“Let’s get out of here,” said Ferik. They raced through the archway and found themselves in a huge central chamber. It was at the bottom of an enormous pit, with makeshift elevators, running up and down the sides. Around the edges were scores of archways just like the one they had come through. Kormak guessed they represented other galleries running off into the depths. Metal railings for carts, and enormous slag piles rearing beside them reinforced that conclusion.
In the centre of the chamber, on a monstrous throne, lolled the gigantic form of Graghur. In front of him, dressed in a motley, with a ball and chain on his leg was Utti. As they entered Graghur looked up and smiled.
“What is this?” he asked in a booming voice that echoed through the caverns. “Visitors? And we have not prepared a feast to welcome them! Well, no matter, they shall provide the feast themselves.”
He laughed and then threw back his head and howled. Hundreds of chittering, squeaking calls answered him. From a dozen of the entrances goblins poured. Half a dozen wolves, including the giant one that Graghur had used as a steed erupted as if from a pit at his feet. More goblin voices sounded from above them.
If they waited, they would simply be overwhelmed. There was nothing to do but attack now. Kormak raised the axe and charged. The others were right behind him.
A few missiles arced down from galleries above them. The goblins had not yet had time to realise that only a few intruders were attacking them. Darts clattered to the ground near Kormak but most of them fell behind him.
Laughing Graghur bounded towards him, brandishing a weapon in each of his four hands. Kormak recognised one of them as his own blade. He was surprised the Old One had the nerve to carry it. The wolves and their giant pack leader were right behind Graghur. Squads of goblins raced to join the fray.
Kormak and Graghur crossed blades. The Old One was fast and incredibly strong and Kormak was far less used to wielding an axe than a sword. It was all he could do to parry Graghur’s blows.
Boreas leapt into the fray, dwarf maul smashing down, taking advantage of the Old One’s concentration on Kormak. The force of the blow sent Graghur reeling back. The links on his chainmail coat were broken.
Graghur laughed madly as if the pain only amused him. Perhaps it did. Kormak had met Old Ones who chose to feel pain as pleasure and pleasure as pain. Graghur bounced back, slashing at Boreas with his scimitar. Boreas parried it, but a blow from Kormak’s own runeblade cut through the big man’s armour and sliced his flesh. Blood poured from the open wound and Boreas fell to the ground.
A howling pack of wolves raced forward. Flame belched from the nostrils of their leader. One of Sasha’s runestones impacted in the middle of them. The lesser wolves howled as the blast bowled them over and set light to their fur. The leader kept on coming, immune to the effect of the fire blast.
Utti raised the ball and chain attached to his ankle. He started to swing it as a weapon. Kormak could not decide whether he was intending to attack the interlopers or Graghur with it. Maybe the dwarf could not decide himself. Ferik made up his mind for him, charging at Utti, yelling, “Die traitor!”
Utti whirled the massive metal ball around, but Ferik was too fast for him, pouncing like a springing tiger, rolling under the spinning ball and smashing his axe into Utti’s leg. Utti overbalanced, pulled down by the weight of his own improvised weapon. Overcome with rage, Ferik dropped his axe and wrapped his hands around Utti’s throat. He began to twist.
Kormak leapt forward striking at Graghur again. The Old One parried effortlessly with one of his scimitars. Kormak struck again and this time the Old One did as he had hoped and parried with Kormak’s own sword. Kormak hooked it with the blade of his axe and twisted, wrenching it free from Graghur’s grip and sending it flying off through the air. He barely had time to leap back before the Old One’s counter-attack almost beheaded him.
“I see your plan, human,” said Graghur. “You seek to take back the gift my friend Utti brought me and use it against me. Very clever but it will not work.”
The Old One attacked like a four armed whirlwind. A storm of blades blew around Kormak. He ducked and weaved and parried desperately and still he bled from a dozen cuts. His arms, legs and sides burned and he was not sure whether he had taken a major wound or not. Sometimes it took seconds, even minutes to feel the full pain of such.
He could not find any space to launch a counter-attack, and even if he had been able to, it would not have mattered. Graghur was berserk and he did not fear the axe Kormak carried. He could take a wound from it and know he would not die. His own blades would chop Kormak to pieces.