“Who are you?” demanded Damos. “What is it you speak?”
The other said something in a tongue Achilios did not recognize.
The morlu let out a howl. He doubled over, dropping one of the swords.
“Stop it! Stop!” Damos lunged with the remaining weapon, only to come up short. He gasped, then fell to one knee. The second sword joined its brother.
The dark figure beyond the morlu uttered a single syllable.
Damos let out a howl. His body shivered. A stench suddenly arose from the morlu’s direction, a carrion smell.
With a last, mournful sound, the armored giant collapsed in an ungainly pile. The stench grew stronger.
Covering his nose and mouth, Achilios stared at the one standing over the body.
“Mendeln?”
Uldyssian’s brother stared at Achilios as if seeing through him. There was a presence around Mendeln that made the hunter shiver almost as much as when he had realized what had become of Cedric. It was not evil, but so different, and it once more put Achilios in mind of the stone and what he had felt.
“Kyr i’ Trag ’oul discay,” Mendeln finally said to him, as if this gibberish explained everything.
Rising, Achilios glanced at the morlu. From the smell and what he could glimpse, he would have sworn that the creature had been dead for many days, even weeks. The flesh almost seemed to be putrefying before his very eyes.
He looked again at Mendeln, pale as the corpse. The younger brother suddenly blinked. Life returned to his expression, followed a moment later by utter bewilderment and horror at the tableau before him.
“Achilios…what…where…?”
At that moment, the house filled with noise. There was a crash and voices both below and nearby. A tremendous thud came from the direction of the chambers shared by Uldyssian and Lylia, a place that the archer had assumed vacant from the false Cedric’s remarks.
A door nearby flung open and Serenthia, a dressing gown given to her by Master Ethon closed tightly around her throat, burst out. She saw Achilios first, then Mendeln, and finally noticed the grisly form on the floor. To her credit, the trader’s daughter smothered a cry and instead immediately asked, “Where’s Uldyssian and Lylia? Are they all right?”
Before Achilios could answer, there came another crash, this one from the very direction of Uldyssian’s chambers. The hunter spun about and headed toward the noise. As Serenthia started to follow, he shouted, “You two stay! Do as I say!”
He had no idea whether they obeyed or not, but hoped that at least Mendeln would have the good sense to keep Cyrus’s daughter out of danger. How Mendeln had done what he had to the vicious morlu, Achilios did not understand—nor did he understand exactly what had happened to the creature—but hopefully that same power would come into play if they were attacked. There was no telling how many more of the foul warriors there still were.
Two guards raced up the steps, obviously heading for the same destination. The first to reach the door gripped the handle—
From the chamber next to Uldyssian’s, the massive form of a morlu burst through into the hall. He rammed into the two startled guards, sending one falling down the stairs. The second tried to turn to fight, but the monstrous warrior cut through his chest with an ax, spilling blood everywhere. The corpse went tumbling back, the eyes of the hapless guard ending up staring at Achilios.
The archer already had his bow unslung and ready to fire, but he remained well aware how his previous attempts had failed. With a swift calculation honed by having to adjust for wind and the sudden darting of animals, he finally released the arrow.
By all logic, the bolt should have flown far past his target, but it swerved at the last, just as Achilios hoped. He was certain that some spell had been cast on his weapon, although when that might have happened, he could not say. The only one other than him to touch it of late had been Uldyssian and Master Ethon…
The shaft buried itself exactly where he hoped. The morlu let out a howl as he reached to pluck the arrow from one of the dark eye sockets.
Achilios had a second shot ready by then. He fired immediately and watched with grim satisfaction as the new arrow hit directly in the other socket.
The armored behemoth slumped to his knees. The hand pulling at the first arrow dropped loosely to the floor, followed by the one wielding the bloody ax. Yet, the morlu did not completely collapse.
Racing up to the fiendish warrior, Achilios snagged the ax. The morlu weakly sought to grab at him. The hunter dodged, then, bow looped over his shoulder, raised the ax high.
A moment later, he let it sink deep into the morlu’s neck, cutting the head off cleanly. Only then did the body fall forward.
Keeping the ax ready, Achilios looked to Uldyssian’s door. To his dismay, Serenthia—a sharp, broken piece of railing in one hand—already stood there, Mendeln on her heels.
“I told you to stay—”
Heedless of his warning, she flung open the door. Achilios leaped after her, fearful for her life.
As they entered, it was to see Uldyssian and another morlu with their hands around one another’s throat. Serenthia let out a gasp, then ran up behind the morlu. Achilios expected her to try to club him with the piece of wood, but instead she turned it point first and aimed for the back of the neck.
By right, it should have cracked harmlessly or, at most, caused some shallow wound. Yet, as Serenthia thrust with all her might, the point flared white…and sank into the morlu’s flesh with the utmost ease.
Uldyssian’s adversary hacked. Releasing his hold, the morlu tried to pull the rail free. He fell to his knees, clutching desperately at it.
Serenthia stepped back, obviously awed by what she had done. Uldyssian, on the other hand, simply bent down over the morlu, then seized the wood. With powerful effort, he twisted it so that he nearly tore the head off.
The morlu dropped.
“The head…the head is the key,” Uldyssian declared. “The head…” He looked up. “Lylia! Is she with you?”
“No!” Serenthia quickly responded.
“One of these creatures was looking for her,” Achilios added. “He seemed to be having no luck in this area.”
“I don’t understand, unless—” He pushed past them, shouting, “She must’ve gone to look for me! She must’ve headed to the study…where I last left Malic!”
Mendeln did not follow after his brother and the others as they rushed to rescue the noblewoman. It was not that he did not wish to help, but something made him pause and look again at the morlu, both the one just slain and the other in the hall. A sense of foreboding rose within him as he moved to the nearest. He almost felt that, despite appearances, some spark of animation—not life—remained in the hideous corpse.
Without knowing why, he stretched a hand out over the back of the body. In his head, symbols appeared. This time Mendeln had some vague understanding of what they meant and, as with times previous, their pronunciation was obvious to him.
As he said the words, he felt a coolness emanate from his downturned palm. A faint glow like moonlight shone down on the region below his hand.
The morlu’s body shivered, almost as if intending to rise again. It was all Mendeln could do to keep from pulling away. Yet some inner sense warned him that if he did, it might prove catastrophic.
The morlu’s corpse shook violently. Then, a black cloud no larger than an apple rose from the body. It hovered briefly, then drifted up into his palm…where it promptly dissipated.
The morlu stilled again. The corpse looked as if it had deflated some. Mendeln no longer sensed anything.
He went to the one in the corridor and performed the same ritual. Glancing over his shoulder, Mendeln eyed the first one that he had encountered with Achilios. He could still not recall how he had gone from his bed to the hall and why that morlu had fallen at his feet. All that Mendeln knew for certain was that he had uttered words to that one, which made it unnecessary to perform the ritual used on the p
air.
Curiously, Mendeln also suddenly recalled that he had not felt alone when he had dealt with that creature. He could have sworn that there had been a figure behind him, someone who had first whispered the needed words just in time.
But who? Mendeln asked himself. Who?
Then he remembered that there might be more of the helmed warriors, either those in wait or those believed dead. Whichever the case, Mendeln knew that he had to see to each one of them, make certain that the ritual was done. Only then could it be insured that none would rise again…
Shivering at the thought, Uldyssian’s brother hurried along.
It had to be the study. Somehow, Uldyssian knew that Lylia had gone there. She would have entered without hesitation, certain that her love and Master Ethon were inside, discussing some matter.
Malic would take her, then, use her as leverage against the son of Diomedes. He knew that Uldyssian would do anything to save her from harm.
Uldyssian’s blood suddenly boiled. But if she was harmed…
The doors to the study were shut. That seemed very odd considering that now household servants and guards ran all through the building, trying to make sense of what had happened. That none of them had gone to the study in search of their employer boded ill, for it smelled of the cleric’s manipulations.
His thoughts growing more turbulent, Uldyssian threw himself at the entrance.
The doors crashed open, one flinging back so hard that it broke off. Uldyssian landed on the floor, immediately rolling to his feet and trying to muster whatever he could from within.
“Malic!” he roared, awaiting the worst. “This is between you and—”
But as he drank in the sight before him, Uldyssian faltered. There was another morlu in the center of the study, his head cleanly separated from his body and a dark, burnt area across his chest. The head, still within the ram’s-skull helmet, seemed to peer angrily at the ceiling.
That scene, though, was nothing compared with what lay sprawled a little farther inside. It was another corpse stripped cleanly of its flesh, blood spilling from a thousand ripped veins. The body was tall, athletic in build—as ruined muscle and sinew still managed to indicate—and somehow yet clad despite its flaying.
It was the body of Malic, high priest of the Order of Mefis.
SEVENTEEN
Malic’s monstrous hand clutched his chest just below the throat. The demonic limb twitched twice, as if not quite dead despite its host’s sorry condition.
Behind the macabre sight, a trembling Lylia stared at Uldyssian.
“My love!” she called, running to him and wrapping her arms tight around his body. She smelled of lavender and other flowers, a thing in utter contrast to the horrendous scene. Uldyssian inhaled deeply, wishing that all else had been nothing but a terrible nightmare.
Unfortunately, it was all too true. Pulling away from the blond woman, he eyed the late cleric. “Lylia…what happened here?”
“It was…it was part luck, and part the gift you awoke. I found you gone from the bed and came this direction. I thought I heard something and knocked.” She shivered. “I heard the voice of dear Ethon and when I entered, the merchant stood waiting for me—” The noblewoman planted her face in his chest. “Oh, Uldyssian, please do not make me go on!”
“Just take a deep breath. We need to hear. There may be something important that you don’t realize.”
Mendeln slipped past the others and knelt by the morlu’s body. Uldyssian found himself slightly annoyed with his brother’s morbid interest, but chose to ignore it for the moment.
“I-I will try.” Lylia pulled herself together. “The door I stepped through…it shut immediately behind me. I leaped away and saw that abomination—” She pointed at Malic’s servant. “And then noticed that the window was completely shattered. Ethon laughed suddenly and his voice changed. I recognized the high priest’s. Then…then…oh, Uldyssian, he was wearing poor Ethon’s skin.”
“I know, Lylia, I know. Cedric and one of the servants suffered the same fate.”
“The boy, too? How horrible!”
He held her tight. “What then?”
Recovering, the noblewoman continued, “Malic…he started to reach for me with that…I have never seen such a hand!…and it came into my head somehow that it would do the same to me as had happened to Ethon! I found the strength to throw myself at him and thrust his arm back into his chest!”
Rising from the morlu, Mendeln went to the cleric’s corpse. “And it caused this?” he asked. “So quickly? Against his will?”
“It was as if someone tore off a cloth cover in order to unveil a new statue beneath! I will never forget it! He did not even have time to scream, much less think…”
Uldyssian appreciated the justice in the situation. He hoped that Malic had suffered at least as much as any of his victims, especially young Cedric.
“And the morlu?” asked his brother, abandoning the flayed form. Mendeln’s eyes were wide with curiosity. There was no longer even a hint of revulsion at what he had seen. “You managed that, too?”
Her expression hardened. “That beast came at me just as his master died! I do not know exactly what I did, but I waved my hand at him as if slicing with it…and you see what happened.”
Uldyssian understood exactly what had happened. The stress of the situation had stirred up the powers within her just as it had him. Her instinct for survival had taken over and, fortunately, her action had dealt with the morlu in the only certain way.
“His chest is burned, too,” remarked Mendeln. “Deeply, I might add.”
“It must have happened at the same time. I do not remember. I do not want to remember.”
A commotion arose outside. Uldyssian tightened his hold on Lylia. “That’s enough now,” he told his brother. “We were all fortunate to survive…”
Mendeln nodded, but then asked, “Did you fight any others, Uldyssian?”
“There are two outside. One buried deep in the ground, the other minus his head by the outer wall.”
With a nod, the studious figure abruptly walked out of the chamber. Uldyssian blinked, not certain why that information should be so relevant to Mendeln.
A guard suddenly appeared at the doorway. He looked aghast at the sight. “Master Ethon! Where is he?”
“Master Ethon is dead, as is his son,” explained Uldyssian. “The bodies are hidden away somewhere. They’ll look like—they’ll look like this one,” he added, pointing at Malic.
“By my soul! Master Uldyssian…w-what happened here?”
There was no time to start repeating the entire story. “Evil, that’s what happened. Let’s clear things up and pray that we find the merchant and his son so that they can be given a proper burial. I fear Master Ethon might be found somewhere beyond the town…”
Another guard joined the first. The two exchanged quick words; then the second man left. “I’ll stand watch here,” the first told the party. “Others will be told the dire news.” His expression revealed his anguish. “Master Uldyssian…is there nothing you can do for them?”
It took Uldyssian a moment to understand just what the man meant. “No…no, nothing.” He swallowed, disturbed even by the notion. “I’m sorry.”
The guard nodded morosely, then took up a position in the corridor.
Achilios put a hand on Uldyssian’s shoulder. “It might be good if we left here.”
“It might be good if we left Partha completely,” Uldyssian returned, scowling. His fears had come to pass. Friends and innocents had lost their lives horribly because of his presence. “As soon as possible, in fact…”
It did not take long to find the remains of Ethon’s son. Cedric lay in his bed, the notion accepted by most—and pressed by Uldyssian—that the boy had died in his sleep. No one wanted to think otherwise.
The corpses of the morlu and the high priest were unceremoniously burned. No one considered contacting the Triune, although the unspoken thought was that sooner
or later someone would come seeking the fate of the missing cleric. However, that was a situation that all were willing to put aside for the time being…or forever, if possible.
As was the custom of the Parthans, Cedric’s corpse was burned with honor, the ashes placed in the family mausoleum the day after the travesty. No one spoke at the ceremony, but nearly all of Partha came to mourn.
It was not until two days later that they found Master Ethon himself. The morlu had hidden him well and if not for Achilios noticing a massing of carrion eaters, there might not have been anything left to burn. Ethon’s ashes were set next to his son’s and his wife’s, and for days afterward, mourners wore across their chest a dark blue sash, the Kehjani symbol for honoring a great man.
Uldyssian wanted to leave, wanted to make certain that no more happened because of him, but there was always something requiring his attention. First it was dealing with Cedric, then speaking with all those who came to be comforted. No sooner had he finished that than Ethon was found and the cycle started over. Everyone turned to Uldyssian for guidance—Uldyssian, who still considered himself just a simple farmer.
Curiously, there emerged another source helping the Parthans cope with the loss of their beloved leader. Mendeln. When a handful of people came to the house to see Uldyssian—who had departed to speak with others—Mendeln suddenly brought it upon himself to talk with them. His message was an unusual one that, when his brother first heard of it, caused much concern. Yet, to those who had listened, it brought some closure.
Mendeln spoke of death, but not as a finality. He declared it only a state. Master Ethon and his son lay not just cold in their graves; they existed now on another plane. They had gone beyond the struggles of mortal existence to face new and exciting challenges. Death was not to be feared, Uldyssian’s sibling insisted, but to be better understood.
No one seemed more surprised at these suggestions than Mendeln himself. When questioned, he could not explain just when they had occurred to him. They just had.
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