Goldenhold
Chapter 24: Retching Death
“GO! GO!” Kyle sprinted down the hallway, swinging his maul at any unfortunate dwarves who managed to suicide into him. Only the fastest remained, more than half of his party drowning in the hall. He only had a thought about Zeon’s forces before the invader to the left of him died.
Bolts from the left, from the right, another split in the hallways. He took a right, seeing the end where the other part met. But that didn’t mean the bolts stopped. They hammered into his thick armor, pounding like the headache he had right now. Sweat poured down his skin, but his hopes vanished in an instant as the gate slammed closed right in front of him.
He could see through the holes though the main defenses, where the parts from the ocean and the land met. It was beautiful to the point of tears, his chest heaving with exhaustion.
He was surprised when what he heard break the silence in his mind was an eerie war cry rather than an arrow to his neck. The relentless chant of doom. It was a goblin’s voice.
“BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!”
Then thousands joined in, the halls shaking and the echoes rebounding off the walls.
“BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!”
They were charging towards the keep, the stronghold of the dwarvern defense. Only a few more lasted behind that before they finally made it to the main hall, which lead to King’s room along with the residential areas.
However, that was based off of legends from over a thousand years ago. He didn’t know it, but much had changed since then. The lava trap that had caught Zeon was not in the writings, and there was much more ahead. The old king’s chamber was now the Baron’s chamber, the lowest position possible for a noble.
A war cry from the dwarves interrupted his thoughts. People were fleeing back from the middle section down staircases, pulling back.
That meant there was another entrance, and the dwarves had much more mobility with their troops than he did, since they could go from place to place almost unseen, but certainly not unheard.
A few humans caught up with him, and they began to slam down the gate with all of their strength. A temporary alliance with the goblins would be necessary.
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“Block that fucking gate!” The dwarves sprinted forward, sheathing their weapons to fortify the blocked gate. They piled any rubble nearby, and civilians were told to bring boulders from the depths. The crossbowdwarves remained however, firing relentlessly into the crowd of goblins, who were bashing on the gate with their weapons uselessly.
It should have been cheerful. The enemies were dying, right? But it wasn’t. There was a mist of blood in the air, and the smell of the dead filled every inch of the air, sickening the fighters. Soldiers on both sides vomited, but the weaker goblins were killed by their own when they let their guts up. More of a sacrifice to Armok anyways.
He thought about that as he watched the fight, holding the old champions axe in his hand, feeling it. It seemed weightless until he swung it, allowing him to throw it in the air then catch it repeatedly.
How could they carry on without fear? Every time it seemed like he killed one three flowed in from the hall. Thousands died, and he was actually starting to worry that the bodies would pile so high that they would gain a ramp to enter with. Stories of the survivors back at the canal said they actually did make a ramp out of the bodies, but Karakzon put it off as exaggeration.
They were, right? Maybe their army was fearless, maybe they were strong, innumerable, able to flood the world simply out of mass, but he could not believe what he heard. He heard that they killed themselves in the explosion, not even backing down. He heard they made a ramp from dead corpses of both comrades and foes. He heard that they fought for Armok, the God of Blood. He heard that their sole purpose was to spill it everywhere.
He didn’t believe what his own ears heard.
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Topic: The Age of Myth: Goldenhold (A DF Novel Length Story) (Read 115927 times)