by James Wyatt
The serpent showed the marks of both Sevren’s knives and Zandar’s blasts, but it was still going strong. Kauth glanced back at Vor. The orc was stooped over, his hands on his knees, catching his breath and readying himself to fight again. He jerked his head back toward the others, so Kauth turned around again and charged the serpent.
Sevren saw Kauth’s approach and timed his next lunge so they hit the serpent at the same time. In that instant, the terror of the battle slipped away. Kauth felt like part of a larger creature, each part functioning with perfect coordination. He and Sevren were two claws of the same beast, an irresistible assault. He rode a surge of joy forward.
Then the serpent spoke another arcane word, and it resounded in the air like a clap of thunder. Kauth stopped dead before he could complete the swing of his mace. The thunder echoed through his mind for an instant, driving away any other thought.
In that instant, the serpent drew its head back and spit a gout of black liquid that sprayed over him and Sevren. His skin burned, and he felt fire wash through the veins the healing magic had cooled.
Poison, he thought. I have a wand for that, too—somewhere. It was a wand he didn’t keep ready at his belt, and his mind was still reeling from the serpent’s thundering word of power. He fumbled at a buckle that normally required only a simple flick of the fingers to open, even as he saw Sevren double over in pain. The venom made Kauth’s stomach churn, but at last he found the wand he needed. Just as he drew it out, though, the coiled serpent’s tail lashed out and slammed into his gut, sending him sprawling.
He looked up at the serpent, expecting to see a fanged mouth closing in for the kill. But a veil of darkness covered its eyes, and it flailed about. The tail whipped around wildly, hitting Sevren next, but the serpent moved away from them, trying to protect itself until the darkness cleared from its eyes.
That gave Kauth the time to yank the wand from his pouch and stop the poison, cooling his blood once more. He stepped to Sevren and touched him with the topaz tip of the wand as well. The shifter nodded his gratitude then leaped at the serpent again, slashing furiously with his knives.
Kauth was pleased to see that the enchantment he’d placed on Sevren’s weapons made a difference—each blow from his blades brought spurts of blood and hissing cries of pain. He hefted his mace and circled to flank the serpent with Sevren, hoping to find the same kind of rhythm he and Vor had found. He bashed at its coiled body and readied himself for its attack, but it proved more intelligent than the gray render—it kept its attention focused on Sevren, clearly a more significant threat.
Then Vor charged back into the melee. He swung his axe in a weaving loop, back and forth, biting deep into scales and flesh and bone each time. Kauth felt like cheering as the serpent gave a final, gasping hiss and slumped to the ground. Its body flopped around for a moment, uncoiling to show its monstrous length, and it died staring blankly at the sky.
Vor put his hands on his knees again, breathing heavily. His armor was splashed with blood, and Kauth could see several tears in the metal where the render’s claws had torn through and cut into him. Kauth produced one of the wands he kept close at hand and set to work on Vor’s wounds, knitting flesh back together. The wounds were deep and must have been painful, but Vor never flinched. He accepted Kauth’s ministrations with a gracious smile.
Kauth tried, but he couldn’t quell his admiration for the former paladin. He wondered what had happened to cause Vor to lose that exalted status. Vor seemed to him like a perfect exemplar of the paladin ideal—dauntless almost to the point of foolhardiness, but staunch enough to keep his ground against overwhelming odds. He seemed completely selfless and devoted to his friends, however much he and Zandar traded jibes.
Vor seemed, in other words, to be exactly his opposite. At the thought, Kauth’s stomach churned and he tasted bile. His work on Vor’s wounds complete, he turned away from the orc, unable to look at him—a perfect mirror reflecting his own imperfection.
CHAPTER
10
After Kauth had seen to Sevren’s broken ribs, the shifter led them to a crumbling structure at the heart of the ruins. It was larger than the outbuildings they’d seen before, and in better condition. A colonnade had once surrounded the building, though many of the columns had fallen into rubble and the roof they once supported was long gone. Some pillars still stood, and the carvings they bore had not completely eroded away. An assemblage of plants and animals—bears figured prominently, along with elks and panthers—ringed the columns, along with abstract symbols Kauth couldn’t make sense of, weaving lines forming circular patterns. The face of the building bore similar imagery, with fewer natural elements and more of the abstract designs.
“A Gatekeeper shrine,” Sevren said, giving only a cursory glance to the pillars as he led the others to the entrance. “Probably built above a daelkyr portal they sealed.”
“And now the seal is leaking,” Zandar said. “Hence the Depravation.”
“Can we seal it again?” Vor asked. Sevren scowled. “I doubt it.”
The shrine’s entrance was an open archway. Kauth eyed the stones of the arch warily, not certain that the worn keystone was quite serving its purpose any longer. Vor stepped in front of Sevren and entered first, ducking his head to clear the arch. It didn’t collapse on him, and Sevren followed, lighting a sunrod to illuminate the darkness inside. Zandar went next.
A smoothly coordinated team, Kauth thought. No discussion—they have a standard procedure and they follow it without question. I’m extraneous.
The thought made him tired—tired of a life he’d spent in the same position. Worming his way into others’ confidence. Following other groups without ever being a part of one. Traveling with friends who were not his friends, watching their friendships from the outside.
So this is what lonely is, he thought as he ducked his head and followed Zandar into the shrine.
The ground floor of the shrine was unexceptional. According to Sevren, there was no trace of any creature other than the serpent, no indication that any other living creature had traveled the halls in centuries. The gray render would barely have fit through the arch, of course, but Sevren suggested that the serpent had probably enforced the boundary of its lair.
At the heart of the building, the hallway widened into a stairway descending into darkness. Two large alcoves flanked the top of the stairs. The one on the left had collapsed, and rubble covered anything of interest that might have been there. To the right, though, the stone was intact, and a long, curved sword hung on two chains from the ceiling. Sevren and Vor set about examining the blade, which showed no signs of age, but Kauth’s attention was captured by the writing that covered the walls of the alcove.
Coiling, twisting characters of the Draconic language were engraved in the stone, grouped into lines and couplets and verses, spelling out the words of the Prophecy. The writing covered three tall, narrow walls, outlining the destiny of the world.
Tangled up, Kauth thought. I can’t seem to escape the Prophecy. If only Gaven were here.
He could read Draconic, but it took some effort, first to decipher the script and then to read the meaning. His eyes swept over the writing, looking for familiar words. Dragons … death … confront or oppose or face—he hated Draconic verbs. Unwilling to just come out and state their meaning, they shifted and hid behind multiple layers.
Much like me, he thought.
One word recurred with some frequency, but it wasn’t a familiar one. He sounded it out carefully. Hadrash. Based on a verb, but the ha- prefix made it a noun, someone who drashes. Drash—it seemed related to the word for speaking.
Speak evil? he thought.
Then it struck him. The Blasphemer. Gaven had mentioned a verse of the Prophecy about the Blasphemer. What had he said?
It was the verse Vaskar had used to bring dragons to fight for Haldren’s army. A verse whose time had not yet come, Gaven had said.
Kauth scanned for a place where “drag
on” and “Blasphemer” appeared in proximity, and found one almost immediately. He put his fingers at the beginning of that line and started sounding it out. “Dragons fly …” he whispered.
“What are you doing?”
Sevren’s voice shattered Kauth’s concentration. He had forgotten the others, who were all watching him now, a range of expressions on their faces. Zandar wore his habitual grin, Vor was impassive, and Sevren looked perplexed.
“You can read that?” the shifter asked.
“It takes some work, but yes.”
“You’re smarter than you look. What does it say?”
Kauth felt a pressure behind his eyes. He wanted to read, and was irritated at the distraction. “I was just starting to figure that out.”
“Does it say anything about the sword?” Vor asked.
“If you shut up and let me read, I’ll tell you!”
Vor simply arched an eyebrow at him, and he immediately regretted snapping at the orc. He turned back to the writing, but his concentration was shattered.
He drew a deep breath and turned back to the others. “Could you give me some space, please?” He made an effort to keep his voice calm and quiet. “I’m finding it difficult to concentrate.”
“As you wish,” Sevren said. He pointed back down the hall, the way they’d come, and they cleared away.
With another steadying breath, Kauth turned back to the verse he had just started reading.
Dragons fly before the Blasphemer’s legions,
scouring the earth of his righteous foes.
Carnage rises in the wake of his passing,
purging all life from those who oppose him.
Vultures wheel where dragons flew,
picking the bones of the numberless dead.
It was the verse Gaven had recited. A chill ran down Kauth’s spine. Gaven had said its time had not yet come, but how could he know that? Vaskar had persuaded the dragons that it had. It seemed to Kauth that there must at least be a possibility that it could be fulfilled—or that someone could try, as Vaskar had tried to make himself the Storm Dragon.
He glanced back down the hall and saw the others watching him intently. Vor wanted to know if the Prophecy mentioned the curved sword in the alcove, so he scanned the text for that word, barak.
He found plenty of swords—the swords of the legions hew their foes here, and there, the swords of his foes shatter beneath their feet. But he didn’t see the singular form anywhere.
He felt more than saw that his companions’ restless pacing brought them closer and closer to him, and the pressure behind his eyes grew into a dull ache. He shook his head and turned to face the others.
“I can’t find anything about the sword,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
Sevren closed the gap between them. “What did you find?”
“They’re verses of the draconic Prophecy,” he said. He started to say more, but bit it back. There was no need to tell them any more.
“What about?” Sevren was relentless, staring intently at Kauth’s face.
Kauth turned back to the writing, pointing at the common words he recognized. “Death, battles, swords,” he said. “Dragons and war.”
Vor grunted. “Typical,” he said.
“What do you mean?” Sevren asked.
“From what I’ve heard, most of the Prophecy is like that. If you predict war, it’s hard to go wrong. The best prophecies are easy to fulfill.”
Zandar laughed. “Well spoken, Vor. You’re starting to sound like me.”
The ore glared at Zandar, but Kauth saw a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Vor shouldered past Sevren and stood in front of the alcove. “If no one has any objection, then, I’ll claim the sword.” He reached out his hand, poised to seize the weapon, waiting for his companions’ answer.
Kauth and Zandar shrugged. “It’s yours,” Sevren said.
Vor grabbed the sword and pulled it free of the chains suspending it. He examined the blade, testing the edge and tracing the grain of the steel.
To Kauth’s eyes, the sword was far more than well-hammered steel. Magic flowed freely through the blade, and it seemed to come alive in Vor’s hands. “A fine weapon,” he said. “It should serve you well.”
“We’ve lingered here long enough,” Sevren announced. “Down the stairs.”
A large chamber at the bottom of the stairs had evidently been the serpent’s nest. A pile of rubble in the center of the room had several gaps large enough for the snake to enter, so it could rest safe from intruders. Crumbling tunnels stretched off to either side, but Sevren shook his head.
“Those ceilings aren’t safe,” he said.
Kauth barely heard him. His attention was drawn to a circular pattern in the wall opposite the stairs. It was no more than a faint tracing in the stone, but Kauth could sense the magic in it even from across the room.
“I think I found the source of the Depravation,” he said.
Sevren followed his gaze and spotted the circle in the wall. He spoke, but Kauth couldn’t process the shifter’s words. Strange whispers hissed in his mind, a babbling ululation in some not-language, incomprehensible and distracting to the point of madness.
Sevren kept speaking, but he wasn’t looking at the seal or at Kauth anymore—he seemed to be muttering to himself. Vor leaned against the wall and clutched his head in his hands. Only Zandar seemed unaffected by the waves washing out from the portal. Grinning mischievously, he strode to the portal and ran a finger along the edge.
Kauth fought to keep his wits. Something was wrong—Zandar’s smile was too manic, his eyes unfocused. He staggered forward, but Zandar wheeled around to face him. The warlock spoke words that Kauth couldn’t distinguish from the ceaseless babble in his mind, then Zandar’s hand burst into flame. Still grinning, Zandar pointed a burning finger, and the fire hurtled at Kauth.
Kauth twisted his body out of its path, but his feet couldn’t compensate for the sudden movement and he crashed to the ground. Zandar cackled.
Kauth felt as though he were surfacing from the depths of an ocean of madness, the clear air of reason washing over his mind. The warlock had seemed immune to the befuddling effects of the babble, but it had warped his mind most of all. Indeed, Zandar had turned back to the portal and clawed at the edge of the seal as if to pry it free.
“Zandar, no!”
Kauth scrambled to his feet and lunged at the warlock. His shoulder connected just under Zandar’s ribs, and the warlock collapsed around him. They tumbled to the floor together. Zandar curled up around his stomach, trying to draw breath. Perhaps the blow would clear the warlock’s head, just as Zandar’s attack had helped Kauth shake off the madness.
“Sorry,” Kauth murmured as he stood and turned to examine the portal and its seal.
As soon as he touched the seal, an image of its magic flashed into his mind—a tight mesh of magic strands, glowing blue, holding back what lay beyond. Except that the mesh was frayed along one edge.
Sevren was wrong, he thought. I can fix this. He glanced at the place where Zandar had fallen, but the warlock wasn’t there. Kauth swore under his breath and wheeled around, the portal at his back, expecting another blast of fire any second.
Instead, he saw Zandar back at the bottom of the stairs, trying to rouse Sevren from his stupor. Vor nodded at Kauth—every-thing was under control.
The orc’s eyes widened. In the same instant, Kauth felt something coil around his neck—something both slimy and sharp. He half-turned and saw a slender tentacle emerging around the seal. The stone disk holding the seal’s magic had shrunk, creating a gap the tentacle-thing emerged from. He grabbed it in his left hand and fumbled at his mace with his right.
The pain was excruciating as the tentacle bit into the skin of his neck and constricted his windpipe. Pulling at the tentacle only made the pain worse, and he worried that bashing it with his weapon would have the same effect. Lights swirled across his vision as darkness crept into the edges.
> The pressure stopped abruptly, though the pain remained. Kauth looked up and saw Vor standing beside him, the sword he’d found upstairs clutched in both hands. Vor had severed the tentacle, but the end still bit into Kauth’s skin and the stump thrashed wildly.
Kauth yanked a wand from his pouch and touched it to his neck as he pulled the end of the tentacle free. Tiny barbs lined the grasping edge of the slimy tendril, and they were quite effective—streams of blood had traced paths down his chest. The magic of the wand refreshed him, and he turned back to the portal, confident that Vor could handle the remains of the tentacle or anything else that might emerge while he worked.
He eyed the portal carefully before touching it again. Had his touch weakened the portal, allowing the tentacle to reach through? Or had the thing beyond somehow sensed his presence and wormed its way through by brute strength or force of will?
It didn’t matter, he decided. He couldn’t repair the portal without touching it, and if he succeeded, there would be no more gap though which creatures could emerge. He laid both his palms flat against the portal and lost himself in its tightly woven patterns.
“What are you doing?” Vor yelled.
Kauth opened his eyes without moving his hands, and saw that the gap had widened still farther. Three more tentacles flailed around him and Vor, and something with several gnashing mouths and bulging eyes was just visible beyond the seal.
“Hold them back!” he gasped. “I’ll seal it.”
He closed his eyes again. Pain seared through him as two more tentacles coiled around his neck and one arm, but he didn’t stop his work. Vor cut them off again and the pain subsided.