The Shrine of Kallen (The Tales of Zanoth Book 3)

by Aaron J. Ethridge

  “Which is another reason to leave them small,” Nyssa asserted. “Then, all you'll need to do is shrink yourself. For one thing, if you were my size – or just a tad bigger – and had a pair of fairy wings sprouting from your back, you'd be pretty enough to paint a picture of.”

  “You get me a painting like that, Nyssa,” Paul laughed, “and I will absolutely hang it in my living room. Once I have a house of my own, obviously.”

  “I can understand that,” she said with a sigh, tilting her head to the side and gazing into Joey's eyes. “It would be beautiful enough to stare at all day.”

  “Would it?” the wizard asked with a knowing smile.

  “Well...” the fairy replied with a blush, “if I didn't have anything else to do that day. Obviously!”

  “Oh, obviously,” Paul chuckled.

  “We need to get some rest!” the fairy said, flying quickly back to her pallet before lying down. “Joey's distracted us enough with his crazy bat wings for one night.”

  “I couldn't agree more,” Alena replied, instantly closing her eyes.

  The rest of the band quickly followed the example of the ogress. Minutes later, the slow and steady breathing of the party members attested to the fact that they were all wrapped peacefully in the arms of sleep.

  Chapter 6: Un-Sacred Ground

  “He's here,” Paul said with a start.

  “Who's here?” Joey asked sleepily.

  “What?” the paladin replied, rubbing his hand across his face.

  “You just said: he's here.”

  “Did I?” Paul asked, rotating his shoulders. “I think I was dreaming. I can't remember what it was about, though.”

  Having said this, he took up his sword belt and climbed to his feet.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To check on the horses,” he replied, wrapping the belt around his waist.

  “They're fine.”

  “I know they are.”

  “Then, why check on them?”

  “It's a reason to stretch my legs,” Paul replied. “I figure it'll help me get sleepy again.”

  “What time is it?”

  “Late,” the paladin replied, glancing around the room. “Or early. Some of the kids are still up.”

  “That doesn't surprise me,” the wizard said. “Living in a cave would have to mess their schedules up. Not to mention how excited they have to be about leaving tomorrow.”

  “You're probably right. Either way, it can't be midnight yet. I'll be right back.”

  “Hold on,” Joey said with stretch before standing up and grabbing his staff. “Since I'm up, I might as well come with you. I need to get sleepy again myself.”

  The pair made their way slowly and silently to the entrance of the Catacombs of Raenlass. Although the night was slightly overcast, a number of bright stars were still visible in the sky above; appearing and disappearing as the clouds passed over them. Several Warriors were sitting around a small fire in the center of the camp, keeping a careful watch on the many mounts under their charge.

  “It seems a little chilly,” Joey observed. “I know fall has to be on its way but, judging by the temperature lately – not to mention the length of the days – it still has to be the Earth equivalent of late August or early September.”

  “Mmm hmm,” Paul replied distractedly, gazing into the darkness that lie beyond the reach of the firelight.

  “I wonder what the months are called here,” Joey continued. “I never thought to ask.”

  “I don't know,” the paladin said, his eyes focused on something the wizard couldn't see. “He's here.”

  “As in him?”

  “Yes,” Paul replied. “I'm sure of it this time. I recognize his face.”

  “Where is he?” Joey asked.

  “Right there,” the paladin pointed.

  “I think I can see him.”

  “You can?” Paul asked incredulously.

  “I think I can. I mean, he just looks like a shadow that's a little darker than the other shadows around, but I think I can make him out. Is he floating by that big rock right there?”

  “He is.”

  “Then, I see him. Should I go wake everyone?”

  “I don't think so,” Paul said, shaking his head. “He can't reach us.”

  “Should we just go back to sleep, then?”

  “I don't think so. I don't know why, but something about him is making me nervous.”

  “You're scared?”

  “Nope. Just uncomfortable. He has to know he can't get to us. So, why is he hanging around?”

  “I see you're point,” Joey nodded. “You sure you don't want me to get Myra?”

  “Not yet. Let's see what he does.”

  For the following few minutes, the wraith seemed content to simply watch the camp as he drifted back and forth above the ground, just outside the reach of the light.

  “What is he up to?” Joey asked, squinting and doing his best to make out the patch of darker darkness.

  “If he were alive,” Paul replied, “I would say he was pacing.”

  “You think he's waiting on something?”

  “I have no idea. But, he's not alone.”

  “He's not?”

  “No,” the paladin said, shaking his head. “Some other wraiths have joined him, along with a group of specters.”

  “So, they're gathering their forces in order to not be able to get in here?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “You're sure we don't need Myra?”

  “I am.”

  Perhaps twenty minutes after this, one of the twin moons began to rise above the horizon.

  “I can definitely see him now,” Joey asserted. “What is he doing?”

  “It looks like he's drawing on the ground?” Paul replied, shaking his head. “Although, I don't see...”

  As the paladin said this, a rune of glowing red light appeared before wraith's outstretched finger. Instantly, a gust of cold wind blew through the camp, fanning the flames of the fire and throwing particles of dust and sand into the air.

  “Alright,” the paladin nodded, “go get Myra.”

  “I'm going to get everyone!”

  “Good idea.”

  While Joey was gone, Paul explained the situation to the Warriors in the camp and ordered them to hold their ground as long as they could, but to fall back if anything unexpected happened. Mere minutes later, the rest of the party emerged from the catacombs; Myra’s eyes glowing with green light.

  “We need to stop him,” she immediately asserted, her gaze directed at the rune writing lich.

  “Done,” Paul replied, tearing Telseir from its scabbard before flying to attack the familiar foe.

  As soon as he stepped beyond the boundaries of the sanctified ground, he was assaulted by a sea of insubstantial undead. Immediately, his allies were at his side; driving back the waves of living darkness surrounding them. Golden flames enveloped one enemy after another as Paul pressed his attack. However, their formless foes were far from defenseless. The soul-freezing attacks of their icy hands lashed out at the heroes time and time again. The former lich did her best to drive the legion they faced back in order to clear a path between them and the runes. However, their foes were far too numerous for this to be an effective strategy.

  As they drew nearer the crowned wraith, he glanced up from his work.

  “Die!” he cried, stretching out his hand and releasing a bolt of dark energy.

  Darek deftly dodged this blast – which narrowly missed Sarrac's head before striking one of the horses which was standing safely upon the sanctified ground. As a result, the beast suffered no ill effects from this attack; although, it did terrify the animal.

  “Back to the camp!” Myra cried, suiting her words to her actions and striking down any undead who blocked her path with her own dark power.

  As they retreated, the wraith sent several more bolts of death behind them. Each of these, however, was blocked by the body of the pal
adin. By the time they again regained the safety of the holy ground, most of them had suffered some injury or another at the ethereal hands of the diaphanous horde they faced.

  “You should have woken me immediately!” Myra asserted as soon as they were momentarily safe.

  “Yes!” Alena agreed loudly, “they should have!”

  “Why didn't you turn?!” Darek cried.

  “I've only got one or two in me! I'm saving them!”

  “For what?!”

  “I got this,” Joey said confidently – and angrily.

  A specter had grabbed him by the face during the retreat; filling his skull with agony and his soul with rage. He began reading quickly from the book in his hand with his staff lowered toward the leader of their foes. A massive ball of fire formed before him that immediately began rolling in the direction of the quickly forming circle of runes the wraith was drawing.

  “It's still wrong,” he pointed out, “but, I got the feeling it'll work.”

  “Oh, it will,” Nyssa said with a wide smile – taking control of the ball and guiding it precisely where she wanted it to go.

  While this fiery attack was on its way, Myra focused her entire will on dominating the mind of one of the specters nearest the crowned wraith. She commanded the creature to attack. At last, its will collapsed. Just before the ball of flames struck, it grabbed the throat of the wraith in its incorporeal grasp. Instantly, the wraith backhanded its attacker into the oncoming flames before moving quickly out of its path. The rolling ball of destruction passed over the runes; leaving them completely unscathed.

  “It's weird that they can touch each other,” Joey observed, shaking his head.

  “Well, they can,” Myra said, doing her best to take control of a more powerful undead.

  “That's got to be around a hundred feet,” Darek said, drawing one of the magical daggers – which the vault had given him just weeks before – from its sheath. “Nothing beats a trial but a failure.”

  He then threw the weapon at the wraith who had resumed its work on the runes. It missed him by mere inches. Darek drew another; took more careful aim, and threw again. This time, the magical blade ripped into the creature's outstretched arm. With a cry of pain, the monster sent a bolt of dark power hurtling toward his knife-throwing enemy. Again, Darek dodged the attack. It struck Joey in the chest without causing him any harm since he was protected by the power of the sanctified ground.

  The ball of fire once again missed its mark just as the circle of runes was completed. Immediately, a fearsome wind ripped through the surrounding area; nearly extinguishing the fire in the center of the camp. Sand and small rocks flew through the air, as clouds completely blotted out the light of moon and stars alike. A ring of red light erupted from the circle as an unfamiliar form began rising from its center.

  At first, the monstrosity seemed to be nothing more than a whirlwind of light-colored dust. Within seconds, however, these miniscule particles began to draw themselves together into a recognizable shape. The creature appeared to be a skeleton that was attired in what Paul felt were almost ‘priestly’ garments. These monochromatic robes appeared to be tied around the waist by a belt covered in glowing red runes that the paladin didn't recognize. From this hung a long, slender scimitar. Around its neck was what looked like a thick chain, from which hung a symbol the young man had never seen before – although, something about it caused his heart to pound within his chest.

  “That,” Myra said with a nod, “is a varrool.”

  “No kidding,” Joey replied, shaking his head. “Sarrac, you jinxed us, man.”

  “How did I do that, exactly?” the ogre asked.

  “You said that wraith might have one of those things working for him.”

  “It seems I was right,” Sarrac nodded. “That doesn't mean I jinxed us.”

  “Yes, it does,” the wizard disagreed.

  The moment its form was complete, the creature stepped from the circle and began making its way toward the sanctified ground on which the party stood. A cloud of dust seemed to surround it; constantly emanating from and returning to the abomination's body. As it drew near the holy ground, it lifted the symbol hanging from its neck in its seemingly-skeletal hand. Its throat-less voice rose above the din; chanting out a prayer to the gods of darkness.

  “What is it saying?” Darek asked, drawing yet another dagger.

  “Are you deaf?” Joey replied, “It's asking for the power to corrupt this ground, slaughter us all, and feed on our fear and suffering!”

  “Is it?” Sarrac asked.

  “Can't you hear it?” Paul yelled above the wind.

  “It's speaking infernal,” Myra explained. “It's the language of the hells. I can't understand it, but I recognize it.”

  “Be glad you don't know it,” Joey said. “The details it's going into aren't very pleasant.”

  “Let's see how pleasant it finds this,” Darek said, throwing a dagger at the creature.

  The weapon was well aimed and flew directly through the creature's head. Unfortunately, the dust that made up the monster's body simply dispersed; allowing the blade to pass through it without doing it any apparent damage.

  Nyssa decided to take matters into her own tiny hands and attempted to engulf the varrool in her magical fire. As jets of flame leapt from her outstretched fingers, the crowned wraith – who had taken up a position at the side of its servant – threw out its own hands. Blue fire poured from its palms; countering the valiant fairy’s assault.

  Myra did her best to dominate the mind of the chanting undead; but its will was strong. Its determination was also being bolstered by that of its master. Dark power began to flow from the symbol around its neck as it chanted; encountering and opposing the golden light that had suddenly begun to rise from the sanctified ground. The former lich altered her tactics and blasted the undead priest with a bolt of black energy. Nothing happened.

  “I didn't really expect that to work,” she said, shaking her head. “I'm not strong enough to kill him.”

  “That raises a question,” Joey replied with a thoughtful expression on his face.

  “Ask it later!” Paul demanded, before charging once again at his opponents.

  This assault took the undead somewhat off guard. The varrool and crowned wraith had come within feet of the holy ground; each focused on their own task. The wraith had his glowing red eyes locked on the fluttering fairy and the priest was concentrating on corrupting what had been hallowed. As a result, the paladin managed to attack them while they were unprepared. The wraith fell back before the flashing blade of Telseir; quickly drawing his own weapon. This created an opening Nyssa immediately jumped on. She lashed out at the chanting undead once again with magical flames. The creature seemed to crumble before this attack and dissipated into countless floating particles.

  The fairy cried out in triumph as the paladin fell back toward the sanctified ground; blocking the blows of the outraged wraith while the rest of his companions did their best to keep him from being surrounded by a legion of other undead. In mere moments, the entire band was once again safely beyond the reach of their incorporeal enemies.

  Their feeling of victory was short lived, however. The body of the varrool reformed near another edge of the camp, where the monster immediately resumed its chanting.

  “Alright,” Paul said, locking his jaws and nodding his head. “Enough playing around. They obviously want it, so they're going to get it.”

  As he said this, he slipped his sword into its sheath, and lifted the holy symbol from his chest.

  “That's what I'm talking about!” Darek cried with a wide smile. “Give it to 'em good!”

  “I intend to!”

  Paul marched toward the varrool, taking up a position directly in front of him, mere inches from the edge of the camp. He held out his symbol, focused on his desire to destroy this abomination, and turned.

  “Drop dead!” the paladin cried.

  “Sanctuary!” the dark priest s
creamed at almost the same instant.

  A wave of golden light erupted from the holy ground; burning numberless wraiths, specters, and shades to glittering dust and driving countless more into the safety of the night. At the same instant, however, the varrool was wrapped in bands of dark energy which shielded it from the power of the gods of the living. Immediately, it resumed its wicked prayers.

  “Get into the catacombs!” Paul ordered the Warriors who had stood guard over the camp. Drawing his sword, he renewed his attack against the varrool.

  Although a vast majority of the undead who had been near the creature just moments before had been turned, the crowned wraith was still at its side. Just before the paladin's blade ripped into the undead priest, the dark sword of the wraith deflected the blow. The two combatants fell together; each of their weapons seeking the heart of their foe.

  As the paladin's allies rushed to his aid, so did those of his foe. The heroes struggled to reach – and stop – the varrool. These efforts proved too late, however. A crack of thunder ripped through the night sky as black energy tore through the golden light surrounding the camp with the sound of an explosion. The sacred ground was sanctified no more.

  Immediately, the horses scattered into the night; fleeing from the sea of undead flooding into the camp and indiscriminately attacking man and beast alike. Paul called on his companions to join him in a strategic withdrawal. As they fought to make their way toward the entrance of the catacombs, an army of undead rushed between them and their place of refuge. Myra focused herself, driving the dead away from the band with waves of dark energy. Paul took the lead, cutting down one after another; each wrapped in golden fire as they passed from one realm of existence to another.

  All of the companions managed to reach the haven alive. That is not to say, however, that they were unscathed. The icy attacks of the ethereal undead had chilled the very souls within them. The moment they were safe, Paul and Nyssa turned their attention to healing their companions and each other.

  “I've got to sit down for a minute,” Paul said, sliding down along the wall as he spoke. “I feel like I'm about to puke.”

  “I'm close to that,” Nyssa nodded before fluttering over to take a seat beside him.