by Chad Corrie
“What?” Boaz bellowed.
“When did this happen?” asked Kaden.
“A short while ago.” The warrior tried speaking as clearly as possible through his desperate pants. “I killed those who tried to take me . . . and some others . . . but we don’t know how to stand against the wizard.”
“He’s using hobgoblins to capture more test subjects?” Elek’s voice was a mixture of shock and rage.
“Damn him and his column to the Abyss!” Boaz slammed his fist on the throne’s armrest. “Each of you take some loyal men and secure the ruins.” Leaping from his seat, he added, “If you find anyone trying to take captives, kill them.”
“But what about Valan?” asked Ranak.
“He’s mine,” Boaz growled through gritted teeth.
“How?” asked Nalis. “As long as he’s protected from our attacks—”
“I’m done cowering.” Boaz drew his sword and gave it a practice swing. “I do this for the tribe’s honor as well as my own.”
“Let us come with you,” Kaden begged. “If we have more swords, we might be able—”
“You have your orders. Now follow them.” Boaz ran out of the room. Those who remained waited only long enough to claim a section they’d take over before following Boaz’s commands, each mindful this might be the last day they drew breath.
Hadek’s chest felt like it was being shred from the inside out as he raced through the hallway leading up to the hidden door of Valan’s chamber. The door was no longer guarded, and there were signs of struggle and fights, along with a few dead bodies, peppering the area. He was sure the bloody scene would be repeated over the rest of the ruins soon enough. Valan had finally snapped, and it was time to run while he still had the chance.
After killing the last Celetor, the mage had fallen into a deeper pit of desperation about mastering the column. That desperation quickly turned into overwhelming madness as Valan began coercing any hobgoblin he came across to take on their fellow tribesmen in order to save themselves from being tossed in the Transducer. Hadek didn’t know how wide Valan’s actions had spread, but the mage had thus far stirred the beginnings of a very large skirmish between those doing the capturing and those attempting to liberate their fellow tribesmen.
Now was the time to run if ever there was one. Valan could turn on him at any moment. The tribe all hated him and wanted to see him dead. And then there was Boaz . . . No sooner had the thought arose than Boaz himself appeared at the end of the hall, charging straight toward him. Hadek nearly swallowed his tongue in amazed fright as the red-skinned hobgoblin closed the gap between them at a bewildering rate, sword drawn and a frenzied snarl on his face. Hadek didn’t know what to do other than drop to his knees and cower.
“Mercy,” he cried, letting his head fall into his lap.
Over the blood pounding in his ears he heard Boaz rush up to and then away from him.
Carefully raising his head revealed the chieftain hadn’t even given him another thought, setting his sights instead on the secret door from which he’d come.
Not sure what was going on but not wishing to waste any time either, the goblin leapt up and continued his dash from the ruined temple. He might still have enough time to gather his meager belongings and take some provisions for his escape. And whatever he was going to do he needed to be quick about it. Once Boaz and Valan clashed, things would rapidly go from bad to worse.
As he scrambled out from the temple, Hadek stopped, noting the darkening sky. It should have still been daylight, but instead a thick darkness was rolling in. At first he thought it might be a thunderstorm, but the more he studied it, the more he realized something wasn’t right. The darkness seemed to move almost by will—as if alive.
“This one too.” He snapped his head to and fro, searching out the source of the strange voice he knew he’d just heard. He was still alone, yet he knew the voice had been as real as if it’d been spoken from right beside him. It was a strange voice too: not fully feminine but not entirely masculine either.
What was going on?
He drew a sharp breath upon spotting an unsettling sight in the thickening darkness. He thought he saw a collection of large tentacles swarming about the spreading pitch. Tentacles with snapping mouths at their ends. He blinked and the image was dark, rolling clouds once again. Yes, it was definitely time to go. Immediately, he renewed his run with more drive than before.
The chamber below the ruined temple had become little more than a refuse dump after Valan had started shoving as many hobgoblins as he could into the Transducer. Heaps and puddles of smoldering flesh dotted the floor around the column. Some of the blobs moved with sickening, twitching motions; others still had their former hobgoblian visage, but little else. Contorted and charred faces stared emptily into the swirling air, eyes reflecting the abject pain and horror they’d endured before entering Asorlok’s gates.
Amid the carnage Valan danced with a wicked glee, his eyes bulging with the madness that had finally consumed him. His floating globe of light was always close at hand, helping guide his steps. He commanded two hobgoblins to shove another of their protesting tribesmen into the column’s base. They did so without hesitation, knowing full well they’d take his place should they refuse. Once the victim was inside Valan gave the column a hard stare, thrusting an accusing finger forward and saying, “I’ll master you yet. Do you hear me?”
The two hobgoblins exchanged a glance but did nothing more than take a few steps back while Valan began casting the spell. But before he could get more than a single word out the chamber was filled with the sound of a heavy thud followed by thunderous footsteps galloping down the stairs.
“Valan!” Boaz shouted.
Valan ignored the enraged chieftain, returning to the familiar incantation. He’d pulled his necklace out shortly after he’d used up the last Celetor. It was a preparation as well as a reminder that nothing could stop him from mastering the Transducer—especially that bellowing bull of a chieftain. The two hobgoblins didn’t share the mage’s boldness. Instead, they ran for their lives, disappearing up the stairwell as their chieftain passed them. No matter. He’d have more soon enough.
“Thoth ron heen ackleen. Lore ulter-bak ulter-bak . . .”
Boaz leapt from the steps. Valan continued ignoring him. His chant raised the magical energy in the room to a crackling charge as purple light emanated from the runes on the ancient column, filling the room with a fearsome brilliance. Boaz had barely landed at the base of the stairs when he lowered his head and set his horns for a charge. Valan continued as the familiar, deafening hum began gaining volume.
In the midst of the mayhem, a bolt of charcoal-gray energy hit Valan like a spear. He could clearly see during the flash it struck somewhere on his chest. But he didn’t have time for any further investigation; the following moment Boaz was upon him. As waves of fiery agony burst up and over his body, it dawned on him Boaz had run Valan through with one of his horns. The attack had pierced his midsection, forcing his intestines out the other side.
“How?” he grunted as blood ran from the corner of his mouth. He knew this was a fatal wound. But how could it have been dealt in the first place? What had gone wrong with the necklace? Then he knew. The charcoal-gray bolt. It must have been a counterspell. But who was the caster?
“No!” An insane fire burned in Valan’s mind and body. “I won’t be beaten. Not now!”
Boaz shook his head. The horn cut deeper into the wizard’s flesh. As he sank lower on the white bone, more of his innards spilled from the growing hole in his gut. Once Valan had slid the horn’s full length, Boaz took hold of the wizard and violently pulled him off, throwing him on the floor.
“I’ll cut you to ribbons and then feed you to the dogs!” Boaz raised his sword with a sadistic grin as Valan’s eyes began glowing a bright silver.
Boaz stopped in his tracks when his bloodied horn burst into silver fire. Wherever Valan’s blood had been spilled there erupted more wicked fl
ames. These miniature blazes wouldn’t go out, no matter how much Boaz pounded on his horn, head, shoulder, and chest. Enraged and screaming from the searing agony, he dropped and began frantically rolling around the floor. But it did nothing except spread the flames farther over his body.
Through the anguish, he cursed Valan and his magic, even cursed the gods: light, gray, and dark. He even cursed the very ground over which he rolled. Valan laughed at the sight, all the while trying to keep more of himself from spilling out. Boaz could only respond with a futile grunt as the last of his breath escaped through charred lips.
Valan groaned as he pushed himself up from the ground. Gathering as much of his intestines as he could, he shuffled toward the fence and column, the globe of light following. A simple motion opened the gate and a weary gesture dissipated the magical barrier at the column’s base.
“Get out!” he ordered the trembling hobgoblin inside. The hobgoblin was still alive and shaken by the whole ordeal, but not a fool. He dashed from the spot, climbing the stairs with all his might.
Valan dropped to his knees and crawled into the column, leaving a trail of blood in his wake. The trail, like the rest of his blood, had been extinguished into cooling scarlet pools and splatters. The globe he left outside. It wouldn’t do mixing magic in the vicinity. Once inside, he struggled into a seated position and brought the words of the spell to his pale lips. He closed his eyes and pushed through the pain. He had to focus. Focus.
“Thoth ron heen ackleen. Lore ulter-bak ulter-bak . . .”
He felt the magical barrier descend over the column’s opening. The purple light of the column—which clawed right through his eyelids—overwhelmed him. The pulsating hum that followed soaked into him, shaking his bones en route to the very core of his being. Though his wound and the effects of the column distracted him, he fought hard in keeping his mind on the spell. This was his only—his last—chance.
Brilliant light blinded him and smashed into his head, twisting and tormenting his brain as fire and lightning coursed through his veins. Unbearable, unimaginable pain erupted from every pore. So great was the torment, he found the world fading into darkness. As he slipped into unconsciousness, the words of the spell faded and fumbled from his lips . . .
After a stretch of silent darkness had passed, his eyelids opened. There was no purple light and no droning hum. All was quiet and still. He was alive.
His hand went first for the wound. It was gone. Only the torn fabric of his robe spoke of its previous existence. The Transducer had healed him! He could see as well—that was good, as it meant he still had his eyes. He hoped they were where they should be and not scattered somewhere else about his head.
Taking in his hands, he saw he still had two of them, each possessing four fingers and a thumb, which he used in searching his face. He still had a nose and was in possession of his normal features. The pointed ears were new, but welcome. The dranors were said to possess them and he took them as a good sign.
Standing, he discovered he was taller than before—probably about half a foot if he had to guess. But everything else felt the same. No horns, no more pain, a bit taller. A promising start. His mind seemed clearer as well. More importantly, he was rid of Boaz. He couldn’t have wished for a better outcome.
Another gesture dissolved the magical barrier around the column. He walked into the cooler area outside it. Like some loyal hound, the globe of light returned to its familiar position off the side of his head. By its aid he considered the scattered hobgoblian remains with fresher, saner eyes. There would be more coming soon. Word would spread of Boaz charging to face him, and when their chieftain didn’t return, they’d come investigating . . . and in larger numbers. He needed to be ready.
And then he noticed how under the globe’s light his hands had more of a yellowish cast. Another gesture summoned a swirling white oval of light. Dragging a finger across it made it mirror-like. With its aid, he took a good hard look at the image staring back at him with a growing scowl. He’d hoped he’d been able to ascend to the ranks of the dranors—his goal from the start. But it wasn’t the reflection of a dranor staring back at him. His brown eyes now rested under a slightly protruding brow. And his skin clearly possessed a yellowish cast—almost the same shade as a ripe pear. Then there were the pointed ears and his black hair. A snarl revealed his sharp and more pronounced canine teeth.
In a fit of rage, he thrust his fist into the white light. It shattered like glass, sending shards of dimming illumination cascading to the floor.
“He didn’t die.” Sargis raised his face from the scrying skull. “Was that because your spell was too weak?”
“The spell worked fine,” Cadrith replied, referring to what he’d cast through the scrying skull just a moment ago. The charcoal-gray bolt had found Valan easily. “It removed his protection.”
“But he didn’t die,” Sargis repeated. “I thought you wanted him dead.”
“He’ll be dead soon enough.” Cadrith pulled a nearby chest closer to his side, always keeping his focus on the skull. His staff never left his possession. Valan’s recovery, while annoying, wouldn’t amount to much. Not when the final pieces were falling into place. “This way he can suffer being changed into a hybrid of the very thing he despises.”
“And you’re certain these others are up to the task?” Sargis observed him. Cadrith took some delight in knowing how hard it was for the greater demon to discern his thoughts from his fleshless face. He knew Sargis was suspecting treachery. It was the way of life in the Abyss—a core aspect of every fiend and abysmal incarnate—but he had to string Sargis along a little longer.
“If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have summoned you.” He continued playing the long-suffering man of integrity. He’d done it for so long it was almost second nature. “Actually, this can work in our favor far better than I first thought. With the chieftain slain there’s now disarray, and with the others en route they should be able to finish Valan off—or at the very least wound him enough to allow the portal’s creation.”
“I’m not going to leave your side until it’s finished.” While it wasn’t said as such, it was clearly a threat.
“Afraid I’d leave without you?”
“The thought had crossed my mind,” Sargis coolly replied.
Cadrith sought a small pouch at his side. “If I have to tip the scales in our favor I’ll need to act quickly.” He sprinkled some dust he’d pinched from the pouch over the chest he’d lugged beside him, muttering a spell. The chest took on a faint violet illumination, then began shrinking. In short order it’d gone from half the size of a man to about a hand’s width. Stooping to pick up the much smaller chest, the lich opened another pouch at his waist and stuffed it inside. “That means you’ll have to trust me until everything is resolved.”
“A world and a body,” Sargis said, watching the scrying skull once more. “You promised me both.”
“And you shall have them,” he replied. “The magic in the portal will restore you. But we have to get through the portal first. Just remember, she’ll cast the spell on the Transducer and then—”
“Why can’t you cast it again?” Sargis popped his head up with a smirk in his voice, if not on his lips.
“That wasn’t part of the plan.” Cadrith knew full well the demon was having some sport with him again. But he wasn’t going to give him any satisfaction.
“Because you’ve grown so weak?” Sargis continued. “Is that why that other mage still lives?”
“I can always make it so the portal only works for me. And I’d be more than happy to do so, too.” That was a lie, of course, but he still said it with enough conviction even he was tempted to believe it.
“I wouldn’t want you to change your plans on my account,” said Sargis. “Just know that I’ll be watching you—closer than ever before.”
“Just be ready.” Cadrith continued staring into the scrying skull.
Chapter 28
Knowledge is a weapon. Knowledg
e is a tool.
Yet even so it goes to waste in the hand of any fool.
—Old Tralodroen proverb
Cadrissa kept to the middle of the group as they made their way through the murky hall. Dotted here and there were rough-hewn clay oil lamps forced into crevices and various nooks. A handful of anemic flames flickered among them, doing little to lift the hovering unease. Scattered debris marked a simple trail down the more solid areas of the floor, with a small collection of goblian graffiti appearing every so often. Here and there she also noticed clumps of dog and what was most likely basilisk scat. Some of these mounds were almost petrified, others more recently deposited.
As they moved on, they entered a ruined hallway littered with fallen masonry. Silently making their way around the debris brought them toward a set of stairs in the wall to their right. These they climbed with an abundance of caution—Gilban especially, who surprisingly kept up the pace without difficulty. At the top they found a hallway marred with gaping holes. The walls had been repaired, but only in part. And then they heard the barking echoing from another hallway on their left.
Everyone froze until Alara signaled they move on. As one they fled the landing, dashing into the damaged hallway. Through the holes, she could see the littered floor they’d just walked over moments ago. It remained empty—a good omen. Uneasily, they made it through the rest of the corridor until it connected with a solid wall.
“Where do we go now?” asked Alara. The barking had grown fainter but was still close enough to be worrisome.
“There was a smaller hallway I saw as we walked into this one, branching to the south,” said Rowan. “It looks like the only way—”
“It looks like the only way”—Vinder grinned—“but I’ve found another.”
“What do you mean?” Cadrissa didn’t follow.
“Look here. This stone doesn’t fit right, and when I push it . . .” Vinder pushed on the section of wall, demonstrating his point. As he did, an entire panel gave way, sliding aside to allow an opening to appear. “We have another way.”
