3.12 Give Me Your Tired

Bernt pulled an icy hand from his sleeves to wave to Palina as he entered the tunnel down to the Undercity, dodging oncoming traffic to skirt around a group of weary-looking people who were slowly shuffling down the passage. Snow hadn’t fallen yet, but it was clear that winter had arrived. He wished he’d remembered to bring a scarf and mittens, but they were still in his chest at home. The Undercity was always temperate, which made it a bit more difficult to dress appropriately for the weather on the surface.

He’d made it mostly past the group when he realized they weren’t from here. No, these were orcs. Unusually smelly orcs, for that matter. They were wet and dressed poorly for the chilly winter weather. One was barefoot, and several others had gaping holes in their shoes. One held a small child on his arm, trying to keep the ragged remains of his coat wrapped over it.

They were refugees from Loamfurth. Probably some of the first – those who were healthy and strong, but traveling light. If those who followed were as badly prepared as these people, they were going to see cases of frostbite before long.

Fiora and the other Underkeepers would have their hands full tonight.

Making a decision, Bernt hurried down the tunnel, making for the Underkeepers’ Complex. A shift change was coming up in a few minutes, but he expected a lot of people would have to stay to deal with the incoming refugees. He could help. He’d just been sitting around all day, after all, and he wasn’t really ready to go home to his empty house just yet. Maybe he could catch up with Nirlig and Torvald.

Torvald, at least, deserved to know what was going on with his new assignment at the Mages’ Guild. Sure, he would do as Iriala asked, but that didn’t mean he had to lie about it to his friends.

When he exited the tunnel, he found a knot of uncertain-looking people already starting to form just inside the Undercity Market – mostly boys and young men who had probably been sent ahead by their slower-moving families. He adjusted his course and approached them.

“Excuse me!” Bernt called out, using his best imitation of the late Glim to project a sense of authority. “If you’re new here, you’ll need to register at the Underkeeper’s headquarters to be granted temporary housing – middle of the cavern on your right. Over that way.”

About half of them turned his way, and a few nodded or grunted in acknowledgement. Others, too exhausted to pay attention, just sat listlessly against the walls and stared at nothing.

Bernt took a breath, about to start shaking people awake and directing them individually, when a short, stocky man pushed his way out of the crowd, craning his neck to get a look at him.

“Bernt! Is that you over there?”

His former colleague looked terrible, his robes torn and hanging off him in rags. There were new, thin scars on his arms and face, and some of his long, matted hair had been singed off and filth clung to his skin.

“Uriah?” Bernt said, shocked at the sight. “You look like shit! What in all the hells happened?”

“Demons, Bernt. Demons happened.” Uriah clenched his fists, his eyes losing focus for a moment. “The damned guards up there wouldn’t let me report to the count. They think I’m crazy! Can you get me in to see Ed? I need to talk to him – right now.”

***

Bernt took Uriah directly to Fiora, letting him talk along the way. It was clear the he had been through something horrific, though he avoided talking about Loamfurth in detail. Instead, he rambled on about the conditions on the road and a group of hungry bandits that had tried to take a poke at the refugees a few days up the road. He didn’t directly admit it, but it was clear that he’d killed them.

He only stopped when Bernt opened the office door, revealing Fiora scribbling something on a form behind her desk. She looked up as they entered and froze as she caught sight of their former colleague.

“Uriah? You look like something the cat dragged in.”

“Fiora?” he asked, looking back at Bernt in confusion. “Where’s Ed?”

Bernt cleared his throat. “Ed’s… indisposed. The Solicitors set up a banishment ritual in the battle over here – just outside, actually. There was an accident. They’re working on getting him back, but they’re not exactly posting updates in the market square about it.”

“You mean…no. No, no, no. How is that even possible!?” Uriah’s jaw clenched as he visibly got himself under control. “It’s those damned warlocks! Those Duergar could never pull this off alone – they came up right under the middle of the city! I bet they’re working together. We need to do something!” He took a step back from Bernt, suddenly eyeing him with unnerving intensity.

“Hey, you had that demon, right. What happened to that?”

“Uriah!” Fiora snapped. “Control yourself. Bernt here was just leaving, anyway.” She gave him a pointed look, and Bernt took the hint, backing out of the room. Whatever Uriah had been through, he doubted the man would ever be quite the same.

Not bothering to wait for orders, Bernt went to Ed’s office to collect a stack of application forms for assignment to temporary housing and brought them out to the courtyard. The guard outside had helpfully propped the double doors open, and the refugees who’d been listening earlier were already there and waiting. But they weren’t alone.

Torvald had dragged one of the tables they’d been using for this same purpose last week out, and was noting down a dwarf’s information on a form exactly like the ones Bernt was holding. At the same time, two other Underkeepers worked to get everyone into some semblance of a line, even as more refugees trickled in. He looked up and waved at Bernt’s approach.

“Hey Bernt! You’re on the late shift, right? Want to give me a hand with this?”

“Sure, already on it,” he replied, waving the stack of forms at him as he moved to get a table of his own into position next to the paladin. “But no to the late shift, I was working at the Mages’ Guild. The archmage wants to make sure I’m properly prepared to represent the guild’s interests.”

Torval snorted as he handed the form to the dwarf. “It’s like that, huh?”

“I guess, yeah. She already knew – no idea how. It’s weird. I’m not even supposed to know anything, but it seems like everyone already made their decisions.”

The paladin shrugged at him and took a moment to explain to the dwarf where to find the address to his new temporary accommodations in the refugee quarter before resuming the conversation.

“The Mages’ Guild has close ties to the government, so I guess it makes sense. But listen, because I’m only going to say this once.” He paused to give Bernt a serious look, emphasizing his words. “I serve only one master, and I wanted you along to help keep me out of politics. I’m not here to push whatever agenda your guild has in all this.”

“Yeah, that’s the goal,” Bernt said, nodding. “As much as we can manage, anyway.”

He agreed with Torvald, of course, but he was starting to doubt that he would really be able to avoid it. Iriala’s words gnawed at him – that those who didn’t shape events themselves would be shaped by them in turn. They rang true, not least because they confirmed what Bernt had always known about the rich and powerful. They saw their lessers as tools, and they saw everyone as their lesser. Torvald might be able to get around that – he had a goddess on his side. Bernt, though… he didn’t have that kind of protection.

***

Jori stalked along the narrow rocky ridge with her nose in the air, scouting ahead of Ed, who followed along behind and below her. She could smell the blood fiend’s stench in the air up ahead. They were getting close.

She wasn’t entirely sure if her sense of smell had improved naturally, as a result of her evolution, or because of her improved sorcerous spirit. She supposed it didn’t really matter, but she was sure that Bernt would want to know. Maybe they could figure it out later.

Ducking down, Jori cautiously crept up to the crest of the ridge and peered over. Her breath caught in her throat when she did, and she froze for a second before carefully pulling her head back down. A familiar-looking imp foraged less than ten steps away, mostly facing away from her. His name was Maladzhoth, and it looked like he’d managed to undergo his first metamorphosis.

He flipped a rock with a clatter and pawed down into the cracks of the rocks underneath, coming up with a cockroach-like bug, which he immediately crunched down on.

The sight brought back unwelcome memories, and Jori shuddered at the remembered taste of the things vividly. They were bitter, and their insides had burned her throat. But they were also the biggest things available to eat out here for a demon. A non-cannibal demon, anyway.

Jori gritted her teeth and signalled down to Ed, telling him to stop. Then, she crept along below the ridgeline to her right, closer to where Maladzhoth was eating.

Being extremely careful not to step on any loose rocks, she took another peek.

Perfect.

Checking her footing, Jori crouched down, let out a slow breath, and pounced, spreading her wings to extend the distance of her leap just a bit. Maladzhoth heard her and turned, lightning quick, but it was too late. Jori crashed into him, one hand closing around the other imp’s neck. He landed hard on his back, knocking the wind out of him and cushioning Jori’s fall in the process.

Maladzhoth hissed in pain and raised his legs to kick at her, but she sank her claws partway into his neck in warning and he stopped, eyes bulging.

“Stop!” Jori hissed. “I got you! You’re my prisoner, okay? You have to do what I say.”

She withdrew her claws, coated in burning blood, and the other imp nodded. She noted idly that the hellfire didn’t burn her hands anymore. That was great!

“Dzhorianath?” Maladhzoth asked, eyeing her. “You’re big!” Then he batted at her, hissing angrily. “Get off me! You didn’t have to hit me so hard. That hurt!”

“Quiet!” Jori hissed, and smacked at him with her free hand. Still grumbling, he stopped resisting as she hauled him bodily over the ridge and down toward Ed. After a moment, he got his feet under him and walked on his own, though Jori’s claws were still on his neck.

“Wait a second.” Maladzoth said when he caught sight of Ed. “You’re back home with your mortal? How? You can’t do that!”

“Of course I can!” she replied. “I’m doing it right now!”

Her prisoner slowed for a moment and threw a glance back at her, eyes narrowed. ”Ah, it’s a double cross, right? You brought him back so the Great Ones will kill him for you?”

Jori stopped, peering at him in confusion. “What?”

“Nuros wants to have you – everybody knows. You’ll be a great one, soon. There is a reward for whoever kills the mortal and clears your obligation. Can I – ouch!”

Jori smacked Maladzhoth over the back of the head so hard that he would have stumbled forward if she hadn’t already been holding on to his neck with her other hand.

“Nobody kills the Great Mage!” she growled angrily, getting him moving down toward Ed again. “He’s going to help us kill Tallash. I’m going to free the pack!”

Ed watched calmly as the two imps approached before casting a spell to bind the prisoner’s hands and feet.

“You know, Jori, I don’t think he really meant me.” Ed said conversationally, as if overhearing what they’d been saying a hundred steps away wasn’t in any way unusual. Jori looked up at him in surprise. Did he have some kind of listening spell? Could she learn something like that?

“He said they want to clear your obligation,” the archmage continued. “Doesn’t that sound exactly like what you want to do with that fiend that has your little imp friends?”

Jori blinked and turned back to Maladzhoth, who was trying to gnaw at the magic that bound his hands to no avail. He looked up in surprise at Ed’s words, peering at the grizzled man. Then he shrugged and rolled his eyes.

“Mortals all look alike.”