Knight Eternal (A Novel of Epic Fantasy) (Harbinger of Doom Volume 3) (20 page)

As huge as Frem was, past four hundred
pounds and far beyond six foot, Mort Zag dwarfed him in both height
and bulk. The red-skinned giant waved Frem aside and slammed his
bare foot into the door at mid-height; it shook and shuddered but
held fast. Again he kicked, harder this time. A cracking sound rang
out. Two more times he kicked before the stone, which proved some
eight inches thick, broke clear through, the upper half crashing to
the tunnel floor.

“
Ha! What do you think of
that, puny man?” said Mort Zag, slapping Frem across the
back.

Frem narrowed his eyes and
only offered Mort Zag an icy stare.

“
Well done,” said Ginalli.
“Sevare—check it out.”

Frem and Sevare squeezed past the debris.
Behind the door, a landing of polished granite overlooked granite
steps that descended into darkness.

“
Looks clear,” said Frem
quietly to Sevare. “The big red fellow called me puny. He said it
like an insult. What does it mean?”

“
It means small,” said
Sevare.

Frem looked down at his own bulk and then
looked back at the others, big men most, but all much smaller than
he, save for Mort Zag. “I don’t get that. What is he anyway?”

“
What do you
mean?”

“
I mean he’s not a
volsung,” said Frem. “He’s not any kind of human. Not an elf or
anything. I’ve heard folks whispering dark stuff about
him.”

“
What’ve you
heard?”

“
Some folk say he’s a
demon; a creature from the bad places. I don’t like to hear such
talk.”

“
Frem, buddy, he’s just a
giant from the deep mountains—like in the old stories.”

“
He’s big enough, I
suppose, but he’s red. How do you explain that?”

Sevare paused, thinking. “Remember the time
that farmer in Sarnack mashed up that basket of carrots to pulp and
you drank it?”

“
Sure. Wasn’t bad at all,
but the palms of my hands went all orange. Stayed that way a week
or more.”

“
Exactly. Same with Mort
Zag. That guy eats bushels of red apples and tomatoes. Turns his
skin all red. No more mystery to it than that.”

“
Hmm. Never thought of
that. I reckon I’m a simpleskin like Ezerhauten says.”

“
Simpleton,” said
Sevare.

“
That’s what I said. What
does that mean, exactly?”

“
Dumber than a
rock.”

“
Thought so. I can’t
disagree with him, but neither he nor I are happy about what them
others did to those men on the road. Killing your enemies is one
thing, but cutting them up and taking away bits, that’s not right,
not right at all. I don’t understand why Korrgonn stood for
it.”

“
So that is what’s been
bothering you,” said Sevare. “Frem, it’s not what you think. It was
a ritual cleansing. You know about those, right?”

“
A what cleaning? What
does that mean?”

“
Zounds, Frem, no wonder
you’ve been wound so tight these last days. You must’ve thought we
had gone crazy, and I guess I couldn’t blame you for
it.”

“
Those Eotrus men were in
with Thetan, the evil one, so they were evil too. Men like that
have black souls, filled with hate. When such men die, their souls
are damned and tormented for all time. But if the evil is washed
away, then they can enter the afterlife, and find the lord’s
forgiveness in Vaeden. That is why Father Ginalli had those rituals
performed. He was saving those men’s souls. It was an act of
mercy.”

Frem visibly relaxed. “You
should’ve told me about of that before. I didn’t know what was
going on.”

“
Sorry, big guy. I thought
you knew what was happening. You okay now?”

Frem nodded. “It’s a
relief to know that I am on the right side—with the good guys, I
mean.”

“
I wouldn’t be anywhere
else,” said Sevare.

“
What do you see?” called
out Ginalli.

“
A stair,” said Frem.
“Leading down.”

Four lugron hefted the heavy debris aside,
clearing the path for the main group.

Down they went in single
file; a slow and treacherous descent, the steps uneven, steep and
slippery, and all was pitch black save for the meager light from
their torches. The air was cold there; their breath rose as mist
about them.

To one side was a comforting stony wall, on
the other, a black abyss of unknown depths, with no parapet or
guardrail for protection. One misstep, one slip, and that would be
the end. A hundred nerve-racking steps down brought them to a wide
landing, a place of relative safety. They paused for a few minutes
to rest and calm their nerves before continuing down, as most of
them had nearly fallen more than once.

Frem first heard them when
they had descended another hundred steps. Booted feet, climbing the
stairs, coming up toward them. Many, many booted feet, distant, but
drawing closer.

“
Oh, boy,” said Frem as he
steadied himself against the rock face. The stair was not nearly
wide enough for two men to fight side by side. “Not the best spot
for a battle.”

“
We should move back up to
the landing,” said Ezerhauten. “We can’t fight on this
stair.”

Korrgonn stood considering for a time, then
ordered the men up to the landing. In their rush to ascend, one of
the lugron lost his footing and slid over the edge, wailing as he
fell into the dark. Those nearest to him tried to grab him, but
weren’t quick enough. Most of the men peered down into the
darkness, though in truth they couldn’t see him at all. The rest
turned away. Seconds went by, until finally, his screams faded out
with the distance. They never heard him hit the bottom, if any
bottom there was.

The men arrayed themselves across the
landing, and made their plans how to switch out the lead man when
he tired or became wounded. Frem stood the watch at the head of the
stair.

The sounds grew louder and louder as the
minutes went by.

“
There must be hundreds,”
said Sevare.

“
If they have bowmen, we
won’t be able to hold them off,” said Frem.

Ezerhauten turned to
Korrgonn. “We can’t fight an entire army, my Lord, and it sounds
like that is what’s coming. We can’t retreat up the stair, the
going is too slow, and if any come down on us from
above—”

“
The Orb is below,” said
Korrgonn. “Without it, we can’t restore the Lord to Midgaard. There
is no turning back, not now, not ever.”

Then began a mad howling.
The cries of hundreds, perhaps thousands of wildmen, screaming war
cries to whatever unknown gods they worshipped.

Almost as one, nearly all
the lugron dashed toward the stair going up, their courage broken.
Mort Zag stepped over and barred their path. “Get back in line,” he
said. “Or you will follow your friend over the side.”

They paused a moment, but
in the end, chose to resume their places.

“
We should be able to see
them,” said Sevare. “It sounds like they’re right on
us.”

“
Throw down a torch,” said
Ezerhauten.

Someone did. It landed
some twenty feet down the stairs, but revealed nothing. They
waited, and still nothing, only the sounds of booted feet and manic
war cries.

Sevare spoke some arcane words, sharp and
loud, painful to hear and the sounds of the approaching warriors
abruptly stopped.

“
An illusion,” said
Ginalli. “A trick to deter us, to make us flee.”

“
Let’s head back down,”
said Korrgonn. “We’ve lost enough time.”

Two hundred steps down, three hundred, four
hundred, a landing and a switchback after each hundred. Five
hundred steps and still the stair had no end. Just beyond the fifth
landing, another man lost his footing and plunged silently into the
darkness. The group paused for a few moments in respect, then
continued down. Down and down they went, and somewhere, very deep,
they lost count of the steps.

Eventually they reached the bottom, dripping
with sweat and breathing heavily from the stress of the harrowing
descent, though the air was chill and their pace had been slow and
cautious.

At the base of the stair,
their torchlight revealed a wide hall of marble tile, polished
smooth. The tile continued some three or four feet up the walls.
Above that, a gruesome row of stone carvings, the heads and arms of
demons and monsters, fiendish and foreboding, loomed out from the
walls with eyes that glowed red in the fluttering torchlight. Above
the gargoyles, the stone walls were inlaid with murals and
pictograms, some colorful, others faded, but all of ancient times.
Azathoth in all his magnificent glory was featured in many, beside
him his Arkons, tall and powerful, but the faces of many were
defaced and vandalized; their names forevermore stricken from the
toll of history.

“
I smell blood,” said Mort
Zag.

Ezerhauten held a torch
low to the marble floor beside the base of the stair. A narrow,
empty passage led back into the darkness, parallel to the stair. In
the distance, they could see what remained of the two fallen lugron
splattered across the flooring—a gruesome sight even for hardened
men to see.

“
The tiles are smashed and
gouged, here, and here, and there,” Ezerhauten said pointing. “They
were not the first to fall here. Many preceded them down, but I see
no other corpses, no bones, no equipment. Nothing.”

With no danger in sight, most of the men
collapsed to the floor, taking however brief an opportunity to
catch their breath.

“
Someone or some thing
must have carried away the fallen,” said Ginalli. “There are more
than just old wards at work here. Be on your guard.”

Mort Zag looked up and down the hall and
back again, tensed, ready to spring.

“
You sense something?”
said Ezerhauten.

“
A feeling,” said Mort
Zag. “Something is not right. Be ready.”

“
I sense something as
well,” said Korrgonn. “There is magic at work here. Old
magic.”

Ezerhauten spied
something—some flicker of movement, some shadow of something along
the walls, above the men’s heads, where they reclined against the
passageway’s walls.

“
Well, this is the perfect
place for an ambush,” said Frem. “After that climb down, who has
got the energy to fight?”

Ezerhauten’s eyes widened
in alarm. “Up,” he shouted. “Get away from the walls!
Up!”

Even as the words flew from his lips, the
walls came alive with movement. Stony, demonic arms silently
flailed out, grabbing men’s heads and squeezing, crushing, with
strength beyond imagining. Gargoyles stretched out and down,
emerging from the very walls. Stony fangs, inches long, bit down
and bore into the skulls of lugron, knight, and wizard.

The hall descended into chaos. Screams rose
up on all sides. Geysers of blood erupted as men’s heads exploded
within the gargoyles’ stony grips. Swords blunted and shattered
against stone heads and stone arms. Torches went flying and others
went out; spells were thrown, weapons crashed, men roared, and
swore, and died.

“
We have to go,” shouted
Sevare.

Korrgonn’s sword crashed through a stone arm
that tore at his cloak.

“
My lord, we must fly,”
said Ginalli as he pulled on Korrgonn’s arm.

“
Frem, grab him,” shouted
Sevare.

Then they were
running—running through black halls, slick and desolate, wondering
if the gargoyles would or could pursue, wondering if there was any
way out.

A pit opened up before them; men fell in and
screamed, impaled on sharp spikes a dozen feet down. Whirling
blades flew from the walls; spears shot down from the ceiling; more
men screamed in the dark.

They came upon a stone door, held fast. They
stopped and turned, weapons held at the ready. Not even a third of
their number remained. Korrgonn, Ginalli, Frem, Sevare, Hablock,
and Brackta were there, along with a handful of lugron; that was
all.

Sevare looked around at how few were left.
“Bloody hell,” he said. “We’re in the deep stuff.”

“
Are you hurt, my lord?”
said Ginalli to Korrgonn.

“
I don’t run from my
enemies,” said Korrgonn, his golden eyes afire with rage. “I don’t
leave my men behind. We should’ve kept fighting.”

“
We couldn’t even see,”
said Sevare.

“
Swords are no good
against stone,” said Frem.

“
We had to get you out of
there, my lord,” said Ginalli.”

“
This is a madhouse,” said
Hablock, sinking to his knees.

“
A tomb,” said Sevare.
“It’s a tomb of horrors.”

“
Get some torches lit,”
said Korrgonn. “You men,” he said to Frem and Sevare, “see to that
door. You others,” pointing to the lugron, “form a line across the
passage.”

A few minutes later, they heard the drum of
footsteps marching in the darkness behind, drawing closer.

“
Get that door opened,”
said Ginalli. “Now.”

“
Frem pounded and pounded
on the door, but the stone would not yield.

“
I’ve one more trick,”
said Sevare. He knelt before the door and spoke some words of
magic. After but a moment, a clicking sound came from the door,
then it swung open of its own accord. Beyond, silence and
darkness.