“There can be no rest until the masters are finished with me,” Djwet moaned. His jaws opened wider as he leaned toward Psarius's throat. The naiad struggled to free himself from his foe's grip, but the unnatural strength he'd felt before was like a steel vice around him.
Psarius was certain he was about to die when a shimmering wave swept over the ghostly ship's deck. He knew it was too freakish to be any natural caprice of the sea. Like the one that had borne the naiads onto the galley, it was a conjuration of the thuul mythican. Only this time, there was far more power within it than simply a magnification of its force. An arcane energy permeated the water, at once emboldening the naiads while staggering the undead. Wisps of black energy steamed off the animated skeletons as the shimmering wave washed over them. Djwet's bones gave off a greasy fog, rank with the stench of the tomb.
Psarius could feel the abrupt slackening of the grip around his arm. With a fierce effort, he wrenched himself free from the skeletal talons and lashed out with his sword. Djwet was thrown back as part of the revenant's ribcage broke under the blow.
Before Psarius could pursue the crippled revenant, he glanced across the deck around him. There were only a few of his raiders still standing, the rest were scattered about the deck in bloody heaps. Though many of the skeletons had been struck down, there seemed far too many still to face. Off to the starboard, he could see the mythican levitating just above the rolling waves, its hands raised in esoteric gestures that mirrored the ritualistic writhing of its tentacles. Whatever magic the thuul was conjuring, Psarius hoped it was swift in coming.
Then, off in the distance, Psarius saw one of the other undead galleys pitch upward and then plunge down beneath the waves. For only a moment, he thought he saw something red and massive closed around the ship's keel.
“Courage, brothers of the deep!” Psarius cried out to his remaining warriors. “A little longer and there will be no escape for these fiends!”
*****
Djwet swatted at his steaming bones, trying to wipe away the burning scum that coated them. He could sense it eating away at his strength, lessening the necromantic spell that gave him power. All around him, he could feel the undead crew wavering, their unnatural animation flickering like a candle in a strong wind.
The naiads pressed their attack, striking down the reeling skeletons while they were disoriented. Djwet fought to retain his own focus. Turning about, he pulled a bronze-headed axe from the grip of a nearby skeleton and readied himself to meet the charge of his late antagonist.
A dark shadow wafted across the galley. Djwet could feel new energy pouring into him, reinvigorating his spectral essence. He could see Nekhbet with his staff raised high, a black cloud swirling about it and sending tendrils of necromantic force into the crew. The shimmering scum was rapidly burned away.
Djwet brought the axe crashing against the naiad's sword as Psarius rushed him. The revenant leered into his enemy's face. “Your magic will not avail you now,” he hissed. “Behold the power of the Ahmunites and despair.”
As Djwet spoke, Nekhbet shifted to a different ritual. Ghostly lights now flickered away from the high priest's staff, sparks of sorcery that shot down into the cracks and holes that marred the galley's hull. From each depression, a pallid shape crawled into view, the withered husk of beetles that had bored the holes long ago. Animated by Nekhbet's magic, the ghastly insects surged across the deck in a quivering swarm.
“Devour!” Nekhbet commanded. With an imperious sweep of his staff, he pointed toward the levitating thuul. In perfect harmony of motion, the undead beetles opened their wing-shields and took flight.
Grim satisfaction smoldered in Djwet's mind when he witnessed the panic on Psarius's face. The naiad's eyes were wide with alarm when he saw the direction in which the swarm was flying. “Yes,” Djwet snarled as he brought his axe cracking down once more, denting the bronze breastplate. “Your sorcerer has cast its last enchantment. With it, dies your last hope.”
The swarm of beetles fluttered above the waves. The thuul was not so lost in its conjurations that it failed to notice the danger that had arisen to challenge it. At a gesture, it sent a swirling spout of water soaring upward to drag most of the swarm down into the depths. The few beetles that escaped continued onward, flying straight toward him. The thuul might have obliterated them as it had the rest, but already it was forced to divert its magic. The swarm from the flagship was not the only one called by Nekhbet's necromancy. Each of the galleys had disgorged its own mass of undead insects. The mythican was forced to attend to each in turn, hastily raising water spouts that were increasingly ineffective at drowning the masses of beetles.
Disaster struck the thuul when the last few beetles from the flagship reached it. The insects landed on its gray flesh, stabbing their mandibles into the rubbery skin. The mythican's conjurations faltered as it ripped the gnawing insects from its body, crushing them in its webbed hands. By the time the survivors from the first wave had been removed, those that had endured the second water spout were landing on the thuul's body and tearing at it with their jaws. The survivors from the third swarm arrived before the last from the second had been destroyed. Then those of the fourth and fifth swarms reached the mythican. A horrible wail of agony rose from the deep-sea wizard as its entire being vanished under a mass of devouring beetles. An instant later, and the thuul plunged into the depths, bleeding from hundreds of bites and still encased in a mantle of undead vermin.
The death of the mythican brought new fear to the naiad raiders. Their morale shaken, the mermen became desperate; and in their desperation, they lost the determination that had allowed them to resist their undead enemies. The skeletons, invigorated by the spectral energy Nekhbet had poured into them, charged into their foes, dragging them down one after another.
The power that swept through Djwet made him not only stronger, but quicker than he had been before. He slipped around the guard Psarius had established and brought the axe sheering down across his wrist. Psarius howled in agony as his wrist was severed and his hand went tumbling across the deck. While he was overcome with shock, Djwet pressed home his attack, smashing the flat of the axe into Psarius's face and knocking him down.
“No,” Nekhbet's voice rolled through the revenant's mind. “Do not kill him. I have better use for his blood.”
Djwet cast aside the axe and closed his skeletal fingers around Psarius's throat. Savagely, he pulled the naiad up off the deck and carried him toward the high priest. Other revenants were doing the same with raiders they had subdued in the fighting, dragging them to their shriveled master.
Nekhbet stood upon the raised quarterdeck, watching as the prisoners were brought before him. His withered face pulled back in a scowl as Djwet brought Psarius forth. He pointed a mummified finger at Djwet. “It was decreed by the lords of Karkus that this thief's descendants should spill their lives to fulfill our purpose.” He glared at Psarius and raked a nail across the naiad's forehead, drawing a stream of blood. “Your ancestors have made that plan impossible, but the great ritual will not be abandoned.”
Djwet could see the skeletons that came lumbering up from the galley's hold. They had their arms wrapped about a stone urn. The undead filed past Nekhbet. As they did, the high priest struck out with his staff, driving a crack into the side of the jar. A stream of dust spilled out, spreading across the platform. The dust was foul with the necromantic energies of the desert, the ancient sorceries that had long ago consumed the Ahmunites.
“The rites to raise the ships lost in the Coils demand blood,” Nekhbet stated. “If not the blood of humans, than it will claim the blood of naiads!” Nekhbet started toward Psarius, then abruptly spun around and lashed out at the captive to his left. There was a copper arthame hidden in the high priest's hand, and as the blade raked across the merman's neck, a welter of gore came gushing forth.
Exultant, Nekhbet stepped back, eyes agleam with a fanatic light as the blood splashed across the corrupt dust. Dark energies began to bubble up from
the ancient dirt, ghostly emanations that swelled as the high priest reached out to them.
Djwet could feel the loathly power that was now rising, sensed its vibrations pulsating through his bones. Nekhbet turned toward a second captive, ready to send more gore down onto the planks to feed his spell.
Then, from across the waves, there came a loud tumult. Djwet turned his head to see one of his galleys breaking apart, splintering as a tremendous force lifted it out of the water. Another galley was beset by what looked to be a swarm of giant crabs. Still a third was in the grip of a great sea serpent, its scaly coils wrapping around the hull and splitting its keel.
“Master, we are attacked!” Djwet called out. Angrily, he threw Psarius down. “These were naught but a distraction to delay us until their full army could be brought to bear!”
Psarius glared up at the revenant. “Lord Ichthyon will scourge his domain of your evil.”
Nekhbet laughed at the naiad's defiance. “What matter the army of your lord when soon all those drowned in these waters will arise to do my bidding? I will spare none of your people, naiad, and when they have been slaughtered, they too will rise again to serve the Ahmunites.”
The high priest brought the arthame slashing across the throat of a second captive. Blood sprayed across the ensanguinated dust. The dark, bubbling manifestation of arcane power intensified, tendrils of black magic streaming out across the deck, seeking the sea and the wrecks far below the waves.
Even as the necromantic energies began to spread, a great wave came smashing down upon the flagship. The undead and their prisoners were sent sprawling. Nekhbet shrieked in rage when he saw the corrupt desert dust washed overboard, its evil spell disrupted by the fury of the sea. He scrambled toward the side, trying to prevent the last of the dust from slipping away. The high priest had only taken a few steps before he realized his mistake. The wave that had washed away the dust was still aboard the galley, undulating like some great eel. The writhing mass of water reared up as Nekhbet started to move, standing as a great wall of white-capped water. Dark eyes glowered at the high priest from the living wave before the water elemental came smashing down and obliterated the Ahmunite sorcerer.
Djwet staggered as the impact of Nekhbet's destruction sent a shockwave through the undead crew. Some of the skeletons collapsed instantly, crumbling into fragments. Others began to splinter, flakes of bone sloughing from their bodies. The more intact of the undead, particularly the revenants, retained their substance, though a crippling lethargy afflicted them.
The naiad captives were loose now. Most ran to the side of the galley and dove overboard, but Psarius hesitated to join them. Glancing back at Djwet, he caught up a sword from the pitching deck and ran for the revenant captain.
“Join your pirate kinsmen!” Psarius shouted as he struck at Djwet. The revenant rammed the jagged stump of his missing arm into the naiad's face, ripping through one eye and gouging his jaw. The naiad staggered back, the sword falling from his stunned fingers. Djwet reached down and caught up the blade.
“I do not go to the grave alone,” Djwet vowed. He started toward the stricken Psarius.
The galley suddenly shook violently. A hideous grinding sound rumbled from below. The clamor of breaking wood rose to a thunderous din as the ship abruptly broke in half. Stalking toward Psarius, Djwet found himself plunging down through the wreckage of his flagship. The cold water of the sea closed around him as he plunged below the surface.
Through the mess of debris that surrounded him, Djwet could see a colossal red shape standing below the water. Titanic in its proportions, the thing was no reef or sunken rock, but a mammoth humanoid shape seemingly carved from one vast enormity of coral. The giant's arm was upraised, its huge fingers clawing at the galley from below, ripping the ship to pieces.
All about Djwet, he could see the glowing eyes of other revenants as they sank toward the bottom. There was no risk of drowning for the undead. They could endure the chill depths as easily as they could the chill of the grave. No, it was a different kind of menace that dove in to assail the sinking revenants. Clusters of naiads, their scaly blue bodies encased in golden armor, swam through the water and struck at the undead with vicious tridents. Unable to buoy themselves with their skeletal bodies, much less swim, the undead were unable to dodge the attacks. Perhaps they could have matched the fury of the naiads with solid ground under them, but their attackers gave them no chance to settle on the bottom.
Djwet had escaped notice of the naiads until a lone figure came speeding toward him. The maimed Psarius, gore streaming from his mangled face, dove at him with a crooked sword clenched in his fist. Djwet tried to angle away from the enraged avenger but was unable to react in time. He felt the flashing blade strike him in the neck.
There was a disorienting moment when Djwet briefly felt as though he were floating rather than sinking. Then he was plunging back toward the bottom. He could see Psarius swimming above him. Below, he watched a headless body vanishing into the depths, a body he distantly recognized as being his own. Drifting away from the rest of his remains, the revenant's head clattered down a fissure before finally coming to a rest.
Great timbers encrusted with barnacles and anemones fell into view as Djwet's skull raced to the bottom. His gaze finally came to rest on the naked, barren crossbeams of an ancient hull. There was a terrible irony that one of the ships he had brought Nekhbet so far to raise from the deep should now serve as the revenant's grave.
In the cold dark of the ocean deep, Djwet wondered how potent the high priest's magic had been. How long before the curse of eternity was lifted and his spectral essence would dissipate. How long before Djwet's awareness faded into oblivion.
How long before Djwet could finally rest.
Kinship
By C. W. Conduff
The Ironguard descended through the tunnels in pitch blackness, their eyes having long since adjusted to only the faintest traces of light many leagues behind them. The softer races from the world above would have never made it as far in their expeditions under the firmament, instead turning back in fear when their torches began to sputter from the thin air, or when the tunnels shrank so tightly that a grown man could but barely squeeze through… but dwarfs were a hardier sort, at home so far beneath the world.
The path they followed, old and untraveled for hundreds of years, had narrowed and forced them two-abreast, their armored pauldrons leaving runnels in the walls beside them on occasion. So far below the surface of Mantica, deep within the bowels of the northernmost reaches of the mighty Halpi Mountains, the walls gave off a dry heat; the traveling warriors had grown so accustomed to their sweat beading beneath their heavy helms and running down into their bushy, ash-crusted eyebrows that they hardly noticed the discomfort any longer. They marched on, clanking like so many parts of some steadfast machine, knowing better than to deceive themselves at the notion of a stealthy arrival. It was no secret they were coming, and it was best to be prepared for ambush in the unfamiliar crawlspace. Worry of a sudden attack was not at the forefront of their thoughts; it would be a fool who should attack an armored column of Ironguard in so cramped a space. No, the battle would come when they found the caverns housing their dark kin.
A simple bark of command issued from the front of the column and all at once the dwarfs halted, the practiced veterans selected to be Lord Yurec’s Traduciators for this endeavor so experienced with one another that they operated almost as much on instinct as voiced orders. They had come upon the abrupt end of the tunnel, but where an opening should have stood before them was only a smooth barrier, as though of polished stone. Their rummaging and clanking seemed to absorb into the glossy wall before them rather than reverberate back in the usual fashion, warning the dwarfs to the power of the magic in the wall’s creation. There could be no mistaking it now; they had at last come to the end of their long march.
The column parted and the warriors flattened themselves behind their shields – as best as they could, a
t least – with their backs to either side of the tunnel and holding their beards away from their chests. The driller crew, kept in the relative safety of the middle of the marching column alongside their hulking commander, shuffled single-file through the gap to the front wall. A deafening bang signaled as the machine came to life, sputtering in its struggle to burn fuel at such a depth, and tore into the barricade in their path.
Within moments, the drill still barely freed from its housing, it broke through with force enough that it threatened to tear itself from the strong hands wielding it. Orange light poured in from around the edges of the hole, nearly blinding the dwarfs in its suddenness, and the superheated air that washed through caused the driller’s exposed flesh to begin to blister. Wrestling it back into position with a curse and a grunt, the driller made one quick circle around the perimeter of the hole to widen it before pushing the device through and letting it fall unseen, then shuffled backward through the ranks to his place in line. The Ironguard wordlessly locked back into formation, each warrior now holding his shield firmly with both hands, braced against the back of the dwarf ahead of them. Pushing forward with all the strength their combined number could provide, the dwarfs at the front of the column pressed into the newly drilled opening and forced it apart, breaking through into the space beyond.
As they piled out of the tunnel onto a steep hillside, Lord Yurec took the lead position in his mighty Steel Juggernaut, an overlarge suit of fire and steel, careful of his footing on the craggy, sloped ground. Behind them, the hill climbed sharply above the tunnel’s exit, stretching up and away like a mountainside, the top disappearing so far above that the blackened ceiling resembled roiling clouds of soot through the haze. The Ironguard had not made that observation yet, however, because the ground stretching away before them was unlike any the veteran combatants had seen before. Where the hillside ended to meet level ground, the floor of the cavern was comprised of blackened sand. That sand formed a beach, extending forward fifty paces or more before reaching the edge of a sea made entirely of roiling magma. At a glance, the lava seemed both to flow and yet have no pattern, to churn and yet sit entirely still, and gave off an unnatural orange light of such strength that it caused pain to look upon its mocking reversal of the noonday sun. The heat of it was nigh unbearable, even for those stout sons of the forge. The sandy beach stretched away to their left and right as far the horizon, the shape of the world above completely hidden so far below its surface. Hundreds of yards above the sea, the ceiling of the cavern looked like a desert made of charcoal, nearly free of stalactites except a group clustered around what might have been the inverse of a proper, old-fashioned dwarfen keep, its spires snaking down from the ceiling toward the magma below.
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