Bernt stormed out of the break room. Someone was following him, but he didn’t care. He could still feel Jori through their bond. It hadn’t broken when she disappeared, but it was different. Duller. He could only get a general sense of her emotional state, but it wasn’t like when she was far away on the material plane. He didn’t get any sensory information, no matter how hard he tried to focus.

Bursting through the door to Ed’s office, he rounded the archmage’s desk and pulled open the drawers underneath it, one after another. He needed that Duergar demonology text. He’d need to learn Duergar, or at least a similar dwarven dialect. Maybe he could get Kustov to teach him?

The book wasn’t there.

What happened? Had he taken it home? Growling with frustration, Bernt began to rummage through the papers, as if expecting the book to just appear between the sheets. He was poking around at the back of a drawer when his hand closed around a flattened scroll. It looked oddly familiar.

He stared at it for a few seconds before he remembered where he knew it from. It was the other scroll that he’d taken from the Dragon’s garbage heap. The one written in a language that not even Ed had recognized. He pocketed it. Ed certainly wouldn’t be looking into it any time soon, and it was his, after all.

“Godsdamnit Bernt, what are you doing?” Josie asked urgently, looking around as if worried that they were about to get caught.

“I’m looking for my book.” Bernt said shortly. “One that Ed was holding for me. But it’s not here.”

“Look, I’m sorry.” Josie said. “I know you’re upset, but we can bring her back! It’s not forever.”

Bernt glared at her, but his anger quickly melted into bitter exhaustion. “You don’t understand. Jori hates it there. It hurts her to even think about it or whatever happened there. She never talks about it. This is torture for her, as much as it would be for you or me. More, maybe! It doesn’t matter that she came from there, this is wrong!”

Josie nodded and held out her hand the way one might at a spooked animal. What did he look like? ”She went on her own, Bernt! Besides, Finn, the novice that was watching the kids in there, is going to be ready for his first summon in a year, maybe less! We can summon her then, and maybe she’ll have changed her mind.”

“A year.” Bernt said bitterly. “Besides, what about Ed? He’s somewhere there, too. Are we just going to leave him there? What’s going to happen?”

“It’s hard to say. The hells aren’t like our plane. The third hell is the most similar to ours, but that doesn’t mean it’s habitable. It’s a vast place, just as big as our world – you can’t just find a person that got pulled into it. We can summon demons because of what they are. It doesn’t work on normal, mortal people.”

“Damn it, Josie! We have to do something. I thought you and Jori were friends!”

Josie’s lips tightened into a line. “I am doing something. I’m keeping you from getting yourself killed. There’s time to worry about Jori later. A class 3 demon isn’t going to be in any danger from random predators on her home plane. She’ll be fine. You, on the other hand, seem determined to provoke a hostile visit from Radast. His shade is probably watching us right now.”

Bernt looked around, though he knew there was no way he would spot the demonic shadow if it didn’t want to be seen.

“Fine,” he said. What else could he say if he was being spied on? “Let’s go help with the wounded.”

***

The wounded, as it turned out, had already been taken care of. In most cases, a potion was all they would need to get back on their feet. Of course, that didn’t mean they’d be completely fine. Nirlig had lost a few fingers on his left hand and would have a scar to show just how close he’d gotten to losing an eye. But he would live, as he kept reminding his father who was clucking over him like a mother hen.

Several others had large, rippling burn scars. Those hadn’t been because of the Duergar – no, that had been Bernt. Guilt gnawed at his belly when he saw them. Would they get the care they needed to restore them fully?

Twenty-seven of their guards were confirmed dead, Glim among them. Rindle, Kustov and Fiora were still missing along with several of the guards, and they’d lost Ed. Bernt wondered what that even meant. There were myths of people traveling to the hells – usually to rescue the soul of a loved one – but he doubted those had any truth to them. The way Josie talked, it sounded like people could go there. Could he learn how?

He banished the thought. What could he do that Ed couldn’t do far better himself? Josie had been right. It wasn’t something he could do right now, and the city was in shambles. They had work to do here.

As he stepped out into the courtyard, Bernt caught sight of a small kobold trying to push through the crowd, looking fearfully over his shoulder and carrying a backpack. Recognizing Gnugg, Bernt waved and hurried over to him, pushing through the bustle of Underkeepers and soldiers.

"Gnugg, hold on!" he called out.

The kobold stopped and looked at him, visibly trembling. Bernt held out his hands in a calming gesture. "Easy. It's still dangerous out there. Do you want me to take you to the orphanage?"

"No!" Gnugg said quickly, before repeating it more slowly. "No. Not back. I sleep below tonight. I am going now. Have to go!"

"Wait! Do you have somewhere safe to go? Where's Trip?"

"Yes! yes. It is safe. Trip is waiting me. Other direction. Not bad dwarves."

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

Bernt shook his head. What was he doing? According to Jori, the kobold had been on corpse disposal duty in the warrens when she first met him. He'd seen worse than this. But... he'd been close to Jori. She was very attached to her "interns" and spent a lot of time with them. And he was obviously terrified.

"Listen. We're going to get Jori back, alright? She's not gone forever."

Gnugg nodded emphatically and made an odd squeaking sound. "Jori back! Yes! I am going now. Have to go!"

"Are you sure you don't want me to take you?" Bernt asked again.

"No follow!" the kobold snapped and turned, scurrying off into the crowd. As he disappeared, the lid of his backpack moved, and a tiny draconian head poked out, looking at him with bright, golden eyes. Bernt blinked. Where had Gnugg found a newborn kobold hatchling? Why did he have it here?

Shaking off his surprise, Bernt hurried after him. He wasn't sure what he was going to do, but could he really let a child run around in a war zone with what was practically a baby? Even a kobold? He hurried out into the market, but Gnugg was gone, disappeared into the press of soldiers, Underkeepers and emerging civilians.

***

Surprisingly, the cleanup effort in the Undercity progressed quickly. Local residents came out when they realized that the fighting was done, both dwarves and goblins, and helped to carry the duergar corpses to their designated disposal location. As they did, they helped themselves to what remained of their armor and weapons – all of valuable dwarven make.

Bernt half-heartedly joined in, stripping knives, pouches and smaller valuables off and depositing them in his bag, which he’d found lying in the courtyard exactly where he’d left it. He needed money, but right then it was hard to remember why it mattered. When he found the body of a mage or a warlock he would check for scrolls or books, but none of them were carrying anything – at least nothing that wasn’t burnt beyond recognition. He and Josie were hauling an Underkeeper guard’s body into a cart next to the cavern entrance when a familiar voice called out from behind him.

“Glad to see you made it!” Bernt turned to find Kustov walking in, casting spells to reshape the ragged opening into a smooth archway and melting the rubble down into the floor, the way it had been before. “We saw the end of the fight – thought you might get overwhelmed there for a moment.”

“You’re okay?” Bernt asked, as if he wasn’t quite sure of the answer. “What about Fiora?” He’d half expected to find their bodies here somewhere. As far as he knew, they’d never made it out of the side tunnel where they’d been harassing the incoming dwarves.

“Yes, we’re fine. Fiora is at headquarters, organizing things. We heard about Ed…” he trailed off, but then shook his head and continued. “When we went to leave the tunnel, the whole place was full of Duergar. So I sealed the entrance and we tunneled our way over toward the army. It took longer than it should have. I’m out of practice, a little. But we got there. Arice hadn’t heard that there was an army marching in behind him. He was fighting a smaller force further down in the tunnels – our messenger never reached his people.”

Bernt barked out a humorless laugh. The Underkeepers had been fighting an army while the military was off skirmishing with a distraction. It wasn’t funny, but he couldn’t hold it in. This entire thing could have been avoided if Arice’s scryers, or his geomancers, or his abjurers were a little more thorough. It was stupid.

But, then again, that probably wasn’t what happened. He wasn’t giving the Duergar enough credit. They’d been probing at their defenses for weeks and had spies in the city for at least that long. They knew where their defensive wards were and how to get around them.

“They moved fast when they heard, but we were worried it might already be too late.” Kustov gave him a pat on the arm. “Shouldn’t have underestimated you, eh? I saw you set half the enemy army on fire!”

“It wasn’t that many.” Bernt said, trying to block the memory of the gruesome sight in his mind. “Besides, you should have seen Torvald, he nearly took on the entire army by himself!”

“Really?” Kutov said. “Well, that’s a story I need to hear.”

***

The door was open, but Bernt didn’t step inside. He leaned against the doorframe for a second and simply took it in. It was exactly as he’d left it. Still, it was somehow also too dark and quiet. It wasn’t just that Jori wasn’t home – he spent time here by himself all the time. No, it was that she wasn’t going to be home. It made the place seem dead, somehow. Abandoned.

There was a wail and shouting as, two doors down, Nirlig’s mom berated Morix over what he’d allowed to happen to her boy. Then, Nirlig’s voice, trying to defend his father and presumably his own agency. They were one of the lucky families on this street today – two Underkeepers and both had made it home.

Bernt sighed – he was being stupid. That, and he was exhausted. Stepping inside, he turned and shut the door behind him. He lit the stove with a cantrip and scavenged a bit of rat jerky from a stone jar that he usually kept for Jori. It was very spicy, and he knew he was going to regret wolfing it down on an empty stomach like this. But it was the middle of the night, and he didn’t have the patience to start cooking now.

He put on a kettle for tea and sat down on the hard stone couch he’d made. Maybe some tea would help his digestion. As he worked, his eyes fell on a bottle on the table with a hand-written label that read “Hellfire Gin”. He stared at it numbly for a minute before picking it up. He popped the cork and sniffed. Eyes watering, he grimaced and resealed the bottle. Nirlig had been right – it really was disgusting. He stood up and put it up on a shelf.

Jori could have that when she got back.

***

Gegrenoth ran.

He ducked behind an outcropping of speckled gray-black stone, the same coloring as his skin, and made his way down the scree slope into the narrow river valley. Black rain fell from the sky onto barren ground, running down in rivulets toward the burning river, where it hissed and evaporated back up into the low, yellowish clouds above.

He’d missed the dark sky, the sour rain that pattered on his skin, and the pleasant sulfurous air that filled his lungs, but he didn’t have time to enjoy it. He needed to get to the river. The mortal wouldn’t be able to get over the fire. It would die, like they were supposed to.

Gegrenoth didn’t know how it had followed him here. It shouldn’t have been able to do it! It wasn’t fair.

Rocks clattered down behind him as the big mortal stomped down in pursuit. He sped up. Gegrenoth knew this area – there was a small cliff ahead where he could get some distance.

The imp juked left and right again as gravel erupted upward next to him. There was no cover here to hide him. Then his feet touched solid ground and he leapt, spreading his wings as he cleared the last few strides and the land gave way below him. He’d done it! With the updrafts rising from the flaming river, he could glide clear to the other side of the valley from here.

Then, an invisible hand wrapped around his entire torso, awkwardly folding his wings in against his body and yanked him back. He screamed in impotent rage and summoned fire, but his arms were pinned as well and it only dribbled uselessly down toward the valley below.

“Got you, you slippery little bastard!” said a gruff voice. The imp landed on the ground, face down, and invisible forces seized his arms and yanked them behind his back none too gently before turning him over. The big, gray-haired man glared at him menacingly and traced a pattern in the air with one finger. A strange, gray flame formed in the air in front of him.

It drew the warmth out of his bones, even at this distance, and he felt the skin on his face rapidly dry out and crack under its light. He tried to shrink back away from it, but he couldn’t move.

“Alright. Now that I’ve finally got your attention,” the human said, “you’re going to tell me how to get out of this place, or I’m going to teach you the true meaning of hell.”

“I don’t know! You can’t!” he whimpered in terror. “You’re not supposed to be here at all!”

The human’s expression turned from angry to murderous. Shivering, Gegrenoth closed his eyes and waited for his true death.