Krondor Tear of the Gods

by Raymond E. Feist

  “I can smell something,” said Kendaric. “What is it?”

  “Goblins,” said James.

  He held up his hand to indicate that they should stay put, then he knelt and duckwalked toward an open door. He moved smoothly onto his stomach for the final four feet and wriggled forward to peer into the room.

  Then he turned, crawling backward, and leapt to his feet in a single fluid motion. As he came toward them, he drew his sword. “That patrol we saw had most of them; there are two sleeping on the beds and two eating something out of a pot at the far end,” he said softly.

  “I can take care of the ones who are eating without a sound,” said Jazhara.

  “Good,” replied James. “I’ll silence the other two.”

  Jazhara closed her eyes and James felt the hair on his arms rising again, in response to her magic. She remained motionless for a good two minutes, then opened her eyes. “I’m ready.”

  Kendaric said, “What was that?”

  “A slow cast. The spell is almost done. I need only to make a final incantation and it goes off. Very useful for accuracy. Not very useful if you’re in a hurry.”

  “Ah,” he said as if he understood. But it was clear that he didn’t.

  James motioned her forward. They reached the door and she stepped through. She spoke her phrase aloud.

  One goblin heard the first words and his head came up. He started to rise, but Jazhara’s spell discharged and he was paralyzed, trapped like an insect in amber. His companion sat back on his haunches, his bowl in his lap and his hand halfway to his mouth.

  They both remained motionless, caught in a sheer energy field of scintillating white, a field like gauze flecked with diamond dust.

  James moved purposefully to the bunks where the two sleeping goblins lay, and quickly cut their throats. He then did the same to the two frozen goblins. To his companions he said,

  “We must hurry. That patrol will almost certainly be back before the end of the day.”

  They hurried to the far end of the barracks room and James opened a door. Beyond it, a kitchen stood empty, with a bubbling cauldron before a fire.

  Kendaric went pale and had to clutch the doorjamb while Jazhara’s face also drained of color. On the butcher’s block rested the remains of what had once been a human torso. A head lay cast aside in the corner, along with a hand and foot.

  “Mother of gods!” whispered Solon.

  James was speechless. He merely motioned for them to follow him. Leaving the kitchen, they moved down a short, dark passage, and again James halted.

  “Smell that?”

  “Goblins?” asked Kendaric.

  “Sweat and filth,” answered Jazhara.

  They turned into a long hallway, carved into the rock. They could see light at the other end. They crept down the passage until they could clearly identify what lay ahead of them, then James held up his hand and moved forward alone. He reached an open doorway, and glanced around the room beyond it, then motioned the others forward. The room was square, with two passages crossing in the middle between four huge cages. A few dozen humans were packed in each cage. Most appeared to be sailors, though a few looked to be farmers or townspeople.

  One of the prisoners looked up and elbowed the man next to him as James’s party moved into sight. They both leapt forward and gripped the bars.

  One man whispered, “Thank Dala that you’ve come!”

  James looked around the cages. Other prisoners started to spread the word and soon the bars were packed with eager people.

  James held up his hands for silence. He knelt and inspected the locks, then asked, “Who has the key?”

  “We don’t know his name,” said the man closest to the cage door. “He’s the leader of the goblins. We call him Jailer.”

  “Probably out leading that patrol we saw earlier,” said Solon.

  James took off his backpack. He rummaged around and pulled out a small pouch in which he had several picks. He selected one and tested the lock with it.

  “Interesting,” observed Jazhara.

  James didn’t take his eyes off the lock as he said, “Old habits.”

  There was a click and the door opened. “Wait,” commanded James, “until I get the others.”

  After a few more minutes, all four cages were open.

  “Do you know the way out?” asked Jazhara.

  “Yes, ma’am,” said a sailor. “We’re laborers here and when they don’t slaughter one of us for food, they have us cleaning up this place. It looks like they’re getting it ready for the arrival of more goblins.”

  “Can you find weapons?”

  “There’s a barracks nearby, with a weapons room, but there are goblins in there,” said a thin man.

  “Only four,” answered James, “and they’re dead.”

  The men muttered excitedly.

  James was silent for a minute, then said, “Would you do us a service?”

  The thin man said, “They were going to eat us if you didn’t come. They killed one of us each day. Of course we will. What would you have us do?”

  “Wait here - I’ll leave the doors unlocked, but keep them closed - in case someone comes by before we’ve finished our mission. If you hear any sounds of fighting, run to the barracks room and get weapons, then fight your way out. If you don’t hear anything in, say, an hour’s time, you’re free to go. Is that agreeable?”

  The man looked around and saw several others nod. “It is,” he said.

  “Good,” said James. The men returned to their cages. The doors were shut and one man sat down and began a slow rhythmic count, to track the time till the hour was up.

  As they left the slave pens, James said, “See you in Haldon Head. There should be a Kingdom garrison there by now. If there is and we’re not back, tell them what you’ve seen here.”

  “I will.” The thin man looked at James and asked, “Where do you go now?”

  “To the heart of this black place,” answered Solon.

  “Then be wary of the leader,” replied the prisoner.

  “You’ve seen him?”

  “Yes,” the thin man whispered.

  “What did he look like?”

  “I suppose he was a man, once, but now . . . he is an undead . . . thing! He’s all rotten and decayed, wearing tattered robes that stink to heaven, and he’s guarded by creatures I can’t even name. We didn’t see him often; he stays in the lower levels and few of us are taken there, and only infrequently.”

  “May the gods be with you,” said James.

  The man nodded.

  James led his companions off down another dark hallway.

  They went down a stairway they had passed a few minutes earlier that led to a series of tunnels. Several times James had paused and decided that the best course of action was to continue along the main passageway that ran from the base of the stairs, on the assumption that the shortest course would take them to the heart of the temple, and all other passages led off to other areas. At least he hoped that would prove to be true.

  Before long they came to an opening in a stone wall and they passed through it. On the other side they discovered what could only be called a gallery — a huge room, all four walls of which contained niches every few feet. Instead of containing skeletal warriors, these niches held statues. Some depicted humans, but many did not, and James didn’t recognize all the races memorialized in stone.

  Heroic statues - of figures garbed in warrior dress or robes - stood atop pedestals placed at regular intervals around the floor. There was a consistent look of evil to all of them.

  At the far side of the hall was a pair of doors. James tested the latch and it clicked open. He pushed slightly and peeked through the crack. “This is it,” he whispered.

  He pushed aside the door to reveal yet another square room. Three walls were lined with human skulls and the fourth was tiled with a huge mosaic depicting the same tableaux as the bas-reliefs they had seen at the entrance to the temple. The “empty w
indow” dominated the center of the images as it had before.

  Four huge columns supported the ceiling, carved stone showing human skulls entangled by tentacles. The floor was inscribed with arcane runes.

  In the middle of the floor rested a giant altar, caked with blood so ancient it was black, and inches thick. Above this sacrificial surface rested a giant clawed hand, apparently made of silver or platinum. Clutched in its fingers was a giant black pearl, twice the size of a man’s head. Its surface shimmered with mystical energy. Faint colors radiated across the surface, like the dark rainbow of oil on water.

  Jazhara said, “Yes, this is indeed ‘it.’”

  She hurried to the object. “This is the source of the mystic energy that blocks your spell, Kendaric. I am certain of it.”

  “Let’s destroy it and be on our way,” said Solon, unlimbering his warhammer.

  “That would be imprudent,” said a dry voice emanating from the shadows.

  A figure emerged from a dark alcove. It was clothed in tattered robes, and James instantly recognized the figure from the vision. Jazhara reacted instantly, lowering her staff and unleashing a bolt of crimson energy.

  The creature waved his hand and the energy deflected away from him, so that it struck the wall, where it crackled and spread before diffusing. It left smoking char where it had hit.

  “Foolish woman,” he whispered, his voice an ancient wind that sang with evil. “Leave me the guildsman and you may leave with your pitiful lives. I have need of his talents. Resist and you die.”

  Kendaric stepped behind Solon without a thought. “Me?”

  James said, “No.”

  The creature then pointed at them and ordered, “Kill them!”

  From doors at each end of the room two giant figures appeared. Each was a skeleton-warrior similar in appearance to the others they had fought earlier, but these were taller again by half. Nearly nine feet tall from foot to helm, each of the giant creatures also possessed four arms and held a long, curved blades. Their heads were covered with wide flaring helms of crimson trimmed with gold.

  ‘This isn’t good,“ said Kendaric. ”No, not at all.“

  Solon reached behind him and grabbed Kendaric by the sleeve, pulling him aside. “Try not to get in the way, that’s a good lad.”

  With an unexpected burst of speed, the monk charged, his warhammer held high above his head and cried, “Ishap give me strength!”

  The skeletal warrior closest to Solon hesitated for only an instant before its swords became a blur of motion. With surprising deftness, Solon’s hammer took blow after blow as he blocked the warrior’s attack. Then he knelt and delivered a crushing blow to the skeleton-warrior’s left foot. An audible crack filled the room as the bones of the creature’s big toe shattered.

  Blades flashed as the silent creature registered no pain or reaction to the damage, and Solon barely escaped with his head. His arms and shoulders bore several cuts and he was forced to retreat and concentrate on defending himself.

  James said to Jazhara, “Help him out. I’ll see if I can distract the other one.”

  James hurried to face the creature approaching from the far door while Jazhara lowered her staff and unleashed a spell against the warrior attacking Solon. The spell that had proved effective in the first chamber simply bathed the creature in scintillating pale blue light for a moment before winking out. Solon used the creature’s momentary pause as an opportunity to dart in, smash at the same foot as before, then retreat quickly.

  The creature teetered slightly when it advanced.

  James charged the second creature and tried to gauge the pattern of its blade strokes. If there was one, it wasn’t apparent, so he was reluctant to get too close. Still, he had to keep the thing distracted if they were to have any chance of survival. Together, the creatures would overwhelm them in a matter of minutes.

  James started counting silently, and as the first blow from the creature’s sword descended upon his head, he recognized the pattern. Up went James’s blade, deflecting the first blow, then he blocked to the right, then down to the right, then across to the left side of his body, turning slightly. The hall rang with the sound of steel on steel, and James knew that he could only block this creature’s attacks for a minute or two at the most. He tried not to think about what would happen if the creature changed the pattern of its blows.

  Jazhara attempted another spell and it also failed. So she leapt forward with her staff above her head, as if trying to block the multiple sword-blows. At the last second, she let her right hand slide across to her left, leaving her holding the staff like a long club. She smashed down with all her strength on the same foot Solon had damaged, and was rewarded by the sound of cracking bone.

  She barely escaped with her head, and took a long nasty cut to her left shoulder. Blood flowed as she dodged to the side and then Solon was back, attacking the same foot.

  The creature slashed and Solon took the point of a blade on his breastplate. The armor held, but the force of the blow sent him sprawling. The creature advanced and it was clear the monk would not regain his feet in time to survive.

  Kendaric watched in mute horror as the creature advanced on the fallen monk. Jazhara tried to flank the skeleton and was rebuffed with a sidelong thrust of a blade, then the creature bore down on Solon.

  Kendaric threw himself away from the wall where he was crouching. He leapt in front of Solon, frantically slashing in all directions with his blade.

  “No!” shouted the liche. “Don’t kill him!”

  The creature hesitated, and Solon rolled over, got to his knees, and rose up, warhammer held with both hands above his head. He smashed down with as much might as he could muster and shattered the creature’s left foot.

  As Kendaric and Solon backed away, the creature attempted to advance. It teetered and then fell forward, crashing into the floor at Solon’s feet. Kendaric hesitated only for a second, then he reached down and grabbed the base of the creature’s ornate helm. He ripped the helm away just as Solon’s hammer again smashed down with a force driven by desperation.

  A dry crack filled the hall, and the creature’s skull shattered. The skeleton went limp and rattled against the stone floor.

  Jazhara was already approaching the creature with which James was engaged. The former thief declared, “I could use some help over here.” He was drenched in perspiration and his arms were heavy with fatigue, but he was successfully blocking the warrior’s blows.

  Solon turned to the liche. “We don’t have time to try to take down the other warrior,” he said to Kendaric.

  Kendaric nodded, gripping his sword.

  They advanced upon the dead magician, who held up his hand. A blast of white energy shot toward Solon, who barely had time to dodge aside. Kendaric ran forward and impaled the creature on his sword point.

  The liche looked down contemptuously. “You can’t destroy me, boy,” it said as its bony hand shot out and grabbed Kendaric’s arm. “And now I have you!”

  “Solon!” shouted the wrecker despairingly. “He won’t die!”

  Jazhara was trying to distract the second skeletal warrior in order to give James a reprieve. She turned and shouted, “He must have placed his soul in a vessel!”

  Solon hesitated, then shouted, “Where?”

  Jazhara looked wildly around the room. “It could be anywhere. It could be in another room or even . . . the pearl!”

  Solon moved with purpose toward the pearl on the altar.

  “No!” shouted the liche.

  Solon raised his hammer and struck down, landing a powerful blow on the pearl. The black surface swam with angry energies, tiny lines of hot white fire spreading out in a latticework pattern across its skin. He struck again, and the pearl emitted a dark fog. A third blow shattered the pearl, and it exploded with enough force to throw the monk of Ishap back across the room.

  The liche looked upon the scene with wide-eyed horror. “What have you done?” it asked softly.


  Kendaric felt the grip on his arm release, and the liche turned and said, “You still have not succeeded, guildsman.”

  The second skeleton-warrior began to tremble and his attack slowed. James staggered backward, barely able to lift his arms, and Jazhara offered him a supporting hand. The creature took two drunken steps, then went crashing to the stones.

  The liche groped toward Kendaric. “I am not done with you, my friend.”

  Kendaric’s hand reached out and he grabbed the hilt of his sword, which was still protruding from the liche’s stomach. He gave the blade a twist and the liche contorted in pain.

  “But I am done with you!” Kendaric declared. “Now, it’s time for you to die.” He yanked the blade free and the undead magician shuddered in pain and fell to his knees. Kendaric turned with unhesitating precision and cut through the dead man’s neck. The skin parted like dry paper and the bones snapped like brittle wood. The liche’s head rolled free and bounced across the floor.

  James stood with his arm draped across Jazhara’s shoulder and said, “Well, that was interesting.”

  Solon pulled himself to his feet, his face covered in tiny cuts from the shattering pearl. “That’s not the word I’d choose, laddie, but your point is taken.”

  “What now?” asked Kendaric.

  “We need to look around,” said James. “There may be others down here who will cause us trouble.”

  Jazhara said, “I think as we go, we should scourge this place with fire.”

  “Yes,” said Solon. “Evil is so entrenched here that this place must be purified. And if we wait for my temple to send others to purge it, much of the evil here may flee to another location.”

  They went to where the liche’s body lay. Behind the alcove where he had appeared stood a door. Passing through it, they came into a large room, obviously the liche’s private quarters. Large and small jars were amassed on tables, and in the far corner a cage had been fastened to the stone walls.

  Inside the cage a creature rested, somewhat resembling the thing they had encountered in the sewers of Krondor. It looked at them with pain-filled eyes and beckoned with a clawed hand. They approached slowly and when they were close, the creature’s mouth opened. A child’s voice said, “Please . . .”