Kazin became interested. “He’s got a point there. We should examine every alternative.”
“What about the horses?” asked Milena. “We can’t just leave them!”
“They can take care of themselves better than we can,” said Kazin. “If we have to leave them behind in order to save ourselves, then that’s what we’ll have to do. We may never find them with the fog and zombies to contend with anyway. All the horses can hope for is to be found by someone else. Knowing horses, they’ll probably find civilization before we do.”
“I say we vote,” said Sherman. “All in favour of going outside and finding our way back raise your hand.” The big warrior raised his hand. So did the cleric.
“Those in favour of a short exploration into the crypt,” said Kazin. He raised his hand as did the dwarf. All eyes turned to the minotaur.
Zylor growled. “It’s to be my decision, is it? Very well. The danger outside is certain but the danger below may or may not exist. If we can find another way out of here, I’m willing to try to find it. I’m not running from the zombies—they’re easy to kill—but I’d like to get closer to our destination. I say we explore.”
With the decision made, Harran led the companions down the stairs into the crypt below.
Below, the light from the staves flickered eerily off the coffins and caskets spread throughout the room. Several had their lids removed and the bones inside appeared bleached and white in their shadowy resting places.
Harran had moved over to a tunnel entrance and glanced inside. He nodded satisfactorily. “This way will take us out, but it will be a long walk.”
“How do you know?” asked Milena. She looked almost ghostly standing there in her white robes beneath her lit staff. She stood cautiously apart from the open caskets.
Harran tapped his bulbous nose. “It’s in the nose. This tunnel faces south but eventually turns west. West is the closest exit from this ‘Plains of Grief’ or whatever you call it.”
“Then what are we all waiting for?” asked Zylor. “Let’s go.”
With Harran in the lead, the companions marched resolutely into the tunnel. They walked for several hours, sometimes passing bisecting tunnels and other times moving through cavernous vaults similar to the first one.
They were passing through the middle of one of these vaults when Harran called a halt.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“What?” asked Zylor.
“Didn’t you hear that noise?”
“I heard it too,” said Milena. “It came from the front.”
“I thought it came from the side,” said Harran.
“What did it sound like?” asked Kazin.
“It sounded like—there! Did you hear it this time?”
Kazin nodded. “It sounded like a moan or something.”
The sound occurred closer this time and the others heard it now too.
“It’s coming from the tunnel we want to—,” Harran broke off.
From the tunnel they were heading toward, a dark mist floated from the entrance.
“What’s that?” gasped Sherman.
“A wraith!” cried Milena.
“That’s not all,” said Zylor. “Look around.”
The coffins in the room began to open slowly. The creaking of hinges and the smell of dust permeated the vault. At first shadowy figures appeared, and when the dust settled, the figures came into focus.
“Mummies!” cried Kazin.
“Don’t let them touch you!” cried Milena. “If you think zombies were bad, mummies are ten times worse!”
Zylor drew his axe resolutely. “Good!”
Kazin had his eyes on the wraith. He knew from previous studies a wraith could enter someone’s body and control it as its own. The wraith had the ability to freeze its victim before entering it.
The mage cast a shield spell around his friends. He felt the strain of the spell lighten and was temporarily surprised. Milena smiled back at him and he knew she was assisting his shield.
Zylor grunted and turned to the mages. He had pressed against the shield and was prevented from attacking the mummies.
Kazin nodded and began to chant some new magic. Before each of the companions the shield opened, allowing access to the advancing mummies. Milena looked at the mage in surprise but held firm.
The wraith wavered slightly and then made a dive for Zylor, who was already hacking at the mummies. Kazin reacted quickly. Summoning his powerful fireballs, he cast them in the wraith’s path. It whirled back from the heat.
Kazin smiled grimly. His guess was right. As long as there was heat, the wraith couldn’t freeze its intended victims in order to enter their bodies.
Sherman and Harran were engaging mummies beside and behind the mages and Milena was casting her ‘dispel undead’ spells on the ones that appeared to be a threat. Unfortunately, she was restricted to casting through the openings Kazin had created for their bodyguards. Moreover, each time she cast a spell, Kazin could feel the shield falter. He summoned additional strength of his own to compensate.
The wraith made a dive for Harran and Kazin cast some more fireballs over the dwarf’s head. But the wraith veered off suddenly and flew toward Sherman. It had anticipated Kazin’s move!
It surrounded the warrior’s form and penetrated the open part of the shield in front of the warrior before Kazin could react.
Sherman gasped and straightened for an instant, as though frozen, and then turned his attention to the dwarf. Raising his sword, he prepared to attack.
Milena gasped and cast a ‘dispel undead’ spell on Sherman, knowing it would not harm him but might chase out or destroy the wraith within.
Sherman reeled in a daze, obviously fighting the entity inside. The sword in his hand dropped from nerveless fingers. He stumbled around and staggered toward a tomb in the center of the vault. Miraculously, the mummies ignored him.
Milena cast her spell again and this time Sherman gave an audible shriek. He fell heavily against the tomb and knocked its lid off as he tried to hold his balance.
Kazin, meanwhile, was forced to divert his attention to the other members of the party. Harran was holding his own with the aid of the ice axe, which seemed to be killing mummies on contact and cutting through their bindings with ease. But Zylor was not so fortunate. His axe was tangled in the bindings of his latest victims and he was struggling to regain his weapon with mummies threatening him from all sides. He had also wandered from the protection of the shield, leaving himself completely exposed.
Kazin quickly cast a shield around the struggling minotaur and then threw some fireballs into the nearest attackers. The mummies were instantly engulfed in flames and in their agony they staggered into other mummies, setting them aflame as well. Vaguely, Kazin realized he had cast and held four spells simultaneously again.
Sherman wheezed as he sagged over the open tomb. The wraith inside him was draining his strength rapidly. He had to do something. Some unusually warm magic hit him from behind and the wraith inside began to lose control. It reluctantly began to rise from his beleaguered body in a dark mist.
The cavern suddenly erupted in a flame of bright light and there were soulless moans of agony. The bright light glinted off an item in the tomb and Sherman knew by its glint that it was a sword. He reached down instinctively and lifted it rapidly—more rapidly than he should have. Its light weight belied its metallic structure.
He spun to look above him at the dark mass rising from his chest. It was both in him and above him. But his strength was faltering, and it would consume him unless it was destroyed. If it wasn’t for the lightweight blade, he would have succumbed.
With a tremendous grunt, he swung the sword across the black mass, slicing into it as he would through a vat of mud. It wasn’t enough. He was only half wa
y through it.
Suddenly the sword began to glow with a deadly white light. All creatures and beings stopped what they were doing and shielded their eyes against that light. With a shriek and a sigh, the wraith was no more.
When the light faded, Sherman stood alone, holding the strange weapon before him. A nearby mummy wandered within range of the weapon and a bright fork of light shot from it into the mummy, burning through it and shrivelling its bindings. With a moan, the remnants of the mummy crumpled into a heap on the floor. The remaining mummies, seeing this, bolted for the tunnels and disappeared. The companions looked around at each other and the still smouldering remains of the burning mummies on the floor. They had somehow lived to see another day.
Sherman sat down, staring in dumbfounded silence at the strange new sword in his hands. The Sword of Dead? He shook his head in disbelief.
Chapter 33
Several hours later the companions were trudging wearily along a dark, dank tunnel after the dwarf.
Hours earlier, after tending to their wounds and eating the last of their supplies, they agreed to continue following Harran to the exit that he claimed could be found at the end of their underground passage. With the exception of a chance encounter with a mummy, their journey was silent and safe.
As for the mummy, it was unfortunate enough to tangle with Sherman and his magical sword. One touch and it was dispelled, leaving nothing but a rotten pile of smouldering bindings. This confirmed the identity of the sword. It was indeed the ‘Sword of Dead’, as described in many ancient historical texts and in the tales told by weary travellers on dark, stormy nights.
The party walked on in silence, each with their own thoughts.
Kazin tried to ignore the burning feeling in his stomach—the herbs were packed with the horses and lost. He took his mind off the discomfort by recounting his part in their recent adventures. He felt as though he had done the least of all the members of the group. Sure, he had provided an escape route from the throngs of zombies, and shielding the others from the mummies was no small feat, but the others seemed to have accomplished a lot more.
Sherman had stumbled on the one thing that had destroyed the wraith. Without the sword, they might very well have been killed. Harran was their protector and guide. Without him they would not be heading toward a place of safety, far from the Plains of Grief.
Zylor was steadfast as ever, despite the pain he was in. His sure protection was enough to allow the spell casters to do their part. His battle prowess was not hampered by his injuries either. If anything, the pain from those injuries made him a much more determined opponent. He seemed to flourish when it came to pain. Kazin was sure the pain enabled the minotaur bloodlust to take over sooner, spurring the huge beast to do further damage. One other thing Kazin noticed was that Zylor was comparing himself to Sherman, comparing the number of kills and difficulty of each. It was obvious from the occasional questions the minotaur had asked of the warrior. There was a healthy respect there—something Sherman obviously didn’t see judging by his nervous attitude toward the minotaur.
Finally there was Milena. Not only was she a cleric healing an ailing company of their serious wounds and tomb rot, she was the single member of the group who could remove large numbers of undead at a single instant. Clerics were excellent at removing the life of creatures already dead, and Milena was no exception. Kazin could well imagine how drained the cleric must be feeling. He had felt that same kind of fatigue many times before.
He glanced beside him at the drawn, white face of the cleric. She saw him look and turned to him with a weak smile. He tried to smile back but found he couldn’t, so he looked away instead. She had spirit, he thought. She was as tough as any of them.
The cleric slowed and spoke quietly to the minotaur, who limped along behind them. He snorted and gestured carelessly with his meaty right hand. His left hand was bandaged but the claws protruded menacingly from within.
Milena sighed and increased her pace to walk with Kazin. “He claims he is not in pain,” she murmured quietly. “I could do something to lessen it, but he won’t tell me where it hurts.”
“Minotaurs have a high threshold for pain,” said Kazin quietly. “They also use pain to keep their senses sharp. Personally, I think it pains his pride if he has to use magic for healing his wounds. Minotaurs aren’t fond of magic, after all.”
“That’s not what I heard about minotaurs lately,” retorted Milena.
Kazin looked up startled and then smiled ruefully. “Times are certainly changing, aren’t they?”
Milena didn’t answer.
Finally the companions came to a weary halt at an intersection of several tunnels.
“We’re almost there,” said Harran, leaning on his axe for support. The stocky dwarf was as fatigued as the rest of them. “Another ten minutes to a half hour and we’ll be at the shores of North Lake. You should all be sensing fresher air by now.”
Sherman nodded. “You’re right. The air is cleaner.” He slapped the dwarf on the back energetically. “You’ve done it again, pathfinder!”
Harran grunted. “We’re not there yet. I wouldn’t have stopped but I thought you might want to decide where to break for camp. Should we go to the entrance to this tunnel or stay in this cavern? One is as safe as the other, I guess. If we stay here, someone or something undesirable might stumble upon us. If we go, we might stumble upon what we’d like to avoid as well.”
“Smugglers are known to frequent caves along the shore of North Lake,” commented Milena.
“I say we should go,” said Sherman firmly. “I for one would like to see daylight again.”
Harran shook his head sadly and sighed. “Sorry, but that won’t be possible.”
“Why not?” demanded the big warrior. He glanced at the others and then back at the dwarf. “You just told us—,” he stopped, his mouth working soundlessly as he noticed the dwarf chuckling. The grey beard wiggled mirthfully. The gleam in his eye was unmistakable.
Milena grabbed Sherman’s arm gently and he looked at her. “He means it’s night-time, Sherman.”
“Oh,” said Sherman blankly. “That makes sense, I guess.” He began to chuckle, the dwarf’s dry humour dawning on him. Then he laughed. Soon the others joined in. The dwarf laughed even harder. The minotaur simply shook his head and wondered about the sanity of those around him.
Finally they stopped and the dwarf wiped his eyes. “Now that that’s off our chest, do we stay or go?”
“We’ll go,” said Kazin. “There’s a chance we’ll find a source of food outside, and the entrance to the cave is safer than an intersection of tunnels, even if there are smugglers about.”
“That beats sitting here and starving,” said Sherman.
So they went on the last leg of their journey with spirits somewhat raised.
They exited the tunnel sooner than expected and walked out onto an oval shelf of rock, where the soft lake breeze gently rippled their torn clothing and robes. The smell was fresh and the spray from waves splashing against the rocks not far in front of them sprinkled refreshingly against their faces. Huge monoliths of rock stood menacingly in rigid stances not far beyond, with sporadic wet patches glistening in the staff light.
The Haunted Shoals were named after these monoliths, which stretched far out into North Lake. Anyone navigating by ship who saw these monoliths on the horizon was already too close to the shoals hidden just under the water’s surface. These cousins of the monoliths were notorious for sinking unwary ships.
The victims were said to haunt the shoals, trying to bring others to a similar demise. Captains and seamen often reported seeing strange lights against the background of the monoliths, lights said to be the wandering spirits of the dead. They also heard the wails of ghosts, which howled eerily among the monoliths. Those less believing attributed the sounds as merely the wind.
Smugglers made use of these tales to use the shoals to hide their loot, knowing few others would risk coming so close. But even they had a hard time navigating safely. It was said that many smugglers hid their loot only to be dashed to pieces on their return trip out of the shoals. That made the nearby town of Rist a popular place for treasure hunters, thieves, smugglers, and cutthroats alike.
Kazin suddenly felt weary. He heard a moan and a thump behind him and turned. His companions were all asleep on the ground. The last thing he remembered before joining them was something heavy crashing against the back of his head. Then everything went black.
What seemed like moments later Kazin awoke. His head was pounding and he felt as if the whole world was wavering. He pushed himself up with a groan and looked around. Sherman, Zylor, and Milena were on similar cots to his own but they were still asleep. A fifth cot stood empty.
“Glad you’re up,” said a gruff voice behind him.
Kazin spun around and then held his head. “Oooh!”
“Glad to see you too,” said Harran. He stood next to a door with his hand nursing a bruise on his face.
“What happened?” asked Kazin.
“Apparently we were ambushed,” said Harran matter-of-factly. “I woke just as they put us in this room. I tried to resist, but there were too many of them. Don’t ask me why they didn’t just take everything and kill us or leave us to die. That was their first mistake.”
“Where are we?” asked Kazin.
“On a ship,” said the dwarf.
Kazin nodded. That was why he felt the waving motion. “Who is responsible—?”
As if in answer, the door opened and a scaly greenish figure entered. It was a skink warrior. He wore a large, brown belt covering his entire waist.
“Good afternoon,” he whispered in typical lizardman fashion. “I’m sorry for the inconvenience, but you are required to appear before the oracles. Your weapons are safe. They were taken to prevent any initial resistance. As you may have noticed, you are on board a ship. The ship is magically driven, so you won’t be able to alter its course.” The skink grinned as he exaggerated the ‘s’ sound in ‘course’.
Kazin's Quest: Book I of The Dragon Mage Trilogy Page 30