Keith Francis Strohm

by Keith Francis Strohm

  "You dare invade my sanctum," the crone screeched in a voice that sounded eerily familiar.

  It took him just a moment to recognize the rough timbre—he'd heard it last beneath the citadel, before he and his companions were attacked by giant spiders. The hag of Rashemar and this decrepit witch were one and the same. Taen knew the moment the others made the connection, for he heard Borovazk's deep bass rumble out a string of curses in his native tongue, while Roberc's own invectives filled the cavern. Only Marissa remained silent, and Taen watched as her lips curled in a snarl that resembled the fang-baring of an angered wolf.

  "That's right, you fools," the witch continued, occa­sionally lashing out with a bolt of arcane power directed at Taen's mystic wall, "you've finally discovered my secret—and too late to do anything with it. By the time those foolish othlor discover that you have failed in your mission, my forces will already be victorious, and with the power of the Staff of the Red Tree"—she pointed a gnarled finger in Marissa's direction—"finally under my control, no force in all of Rashemen will be able to stop me."

  "Who says we have failed in our mission?" the half-elf spat back at the crone, hoping she couldn't see the tiny droplets of sweat that beaded on his forehead. At this point, he held his arcane defense together by sheer force of will—a will that was beginning to weaken with each successive blast of power from her outstretched hand.

  The witch's laughter echoed through the stone cavern. "Who says?" she asked with a sharp-edged smile. "You foolish little elfling... I do!" The crone leaped forward with a piercing shout.

  Taen fell back a step despite himself. Now that she stood only a few feet from him, he could see with sicken­ing horror the ruin of the crone's left eye. Black power billowed out of the gaping hole where her eye should have been. A chill ran up Taen's body, threatening to freeze his heart as he gazed into its obsidian depths. The half-elf felt something lurch from deep within him, as if the crone's empty socket were some sort of unspeakable portal—a portal that opened into the vastness of another plane and threatened to suck in his spirit, leaving him trapped for all eternity in a sea of oblivion.

  Marissa's shout caused him to pull his gaze away from the witch's pulsating eye. Taen didn't know how long he had been trapped beneath her baleful stare, but it had been enough time for the crone to cast another spell. This time, a sphere of roiling purple energy erupted from the center of her cupped hands and streaked toward the half-elf's arcane wall, which collapsed with a sudden snapping sound as soon as the purple ball struck its leading edge.

  "Fleshrender," the crone shouted immediately, "kill them!"

  Taen fell back another step beneath the shock of his spell's destruction but felt Borovazk's powerful arms supporting him. Without missing a beat, Roberc and Cavan stepped forward to meet the snow tiger's charge.

  "Is time we finished this," Taen heard the ranger's voice hiss loudly in his ear.

  The half-elf cast a quick glance in his direction and nodded. All traces of levity and humor were gone from the Rashemi's normally good-natured face, and Taen found himself thankful that Borovazk was an ally and not an enemy, for in the grim cast of the ranger's jaws and the man's iron-hard stare, he could see clearly see the warrior who had killed an ice bear with his bare hands.

  "Yes, Borovazk," Taen said, drawing his sword as he did so, "it is indeed time." The half-elf waited for half a heartbeat as the Song rose in him once more before he leaped into the fray.

  * * * *

  Marissa froze when she heard the harsh tones of the old woman's voice, and her heart pounded violently within her chest. Memories swam before her eyes, visions of an ugly hag bending over her shackled body. Sweat beaded on her face, and she nearly dropped the Staff of the Red Tree from a hand that went suddenly slack from fear. It was as if she were back in the hag's vile chamber of tortures without any hope of rescue. An unpleasant echo of pain seared her flesh as the crone's voice rose to shriek defiantly at her companions.

  She would have been caught in the backlash of Taenaran's spell as it collapsed before the witch's arcane onslaught, but the Staff of the Red Tree buzzed angrily in her mind, dispelling the paralysis that had gripped her spirit. Quickly she stepped away from the conflagration and gripped the Rashemi artifact tightly, eyeing the newly joined battle. Roberc's armor burned a dull yellowish-orange in the torchlit cavern as he and Cavan met the snow tiger's charge. The halfling brought his sword up to meet the beast's raking claw and cursed mightily as its incandescent flesh passed right through the metal, reached beneath his armor, and entered the fighter's body.

  Marissa watched as Roberc stumbled slightly from the pain of the attack, forcing Cavan to throw himself to the side at the last possible moment to avoid biting down on his master's flesh. The war-dog recovered quickly, however, and lunged forward, deftly dodging a powerful slash of the tiger's razored claws. Cavan opened his jaws wide, prepared to bite deeply into his enemy's neck—and nearly fell in a tangle of fur and barding as his momentum carried him right through the creature. Saliva sprayed wildly as his jaws snapped together on empty air.

  "Taenaran," Marissa shouted to the half-elf as she observed the battle, "the beast is incorporeal. They'll need help."

  Taenaran nodded and quickly moved behind his com­panions. The druid heard his voice call out the words to a spell moments before twin green auras sprang to life around the half-elf's hands. Careful not to interfere with his companion's attacks, Taenaran touched both Roberc and Cavan. Immediately, the auras flared brightly then disappeared.

  Marissa knew that whatever spell he had cast would help her friends—but would it be enough? Already the crone had used the distraction of the snow tiger's attack to begin a spell of her own. The druid could see black and purple energy coalescing around the crone's upraised hands as she chanted and called out in a harsh, guttural language that sounded to Marissa like the screams of a thousand banshees.

  Two shimmering arrows hissed out of the shadows, streaking toward the chanting crone from Borovazk's heavy bow. Marissa hoped that the gleaming arrows would have an effect, somehow interrupting the witch's dark incantation, but the druid's hopes were dashed like an old boat slammed against the rocks in a heavy tide. Ebon power flashed forth from the witch's baleful eye socket, striking the missiles as they sped toward their intended target and instantly vaporizing them.

  Marissa knew that they would all be in serious trouble if they didn't deal with the witch soon. Moving deftly around Borovazk's bulky form, the druid opened her spirit to Rillifane's power. Gratefully, she accepted the surge of divine energy and shaped it with the words of a familiar prayer. The air grew warmer in the cavern for just a moment as she reached out and pressed her palm briefly against Cavan's powerful flank. The war-dog paid her little attention, focusing instead on his enemy. He charged forward once again, but this time, the war-dog's form shifted slightly. Surrounded by a golden nimbus of energy, Cavan's muscles rippled and swelled, its body elongated and thickened—until at last it stood even larger than his snow tiger opponent.

  "Roberc," Marissa shouted over the incensed roar of the incorporeal beast, "help Borovazk and Taenaran take down the witch. I'll stay with Cavan."

  The halfling glanced over at his spell-enhanced mount and flashed Marissa a wicked grin. "I. Live. To. Serve," he said, sucking in great lungfuls of air between each word. He lunged forward with his sword one more time, drawing blood from the tiger with a wicked thrust of his blade then shifted to his left, allowing Cavan to take on the full brunt of the snow tiger's attack. Without another word, the diminutive fighter joined the others as they advanced on the witch.

  Judging by the rippling black mass of energy that pulsated before the ancient crone, Marissa wondered whether it was too late.

  * * * *

  Taen could sense the arcane power building in the cavern. It hung in the air, pressing down on his inner vision, threatening to envelop him like a thick funereal pall. To his left, Cavan and the ghostly snow tiger were engaged in a
grisly dance. Tooth and claw shredded fur and tore through skin as the two beasts raged and spat in a tangle of violence. For now, the spell-enlarged war-dog was holding his own against the fearsome tiger. With Marissa standing a few feet behind to administer divine aid and healing, the half-elf knew he could focus on their true enemy.

  He advanced slowly, with Borovazk and Roberc slightly behind and to either side. Taen's sword pulsed dully in time to the Song that beat within his own breast. He shifted his grip on it slightly as he opened himself more fully to the melody that rose within him. The crone who ruled Citadel Rashemar disguised as a hag still held her gnarled hands above her head, pouring vile energy into a growing web of darkness that pulsated before her. Now that he could concentrate completely upon the ancient witch, it took the half-elf only a moment to realize the true danger they now faced. The blasphemous syllables vomited forth by the spellcasting witch were disturbingly familiar, echoes of an infernal tongue Taen had studied years before.

  The half-elf cursed himself for a fool as he broke rank and charged the crone, hoping to reach her before the portal fully opened. "Hurry," he shouted to his compan­ions, "she summons a demon!"

  Jagged stalagmites and sloping stone slowed down Taen's hasty advance. Several times, he nearly lost his balance as he stumbled across the cavern floor. He was within striking distance of the renegade hathran when the mass of roiling darkness snapped open, like the lidless eye of a crazed giant awakened suddenly from a nightmare. A blast of pure hellfire spewed forth from the open portal, nearly knocking Taen off his feet. He struggled to keep his balance as a wicked claw as long as a scythe tore through the air to strike the ground where he would have fallen.

  A second blast of hellfire shook the cavern before the portal disappeared with a sudden hiss of air, like the great rushing sound of a dragon inhaling before it unleashes its breath. Taen blanched as he saw the demonic being fully revealed by the light of the cavern's flickering torches.

  The creature stood nearly eight feet tall, its grotesque body resembling an amalgam of bird and demon. Thick-feathered wings, extending out into the cavern from its broad back, beat listlessly as the demon cast around the room with its twisted eaglelike head. Twin circles of fire burned from behind the beast's large eyes. As Taen and the others drew nearer, it gestured once with a clawed hand. The air rippled for a moment as a wicked sword, complete with twin serrated edges, appeared in one of its hands.

  Borovazk struck first, leaping forward with axe and warhammer in hand. Seemingly surprised by the ranger's speed, the demon lashed out awkwardly with its free claw. The Rashemi twisted to his left, avoiding the razor-sharp attack and spun to bring his broad war-hammer crashing down upon the summoned demon's leg—and nearly fell to the ground when, instead of shattering the beast's bones beneath its weight, the weapon rebounded harmlessly off of the creature. The ranger cursed quickly before reversing his spin and slicing hard with the wicked edge of his gleaming axe. This time, the weapon bit deep into the demon's torso, eliciting a horrifying screech that nearly caused Taen's ears to bleed.

  Unwilling to give up their temporary advantage, Roberc and the half-elf approached the demon's flank. Swiftly the halfling sliced several cuts into the creature's putrid torso then cursed as the wounds slowly closed.

  "Its gods-blasted flesh resists my attacks, Taen," Roberc shouted. "We're going to have to hack this vrock back to the blasted pits where it was spawned."

  Though Taen heard his friend's complaint, he could spare little energy to respond. Already the Song had grown to a near-deafening crescendo within him. For a moment, fear mixed with the calm his inner music brought him. Ever since he had entered Rashemen, he'd experienced an ever-deepening awareness of the Song. Something within this land called to him, coaxed and brought forth a part of the half-elf that he had tried to run from these many years. What if he lost control-failed as he did in the practice ground and beneath the stars when his actions had killed the only woman he had ever loved or who had loved him in return?

  For just a moment, the Song softened, falling away, and he heard Talaedra's voice call out his name. Taen gazed out at his companions, struggling mightily against the summoned vrock, and he knew that he could not—would not—fail them. With an ancient bladesinger battle cry on his lips, he threw himself into battle. The Song surged within him, and he felt the power flowing through him. When the vrock's black-runed sword cut through the air, seeking his flesh, Taen brought his father's blade up to meet it. As the two swords met, Taen rolled forward, anticipating the demon's other claw that raked the space he had just occupied.

  He would have lunged forward to strike at the vrock's now-unprotected flank, but a new sound caught his atten­tion. Guarded by her demon, the renegade hathran was about to unleash another spell. The gathering arcane power flared against Taen's own senses even as the witch's chanted words clashed bitterly with his Song. The half-elf stepped out of his opponent's reach and studied the hathran for several heartbeats. The spell was familiar to him, and without hesitation, he summoned his own power and tried to counter her magic.

  The crone finished her chant with a triumphant shriek and opened her palm, as if casting something forth. Fueled by the Song, Taen's arcane strength reached out to surround the harnessed eldritch energy. Black bolts of force flew from the witch's hands then sputtered into nothingness, absorbed by the half-elf's counterspell. The old woman's surprised curse did little to bolster Taen's optimism, for it had taken nearly all of his power to quench her spell. Whatever she might be, the hathran possessed a power far beyond anything that Taen had yet seen.

  An icy feeling began to build at the base of his spine as he leaped forward, hoping to bring the black-robed crone down.

  Chapter 28

  The Year of Wild Magic

  (1372 DR)

  Marissa watched the telthor die.

  Even as Cavan's powerful jaws locked on to the creature's neck and bit down, the druid found herself grieving. The telthor was evil or at least twisted by the one called Yulda beyond recognition. Still, as its body stopped moving and its luminous flesh began to fade before her eyes, Marissa grieved. Here was a part of Rashemen that would never exist again, and she had a hand in its passing.

  There was little time to do anything but mouth a quick prayer to her god as the battle still raged in other parts of the cavern. Quickly she checked on Cavan, whose blood-matted fur and myriad open wounds made it difficult for the war-dog to walk; the loyal hound's front left leg hung at an awkward angle. Marissa reached out and opened her heart to Rillifane, asking his bless­ing upon the valiant animal. Within moments, divine energy poured out of her hand, repairing torn muscle and shattered bones. Cavan offered her hand a grate­ful lick before he bolted toward the rear of the cavern, returning to battle once more.

  The druid was about to follow when Borovazk's cry of pain caught her attention. The ranger stood doubled while the demonic being advanced upon him. Looking carefully, she could make out tiny needle-sharp spores protruding from the Rashemi's flesh. Marissa saw Roberc slash valiantly at the demon, trying to draw its attention, but to no avail. Within a few heartbeats, the demon's wicked claws would shred Borovazk.

  Gripping the Staff of the Red Tree, she called forth the power of the earth, shaping it with careful prayers to her god. Immediately the cavern floor around the Rashemi began to shift and buckle. Stalagmites grew in size, joining together to form a gray wall of stone that stretched from floor to ceiling. Protected from certain death, Borovazk reached toward his belt and pulled out a flask of green liquid. Marissa watched as the ranger pulled off the cork with his teeth and downed the potion. Relief flooded through her as the needle spores fell from his skin. She almost smiled as he picked up his axe from where it had fallen, ran around the wall, and engaged the demon once more.

  As battered and bloodied as her friends looked, the summoned demon looked even worse. The matted feathers of its wings were rent with several holes, and even from her vantage point, Marissa coul
d see gaping wounds that disgorged black blood and slime. The demon, however powerful, was the least of their problems, Marissa knew. Yulda, the renegade hathran, posed the truest threat. Anger washed over her, made more intense by the voice of the Staff of the Red Tree, whose agitated buzzing reached new heights. Ever since she had carried the staff, Marissa felt as if it had grown to be a part of her. Even now she wasn't sure where her own anger and loathing ended and the Staff of the Red Tree's powerful emotions began.

  Readying her own power to assist Taenaran in his fight with Yulda, the druid sensed something she hadn't noticed in the first flushed moments of battle, or perhaps this was a gift from the Staff of the Red Tree itself. Either way, the druid could now make out a thin tendril of energy that erupted from Yulda's back, stretching deeper into the shadow of the cavern beyond. In each moment before the witch cast a spell, Marissa could see power travel along that tendril until it poured into Yulda's body.

  Someone or something was feeding the withered crone power—power that threatened to destroy them and all of Rashemen. It took only a moment to call upon Rillifane's gift and transform herself. She felt the familiar disloca­tion as the shape within her mind took form. In three heartbeats her flesh had completed its transmogrifica­tion. The sounds of battle sounded impossibly distant to her new senses, more vibration than anything else. Deftly she scuttled forward on seven legs, maneuvering around the outer edge of the cavern, crawling closer and closer to where the tendril originated. When at last she stood before an alcove completely shrouded in darkness, Marissa returned to her original form.