The Iron Legion

Chapter 4   Sunder frowned at the Dwur King's words. He would have to do some fast thinking. "Lotheneser, you should speak to these Ratikan soldiers. Ask them to trust us for now, and follow our lead. Also find out anything they may know about these dwurs, even rumors may be helpful. " Lotheneser turned to calm the surviving soldiers. A mere remnant of the force that had guarded Kelten Keep. "Durlan, see that the lads stay calm. We cannot risk a confrontation at this time." The Yeoman nodded. "Aye, Captain." "Arngrim, I need you to translate my words to the king." The Fruztii barbarian cleared his throat. "King Ulgrim, if I may please be heard. My name is Sunder, son of Turpin." The entire assembly of the dwarves turned to face the Company. Sunder's throat went dry all of a sudden. Maybe he was endangering their own position by speaking. No time for hesitation now.  He hoped naming his own ancestry was part of the protocol. "We owe our lives to Thane Ghallar, and would not see him suffer for his kindness." The brown bearded dwur inclined his neck modestly at these words.  "We also understand that by ancient law our presence is forbidden in Cragholme. However, these are dark days, and the foul goblin-folk from the Rakers and the March seem to be moving against Man and Dwur alike." Ulgrim and Torvald listened in silence, no expressions on their face. They might as well have been carved from stone. "We are warriors, Son of Angdar."  Sunder went on boldly. These people respected strength and honor. They valued bravery and deeds. "Keeping us in your mighty city will not help your people, or those of Archbaron Lexnol; tensions between us will only hinder defense and aid our foe. Let us instead aid in your defense, in whatever capacity you feel appropriate. Lord Ghallar and his Axes can vouch for our prowess." Sunder knew he was taking a risk. So far, only Ghallar had spoken on their behalf. He had no assurances that the other dwur would help, but it was worth a shot. The deepening frown on Lawkeeper Torvald's face told him he was on the right track. The rest of the assembly erupted into a loud murmur. Chin resting on his right hand, King Ulgrim absently stroked his white beard while he regarded the men. Torvald struck the marble floor with his staff, calling for order. His robes of office, gray as his beard, rustled in the sudden silence.  "<Men of Ratik,>" he began, his tone clearly conveyed his anger. "<The King of Cragholme has already shown leniency and compassion in his judgement.>"  With a short, stubby finger, he pointed at Sunder. "<The Law has been broken and you all must pay.>" Ghallar drew himself up to his full height. He stood a little over four feet in height, but was just as wide. He struck an imposing figure in spite of his small stature. Clad in an ornate suit of plate mail, horned helm upon his head and girded with his mighty warhammer, the Thane was the very picture of a dwur champion. "<My lord King, perhaps these men can redeem themselves in battle. They do fight with great prowess.>" Several dwarves, mainly the younger ones, added their voices in agreement. "<They will... >" "<You go too far, Ghallar!>" Torvald interrupted the warrior. "<Now you ask us to trust these men in battle! This is outrageous.>" Many of the gray and white bearded Elders murmured their support. Sunder considered the situation carefully. He was no politician, but the King, who had remained silent so far, was clearly caught in a power struggle between his nobles. Their fate depended upon this decision. How would the King's opinion be swayed? "<My lords,>" an elderly dwarf stepped forward from the crowd. A long white beard stretched almost to the floor, yet his eyes burned with a fierce light. It was difficult for the humans to gauge the relative ages of the long lived dwur. This one had certainly lived for several centuries and had probably fought in several wars. His right hand was missing. An old war wound, apparently. "<Perhaps there is an use to which we can put these men, which would yield a compromise. There is a task which they might accomplish.>" "<Will you continue to pester the Council of Elders with your insane ideas, Brok, son of Thufir?>" Torvald turned, faced livid in exasperation. "<Your ridiculous expedition to the accursed city of Grimrock has already been vetoed by this assembly... >" "<By the Council, yes. But not by the King.>" Brok replied, drawing himself up proudly. "<I demand an Elder's right to audience, and would present my case to the King.>" After a brief pause, he added, with a mischievous look in his eyes, "<As the Law states, Lawkeeper.>" Torvald scowled, but held his tongue. "<Speak, Elder Brok, son of Thufir, son of Vigga, son of Bolga, son of Brekki,>" King Ulgrim instructed, shifting on his throne. "<The Council of Cragholme would hear your words.>" -----o-----     "<My King, respected Elders,>" Brok began, turning to face all those assembled. He paused to stare at the Company of the Raven. "<Ages ago, many wonders were crafted in the great city of Gyrth Orom, now called Grimrock. Among these, legends tell us that many weapons of war were fashioned. I propose that we send an expedition back to abandoned Grimrock to recover any such artifacts, which will surely be needed in the fight against the invaders.>" The murmurs arose markedly. Brok continued. "<Objections had been previously raised by the Council that no dwur warriors could be spared for such an enterprise. Now, however, the opportunity to employ mercenaries has presented itself. I propose that these men accompany me to Grimrock, and in so doing earn a royal pardon for their transgression.>" The hall was silent as Brok concluded. All eyes were on the King. Torvald looked pensive, a frown still on his face, but his anger had receded somewhat. King Ulgrim faced the mercenaries once more. Jord and Arngrim continued to translate the dwur speech. "<Do you understand what has been asked of you, men of Ratik? Do you, Sunder, son of Turpin?>" The king did not wait for a reply, but continued on. "<The city we now call Grimrock was once fair Gyrth Orom, the Bronze City. It was the first dwur city built in these mountains by our forefathers, the Lyrkerami dwurs, during the Fourth Age. This was more than three Ages ago. The ancient arts were perfected there by our ancestors. The cities of Cragholme and Ironforge were founded much later by colonists from the Bronze City. It was at Gyrth Orom that dwur culture flourished, as the seat of House Lyrkeram in these mountains.>" As he spoke, the men beheld the wonder in the eyes of the dwurs in the assembly. This place was truly holy in their culture. "<It was there that the Lyrkeram held back the forces of Dread Iirdelk the One-eyed during the Duerg Kazar. And it was the dwur of Gyrth Orom who destroyed the city of Oomferesh, thus ending the bloody Duerg Kazar, nearly six centuries after it was begun.>" Ulgrim paused, lost in the reverie of his tale. "So far it doesn't sound too bad," Jisander murmured. "I wonder why they left." "I don't like it," Arngrim added sullenly. Jisander chuckled softly. "You're as bad as Eliazar, One-eye." He said, grinning. The Keoish rogue did not respond to the jest. He merely sulked, and shushed them, his attention focused on the tale. The King resumed his story. "<But then disaster came to the Lyrkerami, and our pride became our undoing. Yorel-Who-Has-No-Fathers became King of Gyrth Orom.>" The assembled Elders shuddered and pulled at their beards at the mention of that name. "<In his pride and his consuming greed, He-Who-Has-No-Fathers turned his back on the Soul Forger and cursed his name.>"  Sunder heard the dwarves murmur the words: Azak-Morad, Kor-Morad, Hâl Durin, Khûn Moradin! "<He-Who-Has-No-Fathers was struck down and his city with him. Gyrth Orom became cursed and death roamed the streets. Only a few families survived the destruction, fleeing east towards Cragholme and from here to Ironforge. And they brought us word of the terrible fate of the city and of He-Who-Has-No-Fathers' sin. Brok's family was one of those that survived the destruction.>" Ulgrim said, gesturing towards the crippled Elder before him. "<No dwur has returned since, for we fear that the curse of Grimrock endures still. Are you willing to risk this expedition?>" Sunder considered his options. He heard the mutters among the men. "First prison, now curses and ghosts." Eliazar did not look happy at all. "An abandoned city," Jisander whispered, a grin on his face. "Means abandoned gold. Treasure." Eliazar's face brightened up considerably. He stopped muttering. "Sunder," Lotheneser wormed his way up from the back. "The men of Ratik are behind us. They are willing to do what is needed to get us all out of this." "Aye, Captain," Durlan put in. "We are all behind you. The Company stands ready, come what may." The men behind him whispered their support. "Will we be set free if we complete this mission? Will you grant us safe passage to the surface?" Arngrim translated Sunder's words for the dwur king. The king gave his assurance that this would be so. "Then we will do as you ask. We will journey to Grimrock."   -----o-----   The Company sat in a small chamber, arrayed around the crippled Elder Brok, who would be their guide for this journey. Keras wondered at the strange turns of fate that had brought them to this place. And even greater strangeness awaited once they reached the accursed city. Keras looked at the men beside him. All were worried, but determined to survive, as they had up to now. He focused his attention on Sunder and the three dwarves beside him. They were huddled around ancient maps, planning the approach to Grimrock. Only two other dwarves beside Brok would be going with them. Thane Ghallar had demanded the right to accompany the Ravens on their quest. His honor would allow no less. The King and most of the assembly had argued vehemently against this. Only Torvald had seemed amenable to Ghallar's claim. The Lawkeeper had been unable to hide his pleasure at the prospect of his staunchest opponent in the Council embarking on a hopeless, perilous enterprise. All of which only served to confirm Keras' suspicions that none of them were expected to survive, much less return from this expedition. Still, a slim chance at survival was better than none. The other dwur warrior, Agni, son of Narsi, had joined their group later. The dwarf was smaller than Ghallar, who was apparently his kinsman. His black beard was neatly braided over a suit of scalemail armor. A double bladed battle axe hung from his belt, and an open faced winged helm crowned his sullen features. The dwur rarely spoke, but Keras knew him for an accomplished fighter, as he had been among Ghallar's warriors at the battle north of the Keep. Brok's words, translated by Arngrim, broke him out of his reverie. "<Grimrock lies many leagues to the west. Cragholme lies in the middle and Ironforge to the east, towards Ratik.>" Brok began, indicating their relative positions. "<The city of Grimrock is unlike this one in many ways. Cragholme is a collection of tunnels and caves that has been carved out from the rock over the centuries.>" He gestured towards the map. Keras crowded in closer to see. "<As you can see, Grimrock stands in a large, natural cavern, and somewhat resembles the cities of man in that it is encircled within a wall and contains many buildings. Only part of the city, mainly the mines and the forges, consist of tunnels and caves. The main gate stands here,>" he pointed with a stick to a spot on the map. "And that leads to the Temple district on the west, and the forges on the east. Beyond the temples lie the residential areas and the armories. The forges lead to the mines and to the dungeons. At the back of the city, in a smaller, yet still formidable cave, lies the Palace and the treasury.>" "What is it that we seek?" Lotheneser asked. Jord translated his words. "<The legends speak of many ancient weapons, forged by my ancestors in days of yore. They even speak of weapons of Olven design, gifts from the fallen kingdom of Aliador, who were our allies of old. But my father, and his father before him, spoke of the greatest weapon of all. That which turned back the hosts of Dread Iirdelk during the Duerg Kazar, and brought victory to the Lyrkerami: The Iron Legion.>" He finished in a whisper. "And just what is this Legion?" asked Jaryd.  "<I am not sure, but I will know it when we find it.>" Brok replied. The men groaned. "This is clutching at shadows." Keras heard more than one man say. "If we find this Legion, and bring it out of the city, our agreement is fulfilled, is it not?" Sunder asked. "<Yes, son of Turpin.>" Ghallar answered. "<To recover a weapon for the fight against the gnolls in return for freedom is the agreement that was reached with Ulgrim.>" "What perils lie before us?" Asharak of the Chakyik asked. His people were superstitious, and the prospect of curses and trespassing on ancient ground was surely unnerving to him. If it was, however, he gave no outward sign. "<My ancestors spoke of 'death filling the streets, embracing all who stood before it like a flood.' They also spoke of screams and groans, and the marching of feet resounding from the great cavern for many days after the city was abandoned. Long after any who remained had surely died.>" More groans followed the dwarf's words this time. "And where would this Legion be kept?" interjected Durlan.  The grizzled dwarf shook his head. "<I do not know.>" "No matter where it lies, the Company of the Raven shall find it." Sunder added grimly.   -----o-----