Chapter 16: The Volcano

         The five traveled through the night and into the morning. They spoke little to one another, each keeping their eyes on the trail ahead. As they trudged along the rocky ground, Grom kept a close eye on Kravitz, who scurried beside them. Occasionally, Shenk would look in Kravitz’s direction, and the kobold would lower his head and tighten his cloak around his shoulders. Grom couldn’t help but snicker each time.

         When evening crept upon them, they could continue no further. Cloey fell to her knees and groaned. Shenk dropped down beside her and rubbed his sore knees. Even Prescott showed signs of fatigue, sitting against a jagged piece of stone. Only Grom seemed eager to continue. The path they followed consisted of a field of rock devoid of any lush colors of life. The mountains loomed ahead through the gloom, its peaks hidden in a haze of smoke and dark clouds.

         “I can’t go any further,” Cloey said aloud to anyone who would listen, “Can we please rest for a few hours?”

         “We can’t wait long. We have to go down inside of those mountains,” Grom said. He turned and looked at their tired faces; each of them looked miserable and in desperate need of sleep.

         “A few hours will not hurt. Going on like this will,” Prescott said, reaching into his bag for a loaf of bread wrapped in brown cloth. He broke it into pieces and offered his companions a chunk. Even Kravitz graciously accepted and tore into the stale meal. Prescott held the last piece out toward Grom. “You must keep up your energy. Please eat.”

         Grom faltered, but then accepted the offering. The stale bread made for a bland, dry meal, but it helped silence the grumbling bellies of the five travelers. Grom closed his eyes and envisioned a plate filled with steaming meats and vegetables. He bit into the bread, but even his vivid imagination failed to fool his tastebuds. After finishing the food, Prescott passed around his leather skin of water, which they all took a small drink from. When it reached Grom, he held the opening to his dry lips and let a bit slide down his gullet. He tried to pretend the water was a fresh, dwarven ale, but the warm stream water ruined his ruse. He let out a satisfied sigh and passed the skin back to Prescott.

         The next few hours rolled by like the dark clouds shadowing the ground. Cloey’s head rested on her hands as she slept curled up on her side. Shenk lay on his back, snoring lightly. He could have been mistaken for a corpse by the way his arms rested limp at his sides. Prescott sat in silent meditation, closing himself off from the world around him. Scaled feet stuck out from Kravitz’s cloak. The kobold rolled and shifted on the rocky ground in a futile attempt to find comfort.

         Then there was Grom, whose eyes refused to close for even a moment’s rest. Horrific visions, like those he had the first night at Oneria Castle, plagued his mind. When he closed his eyes, he could see a pile of bodies. The frigid air surrounded him and blew cold gusts in his face. The stench of decaying flesh and organs drifted into his nostrils, twisting his stomach in agonizing knots. He tried to turn away from the mound of death, but he recognized the faces staring back at him. King Gregory rested near the bottom of the pile, watching Grom with horror-stricken eyes. The bodies of Oneria’s soldiers covered the king’s lower half, and he lay on his back, the wide gash still oozing blood from his chest down his neck and across his face. Bodies of villagers, wild elves, and orcs filled the heap, each with a wide variety of gaping wounds or severed body parts. Isac rested at the top of the pile; the black dagger stuck up from his chest like a flagpole painted red. Grom stared at his face, expecting his eyes to dart open in a burst of life. Isac’s mouth lay open as if he were screaming for help. Before the cry could reach his ears, Grom opened his eyes.

         The terrifying nightmares of his mind faded and made way for the lightless reality. Grom stared upward at the clouds that hung above for several weeks now. Grom’s prayer for a glimpse of sunlight remained unanswered. The overwhelming presence of foreboding remained over their heads, and the sky became darker the closer they moved toward the volcano. Dark clouds meant rain and cold air; Grom disliked both.

         After a few hours, Grom roused the group, receiving a collective groan. The rest seemed to restore some of their energy; however, their spirits remained as dark as the clouds above their heads.

         The smell of sulfur invaded their nostrils as they traveled closer. Cloey wrinkled her nose, but her gasp of disgust went unnoticed by her companions. Prescott scouted several paces ahead, and the others kept an alert eye for any danger.

         Before long, they stood at the base of the volcano, its rocky ledges and crags stretching up into a thick blanket of gray. Grom felt uneasy, remembering what happened the last time they traveled through a deep mountain path. He pushed the bloody image of Isac’s body from his mind and wrapped his arms across his chest.

         “There must be some sort of opening,” Prescott said, examining the stone face. The jagged wall climbed up without any visible openings or trails leading up to its many rocky ledges. Prescott examined the ground for tracks, but he found nothing along the solid rock. Prescott threw his arms up in defeat, blind to where the man in black armor could have ventured.

         “I know way inside,” Kravitz whispered from under the hood of his cloak.

         “Where?” Cloey asked. She sounded eager; Grom felt suspicious.

         “Kobolds once mined here, or so stories say,” Kravitz said with a little more assurance.

         “Mining in a volcano? Who in their right mind would do that?” Grom asked, taking a look up the side of the mountain and then back at Kravitz. “Then again, you can’t expect everyone to be as skilled of miners as dwarves.”

         “They not know it volcano. It never erupt until one day. Ground shake and rocks fall, crushing many kobolds. They run for their lives, but few escape. Those that leave mines get burned by lava. Kobolds never return to mines. Kravitz sure many jewels and shiny gold down there.”

         “So where exactly is this entrance?” Prescott asked.

         Instead of answering, Kravitz walked away from them and toward the mountain side. The others stood back and watched the kobold wander toward a mass of boulders. Kneeling down, he picked up a few pieces of rock and examined them. He turned back and waved them over. As they all stepped in front of him, Kravitz held the rocks out to Prescott.

         “Someone caused avalanche. Rocks block entrance to tunnels,” Kravitz said.

         “Yes, it does appear these are smashed remnants of larger rocks,” Prescott said, surprise and admiration hidden in his voice. He took the rocks and examined them carefully. He dropped the pebbles and walked toward the blocked tunnel, pushing on a stone. “These boulders are massive. Magic must have been used to have caused this much to fall in just the right place.”

         “Then we move it,” Grom shouted, marching to the pile of stone. He wrapped his strong arms around one of the rocks and gave it a mighty pull. After a few groaning tries, he turned and slouched down to the ground against the pile.

         “You big muscle head! Those rocks are even too heavy for Shenk to move!” Cloey squeaked.

         “Let me try something,” Kravitz said, reaching into his cloak and pulling out the thin twig that Grom had seen him with before. Grinning, he waved it at Grom, who scrambled out of the way in a hurry. The others stood and stared at the curious creature, who pointed the stick toward the rock pile and gave it a small shake. A spark of green light flew off the end like a drop of water shaken from a leaf, landing on the side of one of the stones. For a moment nothing happened. Grom stepped forward and went to voice his annoyance, but froze at what he saw. Surrounded by green light, the boulder began to shift and move. Other rocks rolled along the ground and attached to the boulder, held in place by the pulsing glow. The rocks rose and collected together, until a featureless stone man stood before them. With a single wave from Kravitz’s stick, the being began to push aside the other boulders blocking the way. Grom and his companions watched with amazement as the construct removed the last rock, exposing a small opening into a dark tunnel.

         “Amazing!” Prescott exclaimed. Of the four adventurers, he seemed the most impressed by the display. “Where did you find such a marvelous wand? I have never seen one with the power to create elemental golems!”

         “It given to Kravitz as gift. Belonged to teacher before he died,” Kravitz said, tucking the wand back into his cloak.

         “Remind me to say thanks to him after we stop Mortillus’s army,” Grom said, heading toward the opening and waving the others forward.

         “Uh-uh!” Kravitz shouted. He shook his head and stepped back. “You say Kravitz free to go when show you mountain. Here mountain and way inside, so Kravitz go!”

         “You little coward! If this is a kobold mine, we could really use a kobold as a guide!” Cloey shouted.

         “No, no! Kravitz no want to die!” Kravitz screamed. He turned and ran off. Cloey reached for her dagger, but stopped when Prescott grabbed her wrist.

         “Let him go, Cloey. He held up his part of the deal,” Prescott said.

         Cloey frowned and stomped her foot.

         “Come on, there’s little time to waste,” Grom said, leading them through the opening.

         The way into the mines was cramped, built wide enough for the kobold miners to operate. Shenk bent over and pushed his massive frame through the opening, grunting at how close the walls pressed together and how low the ceiling hung over his head. Before getting too far, Prescott whispered a few words that caused the blade of his drawn sword to glow with a bright silver light. The light stretched downward, repelling the darkness. The fear of being discovered lingered in Grom’s mind. Were they to be spotted, the cramped space would leave them like livestock thrown to slaughter. The tunnel winded onward, cold and unchanging. Grom missed the gloom of the cloudy sky, knowing that bright light existed behind them. Things were different here. There was no light, no warmth, no hope–only the frightening road into uncertainty.

         The path began to widen enough for Shenk to stand up straight and led into a spacious clearing. The stench of sulfur returned under their noses, a putrid reminder of their surroundings. Another tunnel stretched on ahead of them. Lit torches lined the walls on the way down, bringing both light and warmth. They searched the room, finding rotting boards of wood, the heads of old mining axes, and the scattered remains of bone. Grom stepped down the bright tunnel and pulled a torch from the wall. Spiders scattered as Grom pulled a few webs apart that hung between the wall and wooden torch. He turned back and waved the light around.

         “They must have gone this way. Why else would there be blazing torches?” Grom asked.

         “How nice of them to leave the light on for us. It’s almost like they’re expecting us to show up,” Cloey said. She planted her hands on her hips and stared down the tunnel, apprehension set deep in her emerald eyes.

         “I’m with Miss Cloey! They gotta know someone’s here,” Shenk added.

         “Well, there’s only one way to be sure,” Grom said. He turned and ventured down the new tunnel; Prescott, Cloey, and Shenk followed.

         A clamoring sound echoed up toward them, sounding like a mix of muffled voices and clanging metal. They slowed their pace and listened to the sounds that reverberated louder and louder as they ventured closer. They finally came to the end of the long tunnel and stared wide-eyed into the room.

         The tunnel opened out into a desolate and barren cavern. More remnants of the kobold workers lay strewn about the ground, which stretched on with wide cracks and chasms woven about like an intricate design. Fiery pits of magma bubbled and steamed deep down in the chasms. A cracked, open ceiling of dark rock loomed above, serving as ventilation for the smoke and ash rising from the many craters. The once rich room gleaming with ore and jewels was now a choking inferno of lava and sulfuric debris.

         At the center of this vast hell stood several men clad in black armor, each armed with pickaxes. The clamor of metal meeting rock shook the very walls of the cavern. The dark elf woman, Pyras, and the man in black stood back and observed the progress. Sleek black hair fell over the man’s shoulders and down his back, blending in with the obsidian plated mail protecting his body. The shoulders of the armor curved out like two claws ready to grasp at unsuspecting prey. A dark gray cape extended from his shoulders to the ground, providing a bit of contrast to the shining black. The sword that had been described at the tavern sat free from its scabbard, its tip pressed against the rocky earth. The blade gleamed a bright silver with a single red strip down the center. The man leaned against his sword, holding the handle with both hands.

         “Move quickly, men. The demon’s ruby must be found at once,” the man in black urged the men. His voice was like that of a great king–deep and commanding respect.

         “Lord Astaroth! I’ve found something!” one of the men shouted. The soldiers surrounded him, crowding around one another. Grom saw the shimmer of red and gasped.

         “Excellent!” Lord Astaroth exclaimed.

         “No!” Grom shouted, raising his axe in defiance. The men all turned at once, shocked to see anyone following them.

         “So the worms have decided to take the bait. I am pleased to finally meet you all. I had hoped we could have met in a much nicer location,” Lord Astaroth said with an insincere grin. He turned to face them and lifted his sword. Grom examined his eyes–pitch-black holes that stood out from his ashy white skin. His thin, angular face came as another contrast to the massive, consuming darkness surrounding his entire body. The clawed hand of Mortillus decorated the front of his chest plate, adorned with tiny bits of shining rubies.

         “We didn’t come to talk. We’re here to stop you from taking that ruby,” Grom said, gripping his weapon tightly.

         “That may be your intent, but I assure you victory will not be as easy as when you killed Renant,” Lord Astaroth warned. He turned toward Pyras and nodded his head. “Dispose of these whelps.”

         “Your will is my very purpose, my lord,” Pyras answered, bowing to her master. She reached for the thin-bladed sword at her side. “Two of you remove the ruby! The rest of you draw weapons and remove the intruders!”

         The soldiers dropped their mining tools, drew their swords, and charged forth at once. The heroes tensed, waiting at the opening for their charge. When the black-armored men ran within a few paces, Grom cried out in a glorious fury, leaping out at the first soldier and splitting the metal shell of his armor down the center of his chest. The claw of Mortillus on the front of the soldier’s armor ran red with blood as he fell backward from the mighty blow.

         Hearing the heroic cry, the other three rushed into the fray. Shenk charged straight ahead, holding his axe out as a clothesline and barreling into two of the men. They stumbled backward, but they both fought back with furious swings of their swords. Shenk brought one end of the axe around to deflect one blow, but the second cut him along his shoulder. Howling out in pain, he swung the dual-ended weapon and caught his first foe at his belt, digging deep just below his chest plate. Seeing his other opponent advancing again, he lifted the other end of the axe and smashed him below his chin with the flat of the blade. He ripped the edge from the side of the first soldier, kicking him in the chest. The man tumbled to the ground, and Shenk turned and bought the edge down through the metal armor of the other.

         Prescott moved with the speed and grace of a tiger, striking blows to those that advanced and slipping out of the way of their sweeping strikes. Soldier after soldier rushed forth to try their luck and skill, but each time Prescott bested his opposition with a flurry of precise slashes. When he had cleared a path, he paused a moment to rest. Catching a glimpse of shimmering metal, Prescott dove and rolled away from a jumping attack from behind. Prescott spun around and crossed swords with the man clad in black, Lord Astaroth.

         “I give you credit, your swordsmanship is superb! However, you are still no match for the future Lord of Creation!” Astaroth shouted. He forced his blade forward, pushing Prescott back a few steps.

         “You are the reason that my brother is dead! I will avenge his death with your blood!” Prescott yelled back, lunging at Astaroth again. He swung wildly, and Astaroth deflected each blow with ease.

         “Your emotion makes you sloppy, and for that you shall die!” Astaroth shouted. He deflected another shot and pushed Prescott back again. Raising his curved blade, Prescott charged in again, but this time Astaroth saw him coming and sidestepped the blow. Astaroth swiped at Prescott’s arm, cutting him along his forearm. The blade cut with ease, like a sharp knife through the skin of an apple. Prescott stumbled forward and grasped his wound.

         “Insignificant half-breed, you are not even worth my time,” Astaroth sneered.

         Prescott howled and lunged again, crossing swords with the Lord of Mortillus.

         Cloey was left to her own devices, but she knelt down and narrowed her eyes, prepared for the man running toward her. Before he could strike, she let loose a dagger through the air that found a home deep in the side of his neck. She smiled at her handiwork, but was thrown backward as a reward. She opened her pain-filled eyes to see Pyras standing over her. Fear seized control; she could not turn from the floating, dark visage.

         “I tire of dealing with you, child. I shall put an end to your meddling!” Pyras cried in triumph. She drew her blade to Cloey’s neck and offered her a parting smile.

         Cloey felt the talons of Mortillus clawing at her soul, and in that moment she sensed her life fading into the dark. As she awaited death, out of the void shot a spark of light. She felt the weight lift from her chest, and she gasped for air. Desperate eyes darted around and saw the dark elf woman pulling herself from the ground, wiping a bit of blood from her lip. Grom stood between Cloey and Pyras, gasping for air and clutching his weapon.

         “Fools! You cannot contend with the will of Lord Astaroth! The armies of Mortillus will be released upon your lands!” Pyras screamed and pulled herself upright.

         “Move aside!” Lord Astaroth shouted. With a crushing blow, he knocked Prescott away, sending him and his sword down to the ground. He marched to the two men working to break apart the rock encasing the ruby and pushed them aside. Lifting his sword above his head, his voice rumbled as he drove the blade into the side of the rock. After two more thunderous strikes, the stone split into a spray of tiny rocks, exposing the ruby for all to see.

         “No,” Grom whispered.

         “It is a thing of beauty!” Astaroth said, lifting the ruby above his head. He marveled up at the blood-red jewel as if it were a newly exalted deity. His face twisted into a sinister smirk, and his eyes grew as far away as a madman caught up in his own world of illusion. He clutched the gemstone to his chest, cradling it like a newborn child. Menacing laughter rose from the back of his throat and echoed across the barren wasteland.

         “Give me ruby!” a voice screamed from the distance. Grom turned his head and saw Kravitz rushing into the cavern. He ran past everyone, heading straight for the ruby. In a desperate, dauntless moment, he lunged forth at an unsuspecting Astaroth.

         “Kravitz!” Grom shouted, but his words came too late.

         Acting upon the threat to his newly attained possession, Astaroth drew up his sword and with only one arm swung it in a wide arc, catching Kravitz in the sweep. The poor kobold let out a single cry before he fell silently to the ground, never to utter another sound again. His prized wand fell from his grasp at his side, tumbling a short distance along the rocky ground.

         Grom could not hear the gasping cry from Cloey, the screaming words of warning of Prescott, or the beating of his own heart. The only sound that resonated through those cavernous walls and around them was heavy breathing coming from somewhere behind them. Grom turned his head for a moment and saw the widened eyes and seething expression on the face of Shenk. Every muscle in his body rippled and tensed in a coursing rush of emotion. Grom had never seen anything like this transformation. In that one moment, Shenk had changed from genteel and loving to savage and full of anger. This side of Shenk reminded Grom of Klakk, Crog, or the other orcs that had him enslaved. Shenk closed his eyes, as if trying to fight the rage from within. The anger proved too powerful, and Shenk threw his head back in a shaking howl.

         Shenk bolted forward and pushed past Grom without a moment’s thought. Astaroth watched the maniac plow straight ahead and handed the ruby off to one of the other men. Gripping his weapon in both hands now, he waited with a hardened face. Shenk’s every stomp shook the ground beneath their feet. He jumped at Astaroth and swung one end of his axe, intent on landing a killing blow. Astaroth raised his weapon and deflected the strike, though the force pushed him back a few paces.

         “Finally, an opponent worth my time!” Astaroth announced with a grin.

         “Shenk, what are you doing? Stop this!” Cloey screamed at him, but her words fell upon deaf ears.

         “He has flown into a complete rage. He cannot hear anything you are saying,” Prescott explained, watching on in horror. He shook his head to rid himself of his terrible memories, but the mangled faces of orc and wild elf flashed in his mind. “It took control over him when we were helping to save the wild elves. I have never seen anything like this.”

         Shenk wasted little time swinging the other end of his axe at Astaroth, who managed to deflect the blow once more. Again he was driven back, and he realized that the brute pushed him toward the edge of one of the pits. Shenk swung again, but this time Astaroth blocked the blow and thrust his blade forward, burying it into Shenk’s abdomen. The blade pierced its way completely through and out from his back, coated red with blood. Shenk staggered backward, hands reaching down and pulling the sword free. As he stumbled back, his foot came down upon Kravitz’s wand, snapping it in two.

         A green light spewed forth from the broken twig, and the ground began to rumble. A few of the remaining knights fell over from the sudden shifting of the earth, and Grom and his companions fought to keep their balance. Astaroth sheathed his sword, and Shenk continued to stumble back, the same faraway look in his eyes. His companions rushed to his side and caught him before he fell.

         “That wound needs to be treated. We have to get him out of here right now,” Prescott said.

         “What about the ruby?” Cloey asked.

         “Forget the ruby!” Grom shouted, motioning for them to make an escape.

         Before they could even stand, the rocky ceiling above began to crack and fall away, large chunks of black and gray stone plummeting below. A large boulder fell into one of the pits, and a spray of lava spouted out like falling rain.

         “My Lord Astaroth!” Pyras shouted over the rumbling. She struggled over to her master, grasping onto his arm. He failed to acknowledge her, grabbing the ruby from the knight that had been holding it. He pushed him away and turned toward Grom and his companions.

         “You have lost! Mortillus shall scourge the lands, and I shall become this world’s king!” Lord Astaroth gloated, clutching the ruby.

         “Astaroth!” Grom snarled, but his voice was little more than a whisper among the chaos of falling rock and shaking ground.

         Grom watched Pyras grab hold of Astaroth’s hand, moving her lips in some sort of incantation. A shroud of mist rose from the ground and covered them, and they disappeared with the dissipating smoke.

         “Quick, to the exit!” Prescott shouted, lifting up his sword and returning it to the scabbard at his side.

         “Look out!” Cloey shrieked.

         A massive piece of rock cast a shadow over their heads as it came crashing down. Everyone tensed, threw their arms over their heads, or cowered down on all fours in preparation for the worst.

         Grom awaited the terrible impact, but knew that the crushing weight meant for a quick, painless death. He saw Anne’s tender smile flash in his mind and heard her speak silent words while laying back in his arms. He felt her soft, warm skin caressing the side of his face, and his fingers glided through her silky, sweet-smelling hair. He leaned forward and kissed her forehead, whispering a final goodbye.

         The thundering collision never came. Grom felt debris fall against the side of his face, and he opened his eyes to see the most amazing sight. Shenk stood above them, holding the colossal boulder over his head. Grom stared up in wonder at Shenk’s pain-stricken face that drenched with sweat. Blood soaked the front of his leather armor and oozed out onto the ground, but somehow he managed to hold it up, saving his friends from a sudden end.

         “Run . . . now . . . I can’t . . . hold . . . it . . . much longer,” Shenk breathed out in sharp bursts.

         “We won’t leave you!” Grom shouted. He wanted to reach up and help carry Shenk’s burden, but deep down he knew that he could do nothing to aid his friend.

         “Go,” Shenk repeated. His legs and arms quivered like rubber supports. He cried out in pain and exhaustion, showing signs of collapse at any moment.

         “Shenk, please don’t let go,” Cloey pleaded, tears streaming down her cheeks.

         “I’m sorry . . . Miss Cloey . . . please . . . go.”

         Prescott tugged on Grom’s cloak and rushed from under the rock and toward the tunnel. Grom grabbed Cloey by the arm and pulled her back toward the way they entered. She could not pry her eyes off of Shenk, who stood as a god holding up the weight of an entire world. They scrambled through the opening and back up the mine shaft. Rocks tumbled down behind them, sealing Shenk to his fate of stone.

         Cloey cried out for Shenk as they reached the chill air of the outside world. The same dark sky loomed above, but even its gloom could not compare to the darkness and sorrow abandoned beneath the volcanic mines.

ID: 959979   (Rated: 13+) Chapter 17: The Blackened Isle  Can Grom, Prescott, and Cloey find their way to Mortillus? by The Lemon