by T. H. Lain
Return of the Damned
( Dungeons and Dragons - 9 )
T. H. Lain
T. H. Lain
Return of the Damned
Prologue
Naull lay bleeding at the feet of the blackguard. She had saved her friends-saved Regdar-from death in the City of Fire by trapping the blackguard with a bead of force. The bead trapped Naull as well.
"That was quite a stunt, wizard," taunted the black-garbed figure standing over her.
Naull said nothing. She wanted to lash back at the horrid, armored woman, but in a few minutes both of them would die anyway. Naull was too badly hurt to spend her last moments in fruitless argument.
The City of Fire slipped steadily back into its pocket dimension. The portal to the Prime Material Plane was closed, and the city could no longer hold its position between the planes.
That wasn't the problem.
With the portal closed, the city would return completely to the Elemental Plane of Fire. Already flames lapped under the door frame and through cracks in the walls. The journey from one plane to the next didn't take long.
The force bead trapping both Naull and the blackguard would protect them for a while. Like all magic, eventually its power would fail. When that happened, Naull would be instantly incinerated.
It's not so bad, she thought. The end probably would come so fast she would feel nothing.
Behind her, the blackguard struggled with something inside her pack before pulling out a long, dirty-white staff.
Naull's curiosity got the best of her. "What is that?" she whispered.
The blackguard looked down at the injured wizard, but instead of the cruel scowl that Naull expected, the blackguard smiled.
"This is the thigh bone of a man I killed a few months ago," she said, gripping the rod with both hands. "I don't believe you knew him."
Naull cringed away, afraid the blackguard might find it amusing to beat her with it as a sacrifice to Hextor. "What are you going to do with it?"
"I'm going to break it," she said simply. With a crack, the blackguard snapped the bone in half against her own leg.
A blue-white spark crackled from the broken ends as a dark, red liquid poured from the hollowed-out bone. The blackguard's hands glowed with magical energy, and she reached for Naull.
The wizard squirmed away, but there was no room. The evil woman's hands clasped around Naull's arms. In the next moment, blackguard and wizard teleported away from the lapping flames of the Plane of Fire to a place of cold and intense darkness.
The City of Fire disappeared instantly. The effect was so startling that Naull first thought the blackguard had cast a spell to blind her. Then she felt the woman release her arms and shout the demonic word for light.
The smell of torches igniting filled Naull's nostrils. Light blazed in the wizard's eyes, and she squinted against the sudden, extreme change.
Naull lay on a floor of sand at the feet of the blackguard. The City of Fire was gone. They were now in a huge cavern. Torches on barbed poles formed a ring around the two women, outlining a large oval. Sooty whisps of smoke spiraled from the flames into darkness above. The light thrown by the torches was enough to illuminate everything inside the oval, but outside its circumference and up above, the light trailed off into nothing, seemingly swallowed by blackness.
The blackguard walked away. The sand crunched under her boots as she went, the sound doubling and redoubling in echoes across the dark chamber. As she reached the line of torches, she lifted one from the ground.
Naull pushed herself onto her knees to watch the blackguard as her torch receded into the darkness. The moving flame revealed more sandy ground, growing steadily smaller as the woman walked farther and farther away. Finally, it was no more than a ring of light flickering in the darkness.
After struggling to her feet, the wizard limped in the opposite direction. Her footsteps were loud against the packed sand in the quiet chamber. Naull watched over her shoulder, expecting the blackguard to give chase.
The ring of light in the distance continued on its course, apparently unconcerned by Naull's escape.
Crossing through the oval of torches, Naull turned her attention to the ground before her. She was only a few steps beyond the ring, but already the light grew weak. The farther she advanced, the darker the sand appeared, until she could see nothing but blackness beneath her feet.
Laughter from far behind stopped Naull in her tracks. Another ring of lights flared to life, these giving off the unmistakable blue-white glow of mage-lit stones. The floor on either side of Naull was fully illuminated, but before her, bare inches ahead of her feet, it plunged away into a deep chasm. She tottered and nearly lost her balance before her eyes could refocus.
Across the gap, the ground rose in steps like the seats of a coliseum.
Naull backed away from the edge and turned around. The magical lights revealed an enormous cavern. The oval of torches was ringed on three sides by the steep drop off. The coliseum seats followed the chasm all the way around the cavern, forming an immense gladiatorial arena.
She could not see the ceiling. It was too far above to be lit from the floor. Hanging from that vague darkness were heavy chains, and the chains suspended a dozen or more rusted, metal cages. Bones and rags stuck through the bars or swayed below the floor grates.
Directly across from Naull, far off on the fourth side of the arena, sat a huge throne. Jagged bits of obsidian formed the arms and legs. Above the seat back, inscribed into the stone, was the spiked gauntlet of Hextor, crushing in its grasp four wickedly barbed arrows.
The blackguard sat casually on the throne. "Now," she said quietly, her voice echoing and carried to Naull's ears by the shape of the cavern, "the question isn't so much how I will torture you, but how can I most benefit from it?"
One year later.
The chitinous snap of mandibles echoed against a pock-marked stone wall and a severed human head bounced into a puddle of blood. A helmet, knocked loose from the head, rolled round and round with a warbling clang, speeding up in its last few rotations before finally spinning to a stop. Next to the head, a man's body slumped to the ground with a soft thump.
Regdar wrenched his greatsword from a heap of oozing, gray-green flesh and turned toward the sound. Bodies lay scattered across the darkened floor. Blood ran in rivulets down the slanted passage until it collected again at the foot of a very large beast.
"Another umber hulk," grumbled Regdar. The creature stood at the end of the passage. At its feet lay the remains of an adventuring party-among them Regdar's close friend Whitman.
The fighter looked up at the beast with a burning hatred rising along his spine. Behind the creature, a few beams of natural light lancing down from the ceiling illuminated the dusty air, revealing a large chamber. From where Regdar stood, it looked as if the room might have been a bathhouse at one time.
The fighter sneered and lifted his blade. "Still hungry?" He took two quick steps forward. "Have a bite of this," he hollered. Then he launched himself into a charge down the hall, his greatsword raised overhead with both hands.
In just eight long steps, Regdar closed the distance between him and the half-ape, half-beetle monstrosity. The umber hulk flinched and stepped back. As Regdar swung his heavy blade, the tip scraped across the ceiling, showering sparks along its overhead arc.
The weapon sang as it swung free of the stone, but then it bounced sideways off the creature's thickly armored forearm. Regdar stumbled and struggled to keep hold of his sword.
The monster clacked its serrated mandibles. Its claws descended on the off-balance fighter. The first crashed against his breastplate. Sharp talons screeched, leaving deep creases in the gray metal. The se
cond hit Regdar in the right shoulder, and the impact knocked him upright again.
The fighter balanced precariously on his toes for a second before the weight of his armor settled, and he landed flat on his feet with a noise like a tumbling pile of cook pots.
"Thanks," he grunted.
Regdar swung up his greatsword. The blade collided with the side of the creature's face and slashed open an oval-shaped organ Regdar could only assume was the monster's eye.
"How's that feel, you ugly dung muncher," he said. At the same time he readied the sword to attack again from what he hoped was now the creature's blind side.
The umber hulk reeled, black pulp gushing from its eye. Mandibles gnashed, and the air was filled with sounds of insectoid squeeking.
Regdar's next blow landed on the beast's arm. The thick hide made a popping noise as the blade bit through, then orange ooze pumped out in short bursts.
The umber hulk hissed and bent down into a crouch. It clicked its mandibles and scratched its claws along the stone floor. With one good eye it watched Regdar.
The right claw shot out lightning-quick. Regdar shifted to his right and evaded the swipe just in time to realize it was a feint. The creature's left claw thrust forward and slammed Regdar against the stone wall. His helmet banged hard against the rock, and he slid to the floor. His sword clattered and bounced, then settled to the ground with a dull chime.
Regdar was staggered but not dazed. Rolling away from the wall, he pushed himself to his knees and faced the drooling, bug-eyed monster.
"Is that the best you can do?" he said, spitting blood on the floor. He scooped up his sword and stepped back, steadying himself for the beast's next move.
The umber hulk's head lunged forward, snapping and biting at the fighter. The tips of its mandibles closed tightly around Regdar's left forearm.
The fighter grimaced and released his trapped hand's grip on the sword. Using only his right arm to wield the weapon, he sliced it across the monster's face, hoping to cut its remaining eye.
The sword was too long and the creature too close, but the danger made the umber hulk release Regdar's arm and skitter away beyond reach. Regdar pressed forward immediately. The tip of his sword missed the creature's eye, but the blade slid up the side of its head and carved a deep gouge in the carapace before dislodging what looked like an antenna.
The hulking vermin hunched down, then launched its considerable bulk forward again. Its body filled the passageway before landing on top of Regdar and crushing him to the floor. The fighter went down again with a clang, the monster lying on his legs, frantically clawing its way up his metal-encased body.
"This is all backward," muttered Regdar, struggling to pull himself out from under the foe. "Bugs don't squash people."
Mandibles gnashed in front of the fighter's face and drool splashed through his visor. Regdar had visions of his own head being snipped off and bouncing down the corridor when the creature spun around to face toward the old bathhouse. Regdar, too, twisted his head. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement and the glint of steel.
"Never was any good at sneaking!" came a gravelly voice.
Whitman, thought Regdar.
The umber hulk spun around in the passage and bounded off of Regdar. The fighter launched himself to his feet. Sure enough, at the end of the passage, hammer hefted over his shoulder, stood Whitman.
"Come and get me, you overgrown weevil," shouted the dwarf.
The umber hulk jumped forward and snapped its mandibles shut around Whitman's head. Regdar cringed at the sound of grinding metal.
A cloud of dust rolled out in front of the monster, heading in a line down the hall. It stopped at the opening to the bathhouse. A long gray beard swung in the clear air, and the cloud sprouted a dwarven head. Whitman had tumbled away, managing to keep his head and his hammer while losing only his helmet. The old dwarf swung his weapon over his shoulder again and hurled it at the beast.
Regdar closed the distance behind the umber hulk in two great steps. The tip of his sword bit into chitinous hide and plunged through. The monster convulsed and jolted forward. Whitman's hammer collided with the great beast's face, and its head recoiled backward. The monster looked as if it were dancing, undulating forward and back as blows struck it from both sides.
Regdar, his greatsword buried to the hilt in the creature's body, stepped back. His left arm was still bleeding from the umber hulk's earlier attack. He watched the creature jerk and twist as it struggled with its enormous claws to reach the sword in its back.
Whitman unhooked a throwing axe from his belt and reeled back. With a guttural cry, the dwarf let the weapon fly. The head of the axe crashed with a pop into the monster's skull. Large, yellow-gray curds burst out of the wound, sloshing over Whitman's hammer resting on the floor.
The beast roared with a sound that was part hiss, part shriek, then it slumped to the ground with its head twisted at an odd angle.
Regdar reached into his backpack with his good hand and pulled out a silver flask. Uncorking it with his teeth, the fighter downed the potion inside. At once the wound on his left arm glowed, scabbed over, and diminished in size.
Whitman climbed over the fallen umber hulk to retrieve his hammer.
"Ack," he groaned. "Brain juice… all over my hammer." He pulled a cloth from his belt and cleaned the sticky liquid and yellow-gray lumps from his weapon.
Regdar let the empty flask fall to the floor and grasped his sword with both hands. Putting his foot on the dead creature's back, he heaved the blade free with a loud, squishing sound.
"Could be worse," he consoled the dwarf. "Could be zombie brain juice."
Whitman chuckled. "Here I thought zombies had no brains."
"I hate to interrupt your witty banter," came a lisping voice from inside the bathhouse.
Whitman whipped around. Regdar raised his sword and leaped over the fallen monster to stand by the dwarf's side.
A hooded, black-robed figure stepped out of the shadows into a dust-filled beam of light. "That was my umber hulk, and nobody kills my monsters except me." The stranger lowered his hood to reveal a disfigured human face. A puckered, gray scar covered the man's left eye and cheek. His upper lip was missing entirely, exposing his teeth and gums.
Extra air hissed out as he spoke words with a malformed mouth. "Now I must kill you both." With that, he waved his hands in the air and his voice rose to an unintelligible shout. Regdar didn't recognize the words, but he knew well enough that they meant magic.
Both fighters flung themselves sideways. A crackling bolt of blue-white electricity shot from the disfigured wizard's fingers. It jagged across the bathhouse and down the hallway. Despite their quick reactions, Regdar and Whitman both were caught by the snaking tendrils of electric power.
The bolt hit Regdar just below his hip. It passed right through his metal armor and spread out to scorch his entire leg. Whitman spun as he leaped for cover. That action saved his life. The bolt missed his ear by mere inches. Instead it smashed into his shoulder and knocked the stout dwarf facefirst against the wall.
Smoke rose into the air, and the smell of burned flesh wafted through the old bathhouse. The dark-robed wizard chuckled.
"Your turn," he said.
Whitman stood and hefted his hammer, shouting a single Dwarvish word-the magical command that activated his boots of speed. The old, gray-bearded dwarf bolted at the wizard. His feet moved in a blur. The alarmed wizard stumbled backward, obviously caught off guard by the dwarf's surprising speed.
Whitman's first blow landed on the wizard's chest. It was powerful enough to shatter ribs, and the man staggered back. His arms flailed at his sides as he struggled for balance. Gasping sounds filled the room as he tried desperately to fill his lungs.
The dwarf's hammer fell again, this time smashing the wizard's arm. Regdar heard bones snap under the impact. He let out a low whistle as he hobbled on his scorched leg toward the two men.
Lowering his sword in his
left hand, Regdar balled his right hand into a fist and punched the wizard square in the face. His gauntlet clanked against the robed man's mouth. The wizard's head snapped back from the impact, and pieces of broken teeth clattered across the tiled floor.
The wizard collapsed to his knees.
Regdar rested his sword blade at the base of the wizard's neck. "Surrender."
The dark-robed man sat on the floor, probing the bloody holes in his smile with his finger. He looked up at Regdar, shrugged, then put his hands into his robe.
"Keep those where I can see them," threatened Regdar, and he applied some downward pressure on the blade.
The wizard smiled. Blood dripped from holes in his gums and ran down his chin. He withdrew his hands from his robes, but he held a small, pink ball of goo between two fingers. The substance flashed then disintegrated. Regdar squinted involuntarily to protect his eyes. The wizard lisped out two quick words, and he disappeared.
Shaking his head, Regdar growled. The sound echoed off the walls of the old bathhouse. Too late, the fighter sliced with his sword where the wizard had been kneeling. His greatsword struck nothing but the floor.
Regdar looked to Whitman. The dwarf shrugged, and both men scanned the room, their weapons at the ready.
In the corner, a cluster of glowing, blue-white orbs appeared. They floated in mid-air, casting an eerie glow on the darkened chamber. Both fighters stepped forward before the magical missiles lifted from where they hovered and streaked toward them. The lights swirled and blurred, then smashed into the human and the dwarf.
Regdar heard a short yelp escape his hps as the skin on his chest sizzled and popped. Despite the pain, the fighter charged toward the corner, his eyes trained on the apparently empty spot where the orbs had appeared.
In his mind, Regdar imagined the hooded man standing before him, casting the spell and dodging away. Lunging to his left as he reached the corner, the big fighter leaned into his strike, praying his hunch was correct.
