22. Deep in the Belly
Chapter 22
Deep in the Belly
10 th Day of the Blood Moon
Somewhere in the Dwarven Freehold of Lodhar – Winter, Year 3081 After Doom
Silence and darkness were all Kira knew. Echoes drifted down the corridor outside, the creak of metal, the occasional drum of footsteps, the sounds of the groaning mountain.
She lay on her back, partly unwilling to move, partly unable. It had been days since she’d found the strip of red cloth. Days since that ray of hope had faded. How naive had she been to think anyone was coming for her? Hoffnar was meticulous. He always had been. The reality was that every member of her guard had likely returned to the stone and that the Belduarans were dead, their blood feeding the mountain. The king toyed with her, twisting her mind.
She still held the strip of linen in her right hand, the fabric soft against her cracked skin.
Kira grunted as she tried to lift herself upright, the air catching in her throat, pain flaring. They’d fed her that morning. Stale bread and dried goat. But afterwards, they’d kicked her so hard in the ribs she’d spewed most of it up in the middle of the cell.
That was one positive: she’d spent long enough in this place that the smell of her own vomit, shit, and piss was barely noticeable.
Eventually, she gave up trying to move and just let her head rest on the hard stone, her eyes closing to the same darkness as when they were open. She gave a deep sigh, her lungs and throat groaning as she did. Perhaps Hafaesir had abandoned her, or perhaps he had never watched over her at all. Either way, she was alone now and she would die alone. But she would not die quietly. When they came for her, she would fight. And she would return herself to the stone rather than let Hoffnar do it for her.
Kira jolted awake at the creaking sound of the door bolts sliding open. She tried to move, but her body fought back, weak and broken. Her eyes were all but stuck shut, blinding blue-green light burning through her lids. Where the cell had been dark and silent, it was now bright as the sun and filled with thunder, the sudden shift overwhelming her senses.
Hands grabbed at her torn tunic and slipped beneath her armpits, hauling her upright. She heard voices but couldn’t distinguish the words amidst the chaos of shouts and metal boots clanging against stone. She tightened her fist, the strip of red linen still tangled between her fingers.
“Get your… hands… off…” It had been days since a word had left Kira’s lips, and she barely had the energy to stay awake.
Her bare feet dragged along the ground, her eyes flickering between open and closed. The stone walls of a long corridor flashed past, the blue-green light blinding. They hadn’t taken her from the cell since the day they’d thrown her in. This was it, this was the day Hoffnar would parade her through the streets, humiliate her, and make a spectacle of taking her head from her shoulders.
There was a piece of Kira that wanted it, that wanted everything to finally be over. But she pushed that part of herself deep down, burying it where she could no longer hear its poison whispers. She turned her head and forced her eyes open, her vision blurry. An armoured hand was tucked beneath her left pit, the black and yellow cloak of Volkur draped from broad shoulders.
Cries rang out, and suddenly she was falling. The ground rose to meet her, and a hoarse scream escaped her as she slammed into the stone. Before she could understand what was happening, hands looped beneath her once more, hoisting her up and dragging her forwards. Her vision was clearing, her eyes adapting to the light. Groggily she turned her head side to side and saw two dwarves in heavy plate and black and yellow cloaks.
“Take her,” a voice said.
Kira’s stomach turned as she was hefted up, her feet lifting clear of the ground. Arms slipped beneath her legs and around her back. She bounced and rocked in a dwarf’s arms, looking up to see a face obscured by a sharp-cut helmet. She clenched her jaw and readied herself to jab her fingers through the slits in the dwarf’s helm. Just as she’d summoned the strength to do so, a dark blur flashed across her vision and a bolt slammed into the dwarf’s neck, shattering the mail that covered his throat.
The dwarf staggered, then collapsed forwards, sending Kira sprawling. She slammed against the floor and rolled, her head cracking against the wall, body aching.
New hands grabbed her and hauled her up, the sound of colliding steel ringing through the corridor.
“This way!”
Whoever was carrying her stopped and shifted in the direction of the voice.
Time blurred and sped past, Kira’s bones jarring with each step as her captor jostled her in their arms. Wherever they moved, shouts and crashing steel followed. The corridor turned to an open chamber, followed by another corridor and another chamber. Volkuran banners adorned the walls, mosaics decorating each ceiling.
Where in Hafaesir’s name were they taking her?
“There!” a voice called. “Through there, go!”
A sharp whistle whooshed past them, followed by an explosion. Stone dust filled the air, and Kira hacked a cough, her lungs burning with the thick dust. Her captor stumbled to a knee, then pulled themself upright and charged onwards. A door slammed behind them, and they stepped into a dimly lit chamber, the stone dust still occluding Kira’s sight.
“Quick, get her up!”
Kira drew a sharp breath of clean air, then made a choice. If she were to die, it would be here, fighting. She would not kneel at a headsman’s block or hang from a rope or be paraded through a street. She would die like a warrior, not a coward. She would make Hafaesir proud.
As the dwarf shuffled her in his hands, Kira struck upwards, slamming a closed fist into the chainmail that protected their neck. She howled, the steel ripping the infected scabs on her knuckles. But the blow had the intended effect.
The dwarf dropped her, clasping both hands over his throat.
Kira ignored the roaring pain as she hit the floor. She staggered to her feet. Her legs wobbled beneath her, threatening to give way entirely. If she could just get to the door.
Hands grabbed her shoulders and spun her, slamming her against the wall.
She struck out, flailing with her hands and snapping with her teeth. She would not let them put her in another cell or drag her through the streets of her home. She would not die like an animal. Tears flowed as she roared and slammed her hands into the helmet of the dwarf who held her.
“Kira!” The dwarf grabbed Kira’s arms and held them down with the ease of a Jotnar subduing a child. “Stop. Stop.”
Kira trembled, her hands shaking, her eyes blurring with tears. “I’m not going back. I’m not going back!” she roared. “Kill me now!”
“Listen to the rock,” the dwarf said, her voice calm and familiar. “Silence is the sound of our home. Listen to the wind, for it breathes life into the soul of the mountain. See by the light of the Ward. Heraya watches us always. The beating of the hammer is Hafaesir’s heart. It guides us in the darkest days.”
Kira stared into the dwarf’s eyes through the slits in her helmet. She knew those words, remembered them as though they were still spoken in her mother’s voice. ‘The Soul of the Mountain’, by Igmar Olik. Kira stopped struggling. “Erani?”
The dwarf removed her helmet, revealing a face that Kira had not seen in over two years. “You didn’t think I would leave you there, did you?”
Kira tried to speak, but her throat closed, nothing but sharp breaths leaving her lips.
“It’s all right.” Her sister lifted her to her feet and slipped an arm around her shoulder. “We need to get you out of here. They’ll not be long in finding us.”
A look around the room told Kira they were in an access chamber, one of many that connected to the great tunnels. The dwarf she had struck in the throat stood beside a virtuk-drawn wagon, two more dwarves at his side. Another stood to the left, a human with dark hair and steel plate. Kira recognised her as Lumeera Arian, the captain of Oleg Marylin’s guard.
“Help me lift her up,” Erani said to the dwarf who was still rubbing his throat.
Kira’s back had barely rested against the frame of the narrow wagon before the virtuk launched into motion and the entire wagon lurched.
“How did you…” Kira tried to gather her thoughts. The last time she’d seen her sister, Erani was taking an emissary party south to the dwarves of the Rolling Mountains. It had been after their mother’s death. They had both argued to the point that Kira had told her never to come back, never to show her face in Durakdur again. She had regretted those words from the moment she’d spoken them, but she’d been too stubborn to take them back – too weak.
“Don’t speak.” Erani grabbed the sideboard, balancing herself as the wagon rocked. “Drink.” She pressed a waterskin to Kira’s lips.
“Slower,” Erani said as Kira almost choked herself on the water.
“I received word via the navigators the day after you were taken.” Erani dropped back and rested her head against the opposite sideboard. “I came as soon as I could, but Hoffnar has most of the Freehold locked down.” She gestured towards two of the other dwarves. “Some of his own defected. That’s how we got you out.”
“It’s also the only reason any of my people are alive,” Lumeera said. “We were warned just before the attack happened, and many got out in time… Most of us didn’t. Your Queensguard stormed the Heart but were outnumbered five to one. Afterwards, Hoffnar branded you a traitor. Said you butchered Elenya and Lakar and tried to kill him as well, used your dead guards as proof of your attempted coup.”
“Durakdur is under his control, as are Azmar and Volkur,” Erani said. “It is only Ozryn that remains apart, but even they will not help us openly. I believe they will open their tunnels soon and accept Hoffnar as their king. He spins a web as well as any spider. And with you in chains and the others dead, he offers them a new dawn for the dwarves, spinning tales of heroism and glory. But there are many who see him for what he is and are waiting for your word. Hoffnar knows this. Other splinter groups have already attempted to break you free, but clearly they failed. Our sources told us that he had originally planned on keeping you alive, but after the latest attempt only yesterday, he changed his mind. He was to execute you today in the central plaza of the Heart of Durakdur. We had no choice but to make our move.”
“Oleg?” Kira coughed.
“He is alive,” Lumeera answered.
“Where are we going?”
“One of the old mining outposts in the far north,” Erani said. “Turim Arlan and the Wind Runners Guild pulled out of the cities and evacuated many. They stand by you, Kira. Probably the only piece of good news we have.”
“What of Hoffnar?” Kira pushed herself back against the sideboard, her heartbeat finally slowing. “What do we know?”
“Our spies tell us he’s holding some of the navigators against their will and forcing them to run Wind Runners down the old tunnels. They’ve been digging non-stop, pushing the tunnels deeper, driving them further. Some say he’s searching for Vindakur or the old Portal Hearts, but I think there’s more to it than that.”
Kira nodded, her head lolling as the vibrations of the wagon drummed through her. She tried her best to keep her eyes open, pushing sleep away. But she was exhausted, more so than she had ever been.
“Sleep, sister. Soon we’ll plan how to break Hoffnar’s neck.”