Chapter 5 – Embers

Abel rubbed shoulders with Hoi, clambering through the entrance to the goblin mine. Behind them, two more pairs of trainees tiptoed quietly, stepping over the blood pooling around two green corpses. Ahead, Hannibal sniffed in the darkness. Abel copied him, drawing in a nose full of air. The sheer stench made Abel gag as a sharp, stinging sensation filled his nostrils. Goblins were not exactly tidy creatures. They feasted on corpses for days, letting the stench permeate their cave with rot. The Sergeant beckoned for the two front-most men to break off to the right. Matt and Francis nodded quickly, disappearing into a black tunnel. Abel winced, thinking of his friends being caught and torn apart limb by limb by the awaiting green monsters.

Hannibal continued forward quickly, silent as the night. Another branch to the left opened into a more massive tunnel. Rusted iron tracks ran unevenly across the floor here, sloping downward. Darrid tugged at the unwilling boy, Tinsley, before breaking off and skulking down the corridor. There were now six remaining in the primary formation, working hurriedly down the tunnel. The stench was becoming nearly unbearable now, and Abel started to spot grey bones striped with rotting flesh. The littered scraps turned into small piles as they approached another wide opening. Hannibal held up a fist before scrambling over a heap of rocks and bone out of view. An unsettling gurgle and muted coughs came from behind the pile. As the group moved forward, Hannibal came into view. The Sergeant’s hand was wrapped tightly over the mouth of a goblin. Black liquid was seeping out of a gaping wound in its neck. Abel watched the figure struggle before its dark eyes rolled lifelessly into the back of its sagging head.

Hannibal nodded, signaling the group to continue. As they turned a lazy corner, the iron rails sloped downward again. On the right, in a shelf carved into the rock face, Abel saw them. Five sunken figures lay upon the jagged shelf. Heavy iron shackles were clenched around their wrists. The five men lay motionless on the rocky enclave. Abel quickly shrugged forward, checking the pulse of the nearest man. It was Talbot! He recognized the crescent tattoo on the man’s forearm. Shallow, ragged breaths trickled from the beaten man. In turn, Abel checked each one, quietly searching for signs of life. The fifth prisoner was motionless, his pulse absent against Abel’s fingertips. The corpse’s ribs were cracked and bruised badly; the abdomen was a swollen mass. Abel prodded gently, feeling the cold hard skin of the dead man’s torso. Cold, haunting darkness seemed to clamp down on Abel. He shuttered, surmising that the man had been dead for some time. Shivers wracked his spine as he turned to Hannibal, shaking his head.

The squad went to work, rousing the prisoners slowly, placing fingers to waking mouths and gesturing to keep quiet. "Where are the keys?" Hannibal whispered. Talbot tried to respond, coughing instead. Hannibal tugged and pried at the manacles in frustration, asking the other prisoners the same question. Coughs were followed by groans as the waking prisoners stumbled helplessly. Abel lifted a set of sunken wrists, inspecting the iron shackles. He set them down carefully and began rummaging through the piles of remains nearby. Jagged bones were covered in sinew, forming a sickening web of refuse. Abel clutched at a tiny fragment, a needle in a repulsive haystack. Maybe a forearm once, or a finger--he thought in horror. Dropping the image, Abel returned to the prisoners and inserted the sliver into the lock. Metal halves slipped open, clanking against the stone floor. Hannibal quickly ushered the soldiers to free the others, assigning a man to assist each prisoner.

A tangle of black braids was nodding slowly as Hoi stood over the fallen man. He muttered a strange phrase under his breath, making unusual gestures with his sausage like fingers. A prayer maybe? Broad shoulders swept down, pausing over the corpse. Hoi reluctantly hefted the fallen man.

They had just stood up the last prisoner when a piercing screech echoed throughout the tunnels. "Go quickly now. Bloody goblins." Hannibal cursed. Stealth was now foregone, as the men dragged the hobbling injured hastily through the tunnel. More screeches followed their retreat as they reached the large corridor where Corporal Darrid had left with Tinsley. The skulking form of Darrid emerged, streaked in blackened blood. His leather jerkin had been torn in multiple places, and he limped heavily on his right side, clutching his stomach.

“There’s a bloody Worg down there," Darrid wheezed. "Poor lad, he didn't stand a chance."

Abel thought of Tinsley. The young thatcher had helped Abel and his father when they built their roof. The young man was fascinated by the husks that Caleb had brought, asking him repeatedly if he could use Caleb's technique for other houses in Lake Top. Now he would never have the chance.

"Damn it. Run boys, or you won't be making it back to your milkmaid's breast. Run damn it!" Hannibal directed the men towards the exit, drawing a short spear from his back and sheathing his knife. Abel stood at his side, staring blankly. A worg? He had read an account of worgs in the 'Compendium of Known Animalia.' A giant wolf, perhaps still around from millennia ago. The sightings of worgs were rare, and most scholars discounted them as exaggerations of ordinary wolves.

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A horrifying snarl emanated from the large corridor. From the shadows, a hulking mouth emerged baring jagged white teeth. Blood and sinewy flesh dripped from the maw, falling sickly onto the rocks below. The creature stood on all fours, taller than both men. Bristling black fur stood atop its mane, with matted patches of greys and black along its flanks.

"Go boy, get the others out." Hannibal said in a neutral tone, alarmingly calm. Abel trembled slightly, shrugging off the chill of the cave. He didn't realize it, but his knife was already in hand, the leather slick from a sweaty palm.

"Go you blasted idiot!” There was fire in Hannibal's voice now. Abel instinctively started to turn, even a few weeks of training had instilled a sense of discipline in him. But he was frozen, feet unmoving. Something compelled him to stay, his fist tightening around the pommel of his dagger. Before Hannibal could object again, the beast launched forward. One hundred stone of snarling, vicious worg came crashing between the two men. Hannibal slammed Abel sideways and dodged swiftly out of the way, quickly plunging his short spear into the oversized wolf's ribs. A nightmarish howl escaped the beast's maw before it turned violently towards Hannibal. Its rear leg scrambled and shot out, striking Abel against the rocky wall. He felt distinct cracks in his ribs as the rocky protrusions dug into his back. His vision went black for a moment as he gasped for air, doubling over on the floor.

The giant creature lunged for Hannibal. Abel watched helplessly from the ground as the worg sunk its gnarled teeth into the Sergeant’s arm. The black head jerked wildly to the side, tearing flesh from bone in a bloody spray. Hannibal grunted in anger and roared as he reached with his good arm for the spear jutting from the wolf’s side. With an effort, the bleeding Sergeant yanked downward, tearing a swath of fur with it. He dove back, whipping the spear in defense as bloodied teeth snapped again just over his head. The spear tip swung just shy of the beast’s neck. Hannibal scrambled back as the worg bit downward, missing flailing feet. He was now pinned against a wall, trying to stand awkwardly with a spear in one hand and a mess of flesh flailing from his other. Hannibal was cornered by the beast as it reared up, preparing to finish the kill.

Abel looked up at the hindquarters of the monstrosity, squeezing the dagger. The worg was too large, and far too fast, even for the seasoned Sergeant. He eyed the heel of the beast, envisioning his attack. Instead, he fumbled in his pocket for the little tin cylinder. Bringing it to his mouth, he mimicked his father. As the creature reeled back, it stumbled slightly, growling. Its head shook furiously as the giant wolf bucked madly, an unbroken horse careening away from some unseen threat. Abel tried to inhale, fighting the screaming pain inside his chest. He drew in a short breath, as much as he could manage, and blew again. Black and grey fur slammed frantically against the corridor walls. It howled, barreling down the corridor away from the two men. Rocks crashed to the floor in its wake, shaking the cavern.

Hannibal's eyes were shrunk to pinpoints as he stood up groggily. He shook it off and stumbled towards the main tunnel. "Let's go, lad." He said between clenched teeth.

Abel was fighting to take each breath, the pain making him clench down. Sharp, burning pain radiated across his ribs now. One foot in front of the other, keep going, he thought to himself. He had done it before; he just had to stay focused.

The screeches of goblins still echoed throughout the hollowed tunnels as Abel and Hannibal found their way to the cave mouth. In the distance, a dozen or so silhouettes dotted the horizon, hobbling figures against the dull greys and yellows of sunrise. The rest of the squad and the prisoners had made it out at least. Behind the Sergeant and the recruit, piercing cries grew closer, and Abel heard dozens of feet pounding against hardened stone. The first tall figure came into view with ears pointed in anger. More bloodshot eyes emerged from the darkness, the echoes rumbling even more now.

Hannibal was at Abel's side in the mouth of the tunnel. He placed his good hand on Abel's shoulder firmly. "I'm sorry lad. Maybe the others will make it at least". He hefted his spear in one hand, looking into the stream of goblins flooding towards them like an unstoppable wave of blood and fury.

How could this be? Abel’s mind reeled with thoughts of the inevitable. His thoughts flitted back to his father, Caleb, quietly reading a book in the comfort of their library. He breathed in the memory, feeling the warmth of the chair next to his father. He recalled the same warmth in front of Master Finley's forge, the blaze from the bellows filling the room with heat. The sound of hammering metal echoed in his mind as the forge hammer crashed against steel, shaking his arms.

Now, the sounds of the goblins rushing became indistinguishable from the forge. Smash. His arm collided with steel, sending sparks flying from a sword taking shape. The clink of steel from the smithy was intertwined with the sound of sickly green goblins, drawing rusted steel in a charge. Crash. He felt the steel bend to his will under the might of a hammer. The first goblin was nearly within arms reach now, a tidal surge of green behind it. Slam. Abel recalled the hammer crushing red hot iron, molding the steel to his will. He could feel the swelling heat as pale green faces came barreling towards them, a mere step away.

With an empty fist, Abel struck out and slammed his fist against the stone floor, like the hammer striking the steel atop an anvil. For a brief second, his eyes flashed as if he had seen sparks. The world lurched and spun in front of him, the passage full of hungry eyes shattering with a booming crack. As the world went sideways in front of him, everything turned to black.