D&D 02-The Living Dead Page 5
Judging from their appearance, these vultures were dead.
The horrid, flapping creatures immediately set upon Diir, who whirled and sliced at his attackers with his short sword. Two twitching, feathered corpses splattered to the ground in four pieces, but the rest fled, screeching through torn throats.
"Where is the other?" the wolf's master snarled in the lupine tongue.
"Elf with burning tooth," the wolf growled in reply. "Tooth bites head. Burns my neck."
"The elf escaped?" the master asked.
"Yes," the wolf admitted, "but it says word."
"What word?"
"Elf-talk," the wolf replied.
"I see." The figure on the carved stone throne clasped its hands and concentrated in the orange glow of torches, then placed two bony fingertips on the wolf's ears.
"Speak," the wolf's master commanded in Elvish.
The wolf barked and growled in an approximation of the ancient language of the forests, though it did not comprehend how. "Elf says, 'Mialee'."
"Nothing else?"
"Nothing," the wolf barked.
The wolf's master turned to the tortured figure hanging from the wall. "Favrid, old friend," the master growled, "whatever have you been up to?"
The rest of the conversation became incomprehensible to the wolf as its master's spell faded, so the drooling creature busied itself with the delectable pool of scarlet blood collecting beneath the master's prisoner.
Devis's jaw dropped. Before him stood a tiny gnome, small even by the standards of her own people. She held a silver crescent, the mirror image of the icon atop the temple, in two shaking fists. Sweat covered the gnome's dark face and she gasped for air like she'd just run ten leagues.
From the darkness behind the gnome, a lithe, familiar figure stepped into the light. She wore what looked like a gnome-sized set of golden robes that scintillated in the morning sun, and a raven was perched on each dusky shoulder.
"Devis," Mialee said.
"Um, hi," Devis offered lamely.
"Did you see it, Mialee?" the gnome interrupted. "Only a true servant of the Protector could have done that. I turned the undead! I saved the temple!"
To Devis's surprise, Diir suddenly joined the conversation.
"Mialee," he said to the elf woman, and bowed deeply.
"Yes, she's Mialee," the larger of the two ravens, Mialee's familiar, replied. "Who are you?"
"He doesn't know," Devis cut in. "It's a long story. What happened to you?"
"What happened to you?" the wizard shot back.
"In fact, I got locked up in the—"
"Excuse me," the gnome interjected. "Perhaps we should move inside. I don't know what those things did to my kitchen, and who knows when they'll decide to come back?"
"I haven't eaten this well in days, Zalyn," Devis said as he soaked up the last of his stew with a piece of fresh bread. "Remind me to slip something into the offering box on my way out."
"Thank you, Zalyn. It was wonderful," Mialee said
"Good," blurted Diir. "Thanks."
The gnome scuttled over to the low table with a teapot nearly twice the size of her head and filled four cups. "It's a pleasure," Zalyn said with pride. "It's rare that I get a chance to make anything out of the ordinary, if you take my meaning, especially for guests."
"They don't know what they're missing," said Devis.
Zalyn blushed and returned to her bubbling pots.
A corner of Mialee's mind went over what Darji had told her. She found it difficult to believe the familiar's bizarre story. The raven had accompanied Favrid from the southern deserts after Favrid discovered something that agitated him greatly. Darji said she didn't understand what the discovery was, but it had something to do with a tomb, another contrived prophecy, and a battle Favrid had fought in long ago.
Darji and Favrid had traveled north with a caravan of traders to an elven village nestled in the forest, a place called Silatham. Devis scoffed at the idea of the mythical lost outpost, but didn't say much more. His eyes almost flashed gold as Mialee saw him mentally calculate how much the location of a lost legend could be worth to the right people.
Favrid and his familiar visited the halflingTent City Devis had told her about earlier and explored into the Morkeryth ruins. Darji remembered nothing between entering the ruins and waking up in the temple.
Mialee still wasn't sure what to make of the bard. She found him pleasant enough, but she also suspected his motives. Devis didn't strike her as the sort of man who did anything without expecting a return.
This other elf, Diir, was a baffling mystery. His accent, when he bothered to speak at all, reminded her of the dignified speech of a royal court.
He had hardly said another word since calling her by name. Mialee took a sip of Zalyn's tea and decided it was time to pry a little more information out of the reticent elf. With Darji's memory blanked out, Diir might be her only link to Favrid. Mialee hated not knowing what was going on.
She decided on a direct approach. "Diir," she said, "you seem to know who I am, but I don't believe we've ever met. Do you know Favrid?"
The elf frowned. When he spoke, he pronounced each word deliberately, as if trying it out for the first time. "Favrid. Old elf, Mialee?"
Mialee nearly choked on her herbal tea. "Yes! An old elf! Do you know him?" she demanded. Devis and Zalyn both stopped what they were doing and looked expectantly at Diir.
"Don't know," the elf said, frustration showing, "Don't know anything...useful. Just old man. Said find Mialee."
"So you saw him recently?" Mialee pressed.
"Yes," Diir replied. "I remember the old man." The more he spoke, the more easily the words seemed to come. His accent remained strange, however. "And...a thing. Bony. Red eyes, and voice like knives."
The wizard shook her head. "He can't be dead. Darji couldn't talk to us if he was dead."
"You ran?" Devis jumped in again. "Diir, I haven't known you for long, but you don't strike me as the type to run from anything."
"Didn't want to. It...something..." The elf dug for the right word. "Compelled me," he finished, rolling the word over his tongue and casting a glance at Zalyn. He turned intently to Mialee, who was surprised at how agitated the quiet man had become. "I did not want to run. But when he told me to go...."
"It wasn't your fault, Diir," said Mialee, while Devis blinked at the flood of words from his taciturn companion. "I think you may have been enchanted. Favrid commanded you."
"If you'll pardon me, Mialee," Zalyn said over her shoulder, "I don't see what the mystery is. Your old teacher was having trouble and needed your help."
"But why me?" Mialee said. "I'm a neophyte compared to some of the mages he consorts with."
"Perhaps he didn't need someone powerful," Zalyn replied gently. "Perhaps he simply needed someone he could trust."
Trust. Mialee felt a warm wave of shame wash over her features, and she blushed. The realization of her selfishness over the past couple of days hit her full in the face like a cart full of bricks. Despite the obvious and immediate threat of the undead, she'd been more concerned with Favrid's bad manners, the long journey he'd demanded of her, and his failure to keep a schedule.
Devis spoke next. "Well, I've heard enough," he said, pushing back from the table and rising to his feet. "Mialee, you need to find this old man, and you need a guide. I told you before, I know that area, and it can be risky. Diir, are you with us?"
The elf nodded.
Mialee had a thought. "Diir, do you know if Favrid cast any other spells on you besides the one that compelled you to find me?"
"Don't know," the elf said in his peculiar accent, shrugging. "Didn't know he cast the first one."
"What are you thinking, Mialee?" Devis asked, turning back from the window. "Did Favrid enchant Diir's sword?"
"Maybe," Mialee said without looking at the bard. "Or maybe it's something more than that. Diir, may I cast a simple spell of magical detection on you?"
Mialee waved her hands with a brief series of sharp, quick motions and softly whispered, "Hinual, lerret."
"Wish I'd thought of that," Devis muttered.
The spell opened her senses gradually to the presence of magic in the area. Mialee coaxed the effect around Diir.
The elf's short sword glowed blood red in her altered vision. Mialee did her best to explain to the others what she was seeing. "Strong conjurative magic in the sword," she reported. "Maybe some type of bane. And something else..." she trailed off.
Another magical field, so faint she'd almost missed it, suffused the elf's entire body. The intensity of the field was most powerful in and around Diir's head, but traces of it glowed softly from the elf's head to his boots.
The magic was transmutative. Something had recently altered Diir at the most basic level, but the job hadn't quite been completed.
The elf's head, inexplicably, was made of something different from the rest of his body.
"Mialee, what is it?" Zalyn asked.
The wizard let the spell lapse. She'd learned all she could from it.
"What did you see?" Devis asked.
Mialee ignored the bard and placed a hand on Diir's shoulder. "Diir, I'm not sure how to explain it," she said, "but I think part of your head is made of, well, stone."
Devis laughed uncontrollably and had to hold himself up on a chair. "Stone is a stone? Are you serious?"
Mialee stared at him. "Completely," she said, turning to look Diir in the eye. "I'm not saying it makes sense," the wizard explained, "but I can only think of two possibilities—either someone or some thing is trying to turn you into your namesake—"
"Or?" Diir asked.
"Or you were once turned to stone, and whoever changed you back didn't quite finish the transformation," said Mialee. "I said it didn't make much sense. I've seen statues come to life before, and never once has one of them demanded to know who it was."
Mialee swept her gaze around the room and finally let her eyes meet with the bard's. "I'll take you up on your offer, Devis. Diir, if you'll still join us, there's a chance we can restore your memory, if Favrid survives. The spell is beyond my skill, but that old man has forgotten more arcane art than the Blue Order ever knew."
Diir nodded.
Devis sobered. "It's going to be dangerous, Mialee," he said with no hint of teasing or jest. "Is this old man worth it?"
"I'm through worrying about myself. I've been doing far too much of that lately," Mialee said, strapping her rapier to her belt. She picked up her traveling pack and slung it over her shoulders.
Zalyn emerged from the kitchen with a clank of vials and scurried about the room handing each of them a pack of still-warm rations. "We'll need something to eat, I imagine," she said.
"Zalyn, who will look after the temple?" said Mialee.
A flutter of wings made all of them start, and two ravens lit on Mialee. "I would be honored, Zalyn, to look after the affairs of the Temple of the Protector." Zalyn blinked as the bird actually approximated a bow.
"Biksel, no offense, but that's ridiculous," said Devis. "You can't even lift the lid on the offering box."
"Is somebody talking?" Biksel cawed. "Mialee, Darji and I may be small, but I resent the implication that we would be unable to summon help should a gang of bandits storm the temple." The raven cocked an eye at the gnome. "The front door, that's a permanent spell, isn't it?"
"What? Oh, yes. Completely automatic. Opens right up for anybody who wants to enter," Zalyn offered. "Well, that's not entirely true. There's all kinds of wards and protections against ghouls, vampires, wild animals, the constable—"
"Biksel," said Mialee, "I need you."
"I won't be far," the raven said. "But you know I would be more of a hindrance than a help. I do not speak selfishly when I say my death at a critical moment could impact you strongly enough to get you killed. You may not be able to protect me, and therefore you may not be able to protect yourself."
"He really can handle this place for a day or two, I'm sure of it, Mialee," Zalyn said.
"Yes, you must stay here, Biksel," said a female voice that was not Mialee's. Darji flapped from Mialee's shoulder and lit on the windowsill next to Devis. "And I must go with them."
"Out of the question," Biksel squawked.
"She's right," Mialee said. "She's our connection to Favrid."
"Mialee, I choose freely to accompany you, and in return I ask only one thing. If I become...if I revert to an animal state," the little raven chirped, "you will turn back. We know there are things in Morkeryth worse than vultures or wolves. You warned me of the creature you faced in the tavern. If Favrid is dead...."
"If that happens, Darji, I promise I will consider it. But I'm not the only one with a voice in this." She lifted a hand to indicate the rest of the assembled group. "Diir's got rocks in his head. Zalyn serves the Protector. Devis will rob the temple blind if we don't take him with us."
"Hey," Devis said.
"You would."
"Oh, dear," Zalyn said, and dropped her leather bag to the floor with a jingle of vials as she dashed back into her kitchen. The gnome began flinging cupboards open, muttering to herself.
"Zalyn?" Devis called. "I think we have plenty of rations. More than plenty," he added. He held a hand to his stomach, where two extra helpings of pepper stew were exacting vengeance.
"No," Zalyn shouted. "No!"
The gnome ran back into the dining room, clutching a piece of yellow parchment. "What you said about serving the Protector, it reminded me. The brothers, they left this note. 'If something happens so disastrous that you must flee, find us in Silatham'."
"Silatham," Diir said. "We'll pass right by it on the way to the mountain. I'm sure of it."
"Yes!" Zalyn said, running over to the elf and pushing the parchment under his nose. "Like the bird said, an elf village, down south of Morsilath in the deep woods. Very mysterious. Don't seem to like other people. But it's just a stone's throw from Morkeryth, as I understand. You know it?"
"I do," Diir said. "I think it's my home."
Devis blinked at Diir's casual revelation. "Home?" the bard asked. Diir might as well have announced he was a bugbear.
"If there's trouble involving the dead things, the brothers have to know about it." Zalyn shivered. "Maybe they already do. If there's something out there stronger than all the brothers combined..."
"We'll find out," Mialee said.
"Yes, find out," Biksel said. "I wish to assume my post, and the five of you are cluttering up the Temple of the Protector."
The rat on his shoulder chattered into the wight's ear. A wicked grin spread over the leathery gray countenance, and red eyes flashed with fire. Wiry hair flew back behind his head and tattered robes flapped as the mine car sped down the long-abandoned shaft.
The tracks on the long tunnel would carry the wight underground, far north of his mountain prison. A thousand years ago, carts like this ran from mines on the south slope of Morsilath all the way to Dogmar. After his defeat a millennium ago, the tunnels had been sealed off several miles south of the town, but no one had bothered or dared to block the southern ends of the tunnels.
It had taken Cavadrec only a few centuries to learn that his imprisonment was not complete. His enemies had woefully underestimated the wight's patience, to say nothing of the power hidden deep inside Morsilath.
"Very good," Cavadrec told the hollow-eyed rodent. "You and your kin have brought the first generation of our wightling horde into being."
The last word whistled from the wight's hissing mouth in the strong wind. The rat squeaked a reply in rat-talk and scrambled down the back of the wight's torn rags to leap into the darkness.
Cavadrec twisted his head around one hundred and eighty degrees to watch the rat land violently on the tracks and roll like a furry sausage until it tumbled to a stop. Such a feat would have left an ordinary animal smeared o
n the floor of the long tunnel, but Cavadrec's pets were made of sterner stuff.
The wight stretched out a sinewy arm. A gnarled staff of black wood snapped from the floor of the cart into his open hand. He turned the head of the staff so that the empty sockets of the skull atop the staff stared into his own red eyes. Cavadrec hissed an invocation.
He felt his consciousness split. Half of Cavadrec's mind left his body and stretched south, racing through miles of rock and spreading into the roiling waters of the river Mormsilath. A primitive reptilian mind welcomed its master's presence.
Cavadrec settled into the brain of the creature and a dark, hulking shape left the floor of the riverbed in a swirl of green-brown silt.
The infestation of Silatham was only the beginning. Now, he needed just a few random travelers snatched from the busy road.
"Devis, the sun's past noon. What are you doing out there?" Mialee shouted into the woods. She stood along the dirt road that cut through the thick evergreen forest of Silath. She sighed and gazed with frustration at the sky. Only a few dozen yards to their south, a wide, wooden bridge arched over the river Mormsilath. The roar of rushing water filled the air, and cool mist twinkled with tiny rainbows in the sun. The clouds had burned off completely.
Zalyn and Diir stood packed and ready to cross the bridge, both as able as they'd been just a few hours ago. It was their second day on the road.
"Just a minute!" Devis whispered theatrically. Mialee guessed he was maybe twenty feet away. "And keep it down! Don't you know there are wolves in these woods?"
"I can barely hear you," the wizard called back. She briefly considered whether to send Darji after the bard to make sure he hadn't walked into a wolf trap.
Mialee sighed and shifted in her new clothing. She hoped it would stop pinching soon. The robe didn't fit yet, but it was getting there. The long branches of magically treated athel wood forming the ribs of the protective garment would slowly curve to fit her body, but needed a little more time.
The robe was over two thousand years old, Zalyn had told her, and belonged to one of the dozens of legendary heroes of the order. The outfit had been the first thing Mialee spotted when they ventured below the temple to the armory. She had seen a similar garment only once before, in a remote elf village far to the north where contact with other races was limited and metal was scarce. Curved plates of athel wood projected from the shoulders. The curious, lightweight fibers would supposedly bounce any blow off of Mialee and back at the attacker. The high collar, also made of athel, would block a blade aimed at her throat, while athel-sapling ribs in the corset-like lower section protected her below the neck.