Mud and Magic Ch. 05

They had entered a wide tunnel with an arched ceiling. It curved away from them. There were alcoves in regular intervals set into the walls. Empty pedestals occupied some, yawning doorways had been built into others. The doors had crumbled to dust in the intervening ages, leaving the hinges behind like some metallic, skeletal claws. The rooms beyond were picked clean, save for the ruins of shelving or other, arcane machinery built into the walls or floors. Scavengers had gone over this place numerous times, leaving only those things behind which had crumbled or were simply too unwieldy to drag out.

"Douse your light, lad," Thurguz cautioned. He had already extinguished his own illumination spell. Rhys followed suit. The only light came from ahead, where the ritual was taking place.

No. There's something else, Rhys realized. It came from the walls, a gentle radiance like starlight. It wasn't enough for him to see anything but he guessed that those with more sensitive eyes, like elves and dwarves, could manage. He could only see shadows moving next to him. Thurguz was a towering, soothing presence, Galdor barely noticable -- and Borna seemed to have become one with the gloom. Not even her usually radiant eyes gleamed. Only the rustling of her scales and the soft clopping of her dampened hooves gave any indication she was still there.

"They didn't post any guards," Galdor muttered. "They have no idea we know about this little ceremony of theirs."

"Or they simply don't care," Borna hissed. She darted ahead, a sinuous, curvy imprint against the flickering torches.

"Borna, wait," Thurguz hissed. Borna didn't listen. She stopped at the doorway and peeked into the room beyond before slipping inside.

"Desire's floppy tits," the half-orc grumbled. He too dashed ahead. Rhys and Galdor had to run to keep up. They reached the doorway just as Thurguz entered the room beyond. It was an antechamber of sorts, ceiling held aloft by four slender pillars. A strange, glittering archway was set against the left wall while tattered, mouldy banners covered the right one.

Ahead, Borna knelt next to another doorway, two dead soldiers at her feet. One lacked a head, the other sported a ghastly hole in his chest where her tail had torn into him. The stench of blood and feces was overwhelming and Rhys had to fight to keep his stomach down. Beyond the other door, the sounds of the ceremony were now clearly audible -- the weird chanting, flesh slapping against flesh, pained whimpers and what sounded like bucketfuls of liquid being poured into large containers.

"So they did post guards after all," Galdor mouthed, shivering.

"What is this thing?" Rhys hissed in Thurguz' general direction, indicating the archway.

"Probably how Carver's men got in here -- a portal. Intriguing," the old half-orc whispered, running his hand over the elaborate frame.

"You should see this," Borna whispered, vacating her spot near the doorway. Thurguz joined her and peeked past the frame. Rhys saw him tense up before stepping away from the doorway again.

"All right, we're leaving," Thurguz announced.

"We are what?" Rhys asked, incredulously.

"We are leaving. Carver is here, supervising the ceremony."

Rhys pressed himself against the wall next to the doorway, his heart pounding in his throat. Carver! He leaned against the frame and risked a peek. Instantly, he wished he hadn't.

The room in front of him was huge, easily as expansive as the tower's ground floor. It was eight-sided and the ceiling was held aloft by eight strangely twisted columns. Towards the center, the room was recessed, four wide steps led towards a central eight-sided area. Four braziers lit the room, creating painfully bright illumination. A glowing sigil had been painted into the center, a double circle around a complicated symbol. At five points around the circle, clerics in dark purple robes stood, their hands raised, heads tilted back. They were the ones chanting. In front of each of them stood a small item, a socket from which a pair of hands reached up, forming a cup. In the middle of the circle stood Carver. Rhys easily recognized him -- he had barely changed at all since his portrait had been done. He still wore his white robes, only the symbol around his neck had changed. Gone was the golden disk, replaced by the same pair of hands forming a cup, bound together at the wrists by bloody barbed cords. His eyes were as expressive as ever, glowing with the zeal of a visionary as he directed the chant of his cronies, gathering energy with both hands and guiding it towards the side of the circle.

To each side of the magic circle stood a low metal basin. Rhys had been present often enough when Padec or Gran had slaughtered one of the farm animals, so the smell of blood was familiar to him. But he had never seen so much of the crimson liquid in one place. One of the basins was foaming; something thrashed in it while Carver guided the energy of his circle into it.

Behind the other basin he recognized another person. Despite the fact he was naked save for a blood-caked loincloth, despite the generous coat of blood and unholy symbols covering his flesh, Rhys would never forget those eyes. Faedal!

The fallen Paladin pulled a whimpering body to its knees by long, silver hair. Rhys saw frightened eyes and the distinct pointed ears of an elf. Then there was the flash of a scalpel and the horrifying noise of someone choking on their own lifeblood. Faedal made sure the poor elf bled into the basin before tossing the naked, bruised corpse onto a growing pile. Every single corpse on the pile was horribly mutilated. And most of them were younger than Rhys.

Besides the pile, on fresh white linen, waited two more corpses. Despite their obvious age, they had been expertly preserved and freshly anointed. Bits of ancient jewelry had been taken off them, neatly arranged at their feet. The soon-to-be Raghbairn, Rhys realized. He shuddered at the irony. Dozens of elves were slaughtered like cattle to bring these two back to life. And whatever else Faedal does to them, he thought bitterly, his stomach heaving as he looked at the blood-drenched henchman. Faedal's loincloth tented obscenely as he left the octagonal ritual chamber for another room. Shrill cries answered his arrival.

A horrifying gurgle came from the second basin. As he watched, a body pulled itself upright, the skin a sickly grey. Green flames poured from every facial orifice as it screamed, if in pain or triumph, Rhys didn't know. The thing was completely hairless, but he could see the distinct pointed ears. Like living shadows, arcane symbols formed on the Raghbairn's skin. It pulled itself fully from the basin, blood dropping off its limbs.

"I have heard your call, Master." the undead rasped, bowing in Carver's direction.

"You will find equipment and clothing over yonder," Carver said. His voice was soft and melodious, made for singing instead of barking orders. "Once you're dressed, wait until the ceremony is over. I will explain everything then."

"Yes, Master." The thing bowed and retreated to the indicated corner.

Rhys ducked back, shaking.

"Let's be off before they find us," Thurguz whispered, placing a hand on Rhys' shoulder.

He shook it off and stared at Thurguz in open defiance. "No."

"What do you mean, 'no?'" the half-orc asked.

"We've come all this way just to leave? What was the bloody point then?" Rhys hissed, his voice slowly rising.

"I will not fight Carver. He's too powerful. Especially surrounded by his clerics and the newly-risen Raghbairn," Thurguz growled.

"We don't have to," Rhys snarled back. "We are not here to fight or kill Carver. We are just here to disrupt the ritual, make sure he can't raise any more of these things."

"And how do you propose we do that without landing in a battle we can't win?" Thurguz riposted, balling his fists. "You have no idea what he is capable of."

"I'm quickly getting the idea," Rhys said, pointing at the doorway. "A full assault will get us killed. But what if I walk in there alone?" He undid a set of strings on his belt and pulled up a clicking bag. "I have three Disjunction stones. More than enough to ruin any spellcaster's day. If you tell me where to drop them, we could put a stop to this ritual right here, right now."

"Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?" Thurguz said. "You could get killed."

"Not if we have a good exit strategy."

"I could help with that," Galdor said, pulling another phial out of his vest. "Borna, for you."

She held the flask up to her eyes and shook it. "Is there anything in it?"

"Yes. An Invisibility potion. Won't last more than a minute or two but it might just be the thing we need."

Another helpless, gurgling noise came from the ritual chamber.

"And whatever we do, we should hurry," Rhys hissed. "There are two more of these things waiting to be raised."

Thurguz slunk back to the door, risking another glance. "This is madness."

Rhys joined him and grabbed his arm. "Do you have any better idea than to simply run away?"

Thurguz emitted a low, warning growl. "Are you calling me a coward, lad?"

"I wouldn't dare," Rhys whispered. "What are they doing?"

"Faedal is toying with one of the sacrifices." Thurguz choked the words past a sudden lump in his throat. "Sick bastard."

"Tell me where to toss the stones," Rhys urged.

"The basins. And to make sure to foul the ritual for good, disrupt the magic circle. Since they are not summoning a demon, it should be safe for you. But it will sever the connection between Carver and his supporters." Thurguz squeezed Rhys' shoulder. "Good luck, lad."

Gritting his teeth, Rhys pulled two Disjunction stones from the bag. He could feel his senses dull, his ability to locate and draw upon magical energy snuffed out by the tiny pebbles. Then he took a deep breath and strode through the doorway.

Instantly, he could feel the attention of nearly everyone in the ritual chamber focus on him. Besides the right basin, Faedal was standing up, tucking his bloodied cock under his loincloth. The prostrate body at his feet sobbed quietly. Within a heartbeat, a sword was in Faedal's hand, the blade a dull black.

"A visitor at such a crucial time," Carver said. He didn't speak loudly yet his voice easily filled the large hall. "Who might you be?"

"You might not know me yet," Rhys said, surprised at how steady his voice was. He wasn't afraid. Or rather, he was beyond afraid. But there was something else boiling within him -- a rage he had felt only twice before. And both times Faedal was involved. With slow, measured steps he moved deeper into the hall, careful not to trip over the steps leading to the lower parts of the floor.

"My name is Rhys. Your butcher over there should have heard my name," he said, nodding at Faedal. "A bit over a month ago, Faedal abducted my little sister Mirrin. I don't know what horrible things he did to her but when she returned home, she was merely a shell of her former self."

Only five feet to the circle, Rhys thought. He passed one stone into his left hand. And I can't miss those large tubs.

"Rhys? Oh, I remember that name," Faedal said. He walked around the bloody basins. "You're quite the popular lad back home. A certain red-headed tavern whore screamed your name when last I saw her."

Rhys stopped dead in his tracks. Dara!

He turned to face Faedal. "What did you do, you monster?" A pit of dread opened in his stomach.

"You will find out soon enough, little Rhys," Faedal said, his usual, oily grin on his lips. "Shall I dispose of him, milord?"

"Wait. What is it you want, Rhys? Revenge for your sister?"

Now or never! Rhys flicked his wrists, launching the tiny, dull grey pebbles at the basins. He saw Carver's eyes widen as he tried to track both missiles at the same time. With a surprisingly meaty impact, they hit their mark, sinking into the blood. Rhys made sure to drag his booted foot through the chalk circle. He dug for the third Disjunction stone, to throw it at Carver. Understanding bloomed on Carver's androgynous face, the realization that he just allowed his ritual to be disrupted.

He flung out his hand. "Kill that insolent mongrel!" Carver yelled, all semblance of sophistication, of calm, gone.

"Not today," Borna snarled, dropping down from the ceiling, flooring Faedal in a flailing heap of limbs. To Rhys' surprise, he easily fended off her claws and tail, coming lithely to his feet. But Borna didn't stick around. She sprinted and tackled Rhys off his feet, clutching the screaming sorcerer against her armor-plated bosom, all of her claws deep in his back. Rhys, still holding the last Disjunction stone, hugged himself to Borna. And suddenly, the intense, life-draining cold of her claws was gone. She still had all her claws in his back as she ran but, compared to before, the pain was almost gentle.

"In here!" Galdor called, pointing at the glowing portal. Borna, not stopping, dove through headfirst. The familiar, dizzying madness of a teleportation jump then, a moment later, Rhys crashed to the floor, buried under Borna's chitin-plated body.

Galdor crashed onto them, whimpering. "Ow, ow, ow."

Borna slithered out from between them, coming gracefully to her feet. Her stinger hovered over her head. "Oh," she said, looking around. She uncoiled from her fighting stance.

"I can't believe we pulled that off," Thurguz said quietly, sitting on the floor not far away. Rhys pulled himself into a sitting position as well and looked around. They were back at Thurguz' tower, the ground floor to be exact. A vertical, shimmering disc of light hung a good five feet above the flagstones. "Too bad Carver will be here any moment."

"Oh no, he won't," Galdor said, counting quietly on his fingers. "Aaaand- done." A twenty-foot long flame tongue shot from the portal then the shimmering disc vanished. "I left them a small memento before I jumped through. It should have disrupted, if not completely destroyed the portal. And anything in a twenty-foot radius."

"Rhys." Borna said. Her voice had a strange overtone.

"Yes?"

Wordlessly, she held up her hands. Her claws were bloody and wet from where she had carved into him but the tell-tale arcs of energy had vanished. Slowly, as not to scare him, Borna reached out and touched Rhys' cheek. He tried not to flinch. A moment later, her lips touched his.

"Thank you," she whispered. "I don't know how you did it, but... thank you."

Rhys opened his fist. The last Disjunction stone had broken, smashed and crumbled to powder in their madcap escape.

"It will be only temporary, I'm afraid," he said. "Tomorrow, you'll be your old, life-draining self."

"At least I have one night where I can touch people without hurting them." For the first time since he'd known her, Borna smiled. "I could spend it with you, if you wish."

Rhys groaned, resting his forehead against her shoulder. "I'm flattered. But I think I'll have to decline for now. All I want is a hot bath, a healing potion or five and several hours of sleep. Please don't kill me."

Borna laughed and hugged him close. "Do you think you can repeat this?" she asked, caressing his face with a fingertip.

"All it takes is a Disjunction stone," Rhys said. "Mine are all gone now, though."

"I could sell ye some," a gruff voice cut in, followed by an icy breeze. Rhys looked around. The front door had opened and Idunn, Chassari, Zentam, Elara and a tall, wizened being wearing a long, black robe with esoteric symbols knitted into it entered the Entrance Hall. As Rhys watched, the symbols changed shape and color. Not that it makes them any less unsettling.

Idunn rushed Thurguz, emphatically hugging him. Elara was on Rhys in a heartbeat. "You look horrible," the elven druid complained. Her fingers made short work of his cloak and shirt. The cool air hurt as it caressed the fresh gashes on his back.

"Buzz off, pointy-ears," Borna rasped, back to her old, prickly self. "He's much tougher than you make him look. And since when are you his nurse?"

Elara shot her a fierce glare then her soothing, warm hands traveled over Rhys' aching body. Arcs of veridian energy sparked between them, each discharge taking an ache away, closing a gash. When she sat back onto her haunches, inspecting her handiwork, Rhys felt much better. Colder too but most of the pain had gone.

"How did it go?" Thurguz asked Idunn.

"That's what I want to know. All of you look rather rattled," the dwarven sorceress complained. "Don't tell me Carver showed up in Storm Harbor."

"He sure as hell did. I'll give you the details later." The half-orc turned to face the black-robed stranger. "And you are?"

"I am Metili. In light of today's events, the Council of Seven can no longer sit back and watch." The voice was incredibly sultry, a feminine, sensuous purr which went right from Rhys' ears to his crotch. Going by the way Galdor perked up, he guessed Metili's voice had a similar effect on the dwarf. She reached up and pulled down her hood.

No matter how electrifying her voice might have been, her appearance snuffed out any traces of arousal. Metili's face was a skull-like visage framed by thin, wispy strands of black hair, the skin pulled taut over her bone structure. Where her nose should have been, only a triangular crater remained. Her mouth was a lipless gash and her eyes twin orbs of gleaming red.

"As such, I shall serve as the intermediary between you, Thurguz, and the Council. It is obvious that this Carver person is someone to watch and possibly neutralize at some point. We hereby offer your our help."

"So his clerics tried to raid your graveyard too?" Thurguz asked.

"Yes. And without the warning your emissaries provided, they would have caught us by utter surprise. The would-be despoilers were summarily killed and fed to our masters." Metili crossed her arms over her breasts, grinning smugly. Idunn shuddered.

"Well then. Welcome to the tower. I am honored the Dark Order finally acknowledges me," Thurguz said. He rose and extended his hand in greeting. Metili didn't shake but offered a stiff, shallow bow. "Idunn, make sure our guest has a room then meet me upstairs." He turned to Rhys, Borna and Elara, still huddled together on the floor. "Rest a bit. We will meet after Hagazz and the others come back."

* * * *

Despite his weariness and an especially dreadful case of adrenaline shock, rest didn't come easy for Rhys. Even after he had drifted into a fitful sleep, the day's events stuck with him.

One thing in particular bubbled to the surface of his consciousness over and over again. Faedal, blood-spattered face twisted into a dirty grin, his bottomless eyes gleaming with sadistic joy as he drawled: "A certain red-headed tavern whore screamed your name when last I saw her." Then he reached down, to where the sacrifices rested at his feet, and dragged her beautiful head up. Dara's emerald eyes were wide with fear, her mouth, cheeks and chin cum-streaked. Then there was the flicker of the scalpel as Faedal mercilessly cut her throat from ear to ear, digging his fingers into the gaping wound to allow for more blood to pour forth.

Screaming, Rhys shot upright, wide awake.

Sen took a step backwards, raising her hands. "What did I do now?" the blonde half-elf asked, perplexed.

"Huh? Sen? What are you doing here?" Rhys looked her up and down. She was fully dressed and two steps away from his bed. "Has Hagazz returned?"

"Not yet. But... you'd better come and see."

Now truly worried, Rhys slid off his bed. With shaking fingers, he pulled a new set of robes from his wardrobe. His traveling gear, the last gift he had received form Dara, was a dirty, ragged pile of cloth atop his laundry basket.