They sought to save, but at what cost?
They hoped to slay him in his tomb,
Where years uncounted he had lain,
In ancient grave, that was his doom,
To dwell on past in constant pain.
To flee from light, and kiss of sun,
And live his failures on the wrack,
And to accept, what's done is done,
The ticking clock will not turn back.
The hope to free him shall but fail,
And their reward they soon shall meet,
To lose their lives, and weep and wail,
The kiss of death, to warmly greet.
Locked within a prison dreary,
Where none shall hear their lonely cries,
Though they struggle, weak and weary,
As each alone in terror dies.”
After this was spoken, the whispering ceased; leaving the chamber in complete and total silence.
“Was that one of the prophecies?” Paul asked after several seconds.
“Not to my knowledge,” Sarrac replied, gazing around the room. “I think it was just a poem.”
“Alright,” the paladin nodded. “Well, I didn't care for it.”
“Neither did I,” Nyssa agreed. “There was something not quite right with the cadence on the last stanza. I mean, I'm no poetry expert, but...”
“I didn't mean the cadence,” the young man pointed out.
“Well, I thought it rhymed fairly well,” she replied thoughtfully.
“Either way,” Darek said, “there's nothing here. Let's go.”
“Agreed,” Paul replied.
As he stepped back into the passage they had just left, a thought struck him.
“Do all insane undead write poetry?” he asked.
“It's actually pretty common, yes,” Myra explained. “They're immortal and they spend a lot of time alone. The fact that they're deranged seems to lend itself to verse. Of course, in some cases, they compose music.”
“You're kidding,” Joey replied.
“I'm not. It all depends on whether or not they have access to a musical instrument and whether or not they have any musical talent.”
“Is any of it any good?”
“Some of it is.”
“Zanoth is a weird place,” Joey observed.
“It is,” Paul nodded. “Now, be quiet.”
“Oh, sure. I mean; we wouldn't want to wake the dead or anything.”
“Funny.”
They soon reached the chamber they had left just minutes before and decided to head down the right passage before following the other.
“I figure the one in the center goes further into the catacombs,” Paul explained, “and this one probably leads to another dead end.”
“Please don't say dead end again until after we get out of here,” Joey replied.
“I don't want anything coming up behind us,” the paladin continued, “and since that other room was empty...”
“Oh, yeah,” Joey interrupted. “Completely empty. Unless, of course, it was just packed with ghosts hiding in the walls or something.”
“Which it could have been,” Myra conceded, before chanting something softly to herself.
The moment she brought her spell to an end, her eyes began to glow with a bright green light.
“What's with your eyes?” Joey asked.
“It's a spell that allows me to detect undead,” she explained. “I can even see them through the walls.”
“Do you see any?”
“Not yet.”
As they moved further down the corridor, something emerged from the shadows, attracting the paladin's attention. It was a large spider that looked much like a black window, but on a grander scale. Its abdomen was about the size of a golf ball, it was perhaps six inches from leg-tip to leg-tip, and it was crawling quickly in the direction of the party.
Paul had never much liked spiders - especially black widows - but he wasn't terrified of them, either. One step of his steel covered foot would be enough to end the life of the creature. If it got too close to them, he would be glad to give it a grave here in the catacombs. One spider was hardly anything to get worked up over.
This changed slightly over the next few seconds, however. A number of other arachnids quickly followed the first; including several crawling along the walls and a few walking on the ceiling. Still, the paladin felt that a little stomping, a little swatting, and a little watching the ones they couldn't reach, would quickly take care of the situation. Unfortunately, this feeling didn't last.
Suddenly, the passage was covered in a sea of spiders crawling towards them. Thousands of the creatures moved in their direction at an almost alarming pace, painting the walls black with their swollen bodies. In addition, Paul glanced back to find the passage behind them in a similar state. This, he thought to himself, could be a problem.
“Please tell me this isn't happening!” Joey exclaimed.
“I don't think it is,” Myra replied. “What would they have to eat down here?”
“Elephants?” he suggested.
“What's an elephant?” Nyssa asked. “What are you talking about?”
“The spiders!” Joey explained, turning around and raising his staff. “The millions of giant spiders!”
“What spiders?” she asked.
“Ignore them!” the former lich demanded. “They're an illusion. We all have to know that they're not real. As long as we keep that in mind, they can't hurt us.”
“Are you sure?” Joey asked with a tone of trepidation as one of the creatures began quickly crawling up the front of his robes. “I mean; it's not possible that some ghost cast some kind of spell on Nyssa so that she can't see them, is it?”
“I suppose it's possible,” Myra mused. “I mean; she is fey and...”
“Wrong answer!” he interrupted, as more and more of the insects covered his body, even dropping down on him from above. “You're supposed to say: no, that's impossible!”
“No,” she said obligingly, “that's impossible.”
“Nyssa,” he continued, as countless arachnids began climbing all over his companions, “you're sure these things aren't real?”
“There aren't any things.”
“You're positive?” he asked pleadingly, “because this one is on my face now.”
“I'm positive.”
“Good. Because it's biting me.”
“Close your eyes,” Myra said. “Concentrate on the fact that they can't be real. There's nothing to keep them alive down here.”
“What if they're undead spiders?”
“They're not!”
Paul took the maiden's advice, closing his eyes and doing his best to concentrate as he felt the gentle touch of spider's legs walking across his flesh. They weren't real. They couldn't be. There was nothing for them to feed on and even if there were, spiders didn’t attack in waves like that. And, whatever powers Kalmock Tal might have, it wasn't likely that he could command swarms of insects.
“They're not real, bro,” he said a moment later. “I can't even see them anymore.”
“Really?” Joey asked, slightly opening one of his own eyes. “Neither can I. Well, that was fun. I really think we should get outta here. How are we supposed to fight this wraith? We can't even tell what's real and what's not.”
“You just proved that you can,” Nyssa pointed out.
“Okay,” he nodded. “You're right. But, we should still leave.”
“And, we will,” Paul assured him. “As soon as we kill Kalmock Tal.”
After this distraction, the party pushed further down the passage. In a few minutes’ time, they reached its end - which was nothing more than another empty tomb. Having made this discovery, they made their way back to the first chamber and began following the central corridor. It led, after a very short distance, to yet another large room.
It looked as if it had once served as a chapel, although it had long ago been desecrated. Shattered statues
and broken bones littered the floor and the shrine that stood near the far wall had been almost completely destroyed. The size of the room kept its furthest recesses hidden in shadow; making the scene that much more forlorn.
“The dead are here,” Myra said softly.
“Where?” Joey whispered.
“Everywhere.”
“Wonderful.”
“There's someone in the shadows,” Paul said, pointing toward the corrupted shrine. “Can you see them?”
“Hello,” Joey said, his voice trembling slightly. “Is anyone there?”
“It is I!” a booming voice responded. “Kalmock Tal!”
Paul stepped forward, his sword and shield held ready, as a portion of the shadows moved into the light, slowly taking on the form of a man. The paladin had encountered a number of wraiths during his time in Zanoth, but none as impressive as the one that stood before him now. This enemy was not some formless shade that left only an indistinct and altering impression on the imagination. The feature's of his foe, although composed of nothing more than darkness, were constant and striking.
The creature, which was nearly seven feet tall, had the appearance of a warrior who, with the exception of his head, was completely covered in plate mail. His hair was long and disheveled, his lengthy beard uncut and unkempt. Red points of light glowed in the hollow eye sockets of the monster’s gaunt face. Slowly, it turned its head to the paladin with a look of disdain.
“You shouldn't have come,” it said softly. “I fear you'll find the cost far too great.”
“I'll take my chances,” Paul replied, stepping closer to the monster, his friends following a short distance behind, their own weapons ready.
“Your chance is already taken,” it said. “What's done is done. And, you have failed.”
“I have my doubts,” Paul nodded, grabbing the holy symbol that hung from his neck. “Drop dead!”
Nothing happened. Nothing at all. The young man glanced down at the symbol in surprise. Even if the heart of Lord Telraen's sanctum, the divine power had flowed through him. True, it had been opposed - and even defeated - by the vampire lord's preparations, but it had done something nevertheless.
“That will be of very little use, paladin,” the wraith observed. “Here, not even they can help you.”
“Alright,” Paul replied. “Then, I guess we'll just have to do it the old fashioned way.”
“I quite agree,” the monster nodded. “But, I think it would be best if we were alone.”
Having said this, the wraith threw out his arm; releasing a wave of black energy as he did so. The paladin's allies screamed in agony before vanishing from sight. Instantly, Paul lashed out at the creature of shadow, but his initial blows missed their mark. Kalmock Tal fell back, drew his sword, and pressed his own attack.
Although the wraith was skilled, Paul was even more so. With a flick of his wrist, the paladin twisted the shadowy blade of his enemy to the side, before stabbing him in the shoulder. The creature cried out in pain as golden flames engulfed his insubstantial flesh.
“Where are my friends?” the young man asked as he paused a moment to catch his breath.
“Entertaining themselves,” the wraith smiled, once again waving his hand in the air.
Two images took shape in the shadows along the wall. One was of Alena and Sarrac, the other of Darek, Joey, and Nyssa. The ogre and ogress were fighting madly against one another, while Darek was trying to kill Joey and Nyssa was doing her best to burn them both to ash.
“What have you done to them?” Paul screamed.
“Nothing, paladin,” the wraith replied, moving further away from his foe. “I only gave them opportunity. Their actions are their own. They love war and battle. Their hatred has made them blind to who is friend and who is foe. Much like yourself.”
“Where is Myra?” the young man asked.
“Now,” Kalmock Tal replied with a wide smile, “that is an excellent question.”
“Then, answer it!”
“You may be happy to hear that she's with us now,” the creature said, pointing back toward the entrance of the chapel. “Then again, you may not.”
The young man glanced quickly over his shoulder to find the maiden standing in the passageway, a smile on her beautiful red lips.
“Paul, Paul, Paul,” she said with a sigh. “The living are always so predictable. I had almost hoped it would be different with you.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean,” she laughed, “that we always knew what you were. We were certain it was only a matter of time before the Warriors of Dawn actually managed to summon the it. We had centuries to prepare, centuries to plan, centuries to set our trap. Did you really think my father would try to kill me? Be honest, Paul, you always had your doubts.”
“No, I didn't,” he replied, almost in shock. “I didn't have any doubts at all. I love you. And, I thought you loved me.”
“What?” she said, laughing again. “Did you honestly think someone like me could ever love someone as pathetic as you?”
“What did you say?” he asked, raising his sword in her direction, his eyes locked on her own.
“I said pathetic,” she sneered. “I can't imagine that there's a woman alive who would be foolish enough to have anything to do with you or your pathetic hopes and dreams.”
As soon as she finished speaking, he lowered his blade, a smile on his face.
“This isn't real,” he said confidently.
“Actually, I'm afraid it is, bro,” Joey replied.
Paul opened his eyes to find his head in Myra's lap and the rest of his friends staring down at him with looks of concern.
“It's all real,” Joey continued. “We really are in Zanoth, there really are undead everywhere, we really are in a tomb filled with ghosts, and you really got so scared you fainted.”
“What happened?” the young man asked, sitting up as he spoke.
“Don't you remember?” Joey replied.
“If I did, would I be asking?”
“Kalmock Tal was here,” Nyssa replied. “Just before you fainted...”
“I didn't faint,” Paul interjected.
“Well, then,” she replied, “just before you passed out, he appeared out of nowhere.”
“Not exactly out of nowhere,” the former lich corrected. “I saw him coming up the corridor just before he manifested, and Paul felt him even before I could see him.”
“I did?”
“To be exact,” Sarrac replied, “you said you felt an overwhelming sense of evil and sorrow.”
“Which had to be Kalmock Tal,” Myra asserted.
“Then, what happened?” the paladin asked.
“This shadow appeared,” Joey said, “and kind of took the shape of a man. It was actually hard to tell exactly what it was but, either way, it called you by name and you fainted in terror...”
“I did not faint,” Paul assured him.
“Either way,” his friend continued. “After that, it called the rest of us by name one by one. Each of us then experienced some rather odd hippie type hallucinations, but Nyssa was able to talk us down. It was a little spooky, but no big deal really. Certainly not worth fainting over.”
“Paul obviously had it worse than the rest of us,” Myra asserted.
“I did,” the young man nodded before explaining exactly what he had been through.
“That's odd,” Joey said the moment his friend finished his tale. “Why didn't that happen to all of us?”
“If I had to guess,” Myra replied, “which I basically do, I'd say it was because he was a paladin.”
“What difference would that make?”
“In some ways,” the maiden explained, “paladins are like the opposites of the undead. At least, they are according to what I've read. Although they can wield the divine power to destroy the undead, are completely immune to death magic, and even just generally resistant to dark power, they're more sensitive to some manifestations of that power.�
�
“What do you mean?” Joey asked.
“This place has been desecrated,” she continued, “not only to increase the power of the undead here, but also to protect it from the divine power. Paul is a channel for that power. So, just being here is a constant strain on him and that makes him more vulnerable to certain forms of attack. Much like shades, specters, and wraiths are more susceptible to turning because of their very direct connection to the dark power.”
“If you say so...” Joey replied, shaking his head. “But I still think he fainted.”
“Well, I didn't,” Paul chuckled, slowly climbing to his feet. “But, whatever the case, we have to be getting close to Kalmock Tal. So, come on.”
The paladin once again readied his sword and shield before beginning to make his way cautiously down the corridor. At its end, they discovered the chapel that the young man had seen in his vision.
“The dead are here,” Myra said softly.
“Where?” Joey whispered.
“Everywhere.”
“Wonderful.”
“Okay,” Paul said, taking a short step back. “That's just weird.”
“What is?” Alena asked.
“Déjà vu,” he replied. “Myra, are you sure he's not going to be able to just teleport you guys out of here?”
“Fairly,” she said, glancing around the room. “That's not an easy thing to do. Which is why capture stones are so hard to make. Even if he could, it wouldn't be instant like it was...”
“So, you have found me at last, my old foe,” a deep booming voice said from the far side of the chamber, interrupting the maiden. “How I have longed for this day. The day of vengeance. The day of retribution. The day you are made to pay for your sins.”
“Do I know you?” Paul asked, stepping a little further into the chamber, his sword held high.
“The sun,” the wraith replied, moving from the shadows into the light.
The creature before them seemed almost formless somehow. When looking at what Paul assumed to be the monster's head, he could just make out its chest and shoulders in his peripheral vision, while its face was only a shadow. When he glanced down at the wraith's chest, it vanished, but he could almost see its gaunt and twisted visage.
“Darkened!” the creature continued, raising its voice as it spoke. “Impossible! The grave awaits! Forbidden! Forbidden! Death and darkness as you deserve!”
The Fortress of Donmar (The Tales of Zanoth Book 2) Page 18