by AJ Ryder
There was one other way to destroy the mask in its current state, but Morkessa doubted she would have to worry about that. A person of purest intention would need to commit the ultimate sacrifice and don the mask. Their goodness coupled with the selflessness of their deed would cancel out the mask’s power and destroy it; however, all the texts had been unclear as to whether or not the person would live or die after the fact, and self-preservation would always win out over the good of all. That was something upon which Morkessa could always depend, but that did not mean she would be passive in the mask’s retrieval.
Morkessa was limited in what she herself could do because of the infernal sunlight, which meant that she would once again be forced to enlist the aid of others. The thought of that made her throw her head back with a frustrated shriek; however, Morkessa nevertheless turned down a tunnel that she knew would lead her in the direction of Cysgodion. She would have better luck finding a cutthroat mercenary who was unhindered by the sunlight, for unsavory lowlifes that ilk always passed through the City of Night in search of work.
“You think you have bested me, you traitorous, little whore,” Morkessa hissed under her breath as thoughts of Vylkur filled her mind. “Just you wait. Your end is coming sooner than you think.” Her dark, full lips turned up into a cruel smile. “And I will take particular delight in slowly killing your two loves while you watch.” Her smile grew, and she chortled darkly. “Enjoy your time together while you can, for it is running out like sands through the hourglass.”
8
It had been three days since Liandrya had departed Lehnos with Vylkur and Dorlyn beside her. Riding horseback upon the three steeds they had purchased, they had ridden hard for the temple of Dynol that was located just outside Coron, the capital of Cadarnle, and the seat of the mortal monarchy.
Made entirely of white stone, the city was quite a sight to see and was a veritable host of cosmopolitan culture. Minor nobles, as well as the nobles who preferred the city life to the more “provincial” life of a landholder, made their homes within the white walls of the city, and reveled in the close proximity to the finest tailors, the most exquisite cuisine, as well as a theater company that was beyond compare. It was the absolute pinnacle of the mortal aristocracy, and therefore it was only fitting that the temple of the mortal god be in close proximity.
Located outside the city for the sole purpose of ensuring that it remained pure and untouched by any and all vices found within the city such as pride and greed, the temple was constructed of the whitest marble and glistened like a beacon of hope even on days when the sun did not shine. It was tended to day and night by priestesses who were virginal and pure, and was guarded by an army of warrior-monks.
The sun was just reaching its apex in the sky by the time the trio arrived before the spotless, white walls, and they tethered their mounts at the drinking trough located outside the gates. They each took the time to feed their horses apples and carrots as an additional treat in addition to the grass they would no doubt eat, and then started for the gate.
“You go first, love,” Vylkur whispered while handing over to her the satchel in which the mask was being carried. “The monks and priestesses will be more inclined to listen to a half-elf than either a wood or dark elf.”
Liandrya simply nodded while taking point as she draped the satchel across her body. While she, herself, was a follower of Anfarwol due to her being adopted and raised by wood elves when she had been found abandoned in the woods as a baby, it was widely known that half-elves could actively choose to follow either the mortal god just as readily as the elven one, depending on which culture with which they felt the most kinship. For all the monks and priestesses knew, Liandrya was simply a pilgrim accompanied by her two companions.
“Keep your hoods drawn all the same,” Liandrya whispered as she herself lowered her own hood. She smiled sweetly at the two monks guarding the gates and bowed her head in deference. “Good day, brave brothers. Would it be possible to speak to a priestess? It is a matter of great importance.”
The guard on the left nodded to Dorlyn and Vylkur who stood behind Liandrya. “And your companions?”
“My bodyguards,” Liandrya replied smoothly. “I hired them in Lehnos to protect me on my journey.” She tapped the satchel. “I carry with me a family heirloom that simply must be cleansed, and I feared that the one who cursed it might follow me,” she added while looking nervously over her shoulders for good measure.
“Understood,” the monk on the right uttered simply while motioning for the trio to enter the temple. “Enter and be at peace.”
“Many thanks and blessing be upon you,” Liandrya replied with a respectful bow of her head before entering.
Priestesses dressed in robes of blue milled through the gardens that were filled with an air of complete tranquility, and they gave the travel-weary trio barely a second glance. So many made pilgrimages to the temple throughout the year that the priestesses had long since become accustomed to visitors. Not knowing what else to do, Liandrya approached a young priestess with blond hair sitting on a bench reading from a small prayer book.
“Excuse me,” Liandrya said politely while sitting beside the priestess. “I’m sorry to disturb your time of reflection, but I was hoping you could help me with a problem.”
The young woman closed her book and regarded Liandrya serenely. “I will help you in any way I can, my child.” She glanced at the two hooded men behind Liandrya, and her expression became a touch wary.
Liandrya managed to keep from laughing at the ‘my child’ remark, for the priestess looked to be younger than she. “I promise that my companions mean no harm to you or this place. They are my bodyguards,” she assured upon catching the wariness flicker across the tranquil face. She then pointedly placed a hand upon her satchel and lowered her voice. “The object I carry has been touched by the darkest of magics, and I need a cleansing ritual to be performed upon it. I hired my two bodyguards in order to ensure that I made it here to have the ritual performed, for I am being hunted by those who would see me dead first.”
The priestess’ eyes widened briefly before her face became somber as she nodded. “Understood,” she uttered softly while rising to her feet. “Come with me,” she instructed before leading the way into the temple proper. “I will enlist the help of my sisters as well as the high priestess. If the object is as darkly touched as you say, then it is better to err on the side of caution.”
“Thank you,” Liandrya said with a sigh of relief as she and her beloveds were led towards the central altar.
“It is nothing,” the priestess said with a reassuring smile. “Please wait here. I will return shortly,” she added before departing through another door.
“It never ceases to amaze me how seamlessly you weave together lies with the truth,” Dorlyn murmured once they were alone.
Liandrya smirked as she turned to face her loves. “My feet and hands are not the only things that must be quick and agile in my line of work. You’d be surprised how often it was my tongue that saved me, and I have found that mixing truths with lies adds a sincerity that makes people willing to believe you.” Her expression softened then. “But I swear on my life, that I have only ever been honest with the two of you, and I always will be until the day I die.”
“We never doubted that,” Dorlyn replied with a smile.
“Not even for a moment,” Vylkur added with a smile of his own before clearing his throat and sobering upon seeing priestesses file into the room.
Liandrya turned and resumed her nervous expression. She watched as the priestesses filed into the room, and took notice that they each carried something in their hands. Some carried burning candles, while others carried bundles of sage, and they broke off into pairs as they positioned themselves around the altar. At the end of the procession was an older woman whom Liandrya determined to be the high priestess by the fact that she wore a flowing sash of white gossamer draped over her shoulders. Her silver hair was coiled in a
simple braid that she wore in a crown atop her head, and her hands were folded before her, and she walked with calm purpose towards the altar.
“I am High Priestess Beatrice, and I give you my word that we will do everything in our power to help you, my dear,” the elderly matron assured with a smile as she came to stand opposite Liandrya. “Please place the item upon the altar, and we will begin.” She nodded to the priestesses, and those who held bundles of sage then turned and lit them from the flames of their candle-bearing partners.
Nodding, Liandrya reached into her satchel and withdrew the box. She placed it carefully upon the altar and then slowly opened the lid. She did not attempt to remove the mask from within. Already, the smell of sage filled the air, and Liandrya was filled with calm as she deeply breathed in the scent of the cleansing herb.
Put it on.
Beatrice peered into the box. “There is a strong binding ward upon this mask, but even so, I can feel the darkness of its evil.”
“It would be even stronger without the ward,” Vylkur remarked before he could stop himself.
“Of that, I have no doubt,” Beatrice replied before shifting her gaze to the smaller hooded figure. “The ward is your doing, young man?”
Vylkur nodded. “What better way to help assure the safety of the woman who hired me? If she died before achieving her goal, then my partner and I wouldn’t get the rest of our payment.” The lie tasted like ash in his mouth.
“Well, whatever your reasons, young man, the ward is still very well done,” Beatrice said with a small yet approving smile before looking back to Liandrya. “How came you by this relic?”
Put it on.
“I happened upon it while exploring an ancient ruin,” Liandrya replied before rubbing her forehead. While still a whisper, the voice was a little stronger now. “And since acquiring it, I have been hunted by every manner of dark creature. They hunt me still.”
“They are no doubt drawn to the relic’s evil energy,” Beatrice mused before giving Liandrya a nod. “You were right to bring it here, my child,” she said before holding her hands over the mask. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply before slowly exhaling and then beginning to chant a blessing.
Within moments, the voices of the priestesses rose up in chorus and harmonized with Beatrice. Almost immediately, Vylkur could feel the energy in the room stirring, and as the chanting gained in volume and momentum, a breeze began moving through the large space and caused the robes of the priestesses to billow. Catching Dorlyn looking to him with a questioning in his eyes, Vylkur gave him a subtle nod as the left corner of his mouth turned up in the smallest of grins.
It was working!
A disembodied growl filled the air and prompted both Liandrya and Dorlyn’s hands to fly to their weapons. It was not until they realized that the growl had come from the mask that they slowly lowered their hands. They nevertheless were not at ease upon making their realization, and they exchanged worried glances with each other before looking to Vylkur who had come to stand between the two of them.
Put it on!
Beatrice opened her eyes and glanced down at the mask. Moments later, she was sent flying backwards several feet by an invisible force. She landed on her back upon the hard marble with a pained grunt, but when the priestess moved to help her, she held up a hand to stop them. “Do not stop chanting,” she ordered firmly as Dorlyn darted forward and helped her to her feet. She smiled briefly in thanks before marching stiffly back to the altar with her jaw set stubbornly. She pushed her selves up her wrinkly arms and narrowed her eyes down at the mask. “No, you don’t,” she growled before resuming her chanting with renewed force.
The mask’s disembodied howl filled the air, and it was all Vylkur could do to not grab ahold of his beloveds’ hands once Dorlyn had joined him and Liandrya once more. He watched as the mask tried to push Beatrice again, but the wizened woman was prepared for the attack this time and braced herself against the invisible force as she continued chanting.
The wind in the room began gaining in speed as the battle of wills between good and evil began reaching its apex. It was then that Liandrya, Vylkur, and Dorlyn’s keen ears became attuned to the sounds of battle above the din.
“The monks,” Vylkur whispered with wide eyes. “Morkessa’s found us.”
Dorlyn set his jaw and narrowed his eyes while drawing his shield and halberd. “Spread out,” he instructed his loves while taking notice of the fact that there were three doors leading into the room. “We will take protective positions around the priestess. The two of you take the side doors. I will take the front.”
“Be careful,” Vylkur entreated as he moved into position.
Nodding as she drew her bow and notched an arrow to the string. Her eyes found Beatrice’s. “Whatever you do, do not stop the ritual,” she said while moving into position at the other side door.
With a final glance at his loves, Dorlyn moved and took up his position halfway between the altar and the massive double doors in front. As the priestesses continued their chanting, the three lovers waited. Muscles tensed and fingers twitched as the sounds of battle drew closer and closer; and, when the distress bell tolled ominously in the bell tower, the battle-tested trio became all the more determined to beat back the enemy.
They were the last line of defense...the line drawn in the sand.
They could not falter!
The double doors flew open, and bloodied monks rushed inside before slamming them closed once more and barricading them. Their efforts were for naught, as the doors were flung open by an invisible force which sent the monks flying. To their credit, the chaste warriors pushed themselves back onto their feet and quickly assumed battle-ready positions. Seeing the positions that the three visitors had taken around the priestesses, they made a point of closing ranks around the priestesses and filling in the large holes that had been unavoidably left by the trio. Moments later, a hoard of gnolls poured into the room from all three doors.
“Ugh!” Vylkur and Dorlyn exclaimed together in disgust.
“I hate gnolls!” Liandrya spat as she took in the sight of the twisted, humanoid canines that were nearly as tall as she. “Horrid…” She let loose an arrow which struck home in the eye socket of one of the foul creatures. “...yappy…” Another arrow. “...bitey things!”
Dorlyn delivered a bone-crushing bash of his shield to three gnolls that charged him. “I heartily agree,” he growled while stabbing another of the creatures with his halberd.
Cursed countless centuries ago by the Great Wolf for dishonoring his name, gnolls were once wolf-shifters. After losing favor with him, their ability to change back and forth between wolf and man was taken from them, and they were punished further by being forced to live out their lives in as twisted abominations that belonged to neither the world of man nor wolf. The result was a race of half-mad creatures who followed the will of Tywyll and viciously attacked all who did not worship their dark goddess.
In the midst of the battle in which the monks and trio fought valiantly to protect the priestesses, Dorlyn’s eyes widened when he caught sight of a lone gnoll standing in the wide doorway of the double doors. Wearing a headdress of feather and bones painted in blood, he carried a gnarled staff with a skull affixed at the top. Embedded within the skull’s open mouth was a blood-red gem that glowed as the gnoll’s tattered robes swirled around him.
“Vylkur!” Dorlyn cried above the chaotic din as he bashed aside two more gnolls that charged him. “Vylkur, the shaman!”
Vylkur had just finished electrocuting the five gnolls that had swarmed him, but he looked in the direction of Dorlyn’s voice before narrowing his eyes upon seeing his new target. Conjuring a fireball in his hand, he threw it with all his might. Unfortunately, his aim was wide as a result of one of the monks falling against him after being tackled by two gnolls. “LIANDRYA!” Vylkur bellowed as he busied himself with trying to save the monk from the viciously-snapping jaws that dripped with saliva. “GET THE SHAMAN!”
“Of course, they brought a shaman,” Liandrya snarled through clenched teeth as she snared her bow around the neck of a gnoll and yanked with all her might until she heard the tell-tale snapping pop of the neck breaking.
Turning to face the double door, Liandrya’s eyes widened as she saw the shaman summon vines up from the very ground and ensnare and crush the monks who attempted to stop him. She reached for an arrow only to find her quiver empty, and it was with a snarl that she roughly pulled three arrows from the collection of gnoll corpses that surrounded her before running up another pile of dead bodies and leaping into the air.
“Vylkur!” Liandrya shouted as she soared over Beatrice and the altar. “Wind!”
Snapping his head around, Vylkur caught sight of his woman and quickly threw a blast of telekinetic energy at her before returning his focus to the gnolls who were now growing in size to rival their shifter cousins thanks to enchantments from their wicked mage. The magical wind carried Liandrya swiftly up into the rafters where she immediately took aim.
