“We’re going to find another way out of here,” Thomas replied, hoping his response would be just vague enough to work.
“There is only one other way,” the dwarf replied, “and Gilkor knows that way is closed off. Permanently.”
“Maybe there’s another,” Cynthia said, “maybe we can cut a new path out.”
The dwarf shook his head. “The mountain surrounds us on all sides. It would take weeks to tunnel out with a full work force, and all we have are a half dozen axes.”
“Then we have to take the other way out,” Thomas said, locking eyes with the dwarf.
“That way must remain shut. To keep out the vile… unnatural…”
Thomas nodded. “I understand. And I promise you, when we open that door, the dead ain’t gonna leave it. You won’t have to worry about that bastard from this day on.”
“Promise me. Swear on something that matters.”
Thomas thought for a second, wondering what he could swear on that would truly convince the dwarves.
Then he felt a kick to his shin, and found there was really only one thing that truly mattered.
“I swear on the lives of my family, of the little girl under my charge, I will kill the necro-caster.”
The dwarf stared him in the eye, and finally he nodded.
“Alright then,” Thomas said, taking a breath, “Gilkor, lead on.”
They resumed their walk, moving slower than was strictly necessary. Gilkor said nothing, perhaps steeling himself for what he was about to face. Thomas realized he should be doing the same, but he didn’t know how. For a long moment, he simply walked, feeling nothing. Never before had he willingly walked into a dangerous situation. Every other time, he had been forced, or the situation had found him.
Now he had volunteered.
The silence soon became deafening, as they trudged along. Thomas wanted to say something, but he couldn’t think of a single thing to say. Should they say their goodbyes, just in case? Make a rallying speech? Or should he just continue, silently, and act as if nothing was wrong, that this was all business as usual?
Suddenly, Gilkor stopped in his tracks. Thomas pulled up short, and Zach bumped into him.
“What’s the matter, Gilkor?” Thomas asked the frozen smith. In answer, Gilkor raised his hand and pointed.
There was a golden door, the glowing metal obviously enchanted to keep it from ever opening.
It stood wide open.
Thomas moved forward, snapping his fingers to light a flame. It erupted without resistance. He flung it out, throwing a small tuft of fire down the hall. It didn’t go far, but it went far enough to reveal that nothing was in the hall.
The scent that returned to Thomas was beyond foul. It smelled like filth that had been rotting in the sun for weeks smothered in rotten eggs. Thomas gagged, trying not to inhale it, and wretched away. The others did so as well, unable to stand the smell.
“That’s horrible,” Zach said, covering his mouth. Thomas could only nod his agreement as he tried to survive without oxygen.
“Yeah,” Gilkor said, “that’s the smell of the necro-caster.” He alone seemed untroubled by the smell. Thomas realized sadly that it was because he was too busy contending with his memories. Thomas opened his mouth, but he found that he was unwilling to ask the question, nor did he really want Gilkor to have to answer it.
“Miranda,” he said instead, “how do you know about the necro-caster?”
Mirando shook her head, and he saw tears sparkle in her eyes. “I… I…”
“Fohor wasn’t the only one working with me that day,” Gilkor replied, his face chiseled from stone. “Miranda’s father was here as well.”
Thomas had no answer. There wasn’t one to have.
“Gilkor came back,” Miranda said finally, clearing her throat, “and told me what had happened. Dad was just there to secure a trade, and he had gone with Gilkor to waste time, maybe lend a hand…”
Thomas bowed his head, placing his hands over his eyes and rubbing his temples. Gods, magic caused far more harm than it did good.
He looked up, daggers in his eyes, as he silently vowed he would change that. Starting now.
Ignoring both the stench and his friends, he grabbed a torch off of the wall, lit it, and sprinted down the tunnel as fast as his legs would take him. He ran into nothing, not the slightest thing out of place.
Then he emerged into an antechamber that was bigger than the dwarf tavern, and it was crawling with bodies. They were carved, mutilated, some missing eyes or noses and others missing whole body parts. It took all of Thomas’ effort not to vomit right there.
“Who dares?!”
It was not a shout but a scream, a noise that sundered the silence and made Thomas’ hair stand on end. He drew his blade, staring at the bodies with the hope that none of them were actually alive.
“Show yerself,” Thomas hissed, his face screwed up in anger. He twirled the blade in his hand, his eyes focused on the whole room at once.
“You enter the domain of the Necro-Caster,” the voice said at a more reasonable level. The voice itself carried no breath, no pitch, no actual sound of life. It was just a gasp with no semblance of humanity inside it.
“Yeah? And who’s that? Some coward hiding behind an army of corpses?”
“Fool. You know not who you insult. Look upon me, look upon your new master!”
Something flickered at the edge of Thomas’ vision, and he turned to see something separate from the undead throng. It was a man, Thomas was almost sure of it, but not a man that Thomas had ever seen the like of before. He was all skin and bone, taller than he was but skeletal, emaciated.
“Gods,” Thomas said, “how are you still alive?”
“I was no fool. I knew I could be discovered. So I stockpiled supplies. So many supplies. I could have lived here until the end of time.”
“Well, yer not,” Thomas spat, “you ain’t goin’ to live past today.”
“Ha. Better than you have tried to end me, boy,” the Necro-Caster spat. Then he raised his hand and shouted a very familiar word. Thomas still didn’t know what it was or what it meant, but he could easily guess their purpose.
They charged towards him, their dead hands raised as they lumbered forward. Thomas drew his sword, unsure if he could actually fight the monsters.
Then his friends showed up behind him, and together they charged.
His sword bit into a zombie, but the beast couldn’t have cared less and swung at his head. He ducked it, and Gilkor smashed in its head with a hammer. Normally, this would have stopped any other threat, but these foes were not normal. The zombie wretched for a moment before chasing Thomas, despite lacking a head.
Cynthia decapitated another one, but it was just as useless as anything else. Zach kicked a zombie to the ground, but it simply crawled towards him on its stomach. Miranda slashed like a woman possessed, cutting zombies apart, but if they had a single limb remaining they still approached.
“What do we do?” Zach yelled, retreating to Thomas’ side. The others followed his lead, gathering around Thomas.
“If we cut off their legs,” Thomas said, “they can’t chase us.”
“Okay…” Miranda said, and they moved forward. Gilkor flattened a zombie with his hammer, and while the monster was distracted Thomas cut off its legs. It tried to pull itself with its arms, and Thomas cut those off too.
Unfortunately, it took two of them to take down one, and there were a dozen of them. Cynthia, Zach and Miranda brought down two on their own, leaving nine more who were closing in on them.
Then the Necro-Caster entered the fray.
He somehow seemed taller than before, livid as he looked. Without Thomas noticing, somehow the man was only a foot away, occupying what had been empty space a moment previously. Surprised, Thomas couldn’t react before the Necro-Caster tackled him to the ground.
“First, you die. Then I’ll make you kill your friends.”
The Necro-Caster fle
xed his hands and rubbed his fingers together, and Thomas saw forks of lightning start to form there. Before the Necro-Caster could reach out for him, Thomas’ hands shot out and caught the Necro-Caster’s. The latter tried to pull his arms free, but Thomas stubbornly held them in an iron-grip. Gilkor was held off by three zombies, the other six pinning in the rest of Thomas’ friends. They were undaunted, unstoppable, and no one could permanently fell one.
The lightning was starting to form in noticeable amounts now, and soon the Necro-Caster would be able to attack him.
How were the zombies able to attack? Thomas couldn’t figure it out. They cut off their heads, removed body parts, crushed their skulls, and still they kept attacking. Without brains, without life, how were they…
The answer was so obvious Thomas couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of it sooner. His gaze again the Necro-Casters, unrelenting and angry. If there was ever a time he needed to use his abilities to their fullest, now was it.
He closed his eyes, feeling the sparks of lightning start to travel down his arms. The Necro-Caster was about to fry him.
His eyes shot open, and as they did he slid his hands down the Necro-Caster’s arms. The residual friction was enough to ignite Thomas’ inner fire, and the worn down, worm-infested jacket caught flame.
The Necro-Caster immediately pulled off of him, trying to get his coat off as quickly as possible. Thomas stood, his temper surging as the zombies all turned their attention to him. His first clenched as he stared at the horde. His allies tried to fight them off, but all of their attention was fixed on him, just like the Necro-Caster wanted. The depraved magic-caster shouted the same word Thomas was beginning to loathe, and the zombies attacked him in earnest.
But Thomas had the measure of the word now, and it was all too easy to copy.
Which he did, angrily lifting his hand as he shouted the word to the world.
Immediately, pain surged in his head, but he ignored it. There were only a dozen or so zombies, nowhere near the size of the horde Thomas last had to control.
The Necro-Caster shouted, surprised. Trapped in the dark for years on end, Thomas wasn’t surprised that he hadn’t been conceived of the notion of this kind of mental battle. He tried to resist, tried to resume control, but Thomas already had the zombies locked in. While the Necro-Caster had more experience controlling them, Thomas had the upper hand when it came to fighting for control. He wouldn’t be able to hold it, he knew that, but it was hardly important now. With a mental push, they turned and headed towards their master.
Who bolted faster than Thomas truly believed possible, disappearing down a shaft at the end of the chamber. It was about that moment tasted blood, realizing it was trickling from his nose into his mouth. He put a hand to his forehead, trying to hold on.
“Run,” he said to his companions. Gilkor lead the charge after the Necro-Caster. Miranda followed him, while Zach and Miranda stopped to help Thomas.
“Go,” he whispered, “I can’t hold them much longer.”
“What are you going to do? We can’t just let them roam free, they’ll attack the dwarves.”
Thomas’ eyes had turned harder than the stones around them.
“Don’t worry. I’ve got a plan. Just run.”
They did as he said, pulling him across the antechamber and into the tunnel. He held the zombies at bay for as long as possible, but he stopped at the tunnel mouth. Without patience, without mercy, Thomas clenched his fist, thinking only one thing. Immediately he felt like his brain was dipped in boiling water and then clamped with a great weight, but he resisted.
Finally, when he felt his brain would explode from the exertion, all twelve bodies stopped moving, truly dead. He lost his balance, but Zach seemed prepared. He caught the falling stable boy and lifted him on his shoulders without even breaking stride.
Thomas remained conscious, if only just. The only thing that kept him from passing out was the sudden smell of fresh air.
Momentarily relief was quickly replaced by dread. If they could smell fresh air, that meant…
Sure enough, when Thomas opened his eyes he found they were outside. They were standing on a cliff, staring out at the mountain range covered in fog and smoke. The fresh air revived Thomas, and he gently motioned to Zach to put him down.
“Least you didn’t pass out for a few days this time,” Zach said, patting Thomas on the shoulder gently.
“Don’t… hold your breath,” Thomas replied, his head swimming again. Gods, he hoped the ale wasn’t still in his system. That probably wouldn’t help his brain recover.
“I don’t see him,” Gilkor reported, sweeping the mountainside. Thomas looked at the dwarf, before his eyes were drawn towards the slopes of Mount Caminus. Without knowing how he knew, he looked directly at a moving black object that was trying very hard not to be seen.
“There he is!” Thomas yelled, though the effort drained him and he collapsed to his knees.
“Gods, he’s trying to get to the Makers.”
Chapter 15: Outrunning the Devil
Gilkor moved first, his hardened hands burrowing into the side of the mountain and creating his own handholds. Miranda followed him, her hands finding handholds of their own. Zach hesitated, but Thomas shoved him towards the rock face. Only Cynthia remained by his side, and he put an arm around her for support.
“Let’s go,” he panted.
“You can’t climb a mountain,” Cynthia said, “not right now.”
“If he gets to the Makers,” Thomas snapped, “we lose. We lose everything. I won’t allow that. Now let’s go.”
“And if we get to the Makers? What then? We stop the Necro-Caster, but we’re missing something very important.”
“The sword,” Thomas moaned, closing his eyes. He had completely forgot.
“If we climb up there and don’t have the sword, the whole climb will be for nothing. We need to get the sword and then we can head up.”
Thomas looked up to the mountain. The other three already had such a lead on them…
Zach, as if he could feel Thomas’ eyes on him, turned back and waved his hand, as if to shoo them away. Apparently, Thomas was the only one to forget about their main task.
He bowed his head before turning away. They would have to find a way around the mountain back to the outpost if he was to claim the General’s sword. In a small stroke of fortune, there was a path that led down the mountain. It was their only chance, no matter where it went.
“Come on, then,” he said, moving forward. Cynthia fell into step beside him, and together the two of them jogged away from where Thomas felt he should be.
The path was littered with rocks, probably from the rockslide. As Thomas nearly tripped for the third time, he took a moment to curse the rockslide. Where had that come from, anyway? What were the odds of a rockslide right when Thomas’ journey was actually not terrible?
“Come on,” Cynthia said, “we can’t slow down.”
“Yeah,” Thomas replied, still lost in thought.”
“What’s on your mind?” she asked.
“Nothin’,” Thomas said, “it’s just… the Gods seem determined to make this adventure more difficult than it needs to be.”
Cynthia laughed, but the next moment they were again running down the path. Stones cut Thomas’ legs and he had to fight not to cry out, but they were making progress. The outpost was even in sight, all they had to do was hope the path turned uphill and they would have a straight shot there.
Naturally, the path did not.
It winded away in a different direction entirely, leading to an area that was obscured by the fog.
“Looks like we have to climb anyway,” Thomas said with a deep sigh.
“Sadly,” Cynthia concurred.
Sharing an exasperated look, they took to the stone. There only good fortune was that the mountain wasn’t a sheer cliff, as it actually rose at an angle. This meant that they could crawl and sometimes even crouch up the mountain, only holding on and
actually climbing a few times. Slowly, impossibly slowly, they inched towards the outpost.
Finally, hands bloody and the stitch in his side screaming, they neared the final ascent to the outpost. The way was usually blocked by gates and guards, but the rockslide had cleared those away. Their path was open to the outpost, save for one small problem.
Inanis.
“No,” Thomas said, “it can’t be.”
There were only three of them, no more than a scouting party. But three was more than Thomas could take down, especially considering he was practically unarmed. He and Cynthia tried staying silent, but the Inanis simply turned and saw them crouched there, trying to appear invisible.
With a gasp, all three of them started to shamble towards them.
“Run?” Cynthia said, her breathing heavy.
“I can barely walk,” Thomas replied, his breath coming in harsh gasps. “Maybe I can control them.”
“That’ll probably kill you,” Cynthia said harshly.
“Yeah,” he relented, “and I can’t remember the word anyway. The mind control word.”
“How does that even work?” Cynthia said as they started to back away.
“You worryin’ about this now?”
“I’m not sure I’m going to have another time to worry about it.”
Thomas stared at her, mouth open as they backed away from the Inanis. The only way to go now was back down the way they had come, and Thomas was sure he wouldn’t survive the trip. He’d fall and break his neck for sure, he was so tired.
Which meant they had to go through the Inanis.
“Wait,” Thomas said, a thought that he was sure wasn’t his popping into his brain. “You do it.”
“Do what?”
“Control them. You can do it.”
The Inanis slowed, as if wary of a trap. It was an opportunity Thomas was determined not to let go to waste.
“No I can’t! I don’t know the word! I don’t know how!”
“Neither did I. But I did it. And if I got the brainpower, I know you can do this.”
“But… the word…”
“We don’t need that word,” Thomas said, an idea springing into his mind, “we have so many other words. Words have power. All words have power. So just focus, and use a word.”
The Soul Forge Page 15
