Mud and Magic Ch. 11

A heartbeat later, that same sensation as before touched his fingertips, like sunshine on his skin. It remained there instead of consuming his whole body. A triumphant smile spread over Rhys' lips. "Haloryth?" he whispered. Borna scowled.

"Yes?" The voice was a faint whisper in the back of his mind and clearly not his own.

"Will you be joining our adventuring group, at least as long as we're here?"

"Oh, I'd love to!" A sensation of doubt washed over him. "Will your friends mind me haunting you though?"

"I'm sure there won't be problems as long as you don't try anything to hurt me," Rhys said, making eye contact with Borna. Her scowl didn't relent.

"My sworn duty is to protect this crypt. Or rather it was. I see no reason to be mad at you." Someone else's happy smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "I'll behave."

"She says she'll behave," Rhys said aloud.

Gael rolled his eyes at him. "You're not making a particularly convincing ventriloquist, boy. Now what? Any news about Nel's entourage?"

"My goodness," Haloryth complained. "Did you strangle his favorite pet? What's his problem?"

Rhys grinned. "Gael isn't too fond of humans in general and me in particular," he thought. "He's made some kind of blood oath since I saved his sister from enslavement, but... well, I'm no fully trained stealth specialist or combat mage. You can hear us?"

"Of course! Wouldn't be a particularly useful guardian spirit if I couldn't hear what my prey is planning." Haloryth's mirth only intensified. "Tell you what," she said. "I could impart some of my knowledge to you as thanks for your help, simply to shut him up. Not every elf behaves as if we have an adamantite rod up our bum holes."

Rhys laughed at that. "It would be my honor, milady. A question before we return to cleansing the crypts. Did you see what kind of entourage Nelearyn had when he entered?"

"Sadly, no. I was locked up in that Soul Trap, remember? But I could go and find out. Be right back!"

Her presence vanished, leaving a strangely empty feeling behind. Rhys shook himself and opened his eyes. "She scouts ahead for us," he told Gael.

"You don't mind if I'd rather have a look myself?" the tattooed elf asked.

"She didn't say anything about having to wait here. Let's go. I'm curious too," Rhys said. With the battle staff in one hand, the glowing rock in the other, he crossed the threshold into the former embalming hall. Heat and a strong chemical stench permeated the air and every step was accompanied by the sound of ceramic fragments crunching under his boots, echoing off the walls. It was the biggest room they had found so far, easily fifty feet to a side. No crystal had survived the explosion, leaving his glowing rock the only light source.

A large stone table had been upended and broken into two large pieces, scattered across the floor. Precious little remained of the corpse-eaters, the combination of his initial fireball, the shrapnel-filled echo of exploding amphorae and the fire had turned them to scorched shapes imprinted on floor and walls alike. Several shelves, formerly affixed to the walls with metal brackets, had been blown off their mounts. Something caught Rhys' eye, a crimson reflection amidst a pile of debris. He tucked his staff into the crook of his elbow and picked up the item. It was a jagged crystal shard. What remained of its facets reflected Rhys' glow stone in dark purple or a deep ruby hue. Even shattered, he could sense powerful magic radiate from the item. He pocketed the shard and rose again, catching up with Gael, Borna and Astra'il who had passed him on their way to one of the room's other exits, a large, arched doorway directly opposite the one they had used to enter. He noticed several others but they either had collapsed or the stone slabs used as doors had blocked them.

The eerie green glow of the crypt's crystals intensified as he drew closer to the exit. Ahead was another corridor, wide enough for four people to comfortably walk side by side. Rhys imagined embalmed corpses being carried by their grieving descendants to whatever destination waited ahead.

"Stay behind me," Borna muttered. "It's too quiet. And whatever you do... try not to kill us, you hear?"

"No worries. I won't fire off any spells in this enclosed space," Rhys assured her. They crept along the corridor, past several other doorways. These were no burial chambers from what Rhys could glimpse as they moved past, instead the rooms were filled with destroyed crates and shelving similar to that in the embalming hall. He also noticed several large stone squares blocking off doorways or branching corridors. Before he could wonder what they meant, his foot caught on something. He used his staff to keep his balance and looked down. A skeletal arm stuck out from under one such block.

Haloryth's handiwork, he thought, shuddering.

A warm spot seemed to form on his neck. "They deserved it," the elven spirit thought grimly. "The grave robbers didn't show any respect for the dead. My only regret is that I didn't catch all of them. When the traps activated, most ran like the filthy rats they were." Her fury was like a pair of icy claws gripping his temples.

"What about Nel's entourage?" Rhys thought, hoping his question would calm the furious spirit.

"They are patrolling the lowest level, trying to block any access to the ritual chamber."

"Ritual chamber?"

"To be able to communicate with the dearly departed, certain rituals need to be performed. There are power sources in that room to help with that. We stored implements to aid us in the rituals as well, magical items and such. I don't know if they have been taken or not. Grandfather Nel would certainly go there if he's about to perform any large-scale spellcasting or ritual."

"And what kind of enemies are we talking?" Rhys asked aloud. Borna eyed him over her shoulder.

"Animated corpses wearing the black and gold. Simple walking dead. But quite a lot of them." A wave of concern caused his skin to crawl.

"Anything on this floor?"

"Unlikely. Some may have stumbled onto the ramp leading up here, but they are clustered in the corridors leading to the ritual chamber."

Gael raised his bow and fired two arrows in rapid succession. Something hit the ground ahead with the sound of a wet sack. A moment later, the sound of something being dragged along the floor came.

"Looks like your arrows do precious little damage," Astra'il said. She darted into the darkness ahead. Her sword blade gleamed like liquid silver as it reflected Rhys' glow stone. A moment later, the sounds stopped.

"I really don't know what's worse... Undead or dark elves," Gael muttered. He placed his bow over one shoulder and drew his short sword. "Enlighten me then. How do I kill what's already dead?"

"Go for the head?" Borna suggested.

"Won't help much," Astra'il said. "These bodies are animated by magic. The quickest way to disable them would be to cut their connection with their creator. Thankfully the Moon Maiden can assist us with that."

"And what can we non-clerics do?" Gael asked.

"Wait just a bit," Astra'il said. "You will be able to mow them down by the dozens. I don't want to squander the gifts of my goddess on a single zombie."

Rhys cleared his throat. "Haloryth said there will be quite a lot of these walking corpses below, guarding a ritual chamber where we'll most likely find Grandfather Nel."

"Lovely. Try not to kill us all when you throw your spells," Gael snapped.

Ahead, a large, intricately decorated archway loomed. Mythical creatures of the forest stood atop each other's shoulder, holding aloft an arch wreathed from branches and crystal. Beyond, another ramp curved into the darkness below. The stench of earth and rot intensified. Next to him, Borna tore a strip of fabric off her coat and wound it around her mouth and nose.

"It's that bad?" Rhys asked her.

The cursed girl nodded. "Few things turn my stomach but the stench of dead things most certainly does."

"Gather round, everyone," Astra'il said, halfway down the ramp. "And Haloryth, if you're close by, you might move a bit away. I don't want to hurt you."

The indistinct presence hovering behind and to the right of Rhys diminished somewhat. Astra'il pulled a small satchel from the depths of her cloak and poured a measure of silver dust onto the floor. She hummed a melody Rhys hadn't heard before, an uplifting series of notes. The dust moved on its own, forming a large circle with gleaming runes inside.

"Place your weapons inside the circle. The Goddess will bless them with holy energy," Astra'il said. Her hair moved on its own, as if buffeted by a gentle breeze and her eyes shimmered like twin pools of moonlight. A strange undertone seemed to enrich her voice, as if there was a second voice speaking. "And be quick about it please."

Gael shrugged his quiver off his shoulder and placed it into the circle. Rhys followed suit, laying his battle staff and Galdor's dagger down. Borna looked from him to Astra'il, then she shrugged and stepped into the circle.

The dark elven cleric raised both hands above her head and resumed her song, her voice carrying effortlessly through the whole crypt. Silvery moonlight poured from the ceiling, illuminating the circle and everything within. Rhys had to close his eyes to avoid being blinded.

"It is done," Astra'il said, panting. Gone was the hum of power in her voice. Rhys opened his eyes again. The blinding silver light had vanished but remnants of it seemed to cling to his weapons, every feather on every arrow in Gael's quiver and - most spectacularly - on every contour of Borna's body. He reclaimed his gear. The hilts were cool and he felt a somewhat calming sensation emanate from them.

"I'm impressed - this once," Gael said, inspecting one of his missiles. The triangular arrowhead gleamed like a minuscule shard of moonlight.

"I'll let my goddess know the next time I see her," Astra'il said, grinning. "Let's go."

Purposefully, she strode down the ramp, her sword lighting the way. The others quickly followed.

* * * *

The wind was an unending scream in her ears. The ground below raced past, a blurred, indistinct carpet stitched from patches in shades of dark blue and black. To the south, she could see the gleaming spires of Lordehome's Cathedral of the Light, a luminous beacon to be seen far and wide.

I wish I could have used a Teleport, Celeste thought, her teeth clenched tightly. The Flight spell worked flawlessly, it was more her concentration she was worried about. But without clearly being able to find Rhys, she wasn't able to cast that particular spell.

Never had any reason to visit the elven woods before.

And she'd rather end up by Rhys' side than Faedal's. Finding him, surprisingly, had been easy, even during flight. His leering face was etched brilliantly in her memory, his touches, his bites and everything else he had done to her were small, searing patches on her skin and burning aches within her.

Suddenly, she plummeted towards the ground, her forward momentum gone. Cursing silently, Celeste fought to regain her concentration. She banished the memory of Faedal and - why am I getting aroused? Snarling, she dug her fingernails into her palms until she broke the skin. The pain helped her focus and a cushion of air magic unfurled around her again, just before she could slam into what looked like an orchard. Her toes clipped the top of an apple tree, scattering branches everywhere as she accelerated again. Celeste quickly regained altitude.

"I don't know what got into them all," she muttered to herself as she resumed her mad rush towards the southwest, the black void of the elven woods. Even high up, there were barely any lights, at least none she could make out from her current location. She didn't know how fast she flew, but if she was able to make out Lordehome, she had covered more than three hundred miles in the span of a few hours.

"I may have said some harsh things to the elven princess but that's no reason to attack me," she complained. A flock of ravens scattered as she zoomed past, her robes cracking as the wind tore at them. She briefly wondered how Hilgrun was doing. The sounds she had made when the blunt blade had impaled her didn't sound promising. Why did you have to draw steel on me, girl? Celeste shrugged. Elara will patch you up. Probably. And if not her - what did you argue about anyway? - then most likely Idunn will. You'll be alright.

Now, with almost three hundred miles between her and the tower, Celeste wondered when she had become so furious. Sure, she had been a wild child and very passionate - just ask Dara - but years posing as a demure cleric of Mercy should have taught her at least a bit of restraint.

She shook her head. No. Having to pose as someone she never truly was - that was the problem. The root of her frustration. She had been a spellcasting prodigy when Thurguz had found her in the ruins of a burnt-out homestead near Valcrest. She didn't remember what had caused the conflagration which had killed her family and left her a bloodied, barely alive tangle of elbows and knees. Compared to her skill, Rhys had been a bumbling idiot, nearly draining himself to death. She could manifest lights, levitate without effort and throw fiery missiles. Idunn's never-ending drills only made her stronger, able to harness more and more power and the sometimes friendly, sometimes serious rivalry with the dark elf twins Thelyna and Saryna - complete with clandestine "sorcerer duels" away from the Tower - only helped to shape her powers. When she finally graduated, all she wanted was to strike out and use her powers for good. What she didn't expect were long, boring hours in Lordehome, spying on possible Carver collaborators and filing reports for Thurguz. A few months of that and she practically jumped at the chance to accompany Mother Ilva to what she had called 'a place desperately in need of a good fireball or two.'

And suddenly twelve years fly by with me masquerading as a cleric and what did that get us? One fledgeling sorcerer. Her heart beat faster as Rhys' face floated up from her memories, how his eyes had looked at her that morning, so full of the need to help her, and something else. Was it love? It had to be. He always had looked at her like that, whenever she had mended his broken and abused body. And especially when they had shared the bed that night, naked flesh against naked flesh.

I'm going to find and save you, Celeste vowed, coming to a shuddering stop in midair. Her sex tingled and she had to fight the urge to caress herself. Let him do it. With fingers, tongue and his throbbing cock.

Celeste checked her whereabouts. Lordehome was much closer now. She could see the lights of the city reflect off the clouds overhead. It was time for her to alter her course. If she hurried, she could reach the elven woods before dawn. And from there it would be much easier to find Rhys. And Mercy protect whoever dared stand in her way.

* * * *

Somewhere behind him, Faedal heard a harsh crash and a horse neighing. He reined in his mount and looked over his shoulder. Instead of a tight battle pack, the forest had drawn out his force into a thin line. And going by the racket, one of his lancers had just been acquainted to a low-hanging tree limb.

"What now?" Creuss asked, bringing his snorting horse to a stop next to him.

"Forget him," Faedal snarled. "We're getting closer. I can feel it in my gut."

"Do you think it wise to gallop through this maze, in the dark?" his second-in-command asked.

"Creuss, I will not let Rhys escape this time. Not again. I can see the tracks clearly enough."

"Yes sir," Creuss panted. "But not everyone has his senses enhanced by the Goddess."

Faedal sighed. "I'll have your head if we fail to grab the boy, understood?"

"Yes sir," Creuss muttered, clutching the small idol of Desire dangling against his breastplate.

Faedal raised his hand. His unit gathered around him. The fallen Paladin did a quick head count. The lancer who had fallen off his horse hadn't rejoined them.

"You," he snapped, pointing at two of his riders. "Get the fallen man."

"Sir," they snarled, sharply saluting. Faedal dismounted. Like most of his men, he wore a half-plate armor suit, metal plates protecting most vulnerable areas of his body but only simple greaves and thigh plates on his legs. The best compromise of protection and mobility. What good is armor if you can't move once off the horse? He walked a few steps until he found a somewhat even bit of ground. Faedal drew his sword. It was a simple, sturdy war blade, the only extravagance its blade, made from a particular blackened steel and laced with pulverized Disjunction Stones. It drained any and all magic it came into contact with and was blessed by Desire, cutting deep into flesh not anointed by her. He used the unholy weapon to carve a rough circle into the frozen earth, then drew lines extending from the circle, one for each of his men.

One of the two men he had tasked with finding the missing rider had returned.

"Sir. Dorran... the fallen rider... he broke his ankle when his foot didn't get out of the stirrup."

"No matter. Bring him here," Faedal said. "Cut him out of his armor if you have to."

"Sir." The man turned his mount and trotted away.

"Everyone else," Faedal ordered. "Dismount and join me."

He indicated the lines extending from the circle. "Stand there and don't move until I tell you to, understood?"

A chorus of assent answered him. He looked for a certain type of soldier to join his cavalry unit. Strong, rather handsome and not likely to ask many questions. The men got off their horses, tied them down securely and gathered around the circle. Eventually the last three showed up, one leading three horses, the other one supporting the injured rider. Like he had ordered, the injured man had been relieved of his armor.

"You're going to heal me, right, sire?" the man asked. Faedal remembered him. Dorran. The only half-elf in his unit, with a beautiful, androgynous face and an simply delicious ass. An especially welcome addition to his nighttime entertainment. A tinge of regret fluttered in his stomach.

"Something like that," Faedal said, indicating the center of the circle to the healthy soldier. "Make sure you don't disturb the outline. Carry him if you have to."

"Yes," the soldier grunted, hoisting Dorran onto his arms like a groom carrying his bride. The injured man knew better than to show pain. He grit his teeth as his injured leg dangled against the other soldier's armor.

"Now what?" the healthy soldier asked.

"Lower him to the floor, of course," Faedal said pleasantly. "Then take your place with your comrades." He pointed at the remaining open spot on the circle's perimeter.

Careful, as not to undo his own handiwork, Faedal entered the circle. He had been gifted with an especially enchanted suit of armor by Carver's court wizard Marissa before he had nearly choked her. I told her I like it rough, he thought, a touch of amusement twisting his lips. To him, her eagerness to lay with him had been somewhat off-putting and when he applied all the things which made sex interesting for him, the screaming had started. So two hands around her neck were in order. What he hadn't expected were the ten-inch long blades of steel she had manifested from her palms and jabbed right into his gut. Normally, spells simply fizzled in his vicinity. Not that one though. Maybe because it hadn't been aimed at him at first. He had let her go then, applauding her for her resourcefulness. Maybe they should try it again, only this time he would-