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[Lazybones]

Chapter 27


Even before the last enemy had fallen, the companions from Fallcrest and their new allies were working to sort the dying from the dead.

The gods of the world above must have been watching the confrontation, for none of the adventurers were among the latter. Carzen and Vhael were dragged back from the brink by the combined efforts of the halfling herbalist, Dwallin, and the healing elixir carried by Gral. Despite the grievous wound he himself bore, the dwarf wizard split the last few swallows of that precious draught on the two fallen warriors, bringing them back to consciousness. But all of them, save the miraculously fortunate Gezzelhaupt, bore serious wounds.

As Gral helped Vhael back to his feet, Mara turned from checking the hobgoblin fallen, and started toward him. Some invisible sense warned the dragonborn, and he tried with partial success to conceal the incredible pain of the wounds he bore as he turned to face her. The gazes of the pair met, and suddenly the room was filled with an electric tension only slightly less intense than the violence that had been wrought here just moments before.

Jaron had barely paused to accept a helping hand from Rendil, who tied a cloth around the bloody wound in the ranger’s shoulder, before he started toward the ruined doors on the far side of the room. “We have to find Beetle,” he said. The halfling hardly looked capable of another fight, but even in his diminutive stride there was something that would accept no hindrance to his march. Carzen started to say something, but before he could speak, a shadowy form materialized in the doorway.

“Beetle?” Jaron asked, but instinct had already given him an answer, and he reached for the nearly-empty quiver at his hip, refusing to retreat as he faced this new threat.

The shadowy figure split into two, and as they emerged into the chamber, the companions could see that they were duergar, members of that evil, corrupted race of dwarves that thrived in the deep places far from the light of the sun. The dark dwarves were clad in plain but functional suits of leather and blackened metal, their spiny beards jutting from their faces like wire brushes. One of them had a large bulge under his cloak, but it was difficult to see if it was a weapon, some bit of stolen loot, or just a misshapen feature of his body.

The halflings quickly shifted to face the new danger, even Torrin, who held a dagger in his good hand. Vhael recovered his sword and moved forward to join Jaron. Belatedly, Mara and Carzen followed.

Having fitted an arrow to the string of his bow, Jaron lifted the weapon to a ready position, half-drawing the fletchings to his cheek. But the larger of the two duergar merely opened his cloak, and revealed the object he was carrying.

It was Beetle, dangling limp and bloody, the duergar’s hand wrapped around his neck like an iron manacle. He’d been hastily but thoroughly bound with segments of rope at wrists and ankles, and seemed especially tiny against the armored bulk of the dwarf.

“Let him go!” Jaron hissed. He almost charged forward, but Carzen was able to grab onto his shoulder, and hold him back. The duergar merely shifted slightly, enough for them all to clearly see the curving knife he held in his other hand.

“Do you speak the Common language?” Vhael asked. “Do you understand me?”

“We understand,” the duergar holding Beetle said. “Your fight was with these,” he added, indicating the fallen Bloodreavers with a stab of his knife. “You want your little friend here to live, you’ll just let us be on our way.”

“They’re Grimmerzhuls,” Rendil said quietly, from where he and the other halflings were standing, a short distance back. “Slave traders.”

The duergar warrior hadn’t missed the presence of the halfling or his companions. “Didn’t know that the Halfmoons was taking sides,” he said. “Could be trouble, even in the Hall. Labyrinth’s a dangerous place to be, without friends.”

“You are not in a position to be making threats,” Vhael said. “We are here for the prisoners taken from Fairhaven.”

The two duergar shared a quick look. The one holding Beetle made a slight motion with his knife, and Jaron tensed, but he only wiped the blade on the lapel of his cloak. The other one, after a moment’s hesitation, said, “They ain’ here, they been sold. It’s not our concern; you’ll have to take it up with Kedhira in the Hall.”

Vhael’s draconic features betrayed nothing of his reaction to that news. “Leave our companion, and if he lives, I give you my word that we will not obstruct your escape. But give your masters a message—”

“We’re not interested in your ‘message’, General,” the duergar holding Beetle said. “Yes, we know who you are. This world down here, this isn’t yours. It’s ours. I’d tread lightly, all of you, lest the Grimmerzhul be forced to inflict a painful lesson.”

“Sometimes those lessons can inflict pain on the teacher as well,” Carzen said, although something of the menace in the statement was undermined by the way that he kept tottering on his damaged leg, looking like he could collapse again at any second.

The duergar came forward, alert to any attempt at trickery. But at Vhael’s gesture the companions moved back enough for the dark dwarves to make their way around them, toward the exit. The halflings had their weapons loaded and ready, although the Halfmoons kept their slings at their sides, not quite directed at the Grimmerzhuls but threatening nevertheless. Gez, who’d been lingering near the exit, moved aside as the duergar approached, although he too had an arrow ready.

The duergar turned at the mouth of the exit passageway. The bigger of the two fixed them all with a hard look, then with a flick of his wrist he dropped Beetle onto the floor at his feet. Then the two turned and vanished into the darkness of the tunnel, so fast that a blink of the eyes would have missed it.

Jaron was at his cousin’s body in an second, followed only a beat later by Dwallin Halfmoon. The others came over as quickly as they could manage. “Is he…” Carzen began, craning his neck over the small forms of Mara and Gral before him.

“He lives,” Dwallin reported, not looking up from his bandages and medicines as he worked. “But he’s in bad shape, real bad. He will survive, I think, but we will need to carry him from this place, back to the Hall.”

With that resolved, Vhael turned back toward Mara. A space opened between them, as the unspoken tension there reasserted itself, but this time Carzen stepped—or more precisely, limped—between them.

“I don’t know where you learned to fight, girl, but I for one am damned glad that you came.”

“I’m not a ‘girl,’ and I didn’t come here for you.” Her eyes didn’t shift from Vhael for even a heartbeat. “I came here because I owed Jaron and Beetle a debt, and now I’ve paid it.” She turned and strode away, pausing to recover her shorter sword where it had fallen during the battle, before bending to check again some of the hobgoblin bodies.

“What of you?” Vhael said to Rendil. “It sounds as though you may have complicated your position in the Hall by helping us.”

“Yeah, well, we had a debt of our own with the Bloodreavers that needed settling,” the halfling said. “If it’s okay with you, I’d suggest we not linger her any longer than necessary. We’ll help you scout out the place, see if there are any prisoners in there, but I’d be surprised if the Grimmerzhuls left anyone behind. It had best be quick, though.”

Vhael nodded. “Gral, Gezzelhaupt, go with the halflings. We’ll stand guard here at the entrance. Disengage and signal if you encounter any additional resistance inside.”

The wizard nodded, and moved off to join the Halfmoons, Gez in tow. Carzen walked over to where Mara was looting the hobgoblin chieftain, but she ignored him, moving over to the fallen warcaster. Carzen grimaced, but didn’t press the matter, not with blood oozing from plenty of rents in his battered hide. He started to unbuckle one of the straps of his armor, but after considering a moment, decided against it. The suit of metal scales that wrapped around his body might be the only thing keeping him together, he mused grimly. Thankfully for him, the hobgoblin arrow that had caught him square on the chest hadn’t fully penetrated, or it would have been his burial wrap as well.

Jaron and Dwallin had moved Beetle off to the side away from the chamber entry, and while the healer folded an extra shirt to cushion his head, Jaron drew his cloak over the battered halfling’s body. Beetle let out a tiny moan but didn’t regain consciousness.

Jaron stood, and turned back toward Vhael. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. We’ll get you back to the Hall, but then we’re done with each other.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I’ve completed half of my assigned task, the destruction of the slaver gang that’s been terrorizing the Nentir Vale. I will complete the second, the recovery of the prisoners from your village. However, I made it clear that I will not tolerate challenges to my authority that threaten the safety of both the team and our mission. Your cousin did that, with his precipitous action earlier.”

“He didn’t mean…”

Vhael silenced him with a hard look. “I have nothing personal against either yourself or your cousin. I had my concerns about your status as civilians on this mission from the start. It is clear that you can take care of yourselves. But it is equally clear that the two of you lack the emotional distance and personal discipline to handle this mission.”

“Damn it, those are my people…”

“Indeed. And what would have happened to them, had your cousin’s action resulted in the death of our entire squad? Which would have certainly happened, had it not been for the unexpected aid that saved us. Can you promise that he would not do something similar again, given the opportunity?”

Jaron’s face was uncharacteristically angry, but he had nothing to say; Vhael’s words had too strongly echoed his own private thoughts of late. “I swore to find them.”

“As did I. And I shall keep that promise. When we have found your people, we will escort them, and you, back to Fallcrest.”

“You cannot stop me from seeking them out on my own.”

“No. But I can stop you and your cousin from accompanying us. And if you are considering shadowing our group, I strongly encourage you not to test my resolve in this matter.” Something flashed in his draconic eyes, and for a moment Jaron felt something cold clench in his gut. In that instant, he understood how the dragonborn warlord had gained something of his reputation.

Vhael broke the contact, and moved to a warding position flanking the entry corridor. He did not look back, drawing out a rag from his kit, which he used to start wiping the blood and gore clean of his huge sword. Quiet returned, broken only by the faint moans that rose from the unconscious figure of Beetle, as the survivors of the battle waited in silent company for the others to finish their search of the Bloodreaver lair.