“Your turn,” Darrum said.
Falon wasn’t a natural climber, and he had rarely had to scamper up or down a knotted rope while growing up in Nenlast, but he was young and strong. He had little trouble making it down into the cavern. During the descent, however, there were moments when Falon was genuinely frightened. First, little light penetrated from the relatively small hole at ground level, so much of the cavern was in darkness. Second, the canted streets and oddly tilted stone buildings whose shapes he could just make out in the dim light loomed like some sort of mad landscape from another world. Even as Falon continued to climb, one hand at a time down the rope, he caught glimpses of movement at the edge of his vision. He was certain that he and his companions weren’t alone down here.
Light blazed from below as Albanon cast a spell to provide them with some illumination. Falon saw ground that was more or less level beneath him and he leaped down into the circle of light. They were standing on a cobbled path that was cantered at about a fifteen degree angle, with weeds and grass growing out of the parts of the path that were cracked and broken. Around them, stone vaults crowded in from all sides. The vaults had heavy stone doors and were decorated with carved symbols related to Orcus and celebrating undeath in all its forms.
Falon shivered. Not only was it as cold as a grave within the cavern but the entire place seemed to be veiled in a cloak of evil unlike anything that the young cleric had ever experienced before. The place frightened him, but it also made him angry. It was anathema to everything he believed in, to the teachings of Erathis, who proclaimed that civilization and light would stand against all darkness. If there was a place that needed the light of Erathis, this was it.
The stoneguard lurched out of the darkness and into the light at the same moment that Darrum leaped down from the rope. Erak looked around to get his bearings, trying to decide which way to go in this place of insanely tilted streets and crazy-leaning mausoleums. Another roar, presumably the green dragon, sounded from somewhere nearby, although judging the actual direction was nearly impossible because of the way the sound bounced through the tumbled necropolis.
A bright flash of light appeared in the darkness, coming from somewhere much deeper within the ruins. All of the companions saw it. It blazed like an explosion before settling into a more subdued flicker. Like a signal fire. Or someone lighting a brazier.
“That’s the way,” Falon said, a feeling of certainty coming to him.
“I agree,” said Erak. “It appears to be coming from the center of these ruins.”
“So,” said Tempest, who had been mostly quiet since both Roghar and Falon had used healing prayers to bring her back from the brink of death, “how are we going to handle this? Shara and Uldane are going to need help against a green dragon. At the same time, we have no idea about what kind of powers a century’s old emperor might be wielding. What’s the plan?”
The companions all turned to Erak, and Falon realized there was something natural about looking to the revenant for guidance in this city of the dead. Erak considered the question for only a moment. “Falon, Darrum, the golem, and I will look for the source of the light at the center of the necropolis,” he decided. “Roghar, meanwhile, will lead Albanon and Tempest back that way, to help Shara bring down the dragon. Whichever group deals with its enemy first goes to meet up with the others. Any questions?”
“What about me?” Splendid asked. The pseudodragon was once again curled around Albanon’s neck and shoulders.
“What about you, dragonkin?”
“I didn’t hear my name called in the order of battle.”
Erak smiled. “I meant no offense,” he said with all seriousness. “I just assumed you’d want to stay with Albanon, to offer him your wisdom and guidance.”
“Of course,” the tiny dragon said, her chest swelling with pride and importance. “I just didn’t want you lesser creatures taking me for granted.”
“Never, oh wise and magnificent one,” Erak said, bowing respectfully before the tiny dragon.
“You could learn a thing or two from this one, Albanon,” Splendid said. “He’s obviously been schooled in dealing with those of higher rank and privilege.”
“Great, Erak,” Albanon moaned. “Now you’ve made Splendid even more insufferable than she already was.”
Erak grasped Roghar’s hand. “Good luck,” the revenant said.
“May Bahamut smile upon you,” the dragonborn paladin returned.
Falon watched the three of them—Roghar, Tempest, and Albanon—head out, moving in the direction they had seen Shara and Uldane fall. Then he turned to follow Erak and Darrum, who were already climbing the angled path to the northeast.
“Come on,” Falon said to the golem, wondering if they would ever see any of the other companions again.
74 ANDOK SUR, DAY
Shara held onto Uldane as the two of them drifted down into the darkness. Albanon had cast the spell of feather fall on to Shara, which made her the recipient of the spell’s power. She was falling slower than she would have if she had simply jumped into the cavern from above, but she was drifting down faster than the spell dictated because of the added weight of carrying the halfling. She didn’t think they were going to hit the ground hard enough to kill them, but it was going to hurt more than it was supposed to when using that particular spell.
“Get ready to bend and roll when we reach the ground,” Shara said.
Suddenly a great form flew up out of the darkness. It was an emerald-scaled dragon, soaring and banking to make a run at something neither Shara nor Uldane could see in the darkness below. Shara studied the beast carefully, noting the marks that scarred its left fore leg. Twelve horizontal slashes, including three that appeared fresher than the others. There was no doubt in Shara’s mind. This was the green dragon Vestapalk. The creature rolled in midair, then dove back down into the darkness. It roared a mighty challenge as it disappeared below them.
Uldane let go of his hold on Shara. “Uldane, what are you doing?” she asked worriedly as she tried to maintain her own grip on the halfling.
“Let go,” Uldane said cheerfully. “I’ve got an idea.”
Shara learned a long time ago to trust the halfling rogue. He was confident, fearless, and very good at everything he did, even if he often gave the impression of being childish and a tad too cheerful. She released her hold on Uldane. The halfling tucked his knees up to his chest and then pushed off of Shara, flipping back and somersaulting to reach a stone gargoyle that extended from the roof of a nearby mausoleum that had come to rest some twenty feet above the floor of the cavern. His sure hands found purchase, and he swung up on to the stone protrusion.
With the added weight of the halfling gone, Shara’s descent slowed. She drifted on a gentle current of air, swaying toward the ground not unlike a bird’s feather dropped from high above. She landed on her feet and drew the greatsword from the sheath slung across her back. The dragon was about thirty feet away, engaged in a frantic battle with a figure dressed in flame-blackened plate armor who defended himself with a long sword and shield. She saw the kobold wyrmpriest that had ambushed them back on the old King’s Road skulking among a scattering of broken stones, looking for a chance to attack the armored warrior from hiding. Uldane did a spinning flip off the stone protrusion and landed silently beside her. He seemed to be having the time of his life, at least if she was correctly interpreting the wide smile that was plastered across his face.
He looked at her, and his expression turned serious for a moment. “Let’s kill this thing for Jarren and Cliffside,” Uldane said.
“And for Borojon,” Shara added resolutely.
“And for Borojon,” Uldane agreed.
Shara pointed toward the skulking wyrmpriest. Uldane nodded. Then the two of them began to move, Shara toward the dragon’s exposed flank and Uldane toward the kobold.
Shara ran up a series of broken stone blocks, each one slightly higher than the last. There were five of the cracked bl
ocks, the lowest about three feet high, the highest about fifteen feet above the level of the floor. As she reached the highest block, Shara repositioned her grip on her greatsword so that she could bring the blade down in an overhand arc. Without missing a step, she launched herself from the tall stone block and sailed through the air. This allowed her to come at the dragon—who was grounded and exchanging claw swipes and sword thrusts with the armored warrior—from above. The creature’s back was wide open and exposed.
A cry of absolute rage and sorrow escaped from Shara as she flew toward the green dragon. Her boots hit the creature near where its wings attached to its body, and Shara brought her sword down like a spike, plunging the blade through scales and into soft flesh. Red blood spurted from the wound, and the green dragon let loose its own cry of pain and fury. It spun around, trying to determine what had attacked it, and Shara lost her balance on the fast-moving creature. It was like trying to maintain your balance on a log bobbing in a raging river. She turned the beginnings of a fall into a leap from the dragon’s back, and she rolled across the ground to avoid a claw swipe or being stepped on by the massive creature.
“Vestapalk recognizes your scent, treacherous creature,” the green dragon roared as its gaze fixed on Shara. “This one killed three of your clan and feasted on their flesh and blood. And now you come to Vestapalk, offering yourself as sacrifice and meal. This one is honored.”
“Vestapalk will die!” Shara screamed at the dragon as she regained her footing and prepared to charge at the beast again.
“No, dragon,” the armored warrior stated calmly from the dragon’s other side, “we aren’t finished yet.”
Shara saw that the armored warrior’s eyes glowed the color of fresh blood beneath the visor of his helmet, and his exposed skin, seen through places where a few of his armored plates were missing, was pale and dead.
“Vestapalk has enough power to deal with both of you lesser creatures,” the green dragon responded, matching the undead warrior’s calm, measured tone as it continued to stare at Shara. “You escaped this one, little female, but you have returned.”
Shara, who had experience battling this particular monster, made sure that she remained on the opposite side of the dragon from where the undead warrior faced it so as not to provide it with an opportunity to catch both of them in its deadly breath. She took another step to the right, not able to draw her eyes away from the dragon’s.
“Come to Vestapalk, little creature,” the dragon said almost soothingly.
Shara, unable to help herself, began to walk directly toward the green dragon.
“Woman! Snap out of it!” the undead warrior shouted. “The dragon has placed a charm upon you!”
Shara heard his words, but she couldn’t get her feet to stop moving. It took every ounce of willpower she possessed to bring her sword up into a defensive position just as Vestapalk slashed at her with its left foreclaw. The dagger-sized talons raked across the sword, saving her from bloody wounds, but the force of the strike knocked her back and to the ground.
“Vestapalk grows weary of this game,” the green dragon said as it loomed over Shara. “The Herald arrives soon, and you lesser creatures are not worthy of standing in its presence.”
“You never did make much sense,” Shara shouted and swung her sword in a wide slash that scraped across the armored scales that covered the dragon’s neck.
The undead warrior leaped over the dragon’s whipping tail and delivered three quick jabs to the dragon’s flank. Vestapalk whirled, catching the warrior in its large right claw and pinning him to the side of a half-sunken mausoleum.
“Which of you shall Vestapalk slay first?” the dragon mused aloud, blood trickling from its many wounds. Shara attempted to move in, but the green dragon held her at bay with a swipe of its tail. “The undead first? Yes. And then the female. Then the Herald’s way shall be clear.”
75 ANDOK SUR, DAY
It was day in the world above, but a deep and penetrating darkness continued to fill most of the ruins of Andok Sur. Magroth had reached what he supposed was the center of the city of the dead. A great brazier crafted from a metal that was so dark as to be almost black filled the open square that stretched before a structure that could only be a temple dedicated to the worship of Orcus. The brazier was fifteen feet across, and it was filled with humanoid bones—femurs, rib bones, skulls, and more were piled high within the bowl.
“The ritual begins here,” Magroth said aloud. He raised his staff, whispered a word of power, and an unnatural fire burst to life within the brazier of bones. It gave off unholy light in the otherwise constant darkness in this part of the necropolis.
The Mad Emperor didn’t need to refer to the scroll that the death priest of Orcus had provided him, or to the notes he had made while studying in the tower of the Mages of Saruun. He had memorized the ritual, as well as the changes he had made to the original, and he was ready to see if he could actually escape the conditions of the deal he had struck with Orcus.
Magroth removed a small pouch from the pockets of his robes. He untied the gold thread that held the pouch closed. Then, with a single motion and in time to the next series of words of power he had to recite, Magroth tossed the contents of the pouch into the unholy fire. What appeared to be fine dust was actually the ground bones of Magroth’s enemies, collected and saved over many centuries of ongoing campaigns. The dust sparked as it hit the fire, and the flames flared brightly for long seconds as Magroth completed this portion of the ritual.
As the flames returned to their previous state, a great rumble began to echo throughout the entirety of the necropolis. It was as though the cavern itself had come alive. Then every vault and stone door shattered as the ritual did its work, breaking apart from the inside in rapid succession, starting with those closest to the burning brazier and radiating out in ever-widening circles.
“Come forth!” Magroth called out. “Arise, my army of undead!”
The Mad Emperor could hear the dead moving in the nearest mausoleums. Skeletons, zombies, and who knew what else that was resting and interred within the necropolis.
“The rebirth of Nerath begins this day,” Magroth whispered as he surveyed the stirring graveyard around him. “Now I must have the living blood of a Nerath royal. Where is my misbegotten descendent when I need him?”
A sudden fire burned on his inner left arm. Magroth pulled up the sleeve of his robe to examine the mark that still adorned his withered flesh. The crown and stars—the birthmark of the royal house of Nerath—flared white-hot against his skin.
“Close,” Magroth said, staring into the darkness beyond the light of the blazing brazier. “He’s close and getting closer. Good. I can’t wait to meet the hopeless whelp.”
76 ANDOK SUR, DAY
Albanon followed Roghar through the mazelike necropolis toward the sounds of the dragon. Tempest was right behind him, but Albanon was worried that the tiefling wasn’t recovered enough to help them in the coming battle. He kept gazing back at her, trying to assure himself that she was not only healed but that she was also herself and not some tiefling-thing getting ready to attack them from behind.
Splendid turned her head each time, matching Albanon’s gaze whenever he turned back to look at Tempest. “She makes your skin crawl, too, huh?” the little dragon asked innocently.
Tempest scowled at both of them. “I’m fine,” she said, more than a little angry at the two of them. “And I can still hear you. Get over it and prepare yourselves. We’re about to battle a green dragon, and any mistake on your parts will get us all killed.”
Roghar abruptly skidded to a halt as the entire cavern began to shake.
“Earthquake?” Albanon asked.
“We can only hope,” Roghar said, his eyes sweeping the cavern around them for anything out of the ordinary.
The stone doors on the nearest mausoleums, which occupied a patch of ground that had fallen from above and come to rest at a forty-five degree angle to the left sid
e of the cobbled path they were following, suddenly cracked open. Each stone door released a loud crack that was followed by a boom and a hiss of air as the door blew apart from the inside out. The three companions barely avoided being struck by pieces of flying stone.
“This can’t be good,” Tempest said, drawing her rod and preparing to hurl a curse at the first threat that revealed itself.
A single form stepped out of the nearest dark opening. It was still wrapped in its funeral linens, and it was more skeletal than decayed flesh. It appeared confused, unsure of where it was or what it was supposed to do. Then it opened its mouth to scream, but no sound issued from it. It stayed like that, silently screaming, until a wave of skeletons rushed out from behind it, knocking the first skeleton down and trampling it as the dozen or so others poured forth. And the same thing was happening at each of the mausoleums around them.
“That’s a lot of skeletons,” Albanon marveled.
Tempest began to unleash a series of dark, crackling bolts of energy into the nearest horde of undead. “A little help here,” she managed to say between blasts.
Albanon stepped beside her and called down a vertical column of golden fire that exploded into the center of the skeletal mass. Skeletons and parts of skeletons flew in all directions, but the attack had barely made a dent in the swelling horde of undead.
“Come on,” Roghar commanded. “There’s too many of them. Let’s try to reach Shara before they surround and overwhelm us.”
“I like how you think,” Tempest said with a grin.
“What am I missing?” Albanon asked, still trying to get in sync with the pair of adventurers who had worked together so long that they didn’t even need to make plans during a battle.
“Nothing yet, friend elf,” Roghar said. “And if we move now, you might not be missing anything when all is said and done. Come on! Run!”
The Mark of Nerath: A Dungeons & Dragons Novel Page 26
