Chapter 12
It was nearly midday four days later when Snowfeather discovered something very disturbing. After their first terrifying encounter with the walking cursed, they stopped early every evening, well before sundown, and Damion would use his magic to create a shelter to keep them protected while they tried to rest. The undead always disappeared as soon as the dawn approached, and the companions would immediately set off again in an attempt to put as many miles behind them as possible.
The companions were slowly pushing their way through the desolate swamp, when the huge snow owl suddenly emerged from the fog and landed atop Damion's shoulder. “You’re never going to believe this!”
“What is it?” Damion asked in concern.
“There is a large temple a few miles from here with a crude makeshift altar that's been erected in front!”
Damion shrugged. “It’s probably just some ancient ruins.”
“I’m afraid not. There are dozens of black robed humans grouped around the altar, and there is a group of ragged-looking slaves that are chained together nearby. It appears that the robed ones are sacrificing the slaves in some kind of strange ritual!”
Damion jerked Storm to a halt. “Are they more of the undead?”
“Nay. They seem to be quite alive.” The huge owl squawked, fluffing his feathers in disgust. “They are forcing the slaves onto the altar, and then plunging a glowing dagger into their hearts. They then toss the dead to the side and begin to chant ritualistically.”
Damion swore viciously, then quickly told the others.
“Gruelt Cultists!” Dar exclaimed in horror.
“What are they?” Kariah asked in a fearful voice.
Dar's face was filled with revulsion. “They are a horrible cult that worships death. According to legends, they slaughter the innocent and capture their souls, cursing the victims to an eternity of walking death.” He looked as though he may be sick. All the color had drained from his face, and his eyes were wide with shock. “They must be responsible for the curse that hangs over this swamp!” He shook his head in disbelief. “I would have never imagined it would be Gruelt Cultists. I didn't think they even existed anymore!”
“So, what do we do?” Sly asked Damion, though he obviously knew what his answer would be.
Damion's face was grim. “We go stop them, and save the remaining slaves.”
The scruffy little man nodded, knowing it was useless to argue, although he appeared none too thrilled at the prospect.
“Let’s get moving, then.” Dar snarled with unusual heat.
Damion stared at the childlike sprite in surprise. “Beginning to develop a vicious streak?”
“Those despicable vermin are the lowest form of life!" The boy declared with righteous anger. "The world needs to be purged of such wretched creatures!”
“Where is this temple?” Sly asked with a frown.
“A mile or so to the south.”
“Then I suggest we get moving if we want to save those slaves.”
It took nearly an hour to reach the dreary diseased-looking temple, and they lingered back just out of sight for several moments, watching the cultists as they gathered around a newly slaughtered slave which was sprawled across the altar. They were chanting in a strange, angry sounding language, and swaying back and forth rhythmically, as if in some sort of trance.
“We may already be too late.” Sly whispered to Damion. “I don't see any more slaves.”
One of the cultists suddenly broke away from the group and entered the temple, only to return moments later dragging a struggling dwarf behind him carelessly. He threw the tiny dwarf hard against altar where it collapsed lifelessly.
“Gretta!” Garth suddenly bellowed. The stocky dwarf spurred his pony forward, roaring in fury.
“There goes the element of surprise!” Damion growled, drawing the Dragon Sword from its sheath. “I guess we should go help him!” He charged after Garth on foot, slightly taken aback by the ferocity the raging dwarf displayed as he began to chop his way through the ranks of the startled cultists, desperately trying to get to reach betrothed.
At first, the cultists seemed too stunned to react, their eyes refusing to believe what they saw. Many continued to sway rhythmically, still deeply in entranced. Four of them fell to Garth's vicious battle-axe before any of them could even react. Most of them dissolved into a blind panic and tried to flee, though a few pulled daggers and rushed to the attack.
The Dragon Sword whistled as Damion charged into the fray, leaving a trail of carnage behind him. The sword's blade sheared through flesh and bone effortlessly as he danced among the cultists, keeping a close eye on the raging dwarf at the same time.
He watched Sly out of the corner of his eye as the scruffy little man drove his sword deep into one of the cultist's chests. Another black robed man charged to the attack while he was occupied in freeing his sword, but Dar suddenly dashed forward and leapt into the air, driving both feet hard into the cultist's face. The cultist crashed to the ground, landing upon his own dagger. The man shuddered horribly, then fell still.
“Thanks.” Sly said, smiling.
“Anytime.” Dar grinned back before dashing right back into the fray.
An angry whinny echoed through the swamp as Storm suddenly charged into the battle like a wild beast. He trampled several cultists under his churning hooves, then spun and lashed out with a powerful kick that caught another hard in the face. The man flew backwards through the air and landed in a lifeless heap, his face shattered into a thousand pieces.
The battle was short and ugly. Soon, all the cultists lay dead at their feet, and the sounds of battle died away, leaving an eerie silence in the dead swamp. Garth received a deep ragged gash across one arm, but he ignored it as he rushed towards the limp form that still lay at the foot of the altar. “Gretta!” He cried, gently lifting her into his arms. “My Gretta!”
The young dwarven woman was dressed in dirty mud-caked rags, and her pale, nearly colorless hair hung in matted clumps. She couldn't have stood more than three and a half feet tall, though she was well endowed with womanly attributes. She was trembling violently as she stared at her betrothed, her eyes still filled with terror. “G-Garth?” She cried in disbelief. “I-Is it r-really you?” She slowly reached out a hand and touched his thickly bearded face as if she thought it was a dream.
“It’s me, my love.” He whispered gently. “I’m here."
“M-My God!” She cried. “It is you!” She threw her arms around his neck, and burst into tears. “I thought I would n-never see you again!”
“You are safe now, my love. We are here, now. We won't let anything happen to you.”
Gretta slowly looked around at the remains of the Gruelt cultists, then her eyes fell upon Damion. She screamed in terror as she saw him towering a few feet away, the Dragon Sword still in one hand, and his armor splashed with blood. “A giant!” She tried desperately to scramble to her feet. “G-Garth! Run!” She struggled furiously to get away.
“No! Gretta! Calm yourself!” He held on to her tightly and refused to release her. “That is no giant! That is Damion! He is a friend!”
She slowly ceased to struggle, but continued to stare at the huge warrior fearfully.
Damion slowly turned away and walked over to Storm's side, his feelings once against stung by her fearful reaction. He reached his stallion's side and pat the great beast on its neck.
“Don’t let her reaction bother you.” Sly murmured quietly as he silently drifted up behind Damion. He seemed to know exactly what the young man was feeling. “She was already frightened out of her wits. She isn't in the right state of mind.”
Damion didn't answer, but instead looked towards Dar and Kariah as they approached. Kariah stared at him with sad eyes and looked as though she wanted to say something, but he quickly turned away, unable to meet her gaze.
They decided to stop for the rest of the day and make use of the now empty temple. Though it was forbidding
-looking place, it was stoutly built from thick limestone blocks, and equipped with huge bronze doors that were stained black with age. The interior proved to be just as bleak as the exterior. It was scarcely furnished, save for a few crude tables and chairs. A large fire pit stood in the center of the main chamber giving off a foul-smelling smoke. Dozens of heavy wooden doors lined the walls, revealing tiny cramped cells that seemed to be used to house the slaves and cultists alike.
After they carefully coaxed the horses inside, they barred the doors behind them and settled in for the night. Damion used his magic to start a small fire to cook on since no one wanting to linger too close to the fire pit in case the noxious-smelling smoke was poisonous, and they were soon eating a savory stew that Kariah whipped up from their dwindling supplies.
It was much later when Gretta slowly approached Damion with an apprehensive expression. “M-May we speak?” She asked in a quiet voice.
Damion stared at her for a moment, then nodded. “Of course.”
“I wished to thank you for helping Garth to find me. If it wasn't for you, those men would have killed me!” She blushed shamefully. “A-And I reacted so badly when I first saw you.”
He sighed heavily. “I understand.” He replied in a subdued voice. “I’m beginning to grow used to it.”
Sly set up in his bedroll and stared at the dwarf maiden. “How did the cultists manage to capture you?”
She shivered unconsciously. “I journeyed to Kainpre with my father to do business several weeks ago. Once in the city, we met a man who claimed to be interested in purchasing some gems. He claimed to have a caravan waiting just outside of the city, and wanted us to meet him there to do business. When we arrived, we were set upon by a dozen black-robed men. They managed to overpower me, but,” Her eyes began to shimmer with tears. “My father fought them to the death.” She drew a deep shuddering breath, then continued. “They put me in chains and brought me to this horrible place. They threw me in a cell along with several other people that they had kidnapped, and held me prisoner.” The tears began to flow freely from her eyes. “Most of the other slaves were completely mad, though one woman was still coherent enough to tell me that they were cultists. She told me that she had seen them do abominable things to the other slaves. She said that they would place the slaves upon the altar outside and plunge a glowing dagger into their hearts, then begin chanting in some strange language. What was truly horrible is that once dusk had fallen, the slaves would rise again as one of the undead!” She began to weep uncontrollably. “I would have become one, too, if you had not appeared!” She covered her face with her hands, and rushed back to Garth's side.
Sly shook his head sadly. “At least the cultists cannot commit any more atrocities.” He glanced over Dar. “Now that they are dead, will be undead still rise?”
The boy shrugged. “It’s hard to say. The curse that was laid upon their victims may have been permanent. They may be doomed to spend the rest of eternity in endless hunger.”
The scruffy little man shook his head again in disgust, then laid back in his bedroll and closed his eyes.
Damion stared up at the ceiling, strangely devoid of feelings. The horrors that he had seen since he first left the valley was nearly overwhelming, and it just seemed to grow worse and worse the farther he traveled from the place he called home. There seemed to be an overabundance of evil at work in the world, turning it into a place of constant fear and turmoil. With each new encounter, he clearly felt a piece of his innocence fall away, leaving him with a cold, empty feeling in the pit of his stomach.
He sighed heavily, then glanced at Kariah, who had collapsed in exhaustion on her bedroll and fell into a deep sleep. The memory of the fear she had in her eyes upon their first meeting came to him unbidden, tormenting him deeply. Though she now had grown much closer to him, a part of him still wondered if, deep down, she still feared him.
He finally forced himself to tear his eyes away from her slumbering form and laid back in his bedroll. After a while, his exhaustion overcame his torrent of thoughts, and he fell into a restless sleep.
Omensent: Birth of a Dragon Lord Page 35