by James Wyatt
They retreated a few more paces down the hall, then Uldane swore under his breath.
“That doesn’t sound good,” Shara said.
“Well, there’s one good thing. I found a door.”
“And how many bad things?”
“I only see two right now, but they’re at the edge of the light. There’s probably more behind them.”
“More demons?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“That wasn’t part of the plan,” Shara reminded him.
“I guess it’s time for a new plan.”
Shara risked a glance over her shoulder and spotted the door Uldane had mentioned. It was a heavy wooden door bound with iron, but that was no guarantee of its strength. After uncounted years buried beneath the Witchlight Fens, the wood might be all but rotted through. Shara decided it didn’t matter.
“Run for the door,” Shara said, driving back a beast that lunged at her injured leg. “We have to get there before those demons.”
Uldane took off down the hall. As soon as he was clear, Shara took a few quick steps backward, then turned and followed him at top speed. Her injured leg sent jolts of pain through her with every step, and for a moment she was afraid it would give out beneath her. She heard the demons snarling and scrabbling on the stone floor behind her. Ahead, Uldane was racing toward the door as the other group of demons stalked forward. Fortunately, those demons saw no reason to rush forward when their prey was apparently running right into their waiting jaws.
Uldane reached the door, pushed it open, and looked inside, then planted himself in the doorway. His eyes widened as he looked back at Shara, and before he could shout a warning Shara dived into a roll. A demon sailed over her, jerking in midair as Uldane’s dagger bit into it. Shara somersaulted to her feet and sliced the demon half open before it hit the ground. She vaulted over its corpse, then she was in the doorway with Uldane.
“Thanks,” she said, panting.
“Uh …”
“Check out this door,” Shara said. “I’ll hold them back.”
The halfling stepped back as the first wave of demons crashed upon her. She lost herself in the rhythm of slaughter, no longer feeling any pain, though her sword seemed to grow heavier with each swing. The demons that had been at the other end of the hall reached the doorway as well, and Shara was pleased to see some of them batting claws at demons from the other group, as if competing for this choice prey.
“It’s strong,” Uldane said. “There’s a bar on this side, and a heavy table and some other things we can pile against it.”
“Is there any other way out?”
Uldane paused, swallowed hard, and said, “No.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Shara said. “It’s all we have. Get ready to close it.”
She hacked around at the arc of demons in front of her, causing just enough pain and confusion to buy the space she needed. Then she stepped back and leaped to the side, and Uldane pushed the door closed with a solid slam. She heard claws scrabble against the wood as she helped Uldane maneuver the bar into place, but the door held.
She rested the point of her sword on the floor and allowed herself a deep breath as she looked around the little room. It had evidently once been an office or study, with a large work table and a couple of low bookshelves, now empty. A tapestry hung on the wall, so discolored with mildew and stains that she couldn’t tell what it depicted. Uldane was making a circuit of the room, checking the walls for any secret doors and gingerly lifting the tapestry to make sure it didn’t hide another door.
A heavy body slammed against the door, and it buckled slightly. With a glance at Uldane, Shara went to the table and started shoving it toward the door. It was heavy, and she was more tired than she’d been willing to admit, but with Uldane’s help she managed to tip it across the doorway, and the next time a demon slammed into the door the table kept it from buckling at all.
“I need to rest,” Shara said. Without waiting for a response from Uldane, she slid her sword into the sheath on her back and slumped to the floor. She shrugged out of her backpack and rummaged inside until she found a roll of bandages, then she gingerly removed the armor that covered her injured leg.
“We need a new plan,” Uldane said. He started shoving against one of the low bookcases, inching it toward the door.
“Saving Quarhaun seems to be off the table.” She frowned. The thought stung more than she thought it should.
“It does seem a little less urgent than saving ourselves.” Uldane scowled at the bookcase, which was about as tall as he was. “I think I’ll wait until you can help me with this.”
Shara cleaned the blood away from the wounds on her knee and lower leg and examined them carefully. There was an angry redness to her skin around each cut that caused her some concern. She remembered Vestapalk commanding his demonic minions to go forth and spread the abyssal plague, and she washed the wounds again, wincing in pain as she scrubbed at the torn flesh. But for all the wounds hurt, they weren’t going to kill or cripple her.
So I’ll be able to stand when the demons finally get through the door, she thought.
She looked around the little room again. “I don’t want to die here,” she said. “I’m not ready.”
“Shara-”
“Not while that damned dragon is still alive. If I don’t kill him, who’s going to? How many more people is he going to kill?”
A look of terrible pain contorted Uldane’s face, but it passed quickly, as it always did. The halfling seemed immune to grief, sadness, and anger-no negative emotion could hold him for long. “You know,” he said, sitting down next to Shara, “I keep thinking about that day. The fight with the dragon was horrible. But the part I like to remember is the time just before the fight. When we knew we were getting close. I remember you teasing Jarren, making light of the danger. I remember the way he looked at you, the love in his eyes. Borojon chided you two for dawdling on the path, and scolded Cliffside for making so much noise.”
Tears ran down Shara’s face. She had thought of that day countless times, but all she could remember was the horror; the dragon’s jaws clamped on her father’s shoulder; the sickening sound as the dragon literally tore Cliffside apart; the sight of Jarren, her love, looking over the cliff as she and Uldane fell toward the river; the dragon looming over Jarren’s shoulder. Vestapalk might as well have torn out her heart that day, and the only joy she’d felt since had been when she thought the dragon was dead.
But Vestapalk wasn’t dead. And the thought that a swarm of demons might prevent her from killing him was more than she could bear.
“I guess what I’m saying,” Uldane said, “is that maybe you’d feel better if you try to think about the good times that you and Jarren spent together, instead of dwelling so much on the pain of having lost him.”
Shara wiped her eyes. “It’s been so long, Uldane. Sometimes I can barely remember the good times-as though my pain is all I have left of him.”
“Don’t do that, Shara. He was a good man, a good friend. He deserves better memories.”
Shara wrapped a bandage around her knee in silence, trying to dredge up happier thoughts of Jarren.
“I remember the first time I snuck his lucky coin from his pouch,” Uldane said. “He got so mad he could hardly speak, and his face was so red I couldn’t help but laugh!”
Shara smiled. “He got used to it soon enough.”
“I made sure he did.” Uldane’s laughter bubbled out again, high and infectious.
A renewed scrabbling at the door wiped the smiles from their faces. “Let’s get that bookcase to the door now,” Shara said.
The scratching sounds continued this time, as if the demons were determined to dig through, or under, the door. With Uldane’s help, Shara got one of the bookcases-made from hard, heavy wood-in place behind the table, strengthening their barricade. As they started toward the next bookcase, though, the sounds on the other side of the door changed. Yowls of fury or pain started up
, then the scratching at the door stopped. The howling grew louder, and Shara heard the ring of steel and a blast of fire.
“Perhaps we’re not going to die here after all,” she said.
“Is it Quarhaun?” Uldane asked brightly.
“I don’t know.” She went to the door and pulled at the bookcase they’d just put in place. “But someone’s fighting out there, and now that I’ve caught my breath I think I’d like to be a part of that.”
“You never put the armor back on your leg.”
“It’s full of tooth holes anyway.” She dragged the table a few feet back, walked around it, and pressed her ear to the door.
A fight was definitely going on. She heard weapons thudding into flesh, the snarls and howls of the demons, and what might have been speech in a language she didn’t understand, full of sibilant sounds and low rumbling vowels. More sounds of erupting fire and a crack of lightning suggested that at least one spellcaster was present at well. “It might be Quarhaun,” she said, half to herself, and she lifted the bar from the door and opened it just enough to peek out.
Quarhaun was there, his black eldritch blade crackling with lightning in his hand. His newfound allies were lizardfolk-tall and burly warriors with reptilian heads and long tails, wielding mostly clubs and maces of bone and stone. Angry orange crests adorned the tops of their heads, and their bodies were covered with fine green scales.
“Shara!” the drow warlock called.
Something like joy surged through her as she flung open the door and waded back into battle.
CHAPTER SIX
Roghar scratched his head. “So whatever we’re dealing with is preying on gnolls as well as humans,” he said.
“Well, it makes sense, in a way,” Travic said.
“How so?”
“I mean, the idea that gnolls had dragged Gaele and Marcan away without leaving signs of a struggle was unlikely. I was trying to come up with a theory that fit, and it becomes easier if we abandon the idea that gnolls were the captors.”
“Perhaps there’s some kind of mind control at work,” Roghar said. “Someone enchanting them, luring them away.”
“That opens a whole world of unpleasant possibilities. The best is that it’s some rogue enchanter, more or less a common criminal with magic at his disposal.”
“While the worst is … a lot worse.”
Travic nodded. “A vampire or succubus, maybe even a mind flayer.”
Roghar glanced at Tempest, who had turned away to look out at the ruins again. “Or some kind of possessor,” he whispered to Travic.
The priest’s eyes widened and shot to Tempest as well. Roghar had told him about Tempest’s experience with the possessor demon, and warned him that it was a painful memory for her. “Should we turn back?” Travic said, keeping his voice low. “I can find other help-”
Roghar shook his head. “It’ll be all right.”
“What will?” Tempest asked, turning back to face them. “What are you two whispering about?”
Roghar stammered, trying to find a plausible and gentle lie. While he struggled, Travic stepped forward and put a hand on Tempest’s shoulder.
“I’m just concerned for you,” the priest said. “I don’t want to put you into a situation that’s going to bring up too many difficult memories.”
Roghar rolled his eyes. Honesty was always Travic’s preferred approach, even if it was insensitive or vaguely insulting. But he was a kind man in general, which usually allowed him to speak the truth without hurting feelings.
“You think Nu Alin is involved in this? Here?”
“We have no idea,” Roghar said. “We were just discussing the possibilities. The demon that possessed you, or something like it, is at the outer edge of those possibilities.”
“It’s far more likely an enchanter, maybe a vampire,” Travic added.
“A comforting thought,” Tempest said, the hint of a smile touching her lips. “You know you’ve found success as an adventurer when a vampire is one of your better possibilities.”
Roghar guffawed as a sense of relief washed through him. Such glimpses of Tempest’s wry humor were rare since her possession, and he missed them terribly.
Travic looked toward the morning sun. “Well, if a vampire is what we’re after, we’ve chosen the right time of day,” he said. “Shall we explore farther into the ruins?”
Tempest nodded, still almost smiling, and Roghar’s heart felt light as he lifted his sword to rest on his shoulder and stepped onto the crumbling street that led deeper into the ruins of Nera.
The road that Roghar had chosen more or less at random led quickly to the lip of a crater, one of a few places in the ruined city where the earth had opened up and swallowed the streets and buildings. The largest such crater marked the site of the imperial palace, but several smaller ones were arrayed around it. He sighed and chose a different path that would take him around that obstacle, but Tempest put a hand on his arm to stop him.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Look.” Tempest pointed into the crater.
The depression was a couple dozen yards across, the sides worn almost smooth by a century of rain. Larger chunks of rubble littered the bottom, including recognizable pieces from some of the buildings that lined the edges, as though the crater were slowly expanding and drawing more of the ruins down to its heart. Roghar followed Tempest’s pointing finger and saw what looked like the mouth of a tunnel in the crater’s wall, about halfway down the side opposite where he stood.
“The gods have led us true,” Travic said.
Roghar nodded. The tunnel mouth was clearly in use. Even from his position, he could see a rough path leading up the side of the crater from the tunnel mouth, and the pattern of debris beneath the tunnel suggested that rubble had been cleared out from the interior to make a clear route-presumably leading to some secret lair.
“I never met a tunnel mouth I didn’t like,” Roghar said. “Adventure awaits!”
He started circling around the edge of the crater toward the path, and Tempest hurried after him.
“Roghar, wait!” Travic called.
“What’s the matter?”
Travic frowned, staring down into the crater. “I’m not sure,” he said. “I have a strange feeling about this place.”
“You said it yourself. The gods led us here. You’re not getting cold feet now, are you?”
“Of course not. I just think we should approach with caution.”
“Live while you can, my friend!” Roghar said, starting toward the path again. “No telling how long you have left.”
“I’d prefer to prolong those days by exercising the caution and discretion I’ve been given,” Travic muttered, quickening his steps to catch up.
Roghar laughed, but he stopped abruptly when the bowl of the crater sent the sound echoing back to him, louder and harsher. He frowned at the echo and started down the path. His armored feet crunched in the gravel, sending a trickle of pebbles off the side of the path and down into the crater. The crater seemed to magnify every sound.
He made his way along the path, cringing at every sound the crater echoed back to him. As the path took him lower and the earth took him in, the echoes surrounded him-his own footfalls and those of his companions, every crunch of gravel and rustle of cascading debris. He started hearing whispers in the echoes, words he couldn’t understand, although they felt threatening. He stopped and turned to look at Travic and Tempest, and found them glancing around as he was to find the source of the whispers.
“Now I see what you mean about that strange feeling, Travic,” Roghar rumbled. The sound that came back to his ears was like rolling thunder.
Travic and Tempest both nodded, unwilling to speak. Roghar swallowed his fear and continued down the path, treading as lightly as he could manage.
Tempest’s scream echoed into a shrieking assault on his ears. He tried to turn to see what was wrong but found the world spinning around him, and he lurched sideways, nea
rly hurling himself off the path. He crouched and put one knee down to steady himself, and managed to look over his shoulder without falling over.
Travic was sprawled on the ground, his back to the crater wall. He clutched one of Tempest’s hands in both of his own, struggling to pull her back up over the rough edge of the path.
Roghar turned himself and dove for Tempest’s other hand, which was scrabbling for purchase at the edge. Flat on his belly, he caught hold of her, then braced himself as she started pulling herself up. In the space of a few pounding heartbeats she was back on the path, leaning against the crater wall, terror showing in her wide eyes.
“What happened?” Roghar asked. The flurry of echoes made him wince, and Travic’s face grew a shade paler.
“I slipped,” Tempest whispered. Her eyes met his, and he saw the same fear he often saw when he rushed to her bedside in the middle of the night. He furrowed his brow in concern, but she gave the slightest shake of her head before turning to Travic. “Thank you for catching me.”
“The echoes of your scream threw me off balance,” Travic whispered back. “You almost had a nasty tumble.”
“Sorry,” she said. “It just came out.”
Roghar got to his feet and helped Travic stand. He put an arm around Tempest’s shoulders and looked into her eyes. “Are you all right?” he said.
She nodded, but her eyes couldn’t hold his gaze.
“We can still go back,” he said.
“No.” She shrugged out of his half embrace and nodded toward the tunnel mouth, no more than ten yards away. “It was just a slip.”
Roghar scowled. The storm of whispering echoes was growing unbearable, making it impossible to think. He resolved to discuss the “slip” with Tempest later, and he started back down the path. The echoes of their footsteps grew more intense as Roghar went on, but despite his growing sense of anticipation, he reached the tunnel mouth without further incident.
The tunnel had been dug out of the earth, and it was shored up with a mix of fresh lumber and ancient stone columns. It ran even more steeply downward than the path in the crater, and curved sharply around to the left, cutting off Roghar’s view. He saw no sign of light coming up the tunnel, so Roghar reached into the pouch at his belt and found a sunrod. Before he could light it, Travic came and stood beside him.
