by Tyson, Mark
Kerad’s display brought more cursed townspeople from a side room, and Dorenn recoiled as he noticed two toddler size creatures coming from behind one of the stone benches. They wore plain brown robes and seemed much less decayed than the others. “Children too!” Dorenn gasped.
“The curse was on the whole of the village, not just the men,” Kerad said. “I expect we shall find cursed women as well.”
One of the peasants began to plead. “Please, take our heads. The torment is unbearable. I do not wish you to join our curse.”
“Aye, release us from our torment and I shall tell you of riches. There are treasures, arcane swords and armor forged by skilled craftsmen in the village armory,” a decayed skeleton wearing a leather blacksmith apron said.
As soon as the creatures got close enough, they began to swipe and claw. Dorenn cleaved the head from the creature he had struck earlier, and it collapsed into a heap on the floor.
The creatures surrounded the party, and Dorenn saw Rennon skillfully utilize his daggers. Enowene attacked the children first, which surprised Dorenn until he realized she was trying to help them rather than hurt them. Gondrial wielded his sword surprisingly well, and Sylvalora seemed to watch the others fight while none of the villagers attempted to attack her at all. Lady Shey held onto the tome with the travel spell and followed closely behind Seancey.
“We need to get out of this village and this forest as soon as possible,” Seancey said. “The Enforcers who followed us are surely dead as we will be if we linger here much longer.”
“Agreed,” Gondrial said. “We will be completely surrounded soon if we stay in this temple.”
Gondrial paused as if Kerad would say something but he did not. “Kerad, what say you? What is your plan to get us out of here?” Gondrial struck the last remaining cursed inhabitant in the temple and stopped to await Kerad’s answer.
“Aye, Gondrial, we should leave now,” Kerad said after a moment. “We should go back the way we came.”
Dorenn noticed the cleric had his eyes fixed on the altar as if in thought. He motioned to Gondrial to stand next to him. “What do you make of this?” He pointed to something Dorenn could not see. Gondrial approached the altar carefully. Dorenn followed him curiously. On the altar lay a thick bound book and a long golden rod with what appeared to be a key on the end. The rod and tome had thick dust covering them. Carefully, Gondrial picked up the tome, trying not to disturb the rod. Rennon stood behind him and curiously reached for the rod.
“No,” Gondrial scolded. “Have you no sense? You never pick up a strange golden rod off an altar in a ruin. It is almost certainly trapped, or it would have been taken by someone long ago.”
“Sorry, Gondrial, I didn’t know.”
“Just keep your hands free of anything that appears valuable,” he paused, “and that goes for the rest of you as well.”
Gondrial read the tome for a moment or two and then unceremoniously picked up the rod. Gondrial read a few more sentences before he noticed the shocked faces of Rennon and Dorenn. “Well, this time it wasn’t,” he paused, “but normally I say it would be trapped, trust me.” He walked past the altar and placed the key end into an orifice in a statue of Loracia. The statue began to move aside as dust fell from it. Air rushed into the temple, blowing around more dust. Rennon sneezed.
“The tome is written in old elvish and is somewhat difficult to read, but I gather this passageway leads to the underground armory and a tunnel out of the city. Apparently it was believed that no one would steal from an armory guarded by the church,” Gondrial explained.
“Convenient,” Enowene said.
“Aye, too convenient. It’s a trap for certain,” Gondrial said.
Vesperin clutched his head. “Wait, and do not enter the armory.”
“What is it, Vesperin?” Rennon asked, placing his hand on Vesperin’s shoulder.
“I feel…I feel something is wrong; there is something cursed and vile down those stairs.”
“Different than the cursed we have already fought?” Seancey asked.
“Aye,” Kerad said. “I feel it as well; this cursed is different, much more powerful.”
A tormented moaning rose up from the dark stairway behind the statue, a terrible, longing sound that chilled Dorenn to the bone. “What is it?”
“Something dreadful,” said Vesperin in a whisper.
The moaning became louder, and Dorenn grew more uncomfortable as it did. “What must we do?” Dorenn asked anxiously.
Gondrial held his sword at waist length, and Seancey positioned himself for battle.
Kerad sighed. “I fear conventional means will be of little use. Everyone step back and get behind the nearest pew.” Kerad fumbled with one of the rings on his left hand anxiously.
“Shouldn’t we run or something?” Gondrial asked.
“Too late for that,” Kerad said. “It approaches.”
The same putrid green fog began to roll up ominously from the depths of the stairs. A stench stronger than before filled the room. Kerad stepped back one step as the otherworldly light of the creature fell in on the edge of the statue. “Whatever happens, do not run, for to do so would be folly. I know this creature; if you run, it will have you.”
From behind one of the pews, Dorenn watched in horror as a white, ethereal creature began to appear on the steps beyond the statue. Tatrice squeezed his arm, and he could hear her whimper as it rose to the doorway. The creature had no flesh left on its face, and it wore white robes that were torn and flowed behind it without being blown by any natural wind. In its hand it held a black sword with a black mist flowing off the blade as if it were a smoldering stick fresh from the fire.
“A Spectre,” Kerad exclaimed. “Stay hidden. If it catches sight of you it will put a fear in you that you won’t soon forget.” He heaved a readied breath. “I think I can hold off the fright, but should I fail, run and don’t look back.” Kerad held his hands up cupped in a praying depiction and cast the same spell he had used against the townspeople, but it seemed to have little or no effect on the Spectre. Only mildly stunned by Kerad, the creature struck back, but by some miracle, it missed as Kerad dove to one side. The foul blade merely graced a loose portion of Kerad’s robe, and it decayed and disintegrated in a large patch.
Dorenn noticed Vesperin seemed to be in a great deal of pain to his left. Clutching his head, Vesperin recoiled from the Spectre in fear.
He had to do something. Dorenn stood and threw his sword, in a panicked fear, at the creature. The sword passed through it as if it were merely air. The vile thing turned and focused on Dorenn; it moved silently toward him, and unrelenting fear welled up in Dorenn’s soul.
Kerad recovered from his fall and cast a prayer again on the Spectre, and this time it screamed a deafening, unnatural scream but did not seem to be damaged in any outward or recognizable way. It swung its black sword blindly at the old cleric, only to slice air and nothing more. “We cannot win this fight!” Kerad shouted. “Another option is needed.”
Vesperin stood straight up behind the pew he shared with Gondrial and Lady Shey. Gondrial tried to stop the young cleric as he moved into the aisle, but his fingers slipped through Vesperin’s cloth robe. “What are you doing, fool cleric? If Kerad cannot fell this Spectre, you can’t.” Vesperin ignored Gondrial and moved out into the aisle anyway.
The Spectre had pinned Kerad to a pew and held its black blade high to strike Kerad down. The air was still and the moment hung suspended in time. Dorenn was sure Kerad was doomed until a melodic, feminine voice came from Vesperin’s mouth. “Do not fear the light, foul Spectre, it is time to feel its warmth once more.” The creature turned its head to Vesperin, and its skull-lined face contorted in shock. Vesperin held his hands high and together as if in prayer, and a golden light came from within and surrounded him. The Spectre moved away as quickly as it could, but the golden light left Vesperin and followed it at an incredible speed. Dorenn watched as Vesperin prayed and Kerad dropped to h
is knees and bowed to the floor. The Spectre screamed as the light engulfed it. In an instant, the silhouette of the Spectre burned away, its blade falling to the floor with a clang. A man stood in its place, wearing the white and yellow robes of a follower of Loracia. Vesperin put his hand on the man’s shoulder. “You will rebuild Signal Hill and free its people. The time has come.” Then he collapsed onto the floor. Tatrice and Dorenn helped Vesperin back to his feet. “I am okay,” Vesperin said.
The man in the robes of Loracia reached down and helped Kerad to his feet. “Who are you? How have you freed me of the curse?”
“Who are we? Who are you?” Gondrial asked.
“I am called Esperdahl, and I am the keeper of the armory and high priest of this temple.” He looked around at the ruins in puzzlement. “Although, my temple has seen better days.”
Kerad slowly raised his head to stare at Vesperin. “Did you not see her? It was Loracia come down from Mount Venifyre! I know now how Vesperin survived his ordeal with the Dramyds. I had nothing to do with it. The visage within Vesperin was that of Loracia herself.” Kerad put his hands on Vesperin. “You are visited by our god. Young cleric, you are the chosen vessel of Loracia.”
“Me?” Vesperin said, putting his hand to his chest. “Are you certain?”
“I saw her with my own eyes.”
Esperdahl bowed to Vesperin. “Praise to Loracia.”
Vesperin stood stunned.
A noise from the stairs behind the statue set Seancey back into attack stance. “Another comes up from below.”
“Another Spectre?” Tatrice said, grabbing a hold of Dorenn’s arm.
“Oh no!” the voice from below said. “I am not a Spectre.”
Esperdahl moved toward the statue. “I remember now. I held a thief prisoner within the armory.”
Enowene produced a crystal, which she affixed to her staff. The crystal shone brighter than any torch they carried.
“Why didn’t you bring that out earlier?” Gondrial asked.
“I forgot I had it with me,” she replied.
Gondrial rolled his eyes. “You, forget! That is not likely.”
Enowene smiled mischievously at him.
The glowing stone brightened the room as the thief appeared at the top of the stairwell. He was well dressed in green cloth pants and tunic, and he wore a light greenish cloak. His face was pleasant, and he smiled widely with excited admiration. He appeared to be elven despite the fact that he was a head and a half shorter than Dorenn. “Welcome to Signal Hill,” he said.
“Kyrie!” Lady Shey said. “What are you doing down there?”
Kyrie ignored Lady Shey.
“Don’t you know who I am?”
Kyrie squinted and looked at Lady Shey intently for a moment. His face suddenly brightened in recognition. “Sheyna? Sheyna Namear, is that you all grown up?”
“It is, Kyrie, although I prefer to be called Shey or Lady Shey. I have left the name Sheyna behind.”
Kyrie nodded while bowing. “As you wish.”
“You do not appear to be cursed,” Tatrice said.
“Oh, I was not cursed with death as the others of this village. I was cursed with life.” He lowered his head. “I was in the armory when the city fell.”
“And I kept him there,” Esperdahl said.
Kerad cocked an eyebrow. “How is it that you escaped the curse of the city, and how did you survive all this time?”
“I am not entirely sure. I suspect the armory itself protected me. I ate whatever I could find, and I conjured the rest.” Kyrie sighed and sat down on one of the pews. “As best as I can figure, time has abandoned me in this place. What will you do with me now that your curse has been lifted, Esperdahl?”
“You will refer to me as your grace, thief.”
“Forgive me, your grace,” he said bowing.
“I will charge you with assisting me as your penance for your crimes.”
“What, being trapped here was not penance enough?”
“There is much to be done.”
“Wait a moment,” Gondrial said. “All this makes no sense to me. Signal Hill was cursed because it is…well…was a village of weapon smiths and armorers, and the wielders were losing the War of the Oracle, right?”
“Aye, that is the story I know,” Seancey answered.
“That war ended a thousand seasons ago. Where are your loyalties now, uh, your grace?”
“Where they have always been, my son, with the will of Loracia. I will free the peoples of Signal Hill, and we will once again prepare for war. As I understand it, a new war is coming.”
“That is where I have a problem. How do you know a new war looms on the horizon? You have been a ghost for a thousand seasons. Do you see my dilemma?”
“I only follow that which Loracia commands, and she commands me to rebuild Signal Hill. The war I knew is long over, but we are needed once more.”
“But I…”
“Let it be, Gondrial,” Kerad said. “He is a high priest, and as such he does have the power to know Loracia’s will and do her bidding. It is our way.”
“Are you saying that Loracia has filled him in on the particulars somehow?” Gondrial asked.
Vesperin stepped up. “I know it is not something you will accept freely, but you must.”
Gondrial nodded reluctantly.
“The last I saw you, Kyrie, you worked for Toborne. And worst of all, you stole from me,” Lady Shey said.
Kyrie looked hurt. “Aye, but it was Toborne who trapped me. He hired me to sneak in this village during the War of the Oracle and steal away their weapons just before the curse. I am a Kylerie elf, curses do not taint my people easily, but I could not leave. The Spectre trapped me down here, not allowing me to pass. I could not defeat it, but as long as I stayed in the armory it did not bother me. I tried twice to leave and both times it attacked me.”
“Likely story, Kyrie. I do not believe you,” Lady Shey said.
“Sheyna, I do not lie to you. Remember long ago, I never lied. I am not too fond of Toborne either.”
“Very well, Kyrie, I will leave you be, but I have my eye on you,” Lady Shey said.
Esperdahl bowed to Kerad and Vesperin. “I have been guarding this armory for one thousand seasons because it contains weapons and armor from the forgotten times. I think it is time for the armory to give up its secrets. Follow me down below and I will do Loracia’s will.”
Gondrial drew his sword and nodded to Seancey for him to do the same.
“There is no need for your caution,” Esperdahl said.
“Right,” Gondrial said nodding. Esperdahl shook his head and led the way to the stairway.
The stairway, made of carved stone, spiraled slightly downward to the left and entered into a large room at least as large as the temple above. Lining the walls were racks filled with armor and weaponry. Dorenn could see the area where Kyrie must have lived. It was in a corner of the massive room and contained a fire pit, a makeshift bed, and several odd knickknacks. Esperdahl led the party to a particular rack of rusty armor, and Dorenn frowned as Kyrie pulled one of the sets down. The decaying breastplate was not of high quality, but since Dorenn had no armor, he decided to say nothing.
“Here you go, friend,” Kyrie said as he handed the rusty armor to Rennon.
“Thank you,” Rennon said, looking at the armor as if it were about to crumble in his hands.
“What? No, no,” Kyrie laughed. “Get rid of that old rust bucket. Set it aside,” he said as Esperdahl pressed on the rack. It toppled into the wall behind, revealing an opening.
“I managed to conceal this doorway not long before the curse.” He pressed the doorway open and entered. The sconces on the walls lit up immediately, alerting Dorenn that Esperdahl was indeed more than he seemed.
Inside the room was a treasury of armor and weaponry. The racks and the room were small, making the treasure seem larger than it was. Esperdahl picked up a broadsword and handed it to Seancey “This is Elvan
der, a most powerful sword. I present it to you.” He also gathered up a suit of combination chain mail and plate armor. “This is the companion armor to the sword. It is the pride of the elven kings of old. It is said no arrow, spear, nor any weapon of piercing can penetrate it.” Seancey set aside the sword and took the armor, holding it as if it were a poisonous viper. “Take it, Ranger of the Vale, it has no curse upon it. Surely you can see it was crafted by the skill of the elves of old?”
Seancey feigned a grin and nodded.
Esperdahl opened an overly large chest and pulled out something wrapped in cloth. He handed it to Dorenn. “Here you go, something fit for a wielder.”
“I am not a wielder,” Dorenn protested.
“Oh, aren’t you? I sense it all about you.” He paused. “Here, this is Dranmalin, forged by the elves with the help of the dragons. It is light and deadly to creatures of shadow. Its name translates to dragon’s hammer in the tongue of the drakes of Draegodor.”
At first, Dorenn was reluctant to take the sword, but it called to him. It was familiar to him somehow. He took the sword and it felt natural to his touch, like it had belonged to him all along. He studied it intently for a moment and then realized why it seemed familiar. It was the sword from his reoccurring dream!
“Curious sensation, is it not?” Esperdahl commented. “That sword chooses its master and binds itself to him. If you handed the sword back to me now I would not be able to hold it, nor anyone for that matter.”
“What did you call it again?” Dorenn asked.
“Dranmalin.”
Dorenn felt a chill run up his spine. It was the sword from his dream of the girl falling through the trees.
Esperdahl removed a set of silver and white armor from another rack and gave it to Rennon. “This is the armor of Adjent Amar. It will not interfere with the magic you wield, and it has no helm to obstruct you. It is truly the armor of a mindwielder.”
“What did you call me?” Rennon asked in horror at being called a wielder in front of the party.
“Mindwielder.” Esperdahl dismissed Rennon’s protest with the wave of his thin hand. “It is of no matter, friend, I meant no offense. Please accept the armor in good faith.” Rennon took the armor, already developing a dislike for the high priest.
