Author's Note: Kind of a long chapter, but I couldn't find a satisfactory way to break it up. And it is the exiting (I hope) conclusion to Part 3 of the story.
40 – The Flood
"The Lord of Murder shall perish, but in his doom he shall spawn scores of mortal progeny. Chaos will be sown from their passage." –Alaundo the Seer
"Wait Shura! Stop!" For emphases an invisible forearm bumped up against her chest, barring the way. "That hall's brimming with warding glyphs! Painted floor to ceiling with 'em!"
Ashura squinted at the long corridor, not seeing anything. She took her friend's word for it though. They had filed down a winding staircase into a cozy chamber with a desk and a soft, plain rug, where a single guardsman had greeted them with a blade and met a quick end. Down the hallway Ashura caught hints of a more opulent chamber; rugs, padded chairs, sofas and a candelabra hanging over it all.
"The layer of a powerful mage," Xan murmured in a low voice that he barely seemed to be in control of, his eyes wide and scanning the walls. "We should not be here."
Glaring over at the elf, Ashura muttered: "Shouldn't be in a lot of places. But here we are."
Xan said nothing, his eyes shifting to the gems in the hilt of his sword. Ahead of them there was a low fizzling sound as some sort of symbol on the floor glowed briefly and then went out, snuffed by a pinch of alchemical powder.
Ashura finally noticed the rest of the writing now. The color of the chalk had been picked to blend in with the stonework.
She glanced back at Xan. "You're our only mage. You're going to need to counter his spells. Dispel stuff."
Xan shook his head. "So simple. 'Dispel stuff.' You have no idea…"
"Yes it is that simple. He's one man, backed into a corner, and we have a small army." She tilted her head towards the slaves, all armed now and lined up behind Yeslick. Kind of a useless army, since they weren't really trained to fight and could only go two by two down the narrow halls, but The Tome of Leadership would have probably advised against such talk.
There was another sputtering sound as more glyphs burned away, and at the same time a sly, Luskan voice echoed off the walls. It sounded as if it came from everywhere at once, boosted by magic. "You should listen to your simpering friend. Setting foot in my layer is the most foolish thing you have yet done." Then the voice began to chant.
"Lighting!" Imoen shouted over her shoulder. The warning was swiftly followed by a white-hot glow that zipped through the darkness. With sharp crack the bolt raced up the hallway, flashing sparks and bits of sizzling stone flying in its wake as the streak bounded from wall to wall.
Ashura dove to her stomach and hugged the floor, the others scattering behind her; some diving into the nearby side-room while others scrambled back up the stairs. With a crack-crackle that had all the hairs on Ashura's arms standing up the flash zipped by, grunts, gasps and a scream of pain following in its wake.
Springing to her feet as she blinked back spots, Ashura spared a backwards glance. Black smoke was rising in little coils from Faldorn's shoulders and a burnt hole in her hide shirt, and one of the slaves lay sprawled out on the floor behind her. Strangely, the druidess looked more annoyed than anything, and she carefully placed her hands together, fingers bridged, beginning to snarl out some sort of chant. There was a faint shimmer that hung about Faldorn's shoulders; some sort of elemental protection by Ashura's guess.
Turning her head, Ashura raced down the hall. Wards or no, she wasn't waiting for another bolt like that. Chalky script written across the floor caught her eye just before she was on top of it, and she managed to leap over. The ward flared to life nonetheless.
Followed by a bright blue glow, Ashura sprinted and burst into a sitting room, lined with couches and cushions. Five identical versions of Davaeorn stood upon a soft blue carpet in the center, aglow with magical protections, their arms folded over their chests and a smirk on five pairs of lips.
Pain shot through Ashura's left shoulder and she slowed involuntarily. Another jolt struck her back, sparks flying with a sizzling sound, followed swiftly by another that had the back of her arm shaking and singing with pain.
The ward must have unleashed a flurry of arcane bolts. She kept her grip on her swords through it all, head down and legs pumping.
The multiple Davaeorn's had begun to wave their arms and chant again when she reached them, a slash of her sword passing through one and sending it wavering out of existence. A bright, mirror-like surface appeared behind each of the four remaining images, and they stepped backwards through it, vanishing in a burst of light that spiraled down to a pinprick.
Ashura took a deep breath and glanced around. On one side there was a sharply bending hallway, on the other an adjoining room where water gleamed; some sort of large bath-chamber. Ahead of her was another room where she caught a glimpse of a bed. Now where did he go?
The answer came in the form of a bright yellow glow that rushed in from the right-hand hallway. A ball of growling flames! She had just begun to scramble away when the light blinded her and a wave of force and heat threw her off her feet for the second time that day.
Before sight returned there was pain; burning agony from every pore. Crackling filled her ears, her desperate breaths sucking in heat and the stench of burning hair and cloth. She managed to force her pinched eyes open, and -thank whatever gods were watching- caught a glimpse of the doorway to the baths.
With all her strength Ashura pushed her way through and plunged into the shallow water. There was a hiss, and then her ears were under, her face against the cool marble at the bottom of the pool. She came up with a shudder, gagging on a lungful of water followed by a long series of hacking coughs.
At least she wasn't on fire anymore. That was an improvement.
Once the coughing had run its course she fumbled with her belt and found the last of her healing potions there, yanking out the cork and greedily drinking the sickly-sweet liquid down. The raw pain subsided as she tossed the vial away and wobbled out of the shallow pool.
Up ahead the sitting room was a ruin, couches and chairs and carpet all blackened and smoldering. From the halls the ring and groan of clashing steel echoed. Where her friends fighting more guards? What of the mage?
As she stepped towards the source of the noise something strange floated into view: an ornate, square shield next to a whirling flail, followed by a helmet decorated with gilded wings. All three objects hovered close together, suspended in the air and bobbing towards her.
The spiked ball of the flail spun and spun until it became a blur, and Ashura found herself hopping aside as it lashed out at her face. Her swords were up in a guard but she was uncertain where to stab. A testing strike passed through empty air beneath the helmet and had no effect, and the closely whipping flail forced her to duck and weave away.
Reflex had her going through the motions of a duel; side-stance, knees loose, lefthand sword up in a middle guard and right held back in reserve. All fine and good when you're fighting a person, but the lack of body language –and lack of a body!- from her opponent soon threw her off. With a whirl the flail flew higher than she thought it could and when Ashura tried to dodge she misjudged the direction of the spinning chain.
Heavy steel smashed into the side of her helmet, a little blood trickling down her cheek where the spike had scratched as she hobbled backwards, light-headed and trying to keep her feet.
She backed away from another swing, the flat square shield quickly turning in the air; vertical to horizontal in an instant. It flashed forward and rammed into her stomach, crushing the breath from her lungs and sending her retreating a few more stumbling steps, knocking a barrel over as she went.
Eye of Talos! Did this thing even follow the same rules a human opponent would? Or was she just fighting floating objects that could twist and lash whichever way they pleased?
Not an opponent at all. Just objects.
Another step back and Ashura let go of her lefthand sword, the blade falling to the floor with a clank. When the flail came whirling in again she lunged towards it, turning the left side of her body and grunting when the chain stung her hand and the spiked ball grazed her bicep. She grasped the chain and managed to get it tangled around her arm, pressing forward to grab at the haft of the flail.
With quick tugs and terrible strength the constructed struggled to pull its weapon from her as she pushed herself in past the shield. Ashura held on, raising her right hand and slamming the pommel of her sword down against the floating helmet.
The helmet buckled and warbled in the air with the first strike. The shield slammed against Ashura's back in an awkward swipe that she ignored, and there was a noticeable dent with the second blow. The next strike deepened the dent, and the fourth knocked one of the wings from the helmet. Again and again she hammered down with the pommel, her other arm shaking as she tried to keep the flail-haft from pulling away, the force threatening to rip her arm from its socket.
Another bash and the battered helmet trembled in the air, then the supernatural strength Ashura had felt tugging at her arm and slamming against her back simple vanished and the objects all fell, limp and graceless to the floor, the chain uncoiling from her arm and the shield clattering.
A few desperate breaths stolen, then Ashura turned around and bent to retrieve her second sword, the sounds of battle still ringing through the halls. When she stood something golden and familiar caught her eyes, glittering in the lamplight.
The frantic struggle with the construct had taken her into an alcove, where two wide stone steps led up from the hard-packed dirt to a shrine of sorts. Granite carved in the shape of upturned talons rose from each side of the dais, gripping stone bowls stained a rusty brown. Between the talons, at the center of the shrine, stood an ornate golden bowl upon a slender pillar, full of pristine water.
Looming over it all was a great stone disk, a symbol engraved upon its surface in gold that shone bright as the fires of Gehenna. A leering, golden skull, something about it giving the impression that it was grinning at an ancient joke. And around the skull: a halo of tears.
For what seemed like an eternity Ashura found herself staring, horrified and fascinated, into the empty eye-sockets of the thing. Just a bit of gold and cold dead stone, but it felt for all the world like something was staring back.
A shadow moved and Ashura whirled, suddenly remembering the battle. There stood Davaeron, cloaked in magic and grinning ear to ear, through at least there was only one of him now. His hand flew into the air just before she charged him, palm open as he chanted.
A bright burst and something heavy and wet struck Ashura in the chest, feet leaving the floor as she flew backwards. With a bone-jarring jolt she struck the stone disk and stayed there, something tight and sticky constricting against her arms and torso. Her feet scraped against the floor, kicking. Soon as she had breath again she twisted her body, pulling at the clinging webs.
"Perfect that I find you here," Davaeorn said with a grin. "My master will be pleased when he learns your blood spilled upon that symbol. A fitting sacrifice." He took a step closer, glancing back as the commotion in the chamber grew. A wave of his hand and a few resonant words conjured rolling flames that filled the hallway behind him, churning and crackling from floor to ceiling.
"Don't even know…" Ashura snarled as she pulled and struggled with the strands that where biting into her arms, "…who your…fucking master is! Or what that symbol means!"
Davaeorn's eyes actually widened in surprise, a look that quickly turned to mirth. "My master? Your brother of course. You don't know?" A chuckle, and then another. Soon he was shaking his head and laughing hard. "I thought since you sought me out… Haha! But you have that clueless look in your eyes. How rich!" Another burst of laughter.
"The ward of Gorion Adrian." He kept shaking his head. "Raised in the repository of all of Faerun's knowledge, mundane and secret. Raised in a citadel built around Aluendo's prophesies, and you don't even know what this symbol represents? You don't even know what you are?"
"Well bloody enlighten me!" Ashura shouted. A sharp tug of one arm and she felt the webbing give just a little.
"You had plenty of time to enlighten yourself in the Great Library. Though it seems somehow you turned out an oaf instead of a scholar. Bad parenting or bad parents, I wonder?" He took a step closer. "Well, I suppose I-" Davaeorn paused and frowned, glancing back at the wall of flames. It had begun to hiss and sputter.
His face hardened and he shook his head. "Best to end this quickly."
Ashura had never ceased struggling, but now she took a deep breath and doubled the effort, every muscle flexing and one arm twisting after the other as she pushing at the sticky strands, wriggling her hips where they were bound to the stone. It was not ending like this! Not until she had some bloody answers!
The Luskan mage began to hum, index finger circling as he intoned his spell, eyes narrowed upon her. A long incantation, and though Ashura knew little of magic she figured that long meant powerful. Meant deadly. With a snarl and a yank Ashura felt the strand against her right wrist snap, her sword arm jerking free.
With a simple poof the wall of flames fluttered to the ceiling and vanished. The roar of the fire that had filled the alcove was suddenly gone, replaced by an eerie silence. Less than a heartbeat later the silence broke with a resonant trill loud enough to wake the dead. Davaeorn's hands clapped to his ears as he winced and bent forward.
The source of the sound-burst appeared, racing down the hall with his rapier pointed forward. Davaeorn spun around and raised a fingertip, aiming straight at Garrick as the bard bounded towards him. A quickly barked spell and sizzling light gathered at the tip of the mage's finger. With the final word he lashed out, the dim chamber lit by a blue-white flash.
Ashura felt the webbing at her left wrist rip.
As the flash faded Garrick slipped past with supernatural precision, a little white smoke trailing from his shoulder as he lunged and stabbed. There was a burst of light and a pained gasp when the rapier bit through magical protections and the mage stumbled backwards, clutching at his wounded chest.
Two wobbling steps and Davaeorn was close enough for Ashura to run him through the back with both swords, letting out a shout to rival Garrick's deafening spell as she lifted the mage briefly off his feet, fully skewered. A twist of both blades, then she flung him, face-first and unmoving, to the floor.
Panting hard, Ashura leaned back against the stone disk, her backside still stuck to the symbol and her toes awkwardly brushing the dais. She gave the Luskan mage a weary look, but he didn't seem to be moving. Eventually her eyes went up to Garrick as she pulled at the strands of the web.
The bard moved in to help her and soon she was standing fully. He gave her a weary smile, still struggling for breath. "Wow. Did I actually uh…rescue you for once?"
Ashura snorted, peeling a rope off and grumbling as she tried and failed to shake it from her hands. "Not the first time. Remember that hobgoblin that was trying to strangle me, back on the caravan trail?"
"Bah. You would have bludgeoned him to death with that piece of wood anyway."
"Heh, maybe." Ashura shrugged, smiling. "Still. I think Captain Kagain picked well when he made us partners." She let out a relieved laugh, squeezed his shoulder and managed to take a few steps forward, still covered in webbing but free enough. They both found themselves leaning against each other, trying to keep steady.
With a glance backwards Ashura asked: "Know what that symbol represents? The skull in the ring of droplets?"
"Oh yeah. That's the holy symbol of Bhaal. The Lord of Murder. The old death-god who got destroyed during the Time of Troubles." He frowned. "A little odd to keep a shrine to a dead god."
Ashura's body stiffened and she turned, looking sharply at the skull and its halo. The symbol that had been stamped on the chest of her father's killer. The symbol that had been haunting her dreams ever since that night. Dreams that had come along with newfound and unexplained powers.
"My master? Your brother of course."
"We are all of us children of Death. And I will be his favored."
"Of course there's that prophesy," Garrick was saying. "About Bhaal foreseeing his death and spawning countless children before that to spread his power out in preparation. I think that's how it goes at least."
"'The Lord of Murder shall perish, but in his doom he shall spawn scores of mortal progeny. Chaos shall be sown from their passage,'" Ashura recited. She shook her head a bit, as if that could shake the notion out. But it lingered.
"Well shit," she muttered. "That explains some things." She glanced down at her empty hand, where she knew the ghostfire could come up if she called it.
Garrick gave her a puzzled look.
"The chanters recited that prophesy a lot," Ashura explained. "Back in Candlekeep." She whirled away from the altar and stepped over to Davaeron's corpse. "This guy has the key to open the seals, right?"
"I saw no secret passages when I was here," Kivan muttered.
"Well of course not," Viconia replied with a roll of her eyes, fingertips searching the stonework. "If any fool could spot them they would not be secret."
"And why would you when Coran and I failed?"
"I know quite a bit of dwarven stonework," she explained.
"Hm?"
"Often times I dealt with the durgar for house DaVir. And after that there were some…most unpleasant encounters with dwarven clans, in my exile." A stone shifted beneath her fingers, and when she pressed harder it sank into the wall. There was a grinding sound as a larger stone nearby slipped in a bit and then rolled away.
As the passage yawned open a woman in filthy leather armor stumbled out. One unsteady step and she tumbled backwards, her back and helmet smacking against the floor as she let out a subdued growl. The hilt and jagged blade of a broken sword was clutched feebly in her right hand, and with her left hand she gripped her bicep. Her arm was twisted unnaturally, bruised and bloody.
Kivan blinked as he stared down at the woman, recognizing the sharp beak of a nose and blonde hair. Shar-Teel's eyes opened, damp and unfocused, though perhaps there was some recognition, because her first words to Kivan were: "Oh…you?"
Before he could think to say anything there was a roar from the open passage and something massive pushed its way through, righting itself to tower over the three of them; eight feet tall, bald, armored, covered in bloody gouges, furious and very familiar.
Kivan found himself taking an involuntary step back as Tazok reared up, and by then Shar-Teel had rolled over and found her feet, pitching forward and running as fast as she could for the other side of the room as her broken sword clattering to the floor behind her. Kivan raised his halberd just as the ogre shoved his way past him and Viconia without a glance, hefting his greatsword and bearing down on Shar-Teel and Shar-Teel alone.
"RASHELT!" he bellowed as his stomps became a full charge, and in an instant the ogre and the fleeing woman disappeared down the far passageway.
Shaking his head, Kivan gripped his weapon, glancing at the secret passage. Where the others down there? What was-
Viconia shot him a scowl. "Your chance for vengeance just flew by you, did it not? Why hesitate?"
Narrowing his eyes at her, Kivan nodded and whirled. He had nearly passed beneath the doorway that led out of the storage room when he realized that he had shown the drow his back, and for a good twelve paces at least. He slowed and gave her a backwards glance, but Viconia was there at his heel, hands empty and eyes ahead.
Turning his head, Kivan followed the sounds of the roaring ogre through the hall and then up a flight of stairs that led to the mining tunnels. Trust is for the foolish, but perhaps I have misjudged her.
"I don't…have time to…bleed out," Shar-Teel growled to herself as she stumbled through the darkness. No weapons, several broken ribs, a broken arm and a long gash across the chest. Not exactly how she pictured her greatest duel ending. Her head swam and she staggered against the cavern wall, the stone the only thing keeping her up.
"Fucking abyss," she muttered to herself, fighting for breath. She was made for quick, decisive fights. In the end the big, indestructible ogre had simply worn her down. Perhaps she'd at least lost him in-
A meaty hand shot out of the darkness and latched around her neck, slamming the back of her head against the wall. She tasted blood where she had bitten her tongue, and there was a tickling against her belly; the cold steel of Tazok's sword pressing there and ready to skewer her. The broad, flat face of the Bandit King swam into view and Shar-Teel gave him a scowl. "Be done with it then," she managed through bloody teeth.
For what seemed like ages the narrow, gleaming eyes of the ogre just glared at her as he held her tattered body against the rock. Then, ever so slightly, he shook his head. The steel slid away and the greatsword slammed and stuck into the earth.
"Not letting you off quick and easy," Tazok growled. "You've caused me far too much trouble." His lips quivered and his tusks gleamed. "You'll be screaming before the end. I promise."
She just glared, her lips twitching in a hard, pained scowl, as the ogre reached down for his belt. She would not give him the satisfaction of seeing fear. Nor would she let out a scream, if she could help it.
"No." A new voice. Male. Cold and sharp.
The word was accompanied by a silver flash and a shower of hot blood that forced Shar-Teel to close her eyes and turn her face. The grip on her neck loosened, and when she blinked the blood back from her eyes she realized that the ogre's hand was barely hanging on. It slipped down and fell to the floor before her, unattached at the wrist.
Tazok reeled back, gripping at the stump and howling at the ceiling.
Kivan's voice was barely audible beneath the scream. "You're never doing what you did to Deheriana ever again, monster," the ranger growled, cold and firm; bloody halberd in hand. He raised the axe for another slash, but before he could the ogre sent up a wild kick, his toe striking the elf in the stomach and sending him flying back.
Reaching frantically for his belt with his blood-soaked right hand, Tazok tore a blue potion bottle out, popping the cork free with his thumb before showering half the liquid onto his bleeding stump and gulping down the rest. The gushing and pulsing stopped, and as Kivan returned to his feet the ogre managed to grab the hilt of his greatsword and lift it one-handed.
A wild swing of the blade forced Kivan to block, splinters flying from the shaft of his halberd. The elf danced away from a second slash, his axeblade ringing against the greatsword with the next blow. With a snarl Kivan matched the ogre's strength, the guard at the top of his halberd deflecting slash after slash.
"Demogorgon's four shaggy balls!" Shar-Teel breathlessly swore as Viconia knelt down beside her and began to chant a healing prayer. Was there anything that could kill that damn ogre?
A click and a metallic whirr, and Yeslick's metal seal slipped away and vanished into the walls. The moment it was gone Ashura marched through, taking the steps up to the next level three at a time. Garrick and Faldorn followed on her heels, eyes shifting, crossbow and club ready. As they started down the tunnel there was a sound of scuffing feet behind, and a glance back showed Yeslick and Imoen hurrying to catch up, legs pumping away and five women in threadbare dresses trailing behind them.
"That's all of 'em from the servant's quarters," Imoen said, pointing to the slaves with a jab of her thumb. Rill and his little army had taken the pulley-lift ahead of them, accompanied by Coran, Xan and Eldoth. They would be waiting on the other side of the last seal, which Ashura marched towards now, crossing the great chamber where the mining tracks intersected.
Nervous miners stood at the edges of the cave, picks brandished like weapons and no one working at the ore anymore. There was no sign of guards or overseers, and Ashura guessed that the few that had been left up here during all the fighting below had gotten a pick through the skull for their troubles.
She raced to the far tunnel and opened the last seal, Rill and the rest stepping through as soon as it parted. "We'll evacuate our brothers," the old, gaunt servant said as he passed, shouldering his spear. "Give us a little time, and then see what you can do about that last seal eh?"
Ashura nodded. She was less reluctant about that plan now, since they had pillaged Davaeorn's chamber pretty thoroughly and taken his apprentice prisoner, bound and gagged and following Xan to the surface. Hopefully he would have answers, and once the last of the Black Talons were floating in watery graves it would be safe to sort things out.
At the broad intersection where the mining rails converged they gathered once again, the miners filing past towards the shaft to the surface. Yeslick pointed a stubby finger down one of the passageways. "The seal I built to keep the great river out should be up there."
"How exactly are we going to open it and not…you know, drown?" Imoen asked.
"That be a pickle," Yeslick observed. "Figure the heartless sods always intended for a slave to open it, if they ever wanted to cover this place up."
"I'll do it," Faldorn volunteered in her soft, even voice. Ashura glanced at her. "If I must sacrifice myself to bring an end to this fortress and the trespassers I shall." She inclined her head. "I do have one transformation left in me, as well."
Imoen quirked an eyebrow. "Going to turn into a fish?"
Faldorn nodded humorlessly.
"I suppose that could work," Ashura said, handing the key over to the druidess. She glanced at Yeslick and Imoen, and the five servant-women who had been following them, a bit lost and bewildered. "Alright, help this lot evacuate. Faldorn, Garrick and I will go to the seal, kill anyone who's guarding it and finish things up." Ashura and Imoen gave each other a brief 'Good luck,' and then she turned and headed for the tunnel Yeslick had pointed out.
Time to make a right proper mess of things. Hopefully Talos will be proud. Though, Ashura found herself wondering as she marched through the narrow cave: was there even a point in having a patron god if she really was what she suspected? Like or not, perhaps she had been serving Father Death this whole time.
The great demonic bat screamed as it unfurled its wings in the darkness and swept through the tunnel, but the scream went up in pitch and the graceful flutter turned to frantic buffeting when Tazok's blade collided with its skull. In the same instant he fended off a blow from Kivan's axe, the blade bouncing off the steel bracer at the ogre's left stump. Tazok had made good use of that bit of armor since he lost his hand, using it almost like a shield and moving faster than he had any right to.
"Jinat iblith!" Viconia swore as her summoned bat dissolved into wisps of darkness. She threw what appeared to be her last chakram before backing away with a frustrated hiss. The disk struck a steel plate and flew away uselessly, though it may not have done any more good if it had struck flesh. There were already three disks imbedded in Tazok's back, along with the arrows and crossbow bolts, and he hardly seemed to pay attention to them. Between his armor and his elephant-like hide such weapons appeared to be useless.
Tazok noticed the attack at least, and he swung his body suddenly and sent Viconia skittering back with a swipe of his blade.
Her throwing weapons spent, Viconia threw her hands out and invoked her goddess. There was a burst of impenetrably blackness all around her, a reverse-light that filled the corridor she had backed into. Tazok took one swing at the dark cloud before turning to swat Kivan's halberd aside.
They exchanged a few more blows, axeblade and sword scraping and singing, each clash sending jolts of pain through Kivan's arms. There was no sign of the drow from the cloud of darkness. No doubt she had retreated.
Kivan didn't blame her. It seemed there was nothing she could do against this unstoppable brute. The warrior-woman was nowhere in sight as well, but he didn't blame her either. Last he had seen she was injured and had no weapons.
Now it was just him and the great hulking beast from his nightmares, matching each other blow for blow. The moment Kivan had prayed to the Black Archer for, though hardly as satisfying as he had hoped. He could barely match the ogre's speed and strength, and he was sure that was only because his foe was short a hand.
The look in the ogre's eyes sharpened as his blade pressed against the haft of the halberd, strength overpowering Kivan and forcing him to disengage and dance back. "I recognize those tattoos," Tazok muttered. "Didn't I kill you once?"
"You did," Kivan growled.
"Ha!" A pained grin grew on the ogre's face. "Just so you know. Not the first time a revenant's come after me. Chopped the wormy thing in half easy enough." A great swing of his sword sent Kivan hopping backwards. "Of course you're made of flesh and blood." Steel clashed with steel, again and again. "Think I remember now. The one who pulled himself down after we nailed him up?"
"Aye," Kivan snarled. The memories put fresh fury in his swings, but Tazok parried each ringing blow.
The ogre was grinning ear to ear now, enjoying the breathless, huffing banter. "Feisty. Good on you." Wooden halberd-haft pushed the blade away, a bit of the sturdy oak splintering off. "Though…" A huff. "Before the escape I remember you being a mewling little thing. Seem to recall a lot of crying while we had our fun with you. Doubly so when we got to that red-haired she-elf. Guess she was yours."
Kivan danced left, swinging in right. He let out a grunt when the ogre caught his axeblade with the hilt of his sword and flung him back.
"Tougher than I thought you were," Tazok gasped, giving the crusted, bloody stump on his own left arm a glance. "But not as tough as ME!"
Bristling with arrows, bolts, a dagger and chakrams, bleeding in countless places, his left hand gone, yet still the ogre managed to tilt his body and swing his oversized sword with a sudden burst of speed. Kivan blocked, but the strength of the slash knocked the haft of his halberd aside, splinters flying and the oaken shaft nearly snapping in two. A sudden backswing from Tazok scraped across his midsection, tearing through leather and flesh. There was intense, burning pain and sudden wetness as Kivan stumbled back and slammed against something thick and metallic.
Another great slash and the halberd flew apart with a crack, a gash opening across Kivan's chest. Tazok's blade flashed in for a stab, but the elf managed to slip to the side, barely avoiding being skewered as the greatsword rang against the steel wall. The ogre raised his blade once more, but paused and winced as the sound of a crossbow string and the whistle of a bolt echoed through the cavern.
"More bug bites!" the Bandit King howled, turning on his heel. As he spun he lifted his foot and struck Kivan full in the face with his toes. The kick slammed the back of the elf's head against the metal seal with nearly enough force to break his neck, and for a time his head bobbed, numb and unfocused; the world robbed of sound.
Eventually Kivan's vision cleared and the ring of steel came to his ears, along with Tazok's furious shouts. "Ash!" he bellowed, trading blows with a woman in charred and stained chainmail. She managed to turn his blade aside and lunge with her second sword, opening a wide gouge across the ogre's stomach.
Her next stab came short when Tazok kicked her feet out from under her. The ogre's blade swooped down and struck dirt, his opponent rolling away and leaping back up.
By the Seldarine, that beast can kick! Kivan struggled to catch his breath and sit fully upright, a helpless spectator to the fight.
Ashura ducked under the next great swipe of the ogre's sword, but was caught by a fierce backswing, the blade striking her chest and knocking her back towards the far side of the tunnel. The girl wobbled on unsteady feet, her chainmail torn but free of blood.
Instead of pursuing, Tazok actually stumbled back a bit and leaned on the wall, breathing deep and trying to work up some more fury.
Faldorn had been chanting something, and with a flourish of her oaken club she finished the incantation and pointed at the ogre. There was a scraping sound; a groaning vibration that ran through the stone at Tazok's back and beneath his feet just before the rock leapt to life. Sharpened spikes of stone sprung from the wall and floor, plunging through the backs of Tazok's legs, his shoulders and his back. The ogre arched and howled in agony.
As Tazok's body stiffened and then slumped against the spikes a fierce grin broke across Faldorn's face and she rushed towards the ogre, her warclub shimmering with a golden light as she raised it high.
A sudden burst of motion and Tazok lunged, blood flowing where he pulled himself off the spikes, his right arm lashing forward. The end of the blade caught Faldorn in the torso and her eyes went wide, a pained "Gurk!" leaving her lips as the greatsword sunk deep and blood welled up at the back of her shirt.
She stumbled backwards, off the blade, the club falling from her hand as she clutched her side. When she tumbled forward a gleaming bronze object fell from her other hand, clattering across the ground.
A key, Kivan thought. He felt the cool steel on the wall he had been leaning against and realization hit. This was the plug that held the river back. The one the slave had told them of, when he asked them to drown this cursed place.
Ashura was marching forward now, swords still in hand and a scowl on her face, and behind her Garrick was loading another useless crossbow bolt. With a force of will Kivan pushed himself up and stood.
"Ashura!" he shouted, reaching his hand out. "The key!" She turned towards him, followed his look, and understanding dawned in her eyes.
She did not pause or hesitate. Ramming one sword into its sheath, Ashura dove towards Faldorn's prone body, picking up the tiny key while Tazok wriggled and pushed himself fully off the spikes a few paces away. She turned towards Kivan, their eyes met, and she tossed the piece of bronze.
If Kivan had not been in so much pain he may have smiled. He had always liked the girl. All business, and ready to do what must be done without hesitation, even if that meant reckless action. He snatched the key from the air, and as he did Tazok pulled himself off the last spike and stomped forward.
The ogre was no fool. He had seen Kivan make the catch, and was now running straight towards him, sword forward and readying for a lunge.
Good! Come closer you bastard. This was exactly what Kivan had prayed to Shevarash for. And though he had doubted for a time, the Black Archer had answered.
An answer to the prayer that had been in his heart for years, like or not. A prayer that had lost its appeal.
In that moment Kivan realized that he did not wish to die. Did not wish to leave the poor, sad-eyed teu to stew in his own misery and doubt alone. He did not wish to part with the sunny girl with the auburn hair. He did not wish to never quietly walk the forest paths with the carefree, grinning or again. And perhaps with time even he and the drow could have been friends.
If only his prayers and his quest had not taken him down this path. But here he was, and Kivan did not hesitate to slam the key into the hole at the center of the seal. Businesslike. You cannot pause, when it comes time to do what must be done.
Kivan barely felt the greatsword ramming through his stomach. His other hand was busy lifting the axeblade of the broken halberd, gripping hard as he slammed it down and dug deep into Tazok's arm.
Good. We're bound now. There's no escape. The ogre's face was right in front of his, froth on his lips as he mindlessly howled.
A twist of the key, and with dwarven-engineered speed and precision the seal curled away, a trickle hitting Kivan's shoulder that instantly became a torrent. He gripped the axeblade hard and held on tight as the gate opened fully and countless tons of cold, raging water struck him and Tazok both.
As the thunderous sound of the flood echoed from the cavern walls, Ashura and Garrick ran for their lives. They were ten strides from the struts of the wooden mineshaft when water started flowing past their boots. Two more strides and the first wave buffeted the backs of Ashura's legs. Garrick wobbled beside her and she shot a hand out to steady him, dragging the bard the last few steps to the wooden platform.
No time to fidget with the pulleys; they gripped the boards that braced the mineshaft and climbed, white froth and churning silt chasing them up and up. Hand over hand, wet boots slipping against the boards, catching and shoving each other when it looked like one might fall, they climbed and climbed.
The rising tide was soaking Ashura's feet now, and her legs, though the top was in sight. Five more feet and they could grasp the ledge and climb out.
Ashura's enchanted chainmail coat had saved her life moments ago, when she had taken a full blow from Tazok's sword. Now, as water sloshed all around, it threatened to drag her down. Right beside her Garrick wobbled a bit and his hands flailed, tottering off a beam.
Reaching over, Ashura pressed her arm against his back, steadying and holding on. Her other hand slipped above the ledge, feeling around for something to grab onto.
A hand grasped hers, big and strong and calloused. Ashura gripped with all her strength and the hand pulled, angry grunting coming from the top as the hand's owner strained. The water was almost up to their shoulders when a final tug yanked them high enough to swing arms over the edge and roll up.
Ashura found herself on her back and looking up at Shar-Teel's scowling face, Viconia close behind with her hands still on the warrior's armor where she had been tugging. "Should have…dropped the boy," Shar-Teel panted. "Bloody deadweight."
A chuckle. "Not an option." The water began the bubble up around the edge of the mineshaft, and as it did they turned and fled, running up steps and then out of the building and through the fort.
They did not slow until they were out of the compound and halfway up a grassy hill, panting and turning to watch the low moat that had surrounded the fortress walls grow into a lake. A cluster of people stood nearby, Xan and Yeslick, the surviving slaves and the others. They sat there for a time, silently watching the brown water churn, some of the sharpened logs tumbling over and beginning to float. Along with bodies.
Eventually Xan spoke up, a pained look on his face. "Kivan?" he simply asked.
Ashura shook her head. "He opened the seal. Right in Tazok's face too."
Xan was silent for a moment. "The end he was searching for…I…suppose." His voice cracked as he spoke, and tears rolled down his cheeks. Tears became sobs, wracking the spindly elf uncontrollably, and soon Imoen had her arm around him, her eyes wet as well.
"The druid's gone too," Coran noted, numbness in his voice.
"Yeah," Ashura said. "I think…" She hesitated as she watched something dark parting the waves and moving towards them. A head covered in damp black hair broke the surface and rose, and as she waded to the shore Faldorn tossed her chin back, a few strands still clinging to her face. Her hand was pressed to her side and her hides looked soaked and heavy, but she managed to climb onto the grass and walk unsteadily towards them.
"Wow," Imoen mumbled. As Faldorn neared she shouted: "So turning into a fish really worked?"
The druidess simply gave her a solemn nod.
End of Part Three