D&D 10-The Death Ray

by T. H. Lain

  "Scratches on the ceiling," the sergeant reported, "fresh and deep."

  "Where?" Regdar asked.

  A watchman covered in dirty water and filth stepped up from behind the sergeant and said, "Goes right out to the river, My Lord. It's only a couple hundred feet really, but I had a hunch, so we got a boat, rowed across, and went in through an opening on the eastern bank. We followed the scratches deep into the Trade Quarter but lost the trail in a particularly nasty stretch, one that runs under where the old slaughterhouse is. I heard they were going to pull it down but for now, it's just a smelly, old eyesore. No one ever goes near it—at least, no one with a nose."

  "A good place to hide," Regdar said. "Good work, Constable...?"

  "Jandik," the man replied.

  "Constable Jandik," Regdar said. "Draw some fresh men and supplies and another boat. I trust you can find this slaughterhouse again."

  "Yes, My Lord."

  As Jandik trundled up the stairs out of the basement, Regdar fished in a pouch for the piece of jagged metal he'd cut from the intruder. He found it and handed it to Naull.

  "What's this?" she asked.

  "A piece of whatever it was that came up from under the bed."

  She frowned and turned it over in her hand.

  "Is there a spell," he asked, "that could tell you what that was or what it came from?"

  She looked at the metal fragment in her hand with renewed interest, then looked off, thinking.

  "Naull," Regdar said, taking her by the arm and leading her away from the other men, "I never got a chance to—"

  She jerked her arm away and said, "Yes."

  A few of the watchmen looked over at them, but when Regdar met their gazes, they turned away.

  "Yes," Naull continued in a quieter voice, "there is a spell, but I don't know it. My mentor called it 'legend lore.'"

  "Sergeant," Regdar called without turning away from Naull.

  The young sergeant came up behind him, and Regdar said, "This is Naull, a mage in whom I place the utmost trust. Escort her to the palace im—"

  "I'm not going to the palace," Naull interrupted. Regdar raised an eyebrow and she continued. "You need me with you when you go to that slaughterhouse. If the duke has someone who can cast that spell, he doesn't need me, but you might."

  Regdar smiled but Naull didn't. He got the idea she was trying hard not to.

  "Sergeant," Regdar said, taking the piece of metal from Naull's hand, "what's your name?"

  "Lorec, My Lord," the sergeant said. "Watch Sergeant Lorec."

  Regdar held the piece of metal out to the man and said, "Watch Sergeant Lorec, I'm trusting you to convey this directly to the duke. Ask him to call on wizards that he trusts to cast this..."

  "Legend lore," Naull provided.

  "As quickly as possible," finished Regdar.

  Lorec took the jagged shard and said, "Yes, Lord Constable."

  Naull drew her cloak tighter around her neck and shivered against the chill wind. The weather had taken a decided turn for the worse, and threatening black clouds loomed in the west. Already, the young mage could feel the chill pinpoints of rain on her face. The cold water of the River Delnir reflected the gray sky and the sight of it only made Naull shiver again.

  The boat rode low in the water, weighed down by Regdar and his men. The watchmen were dressed in full plate armor and carried long swords and longbows. Some of the younger ones shivered as well, from the cold and wet at least, but likely with fear as well. Four of them worked the heavy oars, and they crossed the wide river at a good pace, considering the speed of the southward current they had to fight the whole way. Crossing from west to east, passing the southern point of the Duke's Quarter, they at least had the growing wind at their backs.

  Constable Jandik, the tracker who found the trail left by the monster, sat in the bow of the boat, guiding the oarsmen toward a gaping, black hole in the high river wall. Naull sat next to Lorec, the young watch sergeant who had gathered the other four watchmen at Regdar's command. Regdar stood on the bow next to Jandik, looking for all the world like some grand admiral leading his armada to victory.

  He likes it, she thought. He's settling into this new life of his, and he loves every minute of it. Maybe Maelani was—

  Naull shook her head, dislodging the thought, and tried to concentrate on the task ahead.

  As they approached the river wall, Naull noticed some of the men making signs and gestures surely meant to ward off evil spirits. All of them eyed the building at the top of the river wall with apprehension if not terror.

  It was a huge manor house of sprawling wings, high turrets, and wide verandas. Whoever lived there must have been the envy of any of the duchy's wealthiest families.

  "Haunted," Lorec whispered in her ear, startling her. "I'm sorry, ma'am. I saw you looking at the mansion."

  "It's beautiful," Naull said.

  "It is," replied Lorec, "and people pay a pretty penny to stay there. It's sort of a high-class boarding house. Personally, I wouldn't spend a night there if my life de—"

  He stopped when the boat nudged up against the river wall. Regdar reached up and grabbed a rusted iron rung, and Jandik handed him a rope. As Regdar tied the boat to the ladder, Naull looked up at the circle of blackness that marked the entrance to the sewers.

  "Look alive, men," Lorec called to his watchmen, who were already stowing their oars.

  Thunder rumbled in the distance and Naull shivered again. She had to bite her tongue not to call out to Regdar to stop. He was already scaling the ladder to the sewer entrance with his mighty greatsword swinging from his back. Naull had a very, very bad feeling about that sewer.

  Regdar peeked into the sewer from the bottom edge of the opening while trying not to look like he was peeking. It seemed to Regdar that a Lord Constable shouldn't peek, but stride confidently into any situation. Regdar was too smart for that.

  There was nothing in the immediate vicinity of the entrance, soJ he drew himself up the rest of the way and stopped when his knee rested on the edge of the opening. He tried to listen but all he could hear was echoes from the boat tapping the river wall and the boatload of watchmen gathering their gear.

  Regdar looked back over his shoulder and caught Lorec's eye.

  "It's narrow," the lord constable said, "so we'll have to walk single-file. I want Jandik in front—" the tracker nodded—"then myself. Naull, you stick behind me and be ready with those spells. Behind Naull I want Samoth with sword and lantern, then Lorec, then Lem and Asil, all three with bows. Drahir, you have the rear with lantern and sword."

  Each of the men nodded in turn, and Regdar leaned to the side to allow Jandik to scramble up into the sewer entrance past him. He drew his greatsword and followed the tracker into the sewer, clearing the entrance for the others.

  Regdar had taken the time to learn the names and even some of the strengths and weaknesses of the men Lorec had gathered. They seemed fit enough, but only time would tell. Regdar had been in enough battles with soldiers both green and veteran to know that each man would perform in his own way. Some would never be meant for combat while others would take to it like he had. Unfortunately, there was only one way to find out for sure.

  He helped Naull up into the sewer and said, "Are you all right?"

  The question offended her but Regdar didn't care. She seemed worried.

  "I'm fine," she said, "but I'm not sure why we're going this way. If we know the trail leads to an abandoned slaughterhouse, why not just go there? Why creep around in darkness and filth?"

  Regdar waved her deeper into the sewer to allow watchman Samoth to get in after her.

  "I did send a contingent to the slaughterhouse," he said. "They're likely there already. This is the way the creature, or whatever it is, moves. It may not be in the slaughterhouse itself, and if it's chased out by the men on the ground, it'll likely run this way—into us."

  He could see her swallow hard.

  "That doesn't make me feel any bett
er," she said.

  They kept moving deeper into the stinking, black tunnel as the rest of their party climbed in and lanterns were lit.

  "Don't tell me you aren't itching for revenge," Regdar prodded. "If somebody flipped a bed on top of me they'd better paralyze me or something, or I'll—"

  "Here," Jandik interrupted, raising his lantern.

  Regdar looked up and saw deep furrows scratched into the top of the cylindrical tunnel—the murderer's trail.

  "Well done," Regdar said to the tracker. "Lead on."

  Considering the many setbacks of the previous night, his lack of sleep, and a dreary turn in the weather, Vargussel felt sure he radiated an aura of confidence as he strode into the duke's private office for the second time in as many days. Even after making arrangements to secure the slaughterhouse, he had at least had the opportunity to go home, clean himself up a bit, and change before he received the duke's summons. A trail of cologne wafted behind him, and his clean, crisp robe rustled as he walked.

  Vargussel bowed deeply to the duke and said, "Your Highness, I attend you at your request."

  The duke, who was seated behind his desk, motioned to a chair and watched with an appraising eye as Vargussel sat.

  "You're well?" the duke asked.

  Vargussel sighed inwardly, finding no patience left for the duke's imbecilic questions.

  "I am most fit, Your Highness," he answered. "Again, I find myself deep in study and experimentation. I understand that His Highness is a busy man as well, so please do not allow a few scrapes and bumps to distract you from the matter at hand, a matter I am sure is one of utmost urgency and with dire consequences for us all."

  The duke smiled, and Vargussel returned the expression. His groveling before his master's image had left Vargussel with the odd scrape, cut, and bruise, but what little pain there had been had turned to an irritating itch. That didn't do much for Vargussel's patience.

  Vargussel again suppressed a sigh—this time of relief—when the duke reached into a drawer and didn't ask after his health again.

  "Lord Constable Regdar has found something," the duke said.

  Vargussel tipped an eyebrow up, not having to feign interest in the progress of the new lord constable.

  The duke set something hard and heavy down on the desk in front of Vargussel. When his hand came away from it, Vargussel let slip a slight gasp at the sight of a jagged chunk of his shield guardian's armor.

  "Did he see what this came from?" Vargussel asked.

  "You recognize it?"

  Vargussel stopped himself before he answered. Instead, he shook his head and reached for the piece of metal.

  "May I?" the wizard asked.

  The duke nodded and said, "Be my guest."

  The piece of armor wasn't big and hadn't obviously effected the shield guardian's functioning, but a piece of the construct in the duke's possession could be troublesome for Vargussel. If the duke summoned a wizard to—

  "You want me to tell you what it is," Vargussel said, holding back a relieved giggle.

  "I do," the duke replied. "The lord constable didn't get a clear look at the thing but he managed to slice a chunk out of it. Looks like armorer's steel to me, but we need to know more. I'm told there's a spell...?"

  "Legend lore," the wizard said.

  "That's the one," replied the duke. "Can you do it?"

  "Indeed I can, Your Highness. Indeed I can."

  "The duchy will, of course, reimburse you for your trouble," the duke said.

  Vargussel smiled and let the piece of his own construct roll around in his palm.

  "Please, Your Highness," he said. "I am a loyal subject of the duchy and her duke. It would only be my pleasure and honor to cast a spell for you, that we might bring these heinous acts of senseless murder to a close."

  "Very well," said the duke. "The duchy thanks you. Now...."

  "Ah, yes," Vargussel said, "with all due haste. I can cast the spell at once if that meets with your approval. There isn't much to it but some muttering and waving about of hands. A picture will form in my mind, and I will know the origin of this steel."

  The duke nodded, and Vargussel held the piece of metal out in front of him.

  Legend lore, indeed, the wizard thought.

  He began to speak a string of nonsense that he made up as he went along but which he was sure the duke would mistake for the language of magic. The spell he actually intended to cast could be done in seconds, but when one is performing for royalty, best make a show of it. After a suitable period of time mumbling nonsense and wiggling his fingers over the steel, Vargussel uttered the real words of power and twisted his fingers just so.

  A faint, blue glow sprang from his palm, lighting the steel from below.

  The duke sat forward, peering at the effect with undisguised awe. It was all Vargussel could do not to laugh at him. The glow was a meaningless prestidigitation, a parlor trick for the amusement of children. It told Vargussel nothing and would tell the duke no more.

  He let the glow persist until the duke was solidly at the edge of his seat, then he pretended to see something in the air between them. The duke followed his eyes, of course seeing nothing, but seemed to fully believe that Vargussel was reading something written in eldritch script in the very air itself.

  When he thought he'd laid it on thick enough, Vargussel let the glow fade away, and he curled his fingers around the piece of his shield guardian.

  "Alas," he said, taking care to add a tone of dire seriousness to his voice, "our opponent is powerful indeed."

  "What did you see?" asked the duke.

  Vargussel shook his head and narrowed his eyes.

  "Vargussel," the duke prodded. "Speak, for the love of—"

  "It is warded," the wizard said.

  "Warded?" asked the duke.

  "Protected," Vargussel said. "This comes from a most capable spellcaster, I can assure you, Your Highness. It has been made proof against spells such as the one I cast upon it. It is as if a wall of shadow has descended over its history and its maker."

  The duke sighed and all but sagged back into his chair.

  "But all is not lost, Your Highness," Vargussel said.

  "There's another spell?"

  "There is always another spell, sire," said the wizard. "I will need time, though, and resources from my laboratory."

  "How long?"

  "A day," Vargussel lied, "perhaps longer. The magic is powerful and carefully masked."

  The duke nodded, looking down at nothing, thinking.

  "May I take it with me?" the wizard prompted.

  "You had best," answered the duke. "Keep it in your sight at all times, though."

  "I will," Vargussel agreed.

  "A day, you said?" asked the duke.

  "Perhaps more," the wizard answered.

  The duke frowned and said, "Do your best to tell me something sooner. The lives of a score of city watchmen and Lord Constable Regdar may depend on it."

  "Indeed?" Vargussel asked, feigning surprise.

  "They pursue the creature from which this steel was severed even now," the duke said, his face lined and gray.

  "Do they?" Vargussel murmured. "Do they indeed...."

  Naull didn't know how long they'd been in the sewers before she finally figured out a way to breathe through her mouth that actually cut the force of the stench. The air had a thickness to it that made it coat everything it touched with the smell of waste and decay.

  The tunnel was the same size all the way in, but it still seemed to be closing in on her a little tighter with every step she took. They kept a steady pace and turned only a few times as they delved deeper into the city's eastern reaches: the sprawling and crowded Trade Quarter. To Naull it felt like they'd been wading through sewage for miles but the city wasn't that big. She thought she might be able to clear her head and start thinking straight if only she could take a deep breath. Instead, she tensed her whole body, riding waves of trembling panic while remaining stoic
and silent on the outside.

  "Here," Jandik said from the head of the single-file line. He pointed to the low ceiling, and Regdar stepped up to follow the tracker's finger as it drew a line from just over his head, down the tunnel into the impenetrable darkness. "This is where the scratches stop. We kept going about another hundred yards without seeing another sign. It's as if the thing just disappeared."

  Regdar looked around, and so did everyone else. The walls and ceiling of the tunnel were made of old but solid brickwork. There was no sign of a door and certainly no visible magical effects.

  "It could be under our feet," Watch Sergeant Lorec suggested.

  Regdar seemed to consider the idea, even scuffled his toes around under the opaque, brown liquid, feeling for a door or hinge. If there was a trapdoor in the floor of the tunnel, opening it would have sent thousands of gallons of water emptying into the space below.

  "I don't think so," he said. "The thing that attacked us was made of steel or encased in steel armor. If it had been submerged, the piece I cut off would have been wet, or at least stained with this horrid soup. It was clean and dry."

  "There's another secret door," Naull suggested. "There has to be."

  "Can you cast that spell again?" asked Regdar.

  Naull smiled and said, "That's what I'm here for, isn't it?"

  Regdar looked at her strangely and shrugged.

  She closed her eyes and did her best to ignore him, the walls and the stench still closing in on her, along with the feeling of impending doom that she couldn't for the life of her shake. Naull cast her spell. She heard Watchman Samoth slosh a few steps away from her as she intoned the incantation, but ignored that too.

  When the spell was done, she opened her eyes and was greeted by a dazzling, green glow from the wall to the party's left. She stepped to the wall and traced the outline of the door with her fingertip. Regdar leaned in close.

  "I see it," he whispered.

  "Can she open it?" the sergeant asked.

  Naull kept her focus on the spell, digging deep into her magic-enhanced awareness for the door's hidden latch.

  "Can she?" the sergeant pressed.