The druid stood only twenty feet away. Her eyes widened when she saw the half-dragon's greatsword erupt with magical light. Despite the peril, she wove the fingers of one hand in a divine prayer and spoke the words of power. She held her shield up with the other arm, but Tordek knew it was a frail shelter from Andaron's enchanted greatsword.
As Vadania uttered the final syllable, Zagreb closed the distance between them. His blade swept down on the druid's shield. Vadania's magic flickered like a swarm of fireflies in winter fog before dissipating around the blazing brand of Zagreb's sword. The druid shouted in pain as the sword cut a deep, black mark into the wood. Miraculously the enchanted shield held, but the force of the blow deadened Vadania's arm so that it hung limply at her side.
Lidda shouted from the catwalk. She raised her bow to shoot at Zagreb, but the half-dragon was following the retreating druid up to another of the iron stairways. Beside Lidda, Devis gestured as if wiping a window between them as he softly sang a song. The last note wavered as Sandrine fell hissing atop him, a pair of blazing short swords in her hands. She wielded the weapons inexpertly, but where they struck the bard's body they left deep, weeping wounds.
"Watch, Tordek, brother of Holten," called Hargrimm. He said something else as Zagreb attacked Vadania, but he spoke the words quietly, too softly for Tordek to hear. The barghest's voice seemed to come simultaneously from his glowing image and from a point on the floor, near the forge. "Witness the futility of defiance, then ask yourself whether it would not be better to serve at my foot than to perish beneath it."
A flurry of images pelted Tordek's imagination. He saw Vadania throttled in Zagreb's fiery hands, Lidda and Devis hacked to pieces under the clumsy but still deadly flurry of Sandrine's short swords. He thrust away the cruel fantasies and forced himself to look at reality.
Vadania staggered along the catwalk toward the brightly glowing forge, practically dragging her shield arm as she drew her scimitar from its scabbard. Zagreb followed, taking his time without letting her escape. His wounds from their earlier fight looked severe, but they seemed to have little effect on the monster. He severed an iron support bar with his greatsword, just to show that he could. He was savoring the slow chase and its inevitable outcome.
Tordek wanted to run to Vadania, but he knew it was futile. She would die before he could reach her. The weight of guilt, heavier than any anvil, pulled his heart deeper into resignation.
Devis scrambled away on all fours, trying to escape Sandrine's blades. She cut him with every step until at last he drew his longsword and extended it to parry her blows. She spat and screamed at him as she hacked at the blade with her swords. At last, one of her swings beat his guard aside, and the following blow knocked the weapon out of the bard's hand. It tumbled off the catwalk and clattered on the stone floor, far below.
"Look, Tordek," called Hargrimm. "See the results of my commands, and despair."
This time the voice came from a lone point, and the projected image wavered and vanished. Tordek turned toward the voice and saw Hargrimm standing alone among the dead bodies of his former slaves. He smiled as he saw the dwarf look at him. He raised his own weapon, the reforged urgrosh of Andaron. Its blades glowed with the same diabolical power as the hammer at Tordek's side. It pulsed with a rhythm that Tordek could feel beneath his shield hand, against his knee.
"Reach for the hammer, Tordek," crooned Hargrimm. "It calls for you. I can hear it, too. Take it in hand, and bring it to me."
Never had Tordek felt such desperation, such an overwhelming sense of impotence. It washed over him like the sea, pounding his spirit down upon the unyielding earth. Dimly he was aware that the demon had afflicted him with fell magic to weaken his spirit, but that knowledge was no proof against the result. He had been every bit as foolish and boastful as Holten to think that he could defeat Hargrimm and his unassailable allies. He had been deluded to think he was even worthy of the task, much less capable of succeeding in this foolish quest. Soon he would die, but not before he saw his own allies slaughtered and added to the sacrificial heap surrounding the forge.
Tordek dropped his war axe. The clang of it striking the iron walk sounded like a death knell that rang throughout the foundry. He let his shield fall beside it. With his hands freed, he struggled mightily to keep them away from the haft of Andaron's hammer, even as its power called to him, telling him nothing else could put an end to his foe.
Tordek breathed deeply and set his jaw. With quick, practiced motions he grabbed his bow and a magical arrow from his quiver, set Hargrimm in his sight, and let fly.
Hargrimm seemed merely to step to the side, but he vanished as if that step carried him through an invisible door. The magic arrow sank into the iron face of the forge and burst into flames.
"So be it," came Hargrimm's voice from behind the forge.
He shouted a short command in the goblin tongue, and all the foundry's doors clicked open to reveal a mob of goblin warriors beyond. They spilled through the side entrances and poured up out of the mineshafts below even as the great doors opened slowly to reveal a horde bristling with spears and javelins. Even high above, goblins streamed out of the balconies to stomp along the catwalks.
"You had your chance to bring it to me," Hargrimm called to Tordek. "Now I shall have it fetched from your dead body."
SUMMONING
Directly above Tordek, Sandrine screeched.
It was a sound to shatter crystal and thrust seeds of agony into every tooth. The swarming goblins paused to shove their palms against their ears, many of them adding their own shrieks to the din.
Tordek glanced up just as one of the vampire's glowing short swords clattered onto the iron walk. Sandrine dropped the weapon as she reached around to clutch a wound in her back. Lidda scampered away from the spitting vampire spawn, no longer cloaked by Devis's invisibility spell. With another pernicious scream, Sandrine threw herself at the halfling, reaching out with a naked hand as she struck with the remaining sword.
Far around the walkway, Zagreb lurched forward to loom over Vadania. The druid fell to one knee as she struggled to navigate the corner and escape him. The half-dragon's greatsword rose high to strike, but before it could descend, the catwalk shuddered under a tremendous load it was never meant to bear. Gulo had clambered up the outside of the stairway and thundered along the walk, barreling straight into the monster that threatened his friend. He knocked the half-dragon back, and Zagreb redirected his swing. The blade fell across Gulo's shoulder, cutting deep into muscle and bone. The wolverine howled in pain, but the sound turned quickly to a roar of fury and his claws raked over the foe he had marked before.
Zagreb beat on the shaggy skull with the hard pommel of the greatsword, and Gulo ducked his head. That was all the room the half-dragon needed to step back, stretch to his full height, and raise the sword for a far deadlier blow.
This time, it was the elf who came to her friend's rescue. Waves of heat rose behind her from a huge cauldron of molten iron. With a harsh, imperious cry she conjured a swirling cloud of bats. They swarmed down from the cavernous ceiling to form a dark halo around the half-dragon's head. They squealed and flapped in his face, pelting him with their tiny wings and needle-sharp fangs. Their attack did little to harm the monstrous foe, but they turned his wrath away from Gulo and onto their own fragile but plentiful bodies.
Despite the terrible struggles of his companions above, Tordek faced even more outrageous odds on the foundry floor. There was no longer any question that he could prevail without employing Andaron's fell weapon. He gripped it tightly, feeling its unholy power surge even faster into his body, searing his veins and thrilling every nerve with a promise of dauntless power. Even as he reveled in the ecstasy of magic, a cold dread hung heavy in his gut, an ominous warning that not only did he tread close to damnation but already he had one foot in the Abyss.