by Dan McGirt
“The warriors grumble,” said Kogarth.
“Well they should,” said Merc. “Many of them may die before this day is through.”
“It is not death they fear, but what may follow death in this place. There are creatures here who swallow souls.”
“Hopefully we won’t run into any of those,” said Merc.
“I’ll need three shamans and ten warriors to accompany me through the secret way. Preferably not so mulka-sodden that they can no longer think, hear, and obey.”
Kogarth quickly selected those who would accompany us. Merc gave them a cursory inspection and nodded his approval. “Brave Kogarth, this host must provide a diversion to hold the attention of those within. The Society knows we are here for we have seen their creatures scuttling in the shadows as we approached. But they do not know why we are here. Have the warriors scream, chant, dance about, wave their spears, and hurl curses for a while. In an hour’s time make as if you intend to storm the citadel by main force, but go no higher than the third gate. Should you get that far, withdraw and dance around a while longer before attacking again.” He turned to those who would accompany us inside. “We have the important task, for we must slaughter the leaders within the citadel, mighty sorcerers all. Yet we have might of our own and, the Gray God willing, we shall prevail.”
“Well spoken,” said Kogarth. “Go now and destroy the enemies of the Folk.”
Mercury led our band to a narrow cleft in the east wall of the canyon. It was hidden by a protruding lip of rock which made the sheer cliff face seem unbroken, but the path beyond twisted its way into the depths. We were forced to advance single file. I took the lead with Overwhelm in hand. Merc was right behind me, followed closely by the Malravian shamans and the warriors. We were soon in complete darkness.
“Aren’t magic swords supposed to glow in the dark?” I asked.
“Most do,” said Merc.
“This one doesn’t.”
“How do you know? You haven’t commanded it to.”
“True,” I said sheepishly. “Let there be light!” The blade Overwhelm instantly shone with a pale pink light. “Pink?” I said in dismay.
“A trifle unusual, but sufficient,” said Merc. “I can see the map.”
The ceiling of the passage was no more than a yard above my head at its highest points and frequently was so low that I had to bend over double to advance. The floor sloped downward for the first thousand paces, was more or less level for another few hundred steps, then began to gradually incline upward. We had gone through so many twists and turns that I was unsure which direction we were facing, but Merc assured me we were almost beneath the fortress. The air was still, dry, and cold here and malevolence bled from the walls the further we went.
We eventually reached a wall of solid stone which completely blocked the passage. There was no apparent way to progress further.
“End of the line,” I said grimly.
“Hardly,” said Merc. “We must locate a hidden door.”
“You didn’t say anything about a hidden door.”
“It isn’t marked, but since the map shows this passage leading to a blank wall and depicts another passage on the far side of the wall, I am led to assume there must be a hidden door. Extinguish your sword.”
“Why?”
“Because I am about to cast a spell which will make the outline of the door glow with a faint green light, which I will not be able to see with this pink glare.”
I commanded Overwhelm to cease giving off light and Mercury made his incantation. Nothing happened, no green lines appeared.
“Well?” I demanded.
“It is possible there is not a hidden door,” said Merc thoughtfully. “There are spells which allow a man to walk through stone walls as if they were air. Perhaps that is how the wizards of Marn made use of this passage. Unfortunately, I never learned any of those spells.”
“Great. Maybe you could just blast a hole in the wall.”
“I could do that,” mused Mercury. “Of course, that would probably bring the ceiling down on us as well. Mikla, Rikulf, Iuri—any suggestions?”
The three Malravian tribal priests made negative grunts. It appeared that we were stymied, our secret assault thwarted. I ignited Overwhelm again—and then I remembered.
“Merc! Didn’t the Keeper at Greenleaf say this sword would cut through stone like warm butter—or words to that effect?”
“Try it,” said Merc.
I stepped up to the wall and thrust my blade forward. It sank in easily, as if I were stabbing water, not stone. I traced a circle a yard wide, handed Overwhelm to Merc, and pushed hard on the cut-out section. With a harsh scraping it moved forward and fell through on the other side. And kept falling. I stuck my head through the hole and looked down into a seemingly bottomless black shaft. The pit was nearly ten feet across. On its far side was a broad landing and an ascending stairway.
Returning Overwhelm, Merc looked through the hole, then frowned at the map. “This isn’t to scale.”
“Never mind that. How do we get across this pit?”
“Jump.”
“Jump!”
“That’s what I said. I think that would be quicker than trying to walk a rope or swing across. I don’t see anywhere to attach the grapple anyway. We’ll have to jump.”
“I’m not sure about this.”
“I can easily clear twenty feet in a standing jump, and these Malravians can do better than that. Living in the mountains they constantly have to jump across chasms, gullies, and the like. Watch.” With that he stepped through the hole and launched himself through the air, landing on the far side of the pit with room to spare. The Malravians followed in rapid succession, leaving me alone on the wrong side of the shaft.
“What are you waiting for?”
“I don’t think I can do this, Merc.”
“What? With those massive thighs? No problem at all. Just jump.”
“Merc—”
“We haven’t got all day, hero. You’d best throw me the sword first or you’ll have to sheath it and jump in the dark.”
I hurled the blade across and Merc caught it gracefully. With a resigned sigh I crouched in the gap I had made in the wall, bunched the muscles in my legs and sprang forward. I knew instantly that I was going to fall short by several feet. Claws of panic ripped at my gut as I stared down into the onrushing void beneath me. Then I felt an odd upward tug and I flew forward to land on my stomach at Merc’s feet.
“Nice jump, Jason.”
I clambered to my feet. “I think I had a little help. A touch of levitation, perhaps?”
Merc shrugged and returned Overwhelm again. I led the way up the steep stairway. The steps were narrow and numerous. I counted five hundred before we reached the landing at the top where our way was blocked by another stone wall. This time Mercury’s spell revealed a secret door and another spell caused it to swing ponderously open. A foul, damp draft swept over us. The evil aura which surrounded us was stronger than ever. My flesh crawled and my hair stood on end. This was worse than enduring the scrutiny of Ouga-Oyg’s mirror.
“We are in the lowest levels of the fortress proper,” said Merc. “Our quarry awaits us in the throneroom many floors above. Let us proceed with stealth and caution. No mulka-chewing yet.”
“Aieee!” cried the Malravians. I thought that an odd response until I noticed that we were surrounded by shimmering, translucent images of broken and bloody men, women, and children. They flitted through the air like obscene phantom hummingbirds, passing insubstantially through the walls, the floor, and even our bodies.
“Calm down!” said Merc. “These poor ghosts mean us no harm, nor have they the means to do us harm except through fear! Are you warriors or frightened sheep?”
I heard a few bleating sounds from somewhere in the back of the group, but something else had my attention. The ghosts were congregating round me and dropping to their substanceless knees in silent homage. Overwhelm’s light tur
ned from pink to deep rose to a brilliant scarlet hue and my armor seemed to glow as well. The Malravians fell back in wonder and even Merc looked surprised.
“Merc? What’s happening?”
“Amazing. There is a very obscure addendum to the legends about those ghosts which says they will be liberated from their eternal imprisonment here and sent to Paradise when the Mighty Champion walks once more the halls of Marn, where he fought the final battle against the Emperor of Fear, and again vanquishes a great evil. I always thought it was just some silly epilogue tacked on to soften the grimness of the tale, but it appears I was wrong. You are of his line and you bear his relics. I guess that’s enough.”
“What does this mean?”
“I assume that if we win these ghosts will be free. If we lose, I suppose we’ll be joining them here.”
“Let’s win.”
The Society had evidently confined its reoccupation of Marn to the upper floors, for the stony bowels of the citadel were still choked with the dust and debris of ten centuries of neglect. Escorted by a swarm of ghosts, we encountered no living creatures as we ascended through the dark corridors and gloomy chambers of the fortress, nor were we molested by any of the nameless supernatural horrors said to lurk here.
We thrice encountered lone, patrolling prying eyes, but they paid us no heed, true to the words of Necrophilius. Everything was going according to plan until I opened a door and found myself looking at the back of a tall woman holding an ivory wand. She had long black hair, pale white skin, and wore a thin gown of diaphanous violet gauze gathered at her slim waist by a black leather belt studded with steel spikes. In the great hall were assembled dozens of the Society’s junior magicians, receiving their orders from her.
“The hillscum without the walls must be taught a severe lesson,” she said. “We have not yet had the leisure to eradicate them, but since they have come to us we will make the most of the opportunity. You will proceed to the battlements and practice your offensive spells. You may use fireballs, lightning bolts, acid clouds—anything except earthquake spells, which might do damage to Marn. What are you all staring at?” She turned quickly. I smiled and slammed the door in her face. The door promptly vanished in a burst of flame and she leveled the smoking wand at me.
“It’s Eufrosinia the Cruel,” said Merc. “She specializes in pain and torture magic. I’m sorry we can’t stay and chat, Eufy, but we’ve got things to do.” With a gesture from Merc, the ceiling collapsed, forcing Eufrosinia to leap back into the assembly hall and blocking the entrance to the corridor. “Let’s move!” commanded Merc. “They know we’re here now and it won’t take long for Eufy and her playmates to break through and give chase.”
Gongs, sirens, and other alarms sounded as we ran down the corridor. We turned left at an intersection to avoid a squad of puzzled guardsmen approaching from the right, and quickly found ourselves facing a pair of towering brass doors. The guards were right at our heels. The Malravians shoved huge wads of mulka leaves into their mouths and turned to face the Society’s lackeys. I was in the forefront of the skirmish, lopping off heads and limbs as easily as I had sliced through the stone wall earlier.
Merc faced the doors, concentrating on a spell. As he waved his hands in an intricate pattern, the doors glowed red, then white, and finally melted into a bubbling pool which quickly cooled to become a misshapen brass sheet on the floor.
“This way! Quickly!”
I pulled back but the Malravians, now foaming at the mouth, ignored Mercury’s command and plunged through the last of the guards to charge at the onrushing magicians led by Eufrosinia.
“Damn!” said Merc. “They’ve gone into a battle frenzy. I hoped they’d hold off until we reached the Conclave. No way to control them now.”
“We’re on our own again?”
“Again.”
The bronze doors were the entrance to a vast library, half a mile long and almost as wide. We stood on a broad balcony crowded with cluttered desks, which were hastily abandoned by frightened clerks. It hung just above the tops of the monstrous shelves that stretched down out of view and overflowed with books, scrolls, and tablets. A series of narrow catwalks connected the balcony to the shelves and the clerks made quick use of them to escape us.
“The main library of the Dark Magic Society,” said Merc smugly. “All of their knowledge, plans, files, and records. An excellent place to produce a diversion.” He made a few passes of incantation. A puff of smoke jetted from his hands and dissipated. He frowned. “So much for my spectacular fireball. There must be an anti-magic field in here which hampers spellcasting.”
The war cries of the Malravians, mingled with dying shrieks and the explosions of deadly offensive magicks, sounded in the corridor. It was impossible to tell which side was getting the worst of the mêlée.
Merc consulted his map. “The throne room is up two more levels.” He sprinted out onto one of the catwalks. As I was about to follow, Eufrosinia and three junior mages reached the door. All bled profusely from multiple wounds. The underlings, forgetting about the anti-magic field in the library, projected a selection of weirdly colored flames and balls of light at me, all of which fizzled out at the threshold. Eufrosinia merely smiled a wicked smile and flicked her wand.
“She’s deactivated the field,” cried Merc, turning in place to defend himself against her next spell. But with another flick of her wand, the catwalk beneath him vanished. He fell from sight. It was a long way down.
I raised Overwhelm to attack. Eufrosinia stood still, letting me get in sword range and swing my blade before raising her hand in a commanding gesture which froze me in mid-swing as if I were made of stone.
She raked her long purple fingernails across my cheeks by way of a caress and hissed, “It was good of you to join us, Jason Cosmo. The Overmaster is expecting you.”
The ghosts swirled around me in great agitation. Their expected savior was in no position to save even himself.
* * *
21
Clad only in a loin cloth, I was suspended on a metal frame in a huge, high-vaulted chamber of dark stone. The air was thick with ancient malice and murky with the thin, gray outlines of the darting ghosts who lost what little faded color they had here in the heart of Marn’s darkness. They flitted around me like pale abstractions, their anguished faces hovering before my eyes in an attitude of hopelessness.
I had been helpless to resist as Eufrosinia’s minions brought me here and bound me. I was helpless now, even though the paralysis had worn off.
In the center of the room was a wide, deep pit filled with charred black lumps that looked disturbingly like human bodies. On the far side was a pyramid of twenty-three thrones. There were twelve at the lowest level, succeeding layers of seven and three, and one throne set above all. Nine were empty. The rest were occupied by men and women of varying age and race, among them Eufrosinia, who sat on the layer of seven. Behind the thrones was a gigantic mirror that covered the entire wall and was surrounded by a wide frame of burnished brass. Between the thrones and the pit was a stone table upon which rested the relics of the Mighty Champion.
“We are the ruling Conclave of the Dark Magic Society,” said the figure on the highest throne. His hollow voice made my skin creep as if worms burrowed beneath it. “I am Erimandras, Overmaster of the Society.”
My jaw went slack in horror. He was just a young boy, barely into his teens! The chief architect of all the vile schemes of the Society, the evil genius who led them in their pursuit of world domination, was a mere child! He was seated on a high-backed chair of gold, onyx, and malachite. He wore a fine robe the color of a nightmare and an elaborate horned headdress. His gaunt face was white as ash, with thin black lips like a line traced in blood from his heart. A slim silver wand tipped with a five-pointed star rested across his knees.
“Aren’t you a little young?” I said.
Intense waves of purest agony ripped my body, as if every cell had been pierced with barbed hooks. Th
e feeling was gone by the time the scream reached my throat, but I went ahead and screamed anyway, scattering the ghosts like a flock of frightened pigeons. My innards churned like I had swallowed a cyclone.
“I did not give you leave to speak,” said Erimandras. “Do not speak out of turn again.”
I was about to tell him not to worry, but thought better of it. I nodded.
“We have gone to great trouble and expense to capture you, but it will all be worthwhile as soon as you reveal what we must know—and that you will surely do. Let us begin. Where is the Superwand?”
“How should I know?”
The agony struck again, this time lasting slightly longer. Erimandras waited until the echoes of my screams had died away before continuing his interrogation. He raised the wand in his lap so that I could see it clearly.
“I seek the Superwand, of which this is a replica. You stole it from my Master a thousand years ago through the basest of deceptions. You stole it and you hid it. Where?”
“I wasn’t even born a thousand—”
More agony, longer and more intense, though I wouldn’t have thought that possible a few seconds ago. I screamed as if I had lost my soul. The upset ghosts flew madly around the chamber like dry leaves in a storm.