Under the Crimson Sun (the abyssal plague)

by Keith R. A. DeCandido

  “Volmar’s dead.”

  “Hell with this-I’ll get three silver somewhere else.”

  As the fighters scattered like mice, Komir saw one of the dwarves-a bald fellow with a thick mustache-trying to help the one who was buried.

  “What are you doing?” some idiot asked. To Komir’s shock, he realized that he was the idiot-confirmed by his feet moving, somewhat against his better judgment, toward the dwarf to aid him.

  The dwarf-whose name, Komir recalled, was Barglin-said, “Gan’s under here.”

  Komir felt his stomach drop. “What was he doing in here?”

  Barglin was grabbing rocks and throwing them to one side, trying to clear Gan’s body. “He got knocked in here by that thing with the three mouths that used to be Mandred. Now you wanna help me, or not? He might live if we get him out.”

  “If we don’t get out of here, we might not live.” Even as Komir said the words, he kneeled down and, like the dwarf, started tossing stones aside. He wasn’t about to leave Gan behind on top of everything else.

  Drahar was losing.

  In truth, he had lost before he started. Whatever the Voidharrow creature was, he was considerably more powerful than Drahar. The chamberlain feared he might be more powerful than Hamanu.

  Drahar had to put everything he had and more into his fight. To spare anything, even to summon the king to aid him, would be suicidal.

  Too late, he realized his own arrogance, his own blindness. All he’d thought about was how he and Tharson could use the creature to curry favor with the king by providing him with a way to raise an army that would enable him to truly become the King of the World.

  Instead, he’d let himself be fooled by charalatans-he wasn’t sure how or why, but he knew now that Wrena and Dalon were frauds-and now he was about to die at the hands of an otherworldly creature he couldn’t hope to understand.

  But he for damn sure wouldn’t go down without a fight.

  On the Astral Plane, the Voidharrow punched him repeatedly in the stomach. A sad irony that their magical battle would translate in the ether to the very fisticuffs that Drahar so abhorred.

  This ends now, minion, the dreadnaught boasted as he slammed Drahar with a misshapen fist.

  “No, it doesn’t,” said another voice.

  A blonde with curly hair was standing behind him. Drahar hadn’t the first clue who she was, but his trained mind instantly detected that she had a powerful talent-albeit raw and unfocused.

  “I will aid you, Lord Chamberlain,” she said, touching his shoulder. He could feel her power flowing into him. “Together, we will make this thing pay for what it did to Rol.”

  The chamberlain grabbed onto the woman’s power, and for a moment it nearly overwhelmed him. She was obviously untrained-which, if nothing else, proved she was not born and raised in Urik. Hamanu’s templars tested every child born under his rule and placed them appropriately. A child of her ability would have been fast-tracked to the King’s Academy just as Drahar had been-but where his placement was due to his station, hers would’ve been entirely due to ability.

  But Drahar was in no position to dwell on the waste of letting her potential lay fallow. Right now what he needed was the strength of this woman-whose name, he now knew, was Feena Storvis, the sister to the one with the eye patch-to stop the Voidharrow.

  Perhaps now he might not lose. At the very worst, he’d put up a better fight.

  Karalith was making sure that everyone who was still upright got out safely.

  One half-giant grabbed her and asked, “When do we get our money?”

  “Go to the Three Brothers Stable by the City of the Dead and wait for us there, you’ll get paid. Tell the thri-kreen that I sent you, and say the word ‘geresche.’ ” It was a codeword that was meant to sound like elven, but it truly meant nothing. But it signaled to Tricht’tha that the fighters had truly been sent by someone from the emporium.

  Once they all got out, she found Zabaj, holding a large metal box filled with their profits from the increasingly dangerous job. “What’s going on?”

  Karalith blew out a breath. “Everything’s going to hell is what’s going on. Whatever Rol’s turned into, it’s powerful enough to take on the chamberlain. Feena’s gone to help him.”

  “What?”

  As soon as she’d said it, Karalith realized she should have kept her mouth shut.

  Zabaj immediately dropped the box onto the stone floor. It hit with a rattling thunk and Zabaj ran back the way Karalith had come.

  With a sigh, she hauled the box of ceramic coins and made her way to the exit. She wasn’t sure where Komir was, but she trusted her brother to take care of himself. She needed to get the hell out of there before the chamberlain and the monster conspired to destroy the entire arena.

  Zabaj ran through the catacombs of the arena and what he saw chilled him to his very bones.

  Intellectually, the mul knew that Feena was a mind-mage. Not a trained one, and she mostly only used her skills to help fool victims in the game, and to occasionally block the emporium members’ thoughts from other mind-mages.

  So it was easy for him to forget how powerful she was.

  There she stood, side-by-side with Drahar, magic coursing through them both, lattices of energy that were intertwined and being thrown at the monster that Rol had been changed into.

  For all his life-both in the arena and with the emporium-Zabaj had solved most problems with his might. Either he’d punch things or lift heavy things or do something else that required his prodigious strength.

  This, however, was a fight where he wasn’t sure what good his physical abilities would do.

  But Feena was fighting for her life, and she was the woman Zabaj loved. He was still angry at her for making him go back on his word and become a part of this foul place, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t lay down his life for her if necessary.

  So he charged the creature, slamming it into the wall.

  Feena felt a surge of joy as Zabaj’s bulk sent the Voidharrow smashing into a wall. So focused was the otherworldly monster on the magical end that it had lost track of the physical.

  Drahar, with Feena’s help, took advantage of the distraction to strike as hard as possible.

  In truth, the actual spellcasting was all Drahar. Feena’s lack of training in the Way prevented her from being an active participant, instead being relegated to being a power source. She was simply the water that flowed through the pumps-Drahar was the well that did the work to bring it out.

  Zabaj’s arrival, however, weakened the creature enough that Feena was able to split her focus briefly. Drahar could handle things for a bit.

  Instead, Feena turned her attention to the corner of the Astral Plane where she saw Rol curled up into a ball.

  But she sensed nothing. Rol’s presence was gone from this mindscape.

  Still, she reached out mentally, tried to find a spark, a presence-something that might have remained of Rol within.

  Rol-it’s Feena. Please tell me there’s something here. Tell me that some part of you is hanging on.

  “… go away …”

  The voice was small, faint-Feena barely heard it. It was cloaked in agony and despair and loss.

  But it was definitely Rol.

  Listen to me, Rol, I can help you.

  “I’m beyond help. Just let me die in peace.”

  In truth, he was very close to that. His last spark of consciousness was flickering and dying. A few more moments and it would be too late.

  And even the tiniest spark could be fanned into a flame.

  We’re here fighting for you, Rol. Me and Komir and Karalith-Zabaj is fighting the creature you’ve turned into. And Gan’s been here all along trying to save you.

  “I can’t be saved, Feena. There is no Rol Mandred anymore, there’s just the Voidharrow.” The voice grew louder, but the despair thickened.

  So you’re just going to give up?

  “What choice do I have?”

&
nbsp; Feena was suddenly furious. I guess you’re right-there is no Rol Mandred. Because the Rol I know, the Rol that my brother pledged his lifelong friendship to, would never give up without a fight.

  “How can I fight myself?” A glimmer of hope started to shine through.

  You can take back control of your own body. I can help you.

  “It’s no use, Feena. It’s not even my body anymore.” The hope started to weaken, and the voice grew faint again.

  You can at least try to stop it from causing further harm. Zabaj and Gan and I are trying to fight it. You can help us.

  “Gan’s here?” The hope came through more clearly then. “He’s still alive?”

  Yes, and fighting for you.

  A pause.

  “What do you need me to do?”

  Feena thought for a moment. I can give you a mental boost-it might be enough to give you physical control of at least a small part of the creature.

  “All right.”

  Determination pierced through the veil of despair, fanning the flames of Rol’s consciousness. Feena diverted some of her power into Rol, hoping that what she took from Drahar could be spared.

  She felt Rol concentrate on his right arm, thinking about all the things he did with it: punching people, holding knives, putting it around pretty women, eating fine food, eating bad food, eating that fantastic jerky, drinking far too much ale, and throwing open doors to make dramatic entrances.

  Feena found herself learning a bit more about Rol than she expected just from that …

  Rol flexed his fingers-and the fingers of the creature moved.

  On its right hand, at least. Its left hand smashed into Zabaj’s stomach.

  The creature’s voice then came from everywhere at once. You are a fool, Rol Mandred. Are you truly so deluded that you believe you can defeat me?

  “I’d say I’m exactly that deluded, yeah.” After saying that, Rol made the creature punch himself in the nose.

  Zabaj chose that moment to return the creature’s favor by punching it in the stomach in the real world at the same time that Feena and Drahar both started to strangle him on the blue earthen floor.

  Rol tried to expand his influence beyond that right arm, but found himself being beaten down by the creature.

  Feena poured more of her own abilities into Drahar. With them hitting the creature on three different fronts-the two of them magically, Rol mentally, and Zabaj physically-they stood a chance.

  At least, Feena had to hope that.

  Drahar probably felt that thought, because he then said to her, “There’s only one thing we can do, and we must do it now.”

  In her mind’s eye, she could see the spell he would need to cast, which Drahar shared with her through their mental link.

  “It will kill him,” Feena said, “and possibly us and Zabaj as well.”

  “Violence makes it more powerful. The longer this fight continues, the worse our position becomes. And Mandred’s final echo of consciousness won’t last much longer. Once it finally expires, we’ll die.”

  Feena knew Drahar was right, for all that she wanted him to be wrong. Time was their biggest enemy right then.

  “Let’s do it,” she said, wishing that there was some way that she could say good-bye to Zabaj and to Gan.

  Komir and Barglin were pulling Gan’s broken form out from under the rocks-he was still breathing, thankfully-when suddenly there was a fierce glow that was brighter than the sun.

  Komir shielded his eyes as Rol, Feena, Drahar, and Zabaj-who had joined the fracas while Komir and the dwarf were rescuing Gan-were enveloped in it.

  But he couldn’t just see the light, he could feel it. The brightness seemed to actually touch his mind.

  That was when Komir realized that it was probably the most powerful burst of mind-magic he’d ever encountered.

  After a few seconds that seemed to take forever, the light faded, dimming into nothingness.

  Three bodies were left lying on the stone floor staring up at the ceiling, and a mul who was blinking furiously.

  “What just happened?” Barglin asked.

  “Damned if I know,” Komir muttered. “You all right, Zabaj?”

  “Feena.” Zabaj kneeled down beside her.

  Barglin hefted Gan over his shoulder. “I’ll take care of him. You help the mul.”

  “Thanks.”

  Smiling, the dwarf said, “Gan was okay to me. And he was kinda funny, plus he cared about his friend. You don’t see that every day.”

  Nodding, Komir walked over to see both Feena and Drahar lying on the floor, staring blankly up at the ceiling. They both breathed shallowly, but they showed no signs of consciousness. He waved his hands over Feena’s eyes, and she didn’t blink.

  The monster was not breathing. In fact, the strange red stones that protruded from its shoulders were starting to crack and shatter and fall to the floor as powder.

  “Damn,” Komir muttered.

  Komir stared at the body in the hopes that it might change back to the familiar form of Rol-but it stayed as the strange monster.

  Then he walked over to Zabaj, who was cradling the shell-shocked Feena in his arms, stroking her cheek with his oversized hand. “C’mon, Zabaj, we need to get out of here.”

  The mul didn’t move.

  Putting his hand on his friend’s wide shoulder, Komir said more forcefully, “Zabaj-we have to go.”

  Zabaj looked up at Komir as if he had no idea who the half-elf was. Then he looked down at Feena again, nodded, and stood up.

  Leaving Drahar’s body behind, they departed, Komir leading the way, Barglin carrying Gan, Zabaj carrying Feena.

  They passed the bodies of several soldiers, as well as the pulped remains of the mind-mages who’d come with Rol.

  “I can’t believe Drahar actually thought he might be able to control that thing,” Komir said with a shudder.

  “He paid the price for thinking that,” Zabaj said.

  “Yeah. C’mon, Karalith and Tricht’tha should be waiting for us at the carriage. We need to be out of Urik as soon as we can.”

  Gan didn’t feel very good.

  He woke up to find himself lying in a hammock that was rocking back and forth. Below him, several items were secured with straps, and looking over, he saw two older people asleep on another hammock.

  After a second, he recognized them as Torthal and Shira Serthlara, the owners of the emporium.

  It would seem he was rescued.

  “You’re awake.” It was Karalith who spoke the words, and Gan looked down to see her standing in the middle of the carriage, her palm against one of the boxes of goods for balance.

  “I guess so. Either that, or the afterlife involves being greeted by people you know in settings you’re familiar with while being in considerable pain.”

  Karalith smiled, but it didn’t extend to her eyes. “No such luck, I’m afraid. You’ve got a lot of broken bones. And we’re in the middle of the wastes, so it’ll be a while before we can get you to a healer.”

  “It doesn’t feel like I’ve got a lot of broken bones.”

  “That’s because we’ve given you a draft that numbs the pain.”

  “Which also explains why I’m so sleepy even though I was unconscious a minute ago.” Gan swallowed, an action that almost hurt. “What happened to Rol?”

  At that, Karalith just gave him a solemn look.

  Gan sighed. “That’s what I was afraid of. I was hoping that-”

  “He nearly killed Feena. She’s still catatonic-Zabaj is watching over her. Barglin’s up front with Tricht’tha, watching over the reins. Turns out, he’s pretty good with the crodlus. We may keep him around a bit.”

  It took Gan a few moments to remember who Barglin was. “The dwarf came along?”

  “According to Komir, he saved your life.”

  “I’ll have to thank him, then. Meantime, I can thank you.”

  “Oh, no need,” Karalith said with another of those incomplete smiles. “W
e got the King of the World for three thousand gold. Nobody’s ever pulled a game like that before. We’ll go down in history for this one.”

  Karalith’s voice caught, belying the boastfulness of the words.

  Gan couldn’t blame her. “Some history. Feena and I are both in bad shape, Fehrd and Rol are dead, and this strange force has been unleashed on the world.”

  “Well, the strange force shouldn’t be an issue. Komir and Zabaj said that Rol was dead, and whatever possessed him died with it.”

  Gan leaned back and stared at the ceiling. “Well, that’s good, at least.”

  “I’ll go tell Barglin and Komir that you’re awake.”

  “Thanks again, Karalith. If you guys hadn’t come for us …” Gan trailed off, for once unable to find the right words.

  Karalith just nodded and walked gingerly to the front of the carriage.

  Gan let the rocking of the carriage and the effects of the draft lull him to sleep slowly. They were obviously going at a steady clip, but given that they’d stolen so much gold from King Hamanu, they needed to be away from Urik in a hurry.

  Without Fehrd and without Rol, Gan had absolutely no idea what he was going to with his life now.

  First, obviously, he was going to have to heal. But Gan had always followed the lead of the other two. Somehow he doubted that the emporium would be willing to let him stay on-and he wasn’t even sure he wanted to. Tricking people out of money really wasn’t Gan’s thing. He preferred to take it more honestly.

  But the choice wouldn’t be his for a while. Certainly not until he healed up. Attempts to move his limbs had sent pain slicing through his body, pushing against the power of Karalith’s draft, and he thought it best simply to stay still.

  As he faded into sleep, he wondered what the frip he was thinking playing that damned frolik game …

  EPILOGUE

  Templar Tharson strode through the winding corridors of the dungeons beneath Destiny’s Kingdom.

  Tharson had never had much use for the place. Since becoming commander of the Imperial Guard, he’d had to spend far more time there than he was comfortable with. He preferred the simplicity of the soldiers’ barracks. None of the ostentatious lion architecture that infested the city-state like a disease, just simple beds, simple walls, simple doors.