The Temple of Yellow Skulls

by Don Bassingthwaite

  Because the elementals had appeared, he realized abruptly, when the witchfire that lit the chamber had turned white and sparks had leaped into bony eye sockets focused on the circles of the central platform.

  The skull’s eyes still glowed. The witchfire still burned white. And the elementals still fought on. The golden skulls were the ower behind the temple. What if their power sustained the elementals, too? Raid didn’t know how to extinguish the witch-fire, but maybe there was something else they could do.

  “Uldane!” he called. “Turn the skull! Break its gaze!”

  The halfling reached out, grabbed the floating skull, and pushed it face down.

  The white sparks in its eye sockets winked out.

  Both elementals gave a shriek in unison and seemed to go mad. The dreadnought’s pounding fists slammed at Tragent and Raid with renewed force. The firelasher whirled in place, arms lashing around Uldane but never quite touching either him or the skull. Dohr’s face darkened like a thundercloud. “By the storm,” he said, his voice booming, “you will not!”

  There was thunder in his words, and the roar of a terrible wind as well. The firelasher turned to face him—and was blown aside, its flames winking and guttering. It tried to reach for Dohr, but the sorcerer’s face just tightened and the wind raged on, holding it away.

  Uldane needed no further instruction. As soon as the elemental’s attention was off of him, he raced for the next closest skull and turned it over, too. Once again, the dreadnought and firelasher cried out, but this time their movements seemed to slow. The molten ooze that had sealed the dreadnought’s wounds started to trickle and run like blood. Raid felt a savage grin spread across his face.

  “Can you hold your ground?” he asked Tragent. The swordsman nodded grimly. Raid slashed once more at the elemental then dashed down a crooked flight of stairs to a skull and twisted it around.

  The elementals didn’t cry out this time but the light that filled the chamber dimmed as the white witchfire ebbed. Uldane laughed like a child playing games as he leaped between platforms to reach another skull. Raid couldn’t help laughing along.

  With the turning of the fourth skull, the witchfire returned to a distinctly green hue. Raid found a fifth and when he looked to Tragent again, the swordsman was easily holding his own against the diminished dreadnought. The firelasher had stopped trying to reach Dohr and was just trying to keep its fire alight. Raid dropped his axes and ran faster, charging up and down stairs and along walkways in search of every skull. The sense that they were shifting around seemed even stronger, as if they were trying to escape his attention. He found two more, though, spinning each away from the central platform.

  “Here!” Uldane called from the very top of the spherical chamber. “I think this is the last one.” He wrapped his arms around the golden skull and instead of turning it, simply pulled it out of position.

  The last trace of white disappeared from the cold flames around the chamber. The dreadnought collapsed into a heap of smoking gravel. The firelasher sighed and vanished without a trace. For a moment, the only sound was a fading rush of wind as Dohr allowed his storm to fade.

  Then the doors to the chamber creaked and slowly swung open again.

  “We did it!” Uldane thrust his skull into the air in triumph.

  “Thank the gods,” Dohr said with a groan as he turned for the portal. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Raid’s belly tensed at the idea. “No.”

  Dohr swung back to him. “Are you insane?”

  “We fought for the skulls—we’re not leaving without them. Gather them all.” Raid pulled at the skull that still floated beside him. It came away with only a little resistance, like breaking a large, unseen spider web. He looked up again. High above, Uldane had already started his descent. Tragent was grinning and making his way to the nearest skull. Raid glanced back to Dohr.

  The half-orc’s mouth twitched and he smiled. “Who am I kidding? The only way I’m leaving this place is rich.”

  Raid forced himself to smile back. “Indeed.”

  The treasure of the Temple of Yellow Skulls made a neat pile on the central platform once they were finished collecting it. Eight perfect golden skulls—the mystery of their exact number solved—gleamed in the green light. Removed from their perches, they no longer seemed to shift when Raid looked at them. They varied in size, from the thick skull of an adult male to the delicate skull of a child, each one flawless and surprisingly heavy. Heavy enough that Raid could believe the legends were wrong and that they’d been transformed into solid gold rather than being dipped in it. He wasn’t about to break one to find out the truth, though.

  He caught Dohr flexing his fingers as he looked over the pile. Like all of them, Dohr had his share of burns and other injuries from the battle, but Raid hadn’t seen him treating his hands with such delicacy before. “Blisters from spell casting,” he asked him, “or just from lugging gold?”

  The half-orc wrinkled his nose and stuck his hands behind his back like a child caught stealing. “Neither,” he said. He hesitated, then asked, “What are you doing with your share, Raid? Are you going to melt them down for the gold or do you have a collector interested in them?”

  New pain surged across Raid’s burned face as he clenched his jaw. “Something like that,” he said. “Why do you ask?”

  Uldane and Tragent were looking at them. Dohr’s eyes flicked between them, then back to Raid. “Something like which?” he asked. “The gold or a collector?”

  “A collector would fetch more money,” said Tragent, raising an eyebrow to his friend. “The gold’s just gold, but the skulls are something special.”

  Raid felt a wash of relief. Whatever was going on in Dohr’s head, he hadn’t shared it with the swordsman. “They’re not going to be melted down,” he said.

  “That’s good.” Dohr let his hands slip from behind his back and rubbed them together. “It’s just that … I think the legends are true. I can feel something inside the skulls.”

  Uldane’s eyes opened wide. “You think there really are demon princes trapped in them?” He reached over and rapped on a skull. “Hello? Baphorcagonwhozit? Are you in there? Blink once for yes, twice for no.”

  “Uldane!” said Dohr harshly. He swept the halfling back, then looked at Raid. “I’m no expert in this—you probably want a priest or a wizard—but I’m pretty sure those things should never be melted or broken.” He drew a deep breath and added, “In fact, I’m not sure we should be taking them away from here.”

  Raid pressed his lips together, searching for the right response, but Tragent was the first to break the silence. “Are you joking?” he said. “What we’ve seen and done and now you get cold feet?”

  “I’ve never felt anything like this before. There’s power in them. We know that.” He turned to Raid again. “This collector you’re selling your share to—would he be interested in paying for our share, too?”

  “I imagine he would.” Raid kept his face and voice neutral. So close.…

  “As long as he’s going to keep the skulls intact.” Dohr ran fingers through his hair. “Tragent, I think we need to see more of the world. Somewhere a long way from wherever the skulls are going.”

  Tragent’s brows pulled together in concern. Raid quickly clapped Dohr on the back. “Don’t worry,” he said. The half-orc scowled.

  “I hate it when people say that.” He squeezed his fingers into fists again. “I don’t think I can help carry the skulls out of the temple, though. I’d feel them the whole way.”

  “It’s taken care of.” Raid went to his pack and retrieved a second bundle of leather, much like the one that had held his specially made gloves. Unfolding this bundle, however, revealed nothing more than that the leather was, in fact, a finely stiched large sack. Uldane clapped his hands when he saw it.

  “Is that what I think it is?” he asked. Raid held it out to him, letting the open end sag down. Uldane hopped right into it—and the bag hardly sagged.
He popped his head out again, looking a little bit disappointed. “It’s not as roomy as it could be,” he said. “I knew a family of halflings who lived for six months in a really big magic bag. Well, until a gust of wind came up and blew the bag into a lake. We never saw them again. Or half the lake, either.”

  Raid upended the bag and dumped him out, then tossed the bag at him, along with a red leather thong. “Load the skulls inside,” he said, “then tie it with that. It will keep the bag closed.”

  “Why me?”

  “Because Dohr can’t handle the skulls and I want Tragent to look at my burns.” He glanced at the swordsman. “You look like you know something about healing.”

  “Some.”

  “That’s enough, then.” Raid turned away, leaving Uldane cursing and Dohr smiling in amusement.

  Tragent followed him. “Those burns are beyond me,” he said quietly. “You need to see a healer as soon as you can when we’re out of here. Even then you’ll probably carry the scars.”

  “I can live with scars. There’s something else I wanted to talk to you about.” Near the edge of the platform, Raid turned so that he could watch the loading of the sack and started unstrapping the chestpiece of his armor. “Keep your eyes on me,” he murmured to Tragent. “What do you think of Uldane?”

  Tragent’s eyes narrowed. “He’s a clown. A dangerous clown, but still a clown.” He reached out to help Raid with his armor. “Careful. If you’re burned under there—”

  The warning came too late. Burned skin pulled away. Raid couldn’t hold back a groan of pain. His hand gripped Tragent’s arm. “Do you really want to split your share of the treasure with a clown?” he said through clenched teeth.

  “Not if I don’t have to.”

  Raid’s heart started to pound in his chest. “Good,” he said. He pulled out his axes and laid them to the side so that he could sit down on one of the stairways. “Help me get my armor off, then call Dohr over. Tell him you need bandages from your pack or something.”

  “I do need bandages from my pack.” Tragent grimaced as he eased the chestpiece away. Raid looked down at himself. The elemental’s molten blood had traced a wide red path from his right shoulder down half his chest. It wouldn’t be the only scar on his torso, though. He drew a slow breath, embracing the pain.

  For all of his complaining, Uldane had almost finished loading the bag. The skulls made the leather bulge. “Call Dohr now,” Raid said.

  Tragent raised his voice obediently. “Dohr, bring me bandages.”

  Uldane looked up. “I’m good with bandages,” he said. “Do you want me to help?”

  “Finish putting the skulls in the bag,” said Raid. “And make sure you tie it tight.”

  The halfling scowled and put the last skull into the bag, then gathered the neck and wrapped the red thong around it. Dohr smirked as he rummaged in a pack and started toward Raid and Tragent with a roll of clean linen in his hand. Tragent bent over Raid, pretending to inspect his burns. “How do we do it?” he asked.

  “We catch him off guard,” Raid said. “Just like this.”

  He jabbed the knife he had drawn from his boot up into Tragent’s exposed throat. The swordsman’s mouth opened wide in shock and he grabbed for his neck, but Raid twisted the knife then ripped it free. Hot blood cascaded over his body. Shoving Tragent aside, he swept up his axes and charged at Dohr.

  The half-orc’s eyes went wide and the bandages tumbled from hands already sparking with lightning. Raid didn’t give him a chance to loose it—he might have encouraged the others to spend all of their energy fighting the elementals, but he’d held something back just for this moment. His first whirling blow swept away Dohr’s rising left hand. His second took off the sorcerer’s head.

  Beside the bulging bag, Uldane stared at him, wide-eyed and frozen. No, Raid saw on a second glance, not frozen. The halfling balanced on the balls of his feet, like a rabbit ready to run when faced with a predator. His hand hovered over a knife. Raid had watched Uldane collect the blades he’d thrown at the fire elemental. Many of the knives had been irretrievably warped by the heat of the fiery creature, but Uldane still had at least half a dozen hidden about himself.

  Raid lowered his axes and straightened. “I’m sorry I had to do that, Uldane. I’ve been watching them. They were plotting against us.”

  “No, they weren’t.” Uldane’s jaw tightened and he kicked the bag without looking away from Raid. “With this bag, one person can carry all of the skulls. You were planning this, goblin kisser. You never intended to share the treasure.”

  “It’s not a treasure that can be shared.” Raid took a step forward.

  The halfling snatched the knife from his belt—and held it over the bag. This time Raid froze. Uldane raised an eyebrow and nodded. “That’s right. I know how these things work. Puncture the bag and you don’t just lose the magic, you lose anything that’s inside.”

  Raid stared at him for a moment. “You want to leave? Go ahead.” He took another step, stopping with Dohr’s severed hand at his feet, and pointed an axe at the nearest set of stairs. “I have what I want. Consider your life as payment for your part in getting me here.”

  Uldane looked at him carefully for a moment, then moved slowly away from the bag. With a flick of his wrist, he shifted his grip on the knife, ready to throw it.

  The instant Uldane’s knife moved in his fingers, Raid dug his toe under Dohr’s hand and kicked it at him.

  The knife flashed as Uldane reacted out of instinct. The throw was good. The severed hand tumbled to the ground with the blade transfixing its palm. Uldane grabbed a second knife from a hidden sheath, but Raid was already moving, dashing forward with the speed of a striking serpent to put himself between Uldane and the bag. Rage and excitement flooded him. The smell of Tragent’s blood on his body was heady. A snarl forced its way out of him as he advanced on Uldane, his axes spinning in a deadly blur of steel. The halfling backed away, but slowly, like a cornered animal. Raid wasn’t fooled. When Uldane dove at him, he was ready.

  Uldane went low first, trying to get inside his guard. Raid swung an axe down in response and forced him to jump back. A feint made him jump again—there would be no parrying the heavy axes with a slim dagger. The halfling wove to the side and Raid recognized a feint in return. He shifted as if drawn in.

  Instead of pressing the attack, Uldane spun and dashed up the stairs. One … two … three vaulting steps, then he kicked up and tumbled back overhead. The move was fast, flashy, and clearly intended to bring Uldane down behind Raid before his opponent could turn to face him.

  Raid didn’t try to turn. He just took two swift steps backward.

  He caught a glimpse of panic on Uldane’s face, then the halfling was tucking and twisting in mid-air, trying desperately to avoid the spinning death that waited to embrace him. Raid snarled and brought his axes together.

  At the last instant, Uldane straightened his body and spun. One axe missed him entirely. The other caught him with the inner hook of its curved blade. The point snagged in his leathers and whipped him aside. Uldane went tumbling across the floor of the platform, his leathers and the flesh beneath torn deep but not so deep as if he’d met the edge of blade.

  Raid howled and leaped after him before he could rise. One axe chopped down—and wedged into the stone floor as Uldane rolled away. The other axe came down. Uldane rolled back, bumping into the blade of the first axe.

  Raid drew back his foot and kicked. Hard.

  The kick lifted Uldane off the floor and sent him flying through the air over the edge of the platform. He crashed back-first into the side of a walkway—Raid heard something inside him go crack on the stone—bounced off like a broken doll, and fell out of view. Raid cursed and ran to the edge. If Uldane had landed on stairs or a walkway, he might be able to make an escape.

  But the halfling hadn’t landed on stairs or a walkway. Down on the rounded floor of the chamber, green witchfire outlined a small body that lay unmoving. One of Ul
dane’s arms was twisted unnaturally underneath him. A splatter of blood marked where he had hit the curved wall and a smear showed where he had slid down. There was a matching splatter on the walkway he’d struck. As Raid watched, more blood ran freely from his head and from beneath his torso, black rivulets in the green light. Raid waited. And waited.

  There was no movement, no sudden jerking as consciousness returned. Nor, he knew in his gut, would there be.

  Raid turned away and wrenched his axes out of the stone. The edges would need work to restore their keen, killing edges, but he could do that later. He stripped off the dangling chestpiece of his armor and threw it aside, then rooted through abandoned packs in search of a fresh torch. The torches they’d carried into the temple were spent, but his former companions would have no need of light now.

  With one torch burning in his hand and a second thrust through his belt, Raid took up the bag. Magic rendered it no heavier than the corpse of an elf, but he could feel the skulls packed inside. He could feel the power and hear the whispers that had frightened Dohr. They didn’t frighten him. They were his destiny.

  He felt the gaze of the Eye on him, warm and rewarding. He knew what it wanted. His destiny didn’t lie here in this ancient chamber. His destiny waited for him beyond the temple. Raid heaved the bag onto his shoulder—the weight sent wonderful agony through his burns—and went to meet it.

  Behind him, the heart of the Temple of Yellow Skulls lay as still and silent as it had for uncounted centuries.

  Until Uldane groaned softly and sat up.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The hardest part wasn’t lying still. That was easy. The hardest part was holding on to consciousness—if he let himself slip down into sweet oblivion, Uldane knew, he wasn’t going to climb back up. Raid was watching him. He could hear the big man breathing up on the platform. One careless movement, one moan or sigh, one breath drawn just a bit too deep, and the murderer would come down to finish what he’d started.