Medallion of the Undead

by Anthony Rudzki

  “So you noticed me and Amber, and I noticed you and Amber. What did she give you before we left? A good luck charm?”

  Delas stopped walking and reached into the pouch at her waist. She pulled the small folded bit of paper that Amber gave her and showed it to Adam.

  “What’s that?”

  “This is something that Amber wants me to send when we get to Anthros. There is a messaging system between the large cities and towns that use Pelton birds to deliver small messages.”

  Adam’s face scrunched up. “How do they do that?

  “They put the message inside small capsules attached to one of the legs of the birds. Anthros is part of that system.” Delas put the paper back into her pouch.

  “I never heard of that before.”

  “I only knew about it because the guild used it to send messages back and forth to Anthros. The birds were trained to only fly from the guild to Anthros and back. When I was at the Great Library, one of my friends was tasked with sending a message to a guild for which our guild had no Pelton bird. So I saw where they kept the Pelton birds. I heard all about them and the way the system worked. The keeper there was pretty knowledgeable.”

  Delas leaned in and whispered, “Knowledgeable and a bit long-winded,” and smiled. “Anyway, they have dozens of birds for the guilds and the towns.”

  “Did Amber know about the messaging system?”

  “Amber seems to know a little bit about a lot of things. Anyway, she wanted to know if they might have a link, and asked me to send a message to Oldenmill, when we arrived.”

  “What’s in the message?” He asked.

  “No idea. It was folded up when she gave it to me, and I didn’t ask.”

  * * * *

  Jennifer stirred on the cold stone floor. She opened her eyes and for a few long seconds thought she had been blinded. Panic began to overtake her until she saw the glistening of moonlight in the moisture on the floor. She sat up, using her arm to keep her erect while she looked around the cell, where she had been thrown. Her eyes adjusted quickly and new features became apparent in the dim light.

  Standing on two shaky legs, she walked around the perimeter of the cell, running her fingers over the cold stone blocks and the mortar between them. She rubbed her fingers together, but only felt dry, fine sand. The mortar seemed intact and the stones themselves, solid. On one side against the stones was a pile of straw that smelled of animals, and a bucket that reeked of waste.

  Her eyes followed a dusty trace of moonlight that entered through the barred window in the far wall, opposite the straw pile. The smell of mold, waste and dampness drove the spirit from her, as she was sure her captors hoped.

  She sat on the straw in the darkness, pressed against a slimy wall. Something bit into her as she sat, and she reached under her to crush it or shoo it away. Instead of a hungry insect, she found a small metal shard, about two inches long. She couldn’t identify what it had been originally, but from the feel of the jagged edge, it had broken off from a larger strip of metal. She tucked the bit of metal in a groove at the base of the wall, lest it be discovered on her and taken away.

  With the metal hidden, she sat down on the straw and leaned against the cold wall. She pulled her legs in tightly to conserve heat and closed her eyes.

  She jerked awake after only a short time and was surprised to see the first hint of sunlight overtaking the gloom of the night. She found her piece of metal, where she’d hidden it, and near the base of the wall made a small scratch in the stone to indicate one day had passed.

  One day.

  She carefully hid the metal and took her position again on the straw, except that this time she didn’t sleep. A feeling of hopelessness overtook her and she felt more alone than she’d ever felt in her short life.

  She cried, and while she cried, her mind began to form a plan.

  * * * *

  On the ninth day of their departure from the group, Adam and Delas broke through the small clump of trees and stepped out onto the short grass of a green meadow. What they saw caused them both to stop and marvel at the scene laid out before them.

  The green meadow stretched out for a hundred yards in diameter and was bordered by thick woods. Wide pathways were laid out and covered with crushed white stone and lined with larger, red sandstone bricks. Small gardens filled with colorful flowers dotted the area and these too were well kept and enclosed by the same red stone. Near the center of the field was a circular area where the paths all met in a solid pad of white stone, hardwood benches and stone statues set on pedestals. What was most amazing about the scene wasn’t the landscaping or the stonework, it was the people.

  All over the green grass were a mixture of creatures common to Adam and Delas, as well as ones they knew by sight, but had never encountered until now. Intermingled with the Dwarves, Elves, Halflings and Gnomes were Orcs, Trolls and the Bergotti. Simply by reputation, Adam would have suspected the second group to be ostracized and separated from the rest, but he was surprised to find them well integrated, laughing and speaking with their human brethren. Humans made up the majority of this population, as they did in the outer lands, but not by an overwhelming number.

  “What is this place?” Adam asked, trying to hide his amazement, but doing a very poor job of it.

  “Well the town, down that way about a mile, is Anthros and that is the Great Libraries,” Delas said pointing to the huge stone building nestled in the slope of a mountain.

  The Great Libraries resembled a castle with huge stone towers and parapets, and at one time may have been used to protect the town of Anthros. At some time in its past, it was converted to a place of learning and knowledge. If what Adam was witnessing in the meadow was any indication, the transformation was miraculous.

  Delas took Adam’s hand and lead him along one of the white paths. The stones were noiseless as the two of them weaved through the crowds of students and scholars that sat at benches and on the grass, leaning against trees, looking over scrolls or bound books. Some scribbled notes in small notebooks, capturing thoughts onto the bound parchment.

  They crossed the commons, and Adam was in awe of the statues he saw carved out of marble and polished sandstone. He stopped several times and had to break his grip with Delas to spend any time experiencing the art. Finally, Delas pulled him close near the edge of the path and in front of a marble statue of someone clutching a scroll in one hand and a small sword in the other.

  “What do you think you’re doing? We’re not here for our pleasure. We need to find out if we can even get inside and then locate the information that Kyle wanted us to find.”

  “I was just looking at the statues,” Adam offered, but after hearing how serious Delas sounded, his excuse sounded almost childish.

  “I know. I’m sorry for snapping like that,” Delas said.

  They started their walk toward the upwardly sloping path leading to the Libraries. When they were halfway up the path and the libraries looked breathtakingly huge, Adam pulled Delas aside.

  “When we were in front of the statue down there, you said something. We would have to see if we could even get inside. What did you mean by that?”

  “To enter the libraries is a great honor. Their doors are not open to all. Did you see all of the students down there in the common areas? In addition to the students, there are teachers, scholars, historians and political figures that enter the libraries. The one thing they all have in common is that they were invited or have an authorization to enter. When I was here studying, I was representing my guild.”

  “Oh, Oh.”

  “Yes. Now that the guild is…gone, I’m not sure if we will be able to get in, that’s all.”

  They walked a little farther and soon came upon the massive wooden doors that gave access to the outer courtyard. The doors were thrown open and there were several guards carrying long pikes that stood near the edges. One of the guards was speaking to a student and pointing toward an outlying building. Delas and Adam walked throu
gh the gates without incident but stopped soon afterwards. Adam stood and marveled at the huge complex.

  From a distance, the converted castle looked foreboding, even intimidating, but one view from inside the great gate changed that impression forever. The structure of the castle was the same, with massive stoneworks, but the landscaping and the flow of people made the structure inviting and drew them in. Along the edges of the walls, huge flower gardens had been planted. Instead of the usual wide cobblestone walkways covering the entire street, these had been reduced in size which allowed for short green grasses to flank either size. Marble benches abounded, as they had in the meadow below. As in the valley, the variety of people was amazing. Delas pointed out the main building where they would have to register and receive a special talisman that would allow access to all of the libraries. She explained her guild group was given a tour when they first arrived and the guide explained how the libraries had been continuously expanding as they collected new works from all of the corners of the civilized territories. Additional buildings had been constructed and now, with the help of a Dwarf guild, construction along the back parameter was actually progressing underground.

  “Underground?” Adam asked.

  “Yes, from what was explained to me, it has the advantage of natural cooling, which helps with the preservation of the scripts.”

  They began walking once again in the direction of the main building and were soon standing in front of its iron banded wooden door. Adam took in a deep breath and let it out. Grasping the doorknob, he twisted it and pulled the door open.

  “Ready?” he said.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Kurilan drew himself up on one bloodied knee and peered through his smoke-filled chamber. He could make out the book shelves across the room and the overturned workbench lying halfway between. Broken glassware was everywhere. It littered the floor, its jagged edges sparkling in the torchlight beneath a smoky haze.

  One of the large tapestries covering the majority of the wall near the balcony was ablaze. Smoke and floating embers escaped from the cloth and floated in the air, threatening to spread the fire to his collection of books and manuscripts.

  His attention was caught by the sound of boots clattering on the stone floor, getting louder. He turned quickly, saw nothing, and spun again, trying to cover his perimeter completely. He stopped when he spotted the figure of the boy.

  Kyle stood, his sword hanging in his hand, his face bloodied and blacked with soot and burns.

  “You should have left well enough alone. You shouldn’t have brought me here,” Kyle said, but the voice was a familiar one from his past. The voice of Thomas Akilea.

  Kyle stepped toward the fallen mage and suddenly he was on him, his sword up and striking in one smooth motion.

  “Nooooo.” Kurilan screamed, waking himself up from his deep slumber, his fists clenching the sheets around him. Breathing heavily, it took several anxious moments of looking around his sleeping chambers to satisfy himself he was indeed alone and safe. He slid out from under the sweat-soaked sheets and sat on the edge of the bed.

  “Three nights in a row,” he whispered to himself. His mouth was dry and his tongue felt like a patch of leather dangling useless inside. He sat there, his mouth hanging open, his tongue working his lips for some bit of forgotten moisture, while his mind replayed the ending of the dream.

  He sat in silence, the only light coming from the final remains of a fire that had once blazed in the hearth. He decided the dreams were a sign. One thing was clear to him, even as exhaustion threatened to overtake him again.

  The boy must not be allowed to enter my fortress.

  * * * *

  “Damn.”

  The towering figure of Kurilan whirled around in the cavernous chamber and threw the cloudy orb against a stone pillar where it exploded in a shower of glass. He stalked across the room and threw himself into the tall-backed throne-like chair, causing it to rock backwards slightly and then settle again onto the stone floor. His breathing was labored and his heart pounded in his chest as he thought about the fool farm boy that had slipped through his grasp once again.

  “Delmaun,” Kurilan called out. Moments later, an attendant entered and crossed the room. Standing before the fearful Wizard, he bowed and summoned his courage. Two guards followed him inside and stood on either side of the door.

  “Yes Sir,” he said, staring at the floor.

  Lifting himself from the chair, Kurilan paced the floor. His black robes trailing behind him, his hands hidden under the open sleeves. He reached up at times to stroke the withered whiskers on his chin with his bony palm and think about what else he could do to gain possession of the medallion. As he made and discounted potential plans he grew increasingly angry.

  Looking up, he found himself standing in front of a side table covered in glass flasks of various refreshments and a large glass container of water. Calmly, Kurilan lifted the glass container by its slender neck and violently smashed the body against the edge of the table. Glass and water exploded in a small cloud and scattered across the tabletop.

  Kurilan spoke to the room.

  “Delmaun, you assured me that Xiodal and that pitiful human, Omen, were going to deliver the medallion to me along with the boy. You said he and the great spider-queen were up to the task.” Kurilan said mockingly, a sneer painted on his face.

  “Master, perhaps relying on Xiodal, may not have been wise.” Delmaun raised his head and as the words were coming out of his mouth, he cursed himself in his mind for uttering them. He dropped his head again, hoping for mercy from his master.

  The room was silent except for a soft chuckle, which stabbed at Delmaun deeper than any dagger.

  Kurilan lifted the jagged end of the bottle and raised his hand opposite it. He slid a glass shard over his index finger, allowing the blood to stain the glass and drip to the floor. He casually dropped the glass to the floor, and stepped over the broken pieces.

  “Yes, it was not very wise of me to rely on others,” He said sarcastically.

  He lifted his bleeding finger to his mouth and licked the bloody digit, staining his lips crimson. He removed his finger, and made a simple gesture and the guards were immediately at Delmaun’s side, binding his hands behind his back and forcing him to his knees.

  Kurilan raised his right hand and a yellow ball of swirling plasma appeared before the kneeling man. Soon the center of the mass cleared, revealing the view of a beautiful woman in her mid-thirties. Her face was painted with a look of terror and she was being held, much as he was, two guards at her sides.

  “Ardeena?” Delmaun whispered.

  Kurilan gestured once more, and the guards holding the woman dragged a sharp blade across her throat. Blood poured from the wound. She gagged and sputtered, as her blood flowed over the front of her simple peasant dress.

  “No,” Delmaun screamed. He couldn’t escape the iron hold of the guards. His struggles gradually died off and he slumped forward, sobbing uncontrollably.

  “I do not take failure lightly, I’m afraid,” Kurilan said.

  Delmaun raised his head.

  The higher pitch of a young boy’s cries filled the room.

  “Galian? Please Master-No-not my boy,” Delmaun pleaded. He attempted to get up from his knees but was forced back down.

  “Delmaun. What kind of a monster do you think I am?” Kurilan asked.

  He gestured again, and one of the guards in the plasma image snatched up the small boy and flung him from the open balcony nearby. The boy’s cries lasted for several long seconds before fading out.

  Delmaun opened his mouth, but was too filled with shock to utter a word. One of the guards, holding him, pulled his head back and slit his throat, allowing him to drown in his own blood before releasing the body to slump lifelessly on the floor.

  Kurilan chuckled, “What kind of monster indeed.”

  * * * *

  Legan unfurled another map from its protective tubular case and looked over the
symbols and text written on its surface.

  “Here it is. I was sure I brought the maps for this region. It’s always in the last map case you look, eh?” He elbowed Kyle in the side.

  Laying the map out on a large boulder, Legan and Kyle looked it over. Legan explained the various shaded areas and a bit of history of each. He struck the map with a stubby finger and announced their approximate location based on landmarks. As he slid his fingertip southward, it traced a large collection of jagged arcs.

  “These are The Seven Backbones.”

  “And what are the Seven Backbones?”

  “A string of mountain ranges that extends about seven days walk to the East and, I don’t know, maybe fifteen days toward the West. For us, and anyone traveling south, it’s a large stone wall. Most would turn to the East or West, where they taper off and are easy to cross. The foolhardy can use the highland passes to get through, there are several of those available to us. The climb is not especially dangerous unless we encounter snow, but there won’t be snow up there until after the Mid-Ripening, so we should be okay.”

  “The Mid-Ripening was at least three new moons ago,” Kyle offered, “farmer.” Pointing to himself

  Legan stopped walking, stared at the young man and started walking again. With a deep breath, he continued.

  “As I was saying, I am expecting snow, and it may be difficult, but if we’re careful we shouldn’t have too much trouble. Now, if I remember correctly, if we stay in this direction, following some of the local landmarks, we should get to the base of one of those passes. The good news is that…Here,” he stabbed his finger against the parchment, “is the Valley of the Stone King, one of the passes that while useful for getting us up the mountain, is interesting in its own right.”

  “So I take it you’ve been this way before?”

  “Oh, years ago. I’ve inked most of these maps from what I’ve seen with my very own eyes. That’s the only way to have really accurate maps. Some of the areas that I couldn’t get to, I relied on the images from the few map makers that I trusted. Maps can be a dangerous thing, young man. If you’re down to your last bit of hard jerky and seven days gone into the middle of nowhere and your map shows a town over the next rise, you better hope the town is there. On my maps, that town exists where I say it is.” Legan pounded his fist against his chest and then added, “Most of the time.”