Doors of the Dark Page 8

  Athyzon held his greatsword, Redeemer, aloft and joined his sister in calling on Sol. Redeemer glowed with a holy fire, and the two advanced, pushing the darkness back until it cloaked the statue, but that was the farthest they could move it.

  “What now, Nera?” Endira asked.

  Nera let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Even though the plane-blessed siblings got on her nerves and the light was nearly blinding her, she had to admit the malevolent chapel was a bit less intimidating now.

  “That a relative of yers, fiendling?” Waresh growled, an amused expression on his face as he regarded the statue of Shaol. “I can see the resemblance.”

  “Shove it up your arse,” Nera snapped.

  She was in no mood for jests. The quicker they were away after retrieving the bracer, the better. She stepped forward to examine the statue more closely. A large crack across the chest was still there as she remembered. So were a few links of chain left dangling from the side of the statue. The band the links connected to, along with the rest of the Bracer of Fellraven, was embedded in the stone, still clutched in the hand of Zaefir himself, she assumed. Nera felt the finger sheath inside her pouch, which had broken off from the slender chain in her hand during the battle.

  “This is what we need.” She jingled the chain embedded in the stone. “Now, what we need to do is bust that stone open and get the rest of it.”

  Waresh leaned close and inspected the statue. He stroked his beard as he looked at the crack and then around both sides. “That won’t be easy without the proper tools. Even with that crack, it’s solid basalt, and it’ll take a beating before it breaks apart.”

  “I’ve got just the tool for the job. Step aside,” Yosrick said. He unlimbered his warhammer and waved it around, loosening his shoulder. He muttered an incantation under his breath, and runes glowed on the head of the weapon.

  “Ye’re gonna ruin yer hammer, fool.” Waresh snorted, but he backed away. “Ye need a proper mason’s hammer and chisel taken to that crack there—”

  The dwarf was cut off as the gnome took a mighty swing with his hammer. The impact of the hammer’s enchantment with the stone caused an explosion of force. Stone blasted apart, and the shockwave threw the entire group to the floor. Yosrick flew across the room and slammed heavily into the wall with a clank of armor, slumping to the ground. Idrimel and Athyzon’s holy light snuffed out, and the candles extinguished, plunging them into total darkness.

  Nera fought to collect her senses. “Damn fool of a gnome.” She clambered to her feet, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the gloom, but the room was black as pitch. Even her keen eyes couldn’t see in complete darkness.

  Groans and the creaking of armor from her fallen companions met her ears. Another sound made her draw Lightslicer—a scratching sound like dried sticks sliding across stone. A loose piece of rubble clattered somewhere nearby. Hoarse, wheezing breaths met her ears.

  “Who’s there?” she asked, backing away. Where are those damn siblings with their holy light when you need them?

  A soft light bloomed behind her. A quick glance revealed Endira, her skin again softly glowing. The elf’s eyes were wide as she pointed.

  Nera whirled to find a sickly, cadaverous figure in front of her. Zaefir the Undying had once been a handsome man in the peak of health. The creature before her was anything but. It was little more than a skeleton and appeared to be created of flesh and stone mottled together, the black pieces of basalt protruding throughout the emaciated body like rot. One sickly yellow eye regarded her, the other a mere socket with a dark chunk of stone lodged into the skull. Leathery skin was shrunken around the skeleton, and the remains of tattered clothing hung from his frame.

  “You have returned to meet your fate,” Zaefir croaked, voice barely audible. He spat a chunk of stone from his mouth. He shuddered, hunching over, clutching his wasted abdomen. He vomited explosively—stone, dust, and dried husks of flesh poured from his mouth and spilled onto the floor. He retched again, and fine black sand came forth.

  Nera backed away until she stood beside Endira. “How is it possible this thing still lives?”

  “The vampyre is a creature cursed to unlife,” Idrimel said as she shakily regained her feet. “They are not easily destroyed.”

  Zaefir uncurled and stood up straight, clutching the corpse of the headless thrall to his chest, his mouth latched onto the bloody neck. Slurping sounds met their ears. As they watched, Zaefir’s flesh solidified and took on more volume, as if air was being pumped beneath his skin. Particles of stone fell from his flesh as if shoved loose from within.

  He’s still got the bracer. The Bracer of Fellraven was still clutched in one bony hand, seemingly forgotten as Zaefir gorged on the thrall’s blood.

  Nera lunged for the bracer, hoping to snatch it free and avoid a battle if possible, but Zaefir hissed and shrank back out of reach, throwing one hand up. He spoke in an unknown tongue, and the skeletons around the room rattled and came together, rising from the ground to surround Zaefir protectively.

  “You are fools to enter here and free me,” the vampyre growled, his voice already more powerful. His long fangs stood out stark white against the crimson painting his mouth and chin. “I will forgive the intrusion by the rest of you if you leave the plane-cursed to me and depart here at once.”

  The pack of skeletons shuffled forward, a few with rusty daggers but most unarmed.

  “You are an abomination and will be destroyed,” Athyzon said, rising to his feet. “May Sol destroy you with his purifying fire!”

  Redeemer blazed with holy fire as he swung it at the nearest skeleton. The greatsword passed through the rib cage, and the skeleton turned to ash.

  Idrimel yelled a battle cry and stepped forward, mace crashing into another skeleton, obliterating it into a spray of bone shards. Her holy symbol blazed, painful to look at. Zaefir, looking much more wholesome, cast aside the drained corpse. His shrunken chest had filled out, and sinew covered his arms, where before had been only skin and bone. He seemed to notice the bracer in his hand for the first time.

  Nera didn’t know if the bracer would still work, but she knew if he portaled away, their quest would likely fail. She dove forward, stabbing Lightslicer at Zaefir’s chest. The vampyre’s great speed allowed him to dodge her strike, but it was a feint—her real goal was the bracer. She grasped the dangling band with her left hand and yanked, pulling the bracer from the creature’s loose grasp.

  Her victory was short-lived, however, as Zaefir seized her right arm. He spun and flung Nera hard against the wall. She was barely able to tuck her head down in time to avoid having her brains bashed out. Her back slammed against the stone wall, breath exploding from her lungs. She slumped to the floor, losing her grip on both the bracer and Lightslicer.

  Zaefir’s malevolent yellow eye glittered with hunger as he looked down upon Nera. As she watched, stunned, the shard of stone fell loose from his other eye socket, and gelatinous material reformed into a second orb.

  His jaws opened, revealing a mouth full of spiny teeth. A long, green tongue dripped saliva as he leaned over her, ready to pull her into his foul embrace.

  Arron, I’ll be seeing you soon in Sabyl’s shadowy hall, my brother, she thought, unable to will her leaden limbs into motion.

  Zaefir’s clawlike hands grasped Nera’s shoulders, pulling her toward him. Transfixed in horror, she fumbled for the bone dagger sheathed at her waist but knew she was too late.

  The vampyre’s maw was inches from Nera’s neck when suddenly his head split apart, teeth falling aside as the broad head of an axe lodged into his jaw. Gore spilled down onto Nera’s neck and chest.

  Waresh yanked back, and Heartsbane pulled free, dragging the vampyre backward. His grasp loosened on Nera, and she scrabbled away across the floor. Zaefir staggered and whirled, only to have Heartsbane cleave into his chest.

  “Die already, ye undead whoreson!” Waresh roared.

  Before the dwarf cou
ld pull Heartsbane free, Zaefir grasped the axe below the head. He twisted, throwing Waresh off balance as he fought to hold on to the weapon. They struggled briefly for control of the axe.

  Idrimel cried out to her god and struck Zaefir on the elbow with her mace. The joint shattered, causing his arm to flop awkwardly. He hissed in anger and released his grasp on the axe. The vampyre suddenly darted away, the axe pulling free of his rib cage.

  Nera could see his head was already beginning to regenerate from the grievous wound Waresh had inflicted. Seeing the bracer nearby, she secured it.

  Waresh, Idrimel, and Athyzon faced off with Zaefir. They had already made short work of the skeletons.

  Endira grasped Nera’s arm and helped her to her feet, leading her away. “Are you well?”

  Nera nodded. “Just had the breath knocked out of me.” She gestured at Lightslicer, and the dagger reappeared in her hand with a flash. “It’s time we finished this bastard.”

  Zaefir raised his arms and began chanting. He evaded a slash of Athyzon’s greatsword and seized Waresh’s arm. The dwarf cried out as his arm withered and sores broke out all over his body. He wobbled and fell, blood and pus oozing from the countless wounds.

  Idrimel struck with her mace. The vampyre ducked and drove a fist into the cleric’s midsection, sending her flying across the room. She fell beside the still-motionless gnome.

  “I’ll relish draining the life from you, paladin.” Zaefir laughed. “Your god is feeble compared to the power of Shaol.”

  “We shall see about that, vampyre.” Athyzon raised Redeemer, and the sword blazed anew with holy fire, blinding to look at. He struck at Zaefir, but again the vampyre was too quick. He sidestepped and shoved Athyzon hard into the wall.

  Endira gestured, and pieces of rubble from the statue flew toward Zaefir. The vampyre was a blur as he dodged the pieces as easily as if they were leaves falling from the sky. His hands suddenly appeared around Endira’s neck. He drove the elf into the wall, throttling her. Endira clutched at his hands. Her skin darkened and became hard and ridged like the bark of a tree. Zaefir frowned, and the sinews stood out on his hands as he squeezed harder. He pulled her away from the wall as if to bash her head against it, and Nera struck.

  Lightslicer cleaved through Zaefir’s wrist, severing it. At the same time, she drove Bedlam Judge into his ribs to the hilt. Zaefir’s hand tumbled away, and Endira was able to break his grasp.

  Zaefir whirled and struck Nera with an elbow, sending her stumbling backward. She lost the grip on Bedlam Judge.

  She realized her mistake as soon as the vampyre pulled it free, unaffected by its enchantment. He examined it for a moment and then stalked toward her, a malevolent smirk on his face.

  Shite… bad move. If anyone gets hit, they will be afflicted, and I don’t think there’s a spell or antidote for it.

  Nera held Lightslicer up, ready to parry desperately.

  Zaefir surged toward her but suddenly stopped, his charge halted. He glanced down in puzzlement.

  Despite being prone and wounded, Waresh had seized the vampyre’s ankle. “Where ye think ye’re going, whoreson?” he croaked.

  A blaze of light swept in, and Redeemer took Zaefir’s head. The head bounced and rolled across the room, landing on its side, hate-filled eyes glaring at Nera. The body fell a moment later.

  Nera shuddered. “Is he—” She gasped and backpedaled as the body clawed at the floor, trying to get to its missing head.

  Waresh released the ankle, eyes wide in shock.

  “Give it the purifying rites, Athyzon.” Idrimel regained her feet, face pained and clasping her hand to her ribs.

  Athyzon raised Redeemer high. “By Sol’s holy light, I cast you, filth, into the purifying fire!” He drove the sword into the body. It blazed with white fire that was so bright Nera couldn’t look. After a minute, the body had turned to ash. The paladin went to repeat the procedure with the head.

  “Don’t forget this.” Endira kicked the severed hand toward Athyzon. He burned both of them to ash.

  “Hell of a battle,” Waresh grunted. He stood up and lifted Heartsbane. He was in rough shape, covered in weeping sores. His left arm looked shriveled, as if all the muscle had been removed. “I could use a damn cask of ale.”

  Idrimel knelt beside the gnome to see if he lived. She murmured a prayer of healing, and after a moment, he sat up with a loud groan.

  “Probably wasn’t my finest hour, smashing the statue like that,” Yosrick admitted sheepishly.

  Nera couldn’t help but laugh. After a moment, the others joined in as the adrenaline of combat wore off. We survived!

  Waresh retrieved Yosrick’s hammer. “Damned thing is unscathed.” His eyebrows rose in astonishment. “Must be good dwarven craftsmanship.” He handed it back to the gnome.

  “That and some of my own special enchantments,” Yosrick replied with a grin.

  Idrimel chanted another prayer and placed her hands on Waresh. His wounds closed up, and his arm was restored to its normal appearance. He flexed it approvingly and nodded his thanks.

  “Do we have what we came here for?” Athyzon interrupted.

  Nera held up the Bracer of Fellraven. “Aye, that we do. Now I need to find a mage or craftsman to repair it.”

  “Let’s be on our way, then. I’ve had enough of this foul place to last me quite a long time,” Idrimel said.

  Nera could only agree as she led them swiftly out of the manor.

  Chapter 9

  Malek dreamed of dark things in the night.

  He was a young boy again, and a terrible storm was raging outside. Rain pelted the thatched roof, and wind tugged at the shutters of his childhood home. The deafening boom of a thunderclap sent him running to his mother for safety. The whole house sounded as if it would blow away.

  “Shhh, it’ll be all right, Son.” His mother held him to her breast in her protective arms as she stroked his hair.

  He clung to her, wishing for the scary storm to go away so all would be calm again.

  Wind howled like some fierce, wild beast, and Malek shivered. Tree branches scraped against the side of the house as if the beast was searching for a way into the cottage, its great claws sliding over the wood.

  Scratch, scraaatch.

  Malek tossed and turned, flipping over onto his side, aware he was dreaming but unable to waken.

  Scratch, scraaatch.

  Something pinched Malek’s calf, and he surfaced from the dream as a drowning man pulling himself out of a lake. He gasped for breath.

  What he saw didn’t register in his mind at first. He thought a bundle of sticks had somehow been placed against him while he slept. But then it moved.

  Yellow-white sticks clasped around his calf, pinching painfully through his robes. A rounded object rose up, and he recognized it as a skull.

  A skeleton was attacking him.

  “What the—” Malek scrambled backward, kicking the skeleton’s hand off of him. His back slammed the wall of the sheltered alcove he had holed up in. Brief panic rose up as he realized he was trapped.

  Scratch, scraaatch. The skeleton’s bony hand grasped at the stone floor so it could drag itself along. Belatedly, Malek realized the skeleton was missing its lower body, from the pelvis down. The spine twitched behind it like a tail as it pulled itself toward him. The right arm was whole, the left ending at the wrist. The dark eye sockets bored into Malek, and its mouth hung open, revealing cracked teeth inches away from burying themselves in his leg.

  Malek pulled in his legs, got them under him, and stood up quickly. A wave of dizziness washed over him at the sudden movement, and he had to catch his balance by leaning back against the wall.

  The lack of food and drink were taking their toll. The Gray Lands seemed to sap the life from him—he could explore only for several hours before feeling weak and needing rest. Then he would fall into a deep sleep plagued by dreams of his past. He seemed to be overcome by weariness more quickly each time.

 
; This thrice-cursed fog must be leeching the vitality from me, much as it has these vast ruins.

  The skeleton pulled itself closer and was nearly at his feet. He watched its struggles and almost felt pity for it. Its existence was reduced to dragging itself along a few inches at a time.

  A lost, abandoned thing like myself. Perhaps I’ll be the same in a few more days.

  Its bony fingers scrabbled at the toe of his boot. Malek kicked it away, connecting with the skull. The skeleton flew across the alcove and struck the wall. After a moment, it reoriented itself and began crawling in his direction again.

  Intrigued by how it was held together, he briefly focused his second sight. A binding of negative energy surrounded the creature, animating it and keeping it whole, at least as much as remained of it.

  So there is some power at work here—the dark presence I’ve sensed. Where there’s one, there’s bound to be more undead.

  Malek quickly gathered his meager possessions and stepped outside. He might’ve been imagining it, but the day seemed slightly warmer and drier, yet the fog was ever present. He started off to continue his search again, wondering what power had animated the skeleton. A shiver ran down his spine, and he tried not to let his imagination run wild.

  He failed at that.

  ***

  “War has come upon us at last, as we knew it would eventually. Valirial is under attack by the mad usurper, Stolak. We are the last remaining civilization on this world. Our scouts bring word of nothing but blackened wastelands where once were lush forests, dust where once ran swift, clear rivers. The living fall, their bodies turned to dust as Stolak and his sorcerers wrench the last remaining sparks of life from the land and its people. Fear spreads to other planes, and even now Nexus has cut us off. We are forsaken, left alone to face our demise. Such is what we deserve.”

  Malek shifted his weight, leaning against a wall to relieve his injured leg, which yet pained him. He had found the first sign of what had befallen the once-great civilization on a surviving scrap of parchment. The great ruined manor, almost a palace in size and grandeur, spoke of the great wealth and influence of the person who had lived there. Inside the very heart of the manor, in a study he imagined had once been cozy, smelling of parchment, ink, and candle wax, was where he found the clue. He squinted at the scrap of dry parchment in his hand, trying to make out the rest of the passage, since the ink had blurred with age.