The Tale of Amberley Bloodstar Ch. 03

Great halls had opened before us again, and they were swarming with orcs- not throngs of screeching, disorderly goblins, but loud, disciplined companies of hulking warriors clad in stout armour. I worried that even the weapons of my allies might not prove enough to break these armoured shells.

What chance, then, did I have?

The light company of warriors I was attached to now skirted the heavy fighting in front of us and we made our way down a small tunnel, one that seemed to me too cramped for any orc, given how large and broad they were. We were supposed to come out behind these foes, and would drive into their rear, hopefully breaking them. The orcs had the greater numbers, and we needed every advantage we could get.

A cry of dismay from up front indicated things would not go so smoothly. We came to a stop because the tunnel had been blocked up and sealed off, an ugly plug of stones, broken timber beams, and jagged, rusted metal. Several warriors examined it, and tried to demolish the barrier, but we soon realized if was far too thick to allow removal in the time allotted to us. Everyone seemed at a loss, and I wished that Rulim was with us.

"What do we do?" one young warrior asked. "It must be at least twenty spans thick, it'll take hours to remove it and let us through! They're relying on us to get to the gate and open it for the thane and his royal companies!"

The dwarf who was in command stomped back and forth in frustration, trying to think of a solution. "There's nothing for it! We need to turn back and help them fight their way closer!"

"But that's not what we were commanded to do!" protested the first warrior.

"What choice have we?!" demanded the commander. "Would you have us all shed our armour, climb into the air shaft and come out unarmed on the other side, where the enemy awaits?!"

"I can do it," I stated, glancing up at the small aperture in the wall above us, a square of blackness that ked through the mountain stone. "I can fit in it."

"Amberley, no," Dalgrul protested, giving me a worried look. "You have no idea what waits on the other side! None of us do!"

"If we don't get this gate down, our only choice it to go back and die beside our comrades outside Kirsumir's walls," I pointed out. "But if I can get us in, there's still a chance, even if you have to fight through with everyone else."

The commander considered, finally shrugging. "It's not like we have a better option at hand. Listen to me- this passage will be at least one hundred feet long, and it will come out in a series of storage rooms that supplied the gate guards when we controlled this place. If you get through, there will be four great levers that you must force in order to make the Obsidian Gate open. Hopefully the company trying to reach the Silverstone Gate will fare better than us.""

"I understand," I said, nodding. "I will avoid fighting and open the gate. They won't be expecting this. Now go, I have work to do."

The commander nodded and then jogged off back down the tunnel, followed by his men. Last of all, Dalgrul looked back at me for moment before following his comrades. Before long, all was silent again. I took several moments to close my eyes and breathe deeply, trying to not consider the situation I was in. The one thing that I was not supposed to let happen had come true- I'd been separated from my allies.

We all knew that if the gates didn't come down, everyone would die. Even a force as strong and magnificent as the thane's couldn't force their way past those barriers if they remained up. We'd been meant to use these virtually unknown access passages to take control of the gate houses and allow the throng in. But now that wasn't possible. Not in the way we'd had planned.

Could this idea work? Assuming I found my way out of the chute I was intending to navigate, would I not find myself opposed by determined defenders? What then? I couldn't possibly slay them all.

It didn't matter if this was a fool's hope, because it didn't matter where I died. If I suffocated in the tiny air chute, no one would ever know. If I died in the guardrooms of the gatehouse, the orcs and goblins would probably eat me. If I had gone back with the others, I would die alongside my friends, but probably be defiled in the same way as orcs were known to do to the bodies of dwarves.

Decisions, decisions...

I made myself laugh with that last thought and began preparations for what was possibly my last act ever. But the goddess was with me, even here, leagues under the earth in this damnable place. I would know no fear.

The entrance to the shaft I was to use was just off to the right of the blocked-up passageway, maybe eight feet overhead. I moved forward and tested some of the rubble with my hands, seeing how securely in place it was. If I carefully climbed, I'd be able to fit into the shaft. I hoped.

I'd climbed trees as a young girl in Furyondy, and my mother thought I might have been part Tarnn-monkey, because of how quickly I scrambled up into the tallest boughs. This wasn't exactly the same, of course, but my muscles knew how to climb, and the objective was much closer. If my footing remained steady, getting in would be easy.

I pulled myself up, grunting with the effort of using my fingertips to grip onto the smooth stone. Before me was nothing but stale, musty blackness. Whatever else happened, I now had to get into the passage. I unslung my lute and harp, placing them in ahead of me when it became obvious that they wouldn't fit on my back. And I dared not leave them, my father would kill me if I lost them somewhere underground.

A bard never loses their instruments. Come back with your harp always, Amberley. Or don't come back.

I was reasonably certain that he didn't mean it, but every bard I'd ever heard of who lost their instrument was a disgrace. Not me. I'd somehow bring them with me, come what may. I struggled in after my instruments, feet scrabbling comically against the wall before I exhaled loudly and flopped into the passage. First problem solved.

The next problem was that it was blacker than the insides of a cow in this tiny chute. I wouldn't be relying on my sight to get out of here. And how did I know where I was going? I thought of the ventilation shafts in the walls of the palace back home and remembered that they had exits to multiple rooms. How would I know which place I was looking for?

Just go, Amberley! There's no time!

I sighed and began wiggling and shuffling down the hewn-stone chute, shoving my instruments in front of me. I'd had to sling my rapier across my back, since having it on my hip interfered mightily with my ability to move. Thank the goddess I wasn't afraid of enclosed spaces.

While I might have been quieter, I wasn't sure I had time. The commander had said the shaft was probably a hundred feet long, so I had my work cut out for me. Occasionally, small shafts branched off left and right, but I continued forward, reasoning that the gatehouse we'd been trying to reach was farther back, somewhere over the Obsidian Gate, wherever that was.

My progress felt agonizingly slow to me, especially since I couldn't tell readily tell how far I'd gone in this utter darkness. There were no sounds anywhere, just the echoes of my grunting and shuffling. I pushed myself, acutely aware of the press of time. Every second those gates weren't down, my comrades would be dying uselessly in front of them.

Noises. Up ahead. I stopped and listening for a moment, trying to decide what it was I was hearing.

The language, whatever it was, had a guttural, ugly quality to it, utterly inhuman. Just hearing it made me shiver. I moved on, but tried to make less noise.

An unpleasant smell reached my nose, akin to dung. It reminded me of the reek of the bodies of the orcs and goblins I'd fought and killed. More of the rumbling, hateful language. It had to be orcs. But where was I? Was I headed in the right direction? I had to press on.

Dim light up ahead. Dim, brownish, orange light that flickered. Torches or braziers? I slowed down, making as little noise as possible. I couldn't afford to be detected now. If they figured out I was here, I'd die in this shaft. No, let me die blade-to-blade with my foes, if I am to die today. Caution, Amberley!

The clammy damp of the passage gave way to a strange warmth, and the unpleasant smell became a stench almost beyond bearing. I steeled myself and kept going, noting the agitation in the voices ahead of me. One deeper, louder voice than the rest seemed to be barking orders, overcoming protests with threats and then rough blows. Other denizens of the space ahead yelped and howled, the din dreadful to listen to. Hopefully it was covering my approach.

I could see an exit from my shaft now, a hole like the one I'd climbed into. Muddy brown light awaited me, along with the cloying warmth and hideous reek. I flattened myself as I inched forward, finally reaching the edge. Taking a deep breath to calm my nerves, I dared to peek into the space beyond.

It was a small room, indeed lit by a single guttering brazier, which I imagined was the source of the foul odour I smelled. I tried to control my breathing and my fear as I saw a powerful, dark-skinned orc standing in the middle of the space, grousing in his unlovely tongue and making threats to two smaller orcs in front of him, waving his powerful arms about. The other two seemed cowed, almost trembling as they let their bully rave at them. On the floor, a third orc was lying unconscious, or possibly dead, his jaw smashed and almost removed from his skull. Rickety weapon racks lined the walls, and mouldering sacks of supplies were strewn about.

A guardroom. Hopefully that meant I was close to my target.

After more snarling and growling, along with simpering from the smaller orcs, the largest one grunted and stomped out of the room. The remaining orcs were grumbling to one another before squatting down on the floor, staring dully off into the darkness. I took a moment to close my eyes and compose myself, wondering what to do next.

It was possible that I could slip down and maybe kill them both, but it was an enormous risk- if they heard me climbing out of the shaft, I'd be dead before I hit the floor.

Well, am I a bard, or am I a bard?

Quietly, I took my aeolian harp and held it close to me. My mind and fingers found the single string made of zirium crystal, and I pictured discordant sounds in my mind, unnatural noises as I strummed my thumb over the string...

An indistinct sound echoed from down the hallway outside the room. It might have been the clattering of a rock, or a metal object dropping, but it was not natural.

Both orcs stood up, seeming alert, their backs to me. They growled and grunted at one another in their hideous language before one of them loped off down the hall, his spear in hand. The other shuffled over toward the exit of the room, gazing after his comrade. They had no reason to suspect I'd be here.

It was now or never.

I thanked the goddess that his attention was drawn away so completely. Down the hall, there were loud calls and snarls, as if an argument was happening. Quietly as I could, I pushed myself to the opening and twisted to clamber down. I left my lute and my harp behind me in the airway, since they would be little use in what happened next.

Unless something very loud happened down the hall, there was no way the orc wouldn't hear me when I dropped the few feet to the floor. My knives were loosened in their sheaths already as I dangled myself from the lip of the shaft, praying that I wouldn't make too much noise...

The orc's ragged, pointed ears pricked up as my boots touched the floor, but by the time he'd turned around, I was on him. A strangled, gurgling sound all he managed to get out after my knife blade tore his throat open. Unwilling to take a chance on him dying quickly or quietly, I bore him to the ground, thankful that his armour was made of beaten old hide and leather, rather than metal. He flailed about in a panic as I jammed my long knife down into his neck repeatedly, ignoring the stinking, black vitae that spattered my leather jack and my clothes beneath. His thrashing became shuddering, random movements, and finally the orc went still, his yellow eyes peering off sightlessly, and his pointed red tongue lolling out of his mouth, nearly touching the floor below. Black blood was spreading in a stinking pool below the body.

Shivering, I wiped my blade and then stood, taking a quick moment to compose myself. I had to remind myself that the hard part was about to begin, since I was very unlikely to run into fewer orcs now, was I? If I was in the defences of Kirsumir, then a battle was happening outside the walls, and the denizens within would be agitated and ready for trouble.

All I could hope is that they weren't expecting me.

Shuffling feet and snuffling grunts in the hallway. Heading this way.

I hurriedly but quietly pressed myself up against the wall beside the corner into the room, with Lyr and Aye in each hand. Aye had slain the first orc, and I could help but smile as I switched the blades between my hands, remembering to allow Lyr to draw parity with her brother blade. Even in moments like this, it wouldn't do to forget. I felt like the knives knew.

If it was the same orc as before coming back, then he was slightly shorter than the one I'd already hacked to death. I closed my eyes and listened quietly for his approach, picturing what I'd do next.

The stooped, swarthy and brutish form almost loped around the corner when my hand flashed out, the keen point of Lyr piercing the orc's throat deeply. Only a choking noise escaped him before he sank forward, dying in a welter of gushing blood. I caught him to prevent him from crashing loudly to the floor and found myself tumbling backward, his oppressive weight on top of me.

I wheezed as I rolled him off, fighting to keep from screaming as the blood from his throat showered my face and neck. I scrambled away hastily, breathing hard, my eyes wide. Despite the fact that I'd killed him instantly, my fear was strong. I questioned once again what I was even doing here.

I fell to my knees and held myself, trembling, and my eyes squeezed shut. I felt tears on my cheeks, but didn't let myself cry. Amberley, what's done is done. You cannot go back! If you want to live, you have to fight your way out of here. There is no other option.

You may be in their fortress, but you needn't play their game.

I stood and took several deep breaths. I would reach that gatehouse and lower that mighty gate, if it was the last thing I did. My comrades needed me now. And if they all died out front, what chance did I stand in here? No, I needed them in here with me, and they were trusting me to make that happen.

Determined to cause confusion and wreak havoc as only a bard of Furyondy could, I quickly retrieved my instruments from the shaft and then searched the orc for anything that might come in useful, such as keys or the like. The fires in the dirty oil braziers smouldered and guttered, still casting the room in dim ochre light. I had to move; seconds counted.

I poked my head around the corner, seeing a dark, barely lit stretch of hallway, seemingly of dwarven make, but ugly and defiled by the orcs, much as the guardroom had been. A single guttering brazier letting out greasy black smoke was all that illuminated most of the length. I stepped out cautiously, placing my knives back in their sheaths, my harp now in my hand, and my finger gliding subtly against the zirium string hiding in the middle.

Orc voices up ahead. In another room. I found myself wishing I'd had more time (and inclination) to listen to them speak, so that I knew what was happening. I'd have to slip by them, I couldn't afford to get bogged down in a fight in these hallways.

Slowly I strummed the zirium string, and it glittered faintly under my touch. It was a minor magic, not really more than a cantrip, but with any luck, it would keep my foes from noticing me while I slipped by, dulling their senses. A single zirium crystal string was unlikely to save the day here, but I'd take every advantage I could get.

I didn't look into the room as I moved past the door. I didn't dare. I didn't want to do anything that might attract their attention, including possibly locking eyes with them. I held my breath as I passed like a shadow outside the door, seemingly safe from threats within.

Then I became aware of another noise- a distant din, and it didn't take long to figure out what it was.

The sounds of battle.

As much as I dared, I picked up my pace, still strumming my finger over that lone string, praying that it would help me avoid my enemies for a few moments longer. The ringing clash of arms grew louder, and I had to wonder how great and terrible the conflict must be if I could hear it through these mighty, ancient walls of an elder era.

I threw myself flat against the wall, eyes wide as a group of armoured orcs loped down the hall that crossed the one I was in. My breath sounded louder than a Landrean thunderstorm to me, my heart ringing like a hammer on an anvil in my chest, but they took no notice of me. They were carrying weapons and wearing stout armour, as if going to battle.

Against all better judgement, I knew I had to follow them. Safety was, if such a thing was possible, in the opposite direction they were headed. But I knew that if I was to complete my task, I could not shirk danger. There was no salvation in avoiding it, because I would only die later, hunted down like a rat, alone.

My death would be glorious. I promised the goddess that.

When they were a fair distance ahead of me, I broke into a trot, relieved their attention was elsewhere. The sounds of battle were becoming distinctly louder, and I had no idea what to expect at this point. I suppressed my fear and kept moving, knowing that to stop was death at this point.

I halted at yet another corner and peeked around, a cold chill washing up my spine.

The large, open room that awaited me was the gatehouse I must have been looking for. There must have been nearly thirty orcs mustering, great, swarthy brutes all far larger than myself, even with their hunched postures. They gibbered and growled in their foul tongue and bore wicked black weapons and armour daubed in blood.

Beyond them, I could see the great levers the commander had alluded to before I parted ways with my comrades. They were large wooden affairs, bound in dark iron and seemingly attached to mighty chains and a cogged wheel. If these two worked, they were matched on the far side of the fortress in another guardroom and meant to lower the gates. If I could reach them, I could allow my throngs of dwarf comrades into their ancient kingdom, and we would win the day.

All I had to do was get by thirty murderous orcs, hungering for battle and blood.

I couldn't. Not with my blades. What would I do? They were mustering here, but they would no doubt come back out of the gatehouse and find me. And then I would die.

I closed my eyes, pleading with the goddess to speak through me, to impress her will upon the world, even down to this depth of rock, lava, iron and stone. She was the goddess of song in all things, not merely dainty instruments. The songs of the air, the sea, and the earth, these also responded to her, if she sang passionately. Would she let me sing down here?

You are no mere fey goddess of flippant songs and celebration, my Lady. Your servants sing of valour and fell deeds, of war and mettle, strife and victory. Though you delight in eternal joy, your succour to those who serve you in violent times is our boon as well. Let mine enemies know thy wrath, my goddess. I need you, now more than ever. Let me be your instrument, and may the bones of the earth tremble at your voice...