Chapter 8 - Part 5

He slowly came to, feeling the tightness of his bonds above all of his bruises, cuts, and pains. He was in his own manacles, his arms behind his back. Thick ropes were tied around his neck, his ankles, and his torso, holding him above the ground. Wherever he was the smell was moldy, and there was a dampness in the air.

“You can stop attending to him,” a voice said. “He’s conscious.”

Delegado opened his eyes, although his left one was swollen partially shut. He was bound to a wall near some old pipe openings. The room was fairly large for something this far underground, about thirty feet wide and slightly shorter in length. A well stood in the middle of the room, its water only fairly pure if his sense of smell was accurate.

On a bench across the room sat the warforged monk that had knocked him unconscious. It did not have any numbers painted or branded onto it that he could see, nor was what little he could see of the mark on its forehead familiar. Oddly it seemed to have no armor plating protecting its frame.

A gnome wearing a blacksmith’s apron attended to the warforged, using various machine tools to try and patch up its busted and worn parts, especially the deep gash from Delegado’s sword that went all the way through it. Aside from the apron the gnome wore the same plain but efficient clothing the other monks had worn.

Delegado’s sword, his daggers, his longbow, two quivers, and arrows, were laid out on a table to Delegado’s left, along with the magical ring that granted him the luck to avoid the worst of spells, traps, and other hazards. That ring was a Tharashk heirloom. Next to the ring was his money, his letters of credit from Kundarak, his identity papers, and his belt of potions and alchemical devices. The latter was being identified and looted by two human monks who appeared to be brothers if not twins. They were especially excited over the holy water and the alchemist’s fire. The Brelish device that would summon the airship lay amidst the jumble, next to his boots.

Three other figures gathered to Delegado’s right, examining a frieze on the wall that seemed to be a diagram of the underground monastery. One was a dwarven woman who was carrying Delegado’s healer’s kit, which she had been using to bring him around. Her back was to Delegado as she pointed to the frieze and talked about how far the goblins had explored. Oddly enough for a monk, she had a huge axe stuck in her belt.

Standing on the other side of the dwarf, facing Delegado with cold, careful eyes, was a human male with tan skin and thick eyebrows. His head was shaven, and he had brown eyes.

Delegado quickly gathered the strength of his dragonmark. He was beaten and tired, but the dragonmark’s strength came from his will and mind, his very sense of self. He could use it even if paralyzed. His skin tingled, and his attention was magically riveted on the man staring at him. It was Xavier.

“We have lost ten all told,” said the third figure. It was a halfling woman, and it was her voice that had ordered the dwarven woman to leave him be. “Four from our prisoner, and six from the goblins.”

“Pity that titan didn’t kill all of the goblinfolk,” the gnome said. “I still think we should venture out to examine its frame.”

“You won’t find anything useful, Bodkins,” the warforged told the gnome. “Its animating magic is gone, and the pieces left are too large to be used.”

“You calling me short, Orphan?” chuckled the gnome.

“There is a horde of goblins who have abandoned their bugbear and hobgoblin commanders to occupy our tunnels,” the halfling woman said. “They stand between us and the construct. And beyond them the remnants of the Cyrans are fighting the gathering Valenar groups. We need to find a way to survive the cowards coming down here for shelter. Concentrate on repairing my student so that we can do this, Master Bodkins.”

The halfling woman reminded Delegado of his mother. They even dressed the same in animal skins, except that the halfling woman wore a belt of rope around her waist that seemed sized for a larger creature like a human. He suspected that the ivory-colored central thread of the belt contained powerful magic.

“I am Delegado of House Tharask,” the bounty hunter began.

“We know,” said a monk to his left, pocketing a potion. “We’ve seen your identity papers. Oh, is this dagger byeshk?”

“And enchanted, and House property,” Delegado threatened. He suddenly realized that he was still wearing his armor. Perhaps they were not robbing him blind after all. “I am here to capture one Xavier Dunnel, who is standing next to your leader.”

“Save it, half-breed,” sneered Xavier. “These people have known me for years since I first began visiting Sensei Visha in Flamekeep.”

“You must be mistaken about Brother Nifensva,” the warforged told him. “I can understand that you felt you had a duty, and I am ashamed that my sister in the Balanced Palm tried to kill you. As such I merely incapacitated you and brought you to the sensei.”

“That man is an intelligence operative from Thrane who is responsible for every agent in Breland,” Delegado said. “There is an airship filled with Brelish forces above this battle. If you are responsible for Xavier’s escape from Brelish justice then your order will be hunted down and imprisoned in Breland. Do you want that?”

“We really should gag him,” Xavier scowled. “I do not like that he calls me a liar.”

“Your name is Xavier Dunnel, and I have a dragonmark that helped me find you!” Delegado coughed.

“You are marked?” Bodkins asked, turning around. “Where?”

The brothers pawing through the half-orc’s equipment stopped at looked at each other nervously.

“On a part of me you can kiss!” Delegado snarled. “You are preventing me from fulfilling my House duty! Don’t think you can hide from Tharashk’s retribution!”

“Well, you do find people,” Visha murmured. “You will pardon me if my concern is the hundred or so goblins who have flooded this place.”

“Yeah, well if you had paid a minimal fee to Tharashk, you could have found the artifact that you’re looking for.” Every head suddenly turned towards him. “Oh come on, like I couldn’t figure out what decades of digging meant! Your order hid something here a long time ago, which is the only reason you’re here, you’re still looking for it!”

“He is fairly intelligent,” the warforged said. “What I read about orcs must not be true.”

“It is true, Orphan!” snorted the dwarf. “This is a half-orc, they are more devious.”

“Hey, strung up right here, rock-picker!” Delegado snapped. He was aware that there were orcs far to the north in the Mror Holds that were engaged in a centuries-old genocidal struggle with the dwarves, but in his mind those orcs had nothing to do with his people from the Shadow Marches. As a result Delegado didn’t care for the dwarven attitude. “My point is that you will need my House, and you had better let me go to do my duty!”

“You have a habit of killing my students instead of helping them,” Visha told him, still studying the map. “If not for the debatable actions of one wizardress I would have had your throat slit already. As it is you will stay there until the crisis has passed. I do not enjoy rifling through your belongings either, but we must survive this goblin assault.”

“We will have less problems if will kill him,” Xavier pressed.

“Calm yourself, Nifensva,” the halfling told the Thranish spymaster. “He cannot harm you.” A distant boom was heard. “They have forced the door,” Visha frowned. “Come, we will make a stand in the storage room. Bring the half-orc’s things, some may prove useful in our fight.” The monks nodded and began gathering their things.

“You want to give me my bow at least?” Delegado demanded. “I’m the only one that can pull it anyway.”

“You are staying here,” she told him as her people began to file out the door. “Aureon of the Host will decide your guilt. If goblins find you, they will kill you. If they do not, they will not. Let that be your trial, agent of the Finding House. Let us see who finds you.”

Delegado swore a vicious streak as she walked out. Xavier made sure that he left last, and the Thrane agent ‘accidentally’ dropped some food and a coin bag at the entrance. They weren’t meant for Delegado.

Once they were out of earshot Delegado quit swearing, as it was a pointless exercise. He tested the ropes around him, trying to find the tightest point. The monks had used one long rope to bind him, not trusting in Delegado’s own manacles, and as a result the half-orc merely had to find the one place where if the rope could be broken he could slide free.

There. Right behind one of his kidneys was a thick knot. His manacled hands had been pulled away from it by another loop of the rope. He stretched against the knot to be sure, then wriggled his fingers to grab a few holly leaves. His hands could move enough to cast the spell, and the few nature sound ‘words’ that he uttered were soft and persuasive.

He beseeched the forces of nature, much as a druid would, asking for one small spark of the bonfire to aid him. He was taking a drop from a river, a bit of sand from a great beach, a puff from a maelstrom.

Nature provided him with a small ally, a rat of prodigious size and sharp teeth that quivered its nose as it slunk out of one of the old pipe openings. It glanced around quizzically, seeking an enemy, and then it noticed the knot on his back. He felt it jump on his back, and it began gnawing through the knot with its large teeth.

The rat did not stay long. In fact it darted back to its hidey-hole as soon as the brief magic that had directed it was over. But it was long enough to sever the rope. Delegado began stretching, and the rope began to unravel around him.

Goblin voices could be heard from down the hallway. Sweat appeared on Delegado’s brow as he worked his way out of the ropes. The goblins were walking as softly as they could, but they seemed to argue a great deal amongst themselves, lacking any one strong leader.

The ropes gave way, and Delegado dropped to the floor with a grunt. The sound was not unheard by the goblins, who hissed at each other.

The half-orc shook the last rope free, even as he heard the quiet goblin feet slink forward. He pulled his feet up, pushing the manacle chain beneath his bare feet so that his hands were again in front of him.

The goblins had found the food and coin, and were in the doorway. Pointing fingers at the half-orc they shrieked and threw their little spears.

Delegado dodged the first clumsy throw, and his armor blocked the next two. He ran at the goblins who yelled and swore and pulled out their little clubs, but dove headfirst into the well instead of attacking them.

Ice cold water hit him, covering his body and blocking all sight. The half-orc shuddered, but persevered. Like all who lived the majority of life outdoors he had an endurance that helped him hold his breath and resist shock. But he was not merely planning to hide and hold his breath, he had memorized the pipelines in this place from the maps that Gorka had provided him with. Some twenty feet down he came to a cross-pipe, and he kicked left, swimming through the pipe that lay dozens of feet beneath the earth.

About fifty feet down there was another pipe up, leading to a cistern. Gorka had told him that the Dhakaani builders of this place had connected all of their drinking water sources so as to make it easier to fight fires anywhere in the complex. The reason for the apprehension of fire that these goblins of long-ago had was long lost to time.

Delegado’s head surfaced in the cistern, a large, open vat of water, and he happily took a deep breath. Listening carefully, he heard sounds of fighting from another passageway, and mentally went through the memorized maps. The storage room where the monks had holed up was the easternmost one, judging by the sounds of fighting that he was hearing. It had its own well, one that he could get to from here with some small difficulty.

He heard a scream that was distinctly that of a dying human. He had to buy the monks time, else they would be overrun and Breland would pay nothing for Xavier’s dead body. He stepped out of the cistern and cautiously made his way down a rusted set of bumps that had doubtless been a maintenance ladder some time in the distant past. Carefully he crept across the cracked flagstones, his darkvision leading him to a goblin guard picking its nose while nonchalantly holding a spear.

The manacle chain silently slipped over the goblin’s throat, and the half-orc jerked the little humanoid backwards into the cistern chamber, snapping its neck. He carefully looted the goblin’s body, finding a tiny knife and a small coin purse. Delegado ignored the coin purse and slipped the knife into a pocket. He then took the little spear, barely more than a long stick to him, and he stuck his head out of the cistern room.

“Hey!” he screamed, throwing the spear. It clattered down the hallway, and a group of goblins at the rear of the force pressing on the monks turned to see what was going on. Delegado screamed obscenities at them in the orc and goblin tongues, and they shrieked angrily back at him.

The half-orc ran back towards the cistern, shimmying up its side. Thinking he was fleeing their rage, the emboldened goblins charged after him. By the time had poured into the room, Delegado was already beneath the surface of the water, kicking downwards.

The half-orc found the cross pipe, and then another connecting pipe that led towards the well in the storage room where the monks were. He pushed ahead, wracking his brain to make sure he was going the correct way as he swam through the water.

Suddenly he bumped into a grate. Fear gripped him as he froze, trying to remember anything about a grate. Was he in the wrong place, heading for a watery death? Dare he go back to the cistern to draw more breath, and face dozens of angry goblins looking for the one who had insulted them?