Lazybones's Keep on the Shadowfell/Thunderspire Labyrinth

[Lazybones]

Chapter 73


Carzen thrust back a snarling evistro with his shield, and glanced up at the monstrous skeleton lumbering ponderously across the chamber toward them. “What’s the plan?” he yelled at Vhael, his voice edging just slightly toward shrill panic.

“Hold and fight!” Vhael roared back. The evistro he’d been fighting launched itself at him again, darting inside the reach of his sword, but he smashed the hilt across its face, crushing its nose and driving it back. With another roar, he drove the sword down, cutting off half of the demon’s face, sending it spinning around and to the ground. Somehow the grim thing still lived, but it was not enjoying the experience.

Gral unleashed a barrage of icy rays at the skeleton, but the frosty blasts seemed to have little effect upon it, passing through the empty spaces between the bones of its torso. Vhael lifted his sword to meet it, but the undead monster had an incredible advantage in reach, which it put to good use as it smashed its club down and knocked the warlord clear off his feet. Vhael was flung back and landed squarely on his back in front of Gral, who helped him back up.

“Hits… hard…” Vhael wheezed. But he still held onto his sword, and even as he struggled for breath, he started to stagger back forward to reengage. But before he could regain his place in the line, the evisto he’d crippled sprang forward again, seizing his right arm. The thing’s face was mangled beyond recognition, and it could only see out of one eye, but it clung to him with desperate strength, pulling him off-balance, tearing at the battered armor that covered the limb with its claws. Vhael felt sharp, stabbing pains as the demon’s claws savaged his elbow joint. He tried to break free, to win room to use his sword, but even as grimly hurt as it was the demon’s ferocity seemed unabated, and it held onto him with an iron grip.

The barlgura had followed in the skeleton’s wake, in no great hurry, the demon content to let the undead creation handle the hard work of sundering the enemy’s line. It was eager to rend, to tear with its oversized claws, but as it ambled forward, it suddenly stumbled, its left leg giving out under it with a sharp stab of pain.

The demon snarled furiously, coming back up quickly into a ready crouch, its claws sweeping out to rend whatever attacker had dared to assault it. But it caught only empty air, and as it swiveled its squat head around, casting out with its sharp senses, it likewise only found shadows.

A guttural growl rumbling in its throat, it turned warily back toward the battle. The skeleton had engaged, and was blocking the route forward, but its gaze shifted, toward the huge iron cauldron.

“Holy crap!” Carzen exclaimed, ducking and just barely managing to avoid the sweeping arc of the giant skeleton’s club. The evistros had just become a lesser threat by comparison, although they still pressed him, coming in low under his shield in an attempt to take his feet out from under him. One turned to deal with Jaron, who’d been successfully harrying it with his small sword, but Carzen smacked it with his shin, knocking it roughly over onto its back. There was no time to follow up with another attack, though, as the skeleton pressed closer, its club coming up in anticipation of a downward stroke that would likely relocate his skull to somewhere between his knees.

“Oh crap,” he muttered. He started to retreat, formations and defensive lines be damned, but he almost stumbled as the other evistro locked onto his right leg. It snarled up at him, not bothering to try and worry through the heavy steel greaves he wore, content merely to hold him in place until the skeleton finished its work.

“Oh crap!” he repeated, as the club started its downward arc.

 

[Lazybones]

"Oh crap," of course, is a redacted version of Carzen's comments.

* * * * *

Chapter 74


A resounding cry echoed Carzen’s yell, as Mara rushed into the chamber, both swords drawn. She rushed past Gral, and past Vhael, who opened his jaws and breathed a cone of hot flames into the ruined face of the evistro. She came straight at the giant skeleton, which sensed her coming, and shifted its blow, driving the club down powerfully to greet her. The skeleton’s speed and strength seemed irresistible, but in the instant before the blow would have landed, Mara subtly shifted, twisting in mid-step into a pirouette like a dancer. The club missed her by scant inches, slamming into the floor with enough force to shake the entire room. Mara completed her spin and slid forward, her swords snapping up with the momentum of her body behind them. Both blades lashed up into the heavy leg bones of the skeleton, chopping away pieces that went flying out in every direction. The skeleton faltered, but only for a moment, and it snapped its club back, clipping Mara hard across the shoulder. The impact jarred her wounded arm, and her shorter sword shot away like a bolt like a crossbow, sliding across the room almost to the foot of the stairs.

Vhael tore the smoking remains of the evistro from his arm—the demon had not released its grip even in death—and tossed it to the ground. Even that movement was enough to send hot knives of fire through his body; it felt like the blow from the skeleton’s club had cracked a few ribs. But as he scanned the battlefield, taking in the tactical situation in an instant, the pain receeded to the back of his mind.

He started forward again, but only got one step before a surge of power caught the attention of everyone in the room.

The green radiance situated atop the far tier pulsed, echoed by the chanting drone, which rose to a harsh shriek. The green glow flared brightly, filling the entire chamber with sickly light, which maintained its brilliance for a heartbeat or two before fading back to its original level.

A woman’s scream accompanied the pulse, a sound of pure terror and agony that faded in the wake of the crescendo of the ritualist’s incantation. All eyes were drawn to the upper tier of the room, but it was impossible to see what was going on up there.

The brief interlude ended as quickly as it had begun, with the giant skeleton taking another swing at Mara, while the evistros continued their attacks on Carzen and Jaron. Vhael started forward again, but hesitated.

Carzen glanced aside and saw him, recognizing the warring pulls of duty that tugged at the warlord. “Go!” he yelled, finally knocking the evistro off his leg, smashing his shield into it as it tried to get its claws back into him. “We’ll hold them off!” Another heavy thud followed his cry, as the skeleton smashed its club into the floor again, narrowly missing Mara for a second time. The fighter darted through the skeleton’s legs, and took a chip out of its left knee with her sword before spinning back around to its left.

Vhael heard Gral behind him, speaking just loud enough to be heard over the chaos of the battle. “The success of the mission is the primary objective,” he said.

Vhael nodded, almost to himself, and turned around, heading toward the narrow space between the cauldron and the stone minotaur statue.

He’d only just reached the gap when the barlgura demon leapt over the iron cauldron, landing with a loud thump almost directly between Vhael and Gral. The ape-demon started to turn toward the dragonborn, but then Gral hit it squarely with a beam of icy frost, drawing its attention squarely upon himself.

This time, Vhael didn’t look back. The dragonborn ran across the chamber toward the staircase, focused on the voice that continued to croak chants from somewhere up above.

The melee continued to rage near the entrance of the chamber, as Mara, Carzen, and Jaron struggled to hold off the chamber’s guardians. The two remaining evistros proved frustratingly durable; while both bore numerous wounds, they refused to yield ground, pressing both the halfling and the human soldier with a relentless fury. The demons fought well together, shifting and trading places, giving their foes no clear target. Both Jaron and Carzen bore fresh gouges from their claws, but neither side seemed to have won a decisive advantage.

The same could not be said for Mara. She had singlehandedly held off the bonecrusher skeleton for a few precious seconds, and had inflicted serious damage on its legs, but the undead’s advantage in size, strength, and durability eventually began to tell. The thing continued to sweep its club around its ankles with wild vigor, and there was little chance that Mara could hope to evade it forever. She took one glancing hit that nearly knocked her sprawling, and a more solid impact on the backswing that knocked her roughly forward. She was forced to give up her own attacks in a desperate attempt to stay alive, diving to evade a follow-up swing that would have taken her head off, had it connected. She fell to the ground, trying desperately to regain her footing, as the creature lifted a skeletal leg, topped with a cloven hoof, and stepped forward to crush her under its bulk.

Gral did not attempt to flee before the barlgura’s furious rush; there was no place he could go to evade it in any case. He calmly focused his will and his magic, and a bright blue shield appeared between himself and the fiend, frustrating the initial swipe of its claws. His response pierced the ward as though it was not there and stabbed into the barlgura’s chest, draining still more heat and life from the angry demon.

The demon, however, would not be denied. Lunging forward, it engulfed the dwarf in its huge arms, bypassing the shield and dragging Gral into his grasp. Before he could do anything to attempt to escape, the demon dug its claws into his flanks and lifted him over its head. The demon’s purpose became clear as it retraced its steps back toward the cauldron, which glowed brightly from the heat of the raw substance roiling inside. Gral’s struggles came to nothing as the demon drew near to the edge of the huge vessel, and as it held him over the edge a twisting tentacle emerged tentatively from the boiling goop inside, coiling upward as if eager to take hold of the demon’s prize.

 

[Lazybones]

Chapter 75


Unable to break free of the demon’s iron grip, and definitely preferring to avoid immersion in the cauldron, Gral tried a desperate gambit. He couldn’t even see the demon, as it was holding him facing up, so his options were increasingly limited.

The dwarf still held tenuously to his staff, and as the demon thrust him forward, clearly intending to deposit him directly into the hot liquid, he thrust with it at the lip of the huge iron pot. The thunderwave he released reverberated painfully from the cauldron with a bone-shaking ringing, but that alone was not enough to shake the demon’s grip. Nor was it enough to rupture the cauldron, which was fashioned out of thick iron, several inches thick, and which weighed thousands upon thousands of pounds. The magic that fueled it was not affected by Gral’s discharge.

What the thunderwave did, however, was to shake the cauldron with the force of a titan’s kick. The near lip dropped, just a few inches, as the entire construction resettled upon its foundation. But more significantly, the liquid inside sloshed heavily away and then back, spilling on its return a good thirty or forty gallons of the noxious stuff out over the lip and onto whatever was directly in front of it.

More specifically, onto the demon’s face.

The barlgura was a tough customer, but even its abyssal hide couldn’t fully absorb the sudden deluge of burning heat deposited upon it. It screamed horribly, flinging Gral aside as it drew back, trying uselessly to protect itself from damage that had already been done. It staggered back, steam rising from it and from the floor where most of the gunk had splashed. While it kept its footing, it was far from happy at that moment.

It became even less happy a moment later, as Gral, who lay splayed upon the floor where he’d landed a few paces away, tapped his staff to the floor. A rime of white frost spread out from the point of impact, freezing the steaming liquid where it touched, forming a slick that extended out under the stamping demon’s feet. The barlgura abruptly lost its fight with balance as the smooth ice stole its footing, and it fell heavily onto its back.

Mara rolled out from under the descending path of the skeleton’s big hoof, which smashed into the ground as hard as its club had before. Her respite was only momentary, however, as its empty skull swung to follow her, its club coming up again to deliver a crippling strike. The fighter tried to get up, to crawl away, anything to put distance between her and the thing, but her battered limbs simply refused to follow her orders, and she saw that there was no way she’d get out of the monster’s insane reach.

A loud cry drew her attention to behind the creature, where Carzen Zelos rushed forward, a demon still clambering at his side, trying to claw past his shield. Mara saw the skeleton shift slightly, and she yelled a warning. “Look out!” The man from Fallcrest saw it too, and raised his shield, but the skeleton’s blow was far too powerful to deflect. The impact drove the shield into Carzen’s body, and reversed his momentum, knocking him over onto his back.

The demon gleefully leapt onto him, tearing and biting.

Mara was on her feet, Carzen’s sacrifice restoring a jolt of sudden energy to her body. The skeleton’s club came around toward her, but she was already inside its reach, and she lashed out with her sword, driving it through the joint of the creature’s left knee, smashing the cap bone into shards and dust. She kept running, forcing the thing to turn after her. The bones of its leg ground together, and for a moment she thought it would continue unaffected by the damage she’d wrought upon it, but then the big leg bones slipped apart, and the monstrosity tumbled over, landing in a boneshattering heap upon the floor. Bits and pieces of it went flying, and while the bulk of it remained more or less intact, the animating force that had given it life seemed to have fled, for it did not try again to rise.

Dodging through the debris of settling bones and dust, Mara hurried to help Carzen.

Vhael reached the stairs, and rushed up them, his blood pounding in his ears. As he gained the summit, however, and looked out over the chamber’s upper tier, he paused, wary.

Several more of the huge iron cauldrons bubbled upon their platforms on this level, filling the air with a noxious stink and a wafting haze. To his right as he reached the top of the stairs he could see the captives, two halflings, imprisoned within a globe of shifting green radiance that seemed to rise up out of another rune circle inscribed upon the floor.

But Vhael’s focus was drawn directly forward, where a monster knelt before a ritual altar.

It was a gnoll, or at least that was Vhael’s first impression. It was bent almost double before the altar, holding open a parchment scroll covered from end to end with spidery script. As Vhael reached the top of the stairs it shifted, lifting its head slowly, as though with a great effort. Its eyes were like bright red coals, and the dragonborn saw that what it had thought was a helmet was in fact a pair of curving horns that jutted from the front of its skull. As if the horns and eyes were not enough evidence of its ancestry, as it shifted a pair of bat-like wings unfolded from across its back, spreading menacingly behind it.

“So. They have sent a dragon-man to challenge me,” the creature hissed, its voice sibilant and corrupt.

“I am here to put an end to you,” Vhael said simply. He lifted his sword and started forward, but the demonic gnoll made a motion, and a sick green glow that echoed the radiance shining from the rune circle erupted all around the dragonborn. Vhael felt the foul taint of that power seeping into him, felt it take physical hold of him, lifting him off the ground until he hovered in the air before the evil adept.

“Your power is nothing before the might of great Yeenoghu, dragon-man,” the gnoll said, rising from his stance before the altar. As he stood, he took up a mace of black metal, its flanges crafted into the shape of spiked skulls. He kept hold of the scroll in his other hand, and continued to utter syllables of the ritual, even as he stepped forward to confront Vhael. The dragonborn struggled against the infernal magic of the gnoll warlock, but could not break free.

“When your soul arrives at the foot of my master, you may tell him that Maldrick will soon send many more to him,” the gnoll cackled. He lifted the mace-rod, and tongues of black fire surged out of the orifices of the carved skulls.

 

[Lazybones]

Chapter 76


With Vhael unable to do anything to stop him, the gnoll warlock Maldrick summoned his power and thrust his rod at the imprisoned warlord.

But before the gathered black energies could be discharged, Maldrick cried out and staggered, jerking roughly to the side. The surge of his eldritch blast flared out harmlessly across the room, missing Vhael by several feet. As the gnoll turned, Vhael could see the hilt of the knife jutting from his side, and then the subtle form of Beetle, springing back out of the reach of the warlock.

But the gnoll had a few surprises of his own. Twisting suddenly, he lashed out with a tail covered in spines, another gift of his demonic ancestry. The tail only just caught the halfling, but it was enough of an impact to send him tumbling back, skidding to a rough stop a few paces from the glowing rune-circle.

The moon curse that had held Vhael imprisoned faded, and the warlord landed heavily back upon the stone blocks at the top of the stairs. “The prisoners!” he shouted at Beetle, surging forward to attack the warlock.

Maldrick was fast, and he reacted faster than Vhael thought possible. The black mace met his sword, and deflected his stroke with a shower of blue sparks. He countered with a blow that Vhael couldn’t avoid, crushing solidly into his right shoulder with enough force to number the entire limb. The dragonborn staggered back, hurt badly. Beetle had turned toward the glowing ring where the two halflings were held prisoner, but before he could reach it the gnoll lashed out with a surge of black magic, infecting Beetle with the dire radiance granted by his evil patron. The halfling cried out and fell back, slapping ineffectively at the insubstantial wisps of black energy that twined around his body.

Maldrick started after him to finish the job, but Vhael forced him once more to defend himself. The two exchanged a flurry of rapid blows, again surrounded by sparks as their weapons met, and this time it was Vhael who delivered a strike, his sword coming in under the gnoll’s guard on his third attempt, crashing into his side. But Maldrick only laughed, and indeed as Vhael watched the gash he’d opened closed, the trailing blood seeping back into the wound.

“You cannot slay me,” the gnoll hissed. “The hour of my people has come. The power of the Well of Demons shall be ours, and our tribe will rule over the Labyrinth… and beyond.”

“Your tribe is sundered,” Vhael responded through clenched jaws. “We killed your minions on the way here.”

“There are always more minions to be found,” the gnoll replied with a laugh.

Once he’d survived the black stingers that the evil monster had hurled at him, Beetle found himself confounded by the puzzle of the prison holding Yarine and the other halfling inside. The green glow didn’t look solid, and while the shimmering flames didn’t burn him when he touched them (he tried a couple of times, just to be sure), he couldn’t get through them, even with a knife.

The problem was given urgency by the fact that Vhael seemed to be getting his ass kicked by the monster. Beetle had a few more knives to stick into the bad guy, but first he had to find a way to free the captives. Even leaving Vhael’s orders aside, Beetle had heard Yarine’s scream earlier, and knew that whatever this green glowy-thing was, it was hurting his friend, and therefore was a Bad Thing.

Looking down, he saw that the glow seemed to be coming out of the runes in the floor. Inspiration hit, and he drew out his biggest knife, along with a small climber’s hammer he’d picked up somewhere, and knelt at the edge of the circle.

Vhael was weakening. He’d just used up too much of his strength against the trials, fighting the dragon, struggling past the guardians of this room to get to this fight. Will and sheer determination had carried him this far, but as strong as they were within the muscled form of the warlord, even they were not proof against the abuse that he’d absorbed in this place. His sword felt like it weighted a hundred pounds, and his right arm felt almost entirely numb. The dozens of cuts that covered his face, arms, legs, and body all melded together into one coherent landscape of pain, and his breath rattled in his throat, each new one he drew in causing a fresh surge of agony from his cracked ribs.

The gnoll, on the other hand, seemed to be getting stronger with each passing moment. Maldrick still held the scroll bearing his ritual, and after each exchange with Vhael he continued to utter incantations, each syllable he spoke echoed with a surge in the green light coming from the rune circle. Vhael could feel the tendrils of power that flowed through this place, and although he did not understand the ultimate goal of the creature, he knew that it was inexorably connected to the fate of the captives.

So somehow, he fought on, lifting his sword and bringing it down toward the gnoll’s head. Maldrick parried and countered, and Vhael took another hit, a solid thump to the torso that he barely felt. But the gnoll was engaged, and Vhael earned another few seconds for his companions.

Maldrick was perhaps realizing the same, for he hissed and glanced aside. Vhael, now all but dead on his feet, invested everything he had left in a last attack, a simple thrust forward with his sword, as he was no longer able to even swing the heavy weapon. The point of the sword plinked into the gnoll’s gut, but it barely jolted him, perhaps drawing a drop or two of blood, if that.

“Pathetic wretch,” Maldrick said. He lifted his rod, but instead of striking with it he merely held it between them. A black flare surged, and Vhael found himself on his back, unable to do more than stare up at the visage of doom that loomed over him. “You have failed.”

But even as Vhael lay there, helpless, another surge of green energy exploded through the room. This one lasted only an instant, but when it faded, the radiance that had suffused the chamber disappeared with it. Maldrick’s expression told Vhael all he needed to know.

“Your ritual is disrupted,” Vhael managed to say, through flecks of blood that bubbled up from his throat and trickled down the corners of his jaws. “The prisoners are free, your allies are finished.” Shouts drifted up to them, but these were not cries of battle, but rather familiar voices, drawing closer. As Maldrick stared down at him, fury burning in his eyes, the dragonborn managed a weak laugh. “And you will soon join them.”

Vhael drew in a last struggling breath. “Mission… accomplished,” he whispered, as Maldrick, with a violent cry of furious rage, smashed his rod down into the dragonborn’s skull.

 

[Richard Rawen]

A fine and fitting end to the driven dragonborn, thanks for a great nailbiter!
[sblock=LB] Towards the beginning of the last post there is a mixup of characters. The subject is Vhael, yet you wrote:
"
The moon curse that had held Vhael imprisoned faded, and the warlock landed heavily back upon the stone blocks at the top of the stairs.
"
I'm kind of an editting freak and it's a tribute to your skills that I don't find hardly any errors in your texts! I hope you are able to get published, you are one of the better writers I've read.
Blessings,
RR
[/sblock]

 

[Lazybones]

Thanks Richard, too many words that start with "warlo" I guess.

I'm working on a new novel that I may publish as an e-book someday. But breaking into the world of professional publishing just seems impossible these days.

* * * * *

Chapter 77


A somber quiet hung over the company that made its way out of the Well of Demons.

Jaron held onto Yarine, all but supporting her weight against him, while Beetle did the same for Rendil a few paces back. Gral and Carzen bore the stretcher that supported the heavy weight of Vhael’s body, leaving Mara in the van, scouting ahead, a torch held high in one hand, the other resting on the hilt of her longsword.

Jaron still remembered the first sight of Vhael, lying motionless upon the floor, the half-fiend gnoll standing over him, fighting off the wildly darting form of Beetle with surges of black magic. Jaron hadn’t even gotten a chance to use his sword; Carzen and Mara had surrounded the creature and cut him down before he was able to get into position to help. Yarine and Rendil had been in bad shape, but they had survived.

They had been too late for Vhael, however.

They were in better shape now, though Jaron knew that a long trek awaited them, back to the Seven-Pillared Hall. While they had defeated their enemy in that final battle in the dark ritual chamber, all of them had been left wounded, with a number of the wounds quite serious. Yarine, though greatly weakened, had been able to use her curative abilities to treat those worst off, enough so that they could regroup and seek out a secure place to rest. While the death of the gnoll warlock seemed to mark the last of the major threats in the Well of Demons, and they found no more chambers beyond that final one where they’d killed him and his fiendish allies, they’d still retreated to a room they could fortify to rest, and still kept careful watch against any creatures that might wander by, looking for weakened prey. Gral suspected that the grim reputation of the Well kept most predators away, but they’d gone through too much to take chances now. The companions went through their tasks efficiently, as though hearing the orders that Vhael used to give them, when they’d set up their campsites before.

But no new enemies had emerged to threaten them, and they’d survived to greet another “day” in the Labyrinth. The supplies that Carzen and Gral had brought from the Hall were all but gone, but the carcass of the dire boar had provided them with meat, which combined with wood smashed from the gnoll furnishings gave them a hot meal. What they did not eat they smoked over the remains of the fire, using a sack of rock salt carried by Gral to preserve the meat for the walk back.

Carzen said the rites for Gezzelhaupt, who they interred under a cairn of stones in one of the side chambers. Gral insisted that Vhael’s body be brought back, for burial under the rites of his people, and none of them had complained. The dwarf had prepared the body for travel himself, cleaning his wounds and wrapping him in heavy cloths. When it came time, Carzen took up his end of the stretcher without a word, and they set out again.

They left without sacks of gold or other rich treasures; they hadn’t come for those, and in any case they hadn’t found much more than the few coins carried by the gnolls. Carzen now wore the gnoll warlock’s cloak, which Gral indicated was magical, and they’d found one other item of note, a silver key on a throng around the creature’s neck. Beetle and Jaron had looked around some, but they did not find anything that it might have unlocked. In any case, even Beetle wasn’t much interested in lingering longer to search the complex more thoroughly.

They were leaving the complex and were nearly back to the main passage when Mara lifted a hand in warning. Carzen and Gral laid their burden down, while Jaron assisted Yarine to the wall, making sure that she was all right before he rushed forward.

The halfling wasn’t much surprised to see the robed figure standing there at the intersection, quietly waiting for them. The stranger did not appear to be armed, but his cowl concealed his face in shadow, even when Mara pointed her torch in his direction.

“Who are you?” Mara asked.

The figure shifted slightly, but made no threatening movements. Mara repeated the question, more demanding, a hint of threat creeping into her words. She started to take a step forward, but Jaron caught her, lifting a hand to touch hers. She glanced down at him in surprise, but didn’t move to stop him as he walked past her toward the stranger.

“I guess these are yours,” he said, holding up the black goggles that had given him nightvision.

“You may keep them,” the stranger said, shrugging as if the potent magical device were inconsequential.

“What about the halflings from Fairhollow?”

“They were returned to the Seven-Pillared Hall safely. The way is clear; no creatures will obstruct your journey there.”

Mara seemed to belatedly make the connection, and lowered the tip of her sword, just a fraction. “Why didn’t you just tell us who you were, before?”

The cowl shifted, and while they couldn’t see the stranger’s eyes, they could feel the weight of his stare upon them. “Little is as it seems, in the Labyrinth. You do not need to know the intricacies of our inner dealings; suffice it to say we have our own… concerns.”

“You wanted us to strike down that demon-worshipper, Maldrick,” Mara said.

“We paid a heavy price,” Carzen added.

“Why appear to us now?” Mara asked.

“There is one more thing that I need.”

Gral came forward, and as he stepped up next to the fighters, he drew out the chain that held the silver key. He held it up in his hand, but didn’t move any closer to the stranger. “What does it unlock?” the dwarf asked.

“Secrets,” the other replied. He lifted a hand slightly, and the key flashed between them, traveling from the dwarf’s hand to his, then quickly vanishing into the folds of the stranger’s robe. He regarded them silently for another heartbeat, and without warning just suddenly vanished.

“Invisible?” Carzen asked.

“No, I believe he’s gone,” Gral replied. “Some sort of dimensional travel, matter-teleportation.”

“Well, good riddance,” Carzen said. “Fat lot of good his kind did for us, back there. We’ve got a long way still to go, and regardless of what that guy said, I don’t want to spend a minute longer down here than I have to.” He walked back to the stretcher, waited for Gral to take up his end before lifting it with a grunt.

Mara lingered a moment longer, staring at the corridor where the Mage—if indeed that was what he had been—had disappeared.

“Are you all right, Mara?” Jaron asked.

The fighter started slightly, and looked down at him. “Yeah,” she said. “Go get your friend, Jaron. It’s time to get back.”

 

[Lazybones]

Chapter 78


It was quiet in the Seven-Pillared Hall.

Much of the earlier tensions that had suffused the settlement had faded. The Grimmerzhul were laying very low, keeping to the peace mandated by the Mages of Saruun. But even so, there was still much less casual traffic than had been evident when Jaron had first arrived. It seemed like such a long time ago, but when he tallied the days in his mind, he realized that it had only been a little more than a week since he had followed Vhael and the others into that dark tunnel embedded in the flank of Thunderspire.

The halfling sat on a low rise that overlooked the sweeping stream that bisected the Hall. The Halfmoon Inn was just a stone’s throw behind him; he knew better than to go off very far on his own, knew that for all their outward acceptance of the new status quo the Grimmerzhul would be all too happy to get their hands on him again. There was considerable activity in the open courtyard behind the inn, where his companions were preparing for their journey. But he’d needed a few minutes to himself, so after checking to make sure that Beetle wasn’t getting into trouble, he’d come over here to sit down and watch the water.

He was tired, but didn’t feel like more sleep. Indeed, that’s about all he’d done since their return from the Well of Demons, sleep and eat. The Halfmoons had been more than welcoming, their earlier gratitude redoubled when they’d returned the emaciated and weakened Rendil to his kin.

That mystery hadn’t been fully resolved, but he doubted he’d ever learn more than he had. The Mages were a conundrum, barely known even to the long-time residents of the Hall. When he’d been rescued, Rendil had told them that he’d been captured by the Grimmerzhul a few days before Jaron had left the Seven-Pillared Hall, seeking Mara. Jaron had asked a few questions, but the answers hadn’t done much to clear anything up, so he’d let the matter drop.

Yarine was starting to recover, although she could still only walk for a few dozen paces on her own before exhaustion overcame her. But she was alive, and the gratitude that shone in her eyes when she looked at Jaron energized him every time he saw her. The other halflings from Fairhollow were in better shape, and good food and rest had done much to restore what had been taken from them by their ordeal. But Jaron was grateful for the fact that they wouldn’t all have to walk back to Fallcrest, or to Fairhollow from there.

He looked back over his shoulder, at the preparations going on behind the inn. The tiefling merchant stood off to the side, watching as his men helped to load up the two mule-drawn carts with supplies from the inn. The halflings from Fairhollow, finally presented with an activity they knew something about, were helping them, while Mara was adjusting sacks in the back of one of the carts to fashion a seat for Yarine. Vhael’s body, he knew, had already been stored; he knew which cart carried the dragonborn’s body from Gral, who hadn’t moved more than a few feet from it since they’d started loading. He also saw Carzen, walking toward him.

“Time to go?”

Carzen glanced back over his shoulder. Jaron noticed that his eyes lingered on Mara for a bit longer than they had on anything else. “Nah, it’ll be another ten minutes or so, if not longer. I thought you had the right idea, shirking work over here.” He grinned as he sat down next to Jaron.

“The merchant might get the wrong idea.”

“Bah. He’s getting the services of two trained, veteran fighters all the way to Fallcrest. Heroes that destroyed the infamous Bloodreavers, and a band of demon-worshipping gnolls, to boot. I don’t think he’ll be complaining.”

“Mara’s helping out.”

“Yeah, but she has a work ethic, whereas I am an effete nobleman’s get.” He smiled, but Jaron saw that he glanced back again, followed the quick look to its target.

“I wonder where Mara will go once she gets to Fallcrest?” Jaron asked

“Not my concern,” Carzen replied, but Jaron had noted the slight hesitation before his reply.

“What of your fate? I suppose your father will be appreciative of your accomplishments on this mission.”

“Maybe,” he said, in a way that made it seem dubious indeed.

“Well, I guess people like us don’t really do it for the accolades,” Jaron said. “And I suppose, if I were interested in commerce, that the contacts we’ve made here could be useful, knowledge that could be valuable in the right hands.”

“I’m just a soldier,” Carzen said, but as he rubbed his chin, his expression was thoughtful. After a moment, he shot a look at Jaron. “You know, there’s a lot more to you than meets the eye, Jaron.”

“I’m just a farmer,” he said, with a grin.

Carzen smiled back. “You know, you and Beetle could stay in Fallcrest. Lots of opportunities there for someone with a keen eye and a sharp wit. I might even know someone who could help get you set up.”

Jaron shook his head. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m village folk, at heart. I don’t regret getting out into the bigger world, seeing what’s there, but Fairhollow is my home, and its people are my people.”

“Well, they’re lucky to have you. Beetle too. Where is he, anyway?”

“Around,” Jaron said. “He’ll be here when it’s time to leave. I’ve given up trying to keep him under control. He is who he is.”

“Well, we wouldn’t have done this without him. It’s been… interesting.”

“That it has been.” He looked up as the pitch of noise from the caravan shifted slightly, growing more frenetic. “Looks like they’re getting ready to leave.”

Carzen rose, and offered a hand to Jaron, to help him up. “I won’t be sorry to leave this place… but I don’t think I’ll soon forget it, either.”

Jaron nodded. “There are certain events in a man’s life that change him, for good or for ill.”

“I don’t suppose I know yet which it will be, yet.” They made their way back toward the caravan. Carzen’s eyes returned to Mara, who was helping Yarine get settled in the cart. The other halflings had gathered around, adjusting their packs. They all carried slings and daggers now, and walking staves provided by the Halfmoons. Rendil was there as well, chatting amiably, although they could also see Erra Halfmoon standing in the back doorway of the inn, watching everything with a hawk’s eyes.

“I think you’ll find out the answer to that when you get back,” Jaron finally said. “Often times a man needs to return to his old life to learn just how much he’s changed.”

Carzen nodded. His expression remained thoughtful as they rejoined the others, and they helped with the final packing and preparation of gear. Beetle appeared as they were setting out, just as Jaron had promised; the ranger pointedly ignored the bulging pockets of the other halfling. There were a lot of farewells, then some last-minute adjustments as the company set out, the mules finally giving way after some token protest, the carts creaking faintly as their wheels started into motion. Lamps were lit, while Gral, perched on the seat of the cart bearing the body of K’rol Vhael, lifted his staff, brightening their way with a globe of soft white light. It shone like a beacon as the group set out, returning to the Labyrinth one last time. It remained visible as the caravan crossed the Hall, then dwindled as the exit tunnel swallowed them up, finally diminishing to a point that eventually disappeared.

 

[Tamlyn]

As this is (supposedly) wrapping up, I must comment. I absolutely love how Vhael was portrayed over the last few encounters. We finally got to see how the characters who served with him could become totally loyal to him in spite of themselves. We even see how Carzen developed some character and moral strength as well. Great character development, LB.

 

[Lazybones]

Thanks Tamlyn. These characters did come alive for me toward the end, I was trying not to have them fall back into standard archetypes.

The last chapter will be posted Monday.

* * * * *

Chapter 79


The dream, like most of the ones he traveled, was full of blood, and violence, and dark emotions. He walked through landscapes that would have paralyzed the minds of most men, and felt only a surging exultation that caused him to writhe in pleasure even in the grip of sleep.

When he woke, it was suddenly, yanked from dream to full consciousness in a jarring transition. He immediately gauged that something was wrong, even before his mind actively registered the absence of light.

He rose into a wary crouch upon his pallet, uttering an invocation that should have filled the confined space of his personal quarters with bright magical illumination. His right hand traveled of its own accord under his pillow. His fingertips touched the hilt of the dagger he’d kept there ever since he’d been a child, a precaution that had saved his life more than once in those tender years. Now, of course, it was unnecessary; he had his magic. He could feel it, his skin tingling as arcane power flowed toward him at his call.

Nothing happened. The power just stopped, as though it had hit a brick wall.

“Let there be light,” someone said, a voice so familiar and hated that the wizard would have known it from a single syllable.

A globe of light appeared, on the far side of the room, floating above the hand of a robed, cowled figure. He was not the one who had spoken, but the light illuminated the speaker as well, standing in front of the wizard’s bunk. The glow from the globe cast him in silhouette, a tall, dark form, his face unconcealed but limned deeply in shadows. The wizard couldn’t see the man’s eyes in those shadows, but he didn’t have to in order to gauge the sentiment there.

“Hasifir,” he said, addressing the man standing before him. “What an unexpected surprise.”

“No doubt,” the dark wizard replied. “You are not an easy man to find, Paldemar.”

Paldemar chuckled, but inside his mind was racing. His mind was sharp, and he quickly drew conclusions from what he saw before him. Unfortunately for him, the results of his analysis did not speak well in his favor.

He shifted to sit on the edge of his pallet. The motion concealed his right hand, which closed around the hilt of his dagger. “A man is entitled to his privacy. What right do you have to break in here, and shield me within my own sanctum?”

“We have been lax with you, Paldemar, and thus have allowed your plans to develop more than they should have been allowed to progress. From what we have seen in this place, this was a mistake. A mistake that will be corrected.”

Paldemar glanced at the other wizard, the one maintaining the light spell. “What of you, Samazar? You’ve thrown your lot in with this one? I’d thought more of you.”

The robed mage did not shift, and Paldemar could not see into the depths of his cowl, but he could feel the impression of the other man’s stare. Samazar was a man of few words, but in this case, his silence was answer enough.

Paldemar turned his attention back to Hasifir. “You presume much, coming here. I am not without resources.”

“Yes, Niame is dealing with the last of your… allies as we speak,” Hasifir replied. “As soon as he rejoins us, we will return to the Hall, where we—”

He was cut off as Paldemar leapt at him, his dagger coming up in a blur as he lunged at the nearby mage. Within the antimagic aura that Hasifir had erected, the vast arcane arsenals of the two men were useless, the pair reduced to mere men. But Hasifir was not only strong in magic; he’d been a warrior in a past life. He caught Paldemar’s wrist in one big hand, cuffed it hard with the other. The knife went flying. Paldemar tried to kick him, but Hasifir caught him across the face with a backhanded slap that knocked him sprawling in the other direction.

Paldemar lay on the floor, dazed. He tasted blood; he rubbed a hand over his split lip. His teeth showed as his lips drew back in a snarl. “You will pay for that! I’ll make you all pay!”

Hasifir merely shook his head, not bothering to hide his contempt. Paldemar suddenly sprang up and ran toward the nearest door. Hasifir turned but didn’t bother to chase after him. Ahead of him, the door opened, and Paldemar let out a hiss of triumph that died as he recognized the short, fat outline of Niame, the mage’s doughy flesh tinged with the rough texture of a stoneskin spell. Niame was the sort of man who always had a jovial smile on his face, quick to turn into a laugh. But he wasn’t laughing now. “Going somewhere?” the Mage asked.

Paldemar felt the exact moment that he left the radius of the aura of antimagic that Hasifir was projecting. But before he could so much as mutter a cantrip, he heard a cacophonous roar, felt a massive invisible fist smash into his chest, knocking him backwards off his feet. Samazar was never one for subtlety; battle mages rarely were.

Barely conscious, he was dimly aware of the other three Mages clustering around him. The anti-magic was gone; he could feel the flow of power around him, but when he reached for it, it may as well have been a thousand miles away.

“Bind him,” he heard Hasifir say. He tried to scream, but the darkness closed in around him, and this time, the horrors of his dreams followed him down into oblivion.

 

[Lazybones]

Chapter 80


It was a bright, cloudless day, cool but not oppressively so, with a soft breeze blowing down out of the mountains to the north. The hills that flanked the road were covered with carpets of long green grasses that rose as high as four feet in places, with tangled knots of dense brush clustered in the dells between.

A wagon pulled by a single draft horse rattled along the road. The road was in decent shape, given how sparsely populated the western Nentir Vale was, but the recent rains had left it populated with ruts and bumps. But the wagon was new, with good springs, and its passengers were content to put up with a few jolts now and again.

From beside him on the wagon’s seat, Yarine smiled at Jaron. The halfling cleric looked much better than she had when they’d left the Seven-Pillared Hall, although she still limped a bit when she thought that Jaron wasn’t paying attention. The experience within the Labyrinth had aged her, but the sun and the wind, along with the good food and drink that had been heaped upon them at Fallcrest, had done well for all of them.

Jaron grinned. They’d started seeing landmarks since breaking camp that morning, and a sense of excitement was building amongst all of the halflings as they drew nearer to their home. There was a touch of bittersweet in that for Jaron. Unlike the other halflings, who viewed the entirety of their travels outside their village as one terrible nightmare to be put behind them, Jaron had found a renewed sense of purpose in his adventures, along with an excitement that would be hard to match in the relatively quiet environs of Fairhollow. Maybe what he’d told Carzen would hold true for him as well. And there was Beetle to consider.

As if summoned by the thought, his cousin appeared on the crest of a hill ahead to their left, jumping up and down with waving arms to get their attention. Jaron’s grin broke into a full smile, and he urged the horse forward with a snap of the reins. Several of the halfling villagers in the wagon behind him started up excited cheers.

“I hope that Gral and Draela make it back over the mountains safely,” Yarine said. “They have a much harsher journey ahead of them than we did.”

“I have no doubt that they can take care of themselves,” Jaron replied. “In fact, I feel sympathy for any bandits that seek to bar their path.”

“It is so sad, their loss,” the cleric responded. “They loved him very much.”

It was just like Yarine, Jaron thought, to feel sympathy for others, even in the wake of the terrible ordeal through which she’d suffered. Despite her weakened condition, she’d provided a strong support for the other halflings stolen from Fairhollow, both during and after their captivity. She’d kept them together, and protected them from the trauma that might have otherwise left them permanently broken inside. As it was, they’d have nightmares, Jaron knew, but those would fade, in time.

Jaron waved back at Beetle, who ran down the hill to greet them. He ran along an outcropping of stone and sprang down fifteen feet into the bed of the wagon, almost landing on Tandrin. He laughed and jumped up between Jaron and Yarine on the wagon’s seat. He pointed as the wagon rolled up the rise between the two hills, the last two hills, toward the quiet dell where Fairhollow resided.

And then it was there, the familiar houses and farms, the people and animals, tiny wisps of smoke rising from squat chimneys. At the sight of it, Jaron felt a soft pressure on his heart, and he looked over at Yarine to see tears in her eyes.

“We’re home,” both of them said, together.


THE END