Mud and Magic Ch. 11

"Sir?" Dorran stirred. "My leg. It really, really hurts." He tried not to plead but failed miserably.

"Forgive me. My thoughts did wander," Faedal purred, touching the collar of his chest armor. A silver band had been inlaid into the otherwise black metal and touching it while muttering a certain command word would cause the armor to fold in on itself, leaving him in his undergarments. Wearing only his boots and gambeson, Faedal knelt down next to the injured half-elf and took off the idol of Desire he wore around his neck, an obsidian disc inlaid with gold showing the cupped hands. He placed the symbol on Dorran's forehead.

"Hear me, my lady," Faedal began, his voice loud and powerful, a sharp contrast to his usual quiet tones. "I hereby offer you this soul in exchange for night vision for all my men."

"What?" Dorran squealed.

Faedal's sword came up in a lightning-fast arc. He grasped the hilt with both hands and rammed the weapon straight down, through the half-elf's ribs and straight into his heart. He withdrew the weapon, but instead of gushing forth like a crimson geyser, the blood flowed forth in a graceful arc before dripping into the crevice he had carved into the ground. His whole body was alight with Desire's pleasure while his men rubbed their eyes in wonder and the lifeblood of the slaughtered half-elf drained into the earth. Faedal picked up his unholy symbol, dragged it through the chest wound and kissed the obsidian disc. Every muscle throbbed as Faedal forced himself to stand. Moaning softly, he replaced the icon around his neck. It was hard to bring the armor around himself again. Every fiber in his being screamed for the touch of shivering flesh against his own but he knew he couldn't spare another moment, let alone another of his men. He touched the silver strip and issued the command for his armor to encase him again. Quick steps took him back to his horse, the steaming carcass in the crude circle already forgotten.

"Creuss?"

"Sir?"

"You better start praying."

* * * *

Rhys lashed out with his battle staff. "Quite a few she said," he huffed as his enchanted weapon caved in a zombie head. The animated corpse stumbled backwards but didn't fall, held upright by the corridor-spanning tide of undead pressing forward.

"How many are there?" Astra'il cursed. "How many did this Nelearyn kill and raise on his way here?"

"I'm not sure if every one is a former Carver soldier," Rhys said, pointing at a pale, naked corpse shambling towards them, arms outstretched. Much of the flesh had rotted away, leaving the ribs and bones in the extremities visible. Clumps of fresh earth stuck to the corpse's flesh.

They had barely left the ramp behind, made it maybe ten feet into the lowest level of the crypt when the undead tide had greeted them. The floor already was littered with motionless corpses, laid low by their enchanted weapons. But no matter how many they took down, there seemed two more ready to claw and bite.

"If you have another trick up your sleeve, now would be a good time to use it," Borna snarled. She was a whirling tornado of destruction - hooves, fists and her tail practically detonated each undead they hit. Despite her prowess, the tide didn't seem to abate. And Rhys noticed something else: Those undead they had ... dealt with seemed to struggle back to their feet. Even those cut in half by Astra'il's enchanted blade dragged themselves forward on their arms, their jaws snapping as they rejoined the fray.

"I don't understand it!" Astra'il moaned. "Normally, what I hit with holy energy stays dead."

"Not here it doesn't," Borna snarled, bringing a hoof down. A zombie skull exploded. Stinking brain matter spattered everywhere. Despite her brutal attack, the headless body clawed at her legs, the sound of nails on chitin causing Rhys' skin to crawl.

"All right. I'll try something else," Astra'il conceded. "But if holy weapons fail, I-"

"Just do it," Gael snapped without ceasing his barrage. "I'm running low on arrows already."

"Alright. And Haloryth - better move away," Astra'il said before launching into a beautiful song. She twirled in place, ignoring the rotting claws and chomping jaws going for her. Her song quickly rose through the octaves, culminating in a powerful scream. She clutched her holy symbol and thrust her hand forward. No glaring lights, no strange sounds, but some unseen force gripped the undead and flung them back.

"Now, run!" Astra'il yelled, pushing forwards. Like an invisible battering ram, the force emanating from her hand knocked the undead to the side. Some erupted as if hit by Borna's fists, others simply collapsed to the floor. Rhys limped after Astra'il while Borna, tail slashing at anything which stirred, brought up the rear.

After only twenty more feet, the corridor met another, running perpendicular to their initial heading. The walls around them were in much worse shape, with whole stone blocks missing, leaving raw, disturbed earth in the open. And both corridors held even more undead, shambling towards them. While he tried to keep up with the jogging dark elf, Rhys saw hands break through the earth. A moment later, half a skull followed.

"Whatever they are doing here, they're drawing in corpses from somewhere else!" Rhys called.

"And that's why we normally burn our dead," Gael snarled. "Which way now? Did your guiding spirit mention anything?"

Rhys shook his head. "No idea."

Astra'il sank to one knee. "That's all I can do for now," she gasped hoarsely. Whatever she had done must have drained her quite severely.

Rhys rushed to her side and helped her to her feet. Something tugged at his leg. A quick stab with the butt end of his staff took care of a crawling zombie hand someone had cut off at the wrist. Something Haloryth said occurred to him. "I think either way is fine," he said. "Haloryth didn't mention any diverging paths."

"I hope for all our sake you're right," Gael said, firing off his last arrow. "Because I'm all out." He drew his short sword and slashed at another zombie shambling his way. Rhys looked over his shoulder. The three dozen or so undead they had plowed through thanks to Astra'il's spell were slowly regrouping. He drew his dagger and shoved it across the floor. The blade still gleamed, shrouded with holy energy "Use this too," Rhys said. Gael snatched up the weapon and jabbed it under the chin of the closest zombie. The undead crumpled to the floor, limbs twitching.

"Follow me then," Gael snarled, dashing to the right. His hands worked independent from each other as he stabbed and sliced, incapacitating or flooring zombies left and right. Borna was by his side, widening the breach with devastating punches and kicks. Astra'il stayed with Rhys, covering their rear with lightning-fast slashes of her blade.

Rhys pushed a stinking zombie away which tried to bite his face and rammed his staff into the undead monster's chest, crumpling the rib cage like thin wood. He whirled away, ready to slap his staff into another approaching zombie's face. Suddenly, a hot spot formed on his forehead. He blinked furiously as strange images flooded his mind - the same corridors, but in much better shape. Something moved through them with superhuman speed. The initial T-junction. A right turn. A long corridor, the gleaming crystals zipping by like minuscule lanterns. A sharp left. A long corridor with a single archway. Another left turn. Corridor. Left turn - and the initial junction again. Rhys suddenly understood. Haloryth was showing him the layout of this level. The central chamber was surrounded by corridors - and he could...

"Thank you," he said.

"Huh? What did I do?" Astra'il asked. Her blade cut low, tearing apart the knee joints of two adjacent zombies. They slumped to the ground.

"I think I know how we can get some breathing room. Just make sure nothing tries to eat me."

"As you wish." She grabbed a zombie's arm and hauled him into a knot of others. They fell to the floor together and snapped at each other.

"Oh, and you might want to stay here," he said, indicating the direction Gael and Borna were going.

"Sure." The dark elf took a step away from him, impaling a zombie with her blade. The undead uttered a strained groan, then fell silent, if only for a moment.

Rhys eyed the ceiling of the corridor. It was covered with the same large, square stone blocks making up the walls. His most successful spells had been those altering the properties of objects. He wouldn't need to do much, just shrink the stone blocks by maybe two, three inches a side. Gravity would take care of the rest. Unless of course the elves used magic to build their crypts.

Rhys shook his head. Just look around you. The walls have more holes than the cheese Dara had given us on holidays. Rhys focused his attention on the ceiling block ten feet away and stretched out his arms. Haloryth had said there would be power sources down here. And he could feel them. Strong currents of earth magic rushing seemingly right under his feet, begging to be tapped. He pulled energy around himself and used it to alter the size of three blocks, one right behind the other. Not by much. Just enough to go loose. He could feel the strange stone resist, but not for long. The stone was old. It carried so much weight, all the earth above it. It seemed... weary. And very willing to follow Rhys' call. The blocks seemed to twitch, then moved. A loud rumbling nearly tore Rhys from his concentration. He blinked, just in time to see the first block drop. It screeched down into the corridor, barely narrow enough to clear the walls, and buried everything underneath with an almighty crashing noise. Stone shards exploded outwards and a huge cloud of dust and dirt kicked up. Rhys got his hands up just in time. Two more shocks rumbled through the tunnel, shaking the crypt in its foundation.

"I hope you didn't collapse our only way out," Astra'il muttered in the sudden quiet.

"Trust me," Rhys said. A rare feeling of elation washed over him. I still can do it! Exactly as planned!

"What-?" Gael began. He peered past Rhys, through the thinning cloud of dust.

"You have to be joking. Burying us-"

"There is a way around," Rhys assured him. "At least now we only have to worry about enemies ahead." He used the end of his staff to scrawl in the dirt. "A square of corridors boxing in the central chamber. See?"

"Why would anyone build-" Gael snapped, then closed his mouth. "High Mages. Forget I asked. Come. Borna has cleared a way to the next corner." The tattooed elf turned on his heel and strode away. Rhys and Astra'il followed him.

The way ahead was much less crowded. Most of the zombies seemed to have clustered in the area around the level's entrance. They dashed past most of the remaining ones and arrived at another corner. Rhys recognized the corridor from Haloryth's vision.

"There should be-" he began. Something bright and red roared at them. "Fireball!" Cursing, Rhys threw himself behind the corner. Borna clutched him against her body as the fiery missile detonated. He saw Gael sail past Borna, tackling Astra'il to the floor.

In a heartbeat, it was over. Excruciating pain flared across the right side of his face and the biting stink of charred hair assaulted his nostrils. Borna moaned against him.

Rhys pawed at his belt and yanked the healing potion free. Despite all his falls, all the fighting he'd been in, the bottle had survived. He uncorked it with his teeth and drank, trying not to choke on the god-awful taste and clumpy consistency. The ache in his face receded.

"Take your healing potion," he told Borna. "Things only will get uglier from here on out."

"I'm fine," she said, slapping at embers on her shoulders. "I'd be much obliged if you could check my back, see what's burning there." She turned away from Rhys. Most of her coat had burned away and strands of her feathery hair were still smoking. Despite the horrible burns, the coat was already growing back together, albeit rather slowly. Rhys closed his eyes and concentrated, pulling strands of energy around his hands, turning them into water which he let trickle over Borna's neck. She gasped in surprise and took a step back, grinding her behind against Rhys' stomach.

Two more missiles hit the wall behind them, a screaming arrow made from hissing acid and a lightning bolt which punched chunks of stone out of the wall.

"My, whoever is out there is loaded with combat spells," Astra'il muttered. "How are we going to get closer?"

"I would give my right arm for some arrows right now," Gael hissed. "Any idea, Rhys?"

"Most of your arrows are probably beyond the barricade I brought down," Rhys said. "If I could see them, I'd probably be able to get you some." He pointed at a piece of rock the lightning bolt had broken out of the wall. It floated into his hand.

Haloryth made herself be felt. A warm spot formed on his cheek.

"Rhys. You're a sorcerer. Use the Ethereal to your advantage."

"And how am I supposed to do that?"

"Do you know how to scry?"

"Yes. Somewhat."

"Scry without your eyes. Use your other senses. Then pull the arrows through the Ethereal to you."

"The midst of battle is the worst place to learn new magics," Rhys muttered.

"Hogwash! There is no better place than the forge of battle. Show me you're worthy of my tutelage!"

The warmth on his cheek only intensified before it vanished, leaving behind an eerie tingle and the beginning of a blush. Was that supposed to be a kiss? Rhys wondered.

He leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. He remembered the entrance to the level, with all the undead bodies, how the arrows jutted from their mouths and eyes and necks without doing much harm.

This will never work, Rhys thought bitterly. He was just a simple farm boy after all. Imagining things flying had been easy enough. Making Dara's skirts fly had been easy too. Making fire was something anyone could understand. Even bringing down a corridor's ceiling was something one could do with enough levers and pickaxes. But how was he supposed to gather a bunch of arrows scattered over a barely defined area and move them through an alternate dimension he'd only visited - once - for a few breaths?

Maybe you're brooding too much, Astra'il had jokingly said. Maybe she was right. He had moved the first pebble through sheer anger alone. Now he knew that he should have gathered some energy first. So he did. Rhys opened his hands and drew in streams of earth energy from below. He forced himself to calm down, to remember how the Ethereal had felt, how that strange hum had suffused his body. He could make stones fly through the air, so why not make arrows fly through the Ethereal? Gael had emptied his whole quiver. There had to be dozens of arrows around. He only needed a handful or two. Rhys exerted his will and like a spider through her web, he noticed the arrows on the far side of the level, every shaft sticking out at an odd angle from an aimlessly shuffling body or simply discarded on the floor. Just a few at first, but soon he was aware of dozens of arrows. Things had little mass, if at all, in the Ethereal. Rhys had seen that firsthand, whenever Haloryth had touched him. Her fingers had passed through him, only leaving ghosts of a touch.

Rhys exerted his will, gathering all arrows he could sense into one bundle which he yanked across the crypt. A loud clatter shocked him from his contemplation. He opened his eyes. In front of him was a pile of arrows. Some of them had been broken, but many looked intact. He saw his own amazement mirrored in the faces of his companions.

His whole face felt like sunshine. "I knew you could do it!" Haloryth cheered. "You'll be teleporting across the Western Continent in no time!"

"One step at a time," he said, grinning from ear to ear. "Will these do?"

Gael afforded him a vicious grin, made all the more horrifying by the tattoos on his face. "That's almost my whole quiver back," he said, quickly sorting those arrows he deemed reusable. "Now to deal with our pesky spell-slinger over there." He nocked an arrow, the tip still sheathed in holy energy. Quickly, he leaned into the corridor. Rhys could hear some arcane mumbling ahead.

Gael released his arrow and the muttering ceased abruptly.

"That should take care of that, at least long enough for us to close in," the elf said. "Well done." He ducked around the corner.

"What's next?" Borna nudged Rhys. "Getting Hilgrun into bed? Should be much easier than coaxing a compliment from him." She made her way around the corner, after Astra'il.

"Want to watch?" Rhys asked, following her. The corridor was strangely deserted.

"Now that I got a taste of you? Watching won't ever be enough again," she growled.

"We should keep focused on the now, not on a torrid victory celebration," Astra'il cautioned. The dark elf nudged a robed bundle on the floor with her foot. "This one seems truly dead."

Rhys turned the thing onto its back. Under the robes, the body seemed to flow like sand. When he parted the garment, he saw why. The undead spellcaster must have been another Raghbairn and the body had turned to dust.

"I guess the holy arrows did the trick, banishing its soul back to whence it had come from," he speculated.

In the light of his glowing rock, Rhys saw several bracers, rings and other items poke from the dust. Haloryth's presence, like sunshine on his neck, returned.

"Take his belongings. He won't need those things any more. I'd rather see you put them to good use than some filthy grave robber peddling them off."

"And what if I can't use them?"

Her mirth was a gentle caress down his spine. "A wise man always finds a way. Selling useless items is putting them to good use."

"By your command then," Rhys said, cramming the items into his belt pouch. Using his staff, he came back to his feet.

Gael knelt next to a closed set of doors, impatiently gazing their way. Rhys, Borna and Astra'il joined him.

"What's happening inside?" Rhys whispered.

"Chanting," Gael answered. "And not the fertility feast kind." He made a warding gesture. "Not sure how many, too many echoes. And the thick doors aren't helping either."

Rhys placed his hand on the door. It practically sang, vibrating under the assault of unbridled magical energy. "It seems there's an enormous amount of power being gathered. Let's hurry before the ritual is complete."

"Now we're talking," Gael snarled, favoring Rhys with another of his bestial smiles. "Borna, Astra'il. Push the door open when I say so. Rhys... do you have a combat spell left in you?"

"I'll find something," Rhys said. "I hope Haloryth isn't too angry with us destroying her relatives." Just to be sure, he refreshed his Armor spell. A few knocks against the floor told him his skin was as hard as steel again.

His hand warmed up. "I'd rather see them burn than defiled by an undead abomination," the spirit hissed. "Please hurry. The ritual is almost complete!"

"Let's do it," Rhys snarled, gathering power. The currents of earth energy rose up eagerly.

Astra'il and Borna pushed open the door. They creaked across the rubble-strewn floor of the ritual chamber, revealing the true carnage within. The floor was awash with blood, spilling from a basin in the center of the room. A blood-spattered, black-robed being knelt beside the basin, steadily bleeding dry one of Carver's soldiers. Dozens more had been carelessly tossed aside onto a pile near the back of the room. On a raised plinth on either side of the room, Rhys saw bodies, six per plinth, wrapped in pristine white bandages and adorned with masks and jewelry. He recognized two of the masks - they resembled the faces of the dead High Mages he'd seen on the sarcophagus lids upstairs in uncanny detail. Arcs of energy crackled between the center basin and the twelve bodies, fluctuating between blood-red and pitch black.