Temple Hill

by Karpyshyn, Drew

  The shimmer became a shroud of blinding light, wrapping itself around Lhasha. It flared a deep violet, then flickered to blue, red, and finally pink, the brightness and intensity of each color increasing until Corin was forced to momentarily avert his gaze, squeezing his eyes shut against the glare.

  “Wh … Where am I? What happened? C-Corin? Is that you?”

  The warrior opened his eyes and looked down at the confused half-elf with a reassuring smile. “Yes, Lhasha,” he said, extending his left hand to help her up. “It’s me.”

  Graal rushed the young wizard, his huge weapon descending in a two-handed chop intended to split the mage from skull to pelvis, but the mage slipped aside, and the blow caught only air. Graal kicked out a boot, catching the thin man under the chin and crumpling him to the floor.

  The orog wasted no time gloating over his dazed opponent but stabbed down, looking to run his sword right through his foe, pinning him to the ground. Graal’s kick had less effect than he imagined, and the nimble mage still had enough of his senses left to roll out of the way. Graal’s sword struck only the stone floor of the cavern—driving itself several inches into the rock.

  It took Graal several seconds to work his blade free, and in that time the bald wizard had found his feet again. The man was quick and wiry, Graal had to give him that. Still, there was little fear of the mage even attempting to engage Graal in a physical confrontation.

  As he pulled his dark sword free of the cavern floor, Graal heard the sounds of an incantation. Trusting his magical armor to protect him from the brunt of the spell, Graal held his ground and turned to face the wizard—only to see Azlar vanish before his eyes.

  Graal’s senses were keen. He had the eyes and ears of a predator. He could hear hurried footsteps, and he caught a glimmer of distorted light fleeing from him—a warping of the air itself. The mage was still around, he was just invisible. The orog turned his huge head from side to side, trying in vain to pick up any more telltale signs that would reveal the mage’s location.

  He heard the faint swish of rustling robes at his back, and Graal wheeled but saw nothing. Heavy breathing to his left; a half-imagined shadow flickered in the torchlight. Graal took his shot, hoping to land a lucky blow—but his blade met with no resistance.

  He paused and listened again, trying to pick out another sound or glimmering distortion that would pinpoint his enemy’s location. Nothing. The wizard was nowhere nearby. He must have retreated into the covering confusion of the melee in the center of the cavern.

  Graal stared out over the battlefield, surveying the carnage. Someone had unleashed a storm of hail and ice on the combatants, but even over the blizzard’s fury the orog could clearly hear the thunderous clash of metal on metal as the opposing soldiers hacked mercilessly at each other. The armies were evenly matched, for the moment. But an invisible wizard roaming the battlefield at will would quickly turn the tide against Xiliath’s men. Within the chaos of the battle and the blizzard, there was virtually no chance of detecting the subtle flickers of light or faint sounds that would betray Azlar’s location.

  A quick glance at Xiliath’s own wizard dispelled any hope Graal had of receiving aid from the old mage. He still lay crumpled and unconscious on the ground, though his body had begun to convulse. Graal looked over in the direction of the charmed medusa. Her hooded form was undergoing a similar series of seizures as her mind fought to break free of the bonds imprisoning her. Recovering the ring and using it to dominate the medusa was impossible—the blue shield still surrounding the old wizard kept even Graal from approaching. But with the ring wearer virtually comatose, the magic enslaving the medusa was growing ever weaker. Soon, Graal realized, she would gain her freedom.

  Graal was no coward and no fool. An invisible wizard and an angry medusa were more than he cared to face. If Xiliath himself were to appear on the scene things would only get worse. Even Graal shuddered at the thought of his master’s rage being unleashed on the battle.

  With occasional glances back to make sure he wasn’t being followed, Graal escaped out the newly formed tunnel in the east wall of his master’s treasure room. The orog knew Xiliath had undoubtedly already sealed up all the other routes back to the surface, and only the unfamiliar section of the smugglers’ labyrinth beyond the cultists’ passage offered any chance of ever reaching the surface again.

  He set off with long, loping strides, leaving his men to deal with the consequences of the cultists, the soon-to-be-released medusa, and the imminent arrival of Xiliath.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Lhasha took Corin’s extended hand and struggled to her feet.

  “Are you all right? You look like you can barely stand.”

  Leaning on her sturdy companion for support, Lhasha gave a slight nod, her head bowed to the floor. “I’ll be fine. Just give me a few seconds. I feel a little woozy.”

  “Understandable, given what you’ve been through.”

  The half-elf glanced up, casting a mildly curious peek in Corin’s direction. The only response she had expected was the one-armed man’s typical stoic silence or a single gruff word acknowledging her condition. His sympathetic comment caught her off guard.

  “I hate to rush you, but Fendel’s waiting for us,” Corin continued, his voice firm but lacking the sharp edge it usually carried. “I know you’re a bit out of sorts, but we’re in the middle of a war zone right now. We have to get moving. I’ll carry you, if you don’t feel up to walking.”

  The shock of hearing a whole paragraph emerging spontaneously from Corin’s mouth nearly knocked Lhasha off her already unsteady feet. There was something different about her usually taciturn companion. Different, but good. Despite the battle raging behind him, despite the concern in his features and the urgency in his voice, he seemed relaxed. At peace with the world—and himself.

  And then she noticed the prosthetic attached to Corin’s right arm. The flawless silver surface seemed to sparkle and glow in the flickering light of the cavern. The gleaming metal was pure and pristine, as the lines and proportions flowed seamlessly along the contours, a work of true genius and artistic beauty. Fendel had really outdone himself.

  “Your arm,” she said reverently, overwhelmed by her emotions. She was so proud of Fendel she felt like crying and so happy for Corin she felt like laughing. With a trembling finger she reached out to touch it.

  Corin was oblivious to her state. He might not have even heard her soft whisper of amazement. He simply scooped her up like a sack of potatoes, threw her over his shoulder, and set off at a canter back toward where Fendel waited for them. No explanation, no apology. Her friend may have changed, Lhasha realized, but he still preferred actions over words.

  Lhasha was too drained from her ordeal to even object. With each pounding step Corin took, her body was jarred and shaken. She welcomed the feeling, relishing the physical reality of it. It helped exorcise the terrifying images that threatened to push their way into her newly restored consciousness—surreal memories and dreamlike recollections of a hellish nether existence, neither alive nor dead, but trapped in some horrible stony limbo.

  As Corin carried her across the unfamiliar cavern the memories faded, buried so deep they would never rise to the surface again, but Lhasha knew they’d always be there.

  The world spun as Corin flipped her off his shoulder and cradled her in his arms before setting her down on the ground beside Fendel.

  “Something’s wrong,” he said to the gnome.

  “Nothing’s wrong,” Lhasha protested, scrambling to her feet. “I just needed a few seconds to gather myself, is all. I’m fine. Really.”

  “The same can be said of me now, as well,” Fendel added, standing up beside her. “A little healing magic, and I’m as good as new,” he explained in response as Corin gazed at the torn, bloodstained leg of his breeches. “Gonna have to get some new pantaloons, though.”

  Any more words from the gnome were cut off by a suffocating hug from Lhasha. Fendel returned the
gesture with as much force as his old joints could muster. A sharp cough from Corin caused them to break their fond embrace.

  “Can you save the reunion for later?” the warrior asked pointedly, nodding in the direction of the still raging battle.

  Fendel nodded. “Of course, of course. This rescue mission won’t be much use if we don’t all get out of here alive. It won’t be long until one side or the other pays some attention to us, and our work isn’t done yet.”

  “Lead the way,” Lhasha said, clapping her hands in nervous anticipation. “I have no idea how you got in, but I’m eager to see how we’re getting out.”

  “Just hold on a second, Lhasha,” Fendel cautioned, holding up a gnarled hand to quiet her. In his other hand he held the strange glasses he had shown Corin earlier. “We may have a problem with the package. You two better keep your heads down. Look at the floor until I tell you it’s safe. We don’t want any more unfortunate accidents.”

  Slipping the protective lenses onto the bridge of his nose, the gnome craned his neck to survey the battle. “Where in Gond’s name did that medusa go?” he grumbled. “She was right over there in that corner just a minute ago.”

  Lhasha shivered at the mention of the creature’s name. “Who cares? Let’s just get out of here before we run into her.” Like Corin, she was taking Fendel’s instructions to the letter and staring intently at the ground.

  “We can’t just leave her behind to fall into the hands of whoever wins this battle,” Fendel explained. “As long as she’s still in Elversult, Yanseldara’s life is in danger. The Lady Lord has many enemies, and a charmed medusa is the perfect assassin. We have to deal with this problem now, one way or another.”

  “Who cares about Yanseldara?” Lhasha made no effort to hide her exasperation. “She can look after herself. Let Vaerana and her Harper friends take care of her. The medusa’s their problem now!”

  The gnome gave Lhasha a stern glare of disapproval, his eyes distorted and buggy through the thick glasses. “I thought I raised you better than that,” was all he said.

  Ashamed, Lhasha replied in a chastened voice, “You did. I didn’t mean that. I’m just … scared.”

  Fendel gave the half-elf a reassuring pat on her cheek and turned his attention back to his search of the room. “Uh-oh,” he muttered. “Things could get messy. Don’t look up,” Fendel ordered. “The medusa’s broken free. By the Wonderbringer’s smock, she’ll kill them all. That would not be any great loss.”

  After a moment’s consideration, the gnome added, “Get to the surface, both of you. I’ll follow as soon as I can.”

  “What are you going to do?” Lhasha demanded, her gaze firmly on the ground.

  “I’ve got a few spells ready to take care of our snakey-haired friend. I didn’t want to kill her, but there’s not much choice anymore.”

  “No,” the half-elf said with a shake of her head, still staring at the floor. “We’re not leaving without you.”

  “Don’t be foolish,” Fendel scoffed. “There’s nothing you can do here, not with that beast making everyone into statues left and right. My glasses will keep me safe.”

  “From the medusa,” Corin pointed out, “but not from Graal or Azlar.”

  “Believe it or not,” Fendel said after taking a moment to scan the battlefield, “but I can’t see that oversized orc or the bare-scalped mage anywhere. Maybe they ran off when the medusa broke free. I suggest you do the same.”

  “We can’t,” Corin said flatly. “The door to the subtunnel is closed. It must have been blown shut when Azlar came blasting through that wall. I wouldn’t even know how to open it. You’re the only one who can lead us back to the surface.”

  The gnome cursed in his native tongue. “All right, you’re right. This is what we’ll do. Stay close to me, and keep your eyes down. Watch my heels.

  “I’ll lead you across the cavern to that passage the cultists blasted to get in here. It must lead back into the main tunnel system somewhere. There might be a few guards, but it shouldn’t be anything you can’t handle. Most of their forces would have been brought into the battle already, so I doubt they’ve kept much back in reserve.

  “Wait for me where the passage meets up with the original smugglers’ tunnels. It should be easy to recognize the place. I think I can lead us out safely.”

  Corin grunted to show he understood and would follow, the gnome’s instructions.

  “I still don’t like leaving you behind,” Lhasha objected.

  “There’s no choice, really, but don’t worry, Lhasha. I’ll only be a minute or two until I catch up with you.”

  “It really is the best plan,” Corin added.

  With a sigh, Lhasha consented.

  Their progress across the cavern was painfully slow. Lhasha followed behind the gnome, staring only at her mentor’s heels. Corin trailed Lhasha, his eyes never leaving her leather boots. Their route wound in a wide semicircle as their leader tried to avoid the constantly shifting fringes of the melee.

  Fendel described the scene as they went, trying to reassure his virtually blind followers despite the horrifying sounds of the gruesome battle only a short distance away. “There’s a ton of statues out there, but nobody seems to care. The soldiers aren’t running away. These have to be the hard-core followers, the real fanatics of each group. They’re still at each other’s throats. It’s like they don’t even know there’s a medusa heading right for them, leaving a petrified forest behind her.

  “Nobody’s noticed us yet,” the gnome continued. “And we’re almost there. I think we’re going to make it.”

  Suddenly the gnome pulled up short. “Gond’s Flaming Forge,” he whispered. The sounds emanating from the battlefield suddenly changed from fierce battle calls and war cries to terrified screams and shrieks.

  “The medusa’s dead!” Fendel yelled, breaking into a run. “Don’t look back, don’t stop! Just get to that blasted exit as fast as you can!”

  Azlar watched the orog flee out into the smugglers’ tunnels. The young wizard knew he could hunt that beast down later at his leisure and attempt to capture him alive when the odds were more favorable. For the time being, however, he had more pressing matters to attend.

  The old mage on the floor was as good as dead, though he was still untouchable because of the blue magical shield encircling his body. Azlar shrugged. He would merely wait until the spell burned itself out and get the ring later. With the retreat of Graal, Xiliath’s military leader, the outcome of the battle had become inevitable.

  Cloaked in his powerful spell of invisibility, the wizard roamed the battlefield at will. Jets of flame fanned out from his fingers, incinerating one of Xiliath’s guards. Bolts of lightning erupted from his fists, striking his nearest foe, then arcing from the frying corpse to the unfortunate man beside the first victim. The lightning continued jumping down the line from target to target, leaving smoldering husks in its wake as it continued its deadly chain. Half a dozen of Xiliath’s men were electrocuted by the spell, but Azlar didn’t even notice. He had already moved on, forgetting in the heat of the moment that he was no longer shielded by his spell.

  He hurled glowing orbs of pure energy into the fray, stunning some of Xiliath’s soldiers so they could be easily hacked down by the cultists. Others were melted by burning acid or caught in deadly clouds of poisonous gas. A few of his own men went down as well, screaming as they died from the effects of Azlar’s magic—expendable sacrifices in the greater cause.

  In a matter of minutes, the wizard had wrought utter havoc on his enemies. Their casualties would have broken the morale of lesser soldiers. Grudgingly, Azlar had to admit that Xiliath’s men were at least the equals of his own troops, though the cultists now had a distinct numerical superiority.

  Azlar was toying with his foes now. He followed the progress of one soldier through the melee, preparing to unleash a spell that would bring about a gruesome, horrible death on the hapless man.

  The mage carefully tracked
the fighter as he sprinted across the cavern floor, making his way toward an unsuspecting foe. Azlar raised his still hands in the air and began the incantation to seal the man’s fate, but when the intended victim suddenly turned to stone, Azlar’s concentration was broken.

  Casually, Azlar turned to the corner where the medusa had fallen. The creature was up now, her deadly face unveiled for all to see. Her serpentine tresses writhed in furious outrage, striking and snapping at the air in their desperate hunger for vengeance.

  Azlar had taken precautions before this expedition to recover his stolen package. He had cast a spell before setting out. He had nothing to fear from the medusa’s gaze. His men, however, were not immune to the effects, and neither was the army opposing them.

  Statues began to crop up among the soldiers with alarming speed, and the common threat to both sides quickly became obvious. But neither force panicked—they were too well trained, too fanatical in their loyalty to their respective masters. Until the order to retreat was given, these warriors would remain at each other’s throats, their relentless hatred matched only by their armed counterparts on the other side.

  Azlar made no attempt to halt the medusa’s progress. He didn’t want to risk damaging her with a spell, and for all he cared she could turn every other living thing in the room to stone. All he had to do was stay beyond the reach of the vipers on her head, and he had nothing to fear. Once Xiliath’s old mage finally died or the spell protecting him wore off, Azlar would take the ring and regain control of the assassin he had worked so hard to acquire and smuggle into the city.

  Until that time, he thought, he would stay still and quiet, protected from sight by his invisibility, and watch his creature at work. Except he could now see his hands. His invisibility was gone, and Azlar had to find cover. Azlar let his eyes drift, taking in the details of the chamber he had failed to notice before. The huge cache of weapons in the southwest corner. The chunks of ice and snow scattered about the room, melting remnants of a spell cast over the melee earlier in the battle. And in the far corner of the room, unguarded and almost unnoticeable, a secret door in the floor.