Doors of the Dark

by Gregory Mattix

  “All right, that’s enough, you.” Nera laughed as it plucked her hair with its beak. At Malek’s confused look, she said, “Help is near—just a bit late, not that I’m surprised.”

  The crow looked at Malek suspiciously, hunching its shoulders and skipping back along Nera’s horn a few inches. Its squawk sounded like a question.

  “Shhh… all is well. He’s a friend,” she told it, and the bird hushed.

  Just then, Malek noticed the crow’s aura. It was bright with magic yet held no vitality of its own.

  “It’s a magical construct?” he asked in wonder. A closer look revealed its feathered wings and tail were actually cleverly worked interjoining strips of metal.

  “Aye, seems almost real, doesn’t it?” Nera shushed the bird again when it squawked indignantly at Malek’s question.

  A battle cry sounded from nearby, and the ring of steel on steel intensified again. The two of them looked at each other.

  “I suppose we’d best go save their arses,” Nera suggested with a grin.

  Malek nodded agreement, and they slipped into the fog bank.

  ***

  Idrimel watched as Waresh pulverized a skeleton with his axe through its sternum.

  “Undead bastards!” he roared.

  The ribs broke free, and it collapsed into a pile of bones. He whirled and cleaved another in half, severing the spine.

  A dozen more skeletons poured out of the fog, filling in around them, bony hands grasping and broken teeth snapping at them. Idrimel held a pair at bay with her shield and smashed them to dust with strokes of her mace, shattering grasping hands, arms, shoulders, and skulls. Yosrick destroyed them with equal ease with well-placed strokes of his hammer. Having seen the greater ease with which blunt weapons destroyed the undead, Endira formed her hands into the shape of hammers and set to work smashing them apart with quick, nimble strikes of her own as they swarmed the party.

  The companions had appeared in the ruined city a few hours past. Beneath the thick fog and unsure of where to go, they had wandered aimlessly for a time, in search of any sign of life. They had fought several running skirmishes with the undead. Yosrick had recently released his crow scout, but it had yet to return, and they had been attacked again shortly after, distracting the gnome from using his spell to see through the bird’s eyes.

  “This city is being suffocated by evil—it saps the life from everything,” Idrimel said.

  Her mace struck a skull, sending it flying from the neck of the skeleton. It rolled into the fog, out of sight. A second later, she started in surprise when the skull came flying back at her. She managed to deflect it with her shield.

  “Fear not, for evil’s grip has been loosened,” came a familiar voice from the fog.

  Nera strode out of the mist, a grin on her face, accompanied by a human man.

  “Nera!” Idrimel cried, smiling at the sight of the rogue.

  Yosrick pummeled the last skeleton, pulverizing its pelvis and causing it to fall to the ground in a shower of bone. “Aye, so it is! And there’s that disloyal bundle of feathers,” he added, laughing.

  “And she has found Malek,” Endira added happily. Her hands transformed back to normal just as she embraced Nera and then Malek. Yosrick and Idrimel both clasped hands with Nera as well.

  “Truly your god has more work yet in store for you,” Idrimel said. “We feared the worst when you too fell to Lassiter’s treachery.” She tried not to think of Athyzon’s death.

  “Aye, seems Sabyl has picked me for her Chosen,” Nera said.

  Idrimel gasped. “To be the Chosen of a god is a great honor! I could only dream of having the privilege.”

  Nera raised an eyebrow. “Don’t be so sure of that—free will seems to be taken away once set upon a path such as this.” She glanced over Idrimel’s shoulder, and her eyes turned hard. “What’s he doing here? And not in shackles?” Her voice had become a dangerous growl, her dagger appearing in hand at the sight of an armed Waresh watching the reunion, seemingly dumbfounded at her appearance.

  “He’s unwell, Nera. An illness grips his spirit,” Idrimel said. “Endira has sought to help him break the grip on his mind from that cursed axe.”

  “Yes, I planted a suggestion in his head,” the elf added. She put a hand on Nera’s shoulder. “He’s resisting the influence of the weapon much better. Besides, we needed his aid once the undead attacked in force.”

  Nera glared at the dwarf. Waresh stared back, eyes slightly glazed. After a moment, he looked down and seemed surprised to find Heartsbane still in his hand. With a conscious effort, he reslung the axe over his back and visibly relaxed once he was no longer gripping the haft. His face took on a look of shame beneath Nera’s withering glare, and he glanced away.

  The rogue relaxed slightly and sheathed her dagger. “I’ll trust your judgments on this,” she said grudgingly, as if pained to say it. “But if he betrays us again, I’ll ram my daggers through his eyeballs.”

  Endira coughed gently to defuse the tension. “Malek, meet Idrimel, Yosrick, and Waresh.”

  “Well met,” Malek replied, greeting each in turn, although he too eyed Waresh with distrust.

  “I take it you reached the crossroads?” Nera asked.

  Idrimel grimaced. “It wasn’t the most pleasant experience, but we made it here. We’ll tell you about it later. I thought you’d want this returned.” She removed the Bracer of Fellraven from her pack and handed the artifact to Nera.

  Nera looked relieved. “Sabyl indeed smiles on us,” she said as she and Malek shared a look.

  “You’ll more than likely want this back also.” Yosrick removed the bone dagger from his pack, still wrapped in a piece of cloth. “Don’t think any of us could stand the touch of that thing, honestly.” His face scrunched up in distaste.

  “Aye, it takes a bit of getting used to,” she admitted, returning the dagger to its sheath with a fluid movement. “Anything that sends an unwoundable bastard like Lassiter to the Abyss can’t be all bad.”

  Idrimel wasn’t so sure about that as she glanced at Waresh and his cursed axe. Handling such fell implements is a deadly gamble. “The two of you look to be in remarkable health for being stranded in such a desolate place crawling with undead.”

  “We’ve had a tough go of it,” Nera answered. “Lucky to survive, but that’s a tale to be told over a campfire, I reckon.”

  Idrimel looked over Malek, wondering why Nera and Endira thought he was so important. The mage looked thin and half-starved, his robes soiled and torn. Despite that, she could see no open wounds on him, merely some dried blood. He noticed her gaze and gave her a smile. Idrimel looked away, embarrassed for having been caught staring.

  “I’ve about had enough of this undead-infested desolate arse-end of the planes,” Nera said. “Where shall we be off to next?” She slipped the bracer on her hand, an eager gleam in her rust-colored eyes. “Don’t anyone say the Abyss, or I’ll smack you in the face. Malek and I have earned a peaceful respite after all this.” She winked at the mage playfully. “There’s time enough for that madness later.”

  The companions looked around at each other, several shrugs evident.

  “Somewhere with ale and whores?” Waresh offered helpfully.

  Nera snorted. “How about I surprise you all, then?” She summoned a portal, and they all stepped through without hesitation, none desiring to linger in the Gray Lands.

  Chapter 30

  Arron was dicing with Wyat and three of his lieutenants when a commotion arose from somewhere in the camp. The group exchanged curious glances before getting up from their game and filing out of the command tent. When they neared the cause of the excitement, they saw and heard a group of veterans hollering for the crowd to clear some space. Torchlight flickered ahead as sentries converged at the edge of the camp.

  “Situation report!” Wyat barked with his deep command voice.

  The sun had been down for a couple hours, but Arron had been on edge, anxious with wor
ry for his sister since having arrived the previous day and disappointed to find she had not been seen. Camaraderie, dice, and ale had helped keep his mind off matters to a degree, but an uneasy restlessness had set in.

  “Found some strays, Commander,” one of the sentries called.

  The mercenaries fell back as Wyat parted the crowd like the prow of a ship. Arron tried to see around his broad back as they came upon a cleared space well lit by the sentries’ torches. The first things he saw were unruly lavender hair and bone-white horns.

  “Nera!” He ran forward, beating Wyat by a step, and swept up his shocked sister in an embrace, spinning her around in the air.

  “Is it really you?” she managed to gasp when he released her. “I’ll be pretty damned pissed off if you turn out to be a doppelgänger as well!” Her eyes burned like embers in the wavering shadows from the torchlight.

  “So you found out about Lassiter, then?”

  “Aye. Not without great loss, though.” Her eyes darted to a stunningly beautiful priestess of Sol in her group. “Let’s just say we managed to kill each other.”

  “Say what?”

  Before he could say anything else, Wyat swept Nera up in an even more powerful embrace. After a moment, Nera swatted him playfully on the back of the head, and he let her go.

  “By the gods, it’s good to see you, Nera! After all I’ve heard from Arron, we feared the worst!”

  “Right now, the worst would be a cracked rib from you overzealous oafs,” she snapped but couldn’t hold back her grin.

  Arron greeted Malek with a warm hand clasp, and introductions were quickly made all around.

  “Come, join us! Friends of Nera and Arron are always welcome with the Steel Rage,” Wyat boomed, waving everyone forward with a wide smile. “Someone get a fire stoked and find some fresh meat to roast. And bring out a cask of ale! Tonight, we’re going to celebrate!”

  The camp needed little encouragement to have a celebration although most had no clue as to what it was about. In short order, the weary group found themselves at the center of the camp, where a bonfire was lit. A boar that had been brought in and cleaned shortly after dusk was spitted and a cask of ale tapped. A couple benches were pulled up around the campfire beside a log from a felled tree, and Nera’s group seated.

  Arron observed his sister’s newfound companions with interest. He likely wouldn’t have been able to take his eyes off the comely Endira, had Idrimel not been present. Her unnatural beauty and sheer presence drew the attention of all in the camp, which didn’t go unnoticed by her.

  The priestess was obviously uncomfortable with all the attention, even going so far as to pull the cowl of her cloak over her head as she sat quietly beside the peculiar gnomish warrior, eating sparingly. Yosrick had no such reservations, nor did the dwarf, who had both cleaned their plates and looked for a second helping.

  “Fine looking company you keep, lass,” Wyat remarked with his usual lack of subtlety, drawing a laugh from Arron. Fortunately, the big warrior’s voice was pitched low enough that Nera’s companions appeared to have not heard.

  She raised an eyebrow and smacked the warrior on the thigh. “Back for barely an hour, and you two louts are thinking with your cocks already.” She rolled her eyes.

  Wyat’s cheeks turned red, and Arron just grinned. He glanced at Malek, who sat quietly beside Nera. The mage ate like a starving man, a fitting description for him. His face looked haunted and thoughtful as he stared into the fire.

  “What’s this about you and that whoreson Lassiter killing each other?” Arron asked, unable to reign in his curiosity any longer.

  “Aye, that’s quite a long story. I reckon we might as well exchange tales since the past week has been an eventful one.”

  “Right. You’ve no idea what I had to go through to get out of the dungeons and get off Nexus!”

  “Oh? It likely wasn’t so bad as being killed by a doppelgänger—run straight through.” Nera showed them the hole in her leathers and scar between her breasts. “Not to mention, the goddess Sabyl herself plucked me from death and told me I’m her Chosen. After that, I was nearly sucked dry of my very vitality to destroy a lich. All that in order to find this fool in the Gray Lands and save his arse!” She elbowed Malek in the ribs, but despite her words, her face was soft and her smile genuine.

  Malek looked over in surprise, evidently not having heard a word, but he returned her smile. Arron’s sharp eyes noticed their hands found each other—who initiated the contact, he couldn’t say.

  With eyebrows raised, he looked from his sister to Malek. “Balor’s balls, I think we’d best exchange tales, since obviously a lot has happened.”

  Before he could voice his next thought, Wyat had refilled their tankards. “Can’t tell lengthy tales with a dry throat,” he observed sagely.

  The others agreed.

  ***

  Idrimel took her leave early from the festivities, after she had eaten and the others were telling their tales, leaving Endira and Yosrick to relate their own experiences. She was not in a festive mood, despite the fact they had succeeded in finding Nera and Malek. Athyzon’s death weighed heavily on her, and she didn’t wish to revisit that painful memory.

  Since arriving at the camp, she had felt the eyes of the men on her, drawn by her striking looks. Many were merely curious, their looks innocent of any ill thought, but she could tell a few were stirred to lust, which made her ill at ease. Since leaving her blissful Ellorya, she shied away from being out in public away from her temple for long periods of time, uncomfortable with the attention she drew. She dearly missed the comfort of Athyzon’s reassuring presence at her side.

  “My lady?”

  She turned to find Wyat, the commander of the Steel Rage approaching her, where she stood alone at the edge of the camp, staring into the darkness. He was a big man, about the size of her brother, and handsome enough as far as humans went. He had a kindly face, which put her at ease.

  “I’ve had a tent prepared for you and the Lady Endira to share—if that is to your liking?” He seemed nervous in her presence, which she was used to.

  She forced herself to relax—she could sense Nera’s friend was a good and honorable man. We are safe here. The day after tomorrow is another matter, but for now, I can relax and find my peace in Sol’s glory once again.

  “I thank you, Commander. That will be fine.” She smiled and nodded politely.

  “Please, it’s just Wyat to my friends,” he said with a smile. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

  “I’m fine, Wyat. I think I shall retire for the evening. It has been a trying few days.”

  “Of course. I can show you the way if you like.”

  “Thank you.”

  She gave him a warm smile and followed him to the tent he had prepared for them. She had expected one of the small common tents the soldiers used, but it was one of the fancier varieties used by the officers. After bidding him good evening, she went inside and was surprised to find a carpeted floor, with her and Endira’s packs already inside, along with a bucket of water and a washbasin and a pair of bedrolls laid out.

  Endira apparently hadn’t left the campfire yet, so she removed her armor and knelt on the soft rug. She took off both her own holy symbol and Athyzon’s, which she had taken to wearing beside her own against her breast. Holding them both in her hands, she stilled her mind and reached out to her god.

  “Mighty Sol, I implore you to fill me with your light, imbuing me with the strength and courage to face the troubles that lie ahead. Please grant Athyzon peace and a place by your side, basking in the radiance of your glory.”

  Tears flowed from her eyes at the thought of her brother. Despite her prayers, she couldn’t help but feel that same subtle doubt creeping in and the flagging of her faith she had experienced following Athyzon’s death.

  Dark times lay ahead, and countless lives were depending on her success, back home on Ellorya, in Nexus, and throughout the planes. Each of them wou
ld be sorely tested, and she hoped she would be up to the task. Unfortunately, she held a lingering doubt that she might not be.

  Somehow, she knew her dreams would again be troubled that night.

  ***

  Nera stared into the fire, watching the glowing embers crackle and spark as they slowly burned out. The celebration had wound down, and dawn was yet a few hours off. Most of her companions had made their way off to find their bedrolls. She was enjoying the simple pleasure found in the warmth of the fire while being surrounded by friends. More like family—as much as I’ll ever have, at least.

  Waresh’s ripping snores broke the stillness of her thoughts. The dwarf had nodded off after consuming half a cask of ale. His ceramic tankard was still gripped in his hand, perched on his belly. He still wore his armor, save the helm set down beside him, and was leaned back against a log, head tilted back and snores soaring into the night. His beard had dipped into his tankard, she noted with amusement.

  Sleeping like a drunk dwarf. So that’s where the saying comes from. She smiled to herself. Despite her anger at the dwarf’s attempted betrayal, she sensed some of the turmoil he bore and was finding it difficult to stay angry with him for long. That didn’t mean she was ready to trust him fully, however.

  A hand squeezed her shoulder, rousing her from her reverie. She was surprised Wyat was still up. Nobody had stirred in some time, and she thought herself alone by the fire, save the snoring dwarf. Always the dutiful commander, ensuring all is in order before he turns in.

  Wyat looked down at her, the stern face he displayed to his soldiers replaced by his friendly, boyish smile. She could still picture the young whelp of a boy who had followed her and Arron back to Nexus like a stray puppy.

  “Sure is good to see you back, Nera. You should get yourself off to your bedroll and catch a few hours of sleep after your long day.”