CHAPTER FIVE
Maskyr's Eye, 16 Flamerule, DR 1361, the Year of Maidens
"Come with me," ordered Neske. The two veiled cult members obeyed. The wizardess left quickly, hastening towards the room where Sagor the Speaker had last been seen alive. The guards followed after her, leaving the room filled with nothing but orc corpses and flickering torches.
But Ghalluk the orc-lord was not yet dead, as Neske had thought. A survivor of countless battles in the highlands, he had fought against giants, and men, and dwarves, and no few of his own kind. He was not easily slain. The great warrior groaned and stirred, and opened one eye. His vision was clouded. Never had he felt so weak. He knew his life hung by a thread. But Ghalluk also knew that Gruumsh the Cruel, the one-eyed god of the orcs, favored the strong. Gruumsh did not spare the weak, but he allowed the strongest of his children to survive. Survive so that they could bring death to their enemies and vengeance for the crimes comitted against his people. Ghalluk of the Clan of the White Tusk was not yet finished.
Painfully, he dragged himself over to the body of the orc shaman. Ghalluk tried to speak, but found he could not. No sound came from his lips, only blood. He clawed at the healer's neck, seeking for signs of life. He found none. Moving slowly, the orc-lord reached into the shaman's healing satchel, and fumbled around until he grasped what he needed- a stone vial. It took Lord Ghalluk a long time to free that vial from the shaman's pouch, but at last he succeeded. Bringing the small bottle carefully to his lips, he drank the entire contents as quickly as his shattered body would allow, one small drop at a time.
The healing potion burned Ghalluk each time he drank from it, and the chieftain felt every wound anew. But the healing draught took effect, and he felt some of his stolen life force slowly returning. The shaman's potion gave him a measure of strength to stand, but it would not last long. The great, wounded orc struggled painfully to his feet. "It would take a lake full of this magic to heal me completely," he thought, yet it was enough. He tossed the empty vial away and reached for his sword.
Ghalluk looked around the room one last time. His soldiers lay dead about him. "That phantom, that shadow demon or whatever it is, could still be lurking about." The thought made him shudder. He looked down the corridor after the sorceress. He doubted he had the strength to defeat her alone, and she had at least two humans with her. "Some other time," he thought.
He glanced at another doorway. Ghalluk knew that up that pathway lay the tunnels his clansmen had dug, and beyond that, an exit onto the surface. It would bring him out behind a hill, some distance from the nearest human village.
"I wonder whether the Daystar will be in the sky," he thought. "I will have trouble making my way back to the mountains in sunlight. I will have to wait until darkness falls. No matter. I must get out of here, and bring word of this back to my people."
***
The cult wizardess Neske swept into Sagor's audience chamber with her two bodyguards close behind. Her eyes swept the room, searching for signs of the mysterious creature. She saw nothing. Cultists lay dead about the floor, just like the orcs in the other room. Only Sagor stirred. Neske walked slowly over to the dais where the Speaker lay. His breathing was labored. "He looks pale," she thought, "Drained. Even for him."
Sagor noticed her standing over him. "Is it gone?"
Neske looked about her, slowly, and shrugged. "I see nothing," she answered.
"Good," Sagor coughed, "I must have driven it off." His voice was little more than a dry, weak sounding rasp. His expression was pained. Sagor was near death. That pleased Neske, and she smiled.
"It finished the orcs quite easily," she said, looking around. "I see that our own soldiers fared little better." The old wizard reached a feeble hand towards Neske, but she took a half step back, remaining out of his reach. Her old master looked up at her, and narrowed his eyes.
"It was some creature of the negative material plane," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "I now suspect it was an umbrae, probably summoned centuries ago by Maskyr, and placed down here to guard his halls. It has probably gone back to its lair, but it will return soon." Neske nodded. This was something she had already surmised on her own, having seen the damage done to the orcs and men. She had never fought an umbrae before, nor heard of many who had. But now Sagor had. He looked as if it had taken all of his strength, just to drive it off.
"You do not look well, my master," she said.
Sagor did not answer immediately, but he looked up at Neske for a moment. He fumbled about with his hands, seeking for his wand. Neske saw that the ornate scepter lay to his right, out of reach. "I am fine," he lied. "The thing got me, devoured some of my life force, but once I cast a spell of daylight-"
"It is weakened by daylight," she interrupted casually. "Yes, I know of these things. They attack only through shadows. That is why it was so successful against the orcs. In a room with many torches, one casts many shadows, allowing the umbrae many avenues of attack." She looked down on Sagor with barely-concealed disgust. "That was very clever of you, my master. Putting a spell of daylight on this room dispelled your own shadows. The umbrae had no way to reach you, and it had no where to hide. Pity, you did not think of that trick before it had already weakened you."
Sagor looked up at her, suspiciously. "I am not weak," he spat. "Even now, my strength is returning. Now, help me to my feet, wench. We can still salvage-"
"I am finished toying with you, Sagor," she hissed. "Too long have I answered to you and catered to your vile whims." She sauntered over and picked up his scepter from where it lay on the floor. When Neske turned back to face her master, her eyes were cold.
"Give me that," he insisted. He reached out, trying to grab the wand from her, but the young wizardess didn't move. "You cannot do this," he spluttered, furious. "After all I've taught you, treachery and disobedience is how you repay me?"
"I have learned more than enough from you," she said.
"You impudent whelp! I will have you flogged," he snarled.
"What, again?" she replied, mockingly. "I was rather beginning to like it." Neske held up her new wand, admiring it, running one of her slim fingertips along its side.
"The First Speaker will hear of this," Sagor said. "Lord Samsonavicius will not allow you to escape unpunished. You will be thrown out of the Order! You will no longer be entitled to wear the Purple Robes. Why, I'll have your tongue cut out and see you sent to the mines for this!"
Sagor's threats no longer meant anything to Neske. She was disgusted. Her patience was at an end. The time had come for the apprentice to take the place of the master. In the Cult of the Dragon, such things were almost expected. Neske had other reasons besides plain ambition to deal with her old master. The old wizard's expression changed from anger to fear when she slowly pointed the scepter towards him. Sagor began to plead, but Neske did not care. She knew where his spellbooks were hidden. She knew the wards and illusions which guarded his tower. She knew the arcane words that would activate his wand. She had not served Sagor the Speaker for so long without learning SOMETHING of value.
The beautiful wizardess smiled as she blasted the old wretch to oblivion. At last, she was free of him.
Neske turned to the two men who stood by. "The Speaker is no more," she exclaimed. "I lead this cell now." The two remaining cultists went to their knees, proclaiming their new loyalty. The wizardess was pleased. She slapped one end of Sagor's wand against the palm of her hand. "Arise," she commanded. "You are to search these tunnels. Make sure there are none left alive. Check every corpse, human or orc. If they breathe, I want you to finish them. Then I want you to go back to the entrance of the tunnels, and await me there." The men nodded and rose to their feet.
One of the soldiers dared to speak. "When will you return, mistress?" he asked.
Neske regarded the man icily. "Oh, don't worry," she said. "I shan't be long. I have some unfinished business with the ones who brought this upon us." With that, she cast a spell, and vanished from sight.
***
"Hrm," Shalea wondered aloud. "I wonder what this does?"
They heard the sound of stone grating against stone. Shalea's face became very pale.
"Look out," yelled Drannamon. But his warning came too late. A great section of the floor rose up, pivoting into the air. Bunker, Jhenta and Andryl stood atop it, and all three struggled to maintain their balance. The others watched helplessly as the trap was sprung, and their three companions were pitched downward into a chute. The floor slid firmly back into place.
***
"I'm going to kill Shalea when we get out of here," said Andryl. It was dark.
"Where are we?" asked Jhenta.
"I wish I knew," answered Andryl. She rubbed her bottom. They had landed hard. "Have you got a torch?"
"I used to," answered the young priestess. "But I lost it somewhere. Sorry."
"I've got a spare in me pack," growled Bunker. "Lemme see if I can get 'er lit."
The torch flamed, and Bunker handed it to Jhenta. "Try not to lose this one," he grinned.
The passage they found themselves in was wide enough for Bunker and Andryl to walk side-by-side. They held their weapons ready. Jhenta followed close behind with the torch in one hand and her staff in the other. They came upon a small alcove on the left side. It was barely larger than a niche. Andryl paused to examine it.
"Might be a secret passage," she guessed, glancing over at Bunker.
The dwarf nodded. "That it might, lass. But then again, it might not."
"You don't want to find out?"
"Not now," he answered. "I'd as soon we travel onwards. Ye most like cannot see it, but my dwarf sense tells me this hallway's slopin' upwards."
Jhenta raised her eyebrows. "Upwards," she asked. "Do you think this might be the way out?"
The dwarf looked back at her and shrugged. "I dunno, lass," he said, "but there's only one way ta find out."
The passage did indeed slope upwards, but not steeply. Andryl and Jhenta could even feel the slight rise in elevation. Jhenta did not believe it until she paused to look back over her shoulder. That gave her a measure of hope. But continuing on, they found that the passage did not go much farther. It came to an end in a little room. Bunker held a finger to his lips for quiet, and gestured for Jhenta to come forward a little with the torch.
Cautiously, Andryl stuck her head inside the door and looked around. Seeing nothing, she jabbed upwards with her spear, seeking for an ambusher who might have been hiding overhead. She did not expect to find anything lurking up there, but if the innkeeper's daughter had learned anything, she had learned caution. Andryl's eyes suddenly widened in alarm. "Uhm, Bunker," she said. The tip of her spear encountered not stone, but something yielding, fleshy, and very much alive.
Two huge, shadowy figures leapt down from their hiding place above the door and attacked. Andryl dropped back a step to give herself room to wield her spear, bumping into Jhenta. The priestess screeched in surprise, and dropped her quarterstaff without even realizing it. She nearly dropped their torch as well. Bunker saw only two humanoids drop down in front of him. Acting on instinct, he immediately lashed out with a great swing of his double-bladed axe. "Look out," he called. The dwarf recognized the monsters as yet another terror of the Underdark. "Chokers!"
Chokers were humanoids, but neither Andryl or Jhenta had ever seen anything like them. Even Bunker wasn't absolutely certain these were chokers, but he suspected. They were half the size of a man, but their legs and arms were very long, out of all proportion to their torsoes. They had grey skin, and snarled to reveal rows of wickedly sharp teeth.
Hissing, one tried to wrap its hands around Bunker's neck. He swung his axe upward, severing one of the arms. The creature held on with the other. The other monster tried the same sort of attack on Andryl. She thrust her spear with all her strength, wounding it, but the thing's arms were longer than her spear. It kept its grip on her neck, slowly tightening. Then, a third creature appeared beyond the doorway.
***
Jhenta turned and fled, clutching Chauntea's holy symbol for comfort. The priestess had lost her quarterstaff somewhere when she dropped it out of sheer fright. "Please, please, please," she intoned, begging her goddess to save her- and the others, too. She still had their torch, so as Jhenta fled, so did the light. Bunker, being a dwarf, was not hampered by darkness, but Andryl found herself unable to see.
Jhenta ducked into the narrow stone alcove they had passed earlier, and tried to catch her breath. She could still hear the sounds of her friends fighting off the three grey monsters. "Chauntea, give me strength, and protect Bunker and Andryl from those horrible monsters," she prayed. Then, a thought occurred to her, and she was ashamed. "I cannot leave them just to die like that. I must go back and help them," she thought. "But what can I do?" Jhenta Sulpir swayed and nearly fainted. She leaned against the stone wall for support.
She leaned against a hidden mechanism. To her horror and surprise, the back wall of the little stone alcove that was her hiding place slid upward, and the young priestess stumbled backwards into a hidden room. "What have I done," she asked aloud. She spun around to see what she had uncovered. Before her was a circular chamber, lit with an eerie greenish glow. The light came from a series of strange symbols, apparently painted on the walls. The glowing letters were at waist height, and extended completely around the room. But her attention was immediately drawn, not to the glowing runes, but to the middle of the room. There stood a massive stone altar, or perhaps it was a sarcophogas. Atop it perched a cockatrice- the most horrific beast Jhenta had ever seen.
It was not quite as big as she was, and it just looked unnatural. It was like a grotesque melding of bird and dog and bat. Its feathers were sparse, large and black. It had claws the size of meat-hooks, a reddish beak like a parrot's and a comb not unlike a rooster's. When Jhenta entered, the creature stirred. It swiveled its ugly head to face her, and let out a croaking, bird-like squawk. The priestess wanted to turn and flee, but she found herself paralyzed with fear. It hopped down from its perch. Jhenta screamed as the cockatrice came towards her. The monster tilted its head and looked at her with curiosity in its tiny black eyes.
Jhenta Sulpir thought for a moment that she would live. Then it leapt at her.
***
Bunker hewed his opponent in two, but the newcomer came forward to take its place. The dwarven warrior shrugged off the severed hands from his neck. The third choker was now reaching out for him with its arms. He cursed when he heard Jhenta running away. Bunker looked over at Andryl through the corner of his eye. The girl was nearly defenseless without the light from their torch. He saw that she was in dire straits.
Andryl cried out in pain as her opponent latched on to her shoulder and bit down hard. The girl fell to the ground, bleeding. The choker loomed over her, ready to snap her neck. The dwarf had sworn an oath to defend the innkeeper's daughters or die trying. Summoning all his strength, Bunker leapt to Andryl's aid. "For Moradin and the dwarves," he shouted in the tongue of his people. Heedless of his own defense, Bunker attacked and with his axe cut the head from the creature. In doing so, Bunker had left himself open. The last remaining monster grabbed the dwarf from behind and pulled him in. Bunker struggled and cursed and spat, but could not break free of the thing's encircling grip.
Andryl rolled helplessly on the ground- wounded, blind and unable to help. She thought for a moment she heard a scream, perhaps it was Jhenta. But Andryl had no time for that now. Bravely, the girl struggled to her feet. Unable to find her spear in the dark, she drew the shortsword Drannamon had loaned her. She could see nothing, but she could hear Bunker struggling in death. His breath came in ragged gasps. Andryl heard bones cracking as the choker tightened its grip on the dwarf.
The innkeeper's daughter began to weep. Bunker had saved her life, but now his own was in danger. She flailed about with her sword now, desperate. The choker retreated out of range, still holding on to its prey. The monster could see where she could not. Andryl cursed aloud, and cried. "Come here you monster! Where are you, Bunker? I am coming! Damn you, Jhenta, come back with that light! I cannot save Bunker without the light!"
Whether it was pure luck, or some spurious whim of the gods, Andryl found the choker that was holding Bunker. She went into a furious rage, slashing and stabbing. She rolled Bunker's body out of the way, and hacked at the last creature until it stopped twitching.
The room was dark and silent. She let her sword fall to the stones with a clang. The young lady warrior fumbled about on hands and knees, ignoring her own wound. In the darkness, she felt her way through the blood until she found Bunker. Praying that her friend was still breathing, she groped beneath his armor searching for a pulse.
Andryl breathed a huge sigh of relief, and sat back on her haunches, sobbing. The dwarf was still alive!
The cockatrice found them like that in the dark.
***
"Follow me, quickly," ordered Aendar. The young nobleman led them down the west passageway, past several closed doors without even pausing to look. He halted abruptly at the third door, though they had not yet reached the end of the hall. It was a large door, made of wood plated in bronze, covered in runes and glyphs. "In here," he said, gripping the large handle and pushing. The ancient hinges creaked, then the door swung open and they entered the room.
Carine looked over at Aendar, her eyes suddenly full of doubt and suspicion. "How did you know to come here?"
"Shut the door, quickly," Aendar said, ignoring her. He and Drannamon leaned against the heavy door and slowly pushed it shut. "We should be safe enough in here, for the time being."
Shalea just stood there, holding a torch, her mouth hanging open. The room was part library, part laboratory, very cluttered and dusty. All they had dreamt of and more seemed to be there- all sorts of valuable and mysterious things, pieces of jewelry which were obviously magical, ancient scrolls of unknown meaning. This looked to be just such a place as they had hoped to find. The walls were lined with books and scrolls from floor to ceiling. Tables about the chamber were piled with the ancient devices of the archmage Maskyr. The staff of an archmage was leaned against a cloak rack. An incredibly ancient tome, covered in dust, sat open on a pedestal. A large globe of dark crystal was in one corner of the room, next to an empty cauldron. There was all manner of eldritch and arcane wisdom just strewn about the room, enough to make the lowliest wizard's apprentice into a mage of great power.
But Carine the innkeeper's daughter saw none of it. She stared directly at the knight. "Aendar," she asked again, "how did you know how to find this place?"
Drannamon and Aendar glanced at one another. "I have a map," the paladin answered.
"Let me see it," Carine insisted. Aendar took a worn parchment from his pouch. He unfolded it and handed it to the wizardess. She stared at it incredulously. "Where did you get this?"
"I am a Knight of Helm. We have many scrolls of ancient lore in the Armory, our great fortress on the edge of the Grey Lands of Thar. It was there that I was given this map."
Carine's face darkened with anger. "You mean to tell us you've had a map all this time? A map showing the way out? And you didn't tell us?"
"Drannamon," asked Shalea, "did you know about this, too?"
The woodsman nodded. Both girls looked indignant.
"He is not to blame, my lady," explained Aendar. "He swore an oath to me. He kept his word, so do not disparage his honor."
"Honor?" Carine could no longer contain her anger. "What do you know of honor? You have been lying to us since we left my father's inn. And you call yourself a paladin. What sort of knight would deceive his companions like that?"
"We all must make hard decisions, especially in troubled times," Aendar tried to explain. "Helm knows this. He is the Lord of Guardians, and so long as his servants carry out their sworn duties, he cares little for mis- steps made along the way. We must defend and protect above all. What king would not lie to save his realm? What priest would not lie to defend his flock? What father would not lie to save his daughter?
"Well," Carine said, "you could have protected us a lot better by showing us the way out of here sooner. We nearly died. We still might die. And what of Andryl and Jhenta and Bunker?"
"You think only of yourselves," Aendar said defensively. It was his turn to grow angry. "I came here not for wealth or adventure or for glory. It is the faraway city of Glister that I am sworn to protect, not the vale of Maskyr's Eye. Nor even the daughters of an old innkeeper. I am the last of my line. I have undertaken a sacred quest- a quest that could be the last hope of a people on the brink of destruction. That is my duty, and I will see it through."
He clenched his fist, and turned to face away from Carine and Shalea. "I did not ask that you join me in my quest. I see now that I should not have allowed our paths to remain together for so long. But that night in the Wizard's Hand, I could see no harm in allowing you people to come with us. I think I was swept up by the enchantment of Inven's tales. Perhaps he bespelled us all. Little did I suspect that Inven would betray us all. But still, that does not release me from my mission."
***
Maskyr's Eye, 16 Flamerule, DR 1361, the Year of Maidens
"Come with me," ordered Neske. The two veiled cult members obeyed. The wizardess left quickly, hastening towards the room where Sagor the Speaker had last been seen alive. The guards followed after her, leaving the room filled with nothing but orc corpses and flickering torches.
But Ghalluk the orc-lord was not yet dead, as Neske had thought. A survivor of countless battles in the highlands, he had fought against giants, and men, and dwarves, and no few of his own kind. He was not easily slain. The great warrior groaned and stirred, and opened one eye. His vision was clouded. Never had he felt so weak. He knew his life hung by a thread. But Ghalluk also knew that Gruumsh the Cruel, the one-eyed god of the orcs, favored the strong. Gruumsh did not spare the weak, but he allowed the strongest of his children to survive. Survive so that they could bring death to their enemies and vengeance for the crimes comitted against his people. Ghalluk of the Clan of the White Tusk was not yet finished.
Painfully, he dragged himself over to the body of the orc shaman. Ghalluk tried to speak, but found he could not. No sound came from his lips, only blood. He clawed at the healer's neck, seeking for signs of life. He found none. Moving slowly, the orc-lord reached into the shaman's healing satchel, and fumbled around until he grasped what he needed- a stone vial. It took Lord Ghalluk a long time to free that vial from the shaman's pouch, but at last he succeeded. Bringing the small bottle carefully to his lips, he drank the entire contents as quickly as his shattered body would allow, one small drop at a time.
The healing potion burned Ghalluk each time he drank from it, and the chieftain felt every wound anew. But the healing draught took effect, and he felt some of his stolen life force slowly returning. The shaman's potion gave him a measure of strength to stand, but it would not last long. The great, wounded orc struggled painfully to his feet. "It would take a lake full of this magic to heal me completely," he thought, yet it was enough. He tossed the empty vial away and reached for his sword.
Ghalluk looked around the room one last time. His soldiers lay dead about him. "That phantom, that shadow demon or whatever it is, could still be lurking about." The thought made him shudder. He looked down the corridor after the sorceress. He doubted he had the strength to defeat her alone, and she had at least two humans with her. "Some other time," he thought.
He glanced at another doorway. Ghalluk knew that up that pathway lay the tunnels his clansmen had dug, and beyond that, an exit onto the surface. It would bring him out behind a hill, some distance from the nearest human village.
"I wonder whether the Daystar will be in the sky," he thought. "I will have trouble making my way back to the mountains in sunlight. I will have to wait until darkness falls. No matter. I must get out of here, and bring word of this back to my people."
***
The cult wizardess Neske swept into Sagor's audience chamber with her two bodyguards close behind. Her eyes swept the room, searching for signs of the mysterious creature. She saw nothing. Cultists lay dead about the floor, just like the orcs in the other room. Only Sagor stirred. Neske walked slowly over to the dais where the Speaker lay. His breathing was labored. "He looks pale," she thought, "Drained. Even for him."
Sagor noticed her standing over him. "Is it gone?"
Neske looked about her, slowly, and shrugged. "I see nothing," she answered.
"Good," Sagor coughed, "I must have driven it off." His voice was little more than a dry, weak sounding rasp. His expression was pained. Sagor was near death. That pleased Neske, and she smiled.
"It finished the orcs quite easily," she said, looking around. "I see that our own soldiers fared little better." The old wizard reached a feeble hand towards Neske, but she took a half step back, remaining out of his reach. Her old master looked up at her, and narrowed his eyes.
"It was some creature of the negative material plane," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "I now suspect it was an umbrae, probably summoned centuries ago by Maskyr, and placed down here to guard his halls. It has probably gone back to its lair, but it will return soon." Neske nodded. This was something she had already surmised on her own, having seen the damage done to the orcs and men. She had never fought an umbrae before, nor heard of many who had. But now Sagor had. He looked as if it had taken all of his strength, just to drive it off.
"You do not look well, my master," she said.
Sagor did not answer immediately, but he looked up at Neske for a moment. He fumbled about with his hands, seeking for his wand. Neske saw that the ornate scepter lay to his right, out of reach. "I am fine," he lied. "The thing got me, devoured some of my life force, but once I cast a spell of daylight-"
"It is weakened by daylight," she interrupted casually. "Yes, I know of these things. They attack only through shadows. That is why it was so successful against the orcs. In a room with many torches, one casts many shadows, allowing the umbrae many avenues of attack." She looked down on Sagor with barely-concealed disgust. "That was very clever of you, my master. Putting a spell of daylight on this room dispelled your own shadows. The umbrae had no way to reach you, and it had no where to hide. Pity, you did not think of that trick before it had already weakened you."
Sagor looked up at her, suspiciously. "I am not weak," he spat. "Even now, my strength is returning. Now, help me to my feet, wench. We can still salvage-"
"I am finished toying with you, Sagor," she hissed. "Too long have I answered to you and catered to your vile whims." She sauntered over and picked up his scepter from where it lay on the floor. When Neske turned back to face her master, her eyes were cold.
"Give me that," he insisted. He reached out, trying to grab the wand from her, but the young wizardess didn't move. "You cannot do this," he spluttered, furious. "After all I've taught you, treachery and disobedience is how you repay me?"
"I have learned more than enough from you," she said.
"You impudent whelp! I will have you flogged," he snarled.
"What, again?" she replied, mockingly. "I was rather beginning to like it." Neske held up her new wand, admiring it, running one of her slim fingertips along its side.
"The First Speaker will hear of this," Sagor said. "Lord Samsonavicius will not allow you to escape unpunished. You will be thrown out of the Order! You will no longer be entitled to wear the Purple Robes. Why, I'll have your tongue cut out and see you sent to the mines for this!"
Sagor's threats no longer meant anything to Neske. She was disgusted. Her patience was at an end. The time had come for the apprentice to take the place of the master. In the Cult of the Dragon, such things were almost expected. Neske had other reasons besides plain ambition to deal with her old master. The old wizard's expression changed from anger to fear when she slowly pointed the scepter towards him. Sagor began to plead, but Neske did not care. She knew where his spellbooks were hidden. She knew the wards and illusions which guarded his tower. She knew the arcane words that would activate his wand. She had not served Sagor the Speaker for so long without learning SOMETHING of value.
The beautiful wizardess smiled as she blasted the old wretch to oblivion. At last, she was free of him.
Neske turned to the two men who stood by. "The Speaker is no more," she exclaimed. "I lead this cell now." The two remaining cultists went to their knees, proclaiming their new loyalty. The wizardess was pleased. She slapped one end of Sagor's wand against the palm of her hand. "Arise," she commanded. "You are to search these tunnels. Make sure there are none left alive. Check every corpse, human or orc. If they breathe, I want you to finish them. Then I want you to go back to the entrance of the tunnels, and await me there." The men nodded and rose to their feet.
One of the soldiers dared to speak. "When will you return, mistress?" he asked.
Neske regarded the man icily. "Oh, don't worry," she said. "I shan't be long. I have some unfinished business with the ones who brought this upon us." With that, she cast a spell, and vanished from sight.
***
"Hrm," Shalea wondered aloud. "I wonder what this does?"
They heard the sound of stone grating against stone. Shalea's face became very pale.
"Look out," yelled Drannamon. But his warning came too late. A great section of the floor rose up, pivoting into the air. Bunker, Jhenta and Andryl stood atop it, and all three struggled to maintain their balance. The others watched helplessly as the trap was sprung, and their three companions were pitched downward into a chute. The floor slid firmly back into place.
***
"I'm going to kill Shalea when we get out of here," said Andryl. It was dark.
"Where are we?" asked Jhenta.
"I wish I knew," answered Andryl. She rubbed her bottom. They had landed hard. "Have you got a torch?"
"I used to," answered the young priestess. "But I lost it somewhere. Sorry."
"I've got a spare in me pack," growled Bunker. "Lemme see if I can get 'er lit."
The torch flamed, and Bunker handed it to Jhenta. "Try not to lose this one," he grinned.
The passage they found themselves in was wide enough for Bunker and Andryl to walk side-by-side. They held their weapons ready. Jhenta followed close behind with the torch in one hand and her staff in the other. They came upon a small alcove on the left side. It was barely larger than a niche. Andryl paused to examine it.
"Might be a secret passage," she guessed, glancing over at Bunker.
The dwarf nodded. "That it might, lass. But then again, it might not."
"You don't want to find out?"
"Not now," he answered. "I'd as soon we travel onwards. Ye most like cannot see it, but my dwarf sense tells me this hallway's slopin' upwards."
Jhenta raised her eyebrows. "Upwards," she asked. "Do you think this might be the way out?"
The dwarf looked back at her and shrugged. "I dunno, lass," he said, "but there's only one way ta find out."
The passage did indeed slope upwards, but not steeply. Andryl and Jhenta could even feel the slight rise in elevation. Jhenta did not believe it until she paused to look back over her shoulder. That gave her a measure of hope. But continuing on, they found that the passage did not go much farther. It came to an end in a little room. Bunker held a finger to his lips for quiet, and gestured for Jhenta to come forward a little with the torch.
Cautiously, Andryl stuck her head inside the door and looked around. Seeing nothing, she jabbed upwards with her spear, seeking for an ambusher who might have been hiding overhead. She did not expect to find anything lurking up there, but if the innkeeper's daughter had learned anything, she had learned caution. Andryl's eyes suddenly widened in alarm. "Uhm, Bunker," she said. The tip of her spear encountered not stone, but something yielding, fleshy, and very much alive.
Two huge, shadowy figures leapt down from their hiding place above the door and attacked. Andryl dropped back a step to give herself room to wield her spear, bumping into Jhenta. The priestess screeched in surprise, and dropped her quarterstaff without even realizing it. She nearly dropped their torch as well. Bunker saw only two humanoids drop down in front of him. Acting on instinct, he immediately lashed out with a great swing of his double-bladed axe. "Look out," he called. The dwarf recognized the monsters as yet another terror of the Underdark. "Chokers!"
Chokers were humanoids, but neither Andryl or Jhenta had ever seen anything like them. Even Bunker wasn't absolutely certain these were chokers, but he suspected. They were half the size of a man, but their legs and arms were very long, out of all proportion to their torsoes. They had grey skin, and snarled to reveal rows of wickedly sharp teeth.
Hissing, one tried to wrap its hands around Bunker's neck. He swung his axe upward, severing one of the arms. The creature held on with the other. The other monster tried the same sort of attack on Andryl. She thrust her spear with all her strength, wounding it, but the thing's arms were longer than her spear. It kept its grip on her neck, slowly tightening. Then, a third creature appeared beyond the doorway.
***
Jhenta turned and fled, clutching Chauntea's holy symbol for comfort. The priestess had lost her quarterstaff somewhere when she dropped it out of sheer fright. "Please, please, please," she intoned, begging her goddess to save her- and the others, too. She still had their torch, so as Jhenta fled, so did the light. Bunker, being a dwarf, was not hampered by darkness, but Andryl found herself unable to see.
Jhenta ducked into the narrow stone alcove they had passed earlier, and tried to catch her breath. She could still hear the sounds of her friends fighting off the three grey monsters. "Chauntea, give me strength, and protect Bunker and Andryl from those horrible monsters," she prayed. Then, a thought occurred to her, and she was ashamed. "I cannot leave them just to die like that. I must go back and help them," she thought. "But what can I do?" Jhenta Sulpir swayed and nearly fainted. She leaned against the stone wall for support.
She leaned against a hidden mechanism. To her horror and surprise, the back wall of the little stone alcove that was her hiding place slid upward, and the young priestess stumbled backwards into a hidden room. "What have I done," she asked aloud. She spun around to see what she had uncovered. Before her was a circular chamber, lit with an eerie greenish glow. The light came from a series of strange symbols, apparently painted on the walls. The glowing letters were at waist height, and extended completely around the room. But her attention was immediately drawn, not to the glowing runes, but to the middle of the room. There stood a massive stone altar, or perhaps it was a sarcophogas. Atop it perched a cockatrice- the most horrific beast Jhenta had ever seen.
It was not quite as big as she was, and it just looked unnatural. It was like a grotesque melding of bird and dog and bat. Its feathers were sparse, large and black. It had claws the size of meat-hooks, a reddish beak like a parrot's and a comb not unlike a rooster's. When Jhenta entered, the creature stirred. It swiveled its ugly head to face her, and let out a croaking, bird-like squawk. The priestess wanted to turn and flee, but she found herself paralyzed with fear. It hopped down from its perch. Jhenta screamed as the cockatrice came towards her. The monster tilted its head and looked at her with curiosity in its tiny black eyes.
Jhenta Sulpir thought for a moment that she would live. Then it leapt at her.
***
Bunker hewed his opponent in two, but the newcomer came forward to take its place. The dwarven warrior shrugged off the severed hands from his neck. The third choker was now reaching out for him with its arms. He cursed when he heard Jhenta running away. Bunker looked over at Andryl through the corner of his eye. The girl was nearly defenseless without the light from their torch. He saw that she was in dire straits.
Andryl cried out in pain as her opponent latched on to her shoulder and bit down hard. The girl fell to the ground, bleeding. The choker loomed over her, ready to snap her neck. The dwarf had sworn an oath to defend the innkeeper's daughters or die trying. Summoning all his strength, Bunker leapt to Andryl's aid. "For Moradin and the dwarves," he shouted in the tongue of his people. Heedless of his own defense, Bunker attacked and with his axe cut the head from the creature. In doing so, Bunker had left himself open. The last remaining monster grabbed the dwarf from behind and pulled him in. Bunker struggled and cursed and spat, but could not break free of the thing's encircling grip.
Andryl rolled helplessly on the ground- wounded, blind and unable to help. She thought for a moment she heard a scream, perhaps it was Jhenta. But Andryl had no time for that now. Bravely, the girl struggled to her feet. Unable to find her spear in the dark, she drew the shortsword Drannamon had loaned her. She could see nothing, but she could hear Bunker struggling in death. His breath came in ragged gasps. Andryl heard bones cracking as the choker tightened its grip on the dwarf.
The innkeeper's daughter began to weep. Bunker had saved her life, but now his own was in danger. She flailed about with her sword now, desperate. The choker retreated out of range, still holding on to its prey. The monster could see where she could not. Andryl cursed aloud, and cried. "Come here you monster! Where are you, Bunker? I am coming! Damn you, Jhenta, come back with that light! I cannot save Bunker without the light!"
Whether it was pure luck, or some spurious whim of the gods, Andryl found the choker that was holding Bunker. She went into a furious rage, slashing and stabbing. She rolled Bunker's body out of the way, and hacked at the last creature until it stopped twitching.
The room was dark and silent. She let her sword fall to the stones with a clang. The young lady warrior fumbled about on hands and knees, ignoring her own wound. In the darkness, she felt her way through the blood until she found Bunker. Praying that her friend was still breathing, she groped beneath his armor searching for a pulse.
Andryl breathed a huge sigh of relief, and sat back on her haunches, sobbing. The dwarf was still alive!
The cockatrice found them like that in the dark.
***
"Follow me, quickly," ordered Aendar. The young nobleman led them down the west passageway, past several closed doors without even pausing to look. He halted abruptly at the third door, though they had not yet reached the end of the hall. It was a large door, made of wood plated in bronze, covered in runes and glyphs. "In here," he said, gripping the large handle and pushing. The ancient hinges creaked, then the door swung open and they entered the room.
Carine looked over at Aendar, her eyes suddenly full of doubt and suspicion. "How did you know to come here?"
"Shut the door, quickly," Aendar said, ignoring her. He and Drannamon leaned against the heavy door and slowly pushed it shut. "We should be safe enough in here, for the time being."
Shalea just stood there, holding a torch, her mouth hanging open. The room was part library, part laboratory, very cluttered and dusty. All they had dreamt of and more seemed to be there- all sorts of valuable and mysterious things, pieces of jewelry which were obviously magical, ancient scrolls of unknown meaning. This looked to be just such a place as they had hoped to find. The walls were lined with books and scrolls from floor to ceiling. Tables about the chamber were piled with the ancient devices of the archmage Maskyr. The staff of an archmage was leaned against a cloak rack. An incredibly ancient tome, covered in dust, sat open on a pedestal. A large globe of dark crystal was in one corner of the room, next to an empty cauldron. There was all manner of eldritch and arcane wisdom just strewn about the room, enough to make the lowliest wizard's apprentice into a mage of great power.
But Carine the innkeeper's daughter saw none of it. She stared directly at the knight. "Aendar," she asked again, "how did you know how to find this place?"
Drannamon and Aendar glanced at one another. "I have a map," the paladin answered.
"Let me see it," Carine insisted. Aendar took a worn parchment from his pouch. He unfolded it and handed it to the wizardess. She stared at it incredulously. "Where did you get this?"
"I am a Knight of Helm. We have many scrolls of ancient lore in the Armory, our great fortress on the edge of the Grey Lands of Thar. It was there that I was given this map."
Carine's face darkened with anger. "You mean to tell us you've had a map all this time? A map showing the way out? And you didn't tell us?"
"Drannamon," asked Shalea, "did you know about this, too?"
The woodsman nodded. Both girls looked indignant.
"He is not to blame, my lady," explained Aendar. "He swore an oath to me. He kept his word, so do not disparage his honor."
"Honor?" Carine could no longer contain her anger. "What do you know of honor? You have been lying to us since we left my father's inn. And you call yourself a paladin. What sort of knight would deceive his companions like that?"
"We all must make hard decisions, especially in troubled times," Aendar tried to explain. "Helm knows this. He is the Lord of Guardians, and so long as his servants carry out their sworn duties, he cares little for mis- steps made along the way. We must defend and protect above all. What king would not lie to save his realm? What priest would not lie to defend his flock? What father would not lie to save his daughter?
"Well," Carine said, "you could have protected us a lot better by showing us the way out of here sooner. We nearly died. We still might die. And what of Andryl and Jhenta and Bunker?"
"You think only of yourselves," Aendar said defensively. It was his turn to grow angry. "I came here not for wealth or adventure or for glory. It is the faraway city of Glister that I am sworn to protect, not the vale of Maskyr's Eye. Nor even the daughters of an old innkeeper. I am the last of my line. I have undertaken a sacred quest- a quest that could be the last hope of a people on the brink of destruction. That is my duty, and I will see it through."
He clenched his fist, and turned to face away from Carine and Shalea. "I did not ask that you join me in my quest. I see now that I should not have allowed our paths to remain together for so long. But that night in the Wizard's Hand, I could see no harm in allowing you people to come with us. I think I was swept up by the enchantment of Inven's tales. Perhaps he bespelled us all. Little did I suspect that Inven would betray us all. But still, that does not release me from my mission."
***
