Expelled from its home ranges by the machinations of its kin, whose politics are far more complex than the dwarves imagine such brute beasts to have, the white jelly has traveled far to get to this cavern. Through thousands upon thousands of miles of winding caves and tunnels it has squeezed its massive body, scraping and scratching itself against teeth-like stalagmites and stalactites.
These injuries were no problem for it at first. Thick forests of fungi and the teeming critters they supported provided ample nutrition to fuel its regenerative powers. Sustenance coursed through its flesh to reknit where needles of rock had pierced and torn. The clear blood it spilled was replenished before the beast even felt the first signs of weakness. Teeth knocked out by struggling troglodytes and errant chunks of rock regrew.
Then, food began to grow sparse. It found itself in tunnels of obsidian just above the magma sea, and only the meanest life survives there. When blades of black glass cut deep the wounds did not heal. Its blood left behind a salty crust on the stones. Weakness and lethargy began to drag at it.
A deep terror took root inside its distributed brain-sensory system, and it attempted to turn back, twist its maw back through to the other side of its body and reverse its course, but realized that such an effort would expend too much strength. It knew that if it completed the movement it would die within fifty miles.
Desperately it forged its path forward. Its teeth--not inert spheres of enamel but tastebuds also—detected something organic ahead of it. Pushing along with all its might, ignoring the pain of the blades of stone cutting deep into its flesh and the horrible dryness it felt on its skin, it began to approach the top layer of the cavern the dwarves of the deep call the Mushroom Basket.
Like a great wad of milky pus it extruded itself through into the forest. For a while, it believed had found heaven. Greedily it supped on the thick carpet of organic matter—here was a land no less abundant than those it had been forced from. It could not help itself; it let out a joyous call from its scent-glands. This chemical was what Hirthik smelled out.
Little by little, the heaven became a hell.
The predators of the cavern, who had skittered away in terror when the apocalyptic, all-consuming mass descended through the ceiling, grew curious. The shock wore off their primitive minds. The scent of blood from the white jelly’s many wounds—strange blood but blood nonetheless—made them hungry.
They swarmed upon it, biting and tearing. The white jelly’s flesh responded by twisting into flailing tentacles to batter and crush. More blood poured, both from it and from its attackers. The predators in the layers below scented this, and they were not going to let such a feast pass them by. Dithyoks, chitin-bats, biting beetles... all those close enough to catch wind of the chaos above flocked upward.
If the dwarves’ scout team had not been under such pressure to confirm Hirthik’s detection with utmost speed, maybe they would have seen the signs that something was amiss. Certainly, the first attacks on the white jelly’s flesh were occurring as they poked their heads into the thirteenth layer. If the Runethane had not ordered them to return as soon as they confirmed its presence, without delay, they might have been able to give warning of what awaited the dwarves at their final destination.
But, nerves frayed and eager to hurry back down, they did not hang around to make a proper observation.
Now Commander Cathez and his eighty-six runeknights stand below a maelstrom they are not prepared for, yet they have no choice but to plunge into it head-first.
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“This is our moment of opportunity!” Cathez tells us. “We should count ourselves lucky that the beast is distracted. While the predators swarm, we will circle around and attack it from the rear where the almergris is located. We need not kill the beast—the almergris is our goal. We will leave the skin and blubber to the predators.”
I'm pretty sure that this is contrary to the Runethane’s orders, who did not want the rest of the forging materials to go to waste, but Cathez is not suicidally loyal.
“I also imagine that the soft, exposed flesh of the white jelly will be more appetizing to them than flesh guarded by the greatest runic armor in the underworld.”
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This sounds like very wishful thinking. If the white jelly was such a soft opponent, the fight above would already be over—and it isn’t: according to Hirthik and some of the other more sensitive dwarves it is still releasing pheromones at regular intervals.
The equivalent of furious screams.
“Now, once we get to the top, we will change our formation. Having each squad separated would leave us vulnerable to the swarming predators—”
So he does think we’ll be targeted.
“—so instead we will cluster into a single armored column. Maces at the front to batter down anything in our way, spears at the sides to fend off any flanking attacks. Once we reach the rear of our quarry, each squad will resume its roles. Is this all understood?”
“Yes, commander!” we bellow.
“Are you sure? I don’t hear the conviction!”
“Yes, commander!” we bellow louder.
“Excellent. Up we go.”
Apparently the stairway here is rarely ever used. Out of the three paths to the topmost layer it’s the smallest and slowest, but it does have the advantage of coming out into a small cave slightly separated from the main cavern layer where we can get into our new formation.
We climb up metal loops hammered into the stone. About half have fallen out, so at several points Cathez has to employ the same technique he used to make his earlier rope bridge, except this time the ropes hang vertically. I’m very glad of my boots’ grip at these points.
The others are not having such an easy time. When I’m about three-quarters of the way up, there is a terrible scream and something rushes through the air behind me. The scream fades then is suddenly cut off by a thud.
“Shit!”
“Turn him over, is he still alive?”
“Oh, hell...”
“Who is it?”
“Othol, I think.”
The dwarf above me pauses, cranes his head back to look at the mess below, and groans.
“Another fucking death...”
That makes the toll from this fool expedition the same as what the killer has wrought, and we haven’t even gone into combat yet.
Thinking bitter thoughts about the Runethane, I continue to ascend. The sound of screeching beasts and the thud of heavy impacts grows louder with each hoop I haul myself up. The air becomes thick with the pungent smell of almergris. I’ve encountered it in the forges before: it’s a kind of spice smell that burns your nostrils slightly and makes your eyes water. The scent here is a little more mellow, like raw spice instead of toasted, and also mixed with the coppery stench of ichor.
Dark stone closes around me as I climb to the final stretch of ladder. The cacophony doubles in volume, echoing around the walls and deafening me. The rock seems to shift and warp—I grow unsure of where the handholds are, for they are dark with stains that makes them the same color of the walls. I grope for the next, find it, pull myself up unsteadily, repeat the process. I will my head to stop spinning—I don’t want to meet the same fate as Othol.
A hand takes mine and pulls me up into the cave that we're to mount the attack from. The concentration of so many weapons of light in such a small area blinds me—here is the opposite of pitch blackness, total whiteout—and because the cacophony is even louder now that I’m less than a hundred feet from the battle, I’m pretty much deaf and blind.
“This way,” Barock shouts into my ear as he guides me with a hand on my shoulder. “Disorientation shouldn’t be as bad once we’re out this cave. The echoes are playing havoc on our ears, I know.”
“I’m to be on the edge, right?” I shout back.
“Yes. Notok will be behind you, Garick in front. Fjalar in front of him—rely on him, he’s a very good fighter when it comes down to it. And I’ve heard you are too. You’ll be fine.”
“I bloody well hope so.”
“Cathez’s plan is a good one,” he says sternly. “Trust in it.”
“Yes, leader,” I reply, without much conviction.
He takes his hand from my shoulder and goes to help Notok into position. I open my eyes a crack to try and make sense of how far I am from the front. Not so far, but maybe that’s a good thing. Predatory instinct is to go for the back of the herd, after all.
A sound like the angry slap of a giant’s palm makes me wince; a moment later a violent shudder through the rock sends us stumbling.
“The hell was that?” someone shouts.
“The white jelly,” says one of the elites standing at the mouth of the cave. “Smashing a dithyok.”
At least I think that’s what was said. It’s hard to make out the words.
“All up!” shouts the leader of squad six. “But Lothan fell! Hoop came out the wall with that quake! Legs broken!”
“We’ll carry him back once we’re done!” Cathez bellows. “Dwarves, steady yourselves to charge!”
I aim Heartseeker out the side of the column and swallow.
“Charge!”