The Bloody Eye dad-5

by T. H. Lain

  Calmet preferred to believe that the Eye was an artifact. It might be a carved eye of jade, reflecting the green glow that often accompanied manifestations of Gruumsh's power. It might be a banner with Gruumsh's eye depicted on the unfurled standard. Calmet doubted that. A banner with an eye depicted on it would not be known as an eye, but as the bearer of the eye or the symbol of an eye. Calmet's theory was that the eye with no feeling was a necklace with a sacred stone that looked like an eye. After all, the prophecy stated that the eye could not see, but it would fill with light.

  His concentration was diverted when someone spoke. It was not the telepathic warning often radiated by the homunculus, but as though someone had whispered his name. A shiver ran across the priest's body like rivulets of cold perspiration and he clearly heard Laud whisper, "Meet me in the main passage, immediately."

  The apostate priest shuddered. Archprelate Laud was a significant distance away from him, but the elder priest had still managed to summon Calmet from his inner sanctum. Calmet felt stripped and violated as if he were one of the slaves being disciplined in front of the others. A sense of helplessness stirred through his mind and body and the once proud priest, the apostate who abandoned the sun god for the dark promise of power, slumped in despair.

  He had hoped to solve his problem. He had hoped that somewhere in his pile of scroll cases, uncials, palimpsets, and manuscripts, he could find some magical substitute for his shortage of slave labor. If he could solve the oracle, he hoped he could determine what Laud planned to do. None of that had happened. He was neither sure that the archprelate's interpretation of the oracle was correct, nor sure that his alternative interpretation could show him what needed to be done. Calmet hoped to find a key to the ancient secret that might finally enable him to accomplish his dual purpose-gaining revenge on Laud and learning to use Gruumsh's power to create a stable society, one that he would rule benevolently but absolutely.

  "Grant me Power," breathed the apostate to the dark god he had substituted for Pelor. "Grant me Power that I may act in Power!"

  Suddenly, he grasped at a fleeting inspiration and grabbed two scroll cases as he left the cavern. He passed the fungi, observing them as they continued to disintegrate the unfortunate slave. As the shrieker started its piercing song, he absent-mindedly passed a hand in front of his mouth and whispered the celestial word, "Pacis."

  The very air around the fungi and the victim melting away from their acids shimmered with a hint of translucency. The translucency fell like a thin membrane, forming a dome over the fungi. The membrane assumed the shape of a dome, and its circumference quickly touched the ground. Perfect silence replaced the shrill, sonic attack.

  Calmet could still see the shrieker waving behind the nearly invisible dome of his spell, but he was glad to be rid of the irritating effect of the plant's screaming. The shrieker had seemed an ideal guardian for his inner sanctum, but since Laud had penetrated Calmet's privacy with some kind of whispering spell, the fungi seemed more nuisance than useful sentry.

  The priest retraced his steps, carefully avoiding the traps that protected his chosen asylum and made his way past other perils to the main mine shaft. He was bothered by the fact that he didn't hear many picks and shovels at work as he neared the expected end of the shaft. He became even more bothered by the fact that the dust was becoming thicker, almost alive, as he neared his destination.

  He turned the last corner and stopped abruptly. His nightmare suddenly became worse. The shaft ended in a massive cave-in. Slaves were digging frantically to get their comrades out of the suffocating dust and rock that buried them alive. It was clear that many of the slaves, Calmet's precious few slaves, had died in the accident. It was also clear that he was not the only one who realized what a setback this was to the plan. Laud stood, eyeing him, waiting to see how his underling would respond to the disaster.

  Calmet took in the panic and devastation in one glance. He shuddered under Laud's obvious disapproval. Finally, his fear of what the archprelate might do to him lit a tinder box of energy inside him. He came forward and touched both hands to the dislocated earth and began vocalizing sounds from deep within-a language unknown to anyone else within the tunnel. Energy pulsed outward from his hands and the soft earth and rock gyrated with motion, brown waves as though a gentle wind were blowing across a small body of water. The soil rippled and coalesced in the form of three creatures animated from the earth and stone of the landslide. Calmet felt a brief bit of warmth within as the formation of the creatures in the soil itself reminded him of a creation story he had taught as a priest of Pelor. The earth and stone whirled and rose from the mine shaft floor until there stood three creatures, roughly the height of dwarves. Slowly, each of the three earth elementals turned to face the apostate priest, torchlight glimmering off their feldspar eyes.

  Calmet spoke again in the strange tongue, a language understood only by the summoned elementals who were to serve as Calmet's temporary minions. He ordered the elementals to move enough earth and stone to free the slaves that were living and to clear the way for work to continue. At first, the apostate was pleased with his response to the crisis. Then, as he observed the dark frown on Laud's face and realized how high the death toll would be, he slumped again in mounting depression.

  The priest steeled himself and turned to face his mentor. Fortunately, his speech came out more confidently than he had expected it might.

  "Never fear, Your Potency," asserted Calmet, "the tunnel will be complete by solstice. We'll make our way to Scaun in time for the ritual if my men and I must kidnap every traveler and every villager within leagues."

  The archprelate was furious. "Imbecile!" shouted the older man. "Peloran peasant! Were you so busy undoing the consequences of your idiocy that you failed to notice the source of your undoing?"

  "What…" stammered Calmet, "I mean, what do you mean. Your Potency?"

  "You fool!" continued the archprelate, "You meddling incompetent! The cave-in was caused by sympathetic vibration. Think about it-sympathetic vibration such as we use in some of our most powerful spells. Your slaves were trying to work their way through solid rock and it destabilized your entire construction. There could be more than a hundred feet of rock separating the sanctuary from us. No matter how much labor you enslave, we will be faced with the same problem. As they chip away at the rock, the vibration will destroy the tunnel."

  Calmet turned and faced the solid outcropping of rock at the end of the passage. Suddenly, he realized that all was not hopeless. He was aware, by Gruumsh's power, of something that Laud, in his angry pessimism, had failed to consider. Indeed, it was something the former priest of Pelor's own conscious mind had failed to consider before he grabbed those scroll cases prior to leaving his private cavern retreat. Fortunately, his subconscious was far ahead of his conscious mind.

  Calmet walked deliberately to the tunnel's dead end, ignoring the continuing imprecations and pejoratives being voiced by the angry archprelate. Standing next to the rock face at the end of the passage, the heretic bent down next to a bucket of recently excavated dirt. He ordered a guard to pour the contents of his waterskin into the bucket and using one hand, he reached down to massage the dirt into a moist clay. Opening one of the scroll cases he had brought with him, he began to simultaneously mold the mud into the wall and read the scroll in the echoing sing-song style of a holy, or perhaps unholy, ritual. The scroll disappeared with a hissing sound and an animated motion as if it were being rolled up into the atmosphere itself.

  Continuing to chant the words he had just read, the evil cleric felt the hard rock ooze under his touch as though he could carve out a smaller passage with his bare hands. The colors of disparate minerals in the rock face receded to the dull brown of mud. He continued chanting and moving his hand through the stone like a potter shaping a water jug. In a few minutes, a new passageway roughly the height of an adult hill giant was formed. Its width was equal to its height and it was soon apparent that the depth was equival
ent.

  The archprelate was quiet. Sometime during the ritual, the elementals had returned to their plane of origin, but the slaves were quietly continuing to rescue their fellows who were still alive. Calmet was oblivious. He grabbed the other case and opened it. He performed the same ritual so that when the chanting was done, he had achieved a near identical result. In a remarkably short time, the cleric had drilled closer to the underground sanctuary at Scaun than his multitude of slaves could have excavated in days.

  "Impressive," complimented the archprelate softly and calmly, belying his surprise at Calmet's overdue inspiration. "Now, we can have your slaves shore up your tunnel and continue working. Tomorrow, we'll both pray for the use of that spell."

  It was Calmet's turn to be surprised. The archprelate lifted his own unholy symbol of Gruumsh and sounded the most infernal syllables that had ever come to Calmet's ears. The medallion melted in the hierarch's hand and dripped to the ground with a sizzling hiss. The ground shook and a prodigious wind rushed past Laud and over the corpses of the lost slaves. Calmet watched in stunned amazement as the unnatural wind forced its way into the mouths of the dead, who rose as an undead army. Their living comrades shrank away from them as far as possible within the confines of a working gang's chains and many simply sank to the ground in fear.

  "See that they do a better job of building the tunnel this time," commanded Laud, "I can't do that again and I see no reason to chase after new slaves when there are plenty here."

  "Yes, Your Potency," responded the priest.

  "I realize you needed scrolls to get this far, but I'll expect to see you repeat this progress in the morning," Calmet's demanding superior continued.

  The older priest turned and left the tunnel with a dramatic and forceful stride, leaving his last instructions to be an indistinguishable combination of threat and command.

  Calmet grimaced against the putrefaction of his new zombie slaves and gave orders to keep the construction moving. Then, he retraced his steps to appeal to his new god for more spell power than he'd ever had before. He supposed that fear was the mother of innovation. He'd never thought of a stone shape spell as an aid to the tunneling operation before. It seemed far too mundane to use divine power for something slaves could do. It was only when he contemplated the tunnel as an entrance to Gruumsh's shrine and not as a simple mine that he thought of using the scroll. Then, when laud threatened him, it merely seemed natural to use the power to save his skin. Today, he used the power of a scroll. Tomorrow, he would petition Gruumsh for the spell itself.

  14

  Jozan hardly had time to step back out of the mud when he realized that the battle with the hydra had alerted not four or five orcs, but twice that many. The initial band was sloshing through the shallows of the swamp toward Alhandra. Another group of five was moving to flank the four heroes from the other side.

  Jozan could immediately tell from the way Alhandra and Krusk were advancing that they only saw the first group, four warriors wearing masks made of bark and one with a mask adorned with bright plumage scavenged from birds that nested in the swamp. Jozan watched with some degree of envy as the paladin sidestepped to the left to give Krusk room to swing his mighty axe. Unlike Jozan, who had been somewhat unnerved by the battle with the hydra, Alhandra seemed to have gained confidence.

  Jozan heard her cry out, "For valor and Heironeous!" and he prayed that her skill in fighting multiple enemies would prove ample in this battle, as well.

  Of course, Jozan quickly realized that Alhandra's hurry to rush into melee wasn't the best opening gambit. He saw Krusk act on his combat experience and do what Alhandra should have done. Rather than waiting for the orcs to advance into melee range, the half-orc unleashed one of his arrows and watched the feathered shaft wing toward the closest orc warrior. The shaft flew true and punctured the orc's right eye, driving the warrior to his knees in agony.

  Since orcs joining in a conspiracy on behalf of Gruumsh and the old religion usually sacrificed their left eyes as part of their devotion, it seemed reasonable to blind their good eyes and deal with them at a more leisurely pace. As the cleric watched the point orc frenetically trying to pull the arrow from his eye, he judged Krusk's tactical theory to be sound and decided to adopt it himself.

  Jozan glanced briefly at the flanking group. They were still out of range, so he turned back to his friends just in time to see all of the remaining orcs, except for their leader, recklessly charging the paladin and half-orc. He saw Krusk drop his bow and grab his huge axe in one fluid motion. Alhandra deftly sliced her long sword between the first two orcs to reach her. The first blindingly fast slash crashed into her victim with so much speed that it appeared the paladin was using two swords instead of one.

  Breathing easier as he saw his compatriots meeting the challenge, Jozan decided to invoke divine assistance before turning to face his own attackers. He lifted both hands toward the heavens and called for Pelor's blessing upon his companions. Immediately, sunlight seemed to penetrate the shadows of the swamp and outline the forms of his comrades. As the highlighted warriors hacked and hewed at the oncoming orcs, Jozan felt certain that his friends could hold off that threat. He turned again to the opposite flank.

  Unfortunately for Jozan, the masked orcs who were running toward him mistook his clerical gesture as a symbol of helplessness and charged all the more confidently. Jozan had inten ded to invoke another spell before they reached him, but they were now so close he could do nothing but draw his mace. The first orc to reach him was fairly slavering with combat frenzy as Jozan smashed into its face hard enough for half the skull to collapse like brittle pottery. The orc tottered briefly before falling, just long enough to impede the next charging orc, causing it to stumble.

  As a result, Jozan was able to step past the stumbling orc and bash his mace into the orc's chainmail with such force that some of the tiny, metal loops broke from the stress and began to tear the tunic below it. Quickly, Jozan twisted under the guard's retaliatory stroke and thrust upward so that the head of his mace broke the soldier's lower jaw. In reflex, the orc managed to hit Jozan with a half-swing, but Jozan twisted around once again and buried the blunt edge of the mace in the back of the orc's skull.

  With each solid blow, Jozan's confidence soared. He swung his mace upward into one attacker's crotch, and he used a sidearm swing to power into another attacker's weapon arm. At one point, he sensed an orc attacking from behind and turned to bury the head of his weapon in the center of the orc's chest. At first, he thought his reflexes must have been lightning fast in order to get in the blow before his opponent could retaliate. Then, he realized that a pale, green light had struck the orc full in the face, just before the debilitating blow landed. He quickly looked back at Yddith, recognizing that she was the source of the flash, and nodded his thanks. Then he parried a blow from the next orc.

  The cleric's peripheral vision confirmed that Alhandra, Krusk, and he were each faced with one remaining foe apiece. If he had not been locked in his own duel, Jozan would probably have noticed Alhandra's dented armor and limited agility. He might have sensed from her reduced movement that the bent armor formed a sharp edge inside that was already slicing through padding and skin seriously enough to cause her to wince with each movement.

  As he tripped his foe and brought the mace down in a fatal closing to this duel, Jozan couldn't see Yddith touching her emerald pseudo-eye and wearing a confused expression on her face, as though she herself was wondering how she projected that green flash of light. Neither could he have seen the large eagle glide overhead and circle lazily back toward the combat.

  None of the heroes heard the eagle's gentle landing in the soft earth behind Yddith. No one saw the feathers recede and the crouched body transform into human form. Muscles enlarged, bones cracked, and skin stretched quickly and magically as Hassq appeared behind the unsuspecting young woman. His hand was over her mouth and a bone blade pointed at her throat before she even realized the danger. The druid dra
gged her silently away, even as the battle boiled over for the remaining trio.

  Jozan stepped away from the orc he had just slain. He moved toward Krusk in time to see the orc thrust at Krusk's chest and Krusk answer with a woodsman's stroke that could have felled his foe like a small tree if not for the orc's chain shirt. Jozan ran past the orc as Krusk ripped his blade from the torn armor and immediately plunged it right back into the red wound. Krusk obviously didn't need the cleric's help.

  Alhandra didn't appear to need his help, either. A wounded orc rested at her feet and, judging from the way it was bleeding, it wouldn't live long without Jozan's aid. The cleric knew that this sole survivor of the battle might be their best source of information about the strength and position of the enemy. So he knelt beside the wounded orc and used the basic training of his order to staunch the bleeding and apply ointments and binding. Then, realizing that it would take divine healing to stabilize the fallen orc, he prepared his healing supplication. Then he noticed Krusk coming toward them with murder in his eye.

  The half-orc grabbed the invalid with one hand and looked into his eye. "Where girl?" growled the angry barbarian.