Heurist was crouching before the grotesque statue, his hands pressed to the floor on either side of his face.
Finian glanced at Sir Brin. The knight's face was terrified, his eyes - fully as large and round as platinum Royals - stared up at the face of Zagaroth.
The ranger took a step nearer the supplicant Heurist.
As the echoes faded away down the passages, the statue's eyes ground closed.
It was now or never...
Finian thrust out his torch, touching it to Heurist's robe. The fabric didn't catch immediately, but the man rolled awkwardly onto his back trying to get away from the flames. His scream of pain was very loud in the still tomb.
It was not so loud, however, that it drowned out Sir Brin's angry bellow as he rushed forward with his sword at the ready.
Finian had time to bring his sword around to counterattack, but his swing sailed harmlessly over the knight's bald head. His opponent's glowing shortsword however, came in low and fast, slicing him painfully in the left knee.
Heurist seized the opportunity to roll out of reach of the Archer's torch.
The knight was far quicker than Finian thought he'd be, and he swung again with the shortsword before the ranger could bring either his sword or torch to bear. The point of the glowing weapon sliced open a gash in the half-elf's forehead. If he'd been a fraction slower, the blade would likely have split his skull open. As it was blood began to instantly stream into his eyes.
"I'm going to enjoy zis, dog!" Sir Brin snarled at him.
Finian stabbed outward with his sword, aiming beneath the knight's shield at his exposed legs. Sir Brin brought his sword down quickly to parry the blow, but the weapon was position poorly to take the brunt of Finian's attack. Metal clashed on metal, and with a flash of green fire, Sir Brin's sword snapped in twain!
The knight stared dumbly at the hilt and half-foot of obsidian blade that remained in his hand. Glowing green magic seemed to be bleeding from the broken end of the sword.
"No..." he breathed without much conviction.
Finian followed up with a swing from his torch, while the knight was distracted, but the blood in his eyes made the blow go harmlessly awry.
Sir Brin looked up at the half-elf, his face seething with emotion an instant before he turned and ran for the tunnel leading out.
Finian took a swing at his back, but missed.
The knight paused at the tunnel mouth and shouted, "Ve'll meet again, dog!"
Finian listened to his boots echoing away down the corridor, knowing that he had little hope of catching him with his wounded knee.
The crack of a whip to his left drew his attention back to his other opponent.
Heurist brought his scourge back for another swing as Finian turned. The man had thrown back his hood, revealing the face of horror itself. The ranger was glad for the blood clouding his vision, he didn't wish to have too clear a view of that diseased visage.
"Aid me, o Aphyx, in despoiling this infidel," he said. His eyes were locked on Finian's, his mouth curled into an obscene grin. Some viscous black fluid was trickling down his cheek.
Finian hobbled closer, swinging his sword expertly at the diseased man. The blade opened a wound in Heurist's right shin just below the knee. Instead of crying out, he laughed crazily.
His hand darted out and grabbed the ranger's swordarm and Finian felt an icy surge of energy roll through his body. Once it reached his head and knee, it flared. Pain exploded from those points and he could think of nothing but the unceasing agony.
He lurched backward, out of Heurist's grip, but it didn't help. The pain was overwhelming; he'd never felt anything so horrible. Sword and torch fell from his hands as he collapsed. He writhed there, unable to do anything else as the robed priest kicked his longsword out of reach.
"Do you hear me, infidel?" he asked, his voice loud but conversational. "I knew that we could trust you little more than I could trust the anti-paladin."
He snorted and shook his head.
"The coward," he went on. "Fleeing at the first sign of trouble. But no matter; I still have you."
The ranger tried to speak and found that he didn't have enough control over his body to form words. The agony was too great.
"I could kill you now in any number of ways," Heurist said, brushing a small beetle off his lips. "But I feel certain that there are still dangers to face before I reach the Scrolls. I'd prefer it if you faced those dangers first."
He looked off down the hallway into the darkness.
"We'll find Mogrelden interred at the right hand of Zagaroth," he said. "Will you live and aid me further, or shall I kill you now? The choice is yours."
"I- I-" Finian managed to groan.
"Shall I take that as a yes?" the man asked. The ranger nodded.
"Excellent," Heurist said and waved his hand. "Now get up."
Instantly, the pain vanished. The relief was incredible, and Finian collapsed on the cold stone tiles, his breath coming in ragged little gasps.
"What...," he breathed. "What in the name of Ilmatar's tears did you do to me?"
"I did nothing," the man replied with a look of embarrassment on his pustulating face. "I merely opened your eyes to your place at the end of the day. It is the only reward that comes at the end: the pain of death."
Finian sat up stiffly and fished in his pouch for some woundwort. He crumpled the leaves and pressed them against his forehead. He could feel the healing burn almost at once.
Heurist shook his head.
"You infidels fritter away your time fighting against the inevitable," he said. "Staving off disease, stoppering up the holes that your pathetic bodies develop. You should embrace the coming end. Take Aphyx's gifts as I have... and be free."
The ranger looked at the pock-marked man and grimaced. He continued to bind his wounds as best he could.
"What did the statue say?" he asked in an effort to change the subject.
"I don't know," Heurist replied. "Much of the Hightongue is lost to us. But it spoke of Mogrelden and the goddess."
The ranger got to his feet and walked over toward his sword.
"Do we wait for Brin to return?" he asked.
"I imagine that Sir Brin is very far from here by now," Heurist told him with a shake of his dripping head. "We'll continue on alone."
Finian picked up his sword and looked at first it and then Heurist.
The man smiled menacingly.
"The touch of pain is but one gift I have to offer," he said. "Many of the others are far less pleasant."
He pointed his scourge down the passage and waited for Finian to take the point.
"This way," he said. "You may lead."
After about 25 paces, another hallway headed off the one they were in. It cut away to the right, leading deeper into the tomb. The air seemed very heavy. Dead.
"Down there," Heurist informed Finian, urging him onward with a sweep of his scourge.
After another 25 paces along the new corridor, they found a wooden door set in the left-hand wall. Straight ahead, however, was a massive set of iron doors, carved similarly to the entrance of the tomb itself. Twisted faces frozen in iron wailed out at the ranger.
"Here it is!" the robed man said, pointing at the double doors. "Open them!"
Finian approached the valves, looking again for any obvious traps. As before, he found none and hesitantly grabbed the large pull ring being careful to avoid the barbed iron spikes. No jolt of electricity shot through his body. No jets of flame sprang from the screaming mouths. No darts pierced his flesh. Throwing his body backward, he strained against the weight of the huge door.
It groaned open on its protesting hinges, releasing the stench of the grave from the room beyond.
Finian choked on the odor and looked inside. He had no time to study the room, however. He could immediately see several skeletons advancing from the chamber's darkness. Their bones were a sickly green color and thick yellow fluid drooled from their unnaturally long teeth and claws.
"What shall we do?" Finian asked, standing ready in the doorway. He waved the torch defensively at the deformed skeletons but they advanced unafraid.
Finian could now see a rank of shambling zombies moving in the darkness beyond the skeletons.
Heurist reached inside his robe and produced the iron symbol of Aphyx - a rat's skull surrounded by a snake eating its own tail. He held it aloft and his voice boomed.
"Twist these foul creatures to my will, o Aphyx!" he cried. "Do not let the undead stand between me and your glory!"
The row of skeletons faltered and broke ranks. Only one continued to advance menacingly.
Heurist pointed at it and commanded: "Protect me, my minions! Let not one blow find its mark!"
The ranger watched, dumbfounded, as the other five skeletons leapt obediently on the first. It disappeared under a flurry of slashing claws and gnashing teeth.
Behind the clattering pile of bones, the zombies continued to move forward. However, as Finian watched, one of them grabbed another and drew it close. It began to bite its fellow on the shoulder, drawing it down limply to the ground. The sight was hideous.
"You deal with the zombies," Heurist said to Finian, moving along the wall to the right. Finian saw that he still had his holy symbol clutched in his hand. He was mumbling a prayer as he went, "Shield me from the eyes of my enemies, o Aphyx. Let not the undead see what I must do."
The ranger's first thought was to run. The tunnel out lay open behind him. He felt fairly certain that he'd have to face Sir Brin if he made it outside, however. And he still didn't have the antidote necessary to save the others...
The first of the corpses shuffled forward, moving awkwardly, as if whatever had animated it had done an incomplete job. It reached out for him, its lips pulled back from its teeth.
Finian thrust his sword into the thing's gangrenous chest while sweeping low with his torch to try and knock it off balance. Both blows struck easily; his sword sunk halfway through the creature like it was made of rotted cheese.
The zombie didn't seem to notice.
Its arms flailed, trying to lock Finian in an embrace. Its brown teeth snapped open and shut in front of his face.
The Archer cried out and pushed the thing away, freeing his blade. It fell back, behind the others, and two more came in to take its place.
Again, he slashed out at his attackers, but one of the zombies' arms caused the blow to go wild. He slammed the torch into a second zombie, driving the shaft up through the creature's chin and into its skull.
The torch went out and the zombie collapsed.
There were still three of the walking dead before him. In the reduced light, he saw one of them trip and fall, another dropped to its knees, its arms locking around the ranger's right leg. Its teeth sank into his thigh. As he screamed, faltering, the third came at him; its mouth taking away a large piece of his ear.
They seemed to be everywhere!
He pushed away the creature that had bitten the point off his left ear and drove the pommel of his sword into its face. The thing's skull crumpled under the blow and it fell away.
He struck the other with the extinguished torch, snapping the shaft in half and caving in the corpse's brain cavity.
The head! That was where these creatures were vulnerable, he suddenly realized.
Tossing away the broken torch, he came at the third zombie. The creature was still picking itself awkwardly up from the ground. He bellowed and aimed for the head, but the corpse jerked away at the last moment and the blade sliced into its right shoulder.
Its arm fell wetly away from its body. The creature didn't seem to notice; it fell against Finian, grabbing him roughly around the waist, its teeth drawing blood from the Archer's side.
They fell back against the wall, and Finian was able to crack the thing's skull open with the pommel of his sword. It fell away, a vile green jelly oozing from the hole in its head.
Finian lay on his side, clutching weakly at the side of his head. He'd lost most of his left ear to the zombie's snapping teeth; that wound was by far the worst of them. Blood was trickling hotly through his fingers.
He fumbled for his herbs.
"Well done," Heurist said stepping forward. He held his torch in one hand and three large scroll tubes under his other arm. "I've secured the Scrolls long before the Time of Eyes!"
He laughed evilly, the sound echoing off the walls of the chamber. Finian could see the skeletons standing obediently behind the man.
The ranger winced as he applied herbs to his bleeding ear.
"We had a deal," he said weakly. "Sir Brin had the antidote to the poison. I am sure you know that is the reason I am helping you. I've fulfilled my part of the bargain; you have your scrolls. Are you going to be able to give me something to wake them up?"
"You poor pathetic infidel," Heurist said moving toward the door. "So long as the forces of light may be manipulated so easily darkness shall always prevail."
Finian started to point his sword at the man and the skeletons took a step forward in unison.
"Your friends are long dead," Heurist told him with a smile. "They've gone on to the reward that awaits us all at the end of the day: worms and maggots."
The ranger's jaw clenched with fury.
"You sick BASTARD!!" he screamed.
Heurist ignored him, turning his attention instead to the skeletons that stood between them.
"You three come with me," he commanded and three of the greenish undead marched to his side. "You two... make sure he doesn't leave this room!"
He laughed again and stepped out into the hallway, taking the only lightsource with him. Finian had a chance to see the silhouettes of the two malformed skeletons standing by the doors before the valves were pushed shut with a clang, sealing him up in utter darkness.
With the stench of death and his own blood strong in his nostrils.
Finian listened intently to the sound of footsteps fading away down the tunnel. When the sound was gone, he realized that he was alone. Only he wasn't really; two of those skeletons were standing watch near the door.
Or at least he guessed they were. He couldn't see anything!
He'd dropped the broken halves of his torch somewhere nearby, and his only hope for getting out of here lay in being able to see enough to fight. If these skeletons were vulnerable in the same way that the zombies were, he'd have to strike their heads. Without light, he had little chance of doing that.
Hell, without light, he had little chance of finding the door out of this room!
He began feeling around on the ground with his free hand. He encountered a pool of something wet nearby. Then his fingers touched the cold, spongy flesh of an inanimate zombie. He couldn't find either piece of his torch within arm's reach.
He had to move.
He got to his knees, hesitantly, prepared for one of the skeletons to launch itself at him any moment. He heard nothing however except his own wheezing breath.
He began to feel about in a semi-circle in front of himself, moving slowly and carefully on his hands and knees. His left hand danced across the icy stone tiles finding sticky patches and slimy spots, but no torch. His sword, he kept ready in his other hand.
The whole time he listened for the clattering of bony feet on the stone.
His heart was pounding in his throat, his breath was coming in ragged gasps. And the smell of the place was enough to make him want to vomit.
He held onto the thought that he had to make sure about Kirnoth and Ledare and Soriah. Were they really dead? Or was Heurist just lying for some perverse reason? Either way, Finian planned to track down Heurist and-
His questing hand found a short piece of wood. He picked it up and examined it with his hands. It was smooth and cylindrical and about half as long as his forearm. One end was broken, the other was tapered into a grip. There was something tacky encrusted around the splintered end. He could smell pitch quite clearly.
It was his torch!
He almost laughed out loud, but he managed to control it. He felt amidst his belongings and found his tinderbox. Then he quietly set his sword by his side and listened.
He still heard no sound of movement other than himself.
He lay the torch on the ground in front of himself and struck the steel to the flint once. It sparked brilliantly in the total darkness, exploding like a sun for an instant.
He listened again, but heard nothing.
Again he drew a spark then listened. Again he heard nothing. He struck again and this time the residue of pitch caught ablaze and a soft orange radiance began to fill the chamber. Picking up his sword, he held his torch aloft and looked around himself.
In the darkness, he had wandered farther into the chamber. The doors were behind him. He saw that there were indeed two skeletons standing motionless in front of the door. The unmoving bodies of the zombies he had dispatched lay at their feet. Near him were the shattered bones of the skeleton that had been attacked at Heurist's command; it had been reduced almost to dust by its fellows. Beyond that lay two more zombies locked in a final embrace. Both of their heads had been smashed and were bleeding green mucous.
The room itself was large, he could see now. Statues carved from the same black marble as the one Heurist had called Zagaroth supported the ceiling. These depicted a nude woman of unearthly beauty, however. Like Zagaroth, she carried a two-handed sword, point-down, her hands gripping the hilt. Huge bat wings arched up from her back, fusing above with the ceiling. A mound of skulls served the statue as a base. There was something unsettling to the ranger in the way her dark eyes seemed to be studying him.
Near the back of the room, he could see a raised dais with what looked like a sarcophagus atop it. Its stone lid lay in pieces beside it. From where he stood, he couldn't see what lay inside the coffin. To the left of the dais were what looked like clay urns, to the right was an iron box.
Finian looked back at the only doors. The skeletons were regarding him mutely, mindlessly following Heurist's order to prevent him from leaving. So long as he stayed away from the doors, however, they seemed content to leave him alone.
Still, his torch wouldn't last forever, and once the darkness set in, he'd be at a distinct disadvantage.
Finian limped toward the opened sarcophagus, glancing nervously up at the statues as he passed. There was something peculiarly unsettling about them. The woman depicted was beautiful - with curves that would make any nymph envious. But there was something cruel about the set of her eyes and mouth that made his heart turn to ice. The ranger didn't recognize the image, but he felt one thing was certain: any follower of light hadn't carved them.
Swallowing heavily, and trying to shake the feeling that the statues' eyes were following him, he approached the sarcophagus.
It was large, and carved with images of death and decay. Men and women were falling to the ground covered in boils. Skeletons walked among them. And above the disturbing scene, a woman's eyes stared down from heaven. The lid had been removed and cast off the side. It lay in two pieces, propped against the sarcophagus.
Finian looked once more over his shoulder. He could no longer see the door clearly on the far side of the room, but he felt confident that he could just make out the indistinct shapes of the two skeletons. They hadn't moved.
Experimentally, he stepped up on the dais. They still didn't move; reassured, he moved to the sarcophagus and looked inside.
The huge stone sarcophagus contained a smaller coffin of cedarwood. It was still a big coffin, but the body interred within - while large - was definitely human. Finian couldn't guess at the skeleton's gender, but he had little reason to doubt that this was Heurist's High Priestess, Mogrelden. She was dressed in plate mail armor of an antiquated style that was enameled in brown and green with accents of mustardy yellow. A holy symbol of Aphyx was inscribed across the breastplate. The skeletal right hand gripped a finely-tooled mace, while the left had been broken off at the elbow. The hand and forearm lay on the dais behind the sarcophagus. Undoubtedly, that had been where the Scrolls of Vector had been before Heurist tore them from Mogrelden's grasp. The skeleton head, laying on its bed of dry blonde hair, seemed to scream up at Finian.
The ranger recalled his battle with the skeletons at the necromancer, Poppof's house. His longsword had been of questionable use then. It had slipped too easily between bones rather than through them. He needed something that would smash bone rather than cut it.
Something like a mace, for instance.
He looked closely at the weapon gripped in Mogrelden's right hand. It was in excellent condition considering the length of time it must have been sealed up in a coffin. Its shaft was made of cedarwood, etched with what looked like a castle on the edge of the sea. Its head was round, made of a metal that Finian had never seen before, and studded all around with black marble spikes. It was a wicked-looking weapon; not the kind of thing that Finian would normally wish to carry around.
He looked at his torch, which was almost burned out, and decided that these were not normal times. If he didn't deal with those skeletons quickly, he'd be dealing with them in the dark.
He put his sword within easy reach and grabbed the footman's mace by the shaft. The skeletal hand didn't seem to want to relinquish the weapon, but with a final twist, Finian had it free. But now that he had it, he wondered how much help it would be - it felt way too light to be of much use as a weapon.
He swung it experimentally. It moved well, but it seemed so light...
He gathered up his sword and headed back toward the door. The greenish skeletons were still there to greet him. He kept edging toward them until he was within about ten feet of the closed doors; at that point the sentries clattered to attention, ready to advance. He stopped, put down his torch and drew his sword.
Taking one last cleansing breath he advanced on the skeletons with both weapons flashing in the dying light.
His opponents flashed out quicker, however. They leapt at him with a clattering charge. The one on his right was a trifle quicker and it blocked the other's attempts to land a blow. Its own claws however slashed outward almost too quickly for Finian to see.
Fresh pain exploded in his right bicep and knee.
He retaliated, but the pain in his swordarm caused him to miss the skeleton's head entirely. The mace struck it a glancing blow to the spine where its abdomen should have been.
It staggered backward, knocking into its fellow.
Finian seized the opening and struck out again with both weapons. His sword again went awry, slicing the air beneath his opponent's ribcage. His mace, however took a chip of bone away from the thing's left thigh.
Their claws darted in to try slashing his neck and chest, but he managed to avoid the blows. Flecks of the yellow slime that dripped from their fingers spattered across his armor.
He swung left with his sword, missing the creature's right arm. The mace followed up, however, smashing through the thing's ribs as though they were kindling. The skeleton immediately came apart, clattering into a pile of dry, green-tinged bones.
Distracted by his victory, the Archer failed to parry the low swipe of the second skeleton's claws. Its razor-sharp talons raked mercilessly across his groin.
Finian cried out. His vision had begun to cloud over, although he couldn't be sure if it was his eyes or the torch sputtering out behind him. Either way, he knew that he was in trouble.
He took a step backward, slashing at the remaining skeleton as he went. This time, it was the sword that found its mark, striking the skeleton in the left knee as it stepped forward to follow him. The mace, however went well wide of the mark.
The skeleton wobbled with the sword blow, missing its own attempt to slash the ranger's chest.
Finian swung the mace in a vicious arc, smashing not only through the skeleton's right arm, but its ribcage as well. It continued through the thing's brittle body, batting its pelvis away into the growing darkness of the chamber.
As the skeleton rained down in pieces, Finian almost did the same. He could barely stand. The pain in his groin was immense, dwarfing even his twice-wounded knee in intensity. His torch was almost out now, however. He had to get that door opened and get out or he'd be wandering the tomb in total blindness.
He sheathed his sword - which felt very heavy compared to the mace - and picked up the fitfully-burning torch. He quickly put his aching weight against the iron valve, and was rewarded with the door screaming open on its hinges.
He couldn't see Heurist or his skeletons anywhere in the hallway. There was a very feint radiance up ahead by which he could just make out the huge statue of Zagaroth at the end of the corridor.
He made for it, pain bursting throughout his ravaged body with each lurching step. The torch was offering little more than a feint glimmer of light now, no more than that which sifted in through the open door of the tomb.
Heurist had apparently left in quite a hurry, because he'd left the first door wide open. Finian passed between the two stone dogs and through the door like a zombie. His mind was focused on nothing but overcoming the pain that coursed through his body.
He began to feel feverish as he made his way through the rough-hewn tunnels that led out to the caravan stop. They seemed much longer on the way out, and he longed to stop and rest. He knew however, that he'd never get up again if he did, and he had little desire to die like a rat in a tunnel.
He made for the light, and eventually he came out into the cave where they'd spent the night of the earthquake. And then he did collapse.
He couldn't help it. The pain was too great.
He touched the claw wounds at his crotch and his fingers came away red with his own blood. He groaned, fighting back unconsciousness long enough to find his herbs.
He had a recollection of crumbling some dried leaves and rubbing them into his most painful wounds before the pain and his exhaustion overcame him and cool sweet darkness closed his eyes.
It had begun to rain slightly before dawn and it continued drizzling throughout the morning. A thick fog had come up with the first light and refused to be dispersed until well after noon. They rested little and rode hard, so it was several hours before sunset when they reached the caravan stop that they'd rested at two days before. It appeared to be unoccupied, and the cave mouth at the rear of the place was clearly visible.
There was no sign of Sir Brin or Heurist... or Finian for that matter. The rain had washed away any hope of finding tracks in the mud.
"Well," Kirnoth whispered nervously. "We're here. Now what?"
"I say we enter the cave," Soriah said. She dropped down from horseback with a loud ka-chink of scale mail. As she unstrapped her shield she added, "We only know this: they were looking for a shrine, which we assume is in this cave."
"I think it's safe to assume that if they're not in there now, they have been recently," Ledare added. She lowered herself gingerly to the ground. "We'll need light."
"I'll get a torch," Kirnoth threw in, sliding out of the saddle. He went to Finian's horse and began rummaging through the ranger's saddlebags, feeling a little like a ghoul as he did so. The ranger was as likely dead as alive, after all.
Soriah looked critically at the way Ledare was carrying herself. The afternoon sunlight winked off the horrible rent that the bandit's sword had left in the Janissary's breastplate. It served as a reminder of how close the half-elf had been to death just a few days before.
"Ledare?" the Battleguard began, her tone concerned. "How do you feel? Are you up for entering the cave?"
"Of course," the Janissary assured her. "I've strength enough to swing my sword. For now, that's enough. And don't worry, I'll try not to undo all your handiwork."
Soriah smiled at her and nodded.
"I say we go in and search for what is inside... and Finian," the cleric announced, turning to the cave entrance. As she studied the opening, she mouthed a quick prayer, "My Queen, kindly guide us and protect us with your light."
"I've got the torch," Kirnoth said. He held up the pitch-coated stick.
"Good," Soriah said. "I'll take the lead armed with Shield and Crescent Blade. You stand in the middle and light the way. Ledare, I suggest you take up the rear."
"Okay," the mage agreed and stepped up behind the cleric. Her armored bulk dwarfed his slim form.
"I will attempt to shield you, Kirnoth, with my shield if attacked," she said, looking at him intently. "I say we stay tight together and spread out if attacked. Any spells or cantrips you have: let's use them. Anything."
"Well, I am only a novice magic user, but I do know a magic missile spell," the elf confessed. "If it goes wrong, we will be in trouble. But I will try to insure it does not go wrong."
"We need a plan if separated," the Battleguard told them. "If separated, immediately go back to the entrance. Kirnoth, you be in charge of marking our way."
"I shall make rock piles periodically to mark our trail," the elf responded. "Unfortunately, I do not have a way for us to communicate if separated."
"Then I say we just don't get separated," Soriah said before turning once more to Ledare. "Are you up to this?"
"I am," the Janissary responded with a sharp nod of her head.
"Then let's go," Soriah said and began walking toward the cave mouth.
No one charged at them from the dark opening as they approached. No one leapt from the bushes that bordered the caravan stop. They paused at the entrance to light the torch, and then proceeded inside. Except for the Archer's body, the cave itself was empty.
Finian lay on his back a few paces from the dark opening in the back of the cave. A trail of blood marked the ground between that opening and the ranger's fallen form. His chest was moving with regular, even breaths, but he looked like death itself.
He was bloodied from over half-a-dozen wounds. A blood-soaked bandage was secured low across his forehead; his left ear was caked with dried blood flecked with hastily-applied herbs. His right arm had suffered a wound that had torn away a chunk of his protective leather. There were other rents in his tattered armor at his chest and groin. His right leg had suffered multiple injuries such that the armor on the thigh and knee was torn almost into strips. The exposed knee looked like uncooked meat peppered with more crumbled herbs.
A dark stain had spread from beneath his codpiece across the front of his trousers. It looked as though he had been tending to his wounded crotch when he'd lost consciousness, for he'd removed his swordbelt and one bloodied hand was pressing herbs into his groin.
An evilly-spiked mace lay within easy reach his other hand.
"Ledare help me with Finian!" Soriah barked. She cast off her shield and rushed to Finian's side all in one fluid motion. As she went she continued issuing commands. "Kirnoth, stand close to me but watch the cave mouth. If anything comes out - and I mean anything - shoot it with your magic missiles; we'll ask questions of it later."
Kirnoth nodded and moved into a position where he had a good view of both the dark opening in the rear of the cave and of Soriah as she went to work on the ranger. He watched her examine the half-elf's throat and head with the same gentle swiftness she had used when caring for Ledare. Her hands moved from temples to chest to groin to legs. When she was done, her hands were bloody, looking almost black in the torchlight.
She began wiping her hands on the Archer's already-stained cloak.
"Ledare, see if you can remove his armor," she said as she cleaned her hands.
The Janissary did as she was bade, setting aside her shield and sword to complete the task. Studded leather armor came off much easier than chain-and-plate, and with the quick loosening of a few straps, she had it removed. Soriah grabbed his tunic in both hands and ripped it in two with one firm tug.
The action revealed his pale torso and the wounds there. The claw marks to his chest looked superficial, but they already swelled with infection. The bite wound to his side was more severe, but it looked to be free of disease.
"We should give him the elixir!" Ledare said quickly. She could read the ranger's condition plainly in Soriah's face.
"I agree," Kirnoth interjected. "We should give him the elixir as that would be his will, and he would do it if he wakes up anyway."
Soriah shot him another of her crippling looks.
"I mean WHEN he wakes up, of course," the elf hastily said with a strained smile.
"We'll use the elixir," the Battleguard said firmly, "only as a last resort. I'll not be party to giving Finian something that could be poison... or worse."
The Janissary shook her head.
"I think you're making a mistake," she told the cleric. "You know he would have used it."
"I think he said that only because I am against it," the Battleguard replied, her hands continuing their inspection of the Archer's condition. She turned her scarred face to the Janissary and smiled half-heartedly. "That's his way. You know that as well as I."
Ledare placed the elixir on the ground beside the cleric, retrieved her sword and shield and stood up.
"Then I can be of no more help to you, Soriah," she said with a note of disapproval in her voice. She looked at Kirnoth and caught the elf's eye. "I think it would be wise to briefly look ahead to see where this path that was unearthed in the quake leads."
"Agreed," Soriah said without looking up from her work. "I say there is something about this cave we should know. I will stay to guard and tend to Finian."
"Leaving Kirnoth and I to briefly explore where the tunnel leads," Ledare said and slipped her shield onto her forearm. "Obviously we miscalculated its importance the first time and I suspect that whatever evil did this to Finian has gone on ahead to the ends of the tunnel."
"So you want to go in after it?" the mage asked incredulously. "We are not equipped to take on anything powerful, and therefore I believe we should quit while we are ahead. Our purpose was to rescue Finian. I believe we should all do what we can at this point to insure his safety."
"That is precisely the point of going into the tunnel," the Janissary replied. "I want to determine if it is safe to stay here."
"Well, I vote for finding a safe place to camp AWAY from the cave," the mage shot back.
"I would agree with the elf," Soriah said. "But Finian's in no shape to travel now, and he'll still be very weak when he does regain consciousness."
"If we follow the path and it leads to no one, then perhaps they have already been and gone," Ledare said to Kirnoth. "In that case, we can safely stay here tonight. If the men are still here - and we can determine this without being detected - then I say we get as far away from this place as we safely can given Finian's condition. We can come back some other time and explore further if need be."
"Couldn't we just make the best of it and take turns guarding both the entrance and the back?" Kirnoth asked. "Exploring is not a good idea considering how ill equipped we are for confrontation."
"If you do not wish to accompany me, that is your right," Ledare said drawing her longsword with a metallic hiss. Torchlight played keenly along the weapon's edge. "Give me a torch and I'll go on alone. You can examine the mace or help Soriah if you feel up to it."
Kirnoth frowned and shook his head. He reached for another of the torches he had packed and lit it off the first.
"I will accompany you," he said walking forward and thrusting the fresh torch into the ground near where Soriah tended to Finian. "I do not want you to go alone and it would take too long for me to examine the mace."
He cast a glance at the weapon as he walked passed. It was certainly shiny enough to be magical. Either that or it was newly polished. But it had a dangerous look about it that the elf didn't care for.
"Remember," Ledare cautioned as she stepped into the darkened tunnel followed closely by Kirnoth, "This is only for observation purposes."
The elf swallowed thickly and replied, "Oh, I'll remember."
Once they were gone, Soriah threw herself more completely into the task of binding the ranger's wounds.
The slash to his forehead was easy enough to treat. A few stitches and some salve would heal it in a few days. The same held true for the bite wounds to his side and right thigh. They were nasty, but it looked as though his armor had taken the bulk of the damage.
His other wounds were another matter.
A portion of his left ear had been bitten completely off, and Soriah knew from experience that none of her skills would be enough to erase that scar. He'd bear it for the rest of his life.
The clawmarks on his chest and right bicep looked minor, but they were swelled with infection. The area around them was an angry red color and exuded both a feverish heat and a foul-smelling puss.
His knee had suffered at least two injuries. One looked like a sword blow, the other was more claw scratches. Neither wound looked infected, but the joint itself was in very poor condition. A spot of bone shone whitely amidst the bloody pulp of his flesh.
The injury to his groin was also quite severe. A slash of claw marks had dug deeply into his lower belly, missing his genitals by less than half-an-inch. The patch of hair above them was matted with blood.
Soriah was surprised to find herself experiencing a touch of self-consciousness looking at the ranger's nakedness.
She quickly tore her eyes away and began to think only of the two moons.
"My, Queen, it is your daughter yet again," she began to pray. "I must... must beg of your kindness once again upon thy humble servant for I have failed yet again. I have trusted those that do not deserve trust. We were set upon by cursed evil. A man that rots as he walks along with a cursed guide crept into our midst and took advantage of our kindness. They stole mine friend to use for their purpose. I fear he is near death and beyond my own unskilled hands. He needs you, my Queen."
She reached out her hands and placed them on either side of the half-elf's head.
"I need you, my Queen," she went on "I need them all to help me in my quest to rid the evil that creeps. The evil that tried to steal my friend Ledare that you have already blessed, and I dare not ask for thy precious aid again, but I must. For if I do not, then I have failed you, I will not have served faithfully. I will be more steadfast in my resolve, I will smite all of the darkness that I face selflessly with sword and spell in order to serve you well. I need you again Mother, I need... him...."
She was aware of her hands growing warm and opened her eyes to see moonlight bathing Finian's face in a silver radiance. None of the injuries closed, but she saw the swelling go down in the three infected claw wounds.
"Thank you, my Queen," Soriah said with a smile.
She took the small vial that Ledare had left with her and looked at it. The green liquid within looked unhealthy - particularly with the red hairs floating around in it. She didn't think that giving it to him was a good idea, but he was still in poor condition even if he was free of infection.
"It was his will to use it," she said at last. "I will be recognizing his will by giving it to him."
She nodded and unstoppered the top. It came off with a pop and an unpleasant medicinal smell. She grimaced and considered his many injuries. His knee looked the worst, she decided and she poured a little of the green fluid onto the wound.
It bubbled instantly, foaming up to completely obscure the wound. It gave off a wisp of vapor before the foam subsided revealing the knee again. The joint had almost completely healed. A nest of fresh pink scar tissue marked the spot, but the wounds themselves were nearly gone.
Apparently, she'd been wrong to doubt The Hound.
She decided that the damage to his groin and ear were the next most severe. She repeated the process with both wounds with similar results. Four pink scars ran diagonally across his lower belly and his ear, while mangled severely, had completely healed over.
She looked at the empty vial and frowned. She wished she had another vial or two of the elixir; it was handy stuff and-
"Have you seen enough?" Kirnoth asked. He didn't much like being underground. He was more comfortable with a canopy of stars above him, not several hundred tons of rock.
"Look there," Ledare said, pointing to the passage north. Following her outstretched hand, the mage spotted a broken and charred torch laying near the tunnel mouth. Ledare crossed the muddy bank and retrieved the torch. She examined it and showed it to Kirnoth. Its shaft was marked with brownish stains.
"I think it's blood," Ledare told him grimly before casting it aside. "Come on."
The passage went on for less than thirty paces before it ended at an open door that was obviously designed to look like a blank rock face when closed. Beyond it the tunnel continued on for a half-dozen feet only to meet another open door. This one was large and made of iron with an enormous pull ring set in its center. Its outer surface was covered with hundreds of wicked spikes and etched runes of a type that neither explorer had ever seen. Interspersed amidst the writing were carved faces of men and women, their features marked by disease, their expressions twisted with agony.
The sight made them both slightly sick to their stomachs.
"Now have you seen enough?" Kirnoth hissed into Ledare's ear.
In reply, the half-elf stepped through the portal. The mage was obliged to follow and his torchlight soon revealed the enormous stone dogs.
"Ugly things aren't they?" Kirnoth muttered, holding his torch high so that he could get a good look at the near-skeletal canine closest to him.
Ledare made a grunt of agreement. Her attention was focused on the fitted stone floor and the trails of disturbed dust that crossed from one doorway to the other. A few spatters of dried blood marked the ranger's path.
"Through here," Ledare said and crossed the room to the opposite doorway. Her boot heels echoed hollowly around the darkened chamber as she went.
The doorway opened onto a short hallway that had at one time been painted with massive frescoes
"Bring the light closer," Ledare hissed urgently.
Kirnoth did so and the Janissary peered at the faded artwork intently. On closer inspection, she could see that the large figures weren't orcs at all; they had scaly black skin and clawed fingers and toes. The chalk-white figures she did recognize, however. They all looked horribly like the nightmare creature she'd seen in her dream! She looked closer and could see that each of the white figures had their eyes and mouths stitched shut with red thread.
Ledare's heart turned to ice at the sight of it.
"Come on," she said turning back toward the tunnel out. "Now I've seen enough."