The Black Ankh
Duel
of Fates, Cont'd
by Laura Campbell, aka Shadow of Light Dragon
The sun was setting, but I saw it only as a sullen haze through the heavy clouds back to the west. Eastwards, above the swamps and scattered mountains, the sky was dark with yet more storm-clouds. I had not been walking the entire way. Judicious usage of the Blink spell was speeding my progress. If I hurried, I could be into Stonegate and out with the crown before midnight. Then I could pick up Lord British…
Virtues, how it pained me to think his Resurrection was coming second. But this undead call was pulling me like a magnet, like the moons pulled the waters. I had feared that this would affect my mind somewhat, in that I'd start to think more like a liche, but it wasn't happening. Yet, anyway. I could feel the call trying to drown my thoughts, make itself the only thing in my mind, but that I could resist.
I had not taken Mellorin's shoulder scabbard, which forced me to hand-carry Arcadion as I went. I tended towards propping the blade against one shoulder while my hands cradled the hilt around waist-height. As time went on, it surprised me when I realised that I'd actually missed the daemon's sometimes caustic conversation.
"Why are you wasting your power on that storm back there?" Arcadion had asked once, referring to the unnatural rain above the army I'd left behind in the Deep Forest.
"To keep my mind anchored," I'd replied. "To remind me of my friends and my purpose. Now, tell me how Mellorin plans to break free of her aeth'raesh'al."
Her plan had been along the lines that Kra'lysie had speculated on long ago; an attempt to surpass the power contained within the bracer. An undead could theoretically achieve this, given time. A living being, on the other hand, was limited in their capacity to store mana. Mellorin had hoped to get around this by using none other than the Black Sword.
"Within the Ether Gem," Arcadion said, "I can contain and store energy, as you know. As I am used to slay powerful entities, I can absorb a measure of their essence and filter that back to my Master on request. Mellorin doesn't know how much energy she needs, nor do I, but she's been pinpointing those she deems powerful and using me to kill them."
"Richard?" I asked.
"He was certainly one of them. I cannot describe what it felt like to feed off—"
"Then don't," I interrupted sharply. "I suppose she's been targeting all my friends. You mentioned Mariah and Jaana as well."
"This is correct, but she selected them for their relationship to her… I mean you… as much as for what power they might grant her. She used them to defile two of the Shrines. That's the fate in store for all your Companions, Master."
"She might find it hard if she's tied up and in the keeping of those Companions," I said.
"I also stole quite a measure of power from yourself."
"Really?" I quirked a brow at the Shade Blade. "Acradion, restore my powers."
The daemon had no choice. But when he answered my command, the influx of energy almost staggered me. I had to halt until the world stopped swimming and until my thoughts stilled, for my head was briefly filled with voices and memories not my own. A hundred faces played before me in a fraction of a second. A hundred lives.
A thousand deaths.
I shuddered, taking a moment to regain my balance. Had I not been undead, I had the nasty feeling that such an ether surge could have blown my mind out like a candle in high wind. Could Mellorin have even used it?
"You realise you've effectively ruined what she's been working towards with that little stunt," the daemon remarked.
I moved forwards again. "You should tell her, when she recalls you. She might give up if she hears she has to start all over again."
"More likely she'll kill twice as many just to spite you, Master. She has all of your temper and none of your restraint. She likes killing things, too."
I shrugged. "Kra'lysie said there was no guarantee the energy thing would work. It's never been tried." Nevertheless, I made a surreptitious attempt to remove my bracer… which failed.
"Kra'lysie? Ah, your pet dragon."
A troubling thought occurred to me. "She's not the daemon, is..?" No. She'd been the first one I'd seen through my undead eyes, and her appearance hadn't been remotely daemonic. She'd looked like a rainbow.
"No," Arcadion said when I didn't finish my sentence. "She's not a daemon." Then he too was silent.
I had crested a hill. Spread out below me, half-sunk in the marshy ground, were the blackened ruins of what had once been the stronghold of the Shadowlords. Surrounding it, wandering between the weathered remains, was a mass. An army of the undead and the unliving.
Ranks of skeletons, some unadorned, some bearing the remnants of rusted armour and weapons. Ghosts, which passed through the broken walls as though they weren't there at all. Liches, some gathered together in secretive groups, others maintaining a lofty separation from the rest. And there were daemons who looked on as though this were something to see. Here and there I also saw mages; living mages, robed, cowled and silent. Dark mages, I supposed… people whose only difference from a liche was a ritual, as yet unperformed.
Heads and skulls turned in my direction and an expectant hush fell.
The call tugged me onward, down into the ruins. Gripping the Black Sword tightly, I began my descent.
Behind me, the last of the sun's light faded from the sky.They crowded around me. Not so close that I couldn't move, but near enough that I was almost rigid with tension. Glowing eyes and empty sockets watched my progress with avidity. The silence was not complete… there were sounds of movement, naturally. Bone, rusted chain, rotted robe, the noises of the swamp… but whispers, too. Sometimes even what sounded like amused chuckling.
I found myself wishing my friends were with me. Dupre would make some remark or other, Shamino would comment on it, Iolo would roll his eyes…
My feet took me into the ruin, where it looked like the undead had been hard at work. A deep pit had been dug here, by skeletal hands. There was no clear way to climb down, so I simply jumped and used magic to slow my fall. Although the bottom of the pit was big enough for maybe ten people to comfortably stand, no one followed me down. When my feet touched the bottom I could hear jostling overhead as undead strove to get a better view. Of what though? I didn't even know yet.
"So how do you propose to get in?" Arcadion murmured.
I crouched down on the muddy stone. It was black down here, but I didn't need light to see by anymore.
"For a while," I said quietly, scanning the rock for any symbols or clues as to where the entrance was, "I thought the Lifestealer was the key to getting down here. An undead with life, you see. But the answer to that… riddle? 'One with life still at their chest' or something…" I raised one hand to touch the Ankh through my shirt. "I already fulfil that in a much simpler way."
"Maybe not as simply as you think," the daemon replied, but I didn't ask him what he meant. I'd found the gateway.
There was a large rectangle etched into the stone, large enough to enclose me should I choose to lie down within its boundaries. In the very middle was scored a five-pointed star. The pentagram was as wide as my splayed hand, and the water-filled edges shone faintly.
Slowly, unsure if this was how it worked, I lowered my hand from Ankh to pentagram and pressed my palm against the symbol. At once, red light bloomed in the darkness. It seeped from under my hand, and when I removed it I saw it was emanating from the star. A collective sigh came from above me as I stood and backed away, stepping outside the rectangle.
As I did so, the Gate of Stone, and the red light, vanished. In its place was a yawning black passage leading deeper into the earth.
"Well, well…" Arcadion murmured appreciably.
My shoulder blades itching slightly at the thought of all those gazes fixed eagerly on my back, I entered Stonegate.The tunnel was high enough that I could walk without bending over, but narrow. I expected there to be even less light down here than above, but there was a red glow far down the passage. Since there was no way to go but forwards or back, I continued towards it.
"What do you know about the Crown of the Liche King that you haven't already told me?" I asked Arcadion.
"Hmm? Oh, I'm sorry. I was just remembering Stonegate of old. Balinor would have been very put out to see the place so messy… tch…"
"Arcadion!"
The daemon sighed. "Patience, like Cleanliness, is not exactly a Virtue. Or some of your friends would bathe more often… What do you want to hear, Master? The crown, if you put it on, will grant you the ability to manipulate life with magic—something undead normally can't do. Yes, you can do all those useless little healing spells you've missed so much and make people happy."
I rolled my eyes in the darkness.
"I saw that."
"What's the catch, though? Can't any of those other undead just take it off me? Because I'm sure as hell not casting Armageddon."
"Ah, well, there are several catches. Once you wear it, for example, they have no need to take it off you. You see, you are not the only undead who will be bestowed with the crown's powers. It'll affect any undead or unliving nearby, splashing out like ripples in water."
"Wonderful." I reached a small opening into a chamber and squeezed through it. "Why don't I just destroy it, then?"
"If lava didn't do the job, Master, what could?"
The chamber was rock. The domed roof and flat floor were slightly bumpy, but unimpressive. In the middle of the floor, lacking even the customary velvet cushion, was a crown. It was black with the texture of stone, but wasn't blackrock. It didn't have the little 'points' that one normally associated with crowns, but 'blocks' instead, like battlements. In one side of the crown was traced the five-pointed star, from which the red light issued. It was bright enough to illuminate the whole of the small room.
I picked it up, and decided it was heavy enough to warrant looking like stone. A closer inspection revealed two incantations etched on the inside of the crown…
"This is the incantation for Armageddon," I said, frowning. "But I don't know the other one."
A voice that wasn't Arcadion's said: "Popular belief is that it's a… Mass Resurrection spell. Of a sort."
I tightened my hold on the crown and looked around. "Who said that?"
A shining blue ghost appeared with such suddenness that I jumped back and almost took a swipe at it with Arcadion.
"Watch it with that thing! We're not exactly on the best of terms right now."
I stared. "Richard?"
The Lord of Britannia's ghost smiled at me. "Greetings, Elora. Is it time yet?"
"Time..?" I said blankly.
"For my Resurrection."
"Almost. I… know where your body is."
"Thanks to me," Arcadion muttered.
"Aye, well at least thou'rt good for something besides killing people," Richard said to the sword.
"Richard, how did you get here?" I asked, still hardly believing what I was seeing. "And how did you know what you just told me?"
"Ah, well, as to the latter, I've had plenty of time to listen to what's going on around these parts." The king grimaced slightly. "It's not entirely pleasant. But thou wouldst be amazed at how many faces thou might recognise, given the time. I had a nice talk to Horance of Skara Brae, for instance. His company was much more tolerable than most."
"And as to the former?" I prompted.
"I had help," Richard said. He looked to his left. "Thou dost not have to hide."
"I was just choosing my moment," another voice, a woman's, said tartly. "Thou'rt not meant to just pop in and out like an amateur, Richard. A ghost's entrance must be properly dramatic." There was an ethereal sigh, and her ghost wavered into view. "Never mind. I was hoping to make a good first impression on the Avatar, but…"
Richard grinned. "Elora, may I present a very old friend of mine—"
"Old!" the woman's ghost protested.
"Er…" Richard paused. "Actually, I'm quite sure thou'rt older than I am."
"Hmph. Well it's rude to draw attention to a lady's age, thou knowest." The woman bowed to me. "I am called Arthalan. And thou needest not worry about my present state, Avatar. I've been a ghost for a very long time now."
"Nice to meet you," I said. "Any friend of Richard's is a friend of mine."
"Arthalan knew thou wouldst come here sooner or later, Elora," Richard said. His semi-transparent face became serious. "Britannia doth not have much time."
My joy at seeing Richard again faded. "I know. Richard… I'm sorry—"
He interrupted briskly. "Thou hast nothing to apologise for, Elora. We both expected she would kill me."
"I had hoped to return soon enough to prevent it." I made a vague gesture with the crown. "At least I can Resurrect you now."
"Do not be so hasty to wear that thing," Richard warned.
"Arcadion told me that if I wear it, its powers will not be limited to me."
"Any undead or daemons in the area," Arthalan verified. "Horance told us all about it. For so long as thou wearest it, any undead or daemon who gets close enough to thee will be able to use its powers."
"So I just put it on where it's safe, then take it off again," I said. "Where's the problem?"
"Elora," Richard said, looking at me strangely. "Surely thou hast healers capable of Resurrecting me back wherever thou left our friends. Thou dost not have to do this thyself. Certainly not if the risk is something gaining the ability to cast Armageddon on Britannia."
I looked down and sighed. "All right. I'll just keep this somewhere safe, I guess. Do you know if it can be destroyed?"
The two ghosts exchanged a glance and shrugged.
"Hadst thou a choice," Arthalan said, "leaving it sealed down here would have been the best option. But this is not the place for lengthy discussions. Those above will descend after thee once they tire of waiting."
"Where art thou encamped?" Lord British asked me.
"In the Deep Forest, south of the Shrine of Justice," I said. "Oh! And I captured Mellorin. Maybe things will go more our way with—"
"Avatar?" Arcadion began. Then he glowed violet and vanished.
"I better get back," I said grimly. "Find me as soon as you can and we'll get you fixed up." I then looked at Arthalan's ghost and hesitated. She smiled at me cheerfully. "And you… uh… try to keep him out of trouble, please."
Lord British made a face at me as Arthalan sniggered. "Thanks. We'll see thee soon."
I grinned. "I'm glad thou'rt still with us, Richard." Then I touched the aeth'raesh'al…
…and was back at the Shrine of Justice.
Shamino was there, slumped near the pedestal. I called out to him when I saw him and he looked up, grief twisting his face in the night's darkness.
"What's wrong?" I asked, crouching down. He was cradling something in his arms and I tried to see… "Shamino?"
He held it out.
It was Iolo's crossbow.
