Prophet of the Dead: Forgotten Realms

by Richard Lee Byers

  Golden light shone through the air, and the living corpse crumbled into dust. A bit of it wafted into Cera’s nose and made her want to sneeze. The creature’s blade clanked on the floor, and its brigandine thumped down with it.

  Well, Cera thought, that worked out. Especially if no other creature had noticed the holy light flashing out the doorway or the noise the falling sword and leather armor had made.

  Deeming it better than nothing even though her clerical training had only encompassed the use of a mace, she picked up the blade. Then she peeked out the door. To her relief, no other undead horror was shambling or floating in her direction. Not yet, anyway.

  Now, where was Jhesrhi? Was it possible Lod’s followers had taken the same casual approach to imprisoning the mage that they had to containing Cera?

  Perhaps. They’d apparently assumed Cera’s vampire bites rendered her helpless, and from listening to them talk, she knew they’d beaten Jhesrhi senseless after Dai Shan exposed her deception. They’d also placed the wizard in some sort of restraints. They might well believe she was helpless too.

  If so, Jhesrhi might be nearby. The undead might not have felt the need to haul her back down to the dungeons and lock her up properly either.

  Cera stepped out into the corridor and headed in the opposite direction from the spaces near the primary entrance where many of the undead were taking their ease. To her relief, most of the doors she came to were open, which made checking the various rooms easier, and the traces of light leaking in from outdoors at various points alleviated the gloom just enough for her to grope her way along.

  But the feeble illumination didn’t reveal everything, and it was a sunlady’s instincts, not Cera’s eyes, that abruptly gave her a sense of insatiable hunger and boundless hatred rushing out of the dark.

  She jumped back and said, “Amaunator!” The Keeper’s power flowed into the core of her, then streamed down her arm to set her stolen sword aglow.

  The brightness revealed a ragged shadow with a twisted smudge of a face. The Keeper’s light balked it, but Cera suspected the magic would hold it back for only an instant. Then it would either come back on the attack or raise the alarm.

  She hurriedly recited a prayer and tapped the shining sword against the floor. Some of the holy light leaped from the steel to the stone, surging outward from the point of contact to form first a circle and then rays emanating from it.

  In an instant, the rays shot out far enough that the wraith was floating just above them. Assailed by the sun symbol’s power, the phantom convulsed and frayed away to nothing.

  All right, Cera thought, panting, I had a guard outside my cell. Let’s see if the ghost was lurking here because it was keeping an eye on Jhesrhi.

  She cautiously opened a closed door. Gagged with a metal contraption bolted around her head, her hands shackled behind her, the wizard lay on the floor.

  Cera smiled with a jubilation that immediately gave way to concern when Jhesrhi failed to react to her appearance. The priestess hurried over to her friend and knelt down beside her.

  Thanks be to the Keeper and all the kindly powers, Jhesrhi was still breathing, but that was about all that could be said. She was too profoundly unconscious to stir even when Cera spoke to her, and when the priestess gently lifted the lids of her amber eyes, the pupils were different sizes. Blood matted her hair, and her tawny skin was a patchwork of bruises, scrapes, and scratches. One leg bent between the knee and ankle, and, not content merely to shackle a mage’s wonder-working hands, the undead had broken every one of her fingers.

  Cera recited a healing prayer, reached out to Amaunator for all the power she could draw, laid her hand on Jhesrhi’s shoulder, and sent the pure essence of life and health streaming into her stricken comrade’s body. A few of Jhesrhi’s contusions faded, and her leg shifted and clicked as it sought to mend the break. But the wizard didn’t wake.

  Cera prayed a second time. Cuts closed and, with a soft but wince-inducing grinding, the fingers of Jhesrhi’s left hand straightened. But she still didn’t rouse.

  Like every practitioner of the healing arts, Cera had learned early in her career that some hurts were beyond remedy, but by the Yellow Sun, these hurts were not going to be among them! She took several deep, slow breaths to center herself.

  Then Dai Shan said, “I admire both the sunlady’s resilience and her devotion to her friend.”

  Cera jerked around. The little Shou was standing in the doorway.

  “Nonetheless,” he continued, “I must regretfully request that she distance herself from Lady Sir Jhesrhi and the sword as well.”

  Instead, Cera snatched up the blade and scrambled to her feet. “Stay back,” she said.

  “I wish I could, but such forbearance would be contrary to my interests. It’s beneficial for the sapient prophet of the dead to hear from others that I was of service, but it can only enhance his gratitude to observe my diligence on behalf of his cause firsthand. That’s why I came to check on you, and I trust he’ll be happy I did.”

  “He won’t be grateful no matter what you do.”

  Dai Shan slightly inclined his head. “That sad possibility has occurred to me. Still, at the moment, the mighty king of serpents represents the only possible path to the wild griffons. What can a sensible man do but walk it, at least until a better course reveals itself?”

  Cera shook her head. “But you’ve seen the undead up close. You’ve felt how they poison the world just by being in it. How can you bring yourself to side with them?”

  “The virtuous sunlady deems them wicked and unnatural, and who could refute her assessment? Yet dividing all things into good or evil, salubrious or abominable, is but one way of considering the world. I classify things according to whether they aid or hinder the interests of the House of Shan and my advancement within it.”

  “On the inside, you’re like an undead yourself.”

  “Whereas on the outside, the brave priestess is gripping her sole weapon in a way that bespeaks a lack of experience in its use. I promise that if you let it fall, I won’t hurt you any further, and neither, I think, will Lod, provided you freely answer his questions. He’s curious to learn all that a priestess of Faerûn can—”

  Cera threw the sword.

  Dai Shan likely didn’t expect her to use it in such an unconventional fashion, but he had no difficulty contending with the inept attack. He flicked his hand and knocked the blade tumbling to the side.

  In the instant that required, though, Cera called out to Amaunator, drew down more of his might, and stamped her foot. Another sun symbol flowered beneath it, the rays stabbing out across the floor. Dai Shan gasped and stiffened.

  She rattled off a second spell, mimed the act of striking with a weapon, and as the sun symbol faded, a mace made of yellow glow burst into being. With a thought, she sent it flying at Dai Shan.

  But as she did, she saw he was reciting too. Then the room went black, darkness smothering even the luminescence of her conjured weapon. She made the mace swing anyway, but it didn’t connect.

  Dai Shan had dodged it, and suddenly, instinct screamed that, blind though she now was, Cera needed to change position. She stepped back and to the left, and something, the Shou’s fist or foot, no doubt, slammed into her side.

  The impact hurt, sent the breath whooshing out of her, and knocked her stumbling. If it had caught her squarely, or landed on a spot her torn mail didn’t cover anymore, it likely would have crippled her or worse.

  She brought her conjured mace streaking back across the room for another blind attack. As it missed, she heard Dai Shan murmur two words in a language she didn’t recognize, a Shadow tongue, perhaps, and then sensed it when he snatched the magical weapon out of the air and snapped it like a twig.

  Once again, though, at least the product of one spell had occupied him long enough for her to gasp out another. Light glowed from her right hand to counter the darkness he’d summoned and restore her sight.

  Unfortunately, sh
e could discern little cause for hope in what vision revealed. She was certain the power of the sun symbol had in some measure hurt Dai Shan, but no one could tell it from the smooth, subtle way he eased closer. Meanwhile, her side was throbbing, and when she twisted the wrong way, an even fiercer pain ripped through her.

  She retreated, and, still in no hurry, he came after her. She realized he was backing her into a corner.

  She raised her hands to face level as though to fend him off. Perhaps they, and the light shining from the right one, would keep him from observing her mouth was moving.

  Alas, no. Evidently realizing she was whispering a spell, he lunged, faked a punch to the stomach that drew her guard down, then smashed the true attack into her face. She reeled, and suddenly the whole world seemed to ring like a giant bell, although simultaneously, everything was utterly silent.

  Still, she forced out the last word of her incantation. The rays of another sun symbol flared out across the floor.

  She discovered she hadn’t lost her hearing after all when Dai Shan stiffened and made a little grunting sound. After that, though, he seized her and tumbled her off her feet. Spinning around behind her, he pressed his forearm into her throat and choked her.

  “The valiant sunlady should take pride in her prowess,” he said as she pawed in a futile attempt to break his hold. “Had we begun our contest at opposite ends of a sunlit field, the outcome might have been different. But close quarters and darkness favored me.”

  Cera’s head swam, and the chamber grew dimmer. Until Jhesrhi’s body burst into flame, and the willowy mage started to struggle to her feet.

  Because Amaunator’s magic was not merely potent but versatile. Channeled in the proper form, like the sun symbols, it could smite foes and revive friends simultaneously, and, to maximize her chances of surviving a fight against a strong and cunning adversary, Cera had so evoked it.

  Startled or at least distracted, Dai Shan eased the pressure on Cera’s throat, and she sucked in a breath. The Shou thrust out one arm at Jhesrhi and murmured the first word of an incantation. Dark streaks ran through his outstretched hand as though the bones were in some sense glowing through the skin, but radiating shadow instead of light.

  Cera jammed her head backward into his jaw. She was no brawler and felt at once that she hadn’t connected hard or squarely. But the impact sufficed to make him stumble over his recitation, and the shadow power accumulating inside his hand dissipated with the attack uncast.

  Jhesrhi finished clambering up, and, with a roar, her halo of flame flared hotter. As Cera cringed, the wizard’s shackles and gag softened and sagged like dough. She stripped away the manacles, then jerked off the cruel-looking device that had cut the corners of her mouth, and finally spit out a stray bit of red-hot metal.

  Fortunately, that burst of hotter fire lasted only a moment; Cera doubted she could have endured its searing proximity much longer. As it subsided, Jhesrhi swayed.

  Dai Shan sprang up and rushed her. Evidently he was willing to risk punching or kicking through the weaker flame that still shrouded her slender form, if that was what it took to strike her down.

  Cera swung her arm backward to trip the merchant as he dodged around her. But he sprang over her out-flung limb and charged onward.

  Jhesrhi recited, and fresh blood trickled from her raw mouth. She gestured with swollen, crooked fingers. Meanwhile, she retreated, one step, two, and then her back was against the wall.

  Dai Shan plunged into striking distance. His hand leaped, but then a red spark streaked at him as well. A dazzling, booming blast of flame engulfed both him and Jhesrhi.

  When the flash faded, Cera, blinking, saw the sellsword was unharmed. Whereas what remained of Dai Shan lay burning on the floor.

  Jhesrhi rounded on Cera. She raised her hands as though she meant to cast another spell.

  “It’s Cera!” the priestess gasped. “Aoth and I are together! You remember!”

  Jhesrhi faltered. “Yes. Sorry!”

  “Don’t be.” Sucking in a hissing gasp at a fresh twinge in her side, Cera rose. “You saved us. Well, partly. Let me finish healing you so you can do the rest.”

  “You’re all blistered, and your nose is broken.”

  Cera wished the wizard hadn’t mentioned any of that, for now she felt those pains too. “It’s not important. Just stifle your halo of flame.”

  Now that Jhesrhi was conscious, it wouldn’t do to administer the Keeper’s healing grace via a touch. The sellsword couldn’t bear it. But Cera wanted to get as close as possible.

  Jhesrhi frowned as though the request warranted suspicion. But then she gave her head a little shake, and her cloak of flame vanished. She circled around Dai Shan’s still-burning body to meet Cera in the center of the room.

  Cera drew down more of Amaunator’s light and, with an arcing gesture of benediction, sent it shining into the wizard’s body. Scratches and bruises faded.

  Then zombie warriors appeared in the doorway, while a luminous phantom flowed through the wall beside it. The booms of the fiery blasts Jhesrhi had conjured had no doubt brought them rushing to investigate.

  Cera hurled the Keeper’s power and burned the first ones to nothingness. Meanwhile, Jhesrhi recited with what, under the circumstances, felt like maddening slowness, articulating crunching, grinding, ponderous words that a person unschooled in earth magic could never even have pronounced.

  More undead sought to enter the room, and with her dwindling store of power, Cera threw them back. The wall behind her scraped, banged, and let in a frigid breeze, as, obeying Jhesrhi’s command, it opened to provide an exit. That felt as if it were taking forever too.

  Jhesrhi spoke moaning, whistling words. Cera glimpsed motion at the corner of her vision, turned, and saw the specter that had somehow penetrated her magical defense reaching out with shadowy hands to seize her. Then, howling, the wind picked her up and whisked her beyond the phantom’s reach.

  In its haste, the wind banged her shoulder against the side of the breach as it carried her through, but all she cared about was that it was outdistancing the specter streaming in pursuit. She and Jhesrhi soared high above the fortress into a deep blue sky that glowed red on the western horizon. The frozen surface of Lake Ashane reflected a trace of the heavenly colors.

  After the cold, lifeless darkness of the deathways and the predation of the vampires, the snowy twilit wilderness seemed like the loveliest sight Cera had ever seen, and despite her lingering pains, as she and Jhesrhi flew southward, she imagined she could scarcely feel any happier. Then a huge, black shape swooped down beside her. “About time you showed up,” it rasped.

  “Jet!” said Jhesrhi an instant before Cera would have joyfully exclaimed the same. “How is it you’re still here?”

  “Because Vandar and I stayed in the fortress to search for the two of you,” the griffon replied. “After he ran into the undead coming up out of the dungeons, we had to flee, but we didn’t go far. And for the last little while, I’ve been flying around, keeping an eye on the place to make sure the ghosts aren’t still chasing us. How is it you’re here?”

  “The same undead Vandar encountered had taken us prisoner,” Jhesrhi said. “But we managed to escape.”

  “Where is Vandar?” Cera asked. “Is he all right?”

  “Yes,” said Jet, his voice even gruffer than usual. “He’s on the ground right now, because it hurts me to carry a rider. Aoth said that you, sunlady, would help me with that.”

  “You’ve spoken with Aoth?” Cera said. “He made it out of the dark maze too?”

  “Yes,” Jet replied. “After we set down, the two of you can talk to him too. I’ll pass the words back and forth. Just try not to gush, weep, or coo. I have enough ailing me without getting sick to my stomach.”

  * * * * *

  For once, Aoth’s preternaturally keen sight blurred, and his eyes felt wet. He realized he was on the verge of tears and at once felt a twinge of Jet’s disgust.

  That
disgust was half feigned, but still, the familiar had a point. A war captain couldn’t bask for long in sentiment, let alone give the impression of weakness, when he had important tasks to perform. Aoth took a deep, steadying breath, then turned to face Orgurth squarely.

  “Good news?” asked the orc. He had a bloodstained dressing on his neck where an automaton had clawed him. Had the strike landed just a little differently, it either could have sliced his windpipe or slashed an artery, but he seemed to regard the actual wound as a trifle.

  “The best,” Aoth replied. “Jet found Jhesrhi and Cera alive and well.”

  Orgurth grunted. “That is good, when all your friends make it back from the battle alive.”

  Aoth had the feeling Orgurth was remembering some sorrow from his own past and wondered if the orc was ever going to tell him why he’d been cast out of the legions and condemned to slavery. It plainly hadn’t been for cowardice.

  With a leer, Orgurth appeared to cast off the grip of somber recollection. “Still,” said the orc, “you’re wrong. The best news would be your friends are alive and your enemies are dead.”

  Aoth smiled. “True. Let’s go work on the second part of that.”

  They found Pevkalondra, as the ghoul sorceress had named herself, where and how they’d left her, in a sort of natural alcove, bound hand and foot and gagged. With her filthy yellow fangs, she could likely have chewed the gag to shreds if she’d decided to, but she also had an “Old One”—actually, another keen young novice like Kanilak—hovering over her with an axe to chop her if she showed any sign of attempting to cast a spell.

  Orgurth cut her feet free and hoisted her up. Then he, the Rashemi, and Aoth marched her to the large cave, an amphitheater somewhat like the one outside the Witches’ Hall in Immilmar but with the tiers of seats shaped from stone rather than dug out of the earth, where the rest of the Old Ones awaited them.

  Most of the seats were occupied. The Old Ones had taken casualties during the final stage of the siege, but fewer than Aoth had privately expected. Even if they spent their days kowtowing to the hathrans, the enchanters hadn’t been bragging when they claimed to know how to fight.