by Paul S. Kemp
Everything came together for him but too late – the holes in the wall where something had been poured behind the door, the unusual metal of the door itself, the tarred seal.
"Off the floor, Egil! Off!"
Nix jumped up, his boots already warming from the touch of the liquid, and grabbed hold of one of the lampreys carved into the lintel. He braced his feet on a sand serpent carved into the left post, praying to Aster that they did not animate.
Egil must have heard the alarm in Nix's tone for he responded quickly. Too big to perch on the door jamb, he put both hammers head down on the ground and, holding the hafts, went feet over head in a handstand, and just in time.
The initial slow rush of black liquid from under the door gave way to a gush of fluid as the door opened wider. The fluid bubbled as it dissolved stone, filling the air with black, stinging smoke. Nix put his face in his sleeve to shield his nose and mouth against the stench. Egil, unable to do anything but hold himself upright, had to endure it.
The acid popped as it ate at the surface of the floor and the heads of Egil's hammers. Had they been standing on the floor, the substance would already have eaten through their boots and started dissolving flesh. Tiny droplets from popping bubbles hit Egil's bare forearms, burned pink pinholes into the hairy flesh. The priest grunted at the pain, the stinging reek.
"Egil?"
The lucky dice Egil carried with him on every expedition slipped from his pocket and fell into the acid, asp eyes up. The ivory pyramids cracked, shattered, and dissolved. Egil loosed a stream of expletives cut short when he inhaled the smoke and started to splutter. The coughing upset his balance and he swayed.
"Nix!" he gasped between coughs.
Nix adjusted his weight, steadied himself on three points, and reached out and back to grab Egil by the ankle.
"Got you."
They hung there over the acid, two friends and adventurers, one balanced precariously on his melting hammers, the other hanging on the wall in a desperate three-point perch. The whole affair struck Nix as hilarious, but he swallowed his laughter lest a guffaw dislodge him from the wall and kill them both.
"Here's a moment, yeah?" Nix said through gritted teeth.
"Shut up."
"I hope you bought better hammers than usual," Nix said, watching the metal of the weapons smoke and crack.
"Do not make me laugh," Egil said. "I'll pull us both down."
"I'd let you go before that. But I'd mourn you, rest assured. For a few moments, at least."
The acid, spreading thin across the floor of the chamber, soon bubbled less, smoked less. In a few more moments the popping ceased altogether and the smoke diminished, crowding close to the high ceiling in a stinking yellow-black cloud. Nix gave it another sixty count, then said:
"That's it. It's inert."
"You're certain?"
"As certain as I was about the magic key," Nix said.
"Shite," Egil answered.
Nix chuckled as he released Egil's ankle, hopped off the wall, and landed in the thin layer of black liquid that coated the now-pitted floor.
"See?"
Egil lowered his feet to the ground and stood. "Pits, man!" He covered one nostril and blew snot from the other, each in turn, then hocked and spit.
The hallway behind the now open door was barely a hallway at all, being only a few hand spans deep and there blocked by another door, of similar make to the one they'd just opened. The walls, too, were made of the same odd metal as the doors.
"You see what they did here?" said Nix appreciatively. "They sealed this compartment and poured acid in through the holes above the door. Time spared us, I suspect. The acid must have been wizard-made to last this long. It was probably much stronger once. Your hammers probably wouldn't have lasted had we entered this tomb a century ago."
Egil eyed his hammers, the metal heads pitted and discolored, the prayers he'd engraved on the metal effaced.
"Time didn't spare us, Nix. You did."
Nix colored under his friend's praise. "You've done the same for me many times."
"Nevertheless."
Nix put a hand on Egil's shoulder, moved past him, and studied the second door. He sensed no ward, no bottom seal, no holes, no sign of any traps at all. And the lock appeared similar to the one he'd just picked.
"It's like the other. A simple lock to charm."
"Do it, then," Egil said.
Nix looked back. "You're certain? We just got a second chance. We could still walk away."
Egil shook his head, the set of his jaw hard under his thick beard. "This tomb and its idiot wizard-king owe me hammers and owe you boots." He eyed his pitted, discolored weapons and shook his head in disgust. "Give me your crowbar. These'll crack on the first skull they mean to split."
Nix took an iron crowbar from his satchel. Egil took it and tossed the hammers back into the darkness behind them. He took the lantern from its perch and aimed its light into the keyhole.
"Let's see what there's to see," Egil said.
Nix had the lock picked in under a fifty count. Counterweights descended, metal ground against stone, and the door began to rise.
The lantern light illuminated a domed, circular chamber beyond the door, the perimeter of the floor scored with deep, straight grooves. Statues of Abn Thahl stood at the compass points, the largest at due north. The statues featured the sand serpent and lamprey motifs favored by the Afirions, scaled forms coiling around the wizard-king's graven image. Painted images of still more serpents, lampreys, and even toothfish decorated the plastered walls, together with more pictoglyphs telling the story of Abn Thahl's life and rule. Fangs were everywhere in the imagery. Abn Thahl stood in the midst of the teeth and scales, unharmed, ruling not only men but the toothy creatures of the desert and sea, unleashing them on towns in great slithering waves to secure his rule. Some images had Abn Thahl with a serpent's head or a scaled body. Nix doubted the images were mere artistic license. He flashed back to his aborted education at Dur Follin's Conclave, to Professor Einz's droning voice as he lectured on magical history.
The Afirion wizard-kings were transmuters and summoners of accomplishment, routinely modifying their own forms, and commanding the spirits and creatures of the otherworld, with a particular affinity for the denizens of Hell.
"Nix?" Egil said. "You here?"
"Here," Nix said, shaking his head to dislodge the memory.
Abn Thahl's stone, gold-chased sarcophagus sat in the exact center of the chamber, the lid carved in his likeness. A large, irregular pit marred the floor before the sarcophagus, like a fanged mouth open in a scream. Atop the sarcophagus, glittering in the lantern light, stood the only treasure visible in the room: the golden, bejeweled idol of the sand serpent.
It was small enough to fit in a hand, but exquisitely made. Its ruby eyes and intricately crafted scales glittered in the lantern light. It was said to have been Abn Thahl's prized possession in life, a gift given him by his wife.
Right away Egil stepped into the room, and for the second time Nix recognized danger a moment too late. He grabbed for Egil's arm but the priest had already crossed into the chamber.
The carved lines in the floor flared orange and a flash made their shape plain, a shape Nix had recognized a moment too late – a summoning triangle.
Professor Einz would have excoriated Nix for missing so obvious a symbol.
A rumble sounded from deep under the earth, a vibration Nix felt in his bones, a shaking that put an ache in his teeth, stood the hair on the back of his neck on end.
"A summoning triangle," Nix said. "Godsdammit."
Egil hefted the crowbar and planted his feet. "Bah. It'll make things interesting."
A voice boomed in the chamber, deep and commanding, a five hundred year old echo of Abn Thahl, the words held in abeyance by the dead wizard-king's conditional magic, waiting only until tomb robbers broke the border of the summoning triangle.
"Vik-Thyss!" Abn Thahl's voice shouted in Ancien
t Afirion, the word profane, ominous. "Return and take those souls of these grave robbers!"
A sudden breeze gusted up from the pit near the sarcophagus, carrying the charnel reek of a graveyard, the faint tang of dry, reptilian stink.
"Shite," said Nix, as Egil set down the lantern.
A lamprey squirmed over the edge of the pit, larger than Nix had ever seen, its body as thick around as a man's waist, its heavy form thumping wetly against the floor. Intelligent black eyes stared over the fanged sphincter of its mouth. A second lamprey appeared beside the first and then…
Nix swallowed in a throat gone dry as an enormous, scaled, misshapen form lurched up, and Nix realized with horror that the lampreys were attached to the form at the shoulders.
They were its arms.
"What devil is this?" Egil said, raising his crowbar and taking a step back despite himself.
The devil pulled the rest of its girth from the pit and stood heavily on the floor. The wrongness of its appearance put stinging bile in the back of Nix's throat. Foul fluid glistened on its scaled form. It stood on two legs as thick as temple columns. Muscles pulsed under the deep green scales of its torso. But where it should have had a neck, it instead had an enormous, toothlined hole that opened directly into its torso. Vertical slits in its chest, under the mouth, exhaled wetly. Its lamprey-arms writhed, the motion hypnotic, grotesque.
"It's a devil, indeed," said Nix, recovering his wits. He'd seen illustrated guides to Hell's Eleven Pits. He knew a diabolical form when he saw it. He noted the grotesque organ hanging from between the creature's thighs. "And not a she-devil, we can be sure."
The eyes of one of the lampreys focused on Nix, the others on Egil. The fang-lined mouths opened and closed, ichor dripping. The mouth in the creature's center opened in a prolonged snarl of hate.
"That idol is to be mine, fiend," said Egil, and brandished the crowbar. "Now climb back into your pit ere I and Ebenor give you this to feed on."
The creature shrieked and bounded toward Egil, its movement surprisingly rapid despite its size and shambling gait. Nix had two throwing daggers in hand and gone before the devil had taken three steps. Both hit the creature and bounced off its scales. It barely seemed to notice.
It lashed its arms at Egil, the teeth snapping. The priest held his ground and swung the crowbar twohanded at one of the onrushing arms. It connected with a dull thud across the lamprey's mouth. Teeth and dark ichor sprayed. The other arm caught Egil in the side so hard it nearly folded him in half. The impact drove the priest to the ground and sent him sliding across the floor. He dug the crowbar into the floor to stop his slide, the friction spraying sparks.
The devil lurched toward the prone priest, arms writhing, teeth snapping.
Nix rushed toward it from the side, throwing his hand axe as he did. The weapon hit the devil squarely in the midsection and again bounced off the scales. The devil roared with anger and Nix ducked under a backhand strike from the lamprey arm, darted in close, and swung his falchion two-handed at the abomination's thigh.
He might as well have struck stone. His blade rang off the creature's scales and the jarring impact numbed his arms. The devil kicked him in the chest and sent him flying across the chamber. He hit the ground in a heap, the breath knocked from him, unsure if he'd broken any ribs.
The ground vibrated with the devil's heavy tread as the creature left off Egil and charged toward Nix. Nix rode adrenaline to his feet, wincing from the pain in his sternum. He parried the attack of one of the lampreys, his arms tingling from the force of the blow. He ducked under a blow from the other lamprey and unleashed a flurry of overhand slashes and cross-strikes. His weapon struck home often, but his blade would not bite the creature's flesh. A blow to his head nearly knocked him senseless and he just ducked under the sucking fangs of the lamprey.
Egil's sharp whistle drew his attention. The priest had scaled the largest statue of Abn Thahl and stood on its shoulder, beside the wizard-king's regal visage and sand serpent headdress.
"Bring it to me!" he shouted in Urgan, his native tongue.
Nix didn't know Egil's plan and didn't need to. He feinted an overhand slash with his falchion, causing the devil to hesitate briefly, and sprinted to his left across the chamber.
"There!" Egil said, pointing with the crowbar at the ground before the statue. "Right there!"
The slurping, snapping teeth of the lampreys sounded loud in Nix's ears. The heavy stomp off the devil's pursuit was right behind him. He expected the bite of one of those arms at any moment, but he proved the faster and made it before the statue.
"Now what?" he shouted.
"Turn and face it!"
"What?"
He had no choice. The devil was upon him, arms flailing, teeth snapping. Nix ducked, spun, leaped, his blade a whistling blur as he tried to keep the devil's attacks at bay and hold his ground. His blade hit home once, twice, but did little damage. A lamprey closed on his shoulder, tore through his shirt, and seized his bicep. Only his boiled leather jack spared his arm. The bite tore loose a chunk of leather but only scraped his skin. The creature withdrew, spat the leather to the floor, and snapped at him again. He dove aside, came up swinging but missing.
"Do what you're going to do!" he shouted in Urgan.
Another rumble sounded and Nix feared a second devil emerging from the pit.
"Get clear!" he heard Egil shout, and looked up to see the large statue of Abn Thahl falling toward him and the devil. Egil was astride it, riding it down, crowbar in hand.
Nix rolled to the side as the statue toppled and Egil jumped clear just before impact. Abn Thahl fell with a wet crunch atop the devil, and the pitch and volume of its pained scream caused Nix to wince.
Egil appeared over Nix, favoring a leg, huge hand extended, and pulled him to his feet. Nix checked his shoulder – a few teeth punctures – and felt his ribs – no breaks so far as he could tell.
Egil winced with each breath and the side of his face was already swelling. He'd not be able to see out of his right eye by the end of the day. Yet he smiled anyway. Blood stained his teeth.
"I may need to keep one of these to hand from now on," he said, brandishing the crowbar. "Quite useful."
"Aye."
Behind them, the devil moaned, stirred under the crush of stone. Its large central mouth, open in a pained groan, expelled a stink that turned Nix's stomach. Its wet breathing sounded like a sodden forge bellows. Abn Thahl's stone eyes stared mournfully out of the pile at Egil and Nix.
Egil spit a mouthful of blood. "Still living, eh? Tough bastard. Help me, Nix."
The priest went to Abn Thahl's sarcophagus, took the idol from its top, and put it in his belt pouch without a second look. Nix knew they could turn that idol into thousands of gold royals back in Dur Follin.
Egil worked the crowbar under the lid of the sarcophagus and levered it loose. Plaster seals audibly snapped. The stink of rot filled the air.
Behind them, the devil exhaled a pained groan and stirred under the ruin. A block of the statue rolled off of it and fell with a crash to the floor.
They slid the lid off to the side to reveal the corpse of Abn Thahl, his desiccated body dressed in the gold grave-goods of one of the wizard-kings of Afirion – a serpent crown, a beaten gold breastplate, a ring of turquoise, a necklace of pearl, a sea of triangular gold coins to pay his way through the afterlife. In his hand, he held an ivory wand capped with a pearl.
Nix showed the dead no more reverence than he showed the living. He snapped off two of the wizardking's fingers as he took the turquoise ring and pried loose the wand.
"The wand for me and the ring for some lucky lass."
The priest pocketed a fistful of the gold coins, more out of principle than need. He eyed the wand skeptically. "Is it enspelled? What does it do?"
"Indeed it is enspelled. I can feel that. And I don't know yet what it does." He winked and placed the wand in his satchel. "But finding out's the fun."
"You a
nd your gewgaws," Egil said, shaking his head. He nodded at the lid of the sarcophagus, then back at the devil. "The fiend still looks hungry, no? Let's give him a wizard-king to eat."
Sweating and grunting, the two adventurers lifted the sarcophagus's lid and carried it across the chamber. Egil positioned them a few paces from the open mouth of the still-breathing devil.
"I think it will die without aid," Nix said, noticing the shallower breathing. "Maybe we should just leave it?"
"Where's the fun in that?" Egil said. "Do you want to be able to say that we slew a devil in Abn Thahl's tomb, or that we left one to rot under a pile of stone?"
"A fair point," Nix said.
"Good. Ready? One, two, three!"
