by Mel Odom
The woman glanced up at him, her eyes widening slightly. “You’re joking.”
He kept his face serious with effort. Jaeleen had always lorded it over him that she knew more than he did when he’d been Golsway’s pupil. That hadn’t stopped in the days since Baylee had been on his own, even though they both knew it wasn’t true. “What have you been told about the well?”
Jaeleen shrugged. “Not much. I only just found out about it.” She paused, looking deep into his eyes in that way that she had that Bayiee found so damned irresistible. “Probably not nearly as much as you have.”
“Probably not,” Baylee agreed. “May I have the lamp?”
She handed it over somewhat reluctantly.
“I heard the tale in Jester’s Green two tendays ago. You know where Jester’s Green is?”
“North of Suzail.” Baylee was intrigued. He had heard of the legend himself in Dhedluk while searching for another treasure altogether. Mention of the sacrificial well of Vaprak had been contained in a history of herbalist’s lore the ranger had borrowed from a private library in the town to conduct research. The writer had been a native of Waymoot back in the days when the trollkin ruled the hills around that city, attacking caravans and travelers at their leisure. “Who told you the tale?”
“They have a number of soldiers garrisoned there.” Jaeleen peered over Baylee’s shoulder.
From the periphery of his vision, Baylee saw the smooth, rounded curves of the woman’s breasts pressing from the top of her bodice as if they were going to fall out. He reminded himself to breathe.
“Those soldiers were all too willing to try to impress a woman with a nice smile and seeming innocence with their stories. Most of them were twice-told tales as stale as a fishmonger’s love life. But, as you know, every now and then, there is that kernel of truth.”
Baylee knew. He shifted, sending the lamp further down into the yawning mouth of the cursed pit.
“One of the stories told was by a retired sergeant of the Purple Dragons,” Jaeleen went on. “As a boy, he’d lived in Waymoot. Most of the stories he told were of course about Lord Filfar Woodbrand, the local legend.” The woman leaned in closer and her cheek brushed against Baylee’s bare shoulder. The touch of perspiration covered skin was electric. “He told the story of how Woodbrand killed all the marauding trollkin in the area five or six times before he ever mentioned the well. In their day, the trollkin were very successful. A number of caravans as well as private individuals were murdered by the trolls. Thrown into this very well.”
“That’s not all of the story,” Baylee said. “This well was used as a sacrificial altar for Vaprak. He put a permanent spell of silence over the well to mask the screams of the dying from any passers-by. That’s why you didn’t hear the rock hit”
“Then there is a bottom.”
“Yes.”
“What are we waiting for?”
“Because the spell of silence may not be the only magic Vaprak put over the well.”
“The faint of heart never gets white meat at a family banquet,” Jaeleen said.
“And the daring adventurous who leap before they look end up in unmarked graves,” Baylee growled. It was the first rule Golsway had given him as a boy.
“Baylee,” the woman urged, reaching out to turn his face toward hers with a soft hand. The lamplight made her blond hair glisten like spun gold. “Do you know what riches might be waiting down there to claim? For us to claim?”
“Wealth is a burden only weak men choose to carry,” Baylee said. “I’d rather not have more than I can pack into a good travel kit, and what I can put into my head.”
“That’s only Golsway talking to you,” Jaeleen said irritably. “I’d hoped by now that you’d learned to think for yourself.”
The words stung Baylee, surprising him. He turned his attention back to the well and the lamp.
“I’ve offended you,” Jaeleen said. “Tymora’s sweet kiss, I’d not meant to do that, Baylee, truly.”
Baylee wanted to believe her so badly. Too often in most of his travels, he encountered only those who measured life and the worth of a man in gold pieces. The friends that he could trust could be counted on the fingers of both hands. The ones he felt comfortable with asking for something that he could not get for himself could be counted on one hand with fingers left over. “I’ve got a climbing rope in my kit. Get it.”
Jaeleen disappeared instantly from his side. She rummaged in his travel kit and brought the rope back. The ranger tied the string to the lamp through his belt, then took the rope.
I could go first, Xuxa offered.
No, Baylee replied. I need you here in case something goes wrong.
You need someone to watch your back if you’re going to turn it on that woman.
And the orcs could come back and bury us all.
Go, Xuxa said. If we are fortunate, you won’t be out of my reach by mindcall.
Baylee secured the grappling hook around a tree bole, then shook out the length of rope. Knots were already tied into it. He kicked the coil of rope into the well. The hemp slithered audibly for the first few yards, then became totally silent.
“What was the spell of silence for?” Jaeleen asked.
“Not all of the sacrifices were dead when they went into the well,” Baylee answered.
Sobriety dulled the excitement in Jaeleen’s features. She peered down into the well. “You’ve never said what you were here for.”
“Before Woodbrand ended the trollkin raids, the well had been in existence for decades,” Baylee said, testing the rope and finding that it held. He eased his feet over the well’s edge, then put his weight on the rope. Satisfied it continue to hold, he started down, going knot by knot. Dust and rock debris tumbled down around him. He glanced up where the rope hung over the edge of stone above. Bracing his feet against the walls of the well, he took his weight off the rope long enough to slide a worked bit of leather under the rope to prevent the rough rock from sawing easily through. “I’m here to see what bits of the past might yet remain.”
“You’re talking about the dead Obarskyr kings that are purported to sleep somewhere beneath Waymoot.” Jaeleen climbed onto the rope as Baylee made his way down.
Baylee went slowly, noting the scratches and old stains on the ragged walls of the well. The deep smell of must filled his nostrils with carrion and rot. He didn’t bother to correct the woman’s thinking about the Legend of the Sleeping Kings. If the day truly came that the Obarskyr kings were needed and did return from the dead, he felt certain they would return from some other place than Vaprak’s sacrificial well. The power of the well hadn’t been enough to conquer Woodbrand, or prevent the man from sealing it once he’d killed the trolls.
“What do you hope to f—” Jaeleen’s voice suddenly stopped in mid sentence.
Baylee halted his descent and looked up at the woman. Her face was barely visible from the lamp burning below. Her mouth was still moving, but no sound was coming out. The ranger tried his own voice, but discovered he was also forced into silence by the spell.
The well bottomed out at nearly forty feet, opening into a final, wide chamber. Baylee stopped ten feet above the rough stone floor and peered around. He had left the bow above, feeling little room would exist to use the weapon. Instead, he was not able to see the sides of the chamber below.
Jaeleen impatiently kicked him in the head.
Baylee reached up and swatted her foot away. Grabbing the string attached to the lamp, he moved it around in a slowly widening circle. The lamplight burned evenly, trapped inside the glass walls.
The dark stone floor seemed to absorb the light except for tiny patches that appeared luminescent. Baylee recognized the green glowing patches as lichens. Presence of the lichens confirmed the occasional presence of water in the well.
The lamp swung nearly fifteen feet across in an elliptical arc. Broken bones and smashed skulls showed yellowed white in the lamplight. Estimating from the number of skulls he was able to se
e, Baylee knew dozens of people had been thrown into the well over the years. Jaeleen kicked him in the head again.
Wishing he had a third hand so he could strike back, Baylee continued swinging the lamp.
She’s worried that you might break her trinket, Xuxa said inside his mind.
Baylee grimaced ruefully, remembering that the azmyth bat’s powers provided her a means of communication, even inside the spell of silence.
She won’t kick again, Xuxa promised. I told her that you would smash the lamp if she didn’t mind her manners.
Thank you. I see nothing moving in here. Can you sense anything?
Nothing living. But that doesn’t mean there are no traps.
I know.
The ranger climbed further down the rope, taking up the slack in the string that held the lamp. Nothing appeared to be moving in the chamber. He put his feet on solid rock, then let go the rope.
Jaeleen dropped beside him and reached out to snatch the lamp from Baylee’s hand. She turned away from him, casting the light before her and scattering dancing shadows that twisted over the rough surface of the chamber.
The chamber was at least ten feet tall, Baylee decided, and easily three times that in diameter. He took a small torch from his belt pouch and lit it with the flint and steel he had. The sparks ignited the torch and he breathed on it to encourage the flame. The thin, gray smoke curled up toward the open well above.
Holding his torch aloft and spotting the haphazard mound of bones and rotting clothing against the east wall, Baylee thought his companion might be right. Water could have carried the remains against the wall. Jaeleen’s lamplight also set fire to the smooth, warm texture of gold within the tangle of ivory limbs.
She reached out and seized a skeletal arm. A worked gold bracelet with inlaid gemstones circled the wrist, loose now that the flesh had been stripped away.
Curious indentations in the bone as Jaeleen moved the limb attracted Baylee’s attention. He moved closer, using his own torch. Upon closer inspection, he realized the indentations were teeth marks.
Trollkin are known for their appetites, Xuxa put in. Human flesh is thought of as a delicacy by some.
Baylee knew that was true. He drew back as Jaeleen slipped her captured prize free and dropped it into the pouch at her side. She quickly started shifting the bones, searching for more.
She is a grave-robber, not an explorer, Xuxa sneered.
Baylee moved around the chamber, exploring the perimeters. His breathing was easier as he grew accustomed to the hint of foul stench that clung to the well. Jewelry is often taken, he defended. An historian can tell much about the craft of metal-smithing from the way the piece is crafted. And the inscriptions—
Faugh! The things that woman gathers will see only the inside of a merchant’s case.
Baylee moved along the chamber. In a few places, faded messages were scratched on the walls with the points of daggers or sharp rocks. Nearly all of the writings were pleas for help, or hopes that others would bury them decently. Some of them were prayers to a handful of deities. Apparently none of them had been answered. It was almost enough to make a man give up religion.
Gifted as he was by native imagination, trained as he had been under Golsway’s critical eye and demanding mien, Baylee slipped easily into an understanding of what the poor wreches’ last few hours must have been like. Trapped in the throat of the well, some of them perhaps trying to stay afloat, yelling hoarsely till fatigue or their injuries finally took them, despair had undoubtedly filled them.
The feeling was leaden in his mind, making him aware of the thick, still air around him. Dust coated his exposed skin now, and perspiration cut rivulets through it. With effort, he pushed the feelings from him. His affinity for getting the sense of places and things had always stood him well. But it was a two-edged sword because those feelings could overwhelm him if he wasn’t careful.
Without warning, the sound of rattling bones came to the ranger’s ears. He turned back toward Jaeleen, in the direction the sound had come from. She was prying a pouch from under a tangle of bodies. The skin it had been crafted of had split in two areas, revealing a few silver pieces.
Baylee’s senses came on full alert. Something had broken the spell of silence. Jaeleen halted her efforts to get the bag, though she did not relinquish it. Crouched down, she turned her head to look at the ranger over her shoulder. “Baylee?”
Before he could think to frame an answer, movement exploded from the pile of skeletons in front of the woman, hurling bones whirling madly in all directions. A predator’s wail of triumph filled the chamber.
4
Baylee caught Jaeleen’s shoulder and yanked her back as the shaggy creature rose from the pile of skeletons. The ranger pulled the woman with him as he retreated across the chamber. His torch and Jaeleen’s lamp threw uncertain light across the thing that pursued them.
It stood over six feet tall and had been a big man in life. It was emaciated now, even for one of its kind. The grayish skin stretched tight over the bone structure, making the face appear blocky and misshapen. Wild hair alternately curled tight to the scalp and jutted out in unruly tufts. Dark circles shuttered the narrow eyes fired by unreasoning hunger. A long, thick tongue flicked out from between crooked, elongated teeth. The dry mouth cracked as it opened, and the sound of the tongue passing over the thirst-bloated lips rasped through the chamber. Clothing hung from the creature in shreds, scarcely covering the pallid body.
What is it? Xuxa called. Her telepathic ability didn’t allow her to see through his eyes.
A ghoul, Baylee replied as he looked around the scattered bones for a weapon he could use. Ghouls were very dangerous, and fighting one in such close quarters was not a good plan.
The creature moved slowly, its joints and sinews snapping and popping with the effort. Evidently it had been in the well for a long time, probably drawn by the scent of decay. Once in, it had been unable to scale the walls and get back out.
Jaeleen brought her hand crossbow up and fired a bolt into the ghoul’s face.
The bolt thudded into the ghoul’s cheek with the sound of a knife splitting into an over-ripe melon. Stuck there, the bolt shoved its way between the creature’s jaw, wedging it open and exposing the sharp teeth inside through the gaping flap of skin. There was little blood. Baylee guessed that the creature had been near the end of its unnatural life at the time they had entered the well.
The wound also unleashed a noxious odor.
The ghoul roared with rage, struggling to get the cry out of its parched lips and past the embedded bolt. Pausing, swaying uncertainly, it reached up and ripped the feathered shaft free. It threw the bolt aside and charged.
Jaeleen worked to reload her weapon.
Baylee breathed a quick prayer to Mielikki, the Lady of the Forest, and tossed his torch to the ground. The Lady must have been smiling, because the torch remained lit, adding to the uncertain illumination Jaeleen provided as she jerked her lamp around in her efforts to reload the hand crossbow.
Drawing into a defensive stance, Baylee reached into his boot for his dagger. The blade came free in his hand. Despite the warring perspectives offered by the two light sources in the dark chamber, he concentrated on the weaker illumination provided by the torch. At least it was steady. Torch light flickered across the ghoul as it lunged at him.
The blackened talons jutting from its fingers ripped at Baylee’s midsection. Dodging, the ranger almost got away. The talons sliced through his deerskin shirt. Baylee stepped quickly to one side, intending to kick the ghoul’s exposed leg and hopefully smash the joint to cripple the creature. Instead, his support foot slid across a pile of bones, throwing him off-balance. Before he could recover, the ghoul smashed him with a backhand blow.
Baylee flew across the room, throbbing waves of pain filling his head. His vision blurred as he slid across the rough-hewn chamber floor in a crumpled heap. A brief paralysis touched his limbs, numbing them, but it quickly retrea
ted. Blood salted his mouth, and the warm ooze of liquid trickled down his chin.
Get up, Baylee! Xuxa yelled, swooping gracefully down the shaft.
The ranger shook his head, trying to clear his double vision. The ghoul roared with savage glee and threw its head back to take a deep whiff. The scent of fresh blood sent it into a frenzy.
Shoving himself to his feet, Baylee narrowly avoided the creature’s lunge. He bounced off a wall, too far away for the torch to show his surroundings. Bones clattered beneath his feet.
The ghoul struggled as well. The bones and loose rocks provided treacherous footing. It’s baleful gaze lingered on Baylee, hot eyes boring into the ranger’s. The narrow tongue flicked out of its mouth again, and drool flecked its lower face. It took a step toward him.
Suddenly, a heartbeat of activity shot across the ghoul’s face, snapping its head back. Xuxa expertly skimmed away from the nearby wall, heeling with a lot of trouble in the still air trapped in the chamber.
Baylee! Get moving! The azmyth bat wheeled around, taking another dive at the ghoul.
This time the creature was ready for her. The black taloned nails scraped through the air scant inches behind Xuxa. It snuffled in anticipation, tracking the rapid wing beats.
Baylee spotted the dropped knife resting beside the smashed remains of what appeared to be an elven woman, judging from the dress and the shape of the broken skull. Ignoring the pain in his head, he crossed the floor and picked the knife up.
Instantly the ghoul turned and was on him.
Baylee ducked beneath the outstretched hands. Keeping his feet planted, he rocked a shoulder into the creature’s thighs. With the ghoul’s emaciated skin worn so thin from hunger, his shoulder felt like it had collided with solid bone. He shoved with all his strength, putting his back into the effort.
The ghoul left its feet and slammed back against the chamber wall. Baylee set himself barely in time to avoid the slashing nails as the ghoul bounded back from the wall. He looped out his empty hand and caught the loose fabric of the tunic the creature wore. Yanking and using the ghoul’s momentum as well as leverage, the ranger brought his opponent slamming into the ground.
