Doors of the Dark Page 22

  Damn, that indeed was a fine drinking horn.

  The next moment, the scene changed, and there was a loud creak of distressed wood, and Arron felt the sensation of falling. The blank silver walls of the sphere had become the tan canvas of a tent. He caught a glimpse of a group of shocked men around him before he fell off the end of a table, launching tankards of ale, dice, and the remains of a meal into the air. Ceramic plates loaded with the bones and fat from the carcass of a roasted pig joined the tankards and dice tumbling back down to earth.

  Arron hit the ground, landing heavily on his back. He was drenched with ale and all the rest, as were the astonished men around him, leaping up from their chairs with shocked oaths.

  As he lay on his back, looking up at the ceiling of the tent, something bounced off Arron’s forehead and came to rest on his chest. Ale soaked through his fine clothes, where it seeped around the edges of the leather armor.

  His eyes focused on the object on his chest—a white drinking horn banded in silver. A grin spread across his face. I made it!

  Just then, swords were at his throat as rough-looking men loomed over him.

  Chapter 23

  Nera had been walking for what felt like hours in the direction Sabyl had indicated, when a noise broke the oppressive silence. She stopped and instinctively reached for the hilt of her dagger. Lightslicer’s presence was reassuring in her hand.

  Not able to see far in the fog, she instead focused on her keen hearing. There it was again—the faint tapping sound that had drawn her attention from somewhere up ahead in the mist. She cautiously crept forward, and the tapping became louder. Soon, it sounded as if rocks or twigs were being struck continuously on the stone street, as if some mob of ghastly urchins were playing at troubadours, beating out a rhythm against the cobblestones. She shuddered, pulling her cloak tighter around her chilled body.

  She definitely did not want to encounter whatever ghoulish youth might live in such a cursed place.

  Movement in the mist made her stop and flatten herself against the wall of a ruined building. A pale figure moved through the wisp of fog and disappeared ahead.

  The clattering continued, followed by the sound of an impact, possibly metal on stone. As she moved closer, a cry of pain reached her ears. The sounds of battle were soon unmistakable.

  Malek?

  She dared not hope but jogged forward, careful to make no sound as she moved lightly on the balls of her feet. Soon, the mist parted, and a wall of animated skeletons appeared ahead of her, backs turned. The bones of their feet and elbows made the tapping noises as they jostled for position, trying to force their way through a narrow archway into a walled courtyard beyond. The tapping and clicking became a cacophony up close.

  Nera froze in shock at the sight. The skeletons appeared human, men and women, judging from their size. Their bones were yellowed from age, and some wore tarnished jewelry or scraps of rusted armor. A small skeleton that could only have been a child tried to squeeze through the legs of the adults, but it was prevented as the others kept shuffling side to side as they jostled to get through the gap as if guided by some inept puppet master trying to push them all inside at once. She counted dozens at a quick glance, perhaps fifty or sixty.

  A cry came from inside the courtyard, followed by a bloom of fire that made the skeletons flinch back momentarily. Once the glow died out, they surged forward again in renewed determination to bring to ground their prey.

  Damn it, that’s got to be Malek! I need to get in there to help him.

  Nera looked around but didn’t see an immediate way around, and she didn’t want to draw the attention of the undead.

  After a moment of indecision, she ran down the intersecting street to her left, where the wall encircling the courtyard was lower, about eight feet high. She sheathed her dagger and easily scaled the wall. The fitted stones had been exposed to the elements for too long, and the mortared joints were crumbling, providing ideal hand- and toeholds. She reached the top of the wall and remained in a crouch as she surveyed the scene. A realistic statue of a snarling wild boar stood beside her. Several other animal statues lined the wall at distant intervals.

  Her heart caught in her throat as she spotted Malek down below. Just visible at the edges of the mist, he stood atop the waist-high platform of a stone gazebo in what looked to have once been an elaborate garden. The gazebo’s roof had collapsed long ago, but it was defensible. The skeletons surrounded it but couldn’t seem to figure out how to climb up. The steps on either side provided the only way up, and Malek took turns smashing the skeletons to his left and right with a wooden staff he was holding, with a green crystal atop it.

  She gasped when she saw his face. He looked half-dead himself, as if he had been starving. Weariness was evident on his face, with dark circles under his eyes and streaks of sweat running down his dirty face. The sleeves of his robes were torn, and bloody streaks ran down his forearms. A gash covered in dried blood marred his forehead.

  Nera quickly took stock of the situation. Raised stone ledges where she imagined flowers and bushes had been planted in cascading levels served to funnel the skeletons down the main walkway to the gazebo. If they’d had any intelligence, they could’ve circumvented the raised flowerbeds and surrounded the gazebo. As it was, about three dozen milled inside the garden, packed between the archway and the gazebo. After each one Malek felled, one or two more would take their place, pushing through the archway.

  The first thing she needed to do was prevent more of them from joining the fray.

  She ran atop the wall to the archway above the entrance. Fortunately, a rusted iron gate, bent back on its hinges, served to partially block the entryway, allowing only one skeleton at a time to squeeze through. The mortar was worn away between the large stones directly above the gate. They were held in place by pressing tightly against each other. The archway needed to be collapsed.

  She knelt and shoved at the keystone, carved on its face with the initials HH. The stone barely budged. She drove one of her throwing knives into the gap and gouged at the weakened mortar, digging it free. The stone shifted slightly.

  A quick glance at Malek revealed one of the skeletons had latched onto his boot. The mage was smacking it in the skull with the steel-shod tip of the staff. The skull cracked apart, and the skeleton released its grasp, but two more had gained the stairs in the intervening time.

  Nera grasped a fist-sized chunk of stone broken off one of the blocks and heaved it. Her aim was true, and the stone smacked one of the skeletons in the skull, sending it reeling back to fall off the step and knock down the two beneath it.

  Malek glanced around in puzzlement but quickly focused his attention on his other attacker, which had gained the top of the dais. He sent it off the edge with a solid thrust to the chest.

  Turning her attention back to the archway, Nera dug more mortar free around the keystone. She shoved on it, and it moved another inch but stopped. Hairline cracks ran on the edge of the supporting blocks below it, but it held fast.

  “Come on, damn you!”

  Nera got to her feet and jumped up and down on the top of the keystone. On the third jump, it broke free. The stones supporting the keystone cracked and split, and the heavy keystone came loose, followed by the rest of the archway collapsing. She nimbly danced across the crumbling blocks and gained the other side. Several of the skeletons below had been crushed, and the stones jammed against the gate, effectively blocking the entrance.

  Malek stared in disbelief at the collapsed arch. He appeared not to see her atop the wall.

  “Run, you fool! Over here!” Nera ran and leaped across the gap and raced back along the wall to the point she had climbed up beside the boar statue.

  Malek seemed to snap out of his shock and bashed a skeleton off the side of the platform. He jumped into the brief gap it made, running past it and hopping up into one of the elevated landscape beds. Skeletal hands clutched at his robes, but he broke free, losing a good-sized piece of
cloth to a bony hand. He dropped down on the other side of the bed and ran for the base of the wall.

  “Better not let me down, porker,” she muttered at the boar statue. She quickly took out her rope from one of her pouches and secured it around the base of the statue before dropping it down inside the courtyard.

  Malek tossed his staff up to her, and she lay it down beside her while he gripped the rope and began climbing. The statue held. He climbed slowly, and his arms trembled with fatigue. The skeletons inside the courtyard had found their way around the raised flowerbed and were quickly approaching at a shuffling run. When Malek was near the top, Nera grabbed two fistfuls of his robes and helped drag him up.

  The mage collapsed beside her, gasping for breath. Nera sat beside him, clasping his arm, which was slick with blood and sweat.

  Malek’s eyes were wide as he stared at her. Finally, he caught his breath enough to speak. “Nera? Am I dreaming? How can you be here? Did he teleport you too… No, I sure hope not. You should be safe and sound back in Nexus.” His voice was quiet and rough, as if his throat was parched but full of urgency. His eyes held hers.

  “Stop babbling, mageling,” she snapped, unable to keep a grin off her face. “We need to get you oof—”

  She was cut off as Malek swept her into an embrace. The two of them wobbled for a moment before regaining their balance. She watched the skeletons scratching at the wall below their feet.

  Malek held her tightly, pressing her head against his chest. She clenched him back fiercely, realizing that despite the danger looming below, she didn’t want the moment to end.

  “Gods, Nera, what are you doing here?” He ended the embrace, holding her at arm’s length and studying her face. He frowned at the hole in the middle of her leather jerkin and the scar where Lassiter’s sword had pierced her breast.

  “I came here for you, fool,” she said gently, placing a hand against his clammy cheek and smiling at him. “Let’s find a place to rest up, and we can talk.”

  “Do you have…” His voice failed him, and he tried to clear his throat, obviously parched. “Water,” he finally managed.

  Nera gave him her waterskin. “Don’t drink too much at once. We better make it last. I don’t know when we will be able to find a way out of here.”

  Malek took a small swallow of water, followed by a larger one. “There is no way out of here,” he said bitterly, his voice recovered a bit. “That’s the point of the Pale Lord banishing me here. And now, you’re trapped too.” He looked miserable.

  “You could look a little happier, mageling.” She handed him his staff, automatically trying to appraise the emerald mounted at the top. Her eyebrows rose as she noted it would be worth a princely sum. “You seem to have acquired a staff… quite a nice one, too. And now you’ve got company, and some good company at that, if I do say so myself.” She smiled at him, but her cheer felt forced. Sabyl evidently had a good reason for bringing her here, but Malek’s depression threatened to wear off on her.

  The group of skeletons outside the courtyard had noticed them atop the wall, and they were milling around on both sides. Their bony fingers and feet rattled and scraped against the stone with an aggravating sound that made a chill run down her spine.

  “Come on, let’s find somewhere away from these chattering boneheads.”

  “I’ve been trying to avoid them for days, and they keep trapping me. It’s as if they are funneling me toward something… or someone,” he said ominously.

  Nera forced a smile and patted his cheek. “Well, if sneaking about is called for, it’s your lucky day. Nobody can sneak about better than I.”

  Malek laughed weakly, and she joined in. The momentary mirth felt good for a time. She squeezed his hand and pulled him to his feet.

  Chapter 24

  Their passage through the Deep Roads went by in a blur for Idrimel. She barely paid any mind to Endira and Yosrick as they pursued Waresh. She merely followed numbly. All she could think of was reliving the horror of Athyzon’s murder.

  One moment, she had been speaking to her brother, and the next, he had been cut down, stabbed through the back, the sword exploding out of his chest by the traitorous doppelgänger. In the flash of a blade, their fellowship and quest had been destroyed. First Athyzon, then Nera had perished in the fight with Lassiter, and Waresh had turned on them, only to ultimately flee into the vast darkness.

  All our hopes, dashed in an instant. My dear brother—slain. Perhaps I could’ve saved him had I not fallen into unconsciousness. When I stirred, it was too late. We’ve failed… I’ve failed. The hordes of the Abyss will be unleashed to ravage and destroy my fair Ellorya without Nera, and there’s naught I can do.

  She wanted nothing more than to return home in those darkest moments. Her heart struggled not to despair, but feeling smothered by the pitch blackness of the Deep Roads, she found it difficult to reach out and feel Sol’s grace and comfort.

  “Perhaps when we reach this cursed crossroads, I’ll return home instead,” she whispered to herself.

  Endira glanced back at her questioningly, but Idrimel averted her eyes, not feeling like conversing. She focused on the ground again so she wouldn’t stumble over some hidden obstacle. The elf turned her attention back to the path ahead.

  Idrimel could feel Redeemer bumping gently against her back as she walked, strapped over her shoulder. She meant to see it returned to her family’s manor, where it could be displayed with honor. Already, she dreaded having to break the news of Athyzon’s death to their parents.

  She squinted into the deep darkness but could see nothing beyond a few paces in any direction. Her eyes were not as adept at seeing in the dark as the others’. Yosrick had a gem that glowed a soft amber in the darkness, enabling her to see where she walked. She could’ve cast another light spell but, in the numb haze she found herself in, hadn’t even thought of it until hours later, by which point the trio was getting along adequately.

  Curse this blighted place. Would that I could feel the sun’s warmth on my skin again and bathe in Sol’s radiance.

  She clenched her hand tight, feeling the edges of Athyzon’s holy symbol digging into the supple leather on the inside of her gauntlet. As a militant organization, the paladins had a holy symbol similar to the priesthood’s, the difference being the paladin variation had a pair of crossed swords beneath the flat disc of the sun that comprised hers.

  Her thoughts returned to the moment she had sent her brother home to be with Sol for eternity. Athyzon’s grievous chest wound had soaked his silver armor and white tabard a dark crimson, and his face was rigid with the shock of dying upon that coward’s blade. Gently, she had closed his eyes and folded his arms upon his chest. She had removed Redeemer and some of his gear, including his coin purse, which she figured they might need to pay a toll at the crossroads.

  With Yosrick and Endira watching respectfully, she had performed the Rite of Ascension. The words fell from her lips, heavy with finality, and it had taken all of her willpower to avoid breaking down and sobbing. Once the words were pronounced, she had channeled Sol’s light to bathe Athyzon in the radiance. For those few moments, the Deep Roads had been illuminated with a brilliance never seen before, so bright the trio had been forced to avert their eyes. When the light faded, Athyzon’s body, armor, and clothing had all disappeared, his mortal remains cleansed and purified by the light before being burned away to nothingness as his soul ascended.

  “Athyzon, my dear brother, be at peace beside glorious Sol in the afterlife,” she said.

  Following that declaration, they had been on their way, Endira with a solemn nod and Yosrick with a comforting pat on her back.

  “He is camped perhaps a mile ahead,” Yosrick said quietly, rousing her from her reverie. “How shall we do this?”

  “We try to take him in his sleep if at all possible,” Endira replied. “If not, then I will need to get close enough to incapacitate him. I will need you two to distract him.”

  Idrimel nod
ded her agreement when they looked at her for confirmation.

  “Then ready yourselves, for this may prove a tough battle, depending on how much he resists.” Yosrick loosened up his shoulders before gripping his warhammer.

  “Let him resist. A traitor deserves no mercy,” Idrimel said grimly. The sharp edges of Athyzon’s holy symbol digging into her palm provided some small amount of comfort.

  ***

  Waresh no longer cared if he was caught or not. His shame over his betrayal felt like a millstone around his neck. He couldn’t get the sight of Nera’s final moments out of his mind. That was a heroic way to go—any dwarven warrior would be proud to fall in Reiktir’s service in such a manner. She had fought to the last breath in her quest to help the ones she loved and, unable to accomplish that, avenged her dead brother by seeing his murderer dead even as his blade ended her own life. The young woman that many fools called plane-cursed had shown the heart to rival the most heroic warriors he had ever known. And Waresh himself was definitely no hero.

  Nay, I’m a villain—an honorless cur. I could only hope that, at the end, I go out in a manner that pleases Reiktir and restores some small amount of honor to the Hammerhelm clan. Sioned, I’ve made a damned mess of me life, but I know the holdfast is in yer capable hands—more capable than mine would’ve ever been.

  A fluttering sound reached his ears, rousing Waresh from his reverie. He made out a small shadow that alighted on a boulder a short distance from him. He recognized it as Yosrick’s mechanical bird.

  “Begone, crow. Leave me be.”

  The crow tilted its head, watching him for a moment. It hopped along to the next boulder, pacing Waresh as he walked. He stopped and glared at the bird. Its dark eyes bored into him as if judging him for a moment before it let out a squawk that sounded suspiciously like a hurled curse.

  Waresh chuckled to himself. They must be close, to expose their spy. He surreptitiously removed a hand axe from his belt and turned to hurl it at the crow.