by M B Reid
“That’s none of your business.” The grumpy guard growled, gesturing with one finger that Azoth should leave.
Azoth turned to the friendlier guard and repeated his question. The guard opened his mouth to answer before the grumpy guard intervened.
“This is guard business, and that ain’t you. Leave now, while you can still walk.” He flourished his spear menacingly. Azoth heaved a sigh. He could see why the townsfolk were giving the guards a lot of space. There would be no reasoning with this man.
“Is Duncan here?” Azoth asked.
“I told you to leave.” The grumpy guard growled. His friendlier companion caught Azoth’s eye and shook his head gently, answering the question. Azoth hesitated, and was about to say something more when the grumpy guards spear began to lower, the point slowly swishing through the air.
“Sorry, I’m going.” He said, and turned to lead the hunters away.
When they’d retreated to the far side of the gathered crowd Azoth stopped and looked to Trent.
“Well bruv, what are we gonna do now?” The tattooed man asked. Azoth considered his options. He’d seen a side exit when he’d been with the priestess once, and he was fairly confident they could get in through there. If guards were stationed outside the church though, that meant there would be more inside. Maybe it would be better to go through the tunnel in the basement of the dungeon. Though that would involve taking the hunters through Logan’s stronghold, and Azoth didn’t want that argument.
“We can try a side door.” Azoth said, leading the way.
In minutes the four of them had slipped through the unlocked side door and into a long hallway. The doors to the priestesses chambers and storage rooms lined the walls. The door to the priestesses stateroom was open, the only room Azoth recognised, and Azoth could hear two guards arguing inside. His heart skipped a beat. Well, it would have if it actually beat, a lot of common expressions don’t apply to the undead.
Azoth risked a quick peek through the doorway. After all, the guards were inspecting a room that housed a secret hideaway for the undead priestess. Azoth hoped they were too dense to find the secret lever that opened the book case. What he saw surprised him. Another priestess stood between the guards and the body. This one dressed in the same blood red robes, but with a dark blue trim, The two guards were arguing with her, demanding she step aside. She was insistent, stoically stopping the guards from getting any closer to the body.
The body.
Azoth suppressed a gasp as he saw the priestess lying there. Her neck was twisted at an awkward angle, so violent that he could see the wrongness even through her hood. She lay in a crumpled heap. Dead. It didn’t matter that she was a digital construct. She was his friend, and she had been murdered here - in her own damn house. The house of a god! What kind of god couldn’t protect his disciples in his own temples?
He forced those thoughts aside. They weren’t helping. The bookcase was still in place, closed behind the guards. A sudden worry hit Azoth like a freight train. Was the amulet still hidden back there? He desperately wanted to push past the guards to search for it, but that was a near suicidal action. He couldn’t betray his presence. Not in a church he wasn’t supposed to be in, leading a group of strangers that were drawing suspicion from the guard already. More than that, he couldn’t reveal the existence of the amulet to the hunters. They couldn’t know about this, not yet. If they found out what had happened, they might figure out that he had found an amulet on the rat kings body. And that he’d lied to them about it.
These didn’t seem like the kinds of people he wanted to cross.
That helped him make up his mind. He could do nothing for the priestess, not now. Not until the guards were gone.
He crossed the doorway, beckoning to the others to follow him quickly. They raced down the hallway, slowing only as they approached the amphitheatre. It was empty. Apparently there were only four guards assigned to investigate the murder, at least so far.
The four of them reached the small door behind the altar and Azoth led the way through, descending the steep staircase to the cellar. Ever since the ratkin attack the tunnel leading from the cellar had been fortified. Heavy furniture had been dragged into place so that nothing could come up from the tunnels.
Something had thrown that furniture aside.
Something that had come from within the church, breaking the supports and pulling them aside. The defences had been designed to keep anything from coming through the tunnel into town. They weren’t there to stop people leaving the church. There had been no way to bar entry from both sides.
Had the murderer used this tunnel to escape?
“This tunnel leads down to the ritual room. It’s a long walk, and we’ll need torches” Azoth nodded toward the torches mounted in brackets on the walls. The hunters spread out and took one each, leaving just a couple behind. Azoth took a few unlit torches from a pile and stuffed them into his backpack.
“Right, are you ready?” He asked. Before they could respond he clambered over the wrecked barricades, snatching one of the last burning torches from the wall as he did so. He led the small contingent of men into the perfectly round tunnel, deep into the bowels of the earth. He had no interest in waiting for Trent to decide to follow. If the murderer had come through here, there was still a chance they might catch up to him. Or it, or whatever the wretched thing was that could kill a priestess in a house of God.
Azoth hurried through the tunnel.
Chapter Eight
The long walk through the tunnels passed in silence. Trent didn’t seem to be one for talking, and as far as Azoth could tell his two hooded companions were entirely mute. As they walked deeper into the earth, Azoth struggled to focus his mind on the present. He was reasonably sure they weren’t approaching anything dangerous, but there were no guarantees. Worse, thoughts of the dead priestess swirled around in his skull. He was worried about the amulet, even more now that the hunters had said it could lead to bad things. Combined with the stone from the priestesses book, the stone that was drawn to the amulet, Azoth had a very bad feeling about what lay ahead.
After what felt like hours of walking through the dim light they came upon the old ratkin sleeping chambers. It was a wide room, built around an enormous campfire. Sleeping mats were scattered around, emanating out from the charcoal that marked where the fire had burned.
They also found their first signs of life.
Something moved at the edge of their torchlight. It was nothing more than a hint of shadow, but it was enough for the hunters to leap into action. The two mystery men charged across the room. As they ran their torches threw deep shadows against the walls, making it look as though creatures were closing in all around them. Azoth drew closer to Trent, fear gripping his heart. With the torch burning in one hand, and his shield strapped to his other arm, he had no way to strike. He longed to drop the torch and draw his scimitar, but didn’t dare give up his visibility. Not yet.
The hooded hunters revealed their foe - an emaciated ratkin that was frozen like a deer in headlights. Azoth watched the firelight from the hunters torches reflecting off the creatures eyes, casting them in a reddish hue. There was something off about those eyes, they seemed impossibly vacant.
Each man slashed with his sword, and the ratkin fell to the floor. It didn’t even twitch.
Azoth and Trent joined the others in assembling around the felled corpse.
“What the f-” Azoth began.
“Was it dead?” Trent asked his companions. They remained impassive, not responding at all.
Azoth knelt next to the corpse to inspect it. The thing looked like it had been dead for days. Its skin hung loose from its bones. There was no new blood from the wounds the hunters had inflicted. Most of all it stank, like emptied bowels and decay. This ratkin hadn’t been alive for a long time, that much was certain.
“Were they like this when you fought them?” Trent asked with urgency in his voice.
“No, they were def
initely alive.”
Azoth straightened and adjusted the shield on his arm. He drew his scimitar with his sword hand, trusting the rest of the party to keep hold of their torches. None of the other men bore a shield. The strangers each carried a single sword in one hand and a flaming torch. They seemed to be believers of the saying that a strong offence was the best defence. Trent had a glaive strapped to his back, only carrying his torch. He picked up the torch Azoth had dropped to the ground.
“Were you expecting -” Azoth started.
“No. I’ve never seen this before” Trent interjected, “We need to get to the ritual room, now. We need to find the amulet.”
Azoth felt a pang of guilt. Was it too late to come clean and say that he had found the amulet, that it was probably in the room with the murdered priestess? Azoth felt like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.
“It’s just through that tunnel.” Azoth pointed at the nearest of three tunnel entrances. It slanted steeply into the ground. The two mysterious hunters began jogging towards it, putting some distance between them and Azoth. Trent walked beside him, ensuring that Azoth could see.
“What’s with those guys?” Azoth asked. To his surprise Trent grinned.
“They’re not exactly people” He said with a cryptic smile that explained absolutely nothing.
“What -” The leader of the hunters broke into a jog before Azoth could finish his question. Azoth had no choice but to follow him.
The four descended into the ritual room in a loose line, the two strangers a dozen meters in the lead. They found a wide open room, so far across that they could barely see the far wall. A great bonfire burned off to one side, casting shadows from a number of figures onto the sheer wall behind them. Azoth counted roughly a dozen of them, all back-lit by the flames. They seemed to be unnaturally still, reminding him of the ratkin that had frozen like statues when the ritual magic had been undone.
The two unnamed hunters made a beeline for the figures. Azoth and Trent stuck together, following a little further behind. From what Azoth had seen of the hunters, they would make short work of the still creatures. But he couldn’t help feeling nervous. Those figures must know they were lit by the flames. Why would they just be waiting there, exposed to everyone, unless…
A swarm of shadows engulfed the two hunters. They seemed to just disappear, as if a thick blob of shadows had fallen from the roof to engulf them. Trent somehow stopped mid-stride. Azoth continued a few paces closer before he could halt his momentum.
That’s when something tackled him.
He hit the ground hard, bouncing his shield off the earth. The thing landed on top of him, pinning him to the ground. Out of the corner of his eye Azoth saw several figures leap at Trent. His vision filled with a ratlike snout that exhaled a gust of decay. As they’d fallen his scimitar had pierced the creatures gut but it didn’t seem to notice. Black goop oozed from the wound, drizzling over Azoth.
He activated his Bull Horns ability. Azoth’s skull itched for a moment as the bone extruded, large horns sprouting from his head. He head-butted the dead thing, driving one horn through its skull and into its decaying brain. The reanimated ratkin became a dead weight, and with some effort Azoth managed to roll it aside. He scrambled to his feet.
Azoth surveyed the scene. Trent was fighting with three ratkin that had surrounded him. Each of them had singed or burning fear, and he was keeping them at bay with the flaming torches. The cloud of shadows had dissipated from the other hunters and one was lying on the ground, unmoving. The other was surrounded by four more dead things.
Azoth charged toward Trent.
He raised his shield as he ran, activating Shield Charge, and the burst of speed almost doubled his momentum. He crashed into one of the ratkin. Limbs flew as it burst apart. Whatever foul magic was holding these together couldn’t withstand sheer brutality.
Azoth sidled behind another of the creatures, slashing at its exposed spine with his scimitar. It sagged to the ground, the animating magic deserting its body as it died again. Trent clubbed the other one with his torch, singing fur, then thrust the second torch through its decaying flesh and into its belly. After a moment the ratkin collapsed, the torch extinguished.
“What the hell?” Azoth asked, repeating his theme of confusion.
Trent opened his mouth to respond and a bolt of crackling purple energy caught him in the chest. He stumbled backwards a few steps. Azoth spun around, as realisation dawned on him. He could see a dozen ratkin crowding around the remaining hooded hunter, beating him into submission. Another bolt of purple energy lanced through the darkness, driving Trent further backwards.
Azoth knew who was responsible.
“Logan!” He boomed, his voice echoing off the walls. It was more impressive than he’d expected. A bolt of purple magic zipped towards him this time. He barely got his shield in place to block it.
“Logan, its me! Its Azoth. We have to stop this!” Azoth yelled again. He watched in horror as the hooded hunter fell to his death. The mass of ratkin zombies turned towards him and Trent. As they staggered forward Azoth could see a pile of corpses around the two dead hunters. They’d taken out at least half a dozen zombies with them to the grave.
A bolt of purple whizzed high over their heads.
“Stop” A voice ordered from somewhere in the darkness of the room. The oncoming zombies froze in place.
“You know this guy?” Trent growled, glaring at Azoth.
“Yeah, but -”
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Trent gave an exasperated sigh. His tattoos cast his face into a terrible light. He was a demon, ready to take vengeance.
Logan stepped into the firelight near the bonfire.
“You boys have got some explaining to do.” Trent growled. He was starting to relax.
“Wait, so you’re telling me they were animated minions?” Azoth asked incredulously.
“Yup, and they’re useless now.” Trent nudged one of the dead hunters with his boot.
“Why? Can’t you just animate them again?”
“Nope”
“No” Logan and Trent said in unison. Azoth felt like the local dunce. Trent glared at Logan, and Azoth was certain that under his hood Logan was returning the look.
“Okay, so… where do we stand?” Azoth asked.
“I’m out two good fighters” Trent said, before Logan could reply.
“Sure, but you can make more right?” Azoth said in his friendliest tone.
“It's not easy, but yes.”
“What about my minions?” Logan asked, pointing to the decaying ratkin that surrounded them. The two hunter-minions had taken out a lot of them.
“You should be thanking me” Trent sneered. Logan took two steps forward before Azoth interposed himself between them.
“Guys, relax. We’re all goddamn adults here, let's start acting like it.”
Trent took a few steps backwards and hissed a long breath between his teeth. Logan was as silent as death.
“You’re right. We’re good.” Trent finally said.
Azoth looked at Logan expectantly. He’d come to the uncomfortable decision that he had a secret to share, but it had to wait until he knew Logan wouldn’t throw a tantrum.
“Logan?” He prompted after a while.
“Yeah. Yeah, fine. We’re good.” Logan didn’t sound like he meant it, but Azoth took him at face value.
“Look, I’ve got something to confess.” Azoth began, stepping out from between them so they formed a triangle. It was a natural instinct to keep himself from being flanked.
“I’m pretty sure I’ve seen that amulet, the one you’re looking for. I left it with someone so they could study it.”
Trent stomped forward with a glare plastered to his face.
“You what?”
Azoth held up his hands in surrender.
“Yeah. About this big -” He moved his hands apart, gesturing that he meant the size of a dinner plate “ - with a
picture of some rats with their tails all tied up in a crazy knot.”
“That would be what we’re lookin’ for, yeah.” Trent growled.
“So you brought us down here for nothing?”
“I didn’t know you. I wanted a chance to scope you out before telling you about it, to make sure you weren’t crazy.” Azoth replied, realising he still wasn’t entirely sure on that point.
“On that note, who the hell are you?” Logan asked.
“I’m a hunter, my group came here because killing a rat king normally isn’t the end of it. There’s an amulet. That. Needs. To. Be. Destroyed.” Trent clipped his last words with an angry twang. Azoth could practically see the fury boiling off him.
“What happens if its not?”
“What?”
“What happens if the amulet isn’t destroyed?” Azoth asked again.
“Bad shit. It doesn’t matter. You’re going to take me to the amulet. Right. Now.”
“No, you’re going to explain why it needs destroying.” Logan said, his voice firm. Azoth wasn’t sure where Logan’s newfound intensity had come from, but it was impressive. Trent threw his hands up in exasperation. He cursed under his breath a few times, then relented.
“Making a rat king is an old ritual, really old right? The ritual needs a buttload of participants, and several conduits - potent gemstones, relics of power, magic items, that sort of thing. During the ritual the conduits come together to make an amulet, and fuse some of the participants into a rat king. The rat king is like a ratkin giant, miles stronger and smarter than its brethren. They’re already potent spellcasters, but the amulet makes them even more powerful.”
“But we killed the rat king” Azoth pointed out.
“Right, but the amulet has a power of its own. If the rat king is killed the amulet can make another one without all the hassle of the ritual. It don’t work for just any ratkin, but if the amulets out there long enough it’ll eventually fall into the hands of one that can use it.” Trent rested his hands on his hips as if that explained everything. Azoth thought that it actually might. The abomination had been hard enough to kill, and it had been created in a failed ritual. A real rat king would be a nightmare to deal with.