Winter's Gift - Part VII

In the penultimate part of Gidwyn's tale, the plucky Dwarven goatherd comes face to face with all manners of horrors he thought were condemned to the dusty annals of myth and whispers of legend. Forced to fight for his life, Gidwyn, side-by-side with his unlikely allies, make their last stand deep within the bowels of an ancient city.

As Gidwyn's tale is nearing its end, there may be a lull in activity over the next couple of weeks as I take a break. Tales from Esdaria will resume in the new year with new posts, new lore, and new stories. Thanks to those who have read Winter's Gift thus far - the conclusion comes nearer!

By the time the Yaghu party finally stopped, Gidwyn was sure he was going to die.
             It had been agonising. The Yaghu had lashed his wrists together when they had grown tired of him clawing at the stone and then taken it in turn to drag him along. They had not allowed him to walk – not that Gidwyn could. His whole body felt weak and enfeebled, and the Yaghu had kicked and prodded the two arrows in his back as they had dragged him across the stone floor, sending waves of pain coursing through his body – each eliciting a helpless moan from Gidwyn's lips.

The rubble-strewn ruins of the ancient Dwarven city were completely lost to darkness and Gidwyn saw nothing of the journey he was forced upon. Though the Yaghu could see without light, they had made no effort to spare dragging Gidwyn across the fallen rocks and jagged boulders that lay in their path.

In fact, they seemed to relish the opportunity. They took glee in dragging Gidwyn through sharp shards of broken stone, through the scattered rubble of fallen statues or buildings, and over the rough and splintered timbers, laughing as they did so – their hissing voices reverberating through the darkness. Gidwyn had been able to do nothing but groan.

But Daia had thrashed and fought the whole way. Twice she had almost broken free – the first time she had managed to crush one of the Yaghu that held her; the second time, her efforts were rewarded by another serrated hook being buried into her uninjured leg. The roar of pain and fury she had let out had made Gidwyn’s head rock.

But they had stopped.

And there was light.

It was painfully bright and brilliantly white. As Gidwyn lifted his cut and battered face to look, he saw that the ancient Dwarf-city had disappeared. They had passed through a number of tunnels and out into the bottom of a glacial fissure.

Daylight poured in through the mouth of the great crevasse, hundreds upon hundreds of feet above Gidwyn’s head. Rays of brilliant white light fell onto the dark stone around him. The walls on either side of the great chasm were covered in great tendrils of ice and knots of rime that glinted like jewels in the daylight – as did the terrible, jet-black eyes of hundreds of Yaghu that packed the chasm’s floor.

As Gidwyn lowered his head again, the last of the strength gone from his neck, he realised the floor was covered in shattered black and white tiles that slowly led towards a wide dais in the middle of the Yaghu-filled chasm. Upon that dais was an ancient stone seat of Dwarf origin decorated in the bones of more animals than Gidwyn could think of. 

And in that seat sat a single frail Yaghu woman.

She wore a ragged black robe and a hood that covered her head. In her bony fist she clutched a wooden stave adorned with feathers, gemstones, and bones that rattled and clicked in the cold wind that blew through the chasm. Gidwyn could make out little of her face behind the hood that covered her head and through the haze of weakness settling in front of his eyes.

‘We found a Dwarf, Chief!’ Saark said, swaggering forwards from his warband and gesturing his arms wide in triumph. ‘A real-life Dwarf! Put a few arrows in him, but he’s alive!’

A rumble of appreciation passed through the Yaghu present, but the female figure in the stone seat did not move.

‘And we got that she-troll that’s been stalking these ruins for years!’ Saark yelled, turning to where Daia lay, still twisting against her bonds and the hook-ended chains in her legs, and leaping onto her back. 

 A hiss of cheers reverberated through the canyon. Gidwyn could see white fur-clad Yaghu leaping up and down in celebration.

But still the figure sitting in the stone seat did not move.

It was a throne, Gidwyn was sure: the ancient seat of a long-forgotten king or emperor, the remnants of whose once glorious throne room were scattered around them. The shattered tiles beneath Gidwyn, covered in arching cracks as fat as his arm and as long as ten men, made him wonder. The mountains…he thought. The place is so old…the aeons-slow shift o’ the mountains…they tore it apart…

This place…it’s…ancient.

Gidwyn managed to swallow. He could feel blood tricking over his back. 

Not trickling. Pouring.

An' I will be the first Dwarf t’ die ‘ere in millennia.

The hissing cheers of the Yaghu died away to silence, but the figure in the stone seat still had not moved. Gidwyn managed to lift his head and saw the slight figure was different to many of the others – smaller, thinner, with more pointed features and sharp eyes. She's old, Gidwyn managed to think through the pain. Very old.

After a moment of uncomfortable silence, Saark jumped off Daia's back and spoke again. ‘Have I pleased you, Chieftain?’

The female Yaghu in the stone seat rose to her feet slowly. She was wrapped in a long cloak and robe of matted rabbit fur. Leaning heavily on her wooden stave, she shuffled through the silent mass of her clan and arrived before Gidwyn and Daia.

She looked from one to the other, then back at Saark.

Saark swallowed. ‘Chieftain?’

The female Yaghu’s face did not twitch. ‘This was a valuable use of your time?’

Saark’s thin lips twisted. ‘We-…’ He stopped. ‘Gifts. They’re gifts. For you.’

‘Gifts?’ the Yaghu female said slowly. ‘Interesting.’

Gidwyn heard the female Yaghu shuffled across the shattered tiles to where he and Daia lay. ‘Tell me, Dwarf,’ she said in her thin voice, ‘in your culture, what sorts of gifts do you give?’

‘G-…gifts…?’ Gidwyn managed to croak. ‘Please…’

             The thin creature waved her hand. ‘Tell me. What was the last gift you gave?’
             ‘B-…boots…m-…my daughter.’
             ‘Boots to your daughter?’ the female Yaghu said slowly. ‘Were they nice?’
             ‘Please…’
             The female Yaghu let out a small huff of amusement. ‘I imagine I know the very boots,’ she said. ‘I imagine I’ve seen the pretty creature they were adorned upon. They are lovely. Well-made. A brilliant gift.’
             Gidwyn managed to raise his head enough to look up into the wizened face of the ancient female. One of her eyes was glassy-white, whilst the other was pitch-black. Her face was criss-crossed with more scars and mottles than the back of a flogged criminal, and each feature – her twisted, pointed ears, her snarling mouth, her heavy brow – was studded with dozens of bone piercings.
            ‘Kiryae…’ he said, his breath short. ‘M-…my…’

The female Yaghu turned away and glared at Saark. ‘The troll is too wounded to make a good sport, and the Dwarf is almost dead,’ the female Yaghu said, her voice cold. ‘Congratulations, Saark, you’ve proved that, once again, you are a fool.’

Saark let out a low snarl and clenched his bony fists. ‘But Chieftain Ozytala,’ he cried, ‘I found the girl!’

‘After you lost her a decade ago!’ the female Yaghu’s voice split through the gloom of the crevasse. ‘And you had to ask outsiders for help! Outsiders, you fool!’

Somewhere through the agony he felt, Gidwyn heard the words. A…decade? They…lost her? 

Outsiders…?

‘Once again,’ the female Yaghu – Chieftain Ozytala – began, her dark eyes fixed on Saark. ‘You’ve put your own enjoyment above the safety of the tribe.’ She looked around at the assembled Yaghu. ‘You seem to be a few dozen kin-warriors short. Tell me, where are they?’

Saark let out a low growl.

The chieftain’s thin, scarred lip curled. ‘I see the troll’s hammer which you have needlessly dragged with you is slick with blood. Our blood.’

Saark’s growl intensified.

Chieftain Ozytala let out another small huff of amusement. ‘And now you stand here grumbling like a hungry cave-frog.’

Saark raised a hand as if to strike the chieftain, but as he did a sharp shard of rock rose from beside Gidwyn’s head and shot through the air with blinding speed. It sliced through Saark’s wrist and whizzed off into the back of the cave, clattering to the floor somewhere behind the assembled clan.

With a scream that echoed around the chamber, Saark fell. He howled in agony as his hand wheeled away from his body, spinning through the air and landing on the shattered stone floor with a wet thud. 

Chieftain Ozytala shuffled forwards and stood over Saark, looking down at him with cold, terrible eyes. ‘If you raise a hand against me again,’ she said slowly, ‘you shall meet the same fate as the Dwarf.’

‘Shot in the b-…back…?’ Gidwyn croaked. ‘That seems…appropriate…’

Chieftain Ozytala turned and walked to where Gidwyn lay. With a small, sharp-toothed smile on her thin lips, she bent down and placed her thin hand on his back. 

‘No,’ she said slowly as a warmth spread through Gidwyn. The Dwarf could feel his strength returning, the pain in his back lessening. He felt the arrows slide out of his flesh and heard them clatter to the ground beside him. ‘No, definitely not.’

‘Wha’ are ye doin’ to me?’ Gidwyn said from where he lay as he felt life sparking back into his limbs.

‘Healing your wounds,’ Ozytala said. ‘I have something much worse than arrows in the back in store for you and your troll-friend here. But you’ll need to be in top condition if you ever want a chance of seeing your daughter again.’

Kiryae.

Gidwyn, his strength returned and his fury a fire in his limbs, rolled over and hurled himself at the Yaghu chieftain, his teeth barred and his blonde beard flying about him. He was barely off the ground when a fist-like formation of stone rose up from beneath him and wrapped three fat fingers of solid rock around him.

Gidwyn gasped, suddenly suspended in the air, trapped in solid rock. ‘Wha’ is this?!’ he roared, kicking his legs and flailing his arms to no avail. The rock had closed around him, and he could not get it to move. ‘Wha’ ‘ave ye done?!’

A roar of laughter went through the assembled Yaghu as Chieftain Ozytala folded her thin arms across her chest and stepped towards Gidwyn – just out of his reach.

‘It is true, then,’ Ozytala said. ‘The Snow-Dwarves have forgotten the art of Stoneshaping.’ She let out a dangerous laugh and tapped the tip of her bauble-adorned stick to the arm of rock. Gidwyn felt the fist of stone tighten around him. His ribs buckled and his breath was squeezed from his lungs. He fought and writhed against the stone to no avail, and was about to scream in fresh pain when the tightening stopped.

Ozytala’s fang-toothed grin was inches from Gidwyn’s face. ‘Stoneshaping,’ she said.

Gidwyn gasped for air. ‘Why…would ye…heal me…jus’…’

‘If I’m just going to torture you again?’ Chieftain Ozytala said.

Gidwyn managed to nod.

Ozytala’s grin widened. ‘I’m not going to torture you,’ she said in a whisper. ‘You’re going to A’kala sin Kysz – the Ring of Death – and my whole clan will watch you die.’

Ozytala stepped away from Gidwyn and began to shuffle towards her throne. ‘And my whole clan want sport – where’s the fun in watching you be eaten by an obsydioth if you’re already half-dead?’

*

As Gidwyn looked up at the ancient, tiered seats and tower-like columns of the Ring of Death, he could not help but feel the chieftain had somewhat undersold her arena.
             The ovular amphitheatre was situated in the middle of a vast, dark cavern. Many of its pillars and arches had cracked and collapsed, but enough of the ancient Dwarven arena still stood to make it an impressive, imposing ruin. Statues of Dwarven ancestors, ten-times the size of the warriors they immortalised, stood outside the grand archway that led into the coliseum; their hands held swords, axes and hammers, and their stone bodies had withstood the inscrutable writhing of the mountain over thousands of years.
             Gidwyn, his hands bound with rope and two Yaghu spears at his back, was led between the statues of ancient champions and through the gaping archway that led into the arena. Behind him, Daia was dragged by her barbed bindings, two-dozen of the largest Yaghu the Dwarf had seen pulling her along. She thrashed and roared all the way, the terrible wounds in her legs oozing blood. Where Chieftain Ozytala had decided Gidwyn’s wounds would make the spectacle she was planning boring and had just healed his wounds with magic, apparently Daia’s condition would add an element of entertainment to whatever was about to happen.
             And when Gidwyn was led onto the arena floor, he felt his stomach drop.
             Hundreds of Yaghu crammed the stone seats and sat on the fallen pillars that lay like enormous bones across the amphitheatre’s tiers and facades. They opened their thin-lipped mouths and barred their fangs, filling the cavern with terrible hissing cheers as Gidwyn and Daia were dragged into the middle of the bone-strewn arena floor.
             Once they were in the middle of the oval-shaped arena floor, the spear-wielding pair of Yaghu escorting Gidwyn cut the bonds about his wrists and backed away from him, their weapons raised, whilst their companions tossed down the ropes they had been using to pull the she-troll along and walked away, retreating back the way they had come to the ravenous cries of the Yaghu in the stands.
             Without a thought, Gidwyn rushed to Daia. ‘Here!’ he said to the enormous she-troll, seizing hold of one of the hooks in her flesh and pulling on it. ‘I’ll get these out o’ ye!’
             Daia roared in pain and writhed. ‘No!’ she bellowed. ‘It hurts! It hurts!’
             Gidwyn staggered away from the thrashing troll. Even with her arms bound, she rocked and twisted like a ship upon a wave, her huge shoulders and bound legs swinging dangerously towards Gidwyn.
             ‘Daia, I’ve gotta-…’
             ‘No! I’ll do it, I’ll…argh!’
             Blood spurted from one of the deep, ragged wounds in Daia’s legs.
             ‘Daia!
             ‘She won’t get free.’
             Gidwyn spun and looked straight into the face of a battered and bruised Yaghu.
             ‘Saark,’ Gidwyn said through his teeth.
             The Yaghu managed a cracked-toothed grin. His thin lips were covered in dried blood and there was a tendril of the same blue ichor dripping from one of his slitted nostrils. One of his cheekbones was broken, and his right wrist was bound with a filthy rag. He had been stripped of all but his smallclothes. Saark’s face was dark and malicious, and despite the dagger he held in his left hand, he made no move to attack Gidwyn.
             ‘You,’ the Dwarf snarled.
             The Yaghu responded with a growl of his own. ‘You did this to me.’
             Gidwyn spat. ‘You earned yer place ‘ere, by the sounds of it.’
             Saark laughed. ‘No. You and your accursed Elf-thing got me here,’ he said. ‘That monster you call “daughter”.’
             Gidwyn bristled. ‘Ye leave ‘er alone,’ he snarled. ‘She’s done nowt to ye!’
             ‘Doesn’t matter,’ Saark said with a shrug. ‘Ozytala wanted her. She got her eventually.’ The Yaghu glared up at his chieftain, sitting in a high-backed stone seat upon a balcony high above them. ‘She always gets what she wants in the end.’
             Gidwyn took a step forwards and balled his hands into fists. ‘Wha’ do ye want with Kiryae?’ he demanded.
             Saark’s thin lips curled into a grin. ‘You’ve got stomach, Dwarf,’ he said. ‘I’ll give you that. But right now, we need each other. If any of us want to leave here alive, we’ve got to stick together.’
            ‘Oh aye?’ Gidwyn said through his teeth. ‘And why’s tha’?’
            ‘Because you’ve never seen an obsydioth before.’

Gidwyn opened his mouth to demand answers, but the arena suddenly went silent. 

Two figures had appeared on a stone balcony set into the arena tiers. Both were small and slight of stature, with pale skin and large eyes, but one was twisted and cruel, dressed in rags and carrying a staff; the other was dressed in thick furs and had snow-white hair falling around her shoulders.

‘Kiryae,’ Gidwyn breathed.

He could feel her looking at him.

‘Kiryae!’ he roared, running forwards. ‘Kiryae! Kiryae!’

‘Father!’

The cry was lost beneath a stone-shaking roar.

Gidwyn skidded to a halt and spun. He was greeted by a monster.

The thing walking into the arena – no, being dragged in by dozens of Yaghu – was unlike anything Gidwyn had ever seen on the surface-world before. He had heard tales of monsters, of men who turned into great dogs, or corpses that walked and mangled themselves into horrific knots of rot and muscle. He had heard of scaled things that slithered, but were large enough to swallow houses, and beasts that sunk ships with tentacles. But this was none of them.

It was as high as ten men and its broad, humped back was covered in shifting plates of stone. The head that sat between its boulder-like shoulders was like that of some horrible fanged beetle – two long, stalactite-like antennae protruded from its forehead and flicked in the air before it, and a pair of saliva-dripping mandibles clacked and clicked dangerously. The thing pushed itself forward on two squat hind legs with enormous, onyx-like talons on its stumped feet, and lashed out around itself with four insectoid forelimbs topped with pincer-like appendages covered in more dark spikes. Its forelimbs were encased in granite-like stone plates akin to those on its back, whilst its underside was snow-white and fleshy.

‘Fire save me,’ Gidwyn breathed.

The obsydioth roared and began to thrash its four forelegs wildly. Gidwyn watched as the ropes that held it began to fray, and when the first snapped he could tell it was going to get free.

The Dwarf turned to Saark. ‘Wha’ do we do?!’ he cried.

The Yaghu gestured to Daia. ‘Free her.’

‘But ye said we couldnae!’

Behind Gidwyn a terrible chorus of screams and yells came from where the Yaghu were battling to keep the obsydioth under control. The Dwarf span and saw the creature break from its bonds and begin to lash out at the Yaghu with its pincered forelimbs. Flesh flew, blue blood arced through the air and landed amongst the dust and bones covering the arena floor – and more Yaghu fell, adding their broken bodies to those already littering the floor.

‘I said you won’t get her free,’ Saark snarled, running to Daia’s side, ‘but I made these damned hooks – I can get them out of her!’

‘Get away!’ Daia roared as Saark rushed to her side. ‘Get back from me, you fiend!’

Saark ignored Daia and grabbed one of the hooks. She howled in agony as the Yaghu – with surprising deftness for a one-handed creature – pulled the hook back on itself and slowly began to wrench it loose.

Gidwyn’s head spun between where Saark was wrestling with Daia’s bonds, and where the obsydioth was slaughtering the Yaghu hopelessly trying to control it – much to the enjoyment of the onlookers. ‘Saark!’ he cried as the obsydioth crushed the last Yaghu between its pincers. ‘Saark, its coming! Its-…’

Two milky-white, globe-like eyes the size of shields affixed themselves on Gidwyn. 

Oh, Creator…

A pair of antennae twitched.

Oh, Creator please. Please no.

Terrible, barbed mandibles clacked.

And the Yaghu cheered.

The obsydioth leapt into the air and charged, its antennae quivering like arrows fired into a target. Its bloody mandibles were wide as it propelled itself forwards on all six of its limbs, kicking up loose stone, bones and Yaghu body-parts. It rushed forwards, bounding through the air like a giant hare, making the ground tremble and the ancient arena shake.

Gidwyn hurled himself sideways as the enormous monster charged past him and straight for where Daia and Saark were struggling with the she-troll’s bonds.

‘Look out!’ Gidwyn roared.

Saark looked up at the last moment and dived aside, a bloody hook in his hand. In a swift move, the Yaghu buried the tip of the rbarbed hook into the inner-thigh of the obsydioth. Daia roared and scrambled to her feet, blood flowing freely from her leg wounds. She fought with her bonds for a moment and her arms were free. Staggering towards the monster, she grabbed hold of the chain attached to the hook in the obsydioth’s leg and pulled as hard as she could.

The enormous creature staggered, knocked off balance for a moment, but brought one of its stone-plated limbs around in a huge arc and struck Daia across her chest. The wounded she-troll reeled back, a huge hand over her chest. When she removed it, Gidwyn saw an enormous dent in the carved armour she wore - bent as if it were little more than a cheap pewter plate.

The Yaghu watching on roared as Daia fell backwards, blood still pouring from her terrible leg-wounds. On the balcony, Chieftain Ozytala smiled.

The obsydioth turned back to Saark, Daia forgotten for a moment, as the one-handed Yaghu dashed between its legs, slashing left and right wildly with the dagger he clutched in his only hand. Pitch-black blood poured from long wounds in its legs, and the creature roared in pain and anger, raising its four forelimbs high into the air. Then, as the Yaghu slid out behind it, the obsydioth spun with surprising speed and lashed out with its pincered forelegs.

Gidwyn could not make out what happened, but blue blood filled the air and Saark went flying backwards, his body looping through the air. He crashed down hard on the arena floor and lay still – much to the joy of his onlooking kin, whose chants and howls of enjoyment shook the cavern with the same force as the obsydioth’s footfalls.

Footfalls that were now coming towards Gidwyn.

The Dwarf froze in fear as the enormous creature lumbered towards him, its mandibles and rock-covered pincers snapping at him. Its antennae felt the air in front of itself, flicking backwards and forwards like dry branches caught in a whipping wind. It loomed over him, the largest living thing he had ever seen, its mandibles and pincers dripping with blue Yaghu blood.

‘Kiryae!’ Gidwyn cried. ‘Kiryae, I-…’

Gidwyn was cut short by a terrible roar.

Daia, the enormous troll dwarfed in size next to the huge creature, hurled her battered body into the side of the stone-covered creature with enough force to topple it. The obsydioth let out a horrid hiss as it rolled sideways, curling up like a weevil for a moment and wrapping its six limbs around Daia. Its mandibles flashed and Daia’s heavy fists fell. 

Gidwyn wanted to help, he wanted to do something – but he had no idea what he could do as he watched Daia and the obsydioth roll away together, pummelling each other with their limbs. The Yaghu watching from the stands screamed in excitement at the spectacle, raising their fists and punching the air.

‘Daia!’ Gidwyn cried, looking around desperately. Do something, ye fool! 

There.

A spear, as long as two arms and tipped with a twisted, barbed head, lay a few feet away from a dismembered Yaghu. Gidwyn ran across the bone- and blood-covered arena floor and seized hold of the spear in his trembling hands. He spun to face the obsydioth.

Just as it tore Daia in half.

The she-troll made no sound as the obsydioth clenched her arms and legs in its pincers and tore her in two. Thick, red blood and steaming innards sloughed out of Daia’s rent body and cascaded onto the arena floor.

‘No…’ Gidwyn breathed. Even with his spear, he knew that without Daia there was no way he could possibly defeat the obsydioth.

The Yaghu’s excitement rocked the cavern. They leapt up and down and pounded their seats with their hands and feet, screaming at the top of their lungs as the she-troll died. They began to chant a word over and over again until it rang in Gidwyn’s ears. ‘Ula’ath! Ula’ath! Ula’ath! Ula’ath!’

Gidwyn swallowed. He could guess what the word meant.

Kill.

The obysdioth turned to face Gidwyn once more. Its pincers and mandibles were drenched in blood – red and blue. Its antennae twitched erratically, and its milk-white eyes bulged in their stony sockets.

‘Ula’ath! Ula’ath! Ula’ath! Ula’ath!’

The obsydioth growled and stepped towards Gidwyn, gnashing its mandibles. Blood flew, splattering Gidwyn across his face.

‘Ula’ath! Ula’ath! Ula’ath! Ula’ath!’

Gidwyn would not die like a coward before Kiryae. He would not let her last memory of him be of how he cowered and wept, and the part of him that was Kiryae’s father refused to give up – he would fight until the very last ounce of life was crushed from his limbs. I’ll no’ leave ‘er, he thought as he gritted his teeth. I’ll ne’er give up on ‘er!

‘Ula’ath! Ula’ath! Ula’ath! Ula’ath!’

The obsydioth stepped forwards again, a horrible, wet growl echoing from behind its bloody mandibles. It raised its four forelimbs and charged.

Ula’ath! Ula’ath! Ula’ath! Ula’ath!

Gidwyn leapt forwards and jabbed upwards with the Yaghu spear with all the might he could muster. The obsydioth made no move to defend itself – perhaps, Gidwyn wondered, it had not expected the sudden aggression from the tiny Dwarf. The spear went upwards, burying itself deep into the snow-white fleshy underside of the obsydioth. Gidwyn saw blood well from the new wound and mingle with that already pumping from the hook-wound to its leg.

But it was not enough.

The obsydioth lashed out and Gidwyn felt himself tossed into the air. The spear flew from his hand as he cartwheeled through nothingness. The Dwarf would have cried out had all the air not been knocked from his lungs, and he could do little more than flail helplessly as he soared over the arena floor.

He crashed down amidst the bones and dust and tried to drag himself to his feet, but was too dazed. He writhed on the floor, blood trickling from his nose and over his lip from his bitten tongue. Get up, he told himself. Get up, get up, get up!

He could not.

As Gidwyn felt a huge shadow settle over him, he had no choice but to give up.

The Dwarf managed to roll onto his back and look up at the enormous creature looming over him. Its sharp mandibles opened and closed, and he saw that they were lined with barb-like teeth. 

Oh, brilliant, Gidwyn managed to think though the haze clouding his brain.

He tried to tell himself he would not scream, that he would not do that to Kiryae. He would not make her listen to her father weep and beg. ‘C’mon, ye big bastard,’ Gidwyn spat through blood seeping over his lips. ‘Do yer worst.’

The obsydioth reared up on its hind legs, its four terrible forelimbs raised, its mandibles gnashing, its horrific eyes boring into him.

And then did nothing.

The obsydioth seemed to go limp for a moment. It staggered as if struck, stumbling forward in a sudden daze and stepping over where Gidwyn lay. It let out a long, low groan and stood completely still, its forelimbs limp at its stone-clad sides.

Gidwyn staggered to his feet and scrambled backwards, away from the creature that stood as still as a statue, staring into the amphitheatre’s tiered seats, straight up at the balcony where Chieftain Ozytala and Kiryae stood. Gidwyn followed the creature’s gaze over the packed tiers of seating where the Yaghu stood screaming in indignation and fury – Gidwyn should be dead, how dare he still be walking around the arena?

Gidwyn found the balcony where the two women were standing. Except one of them was no-longer standing.

Kiryae was floating.

She hovered a pace or so from the ground, her mouth wide and her eyes rolled into her head. Her silver-white hair blew around her narrow frame and a faint scream echoed in the back of her throat. Her hands were twisted and contorted, and as they twitched so did the obsydioth’s pincers.

‘Kiryae…?’ Gidwyn breathed, unable to believe what he was seeing. She’s…

…She’s controlling it?

The Yaghu in the stands exploded into chaos. Half grabbed for their weapons, the other half ran for the exits, shoving each other aside as they ran. Yaghu fell over one another in their frantic attempts to either fight or flee. They cascaded over the tiered seats like an avalanche of pallid flesh and white furs, hissing and shrieking as they came

Gidwyn found himself suddenly forgotten. With nowhere to run and no idea what to do, he watched the white tide of Yaghu come flooding into the arena floor – hundreds and hundreds of them, blocking his path to Kiryae who was still floating and twitching beside Chieftain Ozytala, whose wrinkled and lined face was twisted in a sharp-toothed grin. 

The obsydioth suddenly moved, staggering into life as if it had just been struck again. All four of its forelegs whirled before it in a blur of razor-sharp barbs and furiously slicing claws, and its mandibles slashed like deadly twin cleavers. It staggered into the Yaghu swarming to attack it, limbs lashing left and right in a blur of blue blood.

Gidwyn had to bite his tongue to stop himself vomiting and blood washed up around the obsydioth in waves. The creature was unstoppable: a spiked, tower-sized boulder given life that rolled through the Yaghu and towards the balcony where their chief stood beside Kiryae, a trail of broken Yaghu bodies lying behind it, its stone-covered hide studded with harmless spears.

The Yaghu fought it hard, throwing their jagged javelins and slashing at its legs and stone-covered limbs with their savage swords, though for every blow that drew blood on the monster, the obsydioth killed a dozen Yaghu.

Just as Gidwyn was beginning to think he had been forgotten, one of the Yaghu pointed at him. It shouted a word that was lost beneath a cacophony of shrieks and yelling – and the obsydioth’s ground-shaking stamping – before breaking from the swarm of Yaghu and running towards him, a number of its pallid-faced, bald-headed kin at its back.

Gidwyn swallowed and looked around. Another Yaghu spear lay by his feet, its long haft cracked and worn, slathered in the dark blood of its former owner – a tell-tale hand lay a pace away.

The Dwarf seized the spear just as the first Yaghu leapt towards him – its mouth wide, its eyes shining with malice. It’s no’ so different from me ol’ shepherd’s crook, Gidwyn thought as he swallowed and raised the spear. He braced his legs, and struck.

Gdwyn had no martial expertise. He had never fought with a weapon in his life before, but a lifetime of wrangling goats had granted him one thing: a great strength.

The blow landed hard and true. Gidwyn’s spear-thrust tore through the chest of the Yaghu as it jumped and severed his spine, breaking out of its back again. Gidwyn had to fight the urge to cry out in shock and horror as he held the spear upright, a gasping Yaghu slowly sliding down it, scrabbling at the spear sticking through its body.

With a cry – intended to be a battle-roar, but more like the whimper of a terrified man – Gidwyn whipped the spear backwards and threw the Yaghu off the weapon. The creature was slight and slid off the spear’s haft and landed hard on the floor, where it twitched and heaved for a moment before falling completely still.

Another broke away from the chaotic melee surrounding the obsydioth and rushed Gidwyn with a hooked dagger. Again the Dwarf struck, lashing out with the spear, throwing all his weight behind it. The Yaghu sidestepped and whipped the dagger at Gidwyn’s face, but his aim was short and he only opened a small cut across Gidwyn’s cheek.

Gripped by a sudden surge of rage, Gidwyn dropped the spear and aimed a huge, heavy-fisted haymaker at the Yaghu. His blow landed on the creature’s jaw and a crunch reverberated from the hit. The Yaghu made a gulping sound and fell sideways, clutching its shattered face, spitting blood and teeth, and Gidwyn stamped down on its head and neck again and again and again.

Shocked by his own sudden outburst of rage and violence, Gidwyn staggered backwards, blue blood soaking his fur and leather trousers, and looked up.

A huge group of Yaghu were rushing towards him. They howled and shrieked, brandishing hooked swords and barbed daggers.

Gidwyn had nowhere to go, nowhere to run. He scrambled for the spear he had dropped and lifted it up, bracing himself for slaughter.

‘I’ll no’ beg,’ he breathed, tears suddenly stinging his eyes, ‘an’ I’ll no’ give up. I’ll make Kiryae proud o’ her Da.’

He never got the chance.

The obsydioth barrelled through the group, its stone hide peppered with spears and its pale underside dripping with black and blue blood. The Yaghu group fell under the slashing, flailing limbs of the rock-clad creature. Gidwyn closed his eyes and raised his arms, blood splattering all over him as the enormous creature decimated the group.

As the obsydioth charged, the Yaghu that remained scattered and broke, running for the exits. The enormous creature continued to lash out as it ran, cleaving through the bodies of dozens more fleeing Yaghu as it went, filling the air with a fog of rancid blue blood. The creature was unstoppable.

The arena emptied, leaving only desolation and four figures: Gidwyn, Kiryae, Ozytala, and the obsydioth. The huge creature hurled aside fallen stone pillars as if they were sticks as it hurtled towards the balcony, crushing bones and bodies as if they were nothing. It opened its mandibles and shook the cavern with a roar that made the very stones shake.

And just as Gidwyn was beginning to hope, just as he began to think that by some miracle he and his daughter may be saved, a huge lance of stone shot from the stone of the arena floor, up through the obsydioth’s gut, and out of its back. Shards of rock-plate from the creature’s back flew high into the air, and on the balcony Kiryae collapsed.

The obsydioth gurgled, a sea of blood pouring from its wound as it writhed on the end of the stone spike. With one last twitch of its mandibles, it fell still. On the balcony set in the tiered seats high above, Chieftain Ozytala gathered Kiryae up in her arms and disappeared down a narrow passage set into the seats behind her.

‘No!’ Gidwyn cried, clutching the spear in his hands, he began to run across the arena towards the now empty tiers of seats. I cannae lose her again! he thought as he rushed across the bloody arena floor. Not now, not after this! I cannae! 

‘Dwarf,’ a voice croaked.

Gidwyn skidded to a halt.

‘Dwarf.’

He looked through the carnage. Blood and Yaghu bodies painted the amphitheatre’s every tier. The carnage made his stomach twist and he thought he would vomit.

‘Dwarf.’

Gidwyn felt a hand on his leg and almost yelped in fright.

Saark’s grasp on his knee was firm but not cruel – it could not be; the Yaghu had no fight left in him. His legs were gone, one below the hip and the other below the knee. There was a terrible wound to his gut and blood was gushing over his fanged teeth. That he was still alive – let alone conscious – was incredible.

‘Fire’s breath,’ Gidwyn gasped as he looked over the ruined form before him.

Saark managed a half-smile. ‘She’s a sage,’ he said.

Gidwyn’s eyebrows slowly rose up his forehead in shock. ‘A wha’…?’

‘A sage, you deaf fool,’ the Yaghu snarled before erupting into a fit of bloody coughs. ‘That’s why Ozytala wants her. Magic stuff. I don’t know. Go save her.’

‘Why would ye…?’

‘Because she killed me.’

Gidwyn swallowed and nodded. ‘Aye.’

Saark did not hear. His eyes had glazed over and he had fallen still. The hand around Gidwyn’s leg had gone limp and fallen away.

Turning away from the bloodbath, Gidwyn picked up Saark’s dagger and turned towards the tiered seats where Chieftain Ozytala and Kiryae had been sitting. He gritted his teeth and, without a backwards look, set off at a run towards the narrow doorway through which the Yaghu leader and Kiryae had disappeared.

Winter's Gift - Part VI

In part VI of Gidwyn's story, the plucky Dwarf awakes from his fall in company he never expected to keep and in a world he had no idea existed. Surrounded by the remnants of a civilisation he barely knew existed and with a new ally at his side, Gidwyn sets off once again on his quest to save his daughter.

I apologise that this is later than first planned. Whilst Esdaria has stood still, awaiting the next steps Gidwyn was due to take on his quest, the real world has rumbled onwards.

Gidwyn did not expect to awaken from his fall. He also did not expect to awaken by a warm fire.
             For a moment, he wondered if he had died, and the flames were the sacred Fire awaiting to greet him. But nae, surely the Fire would be larger ‘n far hotter…No. Am I home? Surely not…
             As Gidwyn slowly opened his eyes and found the world around him swathed in a deep, dark blur, he began to wonder if, through some divine will, he was indeed back home. He could see low stone walls, firelight dancing on wooden seats, a small tale and could smell food.
            ‘Eoina…?’ he managed to croak. ‘Eoina…?’
            To Gidwyn’s amazement, a figure appeared above him. But even in his near-death haze, he could tell it was not Eoina.
            The thing that appeared over him was enormous: a huge, dark shape that blotted out the light in the room with an enormous shadow. Gidwyn blinked, suddenly terrified, and tried to recoil as he saw firelight dance upon stone-grey skin, tusk-like teeth, a fat, squat nose and stubby, twisted ears. ‘By the Fire!’ Gidwyn cred, reaching for the Yaghu dagger – only to remember he had dropped it when he fell into the crevasse.
            The thing loomed over him, stepping closer to the fire. Shoulders as broad as a cart squared themselves, legs and feet that looked as if they had been cut straight from the grey rock walls that rose around Gidwyn began to walk towards where he lay. He tried to wriggle away. Two hands the size of cartwheels descended towards him, and as the arms came towards him, Gidwyn realised the enormous figure was covered in huge plates of heavy armour.
            Gidwyn screamed. ‘Troll!’ he cried, trying to scramble away, clawing at the stone floor. ‘T-t-troll!’
            Head spinning, body wracked with pain, Gidwyn tried to roll onto his front and drag himself away from the enormous troll. I cannae be eaten! his mind screamed at him. I cannae! I cannae! No, no’ like this!
            As his fingers grabbed at the stone beneath him, he felt a huge hand wrap itself around him and roll him back onto his back as if he were nothing more than a kicking baby. He screamed again, his eyes wide and staring, his beard showered with spittle.
            ‘Ssssh!’ a huge voice, its tone stern, echoed around the chamber. ‘Hush, little Snow-Dwarf, hush!’
            Gidwyn thrashed and writhed as violently as he could. Quite suddenly, he became free from the huge hand – though he did not know if he had scrambled out from between the fingers of the huge hand that held him, or if the stone-like grasp had let him go. He scrambled backwards until his back was pressed firmly against the wall and could scuttled no further. The huge creature lumbered towards him still, stepping fully into the firelight, its hands raised, its wide, flat, tusked face twisted with irritation.
            ‘Little Snow-Dwarf,’ the creature said sternly, ‘hush! Hush!’
            Gidwyn stared up at the creature. ‘By the Fire,’ he whispered. ‘You’re a…a…’
            ‘A troll?’ The creature said, raising itself to its full height – as tall as a large Man with another sitting on his shoulders and three times as wide. Firelight danced upon the creature’s stone-grey skin and the surprisingly ornate armour it wore – heavy shoulder-plated, large bracers around its wrists, heavy plates on its legs and a massive chestplate covering its torso. An’ torso wit’ a surprisingly cinched waist, an’ a pair o’ breasts… 

‘I suppose I am now, yes,’ the creature said. ‘Just a lowly troll,’ the enormous creature said. ‘But a troll that saved your life, no-less.’

An’ remarkably well-spoken. Gidwyn looked up at the huge creature.  ‘A she-troll?’ he said. ‘A real-life she-troll?’

The enormous she-troll folded her arms across her wide chest. ‘A she-troll who can understand your words, little Snow-Dwarf,’ she said, her voice grating. ‘Have cordiality and good manners died out in the Upper-World?’

‘S-sorry,’ Gidwyn stammered. ‘I-…it’s just…’

The she-troll raised her enormous slab of brow expectantly. It was then Gidwyn noticed the thick, dark hair she had stretching down her back, pulled into a painfully tight braid, and a small, surprisingly dainty diadem of metal wrought around her forehead. ‘Go on,’ she said, ‘you were going to say?’

‘I’ve ne’er seen a troll before,’ Gidwyn said. ‘They’re rare in the Upper-World, an’ the stories that are told-…well, they dinnae do ye justice-…’

‘Stories?’ The she-troll scoffed. ‘Stories of my kin? And how do they go?’

Gidwyn slowly got to his feet and swallowed. His whole body ached and his nose felt as if someone had tried to pull it off. As he reached up to touch it, he realised a thick, creamy balm had been rubbed all over it. ‘I, well-…’ he coughed. ‘They’re no’…they’re no’ so flatterin’, I ‘ave t’ admit.’

The she-troll scowled, her braided hair falling over her slate-grey cheeks. ‘How do they go?’

Gidwyn swallowed nervously. ‘Ye see, trolls are known to be solitary creatures, oft not as…astute as yerself, an-…’

The she-troll sighed and shook her head. ‘They tell of monstrous creatures, covered in fur and pelts and swinging clubs of wood and rock, no? Of grunting, inbred brutes, dragging their knuckles as they walk, eating the flesh of sentient creatures, barely capable of stringing a sentence together?’

Gidwyn swallowed. He could only nod his head.

The huge she-troll sighed and shook her head. ‘Then it is as I feared,’ she said, her voice rolling through the shadows. ‘We have fallen far further than I ever dared imagine.’

‘Fallen?’ Gidwyn grumbled through his beard. ‘Don’t ye dare talk t’ me about fallin’.’

The she-troll let out a grunt of bitter laughter. ‘I suppose you have me there.’

For a moment, Gidwyn stood before the enormous she-troll, wrapped in her ornate heavy armour, utterly unable to process what was going on. ‘Wha’ ‘appened to me?’ he said eventually. ‘How did I get ‘ere?’

The she-troll beckoned Gidwyn back towards the fire, where he noticed a large iron pot was suspended above the flames. ‘I heard you screaming as you fell,’ the she-troll said, leading Gidwyn to the fireside and picking up a huge, ornately-carved iron ladle. She spooned the contents of the pot into two bowls and passed one to Gidwyn, who sat on a low stool beside the warming flames, his whole body groaning with ache as he did so. 

‘I clean up you travellers when I find you,’ the she-troll said. ‘If you lie around too long, you start to smell and attract all manner of things.’

‘You…clean up…?’ Gidwyn swallowed and looked down at the bowl of food in his hand. It smelled of earthy herbs and meat. A lot of meat.

The she-troll seemed disgusted. ‘It’s snow hare and aromatic undermoss. You think I’d serve you…?’ She let out a bitter laugh that rolled through the dark cave. ‘Then it is true. The Fall.’

‘I-…I didnae mean to offend. It’s jus’-…’

‘You’ve never supped with a troll.’

Gidwyn shook his head.

The she-troll shook her head. ‘Your ancestors would be horrified – that is, if it was not for the Fall.’

Wha’ ever d’ ye mean?’ Gidwyn said. ‘I mean, ‘bout the Fall?’

The she-troll’s face broke into a small smile, her large, tusked teeth jutting between her dark lips. ‘My name is Aolodaia, little Snow-Dwarf,’ the she-troll said, ‘but if that’s too much of a mouthful, you can call me Daia. It’s an ancient name, carried by my mother, her mother, and her grandmother. A proud name. It was given to the women of my family by the First Dwarves, who carved our ancestors from the very stone itself. 

‘The trolls were once a majestic people,’ she said quietly. ‘We were willing servants of the Ancient Dwarves thousands of years ago – back in a time when the World was young, long before Men, when only Elves walked Esdaria, forging great empires and exploring the seas beyond.’ The she-troll paused. ‘We were the Dwarves’ everlasting servants, creatures who lived thousands of years, guarding their cities and fighting side-by-side with them in their great wars beneath the mountains. But we also joined their families, ate and drank with them. To be assigned a Trûlhalan or Trûlhale – a troll-ward – was a great honour for a family.’

The she-troll let out a long sigh, memories eroding the wistful smile upon her stony features to a deep frown. ‘And then it fell apart, almost overnight. The First Dwarves crumbled, broke into clans and fell to war. Their cities went to ruin and were slowly abandoned – there are thousands of miles of streets, roads, and houses far deeper beneath the Esdarian Mountains than anyone can imagine. The First Dwarves retreated eastwards, their numbers dwindling until there were so few left. The Trûlhalan and Trûlhale were either slaughtered or forgotten. Those left behind tried the Upper-World, searching for a new life. I am one of the few who remained.’

‘Who remained?’ Gidwyn said, his eyes wide. ‘Ye were there with the First Dwarves…? How old are ye, if ye don’t mind me askin’, tha’ is.’

Daia nodded her enormous head slowly. ‘Nine-thousand four-hundred and seventy-six.’ Her half-smirk appeared on her face again. ‘You wouldn’t believe the things I’ve seen.’

Gidwyn’s mouth fell open; he almost lost the mouthful of stew he had been chewing whilst Daia spoke. ‘How?’

‘I am one of the last pure trolls,’ Daia said. ‘Not one of these inbred, hideous things you spoke of.  We were built to last, and, like these halls, lasted I have.’

As Daia finished, she raised her hand and gestured to the walls around them. Gidwyn looked away from his bowl of warm stew and saw the walls properly for the first time. They were etched with great carvings: an enormous smith wearing a crown of stars and planets, smote a great anvil from which creatures came: Elves and Dwarves, who walked in long columns across the walls, through forests, beneath mountains, beside the seas. And then there were Dwarf-kings and queens: bearded Dwarf-men and fair Dwarf-women in great crowns, carrying swords and shields wrought with bronze. 

‘Where am I?’ Gidwyn managed to say, his spoon halfway to his mouth. ‘Wha’ is this place?’

‘The fortress-city of Skurgasz-Jolturas,’ Daia said, her stone-grey face creasing in a look of melancholy. ‘Jewel in the crown of the old Hrudunni.’ Daia took a deep breath and sighed. ‘Halls that once rang with song now only hiss with the whispers of the Yaghu.’

            ‘Yaghu?!’ Gidwyn started, setting aside his bowl. ‘The Yaghu are here?’
            ‘Yes,’ Daia said slowly, her slab of brow descending low over her dark eyes. ‘What business does an Upper-Worlder have with the Yaghu?’ Daia shook her head. ‘You’re the second these past weeks.’

‘If ye’re nae gonna ‘urt me,’ Gidwyn began nervously, ‘I dinnae suppose ye could ‘elp me get back to the surface? Ye see, I’m after me daughter. She was taken by the Yaghu, an’ I was trackin’ ‘em when I fell down the crevasse an’-…’

‘And any tracks you were following will be long gone, my little Snow-Dwarf,’ Daia said. ‘You’ve been unconscious three days.’

‘Three days?!’ Gidwyn gasped, leaping to his feet. ‘My Kiryae will be gone! Long gone!’

            The she-troll frowned. ‘Kiryae?’
            ‘My daughter,’ Gidwyn said, panic rising in his chest. He looked around the carved chamber he was in with Daia. ‘I ‘ave t’ find ‘er! The Yaghu took ‘er!’
            Daia’s dark eyes narrowed. ‘What colours did they wear?’
            ‘Colours?’ Gidwyn cried, gesturing wide with exasperation. ‘Wha’ does it matter? The Yaghu ain’t like Men, Elves or Dwarves, wearin’ colours to identify ‘emseves! I need to be lookin’, scourin’ the snow for any sign! I cannae lose ‘er!’
            ‘It matters a great deal, little Snow-Dwarf,’ Daia said, her gaze hardening into a disapproving glare. She folded her enormous arms across her broad chest and glared down upon Gidwyn. ‘For in this area of the mountains, even this deep underground, the snow-hare proliferates. Your meal,’ she gestured to the bowl, ‘is filled with snow-hare. What colours were the Yaghu who took your daughter wearing?’

Gidwyn blushed and looked at the floor. ‘They were wearin’ white furs to be disguised against the snow,’ he said quietly. 

‘And you must know what colour snow-hares are?’

Gidwyn swallowed. ‘White,’ he whispered.

Daia’s hard face cracked into a sly grin. ‘Then it appears you may be in luck. Skurgasz-Jolturas is home to a large group of Yaghu who call themselves the Sy’ith Feld.’ The enormous she-troll pulled a face as she said the words. ‘I’ve no idea what their name means in their foul tongue, but I doubt it to be anything pleasant.’

Gidwyn clasped his hands together and wrung them in front of the she-troll. ‘Thank-ye for yer ‘elp, Ma’am,’ he said, ‘an’ thank-ye fer the meal, but I really must be goin’, I cannae leave my sweet Kiryae in the ‘ands of the Yaghu.’

Daia nodded. ‘I understand,’ she said, her voice suddenly gentle, ‘but you will not survive your journey through Skurgasz-Jolturas.’

‘I ‘ave nae choice,’ Gidwyn said, looking around the room for an exit – there, on the far side of the chamber, he could see an enormous, carved door. ‘I willnae survive the rest o’ my designated days if I do not find ‘er. I’ll nae be able to live wit’ meself.’

Gidwyn’s attention was drawn back to Daia as the sound of something heavy being lifted echoed around the chamber. ‘I understand,’ she said as she lifted a warhammer as large as a man from beside the fire and slung it over her shoulder, ‘which is why I, as the last guardian of Skurgasz-Jolturas, would be honoured to escort the only Dwarf currently in this ancient city to his destination.’

Gidwyn’s mouth fell open. ‘Ye’d-…ye’d ‘elp me?’

‘It would be an honour,’ Daia said. ‘You would be the first Dwarf to do me such kindness in several thousand years.’ She paused, her dark gaze suddenly becoming wistful. ‘Those more recent encounters with travellers and adventurers have been somewhat hostile,’ she said, touching a spot on her plate armour where Gidwyn noticed there was a chip. ‘I swore an oath long ago never to harm the Halflings, so I could do little more than flee…’

Arrows, maybe, Gidwyn thought as he looked at the dent in Daia’s heavy armour. Or per’aps a sword-blow. He managed an aching smile up at the she-troll. ‘Well, I’m very grateful fer yer assistance.’

Daia smiled down at Gidwyn, her lips twisting around her stone-like tusks. ‘I am touched, little Snow-Dwarf,’ she said. ‘It has been too long since I walked side-by-side with one of your kind. Please, allow me to show you the way.’

The she-troll turned and lifted a large burning length of wood from the fire. She held it above her head: her black hair, braided like that of a Dwarf, shone in the glow, whilst the flames cast long shadows of her grey-dark skin, the mottles, scars, and nicks in her flesh all harbouring deep shadows. She was truly fearsome to look upon. 

The she-troll crossed the dark chamber to the door Gidwyn had noticed. Hoisting her hammer over her shoulder, she pressed her free hand against the enormous door and pushed. A huge, groaning creak sounded as ancient wood scraped over old stone, and echoed away through the darkness beyond.

And what a darkness it was. Beyond the doorway, Gidwyn could see nothing more than shadows. Darkness untouched by the light of day or that of a torch for thousands of years pressed thick on all sides as a lightless world stretched away before him. He felt a shiver run through him as he thought of the terrors that lay in the shadows beyond. Sharp teeth, black eyes, bone-coloured skin, all hidden by the gloom. Gidwyn shuddered.

            ‘Once upon a time,’ Daia said from where she towered over Gidwyn, ‘Dwarves could see in the dark. Legend has it you all also had black eyes and skin as dark as coal. But time changes a great many things.’
             Gidwyn swallowed. ‘I’m glad yer on my side,’ he mumbled.
            ‘And who else’s side would I be on?’ Daia said, her enormous, grey face creasing into a small smile. ‘It has been ages since I last saw a Dwarf, but I remember my oaths. Come now, little master, let us find your daughter.’
            And so, hoisting the brand aloft in one hand and carrying her huge warhammer in the other, Daia led Gidwyn into the darkness, the light from their torch pushing against the ink-black shadows around them.

*

Gidwyn had never known darkness like that which infested Skurgasz-Jolturas.
            It was palpably thick, almost like water. Gidwyn felt as if he were having to push through it. An’ jus’ wha’ does it hide? he found himself wondering as he looked at the blackness swirling around them. A cavern the size o’ a city, most like? Or does it go on forever? ‘Ow far down are we, even? 

As he walked through the tunnels and streets, Gidwyn could only just be aware of the enormous expanse of long-dead civilisation around him. Though the light from Daia’s burning brand was bright and wreathed the passages and halls through which they travelled in golden light, Gidwyn could tell it revealed but a pinprick of the world lost beneath the mountains.

And what passages and halls they were. Squat buildings wrought in smooth stone carved with intricate geometric patterns rose and fell on either side of where Gidwyn and Daia walked. Their walls were studded with lead-lined windows of dust-covered glass. Through the cracks, Gidwyn could make out tables and chairs, unused for thousands of years. There were carved pewter dishes, thick with dust, and cutlery of the finest craftsmanship.

Then a statue would loom through the gloom, enormous and indomitable, as tall as twenty Men. A Dwarf, beard bejewelled and gilt in gold and silver, would tower above them, the precious metals wrought across its complexion catching the light thrown by Daia’s torch.

‘D’ ye know who these folk are?’ Gidwyn said, stopping to look up at one of the enormous statues.

Daia shook her enormous head, her braided hair bouncing around her shoulders. ‘No,’ she said, her grating voice wracked with sorrow. ‘When I was made, the First Dwarves were already breaking and their numbers dwindling. Tales of old, of paragons and kings, of queens and heroes, were already fading from memory.’ She paused to look up at the huge statue. ‘What I would give to have lived and fought in the times of the First Dwarves…’ She trailed off for a moment, her eyes wistful, but then turned to look at Gidwyn. ‘But my mission today is an honour itself.’

Gidwyn grinned. ‘Thank-ye, Daia,’ he said.

‘But come,’ she said, ‘and take a look at this.’

Daia led Gidwyn further into Skurgasz-Jolturas, their footsteps echoing endlessly through the darkness. Despite the pressing blackness around him, Gidwyn felt less afraid with Daia by his side. The enormous she-troll appeared to be keeping anything creeping through the ruins at bay. Or they’re jus’ waitin’, bidin’ their time.

In the light of the torch, the armour Daia wore took on new life. Each plate of the dark, masterfully-forged iron was covered in bronze carvings depicting great battles and monstrous creatures, many of which Gidwyn could not name. The head of the great warhammer she carried was also decorated with similar markings – including an open-mouthed Dwarf-face on either end.

A subtle change in the sound their echoing footsteps made drew Gidwyn’s thoughts away from Daia’s armour and back to the present. Before him, the she-troll was lifting her torch and Gidwyn realised they had stepped from the streets of Skurgasz-Jolturas and into a long, wide tunnel, its walls carved with a gold-plated scene that seemed to stretch on for miles.

Beside him, Gidwyn could see a familiar, enormous figure at work with a hammer upon an anvil. The Great Creator, he thought. If Kiryae were ‘ere, she’d no-doubt tell me the Fire is the Great Creator or wha’ ever. He was unable to stop a sad sigh escaping his aching nose. By the Fire, I miss ‘er so…

Gidwyn turned his gaze back to the walls and fixed his eyes on the carvings there to try and stop the despondency setting in. I’m ‘ere, an’ I can only go as fast as Daia’ll let me. We’ve gotta be careful, there could be Yaghu about an’…­

‘See here?’ Daia interrupted Gidwyn’s thoughts, pointing up at the carvings. ‘These are the First Dwarves.’

Gidwyn was surprised, for the Dwarves who stood around the great anvil did not carry weapons, nor did they fight. Instead, in their stone-carved hands they held great scrolls and tomes. 

Slowly, Daia led Gidwyn down the long, cavernous hallway, and so the story of the First Dwarves unfurled before Gidwyn’s eyes. The First Dwarves walked amongst the hills and the mountains, side-by-side with tall, elegant Elves, recording all they found until one day they headed beneath the mountains in great droves to build. Great kingdoms and empires were formed, and Dwarves wearing crowns rendered in gold and jewels rose to rule – and fell again.

‘This is amazin’…’ Gidwyn breathed, looking up at the enormous carving before him. ‘So amazin’…’

‘Over the many millennia they have lived, the Dwarves have built thousands of miles of empire, kingdom, province, and duchy beneath the surface of the World,’ Daia said, pausing beside Gidwyn to look up at the enormous wall-carving. ‘But the Dwarves fell to fighting one-another, and Esdaria was rocked by catastrophes. Their numbers dwindled and they fled, abandoning swathes of their former lands. It has only been in the last few thousand years that the Halflings have started to find their old lands again.

‘But this place,’ Daia said, ‘is dark and deep. It is tucked away and far beyond the reach of most. I remain here as its guardian in the hope that one day a new Halfling lineage will discover it, and I shall be granted the purpose I was long ago denied.’

‘Wait,’ Gidwyn said, brow furrowing. ‘Wha’ catastrophes are ye talkin’ about?’ 

Daia gave Gidwyn a long, sad look and continued walking. As she went, the flame from her torch continued to illuminate the enormous carvings along the hallway. After a while, she stopped and turned her gaze up to the wall again. ‘I was as yet unmade before this time,’ she said, lifting a huge, grey hand up to gesture at the wall. ‘Apparently, the whole of Esdaria bled until there was almost nothing of it left.’

Gidwyn looked up at the wall. Images of Dwarves in crowns, of Gnomes creating delicate jewels, and of Dwarves marching to battle, side-by-side with gigantic trolls disappeared. Instead came fire. Huge tongues of gold and amber wreathed the walls, devouring stone-carved forests and washing over chiselled mountains. Figures – both Elven and Halfling from what Gidwyn could see – burned in the flames, whilst over all hung an enormous black shape with golden eyes.

‘A dragon,’ Gidwyn breathed.

Daia nodded. ‘And that was not all,’ she said, gesturing beyond the dragon to where, quite suddenly, the carving stopped and the wall became bare. ‘Terrible wars broke out across the Upper-World some three-thousand years ago. The Elves quite suddenly annihilated each other in a terrible conflict that dragged on for centuries. In the aftermath, there was almost no-one left. Then, Men appeared. But it was too late for my charges.’ Daia paused. Pain flickered across her features. ‘They were long dead.’

Gidwyn nodded. ‘Incredible,’ he breathed. ‘Absolutely incred-…’

‘Hush,’ Daia said suddenly, her voice low. 

Gidwyn froze. In the expanse of darkness and silence around him, the only thing he could hear was the crackle from Daia’s torch and the hammering of his own heart.

Until he heard something scrape.

It was the faintest sound – like a nail along a stone ledge. Gidwyn slowly turned, suddenly prickled by a cold sweat. Behind him lay only darkness – shadows that reached high up the enormous carved wall that ran behind him. 

And then, one of the shadows moved.

Before Gidwyn had time to scream, a figure leapt from the shadow. He saw bone-pale flesh, white snow-hare fur, and a horrid hooked dagger. Sharp teeth barred at him, black eyes shone through the gloom, the Yaghu raised its dagger to stike.

But before the Yaghu’s weapon could find its mark, Daia’s huge hammer swung past Gidwyn and caught the Yaghu square across its chest. A terrible, churning smack rung through the darkness, and gore burst around Daia’s hammer as if she had struck a goat-bladder full of blood. 

Gidwyn let out a shriek as the Yaghu burst in front of him, the stones around them becoming slathered in blue blood. His scream was drowned out by hissing cries that came from everywhere at once as more Yaghu emerged from the shadows, all dressed in white furs.

Suddenly desperate and afraid, Gidwyn grabbed the Yaghu dagger his attacker had dropped and held it before him. The creatures were closing fast, stepping from the pressing darkness just beyond Daia’s torch and into the ring of light thrown around the hallway. Their teeth were barred and their clawed fists were clutching a variety of barbed weapons: swords, daggers, spears, axes.

Oh, Fire preserve me! Gidwyn thought as one of the spear-wielding Yaghu charged for him. But as it did, a colossal roar shook the hallway and again Daia barrelled into view, her enormous hammer swinging in one hand, the burning torch whirling in the other. The Yaghu that emerged from the shadows were sent spinning back into the darkness as fast as they came – the spear-wielding Yaghu attacker was struck in the side of the head by an enormous blow, his skull collapsing in an explosion of blue that splattered across Gidwyn’s face.

More came. Dozens of Yaghu burst from the shadows, wrapped in white rabbit-furs, clutching razor-sharp, barbed weapons. They hissed and howled as they swarmed towards Daia, lifting their savage weapons. Gidwyn was forgotten as the swarm of Yaghu came surging towards the she-troll.

But Daia was unfazed by the surge of attackers. Her huge hammer swung from left to right, sweeping through the Yaghu like a farmer’s scythe through ripe barley. They fell in droves, dozens of mangled bodies and twisted faces reeling back into the darkness of the tunnel.

Gidwyn could only watch on, mouth open in awe. He had never seen such raw strength before in his life.

Quite suddenly, the Yaghu stopped their advance, hesitating on the edge of the light thrown up by Daia’s torch. Then, as a single body, they turned and fled yelping and shrieking into the darkness. The sound of their footsteps retreating into the shadows quickly faded to nothing.

Gidwyn looked around at the twitching carcasses: shattered limbs attached to wrecked bodies spasmed out the last vestiges of the life-forces still bound inside them. The carved walls were splattered with blood, and the Yaghu’s many bodies were mangled into wretched piles of pulp, the white furs they wore stained blue with blood. Their pale corpses were scattered across the hallway, the whole scene lit in the eerie orange glow from Daia’s torch. 

‘Tha’ was-…’ Gidwyn stammered, his wide eyes scanning the carnage. ‘Tha’ was amazin’! Ye jus’…jus’…’

‘They know we’re coming,’ Daia said, hoisting her bloody hammer back over her shoulder. ‘We need to move quickly.’ She paused to wipe some blue gore off her arm and pulled a disapproving face before turning to continue onwards, leading Gidwyn by the light of her torch. ‘Why anyone would want to do business with such disgusting creatures is beyond me.’

‘Business?’ Gidwyn said, rushing to catch up. ‘Wha’ d’ ye mean?’

‘Did you not hear me earlier?’ Daia said as she led Gidwyn onwards through the darkness. ‘I said that there have been a number of travellers this way recently, the last only a few days ago.’

‘Were they adventurer sorts?’ Gidwyn asked. ‘I sometimes ‘ave ‘em come to me farm on the surface before they set off to search the mountains.’

Daia shrugged her massive shoulders. ‘They did not look like adventurers to me,’ she said. ‘They looked a little like you – Snow-Dwarves.’

Dwarves? Gidwyn thought, his brow furrowing. No Dwarf would go this far north without comin’ upon my farm. We’d ‘ave seen ‘em passin’ through, for sure! 

‘But come, little Snow-Dwarf,’ Daia said, ‘we’ll get nowhere standing here, and every moment we wait sitting here, the closer the Yaghu shall get.’ She paused for a moment, her jet-black eyes searching the shadows, her slab of brow furrowing dangerously. ‘And make no mistake, they are coming.’

Gidwyn opened his mouth to speak, but as he did he heard something hiss in the distance. His fist tightened around the dagger in his hand as he lifted his gaze to meet Daia’s.

The sound grew larger and larger as the Dwarf and the she-troll stood in the light of their torch listening. What began as a hiss – as tranquil and quiet as a summer breeze caressing the snow – slowly grew. It came slowly at first, rolling like a wave over the darkness-shrouded buildings beyond the hallway and gathering like a cloud over the ancient city.  It rumbled and snarled, its echoes growling down the carved corridor where Gidwyn and Daia stood listening. 

But then it moved. A wall of noise burst into the corridor, getting louder and louder as it got closer and closer, until it became a roar – a roar in which Gidwyn could hear hundreds of snarling voices.

‘Run!’ Daia roared.

Gidwyn did not need telling twice. 

He turned and fled down the long carved hallway whilst the light from Daia’s torch shone in the dark eyes and on the glistening white fangs of the horde of Yaghu behind them. 

            Gidwyn would have screamed if he could, but the terror that gripped him choked him into silence. His legs whirled as fast as they could, carrying him further and further down the carved tunnel as Daia stormed off ahead, her long legs carrying her away twice as fast as Gidwyn could run. The light cast by the torch she carried began to fade as she pulled further and further ahead.
            ‘D-…Daia…!’ Gidwyn tried to wheeze. ‘Slow! Slow-…I cannae…I cannae keep-…’
            The first arrow clattered past him, skidding across the shadowy stones to his right. Gidwyn let out a cry of terror as another whizzed past him – then another and another.
             In front of him, Gidwyn saw Daia turn as his cry rang down the hallway. Her rock-grey face fell in horror and she turned and began to charge towards where he ran.
            Pain washed through Gidwyn.
            The Dwarf screamed as he felt something struck him in the back. He stumbled forwards as pain blossomed up and down his spine. An arrow, he thought. I’ve been hit! But he could not stop running, for the Yaghu were closer than ever.
             But then another arrow struck Gidwyn – this one punching through his heavy cloak and the layers of wool and leather he wore beneath and lodged itself firmly between his shoulder blades. Gidwyn could only gasp as he fell forwards, collapsing onto the cold stone floor.
             He was aware of Daia roaring as she arrived at his side and stood over him, her enormous hammer swinging. He could smell blood and gore on the cold, still air – could feel Yaghu blood and entrails splattering over him. But it was all numbed by the agony blossoming from the two arrows stuck firmly in his back.
             He tried to reach around and get hold of the shafts, but could not. Every move he made sent waves of pain through his body, and nausea and dizziness washed over him.
             Not now, Gidwyn thought as he tried to grasp the arrow in his back. No, not now…we must be so close…Kiryae…
             ‘Daia…’ Gidwyn managed to gasp. ‘Daia, ‘elp me…’
             But there was little Daia could do. She swung her enormous hammer and her burning torch, scattering Yaghu in every direction, but there were hundreds of them. Her hammer was drenched in blood and Yaghu entrails slathered the walls and the floor, but the creatures did not stop coming.
                Soon, they were overwhelming the great she-troll, grabbing hold of her arms and legs, tripping her and forcing her to stumble. As she did, from somewhere in the whirling melee around the great she-troll, one of the Yaghu produced a thick chain with a savage hook on the end of it.
             Daia roared as the hook was sunk deep into her thigh and, at last, fell hard onto the stone. The Yaghu leapt onto her like wolves upon a carcass: her hammer and torch were torn from her hands and cast aside, and with the heavy chain entangling her, the Yaghu set to work binding her arms and legs.
             Twisting in pain and fury, Daia fought her captors for as long as she could, but it was no good. The Yaghu’s rope was strong and the hook in her thigh was deep. Every move, every writhe and desperate turn she made dragged the hook in her thigh further and further through her flesh.
             Gidwyn, for a moment, found himself forgotten. Pinned by the arrow between his shoulder blades, there was little he could do to move. As he lay on the stones, he began to hope he had been forgotten. A she-troll is a greater reward…per’aps they’ll drag ‘er off an’ I’ll be forgotten…then I can…I can…
             I can what?
             Agony rippling through his body, Gidwyn could barely lift his head. He tried to drag himself into the shadows, clawing at the stone with his hands, but every movement sent more and more pain burning through his back. I’ve got nae choice, he told himself. Putting one hand in front of the other, slowly but surely he began to drag himself away from the pack of screeching Yaghu whom were dancing around where Daia lay roaring, struggling against her bonds.

Every inch sent pain lancing through Gidwyn’s body. He clenched his teeth and screwed up his face to stop himself screaming in pain. But he was moving, slowly yet surely. Just a lil’ further, he thought as he tried to drag himself away, deeper into the shadows. Just a lil’ further…

              Something placed a foot on his back and pressed. Hard.
              Gidwyn screamed as the wound between his shoulder blades throbbed with renewed vigour. Behind him, someone laughed – a long, low, hissing laugh.
              Gidwyn managed to lift his head up to look at the figure standing over him. A bone-white face leered down at him, a thin-lipped mouth full of sharp teeth was surrounded by crude iron rings. A thick brow above jet-black eyes was lined with the same crude rings that bounced and dangled as the familiar-looking Yaghu laughed.
            ‘You…’ Gidwyn breathed.

‘I did not expect to see you again, little Dwarf,’ Saark said, his pierced face twisting into a horrible sneer. ‘I am surprised. Next time I shall have to make sure I kill you properly – put a knife in your belly, perhaps, or maybe just cut your bearded head clean off your shoulders.’

            ‘Wha’-…wha’ ‘ave ye done wit’ Kiryae…?’ Gidwyn wheezed.
            ‘That Elf-thing you call your daughter?’ Saark said, his black eyes narrowing. ‘I wouldn’t worry about her, you’ll see her soon enough – provided you survive the trip.’
             Saark began to laugh again as someone began to wrap a rope around Gidwyn’s ankles. There was nothing he could do to fight back, only mumble pained protests as he felt his legs bound. Beside him, Daia continued to roar and struggle, the hook in her thigh tearing deeper and deeper into her flesh with every convulsion and flail of defiance.
             Before Gidwyn knew what was happening, three of the Yaghu had taken hold of the rope around his legs and he was being dragged along the cold stone floor, back through the carnage Daia had wrought upon the Yaghu ranks. Bits of body and great pools of blue blood soaked the stone floor, but it had not been enough to save them. Beside him, a good three-dozen Yaghu grabbed a number of ropes attacked to Daia and began to haul her along, the she-troll continuing to roar in pain and anger as she was dragged.
             The burning torch Daia had carried with them was left discarded amidst the corpses of the Yaghu the she-troll had slaughtered. Its flickering light cast long shadows of the mounds of blue-blooded Yaghu flesh and broken, gore-seeping bodies. It was a grim and disgusting scene, but as Gidwyn was dragged off into the darkness, clawing at the bloody stone, he longed for the fire – longed for the light. For he knew all that awaited him wherever the Yaghu were taking him was darkness.