around his feet, the dwarf was imposing his will on the rock. It rose from the floor like a fat grey snake, seeking the lip of the hole above them. Finding it, it flowed across the cell, until a smooth ramp rose from the tunnel floor. The stone groaned as it solidified and Orlok stepped back, surveying his handiwork.
“Not bad,” he said. “Not bad at all. Silus, after you.”
Now armed with a shortsword, Silus found the door of the cell to be little impediment to their progress. The wood splintered after two powerful blows and the lock fell to the floor. Looking behind him, he saw that the whole contingent of Orlok’s troops were at his heels.
“Orlok, don’t you think that with so many people we may lose the element of surprise?”
“You’re right of course, human. The first ten, with me. The rest of you stay back.”
“Thank you, Orlok. And, please, don’t refer to me as ‘human.’ My name is Silus.”
Silus edged into the corridor. The passage was short and contained only three doors; the one through which they had come, one leading to the room with the ruined water tank, and a door at the far end that he presumed led to Keldren’s quarters.
Silus pointed to this last door and signalled for Orlok and his team to follow.
“Can you get us past this?” he said, looking at the sturdy door.
“Not a problem,” Orlok said, “though you may want to catch it when it falls, otherwise it’s going to make a hell of a racket.”
With a gesture from the dwarf, the stone surround liquefied, the hinges fell off the door and Silus braced himself.
As solid as the door looked, he hadn’t expected it to be quite so heavy. Silus took its weight against his outstretched hands, only to find his arms being shoved painfully back against his chest and his boots skidding across the flagstones.
“Someone?” he said, from beneath the iron-banded wood. “A little help?”
Katya and Orlok came to his assistance, and they managed to lean the door against the wall.
“You know,” Orlok said, stepping back and looking at the empty doorframe, “this place may have been built by the elves, but I know a good lintel when I see one. That’s a nice lintel. Look at that, that’s flush, that is. Nicely carved, nicely placed.”
“Orlok?” Greta said.
“Yes, my love?”
“Are you done?”
“Yes, my love.”
Although the corridor beyond contained many more doors, Silus knew the one to pick right away, by dint of it being the only one with light coming from beneath it, and by the stench of incense wafting from the room beyond. This time, Silus didn’t ask for Orlok’s help. Instead, he aimed a swift kick just below the handle. This door appeared to have been less well crafted than the last, as it fell off its hinges after just one blow.
In the book-lined study, Keldren and Kelos looked up from the map they had been perusing.
When he saw the elf, Orlok thrust himself into the room with a growl. He drew his axe and slammed the handle of the weapon hard against the floor. They all staggered as the room leaped beneath their feet. Arms of stone thrust themselves through the floor and wrapped themselves about Keldren’s torso.
His hands trapped his hands against his sides, the mage was still able to cast a spell, thin ochre tendrils snaking from his mouth with each word he spoke.
Orlok shielded himself behind the double blade of his axe. The runics inscribed in the metal deflected the sorcery, only for the tendrils to snake around the dwarf and alight on two of his men. They burst into flame, quickly filling the room with an acrid, choking smoke.
Keldren spoke again and, with a rush of cool wind, the smoke dissipated.
Silus was pushed aside by Greta as she launched herself at the wizard, screaming at the top of her lungs and wielding twin blades. With a gesture, Kelos summoned a wall of flickering green energy between Greta and the elf and she slammed into it with a sickening crunch before falling at Silus’s feet, unconscious.
“This will not end in more bloodshed!” Kelos shouted.
“That man is not your friend, Kelos,” Silus said. “For what he has done, for what the elves have done to us all, they deserve to die!”
“Not this one, Silus.”
“Oh, yeah?” Orlok growled, “and why’s that?”
“He has renounced the empire and has promised to help us return home.”
“Not good enough. Now, you can’t hold up that barrier forever, human, and my men and I can be very patient when we want to be.”
“What if I gave you a map of the palace?” Keldren said. “I can tell you the likely locations of all the senior ministers, and even show you the secret passages to the throne room. Behind me are hundreds of maps, detailing every level of the city, both public and hidden. If you let me go, I can give you all the intelligence you’ll need to take this city down before my people know what hit them.”
“Silus,” Kelos said. “You trust me, don’t you? Keldren is our only hope of getting home. And we must get home, my friend, for something truly terrible is coming to Twilight. And I’m coming to believe that, with the power within you, you may be one of the few people who have a chance of stopping it. The Final Faith is wrong about Kerberos; He isn’t the one true god. There’s one other — Hel’ss — and it means to decimate our world. We have to get back and warn Makennon.”
After studying the mage’s face for a moment, Silus nodded and turned to Orlok.
“I say trust them. Let Keldren go.”
“He is an elf!”
“And you are a thick-headed dwarf. Listen to me, you can kill as many elves as you like, but not this one.”
Greta got groggily to her feet and was about to launch herself once more at Keldren when Orlok gripped her shoulder.
“Change of plan, Greta.”
“Please tell me I’m going to like this.”
“Keldren here is turning rat on his own people. Aren’t you?”
For a moment the arrogance and hatred remained on Keldren’s face and he looked about to speak the words of another spell, but Kelos silenced him with a gesture.
“Remember what I have promised to show you, Keldren? Do you want to toil down here with no recognition from your peers for the rest of your life? Or do you want to know the truth of your legacy?”
Keldren closed his mouth.
“Thank you,” Kelos said. “Gentlemen, I believe we have an accord. Now, how about you shake on it?”
Keldren looked down at the stone manacles that still enclosed his wrists.
“Ah, yes, good point.”
They stood awhile on the headland and watched the city burn. The elves, realising that Da’Rea was lost, had begun to bombard it from the coast, using the cannons of their song ships. The dwarves had all but taken the elven stronghold, but they would not keep it. Those that survived would be rewarded only with the corpse-strewn rubble of a once beautiful metropolis. Silus wondered whether Orlok would think the battle worthwhile once the dust had settled.
He tried to spot Illiun amongst the skirmishers below, but couldn’t see him. The man who had been utterly broken by his experiences had now found a channel for his rage, agreeing to help the dwarves in their assault. Silus was saddened to have said goodbye; he had been determined to save Illiun and his people, but he had failed them, stranding the few survivors of the colony even further from home, now entangled in a war not of their own making.
The only one of his comrades who had seemed at home in this brave new world was Ignacio. He had said a rather formal goodbye to them all before leading his newly-formed church east; the twenty or so men and women that made up the congregation, including Bestion, just about keeping up with the bellowed hymn that led them on their march. That this was the beginnings of the Final Faith, Silus could well believe. He had seen the fanatical fire burning deep in Ignacio’s eyes as he shook hands with him for the final time, all trace of the man he had once been
