Legacy of Blood d-1

by Richard A. Knaak

  A dagger suddenly materialized in Tryst's hand.

  The mariner reached for his own knife, which Kara saw lay by his side. Drayko had clearly been holding it all along, concealing its presence while he had spoken inanities with the dark mage. All along he had acted with the knowledge that something seemed amiss in the cabin- although likely even Drayko had never imagined the sight before him.

  As Sadun Tryst raised his arm, a second figure charged into the tiny room. Ceremonial blade held ready, Captain Hanos Jeronnan shielded his officer from harm. Unlike Drayko, he seemed only mildly surprised at the horrendous figures but a short distance from him. In fact, Jeronnan almost looked pleased to see the two ghouls.

  "I won't let it happen again…" he murmured. "You'll not take this one…"

  Kara immediately understood the captain's words. In his mind, the undead represented that invisible monster that had not only taken his daughter from him, but had turned her into a vile creature he had been forced to destroy. Now he thought to wreak his vengeance on them.

  And with the silver-plated sword, he had the potential to do just that.

  Tryst threw his dagger, again moving with a speed his decrepit form belied. The smaller blade sank into Jeronnan's sword arm, sending the captain staggering. However, the former naval commander did not retreat. Blood dripping down, the ghoul's weapon still halfburied in his flesh, Captain Jeronnan attacked, slicing at his unliving adversary.

  His macabre smile seeming to mock, Sadun Tryst reached for the blade, clearly intending to grab it in his hand. As one beyond death, no normal blade could touch him.

  The edge of the captain's weapon severed off the lower two fingers.

  Pure agony abruptly coursed through Kara, the pain so great that she doubled over, nearly collapsing.

  With a hiss, Tryst pulled his maimed hand back. Glaring at Jeronnan, he gasped to his partner, "Do something… while I still have… a head on my… shoulders…"

  Her eyes blurry from tears, the necromancer nonetheless saw Fauztin blink once.

  "Look out!" she managed to cry.

  A wall of force erupted from her ceremonial dagger, sending both Jeronnan and Drayko flying against the opposite wall. At the same time, the Vizjerei put his other hand on the wall behind him.

  A blue haze spread behind the ghouls, a blue haze that grew rapidly in both height and width.

  The two mariners struggled to their feet. Mister Drayko started forward, but Jeronnan pushed him back. "Nay! The only weapon that's good for them is this one! I swear I'll slice them both into fish bait-that is, if even the fish'll take something so rotten! You see to the girl!"

  The officer obeyed instantly, hurrying to the Kara's side. "Can you stand?"

  With help, Kara found that she could. Although the pain did not leave her, at least it subsided enough for the enchantress to think-and realize what had happened.

  Through the dagger, Fauztin had tied her life to the revenants' continued existence. The blow that Jeronnan had landed had not been felt by Sadun Tryst, who had been long past such mortal weaknesses. However, each successful strike against them would, so it appeared, be suffered by her.

  And so, with a sword gilded in silver, Captain Jeronnan had the capability of not only slicing the undead into the bait he had mentioned, but also in the process slaying the very one he sought to save.

  She had to warn him. "Drayko! Jeronnan must stop!"

  "It's all right, my lady! The captain knows what he does! His silver blade's just right for dealing with the likes of those! In such close quarters, he'll make quick work of them before the one can cast another spell!" Drayko wrinkled his nose. "Gods, what a stench in here! After you started acting so strangely, Captain Jeronnan finally recalled what had happened to you back in Gea Kul and felt certain that something was up! He summoned me to his cabin after dinner, related his suspicions, then told me to come with him and be prepared for Hell itself-although how close to the truth he meant that even I didn't know!"

  The necromancer tried again. "Listen! They've cast an enchantment on me—"

  "Which is why you couldn't say anything, aye!" He started to pull her toward the open doorway, where several of Jeronnan's men had gathered. Some had their weapons drawn, but none had yet dared enter, far more fearful of facing the undead than either the captain or his second. "Come on! Let's get you away from them!"

  "But that's not the—" Kara stopped as her body suddenly twisted free of its own accord from the officer.

  He reached for her arm. "Not that way! You'd better—"

  To her dismay, the necromancer's hand folded into a fist-then struck her protector hard in the stomach.

  While not that harsh a blow, it nevertheless caught Drayko completely by surprise. Jeronnan's second fell back, more startled than injured.

  Kara turned toward the undead… and saw the grim Vizjerei beckoning her to join them.

  Her limbs obeyed despite her best attempts to counter his summons. Behind the ghouls the blue haze had spread to encompass most of the wall. Discovered by the living, the undead now sought to retreat-but with them, they hoped to take their prize.

  Kara tried to resist, knowing not only that she had nodesire to go with the duo, but that the only thing beyond that wall lay the dark sea. Tryst and his companion did not need to breathe, but Kara surely did.

  Come to me, necromancer … she suddenly heard in her head. The eyes of Fauztin stared unblinking into her own, drowning out her own thoughts.

  Unable to control herself any longer, Kara ran toward the undead.

  "Lass, no!" Captain Jeronnan seized her arm, but his wound kept his grip from tightening much. She tore herself free, then reached forth to take Sadun Tryst's mutilated hand.

  "I… have her!" the smiling ghoul gasped.

  Fauztin grabbed his companion by the shoulder, then purposely fell backwards-vanishing through the blue haze and pulling Tryst with him.

  And with Tryst went Kara.

  "Grab hold of her!" the captain shouted. Drayko called out something, possibly her name, but by then they were both too late to do anything.

  The dark mage fell through the haze-and into the suffocating embrace of the sea.

  Thirteen

  The tomb of Horazon… the Arcane Sanctuary…

  Norrec Vizharan struggled through a thick, gray webbing, forcing his way down a winding, confusing arrangement of corridors.

  Horazon…

  Ancient statues lined the wall, each the face of someone familiar to him. He recognized Attis Zuun, his fool of an instructor. Korbia, the far too innocent acolyte he had later sacrificed for his goals. Merendi, the council leader who had fallen prey to his well-crafted words of admiration. Jeslyn Kataro, the friend who he had betrayed. Buried behind the webs he found everyone he had ever known-except one.

  Everyone except his brother, Horazon.

  "Where are you?" Norrec shouted. "Where are you?"

  Suddenly, he stood in a darkened chamber, a vast crypt before him. Skeletons in the garb of Vizjerei sorcerers stood at attention in a series of alcoves lining the right and left walls of the room. The symbol of the clan, a dragon bent over a crescent moon, had been carved in the center of the great sarcophagus directly before the armored intruder.

  "Horazon!" Norrec cried. "Horazon!"

  The name echoed throughout the crypt, seeming to mock him. Angered, he marched up to the stone coffin and reached for the heavy lid.

  As he touched it, a moaning arose from the skeletons on each side of him. Norrec almost shrank back, but fury and determination won out over all other emotions. Ignoring the warningsof the dead, the soldier wrenched the lid from the sarcophagus and let it drop to the floor, where it shattered in a thousand pieces.

  Within the coffin, Norrec beheld a shrouded form. Sensing victory, he reached to tear the cloth from the face, to see the withered and failing countenance of his cursed brother.

  A hand covered with rotting flesh and burrowing maggots seized his own at the wrist
.

  He struggled, but the monstrous fingers would not release him. Worse, to Norrec's horror, the corpse began to sink deeper and deeper into the coffin, as if the bottom had suddenly given way to an endless abyss. Try as he might, Norrec could not keep from being pulled into the sarcophagus, into the pit of darkness below.

  He screamed as the world of the dead closed in around him-

  "Awaken."

  Norrec shook, his gauntleted hands reaching to fend off nightmares. He blinked, gradually realizing that he still sat in the old chair in Drognan's sanctum. The dream about his brother's crypt-no, Bartuc's brother-had seemed so real, so horribly real.

  "You slept. You dreamed," the elderly Vizjerei commented.

  "Yes…" Unlike most dreams, however, the veteran recalled this one quite vividly. In fact, he doubted that he would ever be able to forget it. "I'm sorry about falling asleep…"

  "No need to apologize. After all, I am the one who, with the aid of some wine, made you sleep… and dream as well."

  Sudden anger made Norrec try to leap up from the chair-only to have Drognan stop him in his tracks with but a warning hand. "You will sit back down."

  "What did you do? How long have I been out?"

  "I placed you under shortly after you sat down. As for how long you slept… nearly a day. The night has comeand gone." The sorcerer came closer, the spell staff now used as a cane. Norrec, however, did not read Drognan's use of it as any sign of weakness. "As for why I did it, let us just say that I have taken the first step toward both our goals, my friend." He smiled expectantly. "Now, tell me, what did you see in the dream?"

  "Shouldn't you know?"

  "I made you dream; I did not decide what you dreamed of."

  "Are you saying I made up that nightmare myself?"

  The ancient mage stroked his silver beard. "Perhaps I had some influence on the choice of subjects… but the results were yours alone. Now tell me what you dreamed."

  "What's the point of it?"

  All friendliness faded from Drognan's tone. "The point is your life."

  Aware that he had no true choice in the matter, Norrec finally gave in and told the sorcerer what he wanted to know. In nearly perfect detail, the soldier described the scene, the events, and even the faces and names of the statues. Drognan nodded, quite interested in all of it. He asked questions, dredging up minor details that Norrec had initially forgotten to mention. Nothing seemed too insignificant to the listening mage.

  And when it came time to relate the horrifying events taking place in the crypt, the Vizjerei paid very close attention. Drognan seemed to take special delight in having Norrec describe the skeletal mages and the opening of the sarcophagus. Even when Norrec began to shake in recollection of his descent into the abyss, the sorcerer pushed him to continue, to not leave out the most minute bit of information.

  "So fascinating!" Drognan burst out when Norrec had finished, completely oblivious to the agony he had just forced the veteran to relive. "So vivid! It must be truth!"

  "What… must be?"

  "You actually saw the tomb! The true Arcane Sanctuary! I'm certain of it!"

  If he expected Norrec to share in his delight, the wrinkled mage had to have been disappointed. Not only did the soldier not believe that what he had seen could be real… but if such a place could exist, Norrec wanted no part of it. After Bartuc's lair, the notion of entering the crypt of his hated brother chilled the otherwise steadfast fighter. He had suffered nothing but misery and terror since this had all begun; Norrec only desired to be free of the enchanted armor.

  He said as much to Drognan, who replied, "You will have that chance, Vizharan… if you are willing to face the nightmare one more time."

  Somehow, Norrec found himself not at all surprised that this would be the sorcerer's response. Both Bartuc and Drognan shared the history of a culture focused much on ambition regardless of the consequences. The Empire of Kehjistan had been founded on that principle and the Vizjerei, its backbone, had delved into demon summoning as a method by which to garner power over all others. Only when those demons had turned upon them had they willingly given up that course-and even these days there existed stories of corrupt Vizjerei who had turned again to the forces of Hell for their might.

  Even Fauztin had, at times, hinted of a willingness to take steps beyond what his craft would have deemed safe. However, Norrec liked to believe that his friend would have been less inclined than Drognan to force another to suffer such horrific nightmares not once, but twice-and all for simple gain.

  Yet, what choice did the soldier have now? Only Drognan kept the cursed suit from running off with Norrec to who knew what new monstrous destiny…

  He gazed around at the multitude of books and scrollsgathered over the years by the elderly Vizjerei. Norrec suspected that they represented only a part of Drognan's storehouse of knowledge. The sorcerer had kept him to this one chamber, but surely hid some of his other secrets from the fighter. Truly, if anyone could free him, the Vizjerei could-but only if Norrec proved willing to pay the price.

  Again, what other choice did he have?

  "All right! Do what you must… and do it soon! I want an end to this!" Yet, even as he said it, Norrec knew that there would never be an end to the horrible guilt he felt.

  "Of course." Drognan turned from him, reaching for another massive tome. He perused the pages for a few moments, nodded to himself, then shut the book. "Yes, that should do it."

  "Do what?"

  Replacing the book, the mage answered, "Despite the enmities between them, Bartuc and Horazon are forever bound together, even in death. That the suit has brought you here to Lut Gholein shows that bond remains strong even after all this time." He frowned. "And your bond with the armor is nearly as great. An unexpected plus, I might add, but one I find myself curious about. Perhaps after this is over, I shall make a study of it."

  "You still haven't told me what you want to do," reminded the veteran, not wanting Drognan to become distracted again. He vaguely understood what the sorcerer had said about the bond between the brothers and how the suit had a link to that, but the rest made no sense to him and Norrec did not wish to pursue it any farther. His own connection with the armor had begun with entering Bartuc's tomb and would end when Drognan helped him strip the metal from his body. After that, the Vizjerei could do what he wanted with the suit- preferably melting it down to make farm tools or some other such harmless items.

  "This time I will cast a spell that should enable us to find the actual physical location of the tomb, which I have always believed might very well be under the city!" Drognan's eyes lit up at the possibility. "It will require you to go back into the dream… but this time you will do so in a waking state."

  "How can I dream if I'm awake?"

  The mage rolled his eyes. "Preserve me from the uninitiated! Norrec Vizharan, you shall dream while awake because of my spell. Rest assured that you need to know nothing more."

  With great reluctance, the weary fighter nodded. "All right, then! Let's get it done!"

  "The preparations will take but a few moments…"

  Coming closer, the elderly Vizjerei used the tip of his staff to draw a circle around the chair. At first Norrec saw nothing of interest in this, but the moment Drognan completed the circle, it suddenly flared to life, glowing a furious yellow and pulsating over and over. Again, the fighter would have jumped out of the chair if not for the warning glance his host gave him. In an attempt to calm down, Norrec reminded himself of the ultimate goal of all of this-freedom. Surely he could face whatever Drognan might put him through for that.

  The sorcerer muttered something, then reached out with his left hand to touch Norrec's forehead. The soldier felt a slight jolt, but nothing more.

  With his finger, Drognan began drawing symbols in the air, symbols that flashed into and out of existence each time he finished one. Norrec caught only glances of each, although at least one reminded him of one of the wards he had seen in Bartuc's tomb
. That made him more wary again, but the time for retreat had already passed and he knew that he had to face whatever resulted from the spellcasting.

  "Shazari… Shazari Tomei…"

  Norrec's entire body stiffened, almost as if the armor had once more taken control. However, the veteran soldier knew that it could not be that, for Drognan had long ago proven his mastery over the enchanted suit. No, it had to be just another part of the spell.

  "Tomei!" the silver-haired mage cried, raising his spell staff high above his head. Despite his advanced years, he looked more terrible, more powerful, than any man Norrec had ever met, even on the battlefield. A white, crackling aura surrounded the Vizjerei, causing Drognan's beard and hair to fluttered about almost as if with a life of their own. "Shazari Saruphi!"

  Norrec gasped as his body shook violently. A force pushed him hard against the chair. The mage's sanctum suddenly receded from him with such speed it made the fighter dizzy. Norrec felt as if he floated, although neither his arms nor his legs could move at all.

  An emerald haze formed before him, a haze with a vaguely circular shape to it. Far, far away, Norrec heard Drognan shout something else, but it seemed drawn out and unintelligible, as if for the Vizjerei time had slowed to a crawl and even sound could move no swifter than a snail.

  The haze refined itself, forming a perfect circle now. The emerald mist within that circle then dissipated-and as it did, an image, a place, formed within.

  The crypt.

  But something about its appearance immediately troubled Norrec. Details seemed altered, incorrect in many ways. The Vizjerei skeletons now wore elaborate armor instead of robes and appeared not to be true dead, but rather cleverly carved from stone. The massive cobwebs gave way instead to tattered tapestries depicting magical creatures such as dragons, rocs, and more. Even the symbol of the brothers' clan had transformed, now a vast bird clutching in its talons the sun.

  Norrec tried to say something, but his voice did not work. Once more, though, he heard the painfully belabored words of Drognan. The mage sounded farther away than before.