Crypt of the Shadowking

by Mark Anthony

  Caledan raised an eyebrow, but Mari did not meet his gaze. One of the others must have told her, he realized, or maybe even the Harpers had. “It’s strange,” he said, thinking back. “It was Ravendas I knew first, not Kera. It must have been twelve, thirteen years ago. I was sent on a mission by the Harpers to the city of Baldur’s Gate. Rumor had it that an assassin had been sent to wipe out the Council of Four which governed the city. That would have been disastrous. The Zhentarim would be all too happy to step in and take control. Anyway, it was an ambitious young commander in the city’s secret police who helped me infiltrate the council so I could spy on them. I discovered the would-be assassin who—and this isn’t much of a surprise—turned out to be Zhentarim.”

  “And that young commander was Ravendas?” Mari asked.

  Caledan nodded. “Even then, she was an ambitious woman, daughter of a famous mercenary, proud of her ability as a warrior and as a commander, and determined to rise up in the world. But at the time I didn’t have an inkling of her true nature.” He shook his head. No, he had underestimated Ravendas every step of the way. “I met her sister before I left the city, though I didn’t think much of Kera at the time. She was little more than a girl, about five years younger than Ravendas. Ravendas didn’t think much of Kera either. Her little sister was quiet, shy, and thoughtful. Those weren’t traits Ravendas much respected.”

  Caledan swallowed hard. “Some years later, my travels brought me back through Baldur’s Gate. By that time Ravendas had become leader of the Flaming Fists, yet even that position didn’t satisfy her. I spent some time with her, as an old friend, but I grew weary of her delusions of power. Before I moved on, however, I ran into her sister again, and …”

  “And time had done its work on Kera,” Mari said.

  Caledan grinned. “It had done its work well. Let me tell you, this time she was definitely more than a sweet, shy girl. After my last visit to the city, Kera had spent her time gathering as much information as she could about the Harpers. Kera wanted to help people as much as Ravendas wanted to control and dominate them, and she wanted to join the Harpers. She asked me to take her to Berdusk, to Twilight Hall. I agreed.

  “The next time either of us saw Ravendas was several years later, perhaps eight or nine years ago. We ran into her in Berdusk, and it was clear that she had changed for the worse. While she had always been power-hungry, now she seemed consumed by her visions of greatness. She tried to convince us to join with her and her allies in a scheme she boasted would make us all rich. Of course, we refused her offer and left the city. Kera put on a brave face after that, but I know it devastated her to learn that her sister had thrown her lot in with the Black Network. I don’t think she ever really got over it.”

  “And the next time you saw Ravendas?”

  “She was raising an army of goblinkin outside of Hluthvar. The Harpers sent Kera and me, along with the Fellowship, to stop her.” He looked at Mari sadly. “You know the rest”

  Mari nodded. She was silent for a long time. “You’re never going to let go of her memory, are you?” she asked finally, her voice husky.

  Caledan shook his head. How could it still hurt so much, after all these years? He was going to make Ravendas pay. “What would be left of me if I did?” he asked.

  The Harper sighed, then amazingly she smiled at him. “I hate to say this, scoundrel, but for once I actually understand you.” Caledan could only watch in wonder as she spurred her mount ahead, leaving him to ride on alone.

  At sundown they reached the village of Asher. The hamlet, a small cluster of fieldstone houses with thatched roofs, was set in a vale between two tree-covered hills. The folk here seemed a bit friendlier than those at the last village, and they directed the companions to the village’s lone inn, a rambling one-storied building set against a hillside.

  After a filling supper, Tyveris asked the grizzled old innkeep if there was anyone in the village who knew any tales of elder days. Much to the companions’ delight, the innkeep himself professed to be an expert on the Fields of the Dead. When Caledan asked him if he had ever heard the name Talek Talembar, the innkeep scratched his narrow chin thoughtfully.

  “Aye, that I have,” the innkeep said in his country drawl. “He was a great hero long ago, or so the stories go. Some say he turned back entire armies with a song, though in the end I can’t say that helped him much. He died with a goblin’s barbed arrow in his back, he did.”

  With the prompting of a gold piece, the innkeep was happy to describe how they could find Talembar’s death site, in a valley not a half-day’s march away.

  That night the companions’ sleep went thankfully uninterrupted, and after breaking bread the next morning they rode north from the village across the plains.

  It was early afternoon when they came upon a massive, gnarled oak tree standing alone in the middle of a vast field. “This must be the ‘Lonely Oak’ the old innkeep described,” Caledan said, the cool air ruffling his dark hair. “If he’s right, the valley where Talembar fell should be just over the next rise.”

  Ferret rode up the hill to scout out the terrain, but in a few minutes he came riding back. “Well, I’ve got good news and bad news,” the little thief said.

  “Why don’t I like the sound of this?” Tyveris groaned.

  “What is it, Ferret?” Caledan asked, not much in the mood for guessing games.

  “Well, first the good news. It looks like the valley the innkeep spoke of is just beyond that last ridge.”

  “And the bad news?” Caledan prompted.

  “I think you may want to see that part for yourself,” Ferret said in his raspy voice.

  Caledan glowered at Ferret but knew it would take longer to wring more information out of the thief than it would to simply ride ahead and see for himself. He spurred Mista forward, and the others followed. When he reached the top of the ridge he stopped.

  “By all the gods,” he swore, and the others followed his gaze.

  Before them stretched a long, narrow valley fading into the hazy distance. The sun filled the valley with a green-gold light, and Caledan caught the faint, sweet scent of wildflowers on the breeze rising up from below.

  “What are all those queer round lumps on the valley floor?” Estah asked.

  Tyveris shook his head. “Those aren’t lumps, Estah. Those are barrows.”

  “But there must be hundreds of them!” Estah said in dismay.

  “No—thousands,” Caledan corrected her without relish. “Thousands of barrows.” He turned to the others, his expression grim. “It looks as if Talek Talembar has some company.”

  Fifteen

  “This one looks like it’s got more Calimshite soldiers,” Tyveris said in disgust He threw down the spade next to the hole he had dug in a low barrow and pulled out a helmet that bore the crest of the southern land of Calimshan. A human skull, its blankly staring orbits filled with dirt, still rattled around inside the helmet. Muttering a prayer to appease the dead, Tyveris set the skull back in the pit.

  “We could try that barrow that Estah noticed last night,” Mari said, though without much enthusiasm. “She said it looked more weathered than the others.”

  “We’ve been digging up barrows for three days now, Mari,” the big Tabaxi said in annoyance, picking the spade back up and filling in the hole, “and not a one of them seems to date from the time before Indoria fell. By Oghma himself, if I turn up another Calimshite skull, I’m going to march south to Calimport, barge into the Emperor’s throne room, and brain him with the blasted thing as punishment for all the soldiers his predecessors sent up here to die and torment me.”

  “Now what good would that do us?” Mari asked.

  “None, I suppose,” Tyveris grumbled, “but it would make me feel a bit better.”

  It was growing late as the two made their way across the grassy floor of the valley back toward camp. The valley itself was beautiful, the verdant ground scattered with pale, tiny flowers. Yet there was an eerie silence th
at Mari had found increasingly disturbing these last days. She hadn’t seen a single bird since they arrived at this place, and the only sound was the ceaseless hiss of the wind through the long grass.

  The barrows themselves were of many different kinds. Some were little more than small piles of dirt overgrown with grass, while others had been built up with walls of rock and were surrounded by circles of massive standing stones. Some of the standing stones bore runic inscriptions carved into their surfaces, but almost all of these were too weathered and overgrown with lichen to decipher.

  Mari and Tyveris reached their camp only to discover that the others had fared little better. A feeling of despair was steadily descending over the companions. Even Mari was starting to give up hope that they would ever find Talembar’s tomb. They had made camp some distance from the valley, beneath the sheltering branches of the ancient, solitary oak tree.

  They made a cheerless supper of dried fruit, supplemented by the last of the cheese and some stale unleavened bread Estah had bought in the village of Asher. As the twilight deepened, the companions gathered around the glow of the fire—all except Ferret, who was perched on a nearby knoll keeping watch. Mari pulled her baliset out of her pack. Perhaps some music would lift their spirits.

  She strummed a few soft chords, then broke into a gentle song about a maiden seeking her lost lover by the shores of a misty lake.

  “That was just lovely,” Estah said when Mari had finished.

  Mari smiled and started to ask the halfling what she would like to hear next when her eyes were caught by Caledan’s intent gaze. He sat across the fire, his face lost in shadow, his pale green eyes locked on hers.

  Caledan stood up. “I’m going to go stretch my legs,” he told the others. He walked away from the ring of firelight. Mari watched him until he vanished into the deepening purple twilight.

  The healer requested a lively tune next, one called “The Dragon and the Dormouse.” After that, Mari played several more songs, but finally her hands fell from the polished wood of her baliset.

  “I’ll … I’ll be back soon,” she told the others, setting down the instrument. She gazed into the dusky night and walked in the direction Caledan had taken earlier.

  What are you doing, Mari Al’maren? she asked herself. But she had no answer. She knew she ought to stay away from Caledan. She had known so from the moment she first looked at him and felt the tingling in her skin when he touched her. She had fought those feelings with all her strength, as if they had been demons trying to gain control of her.

  She knew it was wrong, even dangerous, to fall in love with Caledan. She had sworn to be true to the Harpers, and she couldn’t love Caledan and perform her duty at the same time. She could not compromise herself as a Harper. And yet …

  “Who’s there?” a voice spoke softly in the dimness. It was Caledan.

  “It’s only me, scoundrel,” she said, stepping from a shadow into the silvery light of the rising moon. They stood atop a low hill. The land stretched out beneath them in all directions. In the distance Mari could spot the brightness of the companions’ campfire, but they were out of earshot.

  “What do you want?” Caledan asked, his voice neutral.

  Mari shook her head. “I don’t know. Nothing, I suppose.” The moonlight glimmered off her silver Harper pin. “No, that’s not true,” she added after a heartbeat. “I do want something. Foolish as it may be, I want you, Caledan.”

  He was silent for a long moment. “I want you, too … Mari,” he said finally, his voice unusually husky. “But …”

  Mari took a step forward, placed her hands on his broad shoulders, and kissed him soundly. He tried to pull away, but she held on with all her strength and did not let him go. Then, slowly, his lips melted against hers. Finally he reached out and pulled her close, her head resting against his chest

  “You may live to regret this, you know.”

  “I know,” she said, smiling wryly. “But I’ll love you even then.”

  He spread his cloak out upon the dewy grass, and the two sank down to the soft ground.

  * * * * *

  “One more day,” Caledan said when the companions were all mounted, ready to ride again into the valley of the ancient, numberless barrows. Dawn had come; the sky was gray and the light gloomy. “After that, we’ve got to get back to Iriaebor. For all we know, Ravendas has found the Nightstone already.”

  “If that is so,” Morhion said, “then there is little point in our returning at all.” Caledan looked darkly at the mage but did not answer him.

  They made their way to the north side of the valley and spent the morning exploring among the overgrown burial mounds. There were fewer barrows here, but they seemed to contain the same as all the others they had examined—mostly the remains of Calimshite soldiers.

  “Calimshan must have lost a major battle here at some point,” Tyveris said, tossing down another helmet in disgust. “Serves them right.” The loremaster was beginning to develop a serious dislike for Calimshites.

  Mari glanced over at Caledan, who was refilling the hole Tyveris had dug in this latest barrow, and saw that he was looking at her. He smiled, the expression lighting up his green eyes, then he winked at her mischievously before returning to work. Mari couldn’t help but grin. He was a scoundrel, that was certain, but at least he seemed to be her scoundrel.

  “Caledan, Mari, come look at this,” Tyveris said then. He was examining a large barrow not far from the one they had just excavated. It was a low, circular mound, its doorway filled with dark stones. “This one looks a little different than any of the others we’ve investigated so far.”

  Morhion walked around the barrow, examining it critically. “It is different, loremaster. That could mean it is older, dating closer to the time Talembar fell. Or …”

  “Or what?” Caledan asked.

  “Or it may mean that this tomb was built for a different sort of occupant.”

  “Like a king, you mean?” Ferret asked, his beady eyes lighting up. “And kings are usually buried with treasure, am I right?”

  “I suppose there’s only one way to find out,” Caledan said.

  They set to clearing away the stones from the barrow’s low, circular entrance. Within minutes they found that the entrance to the barrow had been sealed up with daub and wattle. Strange symbols had been drawn in the mud of the seal, but centuries of dampness had worn them down so that they could barely be seen, let alone read.

  “Allow me,” Tyveris said. The big loremaster stood before the barrow’s entrance. He closed his eyes and spoke a soft, rumbling prayer. “Just apologizing in advance,” he explained when he finished.

  “Apologizing for what?” Mari asked.

  “This.” In one swift motion, Tyveris gathered up his brown robe around his knees and landed a powerful kick on the daub and wattle seal. The dried mud shattered. There was a faint hiss, and a puff of foul-smelling air issued from the entrance.

  “I don’t think I want to be the one to crawl in and see who’s buried in there,” Tyveris said, grimacing as he held his nose.

  “I’ll go,” Ferret said eagerly, bounding toward the barrow’s entrance. Abruptly he stopped short.

  A spray of dirt and stone burst outward from the barrow’s entrance, showering the companions. Mari watched in horror as something began clawing its way out of the tomb. Its fiery red arms were massive and gnarled. It scrabbled at the dirt with yellowed talons as long as daggers. Its face was that of a beast, its ears large and pointed, its snout strangely flattened. Its fangs were long and sharp, and it had two hot eyes as crimson as fresh blood.

  “Ready yourself, Tyveris!” Morhion called out loudly. “We’ve got to force it back into the barrow. Once it is free, we will not be able to defeat it.” The beast continued to inch its way out of the tomb’s narrow entrance. It let out a piercing scream.

  “Can you call on the strength of your god or not, loremaster?”

  Tyveris nodded.

  “The
n do so,” the mage snapped. “Use your prayers to drive the creature back into the barrow. I will attempt to seal the entrance again.”

  Caledan drew his sword to defend the loremaster and mage should their spells fail, but he knew his blade would be futile against this horrible beast.

  Tyveris began to chant a fervent, rapid prayer to Oghma. The mage wore a look of concentration on his face as he struggled to recall the words of some arcane spell.

  “El atha cul Oghma, el faltira kempar min Oghma yar!” Tyveris shouted, gripping a bronze holy symbol that hung about his neck, his deep voice booming like thunder. Caledan didn’t see anything happen—no crackle of magic or burst of fire—but suddenly the creature screamed as if it had been struck a dire blow. The light in its fiery eyes flickered. The creature snarled and writhed in agony, then retreated back inside the barrow.

  At the same time, the mage released his spell. A shimmering blue nimbus appeared where the mud seal had been. “Quickly, help me replace the stones,” the mage said, and the others rapidly piled the dark stones back, sealing the entrance tightly.

  When the last stone was in place, the mage sank to the ground, breathing hard. Tyveris slumped nearby, his head in his hands.

  “Are you all right?” Estah asked them concernedly.

  “I am weary, that is all,” Morhion said, and Tyveris nodded in agreement.

  “It’s been a while since I asked my god for that much power,” the big loremaster said with a wan grin.

  “What was that thing?” Caledan asked the mage.

  Morhion shook his head. “I cannot truly say. Some beast of magic created by sorcerers long ago, I would imagine. Mages often took part in the battles fought here in the Fields, sending creatures of dark magic to ravage an enemy’s army. This was one such creature, I would guess, bound and buried by a victorious mage.”

  “But not dead,” Caledan said.

  “No. It is a thing of magic,” Morhion said, his breathing still rapid. “It will never die.”