“There’s a stone stairway over there,” said Tarl, pointing down the shoreline.
“Why don’t we just knock and see if anybody’s home?” Ren offered.
“Save the sarcasm,” Shal scolded. “Do you have another idea?”
Ren reached into his pack and pulled out one of his favorite thieving tools. “Simple but effective,” he said, holding up a three-clawed hook with a long, coiled rope to it. “I’d vote for following the shoreline a couple thousand feet and then making our way up somewhere where it’s secluded.”
“Agreed,” said Tarl, realizing that Ren’s suggestion made good sense. Why announce their presence to whoever—or whatever—waited up there?
The air was uncannily still as they made their way along the shoreline at the base of the cliff. As they went, they spotted wreckage from several small sailing craft. Rotting remains of bodies dead for weeks, perhaps months, lay in grotesque attitudes amidst the debris.
“They may have run aground in storms. I’ve heard the island is practically invisible at night.” Ren paused and pointed up toward the cliff. “Looks like there’s a break in the stone face up there. This looks like as good a place as any.” He began to twirl the rope above his head in ever-lengthening circles. “One, two, three …” he counted softly, and then he released the grapnel into the air. It arched up over the lip of the cliff and landed with a muffled clink. Ren pulled the rope taut and then tested his full body weight against it. The rope held firmly in place.
“After you,” he said, bowing quickly to Tarl and Shal.
“I—I’ll never be able to climb that,” Shal said, staring up at the cliff’s face. “Maybe I could use a Jump spell or even a Spider Climb, but I don’t have the arm strength to climb that rope.”
“You don’t have the arm strength?” Tarl reached out and circled his hands around Shal’s muscular upper arm. “If you can’t climb this rope, we’d better turn around and take our chances with Cadorna, because Ren and I will never make it either.” Tarl regretted his words even before he finished speaking them.
Shal was looking down with distaste at the circumference of her arm where Tarl’s hands had touched it. “Thanks, Tarl. Perhaps for my next stunt you could have me arm-wrestle a dragon!” she snapped. “The only trouble is, these tree trunks growing out of my body aren’t mine!” Shal shook her arms in a violent shudder, as if by shaking them they might fall off and be replaced by the slender, petite arms that had once been hers.
Shal clenched her fists and faced the rope. She had seen her two companions looking on with what she was sure must be pity, and she berated herself for her own vanity. “There’ll be no more pity on my account, you two. Yes, you’re right. With these arms, I can climb this stupid rope!” She grabbed hold of it and began hoisting herself up, arm over arm. Her movements were smooth and effortless, and before she reached the top, she was actually marveling at the ease of her own movement.
Ren stood dumbfounded at the bottom of the cliff, anchoring the rope, his face a mask of confusion. Tarl’s face bore the same expression of bafflement.
“D’you suppose we should follow that woman?” Ren asked, gazing up at Shal.
Tarl didn’t answer. Instead, he started up the rope. Ren followed, and soon the three squatted together atop the cliff, facing the charred walls of the ancient fortress of Sokol Keep.
The blackened walls were encrusted with sea salts. Molds, weeds, tall grasses, and saplings were doing their best to infiltrate the stone wall, growing profusely from large cracks in the coarse blocks. Beyond the tall grasses, at the end of the keep farthest from where the three stood, they could see the top of the stairway Tarl had sighted from below. No one waited at the top. A wide pathway led from the stairs to the keep’s dilapidated wooden gates.
“If it weren’t for the dark veil that hovers over this place, it would almost be pleasant,” Shal said quietly. “It seems so quiet, so peaceful.”
“The aura of evil is strong here,” Tarl whispered back. “Can’t you feel it? I don’t think we’re going to fool whatever inhabits this place by trying to come in the back door.”
“Maybe not,” whispered Ren, “but I still think we should take our time and have a good look at the grounds before going in.”
“No,” said Shal. “Tarl’s right. If there are undead here, we aren’t going to surprise them no matter which way we come from.”
Ren glanced at Shal, surprised by her forcefulness. “Okay, lady. Whatever you say.” Striding right up to the front door went against every thieving bone in Ren’s body, but he could feel a rush of excitement as he pulled out one of his short swords and prepared to lead the way. “Stay behind me, on either side,” he whispered to the others. “Move with the grass, not against it. Try not to leave a trail. Like this,” he said, parting the grass gently with his extended sword and stepping lightly so as not to make a sound.
Ren passed through the tall grass with the ease and silence of a leaf floating to earth. Shal and Tarl did their best to imitate his stealthy movements, but despite their efforts, the grass made a distinct rustling sound with their passing. Suddenly, without warning, Ren came to an abrupt stop. Ten feet in front of him, a skeleton hand was pushing its way up through the ground. Clods of earth flew up in all directions as a skeleton warrior burst from the ground and began to walk toward them. Dirt and fungus clung inside its eye sockets and to the remnants of its leather armor. Sow bugs, beetles, and grubs scurried to the ground by the hundreds as the skeleton strode forward, and maggots streamed from the creature’s open mouth.
Tarl shook off his own panic and charged in front of Ren, holding out his holy symbol. “Die, creature! Rest! Do us no harm!” The skeleton came to a halt, reached forward one last time, and collapsed to the ground.
Ren walked up to the remains of the skeleton warrior and started peeling off its decayed armor.
Shal stifled a gasp. “By the gods, Ren, what are you doing?”
“Looking for loot. What do you think?”
“You can’t rob the dead!” Tarl exclaimed vehemently.
“It’s—it’s sacrilege!”
“It certainly can’t do any more harm than stealing from someone who’s alive. What’s he going to do with anything, anyway?” Ren asked, continuing to rummage through the creature’s remains. He found nothing under the armor, but then he noticed that one of the skeleton’s bony hands was clasped tight shut. Forcing it open, Ren removed a heavy bronze chain.
“Nice work, Brother Tarl. I think you just killed a friendly messenger. Take a look at this.” Ren held up the chain. An embossed medallion hung from it.
Tarl looked on in horror. Ren was right. The warrior had tried to offer them a medal of Tyr to wear inside the keep. Tarl let out a slow breath as he examined it. It was identical to the medallion Sot had given him, and it showed no sign of corrosion despite the years it must have spent in the ground. Tarl had let his fear get in the way of his faith.
He held the medallion skyward. “Great Tyr, the Even-Handed, God of Justice, once again you have demonstrated your presence with us. Forgive me for not recognizing your messenger.”
Tarl held the medallion out to Ren. “This is for you. I guess you didn’t need to steal it after all. He meant for you to have it.”
The wooden gates of the keep had fared poorly against the elements. Tarl had only to push, and the big doors swung open, revealing a large courtyard lined by the charred remnants of several buildings. In the center of the keep, reasonably unscathed by dragon fire, was an airy building filled with tables, probably the mess hall. To the right were the blackened shells of what appeared to have been the stable and blacksmith’s shops. The tallest building in the keep, and the only one built of stone, obviously the temple, stood in the far left corner of the courtyard, intact except for what must have been a wooden bell tower at the top. The wooden buildings in front of it had suffered extensive fire damage.
Here and there in the courtyard, the tall, unkempt grasses grew ver
y thick, as if the blood and flesh of the men who had stood to face the dragons had nourished it. Tarl knew that the men living inside Sokol Keep must have died much as his brothers had in the graveyard-screaming in terror and without adequate defenses, pained beyond imagining by their own suffering and their inability to prevent what followed. No wonder a dark shadow hung over this place!
“Something’s been here—something alive,” Ren said softly. “And not long ago. See the way that grass is matted down over there on the left? There’s also a lingering smell that doesn’t fit this place. You remember what Cadorna said about the Lord of the Ruins sending troops to meet us? We need to watch our step.”
The three had gone no more than fifteen feet into the courtyard when clods of grass and earth started flying up everywhere. Screams and moans erupted all around them as dozens of skeleton warriors burst from the ground. More emerged from the buildings and ruins of the keep. All walked deliberately toward Ren and Tarl and Shal, their weapons raised. Ren pulled out his two short swords and planted himself in front of Shal. “We’ve got to get out of here—now!”
“No!” said Tarl firmly. “These are warrior clerics who serve my god. Hold up your medallions.”
Bony arms stretched out toward Shal from every side. Her body seemed to go cold, refusing to function normally. Her breath came in constricted gasps, as it had in the boat, but this time the pressure was even heavier. She had to fight merely to breathe, and she struggled even harder to regain control of her arms and hands so she could lift up the medallion.
Ren was shaking his head violently. “They can see the medallion on my chest, and it’s not stopping them! I’m getting me and Shal the hell out of here!”
Ren pushed the nearest of the skeletons back with one short sword. When a second skeleton started to wrap its bony hand around Shal’s arm, he raised the other sword and brought it down swiftly, chopping the creature’s hand off.
“Behind you!” Shal shouted. A large skeletal warrior, Ren’s equal in height, was directly behind him, about to swing at Ren with a rusty long sword.
Ren spun and met the swing with both short swords, but when he tried to push the creature back, he momentarily lost his balance when he stepped in one of the holes from which the vile monsters had emerged. Instantly another skeleton burst partway out of the earth and grabbed Ren’s legs from behind in its icy grip. Ren fell hard, but the skeleton did not release its grip. Instead, the bony fingers closed tighter and tighter, till Ren thought they would surely sever his legs.
Two more skeletal warriors had grabbed Shal, one by the right arm and one by the left. They were pulling in opposite directions.
Tarl was oblivious to Shal’s predicament. He was overwhelmed by the terror these creatures must have experienced before they died. Dozens, perhaps hundreds, of brothers had been slaughtered here but remained undead, their lives unfulfilled. Like Tarl, they’d had no chance to complete their mortal missions. Their screams were his screams. Their pain was his pain. His mind was barraged by dozens of messages unsent to loved ones, and an untold number of emotions ranging from panic and terror to remorse and relief assaulted his psyche. Tarl lifted his holy symbol high. “Rest, brothers!” he shouted firmly. “As Tyr is my witness, we mean no harm!”
Again arid again, he repeated the words as he turned slowly in a circle, letting the reflection from the holy symbol of Tyr shine in every direction, touching each undead warrior. One by one, the skeletons lowered their weapons to their sides. The three holding Ren and Shal released their grips. When the two of them held up their medallions as well, the rest of the skeletons closing in on the party halted their advance. They appeared to remain agitated and continued to move about, but it was obvious they were no longer interested in harming Tarl, Ren, or Shal.
“Whew!” Shal breathed quietly. “I’ve heard of clerics turning the undead, but I’ve never heard of anybody turning a whole army of them!”
Tarl heard Shal’s words, but this was no time to celebrate. “Something or someone is keeping these men in motion, but I think we’ll be able to explore in peace now,” he said.
From where he lay on the ground, Ren did his best to quell a chill of revulsion at the word “men.” He realized that Tarl was somehow seeing human characteristics in these rotting, maggot-covered creatures. “My legs and ankles feel as if they’re frostbitten.”
“I’m sorry, my friend,” said Tarl, and he rushed quickly to the big man’s side.
Shal beat him there by a step. Immediately she pulled Ren’s leggings loose to reveal several white-yellow rings of nearly lifeless skin circling Ren’s ankles. She didn’t question Ren’s self-diagnosis. Her own two arms had felt a biting, bone-chilling cold when the skeletons had grabbed her. When the cleric reached forward to lay hands on Ren, Shal stopped him. “No, Tarl, save your strength. I have just the thing.” Shal pulled from her belt one of the healing potions she had helped Ranthor prepare. “We’ll need your powers soon enough if one of us gets hurt badly. For frostbite, this should do nicely.” Shal daubed the pasty liquid on the rings of whitened flesh. Within seconds, a healthy pink color began to return to the affected area.
Even after Ren was able to stand, the memory of the icy grip was still with him. He found walking among the skeletons unnerving, medallions or no, but he forced himself to lead the small group through the keep. Nothing but kindling remained of the first building on the left, probably once a storage shed. The roof of the second structure was totally burned off, but the base of the building was still intact. As they approached the building, the skeletons wandering in the courtyard converged from all directions. A number of the undead warriors followed the party of three, then assumed gruesome positions of death among what remained of the cots that lined the walls.
“What—what are they doing?” gasped Shal, sickened by the sight of the creatures.
“They are showing you … showing us … how they died,” Tarl replied, once again feeling the men’s anguish and frustration. “Many of them died here, in their beds. They never had a chance to prove themselves.” Tarl tried to describe the myriad of sensations, from frustration to horror, that were somehow being communicated to him.
They moved on to the other end of the building, but found nothing new. As they passed the corner of the building, they noticed that they had gained a new entourage of earth- and fungus-covered companions. Without touching any of the three, the new group of skeletons seemed to be pushing them on to the next doorway in the complex. They entered the door cautiously and found themselves in a foyer. They peered through an open doorway off to the left, and as soon as they did, a dozen or so undead warriors brushed past them and began moaning and crying in an almost deafening dirge.
“The high clerics’ quarters,” said Tarl, as if his companions had requested an explanation. “The ghostly remains of these men suffer the most, because they were unable to protect the fledgling clerics they vowed to safeguard.”
Ahead, still whole and beautiful, was an ornately carved double door that bore the hammer and balance of Tyr, the Even-Handed. Tarl felt compelled to enter the temple, but Ren was already stepping cautiously through an open doorway to the right.
Tarl and Shal followed. Just as the three companions entered, the tongue of a giant frog shot out, circled Ren’s leg, and tripped the big man. Tarl rushed forward and slammed the man-sized creature’s head hard with his hammer. The weapon merely glanced off the frog’s wet, slippery skin. It took two more blows before Tarl’s hammer connected solidly. When it did, the creature’s flesh buckled and splattered under the force of his blow, and it fell to the wet floor, quivering. Ren hacked its encircling tongue off and leaped to his feet, just in time to face six more of the gigantic amphibians. He hurled a dagger at the frog closest to him. Like Tarl’s hammer, the knife deflected off the tough, slimy hide of the frog.
Behind him, Shal was muttering something in the language of magic. As she finished her incantation, she tossed a handful of powder past Ren and extende
d her hand toward the lead frog. Immediately it shrank to normal size. Ren kicked it with his boot and sent it flying up at one of the waiting monster frogs. The creature shot its huge tongue out, and in an instant, it slurped the small frog down whole.
The remaining frogs, caught up in the prospect of a feeding frenzy, began to leap willy-nilly—up, sideways, backward—in a primitive, instinctive dance designed to freeze their victims in terror. In a frantic reaction to his own revulsion, Tarl lashed out again and again with his hammer, but it only slipped off the sides of the giant frogs. When one got too close, though, he bashed it with his shield with all his might and sent it slumping to the floor, where he finished it off with a blow from his hammer. A wave of nausea surged through him as he watched the frog’s legs twitch wildly, independent of its pulverized head.
Shal, meanwhile, had called for her staff, and she was swinging it wildly at the huge slimy creatures. Swoosh! Thwack! The walls echoed with the sounds of her brutal attack, and the strength of her frenzied swings was so great that when one connected solidly, it was as if Shal had folded the center of the monster’s body in two. Its flesh folded over the staff and stayed that way until Shal could pull the staff out. She must have broken the creature’s spine, for when she removed the staff, the monster’s body folded grotesquely in the opposite direction. Just as Shal freed her staff, another giant frog came leaping toward her. In an almost instinctive defensive measure, she pointed her staff straight up at the flying monster and then watched in horror as it skewered itself on the staff’s sharp end and slid down over her arms. She screamed loud and long and immediately pulled back for all she was worth, extending her arms outward to get the disgusting animal away from her.
At that moment, Ren, who was fending off another frog, backed into the one Shal had just unskewered. The frog he was battling took advantage of the distraction to jump and land on top of him, squeezing his body against the body of the dead frog.
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