D&D - Mystara - Penhaligon Trilogy 02

by The Dragon's Tomb - Heinrich, D. J (v1. 1)

Karleah leaped back as the withered husk of a human body, swaddled in charred robes, fell over.

  The wizardess carefully turned over another pile of charred cloth, finding the same desiccated cloth and flesh. She stared down the avenue at other piles of what she had thought were debris. She shook her head sadly.

  “What, Karleah?” Dayin asked, the boy’s keen ears picking up his mistress’s words. “The dead people?” The boy’s eyes were wide with morbid curiosity, Karleah touched his hair sadly.

  “The abaton was brought to this village. The energies here must have been immense.” Karleah pointed at scorch marks and some blasted buildings that had to have been hit by lightning bolts or similar spells.

  “My guess is, the wizards of Armstead let the abaton in, believing the guards when they said it was a simple puzzle box,” Karleah continued. “Then the abaton opened up and began drawing in all the magic present here in Armstead—which was considerable, needless to say.”

  “But what about the wizards?” Johauna asked as they continued to walk toward the center of the town. “Why are they dead? Why weren’t they just drained like you and Dayin were? Why?”

  “More importantly, that box has to be around here still, Karleah,” Braddoc added. “Are you and the boy all right?” He pointed to a trio of dried husks. “You’re not going to turn into that, are you?”

  Karleah touched the crystal’s pouch, suddenly thankful for the burning pain. “No.” The old woman shook her head. “Leastways, I don’t think so. Dayin, are you in any pain?”

  The boy shook his head, staring.

  “We should be fine as long as I carry the abelaat crystal,” Karleah answered. “It seems to be working very hard to block the abaton’s draining powers.” The ancient wizardess leaned heavily on her staff, driving herself forward as the others passed her. They had already slowed their pace for her, and she was determined they should not a second time. “Yes,” Karleah said huskily, “the abaton drained these wizards of all their powers—to the point of death. I’m thankful the abaton was very weak when last I was in contact with it.”

  Karleah pointed to the left. “That used to be an inn,” she informed the group. “I had hoped we could stay there tonight, for they made the best onion soup I’ve ever tasted—thick, rich, and savory.”

  They had reached an amphitheater, where the mages of Armstead once had held magnificent celebrations and rituals. Karleah took the first step down the chipped stairs. Her gait was necessarily slow, for arthritis had set in her old bones some years ago. The long, cold days in the saddle had aggravated it severely.

  “Look!” Jo cried out.

  It took a moment for Karleah’s eyes to focus on the playing stage a hundred feet down. The early evening light seemed to play tricks on her eyes.

  The abaton stood in the middle of the stage, somber and black. Its lid was closed, but Karleah could still feel its power.

  Jo raced forward, her feet pounding out a frantic rhythm on the stone steps. Braddoc following at a more sedate pace. Brisbois remained at the top of the stairs, offering no comment. Dayin put his arm around Karleah’s waist to help her down the steps, but the old woman shooed him away. “I’m not that old,” she said testily. Karleah touched the pouch to reassure herself; yes, the abelaat crystal will protect me from the abaton. The old wizardess sighed once and then stepped forward hurriedly.

  Only then did she see Jo pull Wyrmblight from its sheath, moving calmly toward the abaton. She walked with a confidence that said she thought she knew how to destroy it.

  “Jo!” Braddoc shouted, hurrying down the steps now. “What are you doing?”

  Jo didn’t answer, for she was almost at the stage now. The dwarf s short legs carried him forward with surprising speed. He reached the stage just after she did and threw himself at Jo as she swung Wyrmblight in an overhead arc. He slammed into her, his arms wrapping around her midsection and dragging her to the ground. Together, they collapsed onto the hard granite floor of the amphitheater. To the squire’s credit, she didn’t lose her hold on the sword, though one hand flew off and most of her breath was knocked out of her.

  “Johauna Menhir,” Karleah said evenly, only now reaching the stage. “If you ever try anything that foolish again, I’ll make sure you never live to make a third attempt. What were you thinking, girl?”

  Jo hesitated a moment, then hung her head in shame. “It suddenly seemed like I could destroy it with the sword.” She paused, apparently realizing how idiotic she sounded. “I heard this voice in my head that said, 'Wyrm- blight can destroy the abaton. Wyrmblight can destroy it.’ ” She murmured an apology, but the old witch was not interested in excuses.

  “Look,” Brisbois said, still standing at the top of the amphitheater, “we’ve got to destroy this thing somehow. Let her use Wyrmblight.”

  “Close your mouth and open your eyes,” Johauna said to Brisbois. “We need a lookout up there.”

  “That’s what I’m doing,” came the snide reply.

  Karleah tapped the granite between Braddoc’s feet and said, “See if you can pick up the box. See if you can carry it out of here.”

  The dwarf nodded grimly and sidled over to the box. It was one of the first times he had ever responded immediately to Karleah, without some disparaging comment about the “old crone.” Stooping over the abaton, Braddoc grappled it sides and pulled. It didn’t move. He tried again, taking a lower purchase on it. Still the box would not budge. Placing his foot against one edge, he thrust, seeing if it would even slide on the stage.

  “Won’t move,” Braddoc said, looking up red-faced.

  Karleah’s expression was solemn. “It is as I thought. The thing is rooted. When it absorbed enough magic to become a true portal, it must have affixed itself to this spot on Mystara.”

  “If its swallowed that much magic,” Jo interrupted, “and has become a portal, shouldn’t we be expecting some abelaat visitors?”

  Karleah seemed to consider. “That’s why we need to camp right here, to guard the box until we can learn how to move it or destroy it.”

  “Camp here?” Jo asked, gazing about at the blackened seats and ash-strewn foot wells. “With this kind of blast, Auroch would have to know exactly where his little box ended up.”

  “Precisely,” said the old crone.

  Chapter XV

  Karleah leaned back against the charred steps of the amphitheater and frowned. The nighttime sky above was black and starless due to the drifting ash in the air. Even with Jo and Braddoc on guard duty, Auroch could easily slip through that seamless night and trigger the abaton. But he hadn’t. In the faint glow of the abelaat crystal in her hand, Karleah could see that the abaton was still there, and still closed. The box that destroyed Armstead now sat silent and cold.

  “Concentrate,” the wizardess told herself. Turning her attention from the box, she peered into the flawless, golden depths of the stone. Surely the crystal could tell her the weakness of the abaton. She lowered the stone atop a smoking brazier, letting the heat embrace its edged form. Again Karleah concentrated on the box, on Auroch, on her hope to destroy the abaton. With avid interest, she watched the dim facets of the crystal glow and fade. Smoky forms swirled about the outside of the stone. But the inside remained empty.

  It was no use. The crystal lay silent, lifeless in Karleah’s palm. The old woman’s gnarled, scarred fingers closed about the stone, and her eyes lifted to the black sky overhead. She sighed and let her mind rest for a moment. You’re trying too hard, deary, she told herself. That’s why you aren’t seeing it. The abaton was too dangerous, too powerful for Auroch to have lost track of it. Surely Verdilith’s possession of it was part of the mage’s plan. Surely Braddoc’s theft of it, the castle’s examination of it—even their removal of it to Armstead must have been set up by Auroch from the beginning. And now, the fact that he hadn’t attacked them to regain his precious prize showed that they also were playing right into his hands.

  Perhaps I should have let Johauna use Wyrm
blight on the box, Karleah thought. Or, perhaps that’s exactly what Auroch wanted me to do.

  “No,” Karleah said aloud. That’s just running myself in useless circles. It can’t be that everything I think of is part of Auroch’s plan.

  Karleah shut her eyes to the darkness around her and whispered, “You haven’t forgotten what Armstead was like. You remember how lovely Armstead was in the spring. You remember the blossoming crabs lining the cobblestone pavement, the crocuses and tulips peeking beneath the trees.”

  The old woman sighed, trying to hold back the flow of tears. She couldn’t allow herself the luxury of giving in to her pain.

  Karleah opened her eyes and gazed down at the five smaller crystals Jo had given her. They lay arrayed dimly before her, as inert as the true abelaat stone. Karleah had hoped these other crystals might be key to unlocking the master crystal. But she had searched each of them, looking for some answering response, some glimmer of motion or color within the stones. Every time, she had failed.

  The wizardess again contemplated the box. A clear seam outlined its lid, and a simple clasp connected the lid with the bottom of the box. Free from all ornamentation, the abaton was a marvel of simplicity.

  Karleah knit her brows in concentration, clasped the master crystal in her hands, and stared at the box, suddenly wishing it would open for her. She wanted to see this marvelous place where the legendary abelaats lived, wanted to see them before they became twisted and evil creatures. She wanted to step across the bridge between worlds.

  The crystal in her hand dug into her flesh, adding its heat with that of her blood.

  As Jo stood watch, she distractedly ran her finger along the edge of Wyrmblight. Its hard, sharp edge nearly cut her skin. The sensation surprised her, for she had once believed it would never cut her. But much about the blade surprised her lately.

  She should have given it to the baroness. That much was clear. The blade was fully an inch taller than she, and it had been stupid for Jo to think she could wield it.

  Worse yetr she now knew she was ruining the blade. It was a sensitive, intelligent blade, drawing strength from its wielder. When Flinn fell from honor, the sword was blackened by his bitter soul, and when his honor was regained, the sword again glowed bright. Only four days after Flinn s death, the blade was so strong that Verdilith couldn’t break it. But, in Jos meager hands, the fabled Wyrmblight had slowly diminished to being even weaker than a normal blade. It was so brittle now that jabbing Brisbois had cracked it. She hadn’t found the fracture, but she knew it was there. She could sense it.

  And the sword hadn’t spoken to her since Kelvin. A kind of gnawing desperation had begun inside of her. She was afraid to even pull the blade from its harness, lest she might break it. If only she could bear it back whole to the Castle of the Three Suns so that they could encase it, a relic, in glass. That’s what it had become: a glass sword.

  Even Flinn had sensed her discomfort when last they had spoken through the crystal. He had asked repeatedly about the blade, kept saying he could feel that something was amiss with it.

  Weary of her ruminations, Jo looked across the fire to check on Dayin. He slept soundly, as though unaffected by their bleary surroundings. Brisbois lay nearby, still but not asleep, his eyes open and staring toward Wyrmblight. There was something akin to lust on his dark features. Apparently aware of her attention, he stroked his short beard and twirled the ends of his moustache.

  Jo turned Wyrmblight away from the dishonored knight, and he gave a slight whimper of disappointment.

  “What are you looking at?” the young squire demanded.

  Brisbois shook his head and smiled. “Nothing. I was just trying to think of how Verdilith is going to smash that thing.”

  “He will not.”

  “Well,” the man said, rising and shuffling over to where Jo stood. He stared her straight in the eye. “I hope, for your sake, you’ve got some other plan for the Great Green’s demise. Something gruesome you’ve been thinking of. Cutting his throat and letting him choke on his own blood; disemboweling him and letting him slip on his entrails; you know, that sort of thing.”

  “What about cutting his arm off and beating him with the bloody stump?” Braddoc asked wryly from his nearby guardpost. He shook his head in disgust.

  “Say, that’s a good one. Well, what are you going to do Jo? Are you going to beat him to death with his own limbs?”

  “What business is it of yours what I plan?” she spat.

  “I think it’s everyone’s business,” Brisbois replied, indicating the rest of the group with a sweep of his arm. “Obviously, Verdilith is searching for us. It’s only a matter of time—”

  “How do you know he’s searching for us?” Braddoc interrupted.

  Brisbois directed his response to Jo. “He hates that blade, Johauna. And he hates the person who wields it. He hates the blade so much I’ll bet he’d betray anyone to see it destroyed, even an old ally like Teryl Auroch.”

  “How do you know that?” Jo asked, pulling Wyrmblight closer to her for comfort.

  “How could I not?” Brisbois replied incredulously. He brushed the ash from his side and added, “Wyrm—that sword was created with a single purpose: to destroy Verdilith. It’s very existence is an abomination, as far as the dragon is concerned.”

  “But, the Great Green would have to be a great fool if he hasn’t found us yet,” Braddoc shot back.

  “Just so, just so.”

  “You two are a couple of gasbags,” Jo said, a chill running down her spine.

  “If I were Verdilith and I knew that sword was forged to be my bane, I would destroy it this instant, and you just after. Especially since it is the fallen sword ofElinn the Fallen.”

  “Flinn the Mighty, damn you!” Jo hissed, jumping to her feet. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten what you and your plans did to him, bondsman. And don’t think your debt will be easily paid!”

  Brisbois appeared shocked and backed away a step. He held up his hands in a gesture of peace and said, “I’m sorry, Mistress Menhir. I meant no disrespect.”

  “What was the point of all this, again?” Braddoc asked, tersely motioning for Jo to lower the blade. She resented Braddoc’s continual interruptions of the feud between her and Brisbois, but did as she was told.

  Brisbois pulled on his goatee a moment, a dubious expression crossing his features, then he sat down again by the fire. He said, “All I was saying was that Verdilith is sure to find us eventually, drawn to that sword like a moth to a flame. Here, in this blasted town, we have no defense. There’s nowhere to run, and nowhere to hide. He could kill us all with a single breath.”

  “We’ve got to guard the abaton,” Jo said, glaring askance at the man.

  “One of us does,” he replied. “The rest should wait in reserve to attack if needed.”

  “And what do you suggest?”

  “I have no suggestion,” he replied. “That’s why I asked if you have any other plans for your defense.”

  “Why don’t we ask Karleah? She knows this place better than we do. She could probably find a place for us to stay that isn’t quite so . . . exposed,” Braddoc suggested.

  Brisbois shook his head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea just yet. The old woman seems engrossed in whatever she’s doing.”

  “For once I agree with you,” Jo said. “And I hate to say it, but you are right about us getting out of the open.”

  The squire looked over her shoulder to the^inmoving form of the old woman. “We might be here a little while.” “Then let’s start now,” Brisbois said, rising and dusting himself off again. “You keep guard over Karleah and Dayin while Braddoc and I go off to find someplace to hole up.”

  Jo was about ready to agree with the proposal when a voice in her head said, Don't let him have the upper hand. If he chooses the place where you'll camp, he'll know it better than you. But neither did she trust him to guard Dayin and Karleah. Jo made an angry cutting motion with her hand. “You�
��re staying near me, bondsman! Braddoc will post guard and you and I will find better cover.”

  Brisbois turned to Braddoc and shrugged. The dwarf made no reply as he leaned on his axe. “Fine by me.”

  Jo turned to Brisbois, who stood waiting, sword hand on the pommel of his weapon. The young squire made a commanding gesture, and the two headed off into darksome Armstead.

  As Karleah forced her will upon the amber crystal, she felt it press into her palms, cutting through the flesh. And there was blood. For the first time since she had taken the true abelaat stone from its pouch, she broke contact, letting it drop to the ground beside the other crystals.

  “It’s this damn box, sapping the stone’s power,” she said to herself as she stared at her hands. The blood was running faster than she had expected. Karleah blinked and wiped away what she could. She stared at her new cuts with annoyance, not wanting to cease her efforts to divine the abaton’s weakness. But the lines of blood slowly spreading down her arms convinced her to bandage the wounds. She shook her head, grasped the hem of her robe, and began to rip off strips of it.

  As she applied the crude bandages to her hands, Karleah glanced up toward the campfire at the top of the amphitheater. Her eyes widened when she saw that there was nobody by the still-burning blaze except the sleeping boy and the dwarf.

  “How goes the magical folderol?” Braddoc shouted down to her.

  “Fine,” she lied, tying off one of the bandages. “Where are the others?”

  “Went to . . . explore,” Braddoc replied.

  That seemed a bad idea to the old witch, and Braddoc apparently sensed her uneasiness.

  “Do you want me to try to stop them?”

  A smile formed on the crone s lips. Despite their bickering, she and Braddoc were growing psychically sensitive to one another. “Yes.”

  Nodding, the dwarf tromped off into the darkness. Karleah peered nervously after him, noting once again the still form of Dayin. In the flickering light of the campfire, he seemed as dead as the buildings of Armstead. He had been despondent since Threshold. The news of his fathers heritage, of his own abelaat bloodline, must have crushed the boy, Karleah reflected.