Falon continued to follow the rope, and soon a dark shape began to emerge out of the darkness below him. As Falon and the light of the sunrod drew closer, the young cleric could make out the wrecked form of the skeletal skiff. The ancient boat was in terrible shape, as though whatever magic had returned it from its watery grave had been taken away. Darrum was caught within the wreck, struggling to free himself while holding on to the rope line with all of his might. Darrum had seen the light of Falon’s sunrod, and he doubled his efforts to extract himself from the wreckage, though his efforts seemed to be to no avail.
Falon pushed hard, swimming down the final ten feet to reach Darrum and the remains of the skiff. The young cleric worked with the dwarf, breaking off pieces of the wood that had tangled around Darrum. It was only a moment’s work, but already Falon’s strength was fading. He kicked at a final chunk of wood, and the skeletal skiff fell away into the darkness.
He grabbed hold of the dwarf, but Darrum was too heavy. He couldn’t swim back up the rope and drag Darrum behind him, and he could see that the old dwarf was as tired and straining for fresh air as he was. Falon wasn’t going to get much more help from Darrum. Before Falon could attempt the massive effort to try to reach the surface with a dwarf who weighed at least twice as much as he did, the rope began to rise of its own accord.
Falon held on tight, one arm around the rope and the other around Darrum. He lost the sunrod somewhere along the way, and the two of them were rising through the water in total darkness. Just when Falon thought he was going to give in and take a reflexive breath that would have been the end for him, they broke the surface of the water and were being hauled up into Hammerfast’s Boon.
Falon was pulled in and deposited on the deck on the ship. He was coughing, dripping wet, and very, very cold. Darrum was dropped beside him, in similar shape. The young cleric was glad to see that the old dwarf had somehow held on to his hammers. He believed that they were important to the dwarf. With another cough, Falon rolled over and tried to sit up.
“Rest a moment,” Captain Stonehome said, handing a heavy blanket to Falon. When he saw the question appear in Falon’s eyes, he laughed. “You saved my ship, so the least I could do was pull you out of the lake. Besides,” he said, laying Falon’s sword gently on the deck beside him, “I would never let someone of royal blood drown while in my charge. It’s bad for business.”
“Great,” Darrum moaned, coughing up water as he wrapped his own blanket around himself. “I thought I told you not to draw attention to yourself.”
“No problem,” Falon said, shivering. Dawn was breaking on the horizon. He hoped the day would be warm and bright today. “Next time I won’t jump in after you.”
“See that you don’t,” the old dwarf grumbled, but Falon saw gratitude in Darrum’s face, and maybe even something that looked a little bit like pride.
31 THE KING’S ROAD, DAY
Shara rode beside Erak along the ancient byway known as the King’s Road. Uldane followed closely. The Nentir Vale hadn’t had a king in untold centuries, but that was what the road was called, and who was Shara to argue semantics?
Uldane had been concerned about how the draft horse, unaccustomed to a rider, was going to take to Erak, especially with him being undead. But the leather-clad revenant had a way with the animal, and the three of them were on the road within an hour of breaking camp. Now they were riding at a good pace, heading southeast toward the town of Fallcrest.
“Why are we going in this direction again?” Uldane called as he rode up beside Shara. “The dragon hunts back the other way, around Winterhaven and into the Cairngorm Peaks. Are we abandoning our quest?”
Shara ignored Uldane’s questions and kicked her horse, allowing the larger animal to pull ahead. They were the same questions that had been haunting her since they had started out this morning, but somehow she felt that this was the way they had to go—the way she had to go. She had talked with Erak long into the night, after Uldane’s eyes had grown heavy and he finally succumbed to sleep as the fire burned down.
“My quest leads that way,” Erak had told her, pointing toward the southeast.
“Is it true?” Shara asked quietly. “Did the Lady of Fate send you back to the living world?”
Erak shrugged. “Was it the Raven Queen? I don’t know. I remember only vague images and disembodied voices,” he said. “Very little of it makes sense to me as yet, but I think it will become clear as time passes. I remember a woman’s voice, strong and kind and very insistent. Arise, my champion, the voice said to me. You have work to do.”
“What kind of work? What quest has she sent you back to accomplish?”
“I don’t know. All I know is that I was given this sword and this armor, and I felt compelled to head in that direction. When I heard the battle, your voice, I knew that I had to help you. Helping you feels right. It feels like part of the work I was sent back to do.”
They had talked about the dragon she was chasing and about the land of the Nentir Vale. More precisely, Shara told Erak what she knew of the area. She hoped it would clear his memories, remind him of who he was and what he had come back to do. She wanted to believe that the revenant was Jarren, returned to her from the dead. She did believe it, and that’s why she and Uldane were traveling with him toward Fallcrest.
“If that’s Jarren,” Uldane called, as though he had somehow been listening in on her thoughts, “then why are we going away from the dragon and not toward it?”
Before Shara could decide whether to keep ignoring Uldane or shout at him to shut up, she noticed something lying in the road ahead. Erak had noticed it, too, and he had his horse gallop ahead so that he reached the spot first.
Shara and Uldane followed. She now saw that there were two bodies lying in the road. From their simple garb and lack of armor, she assumed that they were travelers who had been walking along the road. Not an unusual sight this close to Fallcrest. Dead travelers, however? That was a different story.
“Bandits, you think?” Uldane asked, riding closer. “More kobolds, maybe?”
“This close to the town? Kobolds would be unlikely to venture into the area unless Vestapalk and the wyrmpriest have really riled them up,” Shara said.
Shara watched as Erak leaped down from his horse and bent to examine the bodies.
“These men have been dead for some time,” Erak said. “The flesh that remains is dry and sunken, and no smell of rot or decay is evident. But they do smell of fresh earth and old cloth. It’s as though someone dug them up and left them here for us to find.”
“I’ve been saying for years now that Fallcrest was falling apart,” Uldane said, “hardly a proper town at all anymore. And now they’re leaving their dead on the road for all to see. Disgraceful, really.”
Erak leaned across the first dead man to examine the second. The second body appeared the same as the first, not a fresh corpse at all. As Erak moved toward him, the first dead man’s hand shot up and grabbed Erak’s wrist. The dead man’s eyelids snapped open, revealing one empty socket and one milky white orb.
Shara began to draw her sword, but Erak raised his other hand to stop her. As she watched, the dead man’s mouth fell open. A deathly moan began to issue from the open mouth, but soon the moan turned into words that she understood all too clearly.
“Your Lady has no power here,” the dead voice said. “My lord commands that you turn back and abandon the quest you have been given. My lord commands this once, politely, and only once.”
Uldane hurled one of his ever-present daggers. It sliced the dead thing’s hand at the wrist, freeing Erak from its grip.
“Or what?” Uldane asked, not a hint of fear evident in his voice. If anything, he seemed curious and excited.
Suddenly, both bodies began to rise, and the severed hand crawled back to reattach itself to the dead man’s wrist.
“You had to ask,” Shara said, pulling her greatsword free of the sheath across her back.
Erak had his o
wn weapon out, the blade made from the material he called hellsteel. He swung it with skill and power, slicing the dead thing’s head from its body. Before the head hit the ground, however, the corpse exploded. Erak barely leaped back from the blast as parts of the dead thing flew in all directions.
“Ride!” Erak shouted, climbing on to the back of his mount. “Ride!”
Shara rode, with Uldane and Erak right behind her.
32 THE WITCHLIGHT FENS, DAY
Dawn had burst into the sky above the Witchlight Fens, but you couldn’t tell as Kalaban made his way through the dark chambers beneath the circle of stones. He and Magroth and the golem had entered through the opening that appeared in the nearby hillside, but he was sure that the twists and turns they had followed as they descended had taken them under the standing stones.
The stone chambers beneath the hill and the patch of dry ground where the standing stones were raised were definitely ancient, and they had to have been placed here at great expense and with great effort. Magical effort, if the workmanship was any indication. Older than Nerath, certainly, with strange carvings all over the walls and ceiling that seemed to swim in and out of focus whenever Kalaban tried to examine them.
“Bael Turath,” Magroth said, noticing Kalaban’s interest. “This was obviously a holy place to the ancient tiefling empire. Let’s make sure we don’t accidentally call forth a devil while we’re here. I’ve never been fond of devils.”
Kalaban wished that his emperor would douse the light of his staff, or at least remain silent as they moved through the ancient chambers. Not that it mattered much, the knight-commander supposed. The sound of the stone doors sliding open was enough to wake the dead, so whoever or whatever occupied this place surely knew that they were approaching.
“What do you suppose we shall meet down here, Kalaban?” Magroth asked, excitement evident in every word. The emperor was definitely enjoying this trip beyond the borders of the Shadowfell. “What kind of creature has the audacity to renege on a deal with Orcus, the Prince of Undeath? Other than us, I mean.”
Kalaban stopped as soon as he stepped into the next chamber. The golem was right behind him, blocking Magroth, who had been bringing up the rear.
“We’re not alone, my liege,” Kalaban said, his sword already in his hand and his shield at the ready.
“Get out of my way,” Magroth commanded, hammering the golem with his staff until the lumbering construct stepped aside.
Magroth huffed and moved to Kalaban’s side, raising his staff high so that its light filled the chamber.
The creatures that had been lurking in the shadows hissed at the light, scurrying to the outer walls of the chamber. They were humanoid, dressed in tattered rags that exposed flesh that was pallid and grayish white. There were six of the creatures, their long fingers tipped with long nails that could have been claws. Kalaban noticed that they cast no shadows as the arcane light of Magroth’s staff hit them, and as they opened their mouths to hiss, he saw the gleam of sharp, pointed fangs. More of the creatures had filled the passage behind them, surrounding the trio and cutting off any means of escape.
But escape was not their intention, Kalaban thought, formulating a plan of attack.
“Vampire spawn,” Magroth said. “Our host must be a vampire. The dead glass has served me well. Now all we need to do is find the master of these vile creatures and dispatch it with all due haste.”
Easier said than done, Kalaban thought as the first of the spawn leaped at them. His soulsword swung up in a powerful arc that caught the vampire spawn and sliced it in half before it could reach either Kalaban or Magroth with its claws or fangs. The knight-commander stepped in front of the emperor, hacking a path through the oncoming undead. While the vampire spawn had numbers, they were no match for Kalaban and his companions.
Behind him, the golem stoneguard was turning each spawn that leaped at it into paste with great fists the size of anvils. It hammered one into the ground and a second into the wall, dropping each with a single, powerful blow.
Magroth, meanwhile, not wanting to miss out on the fun, sent a handful of magic missiles streaking into the midst of the spawn in front of them. Each dagger of arcane energy unerringly flew from the emperor’s hand to strike one of the vampires. With each explosive strike, another vampire spawn fell to the ground.
“The trouble with creatures such as these,” Magroth said, “is that they are much too fragile for my taste. I prefer hearty minions, such as you, Kalaban, and the golem. Imagine how much work it would be for me if I had to replace you after every battle. Too much trouble, I say.”
“Yes, my liege,” Kalaban said, slicing two more of the spawn out from before them as he accepted Magroth’s less-than-flattering praise, “thank you, my liege. It’s good to know you consider me as valuable an aid as your golem.”
“No, Kalaban, not as valuable as the stoneguard. But certainly more valuable than common vampire spawn such as these.”
Magroth directed a fan of searing flames into the chamber ahead of them, roasting the remaining vampire spawn where they stood. At the same time, Kalaban turned and helped the golem dispatch the three vampire spawn still attacking from the rear. As fast as the battle began, it was over. Kalaban wiped thick blood from his blade, using the tattered garb of one of the fallen spawn.
“Careful, Kalaban,” Magroth warned. “We are not done yet.”
Kalaban watched as the shadows beyond Magroth’s mage light began to flow and coalesce. It seemed as though a combination of shifting darkness and swirling mist were coming together to form a solid shape on the other side of the chamber. The shape, indistinct at first, soon took on the features of a handsome tiefling with curved horns and a deathlike complexion. His piercing eyes were full of anger. He wore dark leather armor of exquisite make. A spiked chain was wrapped around his right arm, its barbed end hanging down at his side. The chain wound around his back, and he held the other end in his left hand.
“You entered my home, uninvited and unbidden, but I ignored the insult out of respect for your station, lich,” the undead tiefling said, his anger barely controlled. “But you simply strolled in and slaughtered my servants. This added insult cannot be ignored!”
“Sareth, I presume?” Magroth inquired innocently.
Sareth’s eyes flared and his mouth twisted into an ugly grin. He was as regal as he was terrible, confident in his power and fueled by a fast-growing hatred for Magroth. Kalaban had seen that reaction often over the centuries. The emperor was a hard man to like. The knight-commander noticed the amulet hanging from a chain around Sareth’s neck. It was the same as the medallion that Barana Strenk wore—the symbol of Orcus.
“I’m surprised you still wear that,” Kalaban said, “seeing as how we’ve been told that you have betrayed your master.”
“So,” Sareth said with a bitter laugh, “the Demon Prince has sent you to punish me? You shall not fare any better than the last three mercenaries he sent this way. Sareth remains. Sareth always remains.”
Magroth smiled. “Not this time.”
Kalaban charged forward, hoping to end the battle as quickly as he could. His soulsword streaked toward the vampire lord, seeking to deliver a killing blow. But Sareth was fast. His spiked chain snaked out, wrapping around Kalaban’s blade. He twisted his body and snapped his arm, and the soulsword flew out of Kalaban’s hand and clattered into the darkness at the far end of the chamber. Still in motion, Sareth stepped toward the knight-commander and made a subtle movement with his left arm. The other end of the spiked chain flew out. Kalaban barely got his shield up in time, but even so the barbed chain wrapped around the back of his neck and cut deep into the exposed flesh there. The front of the chain, meanwhile, was blocked by the knight-commander’s shield. With a strength Kalaban didn’t expect, Sareth snapped the chain so that it unfurled from around Kalaban like the string on a child’s top. The knight-commander was spun through the air.
Kalaban hit the stone wall with bone-crushing
force. As he slid down the wall, he struggled to keep the darkness and the pain at the back of his eyes from rushing forward. He saw Sareth leap at Magroth as he crashed to the floor.
And then the darkness overtook him.
33 THE CAIRNGORM MOUNTAINS, DAY
Tiktag, wyrmpriest of the Greenscale tribe of kobolds, spread a layer of white sand in the clearing. Then he bowed to the mighty Vestapalk and stepped back to give the green dragon room. He watched as the mighty Vestapalk lifted the living deer over the patch of white sand and tore open the soft flesh of the animal’s belly. The green dragon let the deer’s insides spill out on the white sand, and then tossed the still-twitching carcass aside. Later, we shall feast on venison, Tiktag thought hungrily. But now he had to help his master interpret the signs provided by the blood and guts and sand.
“Examine them for yourself, wyrmpriest,” Vestapalk commanded. “Tell us that which we have already seen a dozen times before.”
Tiktag moved into position to examine the entrails, to see the pattern that had been created in the sand by the sacrifice of the deer. It was just as the green dragon had implied. The same pattern. Again. The consistency of the message sent a shiver down the kobold’s spine.
“Tell us,” Vestapalk commanded, “interpret the signs and tell us what they predict.”
Tiktag swallowed hard, shaking the bones hanging from his spear so that they jangled over the steaming entrails. Symbols were appearing in the sand, forming as the blood flowed and spread of its own volition. The symbols appeared to be in the Draconic script, formed of blood and entrails snaked in the pure white sand.
“The Herald walks the land,” Tiktag said, reading the signs and giving words to the omen. “It seeks something, a source of power, and together they shall usher in a new age. The age of the Elemental Eye.” Tiktag fell back from the force of the vision, trying to contain the shivering that he suddenly couldn’t control.
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