The Jewel of Turmish

CHAPTER TWELVE

Haarn's knife sliced through the wolf bitch's flanks, but he took care to cut through only the outer layer of hide and muscle. Cutting deeper would have released poisons from her body and killed what he strove to save. "What are you doing?" Druz asked. "I can save the wolf cubs." Haarn placed his knife back in its boot sheath. "You killed the mother, but you didn't kill her cubs." Haarn probed at the wound and prayed to Silvanus to guide his efforts. He hoped he had the knowledge to stave off death for Stonefur's line. "She would have killed you," Druz said. Unwilling to argue, Haarn concentrated on the bloody task at hand. He slipped his fingers into the wolf bitch's body and felt for the cubs. He let his fingers rest for just an instant against the straining womb and he could feel the squirming bodies inside. He hoped they were strong enough. Broadfoot padded closer, his shadow covering a pool of water. He stood on his hind legs, tall against the night, and watched the wolves that remained of Stonefur's pack. Anxious and distrustful, the wolves shifted in the protection of the tree line. Lightning shivered through the sky again, and for a moment Haarn saw the silver rain flash against the dark tan of his hands streaked with bright crimson blood. He took a small blade he had sewn into his clothes. It was little more than a knuckle joint long, and he hoped it was up to the task. Shoving his hand back inside the wolf corpse, Haarn traced the womb with his little finger while holding onto the little blade with his thumb and forefinger. He pressed against the tiny body with his little finger, moving it out of harm's way as best he could. With deft precision, Haarn slit the womb. Hot liquid spilled out over his hand, mixing with the blood already there. A moment later it gushed from the wolf bitch's body. Druz sucked her breath in and took an involuntary step back. The slit he'd made in the womb remained too tight to allow him to withdraw one of the cubs. Knowing time was running out, that the pups were already suffocating, he pushed his other hand into the wolf bitch's corpse and tore the womb. One of the small, furry bodies slid out into Haarn's waiting hands. He felt it squirm in his grasp, strong and limp as it flexed. Breath tight in his throat, pain pounding his temples, he pulled the pup from its dead mother. He hunkered over to shield the infant from the rain and the bitter cold. "Get my clothing," he told Druz. "I've got to keep them dry." The warrior hesitated for a moment, as though she was going to argue, then she rose and got her own pack. "I've got some blankets in here," she said, taking one of them out. Haarn used the tiny knife he held to slit the umbilical cord, then nicked the placenta. He tore the hole in the placenta larger and removed the pup. "Here," he said, and Druz took the pup without complaint and wrapped it in the blanket. Haarn threw the placenta toward the other wolves. The membrane plopped on the ground only a few feet in front of them. One of the females dashed from the shadows, plucked the placenta from the mud with her sharp teeth, and returned to the pack. "What was that?" Druz asked. "Birth sac," Haarn said. "The females will eat it, as the birth mother usually does." He removed another pup and began tearing the next placenta open. "How are you going to feed the pups?" Druz asked. Pain hit him again so hard he thought he was going to black out. He fought his way back to consciousness, then reached for the next pup. "The pack always cares for the young," Haarn said as he handed over another pup and reached in for the next. "When one of the females starts carrying a litter, all of the bitches in the pack start producing milk. The pups nurse from all of them, just as all the males share in taking care of the young." Druz leaned in closer to Haarn, shielding the pup from the storm winds, then adding it to those already in her blanket. Haarn kept working despite the exhaustion that ate at him. There were five cubs in all. All of them were healthy except for the last one. Somehow its umbilical cord had gotten wrapped around its neck and almost strangled it. As he held the young wolf pup, Haarn knew he was going to lose it if he didn't do something. Summoning his remaining energy, he prayed to Silvanus. The words of the prayer filled him, dulling the pain for a moment. He looked into the newborn wolf's face, memorizing the blunted length of the pup's muzzle. "What's wrong?" Druz asked. "It's dying," Haarn said, never losing the thread of the spell. A golden glow filled Haarn's cupped hands as he shielded the pup. The glow reflected against his chest, showing the blood that streaked his body. His bare skin was pebbled in goosebumps from the cold and aches dawned deep within his bones as the spell took the last of his strength. The golden glow from the druid's hands seeped into the small, still form he protected. Just before the glow died away, the wolf pup stirred. A moment later, as the cold ate into Haarn with redoubled fury, the pup opened its mouth and whined with hunger. Haarn turned to Druz, feeling the sickness seething in his own head, and offered her the wolf pup. Showing care and concern, Druz plucked the pup from Haarn's hands. Without another word, knowing he couldn't have moved even if he'd tried, the druid pitched over. He had a brief impression of cold mud over his face and body then felt nothing at all.

The oval yellow beam of Tohl's lantern raked the tomb's ceiling then froze on the bizarre figure of Borran Kiosk clinging to the uneven stones there. The claws of his fingers and toes wedged into the space between the stones. A horrific grin split the mohrg's cadaverous face. Blood covered Borran Kiosk's body and spattered his cloak. "Welcome," the mohrg whispered in his thin, cold voice. "Welcome, and prepare to die." Effrim lunged forward with his warhammer, singing the praises of Eldath in his strong, clear voice. Borran Kiosk scuttled away and the warhammer missed by inches. The long, grotesque purple tongue uncoiled from his obscene mouth and lanced at the young priest. Tohl watched in numb horror as the tongue smashed through Effrim's forehead and out the back of his skull. Chunks of white bone and bloody matter flew over Micahan, who stood as if dazed. Then the old priest slumped to the floor, his eyes locked wide and staring at nothing. Effrim's corpse dropped only a moment later. With a jerk of his head, Borran Kiosk tore his tongue free of Effrim's body. Blood smeared his face and ran down his chin as the tongue recoiled. He smiled again, cocking his head. "The Vilhon Reach will die, dragged to its doom by those who have died already." Praying, Tohl raised Eldath's symbol before him. The disk showed the graven image of a stream. He invoked his spell, one of the earliest he'd been taught to use against the undead. He felt the energy leave his body and saw Borran Kiosk wince. "Foolish priest," the monster crowed in triumph, "you cannot turn me with your piety and your faith. I am death incarnate, made whole by Malar's strong hand. I will slake my thirst with your blood." Vhoror slammed into Tohl, causing him to stumble and struggle to stay on his feet. Borran Kiosk's tongue missed its mark, slapping against the wall behind Tohl and shattering through stone. "Move, you damned fool!" Vhoror roared. He continued shoving against Tohl, striving to reach the doorway. Knocked forward by Vhoror's greater girth, Tohl staggered through the skulls, sending them flying in all directions. Tohl caught himself, his mind flying through the spells available to him. "Move! Move!" Vhoror shouted, continuing to push him. Tohl turned to the other priest, wanting to tell him that they'd stay alive if only they kept their heads. Before Tohl could speak, Vhoror's head broke and came apart in crimson ruin, his features leaking down from his shattered skull. Borran Kiosk's tongue emerged from the priest's head like a caterpillar seeking escape from a too-tight cocoon. A last, surprised gasp puffed from Vhoror's lips as life left him. As quickly as it had thrust through the priest's head, the tongue withdrew, leaving a gaping hole in its place. Tohl's stomach lurched as he realized how much of Vhoror's blood was on him, and how it felt blazing hot against the chill of the wind and rain. Tohl stood his ground and prayed as he'd been taught, holding fast to his faith. He dropped his mace to the stone floor, knowing it would do him little good against the mohrg. Raising the symbol of his goddess before him, he sat the lantern at his feet, and gestured with his free hand. For a moment, Tohl thought the spell had failed, then the buzzing and chirping of insects filled his ears. Borran Kiosk dropped from the ceiling, intent on the two priests remaining in the room, but the mohrg's baleful glare took in Tohl as well, letting him know he hadn't been forgotten. The monstrous tongue cleaved Daraghin's chest, tearing like a blade through cloth. Thousands of flying insects filled the tomb. They flew toward Borran Kiosk and clustered upon him. To Tohl, it was like watching moss grow on a rock, only measured in the space of heartbeats. In less time than it took to draw a panicked breath, the insects covered Borran Kiosk like a layer of wriggling skin. Other insects formed a cloud around him, but even more continued to pile onto his body. Borran Kiosk screamed, but the sound wasn't filled with pain as Tohl had hoped. Rage fueled the inarticulate roars. Still, the mohrg seemed trapped as the clusters of insects filled the room. An arm thrust through the flying cloud, and it took Tohl a moment to realize that it was human. "Brother Tohl!" Bowdiek called. "Eldath's mercy, help me!" Seizing the lantern again, Tohl ran forward and yanked the other priest from the embrace of the flying insects. Tohl felt something crunch beneath his feet. When he looked down, he saw that the stone floor was covered with beetles and other crawling insects. Bowdiek coughed and wheezed, and Tohl guessed that the man had swallowed some of the insects. Glow-bugs, locusts, and flying beetles littered his hair and body, but when Bowdiek was out of the room where Borran Kiosk was, they left him and streaked for the mohrg. "Come on," Tohl said. "The spell won't last for long." He tugged Bowdiek's arm and got them both moving toward the next door. Bowdiek slammed against the wall near the doorway. Thinking for a moment that the priest had misjudged his step, Tohl turned to Bowdiek and grabbed his shoulder, prepared to pull him onto the correct path. Bowdiek's face pressed against the tomb wall, blanched white in pain and fright. His mouth worked but no words came out, then a gout of blood covered his lower face. Lifting the lantern, Tohl saw that Borran Kiosk's obscene tongue had ripped through Bowdiek's lower back so hard that it had penetrated the tomb's stone wall. Bowdiek couldn't move-he was pinned. Pain flared through Bowdiek's eyes, then they turned up until only the whites showed. Tohl felt Bowdiek's corpse shiver as Borran Kiosk's tongue tensed and shifted. Glancing over his shoulder, Tohl spotted the mohrg tearing free of the insect-infested room, pulled by his tongue, which was still anchored to the wall, and to Bowdiek. Borran Kiosk gibbered and raked insects from his eye hollows. Other insects crusted his mouth and the remains of his nose. "Still here, priest?" Borran Kiosk mocked as he drew himself toward Bowdiek's twitching corpse. "Your friend is still hanging around." The mohrg stood only a few feet away. He yanked his head back and his tongue popped free of both the wall and the corpse then snapped back into his blood-drenched jaws. Bowdiek dropped to the floor. Tohl turned and ran. He fled through the hallways, listening to the bony slap of Borran Kiosk's skeletal feet against the stone floor. The doorway to the graveyard appeared ahead. Tohl pushed off the last passageway wall with his free hand, still carrying the bobbing lantern with his other, struggling to keep his bearings even though the wick's flame flickered. In a dozen more strides, he was through the final door and out into the graveyard. Eldath's blessing, but he was old. Tohl knew that, but the wheezing breaths that seared like hot irons through his lungs branded that truth into him. His knees felt like they were coming apart, but he kept them moving. Before he could stop himself, he glanced over his shoulder. The mohrg ran with surprising speed, and the cloud of insects pursued him, though they were beginning to thin. The spell should have lasted longer, but it was fading. Tohl wondered if the magical nature of the mohrg had altered the spell in some way. Tohl wished he was in another dream, but just as he had known he was dreaming before, he knew he wasn't now. He tripped. Something caught his foot and he went sprawling. The wet ground coated him and he smacked up against a leaning headstone whose letters had long since worn away. The splat of bony feet cleaving the graveyard mud drew Tohl's attention, sounding almost as fast and as loud as his heart hammering in his chest. He clawed his way to his knees and looked back the way he'd come. Borran Kiosk ran through the rain showing no sign of exertion. The hideous creature moved with the fluid grace of a great cat. Fear deluged Tohl in one final wave. Galvanized into action, he reared back and threw the lantern as hard as he could. The lantern flipped end over end then smashed against the mohrg. The glass fuel reservoir shattered against the undead creature's chest. Oil ran over the bared bone and remnants of flesh. Despite the downpour, the fluid ran over Borran Kiosk's body and the fiery wick stuck to his chest. The oil caught fire and blue and yellow flames raced over the mohrg. Tohl watched in horror as Borran Kiosk never broke stride. The horrid, fleshless face and the death's-head grin was the last thing he saw. He had a brief impression of the grinning jaws splitting open and the purple tongue exploding outward, then it felt like a dwarven warhammer slammed into his head, and he was dead before he could draw a last breath.

"Merciful Tymora," Druz Talimsir called as she looked at Haarn lying naked and unconscious in the mud, "give me the strength to endure." The newborn wolf pups squirmed in the blanket. Their mewling cries reached her ears and sparked a tenderness that confused her and made her angry. Lightning sizzled across the sky, followed almost at once by the hollow boom of thunder that rolled across the mountaintop. The sound made Druz realize again how far she was from anything familiar, and she had to do something about the unconscious man lying in the mud. The wolves still lounging in the tree line continued watching her. Druz couldn't help but wonder how long it would take before they rushed her. Even armed and as skilled as she was, she knew she wouldn't last long before they overcame her. Her only chance was to run or climb a tree before they dragged her down, but she knew she couldn't leave the druid unguarded. The wolves would kill him for executing their leader, and they probably had no love for Druz, who had killed the pregnant bitch. Beneath her breath, she damned the druid. He had to have known he wasn't going to be strong enough to climb down the mountain. Instead of healing a motherless wolf pup, he should have healed himself. She started to put the blanket-wrapped wolf pups aside. Plaintive yips sounded from the struggling newborns. She stopped and pulled the blanket back in close to her, feeling the warmth of the pups and the way they moved against her. Druz couldn't abandon them. If she had known for sure that the wolf pack would take care of them she might have left them there, but she didn't know that. All she knew was that Haarn had risked his life to save them. She felt trapped as she eyed the restless wolves and cuddled the blanket to her. Glancing around the mountain-top, she tried to find some place she could use as shelter, thinking she could put the wolf pups there and return for the druid. The bear yawned as it towered above her. Druz feared the bear might grow bored and wander away, leaving them defenseless against the wolves. Reaching to her side, she took hold of her sword hilt. The bear swayed for a moment then dropped to all fours. The bear nudged the unconscious druid with his muzzle. Haarn didn't respond. Growing more restless, fur dripping from the downpour, the bear pushed at Haarn with a paw. Druz watched with growing concern. The bear's shiny black claws could slice a man to ribbons. Moving with gentle care, the bear shoved one of his front legs under the unconscious druid and lifted him with no apparent effort. The bear stood to his full height again, cradling the man as if he were a babe. When he had his burden secure, the bear gazed at Druz, gave a low growl, and started walking away. Not wanting to be left alone with the waiting wolves, Druz got to her feet, surprised at how her muscles ached from the climb up the mountain. She gathered Haarn's gear, carried the wolf pups in the blanket in one hand and Haarn's gear in the other, and stepped through the mud after the bear. Halfway down the mountain, battling with treacherous footing, Druz followed the bear as it turned to the right of the narrow game trail. She didn't see the cave beside the trail until the bear hunkered down and walked through it. Hesitant, Druz stood outside for a moment. The bear growled to her from inside, and the resulting short-lived echo around the beast's voice let her know how small the cave was. Despite her best efforts, the blanket containing the wolf pups had grown wetter and the newborn litter was in danger of getting soaked. Holding onto the blanket of pups and Haarn's gear, she strode into the cave. Lightning flashed outside, giving Druz a momentary glimpse of the bear and the druid against the back wall of the cave. The animal sat down next to the man, pressing his bulk against Haarn to share his warmth. The bear turned his broad head and ministered to Haarn's wounds with his tongue. Druz dropped Haarn's gear and slid her own sword free of its sheath as another streak of lightning ripped through the sky and revealed the wolf pack outside the cave. They waited in the tree line opposite the game trail. After placing the blanket of wolf pups on the uneven cave floor, Druz shrugged out of her backpack and sat it on the floor as well. Keeping an eye on the cave mouth, working in the darkness of the cave, she rummaged through her pack until she found her flint and tinder. She opened the metal case, drew out her flint and steel, and a small amount of tinder. She piled the tinder on a small cloth from the metal case, then struck sparks and got the tinder going. A thin trail of smoke rose from the pile of tinder. She took a beeswax candle from her pack and lit it. Shielding the fragile flame with her hand, Druz studied the cave. The fetid smell of animals clung to the stone surfaces. Piles of animal spoor, old and new, lay scattered around the cave, but there were signs that men had sheltered there as well. A ring of stones occupied a section of the floor in front of the bear. In the back, out of the sweeping winds that carried part of the rain into the cave, someone had left a small pile of dry wood. Druz soon had a small fire burning in the ring of stones. Taking bandages and mendicants from her pack, she approached Haarn with caution. The bear rumbled and watched her through winking eyes as she began to tend to the druid's wounds. When she finished, she returned to the fire. She sat near the flames, letting the welcome heat bask into her. Painful twinges poked at her body as she pulled her knees up and rested her chin on her knees. Her eyes burned from the smoke, the storm, and fatigue. Hunger pangs made her stomach feel hollow. She kept her sword at her side and took the time to re-string her bow. It was doubtful that the wolves or any other creature would try to gain entrance into the cave with the fire and the bear, but she wanted to be prepared. After a time, despite the anxiety that filled her, Druz's eyelids grew heavy. With the warmth from the fire filling the cave, she retreated to a wall and placed her back against it, resting her sword across her thighs and her bow near to hand. Just as her eyes were about to close again, a reflection from the campfire flashed out in the woods. Awake at once, Druz gripped her long sword and rose to her feet. Tired as she was, she made the mistake of stepping between the fire and the movement. Shifting to one side, heart pounding faster even though her head didn't feel very clear, she gazed at the woods opposite the cave. The wolves had noticed the movement as well. The pack closed in on it with menacing growls. Druz thought at first that it was a traveler, stranded by the storm, who knew about the cave. The possibility of sharing the cave with a stranger wasn't welcome, but she wasn't going to leave someone to the mercy of the wolves. She started to return for her bow, then noticed that the pack had clustered around a section of ground beneath an aging sycamore tree. Rainwater washing down from the mountain had eroded the earth from the sycamore's roots, baring the woody knees. Something glittered on the ground, reflecting more light than even the wolves' eyes. Judging from the pure ruby glint that captured the gleam from the campfire, Druz guessed that it was a piece of glass or a jewel. Curiosity stilled her, and she was surprised to feel the hair lifting on her arms. The wolves backed away. Their whines echoed under the trees as the muddy ground pushed up and broke open like an egg while bubbling in a frying pan. An arm shoved through the mud, followed by a hollow-eyed skull and bony shoulders.