The Forge of Gramarye

"Legends speak of the rings forged by your people, or perhaps by you. I would have one for myself, that I might see the ancient power of your city revived and with it bring in a new age of knowledge."

"Very well," the spirit said. "I shall make for you these tools, and then take my leave to await the next invocation of the pact."

"I will not keep you waiting long," Ilytha eagerly promised. Aranthir could see grand ideas dancing through her head, but the spirit merely gave her a solemn nod.

"So it shall be." Alakimohr threw up its arms and plunged backwards into the blazing pyre. The flames climbed higher, crackling white fingers licking at the stone roof, and Aranthir covered his eyes against the heat and light. He felt himself take an involuntary step backwards as the heat intensified. It grew hotter still, driving him back against the opposite wall.

The light began to dim, and the heat waned. Daring at last to peak through his fingers, Aranthir saw the pyre dwindling fast. Where there had once been the bodies of men and goblins, there now remained little but ash. His hand fell from his face and he stepped forward to look closer. A gust of wind emanated from the forge, sweeping aside the black ash to reveal a sword and ring.

The sword was kindred in shape and size to the one he already carried, though forged of a single piece of brilliant silversteel, gilded at the hilt and studded in pommel and crossguard with jewels. Silversteel, he breathed, this is truly the stuff of legends. With a breathless Ilytha at his side, he approached the forge in awe.

Brushing aside the remaining ash, she carefully picked up the ring and held it before her. It was filigreed silversteel, set with a single diamond of a thousand facets and wreathed in a garland of tiny gemstones of every color. It sparkled in the white light of Aranthir's globe, throwing a constellation of starry pinpricks of light across the room's walls.

"Absolutely marvelous," she breathed in wonder. She held it up to her eye before slipping it onto a long, delicate finger. "It is everything that the legends say. I can feel the magic within this ring. It will serve me well."

From where he stood, Aranthir could feel the ring's power as well. Unable to contain his interest in the sword any longer, Aranthir lifted the blade from its ashy bed. It was expertly balanced and finely sharpened he felt, as fine as anything the forgemasters of Ildranon could make, if not more so. He bounced it in his hands, cutting the air to test its measure.

The action activated something in the sword. It surged to life in his hands; his breath caught in his throat. White runes flashed into being on the sword's hilt, fading almost as fast as they had appeared. While his eyes had not been fast enough to read them, Aranthir knew in his heart what they said. This was his sword, as much as part of him as his arm or heart. He smiled. The goblins would rue the day they ambushed him.

Finding the entrance to the warrens proved easy enough, for the dragging of captive feet had left easily traced markings in the ancient dust that covered every floor in the tower and city. Beneath an abandoned house they found a great wound clawed in the earth through which they could descend into a maze of tunnels not unlike the one they had navigated by the waterfall. Aranthir led the way with his forge-fresh sword at the ready, trusting in its power to warn of the goblins' approach.

The tunnel wound through the earth, crossing over itself more than once, but the goblins' trail in the dirt remained clear enough to follow. The air grew thicker and stagnant, accompanied by the musty smell of goblins. Aranthir dimmed him globe and then extinguished it entirely as the distant rumble of goblin chanting reached his ears. As promised, his sword began to glow with a pale light.

"We are getting close to the heart of their warren," he whispered and in the darkness he saw Ilytha nod. The ring on her finger sparkled in the blackness.

"I can see light up ahead," she replied, pointing a finger. Aranthir followed her lead and saw that she spoke truly. Ahead of them, where the tunnel turned one last time, the wall was lit by the faint red glow of flames. With great trepidation, they crept around the corner and looked down into the goblin warren.

Beneath them was an open square surrounded by rude huts built from bone and other refuse. Ragged wisps of bark, leaves, and hide lay stretched across frames of wood or bone, bound together with rotting sinews. The whole village reeked of goblin, but the stench was currently drowned out by the acrid smoke wafting up from a bonfire the goblins had built in the center of their square. Two score of the little wretches danced naked about the fire, chanting and waving their arms at the direction of a pot-bellied goblin king in a patchwork cloak and a crown of scrap metal who stood on a dais of hewn stone. Before his throne of bones knelt Janguld and the remaining bandits, battered, bound, and bloodied.

"They don't look so bad," Ilytha whispered hopefully. "At least they look able to walk. And they're still alive."

"We may need them to do more than just walk. There are a lot of goblins down there."

"Indeed, but we have your sword and my ring now."

"I should have asked before, but what can you do with that ring?"

"The legends speak of many powers of these rings. I have not set my mind to mastering them yet, but I should at least be able to call upon the light of the stars to dazzle and stun our foes. This is the most simple power of the ancient rings, but anything more will take time to unlock."

"I suppose it will have to do. We must strike quickly and be gone even more quickly. There are many goblins and sure to be more about. Strike terror into them, free the captives, and head for the surface without delay."

Below them, the goblin king cried out to his subjects, who slowed their dancing and turned to listen. The king began to speak in a horrid, screeching tongue full of stops and starts. He waved his arms about above him, his fat belly shaking with each motion. His subjects called back to him, some falling to their knees as the others danced. The king raised a discarded helm, beating on it with a stick like a bell. The awful pealing echoed about the cavern and Aranthir grimaced.

"Do you know what they're saying?" Ilytha whispered. Aranthir shook his head.

"No. Do you?"

"I don't speak goblin," she replied disdainfully.

"I learned a few words of the dialect common to the northern tribes, but it is not universal. It was a fairly simple language when you get down to it. It must be, they are simple creatures."

He noticed that Ilytha was staring at him with an arched eyebrow.

"You are a man of many surprises, Aranthir. I would not have expected you to be such a linguist."

"The road is as much a teacher as the Colleges, and I have spent many more years on the roads. But come, we must set about freeing Janguld and the others."

They crept down a narrow path cut from the rock to the floor of the cavern. Moving from one dancing shadow to another, they approached the goblin bonfire with barely a sound. The goblins danced, chanted, and banged raucously on shields and armor, helpfully providing a great din to cover their approach. Aranthir paused at the edge of the village to check his pistols. Finding them in order, he signaled to Ilytha to separate and each strike the village assembly from opposite sides.

Trying his best to hide the glow of his sword, Aranthir stole from hut to hut around the edge of the village. Apliss smiled on both of them, for the goblins were too enraptured by their king and ceremony to notice their approach. He pressed himself against a tall hut near the base of the king's dais and looked across the bonfire for a sign of Ilytha.

The loremaster was not yet in position, but he did catch the eye of Janguld. His friend's face lit up in shocked wonder, and Aranthir raised a finger to his lips to signal a need for silence before Janguld's elation gave them away. He looked across the village square again. This time, Ilytha stood ready, her sword in hand and the enchanted ring glinting on the clenched fist of her other hand. He nodded to her to signal the attack.

Springing from ambush, Aranthir clove through the head of the nearest goblin. The blade jolted on impact, but easily cracked open the goblin's skull, shearing through its head to come to a halt halfway through its chest. Runes in the sword's fuller flashed brilliant white and then blood red, washing the village square in a dread glow. The chanting and dancing stopped. All stood staring at Aranthir in shocked horror, mortals and goblins alike.

Aranthir wrenched his sword out, spraying blood across the bare chest of the nearest goblin. He tore a pistol from its holster and leveled it at the king. At the sight of their monarch in danger, the goblins shook off their shock to burst into terrified action. Some ran screeching for cover, others charged at Aranthir in maddened fury. One goblin on the far edge of the square fell dead, Ilytha's slender blade trailing blood from its throat.

But Aranthir remained fixed on the goblin king. The fat goblin's eyes locked onto him in stunned paralysis. Beady, yellow, and dull, they widened with the realization of what he faced. The pistol whirred and snapped, the powder sparked and there was the roar of flame. White smoke obscured his view of the goblin king, and so Aranthir turned his attention to the goblins rushing to the attack.

With a contemptuous flick of his wrist, Aranthir slashed a bloody rent in the face of an approaching goblin. The little wretch fell shrieking to the stone floor, clawing at the wound. Another goblin came on, naked except for a necklace of teeth, but screaming and frothing at the mouth in bloodlust all the same. Aranthir cut its legs outs from beneath it and delivered a sharp kick to its head.

Ilytha was beset by three goblins, but she thrust up her fist toward the roof of the cavern and cried out in an ancient tongue. Light burst forth from the ring, illuminating the chamber as if the sun itself had been brought down here. The goblins cried out in pain, covering their eyes and cringing from its terrible glare. Some of them clutched at smoking skin, hobbling and crawl for cover within their crude huts.

From the dais, Aranthir heard a goblin cry, and turned to see the fat king stagger off his dais unharmed. Moving with speed foreign to his bulk, he disappeared into a hut behind the dais.

"Unbind us!" Janguld cried, raising his hands and the ropes around them. "Let's get out of here!"

Aranthir and Ilytha rushed to undo the bindings as the goblins fleeing in screaming terror. The coarse ropes pricked his fingers as he unbound the captives, but soon enough they fell to the floor. Janguld was freed first and led the rush to gather their arms and armor that lay piled up before the dais in tribute to the goblin king. With Aranthir and Ilytha standing guard against rallying goblins, they hurriedly dressed themselves for battle.

"I never thought to see you again," Janguld called over his shoulder as he pulled on his jack coat. "I had resigned myself to making an escape on my own."

"You'd have never made it by yourself," Aranthir challenged. He could not see Janguld's face, but he knew that his friend was smiling.

"I suppose we'll never find out now."

"If you can't get your armor on quickly, just carry it," Ilytha called. "It's time to go."

Aranthir could hear the goblins rallying. A chorus of squeaks and snarls emanated from the huts, followed by a strange barking. He raised a hand to the nearest hut and conjured a spray of sparks. The dry hide of the hut caught fire, quickly growing to match the heat and intensity of the bonfire that already burned. He heard a goblin yelp inside and scrabbling against the far wall.

"Damn it all!" roared the giant bandit as he struggled with the buckles on his jack coat. "Fuck it, I'll leave it open."

"Aye," muttered another. "Time to go!"

"I'll take the lead," Ilytha shouted over the roar of the flames. "Let's go!"

She charged ahead without waiting for the others to respond, but they assumed her urgency into their own actions and raced to follow. Aranthir, with pistol and longsword in hand, cast one final look around before falling into the column as the rearguard.

The village was boiling around them as panic turned to fury. Aranthir knew they had mere moments before goblins rushed to the attack. Their little column raced toward the cavern exit as fast as they dared, throwing anxious looks over their shoulders. As they passed through the mouth of the tunnel, goblins surged from the village with a piercing scream. They brandished crude knives and spears. Some wore shirts of rusted mail along with battered helms. Their eyes burned bright and red in the light of the bonfire and burning hut.

Slowing long enough to discharge a pistol into the mob, Aranthir continued his run up the tunnel. The snaking corridors echoed with the war cries of the goblins and with horror he realized that some of the passages that crossed about their escape route could be reached quickly from the ground. The goblins would be able to use their knowledge of the tunnels to get ahead of them.

"Watch up above!" he called, "They will drop on us from the upper tunnels when they catch up!"

As he spoke, a goblin fell onto Ilytha from above, but the agile elf slid to the side and slashed the goblin across the face. It felt screaming to the floor, where it was deliberately trampled by the others coming up the tunnel. By the time Aranthir reached it and slammed a heavy boot onto its neck, it was dead.

Yet all around them they could hear other goblins baying and snarling on the hunt. The rattle of loose-fitting mail and helms echoed throughout the tunnel warren, along with the clank of iron.

"They're everywhere," one of the bandits whispered.

"Keep running!" urged Aranthir.

They hastened up the sloping tunnel toward the old cellar where they had entered. Twice more the goblins tried to attack and were beaten back. Instead, they took to throwing or shooting from afar. Aranthir responded with conjurations, though it had been too long since he had taken the spice and his sorcery was too weak to be of much effect.

But Ilytha led them back the way they had come, able to follow the trail in the stone even at a dead run, and soon enough they climbed back up into the cellar. Aranthir and Janguld hauled a slab of fallen masonry across the hole in the floor to block any pursuit.

"We made it!" cried the giant bandit, but no sooner did he begin to celebrate than a dozen goblins burst into the cellar from above. They wore shirts of worn mail and old iron visored helms. In their warty green hands they carried curved blades of pitted and dented iron. With dark red eyes glowing, they glowered down the staircase at their former captives.

In the door behind them appeared the goblin king. With beady golden eyes above a bulbous nose, it stared hard into Aranthir's soul. The king raised a crooked hand and pointed to him.

"Die, elf-blood! Die and go into the stew!" he barked to his soldiers and the armored goblins clanked their way down the stair to join battle.

Aranthir looked to his companions. They were a motley lot, still battered and bloodied from captivity and many still with their armor only half-on. Yet their enemies' numbers counted for little in the confined space and the escaped captives outweighed their foes decisively. It would come down to will, and on that count Aranthir took the lead.

"At them!" he cried, and charged forward with his blade held high. He brought it down on the helm of a goblin and the enchanted steel split the iron like paper. The goblin squealed a death cry, and the others each drew back a step in fear. Aranthir turned toward another target and thrust his blade forward again. This time, it was batted just aside by a goblin blade that riposted against his legs. The goblin's stroke screeched against armor, but Aranthir felt the blow through the metal.

The goblins overcame their fear and pressed forward again. Their short little swords worked against his blades, the ringing of steel deafening in the small cellar. Aranthir stood alone against the goblins as he fended off strike after strike.

There was suddenly a great light that filled the cellar. The goblins cried out, Aranthir shut his eyes in stunned surprise, and there was again the sizzling of flesh. Cracking his eyes open, Aranthir saw Ilytha advancing, her ring held forth and blazing with furious light. The goblins fell back, and the bandits surged forth. They fell upon their foes in a fury, hacking and stabbing at them as the goblins tried to flee. Janguld seized one by the visor, pulling its head back to expose the throat for a mortal blow. The giant bandit caught one goblin by its neck and bashed it against the wall until it went limp.

Seized by terror, the goblins fled up the stairs toward their king, who stood frozen in shock. His great bulk blocked the door, and the press of his terrified soldiers against him bowled him over. His crown clattered to the floor. Aranthir bounded up the stairs in pursuit. He trampled one fleeing goblin, knocking the unfortunate creature back into the cellar where it was hacked to pieces by Janguld and the furious bandits.

The goblin king cowered on the floor before him. It raised one wart-speckled hand, pleading.

"No kill," it begged, "No kill, please!"

Aranthir stabbed it through the belly and twisted his sword. The goblin king howled in pain, its hands clasping the smoking wound until they too burned. Its blood rushed out of its belly to pool on the floor of the house and Aranthir leaned on the sword until the wretched monster died. With a sneer, he drew out his sword and looked back toward the cellar.

Carnage reigned below. Not a single goblin had escaped and their pieces lay scattered about. Janguld stood above a small pile of four goblins, wiping his sword.

"This place reeks," he complained with a scowl. "Can we leave already?"

"Aye," the tall bandit agreed. "I thought the troll smelled awful..."

"Unless you have more to study here, loremaster," Janguld grumbled. Ilytha shook her head as she cleaned off her own sword.

"I have proven that the forge exists," she replied. "For anything more, I will require a larger expedition. For now, I will return to Ildranon to spread news of the discovery."

"And when she returns," Aranthir said sternly, "It would be better if you bandits were not here."

The giant bandit stared hard at him before nodding slowly.

"You've got nothing to fear from us, elf. We've had enough of this place now. Apliss be praised that you can for us. In gratitude for your unbidden rescue, we will leave you alone."

"Well, that is an unexpectedly peaceful resolution," Janguld mused. "And here I was afraid we would have to sour our escape with a little more killing. But now that we've brought you to the Forge, loremaster, might we finally get paid?"

Ilytha smiled. "Let us make it to the surface so you can count your coin in the sunlight. Then we'll head back to Bruscair for drinks and some rest."