Arcanum - Of Steamwork and Magic Ch. 12

It seemed that the Wheel Clan had been informed of my intervention in the personal life of their king. That reflected well on Longhaire, that he was willing to admit that it took a half-orc outlander to convince him to return to his duty. I nodded, ever so slightly - and then Virginia took a right and led us into a vast, underground library. The books were thick and written in dwarven runes. However, they were not being perused by any dwarves, save for one: A short, muscular, black bearded fellow ho was dressed in a pale white robe. As we entered into the expansive library, he turned to face us and I saw that his eyes were pure black and looked as cold as mines.

"Can I help you?" he asked, his voice emotionless.

I bowed my head. "Greetings, sir," I said. "I am Rayburn Cog. This is Virginia." I gestured to her. "We're here to talk to you - you are the local head historian?"

"That is correct," the dwarf said, pursing his lips. "I am Erick Obsidian. What interest could you have in our history?"

I held up a finger, then slung off my pack. Setting it to the ground, I reached inside, then tugged out one of the tube shaped, iron drums that we had collected from the ancient chest. I held it up to Obsidian, smiling. Obsidian's entire expression changed.

"D...Do...you know what that is?" he whispered.

"I believe," I said. "It is something from the...Iron Clan? Correct?"

Obsidian took the drum, nodding. "Yes! Yes! I have read of this in my books!" All signs of emotionless were gone. In their place was nothing but purest excitement. "So, the Iron Clan, they're legends. Barely any of their artifacts still exist - and what are are tens thousands of years old. Older then the Age of Legends, even." He nodded, quickly. "The legends state that the Iron Clan had devices that beggar even the most advanced magicks of that ancient time - though it is unclear if they're technological or magickal in nature!" He nodded.

"This came with a map," I said.

Obsidian brightened.

"But, uh..." I coughed. "We lost it."

"You lost it!?" Obsidian exclaimed.

Virginia and I both flushed. "It was stolen!" she said. "By ban..." She looked at me. "Thieves!"

Obsidian groaned. "Damn it, damn it all. We'll have no idea what this might be for...unless...wait here!" he turned back and hurried into the stacks. Over the next three hours, he returned with several books. While I might not be able to read dwarven runes, I could at the very least look at the pictures within - and it was while looking through one of the books I spotted a picture that was a near perfect match for the map that had been scrawled on the ancient piece of paper that the Iron Clan had left in their mysterious iron chest. I pointed it out and Obsidian immediately clapped his hands. "So the mad fellow was right!"

"What book is this?" Virginia asked, her voice growing skeptical.

"Oh, the Journals of Halgestram the Mad, of course," he said. "That's the cave of vicious machined spiders. His writings claimed a dozen of them tried to kill him, chasing him out of it. This was in 1409, well before any automatons of the sort were constructed, so...it was..." He trailed off. "Oh."

"That does sound rather like what an Iron Clan stronghold might look like, eh?" I asked, rubbing my chin. "And this would mark the second clan of dwarves that have mysteriously vanished." I looked at Virginia.

"Do you think they're connected?" she asked.

I shrugged. "I don't know. But I am curious - and, more..." I pulled out my atlas of Arcanum, then pointed. "It is in the same region as Stillwater. We can knock both off in a single go."

Virginia nodded, slowly.

Obsidian looked hopeful, closing the book with a loud thump. "If you do seek out the Iron Clan, please...there are ancient texts that say that they were the last to hold the Stone of Durin. If you could find and retrieve such an artifact, it would mean the world for the entirety of dwarf-kind."

I chuckled. "Of course, old boy," I said, beaming at him. "We'd be delighted."

***

When we met with Gillian and Sally - who had both purchased supplies for yet another long trek - I found that I had not been the only one speaking to dwarves. "Well, you see, sir," Gillian said, looking somewhat sheepish. "This fellow, one Mr. Iron Heart, says that his brother lives in the Stonecutter clan, and he needs a message delivered to him posthaste. And, well, I was looking at his map, and why, the Stonecutter clan is rather near to Stillwater. Since we're in the area I said that of course we could do it and, uh..." She trailed off, looking somewhat chagrined - as if she had just realized that I, or Virginia, might have something to say about such an action.

I clapped the half-orc upon her shoulder and beamed. "Capital idea, Gillian. Capital."

Gillian relaxed immensely.

At last, we arrived at the exit of the Wheel Clan. There, we were met by King Longhaire and his son, Randver, as well as a full honor guard. Longhaire grabbed both of my arms in a tight, fiercely dwarven gesture, squeezing them as he looked up into my eyes. "Go with the blessings of Alberich, Mr. Cog. And...Magnus Shale Fist..." He turned to face 'Magnus', who froze under the inspection of the king. But if the king saw through 'Magnus' false beard and disguised femininity, he showed no sign of it, for he hefted up the gleaming magickal ax that I had seen him carry in his banishment.

"For guiding this outlander here, you have proven yourself to be true to your Shape and your Stone. The journey your party is on will shape the fate of Arcanum...and so..." Longhaire held out the ax. "I give this to you. Harrower. It struck down many an enemy of dwarfkind. Use it well."

"I...t-thank you, your majesty," 'Magnus' said, her voice kept low and gruff by sheer force of will.

Dogmeat barked once - and thus, we were off, heading towards the southwest. Towards the Stonecutter Clan and the mysterious home of the Iron Clan. And if there was ever a better time to travel along the corner between the Grey Mountains and the Stonewall mountains than the last days of May, I had never heard of it. The thick growth of spring were slowly giving way to the gentle warmth of summer - this far north and beneath the thick foliage of the Hadrian forests, that warmth never reached the killing heat of the Morbihan, nor did it ever get as cold as it could during earlier or later months. We made good time, and had much time to discuss the future.

Needless to say, I made sure to fill the entire group in on the entirety of my mostly one sided conversation with Arronax, which made the entire day's march grim until Sally's endless good cheer brought us out of it. No matter how many jokes she made, though, the thought of Arronax would come back, and I would wonder if his phantasmal form would once more stalk us in the night, to proclaim the doom that was coming.

Instead of anything so blunt, Arronax seemed content to let his singular contact with us remain in the back of the mind, surfacing only in sweat soaked, terrifying dreams of his red robed figure striding through a city, the shadows growing deeper and darker as the men and women of Arcanum's many races fell under his shadow. Then fell. And writhed. And rose once more, with hollow, sunken eyes, and grasping hands. I woke many a time during the trip through the forests, sweating and shivering, and only found some measure of comfort in Virginia's arms.

I swore many times during that trip - a promise I reinforced again and again - that I would never let Arronax unleash his long delayed fury upon this world.

For my companions, the trip was a time to adjust. Virginia had to adjust to what she knew of me now, while Maggie had to adjust to the weight of Harrower. Not to mention the fact she had to practice with it - learning the way of swinging, of releasing the energies contained within. She always did so a distance from the camp, leaving us all in the dark as to the fruit of her labor. But as nothing exploded, and she didn't return with missing fingers, we all supposed that things must have gone well.

But, as all things must, the journey came to an end on the 7^th of June, with us coming to an outcropping of stone so weather beaten and worn that it would have tricked my eye into thinking it was natural...save that it was clearly in the shape of a mathematically perfect arch. Closer inspection revealed a few scant dwarven runes that had not been worn away by time - and produced an eager expression on Maggie's face. This was the place.

We headed inside, with a glowing magick cantrip lighting the way, and my pistol drawn. Maggie paced behind me, Harrower in her hands. Virginia had her magickal blade, while Sally took up the rear with Gillian, who clutched one of our revolvers in her hands. The corridor we strode along was narrow and low, unlike many dwarven habitations, and bore no torches, no signs of any sources of illumination...until we, at last, came to a corner. Even with Virginia's magickal light, I could see the glow shining around the bed.

The chamber beyond was ancient. It smelled of must and age and long decay - which made the contents all the more remarkable. The walls had dimly glowing electrical bulbs, powered by cables that ran into a wall that wheezed and hissed and clicked, ancient engines powering electrical energies within. There were several dozen circular metal holes in the floor, looking as if they were designed to iris open. I could imagine metallic spiders swarming from them if anything went wrong -and shuddered.

But the centerpiece of the room was a large metallic device that looked poised and ready to go. It looked like a huge sphere covered in dots and dashes and bumps, with a spidery network of small needles on the end of flexible, articulated, spiderlike armatures, which cupped the sphere like a pair of hands - but the sphere itself was also mounted upon an axle that was strung between a pair of gears attached to massive chains, which sunk into the floor. Attached to the machine by three cables was a small plinth that contained three tube shaped depressions - each one perfectly shaped for the drums that we had found within the iron chest.

"What the bloody hell is this?" Maggie asked.

"I haven't the foggiest," Virginia whispered.

"Where are the spiders?" Sally asked.

"I believe they're lurking under those manhole covers..." Gillian said, her voice skeptical as she eyed the many holes that ringed the room.

I, meanwhile, had pulled out the drums.

"Uh, how do you now which ones go where?" Virginia asked, her voice nervous.

I hefted up the drum with the key-symbol imprinted on it, then pointed at the niche on the let of the machine - which had a small key symbol imprinted above it, smoothly pressed into the metal.

"Oh," Virginia said.

I slotted the cylinder into the key-niche. The machine clunked...and the sphere began to spin. Very slowly, but it spun. The needles pressed to it, and began to shiver as they bumped and rasped against the many divots and bumps and ridges that covered the sphere. And to my pleasure, a faint sound began to come from the machine. It was raspy and crackly and filled with a hiss like flurrying snow: "L...n...ds p...d ...wn ...m t...n...nd...ok of D...uth...in...es lie ...t yo...k."

"What was that!?" Maggie squeaked.

"An ancient phonograph!" I whispered, then slotted in the next drum to the next hole. The third clicked home before the sphere had even begun to spin - and now, it was spinning faster and faster and faster. And as it moved faster, the voice became stronger and stronger, until I was hearing an ancient dwarven voice, speaking clearly and distinctly: "Listen to the words passed down from the Iron's Clan, find the book of Durin's truth, for within those pages lie the key that you seek."

"Fascinating," I said.

"All right," Sally said, then hiccuped. "Now we just need to -hic- find tha' book."

"Why can't these things ever give direct directions?" Virginia asked scowling slightly. "Why can't something just say go here, do this, why does there have to be five layers of talking to so and so and who and such just to get a straight bloody answer from anyone in this bloody continent!"

I beamed at Virginia. "Aw, come now, Virginia. Where's your sense of adventure?"

"Oh, it was shot down by the ogres in heavier than air flying machines! Then stabbed by the ancient order of mysterious assassins dispatched by the two thousand year old dark elf who seeks to snuff you out before embarking on a genocidal campaign of global conquest! After that, it was rolled into a bog by convicts on a prison island, eaten by giant time stopping apes, and drowned in a storm! That's what happened to my sense of adventure!" She panted, glaring at me. Then, a moment later, she added: "Sir."

I grinned at her. "Would it help if I say you're adorable when you get worked up like this?"

Virginia punched me in the shoulder. Quite hard. Training with a sword had made her quite a stout lady, after all. We set out once more and four days later, our little party had traveled south along the Stonewall Mountains and come to the Stonecutter clan. This place reminded me more of the Black Mountain Clan in terms of its design and its scale. As we stood at the front entrance, Virginia muttered quietly to herself about how she'd be buggered if she set foot in another damn dusty dwarven mine.

I cupped my hands around my mouth and called out. "Hello!"

My voice echoed back. Silence fell - and my brow furrowed. I glanced at the rest of the group. Virginia's grumbling had become a grim silence. I drew my pistol slowly, then called out again.

"Hello in there?"

My voice bounced back: Hello in there! Hello in there! Hello in there...

Silence.

And then, my vision slowly adapting as I looked into the cave, I saw a shape shift and then step forward. A leg dragged along the ground - and a raspy, groaning moan escaped from blue lips as, shambling from the darkness, came a human zombie. Its bluish flesh shone in the sunlight that penetrated into the tunnel as it lurched towards me, arms out stretched and bloody. I lifted my pistol and shot the damn thing in the head. The impact of the bullet was more than enough to tear the creature nearly in half from the force alone, and while magick was normally required to slay these things, brute physical strength could serve as well.

The zombie fell as I looked at Virginia. "I swear," I said. "Dwarves sometimes complain that they're a dying breed, but this is ridiculous."

And from within the mine...came yet more moans. A chorus.

A chorus of the dead.