Obsidian Axe of Wrath
Quality: Exceptional (78/100)
Rarity: Rare
Attributes: ? (You must identify this item to learn its magic attributes)
This floor cleared, I led the way down the spiral stairs to the next level of the pyramid. Here, as the structure widened, were four off-branching rooms. But I didn’t know how much longer I could hold out in this place. Not only would my burden quickly become too much to be practical, but this place gave me the creeps. I definitely wanted to leave alive, especially since I was pretty sure Farelle only had the one life. The Satyr was even more worried than I was, understandably. She kept throwing her gaze this way and that like a goat that was… Nope, still too soon for ruminant jokes.
Reaching the landing, I picked a door at random and opened it. No sooner had I done so when a hissing sound started, and white stuff like mist began to pour into the stairway. Another magic trap — those things always got me in trouble. Panic thumped in my chest. “Go!” I yelled to Farelle, waving her up the stairs, but she was already prancing up them two at a time.
Not quick enough. She lurched to a halt, and for a moment, I didn’t understand why. Then I saw him. Composed of the same white mist as nipped at our heels was what looked like a spectral prince, like cursed men out of Lord of the Rings. His pointed ears and almond eyes gave him away as an autumn elf, and the crown on his head as royalty. He gazed on us with severe displeasure, and though he had no weapon, I didn’t doubt he had ample tools to kill us.
“You have defiled this place!” the Devalyn prince said, his voice thundering through the crypt.
That’s when I knew this had all been a very, very bad idea.
19
The Autumn Prince
The ghostly prince stood over us, looking ready to kill us at any moment. And as I examined what I could of his stats, I was sure he would.
Barrow Prince (Lvl ???) - Devalyn royalty from a bygone age. He wields powerful magic, and is very protective of his grave and treasure. “You have defiled this place!”
That last part of the description was unnervingly accurate.
As Farelle took a long swig from her flask, apparently already accepting her fate, I answered for us. “We’re sorry, your majesty. We’ll return everything we took—”
“You have defiled my brothers and sisters!” the Specter roared over me. “For this, there is but one punishment.” His lips curled into a cruel smile, and he lifted his hand, leveling it at my companion.
Farelle, her last drink taken, drew her short blade and took a swipe at the ghost, but it passed through without any noticeable damage. I was already making my own attempt by channeling Turn Undead. The channel propelled out from me in white waves, but as it passed over the prince and the mist below, a small overlay popped up with the text No effect.
We were out of time. The prince intoned sonorous words in a language I couldn’t understand, his hand still leveled at Farelle. The Satyr, after a moment’s hesitation, tried darting through the prince, but was buffeted by an unearthly wind. From the rising crescendo of his voice, the ghost’s words were reaching a climax. I gritted my teeth and pulled out my Iron Dagger of Minor Banishing and started up the stairs, hoping to reach him in time, even though I doubted it would have any effect.
But before I got there, several things happened at once. First, the prince completed his spell, and Farelle screamed and contorted into a painful shape, then collapsed and tumbled down the stairs. At the same time, another Specter emerged from nowhere and threw itself around the ghostly prince, to his loudly voiced fury. And third, I felt a distinctly real hand grab my shoulder and pull me back, sending me off balance.
Attending to my most immediate problem, I twisted free of the hand and whirled around to see what had grabbed me. A mummy, dripping with green algae and brown rot, stood in the whirling mist next to me, hands grasping for me again. I quickly drew my new Mithril Sword of Thirst and, sheathing the Iron Dagger of Minor Banishing, drew my other knife. Then I sprang at the undead creature, slicing through one hand and then a thigh. It collapsed on the leg, but still it came forward. I didn’t know if I could kill it, but I had to try.
Other mire mummies were coming through the other three doors as well, four of them in total. They were slow, but if I were to carry Farelle, I couldn’t outrun even them, especially not with a Spectral prince after us. Though, from the sounds of struggle above me, it sounded like he was tangled up with something else.
I focused again on the mummies, and started working my magic. They didn’t have visible eyes, so Basilisk’s Gaze was out. Time to revert to simple sword and sorcery. Kicking the closest mummy back a few steps, I cast Icy Plume in a slow arc about me. The mummies, already slow, practically froze. I followed it up with several rounds of Magic Missiles, aiming for the heads in hope of getting crits. Two collapsed into the mist, but the third and fourth still lumbered on.
I was out of mana now — time to see what channels I could scrounge up. I used Siphon Essence on the one I’d already mangled, and as the several-second channel worked its way into fruition, the mummy began twitching. Essence slowly leaked from it, nowhere near as fast as it had for the bandit. It would take far too long to be useful for me.
So I leaped forward and began slashing the mummies apart, putting every bit of combat training with Farelle to work. Soon, the landing looked like a bathroom floor after a cat’s gotten ahold of a roll of toilet paper. I nodded, satisfied with my handiwork, and surprised to see I’d somehow recovered 30 mana. But there was no time to figure that out. I turned back to the other problem.
The prince was still preoccupied with his assailant, yelling what I assumed were curses in that strange language of his while he tried to throw the other Specter off. Ignoring our mysterious savior for the moment, I ran up the stairs to kneel by Farelle. She was unconscious, the whites of her eyes barely showing through slitted eyelids. I checked for a pulse and found her heart was still beating weakly. Whatever the prince had done hadn’t quite killed her. Yet.
“Okay, time to go,” I muttered to my companion. Sheathing my weapons, I set to trying to haul her up. She mumbled something as I lifted her onto my shoulders, but was still limp as a dead fish. I hissed with the pain of lifting her, and my stamina strained. She was light, but it was still more weight than was comfortable to bear.
Though it was hard to look up with Farelle on my shoulders, I craned my neck up to see how the battle ahead of me was going. The intertwined Specters turned, and suddenly, I saw that I recognized who was helping us. “Ava!”
The Specter who had led me through the beginning of the game met my eyes with a sad smile. “Run, Marrow. Save us if you can.” Then, with a final scream from the prince, she wrenched him to the side, and they tumbled from the stairs into the mist.
I moved as quickly as I could up the stairs, Farelle giving faint gasps at every step. It hadn’t seemed such a long trip down, but by the time I’d reach the first landing again I was panting, and my legs were burning. My stamina was dipping dangerously low, all the way down to the 30s, but I pressed on anyway, knowing we had no time to lose. Ava was keeping the prince at bay for now, but I had no clue how long she could keep it up, nor how long Farelle could hold on.
As black spots appeared in my vision and my stamina hit 10, I finally made it back to the top. The doors were still ajar from when we’d entered, so it was a simple matter of slipping through and we were out. With a great sigh, I slipped Farelle off my shoulders just outside the entrance, then stumbled back to the doors. On the off-chance that the doors had some effect, I wasn’t about to risk letting that Devalyn prince out and coming after us. I hoped I wasn’t shutting Ava in the same way, but I had no other choice. I put a shoulder to them and, heaving with the last of my strength, pressed them closed. As soon as they were, the glowing from the moonlight faded, and they were sealed.
I wove my way back to Farelle and collapsed onto the ground next to her, trying to catch my breath.
As I did, her eyelids fluttered open. “Marrow?” she muttered.
I leaned closer and took her hand. “I’m here. Stay with me, Farelle.”
“C-cursed,” she said, her teeth suddenly chattering. “He cursed me.”
Cursed. What did I do about that? I didn’t know the first thing about curses in the Everlands. “Can we reverse it?”
But Farelle’s eyes had once again closed, and I feared she’d drifted off to sleep. Then her lips moved. “Yes. At... home.”
“Home. You don’t mean Stalburgh, do you?” In the condition she was in, I didn’t see how she’d ever last that long, if I could even get her there.
But she gave a small shake of her head. “Home. Here.” She pressed her hand between her breasts.
I thought she must just mean her heart, but a moment later, she drew out a pendant I hadn’t known she wore. It looked to be made of curled bits of wood, and in the middle was a bead of hardened amber.
“Summon them,” she whispered. “They’ll come.”
Despite the grave situation, I was conscious of how close I was to touching her inappropriately as I drew off the pendant. Flushing, I did it as quickly as I could and held it up. “How do I do that?”
Her breath came in a rasp. “Hold it to my mouth.”
I did as she asked.
“Farelle Cedar-Strider comes home,” she said softly.
A moment passed, then two. I exhaled heavily and let the pendant fall from her lips. I’d hoped whatever she had expected to happen would, but nothing had. Maybe she was further gone than I’d thought.
“I’m sorry, Farelle,” I said, taking her hand again and pressing the pendant into it. “I’m sorry I got you into this.”
She didn’t respond, already unconscious again. I wondered if there was anything else I could do when suddenly the air erupted with blast of wind. I threw up my arm in protection and cried out, thinking the barrow prince had come after us, but there was something odd that made me doubt it. The air suddenly smelled like honeysuckle and berries. Not exactly an ominous omen.
As the gust died down, I risked looking up, and saw a figure stood before me. A naked Satyr, to be specific, and a male one apparently. By the size of his endowment, he could have funded Harvard. My eyes quickly rose to meet his, and I saw them glaring down at me angrily.
“What have you done to my daughter?!” he thundered.
20
Homecoming
Considering I wasn’t intimate with Farelle, it was a bit early to be meeting her father. Still, despite my bone-deep weariness, I jumped to my feet, trying to recover what I could of my first impression. “Sir! I, uh—”
“Father,” Farelle whispered, her hand twitching.
The Satyr was on his knees by her in an instance. “My little kid,” he said soothingly in his deep baritone. “We will heal you, do not fear.” With seemingly little effort, he curled his arms under his daughter and lifted her, then turned towards me with angry eyes. “Grab my arm,” he commanded. “Until we know what’s happened, you’re staying with us.”
I did as I was told, hoping I wasn’t going to my death. But I had to make sure Farelle was okay, despite the urgency of my errand. If I was still alive in the real world, I could survive a little longer.
The Satyr spoke in another language, this one smooth and lyrical where the Devalyn prince’s had been harsh and clipped. I felt light as feather for a moment, then the world became muddled and twisted around me.
It was like an acid trip, all colors and flowers and movement without meaning, when suddenly the trip ended and solid ground was beneath my feet again. My knees buckled and I fell to the ground. My stamina had barely recovered, and after that trip, I needed a moment before I could stand.
Farelle’s father wasn’t sympathetic. “Get up. She has no time to waste.”
Knowing it was true, I stumbled to my feet and followed after the Satyr. Only then did I stare around me in amazement. Despite it being night, everything was lit up by glowing balls of light that hung in the air like my Magelight. Thus, I saw I was standing in the midst of a village that seemed grown more than built. Living trees made up most of the buildings, their trunks bulging outward to form spherical rooms. Platforms were made of trees smoothed to stump-like surfaces, and bridges between the dwellings were formed of woven branches. Instead of regular-sized steps, there were platforms of what looked like large toadstools that I saw Satyrs hop up.
That was the other thing — the entire village had a populace of Satyrs. And not only that, but they were all as naked like Farelle’s father. I tried my best not to stare, but my eyes kept wandering. You would have thought I was naked from how they stared at me in return. I supposed they probably didn't get Human visitors often. I nodded at those who stared at me at first, but when I was beginning to feel like a bobblehead, I gave it up and kept my eyes forward.
Farelle’s father bore his daughter to a house formed of a huge stump the size of a bunker. Walking through the leaf curtains that hung in place of a door, he set her on a table. An old male Satyr with spectacles and flat horns blinked at what had been brought before him. “Farelle,” he said, surprised. “I thought she had left?”
“She's returned,” Farelle’s father said with a dark look at me. “What happened, Human?”
It took me a second to realize he was talking to me. “Uh, we were inside a Devalyn tomb when—”
“Inside a what?” Farelle's father became even angrier than before. “What in Yalua’s blessed name were you doing in there? Farelle knows better than to disturb the dead.”
“I convinced her,” I admitted. “Looking for loot and all that…”
Farelle's father glowered at me, so I figured it was best to rip off the band-aid completely. “Anyway, we apparently woke a Devalyn prince, and he cursed her.”
Farelle’s father said something in that lyrical language again, but from his expression, I had a feeling the meaning wasn't as beautiful as it sounded. The old Satyr gave him a disapproving look. “Now, now, Sulfel. No need for vulgarity.”
“My daughter is dying, Hanil,” Sulfel growled. “How about you worry about saving her?”
Old Hanil shook his head, but he just set to studying Farelle. “Hard to see with all these useless clothes on...” he muttered. His investigations took several minutes, during which I thought at many times Sulfel would leap over and strangle me. I avoided his eyes as best I could.
Finally the old man straightened and sighed. “This is dark, powerful magic. We will need the Council to convene for a summoning.”
“She will survive until then.” Sulfel made the question sound like an order.
Hanil nodded. “I won’t let her die, I assure you. Now go gather them. And leave the Human here,” he added as Sulfel turned glowering toward me. “He may be useful if I need more information.”
Farelle’s father simmered at that, but he reluctantly nodded. Before he left, though, he came up close to me. I was distinctly aware of the few inches he had on me. “If she dies,” he said in a low, dangerous voice, “you will follow swiftly after.”
“Sulfel!” the older Satyr admonished. Sulfel just stared the message into me, so I nodded. “I know. I’ll deserve as much.”
That surprised him, but he just nodded in return and stepped away. Then with a parting look at his daughter, the Satyr left.
“I apologize, young master,” Hanil said, moving to a cabinet nearby and starting to rummage through it. “He’s just worried about her.”
“So am I.” I sat down in a chair and put elbows to knees, watching my companion’s chest slowly rise and fall with each breath. “She really will be okay?”
“She’ll need rest, but yes, she will survive.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” I looked around the room again. “You’re an herbalist.”
The older Satyr chuckled as he brought over a few yellow leaves to a mortar and pestle. “You could say that. But more accurately, you would say I’m a druid.”
I perked up at that. I’d always liked druids, but thought they always got the shaft when it came to power, so I never often went for them. Who knew how it was in the Everlands though; channels seemed powerful enough that maybe druids had a shot at being awesome. “So you’ll heal her with channels as well as herbs?”
The Satyr nodded. “The Council — myself included — will call down the benevolent love of Yalua to cast away the curse. We use aids, of course, such as herbs and roots.”
I hesitated. I wanted to ask if I could learn druidic channels, but considering this was an isolated colony of Satyrs in only the fickle gods knew where among the stretch of mires and forests, I had a feeling the druid wouldn’t be keen on it. “Can I help at all?” I settled for my second thought, a bit embarrassed I’d only just thought to ask.
“No, young master. You did well getting her out of the barrow.” The druid looked up from his work for a moment. “Though you would have done better to keep her out of it.”
I hung my head. “I’ll do better next time.”
The druid laughed softly. “You had best get used to hearing that. I’m afraid it will be often said before this is through. Now, I can see you’ve had ordeals yourself. Take that bed in the room back there. When you wake, you can visit our mana font and restore yourself, and perhaps pray at Yalua’s altar if you’re so inclined.”
I nodded gratefully, and stood. “Thank you for everything.” I paused. “Hanil, isn’t it?”
The old druid nodded. “And yourself?”
Absalom’s Fate Page 14
