Bladesinger (26 page)

Taen swore. “That’s done it,” he nearly shouted.

“What do you mean?” Borovazk asked, casting a wary glance at the angrily pulsating symbols.

“I couldn’t dispel the glyphs,” Taen replied, “and now whoever set them here knows that someone has tried to tamper with them.”

“What do we do?” Roberc asked, drawing his sword.

Taen reached into his backpack with the other and drew forth a triangular prism. “We’ll have to move fast,” he said. “I was hoping to hold this in reserve in case we needed it against the renegade witch, but it seems that our need is very great at the moment.”

The half-elf muttered a few words over the prism. Pure white light blossomed from the clear heart of the item. “This prism should draw the glyphs’ energy into itself,” he said to the others. “Once those symbols disappear from the door, run through it. We’ve already lost any element of surprise.”

The gleam in the crystal grew brighter, filling the room. At first, the purplish glow from the warding symbols polluted the bright light, bruising its argent incandescence. Gradually, however, the prism’s power overmastered the glyphs. At first, their sickening light seemed to draw back, retreating from the crystal’s illumination, but the pulsating energy moved toward the prism, entering its angular planes. The process took a few more moments as the glyphs gradually faded from the door’s surface. Once completed, the light from the prism faded, and the room returned to normal.

“Now!” Taen shouted and drew his weapon once again.

The others ran toward the door, throwing open its bulk with a mighty heave. Within the space of three heartbeats, Taen stood alone in the corridor.

Carelessly, he dropped the prism to the floor. It bounced once on the obdurate stone then exploded into a thousand fragments. Taen would have spent another moment making sure the evil power had truly dissipated, but the sound of Marissa’s screams reached his ears from the corridor beyond the door.

He made a wordless noise and leaped into the shadowy passageway—unprepared for the horror that awaited him.

The Year of Wild Magic

(1372 DR)

The horror charged.

Twin skeletal heads, one human and one monstrous, opened their mouths as if to scream, while long, bony arms swung a gleaming obsidian axe. Taen nearly toppled as he dodged the weapon, caught off guard by the speed of the attack and the high-pitched keen that ushered from the creature’s heads. Borovazk leaped forward, his own axe cutting through the air in a wicked arc. The axe edge struck armor, but was unable to penetrate the thick, silvery chain that covered the beast from shoulder to knees. Still, the force of the blow knocked the creature back a step, and Taen took that opportunity to pull back from the monster safely.

In the dim light of the stone corridor, Taen could see the glint of bone, some yellowed with age and others gleaming white, that made up their opponent’s prodigious bulk. Unlike most of the skeletal creatures he had fought in the past, the bones of this monster didn’t seem to fit together well. It was as if someone had scavenged parts from a host of different beasts and cobbled them together with magic. Arms that could have come from an ogre or a giant ended in hands that seemed delicate, almost elf like in appearance. Likewise, the beast’s human-sized legs ended in elongated, three-toed feet. Bits of dried and desiccated flesh still clung to parts of the monster’s bones. It was the eyes, though, that disturbed Taen the most. Deep within the empty sockets of the monster’s four eyes, purple flames burned with flickering intensity. A chill ran through the half-elf whenever he found himself transfixed with that gaze.

There was little time to reflect on this puzzle, however, as the skeletal creature lurched forward, swinging its axe once again. Roberc darted forward as the weapon whistled over his head and drew a thick-headed mace from his belt. Two mighty swings of the weapon sent bone chips flying out from the monster’s legs. Its keen changed in tone, transforming into a roar of anger. Within moments, twin sheets of purple flame exploded from the creature’s eyes, engulfing Roberc in an eldritch conflagration.

Taen cried out as the flames erupted around the halfling, but he was too far away from the fighter to do anything. Behind him, however, the half-elf heard a low growl before Cavan’s furred form darted forward, hurtling toward the ball of flame. The war-dog leaped toward the burning fire and yelped with pain as he entered the fiery sphere. His momentum, however, carried him through the raging inferno in moments, with Roberc’s smoldering form before him.

Taen heard Borovazk’s shout of rage as the ranger struck from behind their skeletal opponent. Axe and warhammer beat against the monster again and again. In the small confines of the corridor, the sound of shattering bone echoed with a sickening crunch. The monster staggered forward, its back now twisted at an awkward angle, but its axe still slicing through the air—and drew closer to the fallen Roberc.

The half-elf cursed every moment that they stood here battling this monstrosity. Marissa was somewhere nearby, held captive and obviously in great pain. They would have to end this battle soon. Reaching down to his belt, Taen pulled out a long, thin tube and broke the wax seal. Deftly, he pulled forth a thin roll of vellum, unfurled it, and began to chant the words that were written in spidery runes upon it.

Instantly the air before Taen began to ripple and shimmer with incandescence. The luminescence resolved within moments, revealing a giant fist that floated in midair. The half-elf sent the arcane fist streaking toward his opponent with a thought. It hurtled toward the monster, striking it with enough force to send it flying back several feet back and smashing it against the stone wall. It lurched forward, unsteady now on its skeletal feet—only to find itself pummeled repeatedly by the arcane force of the floating fist. Each time the spell-summoned hand struck, bones snapped like dry tinder. By the third attack, the skeletal creature toppled backward in a tangle of limbs. Its arms and legs lay twisted, yet still it shuddered, trying to stand and resume its attack.

Taen kept up his concentration, sending the fist crashing down upon the defeated skeletal monstrosity again and again. By the time Borovazk had seen to the injured halfling and his canine companion, the arcane spell had reduced its hapless opponent to a pile of splintered bone and dust.

“Are you all right?” Taen asked the halfling as Roberc and Cavan sidled up to join the half-elf in the center of the hallway.

“I’m fine,” the halfling growled in response, taking a hard swig from his wineskin and sucking down the liquid.

“Then let’s move,” Taen said, pointing toward the thick stone door that blocked the only other exit from the corridor. Carefully, he crept forward, alert for any signs that the door might fly open, releasing a horde of enemies that would threaten to overwhelm them.

Nothing happened.

The half-elf stood before the portal, head cocked, elf ears focused intently on what lay beyond. For just a moment, he thought he heard what might have sounded like sobs coming from beyond the door. Before he could make any further determination, however, the sounds stopped.

The silence brought a surge of anxiety racing through Taen’s body. What if they were too late and Marissa lay dead somewhere beyond the doorway? That thought sent the half-elf springing into action. He was about to leap forward and muscle open the door, when he heard Roberc’s voice hissing from somewhere behind him.

“Careful, Taen,” the halfling whispered. “Remember the last door.”

That warning froze Taen before his shoulders had reached the stone. He cursed himself silently for a fool. If he kept letting his fear for Marissa override his experience, he would end up getting them all killed. Taking a deep breath, he whispered the words to a detection spell. Once again, disturbing glyphs appeared before him, inscribed onto the surface of the door. He searched his memory for the right spell then sent his arcane power out with a word of command. When the sigils faded completely from sight, he turned to Yurz, still huddling fearfully in the corner.

“You stay here,” he commanded softly, “and let us know if anything tries to come at us from this direction.”

As loathe as he was to trust their fate to this ensorcelled goblin, Yurz had proven a decent enough companion. With a sharp hand signal to the others, Taen indicated that they were ready. The half-elf took three deep breaths and launched himself against the stone door.

Marissa swam out of an ocean of shadow and into the dim light of her cell. Her eyes opened slowly, as if weighed down by lodestones. She blinked heavily, until the outline of her tormentor resolved into clear focus. Still disoriented from her return to consciousness, it took the druid a few moments to realize that something seemed different about the half-orc. The cleric’s calm and confident watchfulness had disappeared, shattered, Marissa eventually realized, as the sounds of a nearby battle reached her ears, by what occurred beyond the doorway to the cell.

Now her captor knelt upon the obdurate stone floor and whispered prayers to her dark god. Purple and green energy suffused the cleric’s body, eventually fading beyond sight. When the half-orc finally stood, the air was thick with divine power. The weight of it nearly gagged Marissa.

Still, hope surged within her. She was not alone! Her friends were just beyond that doorway. Marissa had never really believed the words of the half-orc, but despair had become a difficult suitor to deny in the darkness of her pain and torment.

“Do not think that this changes anything,” her captor said in an icy tone. “The creature that guards that door will be more than a match for your pathetic friends.”

The half-orc’s words were like hot knives plunging into her chest. Marissa’s hope faltered, and sadness welled up within her at the thought of Taenaran and the others lying dead beyond that doorway. Despite her best attempts at stifling them, sobs of anguish began to rack her body.

“Shut up,” the half-orc commanded, punctuating her demand with a hard slap across the face. Marissa felt blood begin to trickle down from her nose. The hot liquid ran into her mouth, causing her to gag. Hands grabbed at her hair, causing the druid’s head to snap back sharply. “If you make another sound,” the half-orc hissed in her ear, “I will make sure that my mistress greets each of your friends personally before their blood waters the ancient stones of her altar. Is that understood?”

Marissa shook her head mutely, all the while praying to Rillifane for guidance and perseverance. When the sounds of battle stopped and silence fell beyond the doorway, it took all of Marissa’s strength to not cry out. Instead, she held her breath, waiting to see who had triumphed.

Nothing happened.

For the space of thirty heartbeats the world lay in complete stillness. Nothing moved or made the slightest sound. “You see,” Marissa’s captor began, “I told you—”

When the stone door flew open and the world erupted into light, the druid called out Taenaran’s name.

The door opened into darkness—a deep, shadow-filled haze from which ushered the sound of his name. Taen’s heart leaped as he heard Marissa’s voice calling out to him. They had not arrived too late to save her. Now they only had to stay alive long enough to walk out of here with the druid.

Light from the corridor behind him spilled into the room, banishing the gloom that hung about the chamber like a pall. Manacles and other more dire devices hung from the walls and ceiling. Dark reddish brown stains covered the floor, growing thicker and more numerous beneath the spiked chains that ran along the wall. Taen nearly gagged at the stench of bitter herbs and rancid sweat that soured the air.

When he finally caught sight of Marissa, trussed up cruelly by a thick chain that wrapped around her good hand and traveled up to the ceiling, where it ended in a metal bolt, the half-elf’s heart skipped a few beats. Marissa’s normally lustrous red hair lay matted thickly against her head, caked with dried sweat and crusted with congealed blood. Dark bruises blossomed like evil flowers beneath her eyes, and a thick stream of blood flowed from her nose.

“So ” a voice hissed from out of the remaining shadows, “I see that you managed to defeat my little pet. You will not find it so easy to overcome me.”

Taen drew his sword at the sound of the voice. Behind Marissa, stepping out of the shadows as one might step out of a fine robe, a dark figure strode into view. From where he stood, the half-elf could see that it was a female with some measure of orc blood. One thick hand wielded a rune-covered mace that looked to be made entirely of stone, while the other hand sported a metallic bracer from which sprouted four razor-sharp claws. The light from the hall behind him reflected dully off the half-orc’s polished plate armor, throwing three purple scars running down toward the creature’s throat in harsh relief. An onyx disk with a single glowing rune hung from her neck.

“Don’t be too sure about that,” Taen shot back, nearly quivering with rage. Here, at last, was someone at whom he could take out his frustration and anger for Marissa’s captivity. He pointed the tip of his blade at the half-orc, and was surprised to see the silver runes flare into life. “We’ve fought our way into the heart of this gods-blasted citadel, and we’re not going to stop until we’ve walked upon the broken husk of your corpse.”

“Ahh,” the cleric muttered with a mock smile, “it seems that the hero has brought a pretty speech along with him. What’s next, a profession of your undying love for the captive elf?”

Taen’s anger rose in him then stilled as he watched the half-orc’s smile fade when she caught sight of his blade. “That’s a pretty toy you have there, elfling,” she barked. “I’ll make it a gift to my mistress as she sucks the spirit from your body for all eternity.”

“Enough talk,” Borovazk shouted from behind Taen. “Ugly cleric hurt little friend. Borovazk say let’s kill cleric now.”

The cleric gave a half bow. “You’re welcome to try,” she responded then called out a single word.