As the Seventh Seal marched through the remains of the Crucible, they shied away from the incredible heat baking off the metal golems that were reduced to slag. Even the blocks of quarried stone smoked from the blast.
Aldric made notes in a pocket-sized book as they rode past the smoldering remains of the dwarven bodies. The magical blast of heat washed through the whole of the facility must have come as a complete shock to them. The air superheating in an instant, clothes bursting into flame, metal drooping as it liquified, skin and flesh sloughing off charring bones.
The men of the Seventh Seal joked and pointed and cracked wise, but their eyes told a different story; as much as this was a victory, you couldn’t feel victorious when you hadn’t even swung your weapon at your enemy, or looked them in the eye.
Daveth was silent as they rode through the facility, his eyes sought every detail, but his expression was flat and expressionless.
“Did you do this?” Arcene asked, riding up to Daveth. Her silver eyes reflected the sagging, charred buildings, the half-melted golems, the corpses that still sizzled, fat bubbling and popping on smoking bones.
He nodded once, silently. It had been his idea.
She gave him a long, considering look until Lynnabel caught her eye and glanced to Alysia. Well, if there were a problem there, it was nothing that a simple Challenge couldn’t fix.
Daveth looked to his captain, who was tapping his pen meditatively against his chin. “You think the Shapers would let us loot all this?”
Aldric’s thoughtful expression vanished, and he gave Daveth a look that was flat and unreadable, but Daveth knew, he understood what Aldric was thinking.
The Seventh Seal had changed, for better or for worse. Chasing bandits, fighting skirmishes, holding the line against beastmen- The Seventh Seal had forced themselves onto a larger battlefield, a higher form of war, and Aldric struggled with it.
Was the Seventh Seal prepared to enter the types of war that pitted nation against nation? That was a question that had no answer. What answers lurked brought no peace.
Could they turn back the clock? Was it too late? Aldric had assembled his band of mercenaries in a desperate bid to help the little guy. To defend villages against marauding bandits, to cull the unrestrained hordes of beastmen and mutants, loot forgotten treasures, to stem the tide of lawlessness that creeped in at the edges of civilization- something too big for a town militia, too small for a mobilization of a country’s military. The gap was wide, there was a great deal of flexibility to move. They weren’t an army, they were... what were they, now?
Things had changed, and nobody who rode through that smoldering mess could look away from that change.
“Stop talking about looting and start focusing on the next objective.” Aldric remarked curtly, tucking his pen into his book and closing it with a snap.
“Corwin thinks we’ll have trouble in the mines.” Daveth offered.
“Does he, now?” Aldric offered, lifting an eyebrow.
“He said something about it being poisonous.” Daveth replied. Aldric nodded thoughtfully, and tucked his notebook into his breast pocket.
“How should we respond to that?” Aldric asked curiously.
Daveth opened his mouth to tell Aldric that they should walk away from the job. He shied away from the precipice the Seventh Seal was climbing. He didn’t want to go to war. Something in him giggled blackly at the thought of charging across a battlefield where thousands of men and women fought and died, but he strangled that voice ruthlessly.
“I say we walk away.” Daveth volunteered flatly. “Tell the Shapers what we’ve done, call the mission fulfilled. Let’s pick up the pirates, let’s head back to the boats, let’s let the Shapers finish this with their army of metal men.”
Aldric stroked his beard thoughtfully. “Do you think they’ll let us walk away?”
“We could try.” Daveth urged.
“You misunderstand the question.” Aldric replied softly, and took out his pipe. Daveth frowned, racking his brain, trying to find the answer that Aldric wanted.
“We’ll have a meeting when we meet up with Tsubame’s pirates.” Aldric stated, and then looked up at the volcano that towered above them, a blackened spire of charred stone that smoked and smoldered with an unspoken promise.
*****
Tsubame’s pirates had been bloodied. They’d lost a chunk of their forces. The screeching dwarves, riding on the backs of Shaper Golems had cut a swathe through them in a charge towards the mines. The Seventh Seal hadn’t even heard the sounds of thunder from Tsubame’s sword.
The Golems were apparently vulnerable to the electrical blasts, but her people were equally vulnerable to the golems that sprayed molten metal from their arm-cannons.
“Something else to look forward to.” One cavalryman muttered.
Golems that sprayed liquid metal. Golems that fired cannonballs roughly the size and shape of your average loaf of bread. Giggling, capering dwarves, riding high on machines of metal that turned aside swords, ignored spears and arrows, and shrugged off pistol fire, screeching in a guttural tongue that sounded more like a throat disease than an actual language. They glared at Aldric with accusatory eyes. They hadn’t signed on for this.
Corwin’s new friend Nicola suggested a simple measure against the toxic gasses that likely lurked in the mines; a simple handkerchief, stitched with a spell circle and worn over the mouth and nose would block the toxins in the air, making it breathable. The closer they got to the volcano, the stronger the effect, since there was some sort of magical node lurking in the depths of the volcano. They wouldn’t be able to take the horses into the mines with them.
The two landships were smashed; their cannons were being salvaged. The ammunition that had been carefully saved from the Manufactorium was useful, though the landships were incapable of bringing the guns into the mines.
“This is the last stretch, men.” Aldric addressed the Seventh Seal from atop one of the shattered landships. “One more push and we can go home.”
Derrick’s men raised their fists; the rest of the Seventh Seal looked grim.
*****
The air within the mines was rank with the scent of copper; billowing vents of rotten-egg sulfur gushed from sickly yellow vents in the ground. Everyone wore masks that warded away the toxic effects, but did nothing for the smell. They’d had to leave the horses behind.
The ground, the walls, and the ceiling of the mine shafts as they descended was a palette of browns and grays and blacks, and dimly lit besides. Daveth scuffed his boot in the soft silt underfoot, drawing Audra’s attention. Massively large, perfectly flat feet had tread here before.
“More golem problems.” Daveth muttered angrily.
“We can use magic on them though, right?” Audra asked, and Daveth shrugged uncomfortably.
As they walked, with the occasional complaint rising of watering eyes or the ever-present stench rising from the ranks, Daveth grudgingly admitted that he’d much rather face a foe on his feet with a sword. Fighting mechanical monsters with magic was impossible for him.
“No more cannonballs?” Audra asked hopefully. Daveth shook his head and waved her back as he approached Aldric, who held the map.
“So how big is this maze?” Daveth asked Aldric, his voice muffled by his mask.
“Fucking huge, of course.” Aldric replied, and held it up for him to see.
There was a winding, twisting path that looked like it had been redug several times for easier access; there were parts of the map that had been translated by the Shapers to indicate sulfur mining at specific vents that went down several hundred feet, one of which seemed to be where the short, cackling assholes had tunneled up from.
“Do we have to sweep and clear all of this?” Daveth complained. “Can’t we just drop into the sulfur mine and put an end to those midget monsters?”
“A reasonable question, with an unreasonable answer.” Aldric replied, his voice muffled. “No, we can’t.”
“It smells like your tent after a week of beans and sausages.” Daveth complained. “You might be comfortable here, but the rest of us aren’t.”
“Prick.” Aldric shot back. “Your ass isn’t exactly perfumed either, you know.”
Aside from the back and forth jibes from the various members of the Seventh Seal as they marched through massive tunnels that could have accommodated hundreds more people, the mines were curiously silent aside from the occasional gush of sulfuric plumes.
After several hours of navigating empty tunnels, the rear guard called out that something was following them. Aldric and Daveth immediately rushed back towards the rear, calling out formation changes.
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What approached however, was Moore, who had managed to bolt the gatling guns to individual carts that had survived the destruction of the landships and dragged them in, using his men to pull the flatbed wagons in place of horses.
“Well... I wasn’t expecting that.” Daveth observed sarcastically as the engineering corps of the former brotherhood struggled to bring the guns along.
The original landship was assembled with a large number of wide carts that had been bolted together side by side and front to back, and then driven by a groaning steam engine that occasionally let out hot whistling blasts of steam. The front was fitted with a wedge-shaped bulwark prow where men would arm themselves with crossbows. In the original configuration, cannon were bolted on either side and operated by four-men teams.
The Shapers had suggested some improvements to gain maximum efficiency out of the steam engine, which allowed them better weight distribution and a metal reinforced body, which allowed cannons and the gatling guns to be affixed. The gunnery crews were still somewhat exposed, but the overall power and resilience of the landships were drastically upgraded.
It was unsurprising to Daveth that the Shapers didn’t bother offering whatever engines they were using to drive their mechanized troops. It seemed there was a limit to what they were willing to offer as far as support. That further reinforced his belief that the Shapers had brought them to their land as test subjects for their own war machines, despite the advent of the four foot tall gibbering monsters that could apparently hijack Shaper technology as their own.
*****
After adjusting their formations to accommodate the wagon teams, the dweep of the initial mine was completed successfully without encountering anything that appeared remotely hostile. All that was left was the descent through the sulfur pit to whatever hell the gibbering little monsters crawled up from.
The Sulfur pit was carved in a descending spiral ramp that the Shapers apparently dug out as they mined The ramp itself was wide and flat, and the ground had been pounded flat, just like the upper mine area.
“I’ve been wondering- if the Shapers hate being underground so much, why mine like this?” Daveth asked, gesturing to the caverns.
“Good question. Could be they spend as little time as possible in here?” Aldric hypothesized.
“No tracks anywhere except for golem tracks. You think they just have the golems do it?”
“Golems... aren’t that smart.” Corwin volunteered. “Have you ever been to Bel-Arib? They’re pretty much the authority when it comes to golemcraft, and even their golems are... simple.”
Daveth, Aldric, and Audra exchanged glances at this.
“Yeah. We’ve been there.” Audra announced flatly. Lynnabel and Alysia nodded silently in agreement.
“We’ll have a devil of a time getting the carts down.” Daveth mentioned, forcibly changing the subject.
“I’ll send a scout down the ramp.” Audra volunteered, and called for Tsubame and her group to go ahead while the rest of the Seventh Seal struggled with the heavy carts and the cannons on the ramp.
“Good thing we didn’t bring the Tross with us.” Daveth grunted as he planted his back against one of the wagons, bracing it against the pull of gravity as they eased down the ramp.
Aldric laughed nastily. “Imagine the fun we’ll have hauling these things back up.”
Daveth eyed his captain. “Let’s not take them down.” He immediately decided.
“No... no. They come with us. We’ve seen plenty of golem tracks. We’ll need them and the cannon to deal with them.” Aldric replied. He signaled with his hands and walked backwards down the ramp slowly as the Seal eased the carts down one at a time.
As they moved down the spiral, feet slipping in the streaks of sulfur here and there, Daveth muttered to Alysia, “Check out the asshole that isn’t helping.” He jerked his head at Aldric.
She gave him a sympathetic smile, but bent to work. Lynnabel however, gave him an oblique look as she struggled with one of the four-pound cannons.
“You’re part of the command, you know. It’s not necessary for you to help.”
Daveth raised an eyebrow at this, but shook his head. “Might not be necessary, but I’ll do it anyway.” He replied, and she nodded.
As they struggled to ease the heavy carts down the ramp without letting them go out of control or careening off the edge, Daveth paused and looked up the ramp to where the rest of the Seventh Seal waited their turn to descend.
“Can’t we just magic them down?” he complained to Aldric who gave him a baffled look.
“Ask a mage, dumbass.” He replied, sticking his pipe between his teeth and directing one of the cannons down the ramp with the assistance of the Wolf sisters.
“Oi Corwin, what do you say?” Daveth hollered, and the man gave it some thought.
“I think I could... one at a time.” He offered, and Daveth nodded. “Hop on down here and-”
He cut off as the thunder of gunfire echoed up from down below.
“Well, shit.” Daveth muttered. “Corwin, hurry your ass up. Derrik, get your troops down there to lend Tsubame some cover!”
Derrick hustled his heavily armored templars down the ramp, each of his men carrying their tower shields.
“Send the infantry next.” Aldric commanded. “Then the cavalry. The mages work together getting these beasts down the ramp intact. Daveth, Audra, you’re with me.”
Daveth immediately let go of the cart he was struggling with and followed after Aldric.
As they hustled down the ramp, Derrick called up.
“It’s a bloody killbox down here! We’re pinned down and can’t advance!”
“Shit!” Aldric yelled, throwing a glance up at the press of soldiers still struggling to hold the cannon and gatling guns in place so that the mages could do their work.
“We’re gonna get our shit pushed in if we have to fight our way out of a goddamn killzone.” Aldric swore, and Daveth nodded grimly.
Derrick and his men got their shields up and a rattle of gunfire clattered off of them like hail.
Daveth threw a worried look at his captain. “I think they’ve got guns.”
“Pull the men back. We’d be sending them into a goddamned meat grinder.”
Daveth hollered down to the files of infantry still descending the ramps to hold their position.
“We need to get a cart down there as quick as possible.” Aldric gasped out and Daveth nodded wordlessly.
Tsubame’s pirates had finally retreated back behind Derrik’s lines, but there was only a scant handful, a mere six remaining, including Tsubame.
Daveth dropped down the last few turns of the ramp and took a peek over Derrik’s shield wall.
An entire city spread out in the underground cavern.
*****
The buildings seemed to be similar to the Shaper’s at least in form; they were all cube-like buildings, although they were two to three stories tall in some places; the streets were carved stone fitted together. Daveth could see flashes of light and hear the cracks of faraway gunfire; it seemed that these things had managed to achieve something Aldric hadn’t- gotten their hands on a lot of guns.
Derrik’s shields and armor wouldn’t stand up for long against concentrated gunfire. At first Daveth was optimistic; they had several gatling guns and cannon; surely they’d be able to carve out an opening, but the most obvious problem was simple: They could wheel out a gatling gun, or a cannon, but whoever fired it was going to be exposed to concentrated gunfire.
Even if they were heavily defended, concentration was critical for someone operating a gatling. Crank it too slowly and the gun would jam. Crank it too quickly, and the gun would jam. Aldric had explained all of this to Daveth when they’d gotten the gatling gun from the Duchess of Nauders, and the crews were familiar with their guns; each seemed to have its own quirks.
Would it be better to drop a cannon and fire off a blast? A four-pound ball could put some serious hurt against cavalry or infantry, knock down a wooden palisade, and force archers and mages to keep their he4ads down, but the buildings those dwarves were firing from were carved right out of the bedrock. Four-pound guns weren’t used in sieges, they simply didn’t have the punch to open a breach in a fortified position. He could fire the cannon just fine from the bottom of the ramp, but it was far more likely that he’d be hitting buildings.
Archers? He dismissed the idea immediately. Archers were versatile and flexible, but they didn’t have the range of a rifle. He’d be sending the lightly armored archers to die.
Mages? Aldric had extolled the virtues of firearms at length, repeatedly, to Daveth, and one of them was that firearms were the perfect mage-killer. The projectile was too small and it traveled too fast for magical shielding to deflect.
“Lord Commander.” Orelia spoke up behind Daveth.
He turned, and all four wolf sisters were there, swords bare, shields ready.
“The fuck is this?” He asked stupidly.
“We were born for situations like this. We can break through and create an opening for you.” Alysia offered, but then paused. “There’s a golem coming though, so we’d like you to take care of that for us, first.”
It was then that he recognized the telltale groan of metal, the thick, heavy footsteps that flattened and powdered the ground beneath it, and the purring of its mechanical heart. If that thing decided to drench them in molten metal, or fire off a round from its arm cannon, then they were definitely fucked.
Daveth understood what he needed to do. Ke peeked around Derrik’s shield wall, trying to spot the oncoming golem. The rattle of gunfire against the Templar’s shields prevented him from picking up the source of the sound.
He reached into his belt pouch and pulled out Zakal, a polearm he’d found entombed beneath the deserts of Bel-Arib in an ancient city abandoned thousands of years ago.
While he wasn’t aware of it, everyone that was magically sensitive twitched in reflex. The spear was ancient, and bound with powers that hadn’t been loosed upon the world in millennia. To Daveth, it was a polearm that sprayed fire. The blade of the spearpoint was as long as a sword; the axe was a slim sickle scrawled with runes as old as the bones of the world, and the spikes that were used to unhorse cavalry were delicate, curved knives. The whole of it had an ethereal, hungry look to it.
The golem they’d heard approaching stepped from some side avenue and its upper half pivoted to face them, its cannon rising to bear against them. Daveth stepped forward and hurled the polearm like a spear.
As the spear struck home, the blade effortlessly shearing through the steel plating, the golem fired its cannon. The flames that had been sliding all over the blade of the magical weapon licked once, delicately, gently, against the fuel container it had pierced upon impact, and the explosion ripped out the back of the golem, shredding the duergar riding atop it like a malignant tumor, shrapnel spinning in a whickering cloud of shredded medal. The remains of the golem tottered, overbalanced and fell.
The lozenge-shaped steel bullet fired from the cannon shattered the shield of the man next to Derrik, punched through the man’s breastplate and out the other side. One of Tsubame’s lieutenants, sprawled on the ground after taking a rifle round to the leg, died as the chunk of steel punched through his skull and stuck in the stone behind it.
The four Wolf sisters dashed out, shields up, blades bare. Gunfire erupted from a dozen, a hundred rooftops as they dashed across the open space, looking for cover. They dove through a doorway roughly five feet high, and a moment later a body hurtled out of it, short, wearing tattered clothing, with mottled black and gray skin.
“We’re gonna carve out ourselves a fucking beachhead and cut into these assholes!” Aldric yelled as the first gatling cannon, bolted to a flatbed wagon with no sides, landed. One of the gunnery crew pushed past the troops waiting for their chance to make their run for the sun, to be heroes, to earn their pay as proper fucking mercenaries.
Daveth pointed out his targets to the gunner who nodded. Daveth crouched, spun away, and covered his ears and everyone else in that cramped alcove did the same.
It didn’t matter if they covered their ears, they could still hear the steady click-click-click as it spun up, and then it opened its throat and the chant of merciless death began.