Cicadas, the 23rd of Lost Speed, 4E 201

Within minutes Bryngolf, Doc Malloday, and four other Hole-in-the-Well Gang members, all wearing wide-brimmed hats, had assembled at the back exit, near the counter, along with Kharla, Ti’lief, and Mell.

Bryngolf gripped the hilt of the large claymore now at his hip. “Right, follow me!” He led them through a door and into a short dark tunnel that came out into a rectangular chamber that had two levels below the one upon which they stood.

“Wait!” said Ti’lief. “Look, there, through the grate.”

On the other side of the room, behind one of the grates that lined the wall below, stood a Tallmor soldier with a torch in his hand.

“Probably left to guard the entrance,” whispered Bryngolf.

“Think you can get him from here, Doc?”

Doc nodded. “No problem!”

Doc Malloday aimed his pistol at the Tallmor and then burst out coughing. His shot went wide and hit the wall.

“Who’s there?” said the soldier. He looked out from the grid and then disappeared into the darkness. A moment later there was a thud of bone on rock and a loud curse about the entryways being so low.

“Ach, botheration!” exclaimed Bryngolf. “Vicks, give Doc some more of that ointment.”

One of the gang members, a blonde woman with her hat hanging on her back, searched in her belt pouch. “You know, living in a cold, damp environment down here under the city probably isn’t doing your cough any good.” She found the balm and handed it to Malloray.

“Yeah, I know. Maybe I need to get away for a while. Somewhere warm and dry. Thanks, Vicks.” Doc rubbed the ointment on his throat. A pungent smell hit Kharla’s nostrils.

“A strong aroma,” said Ti’lief. “Yet it smells so clean. Ti’lief would like to purchase some of this ointment to freshen up his rooms, yes?”

Vicks nodded. “Sure thing, Cat. See me when this is all over.”

“Well, our golden boy’s no doubt gone running off to tell his comrades there’s a posse on their tail. We better proceed carefully,” said Bryngolf.

“Yeah, sorry about that. Maybe if the release mechanisms on the Colts weren’t so loud…”

“Don’t you worry, Doc,” said Bryngolf. “We’ll get them. Then, Doc, holiday time for you I think.”

They continued around the stone walkway edging the chamber and moved cautiously into the tunnel beyond. The ground underfoot became more sticky as the smell of Doc’s pungent ointment mingled with the smell of rats’ urine.

“Mell, can you do something? I don’t want to be ambushed by those Tallmor.” Kharla caught Bryngolf’s puzzled look. “She’s a light mage.”

“Aye, she’s a wee lassie, ‘tis true. Good to have a mage on our side though,” replied the red-haired Nord.

Much to the amazement of the gang members, and the sudden comprehension of Bryngolf, Mell conjured up several balls of light that hurtled forward, dancing about as they sought out and illuminated the darkest nooks and crannies ahead of them. Ti’lief fell back muttering something about having to be strong and not chase after them.

“Well color me impressed, lass,” said Bryngolf. “They’ll not so easily surprise us now!”

Around the bend in the tunnel they found a pile of orange suits and a large cleaning cart.

“Big, isn’t it? You could fit a man in that cart,” said Doc.

Ti’lief picked up the orange suits and started folding them neatly, placing them on the cart.

Bryngolf frowned at the Khapiit. “I rather think that’s their plan, Doc.”

They continued on. The tunnel soon opened up into a room lit brightly by a large fire that had been built on the floor. Nearby the body of an old man lay on the floor next to a bed.

Kharla approached the body. “Is it Usborne? Did they kill him?”

“That’s not Usborne, Orc,” said Vicks, bending down to examine the body. “And as to what killed him…smoke inhalation is my guess. Look at the soot in his nostrils and mouth. He was a fool to build a fire that large in an enclosed space. I wish I could say he died peacefully in his sleep, but by the position of the body and the look on his face…probably not.”

They exited the room through a door into more tunnels. It was here, as the tunnel widened and bent around on itself, making it hard to see ahead even with Mell’s orbs, that the Tallmor assault came.

“Lay down your weapons and bend your knee before Elven supremacy!” came a voice out of the darkness.

One of the gang went down with an arrow in his chest from an unseen assailant. Mell’s orbs coalesced above the area the arrow had come from and then shone a direct beam down on the Tallmor soldier, his armor shining brightly in the spotlight. He didn’t even have time to shield his eyes before dozens of pistol bolts riddled his body. He went down and Mell’s spotlight started searching for more Tallmor.

“A lucky shot!” shouted the Elven male voice again. “You cannot win against our clearly superior cunning!”

A crackling stream of blue lightning shot from the darkness and took down the gang member standing next to Vicks who writhed on the floor before he went still. Mell’s orb shot toward the source of the magical outburst to catch a Tallmor in blue robes jetting it around the bend. But he never made it as dozens of bolts shredded his robes. He screamed his last scream as he fell face first into the yellow of the wet ground.

They carefully worked their way around the bend and then across the walkway on the second level of the main room. This led to another room and another tunnel much as all the other tunnels. Various other passages and hole-drops in the floor led to other parts of the maze that was the Ratwee, but Bryngolf and the rest of the gang seemed to know where they were going. They stopped as they came to the head of some steps.

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The caution was just as well, for down below in a well-lit room sat a Tallmor wizard at a table. Two Tallmor soldiers stood by his side. All three of them had bruises on their foreheads. On the other side of the table, and with no bruises, sat Geyser. Several bags of money as well as two small chests occupied the table.

“Geyser! You rat!” shouted Bryngolf as he ran down the stairs, claymore in one hand, pistol in the other, as the rest of his gang followed him.

The Tallmor wizard jumped to his feet. “Fools! Resistance is futile!”

Lightning streaked, bolts flew, claymore flashed.

The Tallmor soldiers lay dead, another gang member cut down with them. And Vicks had a bad gash on her arm. The wizard and Geyser had fled.

Doc was coughing again, doubling over. “Too much…too much excitement,” he managed to get out before dropping into one of the chairs.

“You and Vicks stay here,” said Bryngolf. “The four of us will be enough to deal with one beanpole wizard and a gutter rat.”

They slipped through another tunnel to the entrance to a room on two levels.

“Here’s the place, lassie,” Bryngolf said as they stepped into the light.

A stone hit Ti’lief. “Ouch!”

Then an inkpot landed in front of Mell and she drew back so that the ink wouldn’t stain the hem of her robes.

A woman in dirty, torn clothes stood by a door on the other side of the room. “Stone? Yes! Inkpot? Yes! Bucket?”

A man dressed like a chef and wielding two meat cleavers came down the steps from the upper level. “I’m going to eat well tonight! Orc pork too!”

“They’ve released the crazies!” warned Bryngolf. “We normally keep them locked up.”

The unhinged chef threw one of his meat cleavers, narrowly missing Kharla.

Flames gushed down from above, singeing Ti’lief as he dove to the floor, saved by his quick reflexes, though not saved from the rat wee he landed in.

“High Elves are the best! The bestest of the best! Witness our superior grasp of the arcane arts!”

A streak of blue lightning lanced out at Bryngolf, but it redirected to his claymore and he dropped it, clutching his arm in pain.

“I think we have three crazies here,” said Mell who had pressed herself against the wall.

Kharla cut down the chef with her axe and turned her attention to the mad woman. The latter screamed and ran up the steps to the next level and out of sight.

Another gush of flames flew down and Kharla joined the other three who were all now pressed against the wall beneath the wizard.

The Tallmor mage laughed maniacally. “The Tallmor will cleanse Skewrim of its impurity, its Toeless worship, and its short people! Behold, the power of the Delirium!”

Another gush of flames descended as Ti’lief pulled his tail closer to the wall.

“Any ideas how we get up those steps without being roasted or electrocuted?” asked Bryngolf. “My sword arm’s numb as a stump, but I still got my pistol hand!”

“Who turned out the lights? What’s going on?” came the voice of the wizard before he fell past them and landed on the floor with a groan. He had a bucket on his head. Soon he had a spear through his chest too, as Kharla finished him off.

“Bucket? Yes!” said the mad woman above.

A man screamed and the faltering voice of the mad woman said, “Knife, yes!”

Kharla and the others made their way up the steps to find Geyser and the mad woman dead. They had stabbed one another.

“It’s a better fate than he deserved,” said Bryngolf, spitting on the body of the dead Nord. He looked at Kharla and indicated toward a metal door in the wall at the other end of the second level. “Right, lass, that’s Usborne’s door.”

“Hello?” said Kharla as they reached the door.

“Go away! I’m not here! You’ll not get any more of my books or pots of ink!”

“Usborne?” Kharla asked.

“Oh? Who’s that? No, that’s not me. I’m Max.”

“It’s all right. Darleen—”

A large panel slid back in the door revealing the face of an old, balding Nord with a thinning gray beard adorning his gaunt face. “Did you just call me darling?”

“No, I was going to say that Darleen sent us,” Kharla explained.

“Oh, sorry. I’m a little deaf in the right ear. So Darleen’s alive? No, wait. It’s a trick.”

Kharla stepped closer. “She said to tell you ‘remember the thirtieth of Fastfall’.”

“Remember the thirsty Froth Troll? What are you talking about, Orc?” the old man replied.

“No, the thirtieth of Frostfall,” said Kharla.

“I have no recollection of a single Froth Troll let alone thirty of them.”

Kharla sighed and raised her voice, “The thirtieth of Fastfall!”

“Oh, my days!” He clapped his hand to his head. “That was one of the most embarrassing days of my life. Wait, only Darleen knows about that…She didn’t tell you what happened, did she?”

“Erm, no,” replied Kharla.

“Thank goodness for that…yes, anyway…So she is alive! She did send you! Wait, let me just unlock this padlock, and this latch bolt, oh and this warded lock, oh and the deadbolts of course...”

Mell pulled out her book and leaned against the wall.

“Oh, and not to forget the rim locks, the barrel lock, the slide bolt and box locks, spring locks and mortise locks, oh and this one, oh, and the big one, yes, and the drop bar, oh and this one here...”

Mell giggled.

They all looked at her.

“What’s the difference between a Dark Elf and a High Elf?” Mell asked.

“I don’t know, lass,” said Bryngolf, who’d just joined them after looting the bodies. “What is the difference between a Dark Elf and a High Elf?”

“About a foot!” Mell replied, putting a hand to her chest as she laughed.

Bryngolf exhaled. “Usborne, are we done yet?”

“And the combination lock just here…yes, yes! All done now!”

The door opened. “Come in! Come in!”

The room was filled with books and Mell lost no time in exploring their titles. In one corner sat a large printing press.

“So Darleen keeps up the fight, after all these years,” Usborne said. “I thought she’d have realized it’s hopeless by now. I tried to tell her, years ago...”

“The Tallmor know where you are, old man. We have to get you out of here before they send more of their golden boys,” Bryngolf explained.

“They can send as many garden boys as they like. It won’t make much difference. The end is upon us. I may as well die here as anywhere else. I’m tired of running. I’m tired of unlocking the door and having to lock it again…”

“What do you mean, ‘the end is upon us’?” asked Kharla.

“Haven’t you figured it out yet? What more needs to happen before you all wake up and see what’s going on? Alun has returned, just like the prophecy said! The Dragon from the dawn of time, who bores the souls of the dead! No one can escape his hunger, his inestimable monotony, here or in the afterlife! Alun will devour all things, sap everything of interest from this world and your soul, and the world will end. Nothing can stop him. I tried to tell them. They wouldn’t listen. Fools. It’s all come true... all I could do was watch our doom approach…publish a few more books...live off the royalties…”

“Alun... the big black dragon that’s raising the others?” asked Kharla, remembering to speak loudly so he could hear.

“Yes, yes!” said Usborne. “You see, you know but you refuse to understand! Oh, yes. It’s all been foretold. The end has begun. Alun has returned. Only a Dragonbore can stop him, turn his own power on him. But no Dragonbore has been known for centuries. It seems the gods have, ironically, grown bored with us. They’ve left us to our fate, as the plaything of Alun the World-Sleeper.”

“It’s not hopeless, Usborne. There is a Dragonbore,” said Kharla.

“What? You’re... can it really be true? Dragonbore? Then... then there is hope! The gods have not abandoned us! We must... we must... We must go, quickly now. We cannot delay. Take me to Darleen. We have much to discuss.” He pulled out a bunch of keys. “Just let me lock the door first…”