Index:
Episode 1 - The League of Iron assembles
Episode 3 - Legacy of the Veil Breakers
Episode 7 - Home is where the hearth is
Episode 8 - Last of the Old Ones
Episode 12 - Mistress of Flesh
Episode 15 - March of the parasites
Episode 18 - Kingdom of hunger
Episode 22 - A mirror sanguine
Wails.
The murky, icy fog had long since conquered the hollow and marched anywhere the eye could see. Crates, bales, slaves, and tired Thulm guards were all lost in it; sounds the only way to perceive their surroundings. Wood creaked, ropes screeched, and the wrapped in hay bales – they whispered. This forced labor opera was dominated by a choir of whips and seldom interrupted by the wailing arias of the enslaved.
Thulm's otherwise relentlessly turning, well lubricated wheels of conquest had almost grind to a screeching halt for lack of provision.
Backs, legs, and arms black and blue, the unfortunate laborers stumbled under whatever supply their masters' required. Oft, a gust of juvenile winter wind chased away the thick fog and one could not only hear, but observe their torment. Bloodied feet dragging with each torturous step, the slaves left a trail of pain and droplets of life behind.
With monumental effort, a small crowd of men, women, and children pulled and pushed a hugely overburdened cargo wagon into earth's gaping mouth. Carved by the treacherous corpse-walkers, the tunnels which once radiated pure dread now felt strangely at peace. No longer did the slaves' very souls freeze whenever any of them approached this cavernous hill.
Underground, the fog changed colors and became beige; the face of guard and slave were blasted with moldy gusts of stale air. Flickering fires and soggy torches dared challenge the mighty fog yet, no matter how many, their hazy glow made the Thulm's situation worse, if that was even possible.
The guards began seeing faces long dead gazing at them from every shadow and were tormented by deathly visions. Spectral hand and ghostly eye gave them not a moment of respite, yet, with the confidence of the conquerors, they assured themselves 'twas their imagination. The tired mind, they knew, it could become pregnant with all kind of unreal terrors.
Brownish fog, even though scarcer the further they trekked inside, robbed the Thulm of their weary breaths. Clad in red-steel forged chain mail, these light on their feet guards were surprised when they began to stumble, trip on the even tunnel floor. Curses they'd spit at their bad lot, which appeared more unnatural the longer they walked. Yet, the wagon did move ahead and greyish, mold-tasting dust on her lips, the head guard ordered:
“Push! Push or thy living flesh shalt feed the horses.”
Another wagon, just as overloaded as the first, reluctantly grumbled down into the sticky dark. Part of a most important supply train, these two had to be delivered via slave muscle, at all cost. The lives of a third of Zhul's laborers were to be exchanged for gruel, meat, arrows, and lamp oil to reach the front. Women and children, who'd otherwise be gifted to the raiders as playthings, would feed the horses when they could toil no more.
“Rider, inform the Overlord that everything is proceeding according to his wish!”
Neigh just as horror-inducing as her rider, a six-legged mount galloped speedily away from chill fog and the moans of ill-fated slave. Report of their success would calm the Overlord and, might even incur some sort of a reward for her, and her slave guards.
The Overseer's cheeky grin, however, melted swifter than leftover snow upon Spring glowing sunny eyes. Another, and quite different gaggle of sounds, other that what she'd like to hear conquered the hollow. The unmistakable clink of metal and the distinct noise of bodies hitting the ground alerted her that something was afoot.
“Guards, draw steel and follow me!”
Half the tunnel sentries had to be employed as slave guards. Someone had to keep the wagon pushing cattle in check since Thulm of high standing, and especially their cavalry, were above such menial tasks. Foot Raiders, they too would outright refuse to be treated as beasts of burden, even though not a few days ago each of them vanished into the deep, a bulky travel-sack on their weary shoulders.
“Gnrrrhhhh...” - gargled a staggering guard, who barely stumbled out of the tunnel.
“Report!” - growled she, hands reaching for the bow slung over her shoulder.
Yet, the man was unable to speak since someone's fist had crushed his trachea. Choking on his own blood, he fell dead and only now the Overseer noticed that his entrails dragged on the floor behind him...
“Oh, we hath a slave riot on our hands, eh?” - Snickered she, and beckoned the guards to follow her into the tunnel, green-feathered arrow nocked and ready to fly.
A deadly bow raider in her youth, the Overseer feared not the tired arm of a browbeaten slave. She took a halfling arrow to the knee during a most brutal counterattack, which ended her military career. Yet, as an Overseer, she could rise just as high in Thulm's bloody hierarchy, even without running or jumping.
“Mewling Alkiornians,” - annoyed by the sudden turn of events, grumbled the Overseer - “they should know their place.”
The newly enslaved were mixed with laborers who got captured during last summer's raid deeper into Alkiorn. Those who still had some spark in them and their spirit was yet to be flayed to death by the fist, the boot, and the whip, were not usually introduced to the general slave population. 'Twas a mistake, and yet the supply situation was fast becoming so dire, they had no other choice.
Moreover, there were usually only a few guards assigned to this post, for since like forever, the obedient corpse-walkers did the bulk of all what needed doing. Many thousands of them marched tirelessly, patrolling the tunnel network and Weistarr, without need of food, water, or sleep. A Raider knew that to guard and transport provision, one needed to supply those who did the carrying and the escorting too.
“Swords and shields at the ready! Fan out in groups of four, and maintain range of sight” - Ordered the Overseer, and three guards at her back, moved forward.
Armed with short blades and bucklers, the slave guards' most beloved weapon was the whip. Then again, even if their slaves dared attack them, they were weakened and, being untrained farmhands or citizens, nigh useless in straight combat. Only by way of surprise, when they ganged up on a tired few guards could the weak achieve some pitiful form of success.
“Surrender,” - roared she, ignoring the fact she'd just inhaled not a small amount of stinky, brownish fog - “and I promise only one of ten shalt be slain!”
Damp, sticky silence instead of the usual whiny reply she was accustomed with, the Overseer gritted her teeth and made one sideways step. A breath later, the arrow which someone had aimed at her found the throat of her guard. With such mastery it was sent flying, and power, that only a palm-length and its white feathers stuck out, the rest plunged deep into the dead man's flesh.
“Rangers!” - whispered she, the second her hands studied this deadly projectile - “Crouch and be silent, or they will aim at thee...”
This was an arrow of wood and metal!
She and her guards should've caught at least a glimpse of those who launched them. Yet, no matter how much the Overseer persevered, her eye could not pick up anyone, except her own people and a handful of warped shadows.
One arrow hissed out of the fog, followed by another, and another...
Unaccustomed to being shot at, a few of her younger slave guards panicked and against her orders, screamed. More arrows, joined by thick, heavy crossbow bolts ripped trough the mist and found flesh. The light chain mail, so effective against cuts, stabs, and slashes, 'twas rather useless against these masterfully forged arrow and bolt tips.
For a single breath, she thought there was someone raising a weapon, a shadow in the fog that moved not but rather... floated. Enraged, yet her lips tightly sealed, she raised her bow and let loose one arrow. To her horror, the Overseer witnessed not the fall of a Ranger, his body impaled by a barbed arrowhead, but a gloved hand snatching her arrow mid-flight!
“Back, on the outside, now!” - hissed the Overseer, terrified by the fact.
However, her fright instantly multiplied ten times over, when a blade made of thin vapor decapitated another guard, his hot blood painting her contorting face all dark-red. Then, there was a spear swirling trough the mist; immaterial, yet sharp and deadly, the tip ripped chain mail, pierced flesh, and felled the last guard beside her.
The brownish fog became thick with the thud of bodies hitting the floor, the clangor of swords slipping from limp hands, and blood-curdling gargles.
The Overseer ignored her bad knee and made a dash for the tunnel exit. There was no point in giving orders since she'd entered here with just twenty guards, fully expecting to subdue slaves. Instead, the Alkiornian Rangers had somehow inserted a team behind Thulm battle lines, and dangerously close to Zhul itself!
“Quick, alert the garrison! The sneaky dwarves stalk us!” - She instructed a young, mounted Raider, as soon as she reached topside.
He nodded, pulled his horse's reigns and, to her terror, bellowed:
“I hear and obey!”
A dagger swirled out of the fog and, without fail, found the cavalryman's eye. With a terrified neigh, the horse ran, shaking off his raider. The shadowy horror spilt out from the underground and, though there were more guards outside, even battle ready cavalrymen, they too began to die.
The stables, she had to get there and escape, warn the garrison herself!
One after the other, the further the Overseer ran, her Thulm brethren and sisters met agonizing ends. 'Twas as if the cowardly Alkiornians became one with the fog! They then reached forth and culled everyone standing on their path, by way of vaporous blade, swift dagger, and hissing arrow. Behind, there suddenly came the earsplitting roar of explosion and she looked back. Flames raged, yet not so high since the tunnel acted like a chimney, sucking most the fire and transforming its entry into a furnace.
It would take days for it to be passable!
There came an order, a day ago, to prepare two wagons full of lamp oil for the front. These had been pushed as close to the tunnel entrance as possible, awaiting a fresh gaggle of bodies to push them, guards to speed up the delivery, and soldiers to protect them. More, the bales and crates piled up by slaves earlier, they too went up in flames. Set by ghostly hands, the raging fires spread, despite sticky, damp fog, or frosty air.
The Overseer nocked and fired two of her arrows at shades she found suspicious. Panic settled in; one of these was a terrified, running away slave guard, whom she shot in the back. She hopped over the still convulsing body and moaned, when her bad knee creaked and clicked. Hand over her mouth, she knelt immediately and just in time, for yet another dagger swirled overhead.
Stables in sight and with the utmost of effort, the Overseer limped forth. She'd just entered and was ready to mount a horse bare since her Alkiorn foe wouldn't spare the breaths needed to saddle one, when she heard a sound, unmistakable for a bow Raider like her.
The Overseer froze, and, another arrow nocked, she swiftly rolled aback. Yet, the gentle creak of a stretched bowstring came not from the spot she'd assumed. Her arrow flew and impaled the harmless stable door, all the while shadowy dwarven hands, held a Ranger's bow, the tip of a nocked arrow aimed at her.
She slowly turned her head, looking down the arrow and locking gaze with a Ranger. Rage took her, when she came to the sudden realization that he was about to shoot her with her own, barbed tip arrow!
His face an emotionless mask, this fleet of foot Dwarf had no legs. Instead, his body from the waist down appeared to be made of vaporous shadow, a murky substance covering him from head to toe. More, there were three other misty silhouettes nearby; all clad in moving vapor, the Alkiornians became ever more easy to see with each breath of life she was gifted by her Dwarven executioner.
The Overseer's terror waned and Thulm hatred brought warmth back into her limbs.
“Bested by fog and magick-shrouded cowards!” - spat out she with utter contempt.
Knocked by the arrow hitting her face, she fell, terrible pain almost overpowering her senses. Impaled straight under the chin, her own barbed arrow ripped flesh and tore open blood vessels. Drowning in her own blood, the dying Overseer heard:
“Only weaklings have slaves do their heavy lifting for them.”
***
Dear reader, if you liked this story, you might enjoy my published work.
This just awesome. I love how you leave the worst for last and most gruesome death. Nothing from behind. Just straight in her face!! This has been a really fun read.
Love the line “Only weaklings have slaves do their heavy lifting for them.”