The Tale of Amberley Bloodstar Ch. 03

My supplication to the goddess complete, I drew a deep breath and opened my eyes, my hands on my harp. The common strings resonated with the zirium crystal strand while I began to play, a slow but rising cadence the brought strife to mind, the urge to let blood. I could feel it trying to force its way into my being, but I kept it out, willing the discord to reach around me, to strike into the hearts and minds around me, to see only enemies and threats. The sound pounded in my skull and I squeezed my eyes shut as I moved back out of sight, still playing.

I was aware of what happened in the room just beyond, even though I chose to not witness it. The simple minds and black hearts of my enemies were overthrown, gripped by madness and bloodlust. Their own natures betrayed them, amplified by my song as they fell on one another, tearing and hacking with their cruel weapons. Roars and gurgling, inhuman cries almost overpowered my playing, sending shivers of horror through me, almost driving me to my knees as they ripped one another apart in an orgy of blood and inhuman violence.

A large orc collapsed into the hallway, screeching in agony with half of his head missing, welters of black blood gushing forth from the colossal wound. He seemed to get almost dragged back into the unseen maelstrom, where the gristly sounds of weapons, claws and teeth ended his cries. The battle raged, challenging my very sanity with the terror it represented. Everything I had witnessed thus far in my adventure, and none of it held the horror for me that this scene did, were I to look.

I cannot begin to guess how long it was before the sounds began to die down, the yelling, shrieking, and howling replaced by the groans and gasps of the dying. Swallowing and composing myself, I stopped playing and put aside my harp, steeling my nerves to look around the corner. My hand found one of my knives, resting on the cool ivory handle for assurance. I had to move; I might already be too late...

I turned the corner and did what I could to ignore the horror of the carnage that awaited me. The floor was slippery, awash with black blood and the entrails of the orcs. Mangled and eviscerated corpses lay everywhere. Some twitched feebly, others that still had faces wore rictus expressions of shock or rage, mindless bloodlust. The stench of death overwhelmed me and I swooned, dropping to my knees as I fought to control my stomach.

Go... go!

I raised myself to my feet and took a breath, steeling myself for what needed to happen next. The entire space in front of me was a mass of shredded and mangled bodies, some still twitching, gore making the surface I was to walk on slippery. I ignored it as best I could, cautiously stepping by the dead orcs, wary of any that might still be alive.

I almost collapsed against the giant levers, gasping for air. The air reeked of black death, the sensation of violence palpable and oppressive, almost choking me. I had seen battles in my own world, heard the accounts of how horrific they were. But they were nothing like this. There was simply no comparison.

Stop thinking about it. Do your duty!

And I did indeed have a duty. I had friends and comrades I wanted to live. I wanted to live. And if they all died, so would I. There was no survival here if we did not triumph in this hour. There was nothing but death, in this dark, forgotten realm. At the moment I'd wished I'd never heard of it, or the dwarves of the Black Hills Kingdom.

I gripped the stout wood of the lever I was leaning against. Several deep breaths later, I began pulling and straining with all my might, trying to make it move, but it would not budge. I tried pushing on the lever, grunting and groaning before I collapsed, almost sobbing in frustration. I could hear things outside now. I could hear the battle, the shouts of the combatants and the moans of the dying. I was pierced to the core by the sounds of my dwarven friends, their pain obvious before their lives were lost.

All because I was not strong enough.

What could I do?

This had better work...

My heart actually twinged when I pulled the zirium string from my harp, a single crystalline tear rolling down my cheek. I had violated my instrument and it hurt me to do so. There are comical songs of bards breaking their lutes over people's head, and maybe some crude buskers have done this very thing. But to a devotee of the Lady, the Mistress of Song, it is a grave thing indeed to mar one's divinely-inspired tools.

My eyes stung as I held up the string, which was so thin as to almost be invisible unless you were looking for it. It glittered in the gloom, and I swallowed as I said farewell, knowing that if I died here, this zirium, and indeed my instruments, were doomed to desecration. And that was an unforgivable sin.

I crouched down in useless but unavoidable fear and I allowed myself to look through one of the arrow loops defenders would normally use- I felt my breath quickening as I gazed upon the scene below.

My allies were fighting on the defensive, being pushed back from the gates they were fighting so hard to gain. They fought in tight defensive formations, giving ground steadily, as mobs upon mobs of massive orcs rushed up, determined to break the dwarven lines apart with raw savagery.

A huge orc, flanked by a small group of bodyguards, yelled at and harangued his troops, bellowing at them to slay the 'stunties' and eat them. It wouldn't be long before he got his wish, the gigantic cavern that was the open space before the great gates swollen with numbers of goblins and orcs I couldn't begin to count in the dim light.

I put down my harp long enough to approach the mechanism again. Shivering at the thought of what I was about to do, I began looping the zirium around one of the heavy, dark iron chains. The string was gossamer-thin in my hands and I could not remember the number of times I had cut myself on it when I was learning to play, it was so fine. Only a trained minstrel could use it safely; a person with no knowledge could lose the tip of a finger.

Closing my eyes, I tried to find serenity in the chaos and death around me. It was absurd to try and do this, but I found I had no choice. This was my only chance to help, to make sure we survived. And even if this worked, our victory was by no means assured. Death might still be only moments away. But we would die fighting our way toward the Great Hall, not fleeing from it.

My Lady... find me... hear my devotion and let me sing your praises...

I sang a single note. A long, sustained, and perfect note. I could feel the string of zirium start to resonate, and even with my eyes closed, I knew it was shining brightly in this grim darkness. It magnified my voice, my clarity, almost swelling with a power I cannot describe, except to say it is a gift from Her. It almost thrummed in time with my heart, and despite my surroundings, I could feel the Lady's succour, Her presence, and Her will. She had answered me.

I resisted the urge to cry out in anguish as I gripped the ends of the crystal string and yanked down with all my might...

The searing sting as the zirium bit into my flesh as it sliced through the iron chains like a knife through a pudding was nothing compared to the anguish I felt when the string snapped, its light fading from my mind and leaving me cold, shocked and sick. As I collapsed to my knees, trembling, somewhere nearby, I could hear a metallic clattering, and a strange, mechanical groan. I ignored the hateful feel of the corpses I'd landed atop, feeling only great loss, and a sudden dullness, clabbering at my mind.

Don't stop... go...

I steadied myself on my hands and knees, gasping before turning and looking at the giant mechanism, which was stuttering and beginning to shake. Whatever was holding the giant cog in place began to give. With a groan that shook the room, the wheel slowly began to turn, gaining momentum, the chains around it loosening and then whipping around wildly, freed of tension by my cut. I was lucky they missed me, because I did not have the wherewithal yet to avoid them, and they surely would have sliced me right in half.

There was a screech and deafening crack of stone, and the wall the mechanism was fixed into crumbled away, falling to the ground far below. The rush of air and the terrifying din of the battle beyond assaulted my senses and I cried out in pain, holding my ears. Denying my fear, I turned and tried to crawl closer to the huge hole in the wall of what had been the gate room. I coughed ancient dust as I peered out, trying to make sense of what I would see.

A battle raged far below, one shrouded in darkness that was punctuated only by great fires strewn about, seemingly haphazardly. Knots and throngs of squat shapes in shining armour were engaged in a dance of death with hulking black nightmarish monsters. My dwarven friends were holding their own, but as hordes of orcs and goblins, reinforced by terrifying trolls, rampaged toward them, I knew that they would not last long.

I'd done what I could and had sabotaged my end of the gate mechanism, but the titan doors beyond me remained firmly upright, closed to my allies. They could not advance, so they would die before the doors of their ancient kingdom. So be it.

So be it.

I needed to be down there, fighting with them, even if there was no hope. I would die up here, alone and likely afraid, found by fouls goblins and torn apart for their gruesome feasts. I'd heard tales in my youth of goblins and orcs referring to the tasty delicacy of 'manflesh'.

That would not be me. No, I would go down fighting valiantly with my new comrades, a death worthy of song. That song might never be sung, since no mortal would know of my end, but the Goddess would know. And she would smile. Maybe that would be all I needed.

The collapse of the gate mechanism had left a gaping wound in the wall, and long, dark iron chains now hung down into the darkness below. Could I possibly scale down one of the great lengths, reaching the ground and then joining my allies in their doom?

I almost laughed at my determination to go meet my death. I could see the massed formations of orcs waiting by the titan doors, almost daring their foes to come closer. Their wild, ugly voices lifted in war cries and taunts, weapons raised in the air. Red eyes flashed in the darkness, eyes I could see even from high above.

The battle was drowned out by a noise, then. A deep, groaning sound as if the earth itself was rebelling in horror against this carnage. The floor beneath me trembled. More creaking and groaning, and the battle below seemed thrown into confusion. Those not engaged in melee were looking around, not sure of what was happening.

Then I saw it. Deprived of the stability of the mechanisms and great chains, the colossal doors of the gate, the mighty portal into the dwarrow kingdom beyond, began to fall. The team sent to unleash the other side of the gate had succeeded! They had somehow pushed through against all odds, like myself, and had undone the mechanism!

Slowly, almost painfully so, they began to lean forward, their silence in the air eerie after all the noise they had just made. The unreal scene played out before me, and I could do nothing but watch. The giant portal of black gleaming metal, at least a hundred feet tall, pitched down toward the ground below. The companies of orcs standing beneath it all turned and looked up in confusion.

I was thrown from my feet, and I screamed as the loudest sound I had ever heard, or likely would ever hear, shook the world around me. The resounding BOOM echoed across these titan caverns, and I would be amazed if they hadn't heard it back in Drozzir-Karak, where our journey first began, so very many leagues away.

Silence. A deafening silence.

It held it in dread, wondering what it meant. It was as if every single living thing around was simply waiting, unsure of what to do. While I felt no pity, my mind realized in horror that hundreds of orcs and goblins must have perished in the demise of those titan doors, doors which were impenetrable to any army, I had been told. Yet here they were, cast into ruin, by their own makers, in a vain attempt to win back their ancient kingdom and glory.

Cries went up, echoing now in the vast cavern below. War cries. Dwarven war cries. It was met with the gurgling shouts and roars of goblins and orcs, although I thought I could hear confusion and dismay in those ghastly, evil voices. Calls to a charge followed, and the battle was on again.

Did I try climbing down these chains? Did I find another egress from this damned place?

I'd find another way down. Even along these twisting tunnels and hallways, I could hear horns and shouting, indicating (I hoped) that my foes were rushing to meet the forces of my dwarven allies as they began to pour in the suddenly open gate. Clearly this had not been anticipated, and now the mayhem was growing.

I cautiously followed the receding orc and goblin voices, finding a spiral staircase and making my way down. It was rather low, too low for tall, broad orcs to use, and it didn't have the stench of them in it, though the walls were stained brown and black with blood. I encountered no foe, but I soon reached a stout door, still shut. The cacophony beyond it was almost too much to bear, the screech and ringing of steel, mingled with the shouts and wails of the wounded and dying.

I placed my hand on the door, taking several deep breaths, my eyes squeezed shut. My heart was pounding in my chest, fear discovered anew. And yet I knew that my only chance to somehow survive, to live another day, was on the other side of this door, in the maelstrom of violence and death that lay beyond.

With a grunt, I pushed the door open, and the chaos of war greeted me. My allies had begun pouring in through the ruined gate and were taking the battle to the unbalanced orcs who tried to defend this mighty stone court. Tight-knit squads and companies of armoured dwarves collided with the swarms of goblins and orcs, heartened by their success in gaining the gates and almost maddened to recklessness by their desperation to press on and reclaim their ancient domain.

"Amberley!"

A gruff voice from somewhere nearby caught my attention through all the mayhem and I spotted old Rulim gesturing at me with his hammer. He cursed and raised his shield, weathering a barrage of wicked black arrows from goblins, casting the rent and warped barrier aside. I raced over as quickly as I could, dodging the whirling battle before arriving at his side.

"You did it," he panted, nodding to me as I noticed he had more cuts and bruises than the last time I had seen him. "The Thane is making his final push, and I must go to him. Be careful, my girl, but dispose of your valour as you best see fit. You have done so much already that will be remembered by my people."

Even as he loped off, I knew that I would be doing everything I could to help. Great fires had sprung up around us, although whether they were purposeful or accidental was unknown to me. The baleful red and orange lights did nothing to succour me, though, as it just threw the madness and carnage all around me into horrific relief. The red eyes of my orc foes, the black and red blood that made the ground slick, the glinting of steel... there was no comfort in this hellish illumination.

My choice was made for me as a gurgling cry caught my attention. I yelped and dived out of the way as a huge, crude sword attempted to bisect me. The orc roared in fury as I eluded its brutal stroke, the fiendish eyes glaring at me. If the abomination had ever seen a human before, it made no difference; my bloody, agonizing death was all it craved.

The foul being lunged in again, but I was ready. I twisted out of the way, but struck up, burying my keen knife blade in its eye. The orc shrieked and howled, but I had already snaked behind it, driving my other blade down now into the base of its head. Rock-hard bone and steely sinew gave way before the blessed elven blade, and my foe pitched forward, dead before he hit the ground, that hateful red glow in its eyes extinguished forever.

I yanked my blades free, ignoring the sickening stench in my nostrils as I raced forward in the direction my allies were all heading. We seemed to be sweeping the orcs and goblins in front of us, herding them back in a disorganized mass. We struck them down like wheat before a scythe, yet their numbers seemed so oppressive still. I laid low at least three more myself, in my attempts to keep up.

I could see the Thane now, at the head of his guard, those heavily armed and armoured dwarves, heedless of danger and afraid of nothing except failing to protect their liege, swinging their hammers and axes with eerie abandon, making no noise, a distinct contrast to the guttural war cries of the other companies that fought alongside them. Their silence was more disturbing than any call to battle.

The courtyard within the mighty fortress-kingdom was as vast as the space that had been beyond it. It dizzied my mind to think of how immeasurably vast the cavern must be to fit this complex inside. Were we beneath a mountain? In a mountain? I had no concept of what lay above me anymore. This dark, sinister world was all I could conceive of right now. And it wanted me to die, alone and unmarked.

No.

I fought along with the press, trying to remain near the edge, where my agility would hopefully keep me alive longer. We'd gained the steps in the courtyard, an interminably long flight of shallow stone steps that led toward a palace. The palace sank into the rock that marked the end of the cavern, the center of the old realm.

But up those stairs, slick with the black blood of our enemies in their endless numbers, the stairs seemed to never end. I was heartened by our determination, but I couldn't help noticing that our ranks had thinned. Though the Thane and his guard stormed on strong, other companies were reduced in strength, many faces I expected to see missing.

Think on it later. Now you must survive! What damn good are you if you don't survive?

I had just struck down another foe with my knife when I heard a great roar from in front of us. I looked up and my eyes must have widened in shock, goggling up at the largest orc I could have ever conceived, a huge, black-skinned brute with eyes like burning embers. He was as large as any member of the troll guard he had gathered around him, at least ten, but those eyes shone with a wicked malevolence. The tusks in the huge mouth gleamed yellow in the light of all the fires, slavering hungrily for our blood.

The mere presence of this mighty warlord brought our momentum to a halt, at least momentarily. Even the Thane and his bodyguards seemed quelled for a moment at the sight of the orc. The hesitation was brief; but the warlord grinned evilly at the Thane, his terrible voice roaring across the courtyard he clearly intended to defend.

This is where the gods of death would be paid, and a victor decided.

I shouted out my own feeble-sounding cry as my allies surged forward again, committing themselves to their deities or oblivion. The orcs and goblins we had been driving before us now turned and attacked, heartened by the presence of their chieftain. We kept moving forward, but the progress was slow, the stairs slick with rivers of blood. I moved to the side as much as I could, giving an account of myself, but the closer we got to the top of those stairs, the more my heart threatened to betray me.

The air was hot and stank of death, and I could barely breathe. The din of battle threatened to freeze my body, render me incapable of action. And then I would die, torn apart on some vile blade. I forced myself to look up, to keep moving. Rulim had said I had done enough, that he would not fault me for hiding. This was not my war.