The Mark of Nerath: A Dungeons & Dragons Novel

by Bill Slavicsek

  “Yes, of course, to the death,” Kalaban mused, bringing his soulsword up and preparing to deal with the drake’s next charge.

  The drake came on strong, its powerful jaw snapping open and closed as it tried to deliver a devastating bite to the knight-commander. Although the creature was powerful, it was no match for Kalaban. Kalaban’s soulsword struck again and again while he easily evaded the drake’s predictable attacks. It only took a few moments for Kalaban to deliver enough deep cuts and slashes to drive back the drake. Then, feeling a surprising sensation of mercy, he buried his blade into the creature’s skull, ending its pain and misery with one swift stroke.

  Kalaban quickly looked around, but it was apparent that the remaining troglodytes had fled, sacrificing the drake so that the chanter could escape. The knight-commander wiped the blood from his blade and returned his weapon to its scabbard. He no longer felt compelled to rush blindly into the darkness, but he needed to understand what was happening to him. What was out there in the Labyrinth? And why did he feel compelled to find it?

  “I guess there’s only one way to find out,” Kalaban muttered. He knew that Magroth was going to be furious with him for abandoning his post, but he had to press on.

  He had to.

  52 THE MINOTAUR GATE, TWILIGHT

  Falon and his companions rode through the pine forest along a steep cobbled path toward the base of Thunderspire Mountain. Gray, foreboding clouds crowned the upper portion of the mountain, hiding it behind a storm of blackness punctuated every so often by a flash of brilliant lightning. With each flash, a rumble of thunder reverberated among the rocky hills around them. It sounded like approaching doom.

  Falon and Darrum, along with Erak, Shara, and Uldane, had joined up with Albanon and Roghar back on the Trade Road, and now they were all traveling together into the mountain. It felt crazy, but it also felt exhilarating, just like the stories that Falon’s grandfather used to tell him. While young Falon wouldn’t go so far as to say he felt like an adventurer, he did feel as though he was on an adventure. Now if he could only figure out why undead monsters were trying to kill him, he’d be better able to appreciate the new sights he was seeing since leaving the village of his birth.

  The cobbled road rose through a valley of sparse vegetation, eventually leading to the base of the mountain. Water washed down from higher up the mountain, dressing the side of the cliffs in curtains of cascading liquid. As they drew closer, Falon saw that a fifty-foot-tall stone archway had been hewn into the mountainside. To each side of the opening, a towering colossus carved into the shape of a minotaur gazed down as if to welcome travelers. Or to warn them off, Falon thought more likely as he got a better look at the scowls carved on their faces.

  “The grand entrance to the kingdom of the minotaurs, Saruun Khel,” Darrum said as they approached the opening.

  “I’ve been here a few times with my master,” Albanon said, “and each time these statues made me feel small and insignificant.”

  “A lesson you’d do well to remember at other times,” the pseudodragon Splendid said from her usual perch atop the eladrin wizard’s shoulder.

  The group had yet to exchange any meaningful information, except that they had all admitted that the mountain was their destination. Falon wondered what the dragonborn paladin and the eladrin wizard were up to. For that matter, he still wasn’t completely sure why he and his companions were heading into the mountain, either. He just knew that Erak believed that this was where his mission was taking them, and he had agreed to trust the revenant—at least for the time being. Soon, however, he’d need to figure out what was going on and what he was going to do next, the revenant’s visions notwithstanding. He would pray to Erathis for guidance before he fell asleep tonight, he decided. Erathis’s light would guide him, just as it always had.

  “I think that we need to decide on a course of action before we enter the mountain,” Shara said as they made their way between the massive statues. She had grown unusually quiet the closer they had gotten to the mountain. In the distance, thunder boomed.

  “The Road of Lanterns leads to the settlement known as the Seven-Pillared Hall,” Albanon said. “Stay on the road and you shouldn’t run into any trouble.”

  “And what about you?” Darrum asked suspiciously. “Aren’t you going to the Seven-Pillared Hall?”

  “No,” Albanon admitted quietly. “We have another destination in mind.”

  Erak looked from Albanon to Roghar and then to his companions. He shook his head. “We need to stay together,” he said. “What the Raven Queen has joined must not be parted.”

  “I respect the Lady of Fate,” Roghar said gravely, “but I follow the path of Bahamut. We have our own quest to get back to, but we wish you good fortune with your own.”

  “Maybe,” Uldane said quietly, speaking for the first time since they turned off the Trade Road, “it’s time for us to share our tales. Then we can see just how similar or different our quests happen to be.”

  “Out of the mouths of halflings,” Darrum chuckled.

  Albanon exchanged a glance with Roghar, who nodded slightly.

  “Very well,” the eladrin wizard said. “Let’s head for the Halfmoon Inn. We’re probably better off reaching the Hall before full darkness.”

  “Isn’t it always dark under the mountain?” Falon asked.

  “You don’t know the half of it,” Shara said as the companions rode into the mountain.

  53 THE SEVEN-PILLARED HALL, TWILIGHT

  He went where?” Magroth asked, leaning against the stoneguard as he made sure he completely understood the ogre towering over him.

  “Ran off,” Brugg said again, clearly flustered by the undead wizard. “Headed right for da arch ta da Shinin’ Road.”

  Magroth nodded appreciatively. “Ah, Kalaban, anticipating my needs. He must have gone to clear the path, since that happens to be where we’re going next.”

  “Such capable help is so hard to find,” said Barana Strenk, stepping out of the shadows around the base of the minotaur statue.

  “The lovely Barana,” Magroth said, bowing slightly to the death priest. “I might start to think that you don’t trust me if you keep turning up like this.”

  “Trust is overrated, Emperor Magroth,” Barana said. “I bring news that could aid you in your quest.”

  “As much as I enjoy our quiet moments alone, please get on with it. I have much work to do before my time in this world runs out.”

  Barana forced a smile on her hard, sharp face. “A new opponent has entered the arena. The Lady of Fate has decided to send one of her knights to disrupt your plans. She doesn’t like to see my master succeed at anything.”

  “A revenant?” Magroth laughed. “Does the Raven Queen really think that a revenant can challenge me?”

  “That’s not all,” Barana said, a twinkle suddenly lighting up her hard, dark eyes. “Your descendent travels with the revenant. They’ll both arrive in this underground hovel before night falls on the world outside.”

  Magroth gave the death priest a respectful nod. “You really want me to deal with my descendent, don’t you?”

  Barana returned a slight nod. “I am just trying to help you complete the tasks that Lord Orcus has set before you.”

  “Lord Orcus?” the Ordinator Arcanis gasped, his gold mask once more hiding his face from those in the Hall. “I must protest, Emperor Magroth. You have brought things that do not concern the Mages of Saruun to our doorstep in the Seven-Pillared Hall. We want nothing to do with the struggles between Orcus and the Raven Queen.”

  “Neither do I,” snapped Magroth, “but so few of us ever get what we truly want.”

  “I have given you the news,” Barana said. “I shall leave you to deal with things as you see fit.”

  “Of course you will,” Magroth said as Barana stepped back into the shadows and disappeared from the Hall. “Let’s go find Kalaban,” he said, tapping his knuckles on the stone golem.

  “But Empero
r Magroth,” the Ordinator Arcanis said hastily, “what about the revenant?”

  Magroth shrugged. “Tell him and my cursed descendant where I’ve gone. They can catch up with me if they so desire.”

  And then Magroth and his stone golem started toward the dark archway in the northern wall of the cavern.

  54 THE SEVEN-PILLARED HALL, NIGHT

  Uldane noticed that Shara had begun to trail the rest of the party as they reached the end of the Road of Lanterns. He always found their visits to the ruins of Saruun Khel to be extremely interesting. Borojon had led them into the Labyrinth on four separate occasions over the years, each time to deal with a problem for one of their patrons or to dig up some bit of historical curiosity for Valthrun the scholar back in Winterhaven. Uldane missed listening to the old scholar’s stories.

  Uldane had counted to make sure that all seventy-seven statues were still in place along the brick-vaulted length of the Road of Lanterns. Each statue depicted a different demon, and Uldane wished that he could linger and study each one to determine their similarities and differences. But no one ever let him linger. “You’ll get into trouble, Uldane,” they’d always say. They didn’t understand. Trouble is what he wanted to get into! Well, not trouble exactly, but Uldane loved to discover new things and leap into new adventures. It was what he did! Borojon and Jarren had come closest to understanding that. He missed Borojon and Jarren. He even missed grumpy old Cliffside. A lot.

  The Road of Lanterns got its name from the magical lanterns that hung along the length of the downward-sloping passage. Uldane had studied the copper lanterns at great length during one of their visits. The lanterns were spaced just far enough apart so that you could barely see the next one in the darkness ahead, but you had to move from the light into the darkness to reach the next dim pool of radiance. He thought that it would be useful to have one of these ever-glowing lanterns, but when he had pried one from the wall the magic immediately faded. Borojon yelled at him for that, he remembered gloomily. “That magic was for the use of all,” Borojon had said, “not just for the amusement of a curious halfling!”

  He let his horse slow so that he fell back into step with Shara. She looked miserable. The halfling knew what she was thinking. They were going to the Seven-Pillared Hall. To the Halfmoon Inn, in fact. That’s where they first met Jarren. Poor Jarren. Uldane remembered the lucky coin that was in his pocket, the coin that he had borrowed from Jarren and had tried to return before the dragon attacked. Tears welled up in the halfling’s eyes. Was Jarren’s death his fault? Because he had the lucky coin and not Jarren during the dragon battle?

  “Shara,” Uldane began, but Shara shook her head.

  “Not now, Uldane,” she said. “Please, just leave me alone.”

  Uldane thought about telling Shara about the coin. He thought about giving her the coin so that she could have something of Jarren’s. He thought about telling her how Jarren’s death might have been his fault. He thought about all of these things and more in the space of a few seconds, and then he lowered his head.

  “Sorry,” was all that Uldane managed to say, but he continued to ride alongside his friend as they emerged from the passage into the Seven-Pillared Hall.

  55 THE AVENUE OF GLORY, NIGHT

  Nu Alin examined the wide passage through Tempest’s eyes. Great statues lined the walls of the passage, each depicting a minotaur hero, a fearsome monster, or a terrible demon of some sort. One of the nearest statues, that of a minotaur with a wizard’s staff and spell book, was cracked and broken. The horned head and a part of the spell book had broken off and were lying on the floor at the statue’s base. For the moment, the wide passage was silent. No creatures that Nu Alin could detect were in the immediate vicinity.

  Nu Alin had managed to push Tempest’s consciousness back and had contained it, but she was incredibly strong willed. He would have to tread carefully with this vessel. She had the capacity to exert control if he let his concentration waver, and in the middle of a battle or other dangerous situation, that could cause his mission to end before he had recovered the Voidharrow and set it free. That he could not allow.

  Nu Alin rummaged through Tempest’s pack and found a length of rope, a hammer, and a few pitons. He wedged one of the pitons into a crack in the wall, setting it so that it was about the same distance above the floor as Tempest’s knee. He tied one end of the rope around the piton, tugged it once to determine that it would hold, and then he turned and leaped the fifty feet to the other side of the passage. At the far wall, he repeated the process so that the rope stretched across the dark corridor.

  Nu Alin reached out with his senses, seeking the presence of the Voidharrow. It was closer, but still not close enough to grasp. But it would come to him, exerting control over the thief that possessed it not unlike how he controlled the tiefling. Not the same, of course, but similar. All he had to do was wait and the thief would bring the Voidharrow to him. He climbed up behind the statue of a winged demon, using muscles that the vessel had honed so that he didn’t have to put as much of his own power into the process as he had had to do with some of the other bodies he had worn. He wedged Tempest’s body between the wall and the back of the statue, allowing the form to rest more or less comfortably in the darkness about ten feet above the floor of the wide passage.

  Now we wait, thought Nu Alin.

  In the darkness at the back of Tempest’s mind, he could sense the tiefling’s struggle.

  You cannot break free, Nu Alin told Tempest.

  That made the tiefling struggle even more vigorously.

  Nu Alin forced the tiefling’s lips into a smile. If he had to wait, he might as well enjoy himself. And Nu Alin began to feed on the fear that rippled through Tempest’s deepest thoughts.

  56 THE SEVEN-PILLARED HALL, NIGHT

  Erak sat at the large, round table, his back against the wall. The rest of the companions were seated around the table, and food and drink had been brought by the halflings that ran the establishment. They were in the Halfmoon Inn, a large building built into the southern wall of the Seven-Pillared Hall, just to the west of the waterfall that fed the river that divided the Hall in two. The Halfmoon family owned and operated the inn, which included a taproom and a trading post, and Erak could see the resemblance on each of the many halfling faces that moved through the large room carrying trays and pitchers to the customers.

  Shara sat to Erak’s right, with Uldane beside her. Falon and Darrum were next around the table, and the old dwarf was already digging into a platter of roasted potatoes. Albanon and Roghar sat to Erak’s left, while the pseudodragon Splendid crawled across the table, examining each bowl and platter in turn. “I prefer the food back in Moorin’s tower,” the pseudodragon sulked as she snatched a slice of baked fish from one of the platters.

  “Let’s get on with this,” Darrum said, scooping more potatoes on to his plate.

  “I’ll start,” Falon decided, speaking low so as not to let the rest of the room overhear their business. “A few days ago I was an apprentice cleric at a small shrine in the village of Nenlast. Several undead creatures attacked the shrine and tried to kill me. Darrum came to my rescue, and we’ve been on the run ever since.”

  “Why do the undead want to kill you?” Roghar asked.

  Before Falon could answer, Darrum said, “Some kind of family matter. We’re not exactly sure.”

  Falon gave the dwarf a strange look as he absently tugged the sleeve of his left arm down to his wrist. Erak was glad that the young cleric decided not to add any further details to Darrum’s explanation. Better to keep Falon’s true heritage a secret, at least until they got to know Albanon and Roghar a bit better.

  “So why have you come to the Seven-Pillared Hall?” Albanon asked.

  “That was at my request,” Erak said. “Before we get to that part of the story, Shara should tell you about her and Uldane.”

  Shara gave Erak a hard look. She didn’t want to talk about what had brought her to this locat
ion, didn’t want to dredge up the memories that nevertheless haunted her. Erak placed his hand on hers. “Tell them,” he said gently, and Shara nodded.

  The woman warrior took a long pull on the tankard in front of her. She wiped her mouth on the back of her hand, a distant look creeping into her eyes. “We hunted the green dragon Vestapalk,” she said, speaking more to herself than to any of the companions. “The foul creature had been terrorizing the land around Winterhaven, and we were the best there was in the area. But we weren’t good enough. There were five of us, seasoned adventurers all. Borojon, my father, led the group. In addition to me and Uldane, we were accompanied by the paladin Cliffside and the fighter Jarren.”

  Shara took another long drink, tears glistening at the corners of her eyes.

  “We hunted the dragon for five days, following its trail of destruction into the Cairngorm Peaks,” Shara continued. “That’s where we caught up with the dragon—or the dragon let us catch up with it. Vestapalk killed Cliffside and Borojon. It would have killed me if Uldane hadn’t knocked the two of us out of the path of its poison breath and over a ledge into a fast-moving river far below. As we fell, I saw the dragon.…”

  Shara’s throat seized up and she couldn’t find the words to continue. She stood up from the table and moved away, fighting to keep the tears at bay a little longer.

  “Um,” Uldane said hesitantly, looking from Shara to the companions at the table and back again. “Vestapalk killed Jarren, too,” he said at last. “We’re going to find the dragon, and we’re going to kill it. That’s the promise that Shara and I made after we pulled ourselves out of the river and returned to Winterhaven.”

  Roghar looked at the halfling rogue with obvious admiration, but he still had to ask the question that came to his mind. “The Seven-Pillared Hall seems a rather unlikely place to hunt for a green dragon that lairs in the mountains to the west.”