Unable to stand on both feet, Shara glanced around to see what the rest of the companions were doing. Roghar was already rolling back to his feet and preparing to engage the stone golem. Darrum had somehow avoided the initial encounter, and his twin hammers were spinning quickly as he waded in to battle the strange construct. Uldane was beside the dwarf, short sword in hand but looking a bit unsure about where to strike the stone creature.
She looked back toward where Erak had just plunged his sword into the tiefling woman. Now Falon was backing away from something that reminded Shara of an ooze, except it was unlike any ooze she had previously encountered. Albanon was seemingly in shock, staring down at the tiefling, who Shara assumed was dead by the eladrin wizard’s expression. Erak moved up to her and briefly examined her hurt leg.
“Don’t try to move,” the revenant said, “you might cause more damage.”
“Did you have to kill her?” Shara asked, ignoring the revenant’s advice as she struggled to put her back against one of the intact statues.
Erak looked at her with something akin to a pained expression. Had she hurt the revenant’s feelings?
“I did what had to be done,” he said simply. “The rest is up to Falon. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I should help the others against the stoneguard.”
“The what?” Shara asked, but Erak was already moving to engage the golem from behind.
Shara watched as Darrum’s twin hammers struck the stone form over and over, driving it back as Uldane danced behind him and yelled words of encouragement such as “good shot,” “nice backhand,” and “wow, that had to hurt.” Roghar and Erak, meanwhile, attacked from behind, flanking the golem and striking sparks off the hard stone with every swing of their blades. For its part, the golem seemed unimpressed. It pounded its massive fists into the ground, sending forth shock waves that rattled through the corridor and forced the companions back.
Suddenly, the golem’s small head snapped up and the blackness within the visorlike carving on its expressionless face seemed to fix on Falon. Shara followed the golem’s gaze and saw that the young cleric was struggling against the crimson ooze that was even now flowing up his body. Erak leaped at the golem, but the stone construct swung its massive fist and connected with the revenant in midair. Shara almost felt the impact of the blow from her position some fifteen feet distant, and she winced as Erak was sent sailing into the far wall of the wide passage.
With the way now clear, the golem turned and began running toward Falon, each thundering footfall shaking the passage. Shara tried again to put weight on her injured leg, but it was no use. She wouldn’t be able to get back into this fight.
Falon was on his own.
67 THE AVENUE OF GLORY, NIGHT
Albanon had stepped back when the crimson substance began to flow out of Tempest’s wounded body. He had done so more out of reflex than out of any real sense of self-preservation. He was numb inside. His actions, however well-intentioned, had resulted in the state that Tempest was now in. She was gravely wounded, perhaps already dead, and the thing that had taken her was now flowing toward Falon.
And Albanon didn’t care. He was staring at Tempest, trying to determine whether or not she was beyond help. And if she wasn’t, he was trying to decide what help he could offer. Arcane magic, the magic that he was trained in, provided nothing in the way of healing.
He bent down to examine the tiefling. The wound that Erak had inflicted was bleeding freely, but at least the blood was a normal shade of red. It looked just the way blood was supposed to look, without any strands of silver or a crystalline consistency. Tempest was still alive, but he didn’t think she would remain in that state for much longer.
“You need to help Falon,” Splendid said. The pseudodragon was still draped around Albanon’s shoulders, even though the wizard had forgotten that she was there. “He can heal the tiefling, but only if he survives the next minute or so against the thing that killed the Great Moorin.”
Albanon could see that the strange substance was flowing up Falon’s body, working its way toward his head and the orifices that it could use to slip inside the cleric. Even without aid, however, Falon wasn’t finished yet. The young cleric’s sword gleamed with divine light, and he jammed the blade into and through a portion of the crystalline ooze. Wherever the radiant blade touched, the crimson liquid sizzled and dark smoke curled in ribbons from the wounds. The attack must have been some kind of healing strike, for a spark of the divine light flew into Tempest and the tiefling opened her eyes and gasped for breath.
“He did it,” Albanon marveled. “He healed Tempest, at least a little bit.”
While the attack had helped Tempest, it didn’t seem to slow the crimson substance. It continued to flow up and over Falon’s face, trying to force itself into his mouth, his nose, his eyes.
Albanon tried to select a spell that would do something, anything to harm the alien ooze, but nothing in his repertoire had the touch of the divine. Still, he had to try. He unleashed a volley of magic missiles, and the arcane darts peppered into the ooze with unerring accuracy. Before he could call on another spell, however, the rough stone hand of the golem pushed him aside as the massive form rumbled toward Falon and the body thief.
The golem grabbed a fistful of the crystalline substance and tried to pull it off of Falon. Albanon wasn’t sure what the golem was up to, or why it was apparently attempting to help the young cleric, but its thick stone fingers pulled right through the liquid crystal. It was like trying to grab water. Falon was choking now, and at least part of the ooze was flowing into his mouth and nose. The rest of it, still outside the cleric’s body, twirled into a ropelike strand and whipped at the golem. The relatively minor attack must have been loaded with power, for the stone golem was pushed back almost fifteen feet. The golem’s massive feet left skid marks across the stone floor, and there was a terrible black scorch mark on its chest where the tendril of ooze had slashed.
Roghar moved into Albanon’s field of vision then, stepping between the eladrin and the human cleric. The dragonborn held his shield forward, boldly displaying the holy symbol of Bahamut that adorned the front of the shield. Searing ribbons of radiance exploded from the shield, cutting through the ooze and eliciting a sound of pain that wasn’t like anything that Albanon had ever heard before. Burned and smoking from the radiant light, the ooze puddled out of Falon and pooled around the young cleric’s feet.
Falon, dazed and obviously disoriented by the creature’s invasion, nonetheless acted swiftly. Still coughing and spitting, he raised his sword high and called down a column of sacred fire. It roasted the ooze with divine power, causing another alien scream to echo through the chamber.
As the sacred flames died out and Falon dropped to his knees, Albanon watched the ooze slither through a crack in the wall. He was sure that it was badly hurt. Perhaps it was even dying. But it managed to get away from them. At least it hadn’t managed to claim another one of the companion’s bodies.
Roghar knelt beside Tempest and whispered a prayer of healing. The holy words flowed through the tiefling, erasing her wounds with divine energy.
“Thanks,” Tempest said, placing a hand on the dragonborn’s arm. Roghar nodded, but he didn’t say a word.
Albanon had almost forgotten about the golem when its resounding footfalls warned him of its approach. The wizard turned and barely called forth an arcane shield in time to absorb the deadly punch the golem had hurled his way. The shield held against the attack, but then it faded, even as the golem pulled back and prepared to strike again.
“No!” Falon screamed.
The golem stopped in mid-swing.
“How?” Albanon asked, looking to Falon for some kind of explanation.
“I have no idea,” Falon said, seemingly as surprised as the rest of the companions that the golem had obeyed his order.
“Hmm,” Darrum said as he moved to join them. “I think I might be able to explain this.”
“Please,” Albanon
urged. “I’m all ears.”
“All ears!” Uldane said, pointing at Albanon’s swooped and pointed ears. “The eladrin. All ears!” And then the halfling began to laugh.
68 THE OLD HILLS, NIGHT
Kalaban and Magroth emerged from the Labyrinth into the Old Hills northeast of Thunderspire Mountain. Even in Kalaban’s day, the Old Hills were considered ancient, and they were filled with a melancholy air that led to tales of haunted valleys and enchanted hilltops that few dared explore. If this was the location of Orcus’s necropolis, then that would explain the feelings of dread and danger that the Old Hills had always inspired.
The two travelers had walked in silence since leaving the body thief and the stoneguard behind. Kalaban waited for the next outburst or the next question, but Magroth provided neither as they walked. The Mad Emperor drew forth the Necropolis Stone once they were out of the underground passages and on the moon-drenched path between the hills. Magroth studied the stone, tilting it at various angles to see how the moonlight played on its dark, flat surface.
“This way,” Magroth said eventually, proceeding deeper into the depressions that crisscrossed the space between the hills.
Kalaban followed, casting his senses into the night to guard against any threats that might be present. He cleared his throat after a time, and the knight-commander said, “I am sorry, my lord. The Voidharrow, whatever it is, it intrigued me. I hadn’t felt such an exhilarating sense of curiosity since … well, since before we were drawn into the Shadowfell.”
“Not now, Kalaban,” Magroth commanded, a hint of anger in his voice. And was there something else there as well? Desperation, maybe?
Magroth led them to a dark depression in the side of one of the larger hills. Brambles blocked the small cave from casual observation, but once Magroth pointed out the spot, it was impossible for Kalaban not to see it.
“The way in,” Magroth said, his voice still strained. “I need you to wait here, knight-commander.”
“Your majesty,” Kalaban protested, “I can’t let you enter the Necropolis by yourself. I must.…”
“Enough!” Magroth screamed at him. Arcane energy crackled along the top of the Mad Emperor’s staff. “You shall indeed accompany when I enter the ruins of Andok Sur. But that moment has not yet arrived. While there is still time before the sun rises, there is something I must do.”
Kalaban suddenly understood what was bothering Magroth, and for once it had nothing to do with him.
“I am hungry, knight-commander,” Magroth said in a low voice. “I must hunt. I must feed.”
Kalaban could think of no response to this, so he simply nodded.
“Keep the path open and the way protected, Kalaban,” Magroth said as he became mist and began to float away on a current of air.
Kalaban watched the mist swirl off into the darkness. Then the knight-commander got busy. With a few carefully placed slashes of his sword, he cleared the brambles from in front of the small cave. He stepped into the shallow chamber and examined the symbols that decorated the walls and ceiling. The marks clearly identified this as a place dedicated to the Demon Prince of Undeath.
“Your presence is strong in this place, Orcus,” Kalaban whispered as he examined the pedestal of black stone set in the center of the small cave. There was an indentation on the top of the pedestal that appeared to be about the same size and shape as the Necropolis Stone. The dead glass. The knight-commander was sure that the stone was the key to opening the path into Andok Sur.
Kalaban continued to study the symbols and the carvings on the pedestal, unaware of the pair of eyes watching him from behind the next hill.
69 THE AVENUE OF GLORY, NIGHT
Darrum walked around the stone golem, examining it from every angle. For its part, the golem remained stock still; it didn’t so much as twitch. Every so often Darrum reached out to touch different parts of the stonework body, obviously marveling at the construction. Uldane followed along behind the old dwarf, excited by the chance to study a magical construct while it wasn’t trying to pound him into paste. The halfling had the good sense to keep quiet, however, though Darrum noticed him start to open his mouth when a question occurred to him and close it again quite a few times while he finished his inspection.
“So?” Falon finally asked. “You said you knew what this thing was and why it seems to obey my commands. Will you enlighten the rest of us?”
Shara cleared her throat. “I think Erak knows what it is, as well,” she said, watching the revenant closely. “He called it a ‘stoneguard.’ ”
Darrum looked from Shara to Erak, nodding. “Yes, that’s what it’s called,” the dwarf said. “Though I haven’t seen one since well before Nerath’s collapse. These constructs were the guardians of the royal family, set with powerful enchantments to obey the commands of those of royal blood. This one specifically has the runes of an elite stoneguard. This construct will only obey the orders of the emperor of Nerath or one in line to inherit the throne.”
“Someone like me,” Falon said gloomily.
Erak stood. “It’s time to move on,” the revenant said. “Having a stoneguard on our side can only help when we face off against the Mad Emperor.”
“Really?” Falon asked. “Obviously, my ancestor left this thing here to stop us. He either forgot or didn’t care that I could control it. He probably thought I wouldn’t figure it out until it had destroyed at least a few of you. What’s to stop him from just reestablishing control of the golem when we catch up with him?”
“He might not be able to,” Darrum offered. “Could be that living blood trumps undead blood when it comes to this kind of magic.”
“That’s a guess at best,” Falon countered. “When was the last time that Nerath had an undead emperor on the throne?”
Darrum had no response to offer the young cleric.
“Tell us, Erak,” Shara said. “How did you happen to know what the golem was?”
“I don’t know,” Erak said. “I saw it and I knew what it was. That’s all. No other memories. No other flashes of inspiration. Just a name and an isolated packet of knowledge that immediately bubbled up out of the chaos of my mind.”
“I can’t stand this!” Falon shouted into the darkness. “Why does Orcus want me dead? Why has an ancestor I didn’t even know I had want to kill me? Why me? Why now?” The young cleric stifled a sob, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand.
Falon took a moment to collect himself, and then he offered his companions a wan smile. “Sorry about that. It’s just not every day that you find out you’re the heir to a throne that no longer exists and that a bunch of undead monsters are out to assassinate you.”
Darrum returned the young cleric’s smile. “Completely understandable,” he said. “Let’s do as Erak suggested and move on. The sooner we catch up with the creature claiming to be Magroth, the sooner we can end this threat to Falon.”
“Can you make it move?” Uldane asked, pointing excitedly at the stoneguard.
Falon sighed. “Let’s find out.” He moved to stand directly in front of the golem and looked straight into the visorlike carving on its stone face. “Follow me.”
As the companions headed out, the golem followed, remaining close to Falon as they traveled deeper into the Avenue of Glory toward the Old Hills.
70 THE OLD HILLS, NIGHT
Kalaban could see the first signs of the approaching dawn against the hills to the east. A faint brightening of the darkness in the sky signaled that the sun would soon be rising over the horizon. If Magroth hadn’t returned before then, the Mad Emperor would be severely weakened by the full light of day. Now that his master was a vampire, or at least had some of the traits and powers of a vampire to go along with his lich abilities, the sun would be a deterrent as it had never been before.
Kalaban couldn’t imagine what Magroth was going to find this far from any kind of settlement. Even the nearby Trade Road would be unused in the darkest hours before the dawn. The knight-comm
ander remembered how disappointed Magroth had been with goblin blood. He couldn’t imagine the foul mood he would be in when he returned.
Magroth was obsessed with power; Kalaban had seen that even when he was alive and serving the Mad Emperor. He took the Orcus medallion and freely placed it around his own neck, taking on the blood curse, specifically because of the power it offered. Magroth felt that he needed the extra power to overcome the deal he had brokered with Orcus, to break free of the hold that the Shadowfell had over them. Kalaban appreciated the effort that Magroth was going to in order to set them free, but he wished that there was another way. A lich and a death knight, that he had grown to accept over the centuries. But a blood curse? A craving for living blood that could never be sated? Kalaban wasn’t sure if he could ever grow comfortable with the price his freedom seemed to be costing them.
So far, Kalaban had been unable to determine how they were going to gain entrance into the ruins of the necropolis that Magroth believed was beneath the Old Hills. The pedestal and the dead glass would play a part, but he could find no evidence of hidden doors or sliding panels in or around the shallow cave. With his work completed for the time being, Kalaban let his hand wander into the pouch that hung on his belt. Immediately, his fingers found the small glass vial nestled there. He could feel the substance within the vial moving, responding to his touch. The Voidharrow, that was what the body thief had called the crystalline substance. It was clear to Kalaban that the body thief had a connection to the substance and even appeared to perhaps be composed of a similar crystalline ooze. It was a mystery, but one that Magroth was now aware of. Kalaban was certain that his time with the glass vial was drawing to a close.
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