Out of the shadows

Borrow wasn’t happy in the sunlight. It was like everything glowed—it hurt his eyes. In fact, it hurt so much that he’d tied some cloth around his head like a blindfold to keep most of the light out. It felt much better that way and he could still see everything going on around him. Even at night things were brighter than he had expected.

And the temperature changed. The caves where he’d lived his whole life were the same temperature no matter what time of day it was. Sure, some were hot. Some were cold, too. But the hot caves were always hot, and the cold caves were always cold. When they broke through the surface it had been beneath the radiant sun and it wasn’t long before his cloak had started to stifle him. When he tried to drop it by the roadside he’d been scolded by one of the elders for waste.

But they’d had to stop for water, and no one had seen him kick it under a bush. But then night had fallen and it had become bitterly cold and he missed his cloak.

As he huddled near a fire for warmth he wondered how he had wound up here. It was a bit too close to heroism, and his father had always cautioned him against that.

The dwarves had been at war with the Abyssals as long as he could recall. As his father and he moved around Goldenaxe they would sometimes pass the Hall of Heroes, where heroes of the dwarven nation were interred. Or at least they were if there were anything left; otherwise there was just a memorial plaque. His father would make a point of detouring into the Hall, no matter how much of a hurry they were in. His father preferred to call it the “Home of the Brave” and would give him a lecture on how you could make a significant contribution and live to a ripe old age by sticking to the shadows instead of leading a charge.

Not that it had mattered much. Borrow was old enough to get into trouble but not old enough to be dragged into the war. Some of his friends had already earned their names, but who knows how long they would live to enjoy the privilege?

The problem was that the Abyssals were so elusive—so many of them could blink from place to place. We&rsqou;d erected teleportation blocks to stop them jumping past our defences but they seemed to care little for their own existence and were many in number.

One day my father came home with a particularly sober expression. “Well boy, ” he said, “apparently sometimes ‘heroism’ can’t be avoided. Apparently the Church has divined a spell to destroy the portals that the Abyssals are coming through. Unfortunately they have to get close to the portal and we can’t possibly fight our way there through the main passages—they’ve ‘asked’ me to escort one of their vicars through the Hidden Ways to a point near where we think they have a portal, and then bring him back safely. It’s definitely a ‘hero’s’ mission and I doubt we’ll make it back.” He spat on the ground to punctuate this last point. “Remember what I’ve taught you—keep your head down and you’ll live a long life.”

I was shaken. My father clearly expected this to be his end. But I was strangely curious as well—my father had occasionally mentioned the Hidden Ways. Heck, everyone had heard stories of them. But he had never once intimated that he actually knew them.

And so it was that the next morning when he set out I too left our house. I didn’t follow him directly from our house—I went to a vantage point near the Church of Kor since I figured he’d have to show up to meet the Vicar.

It was a good spot. That part of the city is reasonably open and you can see a lot from there, and surprisingly easy to get to. I didn’t see my father arrive, but when he left with the Vicar and two of the Hammers of Kor it was harder to remain unseen. I saw them pass down the Way of Devotion and turn into the Street of Gold. Then they took the twisting little Path of Fools that leads through to the Plaza of Gems. Only they didn’t come out in the Plaza, and there are no other exits from the Path of Fools.

I took careful note of where I lost sight of them, and where I should have been able to see them again, and then climbed down and ran to the Path of Fools. There were no marks of passage through here—even though people don’t often come this way (if they’re smart) it’s still well paved. Even though I couldn’t see anyone about better to not take risks--there’s a reason why it’s called the Path of Fools.

I slowly made my way onto the roof—my father always said I should learn to climb better. I crept along slowly, trying to stay hidden as much as I was trying to see whether there was anything interesting down below.

It was not long before there was a strange twist in the Path, and I noticed that there was a patch about 5’ wide where the roof didn’t seem to belong to any of the houses. I swung down and searched the wall carefully but could find nothing. In fact it was kind of suspicious because the wall seemed much better made than I might have expected.

I backed up as far as I could to try and take in the whole scene to see if something was out of place but still nothing stood out. I cast about on the ground and finally I found it’a thin gap between some of the paving stones just big enough to insert a small thin blade into. So I did. And I heard something faintly click, and then the wall swung silently open in front of me.

I stepped through and the switch was much easier to find on this side. Not right out in the open, no, but somewhere that someone who knows their trade could find it. And where someone that already knows where it is could hit it on the run.

In here it wasn’t hard to follow the trail because the clanking of the armour of the Hammers was easily discernible. I made good time as I closed the gap, not wanting to be too far behind in case there were some deceptive echoes around cross passages.

I marvelled at the effort that had been invested in creating these unknown passages. They were finished in the highest dwarven quality and ran for miles. That so much work had been done and yet these passages still remained nothing more than a legend was close to miraculous.

We went for several hours, occasionally passing small chambers clearly designed for camping out. There were also some traps. Well, perhaps not traps. They were so unsubtle that only the most careless intruder could set them off. They appeared to be deadfalls, but occasionally I saw wires leading off into the walls and I wondered whether there was more to it.

I almost ran into them. They’d stopped in a passage and I guessed they were close to the exit they wanted. As I listened I heard their plan, that my father would make sure the way was clear, and then withdraw into the passage to watch while the Vicar read the scroll and the Hammers made sure he got to complete it. While the number one priority was to complete the spell from the scroll, the second priority was to return to the Church and let them know what whether the spell had worked.

My father crept out of the Ways and was gone for a few minutes. When he came back he said it looked like they should be good for several minutes, but of course standing at a portal he couldn’t provide any guarantee.

The Hammers moved out to take up defensive positions and then the Vicar moved out and I heard him chanting. Then there were sounds of fighting. I heard the chanting continue through the fighting, but then the battle grew more intense and I could hear the chanting no more. Because he was closer I could hear my father curse and then I guess he had reopened the concealed door because the sounds of battle became clearer.

I moved up to the door and sure enough he was gone. I checked the back of the door and found a peephole. I could see that the Vicar and one of the Hammers were down, and my father was scrambling to get the scroll while the remaining Hammer fought back some nasty looking Abyssals.

Then one of the Abyssals snuck under the guard of the Hammer and leapt on my father’s back. It ripped into his flesh as he tried to crush it against the wall. Without thinking I ran through and cut the Abyssal from his back, but the damage was done. My father spat curses at me and told me to get back to the city and pretend I’d never been there, but I couldn’t leave it that way.

I picked up the scroll and blindly read the words written upon it. The Abyssals must have suspected what we were doing because they began howling in fury and throwing themselves against the Hammer that had them bottled up in the passage. As I continued to read the portal began to shimmer and distort. I have no idea how long I read that scroll but it seemed like so long, so long. As I neared the end claws started to reach through from the other side but it was as if I was bricking closed a doorway and there wasn’t enough room for them to get through to me. I finished the scroll and the portal winked out, leaving a clawed arm twitching on the floor.

I called for the Hammer to follow me and he just laughed, saying that none of us would make it if he moved from where he was. I grabbed my father and began to drag him into the passage, closing the door behind me. I continued to drag and we moved so slowly. He was no longer conscious and I wasn’t sure if he was alive, but I dragged nonetheless.

After a short while I heard thumping from the area of the portal. I would never make it back to the city with my father, and if the Abyssals got this far they would eventually find a way straight into the middle of the city.

So I left him lying there, and retreated back to the deadfall trigger. And I set it off. At first nothing happened, and then I heard a dull rumbling. A thick section of the roof immediately in front of me slid down like a door and behind it I heard the sound of falling stone—a lot of falling stone. My guess is that it might have gone all the way back to the exit.

I made my way back to the Path of Fools, and from there to the Church of Kor. I told them I was looking for my father, because I wasn’t sure who knew what was really going on. For several hours I sat there, occasionally speaking to another official who assured me my father wasn’t there, and yet none of them actually told me to leave.

Eventually one of them showed me into a small room and after another few minutes I was joined by the High Vicar himself. He apologised for the long wait, and said that my father had been sent on a mission of great importance. They had hoped he would be back by now, but as he wasn’t they could only assume the mission had failed.

He told me what a great loss it was for our people, and how my father would have a plaque in the Hall of Heroes—what irony. He talked for several minutes and I let him talk, still numb with my loss. Eventually he mentioned the cost to our people of the failed mission and I remembered my real purpose in coming here.

I told him that I had followed the expedition, and seen them die, but not before the scroll had been read and the portal closed. The High Vicar heard me story with some surprise, and obvious relief. I think he suspected something when I sidestepped mentioned who had read the scroll, but I think he decided I had been through enough.

“You have done a great thing today, and your people are grateful. I am leading a great expedition to the surface to gather aid against the Abyssals. Apart from anything else, there are several rare components needed for the spell that was on the scroll and we don’t have them. I would like you to join us and help me to track them down. Not many people know about this spell, so I can’t ask too many people to look without explaining why. If we can’t find the components, there’s no point raising hopes.”

Oh crap.

And so we set off some days later, but on the way to the surface there was a cave-in and a small group of us was cut off from the rest of the expedition. We made our way to the surface after several months and now we’re heading to Ghostwood where the expedition was headed. With Kor’s blessing the rest of the expedition will make it also.