by David Adams
Tala took up a ready position on the inner edge of the trees while her companions worked their way up the hill. The snow actually made the task of gaining the top easier, its depth adding stability to their steps that the loose pebbles underneath never would have allowed in warmer months.
Lucien eyed the iron gate for only an instant, sizing it up in his mind. He bent and grabbed one of the lower crossbars with both his powerful hands, gathered himself and lifted. The only result was an angry grunt issuing from his throat. The gate did not budge.
Alexis, Corson, Demetrius, and Rowan fanned out beside the goblin, taking their own handholds on the gate. Alexis counted to three and they strained as one, but the gate remained stubborn. After two more tries they stepped away, backs and arms sore, the barrier still unchanged. Lucien slapped at it angrily with his warblade while he choked off a frustrated scream of rage.
Demetrius looked up the face of the wall. “We’ll have to try some rope.”
“I’ll get it,” said Corson. He scrambled back down the hill and into the trees where the horses waited. The longest length of rope they had was coiled and fastened to the saddle of Demetrius’ horse. With a nod at Tala, whose eyes only flicked off the battlements atop the castle long enough to acknowledge him silently, he worked his way back to the others.
Demetrius nodded for him to proceed, knowing his younger friend to be better with ropes and more agile than he. Corson’s fingers suddenly minded the cold, fumbling to tie a secure knot. Once convinced he had a loop that would hold, he gauged the distance to the top and set to lassoing one of the gray stones that capped the wall. His third try met with success. Giving the rope a pair of hard pulls, he tightened the loop and pulled it taut. He spit into his hands, and then gripped the rope, flipped his feet up onto the wall, and started climbing.
Corson’s ascent was quick and unopposed. Once on the battlements, he scanned the walls, which were empty. “It’s clear,” he shouted.
Demetrius was second up, and after he thanked Corson for the helping hand over the top, he too took stock of the place. While Corson remained in position to help the others, Demetrius crossed the wide wall and looked down into the interior of the fortress. As he did so, his breath caught in his throat.
The four walls of the castle surrounded an ice-blue plane, which shimmered like frozen glass but gave no sense of depth or surface. Demetrius thought it to be a void or perhaps a portal, but to where he could not guess. His eyes never left it as he was joined by each of his companions in turn.
“What is it?” Corson asked.
“I do not know,” Tala replied. “But I do not doubt its source is not of this world, and that falling into it would have dire consequences.”
The sound of cracking stone came from behind and below them. As one they wheeled, seeing nothing but the solid wall upon which they stood, the battlements, and the snow-covered trees and land beyond.
Lucien crept toward the outer part of the wall, his warblade before him. Slowly he leaned over the stone façade to peer downward.
He leapt back, swinging wildly, as blurs of green and black swooped up and over the wall. He caught one with his blade, cleaving off a wing. It spun like a shot bird to crash on top of the wall, then scrambled to its feet and sprung at Demetrius, who was closest. As it impaled itself on his sword Demetrius could see that it was one of the gargoyles past which they had just climbed, their stone coverings having fallen away to reveal living, breathing terrors. The creature hissed and spat while thick, dark blood spilled from its mouth and wounds, and its claws clacked and scratched on the stone while it snapped and bit, trying to get at the man whose sword held it just out of reach. Even as it died its black eyes remained open, staring at Demetrius with rage and hate.
Confusion reigned atop the wall as the battle was joined. The group tried to spread out to give themselves room to fight, their flying opponents coming at them from every angle, with claws that tore skin and tried to blind eyes. Alexis was raked across the back by one clawed hand while the other grasped her long blond hair. The thing could not hope to lift her alone, but it was able to throw her off balance, forcing her to take a hand off her spear to regain her footing. The tip of the weapon dipped down, creating an opening for a second gargoyle, which slammed into her, its weight and velocity enough to send her sprawling backwards. Her spear clattered to the ground while Alexis tumbled over the battlements, where she faced the cold blue sheet with nothing interposed between her and its icy grip.
Tala saw Alexis fall, and the fury of her bow now focused firmly on the gargoyles which had done the deed. Her shots were swift and sure, but the gargoyles were lightening quick, and an arrow that might have meant death when launched often found only air when it arrived. The stream of shots did serve a purpose though, as the gargoyles had to react to Tala: Alexis had managed to get a precarious grip on the wall. The creatures wanted nothing more than to finish her, but the need to dodge the incoming missiles kept them at bay. They flittered away, spun, and charged in again, coming from different sides. Tala shot right and left while yelling for Rowan to grab Alexis.
It was Lucien that answered. “I have her.” He lunged to the edge of the wall, his blood-stained warblade in one hand while he reached with the other to take a firm grip on Alexis’ arm. A gargoyle lighted on him, tearing at his head with its claws. Lucien simply held his position, ducking his head and closing his eyes to protect his sight. The gargoyle was only able to draw one set of marks on each side of the goblin’s head before an arrow pierced him and then a sword cleaved him in two. Ignoring the oozing gargoyle blood that ran down his back, as well as his own which streaked his face, Lucien pulled Alexis to safety. Before she could utter thanks he whirled and rejoined the battle with a horrible war cry. Even the gargoyles paused a moment at the sound, as if they knew it was their death knell.
Once organized the adventurers easily outclassed the now-living statues. Surprise had given the gargoyles enough of an edge that they had left their marks—literally—on their enemies, and they had nearly succeeded in destroying Alexis. But near success was no different than total failure, and soon the gargoyle’s bodies and assorted severed limbs decorated the top of the wall.
After a stillness settled, Alexis was first to act on a thought they each had. She lifted the limp form of a fallen foe and flung it over the battlement. As it struck the ice-blue plane a flash like lightening made Alexis recoil and cover her eyes. When her sight returned, the gargoyle was gone, and the once still plain was suddenly a swirl of motion, eddies and whirlpools pictured in the surface, although there was no sense of depth. It was like a painting that hinted at a third dimension that the viewer knows isn’t there.
She turned to thank Lucien, rubbing away the blood that trickled from one of the slash marks on his face. The wounds were deep enough that she wondered if they would leave scars.
“Scars might be an improvement,” Corson said. He winced as he touched a wound of his own.
Lucien gently pushed Alexis’ hands from his face. “Not harmed. I glad you safe.”
Tala was studying the wall opposite them. She pulled an arrow from her quiver, nocked it, and let it fly. The stone it struck crumbled to nothing, revealing a rough opening nearly large enough for a man to squeeze through. The hole was only a few feet above the blue vortex.
“The way in,” Rowan announced. “I wish my eyes were as good as yours.”
“We’ll need the rope again,” was Tala’s reply.
Demetrius volunteered to go first. Taking a firm grip on the repositioned rope, he rappelled down the wall. Ten feet from his destination he heard the twang of Tala’s bow sing out twice in rapid succession. He turned his head just in time to see two more gargoyles fall into the abyss. When he looked back to the top of the wall he could see his companions peering down. “All clear?”
“It was just the two,” Tala said.
“Thanks.” Demetrius finished his descent, kicking at the opening to enlarge it. Eventually his fe
et found solid stone, but not before he had managed to knock out a rough door five feet high and three across. The interior was a simple hallway, gently lit by torches or some other source beyond his sight. He pushed off the wall to gather forward momentum as gravity pulled him back, and he easily swung inside. “Looks okay down here,” he called back. “But do we want to bring everyone down?”
“We’ve done well staying together until now,” Rowan replied.
“I’m concerned about more gargoyles, or who knows what else, disposing of our rope. We’ll need to get back up, and I see no way to tie it off down here.”
“You’re not leaving me behind,” Corson said as he surprised his friend by dropping into the hall. “Besides, I can flick the rope back off that battlement when we’re all down.”
“And when the majority of it drops into that blue thing?”
Corson pulled at his ear. “We’ll have a short rope. Good point.”
It turned out that the rope was long enough to simply be strung over the battlements rather than fastened around them, and after it was readjusted someone could climb down using one half while the other was held by those already below. Tala went last, and once she had descended they pulled the rope to safety behind her.
The narrow hall they had entered sloped down and turned slowly until it doubled back on itself. Once past this turn, it leveled off and opened into a room somewhat smaller than the interior of the castle walls above. They realized that despite the place’s solid ceiling, it was directly under the shimmering blue entrance to the void.
“A portal of some sort,” said Tala, eyeing the ceiling like the others but referring to the blue plane. “Probably as thin as a piece of paper.”
The room was a large kitchen, unused for years and in utter disarray. Cobwebs and pots hung from the racks over the dust-covered food preparation area. Utensils, pans and containers littered the area, some coated with thick mold that had gone black. A pungent smell of decay hung heavy in the air. Toward the far wall were cots upon which cooks and servants might have slept long ago, and to the right a stone stairway led to a lower level.
“This area seems normal enough for an abandoned keep,” Rowan observed. “The hall and quarters above, though…who knows?”
Tala palmed the Sphere and made a brief attempt to cast the finding spell. She shook her head as she placed it back in her belt pouch. “Nothing. We’re on our own now.”
Demetrius scanned the room. “It could be anywhere in here, but something tells me it won’t just be left among the rest of the mess. Those stairs need more investigation.”
The next level down was a wine cellar, the casks under a layer of dust but still intact. Against the nearest row rested a skeleton, a goblet in one hand, the head tilted to one side as if the person has simply nodded off and never awoken. Lucien fingered his warblade warily, but the bones showed no signs of life, nor was there a weapon of any sort in its immediate vicinity.
“There is another stair,” said Corson as he worked his way past the skeleton. He kept his eyes on the prone form until he was well past it, half expecting it to spring upon him. At the stair he crouched to inspect the steps. “No dust.”
Demetrius peered over the younger man’s shoulder. “You’re right. Just like that first hallway, now that I think about it. Both new additions I suspect. What we’re looking for is likely below.” He drew his sword and headed down.
The stair opened into a room far larger than the kitchen or the wine cellar. Across from the stair’s base was an open doorway leading to another hallway. The gray walls in the room were plain and unadorned, as were the floor and ceiling, and only two objects made their home here: two stone scorpions, each as tall as a man and twenty feet long. They faced one another, their pincers reaching out as if to snare anyone who would dare take the direct path from stair to hall which ran between them. Poised tails made the longer route behind them no more inviting.
“At least we know we’re going the right way,” Corson offered with a queasy smile.
The group studied the stone beasts from the relative safety of the walled-in stair, ready to retreat and regroup at the first sign of motion. “The question is ‘What will trigger them?’ ” said Demetrius. “It is tempting to attack them in their current form, perhaps sever the tails and pincers, but…”
Rowan finished the thought. “Striking them may be the key to their animation.”
“Unlikely,” said Alexis. “That would mean someone or some group could simply walk past in safety. I would guess something in the floor here or the hallway beyond is the trigger.”
“So if we work off of that assumption,” replied Rowan, “how can we use it to our advantage?”
“Be ready to strike when they come to life,” said Alexis. “I suggest mounting them and driving a spear or blade through them. If the floor before us animates them, we can retreat up the stairs and come up with an alternate plan. I doubt Tala’s bow would do much good against them, and that’s the only ranged weapon we have.”
Rowan nodded at Alexis, and then turned to Demetrius. “It seems as good a plan as any.”
“I agree,” Demetrius said, pulling absently at his sleeve. “Two of us on the statues, two cross, and two remain here.”
“I will take one of them,” Alexis said. “My spear is probably the best weapon for the task.”
“I go as well,” said Lucien, with a look that would brook no argument.
“Corson and I will cross,” Demetrius said. “Tala, I believe Alexis is right about the usefulness of your bow, but be ready anyway.”
“I will,” she said, nocking an arrow.
“I’ll move a few paces out from the stair,” Rowan said, “in case my sword is needed.”
Alexis took a few tentative steps into the room, then veered to the right while Lucien went left. She approached the stone scorpion from the side, knowing no matter what happened she would have at least an instant before either the pincers or tail could be brought to bear against her. She reached toward the scorpion with her spear, the metal tip clicking against the stone surface. Seeing no change, she gathered herself and leapt onto the creature’s back. She positioned herself, getting as good a footing as she could hope for on the arched back of the beast, and lifted her spear up with both hands, poised for a quick strike. She saw that Lucien had taken a similar pose atop the other scorpion. Receiving a nod from the goblin, she called out, “Okay, we’re ready.”
Demetrius and Corson started across, Rowan going with them for the first few steps before halting. The two men from Corindor worked their way past the pincers, moving back-to-back so their weapons could stay trained on the potential foes on each side of them. Once past they pivoted and backed away, careful to gauge where they stepped but not wanting to take their eyes off the scorpions.
Demetrius went into the far hallway first, motioning for Corson to stand ready at the entrance. He took two steps, then two more, and for a fleeting instant he dared to hope that the statues had been placed only to frighten explorers away. The notion fled from his mind as a sound reached his ears from somewhere below, a noise like ancient stone gears grinding to life. His knees buckled as the floor beneath him tilted, trying to force him back. His instinct was to rush forward, to leap up while there might still be time, but his friends and those two scorpions were behind him. With a will he turned and re-entered the room through which he had just passed.
Corson had turned away from the scorpions as the floor beneath his friend’s feet began to move, but now he turned back, alerted by the sound of cracking stone behind him. He hesitated, and saw Demetrius fly past him, his cloak flowing behind him, his sword held forward, his face as hard as the stone walls which surrounded them. He turned to follow, to join the fight, wondering why he always seemed to do so a few steps behind his friend, and thankful that if Demetrius had ever noticed the fact he had never called attention to it.
The sound of gears setting something in motion reached Tala’s ears as well, but the gears
in question were different than those that had stopped Demetrius. These caused the stairs beneath her to go flat, turning them into a steep ramp. The change was so swift that she lost her balance and was thrown forward, but she recovered nicely, leaping into the air and landing with her bow ready to fire. What she beheld caused her to loose the arrow instantly and reach for another.
Alexis had never let her concentration lapse. She had fully expected something in the area to set free the beasts she and Lucien had mounted, and as the sound of stone moving against stone came from both right and left, her eyes never left the statue beneath her. A lattice-work of cracks appeared in the stone shell, starting at the pincers and working its way back. A bead of perspiration trickled past her temple and tried to sting her right eye, but she blinked it away. Like a wave washing up onto the beach the stone façade cracked and fell away, freeing the massive scorpion beneath, but unexpected was the fact that the stone shell over the creature’s back, where Alexis was poised to strike, remained in place. The metamorphosis took only a second and then legs, pincers and—Alexis was sure without even seeing it—the deadly tail were freed. She drove her spear down as hard as she could, wincing in pain as the blow was deflected off the stone armor and the shock jolted her arms and shoulders. The scorpion whirled, trying to reach her with pincers or tail, or to throw her clear. Realizing she was in the one place she could do no damage, she tried only to maintain her balance as the scorpion spun right, then she leapt off to the side, unaware how close the first arrow Tala had fired had come to skewering her leg as she flipped through the air. She landed lightly and then thrust her spear before her to parry the scorpion’s right pincer, which had followed her flight and had sliced forward for a killing blow.
Lucien’s concentration was every bit as sharp as Alexis’, and he too let nothing distract him from his target. The stone had melted away from the scorpion beneath him as it had from the other, and his warblade was no more effective against the shell remaining on its back than Alexis’ spear had been. Lucien had taken up the killing position readily enough, although with some small sense of shame. A goblin warrior attacked with skill and strength, not with surprise, not from behind. In his present company he had allowed himself to step up onto the monster’s back, telling himself that to attack in such a way was acceptable and that they deserved no better, using magic as they did. As the warblade deflected off the beast’s stone shield, Lucien went into a battle fury, his already formidable skill heightened by his rage. A human warrior driven to such anger was prone to make a fatal mistake, but a goblin battle chief in a full-blooded fury was a thing of awe to behold. As he dropped to the ground and found targets not covered by stone, the warblade flashed and tore through the scorpion as easily as it might have rent the air.