The Savage Realms

by Willard Black

  The horses tossed their manes and whinnied. Mercer did his best to calm the beasts. A few rays of dim moonlight filtered through chinks in the roof and their eyes slowly adjusted to the shadows. They were in a stone chamber with a large sarcophagus on a raised dais in the center. Alcoves were cut in the walls, and at the back of the chamber a narrow stair led down into utter black. Drake stood before the door, his hands on his knees and his staff in the crook of one arm, breathing heavy. Trix let out a frustrated growl.

  Allison backed away and rubbed her arms against the icy chill pouring through the stone slab. “What is that thing?”

  “A revenant,” Mercer told her. “A ghost that feeds on the life force of the living.”

  “Can it get inside?” she asked.

  Drake straightened up and shook his head. “I’ve sealed the door. We’re safe for now, but it took every bit of power I had. I won’t be much use for a while.”

  “How do we get out?” Allison asked with a hint of panic in her voice.

  “Daylight destroys the undead,” Mercer explained. “Soon as the sun comes up, the revenant will flee back to its crypt.”

  “I think we’re standing in its crypt,” Drake told them.

  “So we just have to wait for morning,” Allison said.

  Drake nodded and palmed sweat from his forehead.

  Mercer pointed to Drake’s goatee and Allison noticed a shock of new grey in the caster’s beard. Drake moved closer to a shaft of moonlight and lifted his long goatee, staring down his crooked nose. His face pinched. “Damn it.”

  “Well, this is just perfect,” Trix said. “Trapped in a tomb.” She took her hair out of the ponytail, bent over to shake it out, and then gathered it back up again before looking at Allison. “Nice going.”

  Alison spread her hands. “What did I do?”

  Trix clicked her tongue. “If not for you, we wouldn’t be stuck in this smelly old crypt.”

  “We’d all be dead if not for me,” Allison said.

  “One of our horses is dead and our gear is scattered,” Trix said.

  “I raised the alarm,” said Allison. “Mercer was asleep.”

  “It’s true,” Mercer said. He stood with an arm around a horse’s neck, patting the frightened beast. “I had dozed off.”

  Trix shot an icy look at Mercer and then turned back to Allison. “You’ve been a pain in the ass ever since you logged in.”

  “Think what you like,” Allison said and crossed her arms over her chest. “Maybe you should go back to Tanthus and let us have all the money.”

  “And maybe we’re going through all this for nothing,” Trix fired back. “Maybe you aren’t as smart as you think.”

  “I know where the money is,” Allison shouted.

  “Enough,” Mercer rumbled. “You two are going to wake the dead with all that racket.”

  Trix fell silent and Allison stood with her arms clutched tight over her small breasts. In the ensuing quiet, they heard what sounded like the rattle of old bones from the back of the crypt.

  Drake glanced at Mercer and said, “Bad choice of words.”

  Allison’s heart climbed up into her throat at the sound. She turned toward the stairs.

  Trix pulled her short swords from the scabbards with a ring of metal.

  Mercer said, “We’re going to need a little light.”

  “I just said I’m tapped out,” Drake rasped.

  “Not even a little?” Mercer said.

  “What does tapped out mean to you?”

  Mercer herded the animals toward the door and pulled his axe from his belt loop. He and Trix planted themselves in the middle of the floor facing the darkened stair, while Drake reached into his cloak for a flint striker, which he handed to Allison. “Make yourself useful,” Drake said.

  “What do I do with it?”

  He brought out a flask of dull gray powder. “We need light,” he said and pointed to a pair of torches sticking up from one of the saddlebags. “Grab one of those.”

  Drake dug through the equipment until he found an old cloak and ripped at the hem. They wrapped the bit of dusty cloth around the knobby end of the torch and Drake sprinkled powder from the flask, then Allison struck it with the flint and a pale orange flame engulfed the head. The dim light danced and flickered on the mossy stone walls of the crypt.

  “Get another,” Drake instructed as he handed the torch to Mercer.

  The clattering noise of loose bones came up the stairs, making Allison think of a gypsy fortune-teller rattling bones in a cup to divine the future. By the wane light of the torch, they spied the outline of a grinning skull appear at the head of the steps. Moth-eaten rags covered the hollow rib cage and a rusty sword was clutched in one skeletal hand. Blank hollows where the eyes should have been stared out at them, and the jaw hinged open in a soundless battle cry.

  “Skeletons,” Mercer announced.

  Half a dozen clattering skeletons—swords and clubs clutched in fleshless fingers, their bones held together by some devilry and their bodies clothed in decaying rags—climbed the steps.

  Mercer met the first horror with a sweep of his axe. The blade smashed the old skull into a dozen pieces that peppered the stone wall like shrapnel, but the skeleton continued to fight without its head. The arm lifted the notched short sword and swung. Mercer deflected the blow and then hacked off the skeleton’s arm at the elbow. Meanwhile, Trix used her twin blades to cut the hands and legs off two more as they clambered over the top step. Broken bones rattled across the stone floor.

  Allison helped Drake light another torch with his powder and held the burning brand high overhead. The skeletons were slow and fought with jerking movements, like clumsy animatronics. Three more mounted the steps only to get dismembered in a flurry of attacks. These enemies weren’t so bad, Allison decided. Another skeleton reached the top and Mercer chopped it in two with a swing of his axe. Trix dispatched the top half and Mercer smashed the legs to powder.

  Allison turned to Drake and said, “They’re winning!”

  “They’re not every dangerous in ones and twos,” he said. “When they attack in groups, they’re deadly.”

  No sooner had the words left his mouth than a dozen skeletons mounted the steps, marching in ranks with their swords ready.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Skeletal horrors crested the top step with weapons raised, ready for battle. Boney heels clacked on the bare stone floor and hollow rib cages rattled. A breath of moldy air, like rotting vegetation, came off them in sickening waves. Allison crowded back against the horses who were already pressed against the door of the tomb. Their ears were laid back flat at the sight of the skeletons, and terrified shrieks filled the air.

  Mercer and Trix hacked and slashed, cleaving down the walking skeletons, but they were outnumbered and forced to fall back toward the center of the tomb, fighting just to keep from being overwhelmed. Their blades hewed dry bone with hard cracking noises and broken chips flew around the crypt, rebounding off walls. Mercer took a cut on his forearm but fought through the pain. Trix had only minor scrapes, but she was running out of steam. Her attacks were slowing down, her blades barely turning the vicious attacks in time to avoid being run through. Sweat beaded on her forehead and she gasped for every breath. There was a flurry of clashing steel and whistling clubs. Sparks flashed as blades met and four of the skeletons were cut down, but this was a contest of numbers and, Allison saw, Mercer and Trix were losing. The skeletons were slowly pushing them back. Soon they would have their backs to the wall and then it would only be a matter of time before they were overrun.

  Allison’s hand went to the hilt of the long dagger at her belt. Before she had a chance to think, Allison drew the blade and rushed forward. She had a flaming brand in one hand and the long dagger in the other. Mercer and Trix had been pushed all the way back to the sarcophagus in the center of the chamber and the skeletons were pressing in on both sides, starting to surround them. One of the skeletons separated from the
group, trying to move around the pack and come at them from behind. Allison reared back and swung her dagger, aiming for its skull. The blade rang off the yellow dome, leaving a shallow notch. The vibration travelled up Allison’s arm into her brain and threatened to rattle the teeth right out of her mouth. She stumbled back as the skeleton turned to face her, staring at her from the depths of its empty eye sockets.

  Allison retreated as the skeleton advanced. It raised the sword in one boney hand, like a baseball batter winding up for a pitch. Light glinted off the rusty blade and Allison’s heart trembled inside her chest.

  She shrank down, a turtle trying to crawl back inside its shell. The blade whistled through the air over her head, lopping the end off her torch. The flaming head of the torch hit the wall and exploded in a shower of sparks before winking out, leaving behind the acrid stench of smoke.

  She scrambled back until she bumped into one of the trembling horses. The animal gave a snort and tossed its mane. Beyond the horse was the door, and beyond the door was the revenant. No escape that way. The skeleton advanced on her. She dropped the useless torch and gripped the dagger in both hands.

  The skeleton raised the notched blade overhead for a downward stroke, and Allison thrusted her dagger up to block. Steel met with a resounding clash and sparks flashed. The impact stunned Allison and she staggered aside. The skeleton would have chopped her in half with his next blow, but the frightened horse reared up on its hind legs and kicked.

  Hooves impacted the hollow rib cage and the skeleton exploded like a party popper; broken bones scattered, and the notched sword clanged across the bare stone floor.

  A moment later, Mercer and Trix dispatched the last of the skeletons and stood in the center of the room, breathing heavy. Mercer’s arm was bleeding freely and Trix had a nasty gash on her left hand. Her pinkie finger stuck out at a bad angle. The sight made Allison’s stomach flip-flop. Trix held her broken hand out to Mercer and he set the broken bone with a quick jerk. Trix’s face twisted in pain. She closed her eyes, breathed through her teeth, and waited for the hurt to pass.

  Drake went digging through his saddlebags and brought out two small vials of a dark green liquor which he passed to Mercer and Trix. They unstopped the bottles and Allison caught a whiff of the pungent concoction. She hoped she never got injured, because she didn’t think she could stomach the foul-smelling brew. It reminded her of the sticky sluice that collects at the bottom of an industrial dumpster. Mercer and Trix sucked at the vials like they were filled with champagne instead of revolting green ichor. Mercer’s forearm stopped dripping blood and Trix was able to flex her hand. It was a slow, jerky movement, but the pinkie finger was working again.

  Shattered bone, crushed sculls, and rusty weapons lay scattered over the floor of the tomb. The animals whinnied and tossed their tails in nervous excitement. Sweat covered their flanks and their limber legs trembled. Allison took a moment to catch her breath, then helped Drake light another torch.

  “How long until sun up?” she asked.

  Drake said, “Do I look like a pocket watch?”

  Mercer picked up a battered long sword and passed it to Allison. “We’ll make a fighter out of you yet.”

  “Do you think there’ll be more?” she asked.

  As if in answer to her question, the telltale rattle of bones floated up from the darkened stair.

  “To the stairs,” Mercer ordered. “We can hold them at the top.”

  Trix said, “Drake? Have you got anything?”

  “Buy me a few minutes.” He dug through his saddlebag and selected a bottle of clear liquid which glowed faintly when he shook it. He pulled out the stopper and sucked it down. Meanwhile, Allison followed Mercer and Trix to the head of the stairs. Mercer’s torch threw off enough light to see half a dozen steps, and then everything dissolved into darkness. More skeletons swarmed out of the shadows. Allison counted four, then three more, and two more behind those. Ten all told, armed with clubs and swords.

  Mercer said, “Aim for the joints.”

  Allison nodded, set her teeth, and gripped the dusty old saber in both hands. Her knuckles turned white on the grip and her heart crowded up around her throat.

  “Don’t forget to breathe,” Trix said.

  Then the skeletons were on them. A phalanx of five charged the top step, rusty blades slashing the air. Allison turned a vicious cut with her saber. Steel met in a ringing clash that sent shockwaves up her arm, but this time she was ready for it. Sweat soaked her palm and made gripping the weapon hard work. Her legs felt rubbery and her vision narrowed until the only thing she could focus on was the skeleton directly in front of her. She blocked two more attacks, then saw an opening. Her heart was beating a frantic rhythm against her rib cage as she swung her saber with all her strength at the skeleton’s elbow. The edge hit bone and there was a moment of resistance, then the weapon cut through. The skeleton’s forearm, still clutching the sword, went spinning.

  Mercer and Trix cut down the other four, but by that time the next group was on them and Allison was caught up in a frantic melee. Swords flashed and the high-pitched shriek of cutting steel reverberated around the room. At some point, Mercer lost his torch. The brand fell, rolled across the ground, and extinguished, leaving them to fight in near total darkness.

  Flashing steel slipped past her defense and Allison felt the wicked sting of cold metal against her ribs. She hissed and danced backwards. Exquisite pain caused her legs to buckle. Rough stone bit into her kneecaps. Her face twisted at the electric barb in her side, but she managed to raise her saber in time to ward off another blow before Mercer stepped in to save her.

  He hacked the head off the skeleton and took a shallow cut on his shoulder for his efforts. Through clenched teeth, he shouted, “Drake!”

  Drake didn’t answer. He was too busy concentrating. He had chugged the potion and now gripped his staff in both hands. His eyes opened and in a perfectly calm voice he said, “Get clear.”

  Trix leapt aside. Mercer grabbed Allison and bore her to the ground as Drake raised his staff, pointed at the tide of skeletons pouring over the top step, and intoned, “Tharis Fea Niktu!”

  Chapter Forty-Four

  A bolt of unseen energy flashed across the chamber, hit the skeletons with devastating force, and shattered them to pieces. The shock wave went thundering down the steps, blasting apart more enemies in explosions which shook the tomb like the blow from a giant’s hammer. Dust rained down from the ceiling and pebbles danced across the floor. The sound faded away, leaving behind the clatter of distant bones tumbling down the stairs, but that too dwindled until silence once again filled the tomb.

  Mercer had come down on top of Allison and felt her small body pinned beneath him. She was flat on her back, looking up into his eyes with a flush in her cheeks. He whispered, “You okay?”

  She managed a nod, then winced and her hand went to her side.

  Mercer levered himself up and saw blood soaking through a rip in her wool riding shirt. His brows bunched, and his mouth turned down. “We’d better get that taken care of.”

  Mercer didn’t see it, but Trix stood with her back to the wall and a frown on her face. Her mouth formed a strict line and her nostrils flared. Her eyes threw off sparks.

  He helped Allison to her feet and then went to the top step, listening for any sign of more skeletons, but heard only a hollow breath of wind coming up from the darkness. Who knew what kind of treasure lay at the bottom of those steps? If Mercer was in better condition and Drake was fresh, he’d delve into the crypt and see what he found, but he was tired and wounded, and Drake was in no condition to throw any more spells today. Too bad. They’d probably never find this place again.

  Find the ten million and you won’t have to, thought Mercer.

  Drake leaned heavily on his staff. The lines around his face looked deeper, like that last casting had taken something out of him. He groped for the edge of the sarcophagus and sat on the corner. “I’m tapped out,” he
wheezed.

  Mercer nodded. “I think we’re good for now, but we could use a few potions.”

  “We’ve only got three more,” Drake told him. “And it’s a long way to the wall. Who knows what kind of dangers we’ll face on the other side.”

  “Allison needs it,” Mercer said.

  “I’m okay.” Allison pressed a hand against her rib cage and limped to the corner where she sat down. “Just a scrape.”

  “We’ll resupply in Redgate,” Mercer told him.

  “If that’s even possible.”

  “If we lose her, we made this trip for nothing,” Mercer argued.

  Drake cocked one scraggly grey eyebrow at her and then went to his saddlebag. He passed a small vial to Mercer. An extra small vial, Mercer noted. Just enough to start the wound healing and stop any infection, but it would leave her in pain. He went through his own gear for clean gauze and witch hazel. Stooping in front of Allison, he said, “Drink this.”

  Her nose turned up at the sluggish green ooze.

  “It will kill any infection,” Mercer told her. “Try not to smell it. It’s best if you drink it like a shot of tequila. Don’t let it hit your tongue.”

  She pulled the stopper, tipped it back, and then had a coughing fit. Mercer patted her on the back and then said, “We’d best have a look.”

  She shook her head. “I’m alright. Really. It’s not so bad.”

  But her face told a different story. Whether it was the cut, or the aftertaste of the healing potion, which tasted something like old shoe leather boiled in rotten eggs, sweat was beading on her forehead and her face was turning waxy.

  “Don’t be stubborn,” Mercer told her. “That’s my thing.”

  Allison managed a small laugh and pulled up her shirt, revealing a bloody gash in the alabaster skin. Mercer glimpsed the underside of one small breast, barely a mosquito bite. He cleared his throat, uncorked the witch hazel, and said, “This is gonna sting.”