The Earthrin Stones 1 of 3: Inheritance of a Sword and a Path

by Douglas Van Dyke

  Her hands quickly lost their tenderness as they constricted in a stranglehold around his neck. “Goodbye, Petrow. DeLaris claims your soul this day.”

  Savannah, and other clerics of the Dark Goddess, probably preferred killing by this method: their bare hands. Savannah hovered over Petrow, eyes locked frightfully on his as he fought for air. Under the paralyzing spell, he could not force a deep breath. Try as he might Petrow could not raise his hands to stop her. Her hands clamped like a vise on his airway, allowing him no air to breathe. Her breath could be felt upon his cheeks, but he was even denied that. Two of her fingers pushed against the major arteries in his neck, slowing the blood flow to his brain as well. The abbess grinned. The power and control fueled her emotions. Darkness crept into the sides of Petrow’s vision, outlining the blue eyes that would witness to his death.

  * * * * *

  Katressa Bilil dodged as the bamboo quarterstaff smacked the wall beside her, taking away an escape route. Her rapier snaked out to threaten Loung, but he parried. She backed down a new hallway as he became more aggressive with his strikes. Her blade strained to find an opening. She would feint and try from another direction, but even quick thrust attempts after parrying the staff did not get her any closer to wounding the man. Cat could strike and move very fast, but he moved faster.

  Cat finally got some distance from the man, using a door that was ajar and kicking it further open. The door didn’t hurt Loung, but it did back him up. Instead of pursuing the initiative further, Cat started running down this new hallway.

  Loung gave chase. The hall became a descending ramp, leading down to the basement level. Cat saw an area ahead that promised a new strategy, as there were obstacles of all kinds that might offer her an advantage. Crates and barrels lined the sloping hallway has she ran past.

  Then Cat saw another danger. Savannah sat astride Petrow, choking the life from him. The half-elf worried that the limp handyman was already dead, but she saw his eyes roll towards her in a silent plea for help.

  Silver rapier rose for a thrust, but even before Cat got to the woman she remembered the threat from behind. The half-elf grabbed the tops of two barrels as she ran by, spilling them behind her. Knowing that might not be enough to slow Loung down, the tip of her rapier snagged the handle of a pottery jar sitting on a crate. She flipped the jar over her shoulder.

  Loung started to leap the barrels when the jar appeared near his face. The distraction proved sufficient in stopping him from clearing both barrels. The Tariykan and staff tumbled to the floor in a heap. The antique jar shattered nearby. The martial artist had almost landed on top of the discarded flail.

  Savannah barely had time to look for the noise when the rapier stabbed her. Cat thrust her blade into the cleric’s side, in an opening under one outstretched arm. Savannah screamed in pain even as the Cat collided into her. The impact drove Savannah off Petrow, sending both women rolling down the slope of the ramp. The hallway curved as it descended, and Savannah’s roll brought her to a stop within a doorway. An open, reinforced door hung on rusty hinges next to her. Cat landed in a controlled roll which quickly brought her into a crouched position.

  Cat was not about to face two opponents at once, certainly not with the skill possessed by the Tariykan. Cat had to react quickly. The half-elf jumped and landed a kick on the wounded cleric that knocked her through the open doorway. Savannah tumbled into a darkened room, blood flowing out from beneath her arm. The half-elf grabbed the reinforced door and pushed against the aging hinges to close it tightly. The door closed with the abbess inside, but it had no external lock.

  Cat needed to secure the door shut, but she was out of time. Loung was on his feet and charging at her. He had momentum built up to shove her away from the doorway, but Cat thought she might use that to her advantage. She spread her feet and prepared to dodge the staff. She avoided the outright thrust of the staff, but still got smacked by it as Loung readjusted quickly. Cat accepted the blow for what she needed to do. The hand without the rapier locked on to the staff, tucking it under her arm. Cat dropped backwards along the line of Loung’s charge, and kicked up with her foot. As Loung’s upper body pulled forward and down by the held staff, the half-elf’s foot connected with his hip enough to lift his legs. The Tariykan warrior catapulted over Cat as she rolled onto her back. Loung Chao rolled down the slope of the hall before he could bring himself to a stop. Even when the warrior got up, he saw a thin line of blood drawn across his leg where the half-elf managed a minor slice with her rapier.

  By then, Cat pulled out a small wedge from a pocket, and seated it under the door. The half-elf had no time to hammer it in before Loung came at her again. Cat flopped on her back fast enough to avoid the swinging staff. It smacked into the reinforced door at the level her head had occupied. Though she wore her helm, she knew that blow would have likely knocked her cold. For a brief moment, she seemed just as vulnerable laying on the floor at Loung’s feet. By the time that staff descended to strike her again, Cat had kicked away from the door. The same kick hammered the wedge tightly under the door.

  Cat rolled around as Loung made swing after swing. The bamboo rod smashed the rotted wood of the crates and knocked over a tall candelabrum on its path of destruction. The half-elf stayed one step ahead of getting hit, but only barely. The woman lashed out once and scored another nick on the foreign warrior with her rapier. Loung’s response sent her tumbling backwards from a solid kick.

  The half-elf’s tumble turned into a graceful cartwheel, as she descended to where the hallway finally leveled out on the basement floor. Loung gave chase, confidant the woman had been hurt more than he, and enjoying the longer reach of his staff.

  Behind them, up the ramp, lay Petrow. The cleric had failed to kill him, but only for the moment. The young man’s strength only allowed him a twitch of his muscles and a slight turn of the head. For the most part, he was still paralyzed, alone and helpless. He was an easy target for any enemy that happened to come along.

  * * * * *

  Trestan ran three steps ahead of getting chopped in half. The minotaur was gaining quickly. The young man jumped over an aged trunk left in a hallway. As he went over, he grabbed the lid and lifted it to a raised position. Trestan kept running as he heard the minotaur trip over the chest and land in a sprawl. Part of the creature bumped the young man as it went down, doing no damage but reaffirming how close Trestan had come to getting an axe in the head. If Trestan had kept his mind about him better, he might have used that moment to strike. Fear spurred him onward, and he did not stop to wait for Bortun.

  The young man turned through several openings, looking for anything that might give him the upper hand. Behind him, the minotaur got up as it cursed the human. As Trestan came to one chamber, he noticed a stairwell but decided to stay on the main floor. He turned through another doorway, but just as suddenly skidded to a halt.

  The newest room had no other exits other than the door he had just come through. It was a deathtrap. As soon as he realized it, he turned to sprint back out of the room. Bortun arrived just as Trestan ran out. The great axe came up for a swing. Trestan dove right at the minotaur’s legs. They collided with enough force to knock Trestan’s helmet off. The minotaur roared as Trestan impacted against his leg wound. The young man rolled away with new bruises, while Bortun stumbled several unbalanced steps into the room. A moment later, Trestan heard a crash as both minotaur and axe hit the floor again.

  Trestan shook himself into action, despite a sore shoulder from the collision and a continuing throb in his knee from the cleric’s blow. The young man took the closest exit available, which happened to be the wide staircase leading up. He jumped them two at a time in his initial efforts to outdistance the creature. Bortun ran out of the dead-end room, looking and listening for signs of his prey. Soon enough the monster figured where Trestan ran. Bortun jumped up steps three at a time.

  Trestan saw the top of the stairs, but realized he would never make it in time. The smelly, ra
ging beast pounded its hooves closer to his vulnerable back. The young man wanted to slay the monster, but victory seemed hopeless. Facing a wizard was one thing, because if you got close the wizard would be vulnerable. Bortun was a different matter, being such a larger than life opponent that shrugged tough hits and dealt tremendous damage in one swing. Trestan had no idea how he would defeat this creature.

  The elvish sword gave him small comfort, as a weapon which could surely hurt this monster. Trestan had to think of a way that he might fight the minotaur. He had to come up with a plan in a hurry, for the creature was once again almost upon him. Trestan could detect its musky stench.

  When Trestan was sure that the minotaur was close enough, he acted. Trestan reversed his momentum. The young man planted his feet, crouched, and brought up the sword up to strike. He stabbed the elvish blade back over his shoulder, without even really seeing the target behind him.

  Bortun howled in pain, as Trestan felt the blade slice into flesh. In turn, Trestan was clubbed by the blunt axe handle. The axe blade missed hitting him squarely, though it took a chunk out of the stone steps.

  Trestan followed up his first weapon thrust. The young man had not turned around yet. Trestan pulled the sword free of the minotaur’s flesh, noting blood on the sword as he did so. The smith sprang from his crouching position and spun simultaneously during his leap. The magical sword rose and fell in an overhead slash aimed at Bortun’s head. The minotaur fell backwards as the blade descended. Trestan flinched as he struck the blow, although he felt the second hit strike the minotaur.

  Trestan fell back to the stairs in a sitting position. He scrambled back to his feet. The minotaur tumbled down the steps, head over hooves. The monster stopped at the bottom, and Trestan dared hope he had struck the creature a mighty blow. A grumbling noise came from the creature, turning slowly into a low growl. Bortun staggered back to his feet, breathing hard, looking more mad than hurt. The minotaur still retained axe in hand. Trestan assessed the result. The initial strike over Trestan’s shoulder did little more than leave a wound on one side of the creature’s abdomen. Combined with the gash in the calf, the small puncture from one of Cat’s bolts earlier, and the hit to the side of the head from the dwarf, it seemed that little would slow this creature down. Trestan sought where his last overhead blow had struck, and as he looked he could see that something was definitely different.

  Jareth had sliced off one horn during the battle in Troutbrook; Trestan had just sliced off the other.

  The severed horn lay a few steps down from Trestan. Bortun saw it and put a hand up to confirm the loss. The young man watched as a reddish haze came over the minotaur’s eyes. Bortun flexed its oversized muscles as it glared a promise of death at the young smith. The creature roared out its rage. Its bellow thundered up the walls and kicked up dust. Bortun charged up, four steps at a time, and even used its free hand and axe hand to push past the side walls.

  Trestan, more terrified than ever, turned to flee again.

  * * * * *

  “This is for the stink of goblin breath!”

  The axe swept across, slicing through the torso of one undead creature. Old leather armor had once protected the body, though now it hung in tattered, dry strips much akin to the monster’s own flesh. The undead creature fell in halves to the ground.

  “This one is in honor of my dead grandpa, to rest in peace and never have his body raised by dark magic!”

  The mace came down heavily on a skeleton, shattering bones like dry twigs.

  “This is in return for all the full-bearded women who never wanted to settle down with me!”

  Salgor went in head first, using his helmet to smash a skeletal face. The monster held a rusty sword, but the dwarf’s attack slowed it. Salgor followed up with a cleave of his axe.

  “This one is because I’m out of whiskey!”

  His leg kicked out to trip a zombie. The monster fell to the floor, then never got up again as a mace crushed its head.

  Salgor Bandago whirled around to find the next target. His gaze swept across a roomful of broken bones, body pieces, and rusted weapons. He wanted to smash more creatures, having barely touched on his list of hateful things. Not a corpse moved. The bodies covering the floor gave every appearance of being lifeless once again. Salgor stood alone.

  The voice came from behind. “And this is because you make far too much noise.”

  Salgor turned to face Revwar, standing alone across the room. The elf made a pulling motion from the very air. Salgor heard a noise approaching behind him, and he turned to look. It was a spell the wizard had used in the battle in Troutbrook, though Salgor had not witnessed it before. The wizard’s magic pulled an invisible chain across the floor. The effects were easy to see. Pieces of cadavers and scattered bones were moved or thrown into the air as the magic force traveled along the ground. Salgor saw it with barely enough time to react.

  The dwarf brought his axe down on the invisible force, but the magic could not be ‘cut’ so easily. Moments later the mystical energy swept his legs from under him. The dwarf rolled about on the floor for a moment before he could scramble back to his feet. The noises caused by the dragged bones diminished. Salgor once again faced the wizard, muttering curses. Some of the body pieces and skeletal remains were still rocking to a stop when the next spell blasted the area.

  Revwar no longer pulled on the invisible chain. A wind roared through the chamber as he formed new magical energies. The elf’s black robe, trimmed with red, whipped around his body as he lost himself in the throes of another spell. Salgor took a couple steps forward before the spell took form. Several loose objects in the room, many of which were the remains of the undead creatures, launched forth from wherever they rested. The objects all hurtled towards the bearded warrior. Salgor felt a clay cup shatter against his helmet. A skeleton’s pelvic bone bounced low and clipped his leg. He leaned forward as numerous objects hammered at him. A storm of flying debris slammed into the dwarf. As the small warrior stood strong, a piece of stone from the shattered balcony drew blood as it struck. He dropped to his knees as more objects pummeled his short frame. Debris hammered against him. A pile of cluttered objects made a mound where the dwarf had once stood.

  Revwar let his spell expire on its own. Loose objects finally settled around the mound even as a cloud of dust obscured the far corners of the room. Silence reigned in the ancient throne hall. The elf watched and listened, silently leaning on his staff. He began to feel the toll of all the magical energy expended. For the first time in long minutes, no more sounds of battle issued forth from the chamber. Revwar stood alone next to the podium and the undisturbed pattern created for summoning the demon.

  As Revwar looked over the room, he heard a grunt from the pile. One muscled hand broke through the top of the debris, holding an axe. Soon another hand raised a mace, partially draped by a skeletal limb. The stubborn dwarf lifted his entire body from the pile. He shook vigorously, trying to dislodge all the bits and pieces hanging from his armor and beard. Revwar normally kept a calm front despite any circumstance, but his jaw dropped at seeing his opponent still standing. As Salgor stepped out from the mound, the elf wizard’s mind cycled through his remaining spell tricks.

  Salgor used his dirty sleeve to wipe some blood off of his lip. The dwarf spread his arms out wide in an open challenge. He reveled in the worry dawning on the wizard’s face. Salgor called forth, “Running low o’ the tricks elf? I’m still coming for you!”

  Salgor started to walk forward, slow and deliberate. Revwar did indeed back up a step, then another, frustration on his face. Salgor actually started laughing.

  “Run out o’ monsters have you? Nay more undead left in your pockets?” Salgor noticed one fleck of pottery on his beard, and he casually flicked it off as he spoke. “All the bits and pieces you can throw at me won’t do you much good. You might as well try to get the walls and floor o’ the keep to try to stop me!”

  Revwar’s face changed; an evil grin spread
across his face. “Dwarf, you offer me an idea!”

  Salgor Bandago stopped laughing as the wizard moved to lay his hands on the relic stone. The dwarf broke into a charge. Revwar spoke more words to the holy relic as he held it before him.

  The holy relic set loose another of its many hidden powers. The floor seemed to melt upwards in two different places ahead of the dwarf’s charge. Stones and dirt bent up from the ground to form into two humanoid shapes. Creatures of rock materialized from the very floor they had once been. The surface of the floor unattached from the two creatures, resuming its normal shape. The monsters were elemental spirits, locked in bodies created of earth. In many ways, they were much like the possessed undead bodies Salgor had just defeated. These creations were much harder to kill.

  They advanced upon Salgor, moving on legs of stone and rock banded together.

  * * * * *

  Petrow grunted with exertion and won a small victory. He used his trembling arms and legs to flip onto his belly. The numbness remained, with a fair amount of tingling sensations. He’d had similar experiences when waking up at nights to find one limb still asleep. It was the same effect now, though over his entire body. He moved his arms and legs, but could not manage even much of a crawl. He felt he could not move one arm at all, only to realize the numbed limb merely had trouble getting past a crate.

  He could look about, though his head felt much heavier than normal. He had a scare only a few moments earlier when a noise came from the door just down the hall. Savannah had weakly attempted to open the wedged door, lacking success. It left Petrow wondering what shape the woman was in following Cat’s rapier attack. If the cleric escaped the room he would still be very vulnerable.