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  Yosrick finally took a deep breath and stepped inside. He seemed to suddenly fall forward as if sucked inside, then he disappeared. Endira followed, then Waresh.

  “Thank you, Master Keeper. I would make a donation to your Order for your troubles… to aid in preserving the archives, if nothing else.” Idrimel handed him a handful of gold crowns.

  The Keeper bowed in respect. “As you wish, priestess. We thank you for your generosity.”

  Idrimel nodded. “If this is the result of a curse, can it not be lifted?”

  “I suspect it would take another god to cure what ails Peraphrax. Then there would be no need for our order any longer. Beseech your god if you will. This can be a tiresome duty, tending to Peraphrax.”

  “I shall seek Sol’s blessing on your behalf. Walk in the light.” After taking a deep breath, Idrimel followed her companions into what she hoped was a portal to the Gray Lands.

  Chapter 27

  The two of them stood in the center of a vast open plaza, which Malek instinctively knew lay at the heart of Valirial. The city seemed to have been built around the square, with the tower directly behind them. The undead were thick throughout the area they had left, but since they had managed to evade them and had reached the plaza, the skeletons had thinned out.

  Like a fool, I’ve been traveling in circles until now. I made it to the tower but kept getting confused in the fog, retracing my steps. Finally, some progress after we slipped through the cordon they had created.

  Malek knelt down, studying a large glyph-inscribed stone at his feet. Many more lay crumbled in a heap on the ground. They had formed some type of structure at one point. The stone he examined was one of a pair of anchoring blocks driven into the ground about five paces apart.

  “This was a portal,” Nera suddenly said. “’Twas a major one, indeed.” The thief had been silent and focused after they left the building, intent on guiding them through the ruins unseen. She studied the stones with hands on hips and gazed upward as if imagining how large the portal once was.

  Malek realized she was right. “And this, the heart of the city, was likely a market, built up from commerce where the goods and travelers came through and spread coin around.”

  “Aye. I reckon it was impressive in its day.” She turned her attention back to him. “You have any luck finding the source of this fog?”

  Malek stood and concentrated with his second sight. He sensed the murky spread of fog, emptiness to his senses. Focusing on it, he tried to analyze its intensity and locate the source. After a time, he realized it was densest ahead of them, across the great plaza, as if emanating from there. So thick it was that he couldn’t even penetrate it with his senses to determine what lay there in wait—surely no sign of life, though.

  He pointed across the square. “It seems to be strongest ahead. We should be wary. I cannot detect what lies beyond.”

  “Sure, since we’ve been careless thus far.” Nera rolled her eyes but smiled. “Let’s move along. All this open space with nowhere to hide makes me nervous.”

  Malek nodded in agreement. They covered perhaps a thousand paces before shapes materialized out of the fog. A thick wall ten paces high extended out of sight to their left and right. Directly ahead was the gaping maw of a castle gatehouse. Empty hinges were bolted to the stone, the gates themselves likely rotted away with time.

  As they got closer, they could see stones had been dislodged from the gatehouse from where a portcullis had once hung in the opening, but there was no sign of it now. Twin guard towers on either side of the yawning entry were silent. The upper barbican was crumbling and in danger of collapsing and choking the entry with rubble.

  Inside, the bailey of the palace had turned to dust. Raised berms and rows of stone planters hinted at lush gardens that had once filled the bailey. A broad flagstone path continued on as straight as an arrow.

  Nera shivered visibly beside him but kept quiet, walking lightly on the balls of her feet, eyes darting to and fro. Her dagger was in her hand.

  Malek could feel an acute sense of palpable dread pressing in around them the closer they came to the palace. This is where we’ll find the dark power ruling Valirial—no doubt in my mind.

  The Staff of Preservation clinked softly as its steel-shod tip tapped against the flagstone path. The rusted monstrosity of the portcullis loomed out of the mist, a hundred paces from where it had once hung. It had been twisted like a bolt of cloth and hurled with such force that several of its spikes had lodged in the stone and mortar of the palace walls, sending lengthy cracks running along them.

  “Whatever did that,” Nera whispered, pointing with Lightslicer at the portcullis, “we don’t want to cross. But I suppose that’s what we seek, eh?”

  “I imagine so,” he replied grimly.

  A short distance farther, they could see the yawning darkness of the entry to the palace itself. Wooden gates had long since rotted away to nothingness.

  Nera’s breath caught, and Malek froze, eyes following her gaze. A figure stood in the shadows ahead. He strained to make out its features, but at that moment, it disappeared with a swirl of dark-blue cloth.

  Before they could react, the familiar clattering sounds approached from behind them, quickly becoming louder.

  “They come. Run or hide?” Nera asked anxiously.

  Malek looked between both the swirling mist behind them from which emanated the skeletal footsteps and the yawning darkness of the palace in front. “We continue. We’ll be trapped out here and overwhelmed. The time for hiding has passed.”

  Nera nodded curtly, already moving toward the entranceway. The mist thinned out inside the palace until only wisps of it remained in the distance. Long hallways branched out to each side and in front of them. As with the rest of Valirial, the palace had fallen into decay. Rotted debris and rubble lined the corridors for the short distance Malek could see until it grew too dim.

  “The fog or the darkness,” he said, trying to probe the gloom. He tried to ignore the clamor of what sounded like a legion of skeletal footfalls on the flagstone path outside. They still remained far enough away that the mist hid them from sight, but they were surely within the gatehouse.

  Nera knelt down and studied the ground for a moment. “That way.” She pointed straight ahead. “The dust is most disturbed there. Perhaps only an occasional wandering skeleton passes to either side corridor.”

  The mist swirled away behind them to reveal skeletons marching toward them, a dozen abreast. After the fourth rank stepped free from the fog, Malek turned away and proceeded down the corridor.

  “No way to go but to continue onward.” The staff was slick in his sweaty hands. He wiped them on his filthy robes and took a steadier grip as he proceeded. Once out of the light, he could barely see anything. After he stumbled over a loose tile on the floor, Nera stopped him with a hand to the chest.

  He heard a faint clinking sound, and a soft light bloomed from the viridian earring dangling from Nera’s left horn. It was just bright enough to faintly illuminate the corridor without drawing too much attention.

  “Better, thank you,” he said at her questioning look.

  She nodded, and they continued onward. They passed a few doorways that seemed to have little of interest inside, the contents long since fallen to ruin. A narrow corridor extended off to the right, likely some type of servants’ passage through the palace. They decided to continue down the main hallway.

  The echo of clattering footsteps resounded down the hallway. After a couple minutes, it was extremely loud, easily covering up any noise they might have made as dozens of skeletons marched toward them.

  Malek and Nera hurried onward a few more minutes until they reached an antechamber with four large pillars extending out of sight above in the gloom. The path before them was clogged with rubble, and faint light filtered in through a collapsed section of roof. There was no other way out save the way they had come.

  “The servants’ corridor,” Malek said grimly. �
�Hurry before they trap us here!”

  Nera needed no urging. They took off at a run back the way they had come. Clattering and shuffling footsteps echoed loudly.

  “We’re not gonna make it unless you want to fight through them.” Nera slowed her pace, looking nervously at Malek.

  He peered into the darkness ahead but couldn’t see as far as she could. “How many?”

  “First row just approaching the door now, but they’ve had to winnow down to five at a time.”

  “We fight through. If we don’t try, they overwhelm us with numbers.”

  He gripped the staff tightly, and they charged the skeletons. After a few paces, he could make them out as ghostly images illuminated by Nera’s glowing earring. Two ranks had passed the doorway by the time they reached them.

  He swung and struck the first skeleton in the chest with the steel tip of his staff. The skeleton fell, sternum shattered. Two more clawed at him, and he batted their arms away. Nera darted and slashed with Lightslicer but had little effect other than severing one of their hands at the wrist. They ignored her and crowded in at Malek. He struck another in the skull, and it fell, but more trampled its remains. Bony fingers clawed at his robes and his arms. One gripped his staff, disrupting his next swing. He stumbled back against the wall and knew he wouldn’t last as they swarmed over him.

  ***

  Nera saw Malek forced back by the weight of skeletons pressing forward. More undead crowded the corridor, ignoring her while intent on overwhelming the mage. She slashed and stabbed at them, to little effect. Unless she severed a limb, her strikes inflicted minimal damage on them.

  “Damned bony bastards!” They buffeted into her from behind, nearly tripping her up, but she dodged away, seeking to press herself against the wall and attack them from behind. Her horn slammed against something hard, causing her to stumble. An old iron sconce was hanging loosely from the wall and had jolted to one side from her impact. It was rusted but appeared sturdy enough, which gave her an idea.

  She sheathed Lightslicer and grasped the sconce. With a cry, she wrenched it free from the wall in a shower of pebbles. The sconce was heavier than it looked, flared open at the top and tapered toward the bottom, where she gripped it in two hands, hefting it experimentally.

  Malek’s cry drew her attention back to his plight. He had been forced back against the wall, staff to his chest and just barely keeping the skeletons off of him, face pale and shiny with sweat.

  “To the Abyss with you!” she cried, swinging her makeshift cudgel at the nearest skeleton.

  The solid head of the sconce smashed into the shoulder blade of the nearest skeleton, breaking its arm clean off. The second stroke sent its crushed skull flying down the corridor. She waded into the opening, momentarily clearing the press away from Malek and giving him time to free himself. They held the undead off side by side, bludgeoning them as they came, but were again forced back by sheer numbers. As far as she could see into the gloom, skeletons packed the corridor, scores of them, perhaps hundreds. The door to the side corridor was only about three or four paces away but might as well have been a mile. She thought she might have a chance at dodging past the skeletons, but that would leave Malek on his own.

  “Now would be a good time for some magic,” she said, breath ragged.

  “I barely have any energy remaining… This place is a dead zone.” He bashed another skeleton with a quick stroke of his staff, shattering its skull, then grimaced as one struck him on the shoulder, tearing his robes and leaving a shallow wound.

  Nera knocked a rusty sword, along with an arm, free from another skeleton and felled the next three, but the undead horde pressed closer, tenacious and tireless. Her arms were already tired from swinging the awkward cudgel, and her strength flagged, as did her hopes. Sweat ran freely down her brow. Beside her, Malek’s breathing came in ragged gasps, sounding as if he was about to collapse any second, but he still determinedly fought on. It was only a matter of moments before they were overrun.

  She was too slow bringing the cudgel back up and got knocked aside by the mass of undead as they briefly surged between them, again trying to surround Malek. She could feel bony fingers tear at her leather jerkin from behind when she turned to bash one that got past. Another skeleton stumbled against the one that had her jerkin gripped, and they both tripped and fell. The grip held on Nera’s jerkin, and she was dragged down to one knee before she could twist and bring the cudgel down, shattering its shoulder. The arm came loose, and Nera stumbled away with the arm still clutching at her. She grasped the rotten bone by the forearm and tugged it free, hurling it aside.

  Malek cursed, being forced backward again, and skeletons poured between the two of them.

  She smashed at a couple more halfheartedly, but there were too many. A half dozen had come between her and Malek, and more pressed forward, knocking her against the opposite wall.

  We are finished. I’ll eventually get trampled while they tear Malek limb from limb or eat him or whatever these bloody skeletons do.

  Nera growled at the thought, gripping the haft of the sconce tighter and vowing to go down fighting. She wasn’t going to let them take Malek while she still had life left in her.

  In their desperate situation, an idea came to her. She backed away a step and slid Malek’s ring off her horn, pocketing it.

  “Malek! You must use my vitality! Don’t argue—it’s our final hope—if you don’t, we die.”

  “Nera… you don’t know what you ask.” He gasped, on the verge of exhaustion.

  “Aye, I do,” she said solemnly. “You must do it.”

  After a moment, Malek nodded, face pained at the idea.

  ***

  She speaks truly—I must use her vitality. We are both spent, and the undead are endless.

  Malek reached out to the bright spark that was Nera’s life force, suddenly revealed without the magical concealment granted by his ring. Perhaps it was a result of his dizziness and fatigue, but she seemed to blaze a bright blueish white, like a cold, distant star—unlike anything he had sensed from her before and most unusual, compared to the pale amber and green auras of vitality he was accustomed to.

  He ignored the skeletons pinning him to the wall, with only the Staff of Preservation held crossways holding them off. The stink of rot filled his nose as they snapped their teeth and bony hands clawed wounds in his arms and chest. He tried to draw gently of Nera’s vitality, but that was as futile as a man in the desert dying of thirst trying to drink sparingly from a fountain, one drop at a time. Power rushed into him in a steady flow, and he was amazed at the depth of the well. Nera truly had some power, the extent likely unknown to her. His flagging strength was renewed as the power surged into him.

  He unleashed it with the blunt force of a battering ram, as he had once before out on the streets, although this time with much greater effect. The crowded passageway was filled with a great whoosh, followed by an ear-splitting crushing sound, and the skeletons were simply gone. He opened his eyes to find splintered pieces of bone clattering to the stone floor with a rattle like hailstones on a roof. A thick cloud of bone dust choked the passageway. His and Nera’s breathing was harsh in the sudden, heavy silence.

  Nera coughed weakly from the bone dust, stumbling and grasping at the rough stones of the wall for support, but she slipped and fell to the ground. The iron sconce she had wielded tumbled from her grip with a loud clank. Malek cut off the flow and was by her side in an instant. She was pale and her skin cool to the touch, unlike the unusual heat her body normally gave off.

  Oh, gods, have I drawn too much?

  He stooped and grasped her under the arms and pulled her several paces farther down the corridor, where the air was clearer of bone dust.

  She clutched at his arm feebly. “I’ll wait here… Find the cause of this and finish it, or we die.” She fumbled for his hand and placed his magical ring in it.

  We will die of starvation and thirst even if the undead don’t take us, he tho
ught grimly but pushed that worry aside. He squeezed her cold hand and slipped the ring back onto her horn instead. He is aware of you now, but there’s no hope for it. I’d rather he and his minions can’t find you, weakened as you are.

  “We confront it together,” he told her. “I won’t leave you behind. Come, you must get up.” He pulled her to her feet, surprised at how light and fragile the thief seemed. Even after unleashing the tremendous blast of force, he still felt the power brimming inside. He hoped it would be enough.

  He helped Nera along, his arm around her as they entered the narrow servants’ corridor. After a dozen paces, they took a hallway on the left, parallel to their original course. They passed through what might once have been a large banquet hall. Standing in an open archway ahead was the figure they had glimpsed at the entrance to the palace. Once again, the figure quickly disappeared as they approached.

  They came to the entrance to what had been the throne room. Light filtered down from two places where the vaulted ceiling high overhead had partially collapsed. Malek could immediately sense the magical fog emanating from within the throne room and flowing outward through the ceiling to slowly creep across the land, leaching the life from it.

  Six skeleton guards stood at attention, three to a side, each well preserved, wearing full suits of slightly rusted armor and longswords gripped by the pommel, blades down. They remained as still as statues.

  Malek’s eyes were drawn to movement by the figure in the tattered blue-and-violet robes. The robed figure took its place beside a small dais and stood still. A much more imposing figure sat upon a marble throne atop the dais, instantly capturing his full attention.

  The seated figure rose as soon as they entered the chamber. He was a giant of a man, with the broad shoulders, muscled arms, and bare torso of a warrior. His flesh was white as curdled milk yet appeared well preserved. Pale purplish scars marred his body, like wounds on a corpse. A large red gem set in a gold locket hung against his chest by a chain. His loose-fitting pants were a deep maroon with gold stitching, once fine but appearing faded and threadbare.