Refuge: Kurt's Quest (28 page)

“We could all do with food,” said the Dwarf,
looking at Kurt and Jackie.  “And with those metabolisms, I’m sure you two are
almost starving.”

Kurt nodded as he walked forward.  His stomach
had been grumbling for some time now, but he had been avoiding their limited
supply of iron rations, not knowing how long they would be down here.  He
grabbed a joint of roasted meat off a platter, then turned to see White Paw
looking at him with the begging stare of a canine.  Kurt laughed and tossed the
wolf the joint, then grabbed a leg of some large bird and a loaf of bread.

When the party left the chamber, all were well
fed and rested, their packs were stuffed with food, and their spirits were as
high as they had been since entering the labyrinth.  That made Kurt wonder what
would be the next hurdle, and what price they might pay for getting past it.

*     *     *

“You should not have entered here, mortals,”
yelled the large red creature standing in the center of the cavern.

“We do not fear you, demon,” said the Death
Priest, Jakisanda Millistara.  “I know you cannot leave this chamber, and we
will just go around you.”

The large creature showed a toothy grin of
sharp incisors, obviously made for rending flesh.  Its ten meter wing span was
on display as it spread the bat like appendages.  Its horns reached near to the
ceiling five meters above the floor.  “There is no way around me, Priest.  You
must come through me.  That is why I was placed here.  Unless you would leave
this place without that for which you came.”

“Can you destroy him?” asked Ellisandra,
looking at his Death Priest.

“I, don’t know,” said Millistara, doubt in his
eyes.  “This is a very powerful demon, an Archdemon if I have ever seen one.  I
am not sure that any priest or mage is his equal.”

“I will kill it,” said Krug, stepping forward
before anyone could stop him, putting a large foot into the chamber.

“Ah, someone with enough courage to face me,”
said the Demon.  “I will enjoy feasting on the soul of someone so brave.”

“Stop, you fool,” yelled the Marshal, trying to
grab at the Ogre and failing as the warrior took another step forward.

“Don’t,” said the Death Priest, grabbing the
Marshal’s shoulder and holding him back.  “This may work.”

“Is that the Black Armor that I see?” asked the
Demon, a hint of doubt in his voice.  “How did a slug like you get something
like that.”

Krug laughed, not bothering to answer, taking
another couple of steps forward.

“It will protect you a little longer, mortal. 
But that is all.  I will still eat your soul, and there is nothing you can do
to stop it.”

“No,” shouted Krug, his voice amplified to
almost godlike proportions.  His right hand reached back and grabbed the hilt
of the blade over his back.  With a quick pull the Black Blade was out in the
open, glowing with black light and moaning like a banshee.  “Maybe this will
change your mind.”

The demon stepped back with a shocked
expression, its eyes wide as it stared at the artifact that even it had no
control over.  It raised a hand and motioned for the Ogre to stop.  “I did not
know you possessed the Blade of Bothar, warrior.  Of course you may pass.  And
all those with you.”

“Too late to change your mind now, Demon,” said
Krug, his voice booming through the cavern.  “The blade is drawn, and it will
not return to its sheath until it has taken a life, and fed on a soul.”

“Then take one of the lesser warriors of your
party, Warrior.  Surely you will not miss one of them, and I can help you
through the rest of this labyrinth.”

“Do not listen to the Demon, Krug,” said the
Marshal, afraid that the weak minded Ogre might just become beguiled by the
demon.  “He is not to be trusted.”

“The Blade wants more than the energy of an
Ellala warrior,” said the Ogre, looking back at the Marshal with a grin, then
back at the Demon.  “It wants what you have.”

“If you kill me, I will just be banished for a
time, and then will return.  And when I return, I will come looking for you.”

Krug rocked his head back and roared with
laughter.  He looked again at the Demon, all humor gone from his face.  “The
Blade sees through you, Demon.  It tells me that most means of slaying your
kind would result in what you say.  And it tells me that it will obliterate you
completely.  So that is what I choose.”

“Then you will die here,” screamed the Demon,
flapping his wings and rising a half meter from the ground.  “You will die, and
the blade will be mine.”

Krug stepped forward, the Black Blade raised
and pointed at the Demon.  “What is your name, Demon, so I will know whose soul
my blade is devouring.”

The Demon bared his fangs and shot forward, his
hand reaching out with sharp claws.  Krug swung the blade, catching the Demon
on the wrist and slicing through, taking off the hand.  The Demon screeched
again, this time in agony, and its other hand swung around before Krug could
shift the blade.  Two of the claws hit the Ogre on his throat, just above the
gorget and below the chin, the perfect target.  The Ogre’s tough skin was
shredded as the claws cut through his throat, splashing his blood into the air.

Krug tried to roar, but all that came out was a
gurgle.  The Black Blade pulled some of the life energy from the Demon from its
wound, and the gorget of the Black Armor glowed with dark energy.  In an
instant the throat of the Ogre was knit whole, and Krug released the roar he
had been denied a moment earlier.

The Demon flapped his heavy wings again and
tried to climb away, but the Ogre thrust the sword into the thick thigh muscles
of the creature.  As the Blade penetrated the muscle it locked the Demon in
place and pulled more of its life energy in.  Krug seemed to grow in size, an
illusion caused by the increase in life, the portion that the Blade was feeding
to the armor, and the armor to its wearer.

The Demon raised its claw and tried to strike
again.  The Ogre pulled the Black Blade free and aimed it upwards, thrusting
the tip into the abdomen of the large creature, up into the chest region of the
Demon.  The Demon froze in place, its mouth open in a silent scream as bright
energy flowed up the long blade and the black runes on its length glowed a
brighter black.

“No,” yelled the Demon at the top of its
lungs.  “No,” it yelled again, this time not nearly as loud.  It opened its
mouth again and only a hiss came out.  The energy coming from it brightened yet
again, then started to fade, as the body of the Demon first wavered, then
dissolved in the air.

Krug raised the blade into the air and roared
again, an ear splitting sound that deafened those listening.  He turned toward
the Ellala and shoved the blade back into its sheath.  “The way is clear,”
growled the Ogre.

“He’s unstoppable,” said the Death Priest, his
wide eyes staring at the Ogre.  “I don’t think a dragon would be capable of
stopping him.”

The Marshal gave a head motion of agreement,
wondering if that were a good or bad thing.  As long as the Ogre was on their
side, it was good.  But if anything turned him against them, there was nothing
they could do to stop him. 
I may need to talk with our Assassin about this,
see if there’s anything she might be able to do.  To catch him off guard.  As
long as he doesn’t go crazy when we’re not ready for it, and we’re caught off
guard.

*    *     *

[Friend Kurt.  I am sensing something evil.]

[There are a lot of evil things here, White
Paw,] sent the Immortal.  [What’s different about this?]

[I fear it, Friend Kurt.  I fear it, not just
for my life, but for all that I am.]

“What do you think, Garios?” asked Kurt,
looking over at the Priest, who was also receiving the link.

“I think our friends have found the Death Blade
of Bothar,” said Garios.  “One of the artifacts we were to prevent them from
getting, if not the most important one.”

“Tell us about it, Priest,” said Fenris, a
troubled expression on his face.  “I remember hearing something of it, but it
was a long time ago.”

“It is an awful weapon,” said the Dwarf,
grimacing.  “It feeds on the life energy of its victims, giving some of it to
its wielder.”

“Damn,” said Kurt, eyes widening.  “I remember
reading about something like that in a book on Earth.   A work of fiction.”

“It seems that many of the ideas that we call
fiction, or myth, come from things that really exist here,” said Drake, looking
from face to face.

“I wish that wasn’t one of them,” said Kurt,
shaking his head.  “Just the thought of that demon sword terrified me as a grown
man.”

“It should terrify you,” said the Priest.  “It
rips the very soul from your body and feeds it to the blade.  If the wielder is
wearing the matching armor, the blade will also feed some of that energy into
the plate, which will feed some of it to the swordsman.”

“And what happens to the soul?” asked Jackie,
her own face turning a paler shade.

“No one really knows,” said the Priest.  “What
we can say is that no recognizable soul has ever been identified from one who
has fed the blade.  I would be careful, Lord Kurt.  I do not know what it would
do to your kind, but I would not chance it.”

“And the armor?  What does it do, besides
feeding some power to the user?”

“The armor is invulnerable to damage from
normal weapons, and very resistant to magical weapons,” said Garios.  “And if
it is damaged, it can heal itself.”

[It is the armor I was made to fight,] sent
Kurt’s blade into his mind.  [The blade and the armor are my natural foes.  I
will not let you down, my master.  If you face those weapons, we will win, and
not just because of my abilities, but also because of yours.]

“If we come upon them, let me take on the one
with the blade,” Kurt told the others.  “My sword thinks its destiny is to face
that weapon, and the strength and will of the wielder will count for
something.”

“He’s all yours, friend Kurt,” agreed Garios
with a smile.  “I’m sure there will be enough of the enemy to keep the rest of
us busy.”

“We need to get moving,” said Xenonodes,
looking carefully into the tunnel ahead.  “We need to get to the crown before
they do.”

[White Paw,] sent Kurt over his mental link. 
[Scout ahead.]

“Stop the wolf,” shouted the Halfling, turning
toward Kurt.

“White Paw,” yelled the Immortal.  “Stop.  Come
back here.”  He turned to the Halfling with a questioning look on his face.

“That tunnel is sure to be trapped.  Even the
senses of the animal will not be able to pick up the scent of something that
emplaced them hundreds or more years ago.”

“Then how do you know it is trapped?” asked
Garios, glancing down the tunnel.

“Do you smell that,” said the Halfling, looking
at the Dwarf.  “There is something dead in that tunnel.  Something of
considerable size that has been rotting for quite some time.”

“And?”

“And don’t you wonder why nothing has come
along and taken that carrion, in a place like this, with too many predators and
not enough prey.  Something is keeping the local life out of the tunnel.”

“So, what do we do about it?” asked Kurt. 
“Find another way, and lose more time.”

“That’s why you have me along,” said Xenonodes
with a smile.  “Give me a couple of minutes,” he said, pulling the tools out of
his new kit and heading for the tunnel.

Chapter Seventeen

Xenonodes walked into the tunnel on cat’s feet,
careful to not make a sound, a vibration, anything that could set off a trap
that might use such a trigger.  His eyes were in constant motion, looking for
anything out of place, anything that didn’t fit the motif of a deserted tunnel
in an ancient dungeon.  He mumbled the words of a thief’s spell, one that was
both common, and difficult to cast at the level he was attempting.  As soon as
the last word left his mouth his vision changed, becoming sharper and clearer,
while at the same time all of the shadows were banished.

Now he saw the body that was making the gagging
odor that filled the tunnel.  It was thirty meters ahead, sprawled on the
floor.  And he looked closely to see what it was that had felled the creature. 
He saw several things at a distance that might have been the culprit.  He
zoomed in his vision, and dismissed one immediately, as he saw a spider crawl
into and out of the hole.  The other was still a possibility.

Is the tunnel safe up to that point?
thought the thief,
looking down at the floor before sliding one foot forward.  He knew the smart
way to bet was that there were traps before that point, but that the creature
had avoided them through skill, or simply dumb luck.  He fought the urge to
hurry, his fear of setting something off warring with his anxiety at not
getting through this obstacle in time to get his party where they were going
before their opponent.

The Halfling again said another spell, this one
a priest spell that would show common traps around him.  This one was not something
many thieves could cast.  Only someone who had actually studied for the
priesthood of one of the Gods, major or minor.  Which the Halfling had done in
his younger years, before he went astray.

One of the stones to his front glowed blue, and
he squatted down and marked the stone with a piece of cloth.  There was nothing
else between him and the body, and he reached it and again squatted down to
look it over.  It was badly burned, at least the clothing that was hanging in
pieces on its body.  Most of the flesh had rotted away, but from the bone
structure of the skull he thought it must have been a Grogatha.  He moved past
the body and saw another trigger, this one on the wall, and he approached
cautiously, still sliding his feet, not taking chances that there might be
another trigger that the spell did not reveal.

He felt the click more than heard it, and threw
himself to the floor as a quartet of darts flew through the space he had just
occupied.  They hit the far wall with enough force to actually sink into the
stone, and the Halfling rolled over, taking in a breath as he thought of what
almost had happened to him.

He worked his way through the rest of the
tunnel, finding one more trigger, marking it, and heading back for the others. 
“I’ve cleared a path,” he told the party as soon as he was out of the tunnel. 
“Follow me, walk in my path, and avoid the cloth marked stones.”

“Was it difficult?” asked Jackie as she
followed directly behind the Thief.

“Not at all,” he told her with a smile, still
feeling his heart beating harder from the stress.

*     *     *

“The Crown,” whispered Marshal Ellessa
Ellisandra, looking at what had to be the treasure they had come for.  He
glanced over at his companions, who all had the same look of greed on their
faces. 
I won’t let them have it
, he thought, starting forward.

[Stop,] yelled something in their heads, and
everyone jerked to a halt.  [You have not proven your worth, and only the
worthy may possess me.]

“How do we prove ourselves?” asked the Death
Priest, his own eyes wide as he looked at his companions as if they had been
lifelong enemies.

[Others come.  You must defeat them to prove
your worth.  Or they will prove theirs by defeating you.]

“Everyone,” called out the Marshal, his own
attention now totally on the fight that was coming to them.  “Prepare
yourselves.  We must win this fight at all costs.”

There were nods and murmurs of agreement, then
everyone started separating out into their groups and heading for the best
hiding places they could find. 
And perhaps my enemies can kill off some of
my friends
, thought the Marshal as he led a group of soldiers into a side
chamber. 
Then I will have fewer of my
friends
to fight when we prove
worthy of the crown.

*     *     *

The tunnel opened up onto a long natural bridge
of rock, the opening through the rock wall to another chamber showing at the
other end.  Far below bubbled bright lava, the heat rising and making the top
of the bridge an oven.  Everyone was sweating as soon as they stepped onto the
bridge with the exception of Drake, who actually seemed revitalized by the
heat.

“Look there, friend Kurt,” said Garios,
pointing down below to a section of rock that formed a beach on the lake of
lava.  “A forge.”

Kurt followed the pointing finger of the Dwarf
to see what looked like a heavy iron anvil, carved with writhing runes, a large
hammer leaning against it.

“A forge of the Gods,” said the Priest. 
“Artifacts were made there, in long ages past.”

“To what Gods?” asked the Immortal.

“To fell Gods,” said the Dwarf, making a holy
sign across his chest.  “Only evil Gods could work in a place like this.”

“We need to move on,” said Kurt, motioning
toward the other entrance, where White Paw was almost ready to go through the
short tunnel and into the next chamber.  “It does us no good to sightsee in
this evil place.”