The Sorcerer's Scourge (46 page)

Hundreds of miles to the north, the barely settled town of End’s Run kept a wary eye towards the battle that raged uncomfortably close to the south. The town had no standing army and the nearest thing to a city watch was the recently created enforcer unit commanded by an unpleasant man named Donnigan.

Unable to find sleep this night, Donnigan was walking the catwalk along the inside of the wooden palisade when the fog crashed down upon the rough town, finding itself the first victims of the lich’s depraved plan. It was so dense that the town instantly vanished within its thick haze. Even the torches burning in sconces appeared as little more than an orange glow from more than a few feet away. Donnigan stopped walking, cast an ear outward towards the thick forest beyond the wall, and gripped his weapon tightly.

“Donnigan?” a questioning whisper came from out of the gloom.

“Yeah,” he replied without turning his head.

“What in the abyss is going on?”

The enforcer commander shook his head, a useless gesture given the lack of visibility. “Damned if I know. Go wake the men.”

“On it.”

Donnigan had never been a man comfortable with taking orders, but he prayed for some now. Whatever this was and whatever was happening was far beyond his ken. He wished Lord Bailey was here to tell him what to do, but he had not heard nor seen the laird of End’s Run for nearly two days. Landrin seemed to have left everyone to their own devices shortly after that army from North Haven had shown up.

“Light every torch we have and get some fires going where they won’t set anything else aflame,” he shouted, hoping his men could hear him even though there was no way for them to see him. “I want this place lit up bright enough that the gods above will think we set fire to the whole kingdom!”

He could hear men running about, shouting to each other as they hastened to follow his orders. That was when he spotted the first undead creatures to reach the top of the wooden wall. Despite their numbers, the undead moved with an eerie silence. Donnigan turned and stared directly into the face of one of the men he remembered hanging a few weeks ago on Lord Bailey’s order.

His sword leapt from its scabbard and intercepted the arm that came at him in a clumsy but powerful swing. His steel easily severed the limb at the elbow and his backswing liberated the creature’s head from its body. Through the fog nearest the torches, he saw more silhouetted forms clamoring over the wall and onto the catwalk with the same disturbing silence and malevolent intent.

“Rouse the town!” Donnigan shouted. A man repeated his order by ringing a brass alarm bell.

Combat was joined immediately. The men on the walls futilely engaged the vastly more numerous undead, but the horde pushed them from the walls and into the town. Some townsfolk chose to lock their doors, but most men and women poured from their houses with torches and weapons in hand.

Undead and their living foes battled within the streets, between buildings, and inside the homes. Hundreds, then thousands, of feet churned the already muddy snow into a freezing bog littered with bodies and stained with blood.

The battle for End’s Run and the people’s very survival raged for hours. Numerous homes and buildings now burned due to an errant torch or were intentionally set aflame to cast light upon the scourge of undead that flowed over the walls and into the town.

The people of End’s Run were survivors and quickly developed tactics for dealing with the monsters. One or two people engaged a creature while another speared it in the back and shoved it into the flames of a burning building, wagon, or pile of debris. Still it was not enough. Every man or woman that fell to one of the undead quickly became one as well, and the living was continually being pushed back towards the center of town from all sides.

Donnigan was certain they were all doomed. There were simply too many of them and they replenished their numbers too quickly. Then the howling began. A few howls sounded from several spots outside of the town, but was then picked up by dozens more. Soon, hundreds of shrill voices answered the call. Dark, four-legged shapes began flitting in and out of the pools of light cast by the burning structures, tearing into the pressing mass of undead with a ferocious fervor. Donnigan paused in his hacking, scarcely believing what he saw. Wolves. Hundreds of wolves had come to the rescue of End’s Run.

***

Bron, Maude’s group, and the remaining elven rangers pushed towards the heart of death, no longer slowed by the dissociative magic that had previously slowed their progress. No one knew what effect the gathering energy had caused, but it apparently took the spell with it when it was released.

They did not proceed unimpeded, but the small bands of undead and ragmen that hurled themselves at the party were easily dispatched. When they reached what they sought, it was like stepping inside a bubble. The fog ended abruptly and created seemingly solid walls inside of a great sphere of clarity. Ahead of them loomed an ancient fortress, partially carved into the near-black granite of the impossibly high Great Barrier Mountains.

The already frigid air took on a coldness that reached far deeper than their flesh and sapped more than just their body heat. It seemed to suck out every bit of hope or joy and wrapped them in despair.

A few ragmen and lesser undead prowled the grounds and entrances, but the deep clefts and shadows could hide any untold number of horrors—horrors that were likely only to get worse once they delved inside.

“Any chance of sneaking past ‘em?” Borik asked in a hushed voice.

“Unlikely,” Bron replied, “but it is very unlikely our presence is unknown to the master of this evil place.”

“Are you saying we should simply bash our way in and forget stealth?” Maude asked.

“Speed is likely paramount at this point. The time for subtlety is long past.”

Maude smiled. “Good.”

Getting into the ancient fortress was easy. The ragmen fell instantly to the rangers’ arrows and the few undead were lesser abominations that were all but obliterated by Malek’s holy rebuke. Finding the lich was going to prove far more difficult. The citadel was enormous inside and covered an area far greater than the outside face had hinted. To make matters worse, rubble blocked numerous passages and forced the group to backtrack several times.

Neither was the structure abandoned. Abominations of every form leapt from side passages, alcoves, and high ceilings.  The individual battles were swiftly ended, but the unending assaults took their toll on the party’s strength and nerves. Even Tarth seemed unusually attentive and on edge.

Cobwebs shrouded every corner and doorway and the bones of animals littered the floors. Dust covered everything in a thick film. Not a single square inch of the citadel had avoided the ravages of time or death.

They found a winding staircase leading upwards towards the top of what constituted the central tower. Since the way down had caved in centuries ago and choked the passage with rubble, the group decided to go up. Upon reaching the top, they found a wide hall continuing deeper into the mountain, much like several of the lower passages and chambers did.

Several rooms branched off from the main hall like leaves on a tree limb. The wooden doors had disintegrated long ago and it took only seconds to see that they were unoccupied. Deep inside the mountain, the hallway ended at a set of bronze doors. They were not terribly ornate nor were they inscribed or adorned with runes or horrific pictures. They did appear to be very sturdy, however.

“What do you think? Blast em down?” Borik asked.

“Let’s try the handle first,” Maude answered.

Maude grabbed the large brass ring set in the door and heaved. The portal swung ponderously outward enough for the party to slip inside. The chamber beyond was enormous. Even Borik and the keen vision of the elves could barely make out the far side of the room. The ceiling was nearly lost in shadow.

In the center of the room was a colossal black gem resting on a plinth of obsidian. The onyx jewel was cut into at least a hundred facets, each the size of a small dinner plate. Nightmarish scenes of slaughter unfolded upon each of the facets, played out as though the viewer was right there as it happened. Standing over and nearly hidden behind the gem, gleefully watching the carnage, was a hideous, desiccated creature wearing the rotted garments in which it likely had been buried or entombed.

Varnath looked up and turned his repulsive visage to the intruders who were even now spreading out and readying their attack. “Ah, the heroes have finally arrived. I have enjoyed watching your progress, although not nearly as much as watching my creations slaughter the useless inhabitants of this kingdom. I particularly found Zagrat’s destruction highly entertaining. He did tax my patience to no end. I had thought that by making him into one of my minions I would find him tolerable. Alas, I was wrong, but he did become far more productive.”

Maude shifted her grip on the big two-handed sword she held at the ready. “End this, monster, and you shall receive a swift death. Your reign of terror ends here!”

Varnath waved a skeletal hand dismissively. “Nonsense. You jumped up, self-important, would-be heroes and your grand declarations. You read too many stories and listen to too many epic ballads. Valaria will fall in days, and from there I will regroup and do the same to Sumara. First, I shall make you all part of my legion. Elves tend to make rather difficult subjects. Their attachment to nature generally makes them unsuitable for reanimation, but I do so enjoy a challenge. Well, I suppose we must do battle. Unless you wish to surrender. It shall be much less painful for you. No? Very well, the pain is the most enjoyable for me anyhow.”

The undead lord did not even twitch, but a signal had been sent and inky black shapes slid from the walls and dropped from the ceiling. There were four of the things, each monstrous in appearance and looked to be made from shadow, only thicker and more substantial. They glistened with an oily sheen and moved without a sound.

Arrows instantly leapt from the elves’ bows. The creatures were not made of the same thing as the ragmen and the enchanted arrows did not destroy the creatures, but they did bite into whatever it was they were made of. The wounds hissed and popped but did not slow them down.

One of the black forms reared up like an enormous bear and swiped at an elf with something that looked more like a tentacle than a paw. The elf leapt backwards with astounding grace while setting another arrow onto the bowstring. Instead of the swing falling short, the tentacle-like arm elongated and struck the elf in the side of the head. The blow sent the ranger tumbling sideways, losing his bow, and raising a raw, blistering wound across the left side of his face.

Another of the creatures elongated into something serpentine and struck like a snake, wrapping around another ranger. She let out a horrible scream as the constricting body of the creature crushed her ribs and its sickly black flesh slowly ate through her armor and skin.

Malek chanted a prayer to imbue a blessing onto the weapons of his allies before brandishing his holy symbol in one hand and his war hammer in the other. A cacophonous boom rocked the chamber as Tarth struck out at one of the creatures with his magic, slamming it with a ball of fire the size of a horse-drawn coach. The inky-black monstrosity sailed across the chamber and slammed against the far wall with a meaty slap.

Maude and Borik turned their attention to the other creatures battling the furiously against the elves who were landing solid strikes that at first seemed to do little harm. They continued to hack at one of the creatures until they had apparently inflicted enough damage to catch the thing’s attention.

The head of the monster reared up, towering above Maude and the dwarf. Tentacles sprouted from its upper body and slapped at the two fighters. Maude’s sword cut deeply, even severing the end of one of the questing limbs as she parried, but that was just a distraction. The other end of the creature spread out around and behind the woman and dwarf. Like a cat flicking its tail, it struck Borik in the side and flung him across the floor. It then wrapped itself around Maude and lifted her into the air.

Maude could hear steel armor protesting and smelled the acidic flesh eating it away as the creature tried to crush her like a tin can. Arrows leapt from the rangers’ bows and pierced the monster’s hide in half a dozen spots. Malek raised his amulet and a brilliant golden beam shot across the room and seared into the creature’s side. It writhed in soundless agony as Malek continued to pour energy into that holy ray of intense light. The fiend flung Maude aside as her eyes watered and her lungs burned from the black, oily smoke that poured off the creature as the ray continued to burn deeper and deeper.