Return of the Damned

11

Regdar got up from the ground and dusted himself off. He headed out the door, avoiding Clemf's stare.

Whitman led the group to a spot on the unbroken northern wall of the passageway. He stopped, looked back at the other three men, then put his hand on the stone.

It passed right through.

"Illusion," said Regdar.

Whitman's hand, disguised by the illusionary wall up to the wrist, came back into view, and he waved Regdar forward.

The big fighter nodded and stepped into the imaginary stone. He felt his hand slip effortlessly through, then speckled black brick filled his vision, and for a split second, everything went dark. When his eyes emerged from the illusion, he had to squint to protect them from the bright light.

On the other side, a worked-stone arch marked the opening to a hallway. Torches lined the walls every few steps. Though it was bright, the illusion had blocked the light from illuminating the outer hallway. A stairway led up at the end of the hidden passage, rising so steeply that from where he stood, Regdar couldn't see the top.

The others came through the illusionary wall, and as a group the four men headed up the stairs with Regdar in the lead. Moving carefully onto the first step, the big fighter rose. Above him, the stairs climbed higher, the angle of the ceiling still preventing him from seeing where the stairway ended.

"I don't like this," he whispered, and he drew his sword.

The others followed suit.

For several tense moments, Regdar climbed, craning his neck as he did, trying as best he could to get a glimpse of what was up ahead. Silence enveloped the stairwell, broken only by the sounds of the flickering torches and the scuffling of four large men ascending the rough stone stairs.

Finally Regdar caught sight of the top. Five steps away, he could see darkness spread out over the last step. What lay beyond, he hadn't a clue. He stopped and turned back toward the others.

"I can see the top," he whispered into Whitman's ear. "Good place for an ambush."

Whitman nodded.

"We go up fast. They know we're here. No sense in trying to surprise them. Let's just minimize the danger to us." Regdar looked Whitman in the eyes then pointed to Tasca, standing one step below the dwarf.

Whitman nodded again and turned to the elf, repeating the message in his ear.

Tasca responded in kind, relaying the information to Clemf behind him.

When all three nodded to Regdar, he turned back toward the top step, took a deep breath, gripped his sword tightly in one hand, and charged.

His armor made a tremendous clank as he ascended two steps at a time. As his head breached the level of the landing, his right foot struck the second to last step with a loud click. Looking down the well-lit corridor, Regdar saw nothing but more hallway.

A moment later, stairs beneath the fighters' feet collapsed, turning into a steep, smooth chute, and Regdar tumbled backward.

Whitman cartwheeled to his right, kicking away from the falling fighter and spinning gracefully through the air. He reached out and caught hold of one of the sconces. Regdar fell underneath the acrobatic dwarf, clanging and crashing as he slid back toward the elf.

Tasca bent his knees and jumped forward, diving over the tumbling fighter toward the top of the chute. His midsection cleared Regdar, but his feet smacked into the back of the falling man's head. Landing on his stomach on the smooth chute, Tasca reached for the top lip where the end of the last stair used to be. His fingertips grazed the landing, but he slid backward with the tilt of the steep slope.

Regdar felt Tasca's feet hit the back of his head, and his arms flailed wide, reaching for anything that might stop his descent. He caught nothing, and he fell backward.

Clemf continued running forward, his feet slipping with every step. His body was in motion, but he made no progress, managing only to stay in place.

Regdar landed on his shoulders and struck his head against the ramp. His feet tumbled up and back over his twisted body. He somersaulted out of control backward down the chute. He saw the black stone ceiling, then his feet, then Clemf's comical, stationary run. When Regdar's feet collided with the tattooed human's chest, the two tangled up in a heap.

Limbs flailed. Armor crashed and clanked. All of the air in Regdar's lungs rushed out in a groaning whisper each time his back smacked against the floor. Clemf cursed in several languages.

At the bottom of the chute, both men tumbled out of the secret chamber, shooting through the illusion and smashing into the opposite wall. Regdar lay on the ground with his back bent against the stone. Clemf rested on his belly, unmoving.

A moment later the illusionary wall wavered, and Tasca flew out. He too landed facedown. He whimpered softly, then let himself collapse completely to the floor.

Regdar took stock of his body. His hands and forearms were scraped up pretty badly, and his head hurt. He felt around and discovered a number of bruises, but nothing seemed broken, and his injuries were minor. Lifting himself up on his haunches, he got to his feet.

By then, Clemf and Tasca were beginning to move. Both men moaned as they struggled to get up.

"Nice work, Regdar," spat Clemf as he checked himself out.

"And you would have known to avoid that step?" quipped Tasca. "We're lucky it was just a trap and not an ambush."

"Listen, Clemf," Regdar held his hands out, pleading, "I-"

"Save it," snapped the tattooed man, biting off his words as he stuck his upraised index finger in Regdar's face. "There's nothing you can say that's going to make me forgive you, so just keep out of my way, and for Pelor's sake, don't talk at me." Clemf spun around and limped back through the illusion.

"That went well," said Tasca.

Regdar wrinkled his forehead. "How come you're not mad at me?"

"I am," said the elf. "Eventually you'll have to sleep." Tasca smiled then turned and followed Clemf out of the hallway.

"Great." Regdar shook his head. He took a few moments to finish his personal examination before joining the others at the base of what used to be the stairway.

When he crossed through the illusion, Clemf was kneeling down and scratching at the stones on the floor. Tasca stood over him, looking up the chute.

"Whitman," Tasca whispered the dwarf's name. Receiving no answer, he repeated it a bit louder. He turned around and shrugged. "I don't think it's such a good idea to start yelling, but the last I saw, Whitman was hanging on to a torch sconce."

Regdar nodded toward the chute. "Do you think you could climb it?"

The elf nodded. "Yes, but not fast." Tasca looked down at Clemf. "Any luck?"

The tattooed fighter shook his head. "Just rocks. No lever." He stood up.

"Mechanism's probably at the top." Tasca scratched his chin. "Where the hell is Whitman."

A slapping sound echoed down the chute. All three men readied their weapons in a blink, and they stood, anxiously watching for whatever was coming down at them.

The noise grew louder, and Regdar squeezed the hilt of his sword. A shadow tumbled into view, skewed by the flickering torches. Regdar could hear the other men suck in their breath, then a long, brown, serpentine object unraveled at their feet.

Clemf lunged forward, smashing the thing with his sharp blade. His attack hit its mark, slicing right through. Sparks flew off the stone. A piece of the creature before them came off.

It wasn't a creature.

Tasca lowered his rapier. "It's a rope."

Clemf's cheeks flushed, and he sheathed his longsword. He opened his mouth to say something, but thought better of it and closed it again.

"Hurry up, will you," came Whitman's voice from down the chute. "We don't have all year."

Tasca sheathed his blade and grabbed the rope. He climbed up hand over fist, jamming the toe of his boot into the corner where the wall met the floor. In a few steps, he disappeared from view.

Regdar held his hand out and bowed his head. "After you."

Clemf glared up the twisting passage for a moment before grabbing hold of the rope and pulling himself up.

Regdar followed a few moments later, and shortly the entire group was reunited at the top. Whitman wound up his rope, shoved it in his pack, and slapped Regdar on the arm.

"This time, I'll lead." He smiled.

The dwarf led the party down another narrow, well-lit hallway. They took their time, examining the floor and the walls meticulously as they went. Though they were careful, they found nothing except a door at the end of the passage.

Unlike the dark hallway they explored below, this one didn't afford them the luxury of spreading out and taking cover while they opened the door.

"How does this go again?" asked Whitman, hefting his hammer to his shoulder. "Kick down the door, take the treasure, and kill the monster?"

"You got the door part right," said Tasca, nocking an arrow to his bowstring, "but you have to kill the monster first, then you take its treasure."

The dwarf smiled. "Maybe that's how you do it." Then he turned and kicked the door with all of his substantial might.

The wood and iron slammed away from the group, hinges protesting as it swung. Inside, a large, lighted room greeted them. At the back, a spiral, blackened-iron staircase wound up through a round hole in the ceiling. On the stairs stood a gnarled, hunched-over man wearing a green robe. His hands were curled around a long, wooden staff almost as gnarled as he. A narrow, purple bruise crossed his forehead. He was smiling, showing the few yellow and black teeth left in his head.

In front of the robed man stood five more black-clad cultists, each carrying a battle axe at the ready. The moment the door burst open, the soldiers bolted forward. Metal rang on metal as Whitman and Clemf took the charge.

Tasca's bow twanged, and his arrow shot over the heads of the advancing soldiers, winging through the air toward the gnarled man. It struck its mark, piercing the man in his breast. As soon as the projectile hit, however, it vanished, seeming to disappear without any fanfare into thin air.

The robed man rubbed his twisted fingers over the polished surface of his staff. He seemed to be caressing the gnarled length of wood with as much care and attention as he might lavish on a beautiful woman. Looking down at the group from his perch on the spiraling stairs, he pointed the head of the staff at Tasca and nodded once, whispering something into the air. A ghostly white pair of magical manacles shot out, tracing back along the exact path traveled by the elf's arrow.

Tasca shrieked as the magical energies bore down on him. He tried to dodge the spell, but it was no use. The manacles encased his entire body, flaring once when they hit before disappearing. The elf took one more step, then froze in place, eternally dodging away from a spell that he couldn't escape.

Whitman's hammer connected with a cultist's helm, making a satisfying sound like a bell tolling. The man’s head flopped back across his shoulders on his broken neck, looking almost like a turtle retreating into its shell.

The four remaining men swung their battle axes. Whitman blocked one with a well-placed hammer blow, but a second got past his defenses. The blade bit into his beard. A long strand of graying hair flopped to the ground with a thin line of blood rimming the outside edge.

The other two men attacked Clemf. Their blades swung in at the same time, one high, one low. Clemf leaned away from the strikes by arching his back and pulling his chest away from the higher of the two axes. The razor-sharp edge whispered past his chestplate, barely missing.

With a desperate, off-balance swing of his sword, Clemf swung at the low weapon. His longsword whistled down and crashed into the hilt of the battle axe. Metal bit into wood, and Clemf's blow managed to push the soldier's attack off target. The second blade kissed the edge of his shin, slicing into the leather bands that held his armor in place. The long, metal plate that protected his lower leg dropped to the floor with a clatter.

The attacker twisted his wrists and yanked back on his weapon. Clemf's sword, still stuck in the wooden shaft of the battle axe, came free of his hands, and he stumbled forward off balance.

Regdar watched Clemf lose his blade and then his balance. Not wasting any time, the big fighter leaped over the tattooed man's bent-over frame, greatsword held high over his head. With a savage cry, Regdar smashed his blade down on the soldier's shoulder. The magical blade beamed brightly for a brief moment as it sliced through metal, leather, flesh, and bone. The soldier screamed, and his arm dropped to the ground with a clatter. Blood from the freshly opened wound spilled out over his severed arm, his battle axe, and Clemf's sword still embedded in its handle.

Regdar let go of his sword with one hand and jammed his fingers into the other soldier's helm. Slipping through the eye slit, his extended digits poked the soldier in his right eye. Regdar felt something soft and slippery at the tip of his metal gauntlet. With a vicious jab, he thrust his hand farther into the helmet. The soldier screamed and stumbled back, streaming blood and viscous matter from his faceplate.

Clemf got to his feet and scrounged for his sword. He shoved the armless man to the ground and then spied his weapon, now covered in blood. He snatched it up and rose to his full height in the middle of the room, sword in hand.

The gnarled man on the stairs looked down from his perch at the tattooed fighter. Narrowing his gaze, he wiggled his fingers in the air, ending with a shout and several jerking motions with his wrist.

Regdar watched as Clemf's knees shook and his shoulders slumped. He dropped the sword he had just picked up, and he let out a scream that made the tiny hairs on the small of Regdar's back stand on end. Then Clemf turned and bolted from the room, pushing past the immobile elf and crashing haphazardly into the doorframe on his way out.

Whitman hefted his hammer and struck with a bone crunching blow.

"That's for my beard," he shouted.

The soldier before him shook from the blow. He'd managed to block the mighty weapon from striking him, but the shock of the impact vibrated through his body. The dwarf wound up and struck again. This time he managed to slip past the soldier's axe and hit him on the forearm, knocking the weapon from his grasp. Whitman rolled the momentum of his swing into another, follow-through attack. The third blow hit the same forearm with a distinct popping sound.

Though he was grievously injured, the black-armored minion still stood, and he pulled a dagger from its sheath with his good hand. His injured arm swung loosely at his side as he crouched, holding the blade out before him, taking short steps away from the ornery dwarf.

"That's right," shouted the dwarf. "Be afraid. Be very afraid."

The only uninjured soldier remaining took one look at the angry dwarf and turned his attention on Regdar. Winding up as if he were chopping wood, he bent his knees and swung his axe down, meaning to split the big fighter in two. Regdar swiped his blade up with both hands. The two weapons collided with a gut-wrenching clang, and sparks flew in the air. Both men were knocked back by the impact. Regdar sighted down his blade, never before having seen fireworks issue from his weapon.

The greatsword was untarnished, its shiny finish still polished and bright. The soldier's axe, however, was a different story. The impact with Regdar's magical sword took a huge bite out of the axe. If he hadn't known better, Regdar might have thought the soldier's weapon had been some monster's afternoon snack.

The armless soldier still lay on the floor, unmoving, where Clemf had knocked him. His counterpart still struggled with his ruined eye. He had removed his gauntlets and now was gently probing the gory hole in his face where his eye had been.

Regdar lunged at the uninjured soldier. Feigning to the left, he drew out the man’s parry and changed directions at the last second. The edge of his blade slipped past the notched head of the man’s axe, expertly angling between metal plates to strike home. The big fighter pushed the blade deep into the soldier's chest.

Regdar held tightly to the hilt of his greatsword and twisted the weapon in the wound. The big fighter then wrenched it out and watched the soldier slump to the floor.

The robed mage eyed the two remaining intruders. Shifting his glare from Whitman to Regdar and back again, the gnarled old man began reciting another spell.

Regdar saw the green-robed man, his eyes closed, sprinkle dust into the air. A large, brilliantly blue magical cloud appeared, obscuring the gnarled man from view. The cloud drifted across the open room and sank to the floor, where it surrounded the dwarf.

The soldier with the dagger and broken arm backed away from Whitman, taking advantage of the spell to open the distance between him and the dwarf. Retreating all the way to the far wall, the man braced himself, holding his puny weapon menacingly before him.

Whitman was completely gone from view. Tasca was frozen solid, holding the same pose that he had through the entire encounter. Clemf was nowhere to be seen, fleeing in panic.

With a loud shout, Regdar charged across the room toward the wizard. Though the fighter was strong and quite fast, his heavy armor slowed him down enough for the spellcaster to begin chanting the words of another spell. His stubby fingers wiggled at the oncoming fighter.

Halfway across the floor, Regdar realized that he wouldn't be able to reach the gnarled, old man before he could cast the magic already forming on his hps. Twirling his sword overhead, Regdar pointed the tip of the blade at the stairs, planted his front foot, and hurled his magical greatsword like a javelin.

The well-made weapon hung in midair for a brief moment. Though the blacksmith who crafted it never intended it for throwing, the blade carved a perfect arc as it plunged away from Regdar's hand. Its tip descended, and the magically sharpened sword pierced the hood of the green robe, then clanked as it hit the stair behind the wizard.

Regdar stumbled forward, trying to catch his balance. He looked up at the spellcaster, bracing himself for whatever magical malady or monstrosity was about to strike him. The old man raised his hands, his eyes glaring down at the fighter.

Then he gasped and reached for his throat. Blood flowed out through his fingers as he clasped them tightly around his neck. The spell he had been forming slipped from his hps and was gone. His attention turned to stopping the flow of blood from the tremendous sword wound in his neck.

Regdar charged the stairs once again. When he reached the old man, he grabbed him by the front of his garment and hefted him over the railing, pulling him down to the floor and smashing his face against the stone tiles. The impact knocked the old wizard's head sideways, tearing the wound in his neck open further. Blood rushed out, and the spellcaster's body shuddered once, then fell still.

Leaving the gnarled old man in a heap on the ground, Regdar retrieved his sword and took a look around. The cloud surrounding Whitman was gone, and the dwarf lay on the floor, obviously breathing but otherwise unmoving. Tasca remained stationary, and Clemf hadn't returned.

Regdar turned his attention to the two living but badly injured soldiers. The man whose eye Regdar had gouged out had fallen to the floor. His face lay in a puddle of his own blood and vomit, and blood continued pumping from his ruined eye socket. The other man still stood with his back against the wall. He had removed his helm, and his face was a ghostly white. The arm Whitman had smashed was tremendously swollen, and the man was obviously in a lot of pain. Sweat rolled down his forehead, and he had a hard time keeping his dagger pointed out in front of him.

The injured soldier shook his head, trying to focus his eyes on Regdar. He struggled to keep them from rolling back in his head.

Regdar took a couple of steps toward the man. "I don't suppose you're going to tell me what you know about Lindroos and her plans for New Koratia."

The cultist steeled himself and thrust his dagger out toward Regdar as far as he could.

"Come on now," coaxed the big fighter. "I don't want to kill you." He lowered his sword and began fishing around inside his backpack. "Tell me what she wants with Naull and what evil she's up to, and I'll take care of that wound for you." He pulled a pearly, opalescent flask from his bag and shook it. The liquid inside made a satisfying sloshing sound.

The soldier looked at the flask with wide eyes. He turned to Regdar, lifted the dagger to his own chin, and plunged it into his throat. A rush of blood spilled to the floor, and the cultist collapsed beside it.