Doors of the Dark

by Gregory Mattix

  A flash of light suddenly blinded him, and his axe went astray, clanking as it ricocheted off into the darkness.

  He staggered back, trying to shield his eyes from the suddenly glowing boulder the crow had been perched on. The crow was evidently as startled as he was, for it took wing with an annoyed caw.

  Heartsbane was in Waresh’s hand, and he whirled, putting the light behind himself to try to preserve what was left of his darkvision.

  The light illuminated the towering figure of Idrimel standing before him. Yosrick, barely reaching higher than the cleric’s belt, stood just in front of her, warhammer raised and an angry glare on his face.

  “Why don’t we try crossing steel again, this time without you relying on your deceit, cowardly arsehole,” the gnome growled.

  Waresh gritted his teeth. He didn’t wish to fight Endira, Yosrick, or Idrimel, having no quarrel with them. He had actually come to respect them, and his foolish decision to help Lassiter had ended in ruin. His heart might not have been in this fight, but it also wasn’t in his nature to surrender in shame. Heartsbane had awakened, and he could feel its intoxicating sense of power flowing through him.

  “Just leave me be. It was Lassiter that slew the others. I let ye all live.” Or did I? He glanced around nervously for Endira. Where’s the elf?

  A crack resounded from high overhead, and Waresh, accustomed to life underground, knew what was coming. He dove out of the way as a stalactite shattered against the ground where he had stood a moment earlier. Before he could rise to his feet, the darkness pounced on him.

  What had been the blacks and grays of the underground suddenly moved, resolving itself into the form of a humanoid. Endira’s boot took him in the chin. Waresh fell onto his backside with a surprised oof, teeth snapping shut and tearing a chunk from the inside of his lip.

  The elf’s skin was like a chameleon’s, mottled with blacks and grays, letting her blend in perfectly to the background. Before he could marvel at that, a warhammer took him in the side of his helm, ringing it like a bell. He sensed it an instant before it hit and leaned sideways, perhaps saving himself from a crushed skull. As it was, he was laid out on the ground with a dented helm and colors sparkling in his vision.

  His head exploded in pain, a slightly delayed reaction. Waresh grunted and fought to get back up although his legs wouldn’t obey him. Heartsbane’s war drums boomed, and his senses started to clear. He brought the axe up before him defensively, but he felt the cold sensation of the elf invading his mind again as she had twice before: after the battle with the dark elves and after his fight with her in Nexus.

  “Sleep now,” she commanded. Her words slid through the hot rage stoked by Heartsbane like icicles stabbing into him.

  Waresh’s eyes grew heavy despite his objections, and the last things he saw were the angry faces of his former companions staring down at him… and then darkness.

  ***

  Endira stood over Waresh thoughtfully. From the brief touch of his mind, she sensed the torment in the dwarf’s soul.

  “You should’ve let me finish the bastard,” Yosrick grumbled. He yanked on Waresh’s dented helm and removed it. The dwarf had a large welt on the side of his head to go with a bruised chin and blood running from his mouth. Heavy snores rumbled from him.

  “Traitors do not deserve our mercy.” Idrimel stared down at the fallen dwarf, eyes hard with anger and hatred. “My brother is dead, along with Nera. What hope remains now? And yet we show mercy to this traitor.”

  Endira sighed. She understood their anger at the betrayal. Her head still ached from the knot received by the flat of Waresh’s axe when he had rendered her unconscious.

  “True, he is not without fault, but was merely an opportunist,” she told them. “Lassiter is the one responsible for this. The fiends that destroyed the foundry are responsible, perhaps Shaol himself is responsible. Waresh merely sought to save his own skin. Despise him if you will. I have no particular desire to defend someone without honor like this one, but I would not have you strike him down in cold blood for poor choices. He could’ve killed us but let each of us live. The question now is what do we do about him?”

  “Tie him up and disarm him, for a start,” Yosrick suggested. He rifled around in his pack and withdrew a slender coil of rope.

  Idrimel glared at the dwarf a moment before her face softened. She looked emotionally exhausted. “You are right, Endira. I’ve let my anger and sorrow get the better of me. Sol teaches forgiveness. Perhaps in time, I will be able to forgive one such as this sorry creature.” She frowned at the white-knuckled grasp the dwarf had on the haft of his axe even in sleep.

  She reached down, seized the axe, and yanked it free. The sleeping dwarf shuddered as if he’d come awake but then relaxed his grip. Idrimel stepped away and suddenly dropped the axe on the ground with a shocked cry.

  “What is it?” Endira asked. Her eyes went to the axe. Yosrick looked in confusion alternately between the priestess, the dwarf, and the axe.

  Idrimel grasped her holy symbol and stared at the axe as if it were a coiled viper poised to strike. “That weapon is cursed… I could feel its evil just from the brief instant I touched it.” She looked at her gauntlet in puzzlement. “My skin didn’t even contact it, yet I could feel its fell influence. Perhaps the dwarf is a victim, possessed by this thing, his mind twisted into wickedness.” She had a thoughtful look on her face as she studied Waresh anew.

  “Cursed or not, let’s secure this bastard before he wakes up,” Yosrick grumbled. He knelt down and rolled the heavy dwarf over. Placing a knee in his back, Yosrick held his thick wrists together and looped the rope over them. With a command, the rope tightened like a serpent, securing Waresh’s wrists snugly. Yosrick repeated the process with the ankles, and soon Waresh was hogtied, hand and foot. Yosrick relieved him of all his weapons and gear.

  Endira knelt beside the slumbering dwarf and placed her hands on his temples. She focused for a few moments and then entered his tormented sleep. Immediately, she was buffeted as if aboard a dinghy in a hurricane and was nearly ejected from his mind in her shock. Shame, rage, and self-loathing warred mightily in the dwarf’s subconscious thoughts. She could briefly make out figures coalescing in the swirling madness of half-formed images, but then a thrumming bass sound, like a war drum, began booming a slow rhythm. The cadence had no words, yet she could feel her own emotions inflamed, anger and passion, a force nudging her about as subtly as a steel-shod boot in the back to go forth and conquer and slay her enemies.

  She steeled her mental defenses against the psionic onslaught and pushed past the maelstrom of images and emotions, driving to the core of Waresh’s being. Within a solid rock fortress, a much younger dwarf sat in a corner, afraid, knees clenched to his chest. It was a younger version of Waresh. His frightened eyes locked on hers, and he opened his mouth to speak.

  His words were drowned out when the booming drums suddenly resumed, and a curtain of fire and smoke surrounded her, cutting her off from Waresh. She winced at the power of the noise and pyrotechnics.

  “I am Heartsbane. Wield me and strike those down that stand before you. Together, we shall be unstoppable.”

  With a gasp, Endira withdrew from Waresh’s mind. The words were not his but another, alien thought imposed on his will. Her eyes went to the axe, lying a short distance away where Idrimel had tossed it.

  “What is it?” the priestess asked. She and Yosrick knelt over a small fire, warming their hands.

  Endira surmised the gnome had produced the flaming brick from his gear, which burned merrily as if it were a log. Evidently, some time had passed while she’d been in Waresh’s mind.

  “That weapon is sentient—and indeed cursed. It has a stranglehold on Waresh’s will.”

  Idrimel regained her feet and came over beside Endira. She was heartened to see the priestess somewhat recovered from her despair over Athyzon’s death. Her blue eyes held concern as she regarded the elf. “You should rest a while. You were
wounded, and we have had a hard march and still have a long ways yet to go on the morrow.”

  Endira smiled faintly. “I would like to try to aid Waresh if possible before it is too late. We all saw what happened during the battle with the dark elves. That cursed weapon has such a strong grip on his mind it won’t be long before he loses himself and it drives him to madness. I think I can aid him by implanting a suggestion to help him resist its influence, but I can do nothing for the weapon itself. Do you have a spell to break such a curse?”

  The cleric knelt beside her, looking thoughtful. “Sol lends his power to aid and heal those in need. This weapon itself is cursed, and if what you say is true, its will is imposing itself on the dwarf. I don’t think he himself is magically cursed.”

  “Will you try, at least? His soul is tormented and cries out for help.”

  “Of course. I’ll do what I can. I’ll ask for Sol’s blessing while you try to soothe his mind.”

  “Thank you.” Endira clasped Idrimel’s hand for a moment before turning her attention back to the dwarf.

  In a moment, she was back inside the madness. Knowing what to expect, she was able to ignore Heartsbane’s bluster and suggestions, pushing through to Waresh’s besieged sanctuary. The dwarf was obviously frightened and in pain.

  “I am losing meself… There is not much left of me. Can ye help?” he asked in a small voice, nothing like the brash person she had come to know.

  Endira sat down facing Waresh in his prison and studied him. “I’ll do what I can, but you must want to save yourself. Show me more,” she implored the dwarf. “I need to understand how this all began.”

  Images swirled around them. She saw a desperate fight in the darkness, the setting very similar to where they found themselves currently in the Deep Roads. Waresh’s companions, a troop of dwarfs, were besieged by a shadowy monster. They fought valiantly but were no match for the creature, which tore them apart with fang and fire. Waresh was eager to prove himself to a stern, commanding father—a king—who had bestowed scorn on his eldest son, and so he had organized the ill-fated venture. She watched as Waresh, in desperation, seized the wicked axe from a treasure hoard. Heartsbane was in his hand, and then he battled the beast, which resolved itself from shadows and teeth and scales into the form of a wyrm. The dwarf struck it down with Heartsbane. The scene shifted, and suddenly he was kneeling over a pretty dwarven maid, her blue eyes wide in pain. Her chest was a mass of blood, and that same blood dripped from Waresh’s blade. She could sense his heartbreak at the loss of the young woman. Later, madness consumed Waresh as he battled his own father, cutting him down mercilessly, the axe booming in his head with promises of blood and glory. On and on, the visions swarmed Endira until they nearly overwhelmed her. She even saw the calculations when he threw in his lot with Lassiter and the self-loathing when that gamble had failed and resulted in Nera’s death.

  Seizing on the image of the blue-eyed dwarven maid, Endira had an idea of how to construct her suggestion. After expending her remaining energy to give it substance and breathe life into it, she swooned. The next she knew, she found herself back at their campsite in the Deep Roads.

  Idrimel and Yosrick were looking down at her with worried eyes. She saw they had pulled her near the fire, wrapping her in her cloak.

  “Are you well?” the gnome asked.

  Endira felt totally drained. She tried to sit up, and Idrimel assisted her. Waresh still slept, occasionally thrashing, trapped in his own nightmares. She shuddered at the memory of the dwarf’s dreadful, tormented dreams. “I did all I could for Waresh, though it has drained me. He must do the rest on his own. Did you have any luck?”

  Idrimel shook her head. “It is as I feared. Sol showed me that although the axe is evil, its very nature a curse, the only influence it wields over the dwarf is in his own mind. It is a sickness of the spirit, one which he must overcome himself. There is no magical binding which I can break. The weapon itself is beyond my power to try to dispel.”

  Yosrick handed Endira a cup of tea, which she gratefully took a drink of.

  “I must get some rest,” she said, “or I will be little more than a hindrance. Will someone wake me for last watch?”

  “Aye, rest then. We’ll keep watch,” Yosrick said.

  Endira finished her tea and was asleep in moments. She found no peace there, however, as her dreams were filled with violence and murder.

  ***

  “Ye must fight it, Waresh! Look at what ye’ve done, what a bloody mess yer life has become. ’Tis not too late to salvage something and do some good yet.”

  Waresh awoke with the words of his beloved friend Tarni in his mind, as clear as if she’d really been speaking to him. He looked around in confusion, not knowing where he was at first. His arms and legs were cramped from being hogtied. Flames crackled in a small campfire. Two bundles lay nearby, rolled up in their cloaks. After a few moments of confusion, the memories came back.

  “How are you feeling? From your thrashing about, I guess you must’ve had some dark dreams.”

  He looked over to see Endira watching him from the edge of the darkness, where she kept watch. An angry retort was on the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed it. He saw no mocking but honest concern in her eyes. “Aye, dark dreams indeed. I feel a bit better today, I reckon.” Truth be told, he felt clear-headed—more so than in as long as he could remember. Heartsbane lay out of reach, a dozen paces away, yet he felt no great desire to seize it.

  “We have entered the Dron Reach and are perhaps a half day at best from the crossroads.” Endira gazed out into the darkness.

  “Aye, and what then? Nexus will be closed to us. Where will we go? If ye return me to the Silver Anvil Hall on the plane of Easilon, there’s a substantial reward on me head.” He didn’t know why the words came out, but he suddenly felt the need to set things right. Perhaps it will allow Sioned to save some face if I meet the headsman’s axe.

  Endira’s eyebrows rose as she turned back to him. “I’m no retrieval officer. I have no desire to turn you in for coin.”

  “Hmph. Well, it could fund yer next campaign, whatever that may be, since we can’t get back to Nexus.”

  She shrugged. “I’d much prefer it if you lent us your aid in our current endeavor. Think of it as a way to buff some of the tarnish from your honor.” She smiled faintly.

  Waresh snorted. “I’d need to go at it with a grinding wheel for that to have any effect. Ye still mean to continue on with this madness?”

  The elf met his gaze coolly. “I do. Malek was a friend to me, as well as Nera. I’d see her quest fulfilled if possible.” She nodded toward the slumbering forms of Idrimel and Yosrick. “These two need all the help they can get, so I figure I’ll lend them my aid as long as I’m able.”

  “If we keep on this path of madness, that may not be long,” he muttered, thinking she couldn’t hear him. “We’ll all be dead afore long at this rate.”

  “If that is the case, I’d rather my life be given striving to achieve something good and noble, an attempt to end the impending doom hanging over Nexus. I know not any better way I’d be able to contribute to such a worthy cause.”

  Waresh pondered her words as he lay there trussed like a pig. Endira eventually roused the other two from sleep. Yosrick kept Waresh’s hands bound but freed his legs, and they got on the move once again.

  Chapter 25

  Nera quickly discovered the skeletons had no interest in her. Seeing how exhausted Malek was, she had decided to leave him to rest a bit as she went to scout, following the wall around the estate in search of a way to escape. The undead paid her no mind as she moved away, remaining intent on Malek. Whether that was due to him being a mage, she couldn’t say. Perhaps they are drawn to his magic?

  The wall led up against the main building of the estate. After an easy climb atop the tile roof, Nera was able to access the second floor. She slipped through a window overlooking the gardens opposite the collapsed archway. Inside was a room f
ull of smashed statuary and broken tiles. A portion of the ceiling had collapsed, leaving rubble strewn everywhere. The rest of the estate was in the same sad state: ruined, with nothing of value remaining and no place that seemed to provide safety.

  She made her way downstairs, through another wing, and into what looked to have once been the kitchens. She crawled through another window and exited onto a narrow pathway leading toward the front of the estate. Squeezing through the gap formed between a crooked gate and a wall, she found herself out on another street.

  Coming around the corner of a wall, she almost barreled into a skeleton. She froze and held her breath. The undead passed within a handbreadth of her, where she was standing plain as day, but it continued on as if she were invisible.

  Perhaps I am. She fingered Malek’s ring where it still rested on her right horn. The undead are magically animated—they can’t sense me! I bet if I return it, our places will be reversed. If it comes to that, I shall do so since I can hide better than him. And run faster.

  A short bowshot away to her right was another intersection, with a corner building that seemed in slightly better repair. She slipped along the street and went inside, quickly reconnoitering the building. The store appeared to have been a scribe’s workshop, judging from the decaying scrolls on shelves capped by metal ends. She gently poked one with her finger, and it crumbled to dust, leaving only the tarnished metal caps remaining. Nera looked around and found a narrow staircase in the rear, leading up to what had likely been the scribe’s cozy flat overhead. It was a single room with narrow windows providing a view to the street on two sides. The stairwell would be defensible—a heavy bookcase could be shoved in front of it, blocking it off.

  Nera quickly retraced her path to Malek. She tested her theory and walked openly across the street. Four skeletons were moving in the fog around her and should’ve been able to sense her, but they ignored her. They seemed to be moving in the direction of the congregation near where Malek awaited.