As he whirled, jaws clamped onto his wrist like a vice, crunching bones and snapping tendons. Dekhmaal screamed as the wolf savagely shook his arm, batting at its head with his mangled hand. Finally, with a wrenching pull and a gristly pop, he fell away from the beast. But as he clasped his severed wrist to his breast, he realized why the wand had not worked; this was no ordinary animal. Before him stood the elf, still snarling, but obviously a woman. Clutched between her teeth was his severed hand, the emerald still glowing in its grasp.
Battling a haze of pain that threatened to overwhelm him, Dekhmaal scrambled to his feet and ran, abandoning the gem to the thieves, disregarding is pledge to Lord Darkmist to guard the gem to his death.
Such pledges are easily made, he thought, but not so easily kept. In despair and agony, he stumbled through the passages of the pyramid.
Avari panted as the coils that surrounded her tightened, hacking at the scaly flesh. Gaulengil's green light shone like a beacon through the mire of gore, slicing through scales, meat and cartilage. The beast's hold on her eased, and she rolled away, heaving a great lungful of air.
Glancing up, she saw Shay dodge another strike and swing his hammer. The weapon's impact shattered the hinge of the animal's jaw, and its mouth now hung askew.
She lunged to the attack, seeking a vital spot while trying to avoid being crushed by the writhing mass. Something flickered in her peripheral vision, and the snake shook its head, trying to dislodge the crossbow bolt that now protruded from its right eye. Avari whooped a gleeful battle cry to see DoHeney crouched on one knee, his face twisted in pain and determination as he fit another shaft into his crossbow, smoke still wafting from his charred chest. With renewed vigor, she plunged her blade deep into the snake's body.
The snake's death shudder would have knocked Avari to the floor had she not been enveloped in its coils. In addition to her stroke, DoHeney had put another bolt in the reptile's eye, and Shay had landed a deadly blow upon the beast's skull. The ravaged monster collapsed, its tail twitching once before falling still.
"Gods, what a mess!" Avari grinned, smearing goblets of congealing blood from her face with a drenched sleeve. The adrenaline of the battle eased and she felt her knees begin to quake. She staggered away from the corpse and looked to her companions.
DoHeney's grin looked a bit forced as he pushed himself to his feet, using his crossbow as a crutch. Shay looked stunned, staring past her like she didn't exist. Then she remembered her last glimpse of Lynthalsea in the death grip of the Dukarr.
Whirling around, she was relieved to see the woman obviously still in good health, with not a scratch or blemish marring her curvaceous expanses of flesh. The reason she was naked was not so obvious, but as Lynthalsea pulled on her robes and scrubbed at the crimson stains around her mouth, Avari understood; the elf had transformed.
Lynthalsea toed something at her feet, then stooped to retrieve it.
"I believe this is what we came for," she said as she held out the glowing emerald, still clenched in the Dukarr's severed hand.
"Uh, I think DoHeney needs some help, Shay," Avari said, giving him a shove toward the dwarf.
The sight of Lynthalsea healthy and... hale... had caught him off guard. He turned away from the elf's enticing curves to concentrate on DoHeney's rough, hairy hide.
"Jist a bit o' a burn is all, me thinks," DoHeney said, brushing at the charcoal that had once been thickly padded leather. He winced as the blackened mass flaked away to reveal blistered and bleeding flesh beneath. "Smarts a bit, though."
Shay peeled away the rest of carbonized leather to expose the wound. He quivered with fatigue and trepidation—Please, Tem, heed my prayers and grant me your gifts—breathed deeply to quiet his mind, and began his prayers of healing.
"Ahem. Shay?"
The priest exhaled noisily and tried to regain his concentration. "Just a moment, Avari. I am busy with—"
"It may not be necessary." The tone of her voice spoke volumes. Shay glanced up.
The lack of footfalls had once again caught them unaware. Snake-men squirmed into the room en masse, the slither of their scales on the floor blending with their soft, hissing speech. They gestured wildly at the sight of the dead snake.
Shay rose and helped DoHeney to his feet, and the four companions backed around the lifeless coils, their feet crunching on the slippery carpet of gold and gems.
"This could get a mite sticky." DoHeney grunted as he tried to cock his crossbow.
"Where's a giant mongoose when you really need one?" Avari said, drawing a humorless smile from Shay.
Suddenly, Shay realized that they were not, in fact, the center of attention. Instead, the snake-men swarmed over the giant corpse.
Finally, a snake-man of impressive build and scaliness slithered forward. The creature's glittering headdress and fan-like necklace gleamed with jewels and gold, but its hands were empty of any weapon. Reaching the edge of the treasure mound, it spread its arms wide and bowed low toward the companions, then rose to speak.
"Oh Nighty Ones who have sslain our Got Skletjree, we subnit to your power! Sslay us if you tesire! Connand us, and we sshall sserve you!"
"Yeah, 'serve', like sardines on toast," DoHeney hissed.
"Hush!" Shay snapped as a seed of insight sprouted in his mind. "Can't you see what's happened here?"
Shay understood the intricacies and hierarchies of religion and service to a god... and how that service can become perverted under the wrong influence. He stepped forward and raised his arms.
"Priest of the Snake People, listen to me well and tell your people what I now tell you!" Shay's locked his gaze to that of his fellow priest, his hands open and empty in a sign of peace.
"We are not gods!" he stated plainly. The snake-priest's eyes widened at the admission, but it awaited an explanation, much to Shay's relief. "And this poor beast," he continued, indicating the snake corpse, "was not your god, but simply an animal controlled by magic for evil purposes."
The priest's eyes now narrowed and the tip of his tail swished in agitation. A rash of hisses swept through the crowd, suggesting that a good many understood Shay's words. Summoning all his skills of persuasion, he continued.
"We are mortals, but we have liberated you from the evil that tricked you into worshiping an animal, that desecrated your temple and tricked you out of your treasures. The Dukarr, the pale one who sat upon this throne, is the evil of which I speak! He has brought this upon you!" Nearly all the snake-men were watching him now; their hissing grew to a roar as they brandished their weapons.
"Go and seek your revenge on this evil one!" He flung his arms wide and up, inciting a riot of hissing and slithering as the snake-men surged as one toward the archway. In the van was their priest, hissing his righteous fury at the imposter who had led them on a path toward blasphemy and sacrilege.
As the hissing echo of the snake-men faded, Shay lowered his arms and sank onto a pile of glittering trinkets, his trembling knees no longer willing to support him. Resting his head in his hands, he gave profound thanks to Tem that his ploy, which would see that justice was served on the Dukarr, had worked.
He felt the treasure shift as someone sat beside him. A long, blood-stained arm wrapped affectionately around his shoulders.
"Every time I'm sure we're done in, a miracle happens," Avari said. "I think Tem has a better opinion of you than you do yourself, Shay."
Shay smiled at her, stunned at her words, but delighted by her apparent change of heart. It had been too long since he had seen her looking this serene.
"I still must heal DoHeney before we can leave this place," he said as he accepted Avari's helping hand up.
"Where is the little medium-rare char-dwarf, anyway?" the tall woman asked, glancing around the room.
"DoHeney?" Shay called worriedly.
"Eh?" The dwarf peeked out from behind the huge throne.
"Where in the name of the Nine Hells did you go?" He could do without any more surprises for
a while.
DoHeney strutted into view, modeling his bare chest for all to see. Pink scar tissue covered half his torso, surrounded by a blotchy mat of curly, singed red hair. He smiled through the soot that caked his beard and tossed aside an empty crystal vial.
"Granny makes a heck of a brew, don'cha know." He grinned wider and held out a bulging sack that rattled like a bag full of pebbles. "An' I figured I'd pick up a trinket or two. To pay for the trip, if ye understand me thinkin'."
His friends' faces split to mirror his cheery mien, for they did indeed understand his thinking. They melted in helpless laughter as the dwarf lay down and proceeded to roll in the knee-deep mound of riches.
Dekhmaal's mangled hand fumbled to lock the door to his private chamber, but his single remaining digit was not much use. His head spun with the loss of blood, even though he clutched the stump of his wrist tightly to his side to quell the flow. Sweating, he leaned his reeling head against the door and prayed for strength. Then, giving up on the latch, he pushed a hefty table over on its side, wedging it under the door handle with several kicks.
The Dukarr's quaking legs carried him far enough to reach his broad desk, where he slumped into a chair. Awkwardly snatching up a leather thong, he managed to tie a makeshift tourniquet around his stump, cinching it with his teeth. He then turned to fumble through a coffer, tossing amulets and scrolls every which way. Finally, at the bottom, he found the flask he required. The rancid, black ichor burned his throat, but he drank it down. Finished, he tossed the flask aside and closed his eyes, feeling the sharp tingle that spread down his arms. When he opened his eyes again, his wounds were closed; pale, shiny scar tissue stretched tight across his stumps. They were healed, but he knew his lost members would never regenerate. His feeble magic was not powerful enough for that.
What is to become of me now? he thought, pounding the table with his still tender wounds. A Dukarr is nothing if he cannot grip weapons or cast spells.
A resounding thump at the door, followed by more blows and loud hissing curses, answered that question. Suddenly he realized that more than his future as a Dukarr was at stake; very likely, there would be no escape from the temple at all. He swallowed his self-pity and straightened. At least Mortas would greet him after he had done his duty. A heavier thump and the door shivered, but held.
But how long? Dekhmaal lurched to a shrouded form in the corner. He snatched the covering aside to reveal an upright oval mirror set in a stand of gold. He touched several points on the mirror's frame with his single remaining finger, and spoke the requisite phrases through trembling lips.
As his chanting subsided, a mist swirled in the depths of the mirror, finally clearing to reveal the interior of Lord Darkmist's private study. Dekhmaal's master dominated the view.
"Lord Darkmist, forgive the interruption, but I bear grievous news." Dekhmaal bowed low, keeping his mangled hands hidden.
"What has gone wrong?" Darkmist snapped at his servant, his eyes narrowing in annoyance.
"The gem is lost, Lord."
"What?" The Nekdukarr's vacant eyes widened in shock, flashing crimson a moment after the eyes of the demon helm did the same. "How did this happen!?"
"Thieves, Lord," the stricken Dukarr responded, more afraid of his master's fury than the menace beyond the door of his chambers. "Four of them. They entered invisibly, bypassing my guards, then overwhelmed me in combat. I admit my failure, Lord, but these thieves were very skilled, and wielded magical weapons of great power."
"Describe them to me, and I may consider sparing your miserable life!" Darkmist spat.
"I fear my life is already forfeit, Lord," Dekhmaal smiled ruefully with another glance over his shoulder. The door sagged inward with each new impact. "My former servants have discovered my deceptions. It would seem there is no escape for me, unless..." Dekhmaal's hope surged, "...by some magical means you could—" His hope died, impaled by Darkmist's merciless glare.
"I thought not," the weary Dukarr continued, withdrawing his ravaged hands from beneath his cloak for his master to see. "Just as well, really." Still there was no response from the distant Nekdukarr lord.
"Very well, my Lord. Let this be testimony that my loyalty to you was never, and shall never, be in question."
The door behind him finally gave way, crashing inward in a dozen splintered pieces. Dekhmaal did not turn to watch as the enraged snake-men poured into the room, but continued his speech.
"Those who took the gem were a dwarf, an elfin woman, a bearded half-elfin mage bearing a magical hammer, and a tall human woman with an enchanted greatsword. They are quite formidable, Lord, and the elf can—"
His words were cut off abruptly as the first of the snake-men's blades pierced his body.
CHAPTER 39
In the depths of Zellohar Keep, Iveron Darkmist watched without a hint of pity or passion as goblets of bloody flesh spattered the distant mirror's surface. One of the attacker's swords finally shattered the glass, dispelling the magical link. Iveron stood motionless, staring at the blank mirror. Finally, he turned to leave his chambers, never noticing the spider shape with the ruby eyes that leapt from hiding onto his cloak.
Iveron's purposeful strides took him through a maze of corridors, and finally to a suite of rooms set apart from the rest of the keep's labyrinth. He burst into the chambers without knocking, interrupting four dark figures in the middle of some sort of game. They turned to regard the intruder, ebony dagger tattoos gleaming on their foreheads, proclaiming their ancestry to Clan Shadowknife. All four assassins remained seated.
"It is time for you to start earning your keep," Darkmist said, ignoring the Shadowknives' insolence. "I have a job for you."
They jumped to their feet, hungry looks flickering on their cruel features. "We are at your command, Lord," the leader said.
Darkmist nodded. "Follow me."
As he turned and left the room, the Shadowknives' teeth flashed like hidden daggers at one another before they rushed after him. In their eagerness even their keen eyes failed to perceive the infinitesimal ruby glow from beneath their master's collar. The spider's scrutiny, however, left no detail unobserved.
Avari's hands burned with raw blisters and her legs ached with the toil of slogging through the swamp, but her spirits soared like an eagle on the wind.
They had done it!
They had stolen another gem from that slime-spawned Nekdukarr, Darkmist, and not only escaped in relatively good health, but with their packs full to bursting with sparkling jewels and priceless trinkets. Gloom and foreboding had been replaced by jovial taunts and banter. Avari's step was light and sure despite the clinging mud and quicksand.
With their victory, and the lack of pursuit from the snake-men, she had felt the weight of responsibility lift from her broad shoulders. She and her companions were alive and healthy; she had not failed them. She knew more perils lay ahead, but she now considered those as bridges to be crossed, not walls looming dark and impassible.
When they reached the clearing, Avari even reevaluated her first impression of Hadalli, for the lackey was dutifully awaiting their return. He was still unkempt and lecherous, with a vulgar sense of humor, but he evidently had a fair sense of duty. The horses were well fed and their coats gleamed from a recent brushing, and the extra equipment was still as she had packed it, with no signs of ransacking.
The troop set out upon the westward trade route, skirting the remainder of the Black Swamp and striking out over the low mountain range that bordered the coast. Shay's concern that the two gems would interfere with one another too much to indicate where the next lay proved unfounded. Only a day after leaving the temple, the gems' brightness returned to normal, each giving clear indication that the next stone lay somewhere to the northeast. But there was no sense in traveling in that direction yet; beyond the Black Swamp, the inner sea blocked their path.
"Just as well," Shay said, planning ahead. The group rode four abreast along the thankfully solid road, Hadalli and th
e pack mule following behind. "We can book passage on a ship at Seaward, then resupply and get some rest in Fengotherond. Now there is a city for you! You just cannot imagine..."
Avari's stomach roiled at the thought of another sea voyage; the last one had nearly done her in. Her apprehension soon drowned, however, under Shay's enthusiastic descriptions of the fascinating sights of the "Domed City of Wonders".
"Maybe we could get some better clothes," Lynthalsea said, brushing the dust from her plain brown cloaks.
"And some better horses," Avari added, patting her sturdy but drab mare with a mixture of affection and disdain.
"You shall have the finest warhorse money can buy," Shay promised, slapping the saddlebags strapped to his mount. The bulging satchels of gems, jewels, gold ingots and cunningly wrought jewelry would have made Shay feel guilty of blasphemy, had he ever heard of a snake god named Skletjree. The only snake god he knew of was Seth, the Defiler, and that foul creature would never have a temple equal in splendor to the throne room of the snake-men. Seth preferred dark, slimy, filthy, decaying places, not white alabaster and mother-of-pearl.
As the leagues fled beneath their horses' hooves, they played games of speculation, dreaming of what they could purchase with their newly acquired wealth. Each had their own fantasies, but DoHeney's were by far the most unusual and outlandish. None of the others cared to guess what a zingle-oil massage was, or why the masseuse would wear chainmail gloves, but it sounded interesting, if not relaxing.
Calmarel burst into her sister's chambers without even a knock. A sleek alabaster blur leapt from the bed and snatched up a nearby weapon. Calmarel ignored her sister's nudity, her pale skin luminescent in the ruddy light from the eight glowing eyes of the huge onyx spider that decorated the bed's headboard. But her attention shifted when she heard a gasp of horror from beneath the sheets her sister had just vacated; a young servant boy cowered there, shivering in fear.
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