A wooden mask painted in outlandish colours covered the Aberrator’s face. He leapt spryly from the fish’s back and landed noiselessly beside Alhena, his head bobbing up and down, inspecting Alhena from a hair’s breadth away. His head turned this way and that, emitting a strange tongue clicking noise. He pulled a length of bamboo from his back and shook it; an eerie rattle escaped the tube.
Alhena knew better than to move. If the Aberrator thought for a moment that Alhena meant him harm, his minions would descend upon the group.
“Pops, ye okay?” Olmar’s voice reached him but he dared not respond. He was thankful to hear Sadyra’s sharp tongue.
“Shut up, Lunkhead. He knows what he’s doing.”
Alhena tried not to cringe when Sadyra added, “I hope.”
The Aberrator plucked at Alhena’s robes, sniffing them through nose holes carved into his hideous mask, before bending to stare into Alhena’s milky eyes.
“Ah, bahahaha! You return, just like I predicted. You look old and terrible. I’m jealous. Who killed you? That’s my job. Bahahaha! We’ve foreseen it. Bahahaha!”
Now that the Aberrator recognized him, Alhena allowed himself to relax. He forced a fake smile for the unpredictable conjurer. “No one killed me.” He ran his free palm over his newly grown hair. “I shaved my head to disguise myself.”
“Bahahaha!” The Aberrator bent over double and slapped his thigh. “You killed yourself, more like!” He sprung into the air and confronted the startled faces of the others.
“Nice! You bring me pretty gifts.” The necromancer shook his tube in the air, studying Pollard and Olmar. “I like them. Intimidating.” He leapt over to Sadyra, Rook and Larina, clicking his tongue and shaking his head. “The others? Bah! Fodder.”
Alhena strode up beside the Aberrator, pulling down his raised arm. “Ah, ah. Not so fast. They travel with me.”
The Aberrator’s head leaned forward on an unusually long neck, his mask pushing against Alhena’s nose. “To death?”
Alhena swallowed but remained impassive. “Perhaps. But, not here. Not now, anyway. We have an important mission to complete first.”
“Ahhhh, but you promised. I’ve been looking forward to your return. It’s been over four hundred years since my last phantasma ritual. You’re my unhallowed sacrifice.”
A low growl escaped Olmar. If Pollard hadn’t restrained him, Alhena feared their quest would’ve ended then and there. “It is okay Olmar. Let me handle this.”
He placed an unsure arm around the Aberrator’s back and steered him away. He glanced over his shoulder at Olmar. “You see? Friends.”
“I no be likin’ the look o’ this, Pops,” Olmar growled, straining against Pollard’s iron grip.
“Your giant has the right of it, Phazarus. I don’t like what you’re telling me either. A shame the Lurker isn’t around anymore. That one’s a tasty morsel, hmm? Bahahaha!”
The Aberrator’s high-pitched laugh made Alhena anxious. If he lost control of the unpredictable necromancer, Zephyr’s fate would be sealed then and there.
“Last I saw of our scaly friend, he was alive and well. Lives up by the eternal land of frost and snow. Has his own tower, in fact. You should go see him.”
“Fire breath has settled down? Perhaps a visit is in his future. He would be my crown jewel. I might even trade you for him…” The Aberrator’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Ahhhh. That gives me an idea.”
Alhena swallowed. The Aberrator’s ideas were never good.
“Since you’re too stubborn to die, I offer you this in exchange for the lives of your friends. Deliver to me the Lurker and I may even forgo our personal accord. What say you, oh mighty wizard?” The Aberrator shrugged free of Alhena’s grasp and danced around like a lunatic, gyrating his bare hips and shaking his matted, long black hair in a frenzy—an eerie wail escaping his lips. “Decide!”
Alhena stepped back to avoid being clubbed by the Aberrator’s rattle. If he didn’t salvage the situation, they were all dead. “Deal.”
The Aberrator didn’t take notice. His gyrations spun him ever closer to the group of bewildered quest members.
Alhena raised his voice. If the necromancer got too close, Olmar and Sadyra would surely react. “Aberrator! I agree! I will deliver the Lurker.”
The Aberrator stopped his frenetic dance just shy of Olmar who was struggling to break free of Pollard’s grasp. He skipped back to Alhena.
“Really, Phazarus? You would do that for poor ol’ Abby?”
Alhena sighed. “Aye. I know not how, but first my friends and I must tend to more important matters.”
“More important than mine?”
Alhena raised his thin brows. “More pressing.” He looked around as if noticing his surroundings for the first time. “Speaking of which, the Gulch does not seem to have suffered from Helleden’s firestorm.”
The Aberrator straightened. His head tilted one way and then the other before he leaned in to place his mask against Alhena’s nose, his voice dangerous. “Do not insult me again.”
Alhena swallowed but held firm.
“That apprentice trickster has no power here.”
They remained face-to-face for a long while before the Aberrator lifted his head high and laughed like nothing had happened. “Now be gone with you, but do not be away too long or I will come for you, Wizard of the North. Even if I have to tear down that anthill you call home.” He held out his hand for Alhena to proceed up the eastern path.
“Actually, we have need to travel through the Crypt.”
The Aberrator jumped as if stung in the backside. He cackled and slapped his thigh, shaking his rattle over his head. “The Crypt. No one travels the Crypt. Not if they wish to be alive at the far end.”
“That’s not true. I have, if you recall?”
The Aberrator’s head slowly nodded. “Indeed. But you are Phazarus. They,” he indicated the others with his rattle, “are…pfft.”
“That is the condition I set for our accord to be binding. In order to achieve my goal, I need these fine people alive. If you crave the Lurker, that is my price. Once Helleden is dead, I will surrender myself to you.”
“Pops, no!” Olmar roared, breaking free of Pollard.
The Aberrator’s mask turned on Olmar and his tubular staff rattled. Olmar froze in mid-stride, one foot suspended in the air, and toppled helpless to the ground.
Sadyra and Larina rushed to his side while Rook pulled back an arrow and Pollard bounded forward.
“No!” Alhena’s staff flashed blue. A gust of wind held Pollard in check and dislodged Rook’s arrow.
The pulse of restraint was temporary, but it had its intended effect. Rook lowered his bow and Pollard stopped his advance beside the unmoving Olmar.
“It is the way it has to be. Do not provoke him further.” Alhena turned to the Aberrator. “Do you agree?’
“The Lurker?”
“Yes, with the Lurker.”
“I agree.”
“To keep the denizens of the Crypt away from us.”
“I do hate to rob them of such sport.” The Aberrator hung his head in mock defeat, his voice sounding like he was pouting behind his mask. “Very well, they will not touch you. Now hurry. I will prepare for your return.”
“It will be many months before I can travel that far north and return again.”
The Aberrator bounded to the shoreline. “It will take that much time to get ready.” He hopped aboard his dead catfish, scooped up a whisker in each hand, and with a shake of his rattle, the atrocity wiggled backward into Splenic Splash. The catfish’s mighty tail flicked the water and spirited the necromancer away—his maniacal laughter fading into the mist.
Olmar groaned and sat up with the assistance of Larina and Sadyra. He brushed dirt from the side of his head. “Pops, you cannae be serious. I won’t let you come back ‘ere.”
Alhena stared at the spot where the Aberrator vanished. It wouldn’t be much longer until he realized his fate
anyway. Until then, he must see this through. Ridding the world of Helleden Misenthorpe had been his life’s mission. He’d gone down several paths to achieve that elusive goal—the last being a long, drawn out deception involving Mase’s son. The elimination of the Soul proved to be a pleasant bonus he hadn’t foreseen.
He sensed the rest of his group gather around him, their gazes following his.
“What was that…that thing?” Sadyra asked, her slender arms wrapping him in an embrace from the side.
Alhena tipped his head to lean against hers. “That, my dear, is a spirit older than the hills. Time has robbed him of his faculties but do not be fooled. The Aberrator possesses more knowledge than the combined archives of the Chamber and the Vaults of Lore below Castle Svelte. Speaking of which, I can only hope those priceless tomes survived Helleden’s purge of the land. We need them if Zephyr is to rise from the ash.”
Sadyra squeezed him hard. “Well, don’t you worry, gramps, there ain’t one of us that’ll let old rattle boy harm you.”
Alhena forced a smile. He didn’t have the heart to tell her his next meeting with the Aberrator was a forgone conclusion. Nor was he prepared to listen to her drone on for days about how she wouldn’t allow that to happen. He loved her spirit, and was really quite envious of her innocent outlook on life, but he’d rather not argue the point of his predetermined fate.
He broke free of her embrace and nodded to the rest, indicating with a hand gesture they should start down the left fork.
“Give us a moment to gather our arrows,” Sadyra said as she and Larina and Rook went about the gruesome task of pulling shafts from the bodies of their victims.
When they had sorted the reclaimed arrows, Sadyra grabbed Pollard’s hand and skipped ahead to lead the way. Larina and Olmar waited for Alhena and Rook to go ahead of them. Following the reedy shoreline, their surroundings were lost in the mist.
“So, Pops, what be this Lurker thing the lunatic mentioned?” Olmar asked, his footsteps clumping along behind.
“Bah, tis nothing to worry about. Just a wee beast living along the northern border of the Kraidic Empire.”
“That be all snow ‘n ice up there.”
“Aye. It is not a nice place to visit.”
“So, what is it, mister evasive pants?” Larina prodded.
“Nothing to concern yourself with. I will deal with it somehow when the time comes.”
“Deal with it somehow? Sounds ominous. Come on, don’t be like that. Is it a bear? A troll? A demon? What?”
Alhena glanced at Rook, rolling his eyes.
Rook laughed.
Alhena muttered low and fast in resignation, “A dragon.”
“Heh,” Larina laughed. “Sorry, I don’t think I heard you right. It sounded like you said dragon.”
She must have fed off the look Rook gave him. “You did say dragon! You’re going to hunt a dragon and bring it back here?” Larina’s voice was so loud that Pollard and Sadyra stopped to stare.
Alhena sighed. “Aye. And not just an ordinary dragon. This one is seven hundred years old. As far as I know, he is the last remaining wyrm of his kind.”
Sadyra laughed. “A worm! Oh, gramps, you say the silliest things.”
Alhena shook his head. The last thing he wished was to capture such a wondrous creature. To bring it back for the Aberrator to subjugate it to his will was wrong. Yet, if he wanted the Aberrator to fulfill his end of the bargain, the necromancer would accept nothing less.
Olmar’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “An’ just ‘ow are ya to be gettin’ a beastie like that back down ‘ere? I’s assuming it ain’t to be pleased by the prospect.”
“I will fly it, of course.”
Strange Alliance
Melody braced her staff across the rear opening of the Gimcrack’s stomach and held on. The undulating layer of rock grated together, pulverizing itself chip by chip.
She timed every digestive wave, lifting her feet to avoid being caught up in the process of digestion. Judging by the rate the rock was breaking down, she’d die of starvation long before the stomach cleared itself.
She cringed. She couldn’t maintain her present position indefinitely. Once her strength gave out, she’d be mashed into a pulp and digested.
An acrid gas escaped the intestinal tunnel. Her eyes watered and she dry heaved but stopped herself from emptying what little she had left in her own stomach. She grimaced at the irony as her mind spun with visions of her demise.
As the floor heaved again, a crimson twinkle of light flashed briefly amongst the heaving rocks at her feet before disappeared beneath the broken stone.
The flickering red rune at the base of her staff caught her attention. She angled it into the intestinal opening but it didn’t solidify.
That couldn’t be right. When she entered the stomach, the rune indicated the Tang Stone lay that way. Now it told her differently. She rotated the staff to include the entire stomach. Just before the floor lurched again, the rune went solid—her staff aimed directly beneath her feet.
She hit her head off the wall. Dazed, she struggled to keep from slipping between the rock and the stomach’s lining. She danced and hopped on top of the bucking stones, searching for a potential place to rest, the blue light glinted again, radiating from a thumb-sized, multi-faceted gemstone.
The Tang Stone! It had to be. It was so small it couldn’t bounce its way free to be digested. She had no frame of reference, but she imagined that since the Tang Stone exuded a strong magical essence, it acted like an ulcer on the lining of the Gimcrack’s stomach. It made sense in her panicked mind.
She waited for the next sequence of grinding rock. There wasn’t any regularity to the action, it just happened—a slight tremor preceding each round. When it lurched, she kept her focus between her feet.
The rocks heaved and the Tang Stone glinted bluish-brown in the orange glow of her staff. She saw it for but a moment before the stones gnashed together in a tooth-rattling crunch.
There was no way she was quick enough to reach between the moving rocks without being crushed herself.
Despair sapped her strength. Her brother languished in the cold with a mangled leg and no food. If something happened to her, his death would be the result.
Think, Mel, think!
No matter how hard she tried, going over countless spells and all the useless lore she had learned over the last two decades, no solution presented itself. She had memorized, word for word, more tomes than the average Zephyrite laid their eyes on, and yet, she may as well have never flipped a page.
She screamed her frustration. Some Wizard of the North she’d turned out to be. Other than duplicating a panther, partially freezing a couple of lakes and uselessly blasting a pair of sacred wyrms, her magic had proven impractical.
She needed Silurian. He always had the answer. It had been his roundabout suggestion to freeze the lake. If only it were that simple now.
Her eyes widened with wonder. Freeze the stone.
When the next stomach action rolled the jumbled rocks, she espied the Tang Stone rolling about in a layer of pulverized stone. As crazy as her idea seemed, it just might work. Unless, of course, she destroyed the talisman.
Since no other choice presented itself, she set her mind to what she had to do. When the time came, she would have to act quick.
She wiggled her butt into the intestinal opening, trying hard not to think about what would happen if she slipped, and waited.
It seemed to take forever, but feeling the next tremor, she concentrated; her staff’s head flared a darker orange than usual. She hoped the heat she needed to generate wouldn’t destroy the wooden shaft.
The rock floor heaved.
Her staff discharged a continuous blast of concentrated fire onto the Tang Stone, affecting the layer of stones and rock dust around it—the wizard fire so intense the pebbles congealed into a small puddle of liquid rock.
As she suspected, the concentrated heat was felt by the Gimcr
ack. Instead of the churning rocks settling back down, they heaved violently, exposing the Tang Stone as it sank into the congealing magma.
Melody said the words and her staff flashed bright, changing from heat to cold. She jabbed its head into the melted rock and discharged a blast of absolute cold. The resulting steam hissed violently, forcing her to look away.
The stomach settled, but not before she pulled her staff out of harm’s way.
She couldn’t help but smile. Perched atop the staff, congealed within a hardened shard of rock glass, the Tang Stone glinted light blue. She heaved a great breath, not believing her plan had actually worked. Old Phazarus would be so proud.
Laying the staff head on a large, flat rock, she infused enough heat to melt the rock away from the staff and carefully knocked the Tang Stone free.
She scooped the talisman into her worn leather satchel and waited for the next round of digestive lurching to settle. With renewed vigour, she hopped across the stones and pulled herself into the bottom of the Gimcrack’s esophagus.
Peering into the darkness above, she steeled herself. Getting back up wasn’t going to be easy. She swallowed her doubt, braced her forearms against the chute, and pulled herself upward.
By the time the staff’s light found the top of the Gimcrack’s throat, she was on the verge of tears. Every muscle in her body cried out in protest. Just a little farther and the climb would be over but as she paused to rest for the countless time, she didn’t think she had it in her to get there.
A vision of her brother lying helpless and alone, close to where she rested, bolstered her desire to push on. With great effort, she shimmied her way to the mouth and flopped inside, totally spent.
Her heart sank at the sight of the tightly clenched teeth. Unable to do anything else, she lay on the spongy rock until her harsh breathing calmed, dwelling on how tired she was and how long it had been since she’d last slept.
Into the Madness Page 10
