Chapter Twenty Six: Judgement and Tradition
"Oh... my... word," Thorian looked as if he was going to catch flies at any moment.
"I'd close that, my dear Thorian or these... people will believe that you are related to a gargoyle," Jeremiah advised with a smile. For once Kaelin was too busy looking to consider smacking Jeremiah on the snout.
Endingborough arched up away from them, a thousand gems shining in an eternal night. Quieter than Bearington and even brighter than the suburbia caverns that they had traveled through, the capital of the dwergs had a grandeur that they had not seen any where else. The streets were wide and scrupulously clean, light by ornate lamps that hung from decorate wrought iron posts and the pavements were lined with crystal trees that shone with pale colors, casting spectrumed rainbow glints across the pavement. On a corner a group of children played, giggling as their faces changed colors as they ducked in and out of the shards of light, childish fluff on their chins floating in the breeze as they danced.
The houses were not only large but also richly decorated with painted friezes, set back from the street behind beautifully crafted fences and with wide curving drives. In short, they were houses built to scream 'look at how rich I am, I can afford to waste all this space!"
If the houses they passed were luscious then the government buildings they approached where even more staggering.
Made from layers of imported stone that banded the walls with thick stripes of black basalt, white diorite and pink granite, carved and fluted, inset and inlaid to within an inch of their lives, the government buildings the impressions of some massive great confectionery cakes writ so large that even a battalion of hungry orcs would struggle to make a dent in them.
The guards at the doors were also a sight to behold, massive war hammers not only studded with gems but inlaid with them, armor not lacquered but the color washed through the metal, great helmets wrought in the likeness of snarling basilisks.
Thorian's ears drooped and he tried to walk small as they stepped between the guards and were led through a massive atrium towards the doors of some inner chamber.
"Aye think ahm gonna be in trouble," he muttered, "Aye really think ahm gonna be in trouble."
"N o more than any of the rest of us," Kaelin reminded him, "And possibly less than Jeremiah, seeing that he has already proved in front of witnesses that he is a dangerous man to serve, let alone be an enemy of."
"Still think I'm going to be in trouble," Thorian muttered as they came to a stop deep inside the building, a clerk directing them towards a waiting room, voices audible, if not clearly, in the room beyond the imposing doors they had been headed towards. Sinbar was detached from them and told to wait in a separate room. He winked as he left.
"Sorry good ladies and gentlemen but I have had my five minutes of fame and now the zat thjold are undoubtedly worried that I might once again work my silver tongued magic on the Twelve and weigh the scales in your favor," he explained, "I wish you all the greatest of luck and I will prayer that Kronzyn will not collect your stories just yet."
"That sounds deliciously ominous," Jeremiah smiled but it was not a nice expression. Sinbar merely smiled back and twiddled his flute at them before leading his collection of skeletons away. The guards who had tried to accost them at the station positioned themselves across the the door the moment they were left alone and glowered at them all. Handrun looked at their theatrics and rolled his eyes, stumping deliberately across the room and plonking himself down in an ornately carved stone chair.
"Pull up a chair," he waved a hand, "Might as well as there's no knowing how long we'll be here, sounds like they're having a right old chin wag in there and unless you have something to prove there's no point wearing out your knees."
"Don't mind if I do," Ulrich smiled at their guide and settled himself into a chair opposite him. It turned out to be a lot more comfortable than he'd expected.
"I'm surprised that you allow yourselves such things as cushions," Kaelin observed as she sat down, "Even if they are made out of leather."
"Working stone and metal might be what makes a dwerg a dwerg but it becomes mighty cold on your back side if you have to sit on it for long," Handrun grunted, "And yes, before you as there was an argument over that and all."
"They argued over having seats that were half way comfortable?" Kaelin raised her eyebrows.
"Thankfully," Handrun shot a glance at the guards at the door, "More sensible heads prevailed on that score and it was decided that you don't have to have chilblains on your bum to be a dwerg."
Kaelin sniggered as the guards at the door shifted uncomfortably.
Jeremiah drifted round the room, glaring up at the pictures made of precious and semi-precious stones inlaid in the walls. It was ridiculous that these... people had more riches than he did, it was ridiculous that they had more prestige than he did and it was more than ridiculous that they had access to a magic that he didn't.
The three blue eyed Ash Elves, sagging slightly and stinking more than ever and Nanny Tatters watched him stoically, heads turning back and forth, tracking his movements. Jeremiah rounded on them and glared. They stared impassively back, expressions blank. Jeremiah narrowed his eyes as he viewed them, focusing in on Nanny Tatters. He'd already found one spell that was hiding around in that half striped skull of hers, so it followed reason that there were more hidden in that head of hers, including the glyph magic she had stolen from the dwergs.
Jeremiah tried to turn one of the chairs around to face her but found its sheer weight defeated his discrete effort. A glance at their guards did not reveal whether or not they had noticed but he decided not to try again. He had endured enough sniggering from lesser people, he did not need any more. A curt order had his three Ash Elves standing against the wall facing the guards, much to the guards apparent concern. Jeremiah suppressed a smirk at the sight of them jingling but then called Nanny Tatters round to in front of him. She plodded around and plonked her tailless butt down in front of him. Jeremiah leaned forward in his seat and stared hard into Nanny Tatter's single bloodshot eye. She stared dull back, her eye milky and failing without the protection of its lids. Jeremiah stared harder, trying to pull what he needed out of the rotting mess that was her mind.
It hadn't yielded anything by the time an usher came and told them that the Twelve would now see them.
Stepping through the double doors that lead to the Chamber of the Twelve Kaelin's mouth dropped open once again and beside her Jeremiah only schooled his expression into indifference by sheer effort of will. The entire ceiling was one massive mural of the history of the dwergish people depicted in billions of different colored diamonds.
"Oh... my... word..." Kaelin breathed, fingers twitching. Just a handful of this stuff would have set her up for life, she'd never have to take another risk ever again. Heck, she could bank roll the kingdom and then she'd be the one pulling the King's strings, not the other way round. She clicked her teeth shut to prevent a moan passing her lips. If only she could get up there.
Thorian's ears drooped again and he tried to walk small as he realized that they were standing in a circle made by the fact that the Twelve dwerg Forge Lords were on seats a storey above them, glaring down at the King's Special from behind blank expressioned helmets, the only organic thing about them their beards. He had a bad feeling about this.
Beside him Ulrich was also assessing the situation, remembering what Handrun's commander had said about the Forge Lords not being a monolithic force. The question just remained as to who was friend and who was...
Ulrich winced internally as he looked at one of the Forge Lords. This one was sitting ramrod straight, arms folded, knees chanted, chin tucked down, every inch screaming suspicion and disgust in equal measure. This was evidently the center of the conservative faction, the crux of the ones who had no wish to change, the lynch pin of those who saw anything new as anti dwerg.
Wel, Ulrich noted at least he knew which one to not waste his time on, as it would be a pointless waste of effort for no gain. The only thing that resulted from beating your head against a wall was the acquirement of a headache. That and there was no point in arguing with the ignorant, they merely dragged you down to their level and beat you with experience.
Ulrich cast his eyes around further and... There, almost exactly on the opposite side of the room and almost perfectly opposite in posture. This Forge Lord was leaning slightly forward, head slightly tilted to one, side knees together, one arm at rest on the rest of their seat, the other hand supporting their head. This ones body language said concern possibly but curiosity definitely. Right, this one could be worked with.
With a rattle of copious amounts of mail the Forge Lord directly ahead of them stood and banged the haft of his war hammer down on the floor at his feet.
"Forge Lords of the deeps," they spoke haltingly, obviously translating as they went for the benefit of the non-dwergs in the room. Ulrich immediately chalked them up as, if not an ally, then at least a possible contact as they were willing to consider the language barrier. He inclined his head to the speaker.
"We gather now to discuss the incursion in to our lands by these beings that we see here before us," the Forge Lord continued, " An occurrence that has not happened since the time that the six were banished from our lands. Since then we have not had to consider the sanctity of our borders. What do these beings say in their defense?"
Thorian looked about him and pushed Ulrich forwards. Ulrich did his best to make it look like he'd stepped forward deliberately, rather than stumbled forward due to a shove in the back.
"You're the one who's good with words," Kaelin muttered behind him.
Ulrich drew in a deep breath through his nose, straightened, tugged his clothes and then swept a bow to the ground, making sure to note who was impressed with this gesture of debasement. It was no surprise that Mr Grumpy-Drawers wasn't impressed by this but some of the others appeared to be intrigued by it.
"Mighty Lords of the Deep," Ulrich began, "The True people of the Earth and Stone, Great Sons of Hestia, we come before you with humble and contrite hearts. In our smallness and meanness we come before you weary and harried by ill fortune. Our Lord and Master, the King of the realm above, in the World without a Roof, has sent us on a quest to discover the source of the great evil disturbing our worlds. In the course of this quest, in which we have traveled far and wide and deep, we have tracked this conspiracy to the depths of Hestia and discovered your Great Civilization of Wonders, the like of which we have never seen.
We grovel our apology that we entered your realm without invitation. Truly it was not our intention to cause an invasion and I can assure you that we are not the scouts of a greater force. We are the King's Special, the discovery and neutralization of this threat to our world is our responsibility and ours alone, which is why we humbly beg that you kindly provide us with a little assistance so that we do not cause undue disruption to your people while we track this warped and diseased intelligence through your realm.
We thank you from the bottom of our hearts for the chance of this audience and the clemency that you give us in allowing us to plead our case before you."
The Forge Lord who was interested in them shifted slightly considering their words. Their opposite however, was not so easily swayed.
"Fine words from a non creature, an aberration of nature," the sneer could not be seen but it was evident in every word, "But do you really think that we do not see through your sweet coated lies? You speak of an evil in the world and act as if we are ignorant as to its nature. Do you really think we have no knowledge of this evil? Do you really think that you can hide who sent you here? You stink of the non people, the betrayers! You reek of their foulness, their uncleanness! Do you really think that you are the first puppets they have sent to our realm? Your pretty lies do not deceive us, dupe of the dwarf!"
The words of the Common Tongue were spat as if their very sound was a poison that the Forge Lord could not wait to get out of his mouth, spitting and hawking up the words as if they were contamination.
Thorian rumbled back, fists clenched, shaking with the effort of not picking the shouty little stump up by the scruff of his neck and throwing him across the room. It was the possible that the only thing that stopped him was that Thorian wasn't sure that he would be able to scramble up the stone wall to reach the bawling tiddler without falling on his butt.
"Someone here isn't as smart as he thinks he is," he grumbled, "Someone here doesn't know as much as he thinks he knows. If he was as smart as he thinks he is he'd know that my people don't make deals with stumpy little midgets, we kick um about in a football match!"
"I agree with my companion, Great Lord of Hestia," Ulrich bowed to the uptight Forge Lord, "We have had no contact with the High Dwarfs, nor have we been to their mountains. We consider it a great honor that you are the first of the people we have had contact with and not the fake dwarfs, those cowards and disgraces to your ancestors and laws."
"If nothing else we never expected to find anyone living this deep," Kaelin stepped up as well, "We had a vague notion of the Ash Elves but they were more legends and bogymen than facts of Hestia. We had no idea that there could be anyone who lived even deeper than the Ash Elves and even if we did have, we had no true plan to come and visit you. We tumbled into one of your permanent way tunnels out running a cave in that was trying to crush us to death. I'm not sure as to your attitude to being caught in a cave in but we find the idea of being smeared into paste one of the worst ways to die."
More of the Forge Lords seemed to be considering their claims seriously, at least they were not quite suppressing shudders at the idea of being squished like a bug. Mr Grumpy was still not budging though.
"A likely story," he sneered, "And where is the evidence of this 'cave in'? Where are the witnesses?"
Kaelin didn't bother to hide the roll of her eyes.
"Look," she rounded on him, "We get the fact that you don't like us because we are different or some such other crud but we didn't come here on purpose. WE'D rather not be here at all in fact. We'd rather be getting on with tracking down the monsters that are causing our realm trouble and then be able to get back to that realm as quickly as possible. You don't like even the idea of living in a world without a roof, well we ain't exactly comfortable being stuck under ground. We don't want to be here but our attempts to sorts out the problems of our world has lead us down here so here we are and I'll say it once again, very loud and slow - WE DID NOT KNOW YOU WERE HERE."
"Ignorance is no excuse!" Mr Grumpy yelled, actually on his feet now but the Forge Lord who seemed more inclined to listen to them interrupted.
"What is it that troubles your realm?" their voice was different from either the speaker, who was obviously old, his silver beard trailing to the floor, or Mr Grumpy, who's black beard frizzled as if his temper was an electricity that was desperate to earth itself some where. This ones voice sounded younger but it was something different to even that either. Ulrich tried to put his finger on it so Kaelin answered before he had a chance to.
"Something has change in the Underworld," she clarified, "Something is driving the creatures such as the giant spiders up into the World without a Roof. There they are killing without control. What is worse the Ash Elves have been driven to such levels of raiding into our realm that some are talking of outright war between our peoples..."
"As if the zat thjold should be concerned with the bleatings of base beasts when they indulge their savage and vulgar natures," Mr Grumpy sneered as he sat back down, "Since when have we, the true Sons of Stone, been responsible for controlling the depraved when they decide to rut?"
"Since you dare speak so foully of the Faithful in our presence!" Quenril stepped forward, eyes blazing, "You forget yourself, Forge Lord, you forget that we can survive without you but without us you will not have a stitch to wear under those layers of metal, nor access to the medicines that keep your people healthy. Think on that and watch your tongue!"
Thanks to the metal mask of his helm it was impossible to tell whether the Forge Lord was chastised or if he was sneering back at the Ash Elves.
"You still haven't said what manner of creature you were hunting when you 'stumbled' into our realm?" he turned back to sneering at Kaelin, "Why don't you speak? Why do you seek to conceal that information?"
"Well that would be why we are down here," Ulrich admitted, "We have found that what appeared to be a simple monster hunt has grown into the uncovering of a conspiracy that involves not only Ash Elves that have abandoned their mothers and their clans but monsters capable of shifting their form and even a dragon of a species we have never seen before." He indicated Nanny Tatters and Jeremiah stepped aside to display the crowning jewel of his collection of pawns. Several Forge Lords leaned towards each other and muttered at the sight of the skinless, one eyed dragon. Something about that susurration seemed to penetrate the dragon's dimmed mind as she lifted her head and waggled it from side to side, something like an expression shifting in her milky eye.
Ulrich studied the Forge Lords. There was a knot of resistance gathered round the shouty one but a fair number of the others were beginning to swing towards his opposite. Hopefully that was a good sign.
"Do you have any traces?" the open minded Forge Lord asked, "What was it that lead you to our realm?"
"We fought with the beast men," Kaelin explained, "The big, hairy ones who can change their shape. They had made a pact with that one," she gestured at Nanny Tatters, "She opened the doorways so that they could invade the strongholds of the clans of the Ash Elves. They have been decimating the clans. Just ask them what has happened to the Snake Clan." She nodded to Quenril and the other two. The Forge Lords turned their masked gazes on the Ash Elves. Two of them looked uncomfortable and Tasnar shot Kaelin a dirty look but then Sabal stepped forward.
"She speaks truthfully," he admitted, holding up his right palm to display the serpent tattoo on his palm, "The Snake Clan is no more. Our Matriarch is dead, our Sisters of the Deep are dead and the Disciples of the Begetters are dead. Our power is broken and our fastness stands empty, it was only by the hidden hand of Fate that any of us survived and if we had not made this alliance with these people we would have perished when we came home, into the jaws of these creatures. The creatures we face are not of the land under stone, they are something that lives only to kill and destroy all order."
"There is something else you need to know," Jeremiah stepped forward and Ulrich tensed, "And that is how this one," Nanny Tatters swung her head towards him, "Had concealed her presence from you. The entrance to her lair, the one that we exited through when we fled the rock fall into your kingdom, was marked with glyph magic."
The reaction was immediate and visceral.
"Blasphemy!" the shouty one was back on his feet, bellowing and shaking his fists, so enraged that his war hammer lay forgot at his feet. The rest of the twelve were also on the move, turning back and forth between themselves, making so much noise that the shouty one couldn't make himself heard above their own hubbub. Screaming and ranting he wrenched his helmet of, revealing a pale face above his black, bristling beard, spit flying from his lips as he bellowed, leaning over the balustrade of the edge of the Forge Lord's seating area as if he meant to leap down at them and kill them with his bare hands.
The Speaker of the House rose to his feet and banged the head of his war hammer down on the floor at his feet.
The boom shuddered through the air, loaded with such power that it could almost be seen, a ripple in the air that cut through the noise and left a ringing silence in its wake.
"What evidence do you have of this?" the Speaker asked in that shivering lull, "What evidence do you bring of this perversity of which you speak?"
After a moment Handrun stepped forward, holding out the letter that his commander had penned. The Speaker stood tall and stretched out his hand. A symbol drawn on the palm of his gauntlet glow for a moment. Caught in the beam of light, the rolled up pages of the report floated into the air. Jeremiah glowered at this show that the dwerg's claim to have magic was proven to be true.
The Speaker's fingers closed round the report and he took his time unrolling the pages and reading through them. He read through them twice and then slumped down in his seat. Without looking he handed the report to his left. One by one the Forge Lords read the report and sank down on their chairs, the assurance kicked out of them. Even the shouty one looked sick after reading the report, passing it on without trying to prevent the last few from reading it.
"How?" he managed, "How can they have stolen the glyphs? The sacred charges entrusted to us by the First. How can this have happened? Who's to blame?" That thought seemed to stir some of the old fire, his color rising again. "Who's to blame?"
"That is what we intend to find out," Kaelin stated before he could really warm to his subject, "We've fought the beast men, we've fought nightmares, heck we've even taken out a dragon to do this. We can do this, we can track who ever is doing this thing down and put an end to them. We have no choice, we have to do this."
"Why do you have no choice?" the Forge Lord who had listened to them all this time asked, "What ties you to your quest that tightly that you believe you have no choice but to see it through?"
"Because who ever it is, already knows that we are after them," Kaelin explained, "They have already set the beast men after us directly, naming us as the targets. If we don't get them first, they will get us."
The Forge Lord considered it.
"We are the chosen of King Tatsaya," Ulrich stepped forward, "We have a sworn duty to serve him until he gives us his permission to lay down our arms and leave his serve. A great civilization such as yourselves would understand this more than any other. Society only thrives when we give up our personal glory to serve a greater good."
"Well, most of us understand that," Kaelin shrugged, "Some of us are still in this for our own glory and power, as well as all the puppets that they can collect."
She glared at Jeremiah, who smiled back, something shark like shifting in that smile. The Forge Lords stirred and shifted, unsure which message they should trust, that the King's Special were servants or bounty hunters, only out for their own vainglory.
"If," the thinking one asked, "If you are permitted to stay within our realm, what are your intentions?"
"Quite frankly, after the reception we've had here today," Kaelin noted, "I'm not sure that we intend to stay. I, for one, am very tempted to say that you can all go stew in your own juice."
Ulrich groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. Kaelin's diplomacy struck again.
"But you stated that the trace lead you here," the thinking Forge Lord protested, "Would you leave without investigating?"
"You don't want us here," Kaelin shrugged, "Some of you have made that blatantly clear so why not cut our loses and try and pick up the trail once we are out of here. If you don't want any help from people who have had to tackled these monsters before, why should we force you?"
"Of course," Ulrich stepped in, "If you change your minds and decide that you wish to utilize our hard earned knowledge of these creatures weaknesses, then we would be honored that you allowed us to serve your mighty Empire, unfamiliar as we are to your customs and traditions."
The thinking Forge Lord sat back in their seat a moment but spoke again before anyone else could interrupt.
"With the consideration of our National Security, would you be willing to be chaperoned by a member of this august body so that your movements within our realm can be testified to in case of any discrepancies that arise?" they asked.
"Absolutely!" Urich replied in a moment, "I, for one, believe that it is a capital idea, mutually beneficially for all considered while we navigate these interesting times."
Kaelin thought about and sniffed.
"Seems reasonable enough to me," she admitted, "As long as being chaperoned doesn't include being locked in a jail cell for days on end. There's an idea - you agree to not lock us up, while we agree to not try and slip away from our chaperon. And as we are unfamiliar with your way of doing things, how about we keep Handrun with us as a double guarantee as he can explain things to us if events move too fast for the Forge Lord to have their attention split in two, trying to make us understand what is going on while they have to deal with the emergency. How's that sound?"
The thinking Forge Lord shifted and then stood up.
"I put forward the motion that I shoulder the responsibility for being the chaperone of these people while they are within our caverns for as long as it takes them to complete the investigation into the disturbances that have being disrupting our lands," they stated.
"All in favor of this motion?" the Speaker rose, "Raise your hands." The count was done. "All against."
Unsurprising Mr Grumpy slammed his hand up into the air, followed by a few others but the result was heavily in their favor.
"Council dismissed!" the Speaker declared and turned to leave the room.
"Phew," Kaelin breathed out as the Council of Twelve broke up into little huddles.
"I'm am pleasantly surprised, my dear Kaelin," Ulrich turned to her, "Despite your lack of politeness you actually pulled that off!"
"Not as simple as that," Kaelin muttered.
"What do you mean?" Thorian frowned as he slapped her on the shoulder. Kaelin raised a eyebrow and then jerked a finger over her shoulder. Thorian frowned some more and then looked up.
"Oh," he nodded, "I get yeh."
"May I be allowed in on the joke?" Ulrich asked after a moment.
"If you look up there, my dear Ulrich," Jeremiah quietly stepped up behind him, "You will see that our shouty little friend has his friends talking very fast to him and undoubtedly they are convincing him that this is the perfect opportunity to get ride of a political rival. If we 'mess this up' we will not be the only ones who take the drop for it, our friend amongst the Forge Lords will be dragged down with us."
"Oh great," Ulrich murmured, "We could be in big trouble."
"Oh I don't think so," Jeremiah smiled.
"Don't you?" Ulrich muttered, "Think about it for one moment - if we pull down our chaperons career we lose any good will that we have built up with the Council at which point Mr Shouty will have the clout to do with us what he likes."
"Come on people," Handrun turned to them, "Let's be moving on. No point in making the Forge Lord wait, especially after she's put herself out to help you."
"She?" Ulrich asked and then nodded to himself, "That explains the voice."
"And the smell," Kaelin noted, "She smells different to all the others in there."
They stepped out through the doors they had entered by to be greeted by their Forge Lord chaperon and her entourage. Sinbar seemed to have attached himself to her group as well.
"Alright," she said gruffly holding out her hand, "I'm Myslynn Coldrock and you're at my service so who is it that I'm putting my career on the line for?"
"Ulrich Brekka at your service," Ulrich beamed and shook her hand warmly, "The esteemed young lady is Kaelin sans family, the big green guy is Thorian Vandervast and our priestly friend is Jeremiah Maat of a great and terrible god."
"You have no idea," Jeremiah smiled, straightening his miter, Hat buzzing uneasily.
"And this is Estella Blackstar, a recent addition to our party and a traveler from the same country as Sinbar. As you say, we are at your service," Ulrich bowed, "And I must say that it is lovely to make your acquaintance. If I may make an observation, it appears that you are at odds with some of your fellow Forge Lords."
"Unlike some," Myslynn Coldrock's sniff was amplified by her helmet, "I do not believe that everything new is undwergish. The world turns and it moves, either we move with it or we get run under by it."
"That is a very pragmatic point of view," Ulrich noted levelly.
"I have my reasons," Myslynn replied, equally levelly, "And speaking of pragmatism and practicality, if you would like to continue this conversation some where a little more comfortable then my home is a walk away from here so if we are going to make it in time for the kitchen to adapt dinner we need to start out."
"Dinner sounds very welcome," Jeremiah replied, "And it is said a walk before eating is healthy. Shall we be going."
"That's the most sensible thing you have said all day," Kaelin answered. Sinbar blew a little trill of laughter on his flute as Jeremiah glared.
It was difficult to know Myslynn's expression as she turned and lead the way towards the grand doors, her guards falling in around them. Thorian looked at the guards with a frown as they walked. The guards the shouty one had sent to try and collect them at the train station had been heavily armored and their armor had all sorts of ribs and spikes and horns and stuff all over them. These ones were still that heavily armored that Thorian decided that he still would have broken a foot trying to play football with them but there wasn't the same amount of spikes and fancy stuff all over them.
"Er, why you not dressed up fancy like the other lot?" Thorian asked.
"The other lot?" the guard didn't stop looking about as they marched but at least he answered Thorian's question.
"Yeah," Thorian nodded, "That lot who came to meet us at the loco place where all decked out in some really fancy gear."
"Ah," the guard replied, "My good Lord's Gardrom Barrowbreaker's people feel the need to make a great show of how much they are dwergs."
"And you do not, my good sir?" Jeremiah asked in a sly tone.
"We do not feel the need to compensate for our insecurities," the guard said quietly, "You do not need a beard on the ground to be a dwerg."
Kaelin was more interested in the fact that they were traveling back towards the station on a parallel route. Granted, Kaelin did not know the word parallel but she understood that if they cut to their left they would wind up back on the road that had led them up to Principal Mound. The buildings around them were also being to look more practical and slightly less over done, even if they still had massive grounds spaced around them.
Myslynn lead them up to a massive set of double gates but the house beyond was a curious building. One side seemed to be the mansion that one would expect of a high ranking official in a government, the other seemed to be more a workshop on a grand scale, high walls made of metal paneling, reaching up until they met the ceiling of the cavern, bolting directly to the stone.
"You have a most magnificent home," Ulrich said to their host.
"You really think so boyo?" Myslynn seemed to have relaxed more and more, the further away they had walked from Principal Mound.
"I do think so," Ulrich nodded, "It is quite the marriage between the practical and the glorious."
"Would you like to see the more important side of it?" there was something almost teasing in Myslynn's tone.
"Please lead on," Ulrich gestured. Though he couldn't see Myslynn's face there was something proud about her step as she lead them to the workshop side of the building.
"I thought we were going to see the more important side of the building?" Jeremiah queried.
"You are boyo, you are," Myslynn took hold of a massive handle and wrenched it side ways, the huge door siding back on rails set top and bottom of its frame. It rumbled with a voice that was formed of all the noises that spilled out from with in.
"Wow!" Estella muttered as the workshop spread out before them. She immediately took off to one side, followed by Sinbar, her attention caught by the blue prints and diagrams nailed up on the walls, quietly asking Sinbar questions about methods and materials. Kaelin frowned as she over head muttered sentences about a friend in need of replacement limbs and the limits of talisman wood. Kaelin wasn't always the more refined tool in the draw but she could put two and two together and come up with four. Part of her wondered how dangerous Valodrael would be, cut free of the limits having to share Estella's body. Estella turned her head, looking back over her shoulder at Kaelin as if she had heard the woman's thought and something sloshed in one of her eyes.
Kaelin shuddered and turned away to look at the glory of metal and machinery stretched out before them.
"Woah," she muttered.
"Yeah," Thorian agreed, "What she said."
The inside of the workshop seemed to take up a space that was bigger on the inside than it was on the outside. Instead of being claustrophobic it was spacious but massive machines hunched in that space in a way that seemed to make it crowded. Scores, hundreds of scurrying squat shapes bustled here, there and every where, hammers pounding down great seems of metal before the colossal furnace doors where flung wide with a roar of heat and the massive piece of metal was dwerg handled back into the fiery glow. Else where huge rollers bend a sheet of metal into a perfect cylinder that was then hoisted into the air by massive chains.
Jeremiah's mouth flapped open when he realized those chains where looped to a machine that perched on a set of girder's up near the ceiling and the whole thing was now crawling across the workshop, swinging above a shop floor as red hot rivets were battered into place by other machines that were held in the arms of sweat stained dwergs, machines that coughed great blurts of sounds as the arms of the dwergs that held them bulged with the effort of fighting the recoil.
Thorian gaped, as with a water fall roar, a great crucible tilted over and poured a river of liquid fire into channels that branched in right angled patterns. Flashes of flame licked up as dwergs in heavy leather aprons ran rakes over the tops of the molds, scrapping off impurities as the metal cooled.
A steady pounding thunder boomed out, a hammer head that looked more like an entire anvil thudding down and down again, pummeling the bend in a irregular piece of hot metal into a smooth curve.
As Myslynn lead them down one side of the workshop they witnessed a yellow hot sheet of metal being pressed between two thick plates of cold metal, the hot sheet bending and molding itself to conform to the desired shape. With a hiss of steam the pistons doing the pressing released and lowered to allow the now shaped piece of metal to cool slowly.
Then Ulrich saw her.
Pride of place in the workshop was an engine that gleamed. She was... It was funny how something that was all metal, all pressure, all strength could be a she. You would have thought that something built of sweat and strain and pressure, soot and ash and fire would have been masculine, heavy, brutish even but the mind still said she automatically. There was something sleek, almost magnetic about her, she wasn't heavy, she was a racer, born to chase the horizon and stretch into her speed. Her parts whirled and twirled as muscles of a racing animals stretched and pulled over their bones. Life lived here, as strange mechanical life but it was life.
Ulrich stepped up to her with wonder in his eyes, one hand stroking down the master work of her barrel, the metal gleaming under his hand. Then his eyes fell on her name plate.
"So you are Steel Rail," he observed and instinctively glanced upwards. High, impossibly high, above him something ivory colored and shiny curved in a crack in the ceiling.
"I've heard many storied about you," Ulrich looked back down to where his hand rested against the steel barrel. Pipe near his knee hissed a tiny jet of steam, a curious sound.
"Don't worry," Ulrich smiled at the distorted reflection shining on the curve of the boiler, "All the stories are complementary, particularly about how you don't suffer fools gladly." He glanced up at the ceiling again, at that curve of bone and part of him wondered if you would be able to pry it out of the rock or whether it was wedged there by a force beyond the physical.
Steel Rail hissed again and this time she sounded more than a little smug.
"I see you have an eye for good engineering," Myslynn noted, stepping up beside him, laying her own hand against the sleek steel hull.
"I am gaining one, I hope," Ulrich admitted, "I'd like to think that I'm beginning to see where there is more than just the mechanic."
Myslynn tilted her head as if frowning at him for a moment.
"This here's my baby," she admitted, "The first of the first. Granted I don't think she has a single original part left on her, I've stripped her down and remade her that many times. Everything new that's an improvement I've added to her over the years, every time my boys manage to come up with something that will make her better, I've made sure she's the first to get it after the prototype has run her tests."
"But she's still the same engine," Ulrich replied.
"And you figure that how?" Myslynn asked.
"If I had a son and I give him this sword of mine and he gave it to his son," Ulrich began, "Well one day it would need a new handle and it might need the weight adjusting and then many generation on it might need a new blade but it would still be the same sword I passed on to my son."
Myslynn stood still for a moment and then clapped him on the small of the back. No words seemed ready to reply to what Ulrich had said and he found that no words were needed.
"Any way," he coughed after a moment, "I seem to have acquired something of a mechanical servant. Marmaduke, come here."
With a hiss and pop Marmaduke lurched over. Somehow Myslynn did not laugh but the way her armor was jiggling it was obvious that she was having to fight the urge.
"I gained him as a battle trophy after our little tiff with the dragon," Ulrich explained, "I managed to over ride the original set of instructions but he is not the most prepossessing minion to look at, I'll admit."
"That is putting it mildly," Myslynn muttered.
"Our guide to the city of Endingborough, Handrun Steelfist," Ulrich continued, "He was telling me that he has a few good ideas of how to improve Marmaduke and he needs to have a good project so that he can advance along his career path and prove his skill set."
"Does he indeed?" Myslynn asked, a definite interest in her voice.
"Yes he does," Ulrich confirmed, "I say, Handrun, my good chap, would you come here a moment? I was just telling the Forge Lord some of your ideas of how to improve Marmaduke here."
Handrun came across the floor, wringing his hands uncharacteristically, sweating but Ulrich couldn't tell whether that was because of the heat in the workshop or whether that was because he was nervous about speaking to someone as exulted as the Forge Lord.
"Your Eminence," he bobbed nervously.
"Now come, Handrun," Ulrich smiled, "I am sure her Eminence respects a craftsman enough to listen to your ideas," Ulrich reassured, "After all we all started some where and I am sure that Steel Rail here had many revisions before she was perfected."
"Aye that's Gobannus' own truth," Myslynn nodded, "She's not been the easiest child ever, that she has not. So boyo, you have something in mind for this rather messed up attempt at a tin pot?"
Handrun licked his lips, glanced at Ulrich, looked back at the Forge Lord and took a deep breath.
"Well, your Eminence," he blurted out in a rush, "It's just that I think I know how I can make it work better, or at least a little more smoothly as it does jerk and flap about so much. It's to do with the..."
After that the conversation went flying at least sixty feet above Ulrich's head, which as that put it well above the ceiling of stone, was quite a feat. Granted he did understand when Handrun said about equalizing the lengths of Marmaduke's arms and legs to improve his stability but when it branched into resistance and tensile strengths as well as brazing butt joints and fly wheels and linkages he found himself utterly lost. He looked at Steel Rail and smiled.
"Well," he said quietly to her, "I may not understand all the technical lingo but at least I know what I like."
She whistled quietly at him.
"As I said, I may not understand all the engineering," he liked the sound of that word, "But I know what I like and I like you. I think I need to know some more about the art of engineering. After all, if Marmaduke is damaged later on I'm going to need some knowing about how to fix him."
Steel Rail hissed her agreement.
"Well boyo, it seems to me that you have a good head inside that helmet of yours," Myslynn was saying as he dragged himself back to the conversation, "And I'd like to give it the chance to show what it is capable of. Did your commander give you any idea when he wanted you back?"
"No," Handrun said but then admitted, "He told me that I was to get them to the Forge Lords but he didn't make it clear if he wanted me straight back after that or if I'm to continue helping them to avoid the... the pitfalls of dealing with powerful people without fully understanding what is expected of them."
Myslynn laughed.
"You do have a good head in there boyo," the grin was evident from her laugh, "Alright boyo, I believe one of the apprentice sheds is available. I can't help everyone who deserves it, as I don't know everyone who deserves it but I'll do my best to help the ones I do know. Get yourself in there lad and show us what you can do."
"Yes Ma'am!" Handrun saluted, standing so tall it looked like he was about to float off the ground, "Absolutely! I won't let you down!"
"One minute, young laddy-me-buck," Myslynn called him back, "Going without food won't impress me, going without drink definitely won't impress me and going without sleep is just plain stupid. You are going to have set backs, breakages and disappointments. You are going to have moments when you wonder if you have just made everything so much worse. You are going to have moments when you want to fling the damn thing on the ground and jump up and down on it AND I'm not going to mind if in those moments you take yourself off for a walk around the foundry until you are no longer in the mood to stomp the damn thing into the ground. You are also allowed to ask for help."
Handrun blinked.
"Boyo, do you really think I got where I am now without help?" Myslynn asked, "Boyo, I would have chucked in the hammer more times than I care to think about if I hadn't had help. That or blown myself up to the point where I looked no different to that one up there." She pointed at the curve of bone embedded in the ceiling.
"Asking for help isn't a sign that you're not good enough," Myslynn said, "It's a sign that you're not giving up on being good enough."
Ulrich wasn't sure if it was sweat running down Handrun's face, or tears. After a moment, he nodded.
"Now get a long with you laddy," Myslynn gestured, "Apprentice sheds are that way, get you on and show me what you can do."
"Marmaduke," Ulrich instructed his robot, "You follow Handrun here and do as he tells you until I call you back."
Marmaduke hissed and whizzed and then strode off after Handrun.
"Alright," Myslynn stretched, "If it's alright with you lot I need to take the weight off my feet and get this damn tin pot off my head."
"A most excellent proposition," Jeremiah smiled, sweat trickling down his temple and damping his beard.
"Follow me then," Myslynn waved them to follow her and lead them to a small door in a wall of stone. They had to duck to get through and both Thorian and Jeremiah faced something of a squeeze to get through and Peter the centipede was told to wait outside. As he seemed content to find a place on the ceiling to bask in the condensation forming above the quenching tanks, it wasn't much of a difficulty. Nanny Tatters and the three undead Ash Elves lined up beside the door and set to wait for them at Jeremiah's command.
Beyond the door a short passage lead to a spacious hall, smooth pale yellowish cream walls tastefully inset with crystals to give it a sparkle without being over whelming, the main decoration being the floor, a truly amazing mosaic depicting Steel Rail under full power, stretching into her distance eating speed. It was so good that is almost felt like sacrilege to walk on it.
"Thank goodness that is over," Myslynn stated as she hauled the full face plate helmet off and dumped it on a side table.
"I take it that the Twelve were as... cautious as ever," a dwerg in a plain breast plate inquired as Myslynn dragged off her gauntlets and replaced them with much more flexible blacksmith's leather gloves.
"Why would they use two words to discuss something when they could use twenty or more?" Myslynn asked with disgust, massaging her ears and jaw line, rubbing her auburn beard straight, "Glad to be home and all of that. I'm going to be entertaining these people for a while Bunrik, would you mind sending up enough drinks to my retiring room? And please tell the kitchen that we will have an extra eight people of the Ash Elf constitution for dinner? Oh and bedrooms would be a good idea."
"Very good ma'am," Bunrik half bowed and glided towards a green blaze door far back in the hall.
"Your butler, I take it?" Jeremiah asked.
"Family retainer," Myslynn corrected, "She served my mother when I was arriving in the world and stayed on out of devotion. Wouldn't know what to do without her, now if you'll step this way, we should have enough seats for you all."
The retiring room was actually a very large version of the study that Ulrich's grandfather had preferred when he was alive with a broad fire place and large windows opposite so the ambient light of the cavern outside fell over a whole spread of blue prints and calculations. There were chairs, more richly cushioned than the seats on the train, spread out before the wide stone desk that Myslynn now sat herself behind but the thing that most caught the eyes of the other three of the King's Special was the large bronze mural set above the fire place.
It was a fairly idyllic scene of a cavern village that seemed to have a set of hills reaching up to the arch of the cavern walls. Laid over the ceiling of the cavern walls runes marched in relief. There was something about the grouping and structure of how those runes were laid out that made Kaelin's brain tickle.
"That is a marvelous piece of craftsmanship," Jeremiah stated to Myslynn, nodding that the mural, "Please, enlighten me, does it depict any where in particular?"
"Oh it does," Myslynn's face turned grave as she accepted a tankard from Bunrik's tray and sat back in her chair, "But you can't find it any more, it no longer exists, not like that. It is the reason why I don't believe everything new is undwergish."
"Oh um," Thorian shifted uneasily, "Er sorry, I know I'm not the smartest person but I really don't understand what you mean. Sorry."
His ears drooped so much that they convinced Myslynn that he wasn't trying to make a joke out of her or her convictions. She sat back with a sigh and took a drink.
"My husband, Gobannus rest his soul, was the shift manager at a mining settlement," she began, "And those hills, in that mural? They weren't hills."
Ulrich frowned as he looked at the mural again, trying to work out what she meant.
"The traditional method for disposing of the slurry and shale, the debris of the mines," Myslynn was obviously fighting to keep her expression still, "My husband doubted the stability of those hills and after I had surveyed them I agreed. We sent letter after letter to the managers higher up, record after record, over and over and over. I paid for independent surveyors to come and do reports. Years and years and years we tried make them to listen." She clumped her tankard down on the desk and shut her eyes as she slumped back.
"I take it that all your timely warnings went unheeded or was it that they didn't listen in time?" Jeremiah's expression was sympathetic but Kaelin rolled her eyes. She could tell from the under tone that he was after here all the juice little details about how much suffering had been caused.
"No," Myslynn shook her head, "They didn't listen. It was the tradition method of disposal, therefore it had to be right, if it was good enough for the ancestors it must be good enough for us. Until it wasn't."
"Oh... oh by any gods who would listen," Kaelin squeezed her own fingers until the knuckles showed white.
"When... when I heard what had happened, I thought I'd lost him. I thought... buried alive," Myslynn was having to bite her lip now, "It was only later that I wondered if that would have been better, if it would have been better if it had hit the minehead." She sniffed and looked at the ceiling, the fire light dancing in her eyes.
Ulrich gave the mural a sharp look, puzzling at the layout of the runes and then the similarity to his boarding house register struck and a look of dawning horror filled his face.
"Oh please tell me it didn't hit a school," he murmured.
"It didn't hit a school," Myslynn agreed but something in her inflection made all of them look at her. "It hit both of them."
"Oh sweet guang zhi zhu," Estella closed her eyes.
"My husband organized it that they swooped schools, the mine workers," Myslynn picked up her drink again but seemed to be more looking for answers in the bottom of the mug, "So they weren't digging for their own children. The higher ups didn't think of that, they didn't think. They didn't even bother to come and see what damage their love of damn tradition had done."
She banged the tankard down on the blotter hard enough for the dregs to jump out and sloop over her fingers. She didn't seem to notice.
"Even Kronzyn will have cried on that day," Sinbar said quietly.
"And Kronzyn is?" Jeremiah inquired.
"My god," Sinbar stated simply, "The Traveler, the Listener, He Who Receives Many Guests, the one who walks the black sands with the deceased has many titles but the greatest, I think, is the Comforter, the one who walks with the fallen and if you can't walk he crawls with you and if you can't crawl, he carries you. He will have carried many over the black sands that day to the doorways of the stars. Their relics will grace his galleries."
"It killed my husband," Myslynn stated, "He struggled on for a couple of decades but something died... something remained buried with the children. I... I on the other hand, well, I'm angry."
This time the tankard tapped down with the sort of click that signals the engagement of the firing charge.
"I am angry," this time the firelight didn't dance in Myslynn's eyes, it shone, "I am fracking angry that those tradition loving, pumice headed, hlavor bethund, olv smaekz dvunklagr could have saved the children and didn't because a bunch of ancestors who worked their arms off to make us a better world are now used as an excuse to not blasted, cracking well think!"
There was nothing that could be said in the face of that glimpse of Myslynn's fire box, she was incandescent when she opened the door and let others see what smouldered inside. She took a deep breath and banked the fire.
"Which, leads us precisely on to you," she stated, "What is it that you didn't want to say in front of my esteemed colleagues?"
There was no lying in the face of that banked fire, Ulrich had seen a glimpse of Valodrael in Estella's eyes and knew that the Void Dragon felt nothing but respect of this dwerg women.
"There is a power orchestrating these attacks," he stepped forward, "Some form of magic being woven, wielded by a... being with very long reach."
"And you know this because?" Myslynn asked.
"We've seen it," Ulrich admitted, "When we discovered the Hag Dragon, Nanny Tatters..."
"The one that is now a puppet of his?" Myslynn interrupted, finger pointing at Jeremiah.
"Yes ma'am," Ulrich nodded and continued, "We spied on her talking to a being via the medium of a device called in our language rune stones. Looked like an older man of our race, distinguished, well educated, rich and the one in a bargain with the Hag Dragon. His exact words were 'has the Snake Clan been recruited to our cause of yet?'"
"And that means?" Myslynn asked.
"They are forcibly bending the Ash Elf clans to their Will," Ulrich informed her, "Lady Zilvra confessed to me that the citadel of the Kraken Clan has been totally destroyed, knocked off its foundations like a house of cards and sunk into the Undersea, which undoubtedly is the instigating event that caused our King to name us as his Special and send us on this quest."
"What of the beastmen?" Myslynn inquired, "What do they have to do with this?"
"They are in cahoots," Ulrich stated, "They were instrumental in the destruction of the Snake Clan and the murder of their matriarch... and their children."
Myslynn sat back.
"The children?" she whispered, face ashen.
"I... I helped... clear the nursery myself," Ulrich faltered, "They were thorough, thorough and brutal. Somethings need to die but I m not the expert in predicting their movements."
"All Aye know is that they are hard hitting and nasty," Thorian admitted, "I don't like them."
"Neither do I," Jeremiah stated, deliberately not looking at Kaelin. Myslynn had not made it to her position by being unobservant and slow. Like Handrun, she knew that skill alone only would only take you so far up, after that it was a shed ton of money and political savvy that took you the rest of the way. Myslynn was good at playing the game.
"What is it that you would not want to have to admit in front of the Twelve," she leaned towards Kaelin.
"I do not know what you are talking about," Kaelin said slowly, carefully, her eyes narrowing. Myslynn sat back and set her now empty mug to one side but she folded her hands in her lap.
"Let's try this another way," she said calmly, "Do these beasts come from the surface."
Kaelin sighed. Myslynn had the air of someone who would play twenty questions until it became one hundred questions and beyond if need be.
"Yes," she admitted reluctantly.
"So the disruption this far down is deliberate?" Myslynn concluded.
"Yes," Kaelin shifted in her seat as if she had the sudden need to ask for the little room.
"Why?" Myslynn asked, "If they are not going on one of their forceful recruitment drives, then what device, relic or person are they looking for down here?"
As she said it, Sinbar looked down at the flute in his hand, a sudden worry on his face. He looked up at Myslynn, mouth opening to say something but she shook her head ever so slightly and he subsided.
"I don't know why or what," Kaelin spoke, her words coming as slowly as pulled teeth, "But I have a good guess as to whom." Bitterness laced her every word.
"Who?" Myslynn asked quietly.
Kaelin hesitated and sighed again.
"It's my grandfather."
Myslynn slumped back, stunned horror printed large over her face. She sat in silence for several moments as a sick look passed over her face and she managed to drag her composure back into place.
"If..." she hesitated, weighing her words with all the seriousness of a meeting of the Twelve, "If your grandfather knew you where here, what would he do?"
"We wouldn't be having this conversation," Kaelin was blunt and to the point.
"Why not?" Myslynn replied, "Would you be running or would you be fighting?"
"Column A, Column B," Kaelin shrugged. Myslynn frowned, uncertain that she understood Kaelin's metaphor, or she was possibly worried that Kaelin might turn on the dwergs, which would mean the end of her own career as well.
"The Lady Kaelin has sworn to end this... matter with her unlamented grand sire," Quenril stepped forward.
"To whom?" Myslynn asked after a moments consideration.
"To our clan," Quenril spoke solemnly, "She is sworn to end her grandfather and his depredations by the turning of the tides or we will take the traditional forfeit."
Myslynn went completely still at that. Then she took a very deep breath.
"I shall pray to Gobannus that you manage to complete your oath," she said, slightly unsteadily to Kaelin, "The forfeit is a terrible thing."
"What..." Kaelin started to ask and then remembered the scream of rage as the brothers had discovered the fact that Nanny Tatters was the one that had allowed the werewolves into their stronghold. The grim faces, the lock step as they had closed in on Nanny Tatters reanimated corpse, the dreadful purpose as their swords went to work, not to stab or hack but to peel, to peel Nanny Tatters out of her skin and leave her as the pink and white horror that now strutted at Jeremiah's heels. Only Kaelin was sure that if she failed to deal with her grandfather by the time the month was up they wouldn't make sure she was dead first, she'd scream as they went to work at her.
She looked at the three Ash Elves and saw not condemnation in their faces, not yet, but there was no mercy either. Tasnar drew a knife and balanced it by its point on his finger tip, grinning at her all the while before flipping it into the air and catching its handle. The grin didn't falter as he licked the blood from his finger tip.
Kaelin drew a breath that curdled in her lungs with cold.
"What, exactly, is your grandfather?" Myslynn asked.
"He's a tyrant," Kaelin dragged her attention back to the Forge Lord, "Anyone, and I mean anyone who is not for him is against him and he takes delight in causing pain. What is worse is, because he's not just an animal, he will use words and every manner of mind frackery to make you believe that you deserve the punishment he dishes out. His word is law and more than law for the pack. He'll have a close core of followers from the first pack, such as Greely, and they'll dispense his will to his new recruits, unless said recruits are unlucky enough to be a female he fancies and then he'll take them himself. I know for a fact that I have been promised to Greely as a 'reward', probably because he is my grandfather. If we... further apart, then I've no doubt that he would have..."
She rubbed her arms vigorously, shuddering.
"I think we get the picture," Myslynn observed, "What would he want with us? It is not like our kinds can interbreed."
"I don't know," Kaelin was still compulsively rubbing her arms, "But I do know this - he's looking for an army. This isn't a fight to the death for him, it is a fight to infection. I don't know if dwergs can be infected by the werewolf's bite but my advise is to avoid being bitten at all costs."
Myslynn as still staring at her as if she didn't believe what she had just been told when the howl made both Kaelin and Thorian turn to the windows. The Ash Elves all stood, Estella and Sinbar following suit.
The howl echoed again, bouncing and ringing throughout Endingborough. Jeremiah twitched his fingers in a silent call to his puppets. He could hear that this wasn't one voice howling, it was many, one leading and others joining in. There were also some that didn't sound like merely wolves. There were other things mixed in with those lupine voices and they were coming from up near Principle Mound.
"They're here," Ulrich stated with foreboding.
"No shat, Shallot," Kaelin snapped as she bounded passed heading for the door way.
In the hall way, she looked around frantically and then decided that instead of running the risk of becoming lost looking for the front door she'd stick with what she knew. She bounded down the corridor that had lead them in from the foundry side of the building.
To her surprise Ulrich followed her.
"What are you doing?" she snapped.
"Peter!" Ulrich explained, "Not sure I can whistle him up the way Jeremiah has done with his little friends." Kaelin wasn't sure what he meant by that and, frankly she didn't care as she burst out into the heat and steam and sparks of the foundry floor. Behind her Ulrich whistled and she heard Peter's multiple legs rattle over the wall even through the cacophony of the works. She slammed bodily into the sliding door and wrenched it open. Neck and neck, she and Ulrich leapt out into the yellow glow of Endingborough.
Kaelin could hear the screams. There were children crying out in that noise.
"Scum!" Kaelin screamed, "Bum-banking Scum!"
Myslynn gave her a nod at that just before she yanked down her helmet and hefted her war hammer, a war hammer that was shaped like an anvil horn at one end and lead the way up the street, her guard and the Kings Special trailing around her and Jeremiah's pets stumping along behind.
Kaelin reigned in the urge to go charging off ahead of them. The flanked prey would have no chance in this and on her own...
She had to think of it as a hunt, to see it the way her accursed kin would see it. The prey on its own would be surrounded and brought down but it was hard, it was so hard not to race up the street towards those screams bellowing all the hatred in Hell. She swore that if she died before she managed to bring her grandfather down she would find a bunch of imps in Hell who could come back and finish the job for her.
Fighting the leash she kept it tied with, the beast swelled under her skin, fighting to rip its way free and just shred whatever it faced.
Ulrich was whooping and grinning as they pounded up the street, trying not to out pace the dwerg, who had a surprising turn of speed when they were threatened but the other three started glancing up at the roofs of the buildings flanking them, sure that they were catching movement out of the corner of their eyes, sure that it meant nothing good.
Then Ulrich made the mistake of drawing ahead.
The things very nearly swept him out of the saddle as they leapt to the road. If Peter had been a horse they probably would have hooked him but Peter's rippling movement threw off their strike just enough for them to miss. Their claws shrieked over the stones as they slued to a stop in front of the team. Ulrich, on the other hand, did not even slow down.
Peter slammed into the front most... thing with a crash of flesh against chitin, mandibles scissoring at its face, Peter whistling his own battle cry whine as Ulrich whooped again.
"What the Grin-der-gap are these things?" Thorian bellowed, swinging his sword at the one that bounded at him. It shrieked as the blade bit but it didn't bite deep, wedging in the toughened muscles below the things hide. It snapped and bit at Thorian's face, fangs clashing together a hair breath from his face, Thorian's hand straining to hold its malformed head away from his as he danced about trying to avoid its slashing claws while hanging on to his sword with the other hand. It snarled, ears laying flat back, mane bristling. The smell of it was overwhelming. Thorian gagged.
Kaelin charged! The change took her mid stride and she didn't try to slam or grapple the thing, her claws stretching out from her finger tips so hard they hurt. She swung with all her strength as she streaked passed the things back. There was a crack and the things head leapt free.
Thorian grunted as its sudden dead weigh yanked his hand round as it collapsed, limbs jerking and flaying. Thorian planted a boot on its slick side and yanked his sword free.
"Just what the Grin-der-gap are these things?" he yelled again.
"No idea, old boy," Ulrich laughed, sword flickering a blinding dance, snapping at the lunging dancing thing that bit and swiped at him. It was leery of him, having seen what swords could do, unwilling to take risks but its movement patterns were odd and it was putting Ulrich off. When it leapt back, he let it open up the space between the two groups.
"Oh Klu'ga-nath," Jeremiah whispered, fingers arching in warding symbols.
The things shifted and stepped closer to each other as they eyed the King's Special and their friends, their three feet padding over the flagstones as they walked in an upright position.
For the first time, Ulrich started taking in details about what they were facing.
"Oh," he said, the point of his sword lowering, "Oh ain't you the ugly sons of mothers."
"Er," Thorian frowned, "Legs! Legs! I'm counting three of them."
"And two arms," Myslynn could count as well, especially when said arms were extending hands laden with five claws that were three inches long apiece towards her. Claws that caressed the air, eager to feel flesh split below their touch. Lips rippled back along ridge topped muzzles, muscles sliding and bulging in lithe, black leather limbs as they shifted and crouched, tails of bone and chitin spurs slowly lashing the air behind them, their eyes glowing with a hunger that made Valodrael surge through Estella in return, his greed answering the challenge. Estella doubled over as the boundary between Valodrael and herself began to dissolve.
Kaelin got in first, drawing in a breath that made her ribs swell out, the skin beneath her fur almost drum tight.
Then she opened her mouth and roared!
It battered the pair of beasts before them with sound, a noise that was not a howl, not a bellow, not a scream but containing something of all of them. Kaelin heaved for breath as the last of it echoed away. Then the two beasts growled in return, crouching lower getting ready to spring.
Then, to the surprise of the King's Special, Jeremiah stepped forward, mace of office held high, Hat buzzing with nerves. The dead glare eyes of the two monsters settled on him.
Jeremiah huffed, Jeremiah puffed, Jeremiah swelled and as the two beasts went to spring he opened his mouth and...
The world ended.
Just for a second, just for a moment, the world dissolved in a light that should not be, that should not exist.
Kaelin thought it was moonlight but somehow so strong it out shone the sun, leaving after images dancing in her sight through her tightly closed eyelids, the light forcing her back into human form, the change crunching through her like teeth through a piece of crackling.
For Thorian it was the snow glare off the mountain sides in winter but so extreme that his skin tingled and burned. He yelled as he threw up his arms to protect his face.
For Ulrich it was the flare of the magnesium flash that one of his tutors had been perfecting, intense, blinding and lasting so much longer than it should have done. He screwed his face up as Peter bucked and shrilled beneath him.
Then suddenly, blessedly, it was gone.
All of them stood blinking, trying to clear the purple and blue dots dancing in their sight. Eventually Kaelin was able to shake it and squint at the sight before them.
"What the HELL!" she yelled, gaping at what stood before them.
"My eyes," Thorian moaned, "My eyes."
Kaelin couldn't turn to comfort him, her whole being riveted by what was before them, the sound of rasping gasps only slightly tugging at her attention.
The... things... werewolves... monsters... abominations... were still there, arms out stretched, legs half uncoiled, mouths agape, frozen in the very instant of their leap. Only now they were white.
From nose to tail tip they were a beautiful, sparkling white, every piece of them. Utterly still, utterly perfect in every detail.
Myslynn stepped forward, placing every step with infinite care, her guards shifting uneasily behind her. She slowly brought her war hammer up... and tapped one of the beasts on the nose.
It disintegrated, the details tumbling away, its form sifting down, cascading with a soft sigh as its structure lost its integrity, pouring like water, but sighing like sand grains running over the dunes.
"Salt," Myslynn stated in wonder, "They've turned into salt."
She turned a face filled with awe towards them.
They all looked back, looked at each other, looked back at her and then looked at Jeremiah.
He was bent over double, hands braced on his knees, gasping and heaving.
"All hail..." he rasped and then coughed, brutal great racking coughs that heaved up from his toes, "All hail Klu'ga-nath."
He dissolved into another coughing bout, fit to wake the dead but the remaining statue just crumbled and sifted down into a pile of salt at his feet.
Kaelin shivered.
For a second, just for a second, she could have sworn that a great scaly face appeared in that shifting fall of salt... and it had grinned at her.
