An Elven Tale: Death of a Demon God

By John W Partington

The quest is nearly complete. Once done, the hard part begins: getting back home. Leaf and his army survived the horrors contained in the bowels of the earth, and with their plundered artefacts must find a way back to the surface. Heroes rise, adventure awaits along with all the promise of epic fantasy: dragons, demons, and a quest against impossible odds, magic and sorcery, and more unexpected turns of events.

• Language: English
• Publisher: John W Partington
• Release date: Feb 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9781989973462

John W Partington

I have been writing for most of my life: as a child, as a soldier, and now as an independent author. My favourite colour is purple. I have two cats, who choose to annoy me most when I am trying to write. I'm a middle aged white dude suffering from psychosis, but with medication am perfectly stable (except for singing to my cats).

Book preview

An Elven Tale: Death of a Demon God

Volume 2

John W Partington

Published by John W Partington

An Elven Tale: Death of a Demon God

© 2017 John W Partington as An Elven Tale: Death of the Demon God

© 2020 John W Partington – 2nd edition as An Elven Tale: Death of the Demon God

© 2023 John W Partington

Cover art copyright: https://www.123rf.com/profile_Prometeus'

ISBN: 978-1-989973-46-2

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite book retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Acknowledgements

Author’s Note

What has gone before

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Epilogue

Appendix A – The Ballad

An Excerpt from Thorn’s Quest

About John W Partington

Also by John W Partington

Acknowledgements

I would like to thank my editing team: Janice McDonald and Amanda Ljucovic. They are not professional editors, but they are dedicated and caught some rather glaring errors on my part. Enjoy the story even if the grammar makes your skin crawl, but you should find the story readable thanks to Janice and Amanda’s efforts. Zack Brunet undertook further editing as part of researching his work on the third book in this series. Gerry Kroll put the final polish on, and while not an editor, he is picky and owns a lot of dictionaries.

Author’s Note

I was never happy with the production of An Elven Tale: Death of the Demon God, because the font was too small. It’s epic fantasy with everything a reader could expect from that genre, but at 10pt font in order to squeeze it below 650 pages. I’m older, wiser, and my eyesight is failing. I can’t read my own book, so I have divided An Elven Tale: Death of the Demon God into two smaller books with larger print that both end up being the same size as the original. The story doesn’t change, but now the world can see it.

What has gone before

After a short, relatively bloodless, though exciting coup Leaf is declared the new King of the elven kingdom. Shortly after being declared King, he learns that his sworn enemy has uncovered horrible weapons from the bowels of the earth. He must establish a balance of power if his kingdom is to survive.

Leading an expedition of elves, dwarves, humans and goblins, Leaf attempts to discover the location of the ancient artefacts. During the quest the army suffers losses, including the separation of the army commander Thorn. Thought to be dead, Thorn continues on the mission by himself.

We now find some of our heroes resting in a cavern after a battle with a force of Lost Clan warriors…

Chapter One

The bodies were strewn about the cavern like piles of dirty laundry. There were clumps of infantry, archers, dwarves, and Tunnel Wolves with their wards. Scattered about everything were the twisted corpses of goblins. In the centre of it all Leaf, John Maryland, and Churlish Flute-Player were laid out at rest. The three had their heads resting on the same rock, bodies spread out like the spokes of a wheel. Their bodies were still awash with sweat. A light cut over John's eyebrow was still bleeding.

That was certainly an experience, John said as he took a drag off one of his cigarillos. He passed the cigar to Leaf, who looked at it sceptically, and then passed it to Churlish. Churlish used the tip to light the tobacco in his horn pipe.

I thought we were dead there for a few minutes, Churlish puffed.

Still bothered about taking the goblins? Leaf asked.

No, Churlish and John answered at the same time. When moving out of the goblin village a large controversy had arisen. The Worsh-Rachel, loyal followers of Christrasters, had every intention of following Silk to the ends of the world. She would lead them to enlightenment.

Silk tried ordering them to stay behind and guard the rear, but they flatly refused. If the rest of her servants were going to attend, so would the goblins. After all, they were all one big happy tribe. It took John a few hours, combined with pantomime, to explain the command structure to the goblins. Due to his marriage to the god, Dathon was chief of the tribe. Nork was the sub-chief who was left in charge of the tribe, and took orders from Dathon, who in turn took orders from Christrasters. At least that was the nature of things as far as the goblins knew.

The entire army took a crash course in goblish. As the language had only a handful of words most did fairly well. Almost all the Wolves already spoke goblish. Many of the dwarfs and Woods from the northern forest also knew parts of the language, or at least enough to be conversational. The Lubbers were proficient, and the Greys the most resistant. When it came time to incorporate the goblins into the army the only ones that didn't have a problem were the Paladins.

The goblins ended up performing two main functions: the trail party made up of the non-warriors and children too young to fight, the task was to sweep behind the army for any sign of the column’s passing. All the soldiers were disciplined, but a stray wrapper from hard tack or pemmican occasionally found its way to the ground. The goblin’s second task was as advanced scouts. The Tunnel Wolves and Torch knew the basics of subterranean scouting and architecture. The Woods quickly picked up the skill of following lava tubes and water runoff, but the goblins knew the tunnels from living in them for thousands for years. The army had travelled for almost two weeks without incident while the Worsh-Rachel led them around enemies they wouldn't even have noticed until too late. The problems started when they reached the edge of the goblins’ usual ranging habits.

Then they entered the cavern. It was a wide long passage capable of housing the entire army. Stalactites and stalagmites covered the ground and ceiling. Rock ledges and crevices lined the walls and passages branched off from all sides. At the end of the cavern they came across the bodies of their goblin forerunners. Fighting could be heard in the distance.

Ambush, Leaf managed to shout before Dark elves came swarming out of every nook and cranny. Archers started firing yard shafts at the leather clad enemy. Greys formed a phalanx to protect their comrades from the crossbows of the lost clan enemy. Wards tore at the legs and throat of the Dark while Wolves completed the coup de grâce with their swords or daggers. The dwarfs turned into berserkers and slashed through the enemy. The cannon blared against a large group along the high ledges or the walls. Dark fell with arrows through their stomachs, chests, and throats.

The Dark swarmed over the army, and Leaf's force was almost overwhelmed when the remaining goblins went wild and rampaged into the Dark forces. Victorious forward scouts came back from their skirmish, and attacked the Dark from behind. Old aggressions died hard and more than a couple of goblins fell to an accidental arrow or unlucky sword blade.

The battle lasted less than ten minutes. Casualties were light despite the brutality of the attack. Leaf lost fifteen hundred troops, but a thousand of those were goblins and not necessarily the warriors among the Worsh-Rachel. The Dark ambush consisted of just under a thousand warriors. Not a single Dark survived long enough for interrogation. The cavern became the camp for the night.

Leaf healed those in dire need of his abilities. Wolves and dwarves started to patrol the passages around the cavern in case of a second ambush. The remainder of the able bodied set up camp and sorted through the bodies. Leaf, John, and Churlish rested under the pretence of supervision. There was no resentment from the rest of the army. The three had fought the hardest of all. If not for the goblins’ timely insurgence, casualties would have been much higher.

We lost a little under half the goblins, John said as he took a drag off his cigarillo, No great loss. The ones that died were the stupider, less competent ones. I guess you could say we have the cream of the crop left.

They're a little pissed off, Churlish added.

Wouldn't you be, if half your family was killed on the road to enlightenment? Leaf asked. And I think Dathon purposely deployed them to have them killed.

Enlightenment is Silk's problem, Churlish laughed. He pulled out a clay instrument similar to a harmonica. He started playing an old melody he learned as a child. The music, however, was not clear notes, but the sound of wind at different pitches. Anything wandering the catacombs would probably think it was a hot up-draught of air. The music was eerie, but still managed to be soothing.

So effectively, you think our casualties were negligible? Leaf asked.

The loss of five hundred troops in our first real battle underground is hardly something to be proud of, John admitted. Another seventeen battles like that and you'd be on this mission by yourself. Churlish did the math in his head and nodded in agreement. But now that we know what to expect I'm sure next time we'll do better. I don't want to blame him, but I think you're right about Dathon.

I thought you were supposed to be the experts at fighting down here? Churlish commented.

We're used to fighting goblins and occasionally trolls, John answered. These Dark elves use organized attacks. I'd never seen a Dark elf before Torch. This is the first time I've ever seen them in battle.

All the same, Leaf sighed, I'd like to see more effective use of the Worsh-Rachel. They're damn fine scouts. A look was exchanged between Churlish and John that clearly illustrated their opinion on the subject. It wasn't lost on Leaf.

Come on guys, I'm the King, Leaf was slightly irritated. I should not have to ask.

You're not my king, Churlish laughed.

Mine either, John joked, but they are good scouts. You know you'll have to talk with Dathon about it.

I wanted to make sure I had your support first, Leaf admitted. Dathon hates goblins.

Dathon hates everybody, Churlish responded, but I'll gladly endorse your decision if you can convince that pig-headed Grey. His troops taught the Lubbers well enough. I don't see why he couldn't do the same with goblins.

So how was it? Spider asked Dathon. They carried the body of a Grey soldier between them to a small cave off the side of the cavern that was being used as a crypt. The fallen were recorded in the rolls as dead, their bodies laid at rest, and their supplies distributed to the survivors. When the cave was full, it would be sealed. There were two other caves being used for dead dwarves and Tunnel Wolves with their wards. One of the problems encountered during the battle was the blood lust that overtook the troll hounds when a Warden died. They attacked the goblins and Dark indiscriminately if their handler died.

How was what? Dathon replied as they laid the soldier on the ground. The arms were laid across the chest, holding his sword. Around the cave soldiers were standing against walls, lying on the floor, or lying in berths that dwarves had quickly carved out of the rock. Even the ledges that could support a body were used.

You know, Spider started to thrust his hips while holding an imaginary partner, his eyes bulged out and his tongue lolled out of his mouth; to Dathon it looked like Spider was having a convulsive fit, your honeymoon.

I refuse to acknowledge the fact that I'm married to Silk, or that I'm the king of the goblins, Dathon said.

Preacher said you were married, Spider replied as they left the cave. A second set of soldiers were already carrying in another body.

I don't buy that argument either, Dathon snarled.

What argument? Preacher asked. His sandals made no noise on the gravel floor of the cave. He seemed quite out of place surrounded by soldiers in armour while he wore plain brown robes.

That Oberon thing, Spider answered.

Sounds like bull shit to me, Dathon coughed.

Do you want to hear it again? the priest asked.

No, Dathon answered.

I would, Spider held up his hand and danced about excitedly.

No marriage is legitimate unless performed within the sight of Oberon, Preacher explained, but Oberon is omnipotent so he sees everything. He knows Dathon married Silk but did nothing to stop it, so obviously has no problem with it.

Still sounds like a load of crap to me, Dathon picked up the legs of another dead soldier. This was one of the troops we picked up from the outer barracks after Bridle. I'm not even sure what his name was. Between the infantry, the Paladins, and these cursed goblins I'm leading half the army. I've only completed my staff college courses to the rank of lieutenant. Even Thorn wasn't qualified to do this.

His name was Davrith, Preacher said, and you're doing fine. Leaf wouldn't place so much responsibility on your shoulders, broad as they are, unless he thought you could handle it.

But most important, you're married, Spider started to laugh, Dathon and Silk sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G. First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes Dathon with a...

With a what? Dathon growled.

Nothing, Spider gulped. The archer drifted away as Leaf walked toward the group. Spider went to a detail that was scavenging the Dark bodies for useful equipment. The provisions, mostly cave pig, which was a large hairless rodent similar to a ground hog, and dried spoor mold, were gathered for distribution to the rest of the army. The dwarves salvaged quarrels for the heavy crossbows, and many took the small single hand crossbows that were reminiscent of the Cori-Mal pistols.

The goblins were ecstatic over the salvage. Each goblin was awarded a tempered steel sword, axe, dagger, or whatever weapon any particular Dark warrior had been carrying. Those goblins able to master the concept of loading and firing the single-hand crossbows also took one. For most of them it was a two-handed weapon, but with a little practice they became proficient in its use in a matter of hours. The goblins formed an elite attack squad of advance scouts two hundred strong. Thousands of years later scholars would regale each other with tales of the goblin Reavers and their proud commander Gotto Dathorn.

The Reavers dressed in mismatched pieces of leather armour taken from the Dark elves. Their uniforms ended up being gauntlet style gloves, and jerkins ripped apart so they were smaller. The Reavers, in their sleeveless jackets and rough barding, swaggered around with swords or axes strapped to their backs and crossbows hanging from their hips. The largest of the Reavers was equal to the smallest of the Greys.

We're almost finished, Dathon reported to Leaf. Even as he spoke dwarves were starting to wedge rocks into place. Within moments the tomb would be sealed for all eternity.

Excuse me, Preacher walked toward the cave. He slipped inside to bless the dead before they were sealed in forever. The dwarves continued to work, leaving just enough room for Preacher to get back out.

I've got a problem with the goblins, Leaf started.

I know, Dathon explained, I tried my best, but only got half. I'm sure in the next battle we can get rid of the rest of them.

You're missing the point, Leaf stated, Dathon started to say something but Leaf held up his hand. We need the Worsh-Rachel. They’re the best scouts we've got.

We have the Woods and the Wolves, Dathon rebutted.

Who are fine, but the goblins are better. They know the area, they know the dangers of this place. I was going to take a leak down that passage, Leaf pointed to a crevice that was barely big enough to fit a person, but one of the Reavers stopped me. There's tangle-moss in there. It's a creature that shoots out tentacles to ensnare a victim for slow digestion. My dick would have been chewed off if one of those goblins hadn't been there.

So we need them because one saved your cock? Dathon asked.

The goblins are part of our army, Leaf stated in a commanding tone. They follow Silk. You command Silk. You follow me. You're my best commander and my friend, but you still must follow my orders. The goblins are an asset that we need. Most of the elderly and warriors were killed. The warriors that are left are the hardiest, especially the Reavers.

Alright. I'll be nice to the goblins, Dathon snarled.

John and Churlish think they are very useful and a vital part of the army. Dathon raised a sceptical eyebrow.

Baby carriage! a group of Woods shouted from a short distance away.

And Spider has no problem, Leaf continued. So I need you to do me a favour.

What? Dathon asked.

Promise you'll treat the goblins properly, like a part of this army. Leaf lowered the visor on his helmet.

You don't need to do this, Dathon said. The hazy grey nimbus of a lie surrounded the soldier. Through experience Leaf knew that a grey cloud meant a small lie, or as was more likely the case, the unconscious lie of someone that believes what they are saying even though it isn't true. Leaf cupped his hand and curled his fingers in a beckoning motion.

I'll try my best not to purposely put them in danger, Dathon said. There was only a slight haze, indicating a truth, but an unwelcome one.

That's not quite the same thing, Leaf replied.

I promise I'll treat them like the rest of the force, Dathon said. He had to grit out each word between clenched teeth. He wasn't lying. He just didn't like it.

Thanks, Leaf took off his helmet and gave Dathon a friendly slap on the shoulder, Cheer up. One day you'll be glad you made this decision.

Somehow I doubt that, Dathon sighed. At that point Nork approached the group. He came to a haphazard parody of attention and started to snap a salute, but on the way his fingers curved and he started to pick his nose. Nork, always the gentleman, offered some of his find to everybody.

How can we help? Nork asked Dathon.

Commit suicide, Dathon replied. Leaf gave him a vicious glare. Gather our dead, Dathon ordered.

What then? Nork asked.

Lay them to rest. Dathon made a burying motion as if using a shovel. Nork had the sense to perform the burial rites on only the goblin dead instead of trying to help the rest of the army. The ceremony consisted of looting the dead for whatever valuable trinkets they possessed, then butchering the choicest selections of meat for ritualistic cannibalism: the calves for speed, the heart for endurance, the arms for strength, and the spine for dexterity. What was left was then dumped in the deepest pit the goblins could find.

Preacher appeared from the Grey tomb. The dwarves quickly sealed in the rest of the rocks. Basalt wedges were nailed between the cracks to tighten the seals. When the dwarves were finished large chunks of slag and boulders were used to block the entrance. It appeared as if an earthquake had brought down part of the wall. The dwarves sealed the Woods and their own in other caves. Tunnel Wolf sappers entombed the dead Wards and Wardens.

The camp was falling into its regular routine. A third of the force was on sentry duty around the perimeter of the cavern or patrolling in the passages. The reminder were either sleeping, eating, tending to their weapons and equipment, or looting the Dark bodies. The Greys refused to do anything with the enemy corpses.

I still think this is a waste of time, Dathon declared as the group broke up.

You are a great leader, Nork told Dathon in goblish.

Fuck you, Dathon cursed as he stalked away. While not a genius by any standard, Nork was very smart for one of the Worsh-Rachel. He was slowly learning the common tongue. He prided himself on just learning the proper reply to a compliment.

These are so cool, Spider displayed his gloves to his wife. Paul looked at them with feigned interest. The gloves were a set of studded leather gauntlets taken from the body of a Dark warrior. Spider had cut off the fingers so he could use his bow and fletch arrows properly. Along the backs of each glove was a thick metal plate. Spider pressed a stud on the back of the plate. Three thin spikes, each two inches long, slid forward from a hidden recess. A stud on the second glove released a serrated blade with a sickle-like curve. Pressing the studs again, Spider pressed the blades against the rock ground. The spikes and scythe sunk back into the plates until the internal springs caught on the lock. Spider completed his pillage with a set of thick leather chaps. Metal plates were sewn over the thighs and shins. Studs ran up the sides and over the knees.

You should not steal from the dead, Paul warned.

They aren't going to need it, Spider replied.

That's not the point, Paul replied, Poopsie and Jojo don't like you as it is. If you wear those clothes you'll smell like a Dark elf. It will take years for the odour to be replaced by your own.

So your dogs won't like me, Spider responded, I didn't really understand the extent of what we were doing here. This, Spider jerked at his leather tunic, isn't enough. My leg was grazed by one of their crossbow bolts. I thought this was going to be a fun adventure, but it isn't, Spider leaned forward to whisper conspiratorially. Leaf has given me responsibilities. My own brother expects me to lead the archers and keep them under control. It's scaring the hell out of me!

We all have crosses to bear, Paul smiled. That was the first time Spider had shown her any real maturity. She understood that Wood elves were considered a race of dreamers. The fact that Spider was showing serious concern for anything, even if he didn't show if outwardly, was a step in the right direction.

Paul was having serious concerns about their marriage. Spider was cute and she felt a spark, but the concerns still existed. Paul was human, Spider an elf. Assuming they spent the rest of their lives together she would be a withered old woman while he was still vibrant and full of energy. Paul was a professional soldier, and even though he was improving, Spider was a reckless amateur at best. After the mission was over, Paul would return to her home with the rest of the Wolves. She didn't have the option of staying behind.

The marriage was definitely a mistake. Normal people did not decide to get married seconds before being eaten by a giant shark. Normal people didn't spend their honeymoon wandering underground looking for weapons designed by a demon god. Normal people didn't travel around the world based on a hunch, but Paul was hardly involved with normal people and now that she was married to one of them she was determined to make the union work. She just didn't think it was possible.

So this is what it's like living in interesting times, Paul remembered an old hex.

I've been under a lot of stress lately, Spider sighed. Do you think that maybe tonight, well it's always night around here, but tonight could we get together and... you know. I think it would release a lot of stress for both of us.

Dear, I'm a soldier, Paul replied. We've been over this before. There's no place for the boudoir on the battle field. We can't do that here.

I know that, Spider whined, but it doesn't have to be here. I found a little cave...

No means no, Paul replied. You think I don't want to make love with you? Of course I do, but not until this is over. When that happens you can rock my world. Until then, why don't you take a cold shower?

But...

Even if I were willing to break the rules I'm taking my squad on a patrol in a few minutes. We'll be gone for at least half the night.

But my wife should not be out leading troops. That's dangerous!

I'm a sergeant in the army, Paul replied sternly. It's a dangerous job in dangerous times. If you're that concerned, I suppose you could come with us. If you can keep up. Paul walked away to inspect her troops. Spider already decided that he would accompany the patrol. Keeping up with a bunch of humans and their dogs would be about as hard as falling off a log.

Spider ran to gather his bow and quiver. Next, he informed Leaf that he was going to spend some quality time with his wife, and that Dover was in charge of the archers for the time being. Dover was less than satisfied at his appointment as second in command of the Woods. Dover tried to pass it off to a friend named Current, but Spider refused to let that happen. Finding responsibility, Spider felt it was his duty to inflict it upon others.

By the time Spider rejoined Paul she had completed her inspection. The troops were starting toward one of the large tunnels that branched off the cavern.

That's all? Spider gasped. There was Paul and nine other Tunnel Wolves. Between the lot of them they had fifteen troll-hounds. Two of the Wolves were sappers, experts in construction, fortification, and engineering. There were also four Reavers, one of which was large enough to carry a full-size crossbow.

Lieutenant Dathon suggested I take some of the goblins on patrol, Paul smiled. Spider looked truly pathetic in his mismatched armour and holding his longbow as if it were the only thing capable of averting calamity. I was a little surprised by the offer, but glad to take them, Paul continued. He's sent out a small section with each patrol. It's almost as if he's treating them like soldiers.

Should we not be taking more troops? Spider asked as he fell in beside his wife.

We're a defensive reconnaissance patrol, Paul answered. If we come across anything we run away. We're just out here to look around, not engage.

But we're already married. We don't need to be engaged.

Not engaged, Paul moaned. Engage as in engage the enemy. It's a military term.

Well I wouldn't want to marry any of them, Spider replied.

Hush dear. There's no more talking from now until we get back to camp.

Despite his levity Spider was deadly serious about what he was doing. He walked directly behind Paul as the soldiers marched in single file, dogs on either side. The four Reavers preceded the patrol by fifty feet. The largest, with the heavy crossbow, walked on the ground while the other three crawled the walls like flies.

Spider was impressed. While he had ample ability climbing trees and running through jungles, even without the tree-travelling ability, he couldn't believe it when the fourth Reaver started to scamper along the ceiling of the tunnel like a jungle gecko. As the ceiling slanted into darkness the Reaver disappeared.

Keeping an arrow notched in his bow, Spider kept his eyes constantly scanning the passage. The luminous moss took a while to adjust to, but after two weeks underground it was the bright light of the torches or lanterns that became uncomfortable. Movement, a shadow falling at an awkward angle, the flicker from a reflection, a pebble rolling down a slope, all these things Spider noticed. Consequently he was aware of things seconds before anybody else. Spider almost shot the fourth Reaver as he dropped from the ceiling.

Corq nepak. Groo monk uh Gripple, the goblin scout said. The accompanying hand gestures indicated the scout, Gripple, was referring to a crevice beyond which there was something so foreign the Reaver could not describe.

Where? Paul asked.

There, Gripple pointed to the darkness above their heads. The remaining Reavers came running back silently from their advanced recon.

Dark warriors were here recently, Golg, the largest Reaver, said. Golg was the leader of the four goblins. The Tunnel Wolves started to converse in their guttural growling until Spider stopped them.

What are we going to do? Spider asked.

I'd like to know what's up there, Paul explained as she looked doubtfully at her sappers, but we should investigate the Dark force.

Then there's only one thing to do, Spider strapped his bow over his back. You go and look for the Dark elves and I'll go with Gripple, Paul looked at him sceptically and then she appraised her sappers. I spent the better part of a century in my youth climbing around the Dwarf Mountains playing arrow tag with cliff goblins. I can scale this cliff.

The better part of a century, Paul smirked.

Remember, I'm over three hundred years old, Spider started to hoist himself up the wall using hand and foot holds that Gripple pointed out. When he was twenty feet up, a pittance to what would come next, he looked down to see that Paul was grudgingly leading her troops along the passage. Spider looked up to where Gripple was waiting impatiently. Spider continued to scale the side of the rock face.

The glowing lichen irritated Spider's fingers and toes, and he discovered it was quite moist. The oils from the plants stuck to his skin so Spider had to wipe his hands off on his chest or hair before reaching for a new hand hold. His toes were cleaned on his calves or the inside of his shins. He looked like a child's finger painting because as he had run out of places to wipe off his hands, he had to find clean spots on his body. Everywhere was covered with streaks of iridescent paint: his arms and the backs of his hands, his chest, his face and hair, his thighs, and buttocks, even his scrotum but that was to satisfy an inch instead of cleaning his hands. Then there were the places where his chest, thighs, and abdomen rubbed over the moss as he climbed.

At sixty feet from the floor of the passage, the moss stopped growing. Spider climbed using the light from below, but was worried when that would eventually fail. Looking down from under his arm pit Spider saw glowing foot prints follow him up the wall. Spider became his own source of light. Gripple urged Spider to continue.

The two climbed another eighty feet before reaching a wide rock ledge. Spider rolled over the lip of the chasm to lie on his back, panting. He had overestimated the distance he was going to climb, or underestimated Gripple's abilities at mountaineering, or both. Gripple tugged Spider to his feet and pointed to where the ledge projected from another wall.

More? Spider asked. He wasn't sure how long it had taken to climb the first section, but knew it was too long. Trees were so much easier. They liked to be climbed.

Faster climbing ceiling, Gripple muttered as he started up the new section of wall. Spider followed. The second climb took the pair all the way to the roof of the cavern. Slashing across the top like a painful wound was a jagged fissure. The incision was too narrow for Spider to enter, but twenty feet out from the wall it widened. Gripple wedged his fingers into the lip and moved hand over hand until he was able to reach the opening. Gripple pulled himself into the rent and waved for Spider to join him.

He's got to be shitting me, Spider muttered to himself as he grabbed hold of the narrow lip. The stone cut the soft flesh on the inside of his fingers, and crumbled in his grasp. Reaching in slightly further Spider was able to hook his hands around small stalagmites. Using the precarious grasp he moved an inch at a time while the rest of his body dangled over the three hundred foot drop to the rocks below. Spider's wrists were being worn raw by the sharp lip of the rift.

After going out from the wall five feet Spider's hands were suddenly grabbed by something. Spider shouted in panic as he looked up to see Gripple through the narrow space between the cracks. The goblin leered down as he carried Spider toward the opening. Gripple was remarkably strong and agile. That was why he was a Reaver.

The crevice was a funnel-shaped shaft that slanted steeply upward with a small opening twenty feet above the ceiling crack. The opening would be large enough for Spider to walk through as long as he stooped. From the edges of the top opening the fissure widened out until it spanned the cavern where the patrol had split apart. At the same time the height decreased rapidly. The climb up to the top of the inverse funnel was almost as hard as the three hundred foot climb to the crack. Gripple scampered up the slope and out the hole. Spider followed, and crouched down to avoid detection a second before it was too late. What he saw made him wish he had stayed with his wife.

The small opening led out onto a narrow, semi-circular ledge. The ledge was a hundred feet up the side of yet another huge cavern. One major difference was half way through the cavern there was a small drop-off, so the eastern half was fifty feet lower than the western side. The quake that had spilt the cavern had also created the cleft Spider and Gripple climbed through. The ledge where Spider sat was almost directly over the cavern's cliff.

The western side, the high side, was covered with stalagmites, rocks, and boulders. There were also large open gaps that had obviously been cleared away by hand. Bedrolls and linen blankets were neatly stacked in the open areas. A cook fire, burning moss and cave fungus, was smouldering under a large iron pot. Spider assumed it was rat and lizard stew, a delicacy he had acquired a taste for when it was prepared by anybody other than the goblins.

All along the top of the ledge separating the two hemispheres of the cave there were Dark warriors. At an estimate Spider guessed about a half thousand. They were armed with their deadly crossbows, trench bows, and suddenly there was the sound of thunder. A small group of Dark warriors started firing with the very weapons Leaf was trying to find. Maybe thirty at the most.

Speed bows, Spider muttered, he made the motion of firing a rifle for Gripple, Cori-Mal with speed bows, he repeated.

Corq, Gripple agreed. The Dark elves were firing at the inhabitants of the lower half of the cavern. In an effort to conserve arrows they were throwing large rocks. Just as deadly.

The lower half of the cavern was a swamp. At the bottom of the cliff was a rocky shale beach that sank into the water after ten feet. The beach was the only area of stable ground near the swamp. The water was a murky green in which floated yellow and brown algae. The muck flowed and changed patterns with some unseen current, forming brilliant spiral patterns of gold, grey, brown, black, and drab green.

At first Spider thought the swamp inhabitants were giant snakes. Each was fifteen to twenty feet long and swam in the stagnant water. Even from his loftier vantage Spider could smell the odour of swamp gas. Two thirds of their bodies were snake-like tail, but the top third was human of a sorts. The tail bowled into a waist that expanded into a small chest and narrow shoulders. Each creature had a pair of spindly arms that barely looked strong enough to pull themselves out of the swamp. Their heads were that of an iguana or other large lizard. The human-like portions of their bodies were covered in green scales, like the rest of their frame. They were clearly reptiles, but clearly intelligent. It was also apparent that they were outmatched.

Nagas, Spider muttered. He had seen the mummified body of one when his mother had taken him to a travelling menagerie for his hundred and twenty-first birthday. A little old for such childish diversions, but the circus rarely went through the Great Forest.

The nagas were unarmed, and didn't appear capable of arming themselves. They wore no clothes, had no weapons, and generally appeared to be ignorant savages. Perhaps they were not as smart as Spider had first assumed. They crowded around the cliff and hissed at the Cori-Mal while being impaled by arrows, barbs, and bullets. Rocks crushed their skulls and broke bones, but more kept pouring out of