"Come to your death, bard!" hissed the voice of the dread knight with another crack of his whip. The bard darted nimbly out of the way but another score of oroks had appeared in the tree line beyond the headless warrior. He wondered briefly where Genn was as Hessan dismounted from his infernal horse. With one simple gesture the beast disappeared in a puff of black smoke, the smell of brimstone and sulfur lingering in the air; Bart hoped it was far away.
"Are you pleased I have returned your friend to you?" The evil knight reveled in the bard's sorrow and grim laughter erupted from where his head should have been. "Will you die as badly as he did?"
"You will pay, so you will!" the bard said with grim determination. He hooked his swords to his belt and backed away, planning his next move.
"You will squeal and beg for mercy like your little friend. How he shrieked and begged as I pulled his fingers and then his limbs from their sockets. And he gave such a squeal as I ripped his head off with my own hands!" the dread knight laughed triumphantly. Bart knew that the deathly knight wasn't so foolish as to believe that his taunting would actually weaken the bard's resolve. Rather, it was more likely that the undead knight was trying to weaken Bart's concentration and thwart his use of the Tides. It was harder than Bart thought, however, seeing the pained expression on Kharr's face, his decayed head lying in the dirt. He forced the sight from his mind, directing his anger at the dark beast before him.
"What do you think you can do to harm me?" came the raspy, cold, sarcastic voice. "Will you douse me in honey scented rain water as you dance about the air like a wood fairy?"
Bart said nothing. He placed his hand on the Airstone and felt a wild surge of power as he bent the Tides to his will. A flash of light from his side revealed the power of Gennevera's wand as she popped up from behind a boulder, a beam of light struck Hessan where his head should have been and forced him backward. Again and again she sent brilliant beams of light at the undead knight, enough to disrupt his deadly magic, then a group of oroks closed in on her.
The skies darkened in a reflection of his own dark mood. Wicked thunderheads reappeared and the darkening skies grew darker still. Thunder rumbled, echoing the powerful Sigilist's mindset. A barrage of lightning struck down around the clearing, blasting a few creeping oroks from the trees in which they lurked. Everywhere bolts of lightning stuck in blinding flashes as the bard hovered in the air with his arms out, reveling in the power of the storm.
A barrage of hail struck the knight all over as the powerful winds pummeled him. Though the giant hail chunks struck the dark knight, he powered his way through the deluge, lashing out wildly with his whip but failing to strike his fleeting foe. Then a dazzling lightning bolt struck the dark knight, clearly penetrating all magical protections. The power of the blast knocked him to the ground. His whip now gone, the dread knight pulled himself to his feet and advanced again, swinging his long scythe in great sweeping stokes. Bart called another bolt of lightning and struck the undead knight again, this time the knight's left arm vaporized, yet the malevolent being continued toward him.
Bart focused more intensely on the stone, its power coursing through him like a river of energy. Seeing the dark knight's weakness, he charged and attacked, swords singing with thunder, blades dancing with streaks of lightning. Although the knight was missing an arm, he was still able to swing the great scythe. The oroks saw their master weakening and began to slink closer toward the fight. Gennevera assaulted them with her wand, trying to hold the oroks at bay, but she knew there was little magic left in its stores for her to use.
Bart was encouraged by the dark knight's slowly failing strength. Nevertheless, he knew Hessan wasn't going to stop until one or the other of them was dead. He ducked below a deadly sweep of the scythe aimed for his head and dealt two quick sword blows to the knight's knee. The first cut through the outer layer of armor protecting Hessan's leg while the second strike caused his limb to explode in a thunderous shower of bone and pieces of metal armor. Bart rolled quickly out of the way as the crippled knight swung feebly at the bard.
But the bard would show no mercy. Again he lunged at the now hobbling knight, striking more often than he missed. The knight lost his grip on the scythe and fell on his back. Seizing the moment, the enraged bard drove both charged blades into the dread knight's back.
The result was catastrophic.
The ensuing explosion was so powerful that trees were knocked over and boulders moved from their homes. Even Gennevera was thrown backward and lost the powerful wand. Oroks, too, stunned by the blast, were picking themselves up. Spying the woman's plight, the oroks sensed an easy victim and began to close on her.
C H A P T E R
S I X T E E N
~
Ederick and the Jaguar Knights were forced to run or fly in the direction that Carym had gone. He was fortunate, however, that the Jaguars had been able to call on more giant raptors to aid in their search. The great birds, eagles of some sort, searched for their friends from the skies above. When Ederick began to tire, one of the great birds picked him up in its massive claw and carried him gently through the air. It was cold, very cold, but it was better than running.
After what seemed an eternity of flight, the soaring eagles spotted a dark, low hanging cloud hovering near the base of a high ridge line. From that cloud lightning blasted the ground and thunderclaps echoed through the air. Ederick had a feeling that this was the work of the Storm Lord, Barthal, and that he must be in trouble.
Within minutes, Ederick and the Jaguar Knights arrived at the scene. The magical battle was over, but the fighting was not. Ederick spotted Bart lying on the ground, seemingly unconscious, near a pile of bones and pieces of armor. Nearby, Gennevera was fighting off a horde of oroks that seemed to think she would be easy prey; time was not on her side.
The great eagle swooped down low and dropped Ederick onto the ground near the oroks. He charged headlong into the group surrounding Gennevera as several warriors arrived in their enhanced shapes. Within minutes, every orok had been mauled by a Jaguar Knight or pummeled by Ederick's fists. Hala and another Jaguar leader returned to the base of the mountain, battle-weary but ok. She and her knights conferred quietly amongst themselves.
"Are you all right?" the Sword Knight asked Genn.
"Yes," she said, breathing heavily. "But I've lost my wand and I haven't been able to check on Bart."
He and Genn found Bart and knelt by their friend's side. Though he was bruised and battered and bore a few serious whip injuries, the wounds would heal on their own. Ederick noticed a silvery colored, marble-shaped stone on the ground near Bart's hands. He picked it up and was immediately overcome with a sense of power so intoxicating he almost fell over. He dropped the stone and shook his hand as though it had scalded him.
"What was that?" he asked.
Gennevera shook her head, saying nothing as she stared at the stone now lying on Bart's chest where it had been flung. Instinctively, the bard's hand reached up to grasp the stone. Slowly, Bart's eyes opened and he looked up at his friends.
"Better late than never, eh?" he groaned with a painful smirk. Ederick laughed and extended a hand to help the bard up.
"Where is Carym?" asked the knight.
"He went to find the tomb," Genn said, looking perturbed; the men didn't notice. "The princess said he must go alone."
"We got a visit from that bastard Headless Rider, so we did." Bart's face lost his jovial demeanor immediately as he looked toward the gruesome object which was once his friend's head. "Had to protect Carym's back from the monster and his nasty oroks. But we made the bastard pay, didn't we?"
"I'm sorry, Bart," Ederick placed a consoling hand on the bard's shoulder. "Kharrihan was a great man, selfless. He died for this cause and he surely rest's in Zuhr's paradise."
"Aye, so he was."
"Why don't we give Kharrihan a proper burial? It would be fitting here, in these sacred lands."
"He'd not want it any other way," Ederick
whispered.
More than once, Carym thought he had found the opening to the Tomb of the Dark Paladin. Each time he reached what he thought was the elusive opening, he found that he was in fact someplace else. The biting wind was making him so cold that he found it hard to concentrate. He took out his fighting sticks and cast an enflame spell upon them to warm his hands. In frustration, he slammed one of his sticks into the rock wall causing a small fracture in the stone surface. He stood there a moment, breathing hard, his body fighting to stay warm. Then he felt a warm hand on his shoulder and whirled to face whomever had crept upon him.
But no one was there.
He swung his sticks in distinct attack patterns to be sure, but met only thin air. Then the wind howled ominously through the rocks and carried the sound of laughter followed by howls of pain. He shook his head ruefully. It seemed he was heading for a meeting with dark spirits and he hoped his magic would be enough to protect him.
He trudged onward, continuing his search for the tomb. His sense of time seemed numbed, he had no idea if he had been walking for minutes or hours. He stopped at a place in the trail where it seemed he could go no farther without scaling the face of a large bluff. He was frustrated and beginning to panic. He had to find the tomb! He could still hear the shrieks of the wasp dragons; one of them was bound to spot him soon.
Leaning back against the wall of the cliff to rest, he felt depression creep into his spirit. He was weary and his body wanted to rest, but his mind screamed at him not to. He felt around the wall with his hands, the rock was so cold it stung just to touch it. He forced himself to continue following the shape of an indent with his hand. It was a large circular shape about head-high, clearly made by mortal hands and not by the harsh wind and rain, its shape was too perfect.
He explored the shape more, feeling about the center with his hands and discovered another depression. This one was vaguely hand shaped. He placed his hand in the circle and the depression suddenly became a door. This door did not open on hinges, but rather the door rolled silently to the side and into the wall in response to his touch. His mind urged him to be cautious, not to rush into the dark opening without observing it from the outside and checking it for traps. But the cold, shrill, wind was beginning to wear on his nerves and he lurched unsteadily through the opening.
He slumped immediately to the floor and rested. He was so cold that the air in the tunnel felt hot, though he knew that could not be the case. He decided to let his body temperature regulate to the tunnel, let his skin forget all about the abrasive, howling wind. After a few moments, he felt better and stood, looking for a way to secure the door but found nothing.
He cast a light spell and a tiny ball of flame appeared in the air before him, floating gently down the passage. As the wind and the howling receded behind him, he felt bolder, more determined. When he could no longer hear any more of the howling wind he stopped, listening. Something brushed by his ear, like the faint breath of a lover's whisper, and he nearly came out of his skin. He whirled with his sticks out, but nothing was there. He wished Hala had come with him. He would welcome the calm and quiet presence of the tough woman. Alas, the princess told him that only one person may enter at a time, lest a deadly curse befall any who defied that warning.
He gritted his teeth and continued down the passage, hoping desperately that he hadn't fallen upon a false tunnel. The fate of the world seemed to rest on his shoulders, and the fate of his dear friends weighed on his mind. He blew out breath he didn't know he had been holding and forced himself to concentrate, to be ready for anything that might happen.
Then the leering visage of a vaporous skull appeared in the air, piercing his soul with a powerful ear-splitting shriek. The sudden appearance nearly frightened the wits from his head, and the sound nearly forced him to his knees. But he lashed out with his right fighting stick and stuck the skull in hard swing. His hand registered the sensation of striking a solid object, but the skull dissipated into the air as though it had never been.
He was breathing hard, his heart was racing, and he felt as though the hairs on his body were all standing up. He got a grip on himself and took a step forward. Cautiously, he continued along in the dim light, following the tunnel. The walls and the air were damp, he could see his breath in the dim light. His boots echoed loudly as walked; he felt as though the whole world could hear him but hoped nothing did. There was nowhere to go should he encounter something more substantial, something that fought back. Except backward. Would that door open for him or would he be locked in the mountain with no hope of escape?
And what else was lying in wait ahead of him? The passageway left only a few inches around and above him, thus far there had been nowhere for him to hide or take cover along the way. He walked farther, his heart pounding, when he saw a door ahead and hesitated.
I can go back. Maybe I should. If there is anything in there, it surely knows I am here. It may as well have sent me an invitation! But Carym knew what must be done. I have to go on.
Carym placed his hand on the door and it opened silently. Inside he could see what appeared to be two skeletons in armor seated at a table. He cautiously entered and looked around. There was a large circle marked on the floor next to the table and little else. The door slammed shut behind Carym, the boom reverberated in the small room. He spun around, weapons out, ready to face whatever attacker might be there. There was nothing but the sound of his own heavy breathing breaking the silence.
He silently cursed the door, hoping there would be another way out once he found the Everpool. There had been no time to question Hala or her father about how to find the Everpool once he was inside the tomb. Now he knew he was definitely in a tomb. He turned back to investigate the deceased soldiers and looked more closely at the designs on their armor. It appeared to be made of gleaming obsidian and bore the mark of the ancient Zuharim. The swords strapped to their sides were also of the same material and design. The armor was richly adorned with gold and silver and jewels and the Zuharim coat of arms was emblazoned on their obsidian breastplates. He wondered if the armor had special properties, he had an urge to touch it.
Other questions formed in his mind. It seemed odd that they should die seated at a table in an empty room. Why here? Surely neither of these men were the Dark Paladin. There was nothing special about this room and there was no pool of gleaming water. With no other clues in the room, he decided the mystery of these dead men would remain with them. He walked about the room, examining the walls. The walls had been shaped to resemble blocks of stone, it seemed that the room had been designed to look like the inside of an empty building. There were no windows, no doors, no openings. No decoration or art. Nothing.
And then a stone beneath his feet sank a few inches, causing him to stumble and fall. When the dust cleared, Carym was lying amidst a heap of bones, armor and a broken table. He picked himself up, half expecting the skeletons to rise up and try to kill him. It was clear, however, that these heaps of bones and armor were not going to do anything of the sort. He brushed off the dust and tried to straighten the dead bodies, but realized the task was futile. He whispered a prayer to Zuhr asking for forgiveness for disturbing the dead and was shocked at how loud his whisper seemed against the silence of the room
As he straightened up and dusted himself off, he saw that there were three bolts of steel, not unlike crossbow bolts, protruding from the stone door through which he had entered. He looked over his shoulder to the opposite wall and saw three tiny openings. He glanced at the floor and knew that the loose stone he stepped on had triggered that trap. He had been standing in the line of fire and if he hadn't fallen, he might well have been killed. Being careful not to step on any more loose stones, Carym made his way across the chamber towards the circle in the stone floor. He stepped into the circle and heard a noise. The circular shape on the floor erupted in white light and for a moment he felt trapped.
Then the floor dropped out from under him.
Carym's stomach was
in his throat, blocking his voice, for which he was grateful. Had he been in control of himself he was certain he would have been screaming his fool head off. Fearful he was on the fast track to the afterlife, he frantically tried to grab onto something with his free hand, but there was nothing to grab. Just as suddenly as it began, his descent halted and he hung suspended in the air scant inches above another circle in another stone floor. His heart was once again trying to escape from his chest and his lungs were burning as he labored to catch his breath.
Awkwardly, he righted himself and his feet settled gently to the floor. He was in large rectangular room lined on each side by a row of giant columns. At the far end of the room was an altar made of obsidian with an armored skeleton lying atop.
Is this the Dark Paladin's tomb? he asked himself.
The Tomb of the Dark Paladin Page 24