[Start from the beginning]
She had had no choice but to attack when she did, but she and Dolrim were heavily outnumbered. She just had to hope that the sudden explosion and magical assault had evened up the odds a little.
"I'm going to try and protect her," she told the dwarf. After all, the conspirators were surely still desperate to complete their ritual, and that would mean taking their sacrifice back. The woman was a nun, helpless against them at the best of times. Even if she tried running, the building was surrounded by a ring of undead, and that wouldn't end well. So Calleslyn had to do something.
Dolrim grunted assent, already standing and hefting his axe. If anyone had the presence of mind to notice where the attack had come from, they would be heading up here towards the balcony. Calleslyn hoped he could deal with them as they emerged from the magical mist she had created, and that now flooded the lower half of the room.
Casting a levitation spell, she vaulted over the balustrade around the balcony, and floated gently down through the mist towards the floor, several feet below. It was as grey and disorienting down here as she had hoped, but she had already locked in her mind the direction to the centre of the room, where the sacrifice and her tormentor would hopefully still be. She ran towards that spot, unable to see anyone else through the gloom, as handicapped by that as they would be. Hopefully it at least meant they couldn't all rush her at once, which would make things a little more even.
The nun was huddled on the floor, eyes wide in blind terror, letting out a little scream and curling into a defensive ball as Calleslyn approached.
"Are you all right?" the elf asked. There was no response. "I'm the one saving you," she said, as quietly as she could, not wanting to give her location away to anyone else still in the room. "Stay near me, and you might be safe. Don't try and run, or I can't protect you."
She reached over to the figure lying on the floor nearby; the man in the clerical robes she had struck with the first spell. His eyes were open, staring up sightlessly in the direction of the ceiling. He was dead; the spell had killed him with a single stroke. Good shooting. She looked around, and saw a bulky figure looming out of the mist.
"You!" shouted a familiar, deep, voice, "bloody adventurers! You just don't know what's good for you!" It was Valmor, hair in disarray, blood oozing from a gash on his forehead, black cloak and rich robes smeared in dust from the rubble. "Get back to the cesspit dungeons where you belong!"
He raised his hands and a beam of brilliant reddish-white light spat towards her. Her own hands were already in a defensive posture, the counter-spell partially completed, but not quite sufficient. Blazing heat enveloped her body, making her cry out in pain as she fell to the marble floor. Valmor might not have her combat experience, but she knew he was a capable magician. Perhaps her only advantage was that he apparently did not want to use his most powerful magic, for fear of accidentally killing the nun alongside her… she was somebody he presumably still needed alive.
"Let me teach you your bloody place!" he shouted, face full of fury as he raised his hands a second time, towards Calleslyn's sprawled body.
Valmor might be concerned not to use his most deadly magic for fear of hitting others. But she was facing the other way, and had no such compunction. Gritting her teeth against the pain of the burns he had inflicted, she hurled a blast of blue-white lightning towards him, It hurled him off his feet, catapulting him back into the mist and out of her sight.
She listened carefully, looking about to see if anyone else was coming. There was a scrabbling sound from Valmor's direction, a grunt of angered pain, and then footsteps, staggering, moving away. The spell hadn't finished him off… she didn't necessarily want him dead, but she certainly didn't want him conscious. On the other hand, there was no sign that anyone else was approaching. Perhaps the others had all fled?
She cursed inwardly. She couldn't let him get away, and use his undoubted influence to make it look like he was the victim.
"Protect her!" she shouted up towards Dolrim "I've got to stop him.," she added, to the cowering nun, but still receiving no answer.
She clambered to her feet, wincing at the pain. It was starting to fade now, and not as bad as she had at first feared. But it certainly hadn't gone, and she could only hope that Valmor was in a worse shape than she was.
She ran into the mist, hoping to find him.
──◊──
The undead were swarming around the Temple of Pardror. If they had taken the paladins by surprise, the holy warriors were now re-grouping, fighting back against the horde of ghouls, zombies, and who knew what else besieging their holy site.
It seemed counter-intuitive at first. Why attack the place best able to fight off undead? But, as Vardala watched, she realised that there was a kind of logic in it. By attacking them first, it meant that the paladins had no chance to get organised in defence of the rest of the city. Nor could they use their normal ability to drive away unnatural creatures with the power of their holy icons, for that would just force them into the city, giving them free reign to attack the innocent. Instead, the paladins were having to hack through them one at a time, and they were clearly outnumbered, and unprepared.
In fact, there were not, it was becoming clear, all that many paladins in the city. It was, after all, hardly a common calling. Many of those defending the temple were priests, for the most part lightly armed, although a few had magic. The fight was certainly not going all their own way – even as she watched, one cleric disappeared beneath a pack of ghouls, dragged down as he exhausted his spells. If they had known the assault was coming, they could have prepared better… but that, surely, was the point.
Vardala was beginning to doubt her choice of action, wondering if she should have stayed with the others, stopped the ceremony at its source. Was the necromancer controlling all this in the Rotunda somewhere? Presumably, and taking him out might have been the best course, after all, just as Calleslyn had said. But it was too late to second guess that now. She had come here to protect Horvan, and that was what she was going to do.
It did not take much to slip into the Temple of Felanda, the goddess of healing. The monsters were not attacking that yet, and, in any event, the temple had no guards – it never did, for that would not have fitted with its ethos. Nonetheless, she drew her shortsword, keeping it ready as she half ran through the corridors, seeking the way to the living quarters where Horvan should be sheltering.
Unfortunately, she did not really know the layout of the temple, never having had any real need for it. When she needed healing, Lady Tarissa was always there, and, in any event, Felanda's strength was more in healing the illnesses of everyday folk than the wounds of adventurers. Perhaps she should head towards the centre of the building – there might at least be someone there she could ask.
A few passages later, and she found herself in a large open space, filled with beds and pallets. Priests and priestesses were bustling about, in a state of frenzied desperation, evidently trying to get some of the most seriously ill people to safety. It looked as if many of them had already left, but those that remained had the hardest jobs. What presumably wasn't clear to them was that, if their temple was under threat, so was the whole of the city. There might not be anywhere safer to move the patients to.
She looked about for someone to talk to, but all the white-robed figures were ignoring her, intent on their own duties. Then she saw him, and her heart leapt; he was safe!
"Horvan!" she called out, running towards him, as he struggled to heft one end of a makeshift stretcher.
"Vardala! What are you doing here?"
"I've come to get you. Come on, we've got to get out. The outskirts of the city might be safe."
"Right…" he said, fear and confusion showing on his face, "we've got to get everyone to safety."
"What? No… we've got to go now!"
"You're not going to leave these people?" he looked shocked by the suggestion, and she was ashamed to realise that it hadn't really occurred to her.
"I… I…" she stammered, lost for words, looking about at the people around her. The priests and priestesses, defenceless all, were risking themselves to get people to safety. It was clear they would not abandon anyone, regardless of what it meant for themselves. And the patients looked desperate, helpless, some of them weak or crippled, unable to escape by themselves, allowing slow-paced healing magic to do its work, not the more instant laying on of hands that she had experienced. Battle wounds, it seemed, were easier to heal than sickness; she had never really thought about that, either.
Horvan was looking at her with desperate eyes, and so, it was becoming clear, was the priest holding the other end of the stretcher. They wanted her help, and she realised, with a sinking feeling, that she had to provide it. Besides, hadn't she thought, just a moment before, that there might not be anywhere safer than this?
"Yes… yes, of course," she said, "but we need a secure location. We can't just evacuate the temple, the things are everywhere. We need to find a safe sanctuary, here, where we can wait it out. The others have that side of things in hand… I think. Where would be the best place?"
"There's a windowless chamber that way," offered the priest, nodding his head towards a door on the far side of the room, "we use it for meditation. It has light from the ceiling, but only one entrance."
"That way, then – everyone!" she called out, but nobody else seemed to be taking much notice of her. "Oh… you organise it," she told the priest, "they'll listen to you. I'll check the path is safe."
She ran across to the doorway, and ducked through it to look into the corridor beyond. She heard a blood-chilling howl, and something sprinted towards her. It was coming from what she suspected was the opposite direction to the chamber she was looking for, but that hardly mattered. The ghoul slashed out with its claws, but she was already out of the way, dodging to one side, blade slicing through the air towards it.
The sword bit into the creature's side, and it growled, raking its claws above her head as she ducked beneath it. Vardala delivered a second blow, slicing through a thigh muscle in a way that, on anything living, would have led to fatal blood loss. The ghoul had no such problem, but it was slowed, and, a few blows later, she had the thing on the ground, hacking at its neck until the animating spirit left.
She looked up. There were more undead coming down the corridor behind it. She dashed back into the infirmary, slamming the door closed behind her, running high on a rush of sudden energy brought about by the danger.
"It's too late!" she shouted, to anyone who would listen. "They're coming! Bolt the doors! Block them with anything you can. Quickly!"
She turned to face the door, sword still raised. She was the only person in here who could fight, and she was horribly, horribly, outnumbered.
──◊──
The side-effects of Davnait's vial were not ones that Almandar had anticipated, although, in retrospect, perhaps he should have done. As the glow suffused him, a vision of his encounter flashed through his mind, surprisingly vivid. The druid's face before his, dark eyes wide, luxuriant black hair falling across her forehead, pert nipples brushing against his chest as her heaving buttocks pressed against his thighs, her body enveloping his.
It was momentary however, and he rapidly regained control of his body, legs shaking, cock hard with the unexpected power of the memory. Then it was gone, the pleasure ebbing as he forced himself back to the present. The empty vial was still gripped in one hand, and the glowing mage-light in the other.
He turned, to see that the two paladins accompanying him had fared less well. Larimor was half crouched against the wall, overwhelmed by what Almandar assumed was not merely unexpected, but possibly also unfamiliar. Lady Tarissa had slumped over, her sword fallen from her fingers onto the stone flagging beside the water conduit, her face burning crimson, blue eyes wide with shock.
Almandar suppressed a smile; the sensation might even do them good, and they would recover soon enough, even if it took them a little longer than it had his. Then he caught Tarissa's expression, and saw that her eyes were focussed on something behind him, and any thoughts of amusement vanished as he whipped round to see what she was looking at.
It was moving quickly, down the tunnel towards them, dozens of legs skittering against the walls and floor, a great segmented creature illuminated by a dull red glow from beyond. For a second he thought it was some kind of giant centipede, but it's eyes were too large, its head the wrong shape, and there were sharp needle-like teeth within its gaping mouth.
He dropped the vial, acutely aware that neither of the paladins was yet in a state to act, and that he needed at least one hand free to cast a spell. It was too late; his moment's hesitation, turning to face his companions, had cost him dear. The thing's body slammed against him, hard plates nearly as tough as metal bruising him as he twisted beneath legs with stabbing claws. He raised a hand to cover his face, one of the claws slashing against it, and only just avoiding his eyes.
He heard a shout of pain – a man's – and then the thing was off him, still rushing onward down the corridor. He looked up, to see that it had grabbed Larimor in its jaws, raising him aloft, about to vanish into the darkness back down the passage. The male paladin was, he knew, not full armoured, had not been prepared for action as they had, and those sharp teeth were clearly biting ferociously into his flesh.
He threw a spell after it, bursts of white light striking against the thing, and it whipped its sinuous body around to face him, Larimor still dangling in its vicious grasp. He had not dared use a more deadly spell, not when it had a victim so close, but he had at least angered it, caught its attention.
The thing thrashed its head to one side, slamming Larimor's bleeding body against the far wall of the passage, then dropping him into the hot water with a mighty splash. Then it rushed down the corridor towards the others.
Tarissa's sword was nearby, but she had been rolled away from it down the stone ledge, nearly falling into the water herself as the creature had run over her. She turned to face him desperation in her eyes, clearly once more in control of her body. He grabbed the sword and threw it in her direction, pommel towards her, and she snatched it from the air with practiced ease, just as the thing reached her.
It was ignoring her, trying to run over her again in its apparent eagerness to reach the half-elf. She slashed her sword upwards, cracking armoured plates and causing a spray of strange, blue blood to splash over her. But still it came on. Almandar threw up a shield spell, rolling down to the ground as it rushed over him, claws sliding on the unexpected invisible barrier. He felt a blast of heat against his face, and realised that the red glow came from the creature's back, actually glowing red hot with some kind of bizarre internal energy.
The creature reared directly over him, maw open wide, teeth dripping with Larimor's freshly shed blood as the invisible shield gave way. Almandar desperately hurled another spell upward, straight into the creature's face. A blast of brilliant white energy engulfed it, accompanied by a paralysing, numbing cold that flooded the entire area.
For a moment, the thing remained poised above him, insectile face coated in a thick layer of sudden hoar frost. Then it crashed down, landing partly atop him, legs thrashing feebly, teeth cracking like icicles, eyes permanently blinded. He was vaguely aware of Tarissa finishing it off and rolling it into the water channel, hot liquid splashing over him as she did so, and then he somehow clambered to his feet.
Tarissa barely glanced at him, turning away to run back down the corridor as he staggered to follow her. She was plunging her hands into the hot water, shouting something barely coherent until one of Larimor's weakly flailing hands found hers. Almandar helped her haul her fellow paladin from the water – thankful now, that the man hadn't been fully armoured.
He was badly injured, clothes torn and bloodied, a gaping wound in his chest, barely alive or able to move. Tarissa leaned over him, and Almandar fancied that he saw tears in her eyes as she placed her hands over the chest wound, pressing down as she muttered a prayer over and over.
Larimor spasmed, spitting out water, the wound visibly healing beneath the woman's magical touch. He would live, but, Almandar thought, he could hardly be in a fit state to continue.
The same thought had evidently occurred to the paladin. "Go on without me," he gasped, locking eyes with Tarissa.
"We can't leave you here!" Almandar caught the raw emotion in her voice, wondered for a second what she had seen when he opened the vial, and then thrust the thought back down as unworthy.
"You must. You have to stop this thing. Leave me my sword. Everything's coming from beyond that place, you can stop it before it gets to me. I'll be all right. Now go!"
She nodded, although the magician could see the reluctance in her face. They had no choice.
──◊──
"Who is this person?" demanded Eristacia, a hint of hysteria in her voice. "I demand to know what is happening!"
They had gathered in some sort of underground chamber. A cellar, she supposed, beneath the Rotunda. Initially black, it was now lit by an orange glow from some sort of magical sphere that one of her fellow conspirators had produced from beneath her robes. There were only six of them in the room, although she knew others had survived. Tenik and Scaggs had been close by her when the explosion happened, and she had seen both of them still standing once the mists had descended. Yet neither were in the little group now.
And, somewhere, there was Yelvann, of course, the pet necromancer whose hordes were supposedly destroying the paladins as the ceremony got underway. There might be others, too, although she was sure some had been caught in the mysterious blast. How could everything have gone so suddenly, horribly, wrong?
"That seems a fair question!" snapped one of the other cloaked figures, a merchant whom she did not know particularly well.
"Is this it? Are we all doomed?" asked a second man, nervously, until Amloth quelled him with a disgusted glance.
"No, of course not," snapped the drow, "somebody has found out about us, tried to stop the ceremony, but there is still time. There's another way," she turned to look at the stranger, "isn't there?"
"There is," said the mystery woman, "the Presence is not so easily defeated."
"And just who the hell are you, anyway?" snapped the remaining conspirator, the woman who had produced the magical light. Eristacia thought she was some sort of petty sorceress. "And what are you?"
"She is another agent of the Presence," said Amloth, "whose inner nature I have awakened. She is the one who acquired the censer for us."
Eristacia noticed that the drow had not really answered the second part of the question. For the mystery woman did not look human, but some kind of mix of mortal and demon. She had sharp horns jutting from her forehead, blood-red eyes, and a skin whose colour… well, she could not quite tell in this light, but it did not look normal. A tiefling, just possibly, but one whose demonic taint was far stronger than in any she had ever heard of. More like a demon herself, perhaps. Not that she was an expert, in such things, of course.
"Zarenis," said the stranger, "my name is Zarenis."
She held, Eristacia noticed, some kind of sceptre, with a lightly glowing crystal at the tip. Even Amloth, she could not help noticing, kept glancing at it, as if not sure what it was.
"Oh, this?" said Zarenis, apparently noticing her gaze, "this is how we do without your original ceremony." She smiled, with no trace of warmth in it, but said nothing further.
The awkward silence dragged on, until Amloth at last decided to break it, looking as uncomfortable as Eristacia had ever seen her. "How?" the drow asked, clearly fuming at having to seek advice.
"Ask the Presence," said Zarenis, "and you will know how. You are, I believe, the only one who can speak to it directly."
"I am," said Amloth, a haughty tone creeping back into her voice now that she evidently realised that she still might have the upper hand. She was silent for a while, as if listening to an inner voice, then she suddenly flicked her head up, expression unreadable. "I see," she said, in a surprisingly dead voice. "So be it."
The drow reached into the black bag that she had been carrying at her side all evening, and drew out an engraved purple rod, something like a wand, raising it into the air with a flourish.
She pointed it at the merchant, and spoke a single word of command. A blast of greenish light spat out from the end, striking him in the chest. The merchant screamed.
He fell to his knees, still screaming, as Eristacia and the other two conspirators looked on in horror. Only Zarenis and Amloth looked calm as tendrils of smoke began to pour from beneath the man's robes and he thrashed on the floor. Then flames began spurting from his mouth, and a few seconds later, he had stopped moving.
Amloth looked at the others in the room. "We still needed a sacrifice. And a betrayal," she said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
"Of course," sad Zarenis, "without the full ceremony…" she let the words hang in the air.
"Quite," said Amloth. "One is no longer enough." And she shot the second man.
The other conspirator, the sorceress, realised what that meant just a moment before Eristacia did, and ran for the door even as the second man collapsed screaming on the floor.
Zarenis had thrown a bolt across the doorway, and the sorceress, fingers scrambling, did not even have time to finish pulling it back before she too, was letting out a high-pitched yell of unbearable agony.
Eristacia made a lunge for the door, but Zarenis was in front of her, wickedly pointed sceptre pointing in her direction. The noblewoman dropped to her knees, uselessly covering her head with her arms, sobbing in sudden terror. This hadn't been the idea! She should have been on the verge of unimaginable power and riches, and now she was going to be murdered by own compatriots?
Everyone had betrayed her. She had always been betrayed for all of her life, and it was always, always, the fault of others! What had she ever done wrong? What had she ever done to deserve this fate? The feeling gnawed deep inside her, even though she knew that that emotion was exactly what the Presence wanted. What Amloth wanted.
She realised she was still alive.
Slowly, she uncurled her arms, looking up at the other two women with tear-stained eyes. The three cloaked figures were charred husks on the floor.
"Three should do it," said Amloth.
Zarenis nodded, and Eristacia drew a shuddering breath, amazed at her good fortune. "Out of curiosity," asked the demon-woman, "why her?"
"She has promise," said Amloth, casually. "But mainly because I have an exceptionally large strap-on dildo I was going to use tonight," she patted the black bag, "and I don't intend to let it go to waste." She turned to the shaking noblewoman, "tomorrow, you will be at my side as ruler, perhaps the only one left who is. You will get everything you always anted. But tonight, once I have finished with this matter, I am going to fuck you like you've never been fucked before. And, 'heterosexual'," she spat the word, like a curse, "or not, I am not going to stop until I am sure that you have climaxed at least once."
"Well," she said, her voice suddenly lighter, "fun for us later. But back to business!"
──◊──
Calleslyn wasted valuable magical energy forcing open the door that Valmor had sealed with a spell of his own. The human magician had fled up a spiral staircase inside the Rotunda, closing off the door at the top before she could reach it. Neither of them was moving very fast, she still stinging from her wounds, and he probably unfit even before he had been injured, but there was nobody else here to interrupt them. If any other of the hooded coven had survived, hopefully Dolrim was dealing with them right now.
She threw the door open, leaping through it and rolling to one side. As she expected, a spell flew over her head as she did so. It was good to see that having more combat experience than he did give her some advantage.
Continuing the movement seamlessly, Calleslyn sprang to her feet, hands raised. She did not have the strength left for many of her more powerful spells, but she could still use the one that had felled the priestly would-be rapist. Unfortunately, even Valmor had thought of that, and the sparks of light fizzled to nothing in front of him, a protective barrier evidently already in place.
They were on the roof, she now saw, under the moonlit sky, the great dome of the Rotunda to one side, and a sheer drop not far way, across a short, flat, space that did not even have a railing. Valmor was already gesturing with his hands, and swirls of black smoke were beginning to form all around her, rising up into smoky tendrils that swatted at her body.
"Let's see you learn humility, elven bitch!" shouted Valmor, as one tendril wrapped itself around her leg, pulling her to the ground, ripping her skirt and forcing her to move her aim away from the other magician.
The human rose into the air, a flight spell bearing him aloft, laughing cruelly as he moved away from the edge of the roof, leaving her to grapple with the inky ropes he had summoned. Calleslyn saw him moving his hands in a motion for another spell, one that would surely blast her where she struggled. He had held back from using his most deadly spells before, but there was no reason for that now, and he was already protected from most of what she had left in her own arsenal.
"You are nothing next to me? Do you hear me?" screamed Valmor, a crazed look in his eyes, a split second before she wrestled her hand free and hurled a final spell at him.
It wasn't a combat spell, so it produced nothing physical his shield could protect him against. Instead, Calleslyn cancelled his flight spell.
Valmor let out a piercing shriek of pure terror as he dropped like a stone, cut short as his body smashed into the cobblestones far below. The tentacles around her faded, vanishing into the cool night air.
Calleslyn eased herself over to the edge of the roof. She could see Valmor sprawled in the moonlit street, a pool of blood oozing out around him. He wasn't moving.
And then the ghouls were upon him, a seething mass raking with claws and teeth as they began to devour his body.
──◊──
"This way," said Almandar, examining the old map, "that other way leads to a pit, and some sort of trap beyond it. But this way… this way is the chamber we are looking for, I think. The heart of all this."
They had left behind the water channels of the old drainage system now, and were traversing some very old looking stone corridors, perhaps once part of a temple complex. Doubtless they were whatever ruins Throndar had stumbled across, here long before Haredil had ever existed.
On occasion, they heard skittering sounds in the dark beyond the light, ominous shuffles, or sudden grunts. But whatever was out there did not seem to be approaching them, at least for the moment. They were clearly somewhere that touched the infernal planes in some way, tainted by the Presence. Perhaps there was a gate somewhere through which the monster they had encountered had crawled, as the barriers broke down, and the Presence neared the time of its own release.
The corridor ended, where the map said it should, and Almandar and Tarissa stepped into a large chamber with a high, domed roof. Five ancient and corroded candelabra stood at the apices of a pentangle carved into the floor. The signs, he suspected, of the former adventurers' attempt to imprison what they had found. Within it, near the centre of the room, was a stone altar, dark stains covering its surface.
Four skeletons lay around the altar, three of orcs and one of a human, their bones as dry as dust. This, it was clear, was the chamber from which the dread sorcerer Yluk'Tz'n'o had first tried to bring the Presence to this world. Now his bones lay with those of his sacrificial victims, a stark testament to his failure.
"Now what?" asked Tarissa.
"I don't know," he admitted, walking around the room, outside the pentagram, the darkness lit only by his mage-light, trying to see if there was any hint as to what could be done. He could not see any.
"We have to do something," the paladin pointed out, "we've come all this way."
"I know," he agreed, "I was rather hoping there would be more of a clue."
"Could we destroy it?"
"Perhaps, but it might not be so easy. Between us, perhaps we can think of something. What do we know of demons, of the place that they come from?"
Before she could reply, the room was flooded with brilliant white light, and Almandar stepped back, shielding his eyes from the sudden glare.
"What is that?" asked Tarissa.
He looked, now that his eyes were adjusting, seeing a beam of light projecting from the apex of the dome onto the altar. Orange flames, burning without fuel, were springing up across the stone where it touched, forming into a disc, leaping impossibly high into the air, as if climbing up the beam of light.
"They must be doing it now!" he said, "it must be the eclipse. They're completing the ceremony."
"We don't have time to think about this any more!" cried Tarissa, and he had to agree.
Destroy it. He didn't know if that would work, but what other choice did he have? There was nothing else here, no clue as to what might hold back the Presence. But maybe, just maybe, it needed the altar. Almandar hurled his strongest spell at the stone table, a blast of lightning striking it, shattering the rock, cracking it open as the unnatural fire guttered and spat, as if disoriented, randomly casting about.
"Run!" he shouted to Tarissa, throwing a fireball back into the chamber as he followed her out of the archway and back into the corridor.
In the enclosed space, the explosion was even louder than he had expected, shaking everything about them. He saw a slab of the domed ceiling crashing down beyond the arch, adding to the din, throwing dust and rubble after them. Even the corridor was shaking, crumbling.
They had not wanted to use such magic to fight their way through the deadly plants for fear the corridor might collapse, and now that prophetic fear was proving true. They ran on, pelted with stones, sometimes jumping over fallen boulders, Tarissa panting hard in her armour, choking dust filling the air, until the mage-light proved useless.
He blundered on, hands stretched out to find some hint of a wall – until something hit him hard on the head, and he fell to the ground, blacking out, unconscious.
It seemed like only a moment later that he awoke, the sound of rumbling fading in his ears. Everything was pitch dark, and something was lying across his legs, the pain intense.
"Tarissa!" he called out.
"I'm here!" he sighed at the familiar voice. "I'm all right, just hold still, while I get you out. It's stopping, I think. This part of the passage is stable. We just got to the end of the dangerous part."
"Thank the gods for that…" he breathed, as he felt her beginning to clear away the rubble that partially buried him.
"Can you walk?"
"Yes, I think. Can you see?"
"No, can you make another light?"
He shook his head, but of course, she couldn't see it. "Sorry," he said, "not yet. My head is… I was stunned there for a moment." He tried to stand, winced in pain as he did so. "Okay, walking maybe not quite so easy as I thought."
"Lean on me. I'll get you out of here."
"I know," he said, "I know."
──◊──
The banging on the doors had stopped. The priests and patients huddled together in the middle of the room, as Vardala stood there uncertainly, sword in hand. There was silence from outside the infirmary.
"Have they gone?" asked Horvan, sounding as if he did not quite believe it.
Neither did Vardala. "I don't know," she said, "I can't see why they would. It's not as if we can open the doors to check." She glanced up at the windows, far above. There was nothing there but night time darkness. "We wait," she decided, "until we can be sure what is happening."
And so they did, until the surviving clerics of Pardror came along to tell them the path was clear. The zombies had all fallen down suddenly, at a single stroke, and were lying, decaying, in the streets. The ghouls, and worse things, had fled, melting away into the night, and nobody could tell where they had gone.
The disaster – inexplicable to anyone here but Vardala – had passed as suddenly as it had started.
──◊──
"How many?" asked Calleslyn, as Dolrim averted his eyes from the wide rip in her skirt. She didn't really think it was time to be prudish, but she supposed a lifetime of dwarven habits was a hard thing to break.
"Three you caught with your first fireball," he said, "him over there," he indicated the priest, "and one I took down myself. The guardsman, I think. He was the only one with the presence of mind to come up and fight me. Your magician?"
"Dead. The ghouls started eating him, and then they melted away."
"Somebody's done something, then."
"Almandar and Tarissa; it must be. How is she coping?" She nodded towards the nun.
"Incoherent, really. She's had a nasty shock. But she's alive, we saved her."
"Yes, with the help of the others."
"Five in here, your magician makes six. There were thirteen people that entered this building. Where are the other seven?"
"Good question. The undead are all gone, so she'll be safe enough here. So let's go find those seven. Ready?"
"As ever."
──◊──
Amloth stood before the great disc of fire that had appeared in the room, arms outspread. It was a portal to somewhere else; that much Eristacia understood. This was what they had been trying to summon, and now the moment was almost upon them. She strained her eyes, and fancied that she saw something moving within the patterns of swirling flame, but could not make out any details.
She had joined in the chanting, as she had been told to, but now her role seemed past, and she was uncertain as to what would happen next. They were on the cusp of success, weren't they? In just a few moments she would be… well, she wasn't sure what, now that she thought about it. But victory, final, absolute victory over her traitorous relatives, over the whole of the society that had wronged her, was finally just within her grasp.
Even so, she could not help glancing at the bag Amloth had brought with her, remembering what the drow had said would happen before the morning. 'Exceptionally large', she had said. Just how big was that? The thought repelled her, and yet at the same time, strangely excited her. She didn't know how that would end, either.
"It comes!" cried Amloth, voice exultant, "the Presence comes! All hail the Presence!"
Something was definitely moving within the flame now, growing larger before Eristacia's astonished eyes. Then the flames began to dance, moving erratically, the portal itself changing in shape, rippling into an irregular pattern.
"No…" gasped Amloth, and Eristacia once again knew fear. Something else was going wrong.
There was a brilliant flash of white light, overwhelming everything, and a crashing, roaring sound that filled the room. Eristacia stumbled back against the wall, momentarily blinded.
"What happened?" she wailed plaintively, as her eyes struggled to see again.
"I… I don't…" it was Amloth, worried, uncertain.
"We won."
She turned to look at Zarenis. Her voice was deeper than before, though still just about feminine. The tiefling, or half-demon, or whatever she was, was standing still, a grin across her face.
"We did?"
"Yes."
As her eyes finally recovered, Eristacia realised that Zarenis was even less human than before. Her horns were huge now, ram-like, her skin, illuminated in the brilliant white glow that now poured from the sceptre she carried, was a pinkish red, her fingernails black and claw-like. Swirls of dark mist rose up from her hands, and her blood-red eyes were literally glowing, as if with some demonic fervour. She also had a long, barbed tail, which swished behind her, although at least there was no sign of wings.
"They destroyed the altar," she said, "they think they have ended this."
"Who?"
"Does it matter? They were too late. The Presence has already come through. It is in me now. We have won."
"I can't hear it's voice…" Amloth sounded confused.
"You can hear me. That shall suffice. I can summon demons whenever I wish. I can create an army with a click of my fingers. The city is ours; it just doesn't know it yet."
"But I am the high priestess. The power should be mine!"
Zarenis snorted. "Which among us has demon blood? The Presence needed you to set up the ceremony. It does not need you now. I am the ruler now. I am your Princess, your master."
"No! It should have been me!" The drow screeched, raising her hands towards the demonic figure before her. "It should be me."
"And that," said Zarenis, "is why I can never trust you."
Flame spat from her fingertips, blasting Lady Amloth back into the wall, where the disc of flame had been not long before – Eristacia had only just realised it had vanished. The drow screamed, a yell of frustration and outrage more than one of pain, as the glowing fire consumed her.
Zarenis turned to look towards Eristacia.
"Please don't kill me!" she begged, falling to her knees, "I'll do anything you want! Anything at all! I'm not like her. You can trust me to be your servant. Just please don't kill me!"
Before Zarenis could make any kind of reply, there was a scrabbling sound behind her, and she turned to see Amloth climbing to her feet. The demon-woman actually looked surprised.
"I am hardly defenceless against demonic power, you hell-spawned bitch!" spat the drow. "Think you can destroy me so easily? Think again!"
She hurled a spell towards Zarenis, but the other woman simply caught the glowing light in her hand as if it had been a ball. It flared and faded. Glowing red eyes examined her now empty hand curiously, then flicked up towards the drow.
"Not really going to work," she said, voice calm.
Amloth screeched and leapt forward, hands outstretched, fingers clawing.
"It should have been me!" she yelled, grappling with the horned woman, eyes wild, lost in a furious rage.
Suddenly, there was a knife in Amloth's hand; a small and slender blade of dark metal, slim and decorative, but little more than kitchen utensil. She stabbed with it towards Zarenis' belly, but was easily swatted aside. Eristacia took the opportunity to race for the door, scrabbling with the bolt, as the sorceress had before her.
She heard a feminine shriek of pain and horror, and, despite herself, looked back to see what was happening behind her. Somehow, Zarenis had managed to reverse the blade, which was now projecting from between Amloth's ample breasts, piercing the cloth of her robes. It didn't look as if it should have been particularly serious, and there was little blood, but the drow was staggering back, eyes wide with shock.
Amloth threw her head back, and Eristacia saw a bluish foam appearing on her lips. Moments later, she had dropped to the floor, convulsing and thrashing. The blade had been poisoned, and with no mere regular venom, but something magically deadly, perhaps from the drow's own subterranean homeland.
Moments later, the fit had subsided, and Lady Amloth's head lolled to one side, red-flecked eyes staring sightlessly into the gloom. Eristacia renewed her efforts on the door, throwing the bolt to one side, and grappling to pull it open, struggling more than she should because of her own panic.
Zarenis stepped up beside her, and slammed it shut again. Eristacia screamed, and slid down to the floor, back against the door, hands raised once more over her head. Yet the other woman merely reached her hand to the noblewoman's chin, raising it to look into her eyes. Eristacia whimpered, knees literally shaking in terror, ashamed at how the fear was so consuming her. She didn't want to die.
"Stand."
Legs quaking, trying to fight back the tears, she did so. "Please…" she whispered again, mouth dry.
Zarenis stepped forward, wrapping her arm around the human woman's shoulder, an almost comforting gesture.
Then she snapped Eristacia's neck.
──◊──
When Calleslyn and Dolrim found the chamber, there were five dead bodies in it. But no sign of anyone else.
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