Crypt of the Shadowking (25 page)

“I’m going to speak with it,” Morhion replied.

“No offense, Morhion,” Ferret said, “but I’ve found that you tend to have more luck interrogating subjects when they’re a little, er, fresher than this. I think you’re a few centuries too late with this fellow.”

“We shall see,” the mage replied. He set the skull on a flat stone along with several items he drew from the small, mysterious pouch he always kept hidden in a fold of his robe: a bit of silver thread, a small chunk of yellow sulfur, and six pomegranate seeds. He held his hand over the skull and spoke several guttural words in the tongue of magic. The items the mage had set on the rock flared brightly with a deep purple light, then suddenly they dimmed and vanished. Mari gasped in shock, but before she could say anything a rough voice interrupted her.

It was the skull.

“Leave me alone, you bloody mage!” it said in an eerie voice.

The companions stared at the goblin skull in astonishment. It had not moved when it spoke, but Mari had no doubt that the voice had issued from the weathered skull. It was the dead goblin speaking.

“You must first answer my questions,” Morhion said firmly.

“Garn, but I won’t do it,” the skull snarled. “Now go away, nasty wizard.”

“I shall scatter your bones to the four winds,” the mage said in a voice that sent chills up Man’s back. “I shall let the buzzards peck at them, and you shall feel every moment of their desecration as an eternal agony.”

“Oh, I’m scared, I am now,” the skull said sarcastically. “You think I ‘aven’t already been desecrated? My mates made chow of me; it can’t get any bloody worse than that.”

“He has a point there,” Caledan murmured to the others.

“Now put me back in the ground,” the goblin skull whined.

“The wall that leads into the nether world of the dead is no barrier to my magic,” Morhion said darkly. “I can cause such agony to your soul as you never dreamed of in life.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” the skull shrieked.

“Do goblins even have souls?” Mari whispered to Tyveris.

“I’m not sure,” the loremaster whispered back. “It’s an interesting theological question. If they do have souls, they’ve got to be awfully wretched, warty ones.”

“Try me,” Morhion said to the dead goblin, his eyes glittering.

“All right, all right, I’ll talk,” the skull whimpered. “But you got to promise you’ll put me back in the ground.”

“It will be done,” the mage said. “Now tell me this: how did you come to be here?”

“I told you, my mates gnawed on my bones.”

“Before that,” Morhion said angrily.

“Oh,” the skull said. It paused a moment, apparently thinking. “It all started when that shadowy man killed my tribe’s chief. Now, no one ‘as a right to do that. It’s every tribe’s privilege to murder its own chief. Why, what sort o’ tribe is it, if you can’t slit your leader’s throat when you get tired of listening to ‘im?”

“Stick to the story,” Morhion warned.

“All right, don’t get touchy,” the goblin skull said in a hurt tone. “This shadowy man, he came from some place far off, but that weren’t no excuse for sticking a sword in our chief. Me and some of the boys snuck up on ‘im and put an arrow in ‘im right neat. Taught ‘im a lesson, we did. But when we got back to tell the rest o’ the tribe what we done, we got a nasty surprise. ?l’ Glok, he thought he should be chief now, but he knew we would just as soon tear ‘is guts out. So’s Glok laid an ambush for us. We beat him, only all that got kilt were et at the victory feast.”

“Like you?” Morhion asked.

“Don’t remind me!” the skull exclaimed.

“One more question.”

“This ‘ad better be it.”

“What did you do with this ‘shadowy man’ after you put the arrow in him?”

“We shoved shadowy man in a hole, you know, to let ‘im age a while before we et ‘im. ‘Twas in the west end of the valley. There’s a ravine there, good for ambushin’ travelers and slittin’ their throats. We stuffed shadowy man in a cave up top o’ the cliff. But Glok saw to it we never got to go back for ‘im. I suppose he’s still there, though I don’t know what good he’d do you. I bet ‘is bones ain’t much good for gnawin’ on by now.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Morhion said. “I thank you for your help.”

“I didn’t do it ‘cause I liked you, blasted wizard!” the goblin skull barked. Morhion murmured a few arcane words as he sprinkled a handful of ashes over the skull. As they fell, the ashes spiraled about the skull, glowing until they were transformed into a swirling purple mist.

“Hey!” the goblin cried indignantly. “Wot’s all thi—”

Abruptly the skull was silent. The purple mist faded, leaving no trace of the ashes. Tyveris muttered a final prayer.

“I know he’s just a goblin,” he explained in answer to the curious looks the others gave him. “But he did help us.”

The companions quickly reburied the goblin skull and bones, then mounted, setting off west across the valley. Excitement surged through their veins. Talembar’s tomb was almost within their grasp.

The rumbling of thunder grew louder as they rode past the countless barrows. Even though it was early afternoon the air was as gloomy as twilight. After a half-league the valley narrowed, leading into a steep, rocky wash. The hills rose up more and more sharply to either side until they became sheer sandstone cliffs.

“This has to be the ravine the goblin spoke of,” Caledan said. They guided their mounts carefully over the loose jumble of talus at the foot of the cliffs. “Where do you suppose the cave is?”

“From the goblin’s words, I’d say at the far western end of the ravine, at the top of the cliff,” Morhion replied.

“I’ll go scout it out,” Ferret said, urging his horse ahead He disappeared around a curve in the ravine, but came galloping back scant minutes later.

“You’ll break that horse’s legs riding on these rocks like that,” Tyveris said with a scowl.

“I’m sorry, but I thought you all might be interested to hear this,” the thief said, scratching his stubbly chin nervously.

“What is it, Ferret?” Mari asked.

“From around the corner you can see the end of the ravine,” Ferret told them. The weaselly man swallowed hard “I caught a glimpse of an old friend of ours on the cliff top.”

“An old friend?” Caledan asked dubiously. The thief nodded. “The shadevar.”

Sixteen

As a booming peal of thunder rent the clouds, and the first chill drops of rain came pouring down, the companions and their horses huddled by the sheer sandstone cliff on one side of the ravine. A shallow rock overhang gave them scant shelter against the cold, driving rain. Jagged streaks of lightning lit the sky, each followed by the rolling crash of thunder.

“All right,” Caledan told the others grimly. “We’re going to have to face the shadevar sometime. It might as well be a time and place of our choosing.”

The companions nodded in agreement. “We know this thing can survive dagger wounds, crossbow bolts, and being buried alive,” Caledan went on. “But this ravine gives me an idea I think is at least worth a try. I’m going to lure the shadevar toward me. But once it’s close, I need something to distract it, something that will make it forget me, at least momentarily. Anybody have any ideas?”

“I believe I can arrange something,” Morhion said. The mage’s eyes were as impassive as ever.

Caledan scowled. He knew the others were watching him intently. Finally he nodded. “Be ready, then,” he said through clenched teeth.

“As you wish.”

Caledan swore inwardly. Sometimes he wondered if a heart even beat inside the mage’s chest.

Ferret remembered seeing a game trail at the mouth of the ravine. He thought it would lead them atop the southern cliff while keeping them downwind of the shadevar. They guided their mounts into the storm. How Ferret found the faint track in the blinding rain, Caledan couldn’t guess. The trail wound its way haphazardly up the slope. Soon the ravine gaped below them to their right, a great dark maw in the earth.

Caledan blinked the cold rain from his eyes and noticed that Mari rode next to him. She reached out a hand. He gripped it tightly for a moment, then let go.

“We’re getting close,” Ferret shouted, though his voice was almost drowned out by the roar of the wind. “We should be downwind of it still.”

“There’s a small knot of trees near the top of the ridge,” Caledan said, pointing to a cluster of stunted cedars twisted by a lifetime of scouring winds. “Let’s leave the horses there. We can climb to that jumble of rocks on top of the ridge. Do you think you can cast your spell from up there, Morhion?”

The mage nodded.

“Good,” Caledan said. “As soon as the shadevar is within ten paces of me, cast your spell.”

“Very well,” was all the mage said.

They tied the horses in the scant shelter of the ancient cedars and scrambled up the rocky slope. At the crest they hunched behind the cover of a pile of granite boulders. The whistled across this high place. Caledan peered into the hollow. He felt his heart lurch.

The shadevar stood upon a mound of rock a hundred paces from the ravine’s edge. The tatters of its black robe fluttered like wisps of shadow upon the air. Its monstrous face was upturned toward the leaden sky, seemingly oblivious to the pelting rain. It moved its head slowly from side to side.

It’s trying to catch the scent, Caledan realized with a shiver. My scent. But they were almost directly downwind from the creature. It could not possibly realize they were so close. Caledan started cautiously down the slope. He reached the bottom, moving swiftly to the edge of the ravine. He could see a jumble of jagged rocks far below. He continued along the cliffs edge.

The creature caught scent of him much sooner than Caledan expected it to, and when it did it moved with a speed that amazed him.

The wind seemed to be whirling in all directions now, and some eddy must have borne his scent to the shadevar. The creature let out a high, inhuman scream that cut across the noise of the storm and made Caledan’s blood run cold. Its scaled, muscular legs pumping with blinding speed, its taloned feet gripping the stone, the shadevar hurled itself forward.

Caledan looked for a place to stand his ground. The shadevar had already covered nearly half the distance between them. It screamed again, baring its obsidian tusks, a viscous, ruddy ichor drooling from its gaping maw. Caledan saw a flat-topped boulder and made for it. He drew his sword and leaped onto the rock.

The heel of his boot skidded on the wet granite. The rain had made the stone slicker than he thought, and he shouted a curse as he lost his footing. He tumbled backward, land” ing hard on the edge of the cliff and grunting with pain-The sword skittered away from his fingers.

Suddenly a shadow loomed over him. Another high, soulless scream sliced through the air. Caledan blinked the blinding rain from his eyes. Out of the corner of his eye Caledan saw his sword, just out of arm’s reach, balancing precariously on the precipice. He wanted to turn to grab it, but could not break his gaze away from the shadevar.

The creature raised a clawed hand, preparing to strike a blow that would gut Caledan. “Damn you, mage!” he shouted above the raging storm. “Damn you to the Abyss!”

The shadevar’s talons descended.

Suddenly another scream rent the air, only this one was a cry of agony. Caledan opened his eyes. The shadevar reeled above him. Its razor-sharp talons were clawing at its own face, at the hollows where its eyes should have been. It screamed again in fury and pain. Caledan watched in horror as the creature writhed above him.

A brilliant flash of lightning sliced across the dark sky, and the shadevar screamed again, clawing at its eyeless face even more furiously. Hot, dark droplets of blood fell against the stone, sizzling before they were washed away by the rain.

Suddenly Caledan understood. The creature could see. The shadevar had seen the lightning, and the brilliant illumination had caused the thing pain! Somehow the mage had given the sightless creature the power to see, and it was driving the shadevar mad.

The shadevar stumbled, on the verge of losing its balance. Caledan did not waste more time. He snaked out a hand and grabbed his sword. He thrust it upward into the shadevar’s gut. The creature’s scaly armor was nearly impenetrable, and the blade did not bite very deeply. But it was enough.

The shadevar slumped forward over the sword point, Caledan kicked out, grunting with effort as he used his foot and the sword to lift the creature above him.

The shadevar’s claws flailed wildly, one talon tracing a hot, crimson line across Caledan’s cheek. With one last blood-chilling scream it sailed into the ravine.

There it struck a jagged, razor-edged column of granite Even the shadevar’s scales could not withstand the impact of the fall. The creature’s hideous cry was cut short as the shard of rock was driven through its body. Dark blood sprayed out in a hissing, steaming fountain.

Caledan nearly slid over the edge after the shadevar, but he caught himself at the last moment, wedging his fingers in a crack and dragging himself back up. He lay on his side, panting, gazing down at the shadevar impaled below. The wind tugged at the shreds of its black robe, but this time the creature did not stir. The torrent of blood gushing from its body gradually slowed to a trickle, then stopped, and soon the rain washed the dark stain away. Caledan groaned, his head sinking to the stone in weariness just as the companions reached him.

The shadevar was dead.

The storm was over.

It was late afternoon, and all that remained of the storm were a few ragged shreds of clouds scudding along against the azure sky. Morhion had ridden back down the game trail and into the ravine to examine the shadevar’s body Now the mage was returning astride his black gelding.

‘The shadevar will not rise again,” Morhion said when he reached the others. “The stone driven through its body pierced its heart, shattering the magic that gave it power. Already its body is decaying. By nightfall nothing will be left of it but cinders.” The mage drew something from a pocket of his gray robe. “However, I did find this.”