Authors: Bruce R. Cordell
Something cold and odiferous shouldered him out of the way. Gunggari, similarly jostled, danced back and grasped his dizheri; the ice demon had slid up silently while their attention was on the door. Ususi had managed to free it from its compulsion of inaction.
Their icy chaperone reared back, its paw-like hands balled into great fists. With a grand release, the fists swung and smashed square into the center of the iron door. The door blew off its hinges with a screech of metal, a shower of sparks, and a clamorous crash of metal on stone. The sound continued to echo up and down the corridor for several seconds before dying away.
Marrec said, “Our guide may prove more useful than I had supposed.”
The creature leered and giggled at Marrec.
“No doubt about it,” agreed Elowen.
Marrec felt his attitudes shifting slightly. “We can’t keep calling you ‘creature;’ what is your name?” Marrec asked the queen’s envoy.
The beast considered then rasped, “The Victorious Slayer of Compassion.”
“We’ll call you Victorious for short,” responded Marrec without losing a beat.
The creature didn’t react to the cleric’s simplification of its name, except to cough up a phlegm-coated chunk of stained ice, but it did that sometimes.
Marrec shoved his spear through the opening of the mouth of the great bust. The eldritch glow on the spear’s tip illuminated the chamber beyond.
The square space revealed was covered in gray, peeling plaster. Across the width of the room was an unlit exit, but in between, the plaster that had not crumbled was covered in paintings strangely bright and vivid. Scenes, figures, and glyphs adorned the room in no apparent order. The visual jumble covered the walls but also the floor and ceiling, creating a disquieting mosaic of disturbing images: a dragon eating a virginal maiden, a plague of worms infesting a screaming man, a seascape where a great tentacled monstrosity pulled down a ship, a giant roasting bound prisoners on a spit…
Marrec looked away, disgusted. He studied the room, trying not to focus on the painted scenes. Nothing moved,
and nothing stirred in the empty exit. Crumbling plaster lay in clumps and drifts across the floor, thankfully obscuring some of the images.
“This way,” said the cleric. He didn’t like the look of the preternaturally bright images. He said, “Try to step only on the crumbled plaster.” He followed his own advice, treading carefully, sometimes jumping from one island of powdery gray dust to the next.
Victoricus followed Marrec. The demon surprised the cleric by following his direction, instead of sliding across the room as Marrec had expected. Perhaps the demon was bound to serve him? More likely, it knew something about the images in the plaster that it hadn’t divulged.
Gunggari followed, then Ususi, and last Elowen. As Gunggari reached the bare stone hallway where Marrec and the demon waited, Ususi reached the center of the chamber. The mage paused.
“That’s interesting,” said Ususi, looking at a collection of arcane sigils that painted the floor near her feet. “These are Nar characters, but the alphabet is strangely reminiscent of Imaskari letters.”
“Interesting, but not important now,” opined Elowen, right behind the mage, “Let’s go.”
. “Just a moment,” said Ususi, as she bent and touched a finger to one the glyphs, tracing its lines.
“Oh, shards,” breathed the wizard, then she yelled, “It’s got me!”
It was true. Where her finger had touched the image, a meniscus of paint stretched to maintain contact. It did more than stretch; it pulled. Ususi was yanked forward, her finger, her hand, and her forearm swallowed into the floor. It was as if the ground were a voracious liquid, not hard plaster. Elowen caught at Ususi’s other flailing hand and the mage’s forward momentum into the floor was arrested.
Marrec, standing on the other edge, saw that where the wizard’s arm disappeared into the floor, new color sprang
to life. It was as if a new painting were rising up from the floor, there all along, but only then becoming visible. So far, it revealed only a feminine arm, which terminated at the point where Ususi knelt, struggling to pull herself from the floor’s grip.
“Pull her out of there,” yelled Marrec. “It’s eating her, or… or something.”
The cleric hustled back into the chamber, determined to remain only on the mounds of crumbled plaster. Because of his, the demon’s, and Gunggari’s earlier traversal, the mounds were somewhat scattered, and it was more difficult for him to get across quickly without touching the painted floor.
“Gods, it’s got a grip on her,” complained Elowen, her voice tight, as she pulled on Ususi’s other arm. If anything, she lost ground, and Ususi was pulled forward, nearly her entire arm swallowed, her straining head falling dangerously close to the absorptive surface.
Marrec arrived, clamped both his hands on the free arm, lending his strength to Elowen’s. They both heaved. Ususi groaned as her bones crackled with the strain. With a sucking pop, they pulled the wizard clear. All three of them very nearly stumbled and fell backward, but in the end they managed to retain their footing on the crumbled plaster.
Breathing hard, his hand still on Ususi’s arm, Marrec murmured, “Come on.” He led Ususi across. Elowen followed after. They assembled safely on the opposite side of the painted chamber.
Ususi turned to Marrec, “That is another life I owe you.”
A smile ghosted his lips in return. “I’m glad I’m building up credit. I may need to call in that marker before we get clear of the Vault.”
Fallon had failed to keep the schedule. Damanda tapped midnight black nails on lacquered armor just as dark. Green highlights played along her silhouette. The fluctuating emerald glow emerged from an ominous point further down the ruined hallway where Damanda and her retinue stood.
The pulsing, ravenous glow was the light of the Lurker in the Middle, and by its intensity, it was clear the entity had not snared Fallon. It was still hungry. Damanda, for all her might, had no desire to meet the Lurker face to faceor whatever passed for a Lurker’s face.
Fallon’s absence was troubling. The Rotting Man’s compulsion should have cored the elFs mind and marched him dutifully into the Lurker’s grasp, leaving the idiot child for Damanda to collect at her leisure. No child, no Fallon, no
triumphant return to the Close with the Talontyr’s hard-sought prize in tow.
Worry puckered tentative steps across her stomach. It did not do to disappoint the Rotting Man. His plans were coming to fruition. She doubted she could survive being a barrier to his goal, intentional or not.
That’s why she would not fail, despite Fallon’s troubling absence.
The blightlord considered her retinue. Anammelech had preferred oozes, and bumbling Gameliel his corrupted forest creatures. Herself, she had a penchant for the undead, especially those that delighted haunting the nightand the ever dark corridors of these ruined Nar conjuries. From all the cold, animate servants she had to choose from, she had selected her four favorites to accompany her into Under-Tharos to collect Fallon, just in case there was trouble. Indeed, trouble had found her. They would have to discover Fallon’s whereabouts.
Heavily tattooed, poem-spewing Bonehammer rested on the shaft of the weapon from which he derived his name. Bonehammer’s moon-white skin peeked out from between indelibly inked scenes of depraved obscenity. His blank eyes regarded the Lurker’s glow, measuring.
Absalme, elf thin, gowned in thin white leather, hummed a tuneless dirge, awaiting Damanda’s next command. Her fingers played along the length of a flute of fused humanoid vertebrae.
The contorted, constantly twisting frame of Ezekial was draped in dull black cloth, hiding the extent of his deformity. Because of his nature, Ezekial’s posture hid a secret assassin’s strength, redoubled by his deathless spirit.
Finally there was diminutive Lex with her tomes, scrolls, and wands. A shock of purple hair grew like fungus on Lex’s graceful skull.
Lex grinned, showing her cruelly pointed canines, and said, “Some other demon got your elf before he even reached here, eh?”
“Perhaps. It is what we must discover. Ezekial!” “Yes, Mistress?” creaked he of cloaks, daggers, and teeth.
“Find the missing elf, or better yet, the girl-child he has with him.”
Ezekial bent, so precipitously and shockingly that those unused to his contortions might have thought that he had broken and his top half toppled. His nose a mere whisper above the floor, he began to sniff. Sniffing, he shuffled away from the greenish light, back along the way Fallon should have come.
Damanda and the other vampires followed.
([racks riddled the stone walls of the passage. Over the eons, trickling water had nearly dissolved away some sections, though a lingering malign influence restricted the damage from being total.
Marrec pressed forward, hoping to come to the core of the Sighing Vault, but paranoid that each new shadow hid an ambush by Eschar. His companions stepped cautiously behind him, Victorious bringing up the rear.
Ususi had bolstered the ice demon with magic that should make it more resistant to instant neutralization by Eschar. That would be important were they to face Eschar again.
Echoes of their footsteps sometimes leaped ahead, causing Marrec to pause suspiciously. Marrec said, “There is an open area ahead by the sound of it.” Whispers of his voice echoed back.
They pressed ahead, and the corridor emptied into a vast space. Shapes glowed with their own foul light, tumbled under a great subterranean ceiling. Pale domes, cracked sarcophagi, and possibly thousands of clay vessels, earthenware containers, and other containers lay scattered and broken around the chamber, most half buried in millennial dust. It was impossible to tell how many thousands more containers lay completely buried.
Even the slightest sound sent echoes scurrying and whispering across the chamber.
Victoricus intoned, “The Sighing Vault.”
Ususi asked, “How can we find the token amidst this morass? It would take years.”
“I smell it,” the ice demon said, almost as if surprised.
It began to slide forward, passing the outermost vessels of the gargantuan pile. Casual inspection showed that the chests, vessels, and pots that were broken were empty of all content.
“Stay alert,” said Marrec, gripping Justlance. “Eschar’s got to be here, waiting.” He followed on the demon’s heels. Gunggari followed him, next Ususi, and Elowen took up the rear, guarding their flank.
They passed out into the great cavern, passing between larger vessels of stone and iron so large that they were like windowless, doorless buildings. Narrow “streets” of clear space wound through that city of silence, and Victoricus followed one such lane to the center of the tumbled pile.
Some of the vessels where carved with faces, bodies, skulls, demonic glyphs, and more depraved symbology. It was clear that many Nar treasures and secrets resided there in their hundreds.
Marrec said quietly, “Eschar’s been a busy collector over the centuries.”
Ususi responded, “That or he happened upon a dumping ground of failed Nar experiments. I doubt there is much of any use here. I can’t detect any magic in any of
these.” She waved her hand over a field of crooked, half-shattered clay pots.
“Looking for goodies?” wondered Marrec.
“I’m looking for anything that we can use to our advantage,” huffed the wizard.
Ahead of Marrec, Victoricus slid to a halt before a salt-white dome. They had traveled several hundred yards, picking their way through the vault field, and Marrec decided they might well be in the center of the cavern.
The ice demon pointed to the vault and said, “The Queen Abiding’s token lies within.”
Apprehensive that Eschar was watching them, so close to their goal, they spread out around the dome, looking for a door, window, or even a crack large enough to provide entry. The dome, like many of the smaller containers surrounding it, seemed sealed but unbroken. As far as Marrec could determine, the dome was carved of a single piece of limestone.A line of symbols ran around the periphery of the dome. That was all.
Dissatisfied with the time they were spending, Marrec grunted, “I suppose these are in the language of ancient Narfell?” He pointed to the symbols. He couldn’t understand why Eschar hadn’t already attacked them. His neck hair continually prickled, but no threat materialized to justify his tension. Yet.
Ususi studied the symbols. She read, translating, “Once for the First; Twice for the Archduke; Thrice for the Viscount; Four revolutions for the dual lords; Five for the Prince, Six for the Hag; Seven for the Seventh; Eight for the Eighth, and Nine for the King.”
“That doesn’t sound like a healthy litany,” noted Elowen, looking around nervously.
“It does have the sound of a summoning, doesn’t it,” mused Ususi.
“Is it?” asked Marrec.
The wizard shrugged, said, “I do not believe so, no, but it does remind me of something.” She pulled upon the
flaps of one of her voluminous side satchels in which she carried various slim tomes and parchments covered in crabbed runes, sorted through the contents, then pulled forth a slender volume bound in blue leather. The edges were crumbling, and the symbols were faded, though they seemed similar to those on the dome.
Ususi explained, “This tome is banned in some cities of Faerun, if you can believe it. Some people don’t understand that to fight demons and devils you have to first recognize them.” .
Marrec’s eyes widened. He asked, “You carry a tome of demonology?”
The wizard said, “I carry many bits of knowledge. You never know when you’ll stumble upon something better left alone, but how would you know it, unless you can identify it as such? Ah hah!” her finger, scanning lines, stabbed at an entry.
Ususi said, “The writing on the dome refers to the Lords of Hell itself.”
All stood silent a moment, digesting the mage’s pronouncement. Finally Marrec said, “So… what now? Are we dealing with something far beyond our ability? A gate straight into Hell? I hate these damned Nar sorceries.”