The Tolls of War – A Shadowed Horizons Short Story – Part One

Arlantrix lounged almost casually on the deck of the Infernox-class warship. As the mighty craft smashed through the waves, her keen elven ears could detect the constant churning of the engines that powered this floating travesty, along with the moans and screams of the slaves used to power it.

Compared to the sleek twilight kin ships she had sailed on before, this was an abomination. Her heart told her the thick, metallic hull and gigantic skull on the prow should send the vessel plunging to the depths of the Low Sea of Suan. But her head told her the dark magic and infernal engineering of the dwarfs somehow kept the monstrous steamer afloat. The crone could even sense the touch of abyssal sorcery swirling around them as they thundered across the sea.

She took a moment to peruse the rest of the fleet. Like the Infernox, they were all steam-powered and the chugging sound of engines floated over the waves.

So much for stealth, she thought with a sneer. She had become increasingly exasperated by the brash dwarfs since setting sail on the mission. There had been numerous times she would have liked nothing more than to slip one of her obsidian knives across the throat of the arrogant fools. However, they had their place as a blunt tool. In return for her help now, they had sworn to provide a heavy escort for a twilight kin convoy – already awaiting them in the Infant Sea. Of course, she thought, the dwarfs couldn’t be trusted to know what precious cargo they intended to transport north.

Once known as the Heart of Avarice, it was thought by many that this treasure of the gods was lost in the depths of the Halpi Mountains. A gemstone of incalculable value, it would attract the greedy of the world, passing constantly from one murderous hand to the next. Now it had been found by twilight kin scouts, and they had instantly recognised its power. After a year of experiments and rituals in the Mouth of Leith it was something quite different, something even darker. They called it the Shadowheart, and within the depths of its polished form lay terrifying potential, and the future of her people.

The waves crashed against thick metal hulls. The light cutters and slaveships of her own kin would have avoided sailing so close to the Basilean capital, and certainly not entertained the blunt ‘strategy’ about to unfold. The Low Sea of Suan was regularly patrolled by the formidable Basilean navy and the hulking forms of the abyssal dwarf flotilla would make easy targets. A deal, however, was a deal.

Sailing along their portside was an Angkor-class warship. Thick plumes of smoke churned forth from a pair of funnels at the rear of the craft, while paddles on the side cut through the sea and propelled it forward. The paddles were small, however, compared to the gigantic hellmortar on the prow of the ship, which emerged from a gaping ‘mouth’. Occasionally the teeth and lips of the maw would ripple, causing Arlantrix to wonder if this were some living beast fused to the vessel. It wouldn’t surprise her. After all, the hybrid of flesh craft and engineering employed by the dwarfs was notorious across Pannithor.

Behind them trailed an escort of various support ships. A trio of Decimators were the closest. Even compared to the Infernox and Angkor, these were brutish machines. Great stacks sent thick, black smoke into the sky; creating a foul-smelling fog that obscured the rest of the flotilla. Following the Decimators were a smattering of smaller Blacksoul frigates and Katsuchan bombards. Behind them, everything was hidden by the smog.

Surrounded by all this smoke and metal, Arlantrix felt more than a touch of disgust. She longed for the silence and speed of an Impaler or Banshee. Not these awful, clanking machines. Still, she had a job to do and once it was over, she could return to Ileuthar. She longed for a hot bath. It would take an age to stop her hair smelling of this disgusting smoke and the stale ale of the dwarfs.

She ran her fingers through her raven-black hair and noticed that a dwarf had stopped to gape. Fixing the sailor with her piercing gaze, she gave him a coy wave and chuckled at his flustered attempts to pretend he hadn’t been staring at her, before he disappeared below decks huffing and puffing. Since she had come aboard, the crew appeared to be fascinated and disgusted by her all at once. She assumed the notorious dwarven pride had taken a beating at the thought of allying with an elf… even an elf in league with the infernal powers of the Abyss. Throughout their journey she had caught sly looks and heard muttered curses. The sooner she was back in Ileuthar, the better.

Trying to ignore the rumbling engines and the thick, acrid smoke surrounding her, Arlantrix leaned against a stack of barrels and tried to enjoy the sea breeze stirring across her face. She closed her eyes and bathed in the touch of the eldritch energies that swirled around the ships. However, she only had a moment to relax when she was disturbed by a sharp cough. Opening her eyes, she realised the cause of the disturbance was the captain of the Infernox: an overmaster called Karik Bloodworn.

Even for a dwarf, Karik was short. Arlantrix had gathered that he made up for his diminutive stature by being particularly cruel and easy to temper. He also wore a pair of salamander-hide boots with heels that almost rivalled Arlantrix’s own leather boots. His long, black beard was weaved into intricate plaits with gold runes twisted into each strand. Arlantrix would laugh, if only this pompous fool didn’t play such a crucial role in their task.

“The gargoyles have just returned. It won’t be long until we reach the toll forts of the Golden Horn,” boomed Karik. Arlantrix assumed his bellowing voice was another attempt to disguise his shortness.

“Excellent. We’re right on schedule,” replied Arlantrix with a sickly smile. “Wake me when we’re through.”

“I wouldn’t be so eager to celebrate, crone,” spat Karik. “The gargoyles spotted no twilight kin ships. You were meant to provide a distraction. They should be harrying the Basileans by now. I told Dravak we couldn’t trust the elves. Cowardly, as always.”

Arlantrix couldn’t hide the angry curl of her lip.

“I may look like an elf, but my heart beats with the blackness of the void. I have seen horrors that would turn your beard white with fear.”

She stopped lounging against the barrels and drew herself to her full height, meaning she towered over the dwarf. Pulling on the power of the void, she toyed with black energy that formed around her fingers and was amused to see Karik take a step back.

“If my kin said they would provide a distraction, a distraction they will provide. We honour our word.”

Inwardly, Arlantrix was starting to have her concerns about this alliance, despite it being signed in blood in the halls of Tragar. For the abyssal dwarfs, this was a transactional deal, but for her people this was far more. Their convoy must reach the Winterlands without fail. Momentarily lost in thought, the sound of Karik’s deep voice snapped her to attention.

“It’s only a matter of time before we’re spotted. If your kin are not coming, we will return to Tragar and reassess.”

Arlantrix tensed, sensing the weight of this moment. Larger plans were in motion and it could all fall apart – right now. She forced a laugh.

“Ha! I didn’t realise you dwarfs were so cowardly. Perhaps we would have been better to ally with the greenskins? I hear Yinn Greythunder has no trouble sailing these waters.”

Karik bristled and spat.

“We’ll do this by blood and brute force then! But no distraction, no deal,” he turned and stomped off. “Full steam ahead!”

The captain’s order was greeted by the shrill sound of various steam whistles and Arlantrix felt the ship lurch forward as it gathered speed. She turned to see thick plumes of black smoke billowing from the other craft in their fleet. The acrid fumes burnt the back of her throat, causing her to gag slightly. Elsewhere on the deck, abyssal dwarf warriors emerged from the barracks. Clad in golden armour engraved with snarling demonic faces, some were brandishing spears, while others had blunderbusses ready to fire upon any enemies that were foolish enough to come too close.

Suddenly the booming sound of cannon cut through the roar of the steam engines. Arlantrix ran to the portside rail to see what they were firing at, and her heart sank. In the distance she could make out the white towers of the two toll forts but ahead of them – and coming straight toward her – were a pair of Abbess-class ships and three Elohi. There was a mighty splash as the rounds fell well short of the approaching vessels.

“Fools,” she sighed. The dwarfs were too far away for combat and their display of power was simply a waste of ammunition.

She observed with a chill that it wouldn’t be long before the Basileans were ready to engage. Strong winds were catching the sails and their ships were ripping through the waves. Arlantrix gripped the rail and her keen eyes looked desperately beyond the approaching walls of the Golden Horn, toward the distant horizon for her kin.

“Where are you?” she hissed.

Continued in Part Two…

Author: Rob Burman