30 – What is Down There

The stillness in the chamber shattered as the King’s guards sprang into action. Ten helmeted warriors raised their warhammers and charged from every side of the room, their short legs pumping beneath heavy white armor crushing the fallen glass underfoot.

Ashley stood her ground with complete composure, a faint smirk touching her lips while her gaze remained locked on the one who had to be the King of this place.

He was a gnome so old his white beard could have rivaled Methuselah’s.

The two warriors at his side scrambled to help him to his feet, both staring at Ashley as though the end of the world had just climbed through their ruined window.

“Simon, take this.” Ashley flicked her wrist, tossing [God’s Bane] across the room. “If you lose it again, you’ll be fighting with your bare hands next time.”

The priest caught the weapon mid-air with a surprisingly smooth spin, and he settled into position at her side with Paco on his right. He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a low whisper. “I don’t think these people are that bad. Can you go easy on them?”

“We’ll see.” Ashley leaned back on her staff, taking a relaxed pose within the closing circle. “Usually, there’s some talking before a fight like this.”

“Stooop!” The King’s booming voice echoed through the brass pipes and stone arches of the chamber, killing the momentum of the room. “Everybody stop where you are. I’ll deal with her.”

Ashley winked at Simon, her shoulders shifting slightly. “Told you so.”

“Why do I feel like you’re not taking this seriously enough?” Simon sighed, adjusting his grip on the newly caught weapon.

The charge, a slow and lumbering armored shuffle, ground to a halt.

The elite warriors formed a tight, defensive ring around Ashley and her companions, while Gomp remained forgotten on the floor, squinting helplessly left and right through the empty frames of his broken spectacles.

“I am King Fumwick Frendel Fross.” The ancient gnome marched directly through the ring of white-armored warriors, stepping in front of Ashley. Flanked closely by his two most trusted sentries, he drew himself up to his full height, reaching only at her chest, if you counted the crown. “I am the White King of this Hold.”

Ashley had faced legendary rulers and demon lords plenty of times from behind the safety of a screen, watching them deliver grand speeches, trigger complex boss phases, and die in suitably dramatic fashion.

Now, a King stood close enough for her to see the profound age etched into his eyes and the tremor of raw anger shaking his small hands.

I’d better not mess this up.

“I am Celestine Astralborn, Your Grace.” She bowed her head slightly while keeping her back straight and composed, greeting the ruler as an absolute equal. “Some call me Saint Celestine, though I hear that around here I go by ‘demon’ these days.”

On the floor, Gomp gasped loudly and clapped both hands over his mouth in horror at her casual demeanor.

That could have gone better, Mistress, Aury’s voice came cleanly in her mind as he pulsed with a sharp, anxious flicker.

“Why are you here, demon?” Fumwick asked.

“I’m here because you were kind enough to invite my companions into your beautiful home,” Ashley said. “I’m sure my invitation was lost along the way, so I rushed over as soon as I could. I hope I’m not being a bother.”

She glanced toward the ruined window.

“The fireworks were lovely, by the way. You really shouldn’t have.”

The soldiers tightened their grip on their weapons as the King’s shoulders went rigid.

Then Fumwick’s gaze shifted past her, toward the gaping void where the window had been.

Ashley could almost feel the mind behind those old eyes working, the cold intellect of a seasoned general weighing every option and discarding most of them.

“Where is my Balrok now?”

“Dead,” she said. “I always wanted to fight one.”

Her smile sharpened slightly. “Thank you for the treat.”

The fur on the King’s face bristled, and he turned fully toward her. Something changed in his posture, as if his mind had found an opening.

“So you are here to fight mighty beasts. Is that why you came?”

“I’m here because someone asked me for help,” Ashley said. “And if I get to enjoy myself along the way, all the better. I’m not one to shy away from a good fight.”

“Help?” Fumwick asked, the word sharpening in his mouth. “Who would ask for help from someone like you?”

Paco growled as the King spat the words.

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Ashley’s expression did not change.

“What if I told you I’m not the one you call demon?” Ashley asked, her tone flat in the dead cold of the chamber. “Would you believe me?”

Fumwick dragged a thick hand through his beard, the coarse hair rasping in the silence.

“No,” he said, the word heavy. “I can feel your corruption in my bones. The same sickening feeling from the day you destroyed our home.”

“I don’t mind. Believe what you want.” Ashley’s gaze swept the dark vaulted arches of the chamber before locking back onto his eyes. “The way I see it, you attacked me and my friends while we were simply passing through. Everything that happened afterward falls on your shoulders.”

Fumwick swung his glare to Gomp.

Still kneeling on the glass-covered floor, Gomp offered a wide, hopeful smile, entirely oblivious to the weight of the King’s stare. Fumwick’s eyes rolled toward the ceiling, a low grunt of frustration rumbling in his throat.

“I take it you were heading down into the magma chambers,” Fumwick said. The question that followed arrived almost too casually. “If so, do you intend to fight him?”