Raomar, Grunwol and Brianda flew with the people of the air, and the crone flew with them. They hadn’t been able to take a direct route to the city, and had needed to come in low over the waters to the city’s north.
As they did, storm clouds gathered above the king’s palace in the city’s north east, but it felt as though some dark power focused its attention on the dock-yard end of the palace proper. Glancing over at his companions, Raomar saw they felt it, also.
To his left, Grunwol scanned the ground below, concentrating on the dock yards, where the darkness seemed its strongest. As he followed the Northman’s gaze, Raomar saw the shadows in that part of the city grow unnaturally long, as street lamps flickered and dimmed before going out.
To his right, Brianda had drawn her short sword and was keeping an eye on the skies around and above them. Beside her, the whirlwind that was the crone was as silent as her companions…or so Raomar thought, until her mind touched his.
“Accept this spell,” she said, “And you will hear us as we speak.”
“And my companions?” Raomar asked.
“Her offer was to us all,” came Grunwol’s unbidden reassurance.
Brianda said nothing, and the crone returned her attention to the darkness slowly spreading across the city, both ahead and below. The air elementals dipped low, coming in under the wall, and then climbing until they skimmed just above the darkest section of the sky.
“Is it He?” the crone asked, turning her attention to one of the accompanying elementals.
“It is the One” the tornado replied. “If we do not disrupt him, tonight, it will be too late to prevent his escape.”
“Then disrupt him, we must,” Grunwol declared.
“Look at what he has done,” the elemental’s words were full of disgust and loathing.
“Our brethren,” another of the tornadoes added. “Look at what he has done to our brethren.”
“Those are not our brethren,” the third elemental told them. “They were never our brethren, but creations of his making.”
“How do you know?” the others demanded.
“I know,” the third beast replied, and its voice was full of bitterness edged with grief. “I have faced their kind in battle before. We must strike quickly, or we will not prevent his escape, and the death of those who fought to defeat him, before, will have been in vain.”
“We give you our support and strength,” Raomar declared. “When will you be able to get us inside?”
“’Ware the darkness,” the third elemental answered. “It will thicken and gather, and the stench of evil will assault our every sense. When the ground below us shimmers green, followed by a burst of golden light, the defenses will have failed. The earth will open to give the Old One access to his souls and pain, and we will be able to get inside.”
“And the darkness?”
“It will be as thick as ever,” the elemental lord replied, his voice showing revulsion at the fact. “We shall have to fly through it.”
“But they will know we have come,” Brianda noted.
“It cannot be helped,” the elemental said, and indicated a point in the ground below. “Watch. See how it begins.”
Even though the words hadn’t been directed at him, Raomar turned his attention to the ground below. He watched as it flared with a bright green light that flowed outward from a central point before disappearing in long, slow waves.
When it had vanished a burst of yellow light flashed after it, and the ground began to shake. A bubble of earth pushed out of the palace gardens overlooking the docks, and earth, grass, garden beds and ornamental fruit trees shivered down its sides to come to rest at the garden’s edges.
Above it, the darkness grew, stirring impatiently over the dome and the hidden temple below. It was like watching smoke roil above a forest fire, or seeing the thick mist of a winter morning. As he observed it, it twitched, as though a light breeze tickled its folds.
Green lightning ricocheted in the cloud’s depths, disappearing in golden flame, making the observers flinch. The sensation of evil increased, pressing around them until they thought it might drown them. Anticipation emanated from the cloud, followed by an unholy eagerness which rose with the first scream that escaped as the earthen bubble split open.
They flew closer. Soon… The anticipation beat all around them. It was like standing on the edge of a battle, just before the bugler signaled the charge. Danger rolled through the surrounding air. The darkness heaved and rolled, crowding closer to the growing earthen split.
As soon as the gap was wide enough, the air elementals made their move. The third tornado, the elemental lord who’d spoken of fighting the twisted elementals of old, arrowed itself into a strong wind current and dove into the blackness filling the temple.
Swiftly, as though moving before their courage could break, the others followed.
No sooner had they entered the split, than the stench of evil assailed their nostrils. It forced its way into their senses, and along the sinews of air from which they were made. Nothing could be done to prevent it.
Raomar felt it and forced himself not to struggle free of the airy arms holding him, as the elemental bore him deeper into that dark cloud’s heart.
When they arrived, the ceremony had barely begun, but already the sickening smell of fear rose from the temple proper, and cries of terror and despair tainted the night. They escaped the temple’s confines to horrify the city at large.
The cloud moved around them, swooping low to meet the rising cries, and then wallow in the emotion-laden air through which they flew.
When the Old One’s presence had settled over the palace, physical barriers such as walls and the cracked ceiling of the dome above them were nothing in the face of Walshira’s need to escape. Raomar felt the outrage and anger that overlaid the fear and revulsion of the creature carrying him. He felt its surge of determination as it wove its way through the tortured wails and roiling darkness, and into the temple below.
“Free as many as you can, and then escape,” the elemental instructed, setting him down. “There is the door, and a corridor beyond.”
It hesitated, shifting to look at the horror surrounding them.
“Do not tarry, too long,” it told him sternly. “You are needed in the world beyond.”
The moans of fear and anticipated agony grew louder, with one or two voices taking lead roles in a macabre song of terrified horror, pleading and pain. With a growl of anger, the elemental twisted away, tearing straight toward the altar.
The creature carrying Grunwol, set the Northman down and darted for one of the pillars closest the altar, the one on which Xanthia hung. Raomar saw the girl flinch at its touch, then watched as the creature enveloped her so that she was surrounded by clean, cold air, her hearing buffered from the noise around her.
The last of the elementals burst through the cloud surrounding Sindra, and began to strip away the older apprentice’s chains, while the crone, rushed over to where Zarine sagged against a third, bloodstained column.
The girl startled beneath the witch-woman’s touch, the brush of airy fingers against her skin enough to make her cry out in fear. One of the priests turned toward them, and the crone froze, using the column to conceal her presence.
Keeping her fingers against the girl’s skin so Zarine knew she was there, she waited. The priest studied the girl for a few minutes more, but when she subsided with a quiet sob, he returned his attention to the creativity being applied to one of Miralei’s priests.
Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.
Raomar flinched as the man’s voice rose in another tremoring scream, but he forced himself to look away. There were others chained to the pillars nearest him, to all the prisoners lining the walls of this dark place. He might no longer be Enshul’s high priest, but he could still wield a sword and undo a set of chains.
What was more worrying was the movement stirring in the temple’s shadows, the hungry undead shuffling toward them, their arms raised to attack. From the other end of the temple, he heard the tell-tale clatter of shackles falling to the floor, and risked a glance in that direction.
The witch-woman had seized a fainting Zarine from the pillar, and once more becoming a column of air, surrounded the girl and poured herself and her passenger toward the crack in the ceiling. Hoping she would reach the sky, Raomar didn’t wait for her to disappear, but divided his attention between freeing the man closest him, and watching the approaching undead.
Like the crone before him, he let the chains and shackles fall to the floor, ignoring the sound they made as they hit the stones at his feet.
“Free the next man!” he shouted, slapping the terrified priest when the man didn’t immediately respond. “Free him! We’ll get as many of you out as we can, but I need your help. Hurry!”
There was no time to see if the priest obeyed. The first of the undead had reached them, its unseeing gaze fixed firmly on his face, its long-clawed hands reaching for his throat. Raomar ducked beneath its first clumsy grasp, stepped to its side, and took its head from its shoulders. When it fell, unmoving, to the floor, he didn’t waste time in gloating.
Another of the monsters swung at him, its claws snagging in the fabric of his tunic and tearing it open. As it made another attempt to strike him, Raomar parried slicing off its hand in the process. Reversing the strike, he opened up its throat, then danced back.
Someone small and slender darted past him, diving beneath a reflexive slash of the creature’s good hand and lashing out with a blade as she went.
Brianda! he thought, as the zombie wobbled and teetered over.
Taking advantage of its disadvantage, he swung hard and fast, removing its head, and glancing around to find the next target. Brianda darted back past him, her short blade flashing and dropping another creature in her wake.
Raomar’s gaze brought him to Grunwol, as the big man worked his way back toward them, half a dozen freed prisoners behind him, all doing their best to avoid the attacking undead. All around them, Walshira’s evil grew. It infected the very air they breathed, the Old One’s presence growing stronger as he fed.
Raomar sensed something else, though. Beyond the evil and the greed, the desire to sate himself, the Old One was feeling a growing frustration and anger. He’d finally noticed the invaders in his temple, and was about to take action.
“Out!” Raomar roared, not sure his order would be heard above the ruckus of sacrifice and battle combined.
Behind him, the priests surged toward the door. Ahead of him, Grunwol’s small flock darted around pillars and dived beneath clawing hands and snapping jaws. The priests who’d headed for the door surged back toward them, seeking shelter from more of the oncoming undead, and Grunwol skidded to a halt beside him. The way to the main door was blocked.
“Who knew there’d be so many?” the barbarian complained, but Raomar heard a touch of glee.
He was about to reply, when Brianda’s shout of victory reached him.
“Yes! There is one.”
“One what?” Grunwol asked, striking down another of the closing undead as he maneuvered to see what she had found.
“A way out.”
“Is it open?” he asked.
“Will be in a flicker!” she called back.
“We don’t have a flicker!” Raomar retorted, signaling the priests to move in the direction of her voice.
Once he’d got them moving, he followed, forming as much of a rearguard as he was able.
Looking down the temple to the king’s armored form, he saw the monarch raise his head. His visor hid his expression but the sudden halt in what he was doing caused his victim’s screams to subside into sobs. The undead paused, and the king spoke.
“Your turn will come.” The helm turned back to the priest before him and he sank his hand into the man’s belly. With a sharp ripping movement, he pulled the unfortunate’s intestines free and hurled them into the gathered undead.
Looking past the scene, Raomar watched as the chains binding Alessia to the altar carefully lowered themselves against the side of that unholy structure. If they made a sound as they were set down, it did not carry over the sounds made by the feasting undead.
Careful to keep his head turned to the king, and forcing his gaze to the monarch’s dread form, Raomar watched him, while in reality watching Alessia’s body levitate from the altar behind him. The wizardess looked, for all the world, like she was being cradled in two airy arms.
The wizardess’s eyes were wide with fright, but she didn’t appear to be seeing what was before her. Slowly and carefully, the elemental lord lifted away from the altar and fled toward the crack in the dome above. The king did not appear to notice her escape, but returned Raomar’s gaze and pointed toward him.
“Don’t let them escape!” he commanded, before turning back to the priest dying on the pillar before him.
The undead surged forward.
Is it open, yet?” Raomar shouted.
“I’m trying, but it needs a wizard’s touch,” Brianda replied.
“Any wizards here who can help?” Raomar called, gutting another zombie and kicking it off his blade into a third.
After a quick exchange of glances with his fellows, one of the freed prisoners replied, “We’re all priests here.”
“By the dark god’s teats!” Grunwol shouted, beheading another of the undead as Raomar removed yet another clawing hand. “Keep trying!”
There was no reply to that, as the creature roared in pain, then growled, lunging for him with its teeth. Another blade arced out, taking its head from its shoulders.
“My thanks,” Raomar acknowledged, lashing out, again, grateful they were creating enough of a distraction that all eyes not watching the king were watching them...and none had registered the empty altar or the escape of his friend.
On either side of them, prisoners had taken up the chains that had once bound them to the pillars and were swinging them from side to side to keep the zombies at bay.
“Yes, thank Sophriel!” Brianda’s shout of relief, alerted him to the fact the door was now open, and whose priest had had a hand in helping.
“Go!” Raomar shouted, feeling the sudden draft created by a newly opened door.
Signaling the freed priests to fall back, Raomar reversed after them. The priests closest Grunwol also backed up, heading for the door as fast as they dared. He almost didn’t make it, but Grunwol took off the arm of the zombie trying to seize the back of his robe, and the man skidded through the open portal and fled, unhesitatingly, into the darkness beyond.
“You next, Roamer,” Grunwol ordered, as the last of the freed prisoners fled through the portal.
Rather than waste time by arguing, Raomar obeyed. The quickest way to get Grunwol to safety was to get himself out of the fight. The Northman would not break from combat until he knew Raomar was clear of the battle and arguing would only prolong the danger.
Even so, Raomar held his breath until the big man stepped back through the portal.
“Which way?” Grunwol asked, reaching out to slide the door closed.
He was beaten by stone-gray arms that stretched down from the roof and slammed the portal shut. A familiar winged creature released its grip on the ceiling and dropped down next to the door, flipping itself mid-air so it came down on its feet.
Ignoring the two men, it spat a stone wedge from between its teeth, and slammed it beneath the base of the door.
“This way,” ordered a sibilant voice behind them, and a tall, hard-faced elf slipped free of the shadows.
“Shards and ice!” Grunwol swore, and his voice was edged with fear. “Tell me it is not time.”
“Time for what?” Raomar asked, and was ignored as the elven woman replied.
“Not yet,” she said.
“Then why did you and the garitzik help us?” Grunwol asked.
“Because there are some things more important than the politics of territory and trade,” the elf replied, hurrying into the tunnel dark, but leading them toward a not-too-distant silver shimmer. “The kevarag must live.”
“Me?” Raomar asked. “But why?”
She gave him a single icy glance, then answered, “Because if you fall, the whole world will fall with you.”
“Then free my guardian from his bond,” Raomar snapped, and heard the hiss of indrawn breath.
“That we cannot do. That would require a payment greater than the debt he owes, and you have nothing to offer.”
“But…” Raomar began, only to be cut off.
“But nothing,” the she-elf replied. “What we have done for you ensures our survival also. What we did for him, benefitted him alone. For that a debt must be paid, and it cannot be taken by another. Such are our laws.”
As she spoke, the garitzik bounded past them, springing around them and over the heads of the fleeing priests, by using the walls and ceiling to speed its path. It barked something unintelligible to the shadow fey, and she darted a quick glance back the way they’d come.
“Hurry!” she ordered. “They are holding the portal. It will take you from the city.”
The sound of stone shattering behind them, had her running toward the light.
“What of the priests?” Raomar asked, breaking into a run to keep up.
“We have sent them through a portal that will land them in the tunnels below the docks. We can hide them there and smuggle them out on the ships that pass.” She caught his worried look and gave him a disconcerting smile. “They will be safe. We do not need to anger the gods or distract them from their battle. The Old One must not succeed.”
More stone shattered behind them, as they rounded a bend in the tunnel and the light grew blindingly bright. Before them, stood a glimmering archway of silver and white. The garitzik was waiting to one side of it, hopping impatiently from one foot to the other.
Brianda stood there, also, sword out and directed at the creature, a look of sheer and utter defiance on her face.
“She would not go with the priests,” the garitzik explained to the elf. It pointed at Raomar. “She said the gods had ordered her to go with him, that the crone told her her destiny is entwined with his—at least for now.”
The shadow fey gave him a brisk nod.
“Then so be it,” she snapped, and turned to Raomar. “Go, now. We cannot face the undead that pursue you. Their corruption is of the elements and we cannot risk infection.”
“After my friends,” Raomar stated, gesturing for Grunwol and Brianda to precede him through the portal.
“We’ll all arrive at the same place?” Brianda asked suspiciously.
“You have our word on it,” the shadow elf promised, and Brianda stepped through, sword at the ready for whatever might meet her on the other side.
Grunwol hesitated, looking at Raomar.
“Hurry,” the garitzik growled. “We need time to open a portal for our own escape.”
Before any of them could react, Grunwol reached out and seized the she-elf by the shoulders.
“Why do you fight them?” he demanded, glancing back down the corridor.
The elf met his eye.
“Because he means the end of us, if he wins,” she snapped back. “Now, please go.”
“Go!” Raomar echoed, when the Northman looked to argue, and Grunwol released the elf with a glare that said he had unfinished business.
As soon as his friend had vanished into the portal, Raomar followed. Behind him, came the unmistakable shuffle of undead feet, and he did not wish to be responsible for their rescuers’ demise. With any luck, he, Brianda and Grunwol could make the crone’s cottage before the king thought to rouse his guards in pursuit.
