Crypt of the Shadowking

Fifteen

"This one looks like it's got more Calimshite soldiers," Tyveris said in disgust. He threw down the spade next to the hole he had dug in a low barrow and pulled out a helmet that bore the crest of the southern land of Calimshan. A human skull, its blankly staring orbits filled with dirt, still rattled around inside the helmet. Muttering a prayer to appease the dead, Tyveris set the skull back in the pit.

"We could try that barrow that Estah noticed last night," Mari said, though without much enthusiasm. "She said it looked more weathered than the others."

"We've been digging up barrows for three days now, Man,' the big Tabaxi said in annoyance, picking the spade back up and filling in the hole, "and not a one of them seems to date from the time before Indoria fell. By Oghma himself, if I turn up another Calimshite skull, I'm going to march south to Calimport, barge into the Emperor's throne room, and brain him with the blasted thing as punishment for all the soldiers his predecessors sent up here to die and torment me."

"Now what good would that do us?" Mari asked.

"None, I suppose," Tyveris grumbled, "but it would make me feel a bit better."

It was growing late as the two made their way across the grassy floor of the valley back toward camp. The valley itself was beautiful, the verdant ground scattered with pale, tiny flowers. Yet there was an eerie silence that Mari had found increasingly disturbing these last days. She hadn't seen a single bird since they arrived at this place, and the only sound was the ceaseless hiss of the wind through the long grass.

The barrows themselves were of many different kinds Some were little more than small piles of dirt overgrown with grass, while others had been built up with walls of rock and were surrounded by circles of massive standing stones. Some of the standing stones bore runic inscriptions carved into their surfaces, but almost all of these were too weathered and overgrown with lichen to decipher.

Mari and Tyveris reached their camp only to discover that the others had fared little better. A feeling of despair was steadily descending over the companions. Even Mari was starting to give up hope that they would ever find Talembar's tomb. They had made camp some distance from the valley, beneath the sheltering branches of the ancient, solitary oak tree.

They made a cheerless supper of dried fruit, supplemented by the last of the cheese and some stale unleavened bread Estah had bought in the village of Asher. As the twilight deepened, the companions gathered around the glow of the fire-all except Ferret, who was perched on a nearby knoll keeping watch. Mari pulled her baliset out of her pack. Perhaps some music would lift their spirits.

She strummed a few soft chords, then broke into a gentle song about a maiden seeking her lost lover by the shores of a misty lake.

"That was just lovely," Estah said when Mari had finished.

Mari smiled and started to ask the halfling what she would like to hear next when her eyes were caught by Caledan's intent gaze. He sat across the fire, his face lost in shadow, his pale green eyes locked on hers.

Caledan stood up. "I'm going to go stretch my legs," he told the others. He walked away from the ring of firelight. Mari watched him until he vanished into the deepening purple twilight.

The healer requested a lively tune next, one called "The Dragon and the Dormouse." After that, Mari played several more songs, but finally her hands fell from the polished wood of her baliset.

"I'll… I'll be back soon," she told the others, setting down the instrument. She gazed into the dusky night and walked in the direction Caledan had taken earlier.

What are you doing, Mari Al'maren? she asked herself. But she had no answer. She knew she ought to stay away from Caledan. She had known so from the moment she first looked at him and felt the tingling in her skin when he touched her. She had fought those feelings with all her strength, as if they had been demons trying to gain control of her.

She knew it was wrong, even dangerous, to fall in love with Caledan. She had sworn to be true to the Harpers, and she couldn't love Caledan and perform her duty at the same time. She could not compromise herself as a Harper. And yet…

"Who's there?" a voice spoke softly in the dimness. It was Caledan.

"It's only me, scoundrel," she said, stepping from a shadow into the silvery light of the rising moon. They stood atop a low hill. The land stretched out beneath them in all directions. In the distance Mari could spot the brightness of the companions' campfire, but they were out of earshot.

"What do you want?" Caledan asked, his voice neutral.

Mari shook her head. "I don't know. Nothing, I suppose." The moonlight glimmered off her silver Harper pin. "No, that's not true," she added after a heartbeat. "I do want something. Foolish as it may be, I want you, Caledan."

He was silent for a long moment. "I want you, too… Mari," he said finally, his voice unusually husky. "But…"

Mari took a step forward, placed her hands on his broad shoulders, and kissed him soundly. He tried to pull away, but she held on with all her strength and did not let him go. Then, slowly, his lips melted against hers. Finally he reached out and pulled her close, her head resting against his chest.

"You may live to regret this, you know."

"I know," she said, smiling wryly. "But I'll love you even then."

He spread his cloak out upon the dewy grass, and the two sank down to the soft ground.

"One more day," Caledan said when the companions were all mounted, ready to ride again into the valley of the ancient, numberless barrows. Dawn had come; the sky was gray and the light gloomy. "After that, we've got to get back to Iriaebor. For all we know, Ravendas has found the Night-stone already."

"If that is so," Morhion said, "then there is little point in our returning at all." Caledan looked darkly at the mage but did not answer him.

They made their way to the north side of the valley and spent the morning exploring among the overgrown burial mounds. There were fewer barrows here, but they seemed to contain the same as all the others they had examined- mostly the remains of Calimshite soldiers.

"Calimshan must have lost a major battle here at some point," Tyveris said, tossing down another helmet in disgust. "Serves them right." The loremaster was beginning to develop a serious dislike for Calimshites.

Mari glanced over at Caledan, who was refilling the hole Tyveris had dug in this latest barrow, and saw that he was looking at her. He smiled, the expression lighting up his green eyes, then he winked at her mischievously before returning to work. Mari couldn't help but grin. He was a scoundrel, that was certain, but at least he seemed to be her scoundrel.

"Caledan, Mari, come look at this," Tyveris said then. He was examining a large barrow not far from the one they had just excavated. It was a low, circular mound, its doorway filled with dark stones. "This one looks a little different than any of the others we've investigated so far."

Morhion walked around the barrow, examining it critically. "It is different, loremaster. That could mean it is older, dating closer to the time Talembar fell. Or…"

"Or what?" Caledan asked.

"Or it may mean that this tomb was built for a different sort of occupant."

"Like a king, you mean?" Ferret asked, his beady eyes lighting up. "And kings are usually buried with treasure, am I right?"

"I suppose there's only one way to find out," Caledan said.

They set to clearing away the stones from the barrow's low, circular entrance. Within minutes they found that the entrance to the barrow had been sealed up with daub and wattle. Strange symbols had been drawn in the mud of the seal, but centuries of dampness had worn them down so that they could barely be seen, let alone read.

"Allow me," Tyveris said. The big loremaster stood before the barrow's entrance. He closed his eyes and spoke a soft, rumbling prayer. "Just apologizing in advance," he explained when he finished.

"Apologizing for what?" Man asked.

"This." In one swift motion, Tyveris gathered up his brown robe around his knees and landed a powerful kick on the daub and wattle seal. The dried mud shattered. There was a faint hiss, and a puff of foul-smelling air issued from the entrance.

"I don't think I want to be the one to crawl in and see who's buried in there," Tyveris said, grimacing as he held his nose.

"I'll go," Ferret said eagerly, bounding toward the barrow's entrance. Abruptly he stopped short.

A spray of dirt and stone burst outward from the barrow's entrance, showering the companions. Mari watched in horror as something began clawing its way out of the tomb. Its fiery red arms were massive and gnarled. It scrabbled at the dirt with yellowed talons as long as daggers. Its face was that of a beast, its ears large and pointed, its snout strangely flattened. Its fangs were long and sharp, and it had two hot eyes as crimson as fresh blood.

"Ready yourself, Tyveris!" Morhion called out loudly. "We've got to force it back into the barrow. Once it is free, we will not be able to defeat it." The beast continued to inch its way out of the tomb's narrow entrance. It let out a piercing scream.

"Can you call on the strength of your god or not, lore-master?"

Tyveris nodded.

'Then do so," the mage snapped. "Use your prayers to drive the creature back into the barrow. I will attempt to seal the entrance again."

Caledan drew his sword to defend the loremaster and mage should their spells fail, but he knew his blade would be futile against this horrible beast.

Tyveris began to chant a fervent, rapid prayer to Oghma. The mage wore a look of concentration on his face as he struggled to recall the words of some arcane spell.

"El atha cul Oghma, elfaltira kempar min Oghma yarl" Tyveris shouted, gripping a bronze holy symbol that hung about his neck, his deep voice booming like thunder. Caledan didn't see anything happen-no crackle of magic or burst of fire-but suddenly the creature screamed as if it had been struck a dire blow. The light in its fiery eyes flickered. The creature snarled and writhed in agony, then retreated back inside the barrow.

At the same time, the mage released his spell. A shimmering blue nimbus appeared where the mud seal had been. "Quickly, help me replace the stones," the mage said, and the others rapidly piled the dark stones back, sealing the entrance tightly.

When the last stone was in place, the mage sank to the ground, breathing hard. Tyveris slumped nearby, his head in his hands.

"Are you all right?" Estah asked them concernedly.

"I am weary, that is all," Morhion said, and Tyveris nodded in agreement.

"It's been a while since I asked my god for that much power," the big loremaster said with a wan grin.

"What was that thing?" Caledan asked the mage.

Morhion shook his head. "I cannot truly say. Some beast of magic created by sorcerers long ago, I would imagine. Mages often took part in the battles fought here in the Fields, sending creatures of dark magic to ravage an enemy's army. This was one such creature, I would guess, bound and buried by a victorious mage."

But not dead," Caledan said.

"No. It is a thing of magic," Morhion said, his breathing still rapid. "It will never die."

"Then we had better leave a marker here, so no one makes the same mistake we did," Caledan said. He paused then, as if he was struggling with something. "Thanks, mage," he said gruffly after a moment of silence, then he turned to mount Mista. "Let's put some distance between us and this barrow."

They rode to the north edge of the valley, then broke for a meal at midday, The distant sound of thunder echoed over the valley. The wind rattled through the tall grass, and the clouds looked as heavy and dark as lead.

Tyveris looked forlornly at the rather pitiful array of foodstuffs Estah had pulled from the saddlebags. There was a little dried fruit left, a few bits of cheese, and barely enough stale bread for each of them to have a piece.

"I really hate to ask this question," the big monk said, "but what exactly are the rest of you going to eat?"

“Tyveris!" Estah said chidingly.

"It was a joke, Estah," the loremaster protested lamely.

"I'm not laughing," the halfling healer said, her eyes flashing fire. She watched carefully over the food to make certain each of them got a fair share.

"What do you have there, thief?" Morhion asked as they were readying themselves to set out again after lunch. Ferret was performing tricks with a dull, tarnished coin, sending it dancing over his knuckles and leaping into the air.

"It's just some old coin," Ferret said, flipping it deftly toward the mage. "I found it on the ground when I was scouting maybe a half-league back."

Morhion snatched it precisely out of the air. He studied the coin intently, turning it over in his hand. "You may wish to see this," he said to Caledan and Mari.

"What is it?" Mari asked.

"I'm no expert, but it just looks like some old copper coin to me," Caledan said with a shrug. "And a badly stamped one at that."

"That is true," Morhion said, holding up the crudely made coin. Its edges were rough and uneven and seemed to be thicker on one edge than the other. "I cannot even say what the symbol it is embossed with is intended to represent, but there are words beneath it. I can still make them out. They read, Altaro'eb'Telkadra."

"What does it mean?" asked Mari.

"It is written in the tongue called Talfir," Morhion said, his blue eyes glittering. "It means, The Year of the Lion.'"

"The Year of the Lion,'" Mari repeated, then her eyes widened in realization. 'That was the year Talek Talembar was slain."

Caledan took the antique coin from the mage. "Ferret, I think you'd better show us where you found this."

"Sure," Ferret said. "But I'll tell you one thing. If the barrow I found it by was Talembar's, he didn't have many friends when he died. It's not much to speak of."

The thief was not exaggerating. The barrow he led them to was little more than an irregular heap of dirt about six paces across and knee high at its center. "I found the coin sticking out of the dirt near the base of the mound," Ferret explained. "The barrow looks fairly eroded. I suppose the coin was washed out."

“This barrow isn't shaped like any of the others," Mari noticed. "All of the Calimshite barrows are almost perfectly round. Whoever built this mound seems to have just tossed the dirt on haphazardly, probably just enough to cover whoever fell here. I can't imagine it holds anyone who was very important."

Let's find out," Caledan said, taking the spade and sinking it deep into the soft turf covering the barrow.

He had dug down barely a foot when the spade ground against something hard. He knelt down and brushed away the dirt from the hole. He pulled out the object that had caught the spade. It was a bone, yellowed and cracked with age, gnarled and knotty-looking.

"What sort of bone is this?" Caledan asked.

"Let me see," Ferret said, taking the bone from Caledan's grip. He turned it over in his hands, studying it carefully with his beady eyes. "It's a thighbone," he said after a moment. "But it's not human." The others stared at him in amazement.

"How do you know that?" Man asked him.

"Isn't it obvious?" Ferret rasped. "Whoever this bone belonged to, he wasn't all that good at walking upright. See these small bumps here? They'd be much bigger on a human, or a halfling for that matter. And look at the shape of the knee joint. It's all wrong. No, whoever this was, he had dreadful posture. I imagine his arms dragged the ground when he walked."

"Like a goblin?" Caledan asked, and the thief nodded.

"That's a good bet. Goblins have never been very good at standing up straight. What's more, this bone has knife marks all over it"

"You mean from a battle?" Man asked.

The thief shook his head. "No, more like from a butchering. I'd say that, after he died, our friend here was the guest of honor at a big feast-and the main course as well."

Mari gagged in revulsion.

"Goblins!" Tyveris spat like a curse.

"Ferret, how did you come to have so much knowledge concerning anatomy?" Morhion asked. If Mari hadn't known better, she would have thought she saw a flicker of amusement dancing in the mage's eyes.

"A good thief needs to know how the human body is built, Morhion," Ferret explained cheerfully. "How else would you know just where to slip the dagger in when you need to kill someone quickly and silently?" The companions regarded the thief with vaguely disgusted expressions, all except for Morhion.

"Interesting," the mage mused. "Very interesting."

Caledan's spade turned up more gnarled, knobby bones and flakes of rusted metal that might have belonged to weapons of some sort. It was clear from the number of bones that there were at least a dozen individuals buried in the mound.

Finally Caledan unearthed a low-browed skull with two nubby horns and a protruding snout. Its thick jawbone was lined with sharp, yellowed teeth.

"That's a goblin, all right," Caledan said. He had seen enough of the foul, twisted creatures in his lifetime to recognize that, given a little hairy, warty flesh, this skull would suit a goblin quite well.

"You don't suppose these are some of the goblins that killed Talek Talembar?" Estah asked.

"It's possible," Caledan mused. "But even if they were, I'm at a loss for how that could help us."

"Give me the skull," Morhion said. Caledan looked at the mage questioningly, but handed over the goblin skull.

"What are you going to do with it?" Mari asked.

"I'm going to speak with it," Morhion replied.

"No offense, Morhion," Ferret said, "but I've found that you tend to have more luck interrogating subjects when they're a little, er, fresher than this. I think you're a few centuries too late with this fellow."

"We shall see," the mage replied. He set the skull on a flat stone along with several items he drew from the small, mysterious pouch he always kept hidden in a fold of his robe: a bit of silver thread, a small chunk of yellow sulfur, and six pomegranate seeds. He held his hand over the skull and spoke several guttural words in the tongue of magic. The items the mage had set on the rock flared brightly with a deep purple light, then suddenly they dimmed and vanished. Mari gasped in shock, but before she could say anything a rough voice interrupted her.

It was the skull.

"Leave me alone, you bloody mage!" it said in an eerie voice.

The companions stared at the goblin skull in astonishment. It had not moved when it spoke, but Mari had no doubt that the voice had issued from the weathered skull. It was the dead goblin speaking.

"You must first answer my questions," Morhion said firmly.

"Garn, but I won't do it," the skull snarled. "Now go away, nasty wizard."

"I shall scatter your bones to the four winds," the mage said in a voice that sent chills up Man's back. "I shall let the buzzards peck at them, and you shall feel every moment of their desecration as an eternal agony."

"Oh, I'm scared, I am now," the skull said sarcastically. "You think I 'aven't already been desecrated? My mates made chow of me; it can't get any bloody worse than that."

"He has a point there," Caledan murmured to the others.

"Now put me back in the ground," the goblin skull whined.

"The wall that leads into the nether world of the dead is no barrier to my magic," Morhion said darkly. "I can cause such agony to your soul as you never dreamed of in life."

"You wouldn't dare!" the skull shrieked.

"Do goblins even have souls?" Mari whispered to Tyveris.

"I'm not sure," the loremaster whispered back. "It's an interesting theological question. If they do have souls, they've got to be awfully wretched, warty ones."

"Try me," Morhion said to the dead goblin, his eyes glittering.

"All right, all right, I'll talk," the skull whimpered. "But you got to promise you'll put me back in the ground."

"It will be done," the mage said. "Now tell me this: how did you come to be here?"

"I told you, my mates gnawed on my bones."

"Before that," Morhion said angrily.

"Oh," the skull said. It paused a moment, apparently thinking. "It all started when that shadowy man killed my tribe's chief. Now, no one 'as a right to do that. It's every tribe's privilege to murder its own chief. Why, what sort o' tribe is it, if you can't slit your leader's throat when you get tired of listening to 'im?"

"Stick to the story," Morhion warned.

"All right, don't get touchy," the goblin skull said in a hurt tone. "This shadowy man, he came from some place far off, but that weren't no excuse for sticking a sword in our chief. Me and some of the boys snuck up on 'im and put an arrow in 'im right neat. Taught 'im a lesson, we did. But when we got back to tell the rest o' the tribe what we done, we got a nasty surprise. Оl' Glok, he thought he should be chief now, but he knew we would just as soon tear 'is guts out. So's Glok laid an ambush for us. We beat him, only all that got kilt were et at the victory feast."

"Like you?" Morhion asked.

"Don't remind me!" the skull exclaimed.

"One more question."

"This 'ad better be it."

"What did you do with this 'shadowy man' after you put the arrow in him?"

"We shoved shadowy man in a hole, you know, to let 'im age a while before we et 'im. 'Twas in the west end of the valley. There's a ravine there, good for ambushin' travelers and slittin' their throats. We stuffed shadowy man in a cave up top o' the cliff. But Glok saw to it we never got to go back for 'im. I suppose he's still there, though I don't know what good he'd do you. I bet 'is bones ain't much good for gnawin' on by now."

"I suppose you're right," Morhion said. "I thank you for your help."

"I didn't do it 'cause I liked you, blasted wizard!" the goblin skull barked. Morhion murmured a few arcane words as he sprinkled a handful of ashes over the skull. As they fell, the ashes spiraled about the skull, glowing until they were transformed into a swirling purple mist.

"Hey!" the goblin cried indignantly. "Wot's all thi-"

Abruptly the skull was silent. The purple mist faded, leaving no trace of the ashes. Tyveris muttered a final prayer.

"I know he's just a goblin," he explained in answer to the curious looks the others gave him. "But he did help us."

The companions quickly reburied the goblin skull and bones, then mounted, setting off west across the valley. Excitement surged through their veins. Talembar's tomb was almost within their grasp.

The rumbling of thunder grew louder as they rode past the countless barrows. Even though it was early afternoon the air was as gloomy as twilight. After a half-league the valley narrowed, leading into a steep, rocky wash. The hills rose up more and more sharply to either side until they became sheer sandstone cliffs.

"This has to be the ravine the goblin spoke of," Caledan said. They guided their mounts carefully over the loose jumble of talus at the foot of the cliffs. "Where do you suppose the cave is?"

"From the goblin's words, I'd say at the far western end of the ravine, at the top of the cliff," Morhion replied.

"I'll go scout it out," Ferret said, urging his horse ahead He disappeared around a curve in the ravine, but came galloping back scant minutes later.

"You'll break that horse's legs riding on these rocks like that," Tyveris said with a scowl.

"I'm sorry, but I thought you all might be interested to hear this," the thief said, scratching his stubbly chin nervously.

"What is it, Ferret?" Mari asked.

"From around the corner you can see the end of the ravine," Ferret told them. The weaselly man swallowed hard "I caught a glimpse of an old friend of ours on the cliff top.”

"An old friend?" Caledan asked dubiously. The thief nodded. "The shadevar."