XI
Return to Barak Tor
The Witch Lord surveyed his undead minions. From the surrounding mountains he had gathered a small army of followers: the beginning of a new legion of the damned.
'Protect me,' he intoned, his balefire eyes glowing. The undead lord gestured, and the torches in their wall sconces flared up brightly. 'The mortals will pay for disturbing my slumber.' The zombies and skeletons shambled away, dispersing into the depths of the barrow.
The usual racket of shouting and guffawing men drinking galleons of beer drowned out the warlock's speech. His expression turned sour and with a flick of his wrist, he sent one of the drunk fools sprawling upon the floor.
'Stupid imbeciles, we should go elsewhere. I tire of this place.'
Outside, in the cool darkness, with the cold stars shining in the blackness above, Siareth surveyed his men. It could be the last time he saw them alive.
Kurt fondled impatiently with the hilts of his swords. The outlaw was eager as usual. Merideon's face was impassive, his eyes glassy, and his beard immaculately trimmed. A strange perfume Siareth had not noticed before seemed to linger about him. The warlock dismissed it and turned to the others. Magnus' jaw was tight, his confidence worn like a cloak. He was prepared to do what was necessary, driven by personal desire to slay the Witch Lord who he had mistakenly awoken. The elf was silent, a shadow, only half visible in the light. The darkness surrounded him and of his face Siareth could only make out the pinpricks of his eyes beneath his hood.
There was someone missing.
'Where's Torstorm?'
'He went off into the wilderness,' Legless said casually. 'Heading north, by the sounds of it. He heard a rumour that his son by his second wife might be alive. Don't ask, I don't know the exact details.'
Siareth shrugged. Torstorm was a mercenary, a hired killer. Druchii or not, his departure would not affect his plans.
'You now have the Spirit Blade. You know what must be done. Good luck. You'll need it.'
The wooden door swung open with a creak as Kurt turned the rusting handle and pushed it open. The stench of rotting bones filled the air. The passage, eerily lit by wall torches, beckoned the party into its deadly embrace.
'Well, someone's been doing the housework,' the outlaw muttered. He stepped through the doorway and rounded the corner.
Immediately the reason for the stench became apparent as a skeleton guard, swinging a scythe, lurched towards him. As the others piled into the corridor's narrow confinement, Kurt intercepted the monster's attack and sliced through the weapon haft with his second sword. The follow up cut slashed through the skeleton's neck vertebrae, spilling its grinning skull to the flagstones.
'Looks like the Witch Lord's actually trying to stop invaders into his realm.'
'Can't say I blame him,' Merideon sneered, 'after all, if I were imprisoned for thousands of years and then some blundering fool released me, I'd be all for taking full advantage.'
Magnus was silent.
Legless rolled his eyes and motioned to Kurt.
'Very well, Waldheim, lead the way.'
The passage split off into two, leaving the warriors with no idea which one to take. Both ended in shadow. Magnus gestured with his sword.
'Legless, you and Merideon take the right fork. Kurt and I will take the left fork. Shout out as loud as you can if you need aid.'
'And hope the distance doesn't muffle our voices,' the elf replied with a smirk. He and the noble disappeared down the corridor.
'Right,' Kurt turned to face the gloom ahead. He held out his swords in front of him.
'Let's put that Witch bastard back where he belongs,' the knight grunted.
The large doors stood ajar. By the flickering of the wall torches, Merideon and Legless could see the silhouette of the stone tomb.
'Damn, Magnus has the Spirit Blade,' Merideon hissed. 'We'll have to…'
'You don't really think the Witch Lord is in the tomb?' Legless' voice radiated mild disbelief. 'I think he would have…vacated that in favour of gathering his army of the dead.'
'Of course, how peasant-like of me to allow such thoughts.' Merideon strode forwards and slammed the great doors closed. 'There'll be no returning to bed for this scum.'
As the elf and the noble explored the dusty corridors, they soon found some differences in the dungeon layout. The table in the large, central room had been removed, passageways that were blocked the last time they had been here were now cleared, and Legless' secret doorway leading to the alternate exit had vanished.
'It should be here somewhere…' The elf mused as he ran his fingers along the walls.
'What does it really matter?' Merideon snapped, cleaning his rapier with an old rag. He gave the zombie's decaying body a good kick and sauntered over to where Legless was searching. 'We don't need another way out this time. This time we'll kill the bastard.'
'You can't be sure of that, human,' Legless replied. 'Never underestimate your foe.'
'Thanks, I'll keep that in mind.'
Suddenly, there was a dull rumbling accompanied by what could've been shouting.
'Is that what I think it is?' The elf turned and glanced towards the other wall.
'Only one way to find out.' Merideon closed his eyes and concentrated. His leather armour began to shimmer with a strange light, as if it was turning halfway invisible. Opening his eyes again, the noble walked towards the wall, and vanished. He had walked straight through solid stone.
'What in the name of the war-god?' Legless raised an eyebrow.
'I found it in a ruined barrow near here' came a voice and Merideon materialised through the wall. 'And very useful it is too.'
'Well, you saved it from the Wight who would otherwise be wearing it now. So, is there battle yonder?'
'There is,' Merideon pointed towards the far doorway. 'Sorry to abandon you, but combat awaits!'
Kurt once again lashed out with his swords, splitting skulls and kicking in rib cages. The Blade of Leaping Gold came into play in the capable hands of Magnus, shearing zombies in half and in the tightly packed ranks of the undead legions he couldn't miss. The foul odour was overpowering, and, like a bandit, Kurt had tied a kerchief around the lower half of his face.
'How many more of these things are there?' Magnus was getting sick of fighting the undead. From the other side the room, they poured through the doorway, a tide of filth and unwashed bodies.
'What the hell?' Kurt's eyes widened as Lord Merideon strode imperiously through the very wall, his sword flashing and dancing before him. Zombies fell like saplings in a storm, skeletons exploded in showers of rattling bones and the damned could not close with the furious noble.
Then a larger skeleton broke through the ranks. He wore a steel breastplate over a scarlet tunic with slashed sleeves and all the fashion of the Imperial court. In its hands it held a burning blue sword, its blade flickering with azure light. Its balefire eyes glowed dully, and all could see that it exerted its rudimentary will over the undead beasts around it.
'Ah, a duel!' Merideon shoved his way through the zombies and confronted the skeletal captain. 'Well met, warrior, prepare to meet your death.'
Smashing his minions from his path, the Wight cleared a circle around the combatants. It cocked its head, confused. The shambling hordes stopped fighting, and, taking advantage, Magnus and Kurt paused to watch the challenge.
'I mean, your…second death,' Merideon said hastily. 'Well, ha, enough words, have at thee!'
With a wordless roar, the duellists closed the gap between them.
Merideon's sword met the blue blade with a burst of sparks. He immediately stepped back and struck at the undead creature's sword arm. The blade passed through the joint and nearly caught the noble's blade. He retracted it as the captain lunged out with its free arm, attempting to grapple him. Feinting to the right, Merideon snarled, angry at his mistake and rolled his wrist, cutting down on the Wight's right forearm. This time the arm was severed, and with a bellow of rage, the Wight rushed at Merideon. Dancing back out of range, he used his sword to make two diagonal cuts.
There was a pause, and then the skeletal captain crumpled to the floor.
'Well, that was easy,' Merideon said casually, before stooping to pick up the glowing blue sword. 'Hmmm…interesting.' He thrust it through his belt and then realized he was surrounded by hungry zombies. 'Well, bring it on, you dogs!'
The Red Wolves plunged back into battle and the squelch of rotting flesh filled the air.
As the battle thickened, and the undead warriors slowly got to their feet again and again, the companions got separated in the swirl of bloody melee. Legless finally arrived and his longsword cut through limbs and severed arteries with the practiced ease of his race. But still the zombies struggled to their feet, and various bones reanimated into more skeletons, empowered by some unseen force.
Magnus hacked and slashed in wide arcs. He had no fear of hitting his friends, as they were spread out across the room. But with this many foes, he would be hard pressed to get through the next doorway and use the Spirit Blade. If that was where the Witch Lord enthroned himself. Glancing around, he saw that Kurt was standing closer to the door. He backhanded a zombie, cleaved another's head from its shoulders and shouldered aside a third. In the brief respite, he stabbed his sword into another's head. Letting go of his precious blade, he quickly unsheathed the Spirit Blade and raised it above his head.
'Kurt, look out!'
The Spirit Blade span, end over end, until it came to an abrupt halt in the doorframe. Magnus then retrieved the Blade of Leaping Gold and returned to his gory task.
'Take the Spirit Blade! Find the Witch bastard and kill him!'
On the other side of the room, beyond the shifting mass of zombies and skeletons, Kurt heard Magnus' request. He kicked a zombie's legs from under it, gashed a skeleton's collarbone, causing it to explode in a shower of bone dust, and sheathed the Bludlettin Sord. Then he reached over to the hilt of the Spirit Blade, and wrenched it out. The blade flared with its cool blue light, and instantly the outlaw used it on the closest zombie. There was a burst of blood and filth as the creature was destroyed. This time it was beyond being raised up again.
'Now that's what I'm talking about,' Kurt grinned. He turned and hacked a path through the undead towards the doorway.
The Witch Lord's throne room stretched upwards from what at first had appeared to be a false door. Now, seated upon a throne of gold and red satin, he was surrounded by his bodyguards: a mummy clad in rusting plate armour and a zombie dressed in ragged robes.
'Ha! Your pathetic,' Kurt spat. 'Is that all you've got?' He raised the Spirit Blade.
The Witch Lord's eyes gleamed with power. The air in the room turned frosty, and the doors slammed shut with a hefty crunch. Unworried, Kurt kept his gaze on the Undead lord.
'Little mortal. The time is ripe. I will walk the earth again, and you are my first sacrifice!'
A cascade of black lightning struck the outlaw, throwing him against the wall. The Witch Lord hadn't even moved a finger. Kurt was picked up as if by a great invisible hand and smashed down onto the floor with incredible force. Then his body was beaten by numerous blows, as if kicked and rolled by invisible boots. For minutes on end he was thrashed and crushed, his blood leaking out onto the floor and the air was filled with his cries of agony. All around the lightning flickered and danced, along with the evil melody of the Witch Lord's laughter.
The Spirit Blade fell from Kurt's grasp with a clang. As his body was picked up again and hurled against the wall, pain surged through him, like nothing he had felt before. He had never felt so much agony in his life. It burned through his mind like fire, his veins alight with chaotic energies. Silent and still, the Witch Lord' minions watched as their master wreaked havoc on him.
'You won't walk the earth again, rotting bastard,' Kurt managed to gasp through his pain. He reached forwards laboriously and grabbed the Spirit Blade's hilt.
'Oh, really? One thing is certain: you won't be alive to see my new reign!'
Kurt Waldheim was sent spinning through the air. He collided with the doors and smashed right through them, sending up a cloud of dust and splinters.
Evil laughter echoed both in the corridor and inside his head. Before he blacked out, he felt something soft brush past him and thought he heard the telltale sound of a swishing rapier.
'Waldheim. You must get up. You must kill the Witch Lord.' Legless finished tending the outlaw's wounds and shook his friend's shoulder. 'We were able to deal with the bodyguards.' The mental image of the mummy warrior's head exploding in a display of greyish, decaying brain matter flashed delightfully through the elf's mind.
'Kurt, listen to me,' came Merideon's voice. 'Get back in there, you peasant scum, and kill the Witch Lord!' There was a jovial light in his voice.
Kurt opened his eyes. His head throbbed like it was being punctured by a thousand needles. A faint clamour, the sounds of the ongoing battle with the zombies, rumbled in the background. He felt the wet, stickyness of warm blood on his face and knew it was his own. He could taste the coppery tang of blood in his mouth. Rolling over, he spat heavily and winced as the glob of blood and phlegm revealed a broken tooth in its midst. Dragging himself to his feet, he lifted the Spirit Blade, and it seemed to send new vigour coursing through him. He looked to Legless and bowed his head slightly before turning his attention to Merideon.
'Peasant? At first it was fun,' he rasped, now…now it's personal!'
Suddenly a great darkness seemed to loom near the wrecked doors. It was like a giant shadow, topped with a wickedly horned helmet and glowing, orange eyes. Kurt's swimming vision came back into focus and he wiped the blood and sweat from his forehead. His breathing came heavily, and his legs nearly buckled beneath him.
'Here he comes. Waldheim, now is your chance!'
When the outlaw merely took a step forwards, Legless unhitched his spear and cast it forth. The spear punched into the Witch Lord's chest, pinning him to the wall.
'Insolence!' The Witch Lord bellowed. 'You will pay for this, mortals!'
Kurt's eyes flashed and he charged towards the struggling creature.
'You're going back to hell! Let me show you the way!'
The Spirit Blade came arcing down to strike its unholy foe.
There was a bright blaze of blue light, followed by an apocalyptic explosion that shook the corridor and brought down huge chunks of stone. Amidst the nova, the Spirit Blade bit deep into the Witch Lord's withered heart, searing his insides with magical fire. Kurt held onto the hilt tightly as the storm of energy howled around him, flickers of lightning and bursts of energy causing the passage to light up with a hellish glow. The Witch Lord's shrieks of rage split the air, and his body began to crumble. As Kurt watched the Undead master's robes and armour fell away in swathes of dust, followed by his rotting bones. Black swirls of energy circled up from the powdery remains and with one last howl of frustration, it was gone.
Kurt Waldheim collapsed to his knees. He dropped the Spirit Blade with a metallic clatter.
Legless and Merideon approached warily. Seeing his companions, Kurt seized up the Spirit Blade and got to his feet.
'Come on, let's go.'
As the three walked back down the corridor, Magnus emerged from the room ahead. He was covered from head to foot in gore.
'Well, don't you look a sight,' Kurt snarled, shoving the Spirit Blade at Magnus and pushing past. 'Keep your damned sword. I don't want it.' He disappeared down the passage.
'What was all that about?' Magnus was confused.
'Something about doing a heroic deed, I'd garner,' Merideon chuckled, following Kurt.
'Yes, I'd leave the questions for a while.' Legless winked from within the depths of his hood.
As the Red Wolves marched back to Glintburg, Kurt pondered on his deed. What on earth had he done? It disgusted him, and yet if he hadn't perhaps they would've all been killed. No, that wouldn't have been the case. Surely Legless or Merideon could've slain the Witch Lord. Why didn't he think of that? He could've easily passed the Spirit Blade to one of them and they could've done the heroic deed. He grimaced, kicking a loose stone over the edge of the pathway. It was a mistake he would not make again. Never again, he thought, never again.
'Wait till we tell everyone who killed the Witch Lord!' Magnus guffawed, striding along. Merideon and Legless fell strangely silent. 'I mean,' he continued, 'it was I who released him! It should've been me who brought him down. Oh well, I guess Kurt gets all the credit this time.'
'I wouldn't tell anyone, if I were you.'
Magnus turned to see the business end of a flintlock pistol aimed at his face. Kurt wasn't smiling. Behind him the elf and noble had their hands on their swords.
'Keep your blades sheathed, friends,' the outlaw snapped. 'I'm merely insisting that it remains a secret who destroyed the Witch Lord. Understand?'
'Of course,' Magnus gulped. 'Whatever you say.'
'You have my promise, Waldheim,' Legless spoke softly.
'And mine,' Merideon said, releasing his grip on his rapier. 'Your secret's safe with me.'
'Good,' Kurt growled, putting up his pistol and holstering it. 'Let's get moving. I'm tired of these Border Princes. It's about time we returned to Aldenheim.'
The Golden Hind reverberated to the sounds of the Red Wolves victory cheers.
'Here's to the Red Wolves!' Siareth raised his tankard.
'All for one,' they chanted in unison, 'and every man for himself!'
As the men drank, ate their fill, and drank some more, Siareth analysed their situation. At first the plan had been to come back simply to eliminate Gulthor and retrieve Orcs Bane, but now, with the Star of the West, and the invading Orc hordes, they could bring about the doom of Glintburg all the sooner. The Witch Lord venture had simply been an inconvenience. But now that it was over, the Red Wolves could get of here and leave Glintburg in flames, as he had promised. And then, with Aldenheim fortified and an army gathered, the Red Wolves would really be in business…
6
