Split the Party

by Drew Hayes

  “Aye, so it is, but have you ever stopped to think about why it’s there?”

  “Do deserts need a reason to exist?” Timuscor asked.

  “A few days ago, I’d have said no. But after my literary binge, I’m afraid I find myself less certain on the subject.” Thistle reached over and tapped the book that lay just in front of Eric and Timuscor, which he’d read through at least four times. “In this diary, one of the citizens details a story passed down through their family from generation to generation. The story goes that countless years ago, long before the seven kingdoms as we know them were formed, a man with dark, terrible powers arose, intent on conquering all the other lands. He was met by the combined might of the existing kings and their armies in the stretch of land between what we now know as Alcatham and Baltmur. Through the will of the gods and the righteousness of the men, they triumphed over this man at the cost of many lives. The land they fought on, however, was so stained with blood and dark magic that the very grass wilted. Death took root there, and was the only thing that would ever grow again.”

  “And you . . . what? Think the man in the story is the skull they found?” Eric asked. “Thistle, I know we’re at the point of grasping for straws, but that’s still a long leap to take.”

  “It would be, except that I saw the battle this story describes.” Thistle stared down at the Hooran desert, wondering for the first time what secrets might be buried beneath its dark, shifting depths. “One of the dreams Grumble sent me was of the final encounter. The man I saw was beyond powerful; he laid waste to many of the soldiers that tried to bring him down. It was only through numbers that they succeeded in stopping him.” Even as he said it, Thistle felt a pang of doubt. Had it been sheer numbers? They hadn’t just overwhelmed him; it had been the lone soldier with a lucky blow who ultimately brought him down. The lone, remorseful-looking soldier.

  “Okay, so they kill this powerful guy, one so strong that they needed whole armies to take him down,” Eric said, “then, fearing someone will try to bring him back or use his remains for magic, they create a tomb inside a mountain and hide all evidence of it. I think I see where you’re going now.”

  “You’re on the right track, but there is a critical piece of the story you’ve overlooked,” Thistle told him. “For one, it seems highly unlikely that the skull was found behind those doors; otherwise, we’d have seen more bones and relics in the miners’ belongings. But beyond that, there’s a greater issue at hand, one that raises far more questions than it answers.”

  “The skull had runes carved into it.” Timuscor’s voice was soft yet heavy as he struck upon the realization Thistle had been leading them up to. “That’s what the townsfolk said when they described it. And no matter how powerful he was, he couldn’t have mutilated his own bones while they were inside him.”

  “Precisely,” Thistle agreed. “I do not believe his remains were sealed for fear of someone turning them into magical components. I think that work was already done, likely on the day he fell. I’d wager that inside that tomb is an array of cursed, magical items, all made from this mystery man’s bones.”

  “A treasure-trove of death,” Eric muttered, “that the god of darkness sent a priest to retrieve.”

  “So it seems,” Thistle confirmed. “Which means, I’m afraid, that we must go back to the mountain and check on the status of the doors. If they are near to breaking, then we may not have the luxury of waiting for the others to arrive.”

  * * *

  A softly whispered chant fell from his lips, and the pain that was stabbing at his skull like a dagger between the eyes faded. There was no mystical or mysterious cause for this annoyance; he knew all too well what was giving him the massive headaches. It was the banging. The endless, tireless, ceaseless banging as those undead husks of humans slapped at the doors with their giant pillar. Five days they’d been at it, and the priest who wore no name was beginning to wonder if this wasn’t secretly a test from Kalzidar to judge just how dedicated he was to the cause.

  True, they were making progress. What had once been a sturdy, impassible set of doors had chipped and cracked, their bulk slowly wearing away beneath the relentless assault. The things were enchanted halfway to the heavens, but at the end of the day, everything would break if given enough time. Especially when a priest of Kalzidar was on hand, weakening the enchantments that protected those damned doors.

  He leaned against the cool, dark rocks as he watched the undead work, a piece of parchment in his hands that he began to fold. Folding was his art, his hobby, his way to pass the intolerable hours of boredom that came from sitting in the darkness watching the undead work. Sometimes, he would sleep or reach into his bag and gobble down some simple trail rations or wander down to a deeper portion of the cave to use the necessary (though this practice had caused him to miss some quite interesting visitors when they stumbled across the site), but at no time did he ever leave the skull sitting in his lap. It still ebbed with darkness, even after all these days, exerting its power on the toiling corpses that were cursed to obey its whispered commands. That skull was their unmaking in every sense of the word; it had taken away their lives, dragged their remains from the peace of slumber, and commanded their movements completely. The villagers of Briarwillow had no more will left in them. So long as he held the skull, only the priest’s will existed, and his was the will of Kalzidar.

  Two more creases and his paper creation began to take on a shape, that of a long-legged spider. Idly, he wondered what sorts of treasures would lie beyond the barrier. A skull that could weave blankets of disease only to raise and control its victims as undead was already quite powerful. But the human body held many more bones than just a skull. With such power distributed to the followers of Kalzidar, the god of darkness would no longer be worshipped only in the shadows. His brothers and sisters in faith could sweep the land, driving the followers of the supposed “just” gods from the light. And as one who heralded the beginning of this new age, no doubt the priest himself would receive his choice pick of the magical tools, along with a prestigious position of power in the new hierarchy.

  All in good time, of course. First came the actual acquiring of the bones—those lovely bones Kalzidar showed him in his dreams—and for that to pass, he would have to endure the constant banging for some while to come. Though, perhaps not too much longer. As he watched, another piece of the door’s ornate white stone fell away. Soon, the crack would reach the other side, and then it would only be a matter of making it wide enough for him to pass through.

  The nameless priest watched the work and grinned. He finished his paper spider, tossed it into the bag next to him where hundreds of other folded animals already lay, and took out a fresh sheet of parchment. He wouldn’t have to make many more of these. The time was almost at hand.

  Only a day or so more, at most, and Kalzidar would have his prize.

  Chapter 22

  “This time, we’ll get lucky. I can feel it.”

  Gabrielle did not share Fritz’s optimism or energy as they pushed open the door to yet another weapons shop. Had she been in possession of an axe, she might have used it to intimidate the elven trader into giving up their search and returning to her quarters for relaxation and a nice meal. But sadly, Gabrielle did not have an axe with which to make threatening gestures, which was why she only stifled a sigh and scanned the room, working to find a few remaining shreds of hope still in her.

  After half a day of shopping, the issue was not that they hadn’t found an axe. They’d seen dozens, if not hundreds, of axes already. No, the problem was that this was Cadence Hollow, which was where the best goods and wares were bandied about. Gabrielle had seen axes that could summon beasts under her command, blades sharp enough to cut solid stone, weapons that might control the very elements if needed. What she hadn’t seen was one even remotely in her price range. Asking the owners for regular, non-magical weaponry had elucidated blank stares, followed by scrutinizing glances asking just how much sh
e was looking to spend. Once that number came out, they quickly lost interest in her, turning their attention to other customers or ledgers of bookkeeping that had suddenly become very important.

  To Gabrielle’s thinking, she was ready to part with quite a substantial amount of gold, more than several years’ wages for the people back in Maplebark. But this was not Maplebark, and the concept of money in Cadence Hollow drove home just how different the scales with which they measured wealth were in this world.

  The shop they’d wandered into this time was a bit smaller than many of the others, with fewer weapons strewn about and tacked on the walls for display. Gabrielle had been a bit taken aback with how willing everyone seemed to display—and let her handle—items of such immense value, until Fritz explained that the mages’ guild set up and maintained powerful anti-theft enchantments in return for a cut of the profits. That familiarity had given them a bit of an in with the owners so far, but it was nowhere near enough to get the prices down to where Gabrielle needed them. Still, she felt a faint flicker of hope in her heart as they scanned this new shop. It seemed poorer, not as well maintained as the others. Perhaps this owner would find her gold worth taking.

  “Gustav! How’s my favorite weapons dealer?” Fritz called. A squat, muscular man standing at the counter glanced up from the short sword he was polishing and suddenly went pale. His eyes darted about, clearly searching for an exit, only to realize that Fritz was between him and the door. Carefully, he turned toward the back door, which no doubt would lead to a storage room in the rear. It didn’t seem likely that he’d have an exit there, but from the way he was nervously clutching the blade, Gabrielle suspected he might just try and hack a way out through the walls.

  “F-F-Fritz,” Gustav stammered, a thick accent that Gabrielle didn’t recognize coating his words. “No one t-told me you were back in town.”

  “That’s because I pay better than you, so when someone tells them to give a heads up when I return, they come to me to see if I can make a better offer. And I did.” Fritz smiled, her grin like that of a cat watching a mouse with its tail pinned beneath a barrel. “But today, I’m not here to talk about those ‘magic’ arrows you sold me. I’m here helping my friend Gabrielle shop for a new axe. So why don’t you be a good little shopkeep and show us what you’ve got? Heaven knows you need the business; there are some debts you’ll need to repay very, very soon.”

  Gustav swallowed, then looked down at the sword in his hands as if he were considering jamming it into his own belly to save someone else the trouble. Either he had too much hope or lacked the courage, because he laid the sword down carefully on the counter and turned to Gabrielle.

  “R-right, an axe. Gal your size, something light that you can swing with one hand, no doubt.”

  “Wrong.” Gabrielle was tempted to put some fire in her voice as she corrected him, but in truth, she was afraid that the already sweating man might keel over if she added to the pressure Fritz was exerting. “I need a two-handed one. A battle axe. And I’d like if this one could be sturdy.”

  “Are you su . . .” Gustav’s voice trailed off as he caught sight of the look in Gabrielle’s eyes. Evidently, that was enough to prove her certainty, as he quickly pulled a book from below the counter and flipped through its pages.

  “Battle axe, two-handed,” he repeated, pages fanning the sweat on his forehead as he searched for the right entry. “Here we are.” A stubby finger ran down the length of the page, stopping as he read the section slowly, visibly mouthing the words. “Right now, I only have three axes that fit your needs. One is heavily enchanted for sharpness and durability. Another can pass through solid objects like armor, but still cut flesh. And the last . . .” Gustav leaned down, reading his entry more carefully. “Oh no, that one’s no good.”

  “What’s wrong with it?” Gabrielle asked.

  “Um, nothing, per se,” Gustav said slowly. “It was sold to me by a trader who found it deep in an ancient temple. Definitely magical, and strong at that, but it seems to have . . . compatibility issues.”

  “For the love of the gods.” Fritz shook her head, and Gustav seemed to shrink back into himself, cowering slightly. “‘Compatibility issues’ means cursed in trader-speak. And cursed items are supposed to be turned over to the guild so they can either destroy or de-curse them.”

  “But they don’t pay for them!” Gustav protested. “And I can’t just get rid of it without recouping some investment.”

  “Which is why you spend the money on keeping curse-detecting tools on hand,” Fritz snapped, sending Gustav shrinking away. “Be glad you came in with me, Gabrielle. Otherwise, he’d have tried to unload that thing on you.”

  Gabrielle contemplated the curious exchange of the man who looked like he could singlehandedly lift a cart being verbally tossed about by the slender elven woman and decided it was probably time to intervene. “How cursed is it?”

  “W-w-what?” Gustav’s stammer had returned with Fritz’s newest tirade, but a slight glimmer of hope seemed to spark in his eyes at the question.

  “The axe. How cursed is it? Like, will it turn me into a bugbear or just give me sore feet?”

  “Gabrielle, I see where you’re going, and this is a bad idea,” Fritz cautioned.

  “Really? Because I still need a weapon, and aside from the cursed one, both of those other weapons sound really expensive.” She turned to Gustav. “Were either of them less than ten thousand gold?”

  “My goodness no.” Gustav shook his head, looking downright incredulous at the suggestion. “Far more than that paltry sum.”

  “There you go; another shop where I can barely afford to walk in the door. So, let me ask for the third time: just how cursed is this axe you’ve got? The one you now have great reason to sell for a deep, deep discount.”

  Gustav swallowed, glanced at Fritz, and then spoke. “The few people I’ve talked to who used it report that it’s sometimes painful to hold, like it’s slowly burning their hands, and that when they wield it, the pain grows worse. Gloves don’t seem to help, either. Worse than all that, though, they say it feels like it clouds their judgment. Riles them up, tries to whip them into a frenzy of bloodlust.”

  Gabrielle weighed those words carefully, imagining what it would be like to have even more fury in her head. It could be an asset to her as a barbarian, there was no question about that, but it might make her lose the delicate control she was able to maintain. It was a risk, certainly, though one that was perhaps worth taking.

  “I’d like to see it for myself.”

  This time, Gustav didn’t budge, he merely stared at Fritz, who was in turn looking hard at Gabrielle. At last, the elven woman gave Gustav a small nod, and he nearly disappeared as he hurried into the back room.

  “You don’t have to do this, you know. There are other shops, and at least one of them will have a mundane axe.”

  “Maybe I don’t want a mundane axe anymore,” Gabrielle replied. “You heard what he said: the axe is cursed, and it’s strong. If the second part outweighs the first, then it might be worth it.”

  “Magic, especially curse magic, is very dangerous,” Fritz cautioned.

  “Good.” Gabrielle allowed a slight smirk to tug at the edges of her mouth. “I like things that are dangerous. Especially when I’m not supposed to.”

  Before another word could be said, Gustav lumbered back in. In his hands was a long wooden box, one that would have been quite unwieldy in a weaker man’s grip. Gingerly, almost reverently, he set it down on top of the table and pulled off the lid. Fritz and Gabrielle both stepped forward without intending to, peering into the box’s depths and getting their first look at the cursed weapon.

  It was large, slightly bigger than Gabrielle’s first axe, yet the crafting was impeccable. Even with only a glance, Gabrielle could tell it was perfectly balanced. The head was pitch black and double-sided, each blade somehow seeming sharper than its twin. Runes were etched into the head and haft, seeming to glow a touch red w
hen the light hit them just so. Gustav might be, and certainly seemed to be, a liar about many things, but it was clear he hadn’t embellished about this weapon. It was powerful. Gabrielle could practically feel its magic humming across her skin as she drew nearer to it.

  Reaching out slowly, half-expecting Fritz to try and stop her, Gabrielle wrapped her hand around the dark wooden center. The instant her fingers made contact, she could feel the pain Gustav had warned her about. It was constant, but not overwhelming. She’d gotten worse aches after hard sparring sessions with Eric and Timuscor. Then again, he’d also said it got much worse when used in actual battle. Pushing the pain aside, she tightened her grip and pulled the axe free from the box, holding it carefully and giving a few gentle swings.

  Despite the curse, it felt good: strong, light, as if it had been crafted especially for her. The longer it was in her hands, the more certain she was that this was a weapon she could wield. It would help make her stronger, hopefully strong enough to close the gap between herself and the others. If she could aid them, keep them safe, be of value to them, then it was worth the risk.

  A shadow seemed to dash across her mind, like a strange sound in a field at midnight. She’d nearly let herself forget about the mental component of the curse. Now that she was searching, Gabrielle could feel the foreign presence dancing about at the edge of her consciousness. Its full heft, it seemed, would have to be fully discovered on a battlefield, as she had no intention of slicing up Fritz or Gustav just to test it. Though perhaps Fritz might not mind if Gabrielle took a few chunks out of the nervous man’s flesh.

  Gabrielle blinked in surprise. Where had that come from? It was a short-lived question, as the obvious answer was still clutched firmly in her hands. More dangerous than she’d expected, it seemed. Only a thought, though. Gabrielle could handle errant thoughts. It was actions that truly mattered. She spun the axe one more time, and then turned to face Gustav.