City of Hawks (28 page)
Unlike the chambers above, where masonry combined with hewn and polished stone to form elaborate spaces, carven pillars, and the stuff of habitation, the place of the undead was stark and foul. The area was certainly a natural cave with only a few marks to indicate that hammer and chisel had worked its stone. Niches in the walls indicated the place might once have been a catacomb-although these recesses might simply have been cut to provide the ghoulish residents of the place a more comfortable and “homelike” atmosphere.
The uneven floor of the cave was a foul mess of bones, partially consumed carcasses, and filth. More bones and rotting cloth were evident in the niches and in odd corners of the large space where ghulaz or ghoul went to feed on some particularly choice morsel of corpse, or to take its ease. The creatures of this charnel cave, however, sought not to hide in niche or cranny. Instead, the smaller ghouls were shambling off toward a dark opening to the left, while the larger, dog-faced ghulaz were seeking refuge behind an upthrust slab of rock at the right rear of the chamber.
Gord ignored the lesser things. “The big ones-ghulaz!” he shouted to his feline comrades. “We must take them. Follow me.” With that, the young adventurer headed straight for the place the six dog-featured undead had slunk into. The space the shelter provided was certainly insufficient to hide all six. There had to be some egress there.
As the lamp shed its pale illumination on the place, however, Gord saw nothing but bare stone. No ghulaz, no exit. Nothing.
“I smell the reek of those things,” Smokemane growled. “They are near, but I cannot see them.”
Obviously, some powerful magic was at work. By utmost effort, Gord marshalled his will and disbelieved as he touched the rock wall of the sheltered spot. The combination worked. A small opening existed here after all-a narrow, low place that a man could squeeze through, but far too small for one of the great shadow-lions to use. “Stay here, my friends,” Gord rumbled to the lions. All of them were wounded by now, although most not seriously, but at any rate the big cats could do nothing to assist him in what must be done next. Somehow he had to deal with the ghulaz alone.
“I must take the light and go down this little tunnel,” he said quickly to Smokemane. “Use your noses to guard against the return of the death-stinking two-leggers,” he ordered, pointing to the place through where the ghouls had vanished. “Wait for me here. If I do not come back in the space of time you take to sleep a short sleep, go the way the stinking ones went. I think there must be a way above in that direction. I cannot offer you more than that.”
“We came willingly, lord. It has been a good hunt, and we have killed many. If it comes time, all of us will become prey ourselves without mewling. We will fight and die as lions do, and we will thank you for the honor you gave us,” the huge old male said, ending with a coughing that soon became deeper and louder. Hotbreath and the lionesses quickly joined, and In a minute the cave reverberated with the roars of a half-score of mighty cats loudly voicing challenge to the vile inhabitants of this foul, subterranean place.
Gord entered the narrow passage and found, to his mild relief, that the noise made by the angry lions lessened considerably once he was a few feet inside the cylinder. Lamp in his left hand and short sword in his right, he pulled himself through the tunnel opening with his elbows. Once he was past the narrow entrance, the tubelike passage was large enough to allow first crawling on hands and knees, then hunched walking. The way was still difficult, for the tunnel twisted in a generally leftward direction and inclined steeply. Worse, the horrible reek of the ghulaz so filled the little space that Gord had to fight back nausea as he hurried ahead.
In addition to his physical difficulties, Gord had a mental obstacle to overcome. How would he, alone, with only a sword and a dagger, fight and defeat six of the grisly dog-faced undead? He had to do it somehow, and survive the encounter as well, if he was to attain his ultimate goal of killing the gloam-lich. Failure to find Imprimus soon, very soon, would certainly spell his death anyway; and at the hands of that one, it would be an even more foul end than that of being slain by the ghulaz. If his weapons and his wits failed to see him through, then Gord was resigned to die fighting the hideous undead he pursued.
The stench grew suddenly stronger. Then Gord turned a corner and came face to face with one of the grinning things.
The greater ghoul had certainly meant to be there, waiting to take the young adventurer by surprise. The full glow of the strange light Gord held, though, seemed to affect the dog-visaged creature most adversely. The almost palpable beam of grayish radiance struck the dull, lifeless eyes of the creature, and the ghulaz seemed blinded and confused.
The effect lasted but a brief time, but it was an ample enough interval for Gord. He was already moving to attack at the first sight of the hideous thing. His enchanted blade swept forward in a glittering, upward arc that struck the ghulaz low in its abdomen and continued upward to slice the thing open from groin to ribs. The ghulaz howled, its foul breath gagging Gord as it voiced a scream of pain. Gord struck again with his sword, crossing from left to right along the creature’s neck. The keen edge of the weapon nearly sliced all the way through the leathery hide of the ghulaz, and the undead monster toppled backward from the blow, thin neck severed, its head flopping as it fell, attached by only a bit of sinew and hide.
The passage beyond was filled with the comrades of the thing. Although the tunnel was now high enough for Gord to stand upright, the walls were still only some three or so feet apart-room enough for but a single opponent to engage him. The greater ghoul immediately before him was crouching, beastlike, as if readying itself to spring. Now that the first monster had fallen, the rays of the lamp were now fully in the second one’s face. The canine features of the thing contorted, and it turned its head aside to avoid the illumination, freezing into motionlessness. Likewise, the monster immediately behind was affected by the pale light. When the beams fell upon its eyes, the third ghulaz growled foully and tried to back away. In response, Gord thrust the light ahead somewhat and stepped toward the stooped one that had averted its gaze. Neither it nor the one behind could retreat, for the three others behind them were trying to crowd ahead to get at this human who dared to follow them.
Horrible whining sounds came bubbling from the throats of the two ghulaz bothered by the illumination. The first dropped to all fours, now ready to attack. With the strength of desperation, Gord swung his sword down at the near-prone ghulaz’s hairless head. The impact jarred him, but the thing’s cranium split, exploding in a mess of rotten bone and putrid brains. Without hesitation, the young adventurer stepped upon the foul remains, so as to bring himself closer to the remaining undead monsters.
Now those behind their fellow understood what they were up against and set up a fear-filled yapping and gabbling as they sought to find escape from the terrible foe. It was certainly too late for the foremost of the ghulaz. Gray rays illuminated and short sword flashed, cutting and stabbing to send it to whatever nether plane it belonged upon. The three remaining survivors were now making good their flight, however.
Gord raced ahead, striking hard at the bony back of the hindmost ghulaz. The blow was more than sufficient to sever its spine and send its shrieking spirit into the hellpits along with those of its comrades.
Now but a pair of foul things remained, but both ghulaz were well ahead of Gord. He followed them as quickly as he could, and it was immediately evident that they were not quick enough to make good their flight. The rearmost of the two fell to his ferocious attack as easily as the others had been slain, and the last of the monsters was cowering just ahead, face pressed against a boulder that sealed off the tunnel. It was in a dead end and knew that true death was finally coming for it. Gord gave it a swift, painless end, even though such a thing deserved it not.
As the last of the dog-faced monstrosities fell, Gord noticed glyphs inscribed upon the big boulder it had been standing next to. The shadowy letters and signs squirmed under the light, writhing as do blind slugs exposed to the sun when a rock is overturned. Then the sigils actually began to make a frizzling sound and send up little streamers of oily-looking smoke.
Despite all that activity, the sort that usually presaged the disappearance of such signs, the glyphs remained upon the stone, and Gord feared to touch them. Then he thought of something: The lamp had been found in the gloams’ stronghold, so that any wards magically placed here would certainly not be affected by its illumination. Wisely, the young thief suspected that when he saw the strange effects of the radiance upon the glyphs, what showed before his eyes was something to delude any who saw it, to lull an intruder into a false sense of security so that he would think the glyphs had been neutralized and then expose himself to the protective force they still held within.
Although he hated to touch the foul form, Gord lifted the carcass of the last ghulaz he had killed and leaned it against the boulder. Nothing happened, just as he had assumed; not enough force was being applied. Then Gord put his upper back against the slain thing’s stinking body and began to push, using the ghulaz as a cushion between himself and the glyphs upon the rock he had to displace.
Now the protective sigils were beginning to do their work. Gord felt bones in the ghulaz’s body snapping, muscles and flesh losing their rigidity-the body was actually decomposing, disintegrating, from contact with the magically protected boulder! The stench was so noisome that Gord was actually regurgitating as he continued his exertion.
After a few moments that seemed like an eternity under the conditions, the remains of the ghulaz were almost jellylike, but were still substantial enough for Gord to push against, sickening though it was to do this. He could not stop now, for he had felt the boulder move slightly. Then the big stone shifted abruptly, and the hole it guarded was unblocked.
Breathing through his mouth, Gord tried to clean himself as best he could by wiping hands and torso against the rock wall. Then he stooped and entered the space between wall and boulder, passing with a feeling of hope and dread into what he was sure was the lair of Imprimus.
“You must be eager for death,” a dry voice rustled, seemingly in his very ear, “to have overcome so many obstacles in order to embrace it.”
Gord spun quickly, his lamp casting odd, writhing shadows from his motion, his sword ready. Nothing. No one was near. The place was a high-ceilinged grotto, another natural cave of fair proportion. Here the stone was the counterpart of limestone on the material plane, for the grotto had shadowy stalactites hanging from above, thick stalagmites sticking upward from the floor, some of these two sorts of formations conjoined to make columns.
“It is a charming place, isn’t it?” The rustling voice spoke the question in a tone laden with mirth, as if it had a secret joke that could hardly be restrained. “Perhaps I’ll allow you to remain here as a special guardian,” it whispered.
“Imprimus? Where are you, you cringing coward?” Gord shouted his words, making the place come alive with echoes that trailed off, “coward… oward… ard… ard.”
“Heh, heh, eh, eh…” The sneering sound of a chuckle whispered throughout the stony space. It had no source, coming from no place and every place at once. “Be patient. I’ll greet you soon,” the voice rustled sinisterly.
Water dripped somewhere, shadow-water that made a plangent sound as it dropped into a shadow-pool in the underground lair of the vampiric lich. There was a faint hiss from the lamp’s burning, and the weird rays it sent out seemed almost to cause a susurration as they washed over the blackness of the grotto. No other sound could be heard. To leave both of his hands free, Gord put the lamp down on top of a thick, flat-topped stalagmite.
“Are you hiding, human?” the dry voice asked. This time, though, it was slightly louder, and there was no smugness in it. “You can’t escape; neither is there any place to hide. Wait quietly, and I will make it an easy thing for you.”
There was no reply, still no sound other than the hiss and the reverberating plunk of water droplet after water droplet. Gord looked and listened with ail the concentration he could muster. Did a darker shadow move within the cloaking gloom? Some shape, slide noiselessly through the dimness?
Then he could make out a faint rustling, coming from a place midway up the far wall of the cave, a spot some ten feet above the floor. There followed the whispering of cloth, the creaking of what might have been ancient joints, and a faint hum. Instantly thereafter, four small spheres j of dun-hued light winked into existence within the cave. These globes floated at waist height just before the opening that Gord had entered, but their sickly illumination revealed no trace of the young adventurer.
The four split in twain, one pair floating slowly toward the left, the other two moving languidly toward the right. The two sets of dimly glowing spheres circumscribed the grotto’s perimeter, making visible for a time anything that they passed near. Stone was all their dun radiance displayed.
A clawlike hand grasped the edge of a sarcophagus made of obsidian. The coffin rested on a ledge ten feet above the cave’s floor, and the hand belonged to its inhabitant. A horrible face leered above the taloned hand. The visage was as if a human skull had been distorted and misshapen by some hybridization with a monstrous bat, and then the awful result of the unnatural cross allowed to rot and desiccate in some demon-inspired crypt. It was the face of Im-primus, once human, now gloam, vampire, lich, wrought to true appearance by the weight of Snuff-dark upon the Plane of Shadow.
That the skeletal body that bore it could raise this gruesome visage thus, however, indicated that, the time of the great dark was waning. In a short span, perhaps mere minutes, the blackness would pass, and then the monster would once again command its full powers. The distended muzzle of the man-bat monstrosity opened to reveal massive fangs.
“So,” the dry voice rustled and whispered, “our little man has sought safety in flight after all.” Its bat-eared head tipped back to allow a hideous cackling to issue forth, but the sound died before it left the snaky throat. The thing’s corpselike eyes fixed upon a great clot of blackness above and suddenly glowed with putrid gray fire.
The snarling form of the young thief sprang down upon the monstrous creature in the sarcophagus. Instinctively, the thing recoiled from the ferocity of the assault. Twisting in mid-air, Gord used his gymnastic skill to direct his fall, and as his feet touched the edge of the casket of black stone, his legs flexed and his body hurtled past the vampiric lich into the alcove behind it.
The hideous face of the demonlike creature contorted in shock and rage at what had occurred. The human was a clever opponent, a foolishly daring one too. He not only dared to make threats, but even now was attempting to make free with that which the monster held most dear.
“Stop!” Imprimus meant the command to boom, but it croaked in dusty tones, for Snuffdark had not yet done with its gloom. Then the monster turned fully and saw what the impudent man was up to, and the glare of rage altered to an expression of concern.
“You are very clever and talented,” Imprimus said in its soughing voice. “You have earned my respect and approval. Come and pay me homage, and I shall accept you as one of mine own noble servants.”
Gord didn’t even bother to turn around. Before him was a heap of treasure, all jumbled and mixed. It was alight with a glow from within, faint but discernible. Somewhere in the mound, he hoped, would be a weapon that would enable him to combat the terrible power of the vampire gloam-lich. Imprimus was presently weakened by the tide of darkness, yet still too formidable a foe for normal means of attack to affect.
Ivory, amber, and jade flew upward and rained down alongside jewelry and great gems, pearl ropes and precious metals, magic amulets, and crystal flasks of dweomered fluid. Some merely spun and rolled, others cracked and splintered or smashed to send their contents mingling with the shards of a ruined ruby or the parchment tube of some ancient scroll of spells. Heedless of the wreckage, Gord went on, burrowing into the vast pile as a badger would dig into the dirt in search of a fat hare.
Bony fingers suddenly grasped his shoulders, long nails sinking toward flesh but foiled by the steel mesh of Gord’s hidden shirt of elvish mail. The touch sent a wave of chilling cold through his body nonetheless, and then the searing agony of long fangs puncturing his flesh made the young thief cry out in pain. “Be damned!” he yelled, spinning to dislodge the attacker and striking with his dagger as he turned.
The force of the stab caused the awful creature to release its grip on Gord, hissing in pain as it did so, for the long dagger had sunk deep into Imprimus’ right side. The thing stepped back then, glaring hatefully at the frail human who dared to strike it, meanwhile beginning the passes that would conjure up one of the manifold spells the monstrous creature commanded. “Now it is time for you to learn what pain is, manling!” the vampire-lich spat, its batlike face contorted. Then it made the swift passes of conjuration. In desperation, Gord scooped up a handful of the treasure from the mound and hurled it full into the bat-featured face of the Snuffdark-altered gloam.
“Reeeyaaaha!” The enraged shriek that emerged from Imprimus was the most bestial sound Gord could ever recollect, demon and dragon included. The spray of coins and gems had certainly had the desired effect, that was evident. The hail of objects had so disturbed and distracted the horrid creature that the spell was lost in the process. Meanwhile, Gord kept at his work, flinging stuff in the general direction of Imprimus as he sought a suitable weapon. There were, of course, any number of arms in the vast mound. Jewel-encrusted daggers, maces set with glittering gems, ceremonial swords and axes of precious shadow-gold-but all were useless for his purpose and thus ignored.
“Now let us contest more fairly,” Gord said just then, springing atop the precious pile as he spoke-just in time. The gloam had again launched itself into an attack, physically attempting to grapple its opponent and sink terrible teeth into human flesh. “No, no! Up here, dungpile!”
The gloom of Snuffdark was nearly gone; that was obvious from the growing lambency of the monster’s eyes and the increasing speed of Imprimus’ movements. Gord had to madden the thing sufficiently to give him one brief opportunity, a chance to lay the vampiric lich low. His time was running out all too rapidly.
The gloam snarled, glaring at its foe. The human had uncovered and was holding a long, double-edged sword. It was an ancient weapon, one with a leaf-shaped blade and a strange crossguard showing serpents. Why was it there in the trove? Imprimus could not recall, but the old sword-thing appeared to be nothing more than a useless ornament, for it was fashioned entirely out of crystalline material, probably some form of quartz or topaz… No matter. The oppression of darkness that lay upon the plane would soon be lifted, but before Snuffdark fled, Imprimus intended to deal with this arrogant little man who had so painfully reminded the gloam of its weakened condition just now. This one had defied Imprimus’ demand for Shadowfire, then actually given it to the petty lordling who claimed the realm as his own. Well, soon the human would be another vampiric servant to Imprimus, and then the gloam would take the mighty black opal from Shadowking-this time to a place far beyond any return. First one, then the other. Imprimus meant to drain the vitality from his foe personally, savoring the rush of power gained thus, as well as reveling in the agony that the upstart man would suffer as his life force ebbed away to be replaced by the cold burning of the negative stuff of unlife!
“Now, you! Come down off the little heap you play king of the mountain on, and I will treat with you,” Imprimus said, eyes burning hypnotically into the gray ones of his intended victim. “My generosity will not abide forever…”
Gord shook his head to break the effect of the gaze, the drone of the monster’s beguiling speech. Then he kicked another spray of precious stuff into the gloam’s face. “Ratshit, batface! You come here and-”
The pelting coins and gems did it. New power born of its rage surged through the gloam-lich. “Too late!” Imprimus roared, and as it did so it launched itself through the air, long-fingered hands clawed, huge mouth opened to enable it to ply its great fangs upon the soft body of the vulgar human who had dared to be defiant. The vampire-lich had such great strength now that its leap carried it up and at the small man as if Imprimus were a spear shot by a ballista. Such speed and power were irresistible. The attack was so sudden and overwhelming that the leap took Imprimus to the impact in the span of a heartbeat, and its iron-hard hands grabbed its foe with viselike power.
“Too late!” The words echoed, but only in a dying mind.
“What becomes of one undead when it becomes dead?” Gord asked this question, but there was no reply. Imprimus’ nails tore the young man’s flesh as its hands slid slowly down Gord’s body. Even in death, if death it was, the terrible thing seemed determined to wreak vengeance.
The hilt of the crystalline sword protruded like a strange tongue from Imprimus’ mouth. The point of the sword was buried somewhere deep within the monster’s chest. Gord thrust the shriveling remains away with his foot, then watched in fascination as the once-mighty overlord of gloams withered and crumbled into a foul puddle of ooze. Then this too dried and nothing but a shrinking pile of blackish powder was left.
No, not quite all was gone. The crystalline sword remained, no trace of the foul vampire-lich evident upon its transparent blade. Actually, the sword was even brighter than it had been, more phosphorescent by far. “Of all this treasure,” Gord murmured, peering around him, “I take only this sword and what I sought when I came here. The rest is befouled by the stuff of Imprimus, but you, good blade, are yet clean!” Then, dagger sheathed and crystal sword in hand, the young thief began his search for the necklace of nine black stones.
Despite his fatigue and his wounds, Gord was determined to sift through Imprimus’ treasure hoard, piece by piece if necessary. It stood to reason that the black sapphires would be here; in a land of shadow, gems such as those would be prized above all other sorts, and this was the only treasure trove of any size he knew of in this realm. Not even the Shadowking kept anywhere near as many gems, pieces of jewelry, and other valuable items.
Doing his best to ignore his pain, Gord held the crystal sword in one hand as a light source and meticulously searched the floor, in case the platinum necklace had been among the handfuls of stuff he had flung at Imprimus. It was not to be found among the miscellany scattered around the chamber, so he turned to the remainder of the once-massive pile. Then a thought took shape in his mind.
Of course! If the sapphires in the necklace were as valued here as he supposed them to be, the throat-piece would not be frivolously cast into a pile-it would be in a revered place.
Moving faster than he should have considering his condition, Gord bounded to the sarcophagus where Imprimus had been spending his dormant period. As soon as he thrust the sword inside the coffin, he saw it. The necklace was laid out in a neat circle near the head of the box. as though Imprimus had been using it for a pillow. Even as he thought about the horrible thing that had until recently possessed them, and what else they probably had been through during the last many years, Gord felt a shudder of pleasure and awe as he lifted the necklace and viewed the nine black gems in their settings. Pleasure, awe… but not really recognition, and certainly not recollection. They were his -somehow he knew that-but he did not know how or why.
Gord gently rolled up the necklace and tucked it into a side pocket of the pouch that hung at his belt. Suppressing his emotions, he told himself that there was time later to ponder what to do with his prize; right now he still had to worry about making his way back out of this awful place.
The outer cave was dark. The strange lamp had burned out during his battle with the greater ghouls and the awful gloam-creature. Gord did not care, because the crystal blade illuminated his path. Each step was painful. The attacks of the vampiric lich had hurt him in both body and in soul. Gord felt tired and weak, and he hurt from the wounds inflicted by talons and teeth. It would be long before Gord recovered from the effects of this battle, and he knew it.