by Ben Stovall
“What are you still doing up?” she asked quietly. The dwarf looked up at her from his seat. His features were heavy; his eyes were overcast with tears.
“I could ask you the same,” the dwarf said. Lytha nodded once in response. She took a seat next to the slowly dying flames not far from the dwarf. “First monster?” Tyrdun indicated the wyvern’s butchered corpse with a glance. Lytha bit her lip as she looked over the bulky beast.
She nodded.
“Terrifying, isn’t it? How could something so big, so vicious, so powerful live in this world with us? Something so … deadly.” The dwarf’s voice seemed to hitch on the final word.
Lytha’s eyes flicked to the untouched head of the wyvern. “Tyrdun … have you ever fought a dragon?”
The dwarf tensed, a sigh escaping him after a moment. “A few.” Tyrdun’s brow furrowed as his face fell into a forlorn grimace. “A red wyrmling in the caves around Aljorn. The hollow around the city goes on further than anyone can guess. That dragon flew over our underground lake once and the people were scared shitless. I was sent with a few others to find its lair. There was an eggshell. It seemed like it had hatched recently. The beast was large as a horse. Its breath seared one of my comrades and another one fell to its claws. I had to crush its skull with my hammer.
“There was a green dragon King Silverthorne of Aelindaas asked us to defeat shortly after Inaru joined Red Watch. Supposedly they come in all sorts of colors. It was the size of an adult klonto. Where the red ones breathed fire this one released a torrent of acid.” Tyrdun unbuckled his chest plate and set it on the ground, then rolled up his shirtsleeve. A vicious array of scars covered his arm, and the ones he was indicating almost caused Lytha to retch. They were red and splotchy, reaching from his elbow to his shoulder. “My shield saved my hand. Fanrinn saved the rest. Had some salve he’d prepared in Aelindaas that stopped the shit from eating through to the bone. Couple elven warriors from Aelindaas weren’t so lucky.
“After that, I knew if I ever fought another one, it’d be too soon. Six months later was too soon. Another red. This one was flying all over the land around Souhal, burning villages, stealing livestock, and mutilating people. Baron Darwall of Daralton hired us to handle him and bring him the head as proof. Sent us with some soldiers from Souhal that King Aldariak had dispatched. This dragon was an adult. Big as a boulder, wingspan at least two hundred feet. Inaru and two others that fought with us at the time got burned by the beast. Clayne took the worst of it. Scarred up his chest and neck pretty bad, but he lived, thanks to Fanrinn. Inaru’s left side still bothers him from time to time.”
Tyrdun took a long, arduous breath. “Then there was the white. King Nyorvar of Frost Hearth asked for Red Watch specifically to handle it, but Ulthan, Joravyn, and Fanrinn had all left Souhal. Inaru and I ventured north with twenty-five men from Souhal, a token of King Aldariak’s friendship with the northern city.” The dwarf took another deep breath. Lytha could see he was struggling, but Tyrdun continued, “The beast loosed a flurry of ice shards and unbearable cold from its maw. Between that and his claws … only seven of Aldariak’s soldiers made it back.”
Lytha gasped. Tyrdun stared into the flames and fell silent. “But, Tyrdun,” Lytha said, “it’s good you were there. There’s no way to know how things could’ve gone without you. Those dragons could have all continued destroying lives without you there. You saved people, more than you lost—I’m certain of that.”
“I appreciate the words, Lytha,” Tyrdun began, “but it isn’t anything I haven’t already tried to tell myself.” With that the dwarf rose, stopping any ideas she might have had about saying anything further. “Go get some sleep Lytha.” The dwarf walked to his tent and crawled inside, and Lytha watched the flames for a moment longer before doing the same.
Four
The sun reached its apex when Inaru pulled himself over the uppermost echelon of the ancient klonto graveyard. The wind had been howling mercilessly over the bowl, frigid air ceaselessly moving dark clouds eastward.
Every muscle in Inaru’s body screamed in exhausted agony. Between the ascent, the battle, and the restless night just passed, he ached for a day’s rest.
Ellaria was the last to escape the pit’s maw, despite her impressive dexterity. Her strength had left much to be desired, and her ascension had been difficult to say the least. As Tyrdun and Ulthan helped her over the final hurdle, the paladin said, “Alright. We’ll stop and eat here. Be ready to move in an hour.”
“Ulthan,” Inaru said, “I can see about patching up your armor, if you like. Brought a field kit.” The orc shot his gaze to Tyrdun and smiled jovially. “Just in case.”
“Hey!” the dwarf said, grinning.
Ulthan chuckled. “I’d appreciate that, Inaru. Thanks.” The paladin pulled the sundered piece from his chest and handed it off as Inaru drew a log of dried pork from his bag. After eating, he set to work, unbending the metal and seaming it together with a bit of uteshi acid from Kual’apir. It wasn’t perfect, and it certainly wasn’t pretty, but it got the job done well enough. He finished just as Ulthan called a five-minute warning, and returned the plate to the paladin, quickly eating another log of salted pork.
The wind had been relentless in its assault. Inaru had withdrawn his rarely worn cloak to shield himself from the chilling ceaseless winds. Even clasped tightly around his form he felt the icy blasts whip across him. The orc began to wonder how large the cabin they approached was. I hope there’s a fire. And enough room to stay overnight. We need to get out of this cold.
“Stop,” Ellaria whispered. No one moved a muscle. Her ears twitched—
Crack. Inaru’s gaze shot to his left. Tyrdun stepped closer to Lytha. Inaru made a few gestures and began walking toward the sound’s origin, Joravyn following.
The air roared around him, whipping through naked branches to sing a dread song. What little brush remained faded from the gale, the last fringes of green whirling around him. He approached a tall wall of bushes, knee-high, on its last vestiges of life. Anxious, he pulled the branches aside and—
Joravyn screamed wordlessly behind him. He whirled, drawing his axes. Before him stood a skeleton with bones as black as pitch.
Lightning tore into the apparition, scattering its bones into the whipping winds. Then, a cascade of noise broke into the air, and all around them skeletons seethed between the trees, darting toward the road.
“Ready weapons!” Inaru shouted, running back to the others. Closing, he asked, “How far are we from the cabin?”
“We’re close!” Lytha yelled, nailing a skeleton in the arm with a bolt. It didn’t even slow the black frame down, as it continued marching toward her. Joravyn blasted it with a bolt of flame, causing the bones to fly off in different directions.
“Save your strength!” Ulthan commanded. Inaru slammed his axes’ broad heads into another one as if to clap them together, causing the bones to eject upward from the force of the blow. They began moving forward, arrows flying into the surrounding trees to dismantle the skeletons before the apparitions could assault the group. A bolt of lightning shot in front of Inaru’s face, striking a skeleton he did not see coming. Joravyn staggered, grunting.
“I’m fine!” Inaru shouted. “Just keep moving!” The mage grimaced, nodding.
“Ulthan, we got a lot of them bony bastards to the fore!” Tyrdun shouted back, and the paladin ran to help him. The wicked weapons banged on their shields, forming a steady beat of battle. Torvaas replaced him at Inaru’s side, striking at an approaching skeleton with his daggers, tossing the bones aside. Inaru nodded his thanks.
The horde of skeletons slow. They waded through them, bones scattering all about the woods. “There’s too many of them!” Fanrinn cried out, firing arrows into the trees around them.
“Not much farther!” Lytha assured them, firing her crossbow into the oncoming group of undead.
“I suppose you didn’t know your father had a necromancer for a neighbor too?” Fanrin
n spat.
“He doesn’t!” She fired again, a bolt flying over Fanrinn’s shoulder to dispatch a skeleton he’d missed. Inaru caught her smirk as Fanrinn arched an eyebrow at her. Lytha turned to help Ellaria.
“Up ahead, I can see the cabin!” Ulthan called. Inaru dared not look as more skeletons lunged at him. “It’s not good! There’s got to be at least fifteen of them banging on the wall!”
“Then my father must still be within!” Lytha cried.
Joravyn pushed ahead of Ulthan and Tyrdun, lifting his hands. A large bolt of lightning shot forth, arcing from each skeleton and ending them. He screamed out and collapsed to his knees.
“Always playing the damn hero!” Ulthan grimaced as he hoisted the man’s arm over his shoulder. The group ran quickly to the cabin, Tyrdun in the lead. He reached the door and shook the handle.
“Do ye have a key, lass? It’s locked!” the dwarf called to Lytha. Her eyes grew wide and her mouth dropped open.
“Father! Let us in!” she shouted to the cabin, exhaustion tugging at her words. Skeletons entered the clearing around them, and they turned their backs to the walls.
“We’re not going down without a fight!” Inaru shouted, his face locking into a hard scowl. The skeletons sprung forth. Inaru parried one, two, three—a fourth strike nicked his arm, and a fifth bounced off his shoulder plate. More attacks streamed in, and he could only focus on blocking their blows, lest the orc allow all his blood to spill. It wasn’t enough. Another weapon bit into his exposed skin, warm blood flowing down his arm. The broadside of a sword slammed into him, leaving a shallow incision along the impact’s edges. Two arrows ricocheted off the skeletons around him, scattering their bones to the wind, but they were instantly replaced by two more. Lytha was banging on the cabin walls. Torvaas wailed as he was overwhelmed and pushed to the ground.
“Father … please!” Lytha cried. Her hand flattened against the wood as she turned to despair. Inaru roared loudly and cut into the skeleton in front of him; keeping his momentum, he spun, dispatching those who had surrounded him. He bounded over to Torvaas and slammed into the apparitions that were bludgeoning him into the dirt. He picked the scaleskin up, hoisting him on his left shoulder, leaving his left-hand axe in the dirt. He ran toward the door, right shoulder first.
“I will MAKE you open!” Inaru screamed, gaining speed. The others jumped out of the way. The door swung open, causing him to slide in and nearly hit the wall.
“Get in here, quickly!” the group did not wait to register who had said the words and piled inside the cabin. The door slammed shut, and the man held a book and a hand aloft facing the entrance. “Alu’he abal’iis solis’tik!” The door shined a golden yellow for a moment, and the man turned to face the group, eyeing them each in turn.
The man was aged, wrinkles tugged at his features, as if his swarthy skin was weighing him down, the color of it matching Lytha’s perfectly. His hair, or what remained of it at his temples and made up a long beard, was a dark grey. His eyebrow arched up, “Lytha? What are you doing here?”
She threw her arms around him and squeezed. “I hadn’t heard from you in two months! I … I’d feared the worst, father.”
“And who are these, ah,” he searched for the words, “assorted peoples?”
“This is Red Watch, a group of adventurers from Souhal. That man is Ulthan, a paladin of Solustun.” She gestured to the auzixian. He only bowed in return. “This man is from Kaul’apir, a mage named Joravyn.”
He nodded and asked, “That seemed like a small bit of magic you did there, an old spell?”
“An ancient rite, asking for the protection of Solustun,” the man said. Ulthan’s eyes lit up, but the old man held up a hand to forestall him. “I am not of the church, however, only an old seer from Vainyr.” Ulthan seemed to deflate at that.
“These two elves are from Aelindaas—siblings: Fanrinn and Ellaria.” Lytha pointed to them both. Fanrinn eyed the man curiously but said nothing.
“Nasty neighbors you have out here.” Ellaria smiled, winning a chuckle from the man.
“This scaleskin is named Torvaas.” Her hand opened toward him, and the Torgashin man nodded. “These last two,” she began, and Inaru caught a slight look of worry cross Lytha’s father’s features, “are Tyrdun and Inaru. This orc is formerly of the Bloodmaw clan, and Tyrdun hails from Aljorn.”
Her father pursed his lips. He stroked the long beard that hung from his chin. The old seer’s expression softened as he regarded the lot of them. He inhaled deeply, and said, “I am Imynor, and I believe you may be the ones I am meant to warn.”
Everyone in the cabin wore faces that were a mix of confusion and intrigue.
“Some time ago, about six weeks, I received a vision in my sleep. A dark cloud swept over Gandaraar from the west. It landed first upon Souhal, and the city could not stand against the darkness alone. It rolled over the lands to the east, and nothing remained. The first sign that it was upon us, has already come: the black boned skeletons.”
“West?” Joravyn asked incredulously. “Any farther west of here and you’ll be in the Gray Sands. Nothing can survive in that wasteland.”
“They did not come from the Gray Sands. They came from beyond it,” Imynor explained.
Inaru felt his eyes widen. The wastes were large. No one who had ever entered it returned. Had the explorers emerged on the other side and been taken by those on it?
“How long have the black skeletons been here?” Ulthan asked.
“They arrived in force one week ago. But there’s been a few since the night of my vision,” Imynor answered.
“Why didn’t ye warn Souhal?” Tyrdun inquired, a slight scowl marking his mood.
“I tried.” The man sounded exhausted. “I’ve been trapped here. I nearly made it to Vakal’s Ridge once, but three of them surrounded me. I almost met my end that night.”
Joravyn grunted, standing, still exhausted from the fighting. “With this many skeletons, the necromancer has to be close by,” he said. “But on this scale …” He shook his head. “He may be the most powerful mage we’ve ever met.”
“I fear you are correct. A vanguard of the army, no doubt—sent to end me,” Imynor replied.
“But they’ve been around for weeks?” Ulthan questioned.
“Perhaps a modified anchoring,” Joravyn supposed, his voice trailing off.
“End you? For what purpose?” Fanrinn asked.
Imynor walked into another room for a moment, signaling them to wait, and returned with a parchment. He handed it to Fanrinn. “I see you, seer. I will come for you first,” the elf read aloud. Inaru shuddered.
“I fear the necromancer is now no longer worried about me, as my message has passed to you all. No doubt he awaits your return, lying in wait to strike when you are least prepared for his attack.” Imynor covered his head with his hand. “You must warn Souhal, you have to defend it against them, and that no doubt means battling this harbinger.”
Ulthan nodded. Inaru wiped his brow, realizing this job was much more difficult than Lytha ever thought. Then his eyes went wide. “The bone pit,” he muttered, barely a whisper. The others turned to him, and slowly clued in on what he’d realized.
“We have to leave—now,” Ulthan said, the finality of it casting about the cabin.
Lytha looked over to her father. “Come with us, dad. Please—if anything you’ve ever told me about Solustun is correct he is done with you! He will no longer protect your cabin!” Ulthan arched an eyebrow at the exchange but said nothing.
Imynor let out a small chuckle and patted her shoulder. “I am in no danger from the necromancer now. You making it to me saw to that. Only if you perish will he return for me—and if that happens, all will be lost anyway.” A tear rolled down Lytha’s cheek, and her father wiped it away. “Go, my child. This will not be the last time we meet – whether on Gandaraar, or beyond.” She nodded, steeling herself, and the group moved on outside.
The skeletons that had b
een banging on the walls when they’d entered were merely meek piles of bones on the ground now – some had even dissolved into black ashes. No doubt due to the reduced proximity of the necromancer. Inaru wondered if they could get to the bone pit before him, despite the obvious head start. One look at the hobbling, exhausted Joravyn, the battered Tyrdun, and the beaten Torvaas told him it simply was not in the cards. Ulthan and Ellaria helped Joravyn, his arms around their shoulders, and Inaru helped Torvaas keep steady. He saw Fanrinn’s distressed expression, knowing the elf wanted to remain for a time in the cabin to see to the wounds they’d earned, but it would have to wait, and may never come at all.
Torvaas hissed, the familiar scent of iron on the air. Inaru set the scaleskin down and pushed away his assurances. He drew a vial from a pouch on his belt, his last one, and offered it to Torvaas. The scaleskin eyed him with confusion. “Drink,” Inaru said. The effects were strong. Torvaas coughed, but his energy returned quickly, some color rushing into his scales again. He looked up to Inaru appreciatively, and they pressed on, catching up to the others.
There was an end to the tree line ahead, and Inaru knew the pit lay just beyond it. Ulthan held up a fist, and they stopped twenty-five feet from the edge. He turned to face them. “Do you hear that?” the paladin asked. Inaru listened closely and caught the sound. Large bones were rattling, sounding like they were writhing together. He expected the necromancer to go for one of the large klonto that were partially buried, not the small ones on the upper echelons of the— Wait. Shit. The wyvern. Torvaas looked defeated, and Lytha held her head in her hands. Ulthan looked them over and sighed. The wyvern had nearly killed him before—now it would not be so easily slain. Fanrinn fell to his knees, and Ellaria looked angry at the weakness the group was showing for a moment, though it passed, and she too seemed distraught about the prospect of facing the beast again. Joravyn seemed too weak to stand, let alone fight.
