The Tomb of the Dark Paladin

by Tom Bielawski

  He scanned about quickly, looking for danger and for signs of his friends. Though his heart panged for Gennevera, he brushed his thoughts aside and tried to determine what to do next. He had the stone key now and knew it would lead him to the Everpool. But should he seek his friends first? He sat quietly, listening as the sounds of the collapsing tunnel faded and the ground stilled. It was deathly quiet and bitterly cold, nothing stirred. There were no sounds of battle.

  Carym resolved to go forward, hoping that time was still on his side; he had to reach the Everpool before Hessan or his scouts found it. Did Hessan win his battle with Bart and Gennevera? Carym could only wonder.

  Carym drew the red stone key from his pocket. It seemed to serve as a direction finder as well as a key, a clever way to truly keep the location of the Everpool secret. He suspected there were no maps ever made of the secret, sacred place; a person had to find the tomb, successfully navigate the traps, and be judged by the spirit of the Dark Paladin just go get the item which would then lead them to the Everpool.

  Carym glanced in the direction where he last saw his friends and wondered if they had all survived the encounter with the Headless Rider. He wondered if the Headless Rider had truly been defeated, or if he would surprise the group again. He shook the thoughts away and held the stone out before him. It seemed to glow brighter to his left and, of course, higher up the mountainside. He glanced upward in the darkening night and picked out his route, then glanced around again to ensure that there weren't any other surprises in store for him.

  It was dark and the going was treacherous. The cold wind had not abated and by the sounds in the air, it seemed that the Dark Paladin's cursed soldiers still haunted the mountain. Carym slowly picked his way up the steep grade, using outcroppings and boulders for support and leverage. Loose rocks threatened to send him careening down the slope, but he navigated the mountain path with sure feet. Finally, he reached a small opening underneath a large outcropping. A very small opening.

  He peered in and was struck by an explosion of bats, a torrent of terrible shrieking and flapping. He held the shield of the Dark Paladin out before him for protection but the sheer force of their numbers drove Carym backward. He slipped on a loose rock and lost his footing, sliding down the slope. In a frantic grab, he managed to catch a large boulder and hang on with one hand until the bats were gone. He crawled back up to the outcropping and back to the opening in the mountainside. There was no doubt that the key had led him here but he didn't relish the idea of going inside. Though there could be things worse than bats within, the sounds of shrieking and howling on the wind echoing around the mountainside underscored the need for him to go on.

  He stared regretfully at the small opening for a moment, knowing the only way he could fit through it would be on his belly. He didn't relish the idea of navigating yet another system of tunnels and chambers within the mountain, but the growing intensity of the glowing stone key convinced him.

  A loud scream interrupted his thoughts and a heavy weight fell on top of him. Bony claws tore at his coat seeking warm flesh beneath. He struggled and kicked wildly to keep the thing from flaying him open and finally managed to kick it off. It was a skeleton, he noted ruefully as it tumbled down the mountainside. He turned quickly back to the task knowing that the skeleton would be back if it hadn't been shattered to pieces. Wary, he took off his pack and weapons and shoved them through the opening. Then he got on his belly and wriggled through as quickly as he could.

  Once inside, he found that he could stand again. He quickly gathered his things. He cast another light spell and saw that he was in a natural tunnel. It was warmer in the tunnel than it had been outside in the blistering wind, but the going was slow and painful. His light spell created enough light to see by, but the shadows played tricks on his eyes. He grimaced and growled as he scraped his skin on the cool stones or twisted his ankle on the rocky floor. The cold air made his joints stiff, his skin stung with every scrape and bump. His mind began to wander as he trudged along, and his mind turned to those who had sacrificed life or limb for this quest.

  He exhaled deeply, squeezing through a particularly narrow space where the tunnel walls closed in tightly. On the other side he chose to sit and rest for a moment. The parallels to the story of the Dark Paladin were striking. The artifact and the Everpool; the Dark Paladin and Shalthazar; New Nashia and the old Kingdom of the Zuharim; the Shadow Sigil. History was repeating itself. And he wondered how it would yet unfold.

  He moved on, again losing track of time in the bizarre place. He was reminded too much of his unpleasant journey through the Underllars not long ago. After an eternity of duck-walking, squatting and crawling, he reached a part of the cave large enough for him to walk again. The chamber was large and dark, his light spell seemed only to make the darkness at its fringes more impenetrable. The chamber revealed itself as a dead end.

  How was he going to get back out of here? Where was the stone leading him? He forced himself to remain calm. Zuhr had led Carym this far, He certainly wouldn't leave him to die alone in this small cave. The light of the stone key was intense, pulsing even. He knew he was on the right path.

  There must be a way out. This key is telling me I'm in the right place! Then the hair on the back of Carym's neck began to stir and his skin began to tingle. A wail reverberated through the tunnel behind him, getting louder and louder. Its notes were shrill and anxious causing Carym to think irrationally. It was another of those shrieking Elvish women, a Baensidhe. On and louder it came and Carym braced himself. He held the shield up before him, blocking the reverberations of her wails and noticed that his anxiety diminished somewhat. He mentally prepared the Sigil spells he would use to destroy the wailing beast and waited. The sound stopped and for a long moment nothing happened. In that quiet moment his anxiety increased and his heart pounded despite the silence. The silence was broken by a rage filled scream and blaze of light as the apparition appeared right in front of him. Terrible breath wafted through his nose making him nauseous and making his eyes sting and water. Its skin was sickly green and and rotted and its teeth, like fangs, were yellowed and broken. He thrust the shield forward and struck the creature, though it felt like he had just hit a giant oak tree. The baensidhe wailed in pain and interrupted its song of death for a moment, a moment that Carym capitalized on. With one swing of the massive sword he flayed open the creature's abdomen. It howled in rage and pain and retreated to a corner of the chamber.

  "Please," it begged suddenly. The vicious and predatory appearance it bore just seconds earlier was gone and now it seemed more like a helpless young lady. "Help me, I'm being controlled by a dark wizard! Only you can break the spell!" She covered her face with her hands and wailed and sobbed with seeming sincerity.

  Carym wanted to believe her, but felt it was a lie. As she stood in the corner crying, he advanced upon her with sword, shield and spells ready. When she saw her act was having no effect, she shrieked again and bared her long fangs at him. He thrust the shield before him and struck her soundly, knocking her back. Again he struck her and again she stumbled back, now appearing to be looking for a way out. Carym would have none it and stuck her down with the ancient blade. The baensidhe screamed in pain and vanished, leaving nothing behind to show she had ever been. Carym felt his way through the natural chamber, feeling along the walls and illuminating dark crevices in hopes of finding a clue to escaping before another horrible creature accosted him. Finally, he discovered a small hole about the size and shape of the stone key. Hoping he wouldn't regret the decision, Carym turned the stone key in the hole. Nothing happened at first. Then, very slowly, a door opened beside him and he braced himself for something to jump out and attack him.

  Using the glowing ball from his light spell, Carym illuminated the area beyond the door. He was very displeased to see that the door didn't lead to another passageway or a room, rather it led to a shaft that dropped straight down beyond the range of his spell. A rough ladder with notches had been
cut into the shaft walls, a treacherous climb for sure. He paused for a moment and rested at the edge of the shaft. Then Carym strapped the weapon and shield to himself and climbed into the shaft. He descended very slowly, wary of the cold stone, silently cursing the child-sized hand and foot holds that he was barely able to hold on to. He slipped more than once on the treacherous climb down. Yet somehow he made it to another passageway at the bottom. He was relieved that the air seemed significantly warmer at the bottom of the shaft and basked in the warmth for a few moments. It seemed odd that the warm air did not rise up the shaft; he guessed that enchanted waters of the Everpool were the cause. He removed the key from his pocket and moved on, the stone glowing intensely. He continued down the passageway, going in the direction in which the light of the key shone brightest, observing several more tunnels and passageways branching off in various directions. Without this key he surely would have become lost.

  Finally, Carym came to the end of the passageway. The air was warm and inviting, but the urgency of the mission forced thoughts of rest form his mind. In front of him was a door with an iron ring and another hole that was just the right size for his key.

  Carym slid the key into the hole turning it. There was a click and the sound of gears grinding, but nothing happened. Carym waited.

  C H A P T E R

  S E V E N T E E N

  ~

  Yerkses sat atop his horse, resplendent in his royal armor. He was in his accustomed place at the front of his men, the position from which he always led in battle. His standard bearer bore the colors of his house and those of the empire atop a tall lance held aloft in the brisk wind. The fresh air blowing in from the sea was invigorating to the emperor and he relished the thought of the coming battle. The island chain was mercifully warmer than than his own lands to the north. The Sea Witch, goddess of the seas, was known to unleash her fury and blast the northern islands with bouts of foul weather. Such a thing might have been helpful today against the dark clouds conjured by treacherous Umber and his dark wizards, but was not meant to be.

  As he expected, the enemy did not send an emissary to offer terms. He snapped the visor of his helm closed and placed a hand on the shoulder of his standard bearer. With that quiet signal, the man stood up in his stirrups and waved the royal colors in the air. That was the signal to his own troop commanders to prepare. A second signal followed and soon the regiments marched forward across the grassy plain, beating their swords against their shields in sync with their steps. Yerkses walked ahead of the formation, then kicked his horse and urged it to a trot.

  The enemy troops were positioned in a wedge formation, the tip of the wedge prepared to delve deep into Yerkses' line. The few horses that Yerkses had with him on the island were in line behind him. They charged forward, determined to blast their way as deeply into the ranks of the walking corpses as they could. If there had been any doubt in the emperor's mind as to the veracity of the reporting about the enemy's corpse-troops, they were dispelled as the stench of death filled his lungs. He snarled and tried to force the disgusting odor from his mind as a flight of crows appeared in the sky, seemingly from nowhere, diving down at him and his riders. The birds slammed into the armored men but did little injury. Still they charged onward, pennants snapping in the wind behind them. The tip of the enemy's wedge formation appeared before the emperor and he lowered his lance. The weapon was huge, nearly seven feet tall and perhaps twice as massive as an ordinary man. His lance tore into center of the creature's body and the flesh split apart like wet paper. His horse knocked the creature backward and he was rewarded by the sight of its limbs falling off its body as it struck the ground. As he turned and set his sights for the next enemy, he noticed that a host of insects spewed from the downed creature's open wounds and swarmed in the air above the battle.

  Yerkses charged deeper into the enemy formation and found another target, though he was too close to use his lance. He shoved the butt of the lance into a sheath behind him and drew his sword, swinging sharply down at the slow moving creature before him. As he neared the thing, he saw that its lifeless body seemed to be comprised of mismatched limbs and a torso haphazardly knotted together. He suspected that the creatures were held together by a dark enchantment. Giving the oddity no more thought, he set to work.

  All around him, his riders were doing the same, and now his foot troops had arrived. As his ground troops entered the fray, Yerkses relaxed. The infantry seemed to have the corpse-troops well enough in hand, soon there were none left standing. All that remained of the enemy was a putrid field of flesh and clouds of insects and carrion crows that harassed his men but did little more.

  Emperor Yerkses stopped his horse lifting his visor to survey the carnage. He hadn't needed his flanking element; this had been too easy.

  He turned and galloped his horse away from the grisly scene, his standard bearer waving a flag that signaled an order to regroup and reform. "Regroup!" he shouted as he charged past each soldier. "Regroup!"

  A sense of panic filled him as he made his way to the rally point and cursed himself for a fool. The enemy lured him out and onto the field of battle with the apparently simple engagement, there had to be another attack coming and he did not want to be caught unaware. When he reached the small piece of high ground that served as the rally point, he whirled about expecting to see his troops making their way to his standard.

  But all the emperor saw was as cloud of dark mist that seemed alive with swarms of giant insects. The sound of his men dying filled the air.

  Yerkses' only remaining priest was a man called Ankus, a dour and troubled alcoholic from the wilds of the Northern Continent. Though the emperor detested the man, he was indeed a sight to behold on the field of battle. The man was blessed by his god, Q'raz' the Lord of Battle, and was known to tear through the enemy in a berserk rage. His own men, too, seemed to take heart and fight harder when the priest was with them.

  Ankus was with him now, astride his own horse and bedecked in the studded leather armor common to the followers of Q'raz. While Yerkses was very displeased with his new patron deity and those who followed the chaotic god, he had no choice but to keep the powerful cleric nearby. It was no secret that the brother gods detested each other and all suspected that their alliance had merely been one of convenience. Yerkses himself suspected it was but a matter of time before one or the other of them broke the truce, but he had not suspected that it would be so soon.

  The sounds of his men dying caused a fit of anger in the man. He held his sword in a vice-like grip, ready to charge in and kill anything that got in his way. Nevertheless, he exercised restraint and forced himself to study the grim sight.

  "What the Hells is that?" he demanded of his priest.

  "A death cloud, Excellency. It was formed when the spell that animated the corpses broke and the vile magic that held their stinking pieces together oozed out into the world."

  "Can you do something?"

  "I would give my left arm to charge down the hill, but there is nothing to fight. We have destroyed their troops, and they have destroyed some of ours. I see no reports of an enemy reserve, I suspect we have won the day."

  "Don't be so certain, priest. The enemy wants this island; he is unlikely to simply give up after one salvo. Do you not feel this victory was too easy?"

  As if on cue, the cloud that hovered over the battlefield began to rise above the bodies of the dead. Then a breeze began to blow and it seemed as though the dark cloud had been pushed aside, but then the cloud just stopped. It swirled and drew in on itself like a spinning vortex, until nothing but a disc of blackness was visible. Then, as the emperor and the priest watched, figures began to appear, marching listlessly out of the disc of darkness and onto the solid Llarsian ground. Now the enemy's reserve has arrived. Yerkses silently counted as they ambled slowly through the disc, and when they stopped coming he found that there were a thousand more.

  A slight rumble in the distance, a sound not altogether different than
a distant rumbling thunder, could be heard. His messenger had reached his reserve force and the men were now bent on destruction. He smiled inwardly, they wouldn't be so eager when they learned the nature of their foes. Be that as it may, his men would acquit themselves well. And like a horde of screaming madmen, the army of the Black Earl surged out of their hidden depression and spilled down onto the battlefield. In response, the horde of walking corpses moved out to meet the advancing tide.

  This time, Yerkses' magic-wielders waiting in reserve went to work and several multi-colored fireballs sailed over the heads of the advancing men and slammed into the ranks of the enemy. Everywhere the fireballs struck, enemy soldiers vanished. As the forces collided, the clang of steel was nearly deafening But there were too few fireballs and too many corpse-soldiers. Soon the forces were completely engaged, the battle was soldier to soldier.

  The emperor wanted to charge in and fight, but he had a responsibility to watch the developments of the battle. He didn't think that the Black Sigil would simply keep throwing these mindless corpses at him. Yet the battle was not going as well as planned. The Black Earl himself had just fallen, then his standard bearer, and many more of his men were falling to the evil walking corpses of the enemy.

  "Sire!" shouted the priest. "Over there!"

  The emperor glanced to where the priest was pointing. On the first field of battle where the corpse soldiers had fallen so easily, an enemy host had gathered.