Forge of Ashes Read online

  Akina smiled even as she smelled the unappetizing stench of her own cooked flesh. Then the creature advancing on her blocked the monk's ongoing fight. She strained again to force her stubborn limbs into motion. Right as her would-be-killer stepped in for the strike, an object slammed into the top of its head, crushing half its face and driving it to the ground.

  Akina's maulaxe clanged down beside her. A clatter of armor pieces fell after it, with her ram's helm as the last to land.

  Izthuri's call rang out."Found it."

  Akina grabbed the maulaxe handle and pulled herself up."Lady, whatever you are, I like your timing."

  Ignoring the rest of the armor for the moment, she slapped the helm over her head and hefted the maulaxe in trembling arms. Screaming wordless defiance, she ran for the nearest of Nullick's warriors. One flung crystal wedges at her as it backed away. Two wedges shattered as she ran past, spraying her with slivers. The third clipped her arm and spun away. She threw her maulaxe ahead, and it struck one of the little monsters aside. As the crystal-flinger drew another shard, she drove it to the floor and clamped a hand on its wrist. It struggled with wiry strength, but she flexed its arm until it gasped and dropped the crystal. She grabbed the wedge and crunched it through the waiting neck.

  Nullick laughed."Such a good game. But you've only found one set of gear and I've summoned more to play on my side. Shall we try for a second round?"

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  Forge of Ashes © 2015 Paizo Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means digital, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, or conveyed via the Internet or a website without prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embedded in critical articles and reviews.

  Paizo, Inc., the Paizo golem logo, Pathfinder, the Pathfinder logo, and Pathfinder Society are registered trademarks of Paizo Inc.; Pathfinder Accessories, Pathfinder Adventure Card Game, Pathfinder Adventure Path, Pathfinder Battles, Pathfinder Campaign Setting, Pathfinder Cards, Pathfinder Flip-Mat, Pathfinder Map Pack, Pathfinder Module, Pathfinder Pawns, Pathfinder Player Companion, Pathfinder Roleplaying Game, and Pathfinder Tales are trademarks of Paizo Inc.

  Cover art by Eric Belisle

  Cover design by Emily Crowell.

  Map by Robert Lazzaretti.

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  ISBN 978-1-60125-743-7 (mass market paperback)

  ISBN 978-1-60125-744-4 (ebook)

  Publisher’s Cataloging-In-Publication Data

  (Prepared by The Donohue Group, Inc.)

  Vogt, Josh

  Forge of ashes / Josh Vogt.

  p. ; cm. — (Pathfinder tales)

  Set in the world of the role-playing game, Pathfinder and Pathfinder Online.

  Issued also as an ebook.

  ISBN: 978-1-60125-743-7 (mass market paperback)

  1. Dwarfs--Fiction. 2. Kidnapping--Fiction. 3. Brothers and sisters--Fiction. 4. Underground areas--Fiction. 5. Battles--Fiction. 6. Pathfinder (Game)--Fiction. 7. Fantasy fiction. 8. Adventure stories. I. Title. II. Series: Pathfinder tales library.

  PS3622.O48 F67 2015

  813/.6

  First printing April 2015.

  Printed in the United States of America.

  To Robert and Beth Vogt, who gave me a lifelong love of stories, and who have never stopped believing that my own tales are worth telling.

  Chapter One

  Homecoming

  Akina hefted her maulaxe and pointed to the iron gates visible just down the mountain road."I swear, if you don't say something by the time we get there, I'm pounding you into the ground—head-first—and leaving you to rot."

  Ondorum's soft smile, barely visible in the shadow of his hood, tightened her irritation into a prickling knot of anger. He looked down at her and then over at the dwarven city of Taggoret—at least, its surface level. He spread his hands and shrugged. She'd put up wi
th his ridiculous vow of silence long enough to understand that this gesture simply meant, Really?

  Huffing, Akina strapped the maulaxe to her back and plodded onward, iron-and-leather armor creaking."Stop calling my bluffs. And next time you want to sell our horses and toss all the coin to a few beggars, you damned well ask me first. Think I wanted to walk all this way? And stop dragging me into your penance. Not your fault they died. How many times do I have to tell you?"

  Ondorum kept his gaze forward, but his gait grew heavier. Akina sighed. Fool of a monk. His ridiculous commitment to"attaining perfection" had manifested in stubbornness before, but this took it to unbelievable heights.

  He strode beside her, his hood and voluminous sleeves hiding most of his features, but dusky gray skin peeked out from time to time, streaked with emerald-hued veins. His deep brown robe, stained by weeks of travel, added to the illusion of his having been dug up from the earth. With his stocky frame, he had the size and sculpt of a man chiseled from stone—fitting for an oread, she figured, with an earth elemental for an ancestor. However, he moved more like a mountain river than a boulder.

  Compared to him, Akina clomped along like a miniature avalanche, kicking up enough dust to blind an eagle. As Taggoret's gates neared, she straightened her helm. Shaped in the likeness of a ram's head, complete with horns curling back around the sides, it was one of the few mementos she'd kept from their years with Durgan's band, exchanging blood for gold.

  Realizing she was fiddling with the strap, she dropped her hands and made fists. Since when did she let nerves get to her? Why should returning home make her feel more on edge than facing down a pack of rabid wargs?

  Ahead, several caravans and a stream of lone travelers worked their way in and out of the main gates. The towering iron and stone had been worked by hammer and hand, filling the mountain pass from wall to wall with images of dwarves bent over the anvil or over fallen foes. Faces of the city's leaders stared out with graven eyes, features embellished with precious metals. All around them rose the peaks of the Five Kings Mountains, a mix of harsh scree- and scrag-spotted wilderness along the upper slopes, with verdant fields and forests in the valleys below. The peak of Mount Langley reared above Taggoret itself, one enormous bluff carved so the likeness of King Taggrick watched over Kingtower Pass.

  Akina sucked in a deep breath, savoring an earthy scent she'd thought she'd forgotten these past ten years. Snatches of dwarven language filled the air as they neared the gates. With brisk efficiency, the guards inspected everyone, hammers and shields readied. Their helms and breastplates bore the symbol of the Five Kings Mountains, a noble peak adorned with a five-tined crown. Two guards blocked their path.

  "Name and business?"

  Akina stepped forward, chin lifted."Akina Fairingot. Business is personal. Taggoret's my home."

  The other dwarf tilted his head."Fairingot? The one who went off to the Goblinblood Wars?"

  Surprise jolted through her at being recognized after so many years, especially since there'd been at least a hundred volunteers from Taggoret in her cohort alone. She studied the guard's features, but didn't think they'd ever met."So?"

  "Huh. Many thought you dead. Some will be glad to hear it isn't so."

  She furrowed her brow. Many? Some? Before she could ask, the guard waved for the next group of travelers to come up.

  "Pass on and welcome home."

  The other guard thumbed at Ondorum."What about him?"

  When Ondorum just bowed, Akina sighed."His name's Ondorum. He's"—a crack-brained fool!—"taken a vow of silence."

  The dwarf peered up at the oread."What for?"

  Akina leaned in and spoke in a stage whisper."He was cursed by a mad wizard. Now his voice makes warriors weep and children hide and dogs howl. So we figured it'd be best if he just kept his trap shut."

  Ondorum drew his hood back, revealing a sweep of gray hair a shade darker than his skin, and ridges of alexandrite crystal shards instead of eyebrows. Malachite-green eyes gazed out beneath these, thoroughly unamused.

  Akina contained her chuckle. She'd been working on rounding out his sense of humor ever since they met. Whatever monastery he'd been raised in, the monks there had certainly striven to grind any mirth into dust, replacing it with the nobler pillar of grave contemplation. Not that they'd needed to do much. With earth magic fused to their bloodline, oreads not only resembled stone, but also often shared its sense of humor. Hard to make a mountain laugh, after all. Ondorum readily admitted to his failings there, though he'd become more nomadic than most of his kind, partly due to Akina's influence—as well as the events that spurred him to leave the monastery in the first place.

  The guards shook their heads in sorrow.

  "Pity to hear," said one."Might be the temple could help."

  As they passed through the gates, Ondorum pointed back, frowning.

  She smirked."If you don't want me to lie, tell the truth yourself, hm?"

  She ignored him and took in the sights of home. Taggoret's surface had been built on a gentle slope until it butted up against a cliff. The central road ended in another set of gates that led to the main subsurface dwellings. Little of this topside portion held her interest, except for faint nostalgia. Most of the buildings and shops were part of the trade district, shipping out the city's famous iron.

  Dwarves bustled about, carting crates and wagonloads of armor, mining gear, or refined ore. Guards patrolled the thoroughfares, keen eyes scanning the visitors to the many inns and taverns. A handful of humans and gnomes mingled, and even one elf glided through the crowds, several bodyguards keeping in step. The stone buildings blended into the mountain while engravings and murals adorned almost every wall and rocky surface—results of the dwarven drive to transform the raw hills into eternal works of art.

  Akina glanced at Ondorum, wishing he'd tell her what he thought of the place. Pure delight shone in his eyes, and his broad smile elicited one of her own, easing some of the tension simmering in her bones.

  As they passed one frieze, his smile slipped and he pointed. There stood a carving of a female dwarf clad in golden armor, poised before a fleeing army.

  Akina's marrow chilled. The image looked like her. It didn't just depict her build or broad features, but also the streak of platinum that shot through her otherwise dirty blonde hair. An inlaid strip of white marble created the effect.

  She edged over to study the piece. Ondorum joined her, brow raised in question.

  "Must be my mother's work." She brushed gloved fingertips over the smooth stone."Looks like she's doing good business; it's an honor to mark the city itself." Was this a way for Jannasten to remember a daughter gone off to war? Akina tamped down a swell of guilt.

  Ondorum stroked the image of her face, then turned and did the same to her cheek.

  Flushing, Akina jerked her head away."Come on."

  They passed through the inner gates, exchanging sun and sky for cool tunnels blazing with torchlight. The passages had been decorated with reliefs, so walking down them felt like crossing through dwarven history. One detailed their emergence on the surface millennia before. Another showed the founding of the Sky Citadels.

  Yet after they left the main tunnel, Ondorum pointed out several more carvings that looked eerily similar to Akina. The art often placed her in scenes of battle, fending off everything from orcs to hill giants. They passed a row of wall niches, and a small statue of Akina stood in one like a city guardian. Her appearance accompanied many other works, but care had been taken to subtly set her apart, especially with her distinctive hair.

  With each image of herself she saw, Akina's unease grew. Why had her mother toiled to add her to the bedrock of their people? She didn't deserve any such honor. She didn't deserve to be treated like a revered ancestor, especially not after she'd surrendered that heritage to seek a violent fortune in the world beyond.

  Her pace quickened. She locked her eyes forward, refusing to give the art any further regard until she burst out of t
he tunnel's end. She paused to slow her breath as Ondorum caught up. The tunnel exited onto a ledge with switchback stairs leading down several flights to the main level. Their perch provided a perfect vantage to see across the cavern. Stone columns jutted up to the rocky ceiling far above, and the non-load-bearing pillars had been carved out to provide dwellings for thousands of dwarves. Everburning lamps and torches cast most areas in a golden glow, blazing from doors and windows as well as from posts set at intervals along the roads. Worked every hour of the day, hundreds of forges lit swaths of the cavern.

  Several deep rifts cut through the cavern floor, with massive bridges set across them allowing for steady streams of foot traffic. Further dwellings and workshops had been dug directly into the sides of the cavern, connected by stone ramps and stairs. More tunnels bored deeper within the mountain, connecting to other city districts. The smell of hot iron filled the air, underlain by the nose-crinkling stink of scorched beards. Bellows and laughter echoed through the cavern, punctuated by the metallic music of hammer on anvil.

  Akina pondered her next move as she soaked in the familiar sensations. Find her mother and get it over with? No. She wanted a clearer head first. Wouldn't do to make her first homecoming act a demand for explanations—especially since she owed the bigger one for her extended absence.

  She fixed on the central temple to Torag, where the smithing fires forever roared in honor of the dwarven god. Her brother, Brakisten, had just begun serving there as a cleric when she'd left. Akina assumed his position had since changed, but they'd no doubt have his name and current station noted in a duty roster.

  She led Ondorum down into the city proper and had to reorient herself only twice before they reached the front court of the smithing temple. Here, dwarves worshiped the Father of Creation by fashioning magnificent works of art, powerful tools, and equipment for war. Unlike many clerics Akina had encountered during her travels, ones who kept their robes clean and hands unsullied by labor, Torag's faithful milled through the temple in dirty aprons, faces stained with soot. Their roaring chants rang out as loud as the clang of their tongs and pounding of their hammers on the consecrated anvils. The whole temple thudded with a fiery heartbeat.