by M. D. Massey
I climbed in and lowered myself to the bottom, crouching and shuffling out of the way to make room for Guts and Hemi. The smell of death inside the small tunnel was overwhelming, and it almost made me wish I could smell the trolls instead. Almost.
I followed the tunnel for about 30 feet with Hemi and Guts on my heels, until I heard something moving around ahead. I brought us to a halt and sheathed my knife, reaching into my bag for a little surprise I’d been working on since this whole thing had started. I pulled a mason jar from my bag, quickly drew a rune on the lid and another on the side, and hefted it in my right hand, keeping the Glock in the left. I could shoot equally well with either hand, but throwing was another matter; the last thing I wanted was to flub a toss and get this stuff on us instead of the ghoul.
I motioned for Hemi and Guts to stay back, then crept forward as quietly as possible. Soon I saw a bulky shadow shuffling around in the murky darkness, about twenty feet ahead. I muttered an incantation and threw the jar as hard as I could at the thing, flipping the switch on my headlamp to give us more light at the same time.
The jar hit the ghoul on the left leg, shattering and splashing the contents all over its lower body. The contents of my magical “grenade” had an immediate effect, and the ghoul’s flesh began bubbling and smoking like nobody’s business. The ghoul howled in anguish and headed straight for us, making me wish I’d prepared another jar.
After my first encounter with this ghoul, I decided I didn’t care to tangle with it again if I didn’t have to. That’s when I went to work on a spell that would allow me to take it out from a distance. I settled on a sort of “acid bomb,” based on a mixture of lye and water. Lye was the stuff farmers and mobsters used to get rid of dead bodies, but it normally took a while for it to work. That’s where the magic part came in; lye dissolved flesh, and the spell I’d paired it with simply sped up the process.
My acid grenade spell did exactly what I’d intended, and the ghoul’s legs deliquesced before it reached us. Even a magically-animated corpse needed muscles and tendons to move, and the thing stumbled and fell flat on its face. Fortunately, my aim had been true and the spell hadn’t killed it, instead only serving to slow it down. It pulled itself along with its arms and hands, roaring furiously at us in either pain or anger; I couldn’t tell which.
As it neared, Hemi stepped forward and aimed the sharp end of his staff at the ghoul’s head.
“No, don’t kill it!” I shouted. “We need to keep it alive, so its master won’t know we’re coming.”
He stepped back and relaxed. “You might have mentioned that before we came in here.”
I shrugged. “Didn’t know if my spell would work or not.” I reached into my bag and pulled out my short sword, then went about the grim work of hacking the thing’s arms off. A minute or so later, a squirming, limbless torso was the only thing left.
Guts looked on in approval. “Druid right. No arms, no legs, no can fight.”
Hemi rubbed his chin. “Can these things regenerate?”
“A little, but not from something this serious. And not without dead bodies to eat, or their master’s help. Guts, can you hold this thing down for me?”
Guts complied, pinning it facedown with a knee in its back. The ghoul struggled desperately to crane its neck around and take a chunk out of the troll.
“Now for the fun part.” I glanced at Hemi. “If you have a weak stomach, you might want to look away.”
I cut a hole in the ghoul’s back, right under its rib cage, and stuck my hand inside up to the elbow. The smell was enough to make me sick, and it felt just as I expected it would—like I was digging through putrefied human organs. I felt resistance as my hand reached the thing’s diaphragm, the muscle that separated the chest cavity from the abdomen. I leaned in and pushed until my hand pierced the thick layer of dead muscle. Once through, I dug around a bit more until I found what I needed.
“Hell yeah. Now we’re in business.”
I pulled out my find and held it up in the red light of my headlamp. It was a crystal, roughly an inch in diameter and four inches in length, possibly quartz or some kind of gemstone. It pulsed gently in my hand, almost like a beating heart—but much, much more slowly. I wiped it off on the ghoul’s hoodie, and a closer examination revealed something moving and swirling inside.
I nodded at my companions and stood.
“Alright, fellas. Time to go ruin a necromancer’s day. Just as soon as I get some alone time with a pack of baby wipes.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Guts was shocked that I wouldn’t want the scent of dead ghoul all over me. He insisted it would be a turn on for the troll maidens back at his camp, and that I’d have my pick if I’d only leave it on. I tactfully explained how much I appreciated his advice, but that my mate wouldn’t understand if I took up with a troll maiden.
He gave me a puzzled look in return, and said something to the effect of, “Druid is nuts, but more for Guts.”
But Hemi just wouldn’t let it go, and kept razzing me about it as we made our way closer to the chapel.
“I dunno, Colin. I’d think you’d like the idea of having a couple of half-troll ankle biters around, to pass on your druidic knowledge to and what-not.”
“That’s not in the cards for me, Hemi. But, I’m sure Guts here can put in a good word for you with the ladies back at the troll camp.”
Guts scowled at me. “Pah! Troll girl no can like until see how man fight.”
I chuckled. “Looks like you already struck out there, big guy. What a shame.”
“Meh, it’s alright. My mum probably already has a nice Maori girl picked out for me back home. A fine, strong woman with lots of meat on her bones. Just my type.”
We were close to the chapel, and I gave the signal to end the chatter. I gestured for Guts to gather his warriors around. We remained hidden behind a low wall, and once everyone was within hearing range I whispered my final instructions.
“I just texted Gunnarson that we’re ready to make our assault. Once we go in, expect heavy resistance—”
At that very moment, a hand burst from the ground and grabbed one of the troll warriors around the ankle. Then two hands shot out of the ground—then ten, and within seconds we were under a massive surprise attack by the Dark Druid’s ghouls.
“It’s a trap!” Hemi yelled with a grin on his face, slashing and stabbing left and right with glee as he waded into the attacking undead.
I yelled at him as I decapitated a ghoul coming up on Guts’ six. “Damn it, Hemi, you beat me to the punch. I almost got to drop an Ackbar reference twice in one week.”
Guts was busy hacking away at two ghouls with an obsidian hand axe, but found the time to chime in and surprise us both.
“Trolls look up to Admiral Ackbar—he real hero of War of Stars, and best-looking by far.”
I ducked a lunging ghoul, sweeping its leg and causing it to brain itself on a tombstone. I pivoted and shot another under the jaw, blowing its brains out the top of its skull. By this point, the fighting was too fierce to engage in any more casual banter. Even so, I muttered a shocked response under my breath.
“Trolls are fans of the greatest space opera ever. Who knew?”
I vaulted a low cast iron fence to avoid three ghouls converging on me, and climbed on a low-roofed mausoleum to gain a tactical advantage. I shot two of them through the tops of their skulls, and buried my short sword in the neck of the third. The thing fell, wrenching the sword from my grasp.
“Damn it to hell,” I muttered.
Thankfully, I’d come prepared with spare ammo. I emptied the mag into four or five ghouls in an effort to help my companions out, then quickly swapped out a fresh mag as I surveyed the battleground. We were holding our own, but just barely. Despite the dozens of ghouls scattering the ground, more kept coming.
That’s when I realized the huge tactical error I’d made. As a powerful necromancer, the Fear Doirich had an unlimited supply of dead bodies to ani
mate here in the graveyard. And while most were in a sorry state and easy to destroy, he could simply overrun us with the sheer numbers at his command. Where he was getting the necromantic power to raise them was beyond me, but the fact remained that if this kept up, we were done for.
I holstered the pistol and reached into my Craneskin Bag for my war club. I had to get to the chapel and take the Fear Doirich out, otherwise every single one of us was going to die. Two of Guts’ warriors were already down, and the way those ghouls chewed on their rubbery hides, I didn’t think they’d regenerate fast enough to get back into the fight.
I searched briefly and spotted Hemi. He was backed against a low wall, spinning that whalebone spear like a plane propeller, crushing skulls and making frightening faces as he fought. His tattoos glowed a bright blue-green, the color of the ocean on a warm sunny day. He looked happy, of all things, but I knew he was aware of our current predicament. He took out the last two ghouls in front of him, gaining a momentary reprieve. The big man cast his eyes about until he spotted me atop my perch.
“Colin, where the hell are Gunnarson’s people?” he yelled.
“I don’t know,” I replied. “But I need to get to the chapel. I’m going to hop off here and wade through these bastards so I can make it to the back door. Gather up the trolls, cover my back, and follow me so we can make a stand there.”
“Understood,” was his only response. He went into whirling dervish mode, mowing his way through the throng of ghouls ahead of him to rejoin the remaining trolls.
“On me, mates!” he yelled, smashing his way into the midst of the trolls, rallying them to form up on him and Guts. They quickly circled their wagons. I counted eight trolls remaining, including Guts.
There was a slim chance we’d draw away the ghouls feeding on the downed trolls when we advanced on the chapel, but I wasn’t hopeful. I wished them a speedy journey to the troll version of Tír Tairngire, the Promised Land, and vowed to make their sacrifices count.
I bashed away the few ghouls trying to join me atop the mausoleum, then got a short running start and jumped over the rest. I rolled as I hit the ground and came up in a sprint, making a beeline for the chapel and swinging like mad at every ghoul who got in my way. I had no time to see if Guts, Hemi, and the rest were at my back or not. I just kept mowing down ghouls in hopes they were right behind. Soon I saw the dimly lit windows of the old building ahead.
As I neared the chapel, the ghouls thinned out. It was apparent the Fear Doirich had known the direction we would come from, and had planned his ambush accordingly. I only hoped he didn’t suspect I’d stolen his phylactery, and that I could keep it secret long enough to get close to him and activate Finn’s spell.
Finding the back door unlocked, I burst into the chapel, scanning the area inside for threats. Surprisingly there were none, so I turned to see how the trolls and Hemi had fared.
Several trolls filed in after me, looking exhausted but already healing from their wounds. Guts and Hemi formed the rear guard, holding off the undead while the rest escaped to the chapel. As the last troll entered, the Maori and the troll warrior smashed a few more skulls, then we pulled them inside and locked the door.
The back entry was made of heavy wood, with bars over its window. It wouldn’t hold for long.
“Guts, get your boys to barricade this entrance and the front entrance, and the windows as well. But make sure you leave an escape route, because if things go south with the druid you’ll need to leave quickly.”
He nodded at me and started barking orders in trollish. Hemi stood guard at the door, bracing it with his back until the trolls shored it up with a few church pews. Once they appeared to have things under control, I headed to the sanctuary and began looking in earnest for stairs, a trap door, or anything that might lead to a crypt below us. Searching in vain for several minutes, I remembered a scene from an episode of Blacklist and pushed on the lectern. It tipped over on a hinge, revealing a laddered stairway down.
I gave Hemi a half-assed salute before slipping down the steps. “Wish me luck.”
“Warriors make their own luck, mate. Kick his ass.”
I smiled and headed into the darkness, tripping my night vision cantrip when I hit bottom. Dim light streamed through cracks in the floor above, revealing a small stone room and a sturdy wooden door opposite the steps. I opened it and headed down a short hall, which led to another door. This one was covered in glyphs and runes, which from the looks of them had been written in blood. I wondered how many people had been sacrificed down there in order to animate all the undead above. The very thought angered me, and it took an effort to regain my composure before examining the wards on the door.
“The wards won’t harm you, boy,” a muffled voice proclaimed from the other side of the door. “You and you alone are free to enter.”
I decided to check for myself, and shifted my vision into the magical spectrum to examine the wards, just in case.
“You sure went through a lot of trouble to get me here,” I shouted. As far as I could tell, the old druid was telling the truth. The spells were nastier than an incubus with the clap, but they were specifically designed to recognize druidic magic. I muttered a short incantation and gestured rapidly with both hands, and the wards temporarily released.
The old caretaker’s voice replied as I placed my hand on the door knob. “When you’re as old as I am, you get bored. Watching you chase my ghouls around the city was a much needed distraction. And you turned out to be so full of surprises! Quite unlike Finn’s other pupils.”
I hesitated, then turned the knob and pulled the door open, ducking out of the way in case he was waiting with a spell or some other attack. When nothing happened, I peeked around the door frame.
A tall figure stood in the shadows on the other side of a room that was roughly twenty feet square. The space was more or less a smaller version of the sanctuary and nave upstairs. However, this worship area had been defiled by all manner of foul magics and desecrations.
The old caretaker frowned as he stepped into the light. “Oh, do come in. If I’d wanted you dead, you’d already be one of my ghouls.”
I took in the scene before me, aghast in spite of myself. The pews had been moved from the center of the room and now lined the walls, making space for a huge necromantic circle that adorned the floor, easily fifteen feet across. It and the runes within and without had been painted in thick lines of blood. Whether human or animal, I couldn’t tell—but I suspected human. I saw no corpses or signs of sacrifice beyond the massive amount of dried blood on the floor, but the smells of fresh blood, vomit, feces, and urine were overpowering.
Fear, I thought. That’s the smell of absolute, mind-rending terror. Someone had recently lost their life in this room. Perhaps several someones.
I made eye contact with the druid, observing his every detail. He was now dressed in a dark hooded tunic over jeans and black boots. A thick leather belt secured his tunic. A sword hung from one hip, a dagger from the other. He held a tall carved staff that appeared to have been made from bone and some dark stained wood. As I approached the circle I paused, stopping a few feet short of the edge.
Not yet, I thought. Let him think his magics repel me.
“Your entertainment almost killed my girlfriend.”
His face barely registered any emotion at all, except perhaps distaste. “Mortals come and go, Colin. That’s something you learn, once you’ve lived a few centuries. What’s one girl’s life in the grand scheme of things?”
“Is that why you killed Erskine, even after he’d served you faithfully?”
The old man nodded. “Erskine was a tool who had served his purpose. Besides, I needed his spirit to power more ghouls.”
“That’s cold.”
“Please, spare me the maudlin crap. Humans are cattle, an expendable resource. I’m sure your vampire friend would tell you the same. Such a shame you’ll never experience the freedom that comes from realizing everything around you is
transient, but you.”
“Finn doesn’t seem to think so.”
His face darkened. “Yes. But Finnegas was always too sentimental to accept that truth.”
I took note of how he rankled at the mention of Finn’s name. Definitely bad blood there.
“Do you intend to kill me?”
He laughed. “Kill you? Of course not. On the contrary, I don’t want to harm a single hair on your head. You see, my young healthy friend, I intend to inhabit that magnificent body of yours. And then I’m going to march my undead into Maeve’s demesne and secure it for a very close friend of mine. In fact, you’re my prize for taking the bitch queen out of the picture.”
“Maeve’s no easy target.”
He rubbed his hands slowly. “She will be, once I have you. And the Eye.”
“And if I resist?”
He considered the possibility, for a second or two at least. Maybe he was just humoring me.
“Oh, you don’t want to do that. It’ll only cause you pain, Colin. Needless, senseless pain. Besides, it might force me to harm your physical form. And to be honest, I’ve always been horrible at healing magic. So please don’t resist.”
I pursed my lips and nodded. “So that’s how it is, huh?”
“That’s how it is.” He extended his gnarled hands in front of him and examined them with interest. “And how it was for the McCool whose body I currently inhabit. What was he, four generations removed from you? Five? I forget now. But for some reason, it seems your line is particularly suited to necromantic possession. Thank goodness that old fool Finnegas is so invested in keeping you McCools alive.”
What the hell? How long had this guy been body-snatching my ancestors, anyway? And did Finn know? If so, it meant that once again Finn had failed to reveal the entire story, leaving me to be blindsided by the truth. The old bastard looked up and flashed a long-toothed grin at me.