Bridge of Flames

Emerging from the narrow passage behind the small door, they entered a square room resembling a lounge, where some spectators were resting. The thrilling gladiatorial contests brought them not only excitement but often profound exhaustion as well. Vendors selling food and drink wove through the loudly conversing crowd, while a few guards patrolled to keep these adrenaline-fueled rich folk from making trouble-an indispensable part of every day of gladiatorial combat.

No one noticed the arrival of the two newly minted gladiators. The audience here included not only Dark Iron Dwarves but quite a few visitors of other races, and those bored visitors were quite willing to spend a few silver coins on a gladiatorial match. There was no shortage of fully armed gladiators here, either. Diago spotted a pink-bearded gnome and a Two-Headed Ogres mage waiting in the contestants' rest area. Honestly, compared with them, Diago and Masley could hardly have looked more ordinary.

The two climbed the stairs leading to the upper stands and soon entered the seating area. Frankly, the stands in the Arena of Order had nothing whatsoever to do with comfort. They were simply tier upon tier of hard, circular stone steps.

They descended the aisle between the fan-shaped sections of seating, going all the way down to the lowest tier. Even here, the arena floor lay at least four meters below them. Not even the best-jumping monster could scale those vertical walls. From this angle, the arena below looked like a gigantic round cricket jar.

There was a broad space, roughly two meters across, between the lowest tier and the edge of the pit. They followed the edge toward the opposite stands. Diago knew there was an exit over there leading to Shadowforge City's residential district. It was a route they had to take.

But the spectators along the way were hardly friendly. Some impulsive Dark Iron Dwarves even threw their dwarven ale at them.

"Drop dead, you damned skinny elf! You should be grateful Garrosh didn't slice your ass off and give us a chance to enjoy it. I'll definitely ask Grisstone your price-tonight!"

"The next match, I guarantee it. Just one more match, and you'll die horribly..."

"..."

They cursed them in every way they could think of, but they confined themselves to words and did not dare do anything truly out of line. These gladiators were the Emperor of Blackrock's private property and would earn him countless gold coins. The fully armed dwarven Shield Defenders around the stands also ensured that they would not risk angering the Emperor of Blackrock by doing anything.

The young elf, on the other hand, nearly lost control and lashed out. Had Diago not held him back, there was no telling what the Druid might have done.

But not all the spectators glared at them. A handful of gamblers who had backed the underdogs were full of praise.

"Well done, lads! I'll definitely back you again next time!" shouted a spectator who had just collected his winnings, slapping his jingling purse. Around him, several gamblers maddened by their losses lunged at him, fists flying. This fellow did not enjoy the Emperor of Blackrock's protection.

The two finally left the arena amid the uproar. The streets were rather deserted, as though the entire city had poured into the arena. In fact, that was not far from the truth. The arena's opening days were practically citywide festivals, when the Dark Iron Dwarves living under the Firelord's oppression indulged in this rare chance to vent.

The adventurers did not go far. They stopped in an empty house not far from the arena. Nothing remained but its walls; even the door had been removed. Not even the most down-and-out Rogue would bother visiting it. As Grisstone had said, empty houses like this were everywhere in Shadowforge City-ever since the Firelord had been summoned, the population of the Dark Iron Dwarves had never returned to its former peak.

That grueling battle had been too difficult for the adventurers. They needed rest, a chance to relax their aching muscles, and something to eat. This was especially true of Masley, who also needed time to tend his wound and change into another set of leather armor.

Seated in a corner against the wall, Diago sent his pet an order through their mental connection. A little over ten minutes later, Khanifa appeared in the doorway. It sniffed the air, then padded quietly inside and curled up beside Diago, looking at him expectantly.

Diago could not help smiling. He took several pieces of tough jerky from his bag, tossed two to his pet, and popped another into his own mouth.

"How are you feeling?" he asked indistinctly. Healing classes really had it good. If he had taken an axe blow like that, he would have had no choice but to wait for death. The bleeding alone could have drained him dry. His First Aid skill could not handle an injury that severe.

"All right. Much better than before. Perhaps I'll be good as new after a night's sleep." The Night Elf casually dropped the bloody clothes he had changed out of, walked over as though nothing had happened, took a piece of jerky from him, and began chewing vigorously.

"I'm afraid you can't sleep yet. We need to hurry," Diago said apologetically. He paused to think. "How about this? You rest here, and I'll take Khanifa to get the key."

"I'm not some child who hasn't even grown his first hair." The Night Elf looked a little touched-though in Diago's eyes, he really was a child-but his tone remained casual. "Don't think you can leave me behind. Without me, you won't be able to do anything."

"Well... all right. You're right," Diago said helplessly. Reluctant though he was, he had to admit the elf had a point. Sometimes, magic played an unexpectedly important role, just as it had earlier.

Masley grinned smugly.

"We really ought to commemorate this moment with a glass of fine wine!" He bit off a large mouthful of jerky, then stretched out comfortably on the floor. A moment later, however, his eyes flew wide, and he gave a quiet cheer.

"Whoa! Where did you get that?"

A bottle of purple wine with an enticing gleam appeared above his head, and he immediately snatched it into his arms. Then, with astonishing dexterity, he produced a wooden cup and poured himself a drink.

"This is truly nectar from heaven!" He took a deep draft, then praised it with his eyes half closed, looking just like a dwarf who loved drink more than life.

"Sometimes I really suspect you're a dwarf who's been transformed. If I find a mage, the first thing I'll do is ask him to cast Detect Transformation on you," Diago said with heartfelt feeling. Whether in his previous life or this one, he had always found these drunkards difficult to understand.

"Your suspicions are reasonable. Sometimes I think so too," Masley agreed. He poured and drank another cup, then hesitated as he looked at the bottle before carefully handing it back to Diago.

"Keep it safe for me. I'm afraid I'll finish it all in one go if it stays in my hands." Just as Diago was thinking he feared drunkenness might interfere with their next operation, the Night Elf swallowed and spoke. He turned his head away with difficulty, struggling not to look at the remaining half bottle.

"We've still got a long way to go," he said, wiping the drool from the corner of his mouth.

"..."

Diago was speechless. He truly had no idea what to say.

After a brief rest and a hasty meal, they set off again. Before they had gone far, however, the street forked ahead of them. One road led south, while the other went straight north.

"This way!" Diago said, pointing to the northern road. The southern road led to the Temple of Thaurissan. They would have to come back later, and that was when they would need it.

They walked in silence for a while, but before long Masley spoke. He could see very clearly in the darkness.

"I think," he said, "it seems a little too bright up ahead. Even the lava lake outside wasn't this bright. What could it be?"

"The Great Fissure!" Diago said quietly, but he found it difficult to express what he had seen before in words. "It's hard to explain what it is. You'll understand once you see it. I guarantee you'll never forget it."

Soon, everyone could clearly see the red glow. It flickered along both sides of the street ahead. Now they could finally make out the road before them. A short distance ahead, the street opened out, and the light shone up from beneath the ground there. The air began to grow hotter.

When they reached the end of the street, everything before them suddenly blazed red. A gigantic underground fissure, dozens of meters wide, abruptly appeared before them.

"Whoa, what a magnificent sight!" the Night Elf exclaimed in irrepressible admiration. "I'd wager that in all my centuries of life, only my first glimpse of the World Tree from hundreds of miles away could compare!"

Just a few meters beyond their feet, searing lava flowed, branched, and converged within the nearly hundred-meter-deep fissure, much like the rivers and lakes running through ordinary cities. Streams of lava plunged like waterfalls from vents high above, crashing into the river and throwing up countless splashes and sprays.

Legend had it that one could even catch Molten Scale Catfish in this river of lava, but Diago had never tried, although his Fishing skill was also at master level. Honestly, it really defied everything he knew.

Because of Blackrock Mountain's rich metal deposits, the lava had an extremely high metal content. Often, the Dark Iron Dwarves simply scooped it up in crucibles, let it cool a little, and then put it on an anvil to hammer and work. For experienced dwarven master miners, identifying which lump of lava contained the most valuable metal and the highest-grade ore was easier than eating or drinking.

This was practically the brightest place with the best visibility in all of Shadowforge City. The two looked overhead and saw a gigantic stone dome encompassing the entire city. It was larger and more open than any dome they had seen before, its edges extending beyond the reach of their eyes. They stood beneath it now, near its southern side.

The underground fissure extended east and west beneath their feet, stretching into the distant darkness. As far as Diago knew, it eventually curved north in the west and flowed all the way to the Molten Core-Ragnaros the Firelord's lair in this world.

The cliffs on either side of the Great Fissure were hard black rock with very smooth surfaces, glowing red in the reflected light of the lava. Twenty or thirty meters and more above the lava, countless doorways, windows, and terraces had been carved out. Many Dark Iron Dwarves liked to build their homes beside this peculiar river, making full use of every inch of Blackrock Mountain's stone. In their leisure time, dwarves could invite a few friends onto their terraces and enjoy a few drinks while overlooking the ceaseless flow of lava. After the Firelord's arrival, however, even this pleasure of life had become somewhat inappropriate. The lava was full of the Firelord's fire elemental spies, and no one liked living under constant surveillance.

A broad, level bridge spanned this breathtaking river of lava. The Bridge of Flames was over ten meters wide and fifty or sixty meters long, but it was far from the largest bridge over the river. That distinction belonged to the bridge carrying the Dark Iron Highway across the lava river, which was nearly twice its size in both length and width.

In fact, across this bridge lay Shadowforge City's inner district, whose prosperity and cleanliness were beyond anything the disorderly prison district could match. At the moment, however, no guards were watching the bridge, and the two men and their panther crossed it easily.

They strode openly to the other side of the bridge, until a guard stopped them. To the adventurers' surprise, however, the guard had no intention of inspecting the Gladiator's Badge Diago held out.

"I know you two! You fought brilliantly!" the Dark Iron dwarf said, pointing at them. He turned to his companion excitedly. "Dughal, these are the two gladiators I was just telling you about! They killed Garrosh!"

"Gray, you'd already told me at least six times before they got here," his companion said in a muffled voice, looking deeply displeased. "You ought to buy me a drink. I stood guard here alone for a whole hour, you know. The boss asked where you'd gone at least three times."

"What did you tell him?" The dwarven guard immediately grew nervous. Apparently, a superior checking up on his subordinates was unpleasant in any world.

"I said you'd gone off to fool around with men," Dughal said with a perfectly straight face. Beside them, the adventurers exchanged looks, their jaws nearly dropping onto their feet.

"Well done! I'll buy you a drink, Dughal," the dwarven guard promised approvingly. Contrary to the adventurers' expectations, he seemed very pleased with that answer. He turned back to them. "I won at least a dozen gold coins this time, all thanks to you!" He patted the jingling purse at his waist. "What were your names again?"

"Tom Cruise. He's Brad Pitt," Diago answered first, borrowing names he had heard in his previous life without the slightest guilt. He did not want the Dark Iron Dwarves tracing them through his name. Their operation to rescue Windsor was bound to enrage all the Dark Iron Dwarves, and for mages, tracking down the true culprits by their names was not particularly difficult.

"Oh, Tom, I swear you're the finest gladiators I've ever seen!" the dwarven guard said with instant familiarity. He pointed north, toward The Grim Guzzler. "Come along tonight. My treat! You'll discover that Gray Anvil is the most generous, welcoming Dark Iron dwarf there is!"

"Oh, give it a rest, Gray. That little bit of money won't even cover your drinks. Besides, how many times a year do you go to the arena? How many gladiators have you seen?" his companion sneered, undercutting him. Apparently, he was not quite as popular as he claimed.

"Dughal, you're asking for another beating, aren't you?" Gray Anvil roared and lunged at him. He seemed to have had enough.

Well, at this point, there was nothing more for the adventurers to do. The two carefully skirted the wrestling dwarven guards, passed through the square archway beyond the bridgehead, and headed toward the inner district.

For some reason, perhaps because the scene they had just witnessed was too baffling, neither spoke. An uncanny silence hung in the air.

"Why did Dughal-the dwarven guard just now-say that?" Masley suddenly asked. Apparently, the question had been troubling him for some time.

"Say what?" Diago asked casually without stopping or looking back.

"He said Gray Anvil had gone off to fool around with men, but judging by Gray's expression, he seemed quite happy to have him say that. Is that sort of thing very common in dwarven society, or very popular?" Masley asked in confusion.

"Uh, well..." Diago was rather at a loss for words. He hesitated, but felt it was best not to leave the young elf with any psychological scars.

"Perhaps their superior thinks that sort of behavior is a wonderful..." He struggled to find the words. "...a wonderful thing, so he enjoys hearing about it. But I guarantee that in both human and dwarven society, such behavior is relatively rare and abnormal!"

"Then what about you?" the Night Elf persisted.

"Hm? What about me?" Diago asked in puzzlement.

"What do you think about this sort of thing?"

"Oh, that..." Diago found it difficult to accept discussing such matters openly. In the more than twenty years of traditional education he had received in his previous life, these things had always been difficult to talk about. "Masley, can't you respect my privacy?"

"No, unless you think you support that sort of behavior." The single-minded brat's stubborn streak had flared up again.

"All right. Generally speaking, I neither support nor oppose that sort of thing," Diago explained. If something did not concern him, he stayed out of it. He rarely passed judgment on other people's behavior.

"Then what about you? Do you like doing that sort of thing?" the Night Elf asked mockingly, clearly dissatisfied with his diplomatic language.

"Of course not!" Diago finally exploded, roaring with spit flying. He had had enough of this idiot. "You'd better shut your filthy mouth, Masley Bearhide, unless you want a thorough beating!"

"Oh, that's a relief!" the Night Elf said, wiping the spit off his face with an air of relief.