CHAPTER IX
TREASURE OF THE SHROUDED ONE
PART II
With the caves taken, and Corwyn's attention now turned to sealing them away, the party was free to pursue other matters. Some days ago a hunter of Bastion, Ardan by name, had returned from the south, with tales of a hidden temple and the fabulous treasures therein. Ardan had not ventured inside, or so he said, but upon the steps near the entrance he had found a bracelet of solid gold. The bracelet was etched with the symbol of a skull, set with an orb of blackest jet in its open jaws. It was a symbol of The Void, god of mystery and death. The Shrouded One.
The people of Bastion were not about to set foot in such a place, but the promise of an unknowable death in the Shrouded One's domain was never something to deter a true adventuring spirit. And so the party went to see Ardan, to ask that he draw them a map to this darksome place.
They found the man with Elmyr, for Ardan was one of his frequent companions. Elmyr was his usual inhospitable self, glowering at his rivals as they made their request to his crony. Ardan was uncertain whether to aid the enemies of his chosen leader, but a nod from Elmyr silenced his doubt. As Ardan drew the map, the smallest of smiles played across Elmyr's mouth. For who knew what fate might befall these adventurers in such a temple? And who knew in that moment what other plans were unfolding in Elmyr's inscrutable mind?
The adventurers had their map, and so they set off into the benighted forest after riding the platform from Bastion to the ground on clanking chains. They ventured south via the Old Road, its cracked and jumbled stones a reminder of civilisations past. Just weeks ago this part of the forest had been the domain of the barrow wights, the restless dead. But now the wights were scattered and leaderless, for the adventurers had slain their sorcerer-king on a previous quest and banished his hateful spirit from the world.
The journey took but a few hours, the map leading the party to a steep ravine. Backed up against the cliff wall of the ravine they saw the temple, shrouded in darkness and silent as a shadow. The stone building had but one entrance, a great stone door with steps leading up to it, flanked by a series of columns that reminded them of a funeral procession.
The adventurers scrambled down the ravine, Gordred leading the way with his mastery of the wild. He approached the doors with foreboding, as his companions stayed back.
And then danger struck, not from the temple itself, but from an unexpected quarter: the forest itself! A great brown bear crashed toward Gordred, trees splintering beneath its mighty limbs. It bellowed with rage before charging, its eyes full of a strangely murderous intent.
Gordred drew Mort and Death with glee, for the killing of animals was something he most cherished. His comrades were beside him quickly, perhaps relieved to be facing so normal a foe, and not some nameless horror from the temple. They surrounded the bear, darting around its lumbering swipes, raining blow after blow upon its shaggy frame.
Elrohir reached down for his mace, which he bathed in the blood of his foes every night to augment its eldritch power. But something gripped his mind, and instead he drew forth a silver sword that he had looted from a tomb in the caverns below Bastion. He charged the bear, but his attacks were clumsy and without grace, for the weapon had been cursed long ago. But in his own mind the sword was perfect, the ultimate instrument of death, and he himself had reached his pinnacle as a warrior!
Despite this, the battle went first in the favour of our heroes, as they greatly outnumbered their foe. But then from above came a flaming streak, a fiery arrow that scorched Elrohir across the midriff. The elf gazed high seeking this new enemy, and with the powerful eyes of his ancient race he saw a shadowy figure perched at the top of the ravine.
The figure rained arrows of fire down upon the adventurers as they continued their furious battle with the bear. Though it was a fearsome beast, and more than a match for four normal men, it proved no challenge for these four. Mercilessly they hacked it down, Jah striking the killing blow from the back ranks with his glaive.
The beast lay dead, but there was no time to ponder this attack, no time to wonder at the presence of a creature untainted by the darkness of the forest. The shadow above continued with its hail of arrows, and with no recourse for attack they made for the shelter of the temple. None could fathom who this figure might be, though Elrohir, ever hateful of his dark kindred, thought that perhaps the drow had tracked them down somehow. He was not to know that the truth was something far more insidious, far more evil.
The temple doors opened easily, swinging inward with no sound at all. The entrance room was still and cold, the air laced with the smell of damp earth and rot. Wooden doors, splintered and mildewed, led to the left and right, and there was an archway in the wall ahead. On either side of these were two open-mouthed skulls carved into the wall, each clutching a large round obsidian stone between its teeth. Here was treasure ripe for the taking, if any were brave enough to prise these night-dark jewels from their homes! But Jah was ever wary, and warned his companions away – for would it not be better to clear the place of other dangers first? The others agreed, and they pressed on, but they were not to return for this prize later. Other events came later that would drive all thought of these gems from their minds.
The door to the south opened into a wide passage that soon turned left. A skeleton in tattered black robes lay on the floor, half-melted in a puddle of greenish ooze. The smell was acrid, and once again Jah opted for caution. A strip of his cloak he dipped into the slime, only to see it eaten away almost instantly. The adventurers shunned the ooze and investigated the skeleton no further, choosing to follow the passage instead.
At the end was a wooden stand, and upon it sat a closed book bound in featureless black. Elrohir ran his hand across it, and felt the familiar texture of skin. On some strange whim he drew his dagger and cut a line across the cover. The material parted easily, and blood seeped freely from the open tear, until it closed over some moments later. The others showed no interest in this ineffable work, and Jah was especially leery of further investigation. But the grimoire held some strange fascination for Elrohir, and with eager hands he opened it to scan its pages.
No one knows just what he read, but he perused it for only a few seconds before slowly closing the cover, his face an ashen mask. He would speak of the book no further, but from that moment on Elrohir looked always over his shoulder, convinced that the servants of the Void stalked him just out of sight. Always watching. Always waiting.
The adventurers returned to the entrance, and this time explored the archway to the east. It opened into a huge room with a vaulted roof. Featureless pillars ran the length of the room, flanking plain black carpet that was riddled with holes. At the east end of the room was a large statue, depicting a man in robes with his face hidden. An open stone coffin rested up against it, with a body inside, and the robed figure had its arms around the coffin as though holding it in an embrace. They approached with care, skirting along the north wall. As the flickering torchlight illuminated the coffin, they saw that the body was wrapped in a funeral shroud and holding a ceremonial dagger.
Elrohir stepped forth, his fascination for the trappings of evil undimmed by his recent brush with the unknowable. His attention was fixed on the coffin, and neither he nor his comrades saw the creature until it struck. Swooping down from its perch near the top of a pillar, the stone-skinned monstrosity flew past Elrohir, gouging him across the back with its claws. Before the elf could react the creature was beyond his reach, perched again near the ceiling with fingers dug deep into the pillar. It fixed Elrohir with a baleful stare, and now the adventurers saw it well. As a devil from the Abyss it appeared, with fangs and claws, wings and horns, but with a skin of hardest stone. A gargoyle, vicious predator sprung from the shadow-haunted ruins of old.
With a snarl the gargoyle swooped again, but this time Elrohir was ready, and he dealt it a vicious blow with his silver sword. Despite its curse, the sword's innate power pierced the gargoyle's skin, and it crashed to the floor. His companions moved to his aid, but another gargoyle swooped in behind them, catching Gordred in a slashing fury of teeth and tail, horn and claw.
Gordred, his body gashed and bloody, retaliated with Mort and Death. Mort was but a normal blade, and could not pierce the gargoyle's flesh; it turned aside in a shower of scraping sparks. Death was of more potent stock, guided by the holy power of the Light, and the gargoyle shrieked as it was slashed across the face. Qwan waded in with his twin great-axes, and though they were naught but steel, they were effective still, driven by his mighty thews and lust for battle. They did not cleave the gargoyles as an enchanted weapon might, but still the wounds they inflicted were not insignificant.
Jah had found his glaive of little use, and hung back from the battle, unsure of how to aid his allies. But it was he that saw the cloaked figure hovering at the edge of the torchlight, a masked man with a scimitar at his hip and a small crossbow in his hand. As the battle with the gargoyles raged on, the figure levelled the crossbow at Jah, loading and firing it in the smoothest of motions. Jah jerked his head aside, and the quarrel's fletching flicked hard against the side of his neck. Had he not reacted in time, he knew – the shot would have killed him instantly. The figure voiced a muffled curse as he fended off Jah's return blow, and fled the room with unnatural speed.
The gargoyles were destroyed, crushed beneath the blows of Death, and Elrohir's mace, which he bathed in blood every night to awaken its hunger. Elrohir bled from several wounds, but Gordred was worse, his clothes soaked crimson and his face pale. Rest and healing was what they required, but no healing was to be had, and none fancied a night of rest in a temple of the dead. They left the coffin and the body inside, and decided to return to Bastion.
The moon was still high when they ventured outside, the air crisp and cold. The body of the bear they had slain was gone. As the adventurers neared the ravine's exit, a familiar streak of flame fell from the sky. It missed its targets, but more soon followed, and the companions scrambled up the gravelly slope as flaming arrows fell all about them. The shadowy figure flew overhead, wings blotting out the stars. But as they left the ravine, the attacks ceased, and the figure flew back to the temple. The party continued, bloodied and weary, reaching Bastion just as the moon fell below the horizon and darktime began.
The mood in Bastion was grim, and Corwyn had little time to spare to listen to the party's tales. Chanis, High Priest of the Flame, was free with the healing powers of his god, for he had taken oaths from Gordred and Elrohir, and considered them as part of his flock. Fresh and invigorated after a darktime's rest, they left Bastion for the temple the next night. Little did they realise that Elmyr had not been seen by them during their stay, had not been there to mock their misfortunes as he usually did. Such little things are oft unnoticed, and who knows what may have transpired differently had they realised? But such things are not for me to know, my friends! I am the chronicler of things that were, and little concerned with things that might have been.
The temple lay dark silent as the adventurers returned, with no fiery arrows from above to greet them. With great haste they explored the rooms they had earlier ignored, and found a spiral staircase descending below the earth. Gordred led the way as they followed the twisting path.
The adventurers emerged into a huge cavern, too large to be seen completely by the light of their torches. The air had a faint acidic tang that burned their nostrils. They explored along the north wall, and discovered there a skull carved into the stone, with water gurgling from the mouth into a pool below. As always, Jah cautioned his fellows against drinking from it. He was distrustful of all things, and especially so when hints of the undead were involved. They moved on, leaving the fountain undisturbed.
A passage opened up to the left, and the adventurers explored it. They found a room with four large cages, rusted but intact, and an iron door leading onward. Three of the cages each held a corpse, flesh rotting beneath ragged black robes. Jah reached through the bars of the first cage with his glaive, and thrust it into the body. It lay motionless. He repeated the action with the second, and this time the corpse gave a twitch as the glaive stabbed it.
Qwan it seems had no fear of the dead, and he entered the cage to investigate further. He coiled the mighty muscles of his leg and kicked the corpse in the ribs. It twitched again, and so he lifted his boot once more. And then the putrid thing leaped to its feet, slavering madly in its hunger for the living. The other two corpses rose jerkily also, bursting through the cage doors to feast.
To Qwan it mattered not whether his axes cleaved the living or the dead, and even though he fought in the cage alone his foe fell quickly. Twin axes sliced downwards, and what was once undead became dead in truth. The other two ghouls fought his comrades, who were not so fast to triumph. And then the iron door flew open, and a virulent stench assaulted the chamber. Another ghoul pounced through, malevolent and fearsome, more powerful by far than its brethren. The heroes retched and gagged on its noisome stench, but all of them managed to keep fighting.
Elrohir was beset on both sides, with a ghoul clawing at his front and the ghast at his back. The ghoul dug its nails into his arm, nails that burned with the cold of the grave. But Elrohir was an elf, with a spirit more powerful than mortal man, and the cold affected him not. But then the ghast latched onto his throat with clammy fingers, and this was a deathly touch that not even an elf could resist. He fell limp, and the ghast dragged him back into its lair.
Gordred had long hated the undead, though none knew what traumatic events from his past had brought this hate about. But Gordred knew the ways of the walking dead, and knew how to fight them. He and Qwan held the ghouls at bay, as Jah rushed into the lair of the ghast to rescue Elrohir.
The rack, the manacles, and the pincers and tongs lining the wall made no secret of the room's function – for it was a torture chamber in days of old. Of more importance was the iron maiden in the corner, for the ghast had dragged Elrohir's unmoving frame near to it and already placed him inside. Jah charged as the ghast prepared to close the door and impale his friend on its wicked spikes, and had he wielded a shorter weapon he might have been too late! But again the glaive proved its usefulness, and the ghast died its second death upon the lethal blade.
And then Jah saw the cursed silver sword in Elrohir's unmoving hand, and an idea came to him. Tying a rope to its pommel he ran from the room, past Qwan and Gordred who had finished destroying their ghoulish foemen. The sword clattered behind him as he raced back up the stairs to the wide passage where the skeleton lay half-melted in green slime. He dragged the cursed blade into the puddle of ooze, and watched in satisfaction as the silver was eaten away, until nothing of it remained. By the time Elrohir awakened to realise that his beloved new sword was gone, the weapon had been melted and the curse lifted.
Jah returned to the party and they continued their exploration of the larger cavern. As they edged southwards along the wall, they came to a passage leading to the south, and the acidic tang in the air grew stronger. With no other options but to continue, they pressed on into the twisting tunnel.
The adventurers had entered a warren of twisty little tunnels, all alike. Jah it was who was entrusted with the task of mapping this labyrinth, and as the heroes made their way through the twists and turns his map came to make no sense at all. They attempted to retrace their steps, to discover where they may have erred, but the tunnels they found did not match those that they had entered by. The air grew heavier with the burning reek, and the tunnels were strewn with the bones of the dead. The heroes were lost, disoriented, and Jah's frustration mounted with every step. Would they join the dead in this place, left as nothing but bones and forgotten by the tides of history?
Stretched to the breaking point, Jah forgot his caution and started to follow the stinging acid scent. Deeper and deeper they ventured into the labyrinth, until the burning almost choked them.
And then they saw it. At the heart of the maze it lay, a roiling blob of putrescent yellow, sickening to the eye. It lashed out with a tentacle of pure slime, and Gordred was burned by its touch. As his companion fell back Jah thrust his glaive into the ooze, but was shocked at the result. The yellow blob split in two up the centre, and now the heroes were faced with two foes that were smaller in size, yet no less deadly.
Jah chose that moment to flee, running from the cavern to a passage behind the party. But then his course veered to the right, and another tunnel entirely, and though he did not seem to notice his companions did see his strange action. Even so, the heat of battle was no time for such things, and they fought on.
Elrohir pushed his companions aside and stepped to the front. He drew forth a slender wand of blackened bone. "Angrim!" he cried, and the wand shot forth a jet of flame. The oozes quivered in agony beneath the scorching blast, and though they lashed out repeatedly in their rage they could not withstand the barrage of arcane fire that followed. Soon enough they were little more than blackened lumps on the stone floor, and Elrohir stood victorious with his fellows.
With no loot to be had the adventurers turned their attention to Jah, and the strange way he had altered his flight from the battle. They soon deduced that there was some alien force in the tunnels, something that disoriented them and fooled their sense of direction. They pushed on, and found that now they could will themselves forward without fear of becoming lost.
Soon they found a strange round chamber, an arena ringed with wooden benches. At the far end of the room was a portal, and beyond it a crashing sea of ooze beneath a lightning sky. The air of doom was palpable, and they new in their hearts that here the priests of the temple had wrought there own destruction. None of the adventurers fancied further exploration, and so they journeyed on.
At last they came to a final wooden door, and entered. Inside a glass cabinet in the centre of the room, they saw a magnificent golden statuette depicting a robed man in a cowl, its base encrusted with glittering rubies. Scattered around the statuette was a pile of other coins and gemstones, and near that a small hole in the floor.
But though the treasure was magnificent, it was not that wondrous hoard that held their attention. Near the north wall a circle of salt was scattered on the floor. Pacing inside the circle was a vicious demonic mastiff, its deep black coat disappearing into nothingness wherever it touched the shadows. It's eyes glowed red and hungry, with a malevolence not of the earthly plane.
That Jah was a cautious man I have told you before, but the sight of gold was always something to tempt him. With little thought to the consequences he hefted his glaive, and smashed the glass cabinet to pieces.
As the glass shattered a howling wind filled the room, gusting forth from the hole in the floor. The circle of salt was scattered, and the shadow mastiff bound forth from its prison, prepared to wreak vengeance on all present for its long captivity.
Qwan and Gordred leaped to the attack, but found their blows ineffective. For where the beast touched the shadows it seemed not to exist, and no blade could then cut its flesh.
And then the mastiff howled. It was a sound of ancient terror, of elder days when the Dark One would call the Wild Hunt and ride the world of mortal man with his ravening pack before him. Stricken with ancestral fear, Qwan of the mighty thews, Gordred the fell ranger, and Elrohir the mysterious turned tail and fled, back into the tunnels and with no power of will to stop themselves becoming lost. Only Jah remained, his mind alone capable of resisting the dark fears of the ancients.
And then he appeared in the chamber, the masked figure that had earlier stalked the adventurers. Jah's heart quailed, and he thought all was lost, but still he fought on, striking the mastiff in futile hope with his glaive. But the masked man did not attack. He made for the treasure, and lifted the golden statuette in his arms. And as he neared the exit of the room he stopped and turned, and ripped off his mask with a triumphant gesture. Jah saw the hated, sneering face, that had so mocked the adventurers in the past. He saw Elmyr! And then the man was gone, off into the tunnels with a speed greater than any normal man.
But Jah had greater concerns, as the mastiff's jaws snapped at his face. Jah leaped back, trying his best to keep the beast at a distance so that he could bring his glaive to bear. And then finally he struck a telling blow, piercing the beast in a place where it touched the light of his torch. He followed again, and then a third time, a mighty strike that thrust into the mastiff's open jaws, bursting forth from the back of its head. The creature was dead, and it slumped to the ground, then melted away into the shadows.
Quickly Jah scooped up what treasure remained, and raced from the room. He was after Elmyr, though there was little hope that he could match the man's pace. And as expected he was too late. Jah opened the temple doors just in time to see Elmyr in the arms of a winged female, a naked woman of fiendish beauty. She beat her wings, and the two of them lifted into the air, Elmyr laughing in victory.
As the adventurers slowly overcame their fear and gathered together once more, they vowed that Elmyr would face justice. They would return to Bastion, and wrest the truth from their hated rival. Jah had a plan, and needed only the consent of Corwyn to enact it. And so they began the journey, to a confrontation whose outcome was uncertain, with a foe more deadly than they had ever suspected.
