Refuge: Kurt's Quest (18 page)

The Shaman walked up to the stake, yelled some
more unintelligible words at the human, then thrust his staff into the bundles
of sticks.  The staff flared with magic, and the sticks quickly flamed into a
blaze, the fire licking up James’ legs in what should have been agonizing
burns.

James didn’t really understand his affinity to
fire.  As a physicist, he understood how the magic of this world required
energy, and a lot of it.  He understood how his brain was wired differently on
this world, his schizophrenia actually of benefit in contacting the energy
sources necessary for magic.  What he didn’t understand was why he was not
harmed by fire, and in fact derived his greatest energy from it.  Just as
Katherine Hiedel derived great power from the wind, and was immune to
electricity.  Whatever the reason, he was not about to question it now.  Not
when his captors had supplied so much free energy for his body to drink in.

Drake’s clothing flared and fell into ash,
leaving his naked body tied to the stake.  At a thought the ropes holding his
wrists to the stake ashed as well, and he was free.  He was tempted to step out
of the fire, but decided against it until he had drunk in every erg of heat.

The Grogatha started yelling and gesturing, and
one threw a spear that should have gone through James’ naked breast.  The spear
flew apart in a burst of flame, unbalanced, falling away from its target. 
Arrows flew in to meet the same fate, and the Orcs closest to the stake backed
away in panic as their clothing began to smolder, until a couple were beating
out the flames on their greasy leathers.

The Shaman shouted a word and gestured with his
staff at Drake.  A ball of cold flew at the Mage, turning into superheated
steam meters from him.  James raised a hand and gestured back, and the Shaman
burst into flame, a horrid cry erupting from his wide open mouth as the flesh
melted from his bones.  James clapped both hands together, and a wave of fire
swept out from him to wash over the Orcs, torching scores of them, and
inflicting severe burns on many more.

That was enough for the Grogatha.  Faced with a
power they couldn’t understand, they turned and ran from their own village as
fast as feet could take them, their woman and young at their heels.  James
looked up at the dark sky above and laughed, his head back, his magic
amplifying the sound to almost demonic proportions.  He could understand why
Katherine had gone mad with power back in the Refuge valley, when her own
powers had risen to godlike heights.

You are not a god
, he reminded himself
as he ramped down the heat he was generating. 
You have powers, but you can
still be killed.  Remember that.

James spent the next half hour going through
the village and finding things he might need among the loot the tribe had taken
from neighbors, some of them human.  At the end of that time he was clad in
comfortable boots, Nord fur pants and jacket, with a fine short blade attached
to his waist.  He headed out into the wilderness feeling good about his chances
of finding his party once more.  The Grogatha of this village were no longer a threat
to him, and he would make sure any others got the message as soon as they
crossed his path.

*     *     *

“There it is,” said H’rrut, pointing into a
high valley that was a mere eight hundred meters below their position on the
ridgeline.

Kurt focused his vision, zooming in on the part
of the mountain the Nord was pointing to.  At first he saw little but scrubby
brush, then he picked out a column, then another, framing what looked like a
tunnel into the mountain.

“How close have you gotten to it?” he asked the
Nord.

“Not much closer than this, Lord Kurt,” said
the Nord, a frown on his face.  “I have known people who have gone closer.” 
The Nord shook his head.  “They never came back.”

“Are those statues out on the slope?” asked
Jackie, her own sharp eyes picking up the shapes that looked like humanoids and
animals.  Some were intact, while many more were broken.

“That’s what they are now,” said H’rrut, again
shaking his head.   “They were once living creatures, until they ran into the
guardian of that tunnel.”

“And what is this guardian?” asked Garios, his
eyes not able to see the distance to the statues.

“I do not know, Priest,” said the Nord,
crossing his arms.  “I am a brave man, considered a great leader among my
people.  And I was not foolish enough to go down there and find out what had
killed so many.  But I have lain on this mountainside and observed in the past,
and seen what looked like trolls coming from that entrance.  I don’t think
they’re what’s turning creatures to stone, but they seem to be working in
concert with it.”

“What do you know of that could do such a
thing, Garios?” asked Jackie, a shiver running through her body that was
visible to all.

And I don’t blame her
, thought Kurt, waiting
for the dwarf to reply. 
Can we resist it, or would we be turned into
statues as well, to stand eternal in the elements until we are revived, if that
is even possible, or broken.

“There are several creatures with that
ability,” said the Dwarf, suddenly the lecturer.  “There is the woman with
snakes as hair.”

“We call that a Medusa on my world,” said Kurt.

“You have them on your world?” asked Fenris
with an incredulous expression.

“We have tales of them.  A woman with snakes
for hair, whose look can turn a man to stone.”

“Well,” continued Garios.  “And there are
several animals that can do the same, and several with a poison breath that
will also accomplish petrification.”

“And is there any way to prevent it?  Or to cure
it?”

“Not that I know of, Lord Kurt,” said the
Dwarf, “as far as prevention goes.  Some of the Gods can cure it, if they are
petitioned, and if they are receptive, never a guarantee.  Otherwise, once one
if petrified, that is the end.  And the most horrible part.”

“Is?”

“It is said that those who are petrified
continue to exist as trapped consciousness’ in their bodies for all time. 
Unless they are destroyed, such as some of those statues are.  If that is true,
I would hope that one of you would go ahead and smash my form if I end up as
such.”

“We are going to try and prevent that, Garios,”
said Kurt, slapping the small, stout man on the back.  He looked over at the
Nord.  “I want us all down in that valley, but nowhere near that entrance.  I
want our men to be camped in a secure place with food and water, while myself,
the Lady Jackie, Fenris, Garios and Xeonodes see if we can penetrate that
entrance.”

“I don’t know if I care for that idea,” said
the Halfling, his eyes wide.

“This is why you were brought along,” said Sir
Gromli, glaring at the Halfling.  “If you disobey the Lord Kurt, I will
consider it a violation of your parole, meaning you will be remanded back into
punishment.”

“Then sail me back to your Duchy, Nord,” said
the Halfling, crossing his hands over his chest.

“Punishment will consist of beheading,” said
the Nord knight with a cruel smile.  “So you had best obey the Lord Kurt. 
Unless you want to become even shorter than you now are.”

“Can you find us such a spot?” asked Kurt of
the Nord, ignoring the byplay of Knight and Thief.

“I believe I can,” said H’rrut, looking down
into the valley.  “All of these valleys have streams, and normally lots of
game.  This valley is not hunted, and so animal life should be plentiful. 
Unless.”

“Unless?”

“The Trolls and others hunt here.  But Trolls
are normally not very good hunters.”

“Then let’s find a secure camp below, and
myself and Jackie will scout out that entrance, before we make a try in the
morning.”

*     *     *

“There is the entrance,” said the leader of the
Snow Elves, pointing down at a valley below. 

Ellisandra sat in the saddle behind the other
Elf.  Dragon flight was nothing new to him, even if these were different
dragons.  The place where the Snow Elf was pointing was a large domed structure
set against the side of the mountain.  It must have been magnificent in its
day, though now it was in an obvious state of disrepair.  The dome was holed in
several places, and looked about to collapse.  There were fallen pillars at the
entrance.  And even more disconcerting, the burned bones of numerous creatures.

“What guards the entrance?”

“A monstrous red, a Great Wyrm.  Mostly it
sleeps, but if anything approaches the entrance, it awakes.  And at times it
hunts, which is why we do not like to fly this close to its lair.  It could
kill all of my dragons without much effort, and it hates white dragons with a
passion.”

“I need to get my men down there,” said the
Marshal, staring at the surrounding terrain.  His own party was a valley over,
working their way through a high pass that was supposed to lead here.

“And what are you going to do about the
dragon?” asked the Elf with a sneer on his face.  “Because whatever it is, it
had better be good, unless you want to join the bones down there.”

“I’m hoping maybe we can come to an
accommodation,” said Ellisandra.  “After all, reds are Chaos beasts, who revel
in destruction.  If we can promise him more than he can imagine if he lets us
in that place, he might be willing.”

The Snow Elf grunted, as if he really didn’t
believe what the Ellala was saying. 
He doesn’t have to believe it, since he
won’t be the one facing the dragon.  That would be me, and I really don’t
relish the idea of being quick roasted and swallowed whole.

It took the rest of the day for his men to make
it into the valley.  The high pass did lead into the valley, but only after it
had passed through a large goblin village.  The goblins would not listen to
reason, even after they tossed the heads of several of the more aggressive of
the creatures into the center of the village.  All that did was stir them up
more, and it had taken an hour battle to take the village that they didn’t
want, just so they could pass through.

The way down into the valley was much easier
than the way up, at least physically.  Psychically there was something about
the valley that seemed to beat down on them more and more with each step
forward.  If not for the presence of the Death Priest, of whom they were more
frightened of than anything, some would have fled.  Instead, they continued
forward, their lips clenched as they tried to overcome their fears.

Even the Marshal felt the force beating down on
his spirit.  He tried praying, but the Gods of Death and Chaos, those he
followed, sent no relief his way, even though he could feel the stink of evil
on the force they were dealing with.  Finally they reached the valley floor,
and though the psychic assault did not abate, the men at least were able to
build a fortified position that made them feel somewhat better.

“We will scout out the entrance in the
morning,” said the Marshal to his gathered priests and mages.  All of them,
with the exception of Jakisanda Millistara, looked like they would rather throw
themselves from a cliff than go to the temple entrance the next morning.  Millistara
looked as he always did, calm and controlled.  The Ellala knew where he was
going when he died.  Not to a hell to suffer.  But to a perdition that he would
help rule.  Glassini Ellishanana did not look enthused at the prospect of
facing a Great Red Wyrm, nor did her three companions.

“And if the Red comes out to challenge us?”
asked one of the mages.

“We will deal with that if it comes,” said the
Marshal, glaring into the man’s eyes.  He looked from face to face, making many
of the Ellala to look away.  “There is no use in imagining things that might or
might not happen.  So everyone get what sleep you can, and we’ll deal with
tomorrow when it comes.”

There was some mumbling and murmuring as the
men and women left the meeting and went to their tents.  There was food
available, brought to them by the white dragon riders.  The Ellala should have
been exhausted enough to sleep well, but the psychic energy disturbed their
sleep, and, for those who could sleep, their dreams.

Ellisandra himself went from dream to
disturbing dream all through the night.  Demons and undead haunted him, many
with the faces of people he had personally slain.  He had a feeling that the
spirits of the dead were waiting for him, to welcome him with open rotting
arms.  A feeling of doom pursued him through the night, and he woke as the sun
was rising, his body and mind as tired as when he had tried to close his eyes.

“I want the entire area patrolled,” he told the
Snow Elf leader before he gathered his people up for their excursion to the
dragon’s lair.  “Our enemies are out there as well, and will be trying to get
to the artifacts before we do.”

“We will fly over the back entrance
periodically,” said the Elf with a smile.  “But that entrance is guarded by
something more terrifying than a mere dragon.”

The Marshal could not imagine what that could
be, and did not want to know.  What he faced was bad enough.  If his opponents
faced something worse, so much the better for his side.