The Doomed Bastards: Reckoning (story complete)

[Lazybones]

I've tried to give Alderis some depth, especially since he's been overshadowed so much by Varo and Dar. He will have a crucial role to play as the story moves forward, and by now he's a pretty potent arcanist, so along with Honoratius/Letellia that should satisfy the mage-lobby amongst the readership.

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Chapter 293

A SECRET


Nelandro Agathon did not look up as the doors to the chapel opened, and a tall figure entered. The priest of the Shining Father knelt before the altar on the far side of the chamber, the candles ringing the display casting the shadows in his features into stark relief. His eyes were closed, and his lips moved soundlessly in prayer.

The newcomer did not interrupt him, but as he moved into the chapel, taking a seat in one of the shadowed pews along the edge of the chamber, a clatter of metal drew the attention of the priest. Nelan blinked and rose, looking for the source of the disturbance. His eyes finally settled on the form shrouded in darkness in the corner. Nelan squinted, but the light was insufficient to identify the stranger.

“Varo?”

“No, it’s just me,” Dar said, rising out of the pew, his weapons clanking again around his body. Ordinarily, armed persons were not admitted into the cathedral, let alone the private chapel in the rear of the building, but Dar had gained a certain degree of notoriety of late, and to those few who knew some of the truth of what had happened to Camar in recent months, he was fast becoming a legend. One of those groups included the clergy of Soleus.

“I’m sorry to interrupt you,” the fighter said. “But I wanted to catch you, before you headed over to Tiros’s little gathering.”

“I was just about to leave,” Nelan said. He looked at the stained glass windows set high in the walls; all four were dim, and it was difficult to make out the scenes depicted within each. “How late is it?”

“Sun just went down, as I was coming in here.”

Nelan blinked. “I must have lost track of time.” He brushed off his robe, and walked over to where the fighter waited. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

“Tiros is going to talk about Rappan Athuk. Going back, one last time.”

Nelan nodded. “I expected as much, especially with what has happened of late. Has there been any more news from Janaris?”

Dar shook his head. “No. If there are any more ghouls out there, they’re lying low. We’re still getting casualty reports, though, especially from outlying settlements that we missed in the evacuation.”

“How many in all, now?”

“Five hundred and sixteen. That includes the ninety-six men from the First, Captain Olvaris, and the two clerics that were killed at Laddan’s Respite.”

“Yes... yes, I’d heard. It could have been a lot worse, general. If you hadn’t sent Yanis back with that warning, the First Legion might not have gotten to Janaris in time to fortify the town’s defense.”

“It wasn’t in time for the other three villages that the ghouls destroyed before they got there.”

“But we were able to warn how many? A thousand? Two thousand? Not to mention the population of Janaris, which is another four thousand people who might not be alive today, were it not for your actions.”

Dar rubbed his forehead with two fingers. “I don’t know that it matters. From what I heard about what happened at Trajaran, that fat freaking bastard can strike at us at the core of our defenses.”

“All the more reason for this mission,” Nelan said quietly.

“Earlier, you thought I was Varo.”

“Yes. He came to be, before. It was he who dragged me back into this. Said it was my responsibility to the people of Camar.”

Dar frowned. “He has an agenda.”

“You do not trust him?”

“No. And if you knew what I knew, priest, you would not either.”

Nelan sighed. “The world has gotten more complicated since I returned.”

“Yeah, things were a lot simpler when I was a selfish bastard concerned only with myself.”

The priest smiled. “We shouldn’t keep the tribune waiting, I suppose.”

Dar hesitated, and Nelan turned back to him, waiting. “There’s one other thing, Nelan.”

“Yes?”

“It has to do with Varo. He gave me something, when we last saw him, during the briefing, before our last trip to cleanse the temples. He told me... well, it has to do with Rappan Athuk. And your death.”

“I see.”

“I didn’t want to say anything before. I mean, hells, I thought we’d all be dead, when we went back there last time. And this time... well, I don’t know a lot about demon lords, but I know enough about freaking Rappan Athuk to know that Sobol wasn’t slinging crap when he called us the Doomed Bastards.”

Nelan looked thoughtful for a moment. “Maybe you are right, Corath, that our actions are in vain. But all we can do is our best, and say that we stood against the darkness, in the light. And I can think of no man I’d rather have at my side than you. And I suspect that if the Demon fears anything in this or any world, it would be wise to fear your blade.”

Dar snorted, but his lip twisted in a slight grin. “And Varo?”

Nelan put a hand on the fighter’s shoulder. “The priest of Dagos knows a great deal, but he does not know everything. I believe—I must believe—that we control our own destinies. And even if he does somehow know of my death... that does not change my power to determine how it is that I will die, with the Father’s name on my lips, and my face toward the evil that threatens us all.”

“All right.” He rested his hand on the hilt of Valor. “All right, priest.”

They’d barely left the chapel when a priest rushed up to them, a desperate look on his face.

Twenty minutes later, Nelan and Dar were at the head of a small column of men and women, most priests of the Father, who rushed through the catacombs under the cathedral. They entered an anteroom from which four tunnels branched. Dar saw the bodies at once, and raised a hand in caution.

Nelan crossed to the closer guard, and bent to check him. “He’s alive, but unconscious,” the priest said, incanting a brief spell of healing over the man. “I don’t see any wounds... he may have been poisoned.”

Dar was already moving down one of the tunnels, his torch fluttering in his hand. Nelan shouted orders for some of the underpriests to tend to the stricken guards, and then he hurried after him.

He caught up to the fighter at the door. Both men knew what they would find there, but it was still a cold realization to actually see it.

The iron door lay open. Beyond, the chamber was empty. The silver circle in the floor had been breached; the manacles set into the ceiling dangled empty.

As Dar stepped through the doorway, he saw that the room wasn’t completely empty. Lying within the broken circle on the floor were two swords. He didn’t have to go over to look at them, he knew what they were.

The first was Beatus Incendia.

The second was the holy sword they had found in Rappan Athuk, the one that had been carried by Shaylara Pallen, when they had last seen her.

 

[Mahtave]

Hmm, seems like Shay and a certain lover turned vampire are in the mix now too eh?

Here I was all set to see another installment of Varo talking down to another of the Shining Father's priests and you go and spring this on the readers.

Not to mention another visit to Rappan Athuk is in the future; Doomed Bastards indeed!

I will also agree with Grollostoutfoam, Alderis is quickly becoming one of my favorite characters as well; though he has a ways to go to catch the priest of Dagos.

Nicely done LB!

 

[Richard Rawen]

. . .that should satisfy the mage-lobby amongst the readership.

I feel so ... labeled

But I do appreciate the nods to that cornerstone of the fantasy genre

Now what in the hells is up with this wrinkle... I guess I'll assume that Shay will also be vamped by the time we next see her. That makes many of us correct in our assumption that slaying the vampire was the only thing to do. Once in awhile being right leaves a hollow feeling

My point is that they had so danged many enemies already, plus Orcus' ability to make another calamity pop up wherever whenever... so...
Is there any chance that Talen is able to control himself?
Regardless we'll also have Navev return soon I'm sure... and the goblin and . . . oh hell, these guys just can't get a break

And what if Talen has Shay start turning those that trust her... you thought Ghouls or even Ghasts were bad... what about a platoon of Vampires!

 

[Lazybones]

While I am writing this story from a broad outline, a lot of the specific plot details have evolved over the course of the story. The account of Talen's vampiric transformation is one of those. I hope that you guys will enjoy the twists that are coming.

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Chapter 294

THE GATHERING


Allera waited in the sunlit hall outside the large chamber where the governing council of Camar met. Once it had been used by the Grand Duke as an audience chamber, its high domed ceiling and vaulted arches a physical reminder of the power of the nation that had long ago tamed this continent for the race of Man. Tiros had spoken of returning this place, and the entire palace compound, back to the people of Camar, perhaps using the great chamber as a venue for musical or theatrical performances that were subsidized by the state. Allera shook her head. Such concerns seemed mundane, now, as Camar tottered on the brink of oblivion.

The din from the half-opened door that led into the gathering chamber began to die down. Nelan appeared in the doorway. “I believe that they are starting, Allera,” he said.

She looked down the hall. “I will be right in.” She tried to judge the time by the angle of the rays of sun that shone down the hall. She let out a sigh and turned to go in, but paused as a familiar noise drew her attention back down the hall.

He was many things, but quiet was not one of them. Dar was clad in his full regalia, armor and weapons covering his body. Someone had provided him with a new uniform after Derber’s Point, and he wore it well, she thought, the insignia and other markings of his rank fitting in with the aura of power and confidence that he radiated. It was impressive even as she recognized it to be partly an illusion; the items that Alzoun had provided for them included a pair of cloaks of charisma of significant potency, sized for her and Dar. Dar had not seen the need for such frippery, as the cloak provided no martial benefit, and could even become a hindrance in a violent melee. Allera had insisted that he wear it, however. The merchant-cleric of Dagos had been possessed of considerable insight, Allera thought, his “gifts” shaped to needs that they hadn’t even realized they had. Now, as she looked upon her lover, she saw the leadership that the people of Camar were going to need as they took on the darkness that endangered their very existence.

Thinking of Alzoun reminder her of Varo, and she frowned. Dar saw the change in expression, and misinterpreted it.

“Yeah, I don’t like all this garbage either,” he said, indicating the uniform tunic and the cloak. Allera stepped forward and adjusted his tunic, her frown deepening as she saw something else. She placed her hand on a fist-sized icon dangling from his neck, the silver torch of the Shining Father.

“I’ve never seen you wear a holy symbol before,” she said. “And... what’s that smell?”

He lifted a small mesh bag that dangled from his swordbelt. “I don’t think we’ve seen the last of Talen,” he said, his voice darkening. His hand dropped to the hilt of his sword, and there was a subtle change in his stance, one that Allera knew from past experience to be a presage to violence. “I intend to be ready when that happens.”

She looked down at the bag in confusion. It contained a number of small objects that were the source of the odor. “I don’t understand.”

“Garlic. Keeps vampires at bay.”

Allera placed a hand on her forehead, then leaned into him. She shook, slightly, and he frowned until she drew back, and she realized she’d been laughing quietly. “Want to let me in on the joke?”

“Corath. These are shallots.”

“What?”

“Sha— Oh, for the love of all the gods... they’re onions, Corath.”

The fighter’s expression darkened. “I am going to kill that merchant...”

She chuckled again, and placed a hand on his chest. “Thank you. I really needed that.” She wiped her eyes, and took his hand. “Come on. They’ve already started, and Tiros will need our support.”

They made their way into the great chamber; a guard standing in the entry nodded in recognition as they entered. The huge chamber was occupied by upwards of two hundred people. Allera knew most of them, although some she had first met only last night, at the strategy session that Tiros had convened, and which had lasted long into the night. She had to fight back a yawn at the thought; she hadn’t gotten much sleep. Tiros was addressing the gathering, but it sounded like they were still in the introductions part of his speech. Listening with one ear, Allera took a quick look around.

Most of the people here were rich, important, or otherwise influential. About half of them were nobles, members of Camar’s social elite, but there were also high officers of the legions and the City Watch, priests of the Shining Father, and the top leaders of the mercantile guilds. There were also a few outsiders, one of whom turned his head and nodded to them as they entered.

“Thane Gravorr,” Dar said, acknowledging the gesture. Like him, the dwarf was clad in heavy armor, and the axe slung across his back was functional rather than ceremonial. His seconds were behind him, a pair of dwarves who looked almost identical, resembling rocky crags in their stoic expressions.

“I notice that the elves aren’t here,” Dar whispered to Allera.

“Tiros sent an invitation through our ambassador to the Conclave of the aelfinn,” Allera muttered back. “There has been no official reply.”

“What about our crazy wizard friend?”

“Nelan sent him a sending. He said he would be there when the time came.”

“Wonderful.”

“Quiet, I want to hear this.”

The crowd listened as Tiros spoke about the dire threat facing their land, and the terrible events that had plagued Camar in recent days. He spoke of how the people of Camar would come together with their neighbors to defeat the power of the demon that was responsible for these disasters. He indicated Gravorr, who acknowledged the introduction with a nod, and then another group whose presence gave Allera a surprise.

“Well, well, look who decided to come back,” Dar said. Allera had to shift position to see who he and Tiros were talking about, as the crowd blocked her view of the far gallery. She finally caught a glimpse of the small knot of robed men, their heads shaven bald, their hands folded within the sleeves of their garments.

Setarcos, the monk they had rescued within Rappan Athuk, nodded deeply to Tiros, and then, as if sensing their stare, turned and offered a slight nod to Dar and Allera.

Tiros acknowledged several other groups: a small cluster of men clad in the raiment of Razhuri corsairs, the dark skin of their faces marked by multiple decorative piercings. But that was all. A group of Emorite tribesmen from the far north, clad in their winter furs, hard looks on their faces as they stood warily next to a group of jakkis from Erem. The olive-skinned men were a head shorter than the Emorites, but their reputation as the finest riders in the world was well-earned. Both provinces had worn the mantle of Camarian domination uneasily, but their presence here testified to Tiros’s skill in gathering a coalition of forces against the evil threatening Camar.

Allera looked up at Dar, saw the doubt in his eyes, if not in the expression that he carefully kept neutral. The plan that they had devised last night was backed by a considerable force, but like him, she knew that the fate of Camar would likely come down to those few who could stand up to the dangers of Rappan Athuk.

As Tiros continued his speech, recapping information that Allera already knew, her thoughts drifted back to last night’s meeting.

The meeting had not been held here in the palace, but in the tall tower of the Guild of Sorcery. The reason for that choice of venue had been the man who of all of them seemed to best understand what they were up against. Allera felt a momentary twinge at that, but she pushed the stray thought aside.

She remembered well he surprise at Honoratius’s appearance. The elder archmage had always seemed venerable to her, but that night, lying in his bed, he had seemed to her like nothing more than a withered husk, looking more like one of the undead than a living, breathing creature. Allera knew that the ancient figure suffered from a decay that she could not battle with her arts, although she had done all that she could to make him comfortable. If anything, however, the intensity that burned in his eyes had grown, and while he could barely speak, he had used a small spell to amplify his voice so that everyone present could hear him.

Maybe it was the lack of sleep, but Allera could still hear his words in the back of her mind, as if the archmage was whispering them in her ear.

”The attacks at Albrith and Trajaran were only a harbinger of what is to come,” he had told them. ”The destruction of his temples in Rappan Athuk weakened the Demon, but it is linked to our world, now, and every death it inflicts will increase its strength until it will be capable of unleashing the final doom of everything. There is no question now of what we must do. We must strike and destroy the Demon, or fall trying... and with it, our world.”

The interval of time since their last trip to Rappan Athuk had not been wasted. Both Patriarch Jaduran and Nelan had communed with Soleus. The power of the Demon was such that direct questions about its activities were met with silence. The information that they had been able to gain had been haphazard and incomplete. They knew that there was a way to access Orcus’s hiding place within Rappan Athuk, but the specific details that they needed had thus far escaped them.

But last night, Honoratius had provided the answers they had needed. Almost immediately after he’d come out of the coma that had followed his stroke, even before a cleric could be summoned to tend to his wasted body, he’d demanded a copy of the ancient tome, the Codex Thanara. There, within the twisted and misleading passages of that deranged text, he had uncovered the clues to finding and destroying their enemy. Perhaps, while lying insensate within the dreamless depths of his sickness, his mind had latched onto some whisper of information that had completed the complex puzzle of deciphering the Codex. Or perhaps some other agent had placed the clues within his mind. Whatever the source, they now had at least some idea of how they had to proceed.

”The place Orcus resides is a demiplane without name, a quasi-reality sustained by its foul existence. It borders on both the Prime and the Abyss, but is part of neither. It cannot be accessed by the usual spells that permit planar travel; it is an anomaly, an aberration that is beyond the rules of the universe that we know. It requires a specific key...”

Honoratius had broken off at that point with a spell of coughing, but Allera remembered that he’d fixed Dar with a peculiar stare, just for a few heartbeats. No one else had commented on it... had she imagined it? When the archmage was finally able to continue, his voice had become a strangled rasp that sounded eerie under the amplification of his spell.

”The only entrance to the lair of the Demon is through a level of Rappan Athuk called the Gates of Hell. Powerful guardians dwell there... you must pass through... fire... and water... and madness... The sacrifices... three are keys...”

There had been more than a few concerned looks around the room, Allera recalled. Honoratius had recovered, returned to his usual lucidity in a few moments. But he did not even seem to remember what he’d been saying.

Tiros had directed them toward the plan for their assault. The final assault, he had said. Allera shuddered as she recalled all that she had seen—and done—within the dark halls of Rappan Athuk. She had been held prisoner there, by the servants of Orcus. She had battled demons, and abominations, and worse. Was there anything more terrible than those experiences that could outdo the horrors she had already encountered?

She shuddered again at the thought.

Tiros had stopped speaking, and Allera returned abruptly to the present. There was no applause, no response from the crowd; the gathering was too somber for that. But at least they moved as people who had a purpose now. They all knew their roles in what was to come. Tiros had not told them everything; it was too likely that the Demon could discern their plans.

It must know that we will be coming for it, Allera thought. She looked up at Dar, and saw the same thought reflected in his eyes. He smiled at her, but it was clearly forced.

“We have a day,” Dar said. “I don’t know about you, but I plan on spending most of it in a bed.”

It was a joke, or at least it would have been, before. Something fundamental had changed in Dar, or her, or maybe everything. She joined him, sliding into the space under his left arm. Several people came up to them, but stopped before speaking, sensing their need for a time apart. They left the gathering silently, and vanished into the shadowy corridors of the palace, down halls where the weak sunlight of the winter day failed to dispel the lingering gloom.

 

[Mahtave]

Nice.

LB, once again your writing brings through the emotions of the characters in the story. Bad things are coming, that much is certain. It is hard to say who, if anyone will be coming back from Rappan Athuk. (Well, Varo will of course... )

There is a line between a good author who writes a good story that the reader will read and enjoy, and a great author who writes a story that the reader will read and feel. This latest installment, for me, continues to show that you continue to be a great author.

Keep it up LB! I look forward to another trip into the RA.

 

[Lazybones]

Thanks, Mahtave! I've been reading some of my older stuff lately, and I'd like to think that my writing has improved considerably since the days of Travels.

Today might seem like a Friday post (especially at the end), but don't worry, there's always room for things to get worse.

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Chapter 295

IT BEGINS


The sun had risen, even if was not yet visible over the high walls of the interior courtyard in the rear of the Ducal palace. It was one of those rare clear days, but while the calendar indicated that spring had started almost a month ago, the air was still bracingly chill. Winter had lingered well past its time, another piece of evidence of the touch of the Demon upon the land of Camar.

Dar ignored the cold with the iron practicality of a veteran soldier. He stood on the steps that led back to the palace, adjusting the heavy gloves he wore. He had kept his cloak on, but the elaborate uniform he’d worn the day before had been replaced by a more practical outer garment of rugged, undyed cloth. Valor hung at his side, and a new longbow was slung across his back, replacing the one he’d lost at the mill outside Derber’s Point.

The courtyard in front of him was busy with activity. Armed men and women checked their gear, and tested the edges of weapons that had already been carefully examined a dozen times already. The two robed monks of the Order of the Vigilant Fists stood a short distance away, watching the preparations of the others in calm silence. Dar had spoken to Setarcos briefly the night before, and had asked about Kupra. The monk had reported that Banth’s former apprentice had found peace for herself, but he had not elaborated. Allera had told him something about the Drusian monastery being attacked by members of a death-cult, but the fact that they’d sent aid anyway spoke well of them as far as Dar was concerned. He wasn’t quite sure how useful they would be without armor or weapons, but he’d seen Setarcos fight in Rappan Athuk, and figured he could at least handle himself. His companion, Dar had doubts about; it was tough to tell with his shaven head and the bulky robe, but he looked like he was in his early teens. The other four monks had left with the men of the Second yesterday evening.

The others were all Camarians, either from the city or from its provinces, but their origins were as diverse as those of his circle of companions. The men of the City Watch were nervous and wary, but they were all veterans of the Night of the Dead, and one had fought with Dar before. Dar nodded as he met Octavius’s eyes briefly. His companions were Nonius and Decimus, and all were clad identically in chainmail tunics crafted of blacksteel, augmented with greaves on the arms and legs, and skullcaps with dangling noseguards protecting their heads. Each of them carried a magical sword and a heavy crossbow, and their quivers each contained several bolts blessed by the Patriarch himself.

The two priests were next in line. They were about as different as two men could be; Tullus Aquila was bald and weathered, and likely had a few years on Nelan. He bore a staff that purportedly bore healing powers, and his armor hung awkwardly on his frame. Marcus Felix, by contrast, was tall, youthful, and muscular. He had been a corporal in the legions when he’d discovered his religious calling, and he was as comfortable with a broadsword as he was with a mace. The only thing that they’d had in common was that they’d both been out of favor under the previous Patriarch; they had only recently returned to Camar after spending years out in the provinces. Neither cleric was even close to as powerful as Nelan, but their faith was strong, and their abilities considerable.

Dar felt a momentary twinge as his gaze traveled over to Talen’s knights, and his hand dropped to the hilt of Valor at his side. He hadn’t met most of the young men and women that the former head of the Knights of the Dragon had trained, but from what Allera had told him, Talen had worked them hard. Most of the knights had already departed with Nelan, but there were three here, two men and a woman. Alexion, Zahera, and Xenos—all provincial names, although Alexion and Zahera could have easily passed for Camarian born. Xenos was obviously an Emorite, his skin a dusky gray. All three of them had a hard look that none of the other soldiers here could match. They were clad in suits of half or full plate, and like the watchmen, their gear too bore numerous magical enhancements. Dar’s gaze lingered for a moment on the sword that Xenos carried. Tiros had told him that the Emorite was Talen’s best swordsman, so he’d given the man Shay’s holy flaming longsword.

Beatus Incendia rode on Dar’s back, in a new leather scabbard that had been wrapped in a fur coverlet. Tiros had looked at him with a raised eyebrow when he’d come to the final strategy meeting with the sword slung across his back, but the marshal hadn’t pushed the issue. Dar did not consider himself a leader, despite his new title, but neither was he a fool when it came to military matters. He wasn’t sure himself why he’d taken the sword, instead of giving it to another to wield. He still felt uncomfortable when his hand touched the hilt, and just having it around him made him think of Talen, which was not useful. But those impediments had not been enough to make him discard the weapon.

Dar swept his gaze over the rest of the company. The others gathered were not coming with the first team, and Dar thought he could detect an undercurrent of quiet relief among them.

He heard someone coming and turned to see Allera emerging from the palace. “Any sign of the elf?”

“No, he hasn’t arrived yet.”

“Dammit, we’re on a schedule here.”

“He will be here.”

“He’d better show up soon, or he’ll have to catch up on his own.”

“The archmage is on his way. He and Tiros were discussing a few last-minute details.”

Dar nodded. He could sense the disapproval in Allera’s voice, but he could understand Honoratius’s decision. Letellia had refused, at first, but she had been all too aware of what was at stake here, and ultimately she’d had no choice but to capitulate. Remembering the withered, broken creature that had spoken to them the night before last in the Guild tower, he wondered just how long the old man would last. They had a contingency in case he could not manage the first part of the plan, but from what Letellia had told him, there was a small chance for error if she was compelled to use her own magic to facilitate the transport.

Dar snorted. With their luck, “small error” meant a virtual certainty of a screw-up, in his mind.

“What’s so funny?” Allera asked. The healer had changed clothes as well, wearing trousers and a white linen tunic under her magical armor of boiled leather. Her hair had gotten long enough for her to be able to tie it back, and a leather cap with side flaps provided protection for her head. She still bore her light mace, but only carried it at Dar’s insistence. Her true weapon was her healing powers, which they would rely upon not only to keep their warriors in the fray, but to destroy any undead that they might encounter.

“Nothing,” he said. “Ah, here we go.”

Letellia and Tiros appeared together, flanked by a pair of armed guards. Dar had spent enough time around the sorceress, both with and without Honoratius riding along, to know that the archmage was present. There was a certain puffiness to her cheeks and under her eyes that suggested that she’d been crying, but she carried herself now with an utterly calm aplomb.

Tiros nodded to him. “General. Let’s get ready.”

Dar turned to the men and women gathered before them in the courtyard. “All right, listen up, everyone.” The activities and discussions going on in the courtyard had faded as Tiros and Letellia had arrived, and now every eye was on them. Dar glanced at Tiros, but the marshal nodded for him to proceed.

“They call me a general, but I’m just a soldier,” Dar said. “Hells, just a few months ago I wasn’t even that, just some gods-damned mercenary looking out for his own selfish cares. I’m not going to give you a big speech about honor and glory and sacrifice; you’ve heard enough of that already. You know that I’ve been where we’re going, and I won’t lie to you, Rappan Athuk is the freaking bung-hole of the universe, and it will do everything it can to see that every one of us lies dead in its freaking maze.”

“You know all this already. But I’ll remind you why we’re doing this. We’re going there because we have no freaking choice. That gods-damned pit is where old Goat-Head is hiding, and because that bastard won’t stop until this world is dead, we’ve got to go in there and cut his freaking head off.”

Dar drew Valor. The sword gleamed brightly in the morning air, even though the sunlight still hadn’t crested the outer wall. Something flashed in his eyes. “I swear this, right now,” Dar said. “Anything that gets in my way is going to die. If I have to cut my way to Orcus, I will, and I won’t stop until either that bastard is destroyed, once and for all, or I’m am freaking exterminated. Because that is the only thing that is going to stop me. I swear it!”

The men and women in the courtyard lifted their own weapons, and echoed his words; all save the monks, who stood there as still as statues. “I SWEAR IT!”

“I too, swear it,” came a voice from behind them.

Dar and the others atop the step turned to see Alderis come forward. The elf was clad in a wondrous robe of fine gray cloth, covered in intricate spiral designs in silver thread that seemed to move as he walked. A silver circlet covered his brow, sparkling with six diamonds the size of a man’s thumbnail. Despite the damage wrought upon him by the experiences of recent months, he looked the true archmage, and power shone in his dark eyes.

His daughter and son-in-law were not with him, but the elf was not alone. Behind him a tall form moved into the arched entry, and for all his experience with strange things, Dar couldn’t help but start slightly in surprise.

It was a construct, a thing built in a vaguely humanoid shape, but formed of wood and stone and metal. Silvery metal plates had been affixed to its arms, legs, and torso. It stood almost nine feet tall.

“Shield guardian,” Honoratius said. “Impressive. I must remember to ask sometime how you managed the mithral augmentations.”

Alderis acknowledged the comment, then turned to Dar. “I am ready, general.”

“What about Mehlaraine and Selanthas?” Allera asked, quietly.

The elf looked at her, and smiled sadly. “My people believe that each of us must make our own decisions, and face our own destiny.”

The healer nodded. She understood.

“You all know your assignments,” Tiros said. Alderis and Letellia moved down into the courtyard, the elf trailed by his hulking protector. Those gathered in the courtyard took their positions.

“You are the last to depart, but make no mistake, you are the first wave,” Tiros said. “By now, Nelandro Agathon and his cohort will be nearing Rappan Athuk. Thane Gravorr and his dwarves left with the riders from Erem and three centuries of the Second Legion last night; by midday they will meet up with General Darius and the First marching down from Janaris. Tendaji Jaddo’s corsairs have already sailed for the south along with sixteen ships of Camar’s Seafarer’s Guild, bearing supplies and support troops from the Fifth Legion and the City Watch, along with Sukat Koth’s Emorite hunters.”

Tiros gestured to Honoratius. Everyone present had been briefed on the unique situation with the archmage and his niece, and they listened to her words without question or disagreement as she took over the briefing. “Earlier this morning I scried Rappan Athuk. The valley is quiet, but that does not mean that we will not encounter resistance. It is our task to secure a defensible position and wait for Nelan’s force to join us. Then we will begin our probe into the complex. If we encounter enemies that we cannot defeat, we will fall back and await reinforcement. Each day, I can teleport more forces to our location, if we are in an area that is not shielded from magical travel.”

“Are there any questions?” Tiros asked. After a few moments of silence, he continued, “All right, first team forward.” Dar, Allera, Tullus, Alexion, and Zahera moved next to Honoratius, while Marcus and Xenos stepped over to where Alderis waited. The monks and the watchmen would be taken with the second wave, once Honoratius teleported back to Camar. In essence, they would be using the same tactic they had used at Alderford, where Honoratius had delivered fifteen warriors to block an undead assault closing on Highbluff.

“Thirty seconds,” Honoratius said. There was a brief flurry of activity, as the spellcasters prepared wards. Alderis reached up and touched his shield guardian with a wand; the creature’s body glowed softly for a moment before fading back to its usual coloration.

“Ten seconds,” Honoratius said. The champions of Camar drew their weapons, and formed in a close group around the mages. The Drusian monks drew back the sleeves of their robes, revealing intricate black patterns tattooed upon their hands, wrists, and forearms.

“Good luck,” Tiros said. “Every man, woman, and child in Camar is depending upon you.”

“We will not fail you,” the knight Xenos replied.

Dar opened his mouth to say something, but before he could speak, the wizards invoked their spells, and the entire group of ten, including the shield guardian, abruptly vanished. The five who were set to go in the second group waited; if all went well, Honoratius would be back for them in a matter of seconds.

All did not go well.

The companions materialized on target, on the northern edge of the valley of Rappan Athuk. Their arrival was accompanied by a brief but painful surge of disorientation, and several of them fell to the ground, momentarily stunned. When they finally recovered enough to recognize their surroundings, however, a grim chill settled upon each of them.

“Oh, screw us,” Dar said.

The first thing they saw was that the valley was not as Honoratius’s scrying spell had indicated it. A huge spiraling formation of dark clouds hung low over the area, gathering in the center in a mass so dense and foul and black as to appear almost solid. Flashes of sickly yellow light cracked within the center of that unnatural storm, and noises that sounded vaguely like a dying man in the last throes of torment.

The sky was alive with winged creatures that twisted through the air in chaotic formations. The majority were green gargoyles, the twisted guardians they had battled before in this valley. But there were dozens of them, and among them, not clearly identifiable in the shadowed heights, more sinister, alien forms could just be discerned.

The floor of the valley was likewise alive with movement. The tormented groans of the undead rose up like a miasma, clutching at their bowels with a raw, primordial fear. They could see skeletons and zombies of all shapes and sizes, along with ghouls, wights, and more terrible things, things that they could not give name to, but which were whispered of in ancient texts of cracked parchment and by cults that practiced unholy rites in places where the light of the sun never reached. It was impossible to put numbers to them, but the valley could have easily accommodated thousands of the creatures.

The mists that lingered in the dell were gone, and they could clearly see all the way down to where the mausoleums of green stone had warded the entrance to the dungeon. But now those structures were gone, replaced by a huge, gaping hole at the nadir of the vale. The opening was surrounded by plinths of green stone that ringed the hole like uneven teeth, and amidst those monuments they could see shadowed forms, ranging from squat, bulbous things to hulking monstrosities with bulging muscles and alien features. These creatures, unlike the other servitors of Orcus, had life, but their origin was in the blackest pits of the Abyss, and their very presence here was a violation of their world.

Demons.

“We were deceived,” Honoratius said.

“We have to abort the mission, get out of here,” Dar said.

“What about Nelan?” Allera asked.

“He’ll see this long before he gets here, but we can’t stay!”

“Alderis?” Honoratius asked. The elf and those he’d transported were within fifteen paces of them; Marcus was helping the elf to his feet while the shield guardian loomed over them protectively. The elf was still clearly not fully recovered, but he latched onto the archmage’s voice and forced a nod.

“I can manage another teleport, but it will cost me,” he said.

“Everyone, back together!” the archmage ordered. Less than ten seconds had passed since their appearance, but already cries were starting to echo from the gargoyles above, and several groups of the creatures were already winging in their direction.

Honoratius cast his second greater teleport.

Nothing happened. Alderis’s limited wish likewise failed.

“I can’t help but notice that we’re still here,” Dar said.

“There is some sort of lock in place,” Honoratius said. “I cannot transport us out of here.”

“They’ve seen us, they’re coming!” one of the knights warned, pointing with his sword. The cries of the gargoyles had started to echo, building as they were taken up by the thousands of unnatural forms that filled the depression. As that deafening roar broke over the champions of Camar, the nearest of the gargoyles swept down out of the air, their wings folding as they dove, claws outstretched, eager to rend. Below them, the vast army of undead began to move, surging up toward the lip of the valley like a swarm of hungry ants.

 

[Fimmtiu]

The men of the City Watch were nervous and wary, but they were all veterans of the Night of the Dead, and one had fought with Dar before. Dar nodded as he met Octavius’s eyes briefly. His companions were Nonius and Decimus, and all were clad identically in chainmail tunics crafted of blacksteel BRIGHT RED SHIRTS, augmented with greaves on the arms and legs, and skullcaps with dangling noseguards protecting their heads.

Let's not kid ourselves here...

 

[Nightbreeze]

Really, Lazybones, you already know that I appreciate your work very much.


But I have to say that the second part of the last post was one of the highest quality you have written so far. Keep on

 

[SonofaKyuss]

Check please....

Well, it's official.

Orcus sitting at the middle of a maze waiting for somebody to bust in and get themselves killed is certain doom ENOUGH for our intrepid adventurers, but Goat Face's proactive "let's just rip this sucker open and BRING IT" approach guarantees that the Doomed Bastards are indeed just that...

Only the core group has ANY hope of escaping this day even remotely intact, both physically and spiritually! Their only chance after that is the ultimate covert op dungeon crawl, since gathering forces from the four winds for backup has only ensured that they're all conveniently in the same place...right in the undead feed trough!!

Good form as always LB!!

I can't wait for the next installment...

 

[linnorm]

Just as I hit the post-teleport section Slayer's "Raining Blood" came up in my mix. Spooky and apropos.