The Jewel of Turmish

CHAPTER SEVEN

The wolf gazed down from a rocky promontory forty feet above Haarn. Druz Talimsir, unaware of the wolf's vigilance, threaded through the forest only a little ahead of the druid. She'd grown quiet in her anger and had become competitive. Two days had passed since the confrontation with the slavers. Drawing back into the shadows of a gnarled oak tree whose growth had split a boulder as tall as a man on the mountainside, Haarn studied the wolf. The animal was huge, standing half again as tall as the bitch wolf that stood at his right. A jagged streak of lightning cut through the night, spearing through several clouds. In the night's usual darkness the clouds hadn't been visible, but with the lightning passing through them, they had length and width and breadth that faded away between blinks. The superheated air prickled Haarn's nose. The druid knew rain was going to come at any moment. He could feel the air laden with moisture as it wrapped around his body. Haarn knew his and the woman's scents hadn't alerted the wolf because he'd been careful to keep them downwind of the pack. Broadfoot had roamed a lot while Haarn had kept his pace down to something Druz could handle, and the bear had never gotten upwind of the wolf pack that they followed. Something else had set the wolf onto them. A chill storm wind whipped the wolf's thick gray and black fur. A narrow thatch of fur stood up along the wolf's backbone, running from his hindquarters to the top of his skull. Jagged lightning scored the sky again, striking bright light with the sudden intensity of a blacksmith's hammer. Druz fought her way up the precarious incline Haarn's tracking skills had led them to. The spoor left by the wolves had been hidden and spread out. The delays had led Druz to accuse Haarn of delaying the confrontation with the wolf. Haarn had made no response to the accusation, and Druz had remained with him. Both of them knew she had no real choice. The mercenary's anger showed in every line of her body and in the forced movements during her struggle to gain ground up the hill. Her foot slipped on the muddy loam and Haarn knew it was from fatigue. The woman had pushed herself too hard and too far. The druid had done the best he could to pace her, but she wasn't one to hold back. It was an admirable quality, but one that was misplaced in their current venture. Guilt touched Haarn. Druz Talimsir was worn out and near exhaustion. The druid knew it was his fault; he'd gotten caught up in the hunt, torn between his own convictions as they'd neared their goal, and hadn't noticed her struggles. Rock and mud clods tumbled down the mountainside as Druz pushed up another half-dozen steps. She came to a stop along the ledge. Frustration showed in the hard lines of her back. The trail they followed was little more than a game run, too narrow and too ill defined for easy passage. Lightning seared the sky again, bleaching the charcoal gray rock into the color of white bone. The wolf's eyes blazed orange like chunks of coal as it peered down from the ledge. Silver saliva gleamed on the black muzzle. The wolf's nose wrinkled, then the lips pulled back and revealed sharp teeth. He's hunting, Haarn realized. Anxious. Ill ease shifted in the druid's stomach. Animals killed to eat. That was something he understood. That was natural, but an animal that killed for sport was sickening. That trait made them almost human. Broadfoot coughed, revealing his presence in the shadows a few yards away. The bear grew impatient, and Haarn sensed a little confusion as well. Broadfoot didn't maintain a large attention span, and bears never made a practice of hunting red meat, keeping their tastes limited to nuts, fruits, tubers, and honey. After the past two days, Broadfoot knew they were searching for the wolf, though he wasn't clear on why. Even after spending years with the bear, Haarn knew that each of them had concepts that the other couldn't understand. Broadfoot followed not out of duty or curiosity, but because Haarn led. The bond between them had lasted for years and ran bone deep. On the precipice above, the wolf's lean haunches trembled. Excitement thrilled through the creature's thick chest. He swayed, shifting his weight from paw to paw. The bitch at his side eased forward. She held her ears flattened and tight to her head, her tail tucked between her legs. He's taught them to hunt humans, Haarn realized. The sickness in his stomach soured. Bile bubbled and burned at the back of his throat. He scanned the promontory, looking for the other wolves in the pack. The bitch got too close to the edge for the lead wolf's liking. He snapped at her, white fangs flashing, grazing flesh beneath her pelt at her shoulder. Red blood flecked on the wolf's teeth. The bitch jerked back as if scalded. More blood matted her fur as the wound continued to dribble. As she turned, Haarn saw that the bitch was heavy with unborn pups. She looked scrawny, almost used up by the coming birth. Her eyes rolled white as she continued backing away, and her muzzle dipped low to the ground. Druz cursed, and her words seemed to crash through even the storm sounds echoing throughout the forest. The rolling thunder was a natural sound in the forest, but a human voice wasn't. Haarn glanced up at the wolf. Impatient, the wolf paced on silent pads along the promontory. "Are you coming?" Haarn glanced toward the mercenary and found her staring at him. Her accusation stood out from her body. Mud streaked her face and matted her hair. Her clothing was damp and hung heavy with sweat and soil. Above them, on the promontory, the wolf shifted. He stepped backward, all but disappearing in the brush that topped the ledge. Haarn didn't know if the wolf would run or try to stand his ground. It was evident that the wolf had understood that Druz wasn't alone. Remaining silent, Haarn stepped from concealment and crossed the ledge to join the mercenary. "I thought you'd given up," Druz said. "No," Haarn replied. He glanced up at the promontory, but the angle he was at denied him sight of the wolf. "What are you looking at?" Haarn shook his head. Though Druz seemed incapable of seeing most things that took place in the lands around her, she read people well. Perhaps she hadn't spotted the wolf above her, but she knew that his attitude about the night and the things in it had changed. "What?" Druz stepped in front of him, preventing him from attempting the climb she'd tried to make. "I'm going to climb up," Haarn said. Claws clicked against stone above, but the sound was too slight for Druz to notice. Druz's eyes held his. "Something's up there." Haarn held an answer back from her for only a heartbeat. "Yes." "The wolf?" "Yes." Druz's face tightened. "Why didn't you tell me?" "Because I wanted to watch the wolf as he watched you." The hard look on Druz's face softened. "The wolf is watching me?" "He was," Haarn said. The mercenary looked up. "And now?" "I don't know. We'll have to climb up and see." "What if he's gone?" Haarn surveyed the muddy mountainside, seeking small places, secure places, that his hands and feet could work with. Druz was good. If they could have waited till morning, when the light was better and she was more rested, she could have made the climb. "If he's gone, we track him some more," the druid replied. "One of the bitches is heavy with pups. That's why they've been traveling so slowly." "Slowly?" Druz shook her head. "The pack hasn't been traveling slowly. We've only now caught up with them." Haarn reached up and flattened himself against the mountainside. His fingers traced the hold he'd spotted-a small piece of jutting rock-and he tested it. When the rock held his weight, he pulled himself up. Mud slid along the front of his clothes. He knew the wolf could hear them coming. "I don't think he's planning to go any farther tonight," Haarn said. "He's stopping?" Haarn reached above and found another hold. Now that he had the rhythm, scaling the mountainside got easier. He eased himself up, fitting his fingers and moccasins into place. "Yes," he said. "Why?" "Because they haven't eaten in the last two days." "How do you know that?" "Because we've been trailing them," Haarn replied. The muscles in his arms, legs, and back warmed against the storm's chill. "If they'd eaten much, there would have been sign." "They're planning to eat us?" "Yes," Haarn said. "If they weren't interested in that, they'd have been gone as soon as they'd seen you." "What are we going to do?" Druz asked. Haarn smiled and said, "Try to not get eaten." He kept climbing.

Cerril followed the flickering glow of the candle he'd taken from Hekkel down into the bowels of the secret crypt beneath the burial house. The spiral staircase had either been crooked when it had been installed, or it had shifted during the decades or perhaps hundreds of years it had been there. Cerril had to lean away from the central pole at times and against it at others.

Still, the spiral staircase was a short trip to the rooms below.

Once he gained the ground, Cerril discovered that the floor there had been hewn from bedrock then covered over with stone. Dank, bare earth walls drank down the candle's glow. In a half-dozen places, though, small streams of water trickled along the walls and ran through cracks between the stone flooring. The thick, cloying smell of damp earth and rancid water tickled his nose as he stared around the chamber.

The other boys gathered around Cerril. They stayed behind him and well within the fragile safety of the candle.

"We shouldn't be here," one of the boys said. "This is a bad place. I can feel it."

"Damn," Two-Fingers said. "This is a cemetery. It's a bad place for anybody."

"Grave robbers steal from them that are fresh dead," Hekkel said. "Only reason they don't steal from them that are old-dead is because somebody done got to them."

Cerril raised the flickering candle and said, "Nobody's been here since this place was sealed."

"You don't know that," Hekkel said.

Feeling Malar's coin warm and heavy in his hand, Cerril said, "Yes, I do."

He moved forward, drawn by the coin's pull. The candlelight slid across the ceiling. For a moment he thought none of the others were going to follow him, then he heard the rustle of their clothing.

The trickle of water running down the walls echoed throughout the room. Boots and bare feet slapped against the wet floor.

"It's raining outside," Hekkel said. "Coming harder now."

Cerril knew that. The sound of the storm rumbled in the distance, and the sibilant rush of rain threaded through the burial house.

"Who built this place?" Two-Fingers asked.

"Eldath's priests," Cerril answered.

Cerril followed a curving, narrow passageway from the chamber the ladder had led down into. The candlelight had no problem illuminating the height or the width of the passageway, but it didn't penetrate the depth.

"Why?" Two-Fingers asked.

"To keep people away from whatever is being kept in here," Hekkel said. "Any half-brained lummox could have figured that out."

"Probably got all kinds of gold and treasures down here," someone said. "We'll fill up our pockets and get out of here before anyone can stop us."

"Yeah," another boy said. "Alagh?n is a city filled with secrets. It could be somebody stuck a corpse down here and then forgot all about it. Whatever they left on it will be our gain."

"I'll bet they didn't leave anything on the corpse," Hekkel griped. "I don't see how anything could be left as long as this thing must have been left here. Chances are that rats have been at whatever was left. I'll bet you can't even strip the clothes from the body, wash them, and sell them to a ragman."

"We're not here for rags," Cerril said.

He wanted the other boys to stay brave, to stay behind him.

"Then what are we here for?" Hekkel demanded.

"Something more. Otherwise Malar's coin wouldn't be pulling me."

Cerril stepped with more care, following the downward slope of the uneven floor. He wondered if the whole underground area had somehow been wrenched out of kilter at some time in the past.

"Should have let that man keep it," a boy farther back in the crowd muttered.

Cerril started to turn around and curse the boy, if he could find him, but his attention was riveted to the end of the passageway. The candlelight caught the walls surrounding them, twisting shadows as the flame danced, but only revealed the tilted rectangle of darkness at the passageway's end.

Blood boomed in Cerril's ears as he raised the candle to get a better look.

"There's something in there," someone said.

"I thought I saw someone moving," another boy said.

"That's just your imagination," Two-Fingers growled, but a quaver of fear rang in his voice. "Whatever's in there has been dead a long time."

"Just because it's dead don't mean it can't hurt you."

"We should leave," Hekkel whispered. "Just turn around and walk back out of this place and forget it ever existed."

Cerril wished they could do that too, but the coin wouldn't let him turn or take a backward step. It drew him on like a moth to flame. His hand trembled as he stepped toward the waiting darkness, but the shifting shadows of the underground crypt disguised that.

"You leave," Two-Fingers said. "I'll be glad to take your share."

With his heart thundering in his chest and feeling as though it was going to explode at any instant, Cerril stepped through the darkened doorway. Two steps later, the candlelight revealed an elaborate coffin that occupied the center of the room.

"Rats!" Hekkel exclaimed.

"They ain't going to hurt you," Two-Fingers said. "They're… they're all dead."

Cerril gazed down at the floor in front of the mysterious coffin. Dozens of rats, most of them reaching from the tips of his fingers to his elbow in length, lay stretched out on the floor. Only a few of the creatures had come to their deaths in recent times. Most of them were skeletons. Spiders, once industrious enough to make elaborate webs, hung dead in the center of their creations or on the floor. One of the arachnids struggled in its web. The legs twitched, but the spider gave no indication that it would ever get free.

"Tymora's blessing," someone breathed into the stillness of the room. "Goddess look over us."

"Cerril," Two-Fingers called. "We shouldn't be here. Whatever killed them rats and spiders is like to do for us as well."

"No." Cerril took a step forward, drawn toward the coffin in spite of the overwhelming fear that filled him. "I can't leave."

"Well, I can," someone said.

"If you leave," another said, "you don't share in what we find down here."

"What we find?" Hekkel repeated. "We're gonna find whatever killed them rats and spiders. That's all. Me, I don't want none of that."

"Cerril," Two-Fingers called. "Is that what we're gonna find here? Just death?"

Cerril took another step forward. His fear made his legs weak. He hoped they'd collapse beneath him, thinking that way he'd never have to take those final few steps to the coffin, but his knees held. Only three short strides later he stood at the coffin's side.

Candlelight danced along the icy surface. Dozens of facets caught the gleaming reflections of the burning candle. A wet sheen clung to the coffin, but Cerril knew the coffin wasn't melting.

Two-Fingers called for him again, but Cerril couldn't answer. All of his attention was riveted on the strange coffin.

Despite the muggy heat trapped inside the small room, a preternatural chill ate into Cerril's bones, chewing through his flesh without pause. Over the last few minutes, the candle had burned down to little more than a stub that leaked melted tallow over the thief's fingers and hand. Earlier the heat from the tallow had been almost hot enough to burn and had caused some discomfort. Now the melted tallow hardened almost at once, adding layers of thickness that created a shell over his hand.

"Cerril," Two-Fingers whispered. "C'mon. We shouldn't be here."

Cerril gazed at the diamond-bright coffin and saw the reflection of the boys behind him. All of them had moved back and filled the small passageway that led into the crypt.

The coffin had been crafted from chunks of ice. All the pieces had been shaved so the fit was precise despite the angles that were required to encase whatever lay within.

"Cerril," Two-Fingers pleaded.

Hypnotized by the icy beauty of the coffin, Cerril knelt. Malar's coin pulsed heat in his hand. His breath fogged the coffin's gleaming exterior for a moment then cleared away as he took his next breath. Hesitant, fear strong within him now, he touched the coffin with his free hand.

Cold fire burned into Cerril's fingers. When he tried to move them, he found they'd frozen to the coffin. Panicked, he yanked his fingers back. Imprints of his fingers-and a few bits of skin-showed against the icy surface, then they froze over and returned to smooth blue ice.

Cerril wasn't certain if the imprints and skin had sloughed away or been absorbed into the coffin. He tried to draw back from the coffin but found he couldn't. Before he knew it, his hand bearing the Stalker's coin rose. Despite his best efforts, he followed his possessed hand up.

"What are you doing?" Hekkel asked.

Cerril tried to speak but couldn't. Even if he'd been able, he knew he'd only scream in terror. His gaze locked on a design that had been etched into the icy surface of the coffin, scored deep, but almost covered up by the gleaming layers of frost. The design showed a flowing stream, the mark of Eldath.

The frost retreated from Malar's coin in Cerril's shaking fist. Eldath's mark grew brighter and turned red with heat. Steam poured from the mark.

Trembling, Cerril placed Malar's coin on top of Eldath's mark. Even before Cerril could withdraw his hand, the coin turned blistering hot, scorching his fingertips. He drew his fingers back, sticking them in his mouth to cool them, not wanting to use the icy surface of the coffin for any kind of relief. He didn't trust it.

Steam poured from the coffin around Malar's coin. The gold glowed red as it sank into the ice and obliterated Eldath's device.

Cerril stared at the sinking coin then staggered back as the ice shattered and exploded outward. Dozens of flying ice chips struck his face and arms. Several of them drew blood as a great steam cloud obscured the coffin.

Some of the boys behind Cerril screamed in fear. Feet slapped against the stone floor.

The candle dropped from Cerril's nerveless fingers. His breath caught in the back of his throat as he spotted the crimson threads covering his arms. Even as he realized he was looking at his own blood, the falling candle flame died.

Darkness filled the crypt area.

Screams and curses filled the room behind Cerril. He made himself start breathing again even though he felt like his lungs had frozen fast inside his chest. A lambent blue haze dawned inside the room.

A figure rose from the shattered remnants of the coffin. It was man-shaped, dressed in dark funeral clothing. Ivory colored bone showed at the figure's breast. Horrified, Cerril couldn't help looking at the figure's hands. Skeletal fingers flexed slowly. The hooded figure's head turned toward his hands, surveying the fleshless bones with casual interest. The hood turned toward Cerril, shadows masking the face within.

"Who are you, boy?" a cold, harsh voice demanded.

Steam roiled around the figure.

"N-no-nobody," Cerril replied.

He managed to get his legs working under him again. Bracing himself, he took two quick steps backward.

The figure surveyed him in silence for a moment, then said, "Are you one of Eldath's followers?"

Cerril shook his head. "No." His voice cracked and echoed within the crypt.

"Why?" the hooded figure asked.

"I was forced," Cerril responded.

"By whom?"

"I don't know. The coin brought me here."

The hooded figure cocked his head. "What coin?"

"Malar's coin," Cerril answered.

He tried another step back but his legs felt weak and he didn't trust them.

The figure nodded. "Malar."

"Yes," Cerril replied, cursing the god beneath his breath.

"I had thought Malar had forsaken me."

"Malar-Malar," Cerril said, stumbling over the words, "told me there would be a reward."

Even though the hood shrouded the figure's face, Cerril could tell that the figure within grew more interested at his declaration.

"A reward?" the figure asked.

Cerril tried to speak but couldn't. He nodded instead.

Insane laughter pealed through the crypt. The noise sounded as if it came from the bottom of a well, growing stronger as it caromed off the walls.

"Cerril!" Two-Fingers yelled from the other room. "Cerril!"

Despite the terror in Two-Fingers's voice, Cerril couldn't tear his eyes from the figure as it approached him.

The figure glided across the stone floor. Shattered pieces of the ice coffin darted away from the hem of its funeral garb. Whatever spell had bound the coffin together no longer had any power over the figure.

"Cerril!" Two-Fingers yelled. "The damn stone has replaced itself at the top of the stairs. We're locked in!"

The fact didn't surprise Cerril. Whatever he had helped free was powerful. The young thief had no doubt about that.

"Do you know who I am, boy?" the figure asked in its thundering voice.

Cerril shook his head.

"Answer me!" the figure roared.

"No," Cerril said. "No, I don't know who you are."

"You should, boy," the figure said. "You should have known. No one should ever forget me."

It reached up, skeletal hands closing on the hood's sides. It tugged the hood back as a gust of swirling fog obscured it for a moment, then in the next heartbeat a corpse's face showed through.

Patches of blue-black skin clung to the dingy ivory skull. Wisps of beard as thick and as unkempt as a horse's tail jutted along the jawbone. Dull red, the color of fresh-spilled blood under bright moonlight, glowed at the back of the cavernous eye sockets. High cheekbones stood out above the crooked-toothed rictus.

"No one will be allowed to forget me, boy," the figure rasped.

Breath tight in the back of his throat, Cerril watched as the figure's jaws unhinged. Somehow it had spoken to him without opening its mouth. He saw the abnormal sharpness of the teeth, knowing they'd been filed to points.

"Borran Kiosk has returned," the figure declared, "and all of the Vilhon Reach will tremble to learn that."

Numb with fear, Cerril stumbled backward. Two-Fingers and Hekkel yelled in the other room at the end of the long passageway. Cerril turned to flee and smashed his face into the side of a wall. The pain put an edge on his wits again, allowing him to get control of his body. He ran, fleeing back up the passageway. He pushed his hands against the walls to control his flight. Fast as he was though, he was certain he could hear the figure's clothing flap as it pursued him. There was no escape. Cerril knew that, but he had to run.

Only a little farther on, he caught sight of Two-Fingers standing at the top of the spiral staircase. The bigger boy was slamming his hands against the stone that had covered the opening and locked them in. The hollow thumps of his efforts echoed throughout the chamber. Several of the other boys shrieked and cried out.

Cerril opened his mouth to yell a warning, but incredible pain filled his head. He lost control over his legs and fell to the ground, landing on his knees. Something moved, twisted with horrible pain inside his head, then his vision blurred and went out of focus. The pain felt like a rat eating through his head.

Paralysis held Cerril. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't scream out in pain. A terrifying sucking sound echoed within his head. He gazed at the fear-filled faces of the boys on the other side of the room. All efforts he made to cry out to them to help him failed.

Pain wracked through his head again. Something broke with a liquid crunch. There was a brief moment of relief as the pressure inside his skull faded. Then cold horror filled him as he spotted the snake-like thing that lashed the air two feet in front of his face.

The snake-like thing was as thick as a broom handle and dark purple. Blood clung to it but was absorbed almost at once. Somehow the figure had thrown the snake-thing through his head. Coiling on itself, the snake-like thing came back at Cerril's face. Three hooked claws clacked together at the thing's end.

Still paralyzed, unable to defend himself, Cerril watched in terror as the clawed appendage bit into his face. Unable to fight back, he felt himself pulled around, falling into a helpless pile of loose limbs on his side. He stared up in revulsion, realizing that the purple snake-thing was the dead man's tongue, expelled over those sharp, bright teeth.

The thick purple tongue lashed out again, leeching onto Cerril's face. Despite the lethargic numbness overlying his need to escape, the boy felt the tongue suckling at his cheek, feeding on the blood that welled into the wounds it had caused. Cerril couldn't move to defend himself, couldn't even scream.

The tongue pulled free after a moment and slid under his chin, the dark purple flesh hard and cold against his skin. Then the tongue bit deep, sinking into the fevered blood that hammered against his throat. Even as the renewed assault of pain hit him, darkness quick and feathery as a raven's wing swooped down and blotted out Cerril's senses.