(A/N: I'm really, really, REALLY sorry I took forever to write this, but it was a hard chapter to write because I was terrified I'd get something important all wrong. I probably did anyway. Anyway, this is the longest chapter so far...does that count for anything? I'd like to thank the few people--Guan, Coranth, and VaguelyFamiliar--who bothered to review last chapter. Please review again. And sorry if this chapter gets sappy, hopefully the morbidity compensates.

Disclaimer: I do not own Neverwinter Nights, Forgotten Realms or Dungeons & Dragons.)

Chapter Fourteen

Higher up, the air was not nearly as stagnant as that in the lower level. It did, however, carry the unmistakable scent of something burning, and a thick smoke made it difficult to breathe still.

The doors they'd entered had opened up into a small alcove. After shutting the doors tight so the previous room's death stench couldn't leak through, Deekin looked at the several short steps leading upward into the main room. He crept up the first three, then flopped down on the steps and set his nose on the last, to get a better, yet safer look at things.

The room was yet another grand scale marble affair--but in every other respect, it differed from the other rooms.

The first major difference was the fire. All over the room, licking at the precious stone floor, flames leapt as high as the ceiling's melted frescoes and chandeliers and as low as the sooty vents, with a fog of gray smoke settling down over everything. The other major differences were the strange men that walked through the fires and chanted to themselves, strangely unaffected by the hot flames. Just as quickly as he had gone up, Deekin ducked back down the steps into the alcove.

"Boss--" Deekin started to say, but stopped. Umbra was pressed up against the alcove's corner farthest from the main room, snakes of smoke partially obscuring her and the dancing firelight casting orange highlights on her robe, but not her cowled black face.

"You be okay, Boss?" Deekin asked worriedly. "You be afraid of the fire?"

There was a pause.

"My robes would combust, leaving this one bare to the light's fury," she spoke gravely. "This one can venture no further."

Deekin eyed Umbra's robe, realizing the cloth would be highly flammable. A small kobold like him might be able to dart through open spots amidst the flames and come out with only a few mild burns, but Umbra would be lit aflame the moment she stepped foot into the inferno. This concerned him, until he remembered the men striding through the flames unscathed.

"Maybe fire be illusion!" he theorized eagerly, running up the steps and stretching a hand out to the fire, then withdrawing it just as quickly and sticking a burnt finger in his mouth to soothe it.

"Neverminds," Deekin muttered crossly around the injured finger. He closed his eyes to think, though the fire's brightness burned through his eyelids. There had to be something they could do--

His thought process was interrupted when the light went out. His eyes flashed open curiously. Where the fire had been roaring vibrantly only a moment ago, there was now only unpenetrable darkness, flowing in a stream of magic out of Umbra's palm. Before he could utter a surprised remark, Umbra grabbed him and dashed up the steps. Even the kobold couldn't see in this unnatural darkness, so thick he could feel it curdling on his scales; but Umbra navigated flawlessly, running unhaltingly through the darkened room and twisting around unseen obstacles. Deekin could only allow himself to be carried along and watch--as much as he could--in stunned silence.

They must have made it to the other side of the room, because Umbra finally stopped.

Upon being set down, Deekin looked up at Umbra--or at least, the spot where he estimated Umbra was, as she was impossible to discern in this pitch blackness--in awe.

"Wow, Boss," he commented. "Why you not does that sooner?"

"This one is reluctant to cast such spells," came the dreary reply. Deekin started to ask why, but was cut off as the fire sprang back up with a vengeance. Temporarily blinded by the sudden brightness, Deekin stumbled and fell back against a wall, rubbing his eyes furiously. Gradually, the stars and odd splotches of color faded out of his vision, and he was able to see that they were in another low alcove on the opposite side of the room. The door at the bottom was plain and wrought of rusted metal. Desperate to escape, Umbra grasped the handle and strived to wrench it open, to no avail. The door was stuck fast.

Umbra tried thrice more, but the door was adamant. She stepped back, mumbled a spell and flexed her lengthy fingers in rhythm. In response to her spell, purple rays of light twirled around the door's handle, which fidgeted like a tadpole on land; yet still the door refused to open. As Umbra prepared to cast the spell again, Deekin looked behind them worriedly. The strange men were walking in patterns so briskly they appeared to be dancing, and the flames about them burned so angrily that at times he had to avert his eyes. But Deekin could make out something else amid the flames--a lever.

"Wait, Boss! Deekin gots an idea!" he cried, darting into the inferno.

"Deekin..." But Umbra could only stand where she was.

Deekin cast an ice spell ahead of him. The stream of ice melted into water, which doused the fire and cleared a path for Deekin, who scurried anxiously across the burnt floor. Shielding his eyes with one hand, he could see that the lever was a good five yards away yet.

One of the strange men wandered in Deekin's path then. The kobold shrieked in surprise and staggered back, getting a fuller view of the odd man. The man was well-muscled and had reddish skin--reminiscent of a roasted turkey--which was patterned by deep, fresh wounds. The empty cuts glistened bloodred in the firelight, but other cuts had been filled in with gold, to match the man's golden collar and loincloth. When Deekin looked closely, he could see that the man was transparent, like a ghost; he could also see that the man was giving off flames. The other men were all identical to the first, Deekin saw, and all were the source of the flame which filled the room.

The man's eyes were black pits in his face, darkness contrasting the light of the room. The man opened his mouth, adding a third dark pit to his face, and moaned, "Woe!" No sooner had he done so, than the other burning men started in.

"Sorrow!"

"Loss!"

"Wrath!"

"Murder!"

Confused by this odd chant, Deekin took a step back, only to be burned by the second burning man that had sneaked up behind him. He, too, opened his pit of a mouth and said grievously, "Theft!"

"Folly!"

"Apathy!"

"Hubris!"

"Failure!"

Deekin rubbed his back and winced at the pain, but focused on the weird chanting. It reminded him of a story he'd read once.

"Lust!"

In the tale, a farmer had an apple tree. The farmer was concerned, because every night three large black cats would circle around the tree and yowl. They hadn't yowled as normal cats do, however; the cats had bemoaned sins, weaknesses and faults, just as the burning men did now.

"Violence!"

"Anger!"

"Fear!"

It was discovered that a man who had lived a sinful life was buried beneath the apple tree. His remains were exhumed, blessed by a local priest, and buried in a cemetery. The man's soul was then able to rest in peace, and the black cats were never seen again.

"Ambition!"

"Adultery!"

"Jealousy!"

Clearly, the burning men burned for those who had been buried in the crypt on the floor below this one. They named that which had concerned the corpses in life; it was probably the closest things their souls could get to eternal rest. Deekin was no priest, though...all he could think to do was--

"Forgiveness!" Deekin shouted. The burning men fell deathly silent. The eerie quiet made the kobold shiver and wonder if he'd said the right thing.

"Forgiveness," one of the burning men said suddenly.

"Forgiveness," another repeated.

"Forgiveness."

"Forgiveness."

"Forgiveness."

A chorus of "forgiveness" rose up around the room. The fires flickered dangerously, then snuffed out of their own accord.

"FORGIVENESS!"the burning men roared together; and then, like the flames, they were gone.

Deekin breathed in sharply. He wasn't entirely sure of what had just happened here, but he was certain of one thing: this was only a sample of what Undrentide had in store for him.

He then gazed around the room. Now that the flames and the burning men were gone, the place was plunged into gloom. The floors and walls were pitted and scorched, and he could now see the numerous charred skeletons that littered the place, human and rat alike. He did his best to ignore the depressing sight and instead rushed over to the lever. He pulled down on it with all his might; reluctantly, it gave way, but vengefully sent Deekin sprawling to the ground with it. It did its job, though, and the door in front of Umbra creaked open. Deekin picked himself up, brushed himself off, and skittered over to Umbra and the newly opened door.

"That was very brave and intelligent of you, Deekin," the cowled figure commended him when he got there.

"Thanks, Boss," he grinned up at her. "You inspires Deekin."

Umbra said nothing as she walked through the doorway, but they both knew that she was very pleased.

----

Yet another low alcove was adjoined to this one. Before they could ascend into the next main room, they heard a lot of creaking and clinking noises.

"What be that?" Deekin wondered.

"Let us see," replied Umbra, walking up the steps. Deekin nodded and trailed closely after.

Deekin didn't know whether to recoil in digust or marvel in wonder at the sight before them. The room was filled with hundreds of tall, broad gates, each one constructed out of a network of human bones, with sharpened femurs set along the top like spikes, adorned with the occasional human skull. Each gate was fastened to another, forming a series of closed pens. More amazing yet, the gates were far from stationary, for some Netherese enchantment kept them constantly moving, each gate separating itself from one and interlocking with another, so the sea of pens before them was transformed into an ever-shifting maze. Of course, this was what had produced the creaking and clinking sounds.

Deekin noticed that this constant rearrangement resulted in some pens missing a wall, allowing passage into its neighboring pen. He posed an idea to Umbra, saying, "Deekin think we just gots to stay where we be 'til gates open, then runs through, then waits 'til those gates open and runs through, again and again, 'til we gets out."

"Or, we could simply do this," suggested Umbra, drawing her luminous swords and smashing through a brittle bone gate, then stepping over the crushed remains.

"Umm, yep, that always be option, Boss..." Deekin submitted, following her. Umbra continued through the maze in this destructive manner, going in a straight line so as not to get lost. Each towering gate made a grand spectacle of its demise, raining down morbid shards of bone upon its shattering. This in itself was enough to send shivers up anyone's spine, but Deekin was especially jumpy after a skull toppled off one gate and landed on his shoulder. Fortunately, it wasn't long before they'd crossed the grand room to the opposite wall, where a squat set of stairs led up into the next room.

"You thinks the Dead Wind be up there, Boss?" the kobold asked.

"This one would hope so," she responded. Deekin started to ask something else, but stopped. Slowly turning around, his eyes grew very wide.

"Umm, Boss?"

"What is it--" Umbra turned around and saw. "Oh."

The gates Umbra had destroyed didn't take very kindly to their broken state. With a bone-white glow, the shattered pieces tumbled across the floor toward each other, forming in one great pile and fusing together. Out of the mass rose a humongous, misshapen skeletal figure--a bone golem.

"How fortunate," Umbra commented. Deekin assumed that was sarcasm, until Umbra murmured an incantation and brought an immense pillar of fire down upon the bone-borne monstrosity, so all that was left of it was a heap of charcoal. It wouldn't be recollecting itself any time soon.

"Come along, if you will," Umbra commanded as she swept up the steps, leaning the door open and entering the next room. Silent with awe, Deekin obeyed.

---

The room they entered was about the same size as the rooms that had preceded it, but its content filled it and made it seem smaller than it truly was. The room was lined with thick, carved marble pillars, with sweet-smelling, flowering vines twirling delicately up the bases and aligning themselves in the marble grooves. Sprouting out of the marble floor through cracked, circular gaps were overgrown trees, their crowns green and lush. Three tall open windows at the back bathed the room in warm desert sunlight, and the air was fresh and clean. Admiring the gorgeous sight, Deekin snatched his writing supplies out of his pack and started to write of it, then realized he hadn't written anything of the rest of the Crypt Tower and started recording it as hurriedly as he could.

"Deekin, set your pen aside," Umbra ordered. With a reluctant sigh, Deekin stored the quill and notebook in his pack again, depressed that he'd hardly written anything. A whirring sound caught his ear then; looking up, he saw that the room's foliage was fluttering like mad, losing leaves, petals and bits of bark to a whirlwind gathering in the center of the room. The whirlwind grew up until it touched the ceiling, gathering enough debris that it was visible, and emitted a windy growl as though alive.

"Umm...that be the Dead Wind, Boss?" the kobold questioned.

"Presumably, yes," Umbra answered.

"That be hard to believe," he noted, gazing about studiously. "Everything look so alive..."

No sooner had he said that, than the spinning wind picked up velocity. Sucking in all the leaves and petals and stripping the trees of a good deal of bark, the wind left the plants looking haggard and near death if not upon it. The Dead Wind produced a thick black cloud, which tumbled across the ceiling and down the walls, concealing the windows and smothering the sunlight before it could leak in. In an instant, the room went from appearing as a small paradise to looking like the tomb it was.

"Scratch that," Deekin muttered, correcting himself. "Everything look so dead..."

The stones which made up the floor rumbled and popped out of their fittings to reveal the half-buried corpses beneath, which had been so well-preserved in the arcane soil that bits of flesh and organs clung to their bones yet. The wind stretched out invisible tendrils to them, lifting them up from their graves like puppets and forcing them to their rotten feet. Gaining semi-life, the cadavers groaned and staggered toward Umbra and Deekin. One animated carcas stretched a worm-eaten hand out to the kobold; Umbra sliced it off with a sickening splash of fetid juice. Bringing both swords down upon the thing's head and spattering more fluid, Umbra tossed the mutilated body aside and moved on to the next two undead, making short work of them as well.

Deciding that he would work best from a distance, Deekin ducked behind a pillar, pulled his crossbow out from under the drying spider guts in his pack and loaded it, then fired some shots at the zombies. They did well; the zombies were quickly annihilated, and Umbra approached the wind with surety. Deekin restored his crossbow to its proper place and started forth, when a decomposing hand clamped onto his face. The foul, disintegrating flesh of the hand wormed its way into his mouth and nostrils; legs quaking, Deekin could feel his eyes watering and bile gathering in the back of his throat. If he screamed, the surging vomit would catch in his lungs and choke him.

The zombie to which the hand was attached dragged him into a small room adjoining the first, squeezing Deekin's neck and depriving the kobold of oxygen. His head swam, but he could see Umbra striking at the wind with bolts of black lightning. The Dead Wind shrieked, a high-pitched noise that mimicked the sound of wind whistling through treetops; then the zombie crushed the kobold's windpipe unbearably hard. Dazzling red flashed before his eyes, and then it all went black.

The black oblivion faded softly into the gray stone of a small cave. Deekin recognized this cave...he'd grown up in it. He heard his mother's voice, even now.

"Bad Keewa! You no eats those mushrooms, yip!" his mother snapped, swatting his younger sister's snout. Keewa dropped the mushrooms and grumbled indignantly. Deekin remembered this...this was an old memory of his. He supposed his life was flashing before him.

"Those mushrooms be very bad, yip yip!" his mother had scolded, smooshing the mushrooms beneath her toes and gesturing to her son. "You sees Deekin? He no eats bad mushrooms, yip. Be more like Deekin."

"Yip, little children all does bad!" complained a creaky old voice, his grandmother's. Sitting on the floor to rest her weary bones, the leathery old green kobold went on. "Just other day, Deekin steals feather from Chief Buzko's bed, you remembers?"

"That be Keewa what does that, Momma, yip," Deekin's mother had reminded. Her eyes had been brown and caring, a trait that had carried on to Deekin, though her scales were ash-gray like Keewa's.

"Grr, you is saying me be too old?" his grandmother had growled. "You is saying me forgets much, you is?"

"No, Momma, me is--" his mother started.

"Me remembers lots!" Deekin's grandmother insisted stubbornly. "Me remember back before any of you alive, even, yip. Me remembers time humans come in here, and great dragon Tymofarrar eats them like they is ants."

"Momma--" his mother tried again.

"Ha! You not ever even eats ants, does you?" his grandmother cut in rudely. "Ants all be gone now, yip, long gone. Me eats them though, yip, back before ants is gone, and they tastes sweet like honey."

"Yip, what be honey?" a younger Deekin had wondered. The grown Deekin saw himself standing there with a questing look on his face, and felt saddened, seeing all these old faces again. He tried to speak out to them, but no one noticed him, for it was only a memory.

"See? Little Deekin is not ever even tasting honey!" his grandmother bemoaned. "So sad, so sad, we not gots honey anywheres now, yip. We used to, but then lousy, no-good humans goes and kills all the yummy ants and bees. Great Tymofarrar squashes them real good for that, yip yip, serves them right too."

"How that happens, Grandma?" the young Deekin queried.

"Well," his grandmother began, "it all be starting one night after we gets big storm, so snow be blown all over front of caves, and kobolds who lives up there be freezing, but me is okay, because me lives in back caves, yip. Remember, this be long time ago, before your Momma remembers even..." And so she launched into her tale, and both the younger Deekin and the present Deekin listened eagerly. His Grandma had always loved telling tales, and Deekin had always loved listening to them, though the truth to them was often doubtful.

True or no, however, Deekin's grandma had always made it clear that Tymofarrar was a great dragon and their protector.

"These young kobolds appreciates his greatness less and less," she'd always grumbled. "They not understands that he be our Boss, and he be great hero. Yip, you promises your Grandma you never forgets his greatness like those no-good kobolds does!"

"Deekin promises, Grandma," he always vowed.

"Good," she'd smile. "You be good grandson." And then she'd pat him on the head and feed him a crunchy insect--though not as good as ants, she always said.

This memory shifted to another, now. Deekin was older, and had moved out into a section of the cave of his own--it was small, and humble, but it was his. His grandma lived with him--his mother and sister having long ago been slain by invading orcs--but the old kobold slept most of the day away on a burlap mat. It was the only bedding, so Deekin slept on the hard, clammy floor. But, such was the life of a kobold...one learned to adjust, and he was otherwise happy. Hungry, though; though he could cast well the few spells he knew, he was a generally poor hunter, and seldom brought back enough food for the both of them, usually giving most of it to his grandmother and starving the day away. For this, the other kobolds taunted and ridiculed him, but Deekin kept himself occupied by weaving stories, and telling them to his grandmother on the rare occasions she was awake.

One day, one fateful day, Tymofarrar rose from the depths of his cave. He hadn't in three generations, so it was a great event for the kobold society, and many scurried about tidying their homes and putting on their best rags and looted gems. Of course, the dragon could have cared less, and wore a significantly bored look when he announced that he was going to personally train a magically gifted kobold to be a great sorcerer, and the kobold's next chieftain. Then, Tymofarrar looked around the crowd, spotted little Deekin, and said, "You." And so Deekin, to whom it had all felt like an amazing dream, was chosen to be personally trained by the Boss. His grandmother was happy for him, though she was barely awake enough to nod; the other kobolds promised to care for her while he was gone, and so he was off.

Life with Tymofarrar was not at all what Deekin had been expecting. The dragon had a series of rigorous tests set up for him, which included pushing blocks up icy hills, drinking poison in gradually larger doses--to make him immune to the stuff, Tymofarrar said, weaing a sadistic smile as the kobold groaned and held his aching stomach--starting fires with magic, and stealing pie from local human villages. Deekin did as he was told, but honestly preferred reading the many books the dragon had lying about his den, poring over the pictures and stories of many places, until it was time to work at another test.

Then the day came when the kobold caves were once again raided by orcs. Placing much more stock in Deekin's abilities than the kobold did himself, Tymofarrar sent Deekin up into the higher caves to battle the orcs with his "great arcane prowess". Sadly, Deekin hadn't been a very good student , and when faced against the orcs, armed with nothing but a few spells he had failed to improve upon, he was plainly outmatched. Rather than fight bravely to the death, he trembled and hid in a barrel.

It was there that Tymofarrar found him. "Serves you right for not studying," the dragon had scolded mildly with a chuckle. The orcs had slaughtered most of the kobolds, and needless to say, the few left were furious and screamed that Deekin must die. But Tymofarrar said no; Deekin was smart to hide, but but not very brave, said he. Deekin wasn't a good chief, but he was very funny. Tymofarrar let Deekin stay with him, so long as he kept the dragon amused. That was how Deekin became a bard.

It was a good life, at first; there were books to read, and no kobolds to taunt him, though he missed his grandmother and worried that she had been decimated by the orcs. Of course, he had to keep Tymofarrar entertained, teaching himself many stories and songs to do so. This was far from easy, such as the occasion when Tymofarrar had insomnia and Deekin had to lull him to sleep by discussing the mating habits of orcs with him for two days straight until the dragon fell asleep, and Deekin just collapsed from exhaustion. It was a tiring, disturbing two days, and to this day he wasn't sure why Tymofarrar had wanted to discuss that of all things.

How many decades had he lived like that? It was impossible to keep track of time. It was better and longer than the average kobold life, he supposed, though he could have done without the abuse, threats, and big, smelly noises from his draconic master. But, he heeded his grandmother's long-ago words, and respected Tymofarrar as the great Boss.

And now, Deekin remembered the raid on Hilltop, the gnolls, the crypt, the icy cold and the gripping fear, and the broken tower statue. And he remembered Umbra...Umbra...

Traveling across the desert, into the ruins, writing her epic tale. He remembered everything about her, about how she had saved him time and again, a beacon of hopeful light in that darkened time. Besides that, he remembered how much he had enjoyed being with her, hero or no. Now, everything turned black; was he really dying? Dead? But he couldn't be...

"Deekin." That was Umbra's voice, morose and mourning. "Please, Deekin, do not die. This one needs you..."

He couldn't die now, not when he had an exciting adventure to go on, an epic tale to complete, and an intrepid hero to travel with! Determined, he made the darkness fall away and opened his eyes. There was Umbra standing over him, her black face cowled and expressionless. As he came to, he realized that she was standing over him after all; she had his head rested in her lap.

"Boss?" he quested weakly, somewhat gagging up the bile that had clogged his throat, then swallowing it.

"Deekin, you live!" Umbra cried, her voice bounding with joy and compensating for her unmoving face. She stroked his face gently, as though to ascertain he was really there.

"Yep, Deekin be alive, Boss," he smiled, sitting up slowly. "Deekin gots to finish your epic tale, after alls." Umbra was still a moment; then she grabbed him and hugged him tight.

"Please...do not leave this one again..." she begged. "You do not realize how much this one needs you."

"You...needs Deekin, Boss?" He was surprised, but pleasantly so; smiling widely, he returned the hug.

---

Umbra had defeated the Dead Wind while Deekin was unconscious. Upon its defeat, the Wind imploded into a glowing white orb, which Umbra showed to Deekin now. It was after that she had gone looking for Deekin and found him in his near-death state, and attempted to heal his wounds. Still, he would not awaken. Deekin knew the rest.

Deekin didn't have much of an appetite after the zombie incident, but he quenched his thirst with a swig from his canteen. His throat still ached, but he'd felt worse pain. Deekin wrinkled his nose--they hadn't left the Dead Wind's hall yet, and the dead zombies on the floor smelled awful. Well, technically, they'd been dead while they were moving, so "dead zombie" would be redundant...but, oh well.

Deekin looked silently at Umbra, who simply stood and watched him. At last, he ventured to remind her, "Boss, you never tells Deekin who your Boss be."

"No...this one did not. This one suspects we shall be meeting with m'lord soon enough."

A chill went up Deekin's spine. "What Boss means by that?"

"M'lord is obsessed with Undrentide," she replied. "If we are seeking the Winds, it seems inevitable that we should cross paths."

"Oh..."

"Yet, there is something this one has been meaning to tell you," she continued reluctantly.

"That be...?" Deekin persisted.

"This one fears she is not a hero as you make her out to be," she responded. "This one was sent to Drogan's by m'lord to steal the mythal. But, this one failed, for the mythal was encased in the tower statue, and not even Drogan knew it was there." A pause. "This one should have returned to m'lord and informed him. But Drogan was kind, and accepted this one as a pupil..." Another pause. "This one did not wish to return. This one wished to remain free. So she did." She paused yet again. "Then you came along, mythal in hand. This one was saddened, that she would have to return. But then Drogan arranged for us to travel across the Anauroch, and this one did. This one cannot explain it, but...when she found you had followed her, this one was instilled with sudden hope."

"Really, Boss?"

"Really." There was fondness in her voice, which became apologetic. "Deekin, this one is no hero. This one is sorry--"

"For what?" Deekin cut in. "You still be great hero! Many great heroes be slaves that escapes their evil masters. Besides," he added, "Deekin be in same boat, only worse. Old Boss sends Deekin to Drogan's to steal mythal, too, remembers? Deekin be coward, helps hurts people. Boss not does that. And then Deekin never goes back to his master, either. Boss helps Deekin, and Deekin is grateful for that. You sees, Boss? You be great, great hero!"

Umbra was silent. Finally, she conceded. "This one...supposes you are right. Thank-you, Deekin."

"Anytime, Boss," he grinned. "We ready to finds next Wind, maybe?"

"If you are."

"Deekin be."

"Then we shall be off." And so they were.

(That was Chapter Fourteen! Sorry it took so long. Please review.)