Refuge: Kurt's Quest (26 page)

James stood for a moment, aware that he was
naked, his clothing turned to ash.  He felt a bit of embarrassment, something
he didn’t have time for.  Right now his party needed him, and he sent out a
questing mental tendril to see what was going on in the rest of the battle. 
Oh
shit
, he thought, as he located Kurt, Jackie and Garios, fighting for their
lives, about to be overwhelmed by the hordes of the undead.  He had hoped maybe
they would go away with the destruction of the litch, but that hadn’t happened.

[I’m coming,] he sent to the trio, mouthing the
teleportation spell at the same time.  With a shimmer he disappeared from where
he was standing, aiming for the people he needed to save.

*     *     *

Kurt had done all he could to shield the
severely injured Dwarf, who had been wounded in both thighs and a calf.  What
he had done had not been enough, and Garios was on one knee, a hand holding his
neck where dark arterial blood pumped between his fingers.  The Priest was
saying the words to a spell, and a golden glow suffused his fingers and neck. 
Kurt tried to keep the skeletal lords from breaking the Priest’s concentration
while he was trying to save his own life.

A mace hit him on the back, knocking him
forward, while a large battle ax struck his shoulder.  He could hear Jackie
swearing as she fought on, a sign that she was still in this thing. 
But how
much longer?
he thought, swinging his sword in an arc that took one of the
undead warriors through the ribs.

His blade was still dispensing holy justice to
the evil undead.  There seemed no limit to its power in that arena.  It was a
God blade, one imbued with the power of Arathonia herself, and it could draw
upon the energy of the Goddess when it was involved in fighting the enemies of
the Queen of Life.  As he understood it, the blade was also able to send
healing energy into its wielder, but only its wielder.  Unfortunately, he was
immune to that magic, as to all mystical energies, and its healing energies did
him no good whatsoever.  He was tempted to give the blade to Garios, but the
sword was very particular in who it allowed to touch it, much less use it, and
he was afraid that it would cause more harm than good to give the Priest the
blade.

Another pair of swords came at him, seeming to
move in slow motion, as he was boosted into overdrive.  He knocked one aside,
then the other, finishing with a plunging of the blade into the chest of the
first warrior, destroying him utterly.  He glanced once again at Garios, and
thought that the Dwarf was not long for this world.  He was coughing up blood,
though the flow from his fingers had reduced to a trickle.  A Skeletal lord had
a blade raised over the Priest, and its target was obvious.  The blade would
come down and take the head from the Dwarf, and fast as Kurt was, there was
nothing he could do to stop it.

With a flash of light, the naked form of James
Drake, clothed only in a sheath of fire, appeared over the Dwarf.  The young
man reached out with his left hand and the skeleton flared into flame, falling
as ash and armor to the ground.

“Don’t resist me, Garios,” shouted Drake,
touching the Dwarf on the shoulder with his right hand.  He mumbled some words
and the pair disappeared.

At least he got the Priest out of danger
, thought the Immortal,
already feeling remorse at getting the Dwarf into this situation.  He felt bad
about getting Jackie trapped as well, but she was much more capable of taking
care of herself in battle, and she had the same powers of rapid healing that he
possessed. 
And, unless James comes for us, we may not make it out either.

[Don’t freak,] sent the Mage in question.  [But
I’m going to drop some fireballs right on top of you.]

Kurt found himself cringing at that thought,
while he battled on against the undead.  It only took a quick moment for his
supercharged mind to see the wisdom in the tactic.  The fireballs would not
hurt him or Jackie, but would be total destruction to the creatures they
fought.  He had time for that one thought before the first ball of superheated
flame exploded right on top of him.

The ball arrived about a half meter in
diameter, right into the upper back of the immortal.  On impact it exploded
outward in a rush of flame, the thunderous boom knocking many of the undead off
of their feet.  It roared in Kurt’s ears and his vision was obscured by flame. 
The undead closest to him flared and crumbled into ash and bone chips, in
places their armor melting, dripping molten metal to the ground before falling
into their self-made puddles.

The second fireball arrived a couple of seconds
after the first, the third a few moments after.  The entire area was covered
with a fire that killed everything within its radius, save the two Immortals
standing in its center.  A fourth fireball arrived, cleaning up what was left
of the undead, allowing none of them to escape.

To the Immortals the magical flame was nothing
more than a gentle warmth.  But the burning mummies and skeletons were also
producing fire, and smoke, great choking clouds that seared their lungs.  Kurt
yelled out as the flames from one of the mummy’s burned his hand.  He grabbed
Jackie, who seemed to be much more discomfited and confused by the inferno, and
pulled her with him as he ran out of ground zero.  He knew he had acted just in
time as they ran out of the flames, which were losing their magical properties
and turning into a common fire, one which could harm the Immortals.

The Nord knights were still fighting the forces
that were keeping them in check.  James was flinging spouts of fire and burning
them down right and left.  Kurt ran up behind a mass of Skeletal lords and took
an arcing swipe with his sword, cutting into a half dozen of them and sending
all to the ground as ash.  The others turned, and he and Jackie hit them in
their new front, while the Nords took them from behind.  In moments it was
over, and there were no moving undead left in the chambers.

“Where is the Priest?” asked Kurt, worried that
Garios might have succumbed to his wounds.

“He is over here, treating the young Nord,”
said Gromli, gesturing to a wall where the youth was sitting against the stone,
his face paler than usual, his leather armor ripped open over his left
ribcage.  A bone protruded from his flesh, dripping blood.

‘Can he save him?” asked Jackie, taking a step
in that direction and stopping at the insistence  of Gromli.

“Only if he is left alone to concentrate,” said
the Knight, looking over at H’rrut, who was watching with a stricken look on
his face.

He’s lost his village, and most of the people
in it.  Now he might lose his son.

Garios raised a hand in the air, cried out some
words in ancient Dwarven, and brought the hand to the wound.  A golden light
glowed, obscuring the wound.  In a moment the glow was gone, and the rib was no
longer sticking from the skin, which had smoothed over, healed without a trace.

“How did you do that?” asked Jackie, moving
over to look down on the young Nord, who was now breathing regularly, his eyes
closed in a deep slumber.  “Why couldn’t you do that for yourself?”

Garios looked up, his eyes fatigued.  There was
a scar on his neck, looking like a serious wound that had healed over a week’s
time.  Some blood was still seeping from one of the slashes to his left upper
thigh.

“Healing the young Nord was a selfless act,”
said the Priest in a tired voice.  “As such, it is rewarded by the Gods, and I
was blessed with much power.  Healing myself is the opposite.  Though
necessary, and something the Gods would not begrudge me, it is a selfish act. 
So, I can heal myself, and others, but the others always come first.”

The Dwarf attempted to stand, then fell back to
his knees and started to fall over.  Jackie was at his side in an instant,
still capable of moving very fast despite being overheated.  She caught him
before he could fall, then lowered him gently to the floor.

“We will rest for a half hour,” said Kurt,
looking around to the other men. 
Jackie and I could do with a little bit of
a cool down. 
“How many did we lose?” he asked Gromli.

“I lost one man,” said the knight, nodding
toward a naked body the other Nords had pulled from beneath the fallen armor of
the destroyed undead warriors.  “Several others had injuries.”  He looked over
at Drake, who was busy wrapping the clothes from the dead man around his naked
figure.  “If not for the young mage, I am afraid there would not be very many
of us here to celebrate a victory.”

“Thank you, James,” said Kurt, nodding at the
young man he thought of as his artillery.  “That as some quick thinking back
there, getting Garios out, then bringing hell down on top of us.”

“It wouldn’t have worked with anyone else other
than yourself and the lady,” said Drake, a smile on his face that did not reach
up to his tired eyes.  “And that damned litch was almost my undoing as well.”

“And what happened to our undead friend?”

“I destroyed his body, and sent him back to his
lair to regenerate.”

“Then he will be coming back?” asked Jackie,
her eyes darting to the shadows as if she expected the creature to appear at
any moment.

“He said his lair was thousands of kilometers
from here,” said Drake, shaking his head.  “He came here seeking the artifacts
for himself, and was trapped by the spirits of this place, becoming a
guardian.  He was almost grateful that I sent him on his way.”

“And if he sees you again?” asked Kurt, not
sure he would want such an enemy stalking him, immunity to magic or not.

“Then we fight again,” said Drake, this time
the smile reaching his eyes.  “Though I doubt such a cowardly creature would
try to seek me out for battle.”

“And you call him cowardly, why?” asked Jackie,
shaking for a moment.

He was pretty terrifying
, thought Kurt,
recalling the image of the litch as he had first seen him. 
Even if his
powers proved ineffective against us.

“He became that way because he was afraid of
death,” said James, shaking his head.  “Imagine, a being who had lived four
thousand years afraid of dying, so afraid that he allowed himself to become
that creature.”

“And the Emperor is such as he,” said Fenris,
walking up to join the conversation.  “He is so attached to life, he would
rather be an abomination than to go to his reward in the afterlife.  Of course,
seeing his actions in life, it might be easy to imagine why he would rather
stay in this world.”

Kurt looked at the Ellala for a moment, trying
to determine if the Ranger was joking. 
No, he’s serious.  No matter what we
believed about our world, on this world the afterlife is real, and people
really go to punishment or reward.  Though it is much more complicated here
than on Earth.  Here, a total villain might achieve paradise through serving
his evil God, while a good man or woman can still be sucked into a lengthy stay
in hell.  Unless you follow the God or Gods or our own world, and even we
Immortals are denied that peace.

Kurt shook his head at the unfairness of that
proposition.  He wasn’t sure what it meant.  Was the price of having an almost
eternal natural lifespan the absence of a soul?  Or did they have a soul, of
sorts, only it reacted unlike anything that the normal races had.  The big
German moved to a wall and sat down, closing his eyes for a few moments as he
took deep breaths to cool himself. 
As far as I know, I only have this life,
as limitless as it seems.  And the best thing I can do with that life is to
serve my people, and those who would aid them.

The half hour went by faster than he wanted,
time passing as it does, no matter the wishes of those experiencing them.  “Let’s
move out,” said the former Wehrmacht Colonel, getting to his feet and waving
the way forward.  “Destiny awaits, and it does us no good to keep it waiting.”

Chapter Sixteen

 “Where are you going, Krug?” asked Ellisandra,
watching the broad back of the Ogre as he turned down a tunnel.

“The blade calls to me,” said Krug without
looking back.  “So I go to retrieve it.”

“Follow him,” said the Marshal to the men
around him.  “But give him a wide berth.”

[Do you want us to double back?] sent Glassini,
with her two remaining assassins again forming the point of the formation.

[Stay where you are,] said the Marshal, walking
after the Ogre, who strode off down the tunnel as if he knew what awaited. 
Maybe
he does, but he isn’t telling us.

The tunnel ran straight for a couple of hundred
meters, then slanted down at enough of an angle to drop twenty meters for every
hundred.  Statues of ancient warriors lined the wall, and Ellisandra looked
over at Millistara.

“They are just statues, as far as I can tell,”
said the Priest.

And I can only hope that as far as you can tell
is telling enough
,
thought the Marshal, making sure that at least a half dozen other Ellala were
between himself and the Ogre.

The tunnel flattened out again, then led into a
large square chamber, almost a hundred meters on a side.  There were more
statues here, as well as a number of desiccated bodies in rusty armor laying
toward the edges of the room.  Straight ahead was a pair of bronze portals,
carved with demonic images, creatures of nightmare.  A figure stood on each
side of the doorway, unmoving, but in some manner more lifelike than the
statues on the path here.

Krug walked up to the figures, stopping to
their front and staring up them.  And one of the figures moved, pointing its
blade at the Ogre, followed a moment later by the second.

The Marshal was about to order his men forward
when the Death Priest put his hand on his arm.  “Don’t,” hissed the Priest. 
“This is something he must do.”

The Marshal nodded as he stared at the giant
Ogre, drawing his weapons and dropping into a defensive stance.

*     *     *

Krug was bright for an Ogre, which would put
him on the same level as an intelligent Orc, though not one of the brightest. 
He was not much of a thinker, except where it concerned making decisions in
combat.  There he was well above average.  He wasn’t sure why the artifacts
wanted him, but from the messages they were placing in his brain, they wanted
him, bad.  It was all he could do to keep from running full speed to where they
were located.  His pride, his resistance to that which tried to enslave him,
kept him moving at a slightly above normal pace.

The closer he came to the artifacts, especially
the blade, the more strident the call, and the greater his excitement.  He was
almost beside himself when he entered the final chamber before the portal.  He
wanted to rush up to the door and push his way in.  But his practiced eye
picked out the dead along the side walls, his practical knowledge guessed that
they had died before they could get into the chamber beyond.  And he knew that
the same awaited him if he were not careful.

[Very good,] said the voice in his mind.  [You
show control, more than I expected from one such as you.  But then, you’re
trained in a manner very different from most of your savage people.]

“What now?” asked Krug under his breath.

[Now we see if you are a worthy fighter,] sent
the blade.

Krug looked at the two figures on their
pedestals.  Both were larger than normal humanoids, appearing to be huge
humans, wearing what appeared to be fine plate, two handed swords in their
hands.  Both were unmoving, as if frozen, or paralyzed, until first one moved,
turning burning eyes on the Ogre, then the other.  Krug felt shaken in his
surprise, not sure what was going on.

One of the warriors jumped down from his
pedestal and moved forward in a crouch, sword gripped in both hands.  The other
stayed in place, his eyes riveted to the Ogre, obviously waiting to make his
move based on what the first accomplished.

Krug drew both his blades and held them ready, his
eyes locked on the warrior on the ground, while continually checking out the
other one with his peripheral vision.  He was sure they were going to attack as
a pair, using teamwork to overwhelm their opponent.  So he was surprised when
the first stopped a couple of meters away and stared at him, making no move to
attack.

The second was the attacker, leaping into the
air and swinging his sword at Krug’s head.  Krug moved his left handed sword
into a blocking position and began a thrust with the right blade.  That was
when the first warrior started to slide forward with his sword pulled back to
the right side.

Krug blocked the first sword coming in and
shoved back with all his strength, pushing the warrior off balance before he
could finish his attack.  He brought his right hand blade over and down,
knocking the second warrior’s sword down.  The first made another move in, and
the Ogre knocked the sword aside, then spun on the balls of his feet to defeat
the attack of the second.

The first warrior moved in and snuck a jab into
Krug’s arm, drawing first blood. The Ogre roared his anger and swung both
blades, one after the other at the warrior, barely missing the second blow. 
The second warrior pricked the Ogre on the left hind leg, where the plate armor
didn’t cover his flesh, and the chain had bunched.

“Stand still so I can crush you,” yelled Krug,
backing up and making them follow him.  “Damned ants.”

The first rushed in, then stopped and swung his
blade, the second starting his rush at the same time.  Krug accepted the hit of
the first warrior on his shoulder, grunting from the force of the blow, which
did not penetrate his armor.  All of his concentration was on the second
warrior, who was using the attack of the first as his cover.  Only Krug did not
bite, and he thrust his right hand blade into the midsection of the warrior
before the man could change direction.  The Ogre pushed his blade through the
flesh of the man, picking him up on the blade, then flinging him off toward the
other warrior.

Second warrior hit the first in the head and
shoulders, knocking him back and down, leaving him without weapons.  Krug
jumped forward and stomped on the warrior he had flung off of his sword.  The
warrior opened his mouth in a silent scream, and Krug lifted his foot and
stomped down again.  He turned as the first warrior leapt in, and he smacked
the man with an armored fist, then turned back and thrust his blade into the
mouth of the man lying on the ground.  The sword thunked in and Krug leaned his
weight into it, severing the man’s spine and leaving him lifeless on the
ground.

The other warrior moved in, a silent scream on
his lips.  Krug hadn’t been sure if these were living creatures, but the one he
had just stabbed through the head had released a gratifying amount of red
liquid.  He hit the remaining warrior’s sword with his left hand blade, then
struck him across his undefended neck with his other weapon.  The sword sliced
in, cutting halfway through the neck.  Krug pulled his sword out and let the
dead man fall to the ground.

[Very good,] sent the Black Blade, a
combination of humor and hunger in its tone.  [Now, come and, receive your
reward my master.]  Krug was not smart enough to read the irony in the
statement, and walked toward the bronze portals that were opening before him.

Krug’s heavy boots sounded on the stones of the
floor, echoing from the walls.  The superstitious creature did not like that
sound, which reminded him of other things moving in the shadows.  He shrugged
his shoulders and continued forward, knowing that if the Black Blade had wanted
him dead, he would already be a corpse.

The chamber he walked into was spotless, as
clean as could be despite the feeling of age old abandonment.  The floor,
ceiling and walls glistened with a strange kind of light.  No, not really
light, but darkness, a lack of light that acted like illumination in and of
itself.  The chamber was about twenty meters wide, by fifty deep, and at the
other end stood what looked like an altar.  And on the altar was solid black
plate armor, glistening in the evil darkness/light.

A compulsion made the Ogre take off his own
armor, unbuckling the plate, then lifting off the chain, until he stood there
in only a loincloth.  He had already dropped his swords to the floor, feeling
that he would no longer need them.

[Put on the armor,] said the voice in his head.

Krug looked down on the plate, and could tell
right off that it was not going to fit his massive frame.  It looked like armor
made for a humanoid of human or Ellala proportions.

[Put on the armor,] said the voice inside his
head again, this time with more insistence.  [It will fit one even as large as
you.]

Krug shrugged his great shoulders once again,
then picked up the hinged breast and back plate.  As soon as he had lifted it
from the altar, it had expanded to a size that would fit his physique.  He
pulled it on, fitting the breastplate, then moving so that the back plate swung
in.  He tried to find the catches with his fingers, but the armor became a
solid piece as soon as the two free ends connected.

Krug felt a bit of energy leave his body as the
armor settled into place.  Not much, but enough to notice, and he realized that
the armor was hungry.  [It will not feed on you,] said the voice with a
chuckle.  [But some of the lives you take will be funneled into the armor,
increasing its power.]

Krug spent some minutes putting on the rest of
the armor.  From boots to gauntlets.  The helm went on last, and the Ogre felt
more of his strength leave him.

[Now you are ready to wield me,] said the
voice, its connection to the Ogre now much stronger.  [The armor will protect
you from my power, as well as strengthening our connection.]

The top of the altar rose into the air,
pivoting on a set of hinges set on the back.  The fit was so perfect it rose
without a sound.  And underneath was the blade of legend, the Black Blade of
Bothar.  Almost two meters of polished black steel, glowing with the same dark
light as the interior of the chamber.  The hilt was a half meter of golden
leather, and a pommel of jet colored diamond occupied the end.  A sheath of
black leather embossed with metal sat next to the blade.

[Pick me up, and become invincible.]

Krug hesitated for just a moment, then gripped
the hilt with his right hand and raised the sword into the air.  A feeling of
power swept through his body like none he had ever felt before.  Followed by an
enervating weakness that almost knocked him from his feet.

[I must feed,] shouted the blade in his mind. 
[I am hungry, and I must have life, now.]

Krug grabbed the sheath and threw it over his
shoulder, letting the strap hold it in place for the moment.  Later he would
cross strap it more securely.  But now he had a mission, one he could not
delay.

Krug saw his first victim as soon as he had
left the chamber, one of the Ellala warriors standing twenty meters away,
nervously watching the entrance.  “He comes out, my Lord,” shouted the
warrior.  “He has on the black armor, and is carrying the blade.”

Krug smiled as he advanced on the man, his
sword in hand.  The Ellala looked at him with almost panicked eyes, then tried
to back up at the last moment.  Too late, as the Black Blade ripped through his
chest armor like it was paper, coming out the other side.  Krug lifted the
Ellala into the air on the blade, feeling the sweet energy of the man’s life
force flowing into his body.  Most of it stayed in the blade, and some flowed
through him into the armor, but he still caught enough to replenish his
reserves.

[More,] yelled the blade.  [More.]

“No more,” cried the Death Priest, Jakisanda
Millistara, stepping into sight, waving the other Ellala warriors back.  “The
blade would feed until there was nothing but death here.  There will be other
things to kill as we go forward, but we are not among them.”

Krug flung the body from the blade, then took a
step forward, compelled by the sword to take another life.  The Death Priest
stared into his eyes, forcing another compulsion on the Ogre.  Krug felt torn
by the two commands, but decided that he would obey the one that made the most
sense.  He pulled the sheath off of his back, then sheathed the blade, cutting
off most of its compulsion in that instant.  It was still making demands, but
they were much weaker versions of its strident call.  He attached the sheath to
his back again, this time cross belting it with the hilt jutting over his right
shoulder.

“You must only draw that blade when you intend
to kill,” said the Priest, walking up and running a hand over the armor.  “When
it leaves the sheath, it will make you kill, whether you want to or not.  And
it will not return to it until it has taken that life.  Understand?”

Krug nodded, girding his will.  He enjoyed
killing, but only what he wanted to kill.  He realized the sword would want to
make him its slave, while promising that he was the master. 
I was a slave,
once, in the arena
, he thought, scowling. 
Never again.  You are mine to
control, not the other way around.