The Labyrinth of Salk-Ouendoo

by Benestro

The hubris of the Ancients plagues the denizens of a forgotten future.

The Labyrinth of Salk-Ouendoo.

Prologue

Simbish stepped out onto the porch and regarded the sun as it crawled up from behind the Mountains of Smoke. He sipped his pungent tea and cast his gaze over his fields of ripening corn, sweet potatoes, and beans. He stretched and sighed contentedly, for who was not content that dwelt in the idyllic Valley of K'dyzz?

"Can't dally about all day, Pergla." he said to the tabby cat that lounged on the railing. "Those eggs will not gather themselves!"

Taking another sip of the tea and dashing the rest out on the ground, Simbish stepped off the porch and headed toward the barn, smoothing his rough linen tunic and adjusting the conical straw cap on his balding pate.

The barn, as well as the cabin in which Simbish dwelt, were intolerably ancient. Upon sight they appeared to be built of aged, gray timber, but the boards were more solid and resilient than granite, as though the wood had been metamorphosed to rock or steel by some artifice of the Ancients. Simbish had never questioned how the structures had been made or why, he had found them abandoned when he'd arrived in the valley, drawn there by the same inexplicable urge that summons all who dwell within the Valley of K'dyzz. It was as though the buildings had been prepared for him, for he had found aged, yet still viable, seed in the barn, and wild chickens and cattle in the forest nearby who merely awaited taming. He fell into his role as a farmer with ease.

Having reached the barn he observed the hollowed logs he used to hold water for the chickens were empty.

"Ah! Best to fill them now whilst I'm thinking about it!"

Simbish trotted off the well, whistling a jaunty chantey from his dimly recollected days as a field hand among the smokeweed plantations of D'Ktar.

Running the bucket down into the well, he found it obstructed about halfway down the shaft. He drew the bucket back up. "That's odd" he muttered and sent it down again with a similar result. "Something's fell down there and blocked it off no doubt, I hope no beast has crawled in there and died!" Simbish peered into the well, seeing only blackness, but to his ears came a sound, a low throaty mumbling.

"By Visking!" he swore. "Is that a voice? Is it a man down there? Hallo there! Can you speak?"

There was a response, in a harsh guttural…

"Therma magnetics misaligned…compensate…compensate…"

Simbish shook his head. "Say again? Visking and Itek! You make no sense! Can you reach my hand?"

Simbish extended his long sinewy arms as far as he could into the well. "Reach up if you can, I'll pull you out."

"Therma magnetics misaligned…compensate…compensate…"

As the sun cleared the Mountains of Smoke, allowing more of its light to reach the well, Simbish began to perceive two glowing points inside, reflecting the light back at him.

Abruptly, two great hairy arms that ended in wide, black-taloned hands lashed out and seized Simbish by the head. They drew themselves together and crushed the farmer's skull to a crimson pulp, then hauled his twitching body into the well.

"Therma magnetics misaligned…compensate…compensate…"

I

The bloated orb of the sun was high in a cloudless azure vault, casting illumination upon the scene which unfolded below among the Mountains of Smoke. All was delineated in crisp detail, so that the uncaring gods might gaze upon it for their amusement if they were so inclined.

Bault of Y'con tossed aside his wide-brimmed hat and drew his falchion from its shagreen scabbard. "That's that, Mualla. They have seen through my illusion."

"Good!" his companion muttered, "My blade thirsts, and I weary of this game, by Yig!" she smiled with grim amusement, revealing teeth filed to sharp points.

They were a wildly mismatched pair. Bault was a compact, sinewy man, his russet face framed by red whiskers and a mop of hair that was in perpetual disarray. His billowing purple blouse was belted at the waist by a resplendently tooled leather girdle. Blue and yellow striped hose clad his legs, which were thrust into highly polished black boots.

Mualla was a statuesque woman swathed in scant garments of rawhide, fur and barbaric ornaments of shell and copper that exposed copious amounts of mahogany-hued flesh. Flesh under which lithely powerful muscles coiled. Elaborate esoteric designs were delicately carved upon her face, neck, and shoulders. The foamy mass of her ebon hair was bound in a rude turban of red silk. Her golden, almond-shaped eyes peered over a shield of wood and hide, and she gripped a wickedly recurved scimitar in her right hand. Any of these details would have struck a normal observer from the mainland with dread, for they marked her for a savage, half-legendary denizen of the shadow-haunted isles of Iforne', which very few civilized men had visited, and from which fewer still had returned. But her foes today were neither civilized nor men.

They lurched forward, around or through the false images of armored warriors Bault had projected before them with his craft. Crabmen was the common parlance for them, for many often had pincer-like appendages in lieu of hands. All were blasphemous mockeries of the human form; some with too many eyes, or too few. Odious hides of various hues and textures served them for skin; some scaly, some chitinous, some pulpy and gelatinous. All were twisted in body and mind by the warping influence of the eldritch, eternally burning Fires of Ohk'rjj by which they made their abode. They went naked and bore makeshift weapons of wood and stone, or of repurposed artifacts left by the Ancients.

Bault and Mualla had run afoul of this band of Crabmen three days hence and had sought to evade them, but now they were brought to ground in the mouth of the narrow gorge that led to the Valley of K'dyzz.

Mualla did not wait for the nightmare horde to advance further. Dashing forward on bare feet, she closed the distance to the nearest of the Crabmen. Lithely avoiding the clumsy swing of his metal cudgel, she lashed out with her scimitar and neatly severed the hairy, multi-eyed head.

Bault ran to her side, parrying the blow from a crude stone axe that was about to fall upon her head. He hacked into the assailant's throat and the malformed wretch scuttled away, his reeking black blood fountaining from a severed jugular.

"Itek and Visking!" He cursed. "Fall back to the mouth of that gully, woman! There they can only come at us two abreast."

Mualla yelped in her battle fury and gutted another of the Crabmen who ventured within reach of her flashing scimitar. "As you wish wizard. Perhaps we can slay enough to choke the gorge shut and have a wall of stinking flesh behind which to fight!" She tittered with laughter and together they retreated toward the gorge mouth. Digging in the pouch at his belt, Bault lobbed two clay pellets into the surging crowd of attackers. There, they burst into flame and vomited forth clouds of purple smoke.

The Crabmen, however, were not to be daunted by the magician's parlor tricks. Wailing in inhuman fury the pressed their attack. Wave after wave leapt upon the two vagabonds, who fought furiously, reaping a red harvest with falchion and scimitar. The corpses of the savage Crabmen piled high at their feet until they gave truth to Mualla's jest; A great mound of ruined, twitching carcass soon choked the mouth of the gorge. Bault and Mualla took this chance to flee into the valley while the crabmen pulled aside the carcasses of their slain brethren. Finding a boulder which offered some cover, the pair sought respite.

"That was a good plan Bault!" panted Mualla, "Futile, but good. We will give a good account of ourselves here, ere Yig embraces us in his coils."

"I will thank you to not to invoke Yig in my presence." Bault muttered irritably. "The Serpent God is abhorred by all but your savage lot."

Mualla smiled again, baring her wickedly sharp teeth. She reached out and mussed Bault's shock of red hair as though she were doting upon a rambunctious child.

"Do not be cross with me, wizard! Before we die I would have you know how proud I am of you! When we met in the Slave-Pits of Morm you were soft, weak and nigh useless. Now you have hardened into a slayer who might hold his own among the tribes of my homeland! I am honored to die by your side, Bault of Y'con!"

Bault glared at his barbarian companion, his face reddening. "Damn your fatalism, Woman! I am not beat yet! We'll… Wait…do you hear?"

There was a create cacophony near the mouth of the gorge. The inhuman cries and mewling of the Crabmen were entwined with a bestial roar; there was the clash of arms and the sound of rending flesh.

Then there followed silence.

Mualla's eyes narrowed and she tightened her grip on her scimitar, her sinews tensing for action. "Something comes, be ready. Have you an enchantment prepared?"

"To my sorrow, nothing that will faze those Crabmen."

"Tis not Crabmen, Behold."

Before them an enormous black bear stepped into view. In its jaws it held the shredded carcass of a Crabman. Rearing on its hind legs it tossed aside the corpse and let out a booming roar that fairly shook the gorge about them.

"Lie down!" whispered Bault, "There are no trees close enough for us to climb, I hear if one plays dead such beasts will ignore you."

Mualla snorted in derision and sprang atop the boulder behind which they had hidden.

"Hail Beast! I am Mualla of the Nighthawks! Come taste my steel!"

Bault cringed mentally, but clambered up the rock to Mualla's side and brandished his falchion. Its heavy blade now seemed tiny and ineffectual.

The bear roared again, then dropped down to all fours and casually ambled toward the couple. Then Bault heard a voice. Nay, not heard! It seemed to emanate from the center of his mind, a strong, rich voice, both authoritarian and comforting. He glanced at Mualla; her baffled expression told him that she too, heard the voice.

"Peace, Mualla, warrior-maid of Iforne'. Peace, Bault, Illusionist of Y'con. I, Cortez, welcome you to the Valley of K'dyzz."

II

"You have our thanks, Speaking Bear! But for your intervention, Bault and I would have met our weird this day."
Mualla sat cross-legged atop the boulder while Bault shuffled nervously about on the turf below. The great bear sat on its haunches before them.
"Please, call me Cortez, Mualla. Tis and ancient name and I have heard it so little these past centuries."
"So be it! We are most grateful… Cortez."
"Aye." agreed Bault, "I was running out of options."
"It is well you feel such gratitude my friends, for alas, I must call upon this gratitude in hope you will perform a service to me!"
"Name it!" exclaimed Mualla, brandishing her scimitar in the air. "We of Iforne' expunge our debts with haste, and let not anything stand athwart us!"
Cortez Nodded his great head, "I assumed as much. Just as you are hell-bent to regain the Coils of Yig and return them to your Witch-King, you are as desirous to repay your perceived debt to me."
Mualla leapt to her feet, eyes ablaze with bafflement and suspicion.
"What know you of The Coils of Yig, the adamantine circlet that doth crown the heads of the Witch-Kings of Iforne'? And how do you know of its loss while in my care? Never would I have ventured to this land of infidels were it not my mandate to retrieve the Coils!"
"Do not be alarmed, barbarian. The same ability that allows me to speak to you in your mind also allows me some insight into your surface thoughts. Your desire to recover the Coils and redeem yourself in the eyes of your people is foremost in your mind."
Mualla again squatted upon the boulder at sat in pensive silence.
Cortez turned to Bault. "In your mind I see the burning desire to learn more of the secrets of The Ancients. The few scraps of their knowledge you possess have only served to fire your imagination and your hunger for more. I can help both of you with these desires, in exchange for performing a daunting task that I, for all my powers, am incapable of undertaking."
"Tell us this task, Cortez," muttered Bault. "What would you have us do?"
Cortez reclined upon the grass. "That will require some preamble. Make yourselves comfortable and be patient, while I educate you on how things came to be as they are here in the Valley.
Long ago, Aye, Eons ago, during the time of the ancients. I was born in this valley, a normal forest creature of the type you name 'bear'. I went about my life concerned only with simple matters, eating, procreating, sleeping. But one day there came to the valley a cabal of sorcerers, who, led by the craftiest of their number, Salk-Ouendoo, built an underground fortress in which to work their magics unseen by their enemies. I was seized and brought into these catacombs, where Salk-Ouendoo practiced powerful enchantments upon me. These bestowed upon me immense intelligence, undreamed of mental powers, and, unknown to any of us at the time, the glory of immortality.
Many and varied were the sorceries of Salk-Ouendoo, he contorted living things into shapes he found pleasing, opened gateways to other worlds and dimensions, brought dead things back to hideous un-life.
Then their came the cataclysm. It is my belief that the workings of Salk-Ouendoo played at least some part in it. His portals collapsed upon themselves, wreaking havoc. I was able to escape to the surface before the catacombs were sealed, I thought forever.
By some miracle this valley remained untouched by the disaster that cast down the world of the ancients. I took it upon myself to be its guardian and keep it pristine. I observe all who enter, if they are peaceable and can live in harmony with the valley; I allow them to dwell here under my protection. If they prove otherwise, I destroy them utterly.
All was well for uncounted centuries, until mere days ago, when there was a great tremor in the earth. Shortly thereafter, I sensed a malevolence emerge from within the old catacombs. I knew it to be Salk Ouendoo, returned from the dead! I could not read his thoughts, but I remembered the…scent of his mind from long ago, it is the same! Last week one of the dwellers here was murdered in the night, hideously rent and mutilated. I knew I must act! Searching, I found an opening the tremors had made into the catacombs. I made my way inside, but with each step I took deeper into those ancient corridors, I felt myself losing my mind, becoming more and more the savage, unthinking beast I was before Salk Ouendoo worked his magic upon me! By some miracle I retained the wits to return to the surface.
This very morning, another of my charges was killed, his skull crushed and his carcass thrown down his own well! I am powerless to intervene!"
Cortez let out a mournful wail. Bault shuddered; never had he heard a sound filled with as much misery. Cortez composed himself and continued his thought-stream.
"In desperation I cast out with my mind for aid, and sensed the two of you, and your cunning, savagery, and force of will. I subtly influenced you to make your way here. Nay! Do not be angered! I will not hinder you if you wish to leave, but my need is great! I beseech the pair of you, descend into the catacombs, discover what deviltry Salk-Ouendoo is working there, and put an end to it! I shall reward you to the fullest of my abilities!
"You can tell me where the Coils are?" asked Mualla, her voice aquiver with eagerness.
"Alas, not precisely, but I know something of their path since they were taken from Iforne' and I can discover more if I reach out with my mind. Aid me and I will do this for you, and plant the knowledge in your mind."
Bault folded his arms and leaned against the boulder. In a sardonic tone he asked; "And what of me? The knowledge of the Ancients? You have it?"
"Within the catacombs there lies the sum total of Salk-Undo's sorcery. Render his influence impotent and it will be yours for the taking. With it you will gain great power with which to aid Mualla in her quest! It would be another reward to you to gain her favor, would it not?"
Bault jerked upright, his ruddy face growing even more crimson. He glanced briefly at the Ifornean, who now regarded him wide-eyed with an uncharacteristic tenderness to her savage countenance.
"I… well; naturally I would help her…that is…Visking! Enough prattle! Lead us to these catacombs so that we might be done with this thing!"
Waves of amusement and gratitude emanated from the mind of Cortez, then, at the speed of thought, Mualla and Bault became aware of the entrance to Salk-Undo's labyrinth, it was as though they'd possessed the knowledge all their lives.
Cortez rose to his feet and ambled down the gorge into the Valley.
"Come friends. I will accompany you as far as I can. We will stop at the house of Simbish, the man who died this morning, there you can refresh and outfit yourselves before descending into the tunnels. Along the way, bask in the peace and beauty of the Valley of K'dyzz, so you will know what it is you fight to preserve!"
As Bault sullenly fell in behind the great bear, Mualla leapt down from the rock and slung her shield across her back. Racing past the Illusionist of Y'con, she playfully slapped his buttocks, then, circling his neck in her arms, kissed is cheek and whispered;
"Fret not, my delicious, civilized sweetmeat! You have always had my favor!

III

They spent evening in the house of Simbish, where Cortez regaled them with his memories of the time of the ancients, and they him with tales of the world outside the Valley of K'dyzz. Bault prepared a meal from the larder of the unfortunate Simbish; coarse brown bread, jellies, pickled eggs and vegetables. Mualla kept her disappointment regarding the lack of meat to herself, she had no wish to seem ungracious, and any ill-humor she may have felt was eased by bowls of sweet, dark purple wine. They retired early, Mualla occupying the single bed, and Bault, awkwardly rejecting Mualla's invitation to share the bed, stretched out upon the long dining table. Cortez remained on guard outside, assuring they were unmolested.

Rising with the sun, they gathered a few scant provisions, and prepared a number of torches. With these they set out, following the path Cortez had planted in their minds. Presently they stood before their goal, before them yawned the gaping black wound in the earth that was the entry point into the Labyrinth of Salk-Ouendoo.

"It reeks of rancid blood and the unwashed flesh of the sick." muttered Mualla, covering her nose and mouth with the crook of her arm.

"You paint quite the picture with your words, woman." Bault knelt and struck flint and steel, lighting a torch. "Shall I light one for you?

"Nay, I will want my hands free for sword and shield. Stay behind me with the torch held high, I will see well enough. Ready one of your enchantments as well."

"I have any number of marvels ready at a moment's notice. Ladies first." Together they stepped through the opening.

They followed a rough natural passage that meandered for several feet before it opened into a large chamber. The torchlight revealed it to be perfectly square, with walls built of strange blocks whose uniform precision marked them as works of The Ancients. The floor was littered with debris; broken furniture, piles of dust, and various unfathomable artifacts scattered about in a desultory fashion. Mualla picked up one such object, a disc of some smooth material that was subdivided by varied ridges and depressions. She looked quizzically at Bault.

"Hghm?"

"That was a plate, for eating, you'd put the different foods in the different sections. Something like it is still used today among the Aristocratic Pygmies of Ahztallas." explained Bault.

"Fair enough."

Mualla tossed the plate to one side. It had not yet hit the ground when a shaggy nightmare shape came hurtling at them from the dark.

Mualla thrust her shield up and the thing smashed against it, forcing her backward.
"Yig!" she cursed, struggling to keep her footing and strike a blow with her scimitar. There was a flash of yellow talons and a great chunk of her wood and leather shield flew away. The warrior-maid of Iforne' struck, barking in satisfaction as she felt her blade cleave deeply into flesh. But her foe did not falter. A second blow of the taloned paw ripped the remains of her shield away. Mualla leapt back and gripped her scimitar two-handed and prepared for the thing's onslaught. It's malformed bulk could just be perceived in the torchlight, and it emitted a guttural vocalization, "Therma magnetics misaligned…compensate…compensate…"

Suddenly Bault threw himself between her and the mysterious assailant. With a flourish he thrust head forward and a cloud of sparkling peculiarly hued mist billowed from the illusionist's mouth. There was an inhuman yelp of pain and bewilderment. Bault stuck out with his falchion, and Mualla leapt to his side to hew at the attacker. They ceased when it lay still on the floor before them. Bault raised the torch to reveal the nature of their foe.

It was a large vaguely anthropomorphic shape covered in course, foul-smelling hair. It's flat, bestial face was filled with large, colorless dead eyes, flaring bat-like nostrils and jagged yellow fangs. Great pointed wolf-like ears depended from the sides of its bullet head. There was an abysmal, unnatural foulness to the whole of its being.

Mualla probed at it with her scimitar, prying open one of the great wounds they had hacked into it.

"It bleeds but little, and behold, there is no bone or guts…just spongy… meat. Do not eat of the flesh of this creature, Bault, it is unwholesome and foul."

Bault glared incredulously at his savage companion. Her ideas of what made for an appropriate repast often differed alarmingly from his own. "Thank you, Mualla; I was very close to digging into this foul carcass with great relish."

Mualla shrugged and grinned. "Does your god, Visking, not say: 'After a hard battle, feast, even upon the flesh of the serpent. Verily, a drink doth be upon me, Man of the Red.' You are certainly a Red Man Bault!"

"That verse can be interpreted a number of ways. We should keep moving!"

"Agreed. Light another torch, with my shield rent, I've a free hand to carry it!" Bault knelt and kindled another torch. Mualla stretched her splendid body and looked about.

"What was that you spat at the thing? The color! I cannot describe it! 'Twas not blue, nor red, it…I know not! Thank Yig you had it though!"

"That was the Ulfire Mist of Kuangtang. I cannot use it again for some time though, it would kill me. And do not invoke the Serpent God, especially here in this place."

Mualla scoffed. "It is in such places as this that Yig's powers are exalted! Fear not! The Great Serpent will look upon you with favor as long as I am at your side!"

Bault sighed and handed her the torch. "Come. Best we walk side by side for the nonce."

The pair moved through the great room until they came to a pair of metal doors that stood open, a long dark hallway was non the other side and they proceed down it. The walls of the corridor were marked with peculiar hieroglyphs.

"Can you read them Bault?"

"Somewhat. They give directions to various areas in the complex. We have just quit the dining hall, now we are headed to something called The Re-Search…Labor…something."

Mualla bristled, her golden eyes widening. "Sounds ominous."

The hall terminated before another set of metal doors these were shut, but opened easily when Mualla pushed them with a bare foot. Before them was revealed another great hall like the one before them, but this one was fairly choked with long tables and benches all piled high with bizarre and baffling artifacts. Bault fairly trembled and stifled a cry. "Look at them! These things are immaculate, but yet they must be tottering with age, I must…"

"Hold, Wizard! There will be time enough to rifle through these gewgaws, but we must first deal with Saul-Ouendoo."

Bault reluctantly complied and they sped across the room to the next set of doors. Another long corridor followed, and another large hall, this one filled with massive wheeled contrivances similar in aspect to an oxcart but composed of strange otherworldly materials. This time Mualla nearly had to physically drag the Y'conian illusionist form these ancient mysteries.

They found themselves in yet another of the corridors, near identical to the others but as they approached the end of it, they hound the walls, floor and ceiling to be scorched and blackened. They arrived at the end and found the doors lying on the floor deformed and twisted as if from great heat.

Stepping across the threshold they beheld a room similar to the other great halls they had passed through, but its contents were radically different. Before them was a circle of low domes of metal. Thick cables led from them to a raised dais upon which rested a tall oval mirror, embedded in a tangle of wires and cables, twice the height of a man. It cast a weak bluish light about the area. They thrust their torches into the honeycomb-like surfaces of the low domes so that they might have their hands free.

Mualla blurted an inarticulate protest as Bault bounded up to the dais and mounted it, examining the mirror. Mualla ran up to his side.

"Fool! Do not tread so carelessly! You know well the works of The Ancients are not to be trifled with."

Bault would not be distracted. " Behold! Look into it, Mualla. By Visking this is no mirror!" Mualla squinted and peered at the gleaming surface.

At first all she could discern was a bluish glow, but then she could make out a landscape. It was a land of strange rock formations formed by the action of alien winds and oceans, covered in plants and fungi that had never sprung from earthly soil. A great azure star crawled across the alien vault, it's surface ablaze with tendrils of crackling black lightning. Dominating this scene was an enormous two-pronged pyramid carved from one cyclopean piece of some ebon, obsidian-like material. Unidentifiable winged shapes flitted about it. The indigo star continued its path across the sky. Mualla turned away from the mirror in horror, for when the star should have slipped behind the colossal pyramid, it slipped in front of it.

Shaking her ebon curls, Mualla struggled to clear her thoughts. Looking to Bault she found him submerged to the waist in the surface of the mirror. Howling in alarm she grasped his tooled leather girdle and drug him back with such force that the two fell off the dais in a tangle of limbs.

Bault struggled upright and shoved Mualla violently to the floor. "Damn you woman! It's a gateway to ANOTHER WORLD! What wonders await there! Did you not see!"

Mualla reached up and slapped his whiskered, russet face savagely. "Fool! Naught but madness and death waits beyond that mirror! Do ye not remember what Cortez told us? This could be the sorcery that threw down The Ancients."

Bault recoiled and slumped down against the dais, his eyes wild. "But did you not SEE! The Orb of Xathar! The dread Citadel of Ibak! We must enter the mirror! Iä Gonshu! Iä! Iä!…"

Mualla seized the illusionist by the collar and shook him violently. "Enough of that! Come back to me or by the Coils of Yig I'll slap the ruddy hide from your skull."

Bault struggled for a moment before meeting Mualla's gaze. First she saw madness in his eyes, but gradually he came to himself. Mualla gripped his face in her hands. "Bault? Are you with me now?"

Bault nodded weakly. "Aye…I'm sorry I… Visking! Now I know well the madness that drove the likes of Salk-Ouendoo! We must…oh Mualla!"

Mualla wrapped her arms about the trembling magician and held his head to her splendid bosom. "Forget the madness in the mirror! Let us make haste to finish our task and put this hellhole to the torch ere we leave. We… Yig!"

Mualla sprang to her feet and brandished her blade. A spear cast away, malevolent soulless orbs reflected the baleful torchlight. Great shaggy bodies lurched toward them. A repellent stench, at once animal and fungoid, assailed their nostrils. Bault climbed up from the floor and took his place by Mualla's side, falchion in hand.

"Damn! While I lay raving like a madman, the bastards slipped up and flanked us! Visking curse me for a simpering fool!"

"Do not reproach yourself overmuch, sweetmeat. Yig has set before you a chance to redeem yourself in battle! Relish this gift! Never are we more alive than when death is at hand!"

Bault mopped his brow with his sleeve and grinned at the savage by his side. "Perhaps you gazed into that mirror overlong yourself."

"Nay! I have always been mad!"

The pair laughed heartily at Mualla's jest, then braced for combat.

The shaggy monstrosities surged forward, the guttural croaking that passed for their voices chanting in unison;

"Therma magnetics misaligned…compensate…compensate…"

Interlude

From: David Salkind
Sent: Monday, June 04, 20xx 3:10 PM
To: eng. & research. Grp. Council
Subject: RE: Thermo magnetics issue resolved

As of 06:55 the damage to the Egress Coil was repaired and the Thermomagnetic compensator was replaced and calibrated. the coil is now functioning properly and the portal is stable.

We will leave the portal open for the next 48 hours to afford General Blair and any other survivors ample opportunity to return. after that time the Coil will be deactivated. 48 hrs. is considered the maximum allowable time the portal can remain open with any sort of safety margin. a longer duration would invite quantum destabilization and/or possible incursion.

I am sure each of you shares my hope for General Blair's return.

Additional progress:

Genetic mapping and cloning of the Dyer Antarctic Specimens has went well. The resulting protoplasm can be adapted to a usable servitor for with relative ease, and there is no indication that the resulting servitors will be in any way dangerous in spite of their bestial appearance. further work will be done to make future batches more innocuous-looking. The chaotic multi functionality of the original material has been eliminated in favor of raw strength and docility.

Cortez is making amazing progress! Today he was able to read the surface thoughts of a technician reading a prepared document in the UT Knoxville library.

I will be issuing a document detailing the applications of mammalian uplifts at a later date.

Thank you.

David Salkind MS, Ph.D. | Research Chief

iTech ID# OUND-00
dsalkind

IV

"They seem to balk at the torchlight." observed Bault. Verily, the shaggy horrors seemed ill disposed to come near the flaming brands, shuffling back and forth and shielding their bulbous orbs with their hairy limbs.
"Aye, but it won't be long till the figure out to go around and attack us from the rear." quoth Mualla grimly, "We must find an escape route or fight the whole horde. I'm guessing there's about ten or twelve of the things."
"Watch them, I have an idea." Bault drew the two unlit torches from his girdle and lit them, propping them against the dais. He then drew from his pouch a black cylinder roughly the size of a man's fist.
While he tinkered, one of the creatures, braver than its fellows, lunged past the torches. Mualla was upon it in a heartbeat. Agilely avoiding its flailing claws, she neatly sliced off its head. The body fell and lay motionless, but the severed head continued to grimace and work its toothy jaws.
"Beheading stops them cold." she said, "but that's a shrewd cut to deal in the press of battle. How goes your idea?"
Bault stood and handed Mualla a lit torch. "Listen, if the memories of this place Cortez shared with us are correct, there should be another door behind this dais. When I tell you we will run for it. Lash out with sword and torch at anything that seeks to bar you."
Mualla grunted in assent. Bault held the torch to one end of the black cylinder. It ignited in a shower of sparks and the illusionist hurled into the midst of the shaggy horrors. As it struck the floor there was a fountain of flame, sparks, and acrid smoke. A thick oily black tendril emerged from the cylinder looking for all the world like an ebon serpent. The hairy fiends shrieked and scattered.
"Run for it!" cried Bault and the pair sprinted around the dais with its hellish portal. Sure enough, there was another set of double doors on the far wall. The sped through and sought to slam the doors shut behind them, but one of the nightmare abominations managed to close with them thrust it's body between the closing doors. Flailing and biting. Mualla raised her scimitar to strike, but cried out as the things talon's raked the right side of her body from armpit to knee. Cursing, Bault thrust his torch into the things gaping mouth. To his surprise the fiends head burst into flame as though it were made of dry straw. It howled and screeched, but still strove to force it's way in, more of its kind could be seen approaching from the dimness.
"Let it in!" shrieked Mualla. "Close the door behind it while I kill it!"
Bault moved aside and the burning monstrosity surged into the room. As soon as it was clear Bault slammed the door shut and thrust his falchion thru the metal door handles, wedging them shut. A heartbeat later he felt the impact of the hellish throng as they assailed the doors.
He turned to see Mualla facing down the smoldering creature, whose aspect was even more hideous now that its fur had been burnt away. Smoke poured from its charred mouth and it croaked obscenely.

"Therma magnetics misaligned…compensate…compensate…"

The thing's claws had ripped away the barbarian's scanty garments, leaving her naked save for a coating of her own blood. Her wickedly pointed teeth were bared and her golden eyes were wild with pain and bloodlust. To Bault's eyes she had transformed into some mythic, savage war-goddess.
Invoking Dread Yig, she attacked. The monster would draw no more Ifornean blood this day. Mualla lopped of its taloned hands one at a time as the lashed out at her, then, swinging her scimitar with both hands, she split the foul thing's head to its chest. She left the blade in the thing's body as it fell, and stood panting, swaying unsteadily. Bault ran to her side.
"Mualla! Sit! Your wound…"
She waved a hand at him dismissively, then probed her side with her fingers, wincing as the gauged the severity of her hurts. "It's not a mortal wound." she said, unwinding the scarlet turban from her head. "It's quite shallow, hurts like hell though. Give me your shirt."
Bault stripped off the billowing purple garment and handed it to her. She looked over his bare chest and limbs and pursed her lips, clucking approvingly. "The austere lifestyle of a wandering adventurer agrees with you, Bault, you are becoming impressively thewed. Go and look around this room, while I bind my wounds and hide my nakedness, ere it drives you to distraction."
Bault pointed to the crumpled mass on the floor. "That thing's talons…they may be envenomed or something."
"Sounds as though you are volunteering to clean my wounds later, sweetmeat! I accept. Now go. We must be quit of this room ere those things beat the door down."
Bault grudgingly complied. Holding aloft the torch and moving deeper into the chamber he found it empty save for a circle of metal cylinders, twelve in number. Each was twice the height of the man and had the girth of a wagon wheel great pipes sprang from the tops of them and disappeared into the ceiling. At roughly eye level on each cylinder was a small window, above each window was a plaque inscribed with hieroglyphs. Bault peered into one.
"Itek and Visking!" he swore. Inside was a grinning skull, attached to a skeleton clad in a silvery garment.
Mualla sauntered up next to him. She had used strips of her turban to bind the deeper gashes she'd suffered, and then wound the rest about her breasts. Bault's shirt she had twisted about her loins. Her curly ebon mane framed her face in wild disarray; Bault decided the look was very appealing.
"What have you found?" she enquired. "We mustn't dawdle; those things still worry away at the door."
"I'm not sure; I think it's a tomb. These cylinders hold dead men."
Mualla pointed at one on the opposite side of the circle. "There's a glow coming from that one."
There was indeed a faint glow coming from inside this particular cylinder. Peering inside, they saw a body suspended in a green liquid, all was covered by a silvery body stocking, save the face. It was a stern, hawk like countenance, with a high forehead and brows that spoke of great, cold, dispassionate intellect. Bault examined the plaque above the window, it bore the hieroglyphs:

SALKIND,D. OUND-00

Calling upon his imperfect knowledge of the tongues of the Ancients, Bault attempted to enunciate the words. "Salk..ind..oh…uhwen.."
"Salk-Ouendoo!" Mualla uttered, finishing the translation for him. "Tis the wizard himself! Slumbering in his casket in un-death! Open it and we'll lop off his head!"
"I'm not sure that's the best idea, Mualla. I…"
There was a rending screech from the door. Mualla raced over and saw the doors buckling inward, hairy taloned fingers reached through the widening gap.

"Therma magnetics misaligned…compensate…compensate…"

"Behold! They seek to come to their master's aid!" Mualla raced back to Bault's side. "We must open this and slay him!"
Bault cast about, looking for a way to open the casket. No seam or lock presented itself. He did however find a peculiar implement of metal, as long as his forearm with a close octagonal ring on one end and a crescent on the other. Finding it sufficiently hefty he assailed the window behind which the ancient sorcerer slumbered. After a few blows, cracks appeared in the glass.
"Hurry!" exhorted Mualla. "The door is giving way!"
Bault hammered away at the window with increasing savagery. Sweat beaded up on his forehead. He expected at any moment the dead necromancer's eyes would snap open and…

"Therma magnetics misaligned…compensate…compensate…"

Mualla paced like a caged lioness, eyeing the rapidly increasing gap in the doors and twirling her scimitar. Soon…

"Therma magnetics misaligned…compensate…compensate…"

Bault struck the window with all the force he could muster. There was a sharp report, and the window shattered, busting outward with a fountain of reeking green gelatinous pulp. Bault recoiled at the stench, gagging, his eyes burning. As the tank drained he could still make out the face of Salk-Ouendoo. It dissolved. Flesh melting away to bone, bone melting away to repellent sludge.
The pounding at the door ceased. The hairy limbs that had been clawing and worrying at the door now hung slack. Mualla cautiously approached and looked upon the creatures that now slumped motionless at the door. One seemed to regard her with its pale, dead eyes. Something occurred to the warrior maid of Iforne'.
"Go Away!"
As one the hairy beasts rose, and shambled away into the shadows.
Mualla shuddered and rejoined Bault. He had moved away from the stinking puddle of yellow-green sludge that had gathered at the base of Salk-Ouendoo's casket. He stood regarding it thoughtfully, stroking his chin.
"Those things obeyed me when I bid them leave. I think with the wizard dead, they will do our bidding, or at least not molest us further."
Bault shook his head. "I don't think Salk-Ouendoo was alive, at least not in a way we'd call life. His body…dissolved once it was exposed to the outside air. He was long dead, but perhaps there was some remnant of him, somehow trapped in this machinery. Some portion of his will survived and gave purpose to those creatures."
"And when his body was destroyed. It broke the spell?"
"I suppose. It all sounds so silly when I speak my thoughts aloud. I must discuss this with Cortez, perhaps he will have some insight."
Mualla chuckled. "Aye, nothing like a discussion with a talking bear to make things seem less silly! What now? I'm sure you wish to rummage through all these ancient trinkets, but I would be quit of these hellish catacombs! Further, I would see them destroyed or sealed forever! That damned mirror."
Bault nodded. "Aye, the mirror…"
"Do not think to sneak back there and muck about with it! Swear to me now that you will not!"
Bault sighed and rubbed his face with is palms, then gazed at the floor for a few heartbeats. "I so swear Mualla. Slay me should I break my oath."
Taken aback by the sincerity in the illusionist's voice when he uttered the oath, Mualla scowled for a moment and fingered the edge of her scimitar, it was notched and in need of attention. She went to Bault and seized him by his russet whiskers, smiling with laughter in her golden eyes.
"See that it doesn't come to that, sweetmeat! Now, let us return to the comfort of the house of poor, murdered Simbish! You may confer with Cortez while you tend to my hurts, and I will ease my pain... and my nerves with a great bowl of that delightful purple wine!"

The End.