by Jess Lebow
“If you have seen her, just tell me which direction to head,” said the Claw. “Then I will leave you alone and be on my way.”
“Now why would I want you to do that?” asked the man, finally turning around, revealing a woman’s silhouetted face emblazoned in gold on the front of his robes—the symbol for the temple of Waukeen.
His face was long, like the snout of a wolf, only much more compact. Sharpened teeth jutted out from under his curled lips as he spoke. A pair of short horns shot out from his forehead, and he held his blade easily in one hairy hand, dangling at his side.
“I do not wish to fight you,” said the Claw.
“Who said anything about a fight?” The man stood still for a moment, eyeing the Claw. “Do you know who I am?”
The Claw shook his head. The man looked familiar somehow, but he didn’t recognize him. “I don’t think so.”
The man stepped closer. “Well then you should get to know me,” he said.
With lightning speed the man’s blade left his side, whispering as it cut the air.
The Claw only had time to raise his gauntlets to block the strike. His right hand connected with the man’s sword, followed by a harmonious clang and clatter as all four blades broke free and dropped to the cave floor. The horned man’s sword came to a rest at his side, unblemished.
The Claw stumbled back in shock. The high wizard Ellhimar had constructed those gauntlets. Nothing had ever so much as tarnished the edge, yet this stranger’s sword had taken the blades clean off.
“Who are you?” asked the Claw.
“It will come to you,” replied the horned man.
A cold chill ran down the Claw’s spine. His voice did sound familiar.
The horned man’s blade whispered again as it split the air.
The Claw dodged back, careful not to risk his remaining gauntlet. The sword slipped past, just missing his face, and the horned man brought it around again, this time in a flat arc. The Claw dodged again, throwing himself against the mossy cave wall. The blade missed his face, but this time the razor tip bit into his mask, slicing it away from cheekbone to cheekbone, just below both eyes. A brief flash filled the chamber as the magic inside failed, and the bottom half slipped away, dropping to the cave floor and revealing his rugged face and blond hair.
The horned man lowered his blade. “Well, well, well,” he said, obviously pleased with himself. “If it isn’t Quinn, King Korox’s bodyguard.”
Quinn lifted his right hand to his exposed chin. Though it was his own flesh, it felt stubbly and strange. His second life had been revealed—incongruous halves of the same whole. He knew the Cellar was full of many dangers, but this was not one he had considered.
chapter twenty-two
Arch Magus Xeries downed the last drop of wine in his goblet and looked out over the edge of his citadel onto Shalane Lake. The moon reflected on the water’s surface as it rose—a long, shimmering band of pale yellow light.
He took a deep breath, thinking about what he was about to do. This had been his home, had been the land he wanted to rule alongside his wife. That dream had never come to pass. His disfigurement and the loss of his beloved had ended his hopes for ever becoming king.
Now Xeries stood high above the valley, looking down on what at one time he had most coveted. Would seeing this place in ruins make him happy? Probably not. It wasn’t Erlkazar that was withholding from him the thing he now desired.
It was the man who ruled Erlkazar who had everything Xeries wanted.
And that man now needed to be taught a lesson. If there was one thing that Xeries had learned in his long life, it was that threats only worked if you were willing to follow through.
Turning away from the balcony, he stepped down into his private chamber. There, in the middle of the floor, awaited one of his servants. The creature sat like an obedient dog, patiently waiting for his master to give him an order or lavish him with attention.
Unlike the army of slavering, monstrous beasts below the Obsidian Ridge on the valley floor, this creature was more calculating, more refined. Its eyes had an intelligence to them that the others lacked. Where they were indiscriminate killing machines, mercilessly striking anything they were pointed at, unaffected by who or how they killed, this creature understood why it did what it did. It knew whose life it was ending, and it enjoyed the process.
Its sleek frame rippled with ropy muscles underneath taught, shiny black skin. Its limbs ended in razor-like claws that retracted and extended out of its paws at will. Its ears moved around its head, searching its surroundings like a bat. And its mouth could unhinge at the jaw, so it could sink its huge fangs into even larger prey.
Xeries sat down at the opposite side of the room. “Come here, my pet.”
The creature obeyed without delay, crossing the floor on all fours. Its soft feet made no noise as they padded across the shiny obsidian. Were it not for the light of the moon coming through the balcony, Xeries may not have seen the beast, blending so well against its dark surroundings.
“You know what it is I want you to do,” said Xeries.
The creature nodded its understanding.
“Very good,” said the arch magus. “Make sure they know who sent you, and give King Korox my regards.”
The beast bowed its head, turned, and bolted across the room. Bounding out onto the balcony, the creature leaped over the edge and disappeared into the night.
Kleegor fumed. “The moon has risen, and still the Matron hasn’t turned over the princess.” He walked away from the docks, his task of loading Elixir crates finished for the time being.
“You are walking a thin line,” replied Talish.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I know that look. You’re thinking about doing something. Something you’re probably going to regret.”
“So what if I am?” replied the half-orc. “I’m tired of taking orders and not being part of the plan.”
The dark-skinned man shook his head. “You’re going to get yourself killed.”
The half-orc growled. “The Matron is going to get all of us killed. She’s playing with fire, and I don’t intend to get burned.”
“Then what are you going to do?”
The half-orc smiled a nearly toothless grin. “I’m going to do what it was we should’ve done a long time ago. I’m going to force the Matron to turn over the princess.”
“Don’t say it,” said Talish as they crossed from the open wharf into the clustered streets penned in by warehouses and shop fronts.
“I’m going to send a little present to the king.” Kleegor rubbed his hands together, his glee growing as he envisioned the king lying dead on the floor of Klarsamryn, two assassins standing over him.
“You should reconsider. Maybe just wait and see what happens.” Talish grabbed Kleegor’s arm. “Please. The Matron warned us, and if you do something against her wishes, then she’s going to think I was involved.”
The half-orc wheeled on Talish. “Where did your spine go?”
“Shh. Keep your voice down,” urged Talish. He looked both ways down the alley, making sure no one was eavesdropping. “I have a spine, but you heard her. She said the king was off limits, and I don’t think it’s wise to cross her, not now.”
The half-orc shoved his companion and walked away. “I don’t have time for cowards. I’m going to take matters into my own hands.”
“I never would have guessed that you were the Claw,” said the horned man, locked in a circling duel with Quinn. “A bodyguard, sure. I can see you throwing yourself before danger to save old Korox. But you didn’t strike me as the type who could kill indiscriminately.”
“So now you know who I am,” replied Quinn. “Time to tell me who you are.”
“You really don’t know?” The man chuckled. “Then for now, you can call me the demon.”
The man lunged, reaching for Quinn’s belly with the tip of his sword. The polished steel left a blue-green trail of light as it mov
ed, reflecting the glow of the phosphorescent moss. Quinn rolled to his right, tumbling away from the strike and coming to his feet behind a stalagmite.
The demon struck again. Quinn ducked, and the exotic sword hit the mineralized stone, shattering the rock and sending it flying silently into a patch of moss.
“That’s better!” shouted the horned man, swinging down on Quinn for a third time.
Backed up against the wall of the cave and with no cover nearby, Quinn slapped the blade aside with the flat of his palm. The polished steel bounced away, glancing harmlessly off the leather of Quinn’s ruined gauntlet. The demon stumbled forward, thrown off by Quinn’s unorthodox defense. He hopped once then lost his balance, crashing chest first into the ruined stalagmite.
Quinn leaped from the corner, raking the demon’s arm just below his chain mail with the blades on his left hand, then he darted into the open center of the cave, giving himself more room.
The demon let out a growling scream that rippled the surface of the standing puddles. The arm of his robes was now tattered, and the padded armor underneath had been shredded as well. Narrow lines of blood rose to the surface from the razor-thin slices in his flesh.
Pushing himself upright, the demon came at Quinn, a look of pure hatred in his eyes.
“Now’s your chance to die in place of your king!” he shouted.
He swung his sword in a figure eight, back and forth, side to side. The blade picked up speed as he came forward, a hissing wall of sharpened steel, leaving a blue-green tracer behind as it moved.
Quinn backpedaled and nearly tripped on a loose stone. Catching his balance, he reached down and grabbed the rock, nearly the size of a grapefruit. Quickly running out of options, he hurled it at his oncoming adversary. The stone collided with the exotic blade and was cut to shreds, the pieces scattering across the cave like a handful of thrown pebbles.
“Nowhere to go now, eh, Quinn?” the demon taunted, the sweeping motions of his blade filling the cave with sharpened steel.
Quinn backed away even farther, into a deep puddle. His feet sank below the surface, the water rising over the tops of his boots. Having little else at his disposal, Quinn kicked with all of his might, sending a wave of filthy water up and over the horned man’s head.
The muddy liquid collided with the moving sword, sending a good portion of it splashing off like a sideways rain. But unlike the stone, the water was not solid, and most of it continued on, hitting the demon in the face. It filled his eyes and nose, and the horned man coughed and spat, struggling to clear his vision. His blade came to a halt as he was forced to use one hand to wipe away the water.
Quinn dashed past, once again pulling himself out from against the wall. The tight confines of the cave were not the best place for his particular type of fighting, but he had no alternative. Taking advantage of his opponent’s temporary blindness, he jabbed at the man’s sword hand, trying to disarm him.
But the demon pulled back, saving his hand and keeping his blade.
“Maybe I underestimated you,” said the demon.
The filthy water dripped down the demon’s face, leaving long grayish-brown streaks on his cheeks, drips falling from the pointed ends of his horns. Wiping the last of it out of his eyes, he gripped his weapon in both hands and took an aggressive stance.
“At one time, I may have grown tired of this game, but”—his lips curled up on one side, revealing his sharpened teeth—“I’m rather enjoying killing you.”
A rumbling sound echoed into the cave. It was faint at first, then it grew, getting closer. Soon the chamber filled with a familiar tapping noise, followed by growling, gnashing, and a tremendous hiss. A pair of giant spiders appeared in the mossy glow at the far end of the cave. Behind them, four scaled tentacles, each with the head of a drake, and a dozen eyes on long spindly stalks protruded into the space.
“Clusterfang,” whispered Quinn.
The demon frowned. “This is not finished.” He clomped away, cloaking himself in the shadows as if he were wrapping them around his body. “You have not even begun to suffer for what you have done to me.” Slowly, his frame dissolved into the darkness. By the time his last word had finished its echo, the demon had disappeared entirely.
Quinn turned and ran through the puddles, back to where he had entered the cavern. His feet were soaked, his boots heavy from the water. Behind him he could hear the tapping of the spider’s legs as they worked their way over the solid mineral floor.
Dashing toward the narrow passage they had squeezed through, Quinn pulled up short, grabbing hold of a nearby stalagmite to stop his forward momentum.
There in front of him, slipping sideways into the cave the same way he had, was another helmed horror. Its metallic form filled the exit, leaving no room to get by, no room for escape.
Clusterfang had taken over the opposite end of the cave, blocking off the only other way out. The deepspawn’s spider minions were climbing the walls. Just watching them scamper, their bulbous bodies gliding on top of those eight spindly legs, made the skin on Quinn’s back crawl and his spine itch.
He was trapped, and Evelyne was nowhere to be found.
“I should have known better than to trust her,” he muttered, glancing side to side, trying to figure out which beast he wanted to fight first. The spiders were farther away than the horror, but they were coming on fast. Neither was going to be a quick fight.
With a second weapon, maybe he could hold them all at bay. As it stood, he was going to have to try to back himself into a corner and hope he had enough reach.
The spiders were almost on him, and the horror had squeezed itself out of the crack in the wall, closing in.
“Up here! Quick!”
Quinn looked up to see Evelyne’s upper body sticking out of a round hole between two stalactites, maybe twice his height off the floor.
She hung down, extending her arms. “Grab my hand. I’ll pull you up.”
Bending his legs, he leaped into the air just as the first of the spiders arrived. His right hand wrapped around hers, and his left caught the edge of the hole. With surprising speed, Evelyne scampered back into the space in the ceiling of the cave.
Quinn felt the spiders’ limbs feebly try to pull him back down. But it was no use. With both hands now on solid stone, the Claw pulled himself up and out of the cavern, tumbling forward into the darkness ahead.
chapter twenty-three
The moon had passed its zenith long ago, its measured descent now almost complete. One more shift of the city watch and the sun would begin to rise, filling the void left by the moon’s departure.
But until then, darkness ruled.
Two half-orcs, concealed by the magic woven into their armor, climbed the sheer wall of Klarsamryn. They moved slowly, silently. There were far too many guards on duty that night to be careless.
At the top of the wall, the two assassins waited, listening. When the time was right, they nodded to one another, and as one they slipped over the edge and onto the king’s personal terrace.
Without a sound they slit the throats of the two guards standing outside the door. With barely more than a whisper, they did the same to the two inside the room. Stalking across the floor, they reached the side of the king’s bed where they unwrapped their specially prepared blades.
Had the king been awake, he would have seen the two half-orcs silhouetted against the last of the moon’s light coming in through the open glass door. He would have seen them lift their knives, dripping with poison. He would have also seen what neither of the two assassins did—a lithe black figure bounding over the edge of the terrace.
It landed at the edge of the room, even more silent than the half-orcs. It strode purposefully across the marble, careful not to disturb the dead guards, then crept up behind the two assassins, looking them over once, from head to toe.
Then it tore into them like sacks of grain.
It bit down on one, wrenching away a mouthful of broken ribs, punctured stomach, a
nd shredded bowels. The other it simply cut in two, jamming sharpened claws into its back, and ripping it open. Both of its victims screamed in surprise and agony, their hearts finished beating before their blood hit the floor.
King Korox awoke to a blood-curdling scream.
His heavy wool blanket pinned his body, and a beast like he’d never seen was sitting atop his chest. He wondered for a moment if he wasn’t dreaming—a jet black creature with the face of a bat, the claws of a tiger, and the teeth of a shark peering down on him with the eyes of a wizened old man. Surely this beast was a product of an overworked imagination.
The creature sniffed him, shifting its claws as it did. They punctured the blanket and bit into Korox’s upper arm.
This was no dream. This was a beast sent by Bane himself.
“Alarm! Alarm!” shouted Korox, trying in vain to get loose.
The creature distended its jaw, opening its mouth wide enough to wrap its teeth all the way around the king’s head. It let out a satisfied purr, as if it was enjoying the panic. Then it bent down, slowly lowering its teeth. The creature let out a breath, and the foul stench of rotten meat and blood wafted over the king, making him gag.
The door to his chambers burst open, and the room exploded in light. There was a heavy commotion and the twang of crossbows. Korox could feel the creature on top of him jolt from the impact, but if it was in pain, it didn’t react.
The king heard running footsteps, and in the next second, the beast was torn from atop him. Suddenly free, Korox threw his blanket away and rolled out of bed. He grabbed the candelabrum from the nightstand and held it up like a club. But it was too late, the creature had been cut to ribbons by Captain Kaden and the dozen other Magistrates who had charged into the room.
“My lord, are you hurt?” Captain Kaden rushed to his side.
King Korox brushed him off. “No. No, I’m fine.” He lifted his nightshirt to examine the puncture wounds on his upper arms. He bled some, but it was little more than a flesh wound.
