Krondor Tear of the Gods

by Raymond E. Feist

  James said, “Will the secret explain what is going on around here, and why we cannot raise that ship?”

  “Undoubtedly,” said the old woman.

  Jazhara asked, “What is your name?”

  The old crone paused and then laughed. “It’s been so long since anyone has called me anything but ‘witch’ or ‘old woman’ I can scarcely remember.” She sighed. “Call me Hilda.”

  “Hilda,” asked James. “What is the secret you spoke of?”

  The old woman looked around, as if fearful of being overheard. “Below the cliffs, in a deep cavern, lies an ancient place. It is a temple of evil, older than the memory of the oldest living human.”

  “What sort of temple?” asked Solon, his hand reflexively going to the hilt of his warhammer.

  Hilda stood slowly and crossed to an old wooden chest. She threw back the lid and reached inside. From within she removed a small cloth pouch. Handing it to Solon, she said, “Open it.”

  The monk did so, and when he saw what was inside, he seemed loath to touch it. “This is like those others,” he whispered. He shook the thing into his hand and held it out. Upon his palm was a carved metal hand of either pewter or iron, within which rested a black orb, fashioned from a stone like obsidian. But unlike obsidian, however, it did not reflect the light of the fire.

  The old woman said, “I do not know who first built the Black Pearl Temple, but they were not human.”

  Solon put the artifact back into its pouch. “My order has a catalogue of every cult and faith known to man in the Kingdom, the East, and down through Kesh. As a Defender of the Faithful, I have studied those documents. I have never heard of such an order as the Black Pearl.”

  The old woman sighed. “And yet it exists.” She took the pouch from Solon. “What lies below the cliffs is a festering evil. It is partially to blame for why so many ships are drawn to their demise on the rocks below. It is why few try to farm the good land that lies between the village and my hut. Those who do try grow restless or fearful and leave after a season or two. Even the hunters avoid the woods around here.”

  “How is it you can abide?” asked Kendaric.

  “This,” said the old woman, holding up the pouch. “It is a talisman and protects me from their evil, as if I were already one of their own. I’d like you to have it, for you face a grave challenge.” She looked into the eyes of each of her guests before handing the pouch to Solon, who accepted the gift with a nod of thanks. She sat down again, and said, “And it is more.”

  “What?” asked James.

  “It’s a key. If you go down the pathway to the rocks below, turn into what appears to be a small alcove fashioned by the sea in the rocks. There you will see a small, faint pattern in the rocks, at my eye level. With this key, a door in the rocks will open.”

  “You’ve seen this done?” asked Jazhara.

  “Yes,” said Hilda. “Many times I have spied upon those who come and go below. One of my talents is concealment. I was standing but a few feet from the porch when you passed, yet you had no inkling, right?”

  Jazhara smiled and nodded. “True.”

  “Have you tried to use this to get in?” asked James.

  “Yes,” admitted Hilda. “I’ve tried. But I did not get in.”

  “Why not?” asked Kendaric.

  “Because only those who are sworn in the service of those black powers in the temple can use it. I tried, but the door would not open.”

  James said, “Then how can we use the key?”

  “I believe you have one choice,” said the woman. “In the village a creature hides. I do not know who he is or what his name is, but that he is there is certain. He is the one who first infected those who became blood-drinkers. He is a servant of those dark powers below. I don’t understand his purpose, for it’s only a matter of time before the Prince comes to Haldon Head with his army to set things right.”

  “We know why he’s here,” said James. “To keep us busy and away from the Point.”

  “So his master can raise the ship,” added Kendaric.

  “How do we use this knowledge to get inside the temple?” James probed.

  “Find the monster who has killed so many. Kill him and remove his hand at his wrist. Bind the talisman to the hand. Then the door should open.”

  “Where do we find this monster?” asked James.

  The old woman said, “There is an ancient crypt in the graveyard. The oldest family in this area, the Haldons, built it. None live today, but it is kept up out of respect for the town’s founder. Inside is where I think you’ll find the monster. And if you find him, you’ll find the cause of this darkness. And when you do, please return, so that I may know that I have not sent you to your death.”

  James said, “We must be going. For by the time we reach the graveyard, those things will be wakening, and I would rather put paid to this before they’re upon us.”

  They hurried from the hut and the old woman crossed to the door and stood there, watching them flee down the path toward the town. Softly she said, “May the gods watch over you, children.” Then she slowly hobbled back to her stool, to wait.

  FOURTEEN

  Vampire

  The sky darkened.

  As James and the others approached the south edge of town, where Hilda had indicated they’d find the burial crypt, the light faded.

  “It’s getting darker,” said Kendaric, his voice almost quavering with fear.

  “Expect the worst,” said Solon. “Assume the bleeders know we’re coming for them.”

  Kendaric asked, “Doesn’t your order have some sort of magic prayer-thing that makes these types of creatures just. . . vanish?”

  “Ha!” replied the monk. “Wish it were so, laddie. The only order with the power to do so are those who worship Lims-Kragma.”

  Kendaric glanced around. “I thought they’d be in league with these creatures.”

  “Nay, boy,” said Solon, the tension of the moment thickening his accent again. “They’re servants of the right order of things, and despise any creature that thwarts their mistress’s will. The creatures we’re facing are more of an abomination to her servants than they are to us. That’s why our mission is to send them along to her so she can sort the buggers out.”

  “Well, here comes your chance,” said James as a half-dozen creatures appeared to rise up out of the gloom, from among a field of headstones. He drew his sword and dagger, but kept moving. “Don’t let them delay you too long. If Hilda is correct, once we locate their master and deal with him, these will fall.”

  Kendaric said, “So, you’re telling us to fight through these creatures, but be efficient about it?”

  “That’s wha‘ the man said, laddie,” replied Solon, pulling out his warhammer, and swinging it before him in a lazy circle. “Just crack a head or cut off a leg or some such, and keep goin’.”

  Kendaric’s face was pale, but he attempted to look resolute. “Sure. No problem.”

  Jazhara said, “I’ll deal with this first batch.” She lowered her staff and the air crackled with energy. A brilliant flash of actinic light shot out, as if lightning had been released from a bottle. It bounced across the ground like a ball. As it landed before the first of the undead creatures, it split into smaller balls, each lashing out in electric fury to encapsulate the vampires. They stiffened and howled in agony as the crackling energy seared their flesh and rendered them motionless.

  James started to run. “We need to move fast!” he shouted. “There’s the crypt!”

  In the center of the small graveyard, a stone building rose, a small mausoleum with a peaked roof, its doors open. Within, they could see at least a half-dozen marble catafalques, upon which stone coffins rested. “Why couldn’t they burn their dead properly,” Kendaric muttered, “like the rest of the Kingdom?”

  “We’re close to Yabon,” said Solon. “Burial is still popular up here.”

  “For once,” said Jazhara, lowering her staff and pointing it toward
the door, “I agree with Kendaric.”

  Inside the crypt, an eerie red glow illuminated figures moving behind the stone coffins. “We’ve got to fight our way in,” said James.

  Jazhara unleashed another bolt of energy and several of the creatures in the first row stiffened. James raced past them, only to be confronted by a burly-looking man, his skin pale and his eyes seeming to glow with a reddish light. Behind him, James spied another figure, not as bulky, but radiating immense power, and he knew he was looking at the master vampire.

  “Kill that one!” James shouted.

  The master vampire laughed. “Child of woe, I was dead before you were born!”

  The burly vampire lashed out at James, and his fingers were curled like talons. James didn’t attempt to parry the blow. Instead, he ducked below the swing, then rose and kicked out with his right leg, planting his boot in the vampire’s chest. He shoved and the burly man was thrown backward into the path of the Vampire Lord. Then James lunged and attempted to hamstring the approaching master vampire, but the creature leapt aside with astonishing speed. James suddenly felt afraid. Nothing living should move that quickly. James’s previous experience with the supernatural had been entirely unpleasant, and his one advantage in those cases had been his combination of instinct and speed. His plan had been to render the master vampire helpless by cutting his legs from under him, or otherwise injuring him, then leaving it to Jazhara to burn him with her mystical fire.

  He now saw that his plan was not going to work.

  “Get back!” James shouted. “We have to burn them in here!”

  Solon crushed the skull of one vampire, and Kendaric managed to inflict enough damage on another that it was keeping its distance from him.

  Jazhara used her staff to good advantage, tripping two of the creatures and causing a third to fall over them. She now busied herself with breaking heads with her staff; but, as they had been warned, the damage merely slowed the creatures down rather than causing permanent damage.

  They started to retreat, Jazhara and Solon attempting to clear a path for James. James fought down panic. He had to back away from the pair of advancing vampires, and the burly man was shrewd enough not to let James trip him again.

  James risked a glance backward and almost had his head taken from his shoulders for his trouble. Only by lashing out with his rapier did he manage to drive the Vampire Lord back.

  Suddenly Solon charged forward, swinging his warhammer with both hands. He smashed it into the burly vampire’s chest, sending the creature flying backward thorough the air, into its master.

  The Vampire Lord was knocked off his feet, but again he sprang up with supernatural ease and speed, throwing the other vampire aside like a doll. The burly vampire, however, lay upon the stone floor, writhing in agony.

  The unexpected counterattack gave James the time he needed to leap away, through the doorway of the small mausoleum.

  “Close the doors!” James shouted. “Jazhara, burn them!”

  Jazhara lowered her staff and a gout of green flame exploded from its tip. Kendaric struggled with one door, while Solon easily moved the other.

  As James watched, his eyes widening in disbelief, the master vampire walked through the flames, unburned.

  At last the doors slammed shut. Solon threw his weight against them.

  “We need to block them!” shouted James.

  Jazhara grabbed Kendaric by the collar of his tunic and pulled him around. “Stones!” she shouted as the wrecker almost fell over, only regaining his balance at the last moment.

  They hurried to a small headstone that rose from a grave and together managed to pull it out of the ground. “Thank you, whoever you were,” Jazhara directed toward the now-unmarked grave as she and Kendaric dragged the stone over to the mausoleum doors.

  James and Solon had thrown their shoulders against the doors that bulged outward as the master vampire threw his unnatural strength against them. First one, then another stone was piled in place, until the door refused to give.

  “I don’t know how much time we’ve bought,” said James, out of breath. “But I saw that thing walk through your fire, Jazhara. It didn’t faze him.”

  “Then I don’t know what to do.” she replied.

  “Maybe it has to be natural fire,” said Kendaric. “We could build a fire, then light a bundle of rags in oil. Toss it in.”

  “I doubt it would make a difference,” said the magician. She pondered. “Perhaps Hilda can tell us what to do.”

  Solon said, “You two run back to Hilda, while Kendaric and I endeavor to keep these doors shut.” As if to punctuate this statement, there came a dull thud from within the crypt and the doors shook and rattled against the headstones. “Hurry!” Solon urged. “He may not be able to move those stone doors, but he can certainly reduce them to rubble in time.”

  James nodded, turned to look at Jazhara, who nodded. They set off at a jog back north through the town and toward Widow’s Peak.

  Nearly breathless, they reached the hut overlooking the cliffs. Hilda heard them approaching and came to stand out on the porch.

  “Naught goes well,” she observed.

  James nodded, attempting to catch his wind. He took a deep breath then said, “The master vampire won’t die.”

  “The Vampire Lord will be difficult to destroy,” said Hilda. “But he is no god.”

  “He will not burn,” said Jazhara.

  “Ah!” the old woman responded, looking thoughtful. “Then he has placed his essence somewhere else.”

  James looked at Jazhara who returned a blank expression. “I do not understand,” she said to Hilda.

  Hilda shrugged. “I am no expert. Necromancy is the foulest of the arts and to be shunned.” She paused, then added, “But over time one hears things.”

  “Such as?” asked James.

  “It is said that some of the servants of the dark powers are not truly living; even those poor souls captured by this vampire master have a thread of life within; cut it and they fade,” Hilda explained. “But a few of the more powerful servants of evil have conspired to rid their bodies of mortality completely.”

  “Then how do we destroy those?” asked Jazhara.

  “Find the soul vessel. To attain such power, sacrifices are made, and what one gains on one hand” - she held out one hand — “one loses on the other.” She extended her other hand. “To make the body immortal, the spirit essence is placed somewhere close by. It is often protected by wards or hidden in such a way it is unlikely to be found.”

  “We don’t have time for this,” said James. “That Vampire Lord is strong. Even now he may be out of the crypt and have overcome Solon and Kendaric.”

  Jazhara said, “And if we lose Kendaric - ”

  James nodded grimly. “We had no choice but to leave him with Solon. But we must hurry.”

  Jazhara said, “Where should we look? Will it be in the crypt with the master vampire?”

  Hilda shook her head. “Unlikely. He will have brought it with him, but placed it someplace safe, as soon as he arrived.”

  “Where was the first place he was seen?” asked James.

  “The woodcutter’s cabin,” Hilda replied.

  “Then that’s where we’ll look,” said James. “Which way do we go?”

  “Run to Farmer Alton’s farm, and follow the road that passes east before his house. A mile beyond the last fence you’ll see a path into the woods and another mile beyond that is the woodcutter’s home. Tread lightly, for the Vampire Lord will have other allies.”

  James glanced around. “It’s almost as dark as night now. Have you a lantern or torches?”

  The old woman nodded. “Torches. I’ll get them.” She went inside and a moment later reappeared with three torches - one was burning; the remaining two were held in the crook of her arm. “These are all I have.”

  James took the burning one and Jazhara took the two others. James said, “They will have to do. Thank you, Hilda, for all your hel
p.”

  “No thanks are needed.”

  Jazhara said, “When all is done, I shall return and tell you of Stardock.”

  “I will listen,” said the old woman.

  James took a last look at the old woman’s face. “Good-bye,” he called. Then he turned, and hurried back toward the village. Jazhara followed him.

  The old woman watched until they were out of sight, then turned and slowly walked back into her hut.

  James and Jazhara ran most of the way, stopping only when feeling at risk. Through the town they went and onto the eastern road, until they left the road when they found the indicated trail.

  The forest was plunged into darkness, as if noon and midnight had exchanged places. Moreover, no moon illuminated the way, and the murk was both unnatural and ominous. The trail was well-traveled, but narrow, and James had to fight the urge to jump at every single noise.

  The daybirds had ceased singing, but the soft hooting of their nocturnal counterparts was also missing. The air was unnaturally still, as if the magic dampening the sun was also silencing the wind.

  Suddenly the night air was rent by the sound of a distant howl. It was quickly answered by others.

  “Wolves!” said James.

  “Hurry,” Jazhara cried, and James started to go at such a pace that they risked injury on the narrow trail.

  Dodging between the boles of trees and along rocky footing, they at last came to a small hut in a clearing. From within the hut came a red glow, which seeped through the cracks around the door and the tiny window next to it.

  “Someone’s inside,” James cautioned.

  “Someone’s outside,” said Jazhara, pointing.

  Four figures emerged from behind the hut, all walking purposefully toward James and Jazhara.

  Jazhara lowered her staff and again blinding lightning spilled forth from the tip. The leaves on the ground smoked as the lightning bounced along to strike the four creatures. The vampires struggled to keep moving but their bodies just twitched and shivered uncontrollably.

  “Get inside!” Jazhara shouted. “I’ll deal with these.”

  James ran past the quivering figures, two having fallen to the ground where they flopped like landed fish. He hardly slowed, but lifted his right leg and kicked hard against the door, smashing it inward.