The Tale of Amberley Bloodstar Ch. 03

The sounds of fighting got louder, and distantly, I could see a warm, orange glow. Inhuman shrieks and hisses now, along with the guttural shouts of my Dwarven friends. The air grew stiflingly hot as my companions began to jog, and then run forward. Still ducking my head and bending my back slightly, I followed as quickly as I could. Before I was ready, the time for action was upon us.

"Amberley, go there!" Rulim barked, pointing to a point nearby before drawing his sword and hurrying off with the other warriors. I dropped my torch now, as the blaze from within the open spaces ahead of me provided ample light to see by. I burst out of the tunnel and stopped dead in my tracks, my eyes wide with awe...

Before me sprawled a titan cavern, so large that I could not see the other side. It was larger than a small town, and aglow with orange light from the lava flows far below. All 'round me, networks of stone bridges threaded the immense space, and led to what I could only assume were the forges of the Dwarves. Enormous vats and smelters hung from huge chains, but nothing was moving. The impossible industry seemed dead in the presence of this age-old struggle of bitter enemies.

The fight was somehow unreal to me. I could see silhouettes on the bridges and ledges, sometimes flaring in the orange light, the silvery steel of the Dwarves glinting as they cleaved the air. Twisted and ugly forms swarmed about, screeching and yelling in an accursed tongue. They struck and stabbed at my allies with jagged, hateful weapons.

There was no way to take it all in- the scope of this arena of death was too vast. My head was almost spinning as I tried to look every which way- there were bridges and stone walks far overhead, and even more far below, hanging over the molten rock that was the earth's very rage, glowing orange and red with a heat only a dragon could fathom.

I remembered my instructions and bolted for an outcropping that was dominated by a natural pillar. I eased myself against the formation, breathing hard, although I had hardly exerted myself. My environment was overwhelming me, certainly. Echoing noise, the screeching of steel, and the agonized howls of the dying; the play of deepest shadow against the flaring, hard orange and red lights of the forges, and the heat of the hellfires below.

Not so far away, I saw a knot of beings engaged in a savage fight- the squat, powerful figures of Dwarves laying into the twisted and rangy forms of their goblin foes. Though they seemed outnumbered, my allies held the upper hand, cutting down the goblins with a cold ferocity. But then the goblins swarmed one Dwarf who got separated from the others. Even his stout armour was not proof against all their wicked blades and he died, coughing and choking in a welter of blood.

I was torn about what to do, when a heard a gurgling hiss behind and above me. I whirled around to look up and leapt back as a goblin scrambled down the stone column I had been hiding behind. He flopped to the platform on his hands and feet, his pale eyes wide and wild with a murderous fury. In his hands, a rusty, jagged sword dripped with a vile ichor.

He was too close for me to draw and use my rapier. As he lunged toward me and slashed at my head with his weapon, I hunched low, my twin knives leaving my belt and plunging into his neck. The hideous being shuddered, his pointed tongue thrashing about before I yanked my knives out and surged up to kick him in the chest.

He toppled over the side of the narrow platform we'd been on, plummeting down into the orange depths below. I knew better than to waste time trying to see what happened to him and looked around warily for other foes. To my shock and horror, I could see other goblins not only descending on pillars from above, but somehow clambering onto the platforms from below, surrounding the Dwarves when they could. They were coming from seemingly anywhere!

I pressed myself up against the pillar again, sheathing my knives in case the glinting steel attracted them. But what good was I, hiding here like this? I know they said I was here to watch and sing my songs of their valour, but how could I if they were all slain, and I was left alone down here? What chance did I have of survival in these hateful depths?

I fought down the cold surge of fear and panic that tried to grip me. Fear and panic would only get me killed.

Do something. Do anything! What whatever you do, be decisive about it!

This was no different than any other adventure. If I wanted to write and sing about it, I would need to live it.

And wouldn't I be safest surrounded by heavily-armoured Dwarves?

I dashed around the edge of the cavern, toward the closest knot of Dwarves, who were still locked in a bitter struggle with many goblins. No one seemed to have noticed me yet, which was a good thing in my estimation. I was determined to give a good account of myself in the eyes of my comrades.

One of the goblins shrieked as my rapier point burst through his chest from behind, the filthy, rusted rings of his mail shirt no proof against my keen blade. I drew my sword back and then struck at another, slicing into the side of his neck. Black blood spurted from the wound and I danced aside lithely, determined to not find out (yet) what the vitae felt like on my skin. I could already smell it, and it made my stomach turn.

A hiss behind me and I spun about, catching a short blade on my own as the goblin struck. Our swords rang in a brief by furious exchange, but I was taller and had the greater reach, something these foes were not expecting. They'd come to fight Dwarves; they might not have ever seen a human before. A parry and then a quick strike, my swift blade removing his eye with a flick of my wrist. The goblin screeched in pain before my rapier lanced through its throat.

But now the general melee was close to me, and I switched to using my knives again in these cramped quarters. My allies seemed aware of me, and they swung their axes, hammers, and blades with an eerie efficiency. Were I to be slain or wounded, it would not be a Dwarf who claimed the feat, clearly. It was a relief, to be honest, knowing that I needn't fear a mistake in this chaos.

We were pushing toward a huge bridge, one that was wide enough for an entire company of Dwarves to march across in formation, and that stretched a full hundred yards in front of us, before reaching a giant platform that was a juncture for more bridges. Above us, bridges and darkness. Below us, yet more paths, suspended above fiery death. I could still not grasp the scope of my surroundings.

The savage fight moved forward, the goblins giving ground. I was left near the back of the Dwarven warriors, following as closely as I dared. I heard a gurgling hiss and saw gruesome hands clutch the side of the bridge. A swarthy goblin began pulling himself up onto the stone, hoping to get behind his foes. Without another thought, I rushed over and kicked him in the face. His neck snapped back and he plummeted from the bridge, shrieking as he fell toward the magma far below.

I turned to follow again but stopped dead in my tracks- at my feet, the body of an old Dwarf warrior, looking up into the darkness blankly.

His mail armour was rent open, thick blood spreading in a pool around him. My eyes stung and my hand came to my mouth as I remembered his name.

Farewell, Dror, I will sing of you fondly, and all will know your name...

We had almost gained the bridge, and I bit my lip as I realized that it was wider than the platform we now fought on. While not many of my comrades had fallen, our numbers had been reduced enough that we could not cover the whole span, and the swarm of goblins had yet to abate. I noticed a short bow on the ground, one of crude make. The goblin who had been using it lay nearby, a quiver of arrows still on its back. He had been trampled in the melee, but on closer examination, some of the arrows seemed to have survived.

And I am no expert shot, but I have some small proficiency. I picked up the bow and quiver, nocking one of the arrows on to the string and looked around for a target. I saw a goblin scampering down the bridge toward us, howling and waving a small spear overhead. I brought the bow up to my cheek and drew back on the string, the shoddy weapon trembling under the creaking stress.

The arrow went wide, sailing out over the chasm and disappearing into the depths below. I cursed and hastily fixed another arrow into the string, drawing it again and aiming slightly to the right of my target. Releasing the arrow, I watched as it sped forward, and sank into the goblin's shoulder. He howled and spun to the ground, squirming and writhing in pain before going still. Poison?

I shot what few arrows I had left, scoring only three more hits, but reminding myself that in these situations, every enemy felled helped. I dropped the bow and drew my blade again, moving to catch up with my comrades as they tried to force the bridge. A goblin wielding two short swords rushed up to me, wild-eyed and screeching. I dodged the swipes of the blades and drove the point of my rapier through his open mouth and out the back of his head. The goblin thrashed and struggled madly, and he was much stronger than he looked.

I could have sworn he was forcing himself further onto my blade, to reach me and force me over the side of the bridge with him. A cold terror at the thought washed over me, and I spun to the side and wrenched my blade loose from his skull. He howled as he tumbled over the edge to his doom.

The look on that twisted, ugly face... those yellow eyes... the needle-like fangs...

A roaring shout echoed across the vast cavern, and was answered from above and below. On the far side of the bridge, a hulking, brutish form stood menacingly, holding a great axe over its head. Beady red eyes under a beetling brow glinted angrily in the forgelight. Great tusk-like teeth protruded from the huge jaw. Another roar, and the foe began to lope forward. More brutes fell in behind it, charging toward us.

I had never seen an orc before, except in depictions, and they were even more frightening than I'd been led to believe. They towered over the Dwarves, easily the height of a man, and definitely broader than a man, with long arms and powerful, sloped shoulders. Long, red tongues lashed in their jaws, longing to taste our blood. Scampering between the brutes were more cackling and screeching goblins.

My Dwarven allies marched forward in a tight formation, unafraid.

I drew a deep breath, suppressed my fear, and prayed to the goddess...

***

The Dwarves' formation had almost held, but once an orc had finally pushed through the stout wall of steel, the melee became general. I held as best as I could to the outside, where my agility served me. That advantage seemed moot at points, though, giving the churning mass of chaos I sometimes had to push back against.

The orcs hacked at my allies with a wild abandon, eyes wild with bloodlust. The warriors of Drozzir-Karak fought back coldly, pressing in against their larger foes, where reach counted for much less, and using their superior weapons to crack open armour.

I came to understand quickly that my style of fighting was not suited to this circumstance- not because I lacked room to get about and avoid the blows of my enemy, but because their armour, though not cunningly wrought in the same manner as that of my allies, was tough and covered them well. Often, my keen blades glanced off the dark iron, and I found I needed to aim for the joints or their faces. Even then, with a swordpoint through their eye, an orc barely slowed in its assault. That, and the whirlwind of carnage about me meant that my intended target rarely did me the courtesy of staying in one place long enough for me to find my mark. My Dwarven allies just cut or smashed right through the armour.

I dodged again and plunged my knives down into the shoulders of a pale goblin, who screeched and fell to the ground. I had barely pulled my blades from his body when another attacked me ferociously, swinging with a club studded with spikes. I scrambled back in a panic, looking for an opening, but lost my footing as I tripped over a body behind me.

I landed on my back, shouting out in wide-eyed alarm as the fiend leapt at me, intent on his kill. But then his body spasmed as a pick spike burst through his chest, and he collapsed on top of me, the corpse still juddering and bathing me in gore.

In shock, I looked up, noticing that Dalgrul stood there, panting heavily; his heavy pick was in his hands, dripping black blood from the spiked end. There was a nasty gash over his left eye, but he seemed oblivious to it. He looked at me, nodded, and then turned and dashed back into the fray, letting out some deep guttural war cry of his people.

With a shudder of revulsion, I hastily pushed the corpse of the goblin off me, trying to compose myself. My heart was racing, and I wanted to scream. I squeezed my eyes shut, clenching my teeth as I shook, trying to master my fear. What was a I doing?

Foolish girl! You have no business here! What good are pretty songs in this underground Hell? How can mere words describe this horror you now witness?

My muscles ached. My body ached. Not just from squeezing through tight tunnels, nor from the harrowing fight I now found myself in, but my entire being was screaming in protest at being here. This was not any sort of adventure I was used to or had told myself existed. The fabled mysteries and wonders of Dwarven realms were almost forgotten by my terror of this deep place and the horrors of this unending war.

I prayed for strength, knowing I needed to calm myself. If I did not, I would die. I might still, but I would not die in fear and panic. If I did not live to sing my promised songs, I resolved that at least my Dwarven allies would sing of me and my efforts on their behalf.

Slowly, I opened my eyes, watching the maelstrom of violence not far in front of me. Hulking shapes and squat, powerful silhouettes jostled and whirled about in a dance of death. The gleaming lights of forgefires flickered on armour and weapons, and the beady red eyes of the orcs almost glowed. Howls and roars were met by shouts and droning war chants, and the ring of steel pierced through all other noise.

Ignoring my fear, I dashed back in, moving to the outside and the edge of the bridge. A huge, hulking orc, swarthy and menacing, was laying about with a blade that was almost larger than myself. He was keeping several of my allies at bay, none of whom were willing to gamble on their armour surviving a blow of his giant sword.

I dived under the wide arc of his blade and fell behind him, but not before managingto drive one of my daggers through the back of his knee. The brute grunted and howled as he staggered, dropping his guard long enough for one of my allies to slam his axe home, shearing through the great helm and splitting the orc's skull. I only barely scrambled out of the way before he toppled backward, sure to crush me.

There was an eerie silence in our immediate vicinity, and I realized that the goblins and orcs had all been slain. Fights could be heard elsewhere around us in these mighty halls, but our area was clear. I stood, my chest heaving, and my eyes wide. My blades were still dripping black blood, and I myself was wearing more than a little of it.

My dwarf companions seemed somewhat stunned too, gazing around almost in bewilderment. I couldn't help but notice that the company was smaller than before. And many of those who remained looked considerably worse off than they had before the fighting began. Armour was rent, weapons broken or notched, and blood flowed from many wounds. Several were only barely standing.

"Come," Rulim announced, adjusting the straps of his shield and fixing his helmet in place. "We mustn't be left behind."

I thought to protest, to point out that many in his company were hurt, and needed their wounds bound, but the dwarves all righted themselves and began trudging forward again, seemingly heedless of their injuries. It reminded me that to many of them, this was a march to their death. They would stop at nothing to retake the great halls of their ancestors, their lives be damned.

They continued across the bridge, the wounded trying not to slow down their progress, despite their pain. I couldn't help but watch in bewilderment as they left me behind, knowing I'd catch up. I drew a deep breath, trying to compose myself, and made the mistake of looking around...

I'd seen death before, but never in all my years had I imagined something like this. Even now, the corpses all around me seemed locked in combat, as if destined to forever fight a war that Fate would never allow to end.

I clamped a hand over my mouth, stifling a gasp as I saw two bodies in front of me- a dwarf and an orc and slain ech other, bodies impaled on the other's weapon. Their eyes were wide open, glaring at one another hatefully, even in death, frozen onto their faces for eternity.

The hatred... deep, primal... ancestral...

It shook me to my core to think that races could never exist together, that one's survival could only be guaranteed by the annihilation of the other. The dwarves would never suffer the orcs to exist, no matter the cost. And the orcs and goblins would see every single dwarf slain, how ever long it took. Eternal war.

There are two sets of songs you will sing, Amberley, should you survive this-the glorious tales your Dwarven friends have asked of you, these great remembrances, and then the songs known only to you, that speak of the horrors you have witnessed, and the price paid so willingly by entire races over dark passages deep inside the earth. Make sure you never forget what you have truly seen here.

I steeled myself and began trotting across the bridge after my allies.

***

The Forges of Yallarz had been retaken, and the host trooped on, moving toward Kirsumir. I was exhausted, shuffling along behind my doughty comrades, who seemed undeterred. Even the wounded dwarves were resolutely keeping pace, which was more than I could claim. But I dared not fall behind at any price, because the tunnels we navigated branched off endlessly, and I would never be found again if I lost sight of them.

In the tunnels, more savage fights erupted, although the confined nature of these environs meant the melees were swift and brutal. There were also many of them, as the goblins and orcs attacked relentlessly. Oftentimes, we found ourselves assaulted from the rear, from passages we thought we had already scoured. Though I tried my best to remain on the edges of the fray, I still found my blades dripping black with blood.

The foe had seemingly been beaten back, at least for now, and Rulim ordered us to rest. The company wearily sat back against the walls, and the wounded were tended to. I had my share of scrapes and bruises, but miraculously no more than that, praise the goddess.

Rulim came to me now and knelt in front of me, his face grave with concern. "I am glad to see you are still with us, although I fear your strength is almost spent, Amberley."

I smiled wearily. "I appreciate your concern, my friend, but we are too far into these realms of yours for me to do anything but continue on. If I stay or am left behind, I will die. And we cannot turn back. Therefore, I will push forward until my heart gives, I am slain in combat, or we have attained our objective. My resolve will see me through to one of those ends, I promise."

He nodded pensively. "You do not need any attention?"

I just shook my head. "Mere scrapes and cuts. And my back is killing me from all the stooping in these damnably squat tunnels of yours that we use on occasion."