As long as you don't leave it on a cliffhanger
I make no promises!
* * *
Chapter 176
The infirmary was located not far from the Darkfall Gate, in a side chamber just off the main cavern. A small waiting area with several benches gave way to a larger examination room flanked by partitioned spaces that each held one or two beds for patients needing a longer period of recovery.
They were greeted by a scene of apparent chaos as they came in. A muscled dwarf possessed of a truly explosive beard was struggling with several robed orderlies atop one of the examination tables in the center of the room. It wasn’t sure what the warrior wanted to accomplish, but it was easy to note the source of his trouble: the shaft of a ballista bolt jutted from his chest. Blood had soaked into his coat and his beard, and was starting to form puddles on the floor under the table.
“You need to hold still!” one of the orderlies was saying. “You’re going to bleed out!”
“Bah, it’s just a scratch!” the wounded dwarf insisted. He managed to pull one of his arms free and lifted a leather flask to his lips. He was able to get a few generous swallows out before one of the medics snatched it away.
Quellan immediately started forward to help, but the dwarf saw him and started in surprise, nearly poking one of the orderlies in the face with the end of the bolt. “Orc!” he said. He fumbled for a weapon that wasn’t there before Darik quickly intervened. “These are guests of the Council,” he announced. “From Arresh.”
“Ah,” the injured dwarf said. “That’s fine, then. Hello, lass,” he added to Xeeta. “Koron Deepdelver, at your service.” He looked like he wanted to offer a bow, but his struggles were getting weaker and the orderlies were able to hold him still.
“I am a cleric,” Quellan said. “I can help you…”
“No need,” Koron said. “If it’d hit anything important, I’d already be dead.”
“What happened to you?” Bredan asked. “How did you get shot?”
“It was that bloody bastard Porvik!” Koron announced with a loud shout. “If he hadn’t flinched…”
Darik rubbed his forehead. “You weren’t playing that bloody game again with the siege engines…”
“I would have won, mark me,” the wounded dwarf said. “Where’s that bloody doctor, I’ve got a shift to finish…”
Quellan started forward again, but before he could intervene another dwarf bustled in. This one was all business, dressed in a utilitarian apron over his simple clothes, a leather satchel marked with a single dwarven rune slung over one shoulder. To the surprise of the companions, he wore a sigil of Sorevas around his neck. He gave the outsiders a bare glance before hurrying over to the table.
“Again, Koron?” he asked. “Didn’t I just fix you up last week?”
“It’s that bloody idiot Porvik’s fault,” Koron said. He was starting to weaken, but he still managed to hold onto his flask when one of the orderlies tried to take it from him.
“Hold his shoulders,” the dwarven cleric said. “This will hurt, but try not to move,” he added to his patient.
“Just do what you gotta do, doc,” Koron said.
“I am a cleric, I can help,” Quellan said.
The dwarf noted his holy symbol and gave him a nod. “The head of the bolt is buried too deep, we’ll need to push it out through the back before I can heal him. It looks like it somehow missed the lung, but it still might penetrate it going through. Keep him steady.”
Quellan nodded and grabbed hold of the patient, who protested weakly. The dwarf cleric didn’t pause, but seized the bolt and jammed it straight through Koron’s body. The wounded dwarf’s eyes flashed open and he tried to break free, but the half-orc’s massive hands held him still. The head of the bolt, glistening with the dwarf’s blood, erupted from his back. The cleric came around and pulled it the rest of the way out. Blood jutted from both sides of the wound, but the cleric quickly covered the openings with his hands and cast a potent healing spell. A bright blue glow surrounded Koron’s body, and he let out a gasp as the power suffused him. When the cleric drew back a moment later the bleeding had stopped, and as the others watched the gaping hole in his flesh sealed itself.
“Ah, thanks doc,” Koron said. He lifted his flask toward his lips, but only got it halfway before his eyes drooped shut. The orderlies gently lowered him to the surface of the table as he began to snore.
“Clean him up, but be careful of the beard,” the cleric said to his assistants. “He’ll never forgive me if I let anything happen to it.” He turned to Quellan, and heedless of the blood covering both of them extended a hand. “Thank you for the assistance. I am Goran Thunderhammer.”
“Quellan Emberlane. I was not aware that there were many followers of Sorevas among the dwarves.”
“There aren’t that many, no,” Goran said.
“Underhold’s not a place you’d expect to find adherents of a god whose symbol is the sun,” Xeeta said.
“We honor the god in the aspect of the Life-Bringer,” Goran explained. “Come on, there’s a sink and some clean towels in the back, you can tell me what brings you here as we wash up.”
It didn’t take long for introductions to be made and for Darik to explain the reason for their visit. “You get cases like that often?” Bredan asked, gesturing toward the examination room.
“Not many that are quite that dramatic,” Goran admitted. “But warriors get bored, and when they get bored, they do things that lead them to my door. But better that than the alternative. Things have been quiet at the Gate of late, and I’ll happily keep them that way.”
“It wasn’t so quiet at the Lakeshore Grotto,” Xeeta said.
“Monsters are a fact of life down here,” Goran said. “More dangerous are the intelligent races, like the duergar and the trolls.”
“Speaking of which, I thought our guests could take a look at your prize specimen,” Darik said.
Goran let out a snort. “I suppose. But first let’s take care of business.” He held up his holy symbol, which began to glow as he passed it first across Bredan, and then Xeeta. “I don’t sense any contagion or infection,” he said. “But keep an eye on your friends for a few days,” he added to Quellan.
“I will do so,” the half-orc said.
“All right,” Goran said. “Let’s go visit the menagerie.”
The dwarf took them through a side door that led to a hall that connected to another series of rooms. This part of the complex apparently went back quite some distance. They passed several open doorways that led to small storerooms before they came to another iron-bound door. Goran took out a key and unlocked it. “Let’s see if we can’t find out what you ran into,” the cleric announced as he pulled the door open.
The chamber beyond the door was narrow but long. A single lamp that glowed too steadily to be anything other than magical shed provided light. Niches along the walls held glass cases that held an assortment of small dead creatures preserved in liquid. Between them were shelves that held books and additional specimens in glass jars. Goran went to another large book spread out on a reading stand. “We’ll start with ‘aberrations, aquatic’,” he said. He began paging through the book.
“I’ll help you track down the monster, but first I wanted to show our guests our friend,” Darik said.
“Hmm. Very well,” Goran said. He led them to the very back of the room. The others followed, Quellan tearing himself away from a case containing a beetle the size of his head, its carapace shimmering in a wild mélange of colors. The light didn’t quite reach all the way back, but with a snap of his fingers Goran summoned a
light spell that drove back the darkness.
The spell revealed a final alcove that was shielded by a heavy black curtain. The cleric grabbed hold of it, and with a flourish toward his audience yanked it aside.
The companions felt themselves drawn forward. The alcove was filled with a much larger specimen case, this one fashioned out of nearly transparent crystal. In it floated a figure roughly Quellan’s size, though there any resemblance to any of them ended. It was instantly recognizable as one of the creatures from the mural, though the reality was if anything more horrid than the depictions.
“Ugly bastard,” Xeeta said.
“Amazing,” Quellan said. “So very different from surface trolls. It looks… almost misshapen. What’s wrong with its skin?”
“The texture is like rock, and just as hard,” Goran said. “The shapes vary from creature to creature.”
“It looks like it would have trouble moving,” Xeeta said.
“That is a false impression,” Darik said. “They can move damned fast when they want to.”
“What’s that on its chest?” Xeeta asked.
“Ah, you noticed,” Goran said. He stepped forward and held up the light so they could get a better view. The slight irregularities in the crystal fractured the radiance, but they could just make out the outlines of a shape seemingly etched into the creature’s stony hide. It looked almost like a collection of random scratches at first, but they weren’t scars, but rather embedded into its flesh.
“They all bear these marks?” Quellan asked.
“All of the adults that we encounter,” Goran said. “We first noted them about a year ago.”
“Does it mean something?” Xeeta asked. “Do you recognize it, Quellan?”
The half-orc shook his head. Goran explained, “We have not been able to make any sense of it either. It doesn’t match any language or rune that is known to us.”
Xeeta looked over at Bredan, who was staring at the mark. He leaned in until his face was almost touching the crystal. “Bredan? Do you know what it is? Bredan!”
He jolted a bit as she touched his arm. “No. I don’t know what it means.”
“Are you okay?” Quellan asked.
Bredan said, “Sorry. Just tired, I guess. It’s been a long day, and I guess that creature took a bit more out of me than I thought.”
“I’ll see you to your quarters,” Darik said. “I’ll come down later and help you trace that beastie,” he added to Goran.
“Of course, of course,” the cleric said. With one more look at the companions, he drew the curtain back over the dead creature.