Descent into the Depths of the Earth

by Paul Kidd - (ebook by Flandrel; Undead)

  Jus raged forward, the white sword streaming with light, and the lich turned and ripped a small rod from the sleeve of its robe. Jus streaked his sword blade down, and the lich whipped up its hand, the rod shooting out to become a staff smothered in blood red runes. The sword blow was parried, but the sheer force of it blasted the lich back against the cavern wall. Screaming in fury, the undead sorcerer threw itself at Jus, the runestaff lunging for the ranger’s eyes.

  The white blade flashed, sparks spitting as it hit the staff. Inhumanly fast, demonically strong, the lich fought with its staff, blurring blow after blow at Jus, each stroke met instantly by the human’s sword.

  The lich leaped and lunged.

  Jus parried the blow.

  As the staff tip hit the floor, energy exploded outward, blasting chunks of rock apart. Light flashed and an insane scream of anger echoed through the halls. The lich staggered, a wound cut into its side, its flesh seeming to explode as its own substance began to disintegrate.

  With the sword cut still spreading destruction into its mummified flesh, the monster roared and launched a series of mad attacks. It whirled, the staff striking, rock exploding and sparks flying as Jus fell back toward Escalla. Huge and solid, the ranger retreated, his sword moving in sharp, short motions, never once making an attack. Even so, the man began to slip his parries.

  Seeing a sudden opening, the lich roared and lunged its staff forward at Jus’ heart, power raging along the runes and ready to blow living flesh apart. Already moving, his bait taken, Jus spun on his axis, brushed the staff with his sword and sent it skimming a hair’s breath past his chest. In a white blur, the sword swiped the lich’s head from its neck.

  The sword screamed in triumph, utterly amazed. Well struck! Well struck! The weapon crowed in delight. Sir, I believe we shall get along famously!

  The lich’s body staggered forward, whirled, and then latched a hand onto Jus’ arm. Flesh smoked as the freezing grasp took hold. Jus snarled and hacked the hand from its arm, leaving the claws locked in his tunic. Its flesh burned, boiling with little explosions where the white blade had cut. Jus roared and smashed his sword down through the headless body, cleaving it to the pelvis. He kept the blade twisting inside the body, the undead flesh burning. A scream shattered the air, and a wraith-like swirl of energy punched into the air. Abandoning its body, the soul of the lich fled to sanctuary.

  Leaping down from the beholder, Escalla shouted, “Hey, Jus! Great rescue, huh?” She waved a hand proudly at the beholder. “And look! It followed me home. Can I keep him?” She grinned, then heard the beholder on its floating disk give a groggy growl. “Oh crap!”

  The girl whirled, spread her hands and sent the beholder, disk and all, spinning off toward the collapsing warrens. Flying toward Jus, the girl gave a panicked little yell. “Jus, we’re in trouble!”

  “Where’s Cinders?”

  “I’ll get him!” The girl fired her wand and sealed side caverns with walls of ice. “Get Henry and Polk, then run northwest!”

  Jus obeyed, lumbering off to heave Henry over one shoulder and drag Polk to his feet. He shoved Polk ahead and ran into the tunnels.

  Escalla fired a last blast from her wand, swore as she saw the charge counter drooping dangerously low, then swooped low over the cavern floor.

  The lich’s body had stopped disintegrating. The undead corpse lay hacked and twisted, half dissolved and still smoldering. Escalla took one look at the creature’s rune staff, touched a control and it snapped back to the size of a toothpick. The faerie gleefully jammed it through the belt of her robe. Whirling, she sped into the lich’s lair and stared about in confusion at a cave entirely wallpapered with living mouths.

  “Cinders?”

  Here.

  The hell hound skin lay bundled uncomfortably near a pile of loot. Polk’s backpack, bits of drowish cloth… it all lay there in a heap. Escalla sped over to the lich’s secret hiding place and dug her hand into the crevice. She pulled out a carefully folded piece of black cloth and began to shake it open.

  Out in the caverns, the beholder roared in rage. There was an explosion as some kind of magic blasted through the caves. In a panicked rush, Escalla unfolded the cloth disk, accidentally holding it upside down. A bizarre pile of junk instantly came crashing to the ground, scattering jewels all across the floor.

  “No no no!”

  Cinders’ red glare flicked toward the door. Faerie hurry!

  “I’m doin’ it! I’m doin’ it!”

  With a wail, Escalla dragged the hole over toward Jus’ backpack, planted her back against the bag and heaved it in. The backpack tumbled into the portable hole with a crash, and Escalla ran over to do the same with Polk’s luggage.

  Polk’s pack felt as if it weighed a hundred tons. Escalla almost ruptured herself trying to shift it, then she looked at the backpack and saw that it was bulging with drow swords, shields, chainmail, cloaks… The girl snarled, tore open the lacings, and accidentally spilled Polk’s luggage across the floor. As she picked up the magic bottle, she suddenly felt a chill run down her spine.

  The floor had opened. Lying behind her was a coffin recess, and in the coffin a mummified corpse lay with a crystal in its clawed hands. The lich’s soul stole out from the stone, occupying its spare body. The cadaver sat up, mad eyes opening. It whipped its head about to stare at the faerie and opened its skeletal jaws in an enraged scream.

  “Sacred wine!” Escalla shouted into the magic bottle. “Sacred wine!”

  The bottle suddenly began to gush. Escalla flung holy wine over the lich’s face, and the monster screamed and began to dissolve. The monster screeched and thrashed, hurling its magic crystal. Escalla hit the crystal with the lich’s own staff, shattering it like glass and thus ending any hopes for the lich’s return.

  Tossing the magic flask into the portable hole, she grabbed hold of Cinders, and ran as if every hungry denizen of the Nine Hells were right behind her.

  Outside the lich’s cave, the beholder rampaged in a mad dance of destruction. Roofs were collapsing, and rocks showered down everywhere. Escalla folded up the portable hole, shoved it through her belt, and dived beneath the hell hound skin. She ran like a mad thing, holding Cinders’ head over her own. The result was like watching a fireside rug zooming off to hunt for prey.

  Escalla raced along the northwest passageway. Behind her, the beholder roared, still unmoving, but able now to thrash its many eyes. Spells lashed out to rake the caves, keeping rock falls thundering from the ceiling high above.

  Jus stood waiting in the dark, sheltering behind a rock as beholder spells blasted through the air. Passing the paralyzed Private Henry to Polk, Jus reached down to save Escalla from drowning underneath Cinders’ fur.

  “Cinders!”

  Friend! The hell hound happily wagged his tail. Happy.

  The sword in Jus’ hand made a sound uncannily like clearing her throat. Jus held the sword out at arm’s length to stare at the blade and asked, “Escalla, where did you get this?”

  “Found it!” The faerie installed herself upon Jus’ shoulders. “Shiny, huh? I told you I’d find you one!”

  Somewhat annoyed, the sword gave a self important sniff. My name is Benelux. I am made from metallic light forged upon the positive energy plane. Most pleased to meet you.

  “Justicar.” Jus looked at the blade in bemusement. “Nice knowing you.”

  Fairly happy with her day, Escalla shrugged expressively shrug. “I call ’er Spiky!” The girl whirred upward, dragging her friends down the passageway. “Guys? I think the beholder is about to vaporize the last of the trogs. We should probably get moving before he uses us for after dinner mints.”

  The faerie sped off down the tunnel. With the beholder causing a slaughterhouse somewhere behind them, Jus and Polk hastened to follow the girl’s lead. Jus slung Cinders abut his shoulders, picked up Private Henry beneath one arm, and marched off into the dark. Gleaming bright in his hand, the unsheathed sword flooded the passagew
ay with light.

  Benelux’s voice echoed happily as the adventurers walked. I say, you there! Canine! Have we been introduced?

  No. The dog skin wagged its tail. Cinders.

  Benelux. How do you do? The sword sniffed suspiciously. Are you certain you are a fit addition to this party?

  Cinders wag-wag-wagged his tail.

  Benelux seemed indignant. Ye gods, you might be a mongrel! I can hardly keep company with a mongrel! The Justicar is a swordsman, and swordsmen by definition are gentlemen. He will no doubt be as uncomfortable with the situation as I.

  With his big grin gleaming, Cinders’ sniggered in the gloom. Sword funny!

  I beg your pardon!

  Funny funny! The hell hound waggled his ears. Cinders’ new friend.

  As the group jogged off down the tunnel, Benelux addressed the Justicar. Sir, I have grave doubts about the decorum of this party.

  Ignoring it all, Jus merely walked faster. Far behind him, distant walls crumbled as the beholder rampaged through the lich’s lair.

  “Oh! Oh yeah! Yeah! Harder! Harder!” Lying on her stomach on Cinders, Escalla ploughed her fingers into his fur and clenched her toes. “Yeah! Oh push! Yeah!”

  Lying face down on Cinders, scrubbed clean and awaiting her fire-beetle roast, Escalla groaned and sighed as Jus massaged her back with one careful finger and his thumbs. Escalla drummed her fist on the floor in fits of ecstasy. Still paralyzed, Private Henry sat propped in a corner and could only stare. Polk had been reunited with his whiskey bottle and was already giving the day’s horrors a rosy glow. Jus, now repaired and wiped clean, sat beside the steaming cooking pot that had served as Escalla’s bath, attending to the girl. Knowing his friend far better than she thought, he rewarded her for the rescue in the most practical way.

  “Oooooh!” Escalla slumped in a post-massage daze. “Ooooh, I love you!”

  Jus gave a slow, knowing smile and let the comment slip. Escalla sighed, unaware that she had ever spoken.

  Propped within swift reach of the Justicar, Benelux made disapproving sounds as Escalla’s noises went on.

  Sir Justicar! This faerie of yours, is she always this noisy?

  “I’m a screamer! What can I say?” Escalla answered the sword without real malice. “You never get polished or anything?”

  I have a permanent shine. Benelux sniffed in cold disapproval. Expressions of pleasure are undignified.

  “Yeah, but they add to the fun.” Escalla turned to jelly as Jus hit the right spot just in the hollow of her neck. “Ooo yeah.”

  A tireless man with strong hands, Jus showed no signs of slowing in his work.

  “Benelux, true worth is never obvious. Find the good in other people and work outward from there.”

  Hmph! The sword’s flawless blade gleamed. Of course worth is obvious, because true worth is never slack. The wise must share their wisdom, for the general elevation of all. Polk understands! The sword had apparently not yet heard Polk humming his rather off-color song about the princess and the gnome. This girl needs improvement. I intend to provide suitable advice.

  “Oh, be my guest.” Jus worked carefully on Escalla’s feet, making the girl claw the giggling hell hound and scream like a happy banshee. “But there are some battles best not fought.”

  Benelux made a noise of scorn. You are clearly tired, sir. A true gentleman must realize that good fights are necessary fights.

  “No argument there.”

  Private Henry tried to talk but could only mumble. Escalla looked up and patted the boy on one boot. He was at least back in his own physical shape. White hair had hardly suited him.

  “You all right, Hen?”

  “Mrl murgle mungle.”

  “Hoopy!” Escalla smiled then hissed as her calves were massaged. “You’d think drow would carry the antidote to that stuff.”

  Looking happily up from his bottle, Polk wreathed himself in smiles. “There must be antidote there. Elves are elves. Ain’t all elves logical?”

  “Polk, they’re dark elves. If they were animals, they’d be pond dwellers who eat their own young.”

  The teamster looked about the little cavern in clear, undiluted joy and said, “We now have one portable hole, ten feet deep by ten feet wide.”

  He folded up the portable hole and took charge of it himself, putting it in his breast pocket with a satisfied pat. Reaching for his bottle, he gave a toast to victory.

  “I knew you could all handle it. Just needed the right coaching. A prod. A push toward glory!” The little man crowed in triumph, puffing out his meager pigeon chest. “That’s what Good does. It overcomes! It triumphs in adversity! The more the obstacles, the greater the victory.”

  “Yeah right.” Escalla was almost asleep, but nevertheless managed to look up at the Justicar. “Hey, Jus? He thought we weren’t coming to rescue you, didn’t he?”

  “Yes.”

  “Polk, say, ‘I have just been rescued by a teenaged boy and a faerie’!”

  Annoyed, Polk sniffed through his great hatchet nose. “I have just been rescued by a teenaged boy and a faerie.”

  “Good!” Rolling over, Escalla held up on self-righteous little finger. “Now say ‘I, Polk, hereby declare that I owe the faerie a total of seven hours of foot rubs, to be delivered at the rate of one half-hour per evening for the next two weeks.’” The faerie hovered overhead as Polk irritably muttered the promise. “Good! And Private Henry hereby requires a really big chapter in your chronicles, all about how he blitzed a beholder and became a total hero.” The girl rubbed her eyes, more than ready for sleep. “Are we all happy?”

  The sword Benelux snorted. No.

  “Is everyone important happy?” Escalla gave a titanic yawn. “Then let’s get some sleep.” The girl rolled herself up in silks and nuzzled happily down into Cinders’ soft black fur. “You guys had a hard day. I’ll take first watch.”

  She was asleep in moments. Jus tucked her in, patted Cinders on the head and served out dinner to his companions. He popped a coal into Cinders’ mouth, put Henry in a comfortable position away from the fire, then watched as the adventurers slowly drifted off to sleep.

  Escalla rolled over in her bed, fast asleep, and quietly murmured Jus’ name. The big man sat beside her, looking down at the little form with its strangely innocent little smile.

  Jus quietly bent over and kissed Escalla in her sleep. He stroked her hair then sat down to keep watch over his friends.

  Behind him, Cinders grinned his piranha grin and quietly thumped his tail.

  * * *

  “You!”

  Lord Ushan burst into the pearlwood chambers, his robes swirling with illusory flame. He pointed one finger in accusation at Lord Faen. “Clan Nightshade kills a scion of the Seelie Court, and yet you elect to sit here as their guest!”

  Closing one of Clan Nightshade’s books, Lord Faen raised his brows and replied, “This is common enough knowledge. I have no reason to depart.” Lord Faen tilted his head to gaze at Lord Ushan thoughtfully. “You seem to have been sadly out of touch.”

  “I have estates to govern! Bifrost, Beastlands, Elysium! Girl or no girl, some of us still have to rule!”

  “Estates. How interesting.” Lord Faen arose and walked quietly over to the windows, looking out across Lord Charn’s lake. It all had a wonderfully rustic appeal. “Nightshades invitation to us all is still in force. I would consider it rude to reject them at this time.”

  Furious, Lord Ushan paced back and forth. His orc servants waited with eyes downcast in the corridors beyond. He took his staff of office from one girl’s hand then whirled on Faen in a rage.

  “This is collusion! By staying in this… this primal filth, you give royal approval of assassination! Does the Erlking not care that Cavalier Tarquil is dead?”

  “Yes. Poor Tarquil.” Faen stroked his goatee. “Still, at least his problems with vendettas are now over. It must have eased life in Clan Sable to have the boy turn up his toes.”

  Turni
ng stiff, Ushan coldly glared at the other lord and whispered, “Have a care, Faen. Tarquil was not the only duelist in Clan Sable.”

  “I’m sure of it.” Unconcerned, Lord Faen sat down. “Still, we are all touched by your loss. Is there to be a service in Tarquil’s memory? I really should attend. Tell me, will you reincarnate the boy?”

  “We will take a clone from his remains.”

  “Ah. Of course.”

  Faen returned to his book. Ushan watched him, flexing his hands indecisively about his staff, then turned back to his serving girls.

  “Find the murderer, Faen.”

  “It is a very large universe, Ushan.” Lord Faen fluffed out the pages of his book again. “Still, I am continually amazed at the things that turn up when you least expect them.”

  The underdark was unpleasant—wet, stinking, mold encrusted, and the phosphorescent light tended to make peoples teeth look violet. The sorry thing to say was that after a few days, Jus almost felt used to it. From time to time, noises far ahead gave warning hints of danger. The party hid themselves in side caves, screened by one of Escalla’s illusions as slow moving drow caravans plodded past. There were occasional monster tracks and occasional patches of deadly molds that Jus simply spotted and avoided. If one moved carefully and cleverly, it was quite possible to survive.

  For a while. A very little while. Some of the monster tracks were… impressive.

  For her part, Escalla seemed relatively unconcerned. Dressed in her latest attempt to make proper clothing out of black drow silks, she sat cross legged atop Jus’ head making herself a pair of long, fingerless gloves.

  “Look, guys! When it gets warm, drow silk actually stretches! This stuff fits sheer.” The girl leaned over to look joyously into Jus’ face. “Isn’t that hoopy?”

  “Yup.”

  New clothes had kept Escalla fascinated for at least half an hour—half an hour that would have been better spent scouting for danger up ahead.