Zayl, meanwhile, found himself hard-pressed against his three foes. Reacting instinctively, he summoned the Talon of Trag’Oul, which had served him so well in Gregus Mazi’s sanctum.
The bone spear shot through the foremost golem, the one he had already slowed. The damage caused by both spells proved too much for the animated guard to overcome. The torso collapsed in on itself, then, as if a house of cards had been knocked over, the entire golem dropped in pieces.
Knowing he could no longer use the Talon, Zayl immediately summoned the Den’Trag, the Teeth of Trag’Oul. The combination had perfectly finished the carpet beast and surely would serve as well here.
But when the shower of swift, deadly shafts struck the pair, most bounced off.
The necromancer could scarcely believe what he saw; he had heard no tale of the Teeth ever failing. True, some of his missiles did pincushion the two golems and had even managed to disarm the one who had wielded the ax, but other than causing some slowness of movement, the projectiles had succeeded in doing little else.
It occurred to him then that the similarities between the Teeth and the Talon had enabled the golems to adapt to the former as well. Zayl cursed his stupidity, then sought some other spell not at all akin to any of those he had cast. He had to think fast, too, for although the animated sentries clearly respected the power of his dagger, its short length meant that they still had the advantage of reach.
As the one who had been disarmed bent to seize the ax again, the necromancer’s remaining opponent thrust hard with his sword. The tip of the long blade came within an inch of Zayl’s throat. He backed away, colliding with Gorst, who had been pressed back by his own remaining foes.
An idea occurred to Zayl, one he hoped would not prove wrong, or else he would be sacrificing both their lives needlessly. “Gorst! We need to switch opponents!”
“Switch? Why?”
“Just trust me! When I give the word!”
To his credit, the mercenary did not protest. Still back-to-back, Zayl could feel the giant’s body tense as he prepared to follow the spellcaster’s lead.
“Drive them back three paces, then turn to your left!”
Zayl himself dove forward, his sudden shift in tactics causing the golems to step away. However, the necromancer cast no spell, but rather simply did exactly as he had ordered Gorst. Spinning around, he abandoned his foes for those the giant had fought. At the same time, Gorst turned to confront Zayl’s original pair.
Pointing the dagger at his two new adversaries, the necromancer unleashed the Teeth of the Dragon again.
The needle-sharp projectiles tore through the golems, completely puncturing the armor and shattering the guards into a hundred pieces that flew in every direction.
Zayl let out an uncustomary yell of triumph. As he had suspected, since these had not yet faced him in battle, they had not adapted themselves to his particular spells. By switching opponents, he had outwitted their creator’s handiwork.
But that left Gorst with the pair that the necromancer had originally faced. Concerned that they might prove too much for the mercenary, Zayl whirled about, already putting together a spell that he hoped would at least slow the sentries down.
He need not have worried. Gorst had the situation well in hand—and one of the golems in hand, too. His weapon abandoned, the giant had one of his foes upside down over his head. Without hesitation, he thrust the golem toward the floor as hard as he could, and where Gorst was concerned, that proved hard indeed.
Helmet and false face crumpled into an unrecognizable jumble. The massive fighter tossed the rest of the body away, then turned on the final golem. Undaunted, the construct tried to cut a deadly arc with his sword. However, Gorst, moving far more swiftly than his form warranted, seized the wrist of the sword arm and tugged.
As the guard fell toward him, the mercenary slammed his fist through the emotionless mask with such force that his hand dented the inside of the back of the helmet.
Seemingly determined not to take any risks, Gorst ripped the helmet off, then he kicked with his foot at the creature’s chest.
The last golem fell back onto the floor and broke, limbs clattering in various directions, bits of armor spinning about.
“Now what?” asked Gorst as he retrieved one of the axes.
“As you said, we find Captain Dumon.”
They hurried down the hall again, the silence and emptiness of the palace doing nothing to ease Zayl’s concerns. Surely the commotion caused by the battle should have sent more guards running to aid the others. Where were all those who had once inhabited this place?
More to the point, where was Captain Dumon? In a place so huge, with so many hidden passages, how could they possibly—
What a fool he had been! Zayl halted, Gorst nearly running him down in the process.
“Do you have anything of the captain’s on you? Anything at all? If not, we’ll have to return to his chambers.”
The giant brooded over the question for a moment, then his face brightened. “Got this!”
He dug into a pocket and removed a small, rusted medallion with the picture of some bearded western monarch upon it. In badly worn script around the edges had been inscribed For Honor, For Duty, For King and Kingdom.
“Kentril got it from his father. Carried it with him for years. Used to say it brought him good luck. He gave it to me after I almost got my head chopped off about a year ago. Said I needed it more than he did.”
Not exactly what Zayl had hoped for, but if Gorst’s aura had not yet overwhelmed the older one set into the medallion by Captain Dumon, then it could still be of use in tracking the missing mercenary down. Unfortunately, their lack of time also demanded that the necromancer make use of a far less accurate spell, one with the potential to be more affected by outside influences such as the recent change in ownership.
Zayl had to try, though. Holding the medallion in his right hand, he dangled the tip of the blade over the center, all the while muttering under his breath.
Immediately, he began to feel a tug—but toward the watching Gorst. Irritated, Zayl focused on Kentril Dumon, picturing him as best he could.
Now the pulling came from another direction, an area near the grand chamber but in an area of which the necromancer knew little. Muttering a few more words, the necromancer tightened the focus his spell to make certain, then nodded to Gorst.
“Did you find him?”
Holding the rusted memento before him, Zayl checked the direction a third time. The invisible force continued to pull him toward the same path. “He is most definitely that way.”
Ax gripped tightly, Gorst trailed close as Zayl followed the guidance of the bewitched medallion. As they proceeded, though, the spellcaster noticed an unnerving peculiarity about the lit torches and oil lamps nearby. The flames flickered rather oddly, and Zayl thought that the light actually looked darker, as if something drained it of its natural fury.
Their path led them to a secluded door, through which they entered without hesitation. Before them the pair found a passage descending below the main palace, a passage that neither could recall from the drawings. Gorst did not like the dim illumination that came from everywhere and nowhere, and even the necromancer felt a chill up and down his spine, but down they went, certain more than ever that there they would find the captain.
At the bottom, the duo came upon an immense iron door. The head of a fearsome gargoyle with features like those of the ones they had seen outside thrust out from the right side, a large ring in its mouth.
Gorst put an ear to the door, a moment later shaking his head. “Can’t make out a sound.” He tugged on the ring. “It’s too strong for me. I’ll just ruin the handle trying.”
“Let me see what I can do.” Slipping around the giant again, Zayl leaned close with the dagger. He sensed great forces in play not only around the door but beyond.
“Zayl,” came the skull’s voice, “I think—”
“Not now, Humbart. Can you
not see—”
He broke off as the ring suddenly slipped from the gargoyle’s beaky maw. A shriek echoed through the passage. The necromancer lurched back as the beak snapped at him, falling against Gorst.
A full-sized, winged, and taloned gargoyle leapt out of the door at them.
EIGHTEEN
“Atanna—” Kentril bit back the rest of what he had been going to say. This could not be Atanna, not this horrifying marionette. Her head still tipped completely to one side, she gave him a macabre smile. “My darling Kentril . . .”
Juris Khan put his arm around her. With an expression akin to that on the face of any loving father, he said to her, “Now, my dear, you should go to your beloved looking your best, don’t you think so?”
He gently put the arms in place, then ran his hand over the maimed limb. As Lord Khan’s fingers pulled away, Kentril saw that Atanna’s own hand had been restored.
Muttering words the likes of which the mercenary had never heard, the robed monarch took a step back. A fiery corona surrounded his daughter from head to toe. Atanna rose several inches into the air, and as she did, her legs twisted, reshaped, becoming once more normal limbs. The gouges in her face and form quickly dwindled, finally disappearing. Even her dress restored itself, all signs of damage vanishing.
“Olbystus!” called out Juris Khan.
Slowly, Atanna descended to the floor again. The shimmering corona faded away. Before Kentril stood an almost completely restored woman.
Almost . . . because her head yet hung to the side.
With a gentle smile, Atanna’s father put her head back in place. Muscles, veins, tendons, and flesh instantly fused. The terrible wound sealed itself, all trace soon gone.
Juris Khan briefly adjusted her hair. “There! So much better.”
“Am I pretty again, Kentril?” she innocently asked.
He could say nothing, could think nothing. In desperation, he looked to Quov Tsin, who seemed to be taking everything in with an eagerness that did not bode well at all.
“It’s as you said,” the diminutive Vizjerei almost cooed to their host. “The power to do almost anything, even to preserve life itself!”
“A gift of Heaven,” their host returned. “A gift that can be shared.”
“Heaven?” blurted the captain. “This is hellish!”
Khan gave him a paternal look. “Hell? But this is Ureh, my good captain! No beast or servant of the Prime Three can touch this holy kingdom—is that not so, Master Tsin?”
The Vizjerei sniffed. “Don’t be so mundane, Dumon! Can’t you even imagine the power of Heaven? Do you think Hell could preserve life so?”
“Preserve it? You call that life? She’s dead, Tsin! Just look at her!”
“Why, Kentril, how could you possibly say that?” Pouting, Atanna stepped close. Her eyes glittered in that magical way they always had, and he could feel the warmth of her body even though she still stood a few scant inches away. Each breath rose and sank in fascinating display, enough so that even Captain Dumon had to start questioning his own fears. “Do I truly, truly, look dead to you?”
“Open your eyes and mind, captain,” Quov Tsin urged, coming toward the pair. “You’ve always struck me as a little brighter than most of your earthy kind. You know the stories, the legends of the Light among Lights! You know how the archangels granted great miracles to the people, revealed to them things we can only just imagine!”
“But—but this?”
“Kentril is correct to be skeptical,” commented Juris Khan. He extended his hands to take in the entire chamber. “Do not the archangels tell us to be wary of evil in the guise of goodness? Does not the world have tales about cunning demons seeking to corrupt humans at every turn? My good captain, the history of Ureh at the time when we sought the pathway to Heaven’s sanctuary very much backs your suspicious nature. It is because of the subtle guile of Diablo and the many lesser demons that I prayed for a miracle, for a way to secure my kingdom completely from their evil. To my good fortune, the archangel did grant me that miracle, but in the meantime we more than once had to deal with cunning traitors and plots sinister barely recognizable as such. Yes, I applaud your skepticism, however misplaced it might be at this moment.”
Tsin turned the veteran soldier so that the platform filled Kentril’s gaze. The mercenary’s eyes widened as he noted the glowing, pulsating runes. The urge to get as far away from the artifact as he could filled Kentril. Unfortunately, not only did the Vizjerei hold his arm, but Atanna stood right behind him.
“The archangel who had spoken to Lord Khan could not undo what had been done,” the short sorcerer explained. “But he revealed to our host a possible escape should the proper elements come into play. They have.”
Now Khan stepped around the platform, eyeing Kentril from the opposing side. “I had originally thought to make use of your fortuitous arrival to fulfill my original intention, to see Ureh at last rise to Heaven. However, your good Master Tsin rightly convinced me of our need to stay on the mortal plane, and, as it turns out, this works out so perfectly with what I’ve calculated that I cannot but believe that the archangel truly meant this route instead.”
For lack of anything better to say, Captain Dumon muttered, “I don’t understand.”
“It’s very simple, Dumon, you cretin! The archangel pointed out powers not bound by Heaven or Hell, powers of nature, of the world itself. What better than these to help bind Ureh to our plane again? The natural tendencies of such forces are to create a balance, to set everything into harmony. Ureh will become truly real again, its people once more able to go out in the sun, to go out and interact with other kingdoms, other realms.”
At the moment, Kentril did not see that as quite the wondrous notion that Tsin clearly did. In fact, he regretted even having set the one stone in place. Ureh had not proven to be what he had expected—and his future not what he had thought it to be.
“What about Gregus Mazi?” the captain demanded, shaking off both Atanna and the Vizjerei. He could not forget the horrible sight he had seen.
“Lord Khan explained that simple matter to me, Dumon. You didn’t find Gregus Mazi, but rather one of his acolytes. He tried also to destroy the Key to Shadow, but a protective spell cursed him so. The cretin brought it on himself. He now guards against others with equally vile notions, protecting Ureh’s hopes . . .”
There were too many holes in the story, too many gaping holes, but for Quov Tsin, who had not been there, Khan’s explanation seemed to make perfect sense. Not so for Kentril Dumon, however. He knew very well that Juris Khan had added another lie to the many already piled up. Everything that the captain and his companions had assumed about the holy kingdom had been wrong. They had come to find a legend and instead had unveiled a nightmare.
“And what about my men, Tsin? What about Albord and the rest—and even the necromancer, Zayl? A lot of good men have gone missing, and I’ve not yet heard a reasonable explanation for their disappearances.”
Juris Khan came from around the platform. He seemed even taller, more foreboding, than previously. “The taint left by Gregus has touched some of my people, I admit. However, once Ureh is settled among mankind again, those who’ve done these terrible deeds shall be taken to account.”
While a part of him wished desperately to believe the elder man, Kentril had heard too much he could not accept. “Tsin, you can stay here if you like, but I think I’ll be going . . .”
Atanna was suddenly there at his side again. The captain felt torn between desire and revulsion. Here stood the woman of his dreams . . . the same one he had seen fall to her death, then return in most grotesque fashion.
“Oh, but you can’t go, Kentril, darling, not yet!”
Spoken with honey yet still not sweet enough not to make him even more wary. Again pulling away from her, the veteran soldier readied his blade. “I’m going through that door. Tsin, you’d be smart to go with me.”
“Don’t be a bigger fool than I take you
for already, Dumon. I’m not going anywhere, and you certainly can’t. We need you most of all right now!”
“Need me? For what?”
The Vizjerei shook his head at such ignorance. “You’re critical to the spell, of course, cretin!”
He looked from face to face to face—and turned to run. Against one spellcaster, Kentril Dumon might have defended himself. Against two, he might have even entertained some hope of victory.
Against three, only a madman stayed and fought.
But as Kentril ran toward the door, he abruptly discovered himself running toward the platform instead. With one fluid movement, the captain spun around, only to see the platform again.
“Do stop wasting our time with such games, Dumon!” snapped Tsin. “It isn’t as if we plan to kill you.”
Unable to make any progress toward escape, Kentril paused to listen. “No?”
“The amount of blood needed will hardly even make you dizzy, I promise.”
Blood. . . .
“Damn you!” Still gripping the sword, Kentril lunged.
The weapon disappeared from his hand, reappearing but a second later in that of Juris Khan.
With an almost casual air, Atanna’s father tossed Kentril’s last hope aside. “My dear captain. You continue to misunderstand everything. Yes, we require you to lie down upon the platform, but this is hardly a human sacrifice. Let me explain . . .” An almost saintly look spread across his lined visage. “We deal with powers that are part and sum that which keeps the natural order in balance. In that natural order, life is most paramount, and in life, blood is the strongest representation. To bind the power, then, we need blood. The platform acts as a focus, which is why the blood must be drawn there.”
A soft but cold hand touched his cheek. Jumping, Kentril once more faced the creature he had thought he loved.
“And they only need a few drops for that. The rest they draw, my love, is for us.”
The caress both teased him and made his flesh crawl. “Us?”
“Of course, Kentril, darling! When the entire spell is complete, not only will Ureh be once more in the real world, but you shall never have to fear death again. Isn’t that wonderful?”
The Kingdom of Shadow Page 25
