Saga of the Old City (40 page)

“Their retreat was even more panicked because of the blood-curdling screams and terrible rending and cracking sounds that echoed past them from behind. Those near the front of the on-rushing group realized that their comrades were being slain and crushed one by one, with incredible brutality and swiftness, by something that was overtaking them even as they wildly sought escape.”

Gord stirred uneasily but did not interrupt Curley’s horrendous tale.

“One of the band was a wicked cleric, a priest of some cursed and malign being or other entity unknown now. That one managed to employ his power to create a bright sphere of glowing light, and its radiance showed what doomed them-a demon of most awful aspect! Somehow, a
cataboligne
was bound within the cairn. This monstrous guardian, mad with centuries of confinement, was wreaking a hideous vengeance upon the intruders. The cleric attempted to turn the demon, or possibly to treat with it. It was this effort that enabled the front-runners to escape and seal the tomb on the demon and the rest of their fellows-including the hapless priest.”

“And then what?” demanded Chert, unaware that the tale was over.

“Well, at least one lived happily ever after in Urnst,” Curley replied dryly in an attempt to break the tension he felt.

But Gord was not in a humorous mood at all. “We are going where this… demon, named Catabo-something, waits with the shattered skeletons of who knows how many brigands-and some priest of evil’s gnawed remains, too? Are you mad?” Gord said, his voice rising in pitch and volume on the last three words.

Greenleaf responded with calm indignation. “What lurks within the cairn is a cataboligne, which, for your information, is a sort of demon, not the true name of one.”

“So what’s in a name? A demon of any sort smells foul to me! If we are to find treasure, let’s look elsewhere,” said the young thief with a shudder. Gord was now quite set on not going any further with this whole business, and his tone and expression relayed this opinion clearly.

“Aw, come on, Gord,” urged the big barbarian. “A demon is just a bigger, nastier… ogre… or something like that. We’ve got our blades, and Curley here can use his spells and stuff. We can’t come all this way and then turn tail and leave a fortune behind because it’s guarded by some old catabowly demon now, can we?”

The druid interjected his own counter also. “Before you run off, Gord, my lad, ask yourself this: How many fleeing bandits and outlaw brigands are you equal to?”

“I’ll take on a dozen of that sort of scum anytime!” Chert said with steel in his voice.

“Then consider that,” said Greenleaf in an encouraging tone, “and consider this as well: I have more powers than some little cleric serving a malign master-not to mention my skill with weapons.”

The exchange continued for a while in this vein. Gradually, as Gord’s initial shock subsided, he became convinced that he should remain with his comrades. The words of Curley and Chert did help, but in large measure Gord persuaded himself to stay. After all, these were his boon companions with whom he had agreed to adventure. And he would not desert them now, cataboligne demon or no. Tomorrow they would enter the cairn, with weapons and spells ready to counter the evil of its demonic guardian.

Chapter 29

When Gord woke suddenly, the first thing he saw in the pale light of the pre-dawn sky was an enormous bear biting the arm and shoulder of the druid. Without hesitation, Gord sprang to his feet, sword in hand, shouting for the sleeping barbarian to awaken and help defend their companion. The great ursine jaws released their hold on Greenleaf, the head swung toward the source of the sudden commotion, and a horrible growl rumbled forth from deep within the bear’s body.

“Stop! Stand still!” shouted the druid at his companions.

Both young men froze, obedient but perplexed. Gord remained poised to lunge, and Chert stood with axe in hand, about to charge.

The druid spoke a few soft, growling sounds, and the monstrous cave bear relaxed again. As the druid continued to communicate in this fashion, the animal sat on its ponderous haunches, lolled its tongue, and stretched forth its head. Greenleaf scratched and pounded the place between its ears, and the bear made odd, whining groans of pleasure at this rough petting. Gord looked at Chert quizzically and saw the barbarian break into a knowing grin as he witnessed the interplay between the animal and the druid. The young thief turned his gaze back to Curley, wearing a frown of confusion.

“This bear is Yurgh. Or, at least, that’s as close as human speech can come to pronouncing his name,” the druid said as he continued to administer his scratching and patting, much to the evident delight of the furry creature he spoke about. “It seems that he alone resides in this territory, dwelling in a cave not too far distant.

“During my watch last night,” the druid continued, “I summoned any animals within the area to come to our assistance, but only Yurgh here responded. We are friends now, he and I, and he will aid us in what lies before us. I enlist his service with great regret, for I fear that the cataboligne will treat Yurgh roughly, and the death of such a wonderful creature as this will mark my spirit sorely. I have told him of the adversary, however, and the great old fellow agrees to fight the demon willingly, hating all things such as it represents.”

“You call and speak with bears?” Gord was having trouble grasping what the druid had done.

Chert had no such difficulty, having been around nature priests for all of his life. “Sure thing, Gord,” the barbarian said before Greenleaf could reply. “I’ve seen this pretty often, and it’s no big deal. If I wasn’t still asleep when you started shouting, I’d have known better than to worry about Curley and a bear chumming it up.”

More than a little miffed at Chert’s casual passing off of his efforts, Greenleaf ceased his petting of Yurgh to point out that the huge ursine was a formidable foe and an ally to the death. “Can you bring such help for us?” the druid demanded of the young barbarian. “Even a warrior such as you would find his hug somewhat uncomfortable-no big deal, indeed!” finished the druid with a harrumph, and he resumed his scratching of the now-restless bear.

“Sorry, Curley,” Chert said hastily. “You know I didn’t mean that it was nothing-only that calling bears and stuff is a power all you druids have.”

Gord freely admitted that he, for one, was duly impressed, and Greenleaf was thereby mollified. That settled, the three adventurers and their grizzled pet of monstrous proportion headed for the depression. It was a matter of an hour or so before they came within sight of the bowl containing the circled stones, clambered down the narrow path to its bottom, and advanced to the piled slabs resting at the very center of the inner ring of megaliths.

“Here is what bars the entrance to the barrow,” Greenleaf said, pointing to a large rectangle of rock in front of him. The stone showed marks of tools that had been wielded upon its surface, and it was somewhat askew, wedged in place with other stones obviously added as if by afterthought.

“How do we move it?” asked the muscular barbarian. “I’d say it weighs a couple of tons.”

“The thing pivots, according to the story,” said the druid as he surveyed the slab. “Let’s get the detritus out of the way and give it a try. Yurgh, here, can use his strength to help us pull it open.”

It took a bit of work for the three men to clear away the shards of stone, which had been broken away from the ancient ruins by time and weather and gathered up by the frightened bandits years ago in their efforts to wedge fast the portal. Other stones too, boulders of some size, had been heaped at the base of the slab. The great bear watched the men’s labor with seeming fascination, content to bask in the bright warmth of the morning sun as the two-legged little creatures cleared the rubble.

“Damn that fat lazy bastard of a bear,” Chert muttered as he tugged and pulled away a chunk of splintered megalith from its obstructing position. “Couldn’t you have ordered him to help us, Curley?”

“Yurgh can do a lot, but his claws aren’t fingers, nor his forelegs arms,” the druid said, supervising the last bit of work. “Besides, he enjoys watching and resting,” he added with a grin and a wink in the general direction of the monstrous animal. Then he spoke seriously. “Don’t forget, he has agreed willingly to fight against the guardian, putting his life in jeopardy for no reward other than the encounter itself!”

“Wonderful,” Gord interjected with sarcasm. “But let’s cut the crap about what that bear should or will do and get on to the opening of this blasted barrow! We’ll be here at midnight if you two don’t stop jawing at each other and lend me a hand!”

Gord was attempting to pull the huge slab of stone open by himself, and his efforts were having no effect. Curley murmured something for a few seconds, and then Yurgh seemed to understand what was needed, for the cave bear ambled up, brushed the young thief aside with a casual swipe, and inserted the claws of his great forepaws into the crack between slab and cairn wall.

The animal pried and scratched at the projecting lip of the portal, making strained growling sounds as he worked with obvious great effort. After watching this for a few minutes, Gord became concerned for the continued good health of their new ally, and he was about to request that he be called off by the druid who commanded him.

Then Yurgh suddenly spraddled his hindquarters, dug his rear claws into the earth, and tore at the slab with even more vigor. The fur of the mighty creature rippled, showing where muscles bunched and moved beneath the thick hair and hide. The stone closure came slowly forward several inches, then stopped again.

As Yurgh sat back with a satisfied grunt, the three men hurried around his body to examine what the bear had accomplished. They could see a crack of a finger’s breadth between the portal and the lithic post. Curley theorized that the heavy slab had been forced shut when the brigands fled the barrow, and in their haste to slam it on what was inside, they had probably jammed it on something that had forced it somewhat askew and prevented it from closing properly. Whatever that was now also prevented the slab from coming open. Greenleaf peered for a time into the crack, his hands cupped along the sides of his face to shut out as much sunlight as possible.

“I can detect nothing in the antechamber beyond,” he told the expectant pair beside him. “Let’s see if we can use our brute force to unstick this door.” He put his fingers through the crack and got a grip on the inner edge of the slab. Gord and Chert did likewise, and Yurgh put one of his monstrous paws to work on the crevice as well, reaching between human legs in order to find a place where his claws could add strength to the attempt.

For several agonizing seconds, even the combined pull failed to move the portal. Then the slab pivoted outward suddenly, with a shriek of stone on metal. The pivot pin that had been holding the stuck door snapped with a loud ping, giving way under the pressure. Chert, who had been tugging mightily, lost his footing abruptly now that the force of his pull was meeting no resistance. His stumbling fall carried his companions back and asprawl also, at the same instant that Yurgh jerked back from the opening with speed hard to believe for a creature so massive. As all four of them watched from their prone positions several feet away, the now-free slab teetered for a split second. Then inertia had its way, and the great stone fell away from the opening and crashed to the ground.

“We are committed now,” the druid said heavily as he eyed the array of arcane sigils graven into the inner face of the stone door. Traces of pigment could still be seen in some of the incised marks, presumably chiseled by some ancient binder of demons.

“Let us pray we don’t end up like him,” Gord remarked, drawing the attention of his companions to what lay on the floor just inside the barrow’s entrance.

The three paused a moment at the sight. Half of a mail-clad skeleton was there. What had become of its lower parts was moot. Both parts of a broken, rusted sword blade lay near a gauntlet of steel that sheathed the skeleton’s right hand. The left gauntlet and accompanying hand had apparently been wedged beneath the slab when the portal was forced shut; all that remained of them now were bits of rusted, twisted metal and splintered bone. It was likewise obvious that the entombed brigand had sundered his sword blade against the inner surface of the portal in a futile attempt to force it open.

As he gazed somberly upon this tragic spectacle, Gord wondered what pleadings and beggings his comrades had ignored as they trapped this man. Then he was emboldened by the knowledge that he had better companions than those responsible for this sight, and these thoughts strengthened his resolve to go into the cairn.

“Now we must be victorious, or die in the trying,” Green-leaf whispered, continuing his previous line of thinking. “If the thing within is loosed, it will ravage and devour countless hapless souls before it can be found again and sent back to its stinking home below-if indeed this could ever be done!”

“If axe can cleave it,” Chert rumbled, “then it is a dead demon indeed, for I will confront it now!” With that pronouncement, the tall barbarian strode into the barrow, not waiting to see what his associates would do. The others followed on his heels, and the three humans and one cave bear faced the unknown together.

The antechamber they entered was illuminated by light that streamed in through the doorway exposed by the fallen slab. It was a chamber about six paces in width and five in depth. The low ceiling of stone made Chert, Curley, and the bear crouch out of necessity; Gord stood stooped over for another reason, feeling oppressed at the thought of the tons of stone over his head. Many of the slabs were old and cracked, and he tried not to think about what would happen if the whole affair came tumbling down.

Yurgh, seeming agitated, pushed his way to the front of the group and swung his barrel-like head from side to side, sniffing the musty, foul air. Then he issued forth a horrible growl that seemed to make the stones ring with its ferocity. The three adventurers saw that the monstrous ursine was glaring at the narrow opening in the rear wall of the antechamber’s rightmost portion, its lintel joining the outer blocks of the wall there. Then they heard a shuffling sound.

A grinning apparition suddenly leaped around the corner of the opening and into their view. It was a dead, gray-colored thing, a rotted corpse with tattered lips falling away to reveal yellow teeth bared in the grin of death. Somehow it still lived; a half-life of awful sort existed within the body and animated it with fell force that gave its decaying flesh and leathery, mummylike skin the power to move with speed and purpose. The unnatural condition that imbued this thing exuded from its putrescent eyes. All but the bear recoiled at the sight of the horrible thing.

The creature before them was clad in the moldering remains of what had once been garments of some priestly sort. Although it seemed to be able to move with agility, the arms and legs of the corpse belied this. These members appeared to have been wrenched and disjointed, so that they now protruded at unnatural angles. Yet the thing did move, and its withered right hand had the strength to hold the corroded iron of a mace.

All of this was perceived in an instant, for the pause of the undead corpse was only momentary. The thing gave another leap, arms and legs going out at crazy angles, and moved to attack the bear, which was still in the forefront. As the zombie advanced it raised its flanged metal club, intending to bring the weapon down upon Yurgh’s head. The monster’s skeletal face looked even more fiendish as its jaws opened in a soundless effort to shriek its hatred and fury.

Yurgh was not simply waiting for the stinking thing’s blow. The bear also lunged forward, and this move carried the animal close to the creature so that the mace impacted on the matted bristles of Yurgh’s humped shoulders, at the same time that the maw of the animal stretched wide and clamped shut on the thing’s crooked left arm. The weapon blow certainly hurt the bear, but Yurgh seemed to pay it no heed. With a savage shake of his massive head, the bear sent the zombie flying sideways-all of the thing, that is, but its left arm, which had come loose at the shoulder and was still in the bear’s mouth. The creature smacked into the wall of the antechamber with a meaty sound, but without hesitation was up on its twisted legs again, mace rising for another attack.

Gord, finding himself on the zombie’s flank as it again advanced toward the bear, took matters into his own hands. He lunged forward, ducking under the zombie’s upraised mace, and thrust his swordpoint into the creature’s right leg as the thing was turning to meet this new threat. Gord withdrew his weapon quickly, but not fast enough to avoid a grazing blow from the mace. He saw stars as an iron flange glanced off his forehead, and he reeled back. Although blood now blinded his left eye, Gord had seen enough to know that his stab had apparently done little harm to his opponent. He took a second to shake his head, trying to clear his senses, and when he looked up again he saw the foul creature was aiming another blow at him.

“To your grave, damned thing!” Chert cried as he came up behind the creature and brought his great battle-axe down. Because of the low ceiling and the closeness of the melee, the blow could not be delivered with full force, but it was still strong enough to send the blade through the steel plate and chain mesh protecting the undead thing’s shoulder.

The barbarian’s blow did not fell the zombie, but it threw the thing off balance, so that the mace it wielded swished through empty air. As it exposed itself thus, Curley Greenleaf jabbed his spear forward, scoring a hit on the zombie’s rotting body. “This thing is tough,” he shouted to his companions, ducking another swing of the undead cleric’s rusty mace.

The bear growled hideously, but the crowded conditions did not permit it enough space to attack fully. Yurgh had spit out the moldering member from his mouth, shaking it free and then trying to clear the foul taste from his mouth. Gord had moved back and was also out of the fight for the moment, trying to clear his vision and staunch the flow of blood that was running down from the wound on his head and blinding him. Chert and the druid continued to press the zombie so that it could do naught but face them in return.

If the damage done to its undead body caused it pain, there was no evidence of it. Gaping jaws still sounding its silent scream, lambent hatred burning in its eyes, the zombie sought to crush its foes with the weapon it had used in life.

“When I stab it, you strike from the side!” Greenleaf shouted as he dodged another swing of the iron mace. Then he thrust his spear forward into the thing’s body again.

The barbarian gave a cry that sounded like “Brrrr!” as he swung his weapon in an arc perpendicular to the zombie’s body. With both of his hands clasped on the haft of the great axe, his teeth clenched, his muscles working to their fullest, Chert drove the blade hard and true, hitting the thing at the waist just as the druid yanked his spear out of its torso. The curving blade cut the rotting thing nearly in half, and the zombie fell back and down.

The thing twitched and jerked, but did not stand upright again. Its lolling head showed only empty eye sockets where the evil light had burned a moment earlier. Then the air was filled with the sound of a deep, dry chuckle coming from the interior of the cairn, so pervasive that it seemed to flow right through the stone itself. It was the most evil sound Gord had ever heard.

“Yurgh! Guard the doorway there,” the druid said, following the words with a gesture and a few guttural sounds. The bear complied, moving next to the opening on the back wall that the zombie had come through. Curley turned and surveyed his friends, a thin smile on his lips. “Well, that’s that,” he said. “Now, Gord, let’s take care of that gash on your head.”

Gord had overcome the dizziness that beset him when he was hit, had managed to clear the blood from his left eye with a piece of linen torn from his undershirt, and was dabbing at the wound. The druid moved him near the entrance and peered at the cut in the light there.

“It’s not a serious wound,” he said, “but who knows what foulness was on that mace? I’ll have it taken care of in a moment!” The young thief watched as Greenleaf took a small jar from his belt pouch, opened it, and with a bit of clean cloth took out a small portion of the amber-colored ointment therein. The stuff made his skin tingle when the druid applied it to the wound, the cut stung briefly, and then all pain was gone. A small moan of satisfaction escaped Gord’s lips as the magical medicine finished its work.

“The wound is closed, my friend,” said Curley, “and your forehead is as good as new-except for a small scar you’ll have there. Clean off the rest of the blood, and we’ll be ready to get on with this business.” The druid turned back inside the chamber then and saw the barbarian examining the remains of their foul and unnatural foe.

“Hey, Curley, what kept this thing going?” asked Chert as he wiped the blade of his weapon on the creature’s tattered garments. “It looks as if it has been dead for years!”

“The zombie?” Greenleaf asked rhetorically. “No doubt some malign power desired to keep the corpse animated with wicked force to serve as a slave. That was no ordinary zombie, though. I’ve encountered a few of these undead in my travels, and this one was far worse than any of the others.”

“Whatever… the thing went down easily enough when kissed by
Brool
here!” the barbarian giant said as he hefted his huge axe.

“
Brool,
you say? An interesting name for an axe,” said Curley. “I detected a low hum coming from it as you felled the zombie with that last stroke. Why have I never heard you call it by name it before now?”

Chert grinned at the druid. “This has been handed from father to son in my family for generations. I named it to you without thinking, and now you know its secret too. When called by name the weapon strikes true and sinks deep, as if it were alive. Perhaps it is, or perhaps it carries a dweomer…. I neither know nor care. It is a true friend, tried and trusted!”

“Indeed, a friend of us all,” Gord chimed in. He had finished cleaning himself up and rejoined the group.

Curley Greenleaf nodded knowingly and spoke no more about the matter. He turned his attention to the bear just as Yurgh let out a low rumble.

“Our friend senses the presence of something else awaiting us inside,” said the druid. “Now it is time to go down and see what that is. May our weapons prove potent and our enemy be confounded!”