Herrek picked up his weapons, as did Elidad his. Before any of them could stop him, Gens slipped through the narrow opening. Elidad roared with rage and squeezed after Gens. Herrek followed, and then Adah.
At last, Joash the Groom, despite his fear and feeling of hopelessness, screwed up his courage. He, too, slipped into the crypt.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The Crypt
He was given power to give breath to the image of the first beast, so that it could speak and cause all that refused to worship the image to be killed.
— Revelation 13:15
An aura of sinister purpose and dread rituals filled the crypt. The stench of lingering foulness was strong, and the torchlight seemed to be smothered by an inky power. They wandered into a forest of strange-colored rocks. The rocks, or the separate jumbles of them, towered higher than even Herrek. They had to weave their way around the many piles. Joash made certain not to touch any. They horrified him, and they seemed hideously unclean. Even worse, out of the corner of his eye he thought he saw them move.
They were trolocks, but dead ones, surely. Their animating spirits must have perished ages ago. That’s why they’d toppled. But, such an explanation went against everything Joash had been taught. Spirits were immortal. How then could they perish?
Maybe they slept, Joash thought in horror. His mouth turned dry like ashes. If the trolocks slept and should awaken…
No, the piles of weird-colored stones weren’t trolocks. They were simply a strange aspect of the shrine. But something had walked and had made the three-toed footprint in the rock floor outside. Something had opened the massive door and disrupted the eon-old dust. And something had made a sound of rock grinding against rock.
Elidad laughed. Joash jumped. The human sound didn’t fit this lair of evil. Here, only alien voices should speak, and those in sibilant whispers or infernal shouts.
“Look,” Elidad said. “Draugr.”
Adah and Joash lifted their torches and moved toward the sound of Elidad’s voice. Adah gasped. Herrek called upon Elohim. Like a sleepwalker, spellbound, Joash advanced upon the incredible sight. This was beyond any dream. This was a nightmare come to life. No more would he doubt the old tales. No more would he wonder why the Shining Ones had come down from the Celestial Realm to help man defeat the all-conquering bene elohim. His mouth worked, but no sounds came forth.
“The bene elohim Draugr Trolock-Maker,” whispered Adah. She stood beside Joash, and added her muted torchlight to his. Even so, it wasn’t enough to let them truly view this vast and incredible sight.
Draugr, or his long-lost skeleton, sat on a titanic obsidian throne. Such was the arid cold of the crypt that shreds of flesh still clung to the grim titan. He was monstrous, thrice the size of Mimir, and on him hung a lank coat of chainmail armor. A conical helmet clad his skull, and the withered flesh around his eyes and forehead made the empty sockets seem bottomless. A terrible force seemed to radiate from the lich, and around his waist was girded a mighty belt. Hanging from the belt was a scabbard and sword, which only a large giant could hope to wield. An impossibly huge ruby served the sword as a pommel. The metal hilt was spotless. And the hilt, like the chainmail, reflected the torchlight like silver. Yet, it seemed darker and stronger than any mortal silver.
“Adamant mail,” Adah whispered in awe. “This is a treasure beyond price.”
Elidad stared at her.
“It was armor fashioned and worn only by bene elohim and Shining Ones,” she whispered. “No iron is, or was, like it. Not since the divine hosts walked upon the Earth has any seen adamant. The Shining Ones were said to have scoured the Earth and taken any back with them to the Celestial Realm.”
“And the sword?” asked Joash, whispering.
“Adamant as well, I would wager,” Adah said.
“But its size,” said Elidad. “Who could wield such a sword?”
“Giants,” Adah said, “or First Born.” She stepped toward the lich’s right. A huge adamant shield leaned against the throne. It gleamed and upon it was a stone mask symbol, the mark of Draugr.
Joash backed away. The lich dismayed him. It almost seemed to watch him. He turned. No, something else watched them. Joash glanced from rock pile to rock pile. His heart beat faster. If one of the rock piles should move and lift a hideous head…
“We’re being watched,” Joash said.
Adah turned from the lich and inspected the crypt.
Herrek also turned. The warrior raised his spear and shield and roared in a mighty voice, “Dare to show yourself! I, Herrek, the Champion of Teman Clan, challenge you to single combat!” His voice rang in the crypt, and for a moment, it seemed their torches blazed brighter.
Joash marveled, and in his own breast beat the desire to meet and defeat the enemy. Then the torches dimmed, and a doleful power crept over them. The rock jumbles radiated fiendish menace.
Elidad, who had walked past the lich, cried out. “Here! I’ve found it!” He dashed out of sight, behind the obsidian throne. Gens followed. Slowly, Adah did likewise. Joash didn’t dare be alone with the rocks. He rushed after them.
An eerie green glow greeted him. Elidad knelt by a sunken pit that was filled with emeralds twice the size of those in the leopard-skin pouch. Elidad raved and dug his hands into the pit, scooping emeralds and letting them tinkle into the huge stone bin. Never had Joash guessed such wealth could be in one spot. They were indeed rich beyond their dreams.
Laughing, Elidad took one of his bags and shoved fistfuls of emeralds into it. He lifted the sack, his face shining with lust. “We’re rich!” he cried. “All of us.” His laughter became maniacal.
Gens joined him, producing his own sacks. He too began to fill them.
Adah thrust the end of her torch between two rocks. She peered around, with a poisoned arrow notched on her bowstring.
“Where’s Herrek?” Joash asked.
She shook her head.
“I need more sacks,” Elidad shouted.
Joash licked his lips. The madness was too much. The lich of Draugr was too much. Outside, Nephilim waited. He must destroy the enchanted emeralds.
“I need more sacks!” Elidad roared.
“What about your leopard-skin pouch?” Joash asked, walking closer.
Elidad gave him a blank look.
Using his torch, Joash pointed at Elidad’s belt. “It will hold more.”
Elidad tore the pouch from his belt as a nasty grin filled his face.
Deciding that no more moments might come, Joash stepped closer still. His hand shook as he thrust the torch into Elidad’s face. Elidad screamed, dropping the leopard-skin pouch. Joash dropped the torch, snatched the pouch, turned, and ran.
Elidad made a sound like an animal. He leaped to his feet and struck his chest in rage. “I’ll kill you!” he screamed.
Joash skidded to a stop, ripped open the pouch and rolled the emeralds onto the floor. He picked up a heavy stone, and with an oath, he cracked the emeralds. A second blow splintered them into various pieces.
Adah screamed. Gens moaned. Elidad stood stunned. From near the throne Herrek shouted in amazement, and from somewhere in the crypt rocks ground themselves against one another.
“What have I done?” Elidad wailed. “Ard! Brand! O Elohim, forgive me.”
Joash dropped the hot rock and backed up. In the dim torchlight heat waves wafted upward from the broken emeralds.
The grinding rock-sounds became louder. Joash grabbed his spear and strode to Adah. She stood by her fallen torch with a notched arrow and her eyes wide with fear and loathing.
Gens had dropped his sacks. A longsword was now in his hand, and terror twisted his lean face.
Poor Elidad had sunk to his knees, with his face in his hands as he wept. “Ard. Brand. By my own hand.”
“We must leave this place,” Adah said.
The grinding rock-sounds were louder as Herrek strode from around the throne and to them. His face was pale, and his eyes staring wi
th shock.
“A…” The Champion of Teman Clan was speechless with fear.
“Joash has broken the spell,” Adah said.
Herrek nodded, but couldn’t speak.
“We’ve been tricked,” she said.
“Nephilim await us outside the crypt,” Joash said.
They stared at him.
“I heard rocks clatter before,” Joash said, “when we were outside the cave. And I heard a sandal scrape across shale.”
A sibilant hiss came from somewhere in front of the throne. Maybe it came from the forest of strange-colored rocks.
Tears poured from Elidad’s bloodshot eyes. A vein throbbed on his forehead. He drew his dagger and put the point to his throat. “I no longer deserve to live.”
“No!” Herrek shouted. He dropped his spear and in a single leap, knocked the dagger from Elidad’s hand. “Redeem yourself by battle. You were bewitched. Joash says the Nephilim who did this await us outside. Slay them. In that way, you honor Ard and Brand.”
Elidad stared blankly.
“Destroy those who guided your hand,” Herrek said. “Do not let them profit by your bewitching.”
Elidad’s bloodshot eyes tightened as a mad look fell over him. He grinned in a frightening way. “Ard,” he said, his voice choked with violent emotion. “Brand.” With the stark grin set, Elidad picked up his spear and shield.
The sibilant hiss from the stone forest grew, so it sounded as if a kettle screamed over a fire.
Elidad recklessly laughed.
“A trolock lives,” Joash said. “I heard it walking before as we cleared the wall.”
The blood drained from Gens’s face, and he began to tremble.
Elidad laughed again. It was a strange, inhuman sound, filled with bitterness, but with the promise of violent release.
“Master,” said the hissing voice, the one hidden by the titanic throne.
Adah’s arrow clattered onto the stone floor. Her hands shook. She bit her lip, perhaps stifling a scream.
“The Nephilim used us to lure the trolocks,” Joash said. “It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
Gens wiped away sweat, even though the crypt was as cold as death. A bizarre noise escaped his throat.
Herrek breathed deeply.
“We face an abomination,” Adah whispered, her voice so low that Joash had to strain to hear.
“We must kill it,” Joash said.
Gens gave a strangled laugh. “We shall all perish.”
“Good,” Elidad said. He marched toward the hissing sound.
“Wait,” Herrek whispered.
“I’m done waiting,” Elidad said.
Joash studied the others. When the emeralds had bewitched them they’d been too ignorant to be frightened. Now, thrust into a place of hideous wickedness, their courage had fled. He’d had time to adjust, and gather his bravery. He, therefore, must lead until their courage returned.
“We must help Elidad,” Joash said. “We must all fight together.”
They stared at him as if he was raving mad.
“Pick up your arrow,” he told Adah.
She blinked several times. With shaking hands she scooped the arrow and notched it to her bowstring.
“Follow me,” Joash said, hurrying after Elidad, who had no torch.
In a moment Joash heard the clink of chainmail. Herrek followed him. Adah hurried after the Champion of Teman Clan. Gens, with torch and longsword, did likewise.
Joash caught up with Elidad, who stood beside the towering throne. Elidad smiled, but there was nothing of sanity in it.
Adah gasped.
The pile of weird-colored stones nearest the throne moved from side to side. The thing hissed to itself. Ever so slowly, the rocks tightened. A catapult-rock head lifted from the mass, and with its obsidian-chip eyes it stared at them. At first, the eyes were dull. Then something entered the eyes.
Joash’s stomach curled with loathing. Across the gulf, he sensed madness. A tormented spirit animated the strung-together pile of rocks. How many centuries had passed since the spirit had first been trapped in the magical construct? An age had passed as it haunted this final abode of its grim creator. Destruction would be a gift—the trolock was an abomination.
“Trespassers,” the trolock said in a lifeless voice.
“We’ll leave,” Joash told the trolock, wondering if he could negotiate with it.
The stones ground against each other as the trolock rose and stood to its full height, eight feet tall, with huge, sloping shoulders. The catapult-rock head was bigger than their chests.
The trolock shuffled toward them. “Trespassers. You profane this place.”
Elidad roared, lifting his shield. He hurled his spear. The iron smashed against the catapult-rock head, but the trolock didn’t stagger backward. The spear clattered uselessly to the ground, and the trolock made a mirthless sound. It ground its feet upon the stony floor and shuffled toward them.
Elidad drew his sword with a shing of steel. “Vile abomination of the pit, I’ll slay you or die in the attempt.”
“Wait!” Joash said. He lifted his torch and peered into the gloom. The massive door they’d come through moved. Joash turned toward Herrek and gave him a pleading look. Herrek stepped to Elidad and put his hand on his shoulder.
Elidad glared at him.
Herrek whispered into his ear as the trolock advanced.
“Back,” Joash said to the others.
“We’re all doomed,” Gens said.
“Not yet,” Joash said.
Adah gave him a wintry grin. “What do you know?”
“Retreat,” Joash said.
Elidad, who reluctantly followed Herrek, retreated with them toward the emerald pit. The trolock followed, his tread that of final doom.
When Gens reached the edge of the emerald pit, he spat on the floor. “Now what?”
“Now we run across the emeralds to the other side,” Joash said.
Adah nodded in understanding. She stepped into the bin of mineral wealth and crunched across to the farther shore, twelve feet away. Soon she stood on a thin ledge of stone against the crypt wall.
“What do you hope to gain?” Elidad asked, wearily.
“The stone trolock will sink into the emeralds, as if it’s quicksand,” Joash said.
“Ah,” Adah said.
The trolock shuffled past the throne, and to them. The abomination stopped at the emerald pit’s edge.
“I will wait,” the trolock said, stonily.
Joash trembled. A mere twelve feet separated them from the abomination. If he was wrong about what he’d seen, then their torches would shortly gutter and die. Then they would be cast into darkness. How, then, would they keep their sanity?
“What is your plan?” Herrek asked.
Joash whispered it.
Herrek licked his lips, muttering.
Elidad laughed in a doleful way. “And if you’re wrong?”
Joash shrugged.
“You think like a warrior,” Herrek said. “If we survive, I will continue to teach you the spear. Then I will teach you the sword.”
Survival seemed so impossible that Joash didn’t really care about Herrek’s promise. However he nodded his thanks in order to keep up Herrek’s courage.
The trolock grunted, as if it had thought of something. It scooped a fistful of emeralds and hurled them. Joash groaned and slid down the wall. Other emeralds clattered against Herrek and Elidad’s shields.
“Group together,” Herrek ordered.
Hands dragged Joash to his feet as more emeralds rattled against the shields.
“I will bring rocks,” the trolock told them. It turned with greater alacrity than before.
“I see no Nephilim,” Elidad told Joash.
“We must escape,” Gens said.
“Look,” Adah whispered.
Torchlight flickered by the obsidian throne. A being shouted with triumph and lifted the adamant shield. In his other hand was Draug
r’s sword.
“At last it is mine!” shouted the huge being.
“No,” the trolock said. Its shuffle increased as it turned toward the throne.
“Mimir the Wise,” Joash whispered, who recognized the torchbearer.
The others gaped in amazement.
A black-bearded giant held a flickering torch. In his other hand was a mighty axe. He wore armor and knee-length pants. Beside Mimir there stood a strange being. The other was taller than Mimir, and his shoulders and chest were impossibly wide. His neck was thicker than any giant’s neck, and instead of skin or clothes he had tawny fur, like a sabertooth. His head was monstrous, although human-shaped. He had the ears of a cat and eyes that shined in the torchlight. From his snout-like mouth jutted two huge fangs. The eyes were wild, the voice alien sounding. It was as if a giant sabertooth had learned to walk upright and taught how to speak. The being was Tarag, a First Born, whose father had been the bene elohim Moloch the Hammer.
“Trespassers,” the trolock moaned. It was smaller than Tarag, but it was fashioned from stone. It shuffled toward battle.
“Who will win?” Herrek asked.
With mad eyes Elidad hurried across the emeralds. Foam flecked his lips.
“Can you shoot your arrow that far?” Joash asked Adah.
She nodded tightly.
“Be ready,” Joash said.
Herrek stared in wonder and respect at Joash.
“Trespasser,” the trolock moaned again.
Tarag roared as a sabertooth would, only louder, and with the vast adamant sword and shield he charged the trolock.
“If he uses the sword he will dash it to pieces against the trolock,” Herrek said.
“Perhaps not,” Adah said.
They didn’t need to wait to find out. Tarag swung the adamant sword of Draugr, and hewed a huge chunk of stone from the trolock as it staggered backward. Tarag snarled, advanced, and swung again. The trolock stumbled and almost lost its balance. Then it steadied, picked up a rock—one that Tarag had hewn from the trolock—and hurled it. The rock clanged off the adamant shield. The divinely made shield bore no mark or dent, even though the trolock had thrown the rock harder than any earthly catapult could. Still, such was the force that Tarag staggered backward.
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