seriously as Carnifex did.
Carnifex’s fear was washed away by a surging wave of pride, but then the two emotions ran into each other, becoming something else, something more. He swelled with confidence, with purpose. It no longer mattered what the cost might be. In that moment, he knew exactly who he was, what he had to do.
As he reached the topmost gallery, and Kal clambered up behind him, the clangor of battle had the ferocity of a thunderstorm directly overhead. The ceiling juddered with every pounding thud, and rock dust cascaded down. Metal rang against stone. Dwarves bellowed, dwarves roared, dwarves screamed. Orders were barked, words lost in the din. He thought he heard Thumil’s voice in among it all.
The smaller access shafts stopped at this level. Now there was only the massive central shaft, with its two service ladders leading into the green glow coming off the scarolite collar. The braided steel cable that had held the cage hung slack down the center of the shaft, swaying and twirling. Shadows of movement flickered across the aperture, and the belly of the headframe loomed above them.
“Carn…” Kal said.
“I know, laddie. You don’t need to say it. I’m going to need of a change of britches, too. But we’re Ravine Guard.”
Kal gave a cut nod and narrowed his eyes. He set down his lantern, and Carnifex did the same. There’d be no more need of them up top.
“I’ll go first,” Kal said, voice coming out hoarse.
“A ladder apiece, Kal. We’ll go up at the same time.”
There was another scream from above, and something skittered across the opening and clattered down the collar of the shaft. Carnifex swayed out of the way and watched it plummet toward the floor of the mine: a shortsword, like the kind used by the Krypteia. So, Grago’s mob had arrived to defend the ravine along with the Red Cloaks. Had to give them credit for that, he supposed.
“Ready?” he asked Kal.
“Ready.”
And together they started to climb.
As they entered the scarolite collar, Carnifex blinked until his eyes adjusted to the phosphorescent glow. The pickaxe in his hand clashed against the ladder, but the nearer he got to the top, the harder it was to hear above the tumult.
Thumil’s voice blasted out, this time clear as day: “Fall back! Regroup!”
It was answered by the crunch and stamp of a hundred booted feet, maybe more. Beneath it all, Carnifex heard the drone and whirr of the train coming in, no doubt bringing more soldiers to face the threat.
He reached the lip of the collar and poked his head up. The building that housed the base of the headframe was a chaos of activity. Red Cloaks and Black fled through the open doors, while a cordon of them surrounded the monster. Bodies littered the floor, many of them mangled beyond recognition. Higher up the latticework tower running through the center of the room, Black Cloaks clung to struts and angled hand crossbows down, but whenever they fired, the arrows ricocheted off the creature’s granite hide.
Beside Carnifex, Kal reached the top and stared out over the carnage. They exchanged glances, and then climbed into the room.
The creature had its back to them, watching the exodus of dwarves, turning its huge head to select its next victim from the Red Cloaks surrounding it. In the amber light of the glowstones, it seemed formed from magma. It was three times the height of a dwarf, and twice as broad. Although it had two legs and two arms, its features were ill-defined, like it had been hastily slapped together from clay. Nothing the dwarves had done seemed to have harmed it in any way. The only injury it had sustained was from where Carnifex had struck it with the scarolite pickaxe, and even then, it was a matter of a chink in the stone of its wrist.
The creature took a lumbering step toward the open doors, and at once, the cordon around it tightened. Axes and hammers clashed against its pillar-like legs. Blades shattered, hafts snapped, but the Red
Carnifex’s fear was washed away by a surging wave of pride, but then the two emotions ran into each other, becoming something else, something more. He swelled with confidence, with purpose. It no longer mattered what the cost might be. In that moment, he knew exactly who he was, what he had to do.
As he reached the topmost gallery, and Kal clambered up behind him, the clangor of battle had the ferocity of a thunderstorm directly overhead. The ceiling juddered with every pounding thud, and rock dust cascaded down. Metal rang against stone. Dwarves bellowed, dwarves roared, dwarves screamed. Orders were barked, words lost in the din. He thought he heard Thumil’s voice in among it all.
The smaller access shafts stopped at this level. Now there was only the massive central shaft, with its two service ladders leading into the green glow coming off the scarolite collar. The braided steel cable that had held the cage hung slack down the center of the shaft, swaying and twirling. Shadows of movement flickered across the aperture, and the belly of the headframe loomed above them.
“Carn…” Kal said.
“I know, laddie. You don’t need to say it. I’m going to need of a change of britches, too. But we’re Ravine Guard.”
Kal gave a cut nod and narrowed his eyes. He set down his lantern, and Carnifex did the same. There’d be no more need of them up top.
“I’ll go first,” Kal said, voice coming out hoarse.
“A ladder apiece, Kal. We’ll go up at the same time.”
There was another scream from above, and something skittered across the opening and clattered down the collar of the shaft. Carnifex swayed out of the way and watched it plummet toward the floor of the mine: a shortsword, like the kind used by the Krypteia. So, Grago’s mob had arrived to defend the ravine along with the Red Cloaks. Had to give them credit for that, he supposed.
“Ready?” he asked Kal.
“Ready.”
And together they started to climb.
As they entered the scarolite collar, Carnifex blinked until his eyes adjusted to the phosphorescent glow. The pickaxe in his hand clashed against the ladder, but the nearer he got to the top, the harder it was to hear above the tumult.
Thumil’s voice blasted out, this time clear as day: “Fall back! Regroup!”
It was answered by the crunch and stamp of a hundred booted feet, maybe more. Beneath it all, Carnifex heard the drone and whirr of the train coming in, no doubt bringing more soldiers to face the threat.
He reached the lip of the collar and poked his head up. The building that housed the base of the headframe was a chaos of activity. Red Cloaks and Black fled through the open doors, while a cordon of them surrounded the monster. Bodies littered the floor, many of them mangled beyond recognition. Higher up the latticework tower running through the center of the room, Black Cloaks clung to struts and angled hand crossbows down, but whenever they fired, the arrows ricocheted off the creature’s granite hide.
Beside Carnifex, Kal reached the top and stared out over the carnage. They exchanged glances, and then climbed into the room.
The creature had its back to them, watching the exodus of dwarves, turning its huge head to select its next victim from the Red Cloaks surrounding it. In the amber light of the glowstones, it seemed formed from magma. It was three times the height of a dwarf, and twice as broad. Although it had two legs and two arms, its features were ill-defined, like it had been hastily slapped together from clay. Nothing the dwarves had done seemed to have harmed it in any way. The only injury it had sustained was from where Carnifex had struck it with the scarolite pickaxe, and even then, it was a matter of a chink in the stone of its wrist.
The creature took a lumbering step toward the open doors, and at once, the cordon around it tightened. Axes and hammers clashed against its pillar-like legs. Blades shattered, hafts snapped, but the Red
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