Legends of the Dragonrealm Vol IV Part 16

Which was what Wellen had wanted. Prepared, he added his own strength to the zombie's. The two crashed into one another and, despite Yalso's dead weight, both living and unliving were sent stumbling into the torch on the captain's side.

The horse that Xabene, or rather the Lords of the Dead, had provided had been a cold, lifeless thing like the unfortunate Yalso. It had felt like a dry, long-dead corpse, although at the time the realization had not sunk in. Wellen had wondered just how dry both the mount and the unliving captain were.

The answer was . . . very.

Yalso's back and far side burst into flames like kindling.

"Put it out!" roared the sailor. His visage, already crumbling, was half ablaze. He released his charge without thinking, trying desperately to beat out the flames. Bedlam did not pause, backing quickly to the other torch and taking it from its stand. With it, he confronted the macabre figure.

There were tears in his eyes. If he had thought there was actually a way to resurrect his friend . . . "I'm sorry, Yalso, I am."

"You will come to us!" a chorus of voices decreed. What was left of the sailor's face no longer resembled him. Yalso was gone; the Lords of the Dead had taken complete command. One of the corpse's hands was completely burned away. The other, flames wrapped around it like a glove, reached for the waiting human.

Wellen thrust the torch at the horror's midsection. The flames rushed up the length of the torso, turning the entire top half of the ghoul into an inferno. The furnis.h.i.+ngs and curtains behind it were also ablaze. Bedlam, sweating from the head and half blinded by the light, backed out of the chamber. The thing that had once been Captain Yalso tried to follow, but the flames had spread to its legs and, being so much dry timber, they easily crumpled under the combination of sapping flame and the creature's still-bulky form.

He watched the corpse burn for a few breaths, his face tear-streaked and his mind recalling Yalso as he had known him in life. Wellen had no doubt that a part of the captain had been there, but at the same time, it had been the necromancers who had guided the strings.

No one should make a mockery of life like they do!

There was no time to mourn Yalso and, he reminded himself, he had done so before. It was the living who were important now. Falling back to the cavern corridor, Wellen started to throw the torch away, then remembered that Shade and Xabene might face attacks similar to the one on him. The torch might prove handy. The enchantress, he suspected, was in less danger. If he understood correctly, the Lords of the Dead needed her to maintain penetration of the Dragon King's lair. He was under no misconceptions about his chances of trying to free her on his own. He had only escaped because the necromancers were probably concentrating their power on their most dangerous adversary. Shade.

It was Shade who represented Wellen's best, possibly only, hope of freeing Xabene, yet, he found he could not bear the thought of rus.h.i.+ng to the warlock first. He had to see if he could help her.

The tunnel was dead silent. tie heard neither drakes nor battle sounds. Either all were killed or they were unaware of what was going on. Likely the latter, for the disarrayed explorer doubted that the death lords could defeat the hooded warlock and destroy the combined drake clans.

Benton Lore had placed all three outsiders within only a few minutes from one another, yet Wellen saw nothing. Had Shade been caught unaware or in the throes of his madness? Wellen started down the tunnel, still trying to convince himself to rush to the warlock first. What if they had acted against Shade as they had against him? It was the one area where Bedlam held the advantage. The Seekers had struck at the shadowy spellcaster, successfully releasing his memories and using them as distractions. Could the Lords of the Dead have utilized the same trick, only more effectively?

Riming a corner, he stumbled to a halt.

There were two human guards standing in the tunnel, facing one another. Human guards for human guest, Bedlam decided. They looked neither ensorcelled nor dead. Both of them looked his way and one brandished a short sword.

"Identify yourself!"

"Master Wellen Bedlam! What are-"

"One of the outsiders brought in by the commander," the other sentry, an older man, explained to his compatriot. To Wellen, he said, "You should not be wandering the system, Master Bedlam. Those unfamiliar can get lost very easy. It's sometimes hard to explain to the drake's young that they shouldn't have eaten a guest of His Majesty."

"Haven't you heard anything?"

"No, should we have?" The sentries looked skeptical. Wellen knew he looked like a wild man.

"I was just attacked by a man who I last saw dead at the claws of a dragon!"

"Then, he couldna been much trouble, could he?" the younger one asked, chuckling.

"Your master-"

"Save your breath on these blind ones," came a voice that was doom incarnate. Wellen was reminded of the tones a judge used when sentencing someone to death . . . or perhaps it was the voice of the executioner himself.

It was all and neither.

It was Shade.

He stood in the midst of the tunnel, directly behind the two guards, who whirled and readied their weapons. Shade raised a finger and the two soldiers fell against the sides of the corridor. They were conscious, but they could not move. Not even speak.

"Shade! Were you-" He stopped as he caught sight of the warlock's tattered garments. Even the cloak and hood had been torn. The ancient spellcaster still wore the hood over his head, but it failed now to hide the burning rage in those jarring, crystalline eyes. Shade teetered on the brink of an insane rage and it was possible that he had even begun plummeting over that brink.

"They have gone too far this time," the warlock muttered. He did not seem entirely focused on Wellen. "They chose the one they thought I could not deny in the end, the one most likely to bring me down."

Memories of the two phantasms floating around mad Shade's head returned. Sharissa and Dru Zeree. Had it been one of them? The woman? Had they used her?

"They, of course, had never defied him until then. They would never have believed that I could have defied him so." Shade turned to the elder guard. The man, unable to move anything but his eyes, could only stare back in fright. "You. Tell your commander . . . tell your liege . . . that the necromancers have invaded his domain. Now!"

Suddenly free, the sentry ran. Wellen fell flat against the wall as the man sped past, obviously under a geas or some similar magical compulsion.

Shade recalled the other sentry. "There may be risk. You had better go with him."

Compelled, the wisecracking soldier hurried off to join his compatriot.

"I will not sacrifice any more lives to them," the hooded sorcerer commented coldly. To Wellen, he said, "I come to save you, but I find you coming to save us."

"I was . . . " Wellen could not get his tongue to work for him. Listening to the sorcerer speak, he had been reminded of Captain Yalso.

A bit more rationality, but perhaps even more chilling anger, returned to the warlock. "Yes, my cousins no doubt sent someone they thought you might hesitate to resist. Like myself, however, you found that you could." At the shorter man's unasked question, Shade added, "What they sent me wore the shape and form of my dear, unlamented father, but it was not his spirit. I know. That was their fatal mistake. They could re-create the form, but they could not imitate the spirit of the Patriarch of the Tezerenee. It would be unmistakable to me." To Wellen's surprise, Shade actually s.h.i.+vered. "I cannot say what I would have done if it had been him . . ."

"Shade . . . "

"They will pay for this debacle . . ."

"Shade!" Bedlam stepped directly in front of his companion and forced the warlock to look at him. The expression he received almost made him regret his action, but it was too late. Besides . . . "Shade, Xabene needs us! She's the way they were able to pierce the Dragon King's defenses! She's their key!"

A grim smile stretched his dry skin to its utmost. "And ours. Come."

Without preamble, the two of them materialized in the enchantress's chamber. Wellen barely noticed this time, his concern for the pale sorceress far outweighing his dislike for teleportation.

She lay on the bed, almost serene.

"Xabene?" He started to go to her, but the shadowy warlock stayed him with an arm.

"They would hardly leave her like this without another trap."

"Are you certain?"

"We are kin. We were Vraad. Worse, we were all Tezerenee."

The names meant nothing to him, but if Shade understood the necromancers, Wellen would bow to his judgment.

"What could it be?"

Given a task, the master warlock once more gained a stronger foothold in reality. He took a tentative step toward the motionless figure. "Something surrounding her, deadly to the touch, would be the obvious way."

Wellen's head, which had been screaming danger since his awakening, somehow succeeded in becoming even more adamant. The danger seemed much closer than a spell surrounding Xabene, almost as if a great physical threat was lurking . . . above?

Hanging from the cavern ceiling, motionless until Wellen's glance upward, were the Necri.

"Shade!" was all the harried scholar had time to shout before the winged horrors were upon them. Four dove at Shade, while only two found Wellen of interest. He held up the dying torch, a pitiful thing by now, and wielded it like a sword in the desperate hope that it would have sufficient flame to ward off the oncoming pair that had chosen him for their meal.

His torch became a sunburst, swelling upward in size yet never so much as singeing his fingers. It caught the first batlike monstrosity by surprise, turning the creature into a living fireball that squeaked once and dropped to the chamber floor. Wellen jumped back, but did not lose track of the second horror, which had now grown much more cautious.

An explosion shook the furnis.h.i.+ngs and forced Wellen to fight for balance. He was pelted by a rainstorm of stench-ridden gobbets of white flesh and a sickly sweet liquid he did not care to identify, although he had his suspicions. The Necri above was also showered by the unG.o.dly rain, but where the human shook in disgust, the demonic creature was aquiver with rising fury. It hissed.

Wellen's protective flame winked out of existence.

The Necri dove, claws bared and maw wide open.

He fell to the floor and rolled aside. Claws raked his backside, causing him to scream. Fortunately for the scholar, the winged terror had either overestimated the width of the chamber or its own ability to maneuver in closed s.p.a.ces. As it turned to finish its prey, it caught one winged arm against the rock wall. The sudden loss of the one wing forced the Necri into a short-lived spiral that ended with the monster colliding fully with the wall.

Panting and wincing from the jagged cuts, Wellen leaped up and charged the Necri's backside. He raised the dead torch above his head, then brought it down as hard as he could. Not once did he consider the creature's skull, suspecting that it was solid as it looked. Instead, Bedlam utilized his momentum and weight as much as possible and focused the head of the torch onto the less protected neck.

The monster's neck did not crack; Wellen had never thought it would. The blow did, however, send the Necri to the ground, shrieking in agony. Wellen struck again and again. The batlike creature twisted in frustration and confusion, succeeding at last in throwing the scholar from its backside. Still, even free of the human, the Necri could not rise at first.

An inhuman roar filled with agony overwhelmed Bedlam from behind, but he had no time to see what had caused it. The torch was beyond him now. That left only his knife. Wellen wished he had asked the Green Dragon for a new sword, but doubted that the drake lord would have given him one so readily. After all, what reason had there possibly been for Wellen needing a sword while in the safe claws of Dagora's monarch?

What, indeed. Only ghouls and savage horrors from beyond!

Wis.h.i.+ng there were another way, for his own sake, Wellen pulled out the knife and attacked the slowly rising Necri.

The demonic servant of the Lords of the Dead turned to face him . . . a moment too late. The blade, intended for the neck, caught the beast in the snout. Wellen was startled but relieved to discover that the Necri did not have impossibly thick skin near that region. The knife sank all the way to the hilt. A thick, brackish fluid covered both the hilt and the scholar's hand. It stung terribly, making Wellen release the blade without thinking.

The Necri was squealing, trying to grasp the slick hilt and remove it. It took a halfhearted swipe at its human target, but the knife insisted on attention. The batlike terror clawed futilely at the moist blade, only doing more damage to its snout. Wellen fell back against the edge of the bed and looked around in desperation for something to finish the beast. Even wounded as it was, the Necri would soon enough come for him . . . and now it partly blocked the only way out.

Benton Lore, wielding a falchion, chose to materialize in that selfsame entranceway, followed closely behind by at least two or three guards bearing similar short swords. He looked in horror at the necromancers' servant, then immediately brought the wide blade down on the neck of the wounded monster. The falchion sank deep into the Necri, splattering more of the foul liquid over the area.

The Necri s.h.i.+vered once . . . and collapsed.

The commander quickly wiped the blade off on one of the cloths decorating the nearby walls. Disgusted, he looked at the battered and worn outsider and demanded, "What is happening here?"

Wellen did not answer him, but turned instead to Shade, who he feared might already be a victim of the other Necri.

He was not. The shadowy warlock glanced his way as he dropped the tattered remnants of a Necri arm to the ground. Shade appeared tired, but the fury had not left him. The course of the battle had knocked his hood back and Wellen heard Benton Lore and the other soldiers mutter at the sight before them. If anything, Shade seemed almost as much a demon as the savage beasts he and the scholar had fought.

"You took your time getting here, Lore." In contrast to his appearance, the ancient sorcerer's voice was almost nonchalant, as if Benton Lore had been a few minutes late to a n.o.ble's party.

"Not our fault. We were barely more than two or three minutes . . . and that because a barrier of some sort blocked our way in this hall until moments ago."

No or three minutes? Wellen blinked. Had it only been that long?

"Two or three minutes in battle with these can seem like an eternity. Fortunately, they prefer tooth and claw to their magic, else they might have utilized the latter to better advantage. Typical of the lack of thought that their creators suffer from." "Xabene!" Mention of the Lords of the Dead brought the disheveled explorer to his senses. He rushed to the still enchantress's side and reached for her.

"Stay!" Shade was suddenly there on her other side, his gloved hands gripping Wellen's wrists with such strength that the mortal grunted in pain. The warlock pushed him back. "The link must stay intact. I need it."

"I cannot let her stay like that! Not even for you!"

Shade's smile was mocking. "Would it make a difference, Master Bedlam, if I told you that breaking the link would not return her?"

"What does that mean? Who is responsible for this transgression?" asked Lore, coming up to the foot of the bed. He glanced down at the unmoving Xabene. "What has happened to her?"

"Always this need for infernal explanations," Shade mocked. "She is the link that the Lords of the Dead used to invade your liege's kingdom. Her body and mind are here, but her spirit, her ka, now resides in their domain."

"She's dead?" WeIlen paled.

"I did not say that. I said that her spirit resides in their kingdom, though I cannot say how long before she does die. I sincerely doubt her former masters will have any use for her once they realize they have failed."

"I should think they would know by now," Benton Lore commented, pointing at the still sizzling remains of one of the Necri the hooded warlock had destroyed.

The smile creeped onto Shade's face. "I have seen to it that they do not . . . for a time. Time enough, if there are no more interruptions, for me to do what I must."

Wellen looked the warlock in the eye, not an easy thing to do even now. "You have to save her!"

"If that is possible; my hands will be filled . . . with my cousins. Now if someone joined me . . . " He stared pointedly back at the scholar.

Wellen nodded without hesitation.

"We shall come, too." Lore snapped his fingers. The guards quickly lined up in two columns.

Shade winked at the scholar, such a disconcerting sight that Wellen almost thought he had imagined it. "I think not, Commander Lore."

He seized the explorer's hands again.

The world twisted in and out . . . and so did Wellen.

It was so dark that his first thought was that someone had doused all the torches in Xabene's chamber. Then the terrible stench of sulfur and rotting flesh informed him that he was elsewhere.

A blazing light formed in the air only a yard to his right. In its glow, he saw a wretched landscape. The few things that resembled plant life were twisted and black. The scholar was reminded of terrain after a horrible battle in which the only true victors were the carrion crows and their ilk. Things, frightened by the intense light, scurried into holes. A few did not move fast enough and were swallowed up by less frightened, much larger monstrosities that failed to resolve into any distinct shapes when Bedlam tried to see them better.

"I once knew a place like this," came Shade's voice. Somehow, he had not seen the warlock. Wellen finally made out. the shrouded form standing an arm's length from the floating light. "In some ways, I have never left it."

The tone was all too familiar to the younger man. It was the same one that the ancient spellcaster generally used as he was slipping into madness. Wellen rushed to prevent that. "Where are we?"

His spectral companion, seeming almost as much a part of this nightmare world as the things that had hidden from the illumination, quietly responded, "We are in the reflection of another place, a world that long ago died yet still is . . . and only they would think to re-create such despair." A cloak- covered arm rose and a gloved finger pointed ahead. Wellen followed with his eyes and saw something, some structure in the distance. "And there is where they wait."

The warlock began walking, the ball of light ever floating ahead. Wellen kept pace, knowing that to lose Shade and the light was to lose more than his life, for here were things that fed on souls as well.

Here were the Lords of the Dead.