Chapter 17…Saving the Emissary

The smell of a zombie is not something you're likely to ever forget, Carona thought with a sinking feeling. The frightened look she saw on Neeshka's face no doubt mirrored her own.

"Can you walk?" she asked Issani but he was already scrambling to his feet. He, too, knew what was coming, it seemed. Why were there zombies in an orc stronghold? Why? Carona wondered if Tymora hated her or if she had offended some other god. Maybe she had offended several.

"Hells, hells, hells," Neeshka muttered urgently. "Let's go, let's go, let's get on out of here." Carona had to guide Issani to the gate since in the pitch darkness he could see nothing at all. She had no lamp or torch and no way to cast a mage light. She cursed herself for not thinking of this earlier.

She heard a shuffling and scraping from the unexplored corridor ahead of them. She and Neeshka got on either side of Issani and started hustling him out the way they came. Zombies were slow; they could outpace them if they could keep Issani moving. Surely they could outpace them.

She didn't need to ask Neeshka to hurry. The tiefling's tail twitched in agitation and she yanked at his arm until Carona feared she'd pull the unsteady emissary off his feet. He, too, moved with urgent anxiety but it soon became clear that he was struggling to keep up.

Neeshka's head jerked up and she looked over her shoulder.

"Do you hear that?" she whispered, fear in her voice. The tiefling's senses were keen but after a few breaths, Carona also heard something coming and it didn't sound like humanoid feet. Perhaps it was an animal—a very large animal, with claws that scraped against the rocky floor. It sounded larger than a dog or a wolf. Perhaps it was a bear.

Neeshka met her eyes and jerked her head towards the way out. Carona knew what she was thinking—they could make it out if they left Issani behind.

Issani was a prisoner, and no doubt the orcs wished to keep him alive. Until they finished torturing him, that is. When they got what they wanted, they would kill him. You don't torture people you're planning to ransom later. If she left Issani now, they'd never get another chance to save him. Gods, I hate my life. Wishing she had either more scruples or fewer, Carona shook her head at Neeshka, let go of Issani's arm, and drew her sword.

The exit was a straight shot out. She hadn't come this far to abandon him now. Maybe she could drive off the bear. They could still outrun the zombies. She unsheathed the dagger at her belt.

"Here," she said, and she pressed it into Issani's hand. "It's a punching dagger. Curl your hand around the bar and mind you don't cut yourself. The blade is sharp." It was one of her favorite off-hand weapons although she had doubts how effective it would prove against zombies. And attacking a cave bear with a dagger seemed a rather quick form of suicide. Still, any weapon was better than no weapon.

He fumbled a little with the unfamiliar grip, but with his injured hands, she thought it would be easier for him to hold than one of her other knives. His face was grim. As she had hoped, having a weapon put a little heart into him. She just hoped in his blindness he wouldn't stab her or Neeshka by mistake.

They moved as quickly as they could, Issani stumbling and breathing heavily. Whether this was from fear, pain or exertion, Carona could not say. Every few breaths, Carona looked over her shoulder until at last she saw the creature pursuing them. For a moment, all thoughts stopped—her mind went blank with fear.

"Go," she said to Neeshka, who had stopped when she did. "Get him out of here." She hoped she didn't sound as hopeless as she felt.

The creature loped forward, running on four legs like the cave bear she had expected but it, too, stopped when it caught sight of her and it slowly raised itself to stand on two legs. Like her, he could see in the dark. He was no mindless zombie; he was a ghast. He had been an orc in life and a particularly large one at that. He towered over her. One tusk was broken and most of the dark hair had fallen away from his scalp, giving his head a diseased appearance. He wore a ragged leather tunic and breeches but no boots. Unlike the zombies she had seen in Highcliff, his eyes shone with malevolent intelligence. He carried no weapon but the nails of his hands and feet, which had elongated into fearsome claws.

"I prayed to Gruumsh One-Eye for an end to my ravening hunger," he told her in Common. "And look what my god has sent me—elf blood to slake my thirst. I shall give him a long drink of it in thanks."

She didn't understand his Orcish shout but she assumed it was a call for reinforcements. She slowly backed away as one of the zombies caught up with him. Some of these zombies had been orcs; some had been humans. At this point, the tunnel was wide enough to give them both fighting room and wide enough to allow the zombies to flank her. Not good, not good at all. But behind her the tunnel narrowed and there was no room to maneuver. That would be worse, for the ghast had the reach of her.

The ghast's stench was far stronger than the zombies she had encountered. She hadn't known that was possible. Breathing shallowly through her mouth didn't seem to help and she had the sickening feeling that if she took a deep breath, she would choke on it.

Carona had not brought her throwing knives but she wasn't sure how much good they would do against the walking dead anyway. Before she could lose her nerve, she lunged forward, took a deep slash at the ghast's unprotected thigh then jumped away before he could retaliate. Her blade parted skin and muscle but he showed no pain and there was no blood.

The fight that followed was like something out of a bad dream. She slashed and she hacked but to little effect. The ghast limped from his wounds but they didn't stop him. The undead didn't bleed and they didn't tire—but she did. As her fatigue grew, she began to lose the speed that was her main defense. The ghast and the zombies slowly drove her back through the cavern.

Her right arm was numb from blocking a zombie's club. Her calf was bleeding from bite wounds—one of the zombies she'd downed had tried to chew through her boot. And as she leapt backward to avoid the ghast's claws, she slammed into Issani and they both went down. He gasped in pain. A frantic look told her Neeshka was gone and then the ghast hooked his claws into her tunic and dragged her to her feet. He nuzzled his face along her neck. She thought she would faint from the stench and the sheer horror of the touch of his cold rotting flesh. His mouth opened wide as if to tear at her throat but he merely rubbed his tusks against her skin. He was toying with her.

"How much of your blood would satisfy my god?" he asked. "Perhaps what you have already spilled would be enough. For I find I do not wish to share what remains in your veins, even with Gruumsh." All Carona could do was gag. The broken tusk scratched under her chin hard enough to draw blood. His dry tongue rasped against the cut and he gave a little grunt of satisfaction. His claws dug through her leather tunic and into her skin as he forced her head back further. She knew she should fight but she was absolutely limp with terror.

"Stop!"

The ghast pulled his face away and growled at the interruption.

"Drop her," the deep voice said, as if commanding a dog. A man stood behind them, wearing robes. His face was covered by a metallic mask that looked identical to the one worn by the Shadow Priest in Highcliff Castle. He carried a lighted staff and the zombies cringed away from him as he approached, but whether they feared his light or his person or were simply obeying his command, Carona did not know.

"I spared your prisoner," the ghast said. His eyes were half shut against the light. "This one is mine."

"No. You may not have her until I have questioned her."

"Question her shade, necromancer," the ghast said. "I hunger."

He pulled Carona off her feet to draw her neck to his mouth, pressing her body possessively to his chest. The priest said something in a language Carona didn't recognize. His words slammed against her ears. She could almost see the power of his words written in flashes on the back of her eyeballs; she could feel them like a hand clutching and squeezing her heart. She gasped as she felt a jolt run through her, starting from her chest, from the two shards she kept hidden in her breast pocket. The ghast ripped his claws out of her tunic as he reeled back. He dropped her like a rag doll. The ghast rocked back on his heels and then recovered his balance. He snarled at the priest.

"Go fetch Logram," the priest said.

"Fetch him yourself, human," the ghast said defiantly. "My sire is no slave of yours, to come when you call. Neither am I."

"Do what I say!" The priest raised his staff and Carona braced herself. The ghast growled again then, with an angry shake of his head, dropped to all fours and loped off.

"So, Issani, you have been missed after all," the priest said. Issani, blinking in the light, came to stand by Carona's side. He held her dagger by his thigh, out of sight from the priest. Carona thought that rather clever. She feared she was too tired to stand but when he reached down his hand—his poor broken hand—to help her up, she shook her head and then pushed herself to her feet. It hurt.

"Does that surprise you?" Issani asked. "I thought this Luskan master of yours was counting upon that. What worth would I be to him if I was of no value to my own people?"

"Garius is not my master," the priest said angrily and then he turned his masked face to Carona.

"Who are you and how did you enter this place?" he asked. "Logram has quite a bit of explaining to do, I think. He promised me we would be undisturbed yet there has been problem after problem."

"And you trusted an orc to keep his word?" she asked, stalling, trying to make some sense of this situation. Luskans and orcs, necromancers and trade emissaries—what did it all mean?

"Say what he will, Logram dares not defy my master," the priest said confidently. "He does not care to share his son's fate, I think. But you—what is this power I feel?" He strode towards her, bringing his staff closer to study her face. "Hold her," he said. "Do not harm her."

A couple of zombies came forward, shoving Issani out of the way, and grasped her by the arms. The necromancer leaned his staff against the cavern wall. He put his hands on her shoulders and leaned into her in a move uncomfortably reminiscent of the ghast. Had the ghast actually been Logram's son in life? How bizarre and horrible.

She could feel an icy wave emanating from his face—from his mask. She arched backward, afraid of what would happen if the frigid metal actually touched her.

"What is it?" the priest said, speaking to himself, and his right hand slipped down from Carona's shoulder to her breast. Gods, she thought in a panic, he can feel the shards, just like the bladelings did. His hands moved to the laces of her tunic. His fingers were unnaturally cold. Carona shuddered when they brushed her bare skin.

Then he stopped and his head lifted, looking over her shoulder.

"Ah," he breathed. "I thought I felt the light of 'justice' enter my domain." Carona twisted as much as she could in the iron hold of the zombies. There was indeed a light, a very bright light, casting harsh dancing shadows on the walls, coming from the corridor behind them. And with that light came the sound of running feet. And then there was a shout.

"Hang on, lass!" Khelgar yelled but the Katalmach, with his long-legged stride, was the first to reach them.

"Let her go," Casavir said. The priest had taken up his staff and he used it to gesture at the zombies now crowding into the cavern. They moved forward all at once, with so little coordination that some of them bumped into each other or got shoved against the walls. One zombie fell and was stomped on by his fellows. Carona felt a tiny mad bubble of laughter try to rise from her belly.

"Ah, paladin," the priest said in a mocking, gloating voice. "I was wondering when you would finally come to join your comrades. Do you not recognize the faces here? Do you not know these men and women who followed you into one glorious charge after another and whose blood seeps deep into the very rock about us?"

As Casavir slowly looked around and Carona saw the sickened recognition settle on his face, her touch of hysteria dissipated.

"Tyr, help me," he said. His horror and outrage were plain to hear. "What have you done? You have defiled the bodies of these people? You have stripped from them the peace of the grave? Even these orcs deserve better than this."

"What have I done?" the priest asked. "Why paladin, that is a question you should ask yourself. I did not lead these people to their deaths. All I did was tend to their broken bodies. What peace can they find, knowing their lives were tossed away in your pitiful attempt to appease your own conscience? What peace can they find, knowing they died so a holy warrior can try to banish the shadow that lies so deep in his own soul? Come now, paladin. My children don't need peace. All they wish for now is revenge, I think. That is the only justice they will know."

Casavir had stood frozen in shocked dismay but with those final words, his face hardened. With a roar, he leapt forward, hammer and shield ready, and the light flared about him as if it was fueled by his fury. The priest slipped back behind the line of his zombies and the Katalmach drove his way through them. The undead cowered away from him. Some dropped to the ground and moved no more when his light struck them.

Khelgar attacked the zombies holding her, who made no move to defend themselves from his blows. They had been ordered to hold her and so they just stood there, holding her, while Khelgar pounded them into jam.

"Watch out," she told him as soon as she was free. "That priest has already sent for the orcs. They know we're here."

"Good!" the dwarf shouted happily. "These zombies won't last long. Doesn't look like yon fierce lad is going to save me any, does it?" He waded into the fight as Elanee and Neeshka reached her. She cast a quick look at Issani. He was still on his feet but looked both weary and confused.

"Are you injured?" Elanee asked. She shook her head quickly.

"The orcs must know how we got in here by now," she said urgently. "We need to get out before we're trapped."

"Naloch remains outside as my eyes," Elanee said. "We are on the far side of the mountain from the main entrance. It will take them awhile to make their way here." She frowned at the way Carona was holding her right arm. "You have been hurt."

"Help Issani first," she said. "We're going to have to move quickly and he's had a hard time of it." She looked over at Neeshka, who was eyeing her anxiously. "Thanks for getting help," she said. "Good thinking. Keep an eye on the emissary, okay?"

"Sure," the tiefling said with a hint of relief, as if she'd expected Carona to be angry. But that would make no sense, Carona thought.

Khelgar was right; the zombies didn't last long against two determined fighters, one of them a holy warrior burning with outrage. Unfortunately, there were more zombies. And behind them, there were ghouls and ghasts although the big one that had gone to bring Logram was still missing. Casavir, his face now calm and almost expressionless, struck again and again with an economy of motion that Carona noted and envied. At last the priest stood alone. Casavir called for him to surrender.

Instead, the priest shouted out the words of a spell. Carona again felt the warning tingle of magic from the shards she carried. She didn't know what he was going to do but she knew it was going to be bad. Maybe he could raise all the fallen dead again. Maybe he could do something even worse.

"Stop him!" she cried. Before he could finish his spell, Khelgar threw his hammer. It struck the priest square in the mask and split it in two. Without a sound, the priest fell down dead. Whether it was from the blow itself or the destruction of the mask, Carona had no idea.

"Ha!" Khelgar said and he ran forward to retrieve his weapon. "That was a lucky stroke. Look at that. There's ice on my hammer."

From deeper in the tunnel, there came a deep laugh. The big ghast came forward and he was not alone. A huge orc strode past him, flanked by at least ten warriors and several archers with crossbows.

"I suppose I should thank you, assassins, for ridding me of that robed nuisance," the huge orc said. That's why the orcs held back so long, Carona thought, but it raised more questions. If the necromancer was an unwanted guest, why was he here at all?

"We are not assassins, Logram," Casavir replied.

"So," Logram said with a humorless grin. "The Katalmach comes before me at last. Why my men fear to face you in battle I do not know."

"You have attacked the people who live here without provocation," Casavir said. "You will not be permitted to continue these attacks."

"And who is going to stop me? You? With your pitiful band of farmers?" He waved his hand towards the broken bodies that littered the cave floor. "You see what has become of those who stand in my way."

"We will continue to stand against you and we will stop you, if it is Tyr's will," Casavir said. Beside Logram, the ghast laughed again. Logram hesitated and for a moment, Carona thought he flinched at the sound. His head jerked and he glared at Casavir.

"All I can take is mine," Logram said. "That is the way things have always been. Your gods have nothing to do with it." He gave a contemptuous snort. "Gruumsh One-Eye is satisfied with the blood I offer him and that is all that matters. Many prayers have I heard on the lips of those I've slain yet their gods did not step in to save them." He smiled and shifted his grip on the war axe he carried. "The humans here are weak and worthless. As are you, Katalmach. You will die now. Nasher's Greycloak forces will soon join you."

"Enough with the talk," Khelgar said impatiently. "Let's get on with the killing."