CHAPTER SEVENTY

“No!” ejaculated Caltraz. “Move, boy!”

The dwarf, standing in a bath of the sunset’s last glow, stirred his head, slapped his cheek. Gripping his beard, he feared the incoming iron clan undead though welcomed their slower pace. Though the windows’ light weakened, it seemed to have little effect on the shambling armored corpses. Lost in planning, the dwarf jumped at the ringing of the bars: Caltraz had drawn his blade to produce noise. Both zombies turning, the dwarf brought a blinding ray of light under the helmet of one and pulled, the wire burning into already singed skin from the slit of its helmet. A guttural cry escaped the extinguishing of the dead’s life, and this brought its compatriot whirling back round. No amount of blade on bar could regain its attention so transfixed on the stout prey before it. The dwarf whipped and found the armor impenetrable to his light. The dwarf, mind so wracked, thought suddenly of the intense hunger he felt and the level of depravity so lowered, the dwarf craved mushroom loaf.

“Enough!” cried the similarly sized bandit, its hand going for the lever. The chieftain watched in silence as he yanked it and raised the exits, rushing in after with blade drawn, head of the zombie severing and bouncing from its helmet on impact with the carpet. The body rose, but the dwarf--though the subject of his actions nearly brought about vomit--continued his onslaught of holy light down onto the gushing neck wound and soon had the whip straightened like a hard stick. With both hands he forced his ‘FAITH’ down its neck till the corpse exploded into dust, head meanwhile gagging and babbling. The chieftain casually approached the surviving dismembered piece and took it up by its remaining hairs. Dwarf on his back, she hung the gnashing thing precariously close to the dwarf’s large nose. He quickly readjusted himself against a wall and escaped her gait, Caltraz chastising his leader.

“We need him to get through this,” he stressed while Patches lit a smoke. “Why are you toying with the man like this?” His silent companion arrived at one of the freed windows and blew smoke through the opening into the dark evening, sun gone over what amounted for a horizon.

The dwarf took to the helmet freed of its occupant, turning the dull colored thing in his hands. He wondered what one shaped to a skull of his size could look like.

“Caltraz,” said the chieftain.

“Sir,” he returned.

“Come here,” and she brought the back of her hand against his low bearded face.

“I am sorry.”

“We will yet see.”

Caltraz helped the dwarf down to a decent sitting position, offering from his bag after an apple. It somewhat taunted the dwarf to return to the same food, but his intense hunger overtook any notion of snobbishness and he devoured the thing. With none in the room exchanging words, the dwarf’s shoulders sagged, his head bent, and he felt his lids droop. But beard yanked up by she with tangled red hair, the dwarf reflexively brought another ray of light out between his hands. Perhaps the chieftain really was no better than the rotting.

Patches put out his burnt tobacco on the sill. He slapped Caltraz on the back and went forward first past the raised gate. Caltraz followed but the dwarf hesitated. He couldn’t be sure whether he looked at the chieftain with anger or pleading, but her expression appeared inscrutable.

“Better keep pace with your buddy.”

Off the reserves of an apple and what table scraps hadn’t already digested, the dwarf was ushered ahead and so he caught pace with his inch high equal.

“If you’re gonna stick around,” he began, “You need a weapon.” Passed the knife used to have severed his bounds, to the dwarf it was quite long. Caltraz handed him what he referred to as a mammoth sheath, the dwarf at first hesitant. “And if you hadn’t stripped, you could wear it, too.” But the dwarf equipped the strap the same as he once did pouch, it and the gi sulking alone in a damp cave. Caltraz eyed him strangely but said nothing more.

Arriving at the end of a hallway which twisted and offered little instances of probing, doorways and stairs crashed in on themselves, skeletons in armor caught in one instance. Their torches guided where the sun no longer could, for if gapes in the ruin offered sight into the outside world, the dark night smothered. At one point the party descended a stable stairway of pine planks, oppressive walls of stone keeping everyone close. The end of the descent led to ostensibly barracks, several collapsed wood cots and stands of armor suggesting little else. None would fit, mused the dwarf. Several more bones decorated these collapsed beds, and another gate and lever at the room’s end forced the dwarf to stop. The chieftain’s pace slowed just before him.

“Your faith is needed, small one.”

The dwarf refused. The chieftain shoved him, nearly toppling the dwarf. But he regained his footing and drew the bestowed knife. She laughed in his face.

“Smart man, Caltraz. Give the animal a sword,” she mocked.

The dwarf swung and caught fast drawn steel, the chieftain forcing himself back and delivering pommel to his skull. This did catch the dwarf, crumpling. His eyes opened to the end of a blade.

“Has it occurred to you,” the chieftain asked, “I could make it slow?”

“Enough, sir,” complained Caltraz. “We’re this close.”

“We are, Caltraz. That’s why you’ll go in with the dog.”

“What?”
“Make sure it does its job.”

Caltraz helped the dwarf up against a wall.

“Break, first, boss.”

In her absence of a reply, the stout bandit went to work removing contents from a large bag, some copper plates and mugs but also what would be their own contents: dried and smoked sausage, packed meatballs, and Tryse soup--supposedly.

“If I’m going in there with you,” said the bandit, “You need to be better ate. I’m only giving you a little, don’t get greedy.” And Caltraz did serve himself the greater portions of each.

The dwarf made no complaint, happily enjoying each even if Tryse could not be tasted.

“More importantly,” he continued, “You need to be cool. Pull that knife on the chief again and I’ll gut you with it meself.”

Gravely, the dwarf nodded.

“Good,” observed the chieftain.

Patches finished another roll of herb...

Past this gate the dwarf and Caltraz--sans torch--slowly entered, it shutting not soon after by Patches’ ordered hand. The dwarf could tell his partner was breathing heavily.

“Don’t,” he whispered, “make a movement.”

The bandit inched forward in darkness, crouched. He glanced wearily around and drew his sword. As he crept forward, a great chandelier revealed itself above with the filling of bursting green light--seven in all. Like pixies they leapt from their candles and fluttered downward, glowing and revealing what appeared to be the dungeon, cells and bones aplenty. To the latter the embers floated, and the dwarf swore hearing soft laughter. Skeletons began to lift themselves off the ground by their thin phalanges, insides afire in the color of lime. As one closed in on the dwarf, he steadied himself and presented a contrary color of bright yellow. It crashed dully against calcium, his opponent laughing. No matter the strength thrown into his hits, the skeleton showed no sign of injury. Nevertheless:

“ONE-HANDED SKILL INCREASED TO 6”

“What the hell’s wrong with your whip?” yelled Caltraz, his blade coming down on gleeful bones. He severed the head which bounced until coming to a slow roll only to snap back into place. Another laugh stirred Caltraz to pull the dwarf’s wrist into a cell with him, shutting the gate. Bones which came with weapons swung them savagely at the bars protecting the dwarf and bandit. But they remained safe. “You had no problem with the zombies,” the latter recalled. “What’s happening now?”

The dwarf could offer no explanation. Had he not enough ‘FAITH’? But his heart continued to swell at the prospect of returning to Waspig’s embrace, to gaze upon Pistol and Bathiel and all else which occupied the steeples. He sat on a suspended cot and rested his bald head atop large hands. Bars continuing to ring, Caltraz put himself against a wall, back of hair the same. He exhaled audibly.

“I been in this outfit sometime. But it’s crap like today that makes me double think it. I dunno, I’ve put my blade to enough wanderers to feel I’ve no choice now. Helps I respect the chieftain, she let me in--little hassle. If not for her I’d still be shovelin’ coal in Nasteze.”

Regardless, it did seem to the dwarf she was trying to have Caltraz killed.

“It’ll be worth it. An unscavenged ruin is worth its weight in the gold surely hid--among other things,” he said in a hopeful tone. “You just figure this out, priest.”

Priest?