Forgotten Lore (Updated M-W-F)

Chapter 233

It was an awful neighborhood, far from the docks and the fresh breeze that came in off the bay. The houses on the surrounding hills were nicer, far nicer, but those same hills kept the air in the slums hot and stale with an assortment of foul stinks.

There was no one in view as the four companions made their way down a narrow, twisting street, but they could all feel the presence of the hidden eyes that marked their progress. They hadn’t seen a member of the Watch since they’d entered this maze of sagging buildings and close alleyways. But they all felt a sense of urgency, alarmed by Kalasien’s elaborate precautions designed to ensure that they remained out of view of the powerful factions in Li Syval. That was why the Arreshian agent and his men were not with them at the moment; they were making a scene elsewhere, hoping to draw any watching eyes away from the searchers.

Bredan, Glori, Quellan, and Kosk were all armed and fully equipped. The dwarf again looked uncomfortable in his unaccustomed garb, this time the boiled leather breastplate and dirty tunic of a mercenary warrior on hard times. A sword hung from his hip, though he had not as much as touched it since he’d put it on. Bredan considered him as they made their way deeper into the warren of the slum. Was this how the dwarf had looked back in the days when he’d still been a criminal and bandit? Was this the true nature of his friend?

“Hey, you with us?” Glori asked.

Bredan flushed and nodded. She gave him a stern look but then turned away, her own hand resting obviously on the hilt of her sword. They’d finally found the weapon lying on the bit of roof that jutted out from the bottom story of the inn. Bredan accepted his admonishment—she was right, this was no place to let one’s mind wander.

Quellan was leading them, moving at a brisk pace. It would have been more prudent to be cautious, but his spell only lasted ten minutes, not much time to search even part of one of Li Syval’s sprawling neighborhoods. Many of the streets and alleys in this part of the city twisted back on themselves or came to abrupt dead-ends, a design that might have been deliberate or just the result of centuries of slow but continual growth. The cleric was already on his third casting. The first two had failed completely, but this time he had finally gotten a hit, after they’d relocated to the next district on Kalasien’s list of potential locations. The spell guided the half-orc unerringly toward his goal, but he had no way of knowing how far away the target was.

They turned down a narrow street that could barely accommodate the cleric’s broad shoulders. That led them to an alley that in turn deposited them into a small courtyard. The surrounding buildings rose only two stories, but they all seemed to lean slightly into the open space as if considering giving up and collapsing. All of the doorways and windows that faced into the courtyard were boarded up, and the only distinctive feature was a small well, partially covered by a thick slab of wood, that looked as though it hadn’t seen any use in some time.

Quellan began to circle around, but his attention was quickly drawn to the well.

“There?” Glori asked with a dismal look. Quellan nodded, his own features equally grim.

“It doesn’t necessarily mean she’s dead,” Kosk pointed out. “There could be a secret door or something.”

Quellan unslung his shield and mace and handed them to Kosk. “I should be the one,” Glori said. “You’ll barely fit down there.”

“I am the one with the spell,” Quellan said. “I only have another minute or two left, so I must hurry.”

Bredan had already taken a length of rope out of his pack. He and Kosk quickly rigged it to a post on the edge of the courtyard that looked like it could take the cleric’s weight. Quellan pulled the lid of the well aside and peered down into it. A nasty odor rose from inside, but he didn’t hesitate as he clambered up over the lip and dropped into the shaft.

The others gathered around, careful of the taut rope. They could hear a splash as the cleric reached the bottom of the well. “You okay?” Glori called down.

“It’s not deep,” Quellan said. “It’s a bit of a mess. Give me a moment.”

The others shared a look as they listened to the cleric probing through the cistern. A minute passed, and then two. Finally, Quellan called, “Pull me up.”

With Bredan and Kosk pulling on the rope it only took a few moments for Quellan to rejoin them at the top. He was covered in slime, and the foul odor of the well surrounded him. “Well, we don’t have to worry about any locals bothering us now,” Kosk said.

“Anything?” Bredan asked, as Glori helped Quellan up over the rim of the well.

In response, the cleric held up his hand. A small object caught the light and gleamed in his hand.

“Xeeta’s amulet,” Glori said.

“She’s not down there,” Quellan said.

Bredan sagged against the edge of the well. “Now what do we do?” he asked.

Oooh, tricky! Naughty, naughty kidnappers!

carborundum said:

Oooh, tricky! Naughty, naughty kidnappers!

Click to expand...

Oh, it gets worse...

* * *

Chapter 234

When Xeeta woke she was being carried down a dark corridor. She was facing the floor, her arms held behind her back and a gag drawn tight over her mouth. She instinctively started to struggle, but the hands gripping her might as well have been steel bands for all the good that did.

A moment later a face dropped into her line of sight. She recognized instantly the mousy features of Vesca. “Aware, are we?” he chortled. “You might have preferred it had you remained unconscious.”

She tried to respond, but the gag only allowed a muffled groan.

The twins—for it had to be Toros carrying her—took her through an arch into a broad chamber. The place had obviously once been a sewer interchange. Gaping and empty pipes were still visible around the perimeter of the hexagonally-shaped room. A faint distant tapping sound was audible, but the place was otherwise quiet.

Kalev was waiting for them upon a raised platform in the center of the room, surrounded by a shallow trench that connected to several of the pipes. Toros lifted her over it easily, while Vesca leapt up onto a protruding pipe and used it as a springboard to hop over.

The surface of the platform was discolored, with faint outlines that suggested that there had once been machinery of some other large object present. Now the space had been cleared except for a softly glowing circle marked in silver runes upon the floor. On seeing those Xeeta began to struggle again, desperate to avoid being placed inside that circle, but Toros only shifted and plopped her unceremoniously to the ground a pace from its outer edge. The giant’s hand remained on her shoulder, anchoring her in place.

Kalev came around the circle toward them. He had covered his usual rags with a faded robe that still bore hints of its past finery. Over that he had put on a stole that bore markings similar to the ones that formed the magic circle on the floor.

“Child, the time has come to begin our rebirth,” Kalev said.

As he started to bend toward her, she started to struggle again. The old arcanist clicked his tongue impatiently and said, “Hold her.”

Hands gripped her head, holding her in place. Her eyes grew wide as Kalev produced a small knife and a bowl from under his robe. Held and gagged as she was there was nothing she could do as he leaned in and cut her skin just below her right ear. She could feel the blood that trickled down over her jaw to be caught in the bowl. To her it felt like her strength was draining out of her.

Finally, Kalev drew back. Xeeta could see that the bowl was nearly full, glistening with her blood. He made a gesture and she could feel a rag or something similar pressed roughly against the side of her head. Vesca tied it off and then drew back, wagging his thin fingers at her as he stepped to the side.

Kalev returned to the other side of the circle and placed the bowl upon the floor next to it. He knelt and spread his arms wide, the sleeves of his robe sliding back to reveal long, emaciated arms. He stared up at the ceiling and began an incantation. The guttural syllables echoed back weirdly through the mouths of all of the empty pipes, adding to the cacophony. Xeeta could feel the power building, an echo of what she carried inside her, though the Demon remained quiescent as the ritual built to a crescendo. Toros had loosened his grip on her, but she found that she could not look away.

Kalev finished his grim chant. He reached down and flung the contents of the bowl into the circle. The blood was caught in mid-air, spinning into a spiraling vortex, though the air inside the chamber remained utterly still. The crimson tornado continued to tighten around the center of the circle until there was a loud flash that briefly blinded Xeeta. Blinking, she tried to clear the pulsing afterimages from her vision.

When she could see again, the circle was no longer empty. A muscled, naked figure lay upon the bare stone. The blood was gone, and the runes of the circle were now barely visible. The figure groaned and slowly pushed himself up. As he did, Xeeta recognized him and a sense of horror clutched at her gut.

He turned around and looked at her. She could see the feelings she held echoed in his eyes as he realized what had happened, where he was.

“What… what have you done…” he said.

Xeeta couldn’t speak, but in her eyes she tried to send the message, I’m sorry!

“Xeeta…” he said. He turned and for the first time saw Kalev. The old man had sagged back, obviously exhausted by the strain of the ritual, but there was a hint of triumph in his eyes as well. “Welcome back to Li Syval, Rodan.”

“No…”

Kalev made a gesture and Toros lumbered forward into the circle. Xeeta tried to get up, to somehow intervene, but she felt drained as well, and Vesca was easily able to intercept her and hold her down. Rodan also tried to escape, but his legs collapsed under him when he tried to get up. He swung at Toros as the big tiefling reached for him, but the brute merely took the blow and pulled the prisoner up into a pinning embrace.

Kalev hobbled slowly over to them. “We will let you children recover your strength a bit,” he said. “Then we can truly begin.”

Xeeta tried to scream, but all that made it past the gag was a gurgling hiss.

Hmmm, I'll need to go back and re-read her story. That's her...brother?

carborundum said:

Hmmm, I'll need to go back and re-read her story. That's her...brother?

Click to expand...

Rodan was the tiefling ranger they allied with in the Silverpeak Valley, and yes, both were siblings raised by the cult in Li Syval.

* * *

Chapter 235

Spectral lights floated forward through the air, shedding light on the empty chambers of the long-abandoned complex. The somber sounds of Glori strumming on her lyre, maintaining the dancing lights, seemed a fitting accompaniment in this forbidding place.

“This place is empty,” Kosk said, kicking a piece of loose debris. “No one’s been here in years.”

Glori sent her magical globes further ahead, brightening the next pair of hallways ahead. “Kalasien paid another hefty bribe to get us access to this place,” she said. “We might as well give it a thorough look while we’re here.”

“You really think that the cult left behind a clue that the local authorities would have missed?” Kosk asked.

“It won’t take long to confirm,” Quellan said, with a sidelong look at Bredan. He didn’t need to voice the subtext that they all understood. We don’t have any other options.

But Kosk’s statement seemed borne out as they continued their exploration of the chambers that had once served as the headquarters of the infernal cult that had once clung to the underbelly of Li Syval. The entrance that Kalasien’s bribe had unsealed had been within a stone’s throw of some of the finer properties of the city’s elite. Several of the leading families had been implicated in the activities of the cult, drawn by promises of wealth, secrets, and power. Those families had been cast down and replaced by up-and-comers as part of the never-ending churn that shaped the ruling class of the trading city.

Everything of value had been taken from the complex when the cult had finally been exposed years ago, but there was plenty of detritus that remained. Signs of the violence that had consumed the place in its last days were everywhere: old stains on the walls and floor, scraps of torn cloth, fragments from shattered furniture.

The companions spread out, careful to remain within visual or hailing distance. They didn’t find anything worth sharing, but each faced their own moments of revelation during the search. Quellan bent to pick up a child’s doll, little more than a collection of stitched-together rags, and stared at it for over a minute before he tucked it into his pouch. Kosk likewise lingered in a brick vault that had a dozen rusty iron cages built into the walls. Glori found a hole in the floor that she explored with one of her dancing lights, but recoiled when the glowing orb revealed that it was full of tiny bones.

Bredan made his way through a narrow doorway that appeared to lead into a larger chamber, but which dead-ended at a curving alcove. There were marks on the walls to suggest that objects had once rested there, but the place was now empty. The walls of the alcove were covered with markings in a strange script, marks that glinted faintly as the warrior lifted his lamp to examine them.

The language was not familiar, but there was something that tickled at the edges of his understanding. It looked as though there had been more writing at one point, but someone had taken a chisel to part of the wall, hacking away the marks. There was no way of knowing why he had stopped part-way, or what the remaining writing signified.

He was about to turn away and depart when he thought he saw a slight shift of movement out of the corner of his eye. But when he turned back, nothing had changed.

“I don’t know if you can hear me,” he said. He kept his voice low so that it would not travel beyond the alcove. “I’m not leaving Li Syval without her. Do you understand? I know you have something planned for me. But I’m not leaving without Xeeta, so if you can help me in any way, you’d better do so.”

The only response he got was a sound of footsteps in the passage outside. A moment later Quellan stuck his head into the space. “Bredan? Who are you talking to?”

“No one,” Bredan said. “Myself.”

Quellan squeezed into the alcove and stared at the writing. “This is written in the Infernal script,” he said.

“Can you understand it?”

“No.” Quellan looked at him strangely. “Can you?”

“It’s gibberish to me,” Bredan said. But he did not look away from the writing.

“None of the others have found anything,” Quellan said. He watched Bredan, a look of unease growing on his features.

“Hello?” came Glori’s voice from the corridor.

“We’re in here,” Quellan said.

The bard appeared, though there was hardly enough room for her to join them in the tight confines of the alcove. “We shouldn’t get separated. Kosk found what looks like it might have once been a tunnel into the sewers, but it’s been thoroughly sealed. Nothing there but years of dust.”

“That’s probably how they got around without being detected,” Quellan said.

Glori nodded toward Bredan, mouthing a silent question. Quellan shook his head.

“We won’t find anything here,” Bredan said.

“So this was a dead-end,” Glori said.

“Perhaps not,” Bredan replied. “I have a hunch.”

“A hunch?” Quellan asked.

“Call it intuition,” the warrior said. “Get Kosk. We may not have much time.”

Happy holidays to my readers, I hope that the season is fun and stress-free for you all.

* * *

Chapter 236

Xeeta had no idea how much time had passed since her last visit to the ritual chamber. Her captors had force-fed her, and whatever they’d given her had obviously been drugged. She had a vague idea that she’d been there for a few days at least. The hope that her friends would find her was fading under a crushing weight of despair. It was the memory of Rodan’s face that wore most heavily upon her. She hadn’t seen him since that brief initial contact, and had no idea where Kalev was keeping him. During one of the more lucid moments she’d screamed herself hoarse within her cell, but no one had heard, or at least no one who cared.

This time, as she stirred to the sensation of being carried once more, she did not struggle. Instead she pretended to be unconscious and saved her strength for whatever desperate chance her captors might give her.

The contents of the ritual chamber had been revised during the interval since her last visit. The circle on the floor had been inscribed again, larger this time, almost a full ten paces across. She tried not to dwell on what that might mean. The faint light coming from the runes was augmented by a few dozen small candles scattered around the edges of the central platform and elsewhere within the chamber, some resting on pipes or niches in the stone walls. The burning wax filled the place with a cloying scent that made Xeeta’s head start to swim within moments.

They were not the first to arrive. Kalev was there, standing in the shadows, draped in his elaborate costume. A limp form lay slumped on the far side of the circle. Xeeta resisted the instinct to call out to him.

Toros carried her to a spot opposite the unconscious Rodan. As they drew close Xeeta could see that there had been another addition: an iron eyelet bolted to the floor. A set of manacles was attached to it. Vesca scurried ahead of it and gathered up the chain.

On seeing that, Xeeta made her move. She shifted and with all her strength jammed her elbow into Toros’s face. The impact sent a hard jolt of pain up her arm, and the hulking tiefling grunted. His grip loosened only slightly, but she was able to get her other arm up enough to loosen her gag. She sucked in a breath and prepared to unleash a spell, but before she could manage to summon her magic Toros lifted her and slammed her bodily to the floor. The impact knocked the air from her lungs and likely cracked a few ribs. She tried to fight through the pain, to do something, but even as flames began to flicker around her fingertips a hard jolt blasted through her head and she lost the spell.

Still dazed, she was barely able to register Vesca’s leering face above her own. “Naughty, naughty,” he said.

“Don’t do this,” she said. “You don’t have to do this, he’s just using you…”

Vesca only sneered, and yanked her gag back over her mouth.

“Bind her,” Kalev said. Working efficiently together, the twins secured her wrists with the manacles. When Xeeta finally recovered enough to move all she could do was yank helplessly on the chain holding her. It was just long enough to keep her from reaching the edge of the circle, she noted.

Vesca went over to Kalev, and then went around the circle, placing a small bowl at each of the four cardinal directions. Xeeta didn’t realize what the other two were for until the twins took up spots opposite each other, perpendicular to the axis formed by herself and Rodan. Even then she could not quite believe it, not until Kalev drew his small knife and walked over to Toros.

“Through blood we offer sacrifice, and seek intercession for the greater mandate,” the old man said. The big tiefling meekly tilted his head to the side and offered no resistance as Kalev cut him and filled the bowl. He placed it on the floor on the very edge of the circle of silver runes.

The same process was repeated with Rodan and Vesca. Rodan appeared to be either drugged or unconscious, for he did not react to the procedure. Xeeta tensed, ready to fight as soon as Kalev was within reach, but the arcanist paused with the final bowl. Holding her with his eyes, he spoke a word of magic. Xeeta blinked… and realized that the bowl was in front of her, presumably filled with her blood. She could feel the fresh pain on the side of her head but had no memory of the incision being made or the blood being collected. Kalev was already halfway back around the circle. She lashed out with her foot, trying to knock the bowl over, but again her captors’ preparations proved effective; it was just out of her reach.

Kalev selected a spot halfway between Rodan and Vesca and began to chant. Again Xeeta felt the potency in the otherwise meaningless syllables, and the eerie reverberations as they echoed back through the pipes. Again she felt the power likewise stir inside of her, touching the Demon. She recoiled from that touch, though there was nothing she could do; with her arms bound behind her she could not loosen her gag, and without her voice and her hands she could not summon her magic.

The ritual continued, longer this time, building to some dread purpose. Xeeta could only stare helplessly at the circle and its master. The blood in the bowls began to bubble, and vapors rose from each, a visible tendril that swirled in the air as if dancing to the cadence of the chant. Vesca and Toros knelt passively, watching.

After an interminable stretch of time Xeeta became aware of something else, a flapping of wings like those of a bat. She looked around but saw nothing. Kalev apparently heard it too, for he paused in his chant and looked up with irritation on his face. The tendrils of blood-vapor ceased their motion, and the power already gathered in the circle froze.

“I told you, no interruptions,” Kalev hissed.

A figure materialized in mid-air, the source of the sound Xeeta had heard. She recognized it: an imp, the size of a small dog, its features hideous. It appeared to be missing one leg.

“Intruders, Master. Four of them, bearing magic. They come this way.”

Kalev’s gaze shifted to meet Xeeta’s eyes, and she tried to hide the look of triumph she suddenly felt. But the old wizard quickly recovered. “Take Vesca and Toros. Delay them. I need several more minutes to complete the ritual.”

The imp bowed and disappeared again. The twins rose silently and departed. Xeeta turned as much as her bonds allowed her, but they quickly left her view.

When she turned back, Kalev was watching her again. “Your friends will arrive only to find that death awaits them,” he said.

He resumed his chant, the power surging again to meet his call. Xeeta could only clutch the chain and hope with all her might. Hurry! she thought.

Happy Christmas, Lazybones!

carborundum said:

Happy Christmas, Lazybones!

Click to expand...

Thanks!

* * *

Chapter 237

The sewers under Li Syval were hardly a pleasant place to explore, especially when traveling through them in a hurry, Glori thought. Her nose furrowed as she stepped in something that squelched unpleasantly under her boot. At least they weren’t having to wade through raw sewage anymore. This part of the sewers seemed to see less common use. She wasn’t exactly sure where they were, as they’d also left behind the manholes and access grates that had allowed brief flickers of light and fresher air to filter down from the city above.

She didn’t have any time to shake her boot clear of the clinging foulness. Bredan continued to lead them forward at a brisk pace. He was obviously being drawn by something, for he hardly paused at the intersections they came to. Glori was barely able to keep her dancing lights ahead of him to brighten the way, but she doubted he would stop even if they did fall behind.

He hadn’t explained fully how he knew where to go. None of them had been down here before, and Glori hoped with all her being that this would be their last visit. Quellan had seemed particularly disturbed when Bredan had first revealed his special insight in the abandoned cult safehold. Obviously, he’d discovered a new power, but with Xeeta in jeopardy all they could do was trust him.

That trust was not blind, however. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” Kosk growled. The dwarf had not been happy about entering the sewers, but he was having an easier time of it than Quellan, who had barely fit into some of the passages they’d had to navigate earlier.

“She’s here,” Bredan said, his voice barely reaching them as he pressed forward. “I know she’s here. There’s not much time.”

“At this pace, we won’t see an ambush or any traps until we’ve already sprung them,” the dwarf pointed out quietly as they hurried after the warrior.

“We have to have faith,” Quellan said.

“You know I’d do anything for her, but I’d feel better if we had Kalasien and his men with us,” Kosk said.

“Whatever’s guiding him, it may be limited, like my spell,” the cleric suggested.

“Or it’s telling him that Xeeta’s time is running out,” Glori said.

Bredan had paused just ahead, and the others hurried to catch up with him. Where he was standing the narrow passage they’d been following opened onto a larger chamber. There were multiple exits, including some slits near the ceiling that might have been wide enough to crawl through, if one could get up there. There was also a shaft in the center of the floor, an opening about six feet across that dropped into darkness beyond the range of Glori’s magical lights.

“Which way?” Quellan asked.

“Listen,” Bredan said.

They all held themselves still, and a moment later a faint sound reached their ears.

“Chanting,” Kosk said. “Damn it, I knew there would be another wizard at the end of all this.”

“There’s something else,” Quellan said. “There’s something here… a shadow, a power of darkness.”

“Xeeta’s in trouble,” Bredan said. He headed into the chamber, giving the hole in the floor a wide berth as he headed toward one of the other passages. Quellan was just a few steps behind, followed by Kosk and Glori.

But they’d barely started moving again when Glori felt a sharp pain explode in her back. She cried out and staggered, her dancing lights flickering out. The others turned toward her, Quellan summoning light that shone brightly from his shield. As the glow pushed back the resurgent darkness it revealed a small form that fluttered up into one of the dark openings near the ceiling. They couldn’t clearly make out what it was, but a sinister chuckle issued from that direction.

A moment later, Quellan grimaced in pain, his back arching. His companions could see a small blade buried in his neck, perfectly embedded in one of the gaps between the heavy plates that made up his armor. He tried to pull the knife out but could not reach it.

Even as Kosk and Bredan looked for the source of that attack, a third enemy materialized out of the darkness of the passage they’d been heading for. Bredan sensed something and spun to face it, his sword appearing in his hands. But the figure that rushed forward was incredibly fast for its size, lunging inside of the reach of the swordsman before he could bring his weapon to bear. With a powerful chop of one hand he cracked Bredan in the wrists, knocking the sword from his grasp. He didn’t stop there, seizing the warrior and pulling him into a neck-lock from behind. Bredan was strong, his physical prowess having only grown since his days as a blacksmith, but the tiefling handled him as he if he was a child. Bredan snarled as the grip around his neck tightened, the flesh under his helm darkening and cracking as Toros’s divine fury was unleashed into him.

Kosk quickly moved to help his friend, but the tiefling was not yet done. As the dwarf rushed toward him he took two steps to the side and spun Bredan out of his grasp. The warrior tried to seize hold of something but the momentum of his fall launched him into the pit, which quickly swallowed him up. The tiefling dropped back into a ready stance that echoed Kosk’s.

“Bredan!” Glori cried.

“Time to die,” came a thin voice from above, its source muffled by the echoes off the ancient stonework.

Chapter 238

Kosk launched himself at the huge tiefling, spinning in mid-air to deliver a powerful kick. But Toros pivoted smoothly out of the way, chopping out with a meaty fist to catch the dwarf in the back. Somehow Kosk intercepted the blow, deflecting the strike with his own hand, then using the momentum of the impact to pivot to another kick as he landed. Again Toros dodged, and took only a glancing hit to the meat of his thigh instead of the bone-snapping strike that the monk had planned.

Respectful now of each other’s talents, the two foes circled each other for a moment before they simultaneously launched another series of attacks.

“Quellan, lean down!” Glori yelled, strumming her lyre to summon her magic as she rushed forward. The cleric obeyed, dropping to one knee while he raised his shield toward the dark niche where he assumed the attack that had wounded him had originated. Glori yanked the knife out and dropped it to the floor, where it bounced with a loud clank. Even as blood spurted out from the nasty wound, she pressed her hand against it and poured the healing energy of a potent cure wounds spell into him.

But before they could search out Quellan’s attacker, they were engulfed in a globe of magical darkness.

Toros was clearly expecting that development, for as the light vanished he sprang forward, arms sweeping out toward his foe. One beefy hand closed on Kosk’s arm, and he grunted in pain as jolts of searing necrotic energy shot up the limb. But as Toros tried to pull him into a grapple the monk twisted his body and drove a powerful punch into his opponent’s gut. The tiefling released his grip and staggered back.

Wary of the nearby pit and careful of blundering into the adjacent melee, Glori and Quellan remained where they were. “Can you dispel this?” Glori asked.

“I could, but I did not prepare the necessary spells today,” Quellan returned. “Hold a moment, and I will heal your injury.” A moment later she felt his touch, and the reassuring potency of another cure wounds.

“We have to help Kosk and Bredan,” she said.

“We won’t help them by getting ourselves…”

He didn’t get a chance to finish his statement. The cleric cried out in pain.

“Quellan!” Glori cried.

The darkness abruptly vanished, leaving behind a more normal darkness that both Glori and Quellan could defeat with the special vision granted by their racial heritage. But neither had time to look around before Quellan was hit again, this time by another blade that found the gap in his armor under his shield arm and plunged deep into his side. He staggered and dropped to one knee, only the relentless endurance of his orcish blood keeping him upright at all.

Glori immediately turned to his aid, but as she came around him she saw a repulsive, bulbous spider clinging to the side of his helmet. She let out a reflexive shriek but quickly slashed out with her sword, knocking the creature clear. It dropped heavily to the floor a foot away. She tried to stab it again, but it managed to dodge and skitter awkwardly away, even though it seemed to be missing a few limbs.

A hiss of steel on leather drew her attention around. She turned to see a second tiefling, a bent, wiry figure of a man whose grin revealed a mess of uneven yellow teeth. “Your friend, he no look so good,” he hissed, as he lifted a slender shortsword with a curved blade.

While his companions battled Vesca and Zuvox, Kosk was having his own troubles against Toros. Their fight continued as the darkness lifted, the dwarf’s staff proving to be little advantage against his foe’s raw strength and stamina. The hulking bruiser absorbed blows that would have crippled a normal man, while his own counters had left the monk’s skin blackened and oozing. Thus far Kosk had avoided being caught in a bear-hug that might have snapped even his sturdy bones, but he knew that even one misstep might be enough to cost him this battle.

Finally, Kosk ducked under another powerful swing and jammed his staff hard into his adversary’s solar plexus. Toros grunted in pain, but his eyes flashed red and a moment later the monk was engulfed in the searing flames of a hellish rebuke. The unholy fire overcame his already ravaged body, and he slumped to the ground, dazed.

Glori, battling Vesca on the other side of the chamber, was finding out that the smaller tiefling had tricks of his own. He rushed at her, moving in an odd, halting motion that had the sharp edge of his steel darting at her from unexpected angles. She took a glancing hit to her shoulder that drew blood through her mail shirt. She gave ground, retreating almost to the edge of the pit in the center of the room.

The tiefling sprang at her, intent on pushing her over, but she met his rush with a sharp parry that had the ring of steel on steel bouncing off the walls. With her free hand she suddenly lashed at her lyre, unleashing a thunderwave that drove her foe back several steps. It was clear then that her retreat had not been an accident, but had allowed her to get clear of the still-dazed Quellan. Vesca drew back his teeth to reveal his awful smile. “Tricksy, tricksy,” he said. He reached behind his back with his free hand to draw a slender blade from a hidden scabbard, while waving his sword to draw his opponent’s eye.

But even as the assassin unleashed his surprise attack, a beam of radiant energy slashed into him. Quellan’s guiding bolt did not hurt the tiefling seriously, but the sparkling motes of holy light threw off his aim, and his knife flashed harmlessly past Glori’s head. Vesca’s eyes flashed red as he fixed his stare upon the cleric. Quellan could tell what was coming and raised his shield, but even magically enhanced wood and steel could not protect him from the tiefling’s hellish rebuke. Much as his brother had taken out Kosk with that fiery pulse, the flames overwhelmed Quellan and drove him to the ground, unconscious and dying.

The odds had shifted back to the tieflings’ favor, but Quellan’s distraction had left an opening that Glori was quick to exploit. As the cleric fell, she lunged and drove her sword deep into Vesca’s body. The tiefling hissed and retreated, pulling himself off her blade, but before he could get clear she followed with a sharp slice that blurred through the air. It looked as though she had missed, and for a moment the two adversaries faced off. Then Vesca reached up to his throat, where a torrent of fresh red suddenly poured down over his coat.

Even as Glori turned the tables on her foe, Toros was stepping forward to finish his. Kosk tried to get up, but only managed to stagger and fall back to his knees. But even as the tiefling’s massive hands came up a figure erupted out of the pit. Bredan’s magically-enhanced jump barely cleared the edge of the pit, but he grabbed hold of the edge and pulled himself over the rim. As he rolled into a crouch, he extended his hand and summoned his sword into his grasp.

“We have unfinished business, you and I,” he said to Toros.

The tiefling turned from his fallen foe and rushed him, intent on driving him back into the pit through sheer strength. But this time Bredan was ready, and summoned a magical shield that absorbed the force of the tiefling’s strike. Toros quickly darted back, but the barrier dissolved as Bredan swept through it, his sword carving the air between them. The steel clove through the giant’s torso, laying out a slash of blood and viscera that formed a six-foot arc upon the stone floor. For a moment it looked as though even that would not stop the barbarian warrior, but then he suddenly wavered and then collapsed.

Bredan quickly knelt at Kosk’s side. He kept an eye on the fallen tiefling, but Toros did not stir as his blood poured out from the terrible wound in his side. On the other side of the room, Glori was already helping Quellan with a healing spell.

Bredan did not have any magical healing, but he felt a surge of relief as he saw that the dwarf was still breathing. He turned toward Glori, but before he could say anything a terrible and familiar scream sounded through the same passageway that Toros had emerged from.

“Take care of them,” Bredan said to Glori as he started toward the passage.

“Bredan, wait,” she said. Quellan groaned as her cure wounds spell took effect, drawing him slowly back to consciousness. “Wait!”

But he was already gone. Biting back a curse, she hurried over to Kosk, preparing another spell to pull the dwarf back from death’s door.

Happy New Year!

I will be traveling for the rest of this week. I will bring my flash drive, but if I am unable to find a computer I may not be able to post until Monday.

Today's post marks the end of Book 9 of the story. Book 10 is entitled, "Adventures on the High Seas." The story will conclude with Book 11, "A New World."

* * * * *

Chapter 239

Xeeta screamed as the intensity of the ritual shredded her senses. She could feel the Demon twisting inside her, both attracted to and fleeing from that raw energy. But bound and gagged as she was there was nothing she could do.

The blood from the bowls had risen again, forming columns of mist that were now coalescing within the circle. But instead of collapsing into a point, as it had with the ritual that had brought Rodan here, it was spiraling out into a circle. That circle was rotating, faster now as Kalev’s chant intensified. Sparks of lightning flashed within it, and for a moment Xeeta’s vision blurred. There was something beyond that circle, something that she knew and feared.

Then everything snapped back to clarity and a figure stepped through the circle into the chamber.

It was huge, standing twice the height of a man, looming over both the prisoners and the wizard. The link of heritage that it shared with the captives was obvious in the massive horns that jutted from its head, the sharp teeth that filled its jaws, the fiery cast to its mottled flesh. But other than those similarities in form was utterly alien in form and demeanor. Vast wings spread out from its back as it emerged from the portal, and a tail tipped with a vicious stinger curled up over its shoulder. Its legs were backwards-jointed, and ended in gnarled pads tipped with twin claws.

It brought with it a massive fork with tines that glowed cherry-red. A scent of brimstone swirled around it as it looked down at the man who had summoned it.

The devil spoke. Xeeta could hear its voice not as sound but as a reverberation within her skull. She looked over at Rodan, but he still had not stirred.

You step above yourself, mortal, it said.

“Mighty Calaxthes, I have summoned you to fulfill our compact and restore our alliance,” Kalev said. He looked a little ragged around the edges, Xeeta thought, but his eyes burned with fevered intensity as he stared up at the huge fiend.

You have supremely bad timing, foolish wizard. You threaten a precarious equilibrium with your actions.

Kalev blinked. He seemed a bit taken aback, but he quickly rallied and said, “I have prepared an offering…” He gestured toward Xeeta, who felt a sudden cold chill pierce to the core of her being.

That cold was replaced by an intense wave of heat as the devil shifted its attention to peer down at her. The creature barked an audible laugh. The fate of worlds hangs in the balance, and you have brought me here to rut?

A flutter of wings drew Xeeta’s attention up in time to see the wizard’s imp materialize out of thin air. “Master!” the noxious thing screeched. As it noticed the devil it stopped suddenly and prostrated itself in mid-air. “Great One! Apologies for interrupting! The twins are defeated, and the enemy approaches!”

“You must protect me!” Kalev said.

Calaxthes fixed the full might of his presence upon the wizard. Must?

“You must complete a service before you return to your home plane!” the wizard said. His voice sounded tinny and weak against the sheer might of the devil, but Xeeta could feel the power that radiated from his diminutive form. That power, augmented by the circle, was clearly holding the fiend in check. Bound to the ritual, she felt like she was witnessing a silent but no less violent battle being fought.

With that context, she didn’t immediately notice the other new arrival, not until a familiar voice called out, “Xeeta!”

A few minutes ago, that shout would have unleashed a flood of relief, but now she only felt terror on his behalf. She twisted her head as far as her bonds permitted, but could only catch a glimpse of Bredan out of the corner of her eye, partially obstructed by the shimmering outline of the circle and its massive occupant. But there was no mistaking him, not with that shimmering sword that seemed to glow in the wan light of the ritual chamber. She tried to move, to warn him, but the chains barely let her shift her limbs, and her gag only allowed a sad sound that she doubted was even enough to let him know she was there. Inwardly she was shouting, You cannot defeat this foe! Stay back, don’t enter the circle!”

But she knew her friend, and was not surprised when he lifted his sword and charged.

What did surprise her was when the devil retreated against that rush, recoiling against the far side of the circle. At first, she though it was just luring him in, giving him room to seal his fate, but when Bredan swung his sword it actually tore a shallow gash in the infernal monstrosity’s leg. A thin trickle of black ichor fell from the wound to sizzle and hiss against the floor of the chamber.

Bredan lifted his sword to strike again, but the devil caught his swing on its fork, trapping the steel between the thick tines. It spoke to him, and again Xeeta could hear its words in her mind. I do not seek war with your master, mortal.

Bredan snarled. “I am my own master!” He tried to free his trapped blade but could not overcome the leverage granted by the fiend’s size and strength.

The devil’s expression changed. So be it, it said. It reared up, knocking Bredan’s sword from his grasp. It flew across the room, clattering into one of the open pipes. The devil bent low, its tail flicking up toward the warrior’s face. But Bredan merely lifted a hand and summoned a shield that intercepted the deadly spike.

Calaxthes didn’t give him a chance to recover, sweeping his fork back around to come under his guard. Bredan tried to dodge, but the devil’s weapon caught him a solid blow to the side, one of the tines penetrating through his armor to savage his flesh. The sheer force of the impact drove him back several paces.

Flee while you can, mortal, the devil’s voice intoned.

In that moment, Bredan’s gaze shifted. He met Xeeta’s eyes. She’d been wrong; he’d known she was there all along. She shook her head, tried to send a message, but he only nodded. He understood, but he wasn’t going to stop.

He extended his hand, and his sword appeared once more in his grasp. “This isn’t your realm,” he said to the devil. “You flee, and you may yet live.”

Xeeta didn’t get a chance to see Calaxthes’s response. As she shifted in her bonds again, she caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of her eye. At first, she thought it was Rodan, but when she turned her head she saw that it was Kalev. The wizard, staying to the shadows around the edge of the room, was circling around for a more advantageous angle toward Bredan. His hand came up, and his mouth began to move.

Trapped by her bonds, Xeeta could do nothing to stop him. Gagged as she was, her wrists manacled tightly together, she could not even summon a cantrip. But she could feel the Demon within her, awakened by the ritual. Held at bay, a prisoner just like her.

Or perhaps…

For once she didn’t stop to think. Bredan had seconds at best; if the devil didn’t kill him, then the wizard would. She cast her awareness inward, and embraced the Demon.

All of sudden her perceptions changed. She could still make out the outlines of the devil, the wizard, and her friend, but they were all vague and indistinct. A bright mist surrounded her, filling her vision with diffuse light.

She rose to her feet, the belatedly realized that this should not be possible. She looked down at her hands. They seemed solid enough, but the manacles that had held her now seemed hazy, as if they weren’t really there. She quickly reached up and tore the gag from her mouth.

Xeeta did not get a chance to explore this strange new reality, for just as suddenly as she’d been cast into it, she was thrust back into her own world. Her surroundings took on solidity again, and she looked over just as Calaxthes hurled a bolt of fire at Bredan. The warrior met it with his sword and it shattered, spraying him with tongues of flame. But as he swung the sword the fire clung to it, forming a blazing arc as he swept it toward the devil.

Xeeta did not hesitate. She was free, and her magic surged at her command. She didn’t try anything fancy, just unleashed a stream of flames at the wizard. It was obvious that Kalev’s focus on the ritual did not give him the luxury of maintaining his ward against magic, for the burning hands scorched his robes and seared his flesh. The wizard let out a scream but disappeared in a flash of silver light before Xeeta could follow up with a second attack. She looked up at the devil. Calaxthes was turned away from her, but she instinctively knew that her fire would have no effect against it. Instead she ran toward the limp form of Rodan.

Glori, Quellan, and Kosk reached the ritual chamber to see a scene of utter chaos before them. Bredan was standing on a raised platform in the center of the floor, battling a huge horned fiend that looked like it had been conjured out of a nightmare. They could just make out a smaller figure moving around the far side of the platform, and then, appearing to their right in a silver flash, a gaunt figure in a blackened robe.

“Wizard!” Glori warned.

“Help Bredan, I’ll deal with him!” Kosk said.

Xeeta collapsed next to the limp form of Rodan. She pulled hard on his shackles, but if anything, the chains were thicker than the ones they’d used to confine her. She did not know how she had managed her own escape, and doubted that she could use that power on another person in any case. She had her magic back, but anything that might have a chance of weakening the shackles would likely also kill the imprisoned tiefling.

She’d thought that he was unconscious, but when she looked down at his face, she saw him looking back up at her.

“Get out of here,” he said.

“Without you, never,” she said.

Kosk moved quickly, but the wizard saw him coming. The dwarf had covered only half of the distance that separated them when Kalev took a step to the side and lifted his hand. There was a flash, and then pain as a lightning bolt lanced out toward him. Kosk managed to avoid the worst of it, but even the glancing impact he absorbed was enough to overcome his battered body, and he once more collapsed to the floor. The full strategy of the wizard’s maneuver became clear as the bolt, continuing on its path, slammed into Quellan. The half-orc, too, fell, his armored body making a loud clatter as it tumbled into the shallow trench that circled the outer perimeter of the room.

Glori had been rushing to help Bredan, but on seeing her two companions taken out she turned and rushed back to aid the fallen cleric.

Bredan was finding himself hard pressed. Thus far the devil seemed to be toying with him, though he’d managed to inflict two more wounds that dripped long trails of ichor down its body. But its attacks in turn were devastating, the massive fork battering him through his armor. He could feel blood trickling out from the puncture in his side and knew that he could not stand up against this foe for much longer. He’d heard his friends come in behind him, but saw the flash of the wizard’s spell and the loud clatter that said that whatever it was, it had found a target. He tried to look past the devil to where he’d seen Xeeta earlier, but she was gone.

He looked up to meet the fiend’s awful gaze again, and saw the truth of how this would end in its eyes. It held its fork at the ready, waiting for him to make his decision.

There was a time when he would have been paralyzed with terror, facing such a thing. But the events of the last year had changed him, beyond whatever effects the Libram had stirred with its magic.

He raised his sword again and charged.

The blazing flare of the lightning bolt tore Xeeta’s attention back to the battle taking place in front of her. She saw the wizard, but also saw both Kosk and Quellan go down. A slight form that had to be Glori rushed toward the stricken cleric. Bredan was somehow still on his feet, but the devil looked to be hardly fazed by the scratches he’d managed to inflict upon it.

Kalev cackled at the successful effect of his spell.

The sight of that awoke a fresh fury within Xeeta. Thrusting herself up, she reached deep down once more, where her anger was answered by a blazing surge of raw power. Flames exploded from her hands, flames that she channeled into a series of scorching rays that she used to pummel the wizard. Empowered by the intensity of her rage, the beams washed over the already charred wizard, driving him back against the wall of the chamber. He threw up his hands and screamed as one, two, three surges of fire tore into him.

But he did not go down.

However, the glowing remnants of the rune circle in the center of the room, along with all of the candles that were still alight, abruptly winked out.

Suddenly cast into darkness, Bredan lashed out blindly at his foe. But his swing met only air. Badly off-balance, he felt an impact that launched him flying off the platform. He landed with a solid thud that knocked the air from his lungs and sent his sword clattering across the floor. He looked up into the darkness, expecting the thrust that would end his life.

That attack, however, never came. Xeeta could see what happened next clearly with her darkvision. She saw Calaxthes almost casually avoid Bredan’s swing and then kick him across the room. The devil then turned and made its way toward Kalev. The charred wizard didn’t see the fiend until it was almost on top of him, then he lifted his hands and screamed, “I only wish to serve!”

For the first time the devil spoke aloud. “And so you shall.” With a sweep of its fork it snapped up the wizard, his body pinned between the long tines. Kalev was still screaming as the devil returned to the center of the chamber, where a portal similar to the one that had conjured him suddenly swirled once more into being.

Calaxthes cast a final look around the chamber. His gaze lingered for a moment on Bredan. “Until we meet again,” he said. He started to enter the portal with his unwilling passenger, but his head pivoted one more time, looking down at Xeeta. She tensed, but the creature only inclined its head in a slight nod toward her.

Then Calaxthes stepped through the portal, and both the devil and the opening disappeared.