18

Desperate Acts

Cricket yawned and stretched. Ty'lek stood nearby.

He looked around for his shadow. "How long have I been out?"

Ty'lek shrugged.

Cricket stood up groggily and headed toward the fire, where the gnome and Scorpion still sat.

Bax waved him over.

"That smells good. Is the omelet ready?"

"Oh, well, I ended up doing a scramble."

Cricket stared back expectantly,finally turning to Scorpion for explanation.

"He means that he mixed up the eggs."

"That needs a different name? Isn't it still an omelet."

"Goodness, no!" Bax shook his head. "Not in the least."

"Well... where is it?"

"Where's what?"

"Mine," Cricket said flatly.

"Oh... well... I divided up the eggs into fourths, since that was only fair, and..."

Cricket groaned. "And what?"

"Well, the other you ate it."

Cricket looked around for his shadow. His stomach grumbled.

"To be honest, I didn't notice it wasn't you until he'd downed half of it."

"And then what? You could have stopped him then."

"He... was just enjoying it so much. I didn't have the heart."

Scorpion laughed. "I did. But I thought it was funny."

Cricket frowned. "Well, where is he?"

"Don't know," Scorpion answered lazily.

"Do we have... something else I could eat? I'm starving."

"I have a couple carrots," Bax offered.

"I'd rather die."

Scorpion laughed again. "That potion didn't fill you up? Seemed to give you plenty of energy."

"Energy, yeah, but I'm still hungry." Cricket rubbed his empty belly with a despondent look.

"Well, look on the bright side,” Scorpion replied, “we have a big fight ahead of us."

"I know you're being sarcastic, but that does make things a little better."

"I scouted ahead," Scorpion said. "For a fortress, it's not very well defended."

"That's too bad."

"It's not, Cricket."

Ty'lek squawked in annoyance, evidently siding with Scorpion.

"It seems the patrols we saw were from a nearby city. No one goes to the tower. The whole area's practically deserted."

"I told you, the last patrol looked like friendly azaeri. Not those seedy, unsavory types."

Ty'lek squawked angrily. "Ra... ta sesk?"

"Calm down," Cricket said. "I just mean they didn't seem like Right Hand cultist types. Do you know where the secret entrance is?"

Ty'lek nodded.

"He showed me," Scorpion said. "We can get there without even approaching from the front. We'll be, like, half a mile away."

At this point, Cricket's shadow emerged from around the dried copse of bramble, tossing his dagger into the air and catching it as he walked. Cricket immediately stared him down.

"You!" He pointed with both arms on his right side. "You ate my eggs!"

The panicked shadow lost his concentration and his dagger dissolved into fumes. A moment later, Cricket tackled him to the ground and the two wrestled in the dirt. After a short tumble, the Cricket's foot ended up in the shadow’s face, and the clone grabbed his ankle and bit. The shell crunched audibly, and Cricket yowled, pushing away the clone with his feet.

He stood and so did the shadow. The shadow stuck out its tongue and—with a look of shock and frustration—Cricket dismissed it into black fumes.

For a moment, his chewed up share of the eggs floated in the air, before sploshing against the ground.

"The nerve!" Cricket shouted. "He had us all fooled!"

"You started it," Scorpion said.

"He started it when he ate my eggs!" Cricket returned. "The devil..."

Scorpion sighed. "How would you react if he tackled you like that?"

"I'd bite his arm off!" Cricket fumed, staring down at the wasted eggs. The hot meal steamed on the ground, and Cricket considered still eating it for the briefest of moments before stomping off toward the fire. On the way, he ran into his second shadow, which he instantly banished.

*****

As Oydd's group neared the forge, the sound of Bale's hammer resounded down the hallway, even over the roar of the lava flow. The oppressive heat warped the air, and Jesh was forced to drop his grace of strength in order to extend a magical fire resistance to the whole group.

A recently forged golem followed the group for some time on the far side of the lava, more expertly formed than the last—composed of a gleaming, golden metal. Oydd assured the group it was, in fact, brass this time.

They encountered another construct on the last stretch—a thin obsidian golem of sharp, black, glimmering glass, which the druid's hammer handled summarily.

Then, as they approached what the vampire referred to as "the changeling's lair," the group stumbled upon a pile of blackened husks, similar to the shard of bone they’d found in the first clay golem.

"Bones," Licephus said. "Sucked clean of marrow. I had wondered if the changeling would actually consume a portion of Bale. Here is the evidence."

"He ate the bones?" Jeshu asked in disbelief.

"Just leftovers, I assume. Pieces for which Shisu had no design. It's common for changelings to choose their meals in order to nurture... certain traits."

Licephus kicked the pile. Without the violet essence inside, the bits of bone crumbled like embers beneath his boot.

A fomorian, just under twenty feet in height, passed across the chamber several yards away, carrying a pile of adamantine rods, oblivious to the vampire's party.

Licephus placed his helm on his head and drew his broad blade. He strode fearlessly forward after the giant.

Oydd sent Skunk to his side, then moved closer to the dethkirok. "Jeshu, go after him. I should keep some distance."

The dryad nodded and raised a hand for Patches to disembark from his shoulder. She hopped down obediently, and ran along near the rudra's feet, drawing her own little dagger.

By the time Oydd reached the main chamber, the fomorian already lay on the ground, felled by the vampire—its throat slit wide open.

Licephus hung in the air a few feet from the ground. Oydd had not seen the vampire levitate since dawning the corrupted silver armor, and the extra weight surely made the effort more taxing.

Lord Licephus swung his greatsword in an arc at a second fomorian on the far side of the room. It cowered, raising an arm to protect its throat. The bluish-grey skin of its four-foot forearm split beneath the force of the blow, from its wrist to its elbow.

The chamber housing the forge was oddly cool, though the rudra saw a blazing furnace in the rear of the room, next to three mounds of rough stones that appeared to be kilns.

The vast chamber rose in platforms, like stairs, and atop the highest stood Juhidra. In his left hand he held Bale's hammer—a weapon, or instrument, of solid violet energy, similar to the essence Oydd had seen inside Bale's tongue and forearm. A continuous stream of hot air blasted against the changeling's arm, emanating from the hammer, which blistered the changeling's bluish skin.

Juhidra himself appeared very much like a fomorian in color, though only twice the size of the undead dethkirok. The changeling' s shape seemed similar to the dethkirok as well, with malformed wings, a long thick tail, and natural armor plates that glistened with the same shimmer as his hammer. His jaw appeared melted shut—fused, save for a small hole at the side of his muzzle that continually dripped saliva.

Large yellow pustules pocked his swollen jowls. As he turned to view the intruders, one sac burst and sprayed the stone at his feet with corrosive acid that began to steam and eat away at the rock.

The lone remaining fomorian lifted a boulder rich with copper ore deposits and hurled it at the vampire. Licephus blocked with the wide, flat side of his blade, and the boulder exploded, sending loose chunks flying halfway across the room.

Licephus roared and flew toward the giant.

Jeshu began to grow to twice his height. Suddenly the ettin's hammer looked small in his hands. Orth grew as well, pulsating as it groped across the floor, bulging to three feet in diameter and several times its length.

Oydd watched the druid stalk toward a wiry golem forged of pure adamantite. Though only six feet tall, blades of varying thickness ran down the back of the indestructible construct, like quills, giving it a truly terrifying appearance. It brandished foot-long, razor-sharp claws that the rudra knew would never dull.

Oydd swallowed hard, instinctively taking a step away from the horror. He surveyed the battlefield, not knowing who to help or how.

The colossal druid outweighed the adamantine golem, and battered the construct about. But the indestructible golem thrashed at him madly, tearing chunks of bark from his arms and torso.

The enraged worm wrapped around the golem in an attempt to protect his master, only to be beaten back by a single slash that dug several inches deep into its rocky hide. Orth crumpled in a heap and began to curl in on itself, as if dying, until it noticed a second golem in the room, a composite of crystal and sandstone. Suddenly, Orth rolled back onto its chubby legs, excited and bounded toward the more edible golem.

The fomorian hurled another boulder across the room at Licephus, this time knocking him clear to the back wall, as Skunk dug his teeth into the giant's ankle.

Oydd climbed the stairway to the forge, unhindered, and the changeling watched his approach in amusement.

The undead dethkirok strode before Oydd protectively.

When the rudra neared, the massive changeling wheezed a sort of laugh of contempt through its nose and crept forward on its hind legs and one arm, unable to keep its balance on its legs alone.

Oydd raised his staff and gathered a ball of black energy. It grew to the size of a ratling as the rudra clenched his fist. The surface flashed and streams of black electricity stretched from the orb to the ground, leaving blackened marks on the grey stone.

The rudra released the energy and it soared toward the changeling. The monstrous Juhidra stepped aside, its tail waving behind him, but just as it began to slip past the orb, Oydd opened his fist and the ball of energy exploded with a blinding light.

Oydd covered his eyes, but when the light died down, he saw the changeling still standing there completely unharmed. Its head twitched and focused on the rudra. It charged.

The dethkirok moved between the two but the changeling lifted Bale's hammer, and in a split second Oydd pulled the ghoul out of the way with his mind, unsure how the godly weapon would affect his creation.

The changeling barreled forward, missing the demon with Bale's hammer, but plowed into the rudra, raking him with the claws of its free arm.

The blow sent Oydd flying backward through the air. He levitated himself forcefully to stop himself before he was dashed against the far wall, but one of the claws had punctured his stomach, and the rudra dropped roughly to the ground as he attempted to stanch the flow of blood.

*****

Jeshu slammed the adamantine golem with all the force of both arms, but only knocked it back a couple feet.

He threw the hammer to stall it for a moment, reaching a hand toward the fallen rudra, and began to heal him from a distance.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

But almost immediately, the adamantite golem returned. The tireless being scratched at him with its blade-like fingers, tearing chunks from his arm.

Jeshu rarely felt pain. The first inch or so of his barklike skin seemed to feel nothing. But now the golem dug so deep that he howled. The druid yelled with such agony that for a moment it seemed the whole battlefield paused to listen.

But it was a short moment. And then Jeshu tried to exert himself, summoning untapped energy from deep within, pushing himself to grow more and more. It didn't amount to much.

His arm began to droop and he shifted to try to take damage on his other side. Jeshu concentrated and a green light appeared on his shredded arm, slowly rebuilding the tissue. He had not previously needed to heal himself much, and he found the wound as challenging as the first time he had tried to mend Cricket.

His attempts felt futile, but no one else could take so much punishment, he knew. If he left the fight, the golem would destroy his friends. And so he let it beat upon him.

*****

Licephus shook his head to knock the debris from his helm. He began to lift his sword for a strike, just as the fomorian caught up to him again. It punched directly at the sword, breaking through his block, and pounding him against the back wall.

The vampire's ears rang from the impact, and blood obscured his vision. He swung his sword but hit nothing. He swung again but only struck the ground as he fell sideways.

Before he lost consciousness, Licephus saw the mouseling, pinned beneath a piece of the boulder he had deflected. She lay motionless in a pool of her own blood, her front paw crushed beneath the stone.

*****

Oydd's vision blurred. Dimly he saw the changeling standing over a pool of gore that must have once been the rudra's ghoul. Slowly, it turned toward the druid stalking toward his blind side. Oydd tried to cry out, but no sound escaped his mouth. He looked down at his hand, covered in blood. The druid had sealed the wound somewhat, but too little and too late.

Oydd felt calm. But only for a moment. Then, from somewhere inside him, he felt a surging fear like nothing he had ever felt. He would not die here!

"Help..." he called out. "Akinaska. Help your servants."

Nothing.

"Bale! Let us avenge you!"

Nothing.

"Serinyes..." he called weakly.

Then, in one final, desperate attempt, he called upon the magic to speak with the dead. The magic he had used countless times, and he cried out, "Help... anyone..."

Then he collapsed onto his side and blackness overwhelmed him.

*****

Cricket peered over the top of a boulder. The tower of Euna Brae looked impressive, even from a fair distance. Only a fraction of the tower could be seen from the exterior, as most of it lay encased in the wet rock of the cavern wall. The tower rose a hundred yards into the air, with many openings—for azaeri soldiers to glide down to the cavern floor—as well as walkways and rope bridges that stretched along the face of the rock.

Near the ceiling of the cavern a series of rope bridges connected the tower to a spiral shell of a truly titanic crustacean—perhaps four stories tall—that still clutched to the ceiling in death. The azaeri had hollowed out the inside as an expansion to their tower, cutting wide openings into the ivory shell.

"What can you see?" Cricket asked. "It's just splotches to me."

Ty'lek peered at the top of the tower where tiny black forms positioned themselves near the edge.

He pointed at his bow, then back up at the fortress.

"Archers?"

Ty'lek nodded.

"How many?"

The azaeri looked to Scorpion and screeched, "Ki-ta-ki."

Scorpion scratched his head. "He says twenty-two. You can really see that well?"

Ty'lek nodded quickly.

"And how many on the ground?"

Ty'lek looked over the ground forces—mostly azaeri armed with spears and crossbows, some out in the open and others lying in wait amidst the stalagmites.

"Like half as many, right?"

Ty'lek shrugged.

"But maybe half as many, right?" Cricket pressed.

"You can't expect him to tell. Who knows how many are out of sight."

Ty'lek squawked in agreement.

"We should keep our distance," Scorpion added. "If Ty'lek can count them, then they could spot us from this distance."

"Good point. Can you get us to the side passage while keeping cover?"

Scorpion nodded and scurried off, picking a path among the crags. After a short distance, sparse bramble began to cover the trail, which grew thicker and thicker until Cricket was forced to begin hacking a path through the dry, black vines with his khopeshes. He summoned a shadow, and the two headed the group.

After nearly an hour of cutting, Scorpion pointed them toward a narrow trench that led beneath an overhanging of rock. From a distance, it appeared unremarkable, but as they neared, Cricket saw signs of masonry poking out from behind the thorns. He had to duck at first, but then the passage opened into a fairly spacious, cobbled ramp. Thick dust covered the cobblestones, and the passage smelled of wet rot.

Scorpion darted to the front of the group and sniffed the air. He winced at the smell, and his single eye watered.

"Ugh, that's gross."

"Eh," Cricket shrugged, "I don't have much of a sense of smell."

Ty'lek stuck his beak in the air proudly, and pushed forward.

Bax covered his nose with his sleeve. "That's not natural, right?"

"It smells like Gad," Scorpion complained.

Cricket's eyes narrowed. He raised his weapons to the ready and slowed his pace as he made his way up the tunnel with the shadow at his side.

The ramp continued upward at a slight incline for some distance, steadily turning toward the tower. The curved path made it impossible to see very far ahead, and the group proceeded in silence for a distance until the ratling's ears perked up.

"Do you hear that?"

"No," Cricket answered. "I have one antenna, and it's bent."

Scorpion held up a hand and the others stood still, listening. The mimic crawled from his back onto the ratling's shoulder to get a better view.

Cricket's shadow nudged him with an elbow. Cricket glowered, hearing nothing, but eventually he picked up a very faint scraping sound. Another short scrape, and then silence. A long scrape, and then silence.

"It's just a zombie," Cricket said.

Bax made a high-pitched sound of concern. "Just a zombie? Where I'm from, zombies are horrifying."

"Well, down here, they're usually on our side," Cricket stated.

"They're usually on our side, because Oydd is with us," Scorpion replied. "Oydd isn't here."

"Well, I know... obviously this one won't be on our side, but—"

As he spoke, an undead azaeri appeared around the bend, dragging a spear behind it—missing more than half of its scales and feathers. When it sensed the intruders, it dropped the spear and opened its beak, letting out a long, hissing rattle.

Bax screamed.

"Quiet," Cricket whispered and lunged for its throat with the sickle side of a khopesh. The blade sunk about an inch deep into the pimpled, featherless skin, and then the zombie grabbed quickly for the insect.

He dodged and swung again for the same spot, connecting with bone this time, but the zombie stumbled forward, undeterred, reaching out again.

Ty'lek fired an arrow into its chest to little effect, and then Scorpion approached from behind and slit one of its hamstrings.

The zombie toppled to the cobblestone and began to crawl after Cricket while his shadow jumped in from the side with a finishing stab to one of its eyes.

"See," Cricket said. "Easy. Well, I mean... not super easy. But not dangerous."

Scorpion sniffed the corpse, his whiskers twitching, then scurried ahead.

The gnome took a glance backward, and quickened his pace to stay near the middle of the group.

When they reached the next zombie, Bax screamed again, and Cricket shot him a disapproving look.

Ty'lek disabled the zombie with an arrow to its ankle, and Cricket finished it off with three strikes to the temple.

"Why are these so tough?" he complained.

"Just be thankful they're slow and stupid," Scorpion answered.

"We should be at the tower soon, right?"

No sooner had Cricket spoken the words than the outer wall of the tower appeared. The pathway narrowed, and ran along the curved brick wall as it rose steadily upward.

"How high up do you think we are?"

"Almost halfway," Scorpion guessed.

The group passed two rooms dug into the rock opposite the tower wall with shelves full of withered roots and bags of forgotten grain thick with dead weevils. In the second room, the corpse of another azaeri spearman lay propped against the corner—a dagger wound to its temple.

They passed a third room with a blackened cauldron and the skeletons of two ratlings in decaying robes. Scorpion made a quick sweep of the chamber for anything of interest, but emerged a moment later looking disappointed. Cricket stuck his head around the threshold curiously, but trusted the ratling's judgment and continued on.

"How old were those corpses?" Bax asked.

"Maybe a year," Cricket said and Scorpion agreed.

"Why does it smell less up here?"

The path turned into steep stairs cut from the stone that spiraled around the tower wall.

Cricket thought it over. "Maybe the rancid air is heavier than the fresh air, so it sunk down?"

"Ew." The gnome wrinkled his nose and tested pulling his sleeve away. "Well, I shouldn't complain."

"Quiet," Scorpion whispered. "I hear something." He ducked, motioning for the mimic to drop from his back, and crept ahead soundlessly.

Cricket followed, keeping his arms tight to avoid accidentally banging his weapons on the wall.

The ratling hopped up several more steps, pressed his ear against the bricks, then dashed further ahead.

When Cricket caught up, Scorpion held a finger to his lips and pointed his paw at a thin crack in the wall.

Cricket crouched at his side and waited for the ratling to look. After a quick glance, he climbed to the next step and motioned for Cricket.

Cricket pressed his eye against the crack and saw little but an empty hallway.

Scorpion's ears perked up again and he ran up a few more steps. He found another crack in the mortar between the bricks and peered through. This time he smiled before motioning for the insect.

Cricket pressed his eye against the crack and saw a fairly large chamber lit by the glow of a magical portal. It hummed very faintly, at least as far as the insect could tell. The portal appeared to be a permanent construction, with a semi-circle of runed stones at the bottom, sitting on a raised dais.

The surface of the portal rippled like liquid, though it stood upright, and gleamed like silver with a faint pink hue.

As he watched, the trollblood entered the chamber and faced the portal. It raised its arm—the arm it had replaced with Bale's. The violet, clawed hand touched the surface of the portal and an image of Agoth formed. The half-troll tapped the portal again, and it turned pitch black. He stood there for some time, staring into the blackness.

Cricket's shadow tapped his shoulder, requesting a turn to look.

Cricket shook his head, and the shadow placed his palm's together, pleading. Cricket glared back at him and shook his head again.

He looked back through the hole just as the shadow shoved him aside. He caught himself from falling, but Cricket's jade khopesh clicked against one of the steps. The shadow looked through the crack, and both froze in horror, waiting to see if the trollblood had heard them.

A moment later, Cricket heard the troll's deep voice penetrating him to the core.

"Sunder..."

The stones of the wall obeyed Bale’s tongue, crumbling apart to reveal Cricket, his shadow, and Scorpion huddled together on the steps.

Without hesitation, the shadow dropped into the chamber and rushed the trollblood.

It raised Bale's clawed hand and pointed it toward the darting shadow and commanded, "Die." Bale's tongue darkened noticeably and the shadow evaporated.

The stunned troll took a step backward while Cricket screamed in alarm.

Ty'lek appeared at the insect's side and released an arrow into the room. The trollblood covered his eyes with his natural arm, and the arrow sank deep into the bone. Black threads spread rapidly from the wound.

"Break," the troll croaked, and the Nightcrawler bow snapped in half. Almost immediately the black tendrils growing along his arm receded.

Cricket took one step, as if to charge in, but hesitated.

"Sleep..."

Bale's tongue, as before, darkened slightly.

Futilely, Cricket tried to cover his remaining antenna to block out the command as the room dimmed around him.

*****

Oydd heard a loud grinding sound, as of metal against metal, and all motion around him slowed to a stop. Juhidra, standing just feet before him seemed impossibly far away, almost lost in time.

"We hear you," a thin voice rasped.

The room darkened. A distant sound like rushing water replaced the silence and his eyes slowly adjusted until he noticed a spectral shape, quivering and wavering in the air. It vanished and then reappeared further away—its long, ghastly arms clutching a scythe.

Above the distant sound of water, the rudra heard the creature's labored breath. Though its chest appeared skeletal—with a tan, threadbare fabric pressed against the ribs—it inhaled with a long, slow rattle, then disappeared.

The wind whipped at Oydd's side, and he turned to see it reform closer. The wraithlike creature possessed no legs, but rather its elongated spine drooped from the ribcage nearly to the ground, where it coiled like a tail.

An unheard wind whipped about its being, granting an aspect of fragility, as if it might dissolve into the air.

The creature laid its scythe on the ground, and crawled forward on its arms, struggling against the force of the wind. Even at a few feet away, Oydd could not make out its face, whether it was bone, or flesh, or shadow.

The specter spoke again in a raspy voice. "What does it want? Why did it call?"

Oydd stood. He reached for his staff, but his fingers slipped through it, and the image of his staff on the ground whirled and fluttered like a reflection in a stream. The shattered image danced and sparkled in the darkness, and the rudra waited for the shards to coalesce, but they only drifted further apart.

"Why did it call?" the wraith repeated.

Oydd stared into its empty sockets. "Why did I call?"

The spectre only waited for a further response.

"I... asked for help."

"It did not pray to its god? It called to Izu?"

"I... I did call out to the gods. But they did not hear me."

"We heard," the wraith whispered. "Izu did hear."

"Can you help me?" Oydd stuttered.

"We can help? Who is dead?"

"Who is dead? No one is dead."

"Many are dead. Speak the name of one of the recent dead, and we will help the rudra."

Oydd swallowed. "Naraka," he said at last. "We killed a demon named Naraka."

"There is no demon, Naraka, because he is dead?"

The wraith waited and Oydd verified the information with a curt nod.

"Who is alive?" the spirit asked, then vanished and reformed several yards away, its scythe once again clutched in its skeletal fingers. The wraith placed the weapon again on the ground and slithered through the air back toward the rudra.

"What do you mean?"

"Who still lives," the wraith rasped impatiently. "What is its name?"

"My name?" the rudra asked. "My name is Oydd."

"Zephyrendum," the spirit finished. "The rudra tossed upon the wind. The mortal's name is Oydd."

Oydd nodded.

"We are after the death of Naraka, and before the death of Oydd."

"Yes," Oydd whispered, his throat tight.

"And it wants power?"

Oydd studied the specter. "Can you give me power?"

The spirit vanished and reappeared at the rudra's side, inches from his face. Oydd felt its warm, wet breath on his neck.

"We can... for a price."

"What price? My soul?"

"We cannot keep souls," the wraith hissed as it flitted through the rudra, turning to face him again. "We are not gods. We desire flesh... and sinew... and bone." The spirit lifted a skeletal hand and caressed the rudra's cheek. It turned its head sideways in three quick jerks, until its jaw slanted upward.

"To eat?"

"To work. To be our hands and our feet." The voice echoed in the darkness.

"In exchange for what?"

"A small mote of our power. That is all we can give. And the rudra will be bound to obey Izu. Not only us, but all Izus."

"Enough power to save my life?"

"We know not. But if it dies, it owes us nothing."

Oydd looked off to where his friends lay scattered beyond the black and pondered the offer.