In the next instant, the thunder stopped, and in its place came the most terrible battle cry Durin had ever heard. Morif jerked upright as he pulled, but then he was thrust forward and began to disappear back into the hole. Durin tried to get to him, but a mass of guards rushed in to grab Morif by the ankles. The guards suddenly flew backward, and Morif came sliding through, bouncing roughly across the stones. "Let go!" he cried. "Let me go!"
The guards released his legs and he climbed, but a single thunderclap, far louder than all that had come before it, sent everyone tumbling backward again. Morif immediately pulled himself up and charged back through the hole. Moments later he reappeared, dragging the still form of Prios. For a moment it seemed they were safe until dark forms filled the gap and the silence shattered.
Chapter 12
The most dangerous mistakes are those you don't realize you've made.
Hot stones. That was what it had finally taken to keep the demons from pulling down the barrier of rubble that stood between them and the only survivors in Dragonhold, at least as far as any of them knew. When Durin returned to the smithy for another shovel load of hot stones, he saw Strom standing to one side, silently watching those who worked in what was usually his smithy.
Seeing his opportunity, Durin approached and spoke before he lost his nerve. "I'm the reason the hold moved."
"What?"Strom asked, looking confused.
Durin saw a couple more adults stop and wait to hear his response. "I didn't want to carry a bucket of almost clean water all the way to the God's Eye, so I dumped it into the glowing rune behind one of the statues. It started steaming and whistling, and when it stopped, the hold moved."
Strom didn't say anything at first. He opened his mouth a few times as if he'd speak, but he still didn't say anything. When he finally did speak, his eyes were far away. "Something so powerful and no idea how to use it." Then his eyes returned to Durin. "Now tell me every detail. I want to know what you heard, what you felt. I want to know how it smelled. Everything. Sit. Talk."
Strom listened with so much interest that Durin's hands and voice trembled. When Martik entered the smithy, Strom called him over and made Durin repeat every word. Martik, an experienced engineer, sat back heavily and stared, open mouthed, at Durin.
"If only Brother Vaughn were here with us," Martik said. "He'd love to know those runes actually do something."
Both Strom and Durin looked away, knowing his absence did not bode well for his safety. Already, Prios had sworn to go back out after Sinjin and any other survivors, but it was uncertain if there was anyone at all still left alive in other parts of the hold. And many felt it better to spend their time reinforcing the barrier and not bringing it down to fight a losing battle.
"Keep building up the barrier," Strom told Martik, and he pulled Durin from the smithy. "Brother Vaughn may have saved us without even knowing it."
Strom wrinkled his nose as he poured a foul mixture into a glowing rune. "What isthis?"
"Wine and pickle juice," Durin responded with a shrug. "It's all that was left." But then he fell back. Wisps of steam escaped the rune, then more steam came and the whistling sound grew. An instant later, the whistling abruptly stopped, and the floor trembled. When the trembling stopped, Durin watched the truth settle onto Strom's face by the light of a shaking torch. By pouring liquid into the rune, they had done something that would have wide-reaching consequences. For Durin, it was the second time he'd had one of these realizations, and the second was no better than the first.
"By the gods," Strom said, looking down at the steaming rune then at the now open hall leading into the darkness.
"You said Brother Vaughn called that one respite. That should mean safety, right?" Durin asked, wanting reassurance and knowing that had been Strom's argument for selecting the rune, but screams from above drove them both to move.
"What have I done?" Strom asked aloud as they ran. "What was I thinking?"
"You said it would've taken too long for everyone to agree on what to do, so you were making the decision for them."
The screaming and shouting continued, and Strom looked like he might be sick.
"Where in the depths have you been?" Miss Mariss barked when they arrived at the forge.
Strom couldn't find words, and Durin followed his example.
"Idiots. The keep has up and moved again, and by the sound of it, some of the demons are trapped as well. They certainly don't sound happy."
"I know now why the keep moved," Strom said at last, and Miss Mariss stopped. "Durin caused it the first time, and I caused it the second time." Miss Mariss looked as if she would shift from stunned to a full-blown rage, so Strom spoke more quickly. "I wasn't sure it would work. Durin's experience could have been a coincidence, and I knew it would take too long to come to a consensus, and we needed everyone to continue working on the barrier, so I. ."
"You acted like an irresponsible fool and could have killed us all. You should be ashamed of yourselves, both of you. Now the demons are even more determined to break down our barrier."
"Respite," Durin said, looking up at Strom.
"A new corridor has opened," Strom said. "I think Durin and I should explore it and see what new resources we have available to us."
"Or what new dangers we face. You fools. Fine. Go. Just try not to make things worse."
Durin flushed and he could see Strom wasn't faring much better. It made him feel very good that even someone as strong and skilled as Strom could still feel guilt under Miss Mariss's stare. Perhaps there was hope for him yet, Durin thought. Then again, he knew Miss Mariss had not yet realized there were pickles and wine missing.
Strom grabbed more torches and his hammers. Durin looked around for something to arm himself with but found only a rasp. Strom gave him a disapproving look. "You're gonna have a hard time filing your way out of trouble." After what looked like a moment of pure conflict, Strom reached up and grabbed something from the back of the tallest shelf in the smithy. He shoved a cold, black handle into Durin's hand. "I want that back."
"I thought you didn't make weapons?" Durin asked after drawing a gleaming, curved blade from the sheath. The handle felt good in his palm, solid and smooth but with an unusual texture that provided a sure grip. Durin looked in amazement at the finely crosshatched lines that made up the grip. Never before had he seen such precision. The blade itself was black, but the edge gleamed silver and promised blood.
"Knives are not always weapons," Strom said without looking at Durin.
"You don't expect me to believe that you made this for cutting cheese, do you?"
Strom stopped and glared.
"Right. Uh, sorry."
Not far ahead, in a room that had once been a storeroom, despite the glowing runes in the floor, now waited respite-at least Durin hoped that was what awaited them.
The silence was often worse than the hunger or thirst; still it was generally preferable to the sound of Brother Vaughn trying to get information from Trinda. The sullen girl's responses drained the energy from Sinjin, and he wondered how anyone could be so unhappy.
"It needs more," Trinda said, pointing at the herald globe, whose light was fading. Sinjin turned away, not sure how to respond to such an inane statement. It seemed unlikely they could charge the herald globe in the sun without first finding their way out of where they were trapped.