Into the Madness

by Richard H. Stephens

  “Oh great,” Sadyra’s voice reached him from behind, “my valiant protector leaves me in the darkness to fend for myself.”

  Her words barely registered. He ran up behind Alhena, practically bowling him over. Forcing his way between the wizard and Rook, the bowman had to scramble to keep away from the edge. There was no room on Alhena’s other side, but Olmar clung to Alhena’s staff bearing arm.

  Alhena stopped and waited for Sadyra to catch up. He sloughed off Olmar’s hand and said sternly, “Look, you two. Nothing in here is going to hurt you.”

  Pollard and Olmar started to protest but were silenced by Alhena’s crooked finger and raised voice; uncharacteristic of the mild-mannered wizard.

  “Unless you go off half-crazed…”

  “Fully crazed,” Sadyra muttered to Larina.

  “…and knock one of us from this causeway. Do not, I repeat, do not respond to anything unusual. Some of the spirits may try to play with you. They mean you no harm, but,” his staff flared brighter, “if you strike out at them, make no mistake, they will fight back.”

  Pollard audibly gulped and glanced at Olmar’s stricken face. Sadyra and Larina’s chiding and mocking did little to ease his discomfort.

  He broke eye contact with Olmar. The wild look on the sailor’s face only served to ramp up his own anxiety. He directed a question at Alhena. “How much longer are we going to be in here?”

  “I do not know. I have only been through here once before and that was a long time ago. I think we are reaching halfway.”

  Halfway? That didn’t help his anxiety one bit. He had no idea how much time had passed since entering the cursed tunnel but he was certain they had been on this magical bridge for at least a day.

  Alhena’s next words almost had him quivering on the ground despite his best effort not to act as bad as Olmar.

  “We should be approaching the worst part of the Crypt, if I recall my previous trip correctly.”

  Alhena had no sooner spoken when a mournful cry echoed throughout the chamber, distant and forlorn.

  Pollard thought for sure the others could hear his knees knocking together. He didn’t dare look at Olmar.

  Sadyra walked beside Larina, the two of them treading slowly behind Pollard and Olmar whose heads were swivelling at the slightest sound. It would have been comical had they been anywhere else but the Crypt.

  Unnerving, lamenting cries rose out of the darkness. Upon the bizarre cavern road arching through unfathomable depths of what she could only think to describe as the spirit world, it was impossible to tell where the forlorn moans originated from.

  Sadyra’s thin arms tired. Although Alhena told them not to engage with anything, Sadyra found herself becoming more and more spooked. Clutching her bow and keeping an arrow half-cocked was her way of dealing with her stress, but as the cold gusts increased in frequency and the detached shrieks grew in intensity, she feared she’d soon be no better than the giants.

  A cold blast swept by her outward ear. She ducked toward Larina with wide open eyes, positive she saw something.

  In front of Larina, Olmar yelped and jumped sideways, bumping into Pollard who caught him and shoved him back.

  Ahead of the giants, Rook jerked back and forth, ducking and holding his hands over his head.

  A flurry of screeches came from beneath the bridge. Sadyra leaped into the air. Was that a scrabbling she felt through the soles of her suede boots?

  “What the…?” Larina jumped beside her and promptly ducked low, waving a dagger in the air.

  The sound of a bladed weapon rang loudly between the disembodied wails. Sadyra swallowed. She knew that sound well. Pollard had bared his twin-bladed sword.

  Alhena’s warning echoed in her mind, ‘If you strike out at them, make no mistake, they will fight back.’ In Pollard’s state, it was only a matter of time before he reacted. She was surprised he hadn’t done so already.

  She didn’t worry about Olmar striking out. He wouldn’t dare lift a finger against the Crypt spirits, but Pollard…? She had fought alongside him too many times. Despite the uncharacteristic fear behind those light blue eyes, a time would come when his fighter’s instinct took control of his actions. She unconsciously tested the draw of her bow—she had to be ready for when he snapped.

  Alhena must’ve heard Pollard’s sword pull free. The old wizard pointed a finger. “Put your sword away. The only death it will bring will be your own.”

  Pollard’s eyes attested there was no way he was about to sheath the weapon he relied on to protect him.

  “Very well,” Alhena’s voice was full of venom. “Do not expect me to come to your aid when the spirits take you away. I am powerless against them.”

  Sadyra almost choked at the sight of frail Alhena scathing the muscle-bound giant. She knew the reality, however. Alhena was the most formidable member of their party. She wished Pollard would listen to him. She knew he wouldn’t listen to her.

  “You worry about yourself. I’ll worry about me,” Pollard growled.

  Sadyra shook her head. They’d worked together for several years in the Splendoor Catacombs Guard; Larina, Pollard and herself. Part of a group of young adults recruited several years ago by Captain Johnnes Holmann. Though brash with his opinions, when it came to fighting, Pollard was usually the calm one of the three.

  Sadyra had met them on a day she had rowed a barely afloat skiff through rough seas, leagues down the coast from Fishmonger Bay, laden with her family’s weekly catch. She had just turned fifteen. Larina and Pollard were both a few years older and had known each other from Storms End.

  A sudden chill swept through her. What if she came face-to-face with her parent’s spirits? Would they exact their vengeance on her? She swallowed. A new concern to add to her heightening apprehension.

  Her mind reeled. What if her youngest sister were here? Did she blame Sadyra for leaving her and her middle sister alone with their parents? Sadyra didn’t think she could handle seeing Sable’s sweet, freckled face and trusting eyes.

  Tears welled, threatening to spill down her freckled cheeks. She should never have left her sisters with their parents. “Oh, Sable, I’m so sorry.”

  “What’s that?” Larina asked, looking at her curiously.

  “Nothing. Just thinking.”

  “You okay?”

  She sniffed and wiped at her eyes. “I’ll be better once we’re out of here.”

  Larina nodded. “You ain’t the only one. I think poor Olmar soiled himself.”

  Sadyra spit out an explosive chuckle. “Him and me both.”

  The group maintained a steady knot around Alhena’s light, unable to move any quicker than the pace the wizard set.

  Sadyra wanted Pollard to throw Gramps over his shoulder and run, but she was fairly confident Alhena wouldn’t appreciate the gesture.

  Olmar yelped and threw himself on the ground.

  Larina was on him immediately, attempting to drag him back to his feet. She may as well have tried to drag the Gerrymander across a gravel beach.

  Rook and Alhena jumped when Olmar screeched. They looked back momentarily and kept walking, not appearing overly concerned.

  Pollard, on the other hand, took Olmar’s fright to heart. He brandished his double sword in both hands, casting his gaze every which way at once.

  “Put your sword down, you big lummox. You’re going to impale one of us,” Sadyra said, adjusting her loosely nocked arrow and pulling back on the bowstring.

  “Ooooh!” Larina screeched. “Lunkhead, you’re impossible!”

  Olmar crouched face first on the ground, his rump in the air, trying to pull the sides of his leather cap down over his ears.

  Sadyra got a hold of her own nerves and stepped in to assist before her friend ended up killing Olmar.

  She caught Larina’s eye and motioned for her to get out of the way. When Larina was clear, Sadyra jabbed Olmar’s considerable rump with the tip of her arrow and screeched for effect.

  Never in h
er life had she witnessed someone move so fast. Olmar jumped to his feet and sprinted after Rook and Alhena faster than the finest of the king’s horses.

  Pollard, startled by the sudden movement and clearly unsure why Olmar had bolted, yelped and chased after him.

  Larina shook her head and jogged after the raving lunatic.

  Sadyra caught up and fell in behind Pollard—the creepy moans and eerie wails continuing to hound the group.

  Rook and Alhena walked along, ducking occasionally, as if pretending the noises were nothing more unusual than a walk through a low branched forest teeming with songbirds. Behind them, Olmar and Pollard jumped and jerked about, their clothing damp with sweat despite the cold in the heart of the Crypt.

  Sadyra settled in behind them, almost thankful for the distraction Olmar had precipitated. She smiled at the state of his clothing. If Olmar kept perspiring, he’d soon be skinnier than Larina.

  A breeze, stronger and colder than anything before, swept across her face. She dropped to a knee, her breath caught in her throat, ducking away from what she perceived to be an ethereal dragon swooping to pluck her from the ledge.

  She closed her eyes, stiff with fear, but the clasping talons never took her. When she opened them again, the dragon was gone. She swallowed and shook her head. What a foolish girl, she thought, but her attention was drawn forward.

  The causeway ahead shone brighter momentarily. She frowned but her attention was drawn to the rock beneath her feet. The slow arching pathway felt as if it had begun to slant downward.

  She bounced in between Pollard and Olmar. “Look, guys. The bridge is descending. We’re over halfway.”

  If the giants heard her, they didn’t let on. In fact, she found herself jogging to keep up. That puzzled her. Alhena never moved faster than a casual walk if he didn’t have to.

  She darted up to Rook and Alhena. “What gives?”

  Alhena’s eyes were haunting enough, but Rook’s displayed an inherent dread.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing!” Alhena snapped. “Try to keep up.” His milky eyes searched all around, his pace increasing. Sadyra noticed his staff shone brighter than usual. Almost as if he expected…

  Rook looked back at her, pulling an arrow from his quiver. “Alhena fire-balled a spirit.”

  Sadyra swallowed, her pace dropping off. He had done exactly what he warned them not to.

  Olmar and Pollard burst by her, weapons in hand, followed closely by Larina who gave her a questioning look.

  “Apparently Gramps shot a ghost.”

  “What?” Larina shrieked, an arrow in hand before Sadyra blinked—the cold wind blowing up behind them no longer just a gust of wind.

  Sadyra threw herself to the ground and rolled beneath a ghastly apparition of a flying skeleton, its bony fingers reaching out for her—missing their target by the smallest of margins. Was that her father?

  Larina cried out and sidestepped the attack, her actions preventing her from keeping her arrow nocked.

  A resounding crack of bones drew Sadyra’s attention to Olmar, the giant pummeled by the broken bones of what remained of the skeleton his black warhammer had smashed.

  Pollard roared, his primal battle rage banishing his fear. As long as Pollard remained alive, Sadyra no longer feared for herself.

  As if on cue, Pollard’s meaty hand wrapped around her upper arm and deposited her on her feet.

  A cacophony of guttural moans and ear-splitting wails echoed throughout the cavern with a horrendous din.

  Blasts from Alhena’s staff, alternating between fire and ice, flickered the tenuous light around them as they ran for their lives.

  Larina and Rook stopped frequently to see a ghoul materializing out of the darkness and let fly, but their arrows were useless against the spirits—nicking off bone or passing through their intended target. Even arrows scoring a direct hit proved ineffective—the spirits were already dead.

  Sadyra screamed.

  Pollard fell to his knees—two large skeletons on his back, pinning his sword arm.

  She dropped the arrow she had ready and shouldered her bow, her hands pulling two triple-bladed dirks from their holders on her hips all in one fluid motion.

  She leapt into the air and fell upon the largest skeleton. Driving the blades around the creature’s neck and twisting, her momentum carried her and the bony spirit from Pollard’s back.

  Pollard rose to his hands and knees, grabbed the second skeleton by its ribcage and pulled the offending creature free and smashing it against the bridge—its bony fingers leaving trails of blood where they tried to latch onto his thick arms.

  Sadyra hit the ground and rolled to prevent herself from being crushed beneath the skeleton caught in her grasp.

  It clawed at her face but she lithely bent out of harm’s way, her hands twisting the dirks with all her strength. Their rolling took them to the edge of the causeway but she refused to release her victim, her mind fully invested in the fight.

  One more roll and they would drop off the bridge. She squeezed her arms together and flicked her wrists. The skeleton’s spine severed in her grasp and the creature’s dismembered parts dropped into the abyss.

  She tried to keep herself from following the skeleton over the edge but the steepening angle of the drop-off accelerated her descent. She dug her dirks into the granite surface. Sparks flew. The sharp metal claws scraped at the unforgiving rock, but her legs were already flailing into the nothingness. As her hips passed over the lip, she tightened her stomach, flexed her abdomen and bounced off the edge of the bridge. The dirks flew out of her hands as she reached out and clasped a femur bone Pollard held out to her.

  Her momentum swung her through the air to land on the bridge a few paces ahead, her insignificant weight almost toppling Pollard over the edge. She yanked back on the femur bone, falling to her rump and stabilizing the big man.

  Both of them were on their feet in an instant; Alhena’s light fading in the distance.

  Twice Sadyra had to jump at the last moment to avoid tripping over the downed carcass of one of the spirits the others had dispatched.

  The din rising behind them made her slow down and look over her shoulder. She almost choked. The air was white with a solid wall of spirits closing in on them—the press so thick that any of the skeletons too close to the bridge were driven into the rocky archway and pulverized by the writhing mass.

  Sadyra’s caught up to the others. “Move faster!”

  The wall of bone was almost upon them. She pulled an arrow from her quiver, her feet keeping pace with the others even with her body half-turned. Firing an arrow into their midst seemed a silly thing to do, but she had run out of options.

  Olmar shouted out, his hysterical words incomprehensible.

  Pollard roared. He attempted to turn but Sadyra pushed him forward. He almost went down but recovered his balance.

  The first row of grasping, bony arms reached out, close enough to touch the ends of Sadyra’s flying hair. She shrieked and let the arrow go, expecting to be taken at any moment.

  A thunderous crackling filled the cavern as the causeway exited the cavern—the path disappearing into a narrow tunnel. Hundreds of skeletons exploded against the cavern wall outside the tunnel, but many others made it inside the passageway unscathed—landing on the ground and clattering after the company.

  Alhena threw himself against the wall to let the others pass. His staff pulsed and discharged.

  Sadyra dove out of the path of the sizzling lightning bolt. It crackled by her, standing her hair on end, and impacted the ceiling. A deafening concussion and a powerful shockwave brought the roof down, throwing everyone in the tunnel to the ground.

  Dazed, it took a moment to comprehend what had just happened, but when Olmar and Pollard saw that several skeletons that had made it beyond the cave-in, their faces lit up in wicked grins. Pushing past Alhena and Sadyra the giants engaged the remaining spirits.

  The eerie screech of skelet
ons being pummeled by Olmar’s warhammer and splintered by Pollard’s sword reverberated through Sadyra’s mind for a long time afterward. She’d never heard a dead creature die before. Their mournful cries would haunt her dreams for many nights to come.

  Flight of a Hero

  “Silurian, no!” Melody screamed, dropping her staff and grabbing her brother’s arms.

  Karvus turned into Silurian’s choke-hold, driving his hands between Silurian’s arms to break the grip. Soulbiter caught his cheek, cutting him deeply as he slipped free.

  Karvus grasped Silurian’s forearms and stepped in behind with his closest leg—his sheer body weight driving them to the ground.

  Silurian braced for the impact, desperately trying to keep his head from bouncing off the stone floor. The last thing he wanted was to leave Melody alone with the killer.

  Surprisingly, just before he hit the ground, Karvus yanked on his arms and laid him down gently, but the knee dropping onto his chest was anything but as Karvus thrust his hands out wide and to the ground.

  “Drop it,” Karvus snarled, his bearded face fierce. Blood dripped on Silurian’s forehead from the gash on the emperor’s cheek.

  Silurian tried to lurch sideways but he was no match for the brute’s strength.

  “Silurian! Listen to him. He wants to help.”

  Silurian scowled at the huge head glaring at him, daring him to try something foolish. “He wants to kill us, that’s what he wants.”

  Melody knelt down by Silurian’s head. “Let him up, Emperor. He won’t attack you again.”

  Silurian grunted, trying desperately to slip free of Karvus’ grasp.

  “I’m having a hard time believing you, ma’am.”