's not playing around. I bet the power's out," Duncan's voice rose with excitement. The War Room door squeaked as he peeked outside. The street lights were out, too.

"Everything's dead."

"Do we have to stop playing?" Robin asked. He didn't want to go home. They heard the flick of a lighter. Vlad lit the three prayer candles.

"Nope." * The party delved into the infernal dark. Cinnabinnathi tested each step with the point of an arrow as they crept forward. Dwarves meant traps, always. Beside her, Bobbert's eyes glowed a deep blue in her moonsight. The apprentice scried for sorcery as she checked for traps. He had to cast the spell many times as they drew deeper into the black passages. Cinnabinathi had served with many magi, she knew it was taxing to peer through the planes. Bobbert never complained.

Prescote's bumbling apprentice had grown stronger. Blagg Bore grew uneasy as they pressed deeper into the mines. Tremors tickled their feet and twice the mountain grumbled so fiercely that even the dwarves seemed worried. There was a tale on the walls, written without words. Rich bands of black anthracite ran through the rough-hewn corridors and hints of lode glittered in the cracks. No earthquake could have driven the dwarves away from such riches. Something else waited in the dark.

Hilg and Bhloki shared a grumble of worry. Progress was slow, but their caution paid off. Cinnabinathi spotted a skeleton separated from its skull by two strides. Ancient stains sprayed across the stone.

"Hold." Hidden in the shadow of a reinforcing beam was a slit, just above shoulder height. Cinibinathi ordered the party on their knees to crawl under the necker. A bit later, they came across the bones of two long-dead Goblins with rusted daggers jabbed in their ribs. Bobbert wondered why the killer left the weapons behind. There was a perfectly gobbed explanation. These two had fallen into an argument and stabbed each other. Cinnabinathi grinned and wished every other greenskin might share their fate.

"Nice catch," Hilg whispered. The mountain rumbled and a fierce tremor wiped her smile away. There was every chance some future Goblin might happen across their bones and crack the same leer. She pressed on. Three more turns and they found the fissure, just as the Sage promised. Humid air throbbed against their eardrums and a faint draft carried the gentle roar of ten thousand slow drips. The slender crack opened into a yawning rift with a steep slope.

Stalactites and stalagmites jutted from the decline like crocodile teeth. Cinnabinathi rappelled down first with the rope around her waist. Carefully, she threaded the line through the maze of teeth so the party could follow. It was impossible to be silent. Her hackles rose at every rattling rock and scraping boot. They made it to a tunnel where a purple light shone in the distance. They splashed along a frigid stream towards the glow and then climbed up a slope of sharp obsidian scree to reach the source.

The chamber was like a giant geode. Crystals grew from the walls and burned with gentle light in every shade of allium. As they marvelled, tiny sparks sprang off the facets like fleas. Pretty as it was, a hot wind that stank of brimstone blew from within the crystal chamber. Cinnabinathi waited for the dwarves. Hilg puffed up the slope, pale and wide-eyed. He was not fond of heights. The descent in the dark had tested his courage.

"Just the nose I need," Cinnabinathi said. Hilg stuck his head into the chamber and snuffled. His hairy nostrils flared wide.

"Air's all right for Dwarves, I suppose. Elves and men, best not tarry," he warned. The crystal chamber was far larger than it seemed. A passage at the back led to a soaring dome that glowed in a thousand shades from pink to deepest violet. The Dwarves gasped and a tremble of avarice ran through Hilg and Bhloki. Runagir shook his head at the others, unaffected. Worldly wealth had no savor for a Berserker.

"Cobalt!" Hilg breathed.

"Argent azurite! By the bellows, it's the motherlode! We've got to get this mine going again! We could arm an entire legion in Bluebane Steel!" Gripped by greed, Hilg's hands shook.

"It' s our great sport, to come up short. How long did our fathers grub for coal and galena, never knowing the fortune beneath their feet?" Bhloki wondered. Hilg scowled at his boy's philosophical bent.

"Ware. Doom finds those who delve too deep," Runagir warned. In agreement, Yureg grunted and pointed at a pile of splintered bones. They were not the first to come this way.

"Just a bit farther," Cinibinathi urged. Past the crystal cathedral, the heat mounted and the sulfur stench grew dire. Cinnabinathi's head swam, but she refused to admit weakness before the Dwarves. If the boy could do it, so could she. They came to a sweltering black gap. A pinpoint of amber light shone in the distance. The path narrowed to a thin ledge along a cliff of scalding basalt. They cheated along the narrow edge while fumes swirled around them. It was a long, precarious shuffle.

Midway through, she heard a sob. Hilg hid his fear with a cough and moved on. At the end, they broke through into a finished hallway and found the ancient orb that gave the amber light. Maro and Bobbert wilted and laid gasping on the floor. The world spun around Cinnabinathi, only pride kept her upright. Maddeningly, Yureg seemed hardly phased. He cocked his head and listened, but they could only hear the wind from the fissure.

When Cinnabinathi caught her bearings, she found the Dwarves muttering amongst themselves, on edge. The hall was Dwarven stonework, but the vaults were crazy, three times higher than any sensible Dwarf would ever build. Sorcerous orbs glowed faintly with slow-shifting, honey-colored light. The walls were stack-bonded square slabs, which was bad luck, and the floors were checkered white quartz against jet, which was bad taste.

The three dwarves conferred, none could recognize the clan that had laid these strange stones.

"We can't say how old this is," Hilg admitted. He was deeply unsettled. Cinnabinathi could, but she kept mum.

"This is pre-kingdom stonework. Laid by Dwarf slaves, held in thrall to Black Elves," Bobbert informed them. Now, Cinnabinathi could understand why Prescote had cuffed Bobbert so frequently. Three sets of angry eyes fell upon her. No one could hold a grudge like a Dwarf.

"We denounced them and fought a thousand year war over this," Cinnabinathi explicated. The glares burned on.

"This way," she pointed to the right. There was no time to revisit ancient grievances.

"Hold," Yureg said. He held a finger to his ear.

"Something follows us." The Northman's hearing was very keen. When she held her breath, Cinnabinathi could hear gibbering and clinking.

"What in Bogg's Beard is that?" Hilg asked.