“Well, spit it out,” Magroth demanded, “I’ve spent too much time in this lightless hole as it is.”
“Yes, of course. My apologies for being slow of tongue. The sixty-third stanza speaks of a Destroyer of Worlds, a demon of some sort, I believe, that is set loose by the actions of the Blood of Nerath.”
“And what does this Destroyer of Worlds do? What grave prediction does the Oracle make concerning it?”
“Why, just what you’d expect, my lord. It begins the end times. A period that the Oracle calls ‘the Abyssal Plague.’ Of course, the few who make a study of the Felish Oracle can’t agree on whether or not we’re approaching this time, or even what the Abyssal Plague refers to. Still, since it mentions your descendents I thought it might interest you.”
Magroth closed the small book and slipped it into a pocket within his robes. “You were correct to bring this to my attention,” the emperor said as a hundred possibilities swam across his thoughts. “I believe that I shall enjoy reading through all of the Oracle’s writings. Allow me a chance to catch up on all that I’ve missed.”
The Ordinator looked shocked by the blatant theft of the book, but he recovered quickly. “Consider it a gift, my lord,” he managed to blurt out before Magroth could react to the man’s initial expression.
Magroth nodded and gathered up his staff. “I have what I need from this place,” he said. “I believe that it is time for me to leave.”
This time the Ordinator made no effort to hide his expression of relief as he turned to lead the emperor back to the teleportation circle.
50 THE LABYRINTH, TIME UNKNOWN
Nu Alin skulked through the mazelike corridors that were obviously fashioned for the use of creatures larger than the form he was currently wearing. Except for the unusual struggle that the female tiefling called Tempest had put up, a struggle that she almost won because of the pain that was wracking him as his previous vessel was literally falling apart around him. Now, however, he had firmly established his control and was using Tempest’s form to sneak through the dark tunnels in near silence. It had been a long time since he had worn a form that was so fit, so strong, so skilled in ways that were close to his own innate abilities. He believed that he would enjoy this form for a long time, because he didn’t think that it would succumb to the rigors of his presence quite as rapidly as had either the young boy or the female halfling.
There were creatures in the darkness, a variety of pitiful undead things that were neither a bother nor a threat. Nu Alin could avoid them easily enough, for the corridors and side chambers were built on a massive scale. There was plenty of room for a nimble tiefling to move through. There were a few things in the dark that were more powerful, but Nu Alin had no desire to test himself or his new form against any of them. He wanted to find the way out of this maze so that he could once again pick up the trail of the Voidharrow.
As he thought about the Voidharrow, a bolt of searing intensity ripped through his mind and sucked the breath out of him. Suddenly, the Voidharrow was once again within range of Nu Alin’s senses, and the sensation of its presence flooded in when he wasn’t prepared for its return. In his momentary disorientation, he could feel Tempest trying to exert her will. She was strong, stronger than any of the forms he had taken since he was set free. But he was Nu Alin, the Herald of the Voidharrow, and no form had ever denied his will. He pushed Tempest back into the shadows of her mind so that he could step forward and use all of her senses.
The Voidharrow was close, but not so close that he could reach out into the darkness and snatch it from the thief who carried it. It was somewhere above, somewhere higher up in this mountain that the Tempest creature referred to as “Thunderspire.” As he strained the tiefling’s ears to hear, a sound from nearby caught his attention. There was a side chamber off the corridor, some thirty feet from where he was standing. There was a faint light emanating from the side passage, which allowed the weak eyes to notice both the opening in the wall and chamber beyond that was evidently the origin point of the sound.
Nu Alin moved the body in graceful silence, reaching the opening without making the slightest sound. He peered around the corner, looking into the opening through Tempest’s eyes. In the chamber beyond, which appeared to be another of the many burial chambers that filled this underground area, a luminescent moss grew across one wall and most of the ceiling. The moss was the source of the dim light, which revealed an armored minotaur who carried a battleaxe. The creature’s face was sunken and its skin so dry as to be almost brittle, but its eyes glowed with a fierceness that Nu Alin respected. A name surfaced in Tempest’s mind, and Nu Alin plucked it out to examine it. Battle wight. Some sort of intelligent undead creature. It seemed to be ordering two other minotaurs around, and these specimens were clearly undead, for there was gaping wounds that exposed organs and bones all over their emaciated bodies. Zombies, came another thought from Tempest’s storehouse of knowledge.
While Tempest’s thoughts indicated that the zombies weren’t much of an issue, she had a clear level of respect and even fear when it came to the battle wight. Nu Alin decided to heed his vessel’s opinion, and he began to slowly back away from the opening. Before he had taken more than a few steps, however, he heard something hit the ground beside him. The sound was almost deafening in the otherwise silent passageway.
Oops, came another thought from where Tempest was confined in the back of her mind. Nu Alin, furious, looked down to see that he had somehow dropped Tempest’s warlock rod on to the stone floor. He reached down to retrieve the implement just as the two zombie minotaurs rushed into the corridor to see what was lurking in the shadows. They were followed a moment later by the armored battle wight.
Nu Alin couldn’t yet call on Tempest’s abilities as a warlock, but he could make use of her more mundane skills. He drew her matched daggers from the sheaths at her belt and prepared to deal with the undead creatures. I hope they destroy us, Tempest shouted from the recesses of her mind. Nu Alin had to admit that he was impressed with her ability to continue to have rational thoughts, not to mention how she had managed to alert the undead to their presence. But he was also furious at her for the time she was forcing him to waste, not to mention the risk of damage that any battle might pose to the form he wore. He wanted to keep this form for as long as possible, but its original owner was causing him all sorts of problems.
One thing at a time, Nu Alin decided. The first zombie shambled toward him, its decaying hands outstretched as though to grab him. He made Tempest’s body dance out of reach so that the zombie stumbled, then he leaped back in and slashed out with both daggers. The zombie minotaur’s head rolled off its shoulders as Nu Alin landed in a crouch. The zombie took another two steps, and then it collapsed to the ground.
The second zombie shuffled forward, swinging its massive fists as it came on. Nu Alin’s first slash missed the zombie by a hair, and then it drove a powerful punch into the side of Nu Alin’s head. Nu Alin could feel Tempest struggling with him for control, but he pushed her down and turned his attention back to the minotaurs. The battle wight was still watching from the open archway, content to take the measure of this foe before wading in to join the fight. The remaining zombie loomed over the fallen Nu Alin, raising its fists so that it could pound his borrowed form into the ground. Nu Alin exerted control of the form and rolled out of the way just as the zombie brought both of its fists down in a crushing blow. Then he tossed one of the daggers. His aim was true and it buried itself right between the undead minotaur’s eyes. He leaped up, catching the handle of the dagger even as he brought the other one around and sliced through the zombie’s throat. He pulled both blades free and jumped back as the zombie’s body fell in a heap beside the first one.
“You have had your turn,” the minotaur battle wight said, hefting its double-bladed axe. Dark energy crackled along the edges of the blades. “Now I shall have mine.”
The battle wight charged toward Nu Alin, lowering its head to gore wi
th its sharp horns. Nu Alin dove to the side. The horns barely missed as the undead minotaur rushed by. The creature surprised Nu Alin, however, as it was able to stop its motion with much more precision than Nu Alin had expected. It immediately swung its axe, using the long reach provided both by its size and the handle of the axe to strike Nu Alin with the flat of the axe head.
Necrotic energy flowed from the axe head into Nu Alin with the blow, even as the force of the impact hurled his vessel toward the far wall.
Tempest’s body smashed into the wall of the corridor, momentarily rattling Nu Alin and Tempest alike. The body crumpled as it slid down the wall and came to rest on the cold stone floor.
“Another falls to my axe,” the battle wight said as it moved to finish off the living creature that had dared to invade its lair.
The necrotic energy, clearly some sort of soul-draining attack, had scrambled Nu Alin’s thoughts and allowed Tempest’s mind to surge forward. She looked up to see the battle wight approaching in the dim light emanating from the side passage. Without thinking, a curse came to her lips and suddenly liquid fire was cascading down on the battle wight. The clinging flames burned with intense heat, and they continued to burn even after the rain of fire had ended.
Nu Alin reasserted control over Tempest then, shoving her consciousness back into the darkness. You should have let the creature kill you, he thought so that Tempest could hear him.
A mistake I won’t make again, she thought back.
Nu Alin was up and dancing around the burning battle wight, striking over and over with the razor-sharp daggers. Before the fire had burned itself out, the minotaur fell.
Nu Alin looked at the three bodies. His borrowed form hadn’t been seriously hurt in the exchange, and for that he was thankful. He would have to be more careful while he occupied this vessel. The tiefling was not going to make it easy for him.
You can say that again, Tempest thought, filling each word with as much hate and anger as she could manage.
51 THE SHINING ROAD, DAY
Kalaban walked briskly into the dark passage until the dim light of the Seven-Pillared Hall faded behind him. He allowed his natural darkvision to come to the fore and took a moment to get his bearings in the unyielding darkness. The twenty-foot-wide corridor must have been grand in its day, for the ornate arches that were spaced every forty feet or so along the walls and held the domed ceiling aloft were decorated in striking bas relief of dwarven design. Kalaban saw that there were still a number of disks of silver embedded down the center of the floor and ceiling. These disks would reflect the light of a torch if he had had one and had given this underground passage its name: the Shining Road.
The Shining Road cut through a maze of ruined chambers known as the Labyrinth before meeting up with the Avenue of Glory and eventually traveling north beneath the Old Hills. When the minotaurs of Saruun Khel ruled this underground kingdom, the place was magnificent, a wonder to behold. Now the entire complex was a haunted ruin, occupied by squatters such as the Mages and their merchant tenants, as well as by ancient memories of a time long past. Kalaban wondered again what had drawn him into the Labyrinth as his hand found the comforting shape of the glass vial within his belt pouch.
The knight-commander made his way down the wide passage, pausing every so often to examine an ornate pillar or a disk of silver set into the floor. He could hear movement in the corridors and chambers that led away from the Shining Road. There were things moving in some of the dark openings that he passed, but he ignored them. Whatever had drawn him away from the Seven-Pillared Hall wasn’t in these side chambers. It was somewhere up ahead, beyond the terminus of the Shining Road.
Kalaban tried to get a sense of what he was searching for, but he couldn’t put words to the compulsion that had drawn him in this direction. He lost track of time as his mind wandered, which was very unlike the knight-commander. He was not usually one who went in for introspection and deep thought. His gloved fingers caressed the glass vial absently as he finally registered the new sounds emerging from the darkness around him. He wasn’t sure how long the new sounds had been building, but he was quite certain that he had allowed whatever was making the noises to completely surround him. Was he losing his edge? Had the centuries trapped within the stale dream of Darani somehow affected his mind? He had certainly seen the madness build in the emperor. Had Kalaban succumbed to the same affliction?
He reluctantly let go of the glass vial and tried to focus on what was happening around him. In addition to the sounds, Kalaban could smell a foul odor, and the smell was growing stronger. Now the knight-commander could make out shapes moving at the limit of his vision, circling around him as they filled the passage with their overpowering stench. If Kalaban were alive, the smell would have had him retching and gasping for air. Because he was undead, it just made the mood he was in even fouler. He drew his soulsword from its sheath.
“Let’s determine how many of you I have to kill before you realize what a terrible mistake you’ve made this day,” Kalaban said.
A stocky reptilian humanoid wearing robes cut from the hides of large beasts stepped forward. The creature carried a quarterstaff with a crystal tied to its top, and a cap fashioned from a horned skull sat atop its head. A troglodyte, Kalaban decided, although he had never actually had the opportunity to fight such creatures. Well, he thought, there’s a first time for everything.
The troglodyte began to chant in a language that Kalaban didn’t understand, and the crystal atop the creature’s staff pulsed with a soft glow that mimicked the rhythms of the chant. The glow radiated away from the troglodyte in a burst, briefly illuminating the six other trogs and the large, four-legged lizard with a spiked frill framing its head. As the glow touched them, the chanter’s allies began to move with supernatural speed. The trogs raced around him, still staying beyond the reach of his sword. The large lizard, meanwhile, which Kalaban decided was some kind of drake, scraped one clawed paw across the stone floor as though getting ready to charge.
The chanter spat out what could only be a curse of some sort, and a dark ball of crackling power rolled out of its staff and splattered across Kalaban’s armor. The knight-commander almost laughed, because the chanter had used necrotic energy against him. It had no effect whatsoever.
“Necrotic powers don’t work very well against the undead,” Kalaban said, but it was evident that the troglodyte couldn’t understand him any better than he understood the chanter. “My turn.”
The knight-commander started to move toward the chanter. Before he had taken more than two steps, however, the drake exploded into motion. It moved almost blindingly fast and was on Kalaban before he had been able to prepare himself for the charge. It struck with both of its foreclaws, raking long gashes across the front of Kalaban’s armor. The weight of the creature and the speed at which it plowed into Kalaban knocked the death knight back. He rolled and sprang up, his sword at the ready, just as the other trogs raced toward him.
Before Kalaban allowed the troglodytes to strike, he slashed his sword in a great arc. It cut through the two trogs that had gotten closest to him, spraying blood and coaxing cries of pain from the wounded creatures. A third trog was able to dodge to the left thanks to the supernatural speed the chanter provided. It avoided Kalaban’s blade and countered by throwing a javelin at the knight-commander. It tore through his shoulder and carried him back, pinning him to the wall.
The trogs regrouped around the chanter and marched toward Kalaban as a unit. The chanter controlled the drake, commanding it to stay behind with a click of its tongue and a hand motion. The group stopped about ten feet away from where Kalaban was pinned. The chanter took a few additional steps so that he could better study the death knight. Kalaban watched the chanter, waiting to see what the trog would command next. When the chanter raised its staff, the six troglodytes plodded forward, raising clubs and javelins as they prepared to finish off the knight-commander.
“When I fall,” Kalaban said, even thoug
h he knew the troglodytes couldn’t understand him, “it won’t be to the likes of you.” A burst of unholy flame exploded from Kalaban, catching the troglodytes in a combination of fire and necrotic energy. The creatures reeled back and howled in excruciating pain. The two that Kalaban had already wounded went down in flaming heaps, but the remaining five fell back and tried to escape the hungry fire.
Kalaban pulled himself along the shaft of the javelin and wretched his shoulder free, leaving the javelin sticking in the wall. His soulsword, its blade ignited by the unholy fire, slashed out two times, and two more of the foul-smelling creatures fell. He turned to deal with the chanter, whom he considered to be the real threat in this group, just in time to see the creature send out a burst of healing light that restored a small amount of vitality to the three remaining troglodytes. Their burns didn’t completely disappear, but they had healed enough to keep them in the battle. Kalaban used his own power to close the wound in his shoulder, but he never took his eyes off the chanter.
The chanter, now obviously wary of the knight-commander, made a clicking sound and pointed its staff at Kalaban. The drake leaped forward at the command, positioning itself between Kalaban and the remaining troglodytes. The chanter said something else that Kalaban couldn’t understand, and then the three troglodytes slipped back into the darkness beyond the limits of his vision. That left Kalaban and the drake alone in the passage. “I don’t imagine that you’d be willing to call it a draw and be on your way?” Kalaban asked the drake without expecting an answer.
The drake roared, extending its spiked frill as far as it could to make itself appear to be even larger than it was.
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