Company

"May the darkness consume your souls," Zakath repeated, more quietly. He stared into the glassy eyes of the dead dwarf as he watched the great seal grind close. Crushed and broken though his body was, the dead warrior seemed contemptuous. The orc spat at the body just as the seal obscured it, his saliva landing on the inscribed runes instead of the body. For a moment, Zakath contemplated this last, meaningless failure and rage flared in him.

A few steps away, Gywahier stared silently at the corpse of Dagryg. The ogre chief was riddled with arrows and, like the giantess herself, had been struck numerous times by the warmage's searing blasts.

Unlike the dwarf, however, Dagryg seemed shrunken and diminished in death. Zakath shook his head sadly. "A damn fool to the end."

Gywahier nodded and sighed. "We tried," she said quietly.

They both looked up at the faint sound of approaching footsteps. A few moments later, a weathered human that Zakath thought must be Aronar, the mercenary leader who had called himself "Tal Merik," appeared. He was accompanied by the skulking woman the orc had met with earlier -- a wererat named Resa. A large, dour half-orc also followed the mercenary captain.

"What has happened?" Aronar demanded. "I thought we had a deal. You gave us the key so that they could enter the tomb and retrieve the hammer. No one was to try to stop them." He looked down at the bodies of Dagryg and the other ogres and then back up at Zakath. "In exchange for which," he said menacingly, "you would be allowed to live."

Aronar eyed Gywahier warily as the frost giantess's jaw clenched in obvious anger and she took a step toward him.

"Stand down, giant," the mercenary ordered. "I have twenty men in the next room, and alchemist's fire to spare."

The giantess snorted contemptuously but did not further threaten the human.

"The dwarf and his companions chose to fight," Zakath explained, "and I could not hold the ogres back." He pointed at the broken gap in the wall where the troglodytes had broken in weeks before. "Dagryg killed the dwarf and wounded the others. They dragged the dwarf into those tunnels to hide."

Aronar looked at the trog tunnel and sniffed dubiously, wincing at the stench of the foul creatures that still lingered. He glanced at the great seal. "I can't understand it. Why would they pick a fight with the ogre when the doorway to the tomb is right in front of them?"

"I think, perhaps, they were not here simply to loot the tomb," Zakath suggested. "Vengeance for the fallen Rashemi seemed to be a stronger motive."

The mercenary sighed. "Well, They'll be in no state to retrieve the hammer for us now," he said, frowning with irritation. He looked to the half orc and the wererat. "Let's just take them down now. Their gear will more than pay for our trouble, and we can come back with the key and some good men and get the hammer ourselves."

His companions nodded and started toward the hole. Aronar paused and looked sternly at Zakath. "Don't make any more stupid mistakes," he warned. "My men will be moving into the fortress now, but if you behave, we'll let you live."

The orc looked to the frost giantess and then back at the human. He nodded reluctantly.

Aronar and his two minions moved cautiously into the gap. The half-orc cursed as loose stones made him lose his footing on the steep decline and he slid out of sight. The mercenary rolled his eyes in exasperation. He looked at the wererat and nodded toward the gap. "Go. Follow. I'm right behind you." He raised a cautioning finger. "Let them think we've come to help, of course, unless they are hostile. If that traitor Malek is still alive, I'll kill him myself." Resa nodded and slipped down the tunnel after the half-orc.

A commotion echoed down the corridor from the portcullis chamber.

"Gods, what now?" Aronar groaned, turning away from the gap just in time to see a large blue fist crash into his face. He sprawled backward, landing on the floor of the tunnel. As he started to slide, he cursed the orc and giant.

"You shits!" he screamed, clawing for purchase on the steep slope. Blood flowed freely down his face from a broken nose. "I'll flay you alive for this!"

Zakath turned away from him for a moment, as a distant battle horn sounded. His lips curled into a cruel smile as cries of alarm from the mercenaries echoed through the corridors, along with the howls of worgs. He looked back at Aronar. The expression on the mercenary's face seemed to indicate that he had heard the sounds as well.

The orc knelt down, almost within reach of Aronar's blade. "I'm sorry, we seem to have visitors. I really must go." He grinned at the furious human.

The orc's grin widend, literally, as his his own form shifted, his body broadening and bloating obscenely into that of a large, bluish, horned ogre. He reached out and slapped the human's sword away with a broad, meaty palm. His other hand took hold of the suddenly terrified man's free arm and, lifting him up like a doll, threw him violently down the tunnel into the darkness, where the troglodyte stench was growing stronger by the minute.

"When you meet your god," he called, as Gywahier lifted a huge flagstone into place to seal the tunnel, "tell him Vorbyx sent you."