Deep in the bowels of Demongate, behind locked doors, was a chamber hewn from rough stone, its walls and floors untouched by the hands of engravers. Silver manacles lined the far wall, embedded in the rock. Various odd mechanical devices littered the chamber, surrounding a single sharpened wooden spike. A rack of small weapons stood in the corner, blades glinting at prisoners with hunger.
Pinned by a set of manacles was a dwarf. Or at least, a creature that had once been a dwarf. A vile curse of thirst had led him to crave the blood of his kin, and his eagerness to quench that thirst had led to his imprisonment. If only the blasted scribe hadn't woken. A few more minutes, and he would have been dead and drained, and nobody would have noticed.
The sound of a key turning within a lock, and the door swung inward. Two dwarves stepped into the chamber, one robed, the other clad in bismuth bronze armor from head to toe. They carried a desk between them, set it down by the corner with the weapon rack. They rounded on the vampire, glaring daggers of ice into his flesh."Hello, Dodok,"
Tarmid said to the vampire. "Though I suspect that's not your true name. Sir Brenzen and I would like to have a chat with you."
"I think I'll pass. I make it a point not to talk with my food."
"A funny one, I see!"
The scribe feigned amusement. "You and I are going to get along just great. Don't you think, Sir Brenzen?"
The knight gave a stiff nod, arms folded across his chest. Tarmid pulled a thick tome from a satchel, as well as a quill and inkwell, and set them down on the desk. He dipped the nib in the dark ink, perched to write."Name?"
"Dodok Blowinggold."
"Real name?"
No reply."Oh well. You'll tell me, in time. Now, some tests are in order."
Tarmid moved to the weapon rack, procured a knife with a small, leaf-shaped blade, a mallet, and a handful of silver nails. Sir Brenzen yanked a chain beside the manacles, and Dodok's restraints began to lose slack. He found himself pinned against the wall by the wrists and ankles, incapable of moving, arms and legs pulled away from his torso. The scribe approached, knife held in one grim hand."Commencing initial test procedure to ascertain nature of subject,"
Tarmid droned, monotone and professional, as he tore the vampire's shirt.
He plunged the surgical knife into Dodok's chest, just above the sternum. Then he began to cut.
Cries of agony filled the chamber. They continued for half an hour.
When Tarmid was finished, they could clearly see the contents of Dodok's ribcage. The skin of the vampire's chest had been peeled back, then nailed to his sides to keep it in place. The already pallid Dodok was now drained of all color, too shocked and scared to even manage a scream. Sir Brenzen just stood by the entire time, stone-faced, arms crossed, keeping an eagle's eye on the proceedings."Internal organ coloration: normal. Organ activity: partial. Skin regeneration: none. Regeneration scarring: absent. Conclusion: vampire."
Tarmid poked about inside Dodok as he spoke, causing the vampire no small amount of discomfort, before moving to the desk to record his findings."Well, Dodok, I have some good news, and some bad news,"
Tarmid said as he scribbled away. "The good news is, you're not one of the Kin, so we've no reason to kill you. Yet."
The vampire shivered. "The bad news is, you still haven't told us much about yourself. And I would very much like to know your history. Surely you've centuries of fascinating tales to share, no?"
"M-my lips are sealed,"
Dodok stammered."A shame. I so despise cleaning these machines up."
Three hours went by in that chamber, though to Dodok they must have felt like three centuries. Tarmid had the courtesy to sew his skin back onto his chest, and the pinprick of the needle criss-crossing his flesh was almost like a balm after the horrors he'd endured. But in the end, the vampire had given them nothing.
Outside the chamber, Tarmid handed Brenzen the key."Close that up for me, would you?"
Sir Brenzen nodded, turned to lock the door. The retching started before he could even pull the key back out.
Tarmid stood bent over near the mudstone wall, spewing sickening grunts and getting unhappily reacquainted with the contents of his stomach. Brenzen approached the scribe, waited in uncomfortable silence for him to finish."How do you keep this from happening?"
Tarmid daubed at his lips with a cloth."The battlefield eventually renders you numb to the horrors,"
Brenzen replied heavily."Torture chambers don't, it seems."
Tarmid groaned, spat a wad of bile into the filth. This was his seventh one, and it still got to him every time."I'll be heading back to the barracks. How long do we let him heal?"
"No more than a day. Even a regular vampire recovers fast enough to subject him to these things on a daily basis."
"Very well. Where will I find you?"
"Wherever Brother Cornelius will be."
The backroom of Demongate's hospital didn't see a lot of visitors. For the most part, it was where Brother Cornelius kept his supplies, as well as a spare bed to sleep in, a table and a few chairs. Coffers of supplies lined the back wall, filled with soap, cloth, sutures and plaster.
And, of course, a whole lot of spare hooch. This was the room where Vladamir and Cornelius had their drinking nights. Every few days, the two would meet up in here, break out some bottles and drink themselves under the table.
They were swilling rum and exchanging anecdotes when Vlad looked up from his table to find an interesting surprise."Tarmid! Left behind cavern of books in favor of entertainment, yes?"
"You could say that."
the scribe offered. "I've come to get my prescription filled."
Brother Cornelius gave him a questioning stare. "Prescription?"
"Yes. A stiff drink."
They had arrived in the early hours of the day. A small train of migrants, fresh from the mountainhomes, though weary from the long road. Tarmid stood inside the gatehouse, paper and quill in hand, ready to take their names. Among them was a a farmer named Jim the Fifth, whom Tarmid directed to Gnora for work. Another among them, Rith Brandedpaddle, saluted as he approached. He produced a sergeant's badge, claiming experience with marksdwarf squads. Tarmid directed him to Sir Brenzen and Vlad to get acquainted with the military. As he mentioned Sir Brenzen, another migrant piped up."Sir Brenzen is around?"
"Yes."
Tarmid eyed the newcomer. "Why do you ask?"
The migrant and another dwarf next to her went down on one knee, bowed their heads."We are Squires of the Order, sent here to aid Sir Brenzen on his sacred mission."
Tarmid raised an eyebrow. After all this time? And only two? This was not going according to protocol. Typically, the Order would send at least four Squires and one Knight. He would have to talk to these two later. Or Sir Brenzen would.
Once the migrants were dealt with, Tarmid turned to head back to his office to catch up on some research. On the way back, he was approached by Thane, cradling her hammer, Ob Kat, as if carrying a child. She looked apprehensive, and Tarmid noticed that a handful of dwarves were right behind her, following her."Tarmid, can we talk? It's important,"
Thane said, nervously licking her lips."Of course, Thane. What is it?"
Thane seemed to shrink a couple before him as she mustered the will to speak. "Well, I've been thinking. Vlad's squad is good, but there aren't many of them, right? And Sir Brenzen is still mostly alone. So, I was thinking..."
She trailed off."You were thinking...?"
"I was thinking if I could start a militia squad,"
she blurted. "We could do our civilian jobs and train for a while after work. I spoke to some of the workers and they wanted in too."
Tarmid scratched his chin. "I'm not sure this is a good idea. You aren't trained soldiers. If there is an engagement, will you follow Sir Brenzen's orders, even if it means staying back and not fighting?"
"Well, it's not like we'd have a choice, right?"
Thane smiled. "We could be backup for the main force, or something. Please?"
Tarmid gazed at Thane and her followers. He didn't much like the idea of putting civilians in danger. But maybe this wasn't such a bad idea. None had volunteered to join the Vultures in recent months, and Sir Brenzen was still practically alone. Demongate's forces were outnumbered in all but the smallest of goblin ambushes."Tell you what,"
the scribe said, after a fashion. "I'll allow this, on the condition that you stay out of real combat unless ordered by the higher-ups. If any of you shows disobedience, I'm giving Sir Brenzen and Vlad the authority to disband the squad. No ifs, ands or buts. Is that clear?"
Thane and her entourage - her squad, soon enough - nodded their understanding. They seemed quite serious about all this. Perhaps they didn't believe in the Bloodkin. Bravery and ignorance sometimes work hand in hand, he reflected."So, captain Thane. Do you have a name for your new squad?"
"Well..."
Spring marched on, preparing to give way for summer's reign. Late in the month of Felsite, when the days were growing ever warmer, a hunter spotted a group of elven traders. The news was relayed to Tarmid, who sent Fractal to do some trading. While the oddball dwarf negotiated with the merchants, Tarmid went to see Vlad."Ah, there is Vlad's new drinkingk buddy! Vhat brings you to barracks?"
"I've come to tell you to keep your Vultures on alert,"
Tarmid said, sounding a bit more like a commander than he intended. "You know how these things go. The elves were probably followed by a couple dozen goblin armies."
"No vorries,"
said Vlad. "Vlad's Vultures are on it. Ve haven't seen a good fight in long vhile. Growingk more and more bored every day, yes? Boys have begun to play cards to pass time. Not always good sign."
"Very well. Once we're sure it's safe, I'll call you to help oversee the construction of the defenses."
"Until then, Tarmid. See you at 'evening prayers', yes?"
"You probably will."
Tarmid smirked, and walked back out of the barracks. He still had a vampire to break, and that meant more nights of getting his drink on. Alcohol-induced sleep kept the nightmares away. And every time he went to another interrogation session, he could feel more than see Joyce, at the corner of his vision, giving him questing looks. That dwarf gave him the shivers. And he still hadn't found mention of the name.
He was not yet inside the fortress when the shouts of alarm came. A hunter came barreling through the barracks and into the fort, shouting about goblins. A group of them had arrived from the east, probably on the trail of the elven caravan.
Tarmid ran back into the barracks, where Vlad was busy shouting at his squad to form up. Sir Brenzen knelt in the corner, uttering a quick prayer before battle. The barracks bustled with activity as soldiers scrambled for their weapons, leaving a card game half-finished. The scribe moved to pull a lever, sealing the entryway long enough to give the soldiers time to prepare.
A shout of agony from beyond the perimeter wall, following by cursing in the foul tongue of goblins. Then more shouts. Tarmid, even in his limited understanding of their language, could make out a call to retreat. A dwarf came down from the marksdwarf tower, crossbow still in his arms."That was nothing like shooting horses,"
the marksdwarf said. Tarmid turned to Vlad, who had heard the shouting, and smiled. Vlad grinned right back."I knew this was a good idea."
"Of course,"
Vlad replied. "Vas Vlad's idea."
The scribe stood outside Demongate's walls, a heap of blueprints in hand, directing miners and masons hither and thither. Their picks dug into the hillside, sweat pouring down their shirts from the heat of early summer. They were turning the western side of the hill into a smooth wall that no goblin could climb. At the edge of the miners' work area were masons, piling stone upon stone, erecting a wall on either end of the hill."That should keep us out of the way of enemy fire,"
Tarmid said. Vlad, Sir Brenzen and Rith stood with him around a table, a map splayed on its surface and held in place by stones on its corners. The mercenary and the knight glowered at each other every once in a while, but otherwise did not let their mutual dislike get in the way of their jobs."So,"
said the scribe. "The hill is soon to be secure. That's one problem. We still need to expand the entrance defenses. I've heard your various ideas before, but now I need the lot of you to come to an agreement. I know Sir Brenzen knows plenty about military doctrine, but we of the Order are more used to attacking than defending. That's where you two come in. Vlad, Rith, you've seen conflict from both inside and outside a set of walls. I need your input on quick defense systems."
Over the next three hours, the group debated back and forth, arguing various points. Many of their ideas were good, but not all were practical. Sir Brenzen even suggested an old defensive system based on mechanical retracting archways, one attributed to Saint Rhaken, but they concluded it was too complex to build on short notice. In the end, the scribe and commanders settled on a short trench system lined with traps and within crossbow-shot of the sniper tower.
The meeting adjourned, Tarmid walked inside with Sir Brenzen, brow in a deep furrow, one hand stroking his beard."Something on your mind, Tarmid?"
The knight sounded concerned."Just one thing. Why do they say it was attributed to Saint Rhaken? We know he was a brilliant commander in life, but how do we know about the bridges? They aren't in the holy books, and the military manuals don't give decent references. Something about a letter?"
"I brought my copy to Demongate with me. I can lend it to you, if you wish."
"That would be lovely, thank you."
Once in the barracks, Sir Brenzen made his way to his squires. Tarmid was about to leave, but turned his head to the knight once more before he went."One more thing. Any sign of the book?"
"Not yet,"
Brenzen replied. "Though there are still places I haven't looked."
Tarmid scouled. That book had been gone for far too long, yet none of the dwarves had manifested signs of dark power. Perhaps if he had a wood opal, he could go somewhere with the investigation.
He returned to his office, opened another volume on Steelhold. He knew the name Joyce was in there, somewhere. He just had to look for it.
Construction of the schoolhouse was proceeding ahead of schedule. The dwarves had expanded the workshop area and built two additional mason's shops, where new furniture was hewn from stone. Desks, chairs, and dozens of cabinets, piling up near the walls of the workshop floor, waiting to be set into place. Tarmid would have felt a sense of pride, if he wasn't busy finishing the blueprints for Demongate's defenses. As soon as those were ready, the miners and masons would be going to the surface to secure the fortress's entrance.
He worked inside the sniper tower, where he could keep the entrance in sight. He had commissioned several sets of serrated glass disks for the traps, as well as some cages. Vlad questioned the wisdom of capturing goblins alive. Tarmid hadn't the heart to tell them that the cages weren't meant for goblins. Maybe Vlad didn't believe the Bloodkin threat either. If they were lucky, he never would.
An earth-shattering roar broke his concentration. Tarmid set his eyes to the east, where the sound had come from. Through the glare of the midday sun, he could make out a silhouette, far away, yet still within the fortress's territory. It took him a moment to identify the creature, but when he did, all color drained from his face."Oh,
fuck."
Tarmid sounded the alarm.
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Topic: Demongate: Wrapping up the Loose Ends. (Read 698076 times)