Even though the King's Guard was well stocked, and despite the careful rationings they had enforced with cruel justice, the duration of the trip into the seemingly endless underground caverns of the Underworld eventually drained the army of their supplies. What meat was left quickly turned bad in the damp air of the caverns. The life-giving, pure water began to run low as well. It eventually occurred to even the most dim-witted of foot soldiers, that with what rations they had left, they would never have enough to see them to the light of day again. They had long since passed the point of no return.
Still, the situation being what it was, LaBairne curiously refused to turn back, as if he was a sea captain trying to ride out a storm. It seemed he had some sort of idea that there would be food and fresh supplies at where ever they were headed, and that everything would be all right and glorious once they got there.
The army of soldiers following him, however, did not share in his undying optimism. LaBairne either had more knowledge of the destination than he was revealing, the faith of a disciple of a powerful god, or the stubborn will of an ox, but he was unwilling to admit the error of this journey. Everyone hoped beyond hope that it was the first. They were not ready to die for this man's ignorance.
Once the last of the food was gone, and the men grew hungry enough for desperation, there were many volunteers to test the mushrooms. As the only readily available source of food, they had to be careful that they were not going to be poisonous to eat. They tried the kinds they saw being eaten most commonly by the creatures of the Underworld. They prayed that there were enough similarities between these creatures and themselves to allow the men to eat the same stuff. While some of the mushrooms didn't prove poisonous, they did leave them with strange, waking dreams, and visions most horrifying. Eventually, the army learned of the more common, safer mushrooms to eat, though at the expense of many men. They either left in screaming fits of madness, or passed out in the wake-less sleep of death.
The water posed a similar problem. Even more vital than food, they needed a large amount to keep the army going. Every time they came upon a stream, there was always at least one who was thirsty enough to jump in and try its palpability, even if it didn't remotely resemble anything edible. Even these horrible consequences proved a far less painful death than dehydration or starvation. To the starving men of the King's Guard, this seemed more honorable -- even among these men, so lacking in honor and pride.
For the members of Wefpub, however, it was easy for Amanda to create a suitable meal of food and water out of nothing but prayers. However, they couldn't let anyone else know of their sacred supply for fear that Amanda would be destroyed in their attempt to feed all of these starving men. Besides, Amanda assured them, a feast that size was even above her considerable ability. They also still feared that their sudden introduction as spies who had been following the army would not be so very well accepted. So, during their many rest periods, they would quietly dine in secret and try not to think about the men they were forced to let starve.
Quite understandably, the morale of the men plunged to an all-time low. Even their sworn duty to the King's Guard was not enough to keep them from doubting their leader, LaBairne. They had been marching for the gods-know-how-long without any supplies and, with the constant fatigue from their continued forced march, the men lost all desire to continue in this insanity. To top this all off, they still ran into even more fierce and cruel monsters. With the mounting loss of troops, and lacking the strength or the will to fight any more, the chances of their survival looked most grim.
Amid a wash of gossip, and concern for the obsessive nature of LaBairne's leadership, the men began demanding a change in rank. Many of the younger soldiers were quick to back the much younger and stronger Dougherty as being a better-suited leader. As LaBairne's first officer, he had almost as many years in the Guard as LaBairne, though he had far fewer battle scars to prove it. Much of his military career had been spent behind a desk, laboriously doing the paperwork required by the king, which LaBairne had managed to shovel off as being his first officer's responsibility. Still, in the field, Dougherty held a more charismatic control over the army than the harsher LaBairne was ever able to master any more. Even now, while Dougherty echoed the men's pleas for rest and consideration, LaBairne refused to listen to the complaints of the "tender-footed, young recruits."
Inevitably, under the growing pressure of many of his men, Dougherty decided to mutiny against LaBairne, taking a large group of compatriots with him. They had become fed up with this undying faith in the merciless flag. It still pointed deeper and deeper into the cavern complex of the Underworld.
"If you leave, I shall kill you," LaBairne threatened with crazed eyes.
"If we do not leave," Dougherty replied, "you will surely kill us with this senseless crusade of yours. We should have turned back a long time ago, LaBairne, before the food and water ran out."
"But the crates --" LaBairne argued helplessly, "they have to be delivered. By the oath of the King's Guard, they shall be delivered!" LaBairne's voice raised into a shout of conviction that echoed all the way back to where the members of Wefpub watched this conflict of power. "We are charged, by King Lonnequist himself, to deliver these crates. As members of the King's Guard, we are sworn by our lives to follow the orders of the king and his court. With all that I honor, I intend to do as I have sworn."
"If you choose to continue this fool's errand, then you will prove only that you are a great and honorable fool. The King's Guard is no more, LaBairne. We have been betrayed by our own king, sent to our deaths on a mission he knew we could not complete. It was clearly his intention that we die down here in this hell. I find no honor in that." Dougherty, insulted by the questioning of his honor, a quality he had once revered but now felt betrayed by, drew his sword, and held it out to LaBairne's throat. "Complete your mission of honor if you wish. You do so without us."
LaBairne, himself so frazzled and confused, was unable to respond. He stood there, silently watching his dreams of all that he had ever stood for, flowing from him like the blood that flowed from his shocked face. In his younger days, he would have sliced down a man for such insults, but he suddenly felt the weight of his age come crashing down upon him. He was a million years old. While a part of him wished to kill the young Dougherty for his disrespect, a part of him wished he could leave this place with him. He knew it was as foolish to continue as it was to try to escape the tunnels now, but his pride was all he had left. The darkness, the hunger, the pain, the silence, could not take that from him. The pride of the King's Guard, though it had been dead for a very long time, was all that kept LaBairne alive.
Dougherty gathered up the men under his influence and took off down a side tunnel. They bravely struck out on their own, knowing that they could not fare any worse than they would under the leadership of this mad man, LaBairne. With them, too, they managed to take most of the few lamps that had any oil left in them at all.
The members of Wefpub knew that what ever it was they were looking for would be with LaBairne and where ever that mysterious flag was pointing to. So, sadly, they watched as Dougherty and his men left, cursing the Guard and LaBairne all the way into the darkness.
Most of the men that remained with LaBairne were the older men of the Guard. They respected their leader above all else. They were the few that shared his pride in honor and duty. They stayed with LaBairne, even though they knew that they would die, because of this respect for him and the Guard. And even though they were the higher in ranked and more experienced officers of the army, their diminished numbers would certainly be their defeat.
It was not much longer before the last of LaBairne's lanterns died out. While LaBairne ordered that torches be made of bits of clothing tied onto swords, these barely gave off enough light to see the ground, and they too quickly burned out.
While the party, between the blaze of Flicker and Corinna's magical spells, could have easily lit
the way, they still needed to stay in hiding. They decided to only resort to these measures to aid their own defense. It was a purely selfish decision, one none of them were comfortable with, but one forced upon them by the situation at hand.
Most of the time they stumbled on, into the darkness, having to feel their way across the treacherous terrain of the caves. The tunnels above, if they had been the famous Thraxton Mines, had come and gone with nothing to show but blisters on their feet. While they had actually only traveled through a small portion of the outermost tunnels of the complex, there certainly didn't seem to be any riches to be had. Now, in their blinded state, weeks or maybe even months away from the surface, without food or water, their situation seemed most grim.
After several rest periods worth of the frustrating movements through the rock strewn caverns, when things could not have seemed to get much worse, the infernal silence that they had gotten so used to was shattered by the undeniable screams of men. The men entered the same cavern LaBairne was in from the right, the direction Dougherty had taken his lot.
Within seconds, the flashes of lantern-light streaked into the cavern, waving wildly as their bearers ran at full speed toward LaBairne's army. Their swords, for those who still held them, were drawn, and in a defensive reflex, LaBairne drew his as well. Perhaps it was Dougherty's plan to attack LaBairne's group for whatever they felt they may have of value. Perhaps they had eaten mushrooms that had driven them all mad. In any case, their reflexes left little to chance.
The first man to enter made his way, tripping over his own feet as much as the rocks, to LaBairne. Though he held his sword at the ready, the Captain made no move against the obviously exhausted warrior. "Dougherty's dead," he spurted out, panting heavily between panicked gasps. "Too many, terrible weapons -- poison," he stuttered, as if to explain the pain that racked across his face. His body, pushed beyond ability, collapsed onto the floor. Protruding from his back were what looked like several, miniature, crossbow bolts.
LaBairne, the seasoned veteran he was, strategically ordered his beleaguered troops into defensive positions behind what cover they could find. Instinctively, they scrambled behind boulders and stalactites, huddling like animals in their fear and pain, hugging close the comfort of the cold stone barriers. There they hid while the rest of the ill-fated followers of Dougherty stumbled into the room, seeking refuge from the terror that followed.
A brilliant blast of light exploded into the cavern with such force, that Gerrod fully expected the ceiling of the vaulted chamber to come down in a pile of rubble and debris from the explosion, but for all the light, there was not a sound. Their eyes, which had been trying to adjust to the complete absence of light, were blinded by this sudden intrusion and its cold harshness. Yet as the light slowly evolved into a purple hue, it became soft and warm, sending out confusing signals of friendship and compassion. Gerrod's eyes had never witnessed such a vibrant and rich shade of purple before, or since his departure from the Underworld.
This comforting purple light flooded into the chamber, illuminating it fully, allowing them to get their first glimpse at the room. The chamber was large, even by Underworld standards, measuring easily a couple hundred yards in either direction. The wall opposite the lighted entrance, along which the army was hiding, had an elevated ridge running along its length. There was the entrance at one end, which they had used, and an exit at the other, which they were headed for. There was little but empty granite wall behind the army to retreat back to. An evenly spaced line of uniform stalactites, which gave Gerrod the uncomfortable impression of columns in a cathedral, lined along this elevated trail, too conveniently, to be used as cover for the shocked troops.
Across the empty, descending floor of the chamber, was the other entrance, which had the purple light flooding in. The light skidded across the floor of the cavern, being thrown up into the darkest of shadow whenever it struck the slightest stone. Purple and blackness.
Four large creatures, grotesque perversions of elves and spiders, rushed into the small opening after the last of the fleeing troops. Instead of pressing the pursuit, they took flanking positions around the opening of the tunnel the men had just run from. Their elven bodies were badly deformed, and black as pitch. Patches of long, straggly hair, white as new fallen snow, topped their heads. Bright red, infravision eyes shown into the cave, and scanned the tactics of the situation. Their large, bloated bodies, below the tortured torsos, were that of giant spiders, with eight thick legs protruding out the sides of a large, rounded abdomen. Most of the twisted creatures sported swords or clubs. All held small crossbows. Held in a single hand, each bow was outfitted to hold two of the miniature bolts. If what the doomed soldier had said proved true, these bolts held a deadly poison.
Behind these four beasts filed at least two-dozen elves, their skin just as solid black and hair just as shocking white, as that of the spider-creatures. These were clearly males, and were all dressed in finely crafted mesh armor, almost as impressive as the Guard's own bronze plate. Each warrior wielded two swords, and as they made their way out to either side of the entrance, they made for an impressive army of their own. There was no doubt that these men were fine masters of the fighting arts. With their obvious mastery of dual-weaponed combat, they would have been a strong match against the beleaguered, starving remnants of the King's Guard.
As a finale of this impressive show of force, which was undoubtedly carefully orchestrated to intimidate the startled troops, the last to step through the cavern entrance were five, black-skinned female elves, all dressed in lavish purple and black robes. "Evil priestesses," Amanda whispered, "I'd recognize them anywhere."
"Who are they-" Gerrod asked. Amanda responded with a shrug, seemingly captivated by the drama of the spectacle.
As the center of the five females stepped forward, it was clear she did not belong with the rest of the group. Her skin was light colored, as fair as Amanda or Allison's, and her long hair was dark brown, not white. Perhaps, they considered, this more normal looking elf was simply a guise to help put them at ease. No one was certain what to make of this unexpected stranger.
"Commander LaBairne," the woman called out in a clear voice, speaking the words in the common tongue of Oswegonia. LaBairne forced his eyes to focus and returned her stare as if recognizing her for the first time.
After studying the locations of the entrenched troops a moment, she raised a pointing finger and illuminated LaBairne and the staff he clutched in a glowing, purple light. The man was startled, but was quick to realize that the fiery flames, that licked the length of his entire body, did not burn him.
"I see that you brought the staff. I trust it served you well," the woman noted in a superior tone, condescending to the commander of the King's Guard. He simply hung his head in submission.
"As you commanded, Rai'dley." He barely dared to look up at her when he responded to her. This was very unusual for LaBairne, usually so bold in his words and his actions.
Ace looked at Gerrod doubtfully, not liking the turn in events.
Corinna stared on intently. Rai'dley's appearance intrigued her, and renewed her lost hope that all of this wasn't for naught.
"I'm glad you made it," Rai'dley's words dripping with sarcasm. "Not too many casualties, I hope." She scanned down the line of columns as if she could see the men hiding there behind, assessing the numbers herself.
"Too many," LaBairne responded, almost to himself, as he looked down at the corpse of the man who had fallen at his feet. His body grew cold on the stone floor of the cave right before his eyes.
"It seems that my companions were a bit upset to meet with such a hostile greeting. They didn't take well to being challenged. I would recommend that you not make that same mistake. My association with them is not as highly valued as is their lust for the blood of surface-worlders. I assure you, as long as you do not provoke them, they can be perfectly safe. You may even find them hospitable h
osts."
"So who are they, and what do you have to do with them?" LaBairne dared ask, still not willing to look at the woman he spoke to.
"Friends of mine, as they will be of yours too, I'm sure. Their city is not far from here. I suggest we go there now and discuss matters there in the comforts of good food and drink. You must be hungry and tired from your long journey. The rest will do you well."
"I've brought the crates," LaBairne offered, hoping to gain some sort of appreciation for the struggle they had endured. It had seemed that these all-important crates had lost their importance, now that the army was here.
"As I knew you would. Excellent. Please, bring them along to the city, will you?"
"Why should we follow you?" LaBairne asked, though he was very tempted by the generous offers of food. Something didn't seem right to him, though he had few ideas of how this reception was supposed to go. He looked at the lines of warriors standing ready behind her uneasily.
"I don't see where you really have much choice at this point. You would never get out of this very chamber alive, otherwise. Come now, be reasonable," she encouraged as if talking with a child. "I haven't brought you all the way down here to kill you all off. I could have done that back in Oswegonia, had I wanted."
Rai'dley paused a moment, giving LaBairne time to ponder his options. Finding them as limited as she had said, he motioned his troops into formation. The men, urged on by the promise of food, gave no arguments. Half of the spider-beasts went ahead, following the five women, and half the army of males. The rest of the dark entourage fell in behind the last members of the King's Guard as they escorted them through the now dark tunnel entrance, into the jaws of death itself.
Wefpub followed this parade down the corridor, doubling their usual distance behind. By the brightness of those red eyes that had pierced into the darkness of the meeting chamber, it appeared as though these dark elves had excellent infravision, and they would easily spot the small group as they made their way after them. They tried to stay to the sides of the rough-hewn tunnel walls, though this would be little help if the dark elves were watching for them. They prayed they wouldn't be, though a part of them knew these people were more careful than that. This was certainly not the King's Guard they were following now.
Chapter 20
Eye of the Storm