WELCOME TO SVARTLEHEIM
“Who the heck are these guys, Commander?” said Par Sevare as the stowron marched down the hallway leading to the door to Svartleheim.
“Reinforcements,” said Ezerhauten. “The good news is that Thorn is putting them on point. So your necks won’’t be stuck out as far as usual. He made me turn over the map to one of them. He wants the company in the center, protecting the wizards.”
“He’s putting the lugron in back?” said Putnam. “They’ll bolt at the first sign of trouble.”
“He’s placing two squadron of stowron in the rear,” said Ezerhauten. “The lugron will be just behind us. You still have that other map?”
“Yup,” said Frem.
“Keep it close and don’t let it get damaged,” said Ezerhauten. “I’ve a feeling that we’ll be needing it.”
The soldiers moved aside as the stowron marched through the hall and passed through the door to Svartleheim. A full squadron passed. Then another. Then another.
“How many are they?” said Putnam.
“A full company,” said Ezerhauten. “About two hundred strong.”
“This changes things,” said Putnam. “Changes everything.”
“That it does,” said Ezerhauten. “Our odds of getting through this mission alive just changed dramatically.””
Ezerhauten positioned 2nd and 3rd Squadrons directly behind the stowron vanguard. Then came the Pointmen and the wizards, all mixed together. Mason got the duty to carry the big metal case in which the wizards stowed the Orb of Wisdom that they obtained from Mason’s old master, the Keeper, in his lair beneath Tragoss Mor. It was with that orb, whatever it was, that Korrgonn hoped to open another gateway to Nifleheim and bring forth Azathoth. Korrgonn and Mort Zag stuck close to that case. Korrgonn never let it out of his sight. And Mort Zag never let Korrgonn out of his sight. Not bad having a giant (or a demon, Frem thought) for a bodyguard. Not that Korrgonn needed one. No mortal could stand against him and live, little less, defeat him.
Par Keld and Teek got babysitting duty, watching over the prisoners. They took off their blindfolds, but kept their hands tied, which made movement in the tunnels all the slower and more difficult.
Behind the Pointmen and the wizards were 4th and 6th Squadrons. Ezerhauten figured that if the elves were smart, and if they really wanted everybody dead, they’d come at the expedition from behind, so he wanted fully half the company lined up behind the Pointmen. Frem thought that was smart, especially since they passed more side tunnels along the way than Frem could count. The elves could come at them out of any or all of those. Some of the side passages were nearly as large as the main, but most were only wide enough for one man to pass through stooped. Some were tiny, too small for a man to fit, but maybe not too small for the elves.
The main tunnel was wide enough in most spots for two large men to walk comfortably side by side. Some of that tunnel (and the side ones) were natural, probably lava tubes left over from when Midgaard birthed Jutenheim. But the main tunnel was bolstered, shored, and braced at regular intervals with stone pilasters carved right into the walls. Someone had made the tunnel. But who, why, and when, Frem had no idea.
The main tunnel’s ceiling was no less than seven feet high, stretching to ten or more in many places. But the path wasn’t clear. Rocks and boulders were strewn randomly about, such that you’d have to walk around them or climb over. And the floor wasn’t level; it was sloped downward throughout, sometimes at a shallow slope, sometimes steep, and sometimes it dropped off and you had to climb. Those things made it difficult and dangerous to move with any speed. Especially since it was so dark in there — dark as the grave.
Without their lanterns, they’d have been lost. To conserve fuel, they had a lantern lit for every tenth row of men, which left things dark indeed for those farthest from the lanterns, though the stowron didn’t seem to need the light. Frem and all the Pointmen had steel and flint that they could use to start a fire if need be. Most of the other men of the company had the same. Not that there was a lot on hand to burn. They made certain that they had a bunch of torches prepared and stowed in their packs, just in case. The sithian company was always prepared; that was a large part of the training that Ezerhauten instilled in them.
The air in the tunnels was very cool, but not freezing. And it was dry. Bone dry. But it was not nearly as stale as it could have been. More than likely, that spoke to there being numerous exits from the place, despite Brother Bertold’s inability to find them. The rock surfaces were dusty. Putnam or Moag could’ve read tracks from them, if there were any, but since more than two hundred men marched ahead of them, any elf tracks were long gone.
There was no distinct smell to the tunnels. All Frem noticed was the scent of lantern oil and that of the dust kicked up by those ahead of him. No animal smell. No bats. Nothing. And that wasn’t a bad thing.
A hundred yards in, the path turned downward and to the east. Soon they were climbing more than walking. That was a challenge considering the large packs that they carried over their shoulders or strapped to their backs, especially for the men that had lantern duty. They could see better, but it was hard to climb with a hand encumbered.
After some two hours, Frem figured the lead men were close to the Eye of Gladden. That’s where the elves hit them. Frem heard a series of explosions, then yells, and a chorus of hissing sounds (which turned out to be the stowron). The tunnel was jammed up with men, so there was nothing much Frem and the Pointmen or the wizards could do. There was no open area to form up and maneuver. No line of sight to the battle. No lines of communication either, save by repeating a message over and over down the line. That was never reliable. Ezerhauten shouted at the wizards and the lugron to shut their traps so that he could hear what was going on, but they paid him little heed.
Then Thorn ordered them to quiet down. He must have had some sense of tactics, but the others surely didn’t. They didn’t even listen to him. Then Thorn threatened them. That didn’t work either. Then he conjured some unseen force and used it to pick up one of the lugron and smash his head against the tunnel wall. Thorn pounded him into the wall over and over, until there was nothing left of him but pulp, and his body fell apart. That shut them up.
“We could push our way to the front,” said Putnam.
“That we could,” said Ezerhauten. “And then we’d see what was what. Of course, if we’re losing, we’d get trapped up there, and we’d get dead.””
More explosions sounded at the front. The stowron started backing up.
“Ginalli, they’ve got Diresvarts up there hitting your stowron,” said Ezerhauten. “If you want to knock them back, you’ll need to send a couple of your wizards through the line. Otherwise, we may get pinned down here, or worse, the stowron may rout, and then we’re screwed.”
“Stev Keevis, Par Rhund,” said Ginalli. “Make your way to the front and blast whatever elf wizards you can find. Only the wizards. Then get back here. Let the stowron deal with the grunts.”
“Commander, I want a squad of your men to go with them,” said Ginalli to Ezerhauten.
“Markus,” shouted Ezerhauten to 2nd Squadron’s captain, “send six men forward with the wizards. Stick to them like glue.”
Ezerhauten marched up to Ginalli. “The frontal assault may be a diversion. I want to send a squad of my Pointmen to the rear in case they come at us from that way.”
“Do it,” said Ginalli. “But I want you here.”
“Take your squad to the rear,” said Ezerhauten to Frem. Then he lowered his voice so that only Frem could hear him. “If things get ugly, get out. That’’s an order.”
Ezerhauten expected the main attack, if any attack came at all, to come from the rear, when they were deep into the tunnels. With their chance of escape back into the monastery cut off, and assuming that the elves had sufficient numbers, they could bleed the expedition to death in the dark. But when they got hit so early on, and so hard from the front, elf wizards and all, Ezerhauten thought he had been wrong. He figured that the elves lacked discipline or patience and came straight at them as soon as they learned of their incursion into Svartleheim. That surely meant that the frontal assault was it. The elves wouldn’t have had time to set up a rear attack so quickly. They couldn’t have gotten behind the expedition so fast. So when he sent Frem to the rear, he thought he was sending his best men out of harm’s way, to insure that they’d live to fight another day regardless of how the battle played out.
What Ezerhauten didn’t count on, was that the elves had been lying in wait for them just as Frem had feared. And that therefore, the main attack was going to come from the rear. He had sent Frem and his men into a meat grinder.
Frem, Sevare, Putnam, and their men moved toward the rear. Frem went a bit paranoid along the way and conscripted a full squad of troopers from 4th Squadron (nearly all of them Sithian Knights), and pulled them along to the rear with him for support. They arrived at the back of the column just in time to see all hell break loose.
The elves smashed into the expedition all along the middle to rear section of the line, pouring out of the side tunnels — all of the side tunnels, all at once. There were hundreds and hundreds of the little buggers. And they had at least a few of their wizard-priests, the Diresvarts, amongst them, tossing spells of death and destruction. Luckily, the very rear of the column, where the last thirty or forty men were (Frem and his men amongst them), was at a spot where there were no side tunnels. In moments, they were cut off from the rest of the expedition when elves ran howling out of the side tunnels and cleaved through the line of men ahead of them.
No elves were behind them. For a moment, Ezerhauten’s words rang in Frem’s ears. Maybe he ought to turn his men and make a run for the monastery while the getting was good. But he couldn’t. The monks couldn’t offer any real help; though they had weapons and some guardsmen, they were not a fighting force. The only reason to flee would be save himself and his men. Frem was a soldier, not a coward. So long as there was any chance at all, he wouldn’t turn tail; he wouldn’t abandon his company or his commander; he couldn’t. He had to fight his way back to 4th and 6th Squadron and to Ezer and the rest of the Pointmen. He’d make his last stand with them, if it came to it.
Frem had his men form up shoulder to shoulder, shield to shield. Putnam was the rear-guard, watching for any sign of elves from behind. Frem's men plowed forward. The knights from the 4th Squadron slammed into the elves, sword, hammer, and mace, their heavy battle armor impervious to most of the elves’ attacks. They crushed any black elf in their path. But they could not advance far. Once they reached the point where the side tunnels met the main, they couldn’t go by them without letting the elves get behind them, for there were elves packed into every tunnel. If they blew by the side tunnels, they’d entrap themselves —— elves to their front and to their rear. As much as he wanted to rejoin the rest of his company, Frem was not reckless. He knew good tactics from bad. He’d not entrap himself and the men in his charge. That would be a fool’s mistake, or a rookie’s. Frem was neither.
So all that Frem’s men could do was relieve the beleaguered stowron nearest to them. They saved a few lives, but not many. Frem was surprised to see that the stowron made a darned good account of themselves. When they got going, they fought like demons. They were as agile as acrobats, and vicious with their staffs. When they lost their weapons, they punched, kicked, and clawed with the best of them. They were warriors. They gave the elves what for. But the black elves had earned their reputation honestly. They were terrible opponents, despite their diminutive size. Fierce and fearless. Wounded, or outnumbered, they didn’t retreat. They plowed forward, always aiming their attacks for the vitals or the neck or the eyes. And they knew what they were doing. They were no raw recruits; they’d seen battle before.
Then Frem heard Putnam’s whistle. Four pips, which meant a major attack from the rear.
Frem’s heart raced, but he kept his wits. He kept ten men facing forward and ordered them to hold. He turned the rest. He barreled down the line, pushing by the others, and pulling Sevare along with him. When he got to the rear, he saw a dozen dead elves lying in the tunnel. Putnam, Clard, Sir Carroll, and Sir Royce stood amongst them, weapons bloodied. Men were passing pikes up to them. Frem moved up to Putnam.
“We’re in the deep stuff now, Captain,” said Putnam. “Real deep stuff.”
“What is it? What did you see?” said Frem.
“The monks,” said Putnam as a battle cry rang out before them. From around the bend, just entering the edge of the lantern light, charged every monk and guardsman from the monastery. All in full battle garb. Howling for blood. Several black elves charged along with them, thick as thieves. Brother Abraxon at the van.
“Oh, shit,” said Frem.