Chapter Seven
Into Darker Days
Charles did not know how long he had been left in the dark. He could not gauge the time by the incessant rattling in the next cell, nor by the goblin jailer's infrequent appearances. Only the pains in his stomach, the weakness of his limbs, and the cloudiness of his addled brain testified to the time he had served. He would have died of dehydration, but the ceiling leaked. Sometimes the liquid that drooled down the walls was so foul-smelling, Charles was wracked by dry heaves and had to bury his face in dirty straw. If he was lucky, it was the fresh blood of some unfortunate torture victim. His body was covered with weeping, festering sores. He did not even have the strength to cry.
Charles was dimly aware of Grubsuckle's shuffling footsteps in the corridor and the light of a torch. Once he had welcomed the light, but now it just pained his eyes. He did not resist as the goblin hauled him up by the collar and dragged him through an immeasurable labyrinth of corridors. His bare feet scraped against stone as he was pulled roughly up winding staircases. The thought crossed his mind that he should take note of his surroundings, but it was quickly pushed back into the haze of delirium.
After a time, he found himself sprawled face down on a smoothly polished black floor. The stones felt cool against his cheek. He almost passed out, but he felt himself being prodded in the back. Charles looked up, straining his neck to see the face of his tormentor--the nefarious sorcerer vin Drako, resplendent in his dark robes.
"Did I not instruct you to give him food and drink?" he heard the magelord say.
"Y-yes, my liege, O Dreaded Master of Unspeakable Horrors," the duckfoot stuttered. "I d-did as you commanded, fell lord."
"He cannot even stand on his own. Did he not approve of your choice of cuisine?" Charles heard the crack of a whip and instinctively flinched, but it was Grubsuckle who cried out in pain.
"O, Most Loathsome Subjugator of Souls! Wicked Prince of Ignominy! Punish me, for I have made a most grievous error! I shall not fail you again!" Crack! Crack! Crack!
"See that you don't. The next prisoner you retrieve for me had better not be half in the grave already. That is _my_ job, and if you presume to do it for me again, I will hang you by your eyelids with fishhooks."
"I deserve every punishment you choose to mete out, Your Maleficence," whined the goblin.
"As it should be. Now, get out of my sight, slave!"
As the goblin shuffled away, Charles heard the mage pacing towards him, his boots clicking on the hard floor. He began to whimper softly. The footsteps stopped in front of him. Then his head was jerked back and a flask was poured down his throat.
Charles coughed and sputtered. The liquid burned his parched lips and set his gut on fire with agony. It quickly passed, though, and he suddenly felt better. His sores were no longer oozing pus. After a moment of dizziness, he could sit up on his own and see vin Drako with unclouded vision. His features were cruel and sharp. His eyes were black pits of unfathomable malice. When Charles looked into those cold, sinister orbs, he began to believe that demons truly did exist.
vin Drako pushed him back to the floor with his staff and stood up. The sorcerer held out one finger and spoke an arcane word, shocking Charles with a spark of electricity. The boy tried to curl up into a ball, but vin Drako continued jolting him, sending him into a quivering heap. Some other unseen force continued to knock him around, until vin Drako finally tired of his game and left him twitching on the floor.
"The girl has gone beyond the range of my scrying ability," the sorcerer said frankly, stepping over to the boy's prone form.
Eliza! She must be safe! Charles thought as he felt the staff pressing into his back again.
"Safe?" vin Drako chuckled. "Not quite. I have other ways of gaining information, foolish boy. She is in peril even as we speak."
Charles did not respond. He didn't have to.
"No, there is nothing I particularly want from you this day. You failed me the last time I entrusted you with an important assignment. Why should I trust you to do my bidding this time, when all you have shown is stubbornness and ineptitude?"
Charles felt the pressure lifted from his back. "Khalicia!" he heard the sorcerer call out. A door opened and the boy glanced up to see a horrid looking woman shuffling toward them. Wrapped in rags, her flesh crawled with maggots and was falling off her bones, her eyes dangled from their sockets, and greenish-brown ichor oozed from her mouth. "My first wife," vin Drako explained. "Charming, isn't she? Almost as beautiful as the day she died." He turned to the zombie. "Khalicia, dearest, I brought you a snack." Khalicia licked her lips with her bloated black tongue. Charles saw fangs in her mouth and recoiled, horrified. "Just the first knuckles on the left hand, though," vin Drako addressed her. "The rest we'll save for later."
The zombie pouted. "Tender, tender flessshhhh," she rasped. "Tender flessshhhh. Want more!"
The sorcerer smiled coldly at Charles, who was now trembling in utter terror. "The longer the girl eludes me," he promised, "the more of your hand you will lose."
Charles could remember nothing of his close encounter with the zombie after waking up in darkness again. The last thing he could recall was the leering, toothy face of the dead woman as she approached him. His fingers, or what was left of them, were wrapped in crude bandages. He was in a dizzy, cold sweat from the pain, which kept sleep at bay and left him shivering and miserable, truly wanting for the first time in his young life to be dead. But death would not release him gently. Charles knew beyond a doubt that if he did not do something, he would die slowly and painfully. The sting in his hand was only a pale shadow of what was to come.
Later, the light came back, and Grubsuckle returned dutifully with an edible meal: two crusts of stale bread, a rotten orange, and a skin of water.
"Grubsuckle does the master's bidding," the goblin announced, putting the items down on the floor.
Charles ignored them and looked forlornly at his jailer. "Please," he said piteously, "could I get some healing? I think my wounds are infected." It wasn't exactly a lie. He held up his dirty, bandaged hand for inspection.
Grubsuckle hesitated. He imagined what vin Drako would do to him if he let the boy die of infection after only the first day of torture. The goblin didn't have a particularly fertile imagination, but even he could envision the outcome of that event. He started forward. "Grubsuckle will take you to Meatgrinder," he whispered thoughtfully. "He breaks things, he puts them together again, yes...but we must be quiet. Grubsuckle not knows the master's will." The goblin came jerkingly toward him as if every movement taken of his own initiative pained him, and unlocked the shackles binding Charles.
The goblin was accustomed to hauling the boy's limp form up the winding stairways and twisting corridors of vin Drako's tower fortress. He was not prepared for his prisoner's sudden move, and was caught off-guard when Charles snatched up the chain and beamed him on the head with the heavy iron shackle. Grubsuckle fell back and tried to scramble away, but Charles pounced on him, pinning him down. The two struggled wildly, kicking and flailing. Charles was no titan, especially in his weakened state, but neither was the goblin. Charles managed to wrap the chain around Grubsuckle's neck and pulled it tight enough to make the goblin's eyes bulge. Grubsuckle futilely slapped at the boy's hands.
"Stop that, and I'll let up!" Charles said, disgusted at the thought of strangling the creature to death, even one as wretched as Grubsuckle. The obsequious goblin did as he was told.
Charles loosened the chain by a link and fumbled about the goblin's person for weapons. He spotted the hilt of a dagger poking out of the top of Grubsuckle's floppy leather boots, snatched it up and held it to its owner's throat. The thing was notched and rusted; not a particularly heroic weapon, but it was a weapon that he now possessed and his jailer did not.
"Please, master," whined the goblin. "You would not hurt poor old Grubsuckle, would you? Grubsuckle will do your bidding, yes... Grubsuckle just wants to please his generous master."
For some reason, the creature's pleas made Charles feel filthy inside. He almost lost his nerve, but managed to summon a burst of anger to chase away his doubt.
"You- you loathsome sycophant!" he cried out, trembling. He dug the blade into Grubsuckle's throat, just hard enough to draw a drop of blood.
"Please, please," the goblin whined on. "I exist only to do your bidding! Tell Grubsuckle what he must do to earn your favor, merciful master."
Charles looked at him thoughtfully. "Do you know a way out of here? A secret way?" He slapped the goblin on the face, not very hard, but hard enough to suggest a penchant for violence. "If you don't, well, then I have no more need of you." He emphasized his point with another dig from the blade.
"Y-y-y-y-y-y-yes," Grubsuckle stuttered. "But a very dangerous path, yes!"
"Not as dangerous as staying here," Charles countered. "For me, or for you I'll wager. He will kill you, you know that, don't you? If we get out of here alive, you can be free."
"No, no, no, no, no!" the goblin sobbed suddenly. "Not free. Grubsuckle will serve his generous master."
"Well...all right," Charles said, thinking he'd give his new lackey the slip as soon as he was out of the Hellspire. "Will you promise to help me if I let you up now?"
Grubsuckle nodded eagerly. "I swear it! Grubsuckle exists to serve his generous master."
"Cross your heart and hope to die?" The goblin repeated the words with enthusiasm. Charles hesitantly stood up and stuck the dagger in his belt.
"Now, which way?" he demanded in his most commanding voice. The goblin began to tremble, saying nothing. "Which way?" Charles repeated, more insistently.
Grubsuckle flinched from meeting his new master's gaze. "Th-th-th..." he stammered. "Through the Crypt of the Damned."
"We're not in league with the Evil Despoiler of Trees!" Tweedle shrieked repeatedly. "Oh, wicked elf! Never did I imagine a day when I would be tormented by an elf!"
"You attacked us," Parethiel reminded him patiently.
Lady Dee, an incongruously named pixie, for though the creature was dressed in feminine garments, it was clearly male, gave the high-strung Tweedle an irritated glance. "As far as we know, we are the only creatures living in this wood who are not yet enslaved to his will. Of course we must be ready to react to any new threat that may arise."
The fat one, Master Dum, attempted to flutter his wings in a display of rebelliousness. The pixies were packed in the party's saddlebags as tight as sardines in a can, though, and his efforts were fruitless.
"I am sorry for the loss of your kin," Parethiel said. "If what you say is true, your kind has suffered needless violence this day. It would have been wiser to parley before attacking." The elf stood up and paced over to where Liam and Odie were waiting and silently watching the exchange.
"Do you believe them?" Liam asked Parethiel as he approached.
"My instincts tell me that they are speaking the truth," Parethiel replied thoughtfully.
"Bah! Pixies!" Odie exclaimed. "STICKY pixies!"
"Speaking of sticky..." Liam muttered, trying in vain to run his hand through his hair where honey had matted it together like glue. Odie just shrugged apologetically.
"Let us go, wicked elf!" Tweedle wheedled, to which Lady Dee whipped his head around and smacked him with his long, pointy nose.
"Shut up, you fool!" To Parethiel he called out, "Elf! I do not believe that we are on opposite sides of this conflict. My kind knows this forest better than any, and we are well informed of its secrets. If you truly wish to enter the tower to rescue your friend, we will show you a hidden entrance in exchange for our freedom."
The elf said to him, "We will consider your offer." He turned to his companions and shrugged. "I do not fear their darts, only that they might lead us astray," Parethiel said quietly to Liam and Odie.
"LYING PIXIES!" Odie bellowed, furiously stomping the ground. "LYING, STICKY PIXIES." Tweedle and several of his companions responded with a shrieking cacophony of protests.
Liam said, "Let them loose, and see what they have to offer. We will judge them on the advice they offer, and if they disappear into the woods, we've lost nothing."
"Unless they are spies," Parethiel said, although his tone implied that he thought that unlikely. As usual, the dwarf's opinion was overridden. Parethiel loosened the saddlebag that contained the three war leaders, but kept the others in their bags, under the vigilant eyes of Odie. The dwarf scowled menacingly at them for about three seconds, at which time he promptly burst into song and dug around for his last jar of honey, generously offering a taste to his captives, who refused.
Tweedle and Lady Dee fluttered on ahead, leading the group to the edge of a rocky gorge. From there they could see vin Drako's tower, the Hellspire, on the other side. Made of black stone, it rose out of the ground like a beacon of doom, tearing apart the low clouds that always hovered over it. Birds of prey circled around it, their cries carried on a sudden wind that whipped through the trees, and the sky seemed suddenly darker.
"We must leave the horses," Parethiel shouted above the howling wind, to which Liam nodded.
"And the captives?" he yelled back, shrugging.
"Let them decide their fate," the elf reasoned, pointing at the three pixies scurrying for a windbreak to avoid being blown away.
"Down at the bottom of the gorge!" Lady Dee shrieked as the wind picked him up and slammed him into a tree. "No more than a mile to the south, there's a tunnel where water drains out!" The pixie's last words faded as he slumped over, unmoving, his back twisted at an odd angle. Lightning forked down from the sky and blasted a nearby tree, sending the panicked horses bolting with their captives in tow.
Liam cursed. "Where's Tweedle and Dum?" he shouted, turning around to see the two pixies desperately clutching the back of Parethiel's cloak as it whipped in the wind. "Lady Dee!" cried Tweedle as he frantically tried to scramble up to Parethiel's shoulder. The elf, braced against the wind, made his way over to the fallen pixie.
Lady Dee lay very still, his head thrown awkwardly to the side. Blood seeped out of his mouth, but his eyes stared comprehendingly at the figures hovering above him. "Dangerous path...into the crypts," he whispered hoarsely. Then he died. Tweedle and Master Dum began shrieking together in what the elf realized was a mystic chant. The fey creatures fell into their earsplitting song of grief, unaware of Parethiel as he began gathering up what supplies had not been lost with the horses.
"Gather your people, and go back to your queen," he said when they were done. "You have lost many comrades today, and for that I am truly sorry. We must go onward, but I ask that you look after the horses. One of them is from Queen Estaria's own stock." As the pixies nodded their agreement, Parethiel turned back to his companions. "By the dying pixie's own words, this tunnel will lead us into the crypts underneath vin Drako's tower," the elf said, staring out at the distant spire.
"Odie hates the wind," the dwarf grumbled. He looked back at the fallen Lady Dee, almost sadly, it seemed. "Crypts much less dangerous."
"We'll see," Liam said as he went off to look for the best way down into the gorge. The footing was treacherous for him and potentially lethal for the heavy-footed dwarf, but Parethiel practically jumped off the cliff, agilely dropping from one foothold to the next as he accelerated to the bottom. By the time the other two were down in the gorge, Parethiel had been scouring the rocky riverbed for fifteen minutes and had found a way across.
Charles felt almost euphoric as he followed the dirty goblin along the moldy and mildewed corridors. It felt so good to have the heavy shackles off his raw-chafed wrists that he could've almost smiled, but the dull, throbbing ache in his left hand made that a remote possibility at best. The damnable slaad had put up such a racket upon seeing him freed, that Charles had urged Grubsuckle off down the corridor at once, hoping to escape the din as much as the dungeon. They passed many iron cages and stone cells with barred iron gates and heavy oaken doors, some sporting small, barred windows, and all of them having either sturdy locking bars or heavy, and heavily rusted, iron locks, or both. Moans of agony and misery emanated from some of them as they passed on by.
Sssskreeeekkkkkkk!
Boy and goblin drew up cautiously at a sharp sound echoing from far behind them, as of the squealing of metal upon metal. Grubsuckle wore a rather confused expression upon his ugly features.
"Faster!" Charles prompted, prodding his filthy servant along. Finally, they came to the end of the winding corridor and pulled up short before a great brass door, obscenely ornate, covered with runes and arcane writings of countless variety, and set with precious stones of differing shapes and sizes, with a brilliantly-sculpted latch-handle attached to the exact center of the brightly-glowing, circular portal. A large mirror set within a silver frame rich with filigree sat opposite the door.
"Through th-there," Grubsuckle said, pointing at the great round door. The goblin grabbed the latch and pulled, then started to shake visibly as his eyes bulged out, big in their sockets. Finally, he was able to wrench his hands free; he looked at Charles and the boy saw smoke emanating from the goblin's notched ears. "Me eat a bad grub?" Grubsuckle asked, a bit dazed as his eyes swam in opposite circles.
Then something moved down the corridor behind them. It came into the continuous light of the portal then... the sorcerer's zombie.
"Tender, tender flessshhhh," rasped Khalicia, spraying the greenish-brown ichor from her big and black, swollen tongue with each syllable she hissed through her yellowed fangs as her eyes bobbed upon the decayed flesh of her sunken cheeks. Across the cold stone floor, Erik's first wife left a trail of festering slime and squirming maggots. "Yesss, yesss," the gruesome thing cackled on. "Must have more tender, tender flessshhhh!"
Charles recoiled in a panic and reached out reflexively for the door latch with his right hand.
Grubsuckle caught it before it got there. "No time! No time, Master!" the duckfoot squeaked out in fear. "This way!" Grubsuckle pulled a confused Charles towards the mirror and hopped through, dragging the terrified boy with him, and leaving the hideous, flesh-sloughing zombie behind them. They arrived in a large dark room, lit by a single brazier burning a sharp and pungent incense.
The boy's jaw dropped in terror and his eyes grew large as he realized they had come into Erik's summoning chamber. They lad's eyes grew larger still when he spotted the wicked sorcerer at the same time the sorcerer spotted him from across the intricate glyphs and designs etched upon the circle of summoning inlaid into the glass-like, obsidian stone of the chamber's floor. "Bugger-me-blue!" Charles quipped out tragically as Erik vin Drako snarled out a curse and turned towards him, long-nailed fingers twitching in anticipation of the impending doom he was about to mete out.
Grubsuckle squeaked out in absolute terror and dove for the mirror again. His head bounced away with a loud thump. "Other side, stoopid! Other side!" the goblin yelled at himself. He ran around to the other side of the mirror and hopped through the portal once more.
Charles tore his eyes away from the enraged sorcerer bearing down upon him... and leapt after a fleeing Grubsuckle. They came into a small room filled with a miscellany of odd and obscure objects, a scattering of old yellowed scrolls, and shelves filled with ancient and heavy tomes, covered in a thin layer of dust. It looked to be the sorcerer's study.
"Oooooo! Bad master's magic trove!" Grubsuckle chirped out excitedly, and began stuffing pouch after pouch, vial after vial, into his grubby leather satchel. Charles grabbed a wand up from a desktop and then paused as something else caught his eye. A weathered and yellowed old scroll displayed atop the desk in a glass case, and resting upon a red satin pillow. The lad reached for the glass cover with his good hand, then hesitated in fear.
"No time!" Grubsuckle growled out at the boy, and smashed the glass with a clenched fist. He pulled the parchment from the broken case and stuffed the scroll into Charles' ragged trouser pocket. There was no door apparent, and an agitated goblin began urging the youth towards the mirror again. At the last moment, Charles spotted a shining black horn lying upon a shelf and grabbed it up, slinging its worn leather strap over head and shoulder as Grubsuckle pulled him through the large mirror a third time.
The pair came back into the dungeon corridor before the great brass door again, where the zombie awaited them. Khalicia came on once more.
Grubsuckle dodged aside and Erik's long-dead wife came at the boy. "Yesss! Tender, tender flessshhhh!" she hissed, "Khalicia will taste of it, yesss!"
"Back! BACK!" Charles pulled the rusty dagger from his belt with his good hand, and waved it at the undead thing before him, menacingly. But it was the ruby-tipped wand, still clutched loosely in his mangled hand, that pulsed with light and energy... and brought the vile creature to heel.
"Master is a mighty magelord!" Grubsuckle cried out gleefully. The disbelieving youth gawked incredulously as the snarling zombie became complacent and obedient before him.
Sssskreeekkkkkkk! Sssskreeekkkkkkk! Sssskreee-unnnnch! "Fre-ee-ee!" a deep, croaking roar sounded from down the corridor. Then the sounds of a very large something came thumping down the winding corridor in their direction. Squelch! Squelch!
"Uh-oh!" the goblin muttered loudly. "Bugger-ME-blue, too!"
"Wh-what... what is it?" Charles had to ask.
"Me forgots to relock demon-frog's cage after feeding time!" Grubsuckle cried out, nervously.
The slaad came barreling into the half-light thrown by the magic door, broken chains dangling from the great iron shackles locked upon its thick and rubbery wrists... and Charles did the only thing he could think of. "Kill! KILL!" he screamed out at the quiet zombie, who turned in the direction of the slaad... and moved to obey.
Without any further hesitation, the human boy took a deep breath, held it, and reached for the ornate latch upon the circular brass door. Nothing happened. He felt the warmth of the bright metal beneath the fingers of his one good hand, and pulled with all his might. The big door swung open in almost absolute silence... almost. " vin Drako," it whispered softly as it swung wide. The boy resumed breathing, and ignoring the snarling sounds of combat behind him, Charles leapt through the open doorway, with the spindly-limbed, pot-bellied goblin no more than half a step behind.
Erik vin Drako slammed shut the ancient tome of demon lore he had been studying in irritation, causing dust to rise up into his angrily flared nasal passages. The great sorcerer sneezed. Stalking over to the ornately carved doors on the northeastern side of his chamber, he muttered an obscure arcane phrase and set the head of his staff in the lock.
The doors slid open, revealing a gloomy passageway lined by alcoves and lit only by faintly glowing stones set in the recesses. Inside the alcoves were glass barriers, and behind those stood four men, one in each niche, catatonic and expressionless, except for perhaps a hint of malice in their identical glittering, black eyes. They all looked exactly like Erik vin Drako. Erik paused before the first of the men and spoke a word to activate the glass barrier. It slid smoothly up, and after another command, the clone blinked as if coming out of a deep slumber. He immediately tried to push past the real vin Drako, but the sorcerer laid the staff across the niche with a challenging glare and the clone fell back as if stunned. "What are your orders, master?" the clone asked in vin Drako's own voice.
"I have a couple of escaped prisoners that need to be rounded up and recaptured," the sorcerer said brusquely. "They should not present a challenge for you, but they must be recovered soon, alive. The fools will try to escape through the Crypt of the Damned and will not survive it." vin Drako conjured up an image of Charles and Grubsuckle for the clone's reference. Then he cast another spell, polymorphing the clone into another form, one that would be familiar to Charles. "Your name is Liam. Your mutual friend Eliza is still safe in the Forest of Andalast. You will have a dwarf companion named Odikin."
The sorcerer repeated the process with the next clone. "Your name is Odikin. People call you Odie, and you are considered to be a great fool," he told him. "Your mutual friend Eliza is still safe in the Forest of Andalast. You will have a human companion named Liam." vin Drako stepped back to appraise them as the two clones stepped out of opposite alcoves and faced him expectantly. "Do you understand your assignment?"
"Yes, master," the clones replied, in the voices of their respective stolen identities. vin Drako nodded, pleased. His clones possessed only a fraction of his own power, but he didn't trust them enough to have it any other way. They were quite capable of smoothing out the glitches that invariably accompanied any scheme complicated enough to merit carrying out.
"Good," vin Drako said, dismissing them. "When you capture them, lock and shackle them in separate cells until I have time to deal with them, and report back to me. Now, be off! I'm rather busy at the moment."
As the clones obediently filed out of the passageway, vin Drako stepped over to the last of the three rows, where his two remaining simulacra stared blankly back at him. He paused, reflecting on how rare it was for four of his clones to be out at once.
Later the same night that Eliza had fell asleep so peacefully in Astesion's arms, she stirred nervously in her sleep, coming awake to the sounds of his soft breathing and the light pattering of rain. She sat up, clutching a blanket to herself, feeling her heart knocking out a warning against her chest. What had startled her so? As her breathing returned to normal, an image suddenly broke against the shores of her memory, the flash of... A knife in the dark. Someone holding her down, pressing a blade to her vulnerable belly. As she tried to remember the face of her assailant, another picture swam back to her: Queen Estaria in a robe made of white feathers, wearing the mask of an owl.
"He acts out of spite and out of fear," the queen whispered. "He is netted in his own hatred for the magelord who hunts you. He would see the life in you destroyed before given over to vin Drako."
"No," Eliza whimpered, tears falling down her face. In the dream, a white feather came loose from her mask and floated gently to the queen's feet.
"Do not despair," she said, for the dream-Eliza had uttered the same denial.
"Eliza?" came Astesion's sleepy call. He reached out for her, and not finding her resting beside him, he half sat up in bed. "What's wrong?"
She turned to him, tears rimming her wide eyes, her body stiff and unreceptive. He reached out to stroke her cheek, but she recoiled and looked away. "Why don't you tell me exactly how you lost your wings?" she said bitterly.
Astesion crinkled his brow. "Is this really the time to be telling such tales? You obviously haven't had a very restful sleep. That particular story won't help the matter, believe me."
"Tell me. Now." The sudden steel in her voice made him blink in surprise. After a moment, he settled back on the pillow, locking his hands together behind his head.
"As you wish," he said. He let out a breath. His face was half cast into shadow, but his ruby eyes still glittered in the dark. "It began several years ago...twenty, perhaps? Twenty-five? Time never had much meaning to me as mortals measure it.
"Powerful spell casters in your world sometimes summon creatures from my own realm to aid them when they are in need. So it was with Lady Carmen, a young, but undeniably talented elven sorceress. She was defending a human caravan from a party of giants, but could not hold all of the creatures off of the helpless merchants by herself, and so she called upon me. From the moment I saw her, I fell in love with her. She was of Andalast, with the golden hair and pearly skin that marks the fair folk of that region."
"You were attracted to her," Eliza interpreted cynically.
"I loved her, Eliza. Yes, I was attracted to her beauty, and to her spirit. I began to visit her frequently, and was loathe to go back to the planes when my duties called me. Sometimes we would just sit for hours under the cherry trees or by the riverbank, and she would accompany me with her lovely voice while I played the lute. Months, perhaps years, passed. The time changed her not at all, and I hardly noticed how much time I had spent in her world.
"I neglected my celestial duties for the sake of one mortal elf maid, which earned me the censure of my betters. I resented their interference, and tried for a time to convince Carmen to leave the mortal realm behind. `Not before my time comes will I set my foot in Arvandor,' she'd say stubbornly. I couldn't deny her respect for natural order, but I became frustrated by her refusal to meet me halfway. My feelings for her did not diminish, but the pressure from my superiors also continued to wear on me. For a few years, I saw very little of her, but thought of her often.
"She was a bold girl, always one to seize any opportunity to develop her natural talents. In time, she heard of a powerful sorcerer who had come to control the human lands to the south and east. Like a moth to a flame, she was drawn to him."
"Erik vin Drako?" Eliza asked, aghast. How anyone could willingly walk into Erik's tower was beyond her comprehension.
"The same." Astesion was silent for a moment, as if he was warring with his memories. Finally he continued, "vin Drako kept a low profile on his demonic dealings in those days. It wasn't as if he walked about town in black robes with human skulls dangling from his belt. He managed to keep an air of respectability, though when I found out who she had chosen as a mentor, I was suspicious. Something about him seemed sinister to me, and I have come to trust my instincts about that sort of thing.
"Carmen accused me of jealousy whenever I raised any kind of objection..." Astesion trailed off. "Perhaps I drove her into his arms," he said after a long pause.
"Or maybe he seduced her with magic," Eliza replied darkly.
"Maybe it was a little of both," he said. "But inevitably, he made her miserable. I do not know what transpired between them in the end, but when he was done tormenting her, he cast her through one of his mirror-portals... into the Abyss.
"It was years before I tracked her down. She was being held in the Broken Tower, an outpost in the Plains of Desolation, where betrayed lovers are condemned to an eternity of the same brand of torment that led them to their death. Except Carmen wasn't dead. I carried with me a golden ring which was attuned to her life essence, a gift she had given me in happier days, and I knew that she still lived.
"I had two companions who insisted on following me to the Broken Tower, those who I'd met during my travels and who had become closer to me than any of my celestial brethren. You've met them."
"Sicxlemire and Kosikko-kiro?"
"We go back a long way," Astesion confirmed. "And although I protested their coming at first, it was they who saved my life when we reached the Broken Tower. It was a place no celestial could enter, Eliza, but I entered it." Bitterness turned his words dark and ugly.
"But how?" Eliza asked softly.
"By my will alone, I entered through its dark gate. We fought fiends every step of the way. But the farther in I went, the more of my divinity was stripped from my soul, until at last when I reached the doors of my love's secret prison, there was little left of me. My wings, the physical trappings of my former identity, were the last to go, burning up around me in one sudden blast of heat like a halo of flames. I collapsed at Carmen's feet, unable to summon the strength to free her from her chains, but her hand she pressed into mine, and I felt the warmth of her essence flow into the golden ring.
"Kos and Sicxlemire burst through the door, weary and wounded. They had slain the demon lord of the tower, but in the last moments its unnatural existence, it snuffed out the lives of its prisoners. Gradually the ring cooled. I looked up and saw that Carmen's eyes were closed. A peaceful look had come to her lifeless face. I had failed in all ways but one: her spirit was free."
"Then you succeeded," Eliza protested. "Perhaps she is in Arvandor, even now."
"She is," said Astesion. "Though, mercifully, she remembers nothing of her mortal life. When I sail the Oceanus through the elven realm in Arborea, I look for her on the banks. She is usually there, singing."
Eliza considered the story for a long moment. The dream images seemed so distant now, but still... "Now I see why you wanted to protect me," she said cautiously.
Astesion sat up and stroked her hair gently. "I would have protected you anyway," he said. "But you still seem troubled. Did I not predict my story would upset you?"
Eliza shook her head, letting him draw her closer. "It's not that... it's just that I had a dream about someone attacking the baby, and..."
He put a finger to her lips. "Your fears are normal, Eliza. And as long as you wish for my protection, you shall have it. But I am no longer immortal, and I must rest just as you must. Do you think you can sleep now?"
"Yes," Eliza said, settling back down in the blankets. And sleep did come, but not easily.
Erik vin Drako peered into his scrying mirror, deep in concentration. He'd panned out from where his clone lay, seemingly helpless in his cell, to a great vault that his scrying spells had not been able to penetrate. Yet. If he weren't so focused on his task, he would have cracked an evil grin, perhaps even cackled maniacally into the empty chamber. He'd been wanting to see into Queen Estaria's court for a long time, and only with his clone present as a familiar focus had he been able to manage it at all. Now he tightened his focus on the door of the vault, forcing his mind's eye through multiple barriers of lead and stone. He felt the protective magic give way to his mental onslaught.
vin Drako caught his breath. He almost trembled with anticipation. How he enjoyed being proven right! Even if it was only to himself! He wished Grubsuckle were there to share the magnificence of his intellect. Now he did let out an unearthly howl of jubilation. There it was, a glittering, ancient, magical thing. The Krysolis.
vin Drako's schemes were in motion as soon as his suspicions were confirmed. After another virgin sacrifice (he was really scraping the bottom of the barrel lately; the last two had required maximum-potency strength enhancement spells just to lift them onto the dais), he settled back on his throne, awaiting his infernal visitor.
The creature that appeared in his summoning circle was grotesque. Bags of brownish green skin hung from its squat body, which, at six feet in height, was nearly as wide as it was tall. A gaping maw, slavering yellow, noxious ichor yawned in the sorcerer's direction, and its baleful red eyes glinted menacingly from under a flap of maggot-infested flesh. vin Drako had once found the shator's appearance rather droll, even laughable. Then he'd learned better. "Yoouuu...dare...sssummon _me_ to the Prime?" the shator hissed. It came forward, powerful claws oozing some sort of disgusting lower planar slime, but hit the invisible barrier at the edge of vin Drako's circle.
"Xssyziviccass," vin Drako addressed him politely. "Please, save your ire for the time being. I understand how much you hate to be interrupted in _whatever_ it is you gehreleths like to do, but I think you may find it worth it to hear what I have to say."
"Xssyziviccass has not forgotten the lassst time you sssummoned It, mageling... A chapter from the Book of Keeping, you promisssed." The shator swung its mangy head at vin Drako and snarled, showing rows of razor sharp fangs.
"I can do better than that, dear Xssyziviccass," vin Drako said, holding up a stack of parchments bound together with silk threads. A diagram on the front page caught the shator's attention, and it sprang with surprising speed for the book, testing vin Drako's bonds once again. They held good. The shator emitted a pernicious stench and growled unpleasantly. "The first chapter will be yours, of course," said vin Drako. "But I have since pieced together what I believe is over a third of the original text. Are you interested?"
The growling sounds became affirmative.
"Good," vin Drako purred. "I'd be willing to sell you what I have for...oh...the short term services of you and your minions."
Xssyziviccass considered this for a moment, but greed won out. "How ssshort term?" the monstrous deformity asked, running a scarred and blackened tongue along its teeth. "And how many of my minionsss?"
vin Drako stood up and pulled a map down from behind his throne. He pointed to a large forest with his wand and said, "Enough to sack a well-defended elven court, for as long as it takes to bring it to ruin."
"Ahhhhh." The shator steepled its fingers under its massive quadruple chin. "Xssyzivicass getsss the Book of Keeping in payment for killing elvesss. And what does the sssorcerer get?"
"Satisfaction," vin Drako replied. "An enemy divided, a meddling cadre of too-old witches decimated." And a diversion to give his waylaid clone the opportunity to steal the Krysolis and escape, he thought privately.
"Xssyziviccass. Two lieutenant ssshatorsss. Sssix kelubar. Ninety-nine farassstu," the creature ticked off. "Againssst what force?"
"The elven people are dwindling in Andalast. Fewer than two hundred dwell at the Queen's court. Of those, I doubt more than two or three have weapons enchanted powerfully enough to affect you; perhaps twenty have swords that can harm your rank-and-file troops. You can expect a few volleys of magical arrows, perhaps, but nothing your farastu can't survive. The only thing keeping her realm from utter annihilation is a magical dome that hedges out beings of the Lower Planes."
The shator hissed. That, of course, was a problem.
vin Drako smiled coldly, showing his teeth, and held out a thick rod for the gehreleth's inspection. "You can all fly, and you can all become invisible. You need only seconds to get all of your forces inside the dome. With this rod, you can cancel its effects for a short time. It can be used only once, however, so your timing must be precise."
"Xssyziviccass knowsss what that isss," the shator said eagerly, reaching for it.
vin Drako chuckled, pulling it away. "Do not even think of using it on my circle," he said, flicking his wrist in an easy gesture to make his hand flare up with magical flames, "or the Book burns."
Xssyziviccass snarled and growled, but the creature was too sensible to toy with a powerful sorcerer when the much sought-after Book of Keeping was at stake. Besides, it had traded worse services than killing elves. This time when vin Drako offered it the rod, the shator accepted it with a polite cloud of stench and departed as happily as a gehreleth can be.
Charles felt the darkness press in around him. In a silent chamber, ragged fingernails bit into his arm, and the smell of moldering corpses and unwashed goblin assailed his nostrils.
"Um...it's really dark in here," the boy said nervously, shaking off Grubsuckle's painful grasp.
He heard the goblin fumbling around for something. "Grubsuckle can see in the dark. Oh, yesss. But Grubsuckle's generous master needs light." A torch flared up, burning away the cobwebs around them with a quiet crackle and a brief flash of radiance. "Grubsuckle pleases his new master?" the creature asked in a pathetic voice.
"That's great. Really," Charles replied, taking the torch from the goblin. They were in a long passageway with numerous alcoves and doorways along the sides. A line of sarcophagi stretched end to end down the middle of the corridor, vanishing into the blackness up ahead. A thick layer of dust, kicked up suddenly after perhaps a decade of settling, sent them both into a fit of coughing. Charles recovered first. "Is this the Crypt of the--"
"Shhhh!" Grubsuckle hissed, putting a grimy hand over his mouth, which Charles promptly snatched away. "The Dead don't like that word."
"What word?"
"Th-th-th-the word you almost said," the goblin sputtered in a sudden panic.
"What, `damned'?"
"Shhhh!"
"What was that?"
_Chink. Chink. Chink._
Charles instinctively drew back into a darkened alcove, accidentally knocking into a stone sarcophagi and setting a tattered raiment hanging over the coffin on fire. "Son of a...a dairymaid!" the boy cursed, hastening to stomp out the fire as the goblin squeaked and cringed along the wall. "What was that?" he asked his cowering companion.
"Ch-ch-ch-ch-chains. It sounded l-l-like ch-chains!"
The noise was louder now, and no longer the solitary jangling of a beast bound helplessly to a wall; instead the rattling was slow but insistent, the unmistakable sound of a creature _walking_. And it was walking toward them.
A horrid shrieking sound filled the corridor, echoing off the stones as if the catacombs themselves had awoken from an unnatural slumber.
"Put out the light!" Charles whispered frantically, his hands shaking so violently he couldn't do it himself. But Grubsuckle was no help, cringing on the floor, clutching his ugly little face with his bony hands.
Then the cover of the sarcophagus he was crouching behind began to shift. Charles yelped and dragged Grubsuckle to his feet. "Back the way we came!" he shrieked, running toward the door of the crypt with the goblin in tow, as a tremendous crash came from the alcove.
There was no latching mechanism on the inside of the door. Charles pounded one small fist against it ineffectively, until Grubsuckle tugged on his sleeve and motioned, with terrified eyes, toward the creature that had come shambling out of its coffin.
The flesh had long since fallen off the skeleton's bones, leaving nothing but long, yellowed sticks upon which rested a grinning skull, infested with a family of rats that peered out of the eye sockets with their own malignant intensity. Charles desperately pointed the ruby-tipped wand at the skeleton as it drew toward them. "Go away!" he commanded, his voice cracking.
A white rabbit appeared on the floor, and scurried away.
"What?" Charles protested. He pointed the wand again. "Go AWAY!"
This time a lightning bolt came streaking out of its tip, blasting the skeleton backwards, reducing it into a blackened heap.
Grubsuckle began applauding. "Master is MIGHTY! And so generous, oh yes!"
Charles wasn't all that confident in the wand's abilities, much less his own, but terror and exhaustion had pushed him to desperation. He had a locked door at his back and an unknown adversary out in the blackness beyond, still rattling its chains in some distant passageway.
"Are you sure the way out is ahead?" he asked Grubsuckle wearily, in the tone of a man condemned to execution.
"Y-y-yes, master, but...th-th-the chains..." the goblin whimpered.
Charles drew his rusty dagger with his right hand and held out the wand awkwardly in the mangled fingers of his left. "Then let's charge," he said grimly.
Parethiel was scouting along the banks of the river when he heard a familiar whistle from above. He looked up to see an elfmaid crouched upon the edge of the cliff-face, silhouetted against the dying sun.
"Shida!" he called to her as she came bounding down over the rocks, as sure-footed as a mountain goat. Behind her came her twin Sansorin, soberly descending to the banks of the river.
"It is too long since we have spoken, brother-in-arms," Shidamae said, embracing him. Sansorin gave Parethiel a respectful nod and clasped his wrist. "A fruitless chase has kept us busy. But there will be time for that tale later." She looked past Parethiel and across the river, where Liam and Odie were struggling to cross on the wet rocks.
"Are these the companions of the Chosen Mother?" she asked.
"They are," responded Sansorin before Parethiel could speak. "I met them in Maywood." His tone was not entirely complimentary. "We have been looking for you," he continued, "and searching for a drain along the cliff face that would connect to the lower passages of the sorcerer's tower. But if one does exist, it is cunningly concealed. The stone has eluded us both."
"I have information that confirms such a tunnel does exist," Parethiel said. His eyes strayed to the now-prone Odie, flopping and twitching in the water as Liam attempted to pull him up onto a rock. "Perhaps the dwarf may be of some assistance in finding it," he said, a smile quirking the corners of his mouth.
Sansorin regarded the struggling creature with coolly narrowed eyes. "I'm willing to believe that there may be some dwarves who have their uses, but that one," he sniffed, "most assuredly does not."
"Oh, don't be so insufferably superior," Shidamae teased him. She pulled a long silk rope from her belt and looped one end around a rocky outcropping, then twirled the other end in a graceful arc, letting it sail through the air and smack Liam on his backside. Liam shook his head wryly and nodded his thanks, then tied his end around the rock and helped Odie pull himself up.
"Odie hates water," the dwarf said with sheepish embarrassment as he clambered out of the river, soaked and bedraggled.
Sansorin ignored him. "It is almost nightfall," he observed. "If we are to have any chance of locating a secret tunnel, it would be now."
"Secret tunnel!" Odie interjected happily, shaking himself off like a wet dog. Sansorin took a horrified step backward as water sprayed in all directions from his ratty beard. Shidamae just rolled her eyes at her fastidious brother and looked askance at Parethiel, who was smirking almost imperceptibly. Before any of them could say another word, the dwarf bounded off, sniffing the air and looking this way and that.
"He's not as foolish as he seems," Liam said. "I'm going to follow him." Shidamae shrugged and led the other two elves in pursuit.
A short while later, Odie found what he was looking for, a lead-lined pipe hidden behind an overhang of rock, concealed in a small grotto. When the others caught up to him, the dwarf was hanging half out of the pipe, legs dangling and twitching. His elbows banged against the sides, causing a terrible racket. "Odie's STUCK!" yammered the dwarf, his voice muffled.
"Keep your voice down," Liam said, "and stop that banging, for gods' sakes." He turned to the elves, who didn't quite seem to know what to make of it all. "I might need help pushing his feet," he said, shaking his head in helpless resignation.
After about ten minutes of the four of them pushing, prodding and twisting the dwarf, Odie managed to pull himself the rest of the way into the drain, though his girth made it impossible for him to move except at a snail's pace, and only with the assistance of the others behind him.
Soon, though, the tunnel widened out until it was large enough for them to stand, and Liam lit a torch. A sluggish stream crawled along its bottom. The incessant dripping of water was the only sound other then the companions' slogging footsteps.
"Which way?" Liam asked when the passage began branching off in different directions. Odie pointed confidently to the left.
"Does he know where he's going?" Shidamae whispered, to which Parethiel shrugged.
"No less than we do," he replied.
After about an hour, they came to a wooden door. Odie promptly pulled out his axe, but Liam stopped him with an outstretched hand. "Let's at least see if we can get it unlocked," he said.
The door was warped from disuse, and after several moments of examination, the others let Odie go ahead and bash it down.
"So much for stealth," Shidamae said nervously.
"There's still a lot of stone between us and Erik's tower," Liam said as they tromped through the splintered doorframe.
"Then where are we now?" she muttered, following him into a chamber littered with human remains. As they all stepped into the room, the bones began to twitch, forming together into complete skeletons.
"Hack them down!" Liam cried, drawing his sword. The others quickly drew their weapons, and before the undead could rise up against them, they smashed the animated skeletons into smithereens.
The noise of the demolition, however, was enough to wake the dead. As they finished their macabre task, they heard an unearthly chorus of growls and the clacking of walking skeletons coming from farther into the tunnels.
The five of them drew close, seeking out unseen enemies in the gloom. "We're in the prison of the dead," Liam said softly.
Into Darker Days
Charles did not know how long he had been left in the dark. He could not gauge the time by the incessant rattling in the next cell, nor by the goblin jailer's infrequent appearances. Only the pains in his stomach, the weakness of his limbs, and the cloudiness of his addled brain testified to the time he had served. He would have died of dehydration, but the ceiling leaked. Sometimes the liquid that drooled down the walls was so foul-smelling, Charles was wracked by dry heaves and had to bury his face in dirty straw. If he was lucky, it was the fresh blood of some unfortunate torture victim. His body was covered with weeping, festering sores. He did not even have the strength to cry.
Charles was dimly aware of Grubsuckle's shuffling footsteps in the corridor and the light of a torch. Once he had welcomed the light, but now it just pained his eyes. He did not resist as the goblin hauled him up by the collar and dragged him through an immeasurable labyrinth of corridors. His bare feet scraped against stone as he was pulled roughly up winding staircases. The thought crossed his mind that he should take note of his surroundings, but it was quickly pushed back into the haze of delirium.
After a time, he found himself sprawled face down on a smoothly polished black floor. The stones felt cool against his cheek. He almost passed out, but he felt himself being prodded in the back. Charles looked up, straining his neck to see the face of his tormentor--the nefarious sorcerer vin Drako, resplendent in his dark robes.
"Did I not instruct you to give him food and drink?" he heard the magelord say.
"Y-yes, my liege, O Dreaded Master of Unspeakable Horrors," the duckfoot stuttered. "I d-did as you commanded, fell lord."
"He cannot even stand on his own. Did he not approve of your choice of cuisine?" Charles heard the crack of a whip and instinctively flinched, but it was Grubsuckle who cried out in pain.
"O, Most Loathsome Subjugator of Souls! Wicked Prince of Ignominy! Punish me, for I have made a most grievous error! I shall not fail you again!" Crack! Crack! Crack!
"See that you don't. The next prisoner you retrieve for me had better not be half in the grave already. That is _my_ job, and if you presume to do it for me again, I will hang you by your eyelids with fishhooks."
"I deserve every punishment you choose to mete out, Your Maleficence," whined the goblin.
"As it should be. Now, get out of my sight, slave!"
As the goblin shuffled away, Charles heard the mage pacing towards him, his boots clicking on the hard floor. He began to whimper softly. The footsteps stopped in front of him. Then his head was jerked back and a flask was poured down his throat.
Charles coughed and sputtered. The liquid burned his parched lips and set his gut on fire with agony. It quickly passed, though, and he suddenly felt better. His sores were no longer oozing pus. After a moment of dizziness, he could sit up on his own and see vin Drako with unclouded vision. His features were cruel and sharp. His eyes were black pits of unfathomable malice. When Charles looked into those cold, sinister orbs, he began to believe that demons truly did exist.
vin Drako pushed him back to the floor with his staff and stood up. The sorcerer held out one finger and spoke an arcane word, shocking Charles with a spark of electricity. The boy tried to curl up into a ball, but vin Drako continued jolting him, sending him into a quivering heap. Some other unseen force continued to knock him around, until vin Drako finally tired of his game and left him twitching on the floor.
"The girl has gone beyond the range of my scrying ability," the sorcerer said frankly, stepping over to the boy's prone form.
Eliza! She must be safe! Charles thought as he felt the staff pressing into his back again.
"Safe?" vin Drako chuckled. "Not quite. I have other ways of gaining information, foolish boy. She is in peril even as we speak."
Charles did not respond. He didn't have to.
"No, there is nothing I particularly want from you this day. You failed me the last time I entrusted you with an important assignment. Why should I trust you to do my bidding this time, when all you have shown is stubbornness and ineptitude?"
Charles felt the pressure lifted from his back. "Khalicia!" he heard the sorcerer call out. A door opened and the boy glanced up to see a horrid looking woman shuffling toward them. Wrapped in rags, her flesh crawled with maggots and was falling off her bones, her eyes dangled from their sockets, and greenish-brown ichor oozed from her mouth. "My first wife," vin Drako explained. "Charming, isn't she? Almost as beautiful as the day she died." He turned to the zombie. "Khalicia, dearest, I brought you a snack." Khalicia licked her lips with her bloated black tongue. Charles saw fangs in her mouth and recoiled, horrified. "Just the first knuckles on the left hand, though," vin Drako addressed her. "The rest we'll save for later."
The zombie pouted. "Tender, tender flessshhhh," she rasped. "Tender flessshhhh. Want more!"
The sorcerer smiled coldly at Charles, who was now trembling in utter terror. "The longer the girl eludes me," he promised, "the more of your hand you will lose."
Charles could remember nothing of his close encounter with the zombie after waking up in darkness again. The last thing he could recall was the leering, toothy face of the dead woman as she approached him. His fingers, or what was left of them, were wrapped in crude bandages. He was in a dizzy, cold sweat from the pain, which kept sleep at bay and left him shivering and miserable, truly wanting for the first time in his young life to be dead. But death would not release him gently. Charles knew beyond a doubt that if he did not do something, he would die slowly and painfully. The sting in his hand was only a pale shadow of what was to come.
Later, the light came back, and Grubsuckle returned dutifully with an edible meal: two crusts of stale bread, a rotten orange, and a skin of water.
"Grubsuckle does the master's bidding," the goblin announced, putting the items down on the floor.
Charles ignored them and looked forlornly at his jailer. "Please," he said piteously, "could I get some healing? I think my wounds are infected." It wasn't exactly a lie. He held up his dirty, bandaged hand for inspection.
Grubsuckle hesitated. He imagined what vin Drako would do to him if he let the boy die of infection after only the first day of torture. The goblin didn't have a particularly fertile imagination, but even he could envision the outcome of that event. He started forward. "Grubsuckle will take you to Meatgrinder," he whispered thoughtfully. "He breaks things, he puts them together again, yes...but we must be quiet. Grubsuckle not knows the master's will." The goblin came jerkingly toward him as if every movement taken of his own initiative pained him, and unlocked the shackles binding Charles.
The goblin was accustomed to hauling the boy's limp form up the winding stairways and twisting corridors of vin Drako's tower fortress. He was not prepared for his prisoner's sudden move, and was caught off-guard when Charles snatched up the chain and beamed him on the head with the heavy iron shackle. Grubsuckle fell back and tried to scramble away, but Charles pounced on him, pinning him down. The two struggled wildly, kicking and flailing. Charles was no titan, especially in his weakened state, but neither was the goblin. Charles managed to wrap the chain around Grubsuckle's neck and pulled it tight enough to make the goblin's eyes bulge. Grubsuckle futilely slapped at the boy's hands.
"Stop that, and I'll let up!" Charles said, disgusted at the thought of strangling the creature to death, even one as wretched as Grubsuckle. The obsequious goblin did as he was told.
Charles loosened the chain by a link and fumbled about the goblin's person for weapons. He spotted the hilt of a dagger poking out of the top of Grubsuckle's floppy leather boots, snatched it up and held it to its owner's throat. The thing was notched and rusted; not a particularly heroic weapon, but it was a weapon that he now possessed and his jailer did not.
"Please, master," whined the goblin. "You would not hurt poor old Grubsuckle, would you? Grubsuckle will do your bidding, yes... Grubsuckle just wants to please his generous master."
For some reason, the creature's pleas made Charles feel filthy inside. He almost lost his nerve, but managed to summon a burst of anger to chase away his doubt.
"You- you loathsome sycophant!" he cried out, trembling. He dug the blade into Grubsuckle's throat, just hard enough to draw a drop of blood.
"Please, please," the goblin whined on. "I exist only to do your bidding! Tell Grubsuckle what he must do to earn your favor, merciful master."
Charles looked at him thoughtfully. "Do you know a way out of here? A secret way?" He slapped the goblin on the face, not very hard, but hard enough to suggest a penchant for violence. "If you don't, well, then I have no more need of you." He emphasized his point with another dig from the blade.
"Y-y-y-y-y-y-yes," Grubsuckle stuttered. "But a very dangerous path, yes!"
"Not as dangerous as staying here," Charles countered. "For me, or for you I'll wager. He will kill you, you know that, don't you? If we get out of here alive, you can be free."
"No, no, no, no, no!" the goblin sobbed suddenly. "Not free. Grubsuckle will serve his generous master."
"Well...all right," Charles said, thinking he'd give his new lackey the slip as soon as he was out of the Hellspire. "Will you promise to help me if I let you up now?"
Grubsuckle nodded eagerly. "I swear it! Grubsuckle exists to serve his generous master."
"Cross your heart and hope to die?" The goblin repeated the words with enthusiasm. Charles hesitantly stood up and stuck the dagger in his belt.
"Now, which way?" he demanded in his most commanding voice. The goblin began to tremble, saying nothing. "Which way?" Charles repeated, more insistently.
Grubsuckle flinched from meeting his new master's gaze. "Th-th-th..." he stammered. "Through the Crypt of the Damned."
"We're not in league with the Evil Despoiler of Trees!" Tweedle shrieked repeatedly. "Oh, wicked elf! Never did I imagine a day when I would be tormented by an elf!"
"You attacked us," Parethiel reminded him patiently.
Lady Dee, an incongruously named pixie, for though the creature was dressed in feminine garments, it was clearly male, gave the high-strung Tweedle an irritated glance. "As far as we know, we are the only creatures living in this wood who are not yet enslaved to his will. Of course we must be ready to react to any new threat that may arise."
The fat one, Master Dum, attempted to flutter his wings in a display of rebelliousness. The pixies were packed in the party's saddlebags as tight as sardines in a can, though, and his efforts were fruitless.
"I am sorry for the loss of your kin," Parethiel said. "If what you say is true, your kind has suffered needless violence this day. It would have been wiser to parley before attacking." The elf stood up and paced over to where Liam and Odie were waiting and silently watching the exchange.
"Do you believe them?" Liam asked Parethiel as he approached.
"My instincts tell me that they are speaking the truth," Parethiel replied thoughtfully.
"Bah! Pixies!" Odie exclaimed. "STICKY pixies!"
"Speaking of sticky..." Liam muttered, trying in vain to run his hand through his hair where honey had matted it together like glue. Odie just shrugged apologetically.
"Let us go, wicked elf!" Tweedle wheedled, to which Lady Dee whipped his head around and smacked him with his long, pointy nose.
"Shut up, you fool!" To Parethiel he called out, "Elf! I do not believe that we are on opposite sides of this conflict. My kind knows this forest better than any, and we are well informed of its secrets. If you truly wish to enter the tower to rescue your friend, we will show you a hidden entrance in exchange for our freedom."
The elf said to him, "We will consider your offer." He turned to his companions and shrugged. "I do not fear their darts, only that they might lead us astray," Parethiel said quietly to Liam and Odie.
"LYING PIXIES!" Odie bellowed, furiously stomping the ground. "LYING, STICKY PIXIES." Tweedle and several of his companions responded with a shrieking cacophony of protests.
Liam said, "Let them loose, and see what they have to offer. We will judge them on the advice they offer, and if they disappear into the woods, we've lost nothing."
"Unless they are spies," Parethiel said, although his tone implied that he thought that unlikely. As usual, the dwarf's opinion was overridden. Parethiel loosened the saddlebag that contained the three war leaders, but kept the others in their bags, under the vigilant eyes of Odie. The dwarf scowled menacingly at them for about three seconds, at which time he promptly burst into song and dug around for his last jar of honey, generously offering a taste to his captives, who refused.
Tweedle and Lady Dee fluttered on ahead, leading the group to the edge of a rocky gorge. From there they could see vin Drako's tower, the Hellspire, on the other side. Made of black stone, it rose out of the ground like a beacon of doom, tearing apart the low clouds that always hovered over it. Birds of prey circled around it, their cries carried on a sudden wind that whipped through the trees, and the sky seemed suddenly darker.
"We must leave the horses," Parethiel shouted above the howling wind, to which Liam nodded.
"And the captives?" he yelled back, shrugging.
"Let them decide their fate," the elf reasoned, pointing at the three pixies scurrying for a windbreak to avoid being blown away.
"Down at the bottom of the gorge!" Lady Dee shrieked as the wind picked him up and slammed him into a tree. "No more than a mile to the south, there's a tunnel where water drains out!" The pixie's last words faded as he slumped over, unmoving, his back twisted at an odd angle. Lightning forked down from the sky and blasted a nearby tree, sending the panicked horses bolting with their captives in tow.
Liam cursed. "Where's Tweedle and Dum?" he shouted, turning around to see the two pixies desperately clutching the back of Parethiel's cloak as it whipped in the wind. "Lady Dee!" cried Tweedle as he frantically tried to scramble up to Parethiel's shoulder. The elf, braced against the wind, made his way over to the fallen pixie.
Lady Dee lay very still, his head thrown awkwardly to the side. Blood seeped out of his mouth, but his eyes stared comprehendingly at the figures hovering above him. "Dangerous path...into the crypts," he whispered hoarsely. Then he died. Tweedle and Master Dum began shrieking together in what the elf realized was a mystic chant. The fey creatures fell into their earsplitting song of grief, unaware of Parethiel as he began gathering up what supplies had not been lost with the horses.
"Gather your people, and go back to your queen," he said when they were done. "You have lost many comrades today, and for that I am truly sorry. We must go onward, but I ask that you look after the horses. One of them is from Queen Estaria's own stock." As the pixies nodded their agreement, Parethiel turned back to his companions. "By the dying pixie's own words, this tunnel will lead us into the crypts underneath vin Drako's tower," the elf said, staring out at the distant spire.
"Odie hates the wind," the dwarf grumbled. He looked back at the fallen Lady Dee, almost sadly, it seemed. "Crypts much less dangerous."
"We'll see," Liam said as he went off to look for the best way down into the gorge. The footing was treacherous for him and potentially lethal for the heavy-footed dwarf, but Parethiel practically jumped off the cliff, agilely dropping from one foothold to the next as he accelerated to the bottom. By the time the other two were down in the gorge, Parethiel had been scouring the rocky riverbed for fifteen minutes and had found a way across.
Charles felt almost euphoric as he followed the dirty goblin along the moldy and mildewed corridors. It felt so good to have the heavy shackles off his raw-chafed wrists that he could've almost smiled, but the dull, throbbing ache in his left hand made that a remote possibility at best. The damnable slaad had put up such a racket upon seeing him freed, that Charles had urged Grubsuckle off down the corridor at once, hoping to escape the din as much as the dungeon. They passed many iron cages and stone cells with barred iron gates and heavy oaken doors, some sporting small, barred windows, and all of them having either sturdy locking bars or heavy, and heavily rusted, iron locks, or both. Moans of agony and misery emanated from some of them as they passed on by.
Sssskreeeekkkkkkk!
Boy and goblin drew up cautiously at a sharp sound echoing from far behind them, as of the squealing of metal upon metal. Grubsuckle wore a rather confused expression upon his ugly features.
"Faster!" Charles prompted, prodding his filthy servant along. Finally, they came to the end of the winding corridor and pulled up short before a great brass door, obscenely ornate, covered with runes and arcane writings of countless variety, and set with precious stones of differing shapes and sizes, with a brilliantly-sculpted latch-handle attached to the exact center of the brightly-glowing, circular portal. A large mirror set within a silver frame rich with filigree sat opposite the door.
"Through th-there," Grubsuckle said, pointing at the great round door. The goblin grabbed the latch and pulled, then started to shake visibly as his eyes bulged out, big in their sockets. Finally, he was able to wrench his hands free; he looked at Charles and the boy saw smoke emanating from the goblin's notched ears. "Me eat a bad grub?" Grubsuckle asked, a bit dazed as his eyes swam in opposite circles.
Then something moved down the corridor behind them. It came into the continuous light of the portal then... the sorcerer's zombie.
"Tender, tender flessshhhh," rasped Khalicia, spraying the greenish-brown ichor from her big and black, swollen tongue with each syllable she hissed through her yellowed fangs as her eyes bobbed upon the decayed flesh of her sunken cheeks. Across the cold stone floor, Erik's first wife left a trail of festering slime and squirming maggots. "Yesss, yesss," the gruesome thing cackled on. "Must have more tender, tender flessshhhh!"
Charles recoiled in a panic and reached out reflexively for the door latch with his right hand.
Grubsuckle caught it before it got there. "No time! No time, Master!" the duckfoot squeaked out in fear. "This way!" Grubsuckle pulled a confused Charles towards the mirror and hopped through, dragging the terrified boy with him, and leaving the hideous, flesh-sloughing zombie behind them. They arrived in a large dark room, lit by a single brazier burning a sharp and pungent incense.
The boy's jaw dropped in terror and his eyes grew large as he realized they had come into Erik's summoning chamber. They lad's eyes grew larger still when he spotted the wicked sorcerer at the same time the sorcerer spotted him from across the intricate glyphs and designs etched upon the circle of summoning inlaid into the glass-like, obsidian stone of the chamber's floor. "Bugger-me-blue!" Charles quipped out tragically as Erik vin Drako snarled out a curse and turned towards him, long-nailed fingers twitching in anticipation of the impending doom he was about to mete out.
Grubsuckle squeaked out in absolute terror and dove for the mirror again. His head bounced away with a loud thump. "Other side, stoopid! Other side!" the goblin yelled at himself. He ran around to the other side of the mirror and hopped through the portal once more.
Charles tore his eyes away from the enraged sorcerer bearing down upon him... and leapt after a fleeing Grubsuckle. They came into a small room filled with a miscellany of odd and obscure objects, a scattering of old yellowed scrolls, and shelves filled with ancient and heavy tomes, covered in a thin layer of dust. It looked to be the sorcerer's study.
"Oooooo! Bad master's magic trove!" Grubsuckle chirped out excitedly, and began stuffing pouch after pouch, vial after vial, into his grubby leather satchel. Charles grabbed a wand up from a desktop and then paused as something else caught his eye. A weathered and yellowed old scroll displayed atop the desk in a glass case, and resting upon a red satin pillow. The lad reached for the glass cover with his good hand, then hesitated in fear.
"No time!" Grubsuckle growled out at the boy, and smashed the glass with a clenched fist. He pulled the parchment from the broken case and stuffed the scroll into Charles' ragged trouser pocket. There was no door apparent, and an agitated goblin began urging the youth towards the mirror again. At the last moment, Charles spotted a shining black horn lying upon a shelf and grabbed it up, slinging its worn leather strap over head and shoulder as Grubsuckle pulled him through the large mirror a third time.
The pair came back into the dungeon corridor before the great brass door again, where the zombie awaited them. Khalicia came on once more.
Grubsuckle dodged aside and Erik's long-dead wife came at the boy. "Yesss! Tender, tender flessshhhh!" she hissed, "Khalicia will taste of it, yesss!"
"Back! BACK!" Charles pulled the rusty dagger from his belt with his good hand, and waved it at the undead thing before him, menacingly. But it was the ruby-tipped wand, still clutched loosely in his mangled hand, that pulsed with light and energy... and brought the vile creature to heel.
"Master is a mighty magelord!" Grubsuckle cried out gleefully. The disbelieving youth gawked incredulously as the snarling zombie became complacent and obedient before him.
Sssskreeekkkkkkk! Sssskreeekkkkkkk! Sssskreee-unnnnch! "Fre-ee-ee!" a deep, croaking roar sounded from down the corridor. Then the sounds of a very large something came thumping down the winding corridor in their direction. Squelch! Squelch!
"Uh-oh!" the goblin muttered loudly. "Bugger-ME-blue, too!"
"Wh-what... what is it?" Charles had to ask.
"Me forgots to relock demon-frog's cage after feeding time!" Grubsuckle cried out, nervously.
The slaad came barreling into the half-light thrown by the magic door, broken chains dangling from the great iron shackles locked upon its thick and rubbery wrists... and Charles did the only thing he could think of. "Kill! KILL!" he screamed out at the quiet zombie, who turned in the direction of the slaad... and moved to obey.
Without any further hesitation, the human boy took a deep breath, held it, and reached for the ornate latch upon the circular brass door. Nothing happened. He felt the warmth of the bright metal beneath the fingers of his one good hand, and pulled with all his might. The big door swung open in almost absolute silence... almost. " vin Drako," it whispered softly as it swung wide. The boy resumed breathing, and ignoring the snarling sounds of combat behind him, Charles leapt through the open doorway, with the spindly-limbed, pot-bellied goblin no more than half a step behind.
Erik vin Drako slammed shut the ancient tome of demon lore he had been studying in irritation, causing dust to rise up into his angrily flared nasal passages. The great sorcerer sneezed. Stalking over to the ornately carved doors on the northeastern side of his chamber, he muttered an obscure arcane phrase and set the head of his staff in the lock.
The doors slid open, revealing a gloomy passageway lined by alcoves and lit only by faintly glowing stones set in the recesses. Inside the alcoves were glass barriers, and behind those stood four men, one in each niche, catatonic and expressionless, except for perhaps a hint of malice in their identical glittering, black eyes. They all looked exactly like Erik vin Drako. Erik paused before the first of the men and spoke a word to activate the glass barrier. It slid smoothly up, and after another command, the clone blinked as if coming out of a deep slumber. He immediately tried to push past the real vin Drako, but the sorcerer laid the staff across the niche with a challenging glare and the clone fell back as if stunned. "What are your orders, master?" the clone asked in vin Drako's own voice.
"I have a couple of escaped prisoners that need to be rounded up and recaptured," the sorcerer said brusquely. "They should not present a challenge for you, but they must be recovered soon, alive. The fools will try to escape through the Crypt of the Damned and will not survive it." vin Drako conjured up an image of Charles and Grubsuckle for the clone's reference. Then he cast another spell, polymorphing the clone into another form, one that would be familiar to Charles. "Your name is Liam. Your mutual friend Eliza is still safe in the Forest of Andalast. You will have a dwarf companion named Odikin."
The sorcerer repeated the process with the next clone. "Your name is Odikin. People call you Odie, and you are considered to be a great fool," he told him. "Your mutual friend Eliza is still safe in the Forest of Andalast. You will have a human companion named Liam." vin Drako stepped back to appraise them as the two clones stepped out of opposite alcoves and faced him expectantly. "Do you understand your assignment?"
"Yes, master," the clones replied, in the voices of their respective stolen identities. vin Drako nodded, pleased. His clones possessed only a fraction of his own power, but he didn't trust them enough to have it any other way. They were quite capable of smoothing out the glitches that invariably accompanied any scheme complicated enough to merit carrying out.
"Good," vin Drako said, dismissing them. "When you capture them, lock and shackle them in separate cells until I have time to deal with them, and report back to me. Now, be off! I'm rather busy at the moment."
As the clones obediently filed out of the passageway, vin Drako stepped over to the last of the three rows, where his two remaining simulacra stared blankly back at him. He paused, reflecting on how rare it was for four of his clones to be out at once.
Later the same night that Eliza had fell asleep so peacefully in Astesion's arms, she stirred nervously in her sleep, coming awake to the sounds of his soft breathing and the light pattering of rain. She sat up, clutching a blanket to herself, feeling her heart knocking out a warning against her chest. What had startled her so? As her breathing returned to normal, an image suddenly broke against the shores of her memory, the flash of... A knife in the dark. Someone holding her down, pressing a blade to her vulnerable belly. As she tried to remember the face of her assailant, another picture swam back to her: Queen Estaria in a robe made of white feathers, wearing the mask of an owl.
"He acts out of spite and out of fear," the queen whispered. "He is netted in his own hatred for the magelord who hunts you. He would see the life in you destroyed before given over to vin Drako."
"No," Eliza whimpered, tears falling down her face. In the dream, a white feather came loose from her mask and floated gently to the queen's feet.
"Do not despair," she said, for the dream-Eliza had uttered the same denial.
"Eliza?" came Astesion's sleepy call. He reached out for her, and not finding her resting beside him, he half sat up in bed. "What's wrong?"
She turned to him, tears rimming her wide eyes, her body stiff and unreceptive. He reached out to stroke her cheek, but she recoiled and looked away. "Why don't you tell me exactly how you lost your wings?" she said bitterly.
Astesion crinkled his brow. "Is this really the time to be telling such tales? You obviously haven't had a very restful sleep. That particular story won't help the matter, believe me."
"Tell me. Now." The sudden steel in her voice made him blink in surprise. After a moment, he settled back on the pillow, locking his hands together behind his head.
"As you wish," he said. He let out a breath. His face was half cast into shadow, but his ruby eyes still glittered in the dark. "It began several years ago...twenty, perhaps? Twenty-five? Time never had much meaning to me as mortals measure it.
"Powerful spell casters in your world sometimes summon creatures from my own realm to aid them when they are in need. So it was with Lady Carmen, a young, but undeniably talented elven sorceress. She was defending a human caravan from a party of giants, but could not hold all of the creatures off of the helpless merchants by herself, and so she called upon me. From the moment I saw her, I fell in love with her. She was of Andalast, with the golden hair and pearly skin that marks the fair folk of that region."
"You were attracted to her," Eliza interpreted cynically.
"I loved her, Eliza. Yes, I was attracted to her beauty, and to her spirit. I began to visit her frequently, and was loathe to go back to the planes when my duties called me. Sometimes we would just sit for hours under the cherry trees or by the riverbank, and she would accompany me with her lovely voice while I played the lute. Months, perhaps years, passed. The time changed her not at all, and I hardly noticed how much time I had spent in her world.
"I neglected my celestial duties for the sake of one mortal elf maid, which earned me the censure of my betters. I resented their interference, and tried for a time to convince Carmen to leave the mortal realm behind. `Not before my time comes will I set my foot in Arvandor,' she'd say stubbornly. I couldn't deny her respect for natural order, but I became frustrated by her refusal to meet me halfway. My feelings for her did not diminish, but the pressure from my superiors also continued to wear on me. For a few years, I saw very little of her, but thought of her often.
"She was a bold girl, always one to seize any opportunity to develop her natural talents. In time, she heard of a powerful sorcerer who had come to control the human lands to the south and east. Like a moth to a flame, she was drawn to him."
"Erik vin Drako?" Eliza asked, aghast. How anyone could willingly walk into Erik's tower was beyond her comprehension.
"The same." Astesion was silent for a moment, as if he was warring with his memories. Finally he continued, "vin Drako kept a low profile on his demonic dealings in those days. It wasn't as if he walked about town in black robes with human skulls dangling from his belt. He managed to keep an air of respectability, though when I found out who she had chosen as a mentor, I was suspicious. Something about him seemed sinister to me, and I have come to trust my instincts about that sort of thing.
"Carmen accused me of jealousy whenever I raised any kind of objection..." Astesion trailed off. "Perhaps I drove her into his arms," he said after a long pause.
"Or maybe he seduced her with magic," Eliza replied darkly.
"Maybe it was a little of both," he said. "But inevitably, he made her miserable. I do not know what transpired between them in the end, but when he was done tormenting her, he cast her through one of his mirror-portals... into the Abyss.
"It was years before I tracked her down. She was being held in the Broken Tower, an outpost in the Plains of Desolation, where betrayed lovers are condemned to an eternity of the same brand of torment that led them to their death. Except Carmen wasn't dead. I carried with me a golden ring which was attuned to her life essence, a gift she had given me in happier days, and I knew that she still lived.
"I had two companions who insisted on following me to the Broken Tower, those who I'd met during my travels and who had become closer to me than any of my celestial brethren. You've met them."
"Sicxlemire and Kosikko-kiro?"
"We go back a long way," Astesion confirmed. "And although I protested their coming at first, it was they who saved my life when we reached the Broken Tower. It was a place no celestial could enter, Eliza, but I entered it." Bitterness turned his words dark and ugly.
"But how?" Eliza asked softly.
"By my will alone, I entered through its dark gate. We fought fiends every step of the way. But the farther in I went, the more of my divinity was stripped from my soul, until at last when I reached the doors of my love's secret prison, there was little left of me. My wings, the physical trappings of my former identity, were the last to go, burning up around me in one sudden blast of heat like a halo of flames. I collapsed at Carmen's feet, unable to summon the strength to free her from her chains, but her hand she pressed into mine, and I felt the warmth of her essence flow into the golden ring.
"Kos and Sicxlemire burst through the door, weary and wounded. They had slain the demon lord of the tower, but in the last moments its unnatural existence, it snuffed out the lives of its prisoners. Gradually the ring cooled. I looked up and saw that Carmen's eyes were closed. A peaceful look had come to her lifeless face. I had failed in all ways but one: her spirit was free."
"Then you succeeded," Eliza protested. "Perhaps she is in Arvandor, even now."
"She is," said Astesion. "Though, mercifully, she remembers nothing of her mortal life. When I sail the Oceanus through the elven realm in Arborea, I look for her on the banks. She is usually there, singing."
Eliza considered the story for a long moment. The dream images seemed so distant now, but still... "Now I see why you wanted to protect me," she said cautiously.
Astesion sat up and stroked her hair gently. "I would have protected you anyway," he said. "But you still seem troubled. Did I not predict my story would upset you?"
Eliza shook her head, letting him draw her closer. "It's not that... it's just that I had a dream about someone attacking the baby, and..."
He put a finger to her lips. "Your fears are normal, Eliza. And as long as you wish for my protection, you shall have it. But I am no longer immortal, and I must rest just as you must. Do you think you can sleep now?"
"Yes," Eliza said, settling back down in the blankets. And sleep did come, but not easily.
Erik vin Drako peered into his scrying mirror, deep in concentration. He'd panned out from where his clone lay, seemingly helpless in his cell, to a great vault that his scrying spells had not been able to penetrate. Yet. If he weren't so focused on his task, he would have cracked an evil grin, perhaps even cackled maniacally into the empty chamber. He'd been wanting to see into Queen Estaria's court for a long time, and only with his clone present as a familiar focus had he been able to manage it at all. Now he tightened his focus on the door of the vault, forcing his mind's eye through multiple barriers of lead and stone. He felt the protective magic give way to his mental onslaught.
vin Drako caught his breath. He almost trembled with anticipation. How he enjoyed being proven right! Even if it was only to himself! He wished Grubsuckle were there to share the magnificence of his intellect. Now he did let out an unearthly howl of jubilation. There it was, a glittering, ancient, magical thing. The Krysolis.
vin Drako's schemes were in motion as soon as his suspicions were confirmed. After another virgin sacrifice (he was really scraping the bottom of the barrel lately; the last two had required maximum-potency strength enhancement spells just to lift them onto the dais), he settled back on his throne, awaiting his infernal visitor.
The creature that appeared in his summoning circle was grotesque. Bags of brownish green skin hung from its squat body, which, at six feet in height, was nearly as wide as it was tall. A gaping maw, slavering yellow, noxious ichor yawned in the sorcerer's direction, and its baleful red eyes glinted menacingly from under a flap of maggot-infested flesh. vin Drako had once found the shator's appearance rather droll, even laughable. Then he'd learned better. "Yoouuu...dare...sssummon _me_ to the Prime?" the shator hissed. It came forward, powerful claws oozing some sort of disgusting lower planar slime, but hit the invisible barrier at the edge of vin Drako's circle.
"Xssyziviccass," vin Drako addressed him politely. "Please, save your ire for the time being. I understand how much you hate to be interrupted in _whatever_ it is you gehreleths like to do, but I think you may find it worth it to hear what I have to say."
"Xssyziviccass has not forgotten the lassst time you sssummoned It, mageling... A chapter from the Book of Keeping, you promisssed." The shator swung its mangy head at vin Drako and snarled, showing rows of razor sharp fangs.
"I can do better than that, dear Xssyziviccass," vin Drako said, holding up a stack of parchments bound together with silk threads. A diagram on the front page caught the shator's attention, and it sprang with surprising speed for the book, testing vin Drako's bonds once again. They held good. The shator emitted a pernicious stench and growled unpleasantly. "The first chapter will be yours, of course," said vin Drako. "But I have since pieced together what I believe is over a third of the original text. Are you interested?"
The growling sounds became affirmative.
"Good," vin Drako purred. "I'd be willing to sell you what I have for...oh...the short term services of you and your minions."
Xssyziviccass considered this for a moment, but greed won out. "How ssshort term?" the monstrous deformity asked, running a scarred and blackened tongue along its teeth. "And how many of my minionsss?"
vin Drako stood up and pulled a map down from behind his throne. He pointed to a large forest with his wand and said, "Enough to sack a well-defended elven court, for as long as it takes to bring it to ruin."
"Ahhhhh." The shator steepled its fingers under its massive quadruple chin. "Xssyzivicass getsss the Book of Keeping in payment for killing elvesss. And what does the sssorcerer get?"
"Satisfaction," vin Drako replied. "An enemy divided, a meddling cadre of too-old witches decimated." And a diversion to give his waylaid clone the opportunity to steal the Krysolis and escape, he thought privately.
"Xssyziviccass. Two lieutenant ssshatorsss. Sssix kelubar. Ninety-nine farassstu," the creature ticked off. "Againssst what force?"
"The elven people are dwindling in Andalast. Fewer than two hundred dwell at the Queen's court. Of those, I doubt more than two or three have weapons enchanted powerfully enough to affect you; perhaps twenty have swords that can harm your rank-and-file troops. You can expect a few volleys of magical arrows, perhaps, but nothing your farastu can't survive. The only thing keeping her realm from utter annihilation is a magical dome that hedges out beings of the Lower Planes."
The shator hissed. That, of course, was a problem.
vin Drako smiled coldly, showing his teeth, and held out a thick rod for the gehreleth's inspection. "You can all fly, and you can all become invisible. You need only seconds to get all of your forces inside the dome. With this rod, you can cancel its effects for a short time. It can be used only once, however, so your timing must be precise."
"Xssyziviccass knowsss what that isss," the shator said eagerly, reaching for it.
vin Drako chuckled, pulling it away. "Do not even think of using it on my circle," he said, flicking his wrist in an easy gesture to make his hand flare up with magical flames, "or the Book burns."
Xssyziviccass snarled and growled, but the creature was too sensible to toy with a powerful sorcerer when the much sought-after Book of Keeping was at stake. Besides, it had traded worse services than killing elves. This time when vin Drako offered it the rod, the shator accepted it with a polite cloud of stench and departed as happily as a gehreleth can be.
Charles felt the darkness press in around him. In a silent chamber, ragged fingernails bit into his arm, and the smell of moldering corpses and unwashed goblin assailed his nostrils.
"Um...it's really dark in here," the boy said nervously, shaking off Grubsuckle's painful grasp.
He heard the goblin fumbling around for something. "Grubsuckle can see in the dark. Oh, yesss. But Grubsuckle's generous master needs light." A torch flared up, burning away the cobwebs around them with a quiet crackle and a brief flash of radiance. "Grubsuckle pleases his new master?" the creature asked in a pathetic voice.
"That's great. Really," Charles replied, taking the torch from the goblin. They were in a long passageway with numerous alcoves and doorways along the sides. A line of sarcophagi stretched end to end down the middle of the corridor, vanishing into the blackness up ahead. A thick layer of dust, kicked up suddenly after perhaps a decade of settling, sent them both into a fit of coughing. Charles recovered first. "Is this the Crypt of the--"
"Shhhh!" Grubsuckle hissed, putting a grimy hand over his mouth, which Charles promptly snatched away. "The Dead don't like that word."
"What word?"
"Th-th-th-the word you almost said," the goblin sputtered in a sudden panic.
"What, `damned'?"
"Shhhh!"
"What was that?"
_Chink. Chink. Chink._
Charles instinctively drew back into a darkened alcove, accidentally knocking into a stone sarcophagi and setting a tattered raiment hanging over the coffin on fire. "Son of a...a dairymaid!" the boy cursed, hastening to stomp out the fire as the goblin squeaked and cringed along the wall. "What was that?" he asked his cowering companion.
"Ch-ch-ch-ch-chains. It sounded l-l-like ch-chains!"
The noise was louder now, and no longer the solitary jangling of a beast bound helplessly to a wall; instead the rattling was slow but insistent, the unmistakable sound of a creature _walking_. And it was walking toward them.
A horrid shrieking sound filled the corridor, echoing off the stones as if the catacombs themselves had awoken from an unnatural slumber.
"Put out the light!" Charles whispered frantically, his hands shaking so violently he couldn't do it himself. But Grubsuckle was no help, cringing on the floor, clutching his ugly little face with his bony hands.
Then the cover of the sarcophagus he was crouching behind began to shift. Charles yelped and dragged Grubsuckle to his feet. "Back the way we came!" he shrieked, running toward the door of the crypt with the goblin in tow, as a tremendous crash came from the alcove.
There was no latching mechanism on the inside of the door. Charles pounded one small fist against it ineffectively, until Grubsuckle tugged on his sleeve and motioned, with terrified eyes, toward the creature that had come shambling out of its coffin.
The flesh had long since fallen off the skeleton's bones, leaving nothing but long, yellowed sticks upon which rested a grinning skull, infested with a family of rats that peered out of the eye sockets with their own malignant intensity. Charles desperately pointed the ruby-tipped wand at the skeleton as it drew toward them. "Go away!" he commanded, his voice cracking.
A white rabbit appeared on the floor, and scurried away.
"What?" Charles protested. He pointed the wand again. "Go AWAY!"
This time a lightning bolt came streaking out of its tip, blasting the skeleton backwards, reducing it into a blackened heap.
Grubsuckle began applauding. "Master is MIGHTY! And so generous, oh yes!"
Charles wasn't all that confident in the wand's abilities, much less his own, but terror and exhaustion had pushed him to desperation. He had a locked door at his back and an unknown adversary out in the blackness beyond, still rattling its chains in some distant passageway.
"Are you sure the way out is ahead?" he asked Grubsuckle wearily, in the tone of a man condemned to execution.
"Y-y-yes, master, but...th-th-the chains..." the goblin whimpered.
Charles drew his rusty dagger with his right hand and held out the wand awkwardly in the mangled fingers of his left. "Then let's charge," he said grimly.
Parethiel was scouting along the banks of the river when he heard a familiar whistle from above. He looked up to see an elfmaid crouched upon the edge of the cliff-face, silhouetted against the dying sun.
"Shida!" he called to her as she came bounding down over the rocks, as sure-footed as a mountain goat. Behind her came her twin Sansorin, soberly descending to the banks of the river.
"It is too long since we have spoken, brother-in-arms," Shidamae said, embracing him. Sansorin gave Parethiel a respectful nod and clasped his wrist. "A fruitless chase has kept us busy. But there will be time for that tale later." She looked past Parethiel and across the river, where Liam and Odie were struggling to cross on the wet rocks.
"Are these the companions of the Chosen Mother?" she asked.
"They are," responded Sansorin before Parethiel could speak. "I met them in Maywood." His tone was not entirely complimentary. "We have been looking for you," he continued, "and searching for a drain along the cliff face that would connect to the lower passages of the sorcerer's tower. But if one does exist, it is cunningly concealed. The stone has eluded us both."
"I have information that confirms such a tunnel does exist," Parethiel said. His eyes strayed to the now-prone Odie, flopping and twitching in the water as Liam attempted to pull him up onto a rock. "Perhaps the dwarf may be of some assistance in finding it," he said, a smile quirking the corners of his mouth.
Sansorin regarded the struggling creature with coolly narrowed eyes. "I'm willing to believe that there may be some dwarves who have their uses, but that one," he sniffed, "most assuredly does not."
"Oh, don't be so insufferably superior," Shidamae teased him. She pulled a long silk rope from her belt and looped one end around a rocky outcropping, then twirled the other end in a graceful arc, letting it sail through the air and smack Liam on his backside. Liam shook his head wryly and nodded his thanks, then tied his end around the rock and helped Odie pull himself up.
"Odie hates water," the dwarf said with sheepish embarrassment as he clambered out of the river, soaked and bedraggled.
Sansorin ignored him. "It is almost nightfall," he observed. "If we are to have any chance of locating a secret tunnel, it would be now."
"Secret tunnel!" Odie interjected happily, shaking himself off like a wet dog. Sansorin took a horrified step backward as water sprayed in all directions from his ratty beard. Shidamae just rolled her eyes at her fastidious brother and looked askance at Parethiel, who was smirking almost imperceptibly. Before any of them could say another word, the dwarf bounded off, sniffing the air and looking this way and that.
"He's not as foolish as he seems," Liam said. "I'm going to follow him." Shidamae shrugged and led the other two elves in pursuit.
A short while later, Odie found what he was looking for, a lead-lined pipe hidden behind an overhang of rock, concealed in a small grotto. When the others caught up to him, the dwarf was hanging half out of the pipe, legs dangling and twitching. His elbows banged against the sides, causing a terrible racket. "Odie's STUCK!" yammered the dwarf, his voice muffled.
"Keep your voice down," Liam said, "and stop that banging, for gods' sakes." He turned to the elves, who didn't quite seem to know what to make of it all. "I might need help pushing his feet," he said, shaking his head in helpless resignation.
After about ten minutes of the four of them pushing, prodding and twisting the dwarf, Odie managed to pull himself the rest of the way into the drain, though his girth made it impossible for him to move except at a snail's pace, and only with the assistance of the others behind him.
Soon, though, the tunnel widened out until it was large enough for them to stand, and Liam lit a torch. A sluggish stream crawled along its bottom. The incessant dripping of water was the only sound other then the companions' slogging footsteps.
"Which way?" Liam asked when the passage began branching off in different directions. Odie pointed confidently to the left.
"Does he know where he's going?" Shidamae whispered, to which Parethiel shrugged.
"No less than we do," he replied.
After about an hour, they came to a wooden door. Odie promptly pulled out his axe, but Liam stopped him with an outstretched hand. "Let's at least see if we can get it unlocked," he said.
The door was warped from disuse, and after several moments of examination, the others let Odie go ahead and bash it down.
"So much for stealth," Shidamae said nervously.
"There's still a lot of stone between us and Erik's tower," Liam said as they tromped through the splintered doorframe.
"Then where are we now?" she muttered, following him into a chamber littered with human remains. As they all stepped into the room, the bones began to twitch, forming together into complete skeletons.
"Hack them down!" Liam cried, drawing his sword. The others quickly drew their weapons, and before the undead could rise up against them, they smashed the animated skeletons into smithereens.
The noise of the demolition, however, was enough to wake the dead. As they finished their macabre task, they heard an unearthly chorus of growls and the clacking of walking skeletons coming from farther into the tunnels.
The five of them drew close, seeking out unseen enemies in the gloom. "We're in the prison of the dead," Liam said softly.
