Frostgrave: Ghost Archipelago: Tales of the Lost Isles

by JOSEPH A. MCCULLOUGH

  Vance was already in the thick of the fighting; organising the men into tight formations, forcing the enemy into channels, using his immense preternatural strength. A true soldier.

  The Drichean shielded Kassandra from another blow-dart, and hacked down an onrushing tribesman with his mace. Kassandra finally smashed the lock, fumbling about inside the chest. She snatched up the map with a gleam in her eye.

  ‘Go now! The Drichean said. It is almost too late—’

  A bone club splintered against the side of the man’s head. He spun about and collapsed to the ground. Kassandra rolled beneath the tribesman’s second blow, hacked at the back of his leg with her hatchet, and ran. The Drichean had paid the ultimate price for helping her. Who was he? Why had he done it? She could only honour his sacrifice by escaping.

  She ran as fast as she could towards the track. The tribesmen’s numbers were already thinning. Kassandra swore she heard shouts from Vance’s men directed at her. The distraction of the battle would not give her much of a head start, not once Vance had joined the fray – he had a knack for ending fights swiftly.

  Kassandra plunged through undergrowth. Movement all around – fleeing warriors, deciding on easier prey today. She did not stop, keen eyes searching for any landmark that might guide her. She had memorised what she could of the map, but that was the problem with enchantments like these – they twisted and changed as you got closer to the destination. Kassandra’s gift was able to unpick the instructions in part, certainly more ably than she’d let on to Vance, but not completely. All she knew was that she had to go north, past something called the Blood Grove, and over the Mermaid-Tail Falls. Names given these strange locales by Black Jacques. Names that meant nothing to their guides, or to Kassandra.

  Soon she was beneath dark eaves, the sky blotted out by viridian canopies. All sound was dulled – she could hear only the thrumming of her own heart in her ears, twigs snapping underfoot, her breath loud as a hissing thunder-lizard.

  Except, she was sure that was a hiss, and a loud one.

  Acting on instinct, Kassandra leapt aside as a tangle of thorny bushes beside her exploded. A sailback roared, its immense scaly hide glistening in the half light, its eyes reflecting the horror on Kassandra’s face. She dropped to the ground as a massive claw swept over her head, raking the iron-hard bark of an ancient tree.

  And then it stopped. Its yellow, reptilian eyes flashed momentarily red with an inner luminescence. It beheld her. She knew at once: Kor’Thiel. Kassandra returned the creature’s gaze, and something passed between them, unsaid – a moment of unspoken communication between Heritor and Beast Warden, through the alien mind of a deadly predator. Kassandra felt a glimmer of hope.

  The spell was broken abruptly. Violent cries rose up all around. Kassandra shook the fug from her mind, as Vance charged through the undergrowth, spear levelled at the sailback. The red glow vanished from the creature’s eyes and with a roar it turned. Its great tail whipped about the small clearing, swiping Vance aside like he was nothing, and then it was gone, the earth trembling under its clawed feet as it went.

  For a moment, Kassandra thought Vance was dead. But as his men arrived, he stood, pushing away those who tried to help him. The subtle aura of his power flickered, at least to Kassandra’s eyes, and then faded completely. Vance went down on one knee, squinting his eyes, growling in anger at the agony he felt. The blood burn was upon him. He had used his great strength for too prolonged a period, and now suffered the consequences. It was the Heritor’s curse.

  ‘Get the girl,’ Vance snarled. His men obeyed, grabbing Kassandra, and dragging her back to the plateau’s edge. They half-carried Vance, who thankfully was in no fit state to chastise Kassandra for her escape attempt. That would come later, she was certain.

  At the makeshift camp, Kassandra’s wrists were bound, and she was placed under watch. Half the men of the party were dead, their bodies littering the ground alongside painted tribesmen. The bodies of pirates and soldiers were looted of useful equipment, and stacked onto a funeral pyre. The dead tribesmen were tossed ignominiously down the side of the mountain, to become a feast for the carrion-birds that already circled overhead.

  They rested longer than planned, while Vance recovered his strength. He glared at Kassandra from time-to-time, but said nothing. Only when the sun kissed the distant mountain range, and the sky streaked the colour of fire, did Vance give the order to move out.

  The much-depleted group took to the jungle, men exhausting themselves by hacking their way through the foliage, the humid air pungent with sweat. Vance did not sully himself with manual labour – his gifts would have made short work of the morass of jungle, and the looks of his men said that they knew it.

  ‘I must save my strength,’ he said to Kassandra. ‘Who knows what terrors lie ahead? What if you try to escape, and I must save you from the clutches of some great ape? Stay close, my little brown owl. I shall protect you.’

  Hours passed, and night fell. The men formed two teams – half to hack at the undergrowth with axes and broad blades, and half to bear torches, in which myriad hungry eyes gleamed from the darkness. Vance grew increasingly irritable at his men’s slow progress, at times forcing Bharquist to use his powers, and bid the forest part the way for their passage. The enchantments seemed difficult – the Earth Warden complained that the ancient magic of this jungle was set in opposition to him.

  At long last they came to a small clearing, where the trees pulsated as though alive, and the creepers that wound about them were of the deepest red. Thick red sap dripped from them, like blood, staining the lichen at the pirates’ feet. In the light of the flickering torches, it was a hellish sight.

  ‘Blood Grove, I take it,’ Vance said. ‘So we go north from here. How far did you say it was?’

  ‘I didn’t,’ Kassandra replied. Vance sighed in frustration, and strode to the men at the front of the line. Kassandra smiled to herself – as long as she had the power still to vex him, she could take some solace in her lot.

  From the corner of her eye, she saw movement, something snaking its way through the grass. Ahead, the silvery light of the moon barely penetrated the black canopy of the jungle, but a silver shaft of light fell upon Kassandra’s bound hands. It was enough. She shifted her senses, summoning her mystical vision. Around her, the grove was aglow with crimson energy. Deep red luminescence thrummed in every vine and plant. The plants moved, with malign intelligence.

  Kassandra hopped aside quickly to avoid a lashing tendril, which snatched instead at the ankle of one of Vance’s soldiers. The militiaman let out a panicked cry as he was whipped upwards into the trees. The men at once set about trying to get him down, only to watch in horror their comrade’s fate. To Kassandra’s eyes it was a grand show of lights, as the man’s life-force flared bright, only to be sucked into the entangling vines, and in turn nourish the trees of the grove. At the taste of blood, the plants came alive, rustling, humming with power. Whip-like tendrils snapped across the grove, snatching at their prey. Kassandra saw the entire grove come alive. Her senses were alive. She could see the danger before it struck, but she could not avoid it forever.

  ‘Run!’ she cried. She darted away, dodging from side-to-side as hungry roots erupted from the earth, trying to trip her. She ducked swinging boughs with gnarled, grasping hands; she hopped over creepers that snatched at her ankles. Thorny branches flicked at her, scratching her face, tearing her clothes. She did not stop. A man was hoisted into the air before her, and dropped into the maw of some gigantic, monstrous thing. His essence exploded in a riot of colour before Kassandra’s moon-sight, and then was gone. The blood-curdling screams of the men at her back was motivation enough to run from the Blood Grove, and not look back.

  Kassandra ran into the night, until the cries faded and she could see nothing. The moonlight was blotted out, and with it her preternatural senses. She did not know which way was north, or what lay out there in the dark. She was almost grateful that she did not ha
ve to find out. Almost.

  A strong hand grabbed her arm.

  ‘Running again, eh? I warned you…’ Vance snarled.

  Kassandra rounded on him angrily. ‘Would you rather I died? What good am I to you then, Vance? And you followed me out, did you not? I didn’t have to call out to you.’

  ‘No, but I imagine you did so only because you need this?’ He held up the map, now secured in a leather case.

  Four bedraggled men approached, panting, bloody. One held a torch, bringing much-needed light. A fifth staggered from the darkness – Bharquist. The Earth Warden pulled back his hood, and mopped his tattooed brow.

  ‘Five of you?’ Vance asked, dismay evident in his tone. ‘The others?’

  A bearded sailor shook his head wearily.

  ‘Bharquist, why did you not stop those things? They were creatures of the earth – they were within your dominion.’

  ‘Oh no, my lord,’ Bharquist said with a tremulous voice. ‘Whatever those things were, they were not of the earth.’

  Vance cursed. ‘We have not even reached these damnable caves. We still have to make the return journey. But with only seven of us…’

  ‘When we find the treasure,’ Kassandra said, ‘we shall have all we need. There are said to be items of great power buried with Black Jacques. They will see us well.’

  Vance considered this. ‘I would very much like to see your ancestor’s cursed bones before this night is done, that I might stamp them to dust for the trouble he has put me to.’

  ‘You know how Jacques came to die out here?’ Kassandra snarled.

  ‘I care not,’ Vance mocked.

  ‘He was betrayed, by someone close to him.’

  ‘Then you are already well on the way to following in his illustrious footsteps, aren’t you?’ Vance took out his compass. ‘We head north, and hope to find some spit of moonlight with which to put you to use.’

  * * *

  The waterfall was easily two hundred feet high, plunging into a great cleft in the jungle plateau, and splitting halfway down its descent upon a jutting blade of rock. This natural formation created the fish-tail that had doubtless prompted the name, the Mermaid-Tail Falls.

  The noise of the cascade was deafening, but Kassandra felt a great relief to be in the open air; to feel the spray of water upon her face. Overhead, the moon shone mercifully bright, although bloated, bat-winged creatures bobbed upon the air currents, doubtless looking for just such tasty morsels as these would-be treasure-hunters.

  Vance unfurled the map, and held it in front of Kassandra’s face. ‘Well? What do you see?’ he demanded.

  Kassandra took a breath and blinked her moon-sight into focus. Although Vance could see only a hastily scribbled outline upon a piece of stained parchment, the map came alive now to Kassandra’s eyes. Paths and groves, caverns and ruined temples, handwritten notes, mystical runes… Warnings. All of these things and more swam across the scroll, coalescing into vivid patterns. But something was not right – the images would not settle. Try as she might, Kassandra could not focus on the map – it was as though the lines wriggled away from her sight.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Vance said.

  ‘I… I am not sure. It’s as though the map doesn’t want to be read.’

  She turned away, rubbing at her eyes, ignoring Vance’s impatient huff. When she looked up, she saw at once what was wrong. The falls ahead glowed with unearthly power. Sigils and secret signs traced upon the rocks centuries ago now revealed themselves.

  Kassandra gasped. ‘The map continues, all around us,’ she said. ‘It’s beautiful.’

  Vance looked to Bharquist, who crouched and touched a hand to the earth, closing his eyes and muttering some strange chant. When he stopped, he said, ‘She is right. It is a living map, marked on the landscape itself by Black Jacque’s Warden, long ago. This is ancient lore. I cannot decipher it.’

  ‘But I think I can,’ Kassandra said. She focused on the sigils that now floated before her in the air, forced herself to pin them down until she could discern their shimmering forms. Some of those signs were familiar. With a laugh, she snatched the map from Vance, struggling to turn it this way and that with her wrists bound as they were. ‘Hold it here, like this,’ she said at last.

  Vance reluctantly agreed, and the map sprang to vibrant life. The sigils upon the rocks were aligned with those on the map, and the entire surface of the parchment twisted and turned, until finally the way became clear.

  ‘It is not really a map!’ Kassandra said. ‘It’s a compass. And it points down there.’ She blinked away the moon-sight, already tiring of the effect, and fearing the blood price.

  ‘Behind the falls?’ Vance asked.

  ‘Aye. The Kraken Caves. That is where Black Jacques Dupont rests. I would stake my oath upon it.’

  ‘And you expect us to climb down there? With one rope between us?’

  ‘What’s wrong, Vance – afraid?’ Kassandra mocked. She saw indignation flare in his bright blue eyes. ‘There is a path,’ she said. ‘Hidden. I’ll show you the way. But it is a difficult climb – you’d best cut me loose.’

  ‘Out of the question.’

  ‘Then I’ll fall to my death and dash my head on those rocks, and you’ll be without a guide. Come on – what can one slip of a girl do against six brave men?’

  ‘Her job, if she knows what is good for her,’ Vance whispered in her ear, cutting her bonds with his dagger.

  Kassandra only smiled.

  * * *

  Soaked to the skin, bedraggled and exhausted, the motley companions assembled in the cave mouth. Its moss-covered walls were soaked with spray, the sound of the crashing falls behind deafening. Torches were lit, illuminating forking passages ahead.

  ‘What do you see?’ Vance asked. ‘Which way?’

  ‘I see runes,’ Kassandra said. ‘Jacques marked these passages with magic. One way leads to certain death, the other to his treasure, but only for those with eyes to see.’

  ‘Then lead on. Let’s get this over with.’

  Kassandra took the right-most fork, ducking low beneath stalactites and squeezing through narrow defiles. The passage twisted and turned, sometimes sloping up, sometimes down. Several times the party emerged into chambers, with several routes branching off, and each time Kassandra carefully led the way. Finally, a shaft of light ahead alerted her to her goal.

  ‘There,’ she pointed. ‘We’ve found it.’

  Vance’s men breathed sighs of relief, for they were not well-suited to the confines of this underground labyrinth. Vance was about to lead the way, when his Warden tugged at his arm.

  ‘Hold, my lord,’ Bharquist said. ‘I sense danger ahead. Some disturbance rings through the very stone here. A fell presence.’

  Vance frowned. ‘What do you advise, Warden?’ he asked.

  ‘I must converse with the stones, lord, and discover the nature of this evil. Only then will I—’

  ‘Enough of this!’ Kassandra said. ‘I’ve waited long enough to claim my birth-right, I shall wait no longer!’

  With that, she raced along the tunnel. Vance protested, and at once ordered his men to give chase. He called her back, but she did not listen. Kassandra had no weapon – Vance had allowed her nothing but the clothes on her back – but at least her hands were free. She would take her chances.

  She ran into a large chamber, round and dark. One half was taken up by a rippling black pool, crescent-shaped, lapping gently at bare rock. Beside the pool was a rocky mound, upon which lay a ragged skeleton, clutching a small wooden chest. High above, a circular rent in the cavern ceiling allowed a stream of moonlight to penetrate the gloom, and the light fell upon the mound. Around the mound was a circle of glowing runes. Kassandra knew at once that only she could see them – some form of magical ward placed here centuries ago, perhaps to protect the contents of the chest. Was this the source of the so-called curse? This, surely, was the resting place of Black Jacques himself. But where were the bones of hi
s crew?

  Footsteps thudded behind her. Kassandra saw the men bearing down on her, and so she ran toward the mound, her moon-sight guiding her, allowing her to formulate a plan.

  The men followed, racing full-tilt after her. And at the last, she darted aside, throwing herself to the ground. The men grasped at thin air, but their feet crossed the line of glowing runes.

  A mournful groan filled the cavern, sweeping all around them like a winter’s wind through a Frostgrave tomb. The men stopped dead. Bharquist began to chant. Kassandra felt Vance’s hand upon her arm, hoisting her to her feet.

  ‘What was that? What have you done?’

  Kassandra only cried out in pain, wincing. Vance let her go as she dropped to the ground, clutching her eyes. ‘The Blood Burn,’ she groaned. ‘I’m sorry Vance. I could not see. You forced me…’ She curled up on the ground, holding her head.

  ‘Weak…’ Vance muttered.

  A crumbling, cracking noise erupted all around. The rocks gave way, and skeletal forms leapt down from long-hidden niches in the walls, and dug their way from the ground. A handful at first, then a dozen, then a score. The ancient dead assembled in the cavern, taking up swords and shield, beholding Vance’s plunderers with hollow sockets and cold, dead malice.

  As one, like an army of the dead, the skeletons attacked. Bharquist gestured in the air, bringing rocks down upon the heads of his foes, or rooting them to the spot, but there were too many. The Earth Warden backed away until there was nowhere else to go, and died on the points of blunted, rusty swords.

  The other men hacked and slashed at their foes, their swords becoming caught in brittle rib cages, their axes taking off skeletal limbs and yet not for a moment slowing the advance of this immortal foe. One by one they fell.

  Only Vance fared well. Kassandra saw his glowing aura like a shining beacon in the thick of the fighting. Ancient blades turned aside on his stone-hard flesh. Skeletal warriors were turned to dust at each strike of Vance’s longsword. He roared in defiance, felling his enemies left and right, the power of his arm more than compensating for the inadequacy of a blade-edge against such bloodless assailants.