It is the night before the 16th of Galena, year 256.Atír was furious. The security in this fortress was simply shameful. First a monster wanders up to their doorstep and bites the head off her donkey, and then some filthy, skulking, stinking, thieving taffer wanders off with her OTHER donkey! At least it was still alive. She could feel it, as if it were breathing right next to her. The other dwarves in the village had always seen Atír as a bit of an oddball, and she had no love for them in return, but animals had always shared a special kinship with her. They were her true companions. She marched on through the woods, her woodcutter's axe dangling from her belt. She was close to her friend now, very close.
A scream of pain sounded through the trees in front of her, mixed with frightened braying. Atír stopped, and listened. Another scream joined in with the first, and then the screams gave way to a strange, visceral cracking and slurping noise. It sounded as if someone was crushing bones and meat in a huge grinder. The noise faded, and now there was a terrifying snarling and growling. Her donkey brayed once again, and the growls became a unified roar. A few seconds later, Atír knew that her companion was no longer alive, and fear welled up in her. She was no fighter, and the things that now feasted on her donkey's corpse were no animal rustlers. She tried to reach out to the beasts, but their hearts were closed. She wanted to run, but her body had froze. A treasonous gust of wind blew at her back. The beasts looked up from their meal and turned to face her, and now she could see their eyes, their horrible, glowing eyes. They moved towards her. "STOP!" she yelled in desperation, as if it would save her somehow.
The beasts stopped. She opened her eyes. A cloud passed from the moon, and now she could see them clearly. They were standing twenty Urists in front of her in a clearing in the woods, next to the mangled remains of her donkey and another small animal. Red drool ran from their jaws, and they were sniffing madly in her direction, breathing in her scent and yearning to pounce on the little morsel. But they stood their ground, shuffling their paws in frustration. "GET BACK!" yelled Atír. The beasts snarled, and took a few steps back. She suddenly noticed that both of them were holding a copper battle axe in their clawed hand, and behind them on the ground in the clearing were two sets of torn pig tail clothing. And next to one of the piles, a wooden crutch. Had they been
dwarves? The beasts had large, muscular bodies, designed only to kill, and their minds were not entirely their own, but was that a glint of intelligence she saw in their eyes?
"I'm not going to hurt you," she said, as if she had been anything more than a tasty snack to them, and she took a careful step forwards. The smaller of the beasts roared and struck a menacing pose, and the larger one began licking its lips, still constantly sniffing the air. Atír took three steps back. "All right," she said. "I'll keep my distance." Then she thought for a while, and asked: "Are you... dwarves?" She added: "Bark once for yes, twice for no." The smaller beast gave a quick roar, and the large one looked at it. Then it barked as well.
Atír was still very afraid, but a part of her was also fascinated. Were these the soldiers that had been injured by the monster that attacked the fortress? Had it somehow inflicted its curse upon them? She had heard stories of werebeasts as a child, but had thought they were only a myth. Evidently it was not so.
"Are you Thob and Rovod?" One bark each.
"So you're not going to eat me?" No answer. It dawned on her that the only reason why they hadn't already was through sheer force of will, and it would be best not to explore the subject any further.
"Do you know if you'll ever change back? To yourself again?" There was a pause. Then the large one, apparently the leader, threw back its head and began howling at the moon. The smaller one did the same. Atír realized she had wet herself.
"I-I'm going to leave now!" she shouted over the cacophony. "Don't follow me! I'll tell the others, and when you change to yourself again you can come back to the fortress! We'll figure something out!"
The beasts quit their howling concert and looked back at her, now completely silent. They had even stopped sniffing, and somehow this made them even more terrifying. The large one cocked its head to the side. Was it something she had said? She had only meant to calm them, and ensure them that the rest of the fortress were still on their side... Oh Armok, the fortress! Full of busy dwarves, poorly defended and unprepared for their onslaught. Atír had just reminded the wolves where the sheep pen was. The large one started growling, a deep vibration in the air, and the glow in its eyes grew stronger, its muscles bulging. The smaller one turned its head towards its leader, and in the blink of an eye it had thrown itself upon it, their bodies now a clawing, biting, roaring cloud of unbridled fury. Atír ran.
"BEAST!!!" Wallace awoke with a scream and swung in the air with the hammer he did not have. He was drenched in sweat and his lungs and heart were pumping. A few of the other soldiers groaned in their sleep. "Mmm, what?" said a droopy voice. It was Burnie, who had been sleeping in the bunk next to him. "Where's the feast?"
Wallace realized that the barracks dormitory was no longer a bloodbath, and that all of his limbs were still intact. He looked around him, and saw his troops sleeping peacefully in their bunk beds, alive and well. The Beast's terrible growl had been Beirus' snore. Burnie sat up, and gave his commander a worried look. They had found him out of his mind on the floor in the workshops last night, and put him to rest up here where the soldiers were now quartered. Burnie and Dwarobaki had been the ones to carry him, and he had been babbling incoherently all the time, repeating the word "donkey". Now he was awake, and Burnie was relieved, but evidently something had scared him out of his wits the night before. Wallace turned his bloodshot eyes towards him. "Burnie," he said. "There's... something I have to tell you."
An hour later, all of Ilrom Ziril's military was stationed outside the tunnel entrance. In the month that had passed since the Beast attacked them they had spent every waking moment training in the barracks, and Taupe had been working day and night to arm and armor them. The officers were now clad in metal, and while most of the recruits still lacked armor, at least now they all had a weapon and a shield. All except LuckyKobold, who did not seem to understand the purpose of weaponry and went into battle with only the latter. This would normally have excluded him from military service, had it not been for the fact that none of the soldiers, including Wallace, had ever been able to land a blow on him. Where they struck he was most often not, and when the strike did connect, it was with his shield. Coupled with his tendency to make obscene gestures at his sparring partners, this often caused them to throw down their weapons and leave the barracks in fury, a behavior Burnie had dubbed "ragequitting". The paths of the warrior were indeed many, reflected Burnie as he stood in the chill of the morning and watched the mountain slope, his spear upright and his axe in hand.
Further up the slope behind the soldiers were the marksdwarves, who had all been equipped with Taupe's newest invention. She had stormed into the barracks one day, toting a monstrous crossbow twice the size of the ones they used for hunting, and loaded it with what appeared to be a small tree trunk made of silver. "Give me a target!" she had exclaimed, and Wallace had pointed at one of the training dummies that stood in the middle of the sparring room. She had loosed the weapon at it, and the bolt had propelled it forwards and impaled it in the wall, where only Beirus had been strong enough to remove it. In addition to such a crossbow, the marksdwarf named Melbil was also equipped with Bearghosts the Ill Days, the sublime masterwork she had crafted on the night the Beast attacked. A fitting weapon to use against its progeny. When the Beasts came, they would, in Dwarobaki's words, be REA-DY.
But what came up the mountainside from the south was no beast. It was a group of dwarves, tired and unwashed, and they were pulling a heavy-looking cart behind them up the stony path. They looked quite fearful at the sight of their welcoming party. Apparently they had not expected anyone to be here. Wallace approached them, slightly nervous. A corpulent dwarf was sitting atop the cart. He had the look of nobility about him. Wallace furrowed his brow, and addressed him. "Who are you, then?"
"I am Goden Oilywheels, liason and diplomat of the Still Shield. I am here on behalf of Baron Hamemyths."
"Who?"
Goden had been surprised to see that the outpost already had such an advanced military, but he was now absolutely astonished by the fact that they had forgotten who their Baron was. Evidently their brains had been addled by the fumes from the crater. He spoke again, slowly and deliberately. "Baron Mosus Hamemyths from the Still Shield, remember? The one who authorized this expedition, and your liege by law?"
Wallace blinked a couple of times. Then he understood. "Oh, yeah of course! How's old Mosie doing?"
Goden frowned. "
Baron Hamemyths is doing fine, thank you." With much ado the liaison climbed down from the cart, straightened his white cave spider silk cloak, and gave Wallace a condescending bow. "We are here to reinforce the outpost that is to become his new barony, and to bring the traitor Wallace Glovemirror to justice. Is he here?"
"That he is," said Wallace, and slung his warhammer over his shoulder. "He's right here."
Upon hearing this, Burnie began to hammer the blunt end of his spear against the rocky ground in a steady rhythm. Dwarobaki joined in, and the other soldiers started banging their weapons against their shields. LuckyKobold, who had no weapon, compensated by banging his shield against his head. The marksdwarves were now pointing their weapons at the newcomers. Goden did not like the way this conversation was going.
Wallace raised his hand, and the banging stopped. "What was that you said about justice?"
Goden licked his fat lips and began searching his brain for an answer. He found one and began to speak, but was interupted by Wallace, who pushed him hard in the chest so that he tripped over a rock and tumbled backwards, tearing his cloak and tangling it about his head. As he began rolling down the southern slope he heard the traitor yell "Movement from the north!", and then a rustling of armor and weapons. He was really not having a good day.
Magnus and Atír had done a thorough job of deforesting the Peak, and the only trees that remained near the summit were the fruit-bearing ones. Wallace had easily spotted the moving figure that had exited the thick of the woods below. But again, it was no beast. It was a single dwarf, running as if all the devils of Hell were at her tail, and in fact this was not far from the truth. "Hold fire!" commanded Wallace. As the dwarf approached them he saw a woodcutter's axe at her belt, and realized that it must be Atír. She threw herself in his arms, tears running down her face.
"There's... monsters... coming!" she shouted out between gasps of air. "It's... Thob and Rovod, they've... changed! They've turned into... beasts! And I've... led them right to us! I'm sorry!"
"Calm down, child," said Wallace and gave her a firm hug. "We know all about them, and if anyone is to blame for this, it's me. Thank Armok you're still alive. We'll sort out this mess, I promise. Head inside and get some rest, now." She looked at him and wiped her tears. Then she ran towards the tunnel.
"Oh Armok, here they come!" a marksdwarf cried out. Wallace looked back to the woods, and immediately he saw their glowing red eyes, following Atír's trail and charging up the slope in a bloodcrazed pursuit. He could scarcely tell which one was Thob and which was Rovod, but he knew that they must have lost their minds completely in their new form. No soldier would be foolish enough to fight uphill, without cover, against ranged weaponry. It would be a kindness to end their misery. He began issuing orders.
"Formations!" The soldiers took up defensive stances behind him.
"Crossbows!" The marksdwarves readied their weapons and began leading their targets. The beasts were getting close now, less than a hundred Urists away. He could hear their panting breaths.
"Ready to fire, sir!" shouted Lór, the marksdwarf captain. Wallace bade her wait for his command. Eighty Urists. A bead of sweat trickled down his bearded cheek. His dream had been so real, so viciously real.
"What is all this shouting for?!" said the angry Goden, who had finally climbed all the way back up and was now approaching the frontlines. "GET BACK", yelled Wallace, but he hadn't needed to. As soon as Goden saw the beasts he screamed and bolted back towards the safety of the cart, his torn cloak billowing behind him like a white flag. Fifty Urists. Time slowed down, and Wallace entered his martial trance. Everything became crystal clear, as if an eagle had lent him its eyes. He could see the beasts' copper axes, gleaming in the first rays of the sun as it rose above the peak.
And then they stumbled and fell, tumbling into each other and roaring in pain. They began to shed their fur, limbs writhing, and the roars faded into dwarven screams. The night had ended.
"At ease, soldiers," said Wallace, and turned around to face them. He was breathing heavily. "Bring... bring them back, and lock them up in the cage room. We'll figure out what to do with them in time for the next full moon." The soldiers lowered their weapons and began marching towards Thob and Rovod where they lay naked on the ground, while Wallace returned to the tunnel, his hands still shaking. There he found Magnus, who was yawning profoundly and stretching her limbs as if she had just got out of bed.
"What's this then? Are we being attacked? What'd I miss?" She took a look at the terrified Goden and his entourage. "Wallace, why have we taken up arms against a group of visitors? It's hardly a proper welcome." Then she looked over his shoulder and saw Thob and Rovod, who were being marched into the fortress by their former squadmates. They were still completely naked, and they had relinquished their axes. "And why aren't those soldiers uniformed?"
"I'll explain later, said Wallace. "Right now, I'm going to catch some shuteye." He glanced at Goden over his shoulder and added: "Welcome to Ilrom Ziril."
For the first time in many weeks, Wallace slept properly. He remained asleep for the entire day and the following night, and awoke the next morning feeling like a much younger dwarf. After doing his daily gymnastics he went down to meet Magnus in the dining hall, and there he told her the whole story. She praised him for the courage and honor he had shown in such a crisis, and apologized for not having been herself when he had needed her the most.
"I can't remember much of it, to be honest. It's as if I was watching another dwarf working in my stead. We really need to find out what's causing these strange moods, it's not good to have one of us suddenly go mental like that. What if we hadn't been able to get any wood? Would I have gone completely mad?" After Dwarobaki had helped carry Wallace to bed on the night of his collapse, he had returned to the workshops and shouted at the haulers (or peons, as he called them) until they agreed to chop up some empty barrels, allowing Magnus to finish her project. Mafol, the brewer who had taken over Dwarobaki's civilian job, had been furious and called him an iconoclast, but Dwarobaki couldn't care less.
"I blame Skaia's cooking," said Wallace. "What were you working on, exactly?"
"Oh, it turns out it was just a piece of furniture. But I must admit it's a quite lovely one. Want to see it?" Wallace admitted that he was curious, and they went down to Magnus's workshop. On the floor around it lay several dwarves slumped on the floor, snoring peacefully. "Oh dear," said Magnus. "I should have known this would happen."
They entered the workshop, and Magnus revealed what had caused the slumber party. It was a bed, and indeed a most lovely one. Just looking at it, Wallace could feel his eyes slide shut, and he had to force himself to stay upright. It was as if the bed had not been made out of old barrels, but had been crafted from the very essence of sleep itself, and somehow it exuded this sleepiness into the air around it, beckoning anyone who stood near to lie down in its feathery embrace and forget all about the world.
"Yaaah," Wallace yawned, "that really is something." Magnus seemed unaffected by the bed's aura and was her usual chirpy self. "It's good, isn't it?" she exclaimed, and threw herself down on her creation. Its springs were perfectly bouncy, and did not even creak. "I call it The Morose Tenderness!" Wallace stifled another yawn, and nodded in approval as he left the workshop. He felt both tender and morose. Perhaps a good sparring session would help clear his head?
When he got back to his beloved barracks he found Beirus alone in the sparring arena. She was standing in front of the locked doors to the cage room, looking worried. Its occupants were banging on the doors with all their might from the other side. They had been chained up, but it was obvious that they had now broken free and were trying to escape. The doors were sturdy enough to withstand their attempts, Neblime had poured all his heart and soul into making them, but Wallace shuddered at the thought of what would happen at the next full moon. "This is not good," he said to Beirus, who agreed.
"They don't quit, sir. I've been here all day, and they've been going at it like that the whole time. It's like they're possessed."
"Have you tried talking to them?"
"Yeah, but I don't think they can hear me."
"Hmmm," said Wallace. "I may have an idea."
The next day:The doors would not budge. No matter how hard she tried to break them they stood firm, mocking her feeble form. But her time would come. The Blood Moon was in her now, and she was its champion. She had broken the weak one's mind, and made her an obedient servant. Soon, the Change would come, and then they would break down the doors. Break them down, and feast on their flesh! She lashed out at her thrall, who whimpered in submission. Weakness! Punish the coward!
"Hey! Knock it off!" A voice sounded from the ceiling of the room, where a hole had opened up. Magnus looked at the naked, filthy, blood-stained prisoners as they wrestled each other, and sighed. "Can't you two just get along?"
"FLESHFEAST!" screamed Thob. "KWEEN GOFER RIPPERTEAR YOU! CLAWTEAR!!!"
"I guess that answers that. Well, here you go." She pushed a heavy object in front of her, and it fell down the hole and landed in the middle of the room. "Nighty night!"
Wallace stood outside and stroked his beard nervously. "Did it work?" he asked Magnus as she emerged down the small staircase. Magnus turned her head, and listened. Loud snores echoed from the tunnel above. "Oh yeah," she said. "It worked."
"Good," said Wallace, and turned towards Elagn and Neblime. "Let's do this."
Thob awoke, feeling rather odd. She did not know where she was, or how she had got there. The last thing she remembered was... oh Armok, had they really attacked the fortress? Evidently they had been captured, but how many had they killed before that? She looked at Rovod, who seemed to be going through similar thoughts. And now she recognized the room they were in. It was the cage room in the barracks, but it had changed a lot. Most noticeably, there were no longer any doors. She began examining their prison. The room was perfectly symmetrical, apart from one of the corners where the walls bulged out, and these walls had rows of very narrow slits carved in them. Thob could not see what was behind the slits, but somehow that thing, whatever it was, made her feel... calm. A tender, morose sort of calmness, like the way one feels after having cried a lot. Her bloodthirst was gone.
A voice spoke to them from above, and they both looked up. "Feeling better?" asked Wallace. They looked down, shameful. He had spared their lives, and it was more than they deserved. "It's all right. Here, I've got something for you." He rolled a barrel down the hole, and it landed upright on the floor. "It ought to keep the bad memories away. Just try not to break it when you change. Oh, and take these." He dumped their axes down on top of the barrel. "'Cause I think you two have some major issues to work out. I'd give you armor as well, but I'm afraid they don't make it in your size." He pointed at the southern wall in the room and continued: "That wall there goes down into the floor when we pull a lever in the control room. We'll let you out every now and then to get some air. Or," he added, "if we need you to take care of any invaders. But this is your home from now on, understood? I don't want to hear about you two trying to break out of here, or getting too overenthusiastic about killing each other. Are we clear on that?"
The soldiers had no words for their commander, but their eyes spoke for them.
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Topic: Ilrom Ziril: The Peak of Fire (Read 32654 times)