D&D 09-Return of the Damned

by T. H. Lain

  The efreeti stumbled back, obviously shaken by the blow, and the fiery wall behind it dropped away into nothingness. The room became much darker, lit only by the glowing outline of the outsider.

  Tasca trained another arrow on the monster and let fly. His well-placed shot struck the efreeti in the forehead. The beast recoiled another step.

  Clemf and Regdar seized the opportunity to rain stabs and slashes against the creature. More flaming pitch oozed from wounds on the efreeti's tremendous body.

  The magical being shook its head as if to clear it, stepped forward, and sliced its falchion down in a flailing, two-handed strike. The weapon struck Regdar in the chest, knocking him backward.

  Regdar's arms flew outward, and his legs left the ground. With a riotous clang, he landed on his seat and skidded across the floor. He remained upright for a moment more, then he crashed to his back, spread-eagle on the floor.

  Regdar had watched the efreeti's falchion hit him squarely in the chest. He felt himself lifted from the ground. Now he was on his back and not sure how he'd gotten there. His chest hurt, but that was nothing new. His chest had hurt since the day he'd lost Naull in the City of Fire.

  That pain had dulled a little over time, but seeing her again brought it back, stronger than he remembered it ever being. It burned with new fury as he watched Lindroos kiss and caress her. Under other circumstances, he might have enjoyed that kiss, but now, it hurt like hell.

  He looked down at himself. There's blood on my armor, he thought. He looked up. The room wavered and swirled. Was that another of the efreeti's tricks? The efreeti was gone from his vision, and he could no longer focus on anything. He heard the back of his helmet hit the floor before blacking out.

  Hollering with what must have been all the air in his lungs, Whitman hurled his hammer at the efreeti. The toss lifted the little man off his feet. In the dwarf's ears, the room was silent except for the whooshing sound of the hammer rotating end over end as it flew toward the monster. That sound was followed by a heart-dropping clap and grind as the hilt struck the floor, and the weapon skidded harmlessly away from its target.

  The efreeti laughed and stepped toward Whitman, leering down from nearly twice the dwarf's height.

  "I'll roast who I choose, little morsel," it thundered.

  Tasca pulled a single, blue-tipped arrow from his quiver and nocked it to his bow. "Not today."

  Sighting down the bow, the elf whispered a single word. Magical light flashed out over the arrow, forming tiny, blue crystals along its shaft, tipped in a frosty white. He released the string.

  The arrow jumped across the room like a thunderbolt. The head of the projectile impacted against the efreeti's chest, and an explosion of light surrounded the monster. Bits of ice and flakes of snow swirled in a magical pool of mixed purples and blues, and the room went suddenly cold.

  Fingers of crystallized ice reached out and wrapped themselves around the efreeti, squeezing it like a giant hand. The fingers grew as they cascaded over the monster's shoulders and chest. The efreeti squirmed, and dropped its blade. As the icy cold enveloped its head, it let out a terrific howl that echoed and re-echoed until the room vibrated with the intensity of it.

  Tasca lowered his bow. The efreeti was entirely encased in a glistening sarcophagus of blue-white ice. Its features were frozen and distorted—the face was still fearsome, but the eyes were frozen in a terrified stare.

  The room was now almost completely dark, lit only by the barely flickering flame of Regdar's discarded torch. The three men looked at the frozen giant for a moment more before Whitman—the flames in his beard now extinguished—bolted over to Regdar, lying prone on the floor. Tasca crossed over as well, while still keeping one wary eye on the efreeti.

  Regdar lay motionless on his back with a large wound across his chest. Even though his arms were flung straight out to his sides, he had managed to keep a grip on his greatsword.

  Whitman knelt beside him.

  Clemf rubbed his hand over his face. "Is he alive?"

  Whitman put his hand to Regdar's throat. The dwarf cocked his head to the side, almost as if he were listening for something.

  "Well?" asked Tasca.

  Whitman remained quiet for a long moment.

  Tasca kicked the dwarf in the back. "Hey, you little oaf, I asked you a question. Did that fire burn out your tongue along with your beard?"

  "No," replied Whitman.

  Clemf's sword clattered to the ground.

  For the second time since they had opened the door to this room, Tasca felt his heart miss a beat. He lowered his head.

  "No," repeated Whitman, "he's not 'well'. Give me a potion."

  A thrill ran down Tasca's spine. Dropping everything, the elf flung his pack from his back and dug frantically inside for a healing potion. Flasks clanked together as he fished around. Pulling out a vial, the elf shoved it at the dwarf.

  Whitman uncorked the bottle, cradled up Regdar's head from the floor, and poured the magical liquid down his throat. Halfway through the bottle, the human fighter coughed and gagged. His arms came to life, flailing around like a drowning sailor's. Whitman pulled back, keeping the rest of the potion in the bottle, as Regdar gasped for air.

  Clemf picked up his sword, then walked over next to Whitman. He leaned down, putting his face right next to the dwarf's.

  "I don't claim to understand the little games you and the elf play," he said. "Sometimes the two of you even amuse me with your constant bickering." He leaned in even closer, his nose touching Whitman's. "But if you ever again joke like that about someone dying, I'll cut your beard off—and maybe I'll leave it attached to your face."

  Whitman swallowed hard but remained silent.

  Tasca held his breath, not quite sure what to make of the exchange.

  "So we understand each other?" asked Clemf.

  Whitman raised his eyebrows and nodded.

  "Good." Clemf leaned back, slapped the dwarf on the shoulder, and broke out laughing.

  Tasca sighed and chuckled. "For a quiet guy, you're pretty funny."

  Clemf smiled. "You think so?"

  "Yeah," interjected Whitman, "a real riot."

  Regdar woke up coughing.

  Whitman stood over him with an uncorked vial in his hand. Clemf stood over the dwarf, saying something into his face.

  Regdar gagged and gulped for air. The other three were laughing.

  "Oh," said Regdar between gasps, "so when I die, it's funny?"

  Whitman shook his head and handed Regdar the half-full flask. "I'm going to poke around." The dwarf left the room, headed back down the corridor.

  Regdar downed the rest of the healing potion, then fished in his pack for another one.

  Tasca picked up the torch and scanned the walls. "It's possible they teleported out of here so that we'd just come to a dead end. This is the last openly accessible room on this level."

  Clemf agreed. "Even if we do find a hidden stairway or a secret door, this whole thing is probably some elaborate trap." He walked up and helped Regdar get back to his feet. "Besides, pardon me for being honest, but your woman didn't exactly seem thrilled to see you."

  Regdar gritted his teeth and glared at Clemf. "That wasn't Naull." His expression softened. "It looked like Naull, but it must have been an illusion or a doppelganger or...or I don't know what, but it wasn't Naull."

  "Okay. All right." Clemf held up his hands in front of him, showing his palms to Regdar in a sign of nonaggression. "Just calm down and think about this for a minute. If it wasn't Naull, then what are we doing here?"

  "If you hadn't noticed," replied Regdar, feeling rather indignant, "the black-armored men we fought in the entry hall were outfitted and uniformed exactly like the ones who attacked the duke's keep."

  "Really?" said Clemf. "I thought black was just a fashionable color for evil minions, whatever the season." The tattooed man shook his head. "Didn't we cover this before?"

  Regdar ignored the jibe. "It's likely that black
guard, Lindroos, is the person behind the attack at the keep. She's certainly in charge of the soldiers here, and if they're all on the same side, then by staying here and defeating them we're defending New Koratia." He straightened himself up. "Besides, Naull or not, that blackguard is the last person I saw alive with her, so she knows what happened." He looked Clemf right in the eye. "I intend to find out the truth."

  Tasca finished searching and returned to the other two. "Personally, Regdar, you know I'm always up for a fight" He shrugged. "But in this case, I've got to side with Clemf. If the blackguard is behind the attack on the duke's keep, and if there's more to her plan, then we should go back and alert the duke." He looked Regdar in the eye. "We can come back with the rest of the army"

  Regdar put his hands to his temples, massaging the wrinkles in his forehead. "We can't go back," he said.

  Clemf laughed. "Of course we can go back. It's just a few days walk...."

  Regdar shook his head.

  Tasca narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean, 'we can't go back'?"

  Regdar threw his hands in the air. "We can't go back, okay!" he shouted. He turned around and began pacing. "The duke, he..."

  "The duke what?" Clemf took a step forward, his fists clenched.

  Regdar looked at him and shrugged. "The duke...the duke told me I couldn't leave. He never gave his permission. In fact, he said that if I came out here looking for Naull, then I could never return to New Koratia." His eyes shifted from Clemf to Tasca and back again. "I resigned my commission."

  Clemf took another step forward. "You told us we had the duke's blessing." He grabbed Regdar by the collar. "We came out here with you as a favor, risked our lives for you, and you lied to us!" The tattooed human shook the big fighter, nearly lifting him off his feet. Clemf's face turned red, and spittle flew from the corners of his lips. "The duke thinks we abandoned our posts, Regdar." He shook the big fighter again, spraying saliva in his face as he talked. "Our careers as soldiers are over." Regdar's armor clattered louder as Clemf became more violent. "We left our homes, and now we can't even go back—and for what? To chase a dead woman!" Clemf's lips curled up in a sneer, and he thrust Regdar backward, pushing him hard to the ground. "You lying—" Clemf fished around for the right words. "We trusted you with our lives." He took a menacing step forward.

  Tasca stepped up and put his hand on the man's tattooed arm, but Clemf pulled away, continuing to menace the fallen fighter.

  Regdar just looked up from the ground, not bothering to even try to get up.

  "You're right," said Regdar. "You're right."

  Clemf pulled his fist back, winding up to punch Regdar in the face.

  "As much as I'd like to do that myself," said Whitman, now leaning in the doorway, "there's not much we can do about it now. The only way we'll ever get back into New Koratia and clear our good names with the duke is if we stop this blackguard before she completes whatever wicked scheme she's concocted." He pushed off the door, hefting his hammer onto his shoulder. "If we bring Duke Ramas her head on a pike, he'll let us back in." The dwarf turned and headed back down the passage. "Come on," he said over his shoulder. "I found a stairway."

  Regdar got up from the ground and dusted himself off. He headed out the door, avoiding Clemf's stare.

  Whitman led the group to a spot on the unbroken northern wall of the passageway. He stopped, looked back at the other three men, then put his hand on the stone.

  It passed right through.

  "Illusion," said Regdar.

  Whitman's hand, disguised by the illusionary wall up to the wrist, came back into view, and he waved Regdar forward.

  The big fighter nodded and stepped into the imaginary stone. He felt his hand slip effortlessly through, then speckled black brick filled his vision, and for a split second, everything went dark. When his eyes emerged from the illusion, he had to squint to protect them from the bright light.

  On the other side, a worked-stone arch marked the opening to a hallway. Torches lined the walls every few steps. Though it was bright, the illusion had blocked the light from illuminating the outer hallway. A stairway led up at the end of the hidden passage, rising so steeply that from where he stood, Regdar couldn't see the top.

  The others came through the illusionary wall, and as a group the four men headed up the stairs with Regdar in the lead. Moving carefully onto the first step, the big fighter rose. Above him, the stairs climbed higher, the angle of the ceiling still preventing him from seeing where the stairway ended.

  "I don't like this," he whispered, and he drew his sword.

  The others followed suit.

  For several tense moments, Regdar climbed, craning his neck as he did, trying as best he could to get a glimpse of what was up ahead. Silence enveloped the stairwell, broken only by the sounds of the flickering torches and the scuffling of four large men ascending the rough stone stairs.

  Finally Regdar caught sight of the top. Five steps away, he could see darkness spread out over the last step. What lay beyond, he hadn't a clue. He stopped and turned back toward the others.

  "I can see the top," he whispered into Whitman's ear. "Good place for an ambush."

  Whitman nodded.

  "We go up fast. They know we're here. No sense in trying to surprise them. Let's just minimize the danger to us." Regdar looked Whitman in the eyes then pointed to Tasca, standing one step below the dwarf.

  Whitman nodded again and turned to the elf, repeating the message in his ear.

  Tasca responded in kind, relaying the information to Clemf behind him.

  When all three nodded to Regdar, he turned back toward the top step, took a deep breath, gripped his sword tightly in one hand, and charged.

  His armor made a tremendous clank as he ascended two steps at a time. As his head breached the level of the landing, his right foot struck the second to last step with a loud click. Looking down the well-lit corridor, Regdar saw nothing but more hallway.

  A moment later, stairs beneath the fighters' feet collapsed, turning into a steep, smooth chute, and Regdar tumbled backward.

  Whitman cartwheeled to his right, kicking away from the falling fighter and spinning gracefully through the air. He reached out and caught hold of one of the sconces. Regdar fell underneath the acrobatic dwarf, clanging and crashing as he slid back toward the elf.

  Tasca bent his knees and jumped forward, diving over the tumbling fighter toward the top of the chute. His midsection cleared Regdar, but his feet smacked into the back of the falling man's head. Landing on his stomach on the smooth chute, Tasca reached for the top lip where the end of the last stair used to be. His fingertips grazed the landing, but he slid backward with the tilt of the steep slope.

  Regdar felt Tasca's feet hit the back of his head, and his arms flailed wide, reaching for anything that might stop his descent. He caught nothing, and he fell backward.

  Clemf continued running forward, his feet slipping with every step. His body was in motion, but he made no progress, managing only to stay in place.

  Regdar landed on his shoulders and struck his head against the ramp. His feet tumbled up and back over his twisted body. He somersaulted out of control backward down the chute. He saw the black stone ceiling, then his feet, then Clemf's comical, stationary run. When Regdar's feet collided with the tattooed human's chest, the two tangled up in a heap.

  Limbs flailed. Armor crashed and clanked. All of the air in Regdar's lungs rushed out in a groaning whisper each time his back smacked against the floor. Clemf cursed in several languages.

  At the bottom of the chute, both men tumbled out of the secret chamber, shooting through the illusion and smashing into the opposite wall. Regdar lay on the ground with his back bent against the stone. Clemf rested on his belly, unmoving.

  A moment later the illusionary wall wavered, and Tasca flew out. He too landed facedown. He whimpered softly, then let himself collapse completely to the floor.

  Regdar took stock of his body. His hands and forearms were scrap
ed up pretty badly, and his head hurt. He felt around and discovered a number of bruises, but nothing seemed broken, and his injuries were minor. Lifting himself up on his haunches, he got to his feet.

  By then, Clemf and Tasca were beginning to move. Both men moaned as they struggled to get up.

  "Nice work, Regdar," spat Clemf as he checked himself out.

  "And you would have known to avoid that step?" quipped Tasca. "We're lucky it was just a trap and not an ambush."

  "Listen, Clemf," Regdar held his hands out, pleading, "I—"

  "Save it," snapped the tattooed man, biting off his words as he stuck his upraised index finger in Regdar's face. "There's nothing you can say that's going to make me forgive you, so just keep out of my way, and for Pelor's sake, don't talk at me." Clemf spun around and limped back through the illusion.

  "That went well," said Tasca.

  Regdar wrinkled his forehead. "How come you're not mad at me?"

  "I am," said the elf. "Eventually you'll have to sleep." Tasca smiled then turned and followed Clemf out of the hallway.

  "Great." Regdar shook his head. He took a few moments to finish his personal examination before joining the others at the base of what used to be the stairway.

  When he crossed through the illusion, Clemf was kneeling down and scratching at the stones on the floor. Tasca stood over him, looking up the chute.

  "Whitman," Tasca whispered the dwarf's name. Receiving no answer, he repeated it a bit louder. He turned around and shrugged. "I don't think it's such a good idea to start yelling, but the last I saw, Whitman was hanging on to a torch sconce."

  Regdar nodded toward the chute. "Do you think you could climb it?"

  The elf nodded. "Yes, but not fast." Tasca looked down at Clemf. "Any luck?"

  The tattooed fighter shook his head. "Just rocks. No lever." He stood up.

  "Mechanism's probably at the top." Tasca scratched his chin. "Where the hell is Whitman."

  A slapping sound echoed down the chute. All three men readied their weapons in a blink, and they stood, anxiously watching for whatever was coming down at them.