The False Moon War: Chapter 15

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Chapter 15.  The Dark Lands

From the eastern flanks of the World's Edge Mountains, the Dark Lands revealed themselves to be a featureless grey tundra beneath a featureless gray sky.  The two blended together making it impossible to discern a horizon.

With a ginger tap from Mahtis, the Rune Hammer 'o Anti Magic removed the rune which bound

the solar engine.  The apparatus flared back to life.

As Bessie stepped out of the last of the foothills, Rychek put the weak sun at her back and the heroes started to follow her long shadow.  After a short time, the sun abandoned them to their fate beneath the thickening haze. 

The Lizardmen spoke with hushed voices, when they chose to speak at all.  The air seemed hostile toward any sound which would disturb the brooding silence.  The grey downs were not as featureless as they had appeared from afar.  The ground was creased and folded like a rumpled blanket, which made following a true course difficult.  Rychek would peer at the sky periodically to work out the position of the sun, then curse at the shroud of lowering stratus.  It was difficult even to judge time, because there was little to distinguish day and night under the murk.

Bessie alone, seemed sure of herself as she picked her way forwards.  She had some instinct or gift for holding a more or less straight course as they crossed from desolate ridge to thorn choked gully and back again.

On one occasion the party approached what appeared to be a copse of bare trees.  As they drew closer it revealed itself to be the titanic ribcage of a long dead beast.  The only creatures of such size that they knew of were the thunder lizards of Lustria.

Later they crossed a broad, shallow depression which had the stubs of mighty trees jutting up like broken black teeth.  As Bessie shouldered past one, it crumbled into rubble.

"I think..."  Rychek startled everyone with the sound of his voice.  "I think there was a jungle here once.  A long time ago."

The others pondered this in silence.

On a few occasions they saw ragged bands of greenskins.  These took one look at Bessie's size and splendour before fading away to pursue easier prey.  Rychek felt it was safer to have some of the party scouting ahead, rather than risk an ambush if the greenskins were part of a larger war party.

***

Bob and Joe were taking point, some one hundred yards ahead of the plodding bastiladon.

"Joe!  Careful!  Stop!"

Joe paused mid stride with his clawed foot hovering above a brown mass.  Bob peered at it.  "I think it might be rhinox dung."

Joe carefully retrieved his foot.  "It could be Rhinox dung, but it could be something else."

The Saurus Warrior scooped up a large blob of the sticky substance with a clawed finger and stuck it in his mouth.  He considered briefly.  "Yes, definitely Rhinox droppings.  It was lucky that you saw it, Bob."

"Why is that?"

"Otherwise I might have stepped in it!"

Bessie had caught up to them now, and sniffed at the pile.  She wrinkled her nose and sneezed.  Rychek and Mahtis tumbled down from the howdah, and the four investigated the area.

A churned trail twenty yards wide ran roughly perpendicular to their course.  Here and there were piles of dung and other detritus, and the occasional gnawed bone.  There were the marks of large cartwheels and many huge footprints.  Some were rhinox, some were the hobnailed boots of ogres, and some were the jaguar like pads of sabretusks.  Occasionally there were a scattering of tiny boot prints, which surely came from scurrying gnoblars.

One perfectly preserved footprint excited much discussion.  It was not large.  Its three toe prints were punctuated with the marks of small talons.  Rychek pressed his own foot into the dust beside it and lifted it again.  The indentations were almost perfectly matched.

"Is it a skink footprint?"  asked Mahtis.

"It must be, but how did it get here?  Why would he be travelling with ogres?"  Rychek wrinkled his brow in concentration.  "The ogres who kidnapped Taisteslaikch'ken could have come this way.  If they sailed past the Dragon Isles, then the fastest land route to the North would be through the Dark Lands.  They could have captured a skink from Los'tmabo'tl, too.  Maybe one of Taistelaikch'ken's attendant priests."

"We didn't see any sign of skink prints when we followed their trail in Lustria, and besides, it can't be the same group.  They sailed off months ago, and this...."  Joe scooped up another glob of rhinox dung and tasted it,  "...is still quite fresh."

"Maybe they got delayed somehow..."  Bob suggested.

"What, worse than we did?  They had a huge warship and a small army.  They could have made the journey in weeks."

"It doesn't matter if it was the same ogres,"  Rychek concluded,  "We can follow their trail at least to the Ogre Kingdoms, and then we can try to find our slann.  It's a better idea than wandering aimlessly in this place of the dead."

The last four words seemed to hang ominously in the air.  None of the others had the will to speak further, and so they continued their journey, now heading north on the trail of an ogre band and one skink.

***

After several periods of relative light and relative dark, the ogre trail took a sudden turn to the east.  Bob nodded to dark clouds that glowered from the north.  "They didn't want to go that way, for some reason."

That evening they became aware of figures shambling parallel to them on the right.  At that distance and in the gloom it was impossible to tell what race they were.  Rychek called Bob and Joe back from point duty, and the four clutched their weapons anxiously until the weak daybreak.  Their shadowy escort disappeared before the light could reveal them.

The following night, the shadows grew bolder.  At times they would mass into a tight knot, as if ready to charge, always from the right.  When they did surge forward threateningly, they would pull back as soon as Bessie shied away. 

One time they closed into the range of the solar engine's glow, and the heroes had their first clear view. 

Zombies.  The corpses of the unrestful dead.  Their gruesome ranks were filled by the fallen of many races, from goblin size up to ogre.  Some wore tattered clothes over their tattered flesh.  Most carried a rusty weapon of some kind,  or a club formed from the femur of an unfortunate meal.

Rychek guided Bessie back to the ogre path after each zombie feint.  After being diverted for the fourth time, the zombies' purpose dawned on him.

"They are herding us.  They want us to turn north."

"I don't want to go that way."  Mahtis rumbled as he eyed the thicker darkness in that direction.

The next time the zombies surged, Rychek held Bessie steady.  She actually crunched over the top of a few, leaving the rest of the cordon milling about in confusion in her wake.

"Why don't they attack?"  Joe gripped his spear tightly.

"Mahrlecht!"  Rychek pulled Bessie to a sudden halt.  Their path forward was blocked by a large force, at least four ranks deep.

"Rychek, do you remember how you used the solar thing to warm us up?  Back at the outpost?"  enquired Bob.

"Yes.  So?"  Rychek responded distractedly.

"How did you make it go?"

"I put my claw in the print at the back."

"Thank-you!"

"Why do you ask?  What the....."  Rychek shrank down on his perch on Bessie's shoulder as a very hot beam of sunlight scorched through the space recently occupied by his crested head.  The effect on the zombie horde ahead of them was dramatic.  The pure light stripped rotten flesh from bone, and ignited dry bone like tinder.  The hitherto silent zombies shrieked as their unlives were cut short.  Again.

"Can we go on now?" Bob called as he removed his hand from the handprint.

Rychek whispered something to Bessie.  She bellowed in wide eyed fear and surged forwards through the smoldering remnants of the zombie ranks.

Again and again the zombies barred their path, and twice Chotec's light lanced through them.  On the following occasion the solar engine failed.  It had not received a full charge from the sun's rays since they had entered the dwarven realm.  The undead surged again, and this time they did not pull away.

The party on the howdah flailed with their weapons and Bessie stomped and swept with her mighty tail.  The zombies were dying, again, like flies, but more clambered over the frames of their fallen comrades to swarm the lizardmen.  The lizards bellowed and cursed at the silent throng.

"Eat flint, Ugly!" cried Joe as he jabbed at the misshapen face of a dead chaos dwarf.

"Bite me!" yelled Bob as he ran a rotting elf through with the Sword of Abstinence.

Without warning the zombies broke off their assault and drew back into the shadows.  Bessie picked her way out of the mound of body parts and halted a short distance away.

"Thank the Old Ones!  We've scared them off!" panted Joe.

"I didn't think they could be scared off,"  Mahtis grunted.  "They're not afraid of dying.  Again."

The kroxigor wiped a gobbet of gore off the Rune Hammer 'o Anti Magic.  The big weapon had proved very suitable for dealing with the magically animated dead.  Every two handed hammer blow had flashed with golden sparks and a zombie was reduced to its component parts.  Admittedly, he would have got the same result if he had used his regular great weapon, or a tree trunk, but the sparks were a nice effect.

Rychek shifted his grip on Gork-on-a-Stick.  The sceptre had also served well as an improvised club, although without the gimmicks.  "Some of them had weapons, but they didn't use them, not even to block our blows."

 "Is everyone okay," asked Joe.

"One of them bit me!  That was uncalled for."  Bob pulled his hands away from a wound on his neck.

The zombies did not return, but over the next few hours Bob weakened.  The injury should have been trivial.  The saurus warrior's constitution would normally easily deal with such a wound, and he would be left with another scar and an amusing story of a lucky escape.  But not this time.  Despite the care given by his cold blooded kin, he faded away and died at daybreak.

Under normal circumstances, the honoured dead of the Lizardmen were interred in the waters of the pool that spawned them, for their essences to mingle with the generations to come.  It was their final act of service to the Old Ones.

The trio could not do this for their brother.  Instead they scratched a grave for him in the barren soil and erected a stone to mark his resting place.

Rychek mumbled a few words, and turned back to Bessie, his crest lowered almost to touch his spine.  Joe stumbled away wordlessly.  Mahtis paused over the grave for a moment longer. 

"Goodbye Bob.  I guess your luck finally ran out."

***

Not long after Bessie had trudged away to continue the quest, something approached from the north.  Two large and very obviously dead horses drew a cart with an open basket-like frame on the back.  A number of zombies clambered down and started to load zombie body parts from the scene of the battle.  Another set of feet alighted onto the gravel and crunched over to pause in front of the tomb stone. 

With a foul incantation, the owner of the feet extended the ferrule of his staff to hover above the disturbed soil.  Heavy purple flames wreathed the staff and dripped liquidly onto the ground where they quickly soaked in.  The ground rumbled and shook in protest.  The earth does not willingly relinquish that which it has consumed.

A twisted, blue, scaly claw burst from the grave.

Chapter 16: The Lost City

The False Moon War: Chapter 14

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Chapter 14.  The Escape

Bessie's headlong flight took them beyond the bounds of Rychek's map.  For a time he guided her in what he hoped was the right direction, but in one chamber he was confronted by two identical arches and had to admit that he was totally lost.

A deep voice called from behind,   "May we play through?"

A party of nine adventurers squeezed past the bastiladon.  Their leader, a tall gray wizard with a pointy hat and a glowing staff called a brief halt.  "I have no memory of this place..." He murmured.

"Don't go that way," offered Mahtis helpfully as he pointed to the way they had come.

The wizard ignored him.  "The dwarves have delved too deep, and awakened a terrifying horror."

An excessively well groomed blonde elf with a bow gasped, "....not split ends!"

"No, you vain idiot!  Come along, we must not tarry!"  the wizard led his motley followers through one of the arches.

Rychek was about to lead Bessie after them when he heard the slap-slap sound of bare feet on stone.  From the darkness behind he could see a pair of pale green lamp-like eyes appear.

"Gollum! Gollum!  Did you see a tricksy Bagginses pass by, Preciousss?"

The voice belonged to a small, cadaverous creature with pointed ears.  His disproportionately large hands and feet terminated in froglike digits.

"No.......We didn't see any.... tricksy Bagginses....." advanced Joe cautiously.

"He must be wearing the Preciousss!"  hissed the wretch, and he sprang into the gloom in pursuit of the nine walkers.

"While we are stopped," said Mahtis, "you guys should look at this.  One of the drums from the marching band got stuck up here."

He tucked the bass drum under one arm and began to beat it rhythmlessly with his fist.

Seconds later, there were answering drumbeats and whooping war cries.  A party of cave goblins scuttled up like heavily armed crustaceans.

"If you are looking for a wizard with a hat, a vain elf, a grumpy dwarf, two men, four halflings and a large frog, they went that way."  Rychek indicated with Gork-on-a-Stick.

The goblin chief touched his brow and led his ululating warriors into the darkness.

Rychek shook his head and made ready to follow when the sound of pounding strides and clanking chains made him pause again.  A cave troll caromed into view and stopped, blinking at them.

"That way!"  Four lizardman voices chorused, as they pointed down the increasingly undeserted tunnel.

"Fanks!"  the troll grunted as he ricocheted away brandishing a large stone club.

"Let's not go that way," Rychek decided.  "It's too crowded."

They took the other path.

As they continued over a flaming crack and approached a narrow bridge, Rychek took stock of their situation.  "We've no gold left, we don't know where we are, and we may have caused some slight offense to the local population.  How can things get any worse?" he moaned.

A tremendous roar like the sound of two rough boulders being scraped together in the heart of a volcano emanated from the tunnel behind them.  The startled lizards saw a great shadow, in the middle of which was a dark form, of man-shape maybe, yet greater; and a power and a terror seemed to be in it and to go before it.

With a rush, it leaped across the fissure.  The flames roared up to greet it, and wreathed about it; and a black smoke swirled in the air.  It's streaming mane kindled and blazed behind it.  In its right hand was a blade like a stabbing tongue of fire; in its left it held a whip of many thongs.

"Over the bridge!" cried Rychek.  He dismounted and stood his ground.  The others halted just within a doorway at the hall's end, and turned, unable to leave their leader to face the enemy alone.

The monster reached the bridge.  Rychek stood in the middle of the span,  leaning on Gork-on-a-Stick in his left hand.  The creature halted again, facing him, and the shadow wreathed about it reached out like two vast wings.  It raised the whip, and the thongs whined and cracked.  Fire came from its nostrils. 

But Rychek stood firm.  "You cannot pass, Flame of Udun!  Go back to the shadow!  About five hundred metres back, then take the second left!  They went that way!"

The monster suddenly drew itself up to a great height, and its wings were spread from wall to wall.  From out of the shadow a thunderous voice grated, "Much obliged!" 

The Balrog of Morgoth furled its wings and trotted back the way it had come.

Rychek had no idea where they were.  Rather than take a guess at the next fork in their path, he called to Bob and Joe.  "Go in there and ask for directions."  They were pulled up outside another tavern with the ubiquitous tankard sign out front.

"It doesn't say "Ladies Night" again does it?"  Bob ventured cautiously.

"No.  It says "The Blue Oyster."  It should be OK."

Bob and Joe pushed through the swinging doors and waited for their eyes to adjust to the dim lighting.  As the pair threaded their way between the rough, beer stained tables, they became aware that something was wrong.  These dwarves had well groomed moustaches and wore just a bit too much leather.  It seemed that every second pair of beady eyes winked at them over the top of a non-alcoholic guava daiquiri with an umbrella and strawberry on the edge of the glass.

As Bob and Joe sat on a vacant pair of stools at the bar and attempted to attract the attention of the barkeep, one of the dwarves minced over and perched beside Joe.  "Hello, Darrling.  Yee're new aroond heere. Can I buy ye a drrink?"  He fluttered his mascara laden eyelashes.

Rychek gasped in surprise as Bob and Joe burst through the saloon doors leaving them flapping on their hinges.  They leapt for the howdah.

"Go! Go! Get us out of here!"  Joe jumped off again and started pushing Bessie's rump to get her moving.

"Which way?" asked the baffled Rychek.

"I don't care!  Just go!"  Joe cried as a score of faerie dwarves spilled out of the pub.

"Coome back, Sweetie!"  The dwarves were pursuing as fast as they could, but even Bessie's slow plod outpaced them.  Dwarf feet are very....not well suited to high heels.

The party eventually halted.  There was no point going on.  They had reached a gallery which offered them five alternative and equally unpromising paths.  They agreed that they would each explore a tunnel, then return to compare notes.

Rychek jogged along his tunnel.  Could this be the way out?  There was a warm yellow light, like sunlight, flickering weakly around the next bend.  He stepped around the corner to be greeted by a shout.

"Thay'res the blue daevil who drove puir wee Kenny MacLavatory o' Esse Bend to sobriety!"  A mob of dwarves wearing white hats and coats were before him, some with burning torches, some with brushes.

"Come tae us ye fiend!  We'll shoo ye that the Guild of the Regular Stool make poowerful enemas!"

The skink turned and fled.

Bob did not get far up his chosen path before being confronted by none other than Randa MacTavi o' Lence and her screeching pack of she-dwarves.

"I've a grudge 'gin ye, Lazard!  Noow try to kell me short, with nae teeth!"  She raised the chair leg she had carried with her from the far side of the mountains.

Mahtis had explored only a short way up his tunnel before he was assailed by a dreadful sound.  The din was like a banshee wail.  The sheer physical force of the cacophony would surely have killed him, had he not been spawned earless.  What remained of the Karak Andstick Combined Pipes and Drums had reformed, with a vengeance.

Joe crept stealthily into his dim tunnel.  He stuck to the shadows, sliding his back along the wall.  Even taking these precautions, he was unable to escape detection.

"Yoohoo!  Is that ye, Darrling?  Aboot that drrink?"

The four breathless explorers arrived back simultaneously.  "That way!" they shouted in unison and urged Bessie into the yawning mouth of the one remaining passage.

In time, this passage widened and led upwards.  The smell of stale beer and unwashed beards which they had grown used to in the dwarf hold began to fade as a point of light grew ahead of them.  The light grew in size and intensity until they could see that it was framed by a huge stone arch which was blocked by a flimsy orange and white barrier.

A dwarf stood behind the barrier with his chin resting on the haft of a large hammer. His eyes glinted as he appraised the group and their beast.

The party dismounted and stood in front of Bessie.  Rychek stepped forward,  "Erm," he said glancing back up the tunnel nervously,  "Could you please remove the rune of magic binding from our solar engine. Please?"

"There is,"  the dwarf solemnly declared, "a wee fee."

"No, no, that's all taken care of!  I kept the receipt, see?"  Rychek held up a square of paper with a brown smear on it.

The dwarfs knuckles whitened as he gripped his hammer all the tighter.

Bob pulled Rychek back, "Let me handle this!" he hissed.  To the dwarf he said,  "Look, it turns out we are short on time and short on money.  Short e...."

He had been about the say "short even on food and water," but had paused because he fancied that he had heard a shrill voice call "Lazard!" up the echoing passage.

The dwarf's eyes nearly popped out of his head and he stormed around the barrier.  "Shorty is it?  Ai knew ye were coming.  Mae cousin runed me aboot yeer soily manners and yeer magicky beastie."

The dwarf pushed between Bob and Joe to confront Rychek, who stood half a pace in front of Mahtis.  "And ye.  If ye've no means to pay the fee, then yon beastie and yon magicky doodad are forfeit to the hold of Karak Andstick.  And ye can get yeer halfwit brother oot mae way!"

"He ain't my brother.  He's my heavy."  Rychek stepped aside.

The dwarf, following the skink with his eyes, did not even see the approach of a large scaly fist.  He must certainly have felt the crunching impact on the side of his head, but made no further comment as he slumped to the ground.

"Bob and Joe, get the gate!  Mahtis, take the Rune Hammer o' Anti Magic!"  Rychek urgently organized his troop.  "Toss the dwarf out of the way!"

"Nae one tosses a dwaaaa.a..a..a...a......." a weak voice protested as Mahtis flung the border guard into a convenient chasm.

Rychek did not unclench his bottom until Karak Andstick was many, many dwarfish miles behind.  An enema of the guild never feels comfortable.

"Those lady dwarves were terrifying!"

"There are worse things!"

"Bob, Joe.  Can I join your argument?"

"Oh, this isn't an argument."

"Yes it is."

"No it isn't."

"Yes it is!"

"An argument isn't just contradiction."

"Well! It CAN be!"

"No it can't!"

"An argument is a connected series of statements intended to establish a proposition."

"No it isn't!"

"Yes it is! 'tisn't just contradiction."

"Look, if I "argue" with you, I must take up a contrary position!"

"Yes but it isn't just saying 'no it isn't'."

"Yes it is!"

"No it isn't!"

"Yes it is!"

"No it isn't!"

Mahtis wisely decided to leave the masters to their work.

Chapter 15: The Dark Lands

The False Moon War: Chapter 13

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Chapter 13.  Beneath the World's Edge

Bessie's decorations lasted only as long as it took to wash them away at the first mountain stream. The collection of skulls and sundry other bones were left high in the foothills of the World's Edge Mountains to excite and confuse future archaeologists.

The heroes found themselves on a rough, foot worn path which spiralled inexorably upwards.  At different times the trail would traverse steep ridges, dark silent stands of conifers or narrow ledges teetering on the edge of ravines.  Bessie plodded stolidly higher.

"The best Lustrian monster for combat is surely the carnosaur."

"Actually it has to be the ancient stegadon with sharpened horns"

"No, it's definitely the carnosaur."

"Ancient stegadon!"

"Carnosaur!"

"Ancient stegadon!"

"Carnosaur!"

"Troglodon!"

"Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!"

The entire crew dissolved in fits of laughter.

"No, but seriously now Mahtis....."



The trail finally led them to a hanging valley surrounded by unscaleable walls of granite.  The remnants of a glacial moraine had trapped a sizable lake of dark, still water.  As they picked around the rough path at the edge of the pool, the lizardmen could see an interesting scene unfold across the water.

A tall arch had been hewn from the mountain side. The arch framed a tunnel which disappeared back under the mountains.  At the opening was a guard house which attended a flimsy orange and white barrier.  The barrier was contrived to swing up and down to permit or deny passage.

At the barrier were a dwarf, an elf and a dragon. The dwarf was dressed for battle. The only parts visible under the matted hair, beard and gleaming armour were a pair of glittering eyes and a red, bulbous nose.  He leaned casually on a tremendous war hammer which was embossed with a glowing golden rune on one face.  His other hand he held out towards the elf, palm upwards.

The elf was clearly a elven princeling of great wealth and rank. His cloak was brocaded with platinum thread. On his brow he wore a circlet made of the same metal which was surmounted with an enormous ruby. Not one golden hair on his ageless head was out of place. On his face was an expression of unconcealed disgust.

The star dragon was also a splendid specimen.  Its jeweled scales caught the light and reflected it back in dazzling rainbows.  Around its mighty jaws was a glowing band sealed with a dwarfish rune.  Muzzled in this way, the dragon could use neither its hypnotic voice, nor its fiery breath.

The elven prince dropped a heavy purse onto the dwarf's grubby hand.  The contents of the purse clinked.

As the dwarf weighed the payment in his hand, the High Elf vented his displeasure. "This is wobbery, you wascally wogue!  Now welease Bwian!"

The dwarf snorted in amusement as he hefted his hammer and tapped the rune which bound the dragon's snout.  The band flashed briefly and disappeared in a puff of smoke.  With an overly gracious bow, the dwarf lifted the barrier and swept his arm to indicate that the elf was welcome to go about his haughty business.

The elf leapt upon his draconic steed with flashing eyes and wordlessly spurred his mount to fly away from the den of dwarfish crooks.

Eventually, the bastiladon completed its circumnavigation of the inky mere.  The four lizardmen stowed their weapons and dismounted. The dwarf stood behind the barrier with his chin resting on the haft of the rune hammer. His eyes glinted greedily as he appraised the group and their beast.

Rychek stepped up to the boom gate. "We seek free passage through your mighty dwarf hold, to the lands beyond the mountains."

The Dwarf snorted again. "Free passage?  Theere's naught free in Karrak Andstick.  E'en the airre isn'ae free!  Have ye means to pay?"

Mahtis went over to Bessie and returned with a wicker creel. From it, he withdrew two dried ixti grubs and a large beetle which he proffered to the dwarf.

The dwarf gasped and seized Mahtis' statuesque wrist.  Upon Mahtis's it was a heavy gold bracelet inscribed with Lustrian glyphs.  It was twin to the one on his other wrist.  Snake like torques spiralled around the kroxigor's bulging biceps.  He wore a broad collar of enamelled gold and bands of the same metal about his ankles.  Gold also adorned every spike which ran in a glittering row from his neck to the tip of his tail.

Beyond its decorative appearance, gold has no particular value to the lizardmen. In Lustria it is too common to be considered precious, and too soft to be useful in making tools.

On the morning that the Slann Lord Taisteslaikch’ken had been abducted, Rychek had insisted that Mahtis put on all of his golden adornments and get a clean pocket handkerchief.  He reasoned that if they were going on a quest, his little brother should at least look smart, and keep his nose clean.

The dwarf recovered his breath.

"Weel, in that case, ye'll have enough for the wee deposit."  He indicated a bracelet, which Mahtis removed and dropped onto the dwarf's shaking hand.

As Mahtis negotiated, Joe picked up a large stone to throw at a twisted snag out in the middle of the lake. 

"Do nae disturb the water!"  the dwarf called urgently. "It costs extra!

"Noow, let's inspect yon beastie!"  The dwarf looked in Bessie's mouth and tut-tutted. He lifted her tail with his hammer and clucked.  When he climbed onto her howdah he ran his eyes over the gold and silver frame of the solar engine, noting the glowing cube.

"Yon'll ne'er doo!  I'll need to smite a wee rune on yon magicky contraption.  Wee'll have none such in Karak Andstick!"

"What?  It's rather valuable, and the Old Ones might still need it for the Great Plan...."  Rychek fussed.

"Doo Nae Fret.  Did ye nae see the pointy eared laird's dragon beastie?  I smite on a rune of magic binding wi' ma Rune Hammer o' Anti Magic heere, and on t'other side o' the peaks, Gathrin MacLevy o' Customs Anexcise (he's mae cousin) will smite it awa' wi' his Rune Hammer o' Anti Magic.  After ye pays the fee.  Ye'll hae yer magicky thingy working quicker than twae shakes o' a dwarfish whotsit.  I'll send a wee rune to mae cousin to warrn him ye'll be coming."

"Could you please repeat that, slowly?"

"Nae need, nae need!" the dwarf tapped the solar engine with his hammer and a glowing, runed band encircled it. The glow of the solar cube instantly faded, and Chotec's great treasure became an inert lump of metal and glass. The dwarf scampered down, raised the boom gate and waved them through.

"What is your name, that we may thank you" asked Rychek.

"Aye, it is Fergus MacTithe o' Border Control."

"May we call you Fergus for short?"

Fergus MacTithe o' Border Control suddenly glowered at Rychek. "Ye'll be wanting to avoid that naasty worrd while ye be our guest under yon peaks.  Ye've been warrned." He turned and stomped back into the gatehouse.

Bessie proceeded up the tunnel and passed a garishly painted sign.

"Welcome to Karak Andstick.  Let Cousin Balin's Gift Shop give you a kingly welcome!  And they call this a Mine!" the sign declared.

As they rounded the next bend Rychek gasped in horror. "This is no Mine!" he declared, "It is a Mall!"


Karak Andstick was like a diabolical machine which was designed to extract gold, either from the bosom of the mountains or from unwitting visitors.  The halls and galleries were of much greater scale than the scratchings of the Skaven Under Empire.  Strip Malls alternated with Strip Mines to exploit visitors and the earth itself.

Every way the lizards turned, brightly lit booths beckoned them to spend their coin. A cloud of sales dwarves immediately descended on them to try to sell useless products.

Rychek decided that they should take the shortest route through the dwarven realm. The only map he could acquire, at a price, was of limited use, but it did show that the markets and entertainments were mostly clustered on this side of the hold.  If they could escape this hotbed of exploitation they may make it to the far side of the mountains in relative peace.

Whenever they paused for Rychek to consult the map, even if only for an minute, more sales dwarves would appear.  They had marked Mahtis as the one with gold and a lack of business acumen.  It seemed that every time Rychek looked back at Mahtis in his place at the rear of the howdah, the kroxigor had a little less by way of golden decoration, and a little more by way of mass produced, runed dwarven trash.

Bob and Joe were discussed these goings on by quietly arguing about whether it was better to be robbed blind and die penniless in a skaven tunnel or to be robbed blind and die penniless in a dwarfish mansion.

Mahtis occasionally interrupted to show them his acquisitions.  "I've got a bargain with this Thirty Seven Piece Beard Grooming Kit with Rune of Smoothness, and the Illustrious Runed Sporks of Potato Flinging will empower my attacks with supernaturally improved accuracy of mashed potato flinging!"

Bob stared at him for a long moment.  "What's a spork?"

Joe asked,  "What's a potato?"

"You don't have a beard or ballistic skill!"  barked Rychek,  "come and sit up front with me and keep your hands in your pockets."

"What are pockets?"

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Time passed slowly in the dwarven realm.  By contrast, distance seemed to scream by.  They passed an ale house with a sign declaring, "Last Bugman's XXXXX for thirty-seven dwarfish miles!"

As they passed the next bend, barely five minutes later, another tavern hove into view. "It's been thirty-seven dwarfish miles!  Quench your Thirst!" screamed the placard.

Either the obvious length of the journey, or the subliminal message concealed on the sign started Bob and Joe thinking about the long thirsty stretches they had travelled thus far, first under the Great Ocean and then later through the Arabyan deserts and Lands of the Dead.  They changed their discussion to one about the relative merits of dying of thirst in a skaven tunnel or a dwarfish mansion. 

Mahtis was called on to be devil's advocate and speak on behalf of dying of thirst in the desert.

"Rathole!"

"Dwarf Hold!"

"Dying of thirst in the desert is better!"

"No, no, no Mahtis!  We are arguing about where it is worse to die from thirst.  Can you see that you just came perilously close to AGREEING with somebody."  Joe gently corrected his friend.

"Rookie error!"  Bob observed, "I'm sure you'll get the hang of it before we get to the other side of these mountains.  If we ever do so, on account of us dying of thirst!"

"Shut up all of you!  If you're so thirsty go in there and get a drink."  Rychek pointed to an establishment with the icon of a foaming tankard hanging from a davit.  A smaller chit covered in runes hung below the larger sign.  He whispered to Bessie and brought her to a stop.

Bob and Joe pushed through the swinging doors and waited for their eyes to adjust to the dim lighting.  This was surely the scruffiest, smelliest and surliest collection of dwarves they had yet encountered.  As soon as they entered, the conversation in the room lulled.  It seemed that every beady pair of eyes was studying them over the top of a tankard.

As the pair threaded their way between the rough, beer stained tables, they became aware that some of the dwarves had risen from their chairs and began shadowing their steps towards the bar.  Bob and Joe sat on a vacant pair of stools and attracted the attention of the barkeep, who had his back turned.

"Two non-alcoholic guava daiquiris, please.  With little umbrellas and strawberries on the side of the glass."

The barkeep span around with a look of horror on his face.  "Och, the Ancestors!  Not agaen!" he yelped and started removing all breakable items from the bar top. 

A stumpy hand grabbed Bob's shoulder and spun him round.  Bob looked down into a furious bristly glare.  "Can ye nae read?"

"What...?"

"Yon sign oot front!  Can ye nae read?  Tis Ladies Night!"

"We're terribly sorry.....madam...."  Bob peered at her intently.  He could honestly not tell the difference between these specimens and the presumably male dwarves they had interacted with thus far,  "…we were short on time, and stepped in without reading......"

"Hark that lasses?  Yon Lazard is kellen me short!"  She turned her bearded face back towards Bob and Joe.  "We'll sort this oot now, or mae name is'nae Randa MacTavi o' Lence!"

As Rychek kept watch over the doors of the drinking establishment, Mahtis negotiated with yet another travelling sales dwarf.  Eventually he exchanged a solid gold arm torque for the promise of shipment of a set of cunningly wrought mystic cubes.

"Thank-you Merrick MacKinsky o' Aylasker" called Mahtis, as the dwarf shyster slipped into the shadows with the Lustrian gold.  "Are you sure you got my address right?  That's Los'tmabo'tl with two apostrophes....."

Rychek gasped in surprise as Joe sprinted out the door of the tavern.  Bob followed soon after, hurled out through a front window.  He picked himself up and leapt for the howdah.

"Go go go!  Dying of thirst is better!" he cried as a score of dwarfish maidens spilled out of the pub clutching broken bottles and chair legs.

Mahtis swept him up in an enormous (cold blooded) hug.  "You agreed with me, Bob!  Dying of thirst IS better!"

"Mmph, Mmmph!"  Bob gestured wildly at Rychek, who set Bessie moving again.

"I've a grudge 'gin ye, Lazard!  I'll nae forget!"  Randa MacTavi o' Lence and her cronies were pursuing as fast as they could, but even Bessie's slow plod outpaced them.  Dwarf legs are very....not long.  Soon the pursuers could only be heard, and finally the echoes of their curses and screeches faded into the distance.

After another vast distance and short time of travel, Rychek called out, “Stop, wait, wait. I need to go to the bathroom.”

Bessie grumbled to a halt beside a dwarf wearing a clean white coat and cap  The cap bore the icon of a three legged stool.  He was supervising two doors which had identical bearded images on them.

“Mahtis, give me some of the gold spine decorations.”  Rychek debarked and approached the dwarf who was reading the latest edition of "Washrooms Monthly".

“I need a wee.”

The dwarf carefully closed the centerfold.  “Ye need a wee what, laddie?”

“No, I need... to wee.”

“Aye,” said the dwarf slowly, “Ye need two wee…two wee what's, lad?  Spit it oot.”

“I need to do a wee wee!”

“Och, I see ye noo! Hoowever, there is a wee fee….”

“That’s a relief! I thought it might be expensive.”

“Nae…weell, it is wee bit expensive, especially if ye need to do two, see?”

“And what if I need to do a number two, too?”

“Ach! If ye pay the wee number two fee, ye can wee for free!”

“Four? I don’t need to do a number four….”

“Nae, nae, nae laddie. Not four. FOR free.”

“For three…to…?”

“One more time laddie.  If ye pay the wee two fee, ye can wee for free, see?”

“I…I think so.  What is the wee two fee?”

“Ye can two for three.”

“For free! That’s generous…”

"Nae, there’s naught in Karak Andstick that’s free.  Ye can do a two for three pieces of gold.”

Gold exchanged hands.

“I’ll do ye up a wee too free receipt for two at three.” The dwarf tore a square of paper off a roll.

“It’s not a very wee two three receipt four two at three,” said Rychek holding up the square of paper. “It’s quite large.”

The dwarf was getting frustrated. “Nae, nae, laddie. It’s a Laarge wee too free receipt for two at three! When ye pay the fee of three and ye do a two ye're entitled to do a wee too, for free!”

The dwarf shook his head in aggravation and Rychek entered the stall.

A short time later he called, “Excuse me, there’s no paper in here!”

The dwarf exploded, “Did’nae ye keep the larrge wee too free receipt for two at three? That's what it’s FOR!”

“Four? No…..you only gave me the ONE large wee two three receipt four two at three, see?" Rychek posted the document back under the door.

The dwarf was still banging his head against the wall long after Rychek had finished his business, washed his hands, and ridden contentedly out of sight.

It seemed that they had escaped into an unpopulated section of the mine when the sound began, softly at first.  There was a rhythmic pounding, and rattle like a huge bag of bones being shaken.  Most disturbing was the banshee like wailing.  The unearthly sounds were becoming louder.

The riders looked about in alarm.  The tunnel they were in was straight, with no junctions.  The only alternatives were to go back, or towards the bestial screeching.

Bessie decided on a third option.  Her eyes rolled in distress and she hunkered down, trying to pull her spiky head under her armoured back, like a tortoise.  Having failed in this, she lowered her head to the stone floor and drew her mighty front legs over her head.  No entreaties or goading would move her.

When it seemed that the vile cacophony could go no louder without shaking down the mountain, the source of the torment came into sight bearing flaming torches.

The Karak Andstick Combined Pipers and Drummers.

Under the command of their smartly turned out drum major, they wheezed to a merciful halt in front of the cringing monster.

"This'll nae do!  Turrn yeer'e wee beastie aroond.  Wee'll strike up a meery jig to lift yeer'e spirrits as ye get oot the way!"

He raised his baton and signalled the drummers to commence.  The pipers, who had only just quelled the multi-legged shrieking horrors they carried enthusiastically administered CPR, and the awful things came back to life.

It was too much for Bessie.  She gathered her sturdy legs underneath her and lowered her head.  With a bellow she was off, gathering momentum as she went.  She scattered the Karak Andstick Combined Pipes and Drums like ninepins.  Before anyone could react, she was gone, hurtling down the dark tunnel.

Chapter 14: The Escape  - due out soon