The Soul Forge (16 page)

The Necro-Caster shouted, surprised. Trapped in the dark for years on end, Thomas wasn’t surprised that he hadn’t been conceived of the notion of this kind of mental battle.
He tried to resist, tried to resume control, but Thomas already had the zombies locked in. While the Necro-Caster had more experience controlling them, Thomas had the upper hand when it came to fighting for control. He wouldn’t be able to hold it, he knew that, but it was hardly important now. With a mental push, they turned and headed towards their master.

Who bolted faster than Thomas truly believed possible
, disappearing down a shaft at the end of the chamber. It was about that moment tasted blood, realizing it was trickling from his nose into his mouth. He put a hand to his forehead, trying to hold on.

“R
un,” he said to his companions. Gilkor lead the charge after the Necro-Caster. Miranda followed him, while Zach and Miranda stopped to help Thomas.

“Go,” he whispered, “
I can’t hold them much longer.”

“What are you going to do? We can’t just let them roam free, they’ll attack the dwarves.”

Thomas’ eyes had turned harder than the stones around them.

“Don’t worry. I’ve got a plan.
Just run.”

They did as he said, pulling him across the antechamber and into the tunnel. He held the zombies at bay for as long as possible
, but he stopped at the tunnel mouth. Without patience, without mercy, Thomas clenched his fist, thinking only one thing. Immediately he felt like his brain was dipped in boiling water and then clamped with a great weight, but he resisted.

Finally, when he felt his brain would explode
from the exertion, all twelve bodies stopped moving, truly dead. He lost his balance, but Zach seemed prepared. He caught the falling stable boy and lifted him on his shoulders without even breaking stride.

Thomas remained conscious, if only just.
The only thing that kept him from passing out was the sudden smell of fresh air.

Momentarily relief was quickly replaced by dread.
If they could smell fresh air, that meant…

Sure enough, when Thomas opened his eyes he found they were outside.
They were standing on a cliff, staring out at the mountain range covered in fog and smoke. The fresh air revived Thomas, and he gently motioned to Zach to put him down. 

“Least you didn’t pass out for a few days this time,” Zach said, patting Thomas on the shoulder gently.

“Don’t… hold your breath,” Thomas replied, his head swimming again. Gods, he hoped the ale wasn’t still in his system. That probably wouldn’t help his brain recover.

“I don’t see him,” Gilkor reported, sweeping the
mountainside. Thomas looked at the dwarf, before his eyes were drawn towards the slopes of Mount Caminus. Without knowing how he knew, he looked directly at a moving black object that was trying very hard not to be seen.

“There he is!” Thomas yelled, though the effort drained him
and he collapsed to his knees.

“Gods, he’s
trying to get to the Makers.”

Gilkor moved first, his hardened hands burrowing into the side of the mountain and creating his own handholds. Miranda followed him, her hands finding handholds of their own. Zach hesitated, but Thomas shoved him towards the rock face. Only Cynthia remained by his side, and he put an arm around her for support.

“Let’s go,” he panted.

“You can’t climb a mountain,” Cynthia said, “not right now.”

“If he gets to the Makers,” Thomas snapped, “we lose. We lose everything. I won’t allow that. Now let’s go.”

“And if we get to the Makers? What then? We stop the Necro-Caster, but we’re missing something very important.”

“The sword,” Thomas moaned, closing his eyes. He had completely
forgot.

“If we climb up there and don’t have the sword, the whole climb will be for nothing. We need to get the sword and then we can head up.”

Thomas looked up to the mountain. The other three already had such a lead on them…

Zach, as if he could feel Thomas’ eyes on him, turned back and waved his hand, as if to shoo them away. Apparently, Thomas was the only one to forget about their main task.

He bowed his head before turning away. They would have to find a way around the mountain back to the outpost if he was to claim the General’s sword. In a small stroke of fortune, there was a path that led down the mountain. It was their only chance, no matter where it went.

“Come on, then,” he said, moving forward. Cynthia fell into step beside him, and together the two of them jogged away from where Thomas felt he should be.

The path was littered with rocks, probably from the rockslide. As Thomas nearly tripped for the third time, he took a moment to curse the rockslide. Where had that come from, anyway? What were the odds of a rockslide right when Thomas’ journey was actually not terrible?

“Come on,” Cynthia said, “we can’t slow down.”

“Yeah,” Thomas replied, still lost in thought.”

“What’s on your mind?” she asked.

“Nothin’,” Thomas said, “it’s just… the Gods seem determined to make this adventure more difficult than it needs to be.”

Cynthia laughed, but the next moment they were again running down the path.
Stones cut Thomas’ legs and he had to fight not to cry out, but they were making progress. The outpost was even in sight, all they had to do was hope the path turned uphill and they would have a straight shot there.

Naturally, the path did not.

It winded away in a different direction entirely, leading to an area that was obscured by the fog.

“Looks like we have to climb anyway,” Thomas said with a deep sigh.

“Sadly,” Cynthia concurred.

Sharing an exasperated look, they took to the stone. There only good fortune was that the mountain wasn’t a sheer cliff, as it actually rose at an angle.
This meant that they could crawl and sometimes even crouch up the mountain, only holding on and actually climbing a few times. Slowly, impossibly slowly, they inched towards the outpost.

Finally, hands bloody and
the stitch in his side screaming, they neared the final ascent to the outpost. The way was usually blocked by gates and guards, but the rockslide had cleared those away. Their path was open to the outpost, save for one small problem.

Inanis.

“No,” Thomas said, “it can’t be.”

There were only three of them, no more than a scouting party. But three was more than Thomas could take down, especially considering he was practically unarmed. He and Cynthia tried staying silent, but the Inanis simply turned and saw them crouched there, trying to appear invisible.

With a gasp, all three of them started to shamble towards them.

“Run?” Cynthia said, her breathing heavy.

“I can barely walk,” Thomas replied, his breath coming in harsh gasps.
“Maybe I can control them.”

“That’ll probably kill you,” Cynthia said harshly.

“Yeah,” he relented, “and I can’t remember the word anyway. The mind control word.”

“How does that even work?” Cynthia said as they started to back away.

“You worryin’ about this
now
?”

“I’m not sure I’m going to have another time to worry about it.”

Thomas stared at her, mouth open as they backed away from the Inanis. The only way to go now was back down the way they had come, and Thomas was sure he wouldn’t survive the trip. He’d fall and break his neck for sure, he was so tired.

Which meant they had to
go through the Inanis.

“Wait,” Thomas said, a thought that he was sure wasn’t his popping into his brain. “You do it.”

“Do what?”

“Control them. You can do it.”

The Inanis slowed, as if wary of a trap. It was an opportunity Thomas was determined not to let go to waste.

“No I can’t! I don’t know the word! I don’t know how!”

“Neither did I. But I did it. And if I got the brainpower, I know you can do this.”

“But… the word…”

“We don’t need that word,” Thomas said, an idea springing into his mind, “we have so many other words. Words have power. All words have power. So just focus, and use a word.”

“I don’t… I can’t…”

The Inanis were closing in, only ten feet away.

“If I say ‘wench,’ you’d be upset. If you insulted my farm, I’d be upset. Words have power.”

She stared unsure and terrified.

“If I said kiss me, you’d probably be really surprised.”

She looked up at him, and her fear melted away to be replaced with that coy look she favored. “Not all that surprised, no.”

“Then surprise them,” Thomas said. They had nowhere else to go.

The Inanis reached out, their wooden hands grasping for their throats. Thomas did the only thing he could think of and grabbed their arms, and they effectively began to wrestle. Maybe if Thomas was fresh, if his muscles weren’t exhausted and his brain drawing ever closer to shutting down, maybe he would have stood a chance. But in his weakened state, he couldn’t hold off the Inanis for more than a few seconds before it shoved him to the ground. It raised an arm, claws angled to tear into or tear off his face.

“Stop.”

It was so very simple, Cynthia’s command. As soon as the word left her mouth
, the Inanis froze in their tracks. Thomas sat up, staring in shock at the unmoving creatures.

“Well what do ya know?” he said. He looked at Cynthia, who was holding her head with one hand and pointing the other at the Inanis.

“It… it hurts,” was all she could say.

“I know sweetheart, I know,” Thomas said, pulling her towards the outpost. “Let’s get out of here,
then you can let ‘em go.”

“But they’ll attack the outpost,” Cynthia mumbled, the pain making her face redd
er than the blood that was filling it.

“Okay,” Thomas said, trying to think fast. He was so very tired of thinking. But from the corners of his imagination came an idea.

“Tell them to sleep,” Thomas said. Cynthia looked at him, confused, and the moment broke her concentration. The Inanis turned back at them and started forward, moving faster this time.

“Tell them to sleep, Cynthia!” Thomas yelled, turning to run. Cynthia held her ground, and Thomas stopped before he could get started.

“Sleep,” she commanded.

And on cue, they all fell over as if knocked unconscious.

“Bravo,” Thomas said, laughing his fear away. She looked up at him and without ado, she kissed him on the mouth.

Taken by surprise, Thomas wasn’t able to kiss her back until she had already pulled away. Feeling cheated, he leaned forward and kissed her, and for a full ten seconds they stood there over the sleeping bodies of their foes, lips locked together.

They broke apart, each one decidedly more red in the face than they had been previously. Without the need for words, both broke into a run for the outpost, time now decidedly against them.

Nothing got in their way, and they ran through the streets without
interference. They made it back to the mine, where they heard the dwarves working away at the wall of rock in front of them. It stretched up the mountain, hundreds of rocks of varying sizes reaching at least thirty feet.

“It’ll take ‘em a million years to dig through all that
,” Thomas said.

“Well, what if we start digging from this side?” Cynthia suggested, looking around for any tools.

“No time, we have to get moving,” Thomas replied, staring at the rock base for ideas. Then one struck him.

“If we move the smaller rocks, that’ll take a lot of weight off of the big ones,” he said.

“So move the small rocks?”

“Yup.”

Together,
they threw whatever rocks they found out of the way. A time or two, Thomas pulled a rock from the stack that shifted them all, and he and Cynthia had to abandon the pile to avoid getting crushed.

Thomas grabbed a rock that was just a little too heavy for him to move alone, and called Cynthia over to help him. The moment they both touched the rock,
the whole stone wall shifted and they were thrown to the ground. Thomas hit the ground, winded, and wasn’t able to move as the stones fell around him. Cynthia wasn’t so lucky; the stones weren’t kind enough to avoid her, and one smashed into her leg. There was a sickening crunch, and her scream pounded into his brain like a nail.

He hurried over to her, and he saw immediately that her leg was broken.
He didn’t dare touch it, unsure of himself, but he was saved from having to do anything by the dwarves. Apparently, the shift in weight had at last done the trick, and they were free from the mines. Two or three dwarves converged on Cynthia, pushing Thomas away so they could help her.

Thomas stood, torn beyond measure. He wanted to stay with her, he needed to stay with her, but he was running out of time. If the Necro-Caster got to the Makers, if anything happened to them… if anything happened to Gilkor or Miranda… to Zach…

“Go!”

The command came from a very angry Cynthia, though Thomas wasn’t sure if she was angry at him or the rock that had attacked her.
But when she shouted at him again, he knew it didn’t matter. He nodded once, and sprinted away from her. All he had to do was find their quarters, collect the blade, and then find his way up the mountain.

The first part of the plan was the only part that went off without a hitch. He found their quarters easily.

It was smashed to nothing more than wood and pebbles from a boulder that had to have been larger than it was.

“No…”

Thomas moved forward out of impulse, hands shifting aside the wreckage in the vain hope of finding the General’s equipment. His hands hit something metal, and a spark of excitement surged in him. He threw the rock and wood away to reveal the sheath, with the hilt sticking out from it. Smiling, Thomas grabbed the handle.

The sheath stayed behind.

Thomas stared at the handle, disbelief etched into every line on his face. He stared it up and down, as if expecting the blade to pull itself back together.

He slumped to the ground, momentarily defeated. There went their last chance.

But wait, not quite. A new thought burst into his brain, one that rekindled hope in him. The blade had to be tempered anyway. So the Maker’s would have to re-forge the blade from the ground up now. It wasn’t that terrible. Even Thomas could probably do it. Probably.

He gathered up the pieces as quickly as he was able, making sure to keep most of them in the sheath. He looked around for the shield, finally finding it smashed to pieces. He sighed, but it couldn’t be helped.
If he didn’t get to the top of the mountain soon, all would be lost.

Thomas sprinted back the way he had come, feeling his muscles were more like
crossbeams than limbs. He made it to the spot where Cynthia had last been, but she and her dwarf caretakers had disappeared.

“Hey,” Thomas asked a nearby dwarf, “where’d they take her?”

“They said they were going to see the elves, down in the city,” she replied, “the Healer is the only one who could save the leg.”

“Save?” Thomas repeated, aghast. “How bad was the injury?”

“Well,” she replied, looking almost green, “her leg… they said it was bending in the opposite direction.”

Thomas immediately felt disgusted and ashamed. It was his idea that had caused her to be hurt. She had only been following his instructions.

He nodded to the dwarf, trying and failing to keep his emotions under control. His anger at himself demanded motion, and he started to sprint up the mountain. Rock walls jumped up from all sides, some covered in snow the higher up he got. His exhaustion forgotten, his mission pushed to the back of his mind, all he really wanted was to get to the top and punch the Necro-Caster’s face into a greasy smear.

The deviant would pay for what he had done.