The Bloody Eye dad-5 Read online

  The sky shimmered and a translucent membrane was visible for a moment, descending around the group like a semi-visible dome. The silence spell covered their advance up the hill and they could see the camp and hillside clearly with very little chance of being seen themselves.

  They watched three orc guards address the beefy orc in the center of the action, though they couldn't hear anything that was said because of Jozan's spell. They saw events unfolding in a bizarre pantomime. The orc in command sent the guards into the dark mineshaft. They returned shortly with a human prisoner and forced him to lie prone in front of their leader. The orc directed the guards to grab a human woman from beside the stream. They removed her from the chain of enslaved women and children and brought her to the leader, shoving her to her knees beside the prone human from from the cave. The orc stepped between the two, pushing them apart with his knees, then kicked the male on the side of the head. The blow forced the man's face into the ground. The woman opened her mouth wide, though no sound could reach the heroes, and she crawled toward the orc in useless supplication.

  In agonizing silence, the heroes watched the orc interrogate the woman, but they could only see her shake her head in the negative. Each denial from her caused a blow against the man. The orc kicked him, punched him, cut him, whipped him, and even struck him with a stout stick.

  The sadistic sideshow was so infuriating that the five were tempted to rush in without agreeing on a plan. Alhandra sensed Krusk nearing the point of rage, but couldn't speak with any of the others to coordinate the plan because of the silence invoked by Jozan. She spoke the words, but no one could hear them. Nor did they notice an object moving toward them that might have been a snake except for its rocklike skin. They failed to sense a writhing appendage approaching them, an ugly column of filth and flesh that resembled an elephant's trunk with unnatural, hornlike protrusions thrusting out of the wiggling flesh.

  The silence worked so well that when a second appendage joined its mate and wriggled around Qorrg's legs and the triangular ends of the mysterious limbs punctured his ankles with their prickly spines of sharp cartilage, no one heard Qorrg's cry of agony. Qorrg mouthed inaudible cries as the thorny, bonelike protuberances dug into his skin wherever they touched, and the tentacles began to drag the orc down the hill toward the semi-obscured entrance to a cave.

  Alhandra had just decided to draw a battle plan in the dirt when Krusk lost all patience.

  When the sadistic orc pulled the woman up by the hair and ripped away what was left of her torn clothing, the barbarian passed his limit. Krusk had already hurdled the rock and was racing toward the center of the camp when he saw the kneeling man try to stand and grapple the commander. One of the smaller orcs kicked the human below the belt, causing the man to double over and vomit. Then, while the man was still helpless, the running, charging, screaming Krusk watched the other guard smash the handle of his longspear over the man's head. The spear cracked at the same time as the man's skull. Both the broken shaft and the unconscious human dropped to the ground.

  The orc commander didn't even notice Krusk. He was holding the helpless woman in front of him and trying to kiss her. The terrified woman spat on her tormentor and tried to break free, filling Krusk's mind with images of his mother being ravaged by the orc warlord who sired him. His eyes glowed with red rage. His greataxe danced through the bodies of the guards, spraying blood in wide arcs and leaving crumpled, howling victims in his wake.

  The screams of his guards immediately drew the commander's attention. The orc threw the woman aside without a thought. He grasped his urgrosh by the center handle and moved to intercept the barbarian.

  Krusk heard Yddith yell a warning to watch out for the orcs approaching from each side, but he refused to pay attention to the stirgelike threats on his flanks. Instead, he stopped and ducked as the big orc thrust his double-headed axe at him with massive forehand and backhand moves. As soon as the second thrust passed over his head, Krusk rose to his full height and buried his own greataxe in the large orc's midrift, yanking away flesh and entrails as he danced away from the expected counterattack. Instead of an attack, however, the large orc howled and dropped his prized weapon. With both hands trying to stuff his organs back into the wound, the powerful orc yelled for his subordinates to kill the intruder.

  In response to the order, Krusk felt a longspear prick his right shoulder. At the same time he became aware of a spearhead entangled in his chain shirt. He tried to focus on the commander, but a fresh squad of soldiers rushed up to cover their commander's flanks. Krusk also saw what was becoming a familiar green glow appear on the ground in front of them.

  Krusk glanced behind him for a moment and saw Yddith rubbing a pork rind that she had removed from her provision bag. A green light washed over her hands and the pork rind as she stared malevolently at the orcs protecting their commander. When Krusk turned back to the guards, he saw them scrambling to find footing. The ground around them had become as slick as butter. One after another they fell and slipped away down the slope, one howling from the pain of a broken arm. The field was open for Krusk's vengeful attack.

  Krusk relaxed his arms, dropping the greataxe to a low angle. Then he took a sudden stride and swung the weapon with an underhand motion. The full width of the blade buried itself in the big orc's rib cage. Krusk cursed joyously in the Orcish tongue as he felt the heavy blade crunch through bone and flesh. The large orc collapsed, nearly chopped through at the waist, and crumpled at the feet of the screaming woman he had assaulted.

  With their commander dead, Krusk had no trouble picking off the remaining guards one by one. He motioned for Yddith to free the slaves. A moment later she was searching the dead guards for the key to the manacles. He briefly wondered where the others were, but was too busy slicing up guards to think about their absence.

  Jozan and Alhandra had not abandoned Krusk intentionally. When Krusk first hurdled the rock, the movement caused them to turn their heads in his direction as though they were connected by string to the half-orc's body. It was only as they watched Krusk leaping over the rock that they caught another movement in their peripheral vision. Turning to that movement, they were stunned to see Qorrg being dragged across the rocks toward the partially concealed cave entrance. At first, they thought a giant snake had snared him. Then, they realized that the rocky appendages trailed out of the mouth of the cave. Immediately they chased after Qorrg's captor. When the silence spell dissipated, they could hear Qorrg's screams as he struggled against the monstrous tentacles.

  So much for stealth, thought Jozan as he clambered down the hill. A vinelike tendril stuck out of the cave entrance and Jozan immediately recognized that there were eyes on the end of the stalk. He smashed it with his mace and praised Pelor as some of the monster's life-fluid splashed out.

  Alhandra was right beside him. Her sword glistened and whistled toward the same spot where Jozan had just struck the monster, slicing away portions of flesh as neatly as a fishmonger might filet his catch. But she involuntarily took a step back as the bloated rock dweller lifted its great jaws out of the cave entrance.

  "It's an otyugh!" shouted Jozan. "These," he said, pointing to the tendrils, "are just part of the monster!" He shook his head to clear the putrid smell of garbage and feces that permeated the air. "We have to cut Qorrg free!" he shouted.

  The monster tightened its tentacles around Qorrg and caused the orc's gray skin to take on a paler cast, like the color of white marble.

  Jozan stood with mouth agape as he stared at the monster's toothy jaws. He swung his mace at the vinelike appendage, but was so distracted by the size of the beast's mouth that he might as well have been dancing as fighting. Indeed, he danced nimbly out of the way of a swiping tentacle.

  The cleric was relieved to see Alhandra's blade slash into the stalk once again. She leaped back and nearly retched from the horrid stench. He held his own breath and smashed his mace repeatedly against the otyugh's limb. Still he heard the monster's teeth scr
ape noisily down Alhandra's armor.

  Both Jozan and Alhandra fought with desperate speed. They were certain Qorrg was dying, and that added fury to their blows. Jozan smashed a protruding eyestalk at the same time that the creature's tentacle raked across his face and ripped a bloody gash.

  Through the blood running into his eyes, Jozan saw Alhandra launch a flurry of blows. She sliced off the remaining eyestalk, slashed a bloody V across the horrid lips, and plunged the tip of her sword through the roof of the obscene mouth when it opened wide to suck in air. At last the malodorous body collapsed, half inside and half outside its lair.

  Jozan immediately knelt to tend Qorrg's wounds and encouraged Alhandra to follow suit by laying on her hands. With bandages and prayers, the orc was brought back to a semblance of health. Only then did the three venture over the top of the hill to rejoin their comrades in arms.

  As they crested the hill, they saw Krusk running toward Yddith with the wounded slave woman in his arms. Bounding after the barbarian, excited by the abundance of freshly spilled blood, was a shadow mastiff. Alhandra drew her longbow from off her back. She preferred fighting with the sword, but neither Krusk nor Yddith could wait for her to get that close.

  With the arrow already nocked, Alhandra heard Jozan's voice and felt a scintillating wave of well-being wash over her. She smiled, knowing that Jozan had blessed her, and she sent the arrow winging toward the mastiff. The tip buried itself in the creature's haunch as the evil beast snapped at Krusk's calf. The delay gave Krusk time to place the wounded slave in Yddith's hands before turning himself to face the mastiff.

  Alhandra let fly with another arrow and watched it narrowly miss the beast. But she had a third arrow on its way by the time Krusk drew blood with his axe. The mastiff howled as Krusk pulled back his axe, matted with blood and fur. Just as Alhandra's arrow wedged itself in the hound's ribs, it pounced on Krusk and knocked the barbarian down.

  As the shadow mastiff tore into Krusk with fang and claw, Alhandra didn't hesitate. She dropped the bow and sprinted toward the monster. Krusk tried to throw the creature off, but it bit onto his arm and held on tenaciously. With a single, powerful slash, Alhandra sliced the beast in half with her sword. Its body turned to shadows and shimmered into non-existence as it returned to its home in Baator.

  "Well, well," observed Jozan as he walked up to the paladin and returned her bow. The cleric looked at the ground where the shadow mastiff had fallen and continued his thought. "We've already bearded the lion. We might as well visit his den."

  "Are you sure that isn't his den of iniquity?" asked Alhandra with a lightness in her voice that she hadn't felt since they left Pergue.

  20

  Calmet's sing-song chant echoed as he spread mud along the back wall of the tunnel and felt his fingers penetrate the rock as easily as if he were a potter working clay on his wheel. Calmet performed this ritual twice per day for the last few days and still they had not managed to open up the chamber that held the sacred shrine. Time was running out. The mineral walls gave way to mud and Calmet watched in rapt appreciation as he pushed his way through the stone. He savored the way his fingers felt as the power coursed through them and allowed him to shape the rock.

  Then, something felt different. His fingers were no longer massaging the rock and shaping a passage. They had reached through the stone and touched nothing but air.

  The cleric plunged forward. He chanted at a feverish pace. His hands moved as rapidly as possible and soon shaped a human-sized doorway. Calmet tried to motion to the guards that he had broken through into the sacred chamber, but he didn't dare speak lest he unwittingly break the spell. The guards were too stupid to realize what he was indicating, or too unobservant to notice that he had broken through. Calmet continued to widen the passageway as he wondered what they would find on the other side of the tunnel. Eventually, he felt the cavern walls harden and noted that the mineral appearance had returned. He briefly admired the size of the entry he had sculpted, then turned to face the idiotic guards who ignored his gestures and his progress.

  "Get the archprelate immediately," ordered the cleric. "He'll want to know. We've found the chamber. We've reached Scaun!"

  The guard left immediately, loping up the passage in such a way that Calmet knew he would slow to a walk as soon as he turned a corner and was out of Calmet's sight. The orcs were incredibly frustrating. Calmet and Laud had worked for almost two years to reach this point. Only a few days before it looked as if they might not reach the chamber before the solstice. It had taken brilliant inspiration on his part to pull victory out of the jaws of defeat, and Calmet couldn't wait to share the triumph with his friends and colleagues.

  Today is the solstice, he thought, and there is plenty of time to repair and prepare the sanctuary before sunset brings Gruumsh's avatar to life.

  Of course, there was only one thing wrong with Calmet's desire to share the moment, to savor the triumph. There was really no one to share it with. Certainly, he could share the moment with Laud, but the archprelate was his superior. He expected success. Laud went through pupils like Balor went through slaves to satisfy his appetite for fresh blood. He might praise Calmet, but the apostate cleric's achievement was really nothing more than Laud expected. That was the problem with the worship of Gruumsh. The one-eyed god taught only the imperative of power, the superiority of strength. Friendship was weakness. Weakness was to be purged.

  Calmet had really never thought about it before, but at times he felt cheated. He had been so focused on gaining power and reaching this goal that he left behind the camaraderie of the order. He sacrificed human relationships, friendship, and love on the altar of power as surely as his eye had been sacrificed to Gruumsh. It almost gave credence to that Peloran passage…

  "How did it go?" Calmet asked himself. "I think it was something like:

  "Though I ascend the highest hill, my failure to touch those in the valley can leave me as a wisp of wind or fleeting breath.

  "Though I rule the masses, failure to hear the lowest peasant gives me bombastic speech and meaningless stutter.

  "Though I hold the gold of a thousand kingdoms in my hand, unwillingness to staunch the pangs of hunger makes me bile and sputum.

  "If I command the use of all weapons such that I win every battle, and know arcana such that I comprehend all mysteries, yet lack compassion, I stand defeated."

  Calmet stood on the threshold of his greatest triumph. He had climbed the highest hill, handled the gold of a thousand kingdoms, and won a number of battles. Yet he stood alone. He stood alone and waited for his enemy and mentor to express his approval.

  Oh, Pelor, thought Calmet, why did you forsake me?

  Waiting on the threshold of his greatest triumph, Calmet almost thought that a voice answered him. A calm, soothing voice seemed to speak directly to his mind.

  Why, dear Calmet, did you forsake me?

  The apostate touched his empty eye socket and felt tears well up in his other eye. He had forsaken Pelor because the god of goodness, healing, and the sun allowed him to lose his eye. He had forsaken the god who taught love and compassion because that god showed no love and compassion for him. The tender moment passed and Calmet, like an emperor of long ago, hardened his heart.

  Laud turned the corner surrounded by a retinue of slaves and the guards chosen to keep them in line. Behind the slaves was another group of guards and two familiar shapes. Laud had brought two of his monstrosities with him. He held his crosier before him, and the staff glowed with the mossy green light of Gruumsh. Laud nodded to Calmet as a token symbol of approval, but rushed quickly past him in order to take in the long-neglected shrine. His light shone around the chamber, and even the archprelate's breath caught as he realized the severity of the desecration that had occurred within.

  It looked as if one of the clerics associated with the southern kingdoms had invoked an earthquake in the chamber. A rockslide had destroyed the ceremonial door and filled the passageway that led upward to
the little village of Scaun. The southerners had defaced a mural depicting the classic battle wherein the elf god, Corellon Larethian, mutilated Gruumsh's left eye. A pile of colored shards rested on the cavern floor where they had been scraped off the mural. Only the portion showing the bloody eye remained, the desecrators' not so subtle way of showing that the forces of good had once more injured the so-called god of strength. Looking around the carved cornices that once rimmed the top of the cavern, he quickly noticed two places where the desecrators smashed the stone into rubble. Since there was an admonition against weakness carved into the cornice, it didn't take much effort to see that the damage had deliberately excised the name of Gruumsh himself from the carving.

  The archprelate turned his attention to the rubble in the center of the room. He reached out with his hand and wiped away some of the loose sand and small rocks from what he suspected to be the statue's head. Seeing the tip of Gruumsh's center eye, he hurriedly brushed more dirt and stone aside. Satisfied, he turned around and shouted instructions to slaves and guards alike. With clean-up operations under way, he turned to speak to Calmet for the first time since the chamber was opened.

  "Well done," Laud said with exaggerated enthusiasm. "We'll clean up the rubble immediately. You will climb onto those rocks over there and use your power to shape stone to replace Gruumsh's name in the carving. I will clear the small passageway that opens to the sky."

  "As you wish, Your Potency," responded Calmet.

  "Then," the archprelate said, glaring at his minion, "you will stand behind my creations and make sure that your pupil and his friends do not disrupt the ritual."

  "My pupil?" choked Calmet.

  "Your pupil," affirmed Laud. "Jozan and his companions have breached the mouth of the mine and found their way to your inner sanctum. You didn't think I would begin such an important day without scrying the complex, did you? I have sent two of my creations to distract them. If they fail, you will need to hold them off till sunset."