Temple Hill (28 page)

The wheel rolled over the center of the creature’s mass, its viscous body beginning to seethe and boil from the heat. The gibbering babble became shrieking screams as the creature was consumed by the fire. Fendel’s concentration never wavered. He rolled the wheel back and forth across the dying monstrosity until the only sound left was the crackle of the flames and the soft, wet explosions of popping bubbles from its cooking flesh.

“I suspect the way from here on in will be clear,” Fendel observed calmly, plugging his nose to keep out the foul stink of the steaming corpse.

Plugging his nose against the smell, Corin could only hope the gnome was right.

his is it,” Fendel said, running bis hands over the ceiling a few feet from the stone wall blocking their path. “Well be coming in through the floor near the south wall, if memory serves.”

If Corin didn’t know better he would have assumed they had somehow gotten lost and run into a dead end, but by now he had learned to trust the gnome’s sense of direction.

He didn’t know how Fendel had been able to guide him so easily through the sub-tunnels without even looking at a map, or how the gnome had unerringly chosen the right path at every fork and branch. Maybe magic unlocked the small man’s long-forgotten memories of his old hideout, or maybe Fendel had spent so much time down there he had never really forgotten the layout. To Corin, the explanation was unimportant. The only thing that mattered was that Fendel had delivered on his promise: He had brought them through the labyrinth to Xiliath’s treasure room.

“Assuming that lizard-worshiping wizard’s information is accurate, there’re bound to be a few guards up above,” Fendel cautioned. “But they won’t be watching for us to come in this way. They’ll be watching the main entrance to

the north. If we act fast, maybe we can take them out before they set off any alarms.”

“Do you have any spells that would do the trick?”

“No. Most of my spells are designed to protect, or hinder. I never got the knack of those quick-killing incantations. I can maybe slow them down, but I can’t keep them from setting off an alarm.”

“Leave the guards to me then,” Corin said. “You just find Lhasha and use that potion to set her right.”

“Fair enough,” the gnome replied, pulling out the iron stakes and a heavy hammer he’d stashed in his magical bag earlier that evening. “But before I look for Lhasha, 111 have to wedge this trapdoor open. If it shuts behind us, I don’t think we’ll be able to open it from the other side. It won’t do Lhasha any good if we rescue her and don’t have a way out.”

In less trying circumstances, Corin would have grinned at the methodical, organized, and ever practical functioning of Fendel’s mind. As it was, he was simply grateful he had agreed to let the gnome come along. Already the little man’s cautious preparation and forethought had saved his life countless times.

“Are you ready to do your thing?” the gnome asked.

Corin nodded.

Fendel flipped the trigger, and the trapdoor above their heads swung open with a groan.

With a boost from his larger companion, the gnome quickly scrambled up through the hole above them, and a second later Corin had pulled himself up and through it as well.

The cavern was huge, easily large enough to fit any of the buildings from the warehouse district inside. Set into the wall at regular intervals were burning torches, casting a dim glow about the entire room. The west side of the cavern was filled with wooden crates and barrels—like

the Cult of the Dragon, much of Xiliath’s operation was financed by smuggling contraband into the city. In the southwest corner were racks of weapons and stacks of armor. A cache large enough to equip a small army. In the southeast corner was the hooded, motionless figure of the medusa.

As the wizard had promised, the cave was full of statues—victims of the medusa’s gaze. Forty, maybe fifty in all, were scattered about the room. In the dim light it was impossible to get an exact count—and impossible to pick Lhasha out from the bunch. Corin realized their chance of a quick in-and-out mission was very remote.

The only entrance to the great cavern, besides Fendel’s secret door, was a wide arch in the north wall, guarded by four heavily armed soldiers. But instead of facing out into the approaching hall, as Corin had hoped, they were all looking back into the room, their attention drawn by the incriminating moan of the secret door’s long neglected hinges.

Corin’s battle cry rang through the chamber as he leaped through the door and charged across the cavern to attack, hoping all four of his opponents would enter the fray. Three of the soldiers did rush to meet Corin, but the fourth turned and disappeared through the arch and into the network of tunnels beyond. Within minutes, Corin knew, the lone guard would return with a platoon of troops to bolster the room’s defenders.

One of the men running toward Corin easily outdistanced his two companions, and met the metal-armed warrior in the very center of the cavern. His fleetness of foot was rewarded with the honor of being the first to fall before Corin’s twin blades.

The metal arm dealt the first blow, a lightning quick thrust to the midsection. The sword was true to the mark, gouging a deep wound in the guard’s side. That alone

might have been enough to finish him, but even as the first blade was inflicting potentially lethal damage, the second slashed at the guard’s thigh. The edge of Fendel’s enchanted sword, which Corin now wielded in his left hand, cut to the bone, severing the man’s artery.

Corin went into a spin to keep his momentum moving forward as he wrenched the blades free and brought them both to bear again. The soldier collapsed. Beneath him, one of Corin’s swords hacked at the dying man’s chest as he fell, the other carving a ragged gash across his throat to insure only a corpse would hit the floor.

The other two men came into range and engaged Corin simultaneously. He easily fended off their initial thrusts, the twin blades allowing him to deflect their coordinated attacks. He turned the dual fury of his swords on the man to his left, using one weapon to open up the guard’s defenses, allowing the other blade to strike unimpeded.

The merciless slaughter of his mates broke the third guard’s morale. He dropped his sword and tried to run, but Corin hacked him down before he had taken three steps, the point of Fendel’s sword slipping between the rings of his mail shirt with the screech of metal on metal. Stabbing an unarmed foe in the back didn’t bother Corin in the least. The White Shields believed in an honorable code of conduct, but only a fool extended bis chivalry to the battlefield. Any enemy stupid enough to turn his back on an armed foe deserved to die.

During the brief but bloody battle, Corin had caught the heavy sounds of Fendel’s hammer, pounding stakes in place to make sure the trapdoor stayed open. He glanced back at his companion to see the gnome had finished securing their escape route and was now darting about the room, moving from statue to statue, seeking out his

young ward’s petrified body among the stone silhouettes barely visible in the shadows of the torchlight.

Corin joined in the search. With reinforcements already on the way, their only hope was to find Lhasha and get out before the second wave of Xiliath’s army reached the room. However, like Fendel, he could do little but run haphazardly from stone figure to stone figure, changing course only when he got close enough to recognize a particular statue was too tall or too wide to be Lhasha.

A deep, growling voice echoed from the roof and walls of the cavern, pulling Corin up short. “We meet again, White Shield!”

Graal stood in the archway of the main entrance, halfway across the room. He was flanked by four guards on either side. Immediately to his left was an ancient man in a gray robe, his white beard hanging down to his belt as he leaned heavily upon a staff to support his age-withered bones. Even from across the room, Corin could see a brightly glowing ring on the old mage’s hand.

Corin knew he was overmatched, without even accounting for the mage’s magic. His newfound skill with two weapons was no match for the overwhelming numbers ready to oppose him. From the hallway behind Graal he could hear the footsteps of many more soldiers approaching. Victory was impossible, but maybe he could buy Fendel some time, or at least keep the gnome from being noticed.

“Do you have the courage to face me alone,” Corin taunted the towering orog, “or do you need your lackeys by your side to defeat me?”

The orog replied with a roar of laughter. “Why would I be stupid enough to duel you one on one when I have an entire army at my disposal?” He turned to the old wizard at his side. “Unleash the medusa. Turn this fool to stone;”

Graal pointed a huge paw toward Fendel, who was trying to creep away into the shadows on the far side of the room while he still searched for Lhasha. “Don’t forget the other one.”

The wizard raised a trembling fist into the air, the glowing ring intensifying in brightness. The medusa responded by taking a slow step forward. Her hood remained in place. Corin put his head down and barged across the room toward the orog and his soldiers.

If the warrior’s time was at hand, it would end on the point of a sword, falling in battle the way a White Shield was supposed to die, not trapped in some hellish limbo of eternal stone.

The force of the sudden explosion from the east wall knocked Graal’s men to the ground, including the frail wizard—the old man’s staff was sent careening across the cavern floor. Even the orog’s giant frame was sent reeling backward by the devastating concussion that rocked the cavern.

Corin was hurled through the air by the blast. He hit the ground and rolled several times until he smashed into the side of one of the crates piled up against the west wall, knocking the wind from his lungs. Small clumps of earth and pebbles hailed down on him, and a cloud of dirt and dust choked his lungs and stung his eyes.

Dazed, he rolled onto his side and looked back toward the far wall at Fendel, assuming the gnome had cast some earth-shattering spell. But the gnome was nowhere to be seen. He too had been blown clear by the unexpected detonation. Despite himself, Corin glanced over to the medusa. She lay crumpled on the floor, her face still shrouded by her hood and veil, her enslaved mind incapable of giving her body the order to rise to its feet without the volition of the stooped old mage who wore the ring.

On the east side of the room, standing in the rubble of what once had been a square chunk of solid stone wall, was Azlar. The wizard’s arms were fully extended at the level of his shoulders, his palms facing outward and his fingers splayed. A green glow enveloped his hands as the last remnants of his powerful spell shimmered and flickered before winking out.

A platoon of armed cultists poured into the cavern through the breach, looking to overwhelm their still-stunned foes. Six of them formed a protective circle around the young wizard commanding them.

“The ring!” Azlar shouted to the rest of his troops. “Bring me the ring! Snap the old man’s bony finger off if necessary, just bring it to me now!”

As the cultists approached, the ancient sorcerer struggled to rise, then fell back to the floor as his weakened bones failed him and his eyes rolled back into his skull. Though the mage’s body was old and frail, his magic was powerful. A spell discharged from the tip of the aged wizard’s staff, triggered by the old man’s collapse. A ring of blue fire sprang up around his unconscious form, engulfing the first two cultists who tried to touch him. They died screaming in agony, blue smoke wafting up from their charred corpses.

Graal was there, already recovered from the concussive shock of Azlar’s entrance. A single sweep of his black blade disemboweled one unfortunate cultist. Another was decapitated by the return stroke of the orog”s blade. Graal struck with precise fury, chopping two more cultists down before the others stumbled back, fleeing before his wrath.

By the time Corin rose to his own feet Graal’s position had been augmented by the arrival of the second wave of Xiliath’s reinforcements. They circled the old mage, his motionless body still on the ground. Because of the shield

of blue flame surrounding him, no one was able to check if he still lived.

As if drawn by the arrival of Xiliath’s reinforcements, a second wave of cultists swarmed in through Azlar’s magically wrought entrance. For a brief second, the two armies faced each other in silence. And then all the Nine Hells broke loose as they launched themselves at each other’s throats.

Corin wasn’t exactly surprised by the arrival of the cultists. Azlar’s plan was very much like the one Fendel had proposed—come in through an unexpected route and catch the guards unprepared. Instead of using the long forgotten sub-tunnels, Azlar had simply used his magic to blast a completely new route through the earth. And instead of a single gnome inventor, Azlar was accompanied by forty or fifty fanatically loyal Cult of the Dragon soldiers.

Corin had suspected all along that Azlar was somehow using him as bait, and the manner of the wizard’s timely entrance merely confirmed his suspicions. Azlar had expected Corin to try and blunder his way in through the main entrance, approaching through the tunnels to the north. If he had come that way, Corin knew, he would have been spotted long before reaching the heart of Xiliath’s lair, drawing the attention of Xiliath’s troops away from the treasure room itself.

All of this passed through Corin’s head on an intuitive level. The information was cataloged and analyzed instantaneously—then filed away as useless in the current situation. As usual, the whys and hows of the situation mattered little to Corin—it was only the here and now he cared about.

All around Corin armed men were engaged in brutal hand-to-hand combat, but for the time being, the cultists and Xiliath’s men were focused on each other. Conscious

of possible broken bones and other injuries, Corin rose gingerly to his feet and stood alone in the center of the melee like a calm eye amidst a raging storm. His head moved quickly from side to side, seeking out Fendel. At last he found him. The gnome was crumpled on the fringes of the battle. Injured by the blast, Fendel writhed in pain. Fortunately, like Corin, he was being ignored for the moment.