A crowd of the Dread Lord’s followers gathered below. Drawn by the sense that something was amiss in their master’s Keep, they waited with weapons, torches, and a hunger for news.  They watched elves, sprites, orcs, goblins, boar, and wolf traverse a network of slides and crudely knotted ropes made from curtains and tablecloths.  Once they’d made their way from the banquet’s balcony they gathered at the Keep’s front doors.  

Hoping to learn more about what was happening, the crowd of monsters pressed the first of to reach the bottom, Tad’s scouts, toting his statue.  Rather than answer, they jabbed daggers and yelled curses to keep the mob at bay and clear space for the other escapees.

Bigrummar began issuing orders before his feet touched the ground.  Prepare that truck! Help the elves to safety!  Signal to clear a path to their camp.  He kept everyone so busy fetching supplies and preparing for travel that they forgot to ask: what of the Dread Lord?

Lt. Chrincha shadowed Toran one they were both on the ground.  The Yendell officer swung his staff at any monsters who came near and barked at Toran if strayed.  Eventually, he sat the doctor at the edge of the truck bed and threatened harm to him if he left there.  Toran rolled his eyes as he settled into his spot.  Ayara sat beside him and laid her head on his shoulder.  He pulled his niece closer and looked up, spying Hohza on the balcony.

The orc waved at his teacher. “I’ll be down soon,” he yelled.  

“Is everybody else clear?” Bonnelle squatted, peering between arcing stone balusters.  Her alabaster skin shone blue in the moonlight. The soft aura was broken by black streaks straining her face and arms, remnants of her clash with Withering Sorrows.  However, nothing rivaled the pink sparkle of her amethyst eyes.

Below everything was fine, Hohza thought as he turned from the balcony railing.  The doors to the banquet hall shook.  Each time the Dread Lord on the other side pounded them, the makeshift barricade of tables and chairs shifted and crumbled.  While below everything was fine, before them death was furiously knocking.  The doors groaned as they pulled against the hinges with each successive bang.

The trio of warriors looked at one another. Although nothing was spoken, a terrible truth was acknowledged in their furtive glances; they couldn’t escape unless the Dread Lord was unconscious or dead.  If the wraith was allowed to leave the Keep they could tell their horde to descend on the survivors.

With a resigned sigh, Hohza rose and turned to the door.  “Gohta, leave.  Bonnelle and I can keep the Dread Lord occupied long enough to ensure your escape.”

“No!” Gohta matched his War Master’s stride.  The Dread Lord smashed against the door again, sending a fine oak chair tumbling down the pile.  When it struck the floor a leg and armrest broke off. “I am not letting you send me away again!”

Bonnelle took a deep breath. “It’s heartwarming to know I’ll die alongside such loyal, honorable warriors.” She retrieved her hammer, nestled on the plush carpet, and held it aloft.

“Thank you.” Hohza stood before the barricade. His electric blade illuminated the avalanche of furniture. 

With one more, forceful bash, the Dread Lord shattered the doors and brought the barricade down.  They swept in like a flood of black tar. 

“Gohta, let’s keep the Dread Lord away,” Hohza ordered.  “Bonnelle, stay between us!” Back-to-back, with the dwarf huddled in between, the two orcs stabbed their glowing swords into the carpet and held them there.  It was a maneuver they’d used before in combatting a wraith.  The Dread Lord parted to avoid the electricity and burn of the blades, creating an island of safety.

“There!” Bonnelle pointed her hammer at a dried black patch drifting among the Dread Lord’s swirling mass.  Where it cracked, red shone through; lingering scars from when Tad struck with the Wraith’s Edge.

“Can you hit it from here?”  Hohza leaned into his sword.  Although the Dread Lord kept away, strands lashed at the blade, threatening to knock it out of the floor.

“No. Wait, I’ve an idea! Just stay still.” Bonnelle climbed Hohza.  Her sharp nails dug into his shoulders as she pulled herself up.  The smooth material of her dress, and the softness underneath, brushed his back.  A moment later his shoulders sagged as the dwarf stood atop him.  He wrenched to the side as she swung her hammer with an unladylike grunt.  She released the weapon, sending it whizzing through the air while she tumbled down.   As she landed, a jumble of limbs and red hair sandwiched between Hohza’s and Gohta’s backs, her hammer collided with a chandelier above.

The fixture came crashing down.  The bowl shattered, spreading oil across the wound, and was set alight.  Withering Sorrows lot off a blood curdling scream from a mouth that couldn’t be seen.  It began raising waves of ink that crash down on the fire and smother the flames.  Similar to the door moments before, the floor began to groan and creak from the Dread Lord’s beating.

“It’s going to break there. Hurry! Gohta, just keep attacking it.” Hohza pulled his sword from the floor and began hacking at the dark morass by his feet.  The ink sizzled and shrank away from his blade with each swing.  Gohta did the same, and the three slowly made their way to where the Dread Lord was treating their wound.

“Don’t we want to avoid falling,” Bonnelle asked.  Tucked between the orcs, she lifted the hem of her dress, to keep her toes clear.

“Any way out of here is better than being trapped,” Gohta answered.  The trio got to where the chandelier had fallen and cleared the area.  Bonnelle picked her hammer out from a pile of black flakes that tinkled like broken glass when she brushed them away.

A head, as large a man’s torso, rose from the muck nearby.  “After all I’ve done for you.  Gave you monsters life.  Gave you order and meaning … and you betray me?”  The Dread Lord bared thin, long teeth.  “You are ungrateful children,” they snarled.

“It’s an awful parent who feels they’ve the right to condemn their child to death!” Bonnelle smacked the floor with her hammer.  It groaned and cracked. The stained red carpet beneath the warriors’ feat sagged as the floor under it gave way, and then it tore from their weight.  They fell through blackness for longer than they should have before crashing onto a long, stone table.  The three, piled atop each other, squirmed and groaned in pain.

“It’s a wonder our weapons didn’t impale us on the way down.”  The dwarf sat on the edge of the table, her thick legs crossed, as she massaged her temple.  Her hair was whipped by howling wind. Her hammer lay on its side on the floor, amidst the rubble of the unfortunate chair it landed on.  She looked up.  “Where’s the hole? Didn’t we fall through a hole?”

“The Dread Lord’s control of this place weakens the more they’re wounded.  It’s a defense mechanism which makes it easier to separate from their enemies.  It helping us, though, as now Withering Sorrows has to figure out where we are.” Hohza stepped off the table and picked up his sword, which leaned against the Dread Lord’s black throne at the head of the table.

“We’re in the council chamber!” Gohta flopped off the table and onto the floor.  He got to his feet and sprang to  the balcony, where the wind blew in.  The tower at the Prison of Eternal Suffering loomed tall and dark against the sky, now gray with dawn, save for its western edge which was golden from the approaching dawn. 

“Is that a way out?” Bonnelle shivered against the breeze.  She pulled her vest tight around her chest. She shook her head is dismay.  “We’re in a tower now? We fell to a higher floor?”

“As I said, the Dread Lord’s power over this place has weakened,” Hohza said.  He leaned over the railing. “Sadly, descending from this balcony isn’t an option.”

“I imagine it’s not as easy as using the front door,” Gohta grumbled. He sat in Hohza’s chair at the council table, hands folded over his chest.  He rolled his head at the green double doors.  Normally those should open to the long tunnel which lead to the rear entrance of the Keep.

Hohza shook his head.  “No telling where it goes.  I’ve an idea, though.” He rushed to the seats at the back of the room.  They seemed solid; long benches ascending like steps, all carved from a single stone that extended from the back wall.  Hohza moved across them, smacking seats with the butt of his sword.  One rung hollow and the orc stopped there.  “Bonnelle?”

The dwarf  grabbed her weapon and sauntered over.  She brought the hammer’s head down on the seat and it collapsed, revealing a yawning blackness below.  Cold, stale air wafted from the opening.  She leaned over it. “Handy for a latrine, I suppose.  Is this supposed to be here?”

“Yes.  It’s like the backbone of the Keep, and it’s more fixed.”

Something scraped beyond the green doors.  The Dread Lord cackled. “Always expected to kill you in the council chamber, Hohza.  Figured you’d say the wrong thing at the wrong time.”

“Down!”  Hohza pulled Bonnelle into the darkness below.  They landed on a spiraling staircase.  Gohta followed.

Above them the doors were thrown open.  The Dread Lord tromped through the council chamber, roaring for Hohza and Gohta.  They thrashed about and pulverized the council table. Chunks of shattered slate cascaded down the surface.  “You didn’t jump, did you?”

Bonnelle, Hohza, and Gohta froze on the stairway. With a gasp the dwarf stopped breathing altogether.  They looked at the cone of light pouring down from the opening,  only a dozen steps away.

“You found the back stairs, did you?” The Dread Lord leaned over the opening, blocking its light.  Then their head, elongated and tipped with a toothy maw like a bear’s skull, pushed itself in from the end of a serpentine neck. 

  With a blurred arc of blue light, Hohza rushed forward and swung at the Dread Lord.  Bolts sprung out where the blade chopped into the liquid flesh.  The red of the wraith’s eyes flared as they pushed their head further in, gnashing sharp teeth at Bonnelle.  Gohta shielded the dwarf, then batted at the head with his flaming sword, narrowly avoiding snapping jaws.

“Get to the bottom,” Hohza ordered.  He tore his sword from the neck and twisted around the writhing head. 

The Dread Lord chomped at the orc.  Hohza shoved his right arm into the open mouth and pushed the tip of his sword against the wraith’s palette.  The mouth snapped shut around his arm. Bolts shot through Withering Sorrows’ skull when the blade stabbed the roof of their mouth.  Hohza held firm despite the wraith’s sharp teeth sawing at his arm.

With a sickening gibber, Withering Sorrows pulled their skull out of the opening, letting Hohza’s enchanted blade slice through black bone and flesh. Stringy ebony remnants sizzled on Hohza’s blade and burnt into his wounds.  Hohza shook them off and scraped his limp right arm against the wall.  As he did, his sword slipped from his blood-soaked hand slid down the stairs.  “Look out,” he called.  Gohta and Bonnelle, a couple of dozen steps below, stopped and turned.  Gotha watched the sword slip by.

 Bonnelle bent over to catch the sword by the handle, but was too slow.  “Sorry,” she said.  In the red light of Gohta’s sword she pouted, her lower lip jutting out.  The weapon disappeared into the darkness below.

“Just wait a moment.” Hohza leaned against the wall. He breathed in rapid, ragged pants.  A moment later, echoes of something clattering about above reached them.   Then Stormblade’s line of blue light cut the darkness as it fell towards them.  It crossed under the cone of light and past Hohza’s feet.

Gohta snatched up it with his free hand.  He looked between the red and blue swords and then took a step up to Hohza.

“Keep it,” Hohza said, his voice faint.  He tried raising his right hand, but the tension in his torn muscles and shredder flesh made him wince, and let it drop impotently and hang by his side.  “My sword arm is failing me.”

They continued down the spiral staircase with Gohta in the lead, lighting the way with the enchanted blades.  They stopped occasionally to let Hohza catch his breath.  Always they strained, listening for Withering Sorrows’ approach.  After descending a greater distance than the Keep could contain, they arrived at the bottom of the shaft.   Much like the Keep’s halls, the circular chamber was lined with skeletal sconces.  Rather than gripping blazing torches, however, the hands were upturned to cup squat black candles of blue flames.  At the front of the chamber was a double door tall enough for a troll to pass through.

“I’ve got it!” Bonnelle rushed ahead.  She dropped her hammer and leaned into the right door.  As she pushed it open the bottom scraped against the floor. 

Leaning through the opening, Gohta shouted “I think that’s the tunnel to the side entrance!” 

Behind them, Hohza stumbled down the last few steps.  He wheezed and wiped profuse sweat from his forehead with his left hand.

“Ungrateful child! Infecting the others! They’re mine,” the Dread Lord yelled, sounding like an animal mimicking speech. Then a boom rolled towards them, shaking the stairs as it went.

Still holding both swords, Gohta returned to Hohza and let his War Master lean against his shoulder.  Together, they hobbled from the chamber.  However, Hohza insisted on swatting the candles out of every sconce they passed.  When each landed the fire was snuffed.

“We haven’t time for this,” Bonnelle remarked, pointing at the hunks of black wax.

“They’re a defense.  Those faithful to the Dread Lord aren’t affected.  Others are compelled to put them out.” Hohza bent forward and threw up.  “Put out enough and it bring the tunnel down.”

“You always did seem so uncomfortable going through this tunnel,” Gohta said.  He knocked a candle to the floor.  “Look at what you’ve done to me,” his words were soft, choked by fear.

“There’s no shame in discovering you’re your own master, friend.” Hohza clapped his good hand against Gohta’s chest.  They crossed into the tunnel.  Pebbles and dust fell from the cavern ceiling as the chamber behind them continued shaking as the Dread Lord screamed to the bottom.  “I’m glad I got to see it … before the end.”  They passed a dozen pairs of candles before Hohza stumbled.  He dropped to the floor an hung his head. Despite Gohta and Bonnelle’s urging, amid furtive glances at the door behind them, the orc stayed seated against the wall.

“You can’t intend this,” Gohta whimpered.  His lower lip quivered.

“I won’t survive anyway.” Hohza turned, indicating the thick trail of blood he’d left.  He coughed, and some more blood trickled down his chin. He dropped, leaning against the wall.  “Withering Sorrows wants me.  I’ll meet them, even if not in combat, and end this.” He pointed down the tunnel to a dot of light at the end.  “Take Bonnelle and go.  You’re the War Master, now, friend. Knock down the candles at the end of the hall.  I’ll take care of these.  That should be enough.”

Every muscle in Gohta’s face twitched as he fought for control.  He clenched the swords’ grips in his hands. “Any words for Toran,” he sniffled.

“Yes. I’m glad I was student to an elf.”

Gohta’s nodded, eyes red and watery.   Then he charged down the tunnel.

Bonnelle lingered a moment.  She bent down and looked Hohza in the eyes.  She smiled sweetly, the dark gray of her lips peeking through smeared red lipstick.  “I never would have thought I’d find the bright spot in the Land of Darkness. Yet here I am, with you.”  She blinked away tears from those dazzling amethyst eyes.  They rolled down her soft, round cheeks of speckled, polished stone.

“I’m glad I got to know you, Bonnelle. Even if only for a couple of days. It’s like those books we discussed.  Just one of the sad ones.”

“I always hated those.” She wiped away the blood from his mouth and then leaned in for a kiss.  Their mouths met and their lips intertwined.  Then she pulled away and shuddered.  “Sing loudest in the thereafter,” she said, her voice grim.  “But not of your Dread Lord.  Sing of yourself.”

“I will,” said Hohza, smiling.  Bonnelle ran after Gohta, toting her hammer.

When her footsteps no longer reached him, Hohza stood.  He worked at knocking over the nearest candles, proceeding to the double doors.  A final, quaking thump announced the Dread Lord’s arrival.  They pushed open the door, revealing a vaguely human skull, cleft down the middle atop a heap of limbs.   Their flesh was covered in patches cracked like a sunbaked riverbed.  “Hohza,” they snarled from drooling jaws.

“I’ve dreamt of slaying you most of my life.  Now that it’s happening, I wish I could do anything else.”

Massive, splayed hands grabbed at the floor and pulled the Dread Lord forward.  Tendrils slapped the floor and walls, putting out candles as Withing Sorrows skulked closer.

Leaning against the wall, with a flickering candle before him, Hohza laugher bitterly. “You’re so mad you can’t even see you’re caught in your own trap.  We’re a pitiful pair.”  The orc spat blood on the ground.  With a winsome smile on his face, and his mind on the life he’d miss, Hohza blew out one last candle.