They came out of the moat singing. Beasts of fire, beasts of ash, beasts of coldest winter. The goblins screamed and fell, but through it all you could hear the song, perfect harmony, in no language ever heard before.
The flames leapt above the low wall, and when the goblins had stopped screaming, the beasts came over the wall themselves. Blue flames raced across the courtyard.
Atir hollered, barely audible among the roar and chorus, and they followed her instructions. The doors were barred, the staircases torn down, even the well, ripped away and floored over. Then somebody troubled to look up at the ceiling-- half finished, in the rush to complete the wall-- and saw the horrors swooping down.
* * *
My feet hurt.
There were four of us. Zulban doesn't count anymore, I think. Girderscholar knew where to go. After we walled ourselves in, Zulban cut down a few bloodthorns, and we built a farm, but nobody had any seeds. Nobody had anything to drink either. So we walked.
But there's nothing down here, nothing but bloodthorns. They tear at my skin. Iton keeps crying, starts hollering, and Girderscholar tells her to shut it. Girderscholar's been down here before, a long time ago, with Ber, and he says he knows where there's some water.
* * *
Rovod swore underneath his breath. Rovod never swore. This was it, wasn't it? He thought of Glazedsongs, still out in the moat where Udib had fallen. Dwarfs last a hundred years, if they're lucky, but artifacts are forever. Almost a blessing, now, that Glazedsongs was outside the walls. The creek would carry it downstream. The lever was heavy, but then he could hear the roar of water, the moat filling, diverting the creek-- diverting it down the tunnel Melbil had dug, the tunnel Rovod never knew about, the tunnel to hell.
* * *
Girderscholar took us to the temple. He said he'd been down here with Ber. It's not a temple to any gods I know, but I think he's right, it must be a temple. Ber left a bucket down here, ages ago, trying to comfort somebody long gone. He doesn't even remember who. The water's unevaporated in the cool damp, stale, but drinkable. Nothing grows down here, nothing but blood thorns.
Everything in the temple is dull, gray and dull. There are no reflections. When I touch the stone, my hand comes away red. Trick of the light maybe.
We sit around the bucket, listening to Iton wail, and looking at the door with the sword plunged into it, because there's nothing else to look at. The door and the sword are both electric blue, the same color as Girderscholar's sword. The sword is taller than a dwarf, and so curiously notched, the way it fits into that door like a key.
I don't even know what sets her off, because it was just quiet, but she throws the bucket at me all of a sudden and I duck and we all watch the last of the water spilling across the temple floor. I'm past caring, me and Girderscholar both, but once she realizes what she's done, Iton starts thrashing, slamming herself into the walls. She comes away red as blood, red as if her skin were tore off. Then she throws herself at the door and starts hammering, and she kicks at the sword, and it just, it just shatters, like glass, like ice.
* * *
Erush stands on the parapet. This used to be a wall, stretching from the keep to the gate, but it's been torn apart, renovations started and never finished. The fire's heading south, across the courtyard. It's beautiful, in a way. The soot thing comes for him and Erush smiles. It raises two of its claws and sings and swings and Erush steps backwards off the wall.
* * *
Girderscholar bled out, after he cut the winter thing in half, and of course Iton, worse for Iton. Snow, down here, a thousand miles from the sky, but it tastes like snow, and it melts in my mouth, and I'm not so thirsty anymore.
The temple continues underneath the portal. I followed it down. There's singing, like the elves make, only more beautiful. The caverns down here are dry, and they're all made of the same stone as the temple-- it's like the temple grows out of the stone, like a branch grows from a tree. I don't know if there are any rivers down here, or any plants, but I haven't seen any yet, just the pits. No lizards yet either.
* * *
Conan shook Umune awake. "Fire." Miles away still, but the whole night was lit up from the north. "Dunes, back south. Safe." He spoke the way companions do when they've been traveling together for a long time.
They were on their way a good five minutes when Umune paused and cocked his head curiously.
"What's it?"
"Shh."
And Conan listened, and maybe he could hear it too, above the babble of the creek. Something unearthly.
They stood that way for a minute, listening, then Conan dropped his head. "Best be moving on. That conflagration could still catch up."
Umune nodded, but Conan was ahead of him on the trail, and not looking back.
"Maybe we'd do best to steer clear of Workpuzzle after all."
Umune nodded again.
"Could be we settle nearabouts ourselves. Decent river. Thought I saw limonite back a ways."
Umune didn't nod.
"Or maybe someplace else instead, someplace without these goddamned blood gnats."
Umune nodded.
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Topic: Welcome to Workpuzzle! Please take a crossbow and two (2) capybara bone bolts. (Read 2142 times)