The Temple of Yellow Skulls (12 page)

Nothing.

He moved closer, crouching low to show proper reverence. “Master, you are beneath the cavern of tombs where you fought the death knight and the human female who came to his aid. You were wounded—you slept for a whole cycle of the moon while your body healed.” Tiktag paused, hoping Vestapalk might answer, but still the dragon seemed to see nothing but his reddened body. “I found a new tribe to serve you,” the kobold continued. “We dragged you here to this place of safety, all of us working together. The hunters of the tribe have brought you meat. I made sure you had food. I fed you myself.”

That had been a harrowing experience. Vestapalk might have been asleep, but waving a piece of bloody, poison-soaked meat past his nose had provoked a response. The first time Tiktag had tried feeding his master by hand he had almost lost an arm as Vestapalk’s massive tongue had licked out of its own accord to take the offered meat. After that, he’d used a long, sharp stick to skewer and present the gobbets of flesh.

Still nothing. Maybe he should have brought the trough of meat. “Master?” said Tiktag again, then louder. “Master!
Master!”
He drew a breath and screeched, “
Vestapalk!”

The dragon turned. Tiktag’s legs trembled. He would have dropped to the rocky ground except that Vestapalk’s gaze seemed to pin him up. It felt as if his master’s red-rimmed eyes saw right through him.

“Tiktag,” said Vestapalk. “Loyal servant.”

The trembling in the wyrmpriest’s legs spread through his body. Vestapalk’s voice had changed with his appearance. Every word that he spoke was strangely doubled, as if spoken by not one but two voices. One was Vestapalk’s familiar, commanding roar. The other was strange but compelling, unworldly yet
powerful, like mining picks striking a vein of quartz that refused to shatter. The play between the two voices rang in Tiktag’s ears and struck unease into his gut. Surely this was what the voice of a god—or if not a god, then a godling, still growing into his power—sounded like.

And Tiktag finally grasped the meaning of the changes that had taken place in his master. “The transformation. Oh master, is this the transformation promised to you by the Eye? But you said we were to find the Herald and we failed.”

“The Herald failed. Vestapalk did not.” The dragon held out talons for Tiktag to see. The red stuff had spread into them, too. What had been yellowed and opaque was now silvery red and translucent. “Vestapalk feels it in his blood. It is the source of the transformation. It burns—and this is only the beginning. It will transform Vestapalk and Vestapalk will transform the world.”

“How?” Tiktag asked. “When? Did it come on you while you slept? I guarded you, master, I swear it—”

Vestapalk’s eyes flared and he lunged, snapping massive teeth in front of Tiktag’s muzzle. “If Vestapalk believed you tried to prevent this, wyrmpriest, he would destroy you in an instant!” But his snout curved into a sneer. “Not that you could have. It is the will of the Eye. It is Vestapalk’s fate.” The dragon pulled back. “It was Vestapalk’s very enemies who made this possible! The death knight. The human woman. Their wounding of Vestapalk brought the source of his transformation to him. If Vestapalk encounters them again, he will show them what their anger did before he pulls their intestines from their bodies. Vestapalk knew the woman, too. He recognized her scent. And the scent of a halfling. They had attacked him before.”

“The woman’s name is Shara, master. I heard her companions call to her. The halfling is Uldane.” Tiktag rolled the name on his tongue. “He wounded me, master. If we encounter them again, may his death be mine?”

“If Vestapalk doesn’t kill him first, his death will be yours.” Vestapalk raised his head high and stared down his snout at Tiktag. “Your concern for Vestapalk’s well-being was misplaced, but your loyalty is noticed.”

Pride flooded Tiktag’s small body. He rose to his feet. “Will you eat, master? There is meat. Fresh meat gathered by your new tribe.”

Vestapalk’s features crinkled with amusement. “This tribe?” he asked and flicked his head. Tiktag twisted around to look behind him.

The tribe filled the entrance to the cavern. Sistree, the hunters, the clutch-guardians, the hatchlings—all knelt and stared at Vestapalk in rapt, silent adoration. Tiktag whirled on Sistree. “I told you to keep them out!”

“You said to keep them under control. They wanted to see the dragon.” Sistree’s eyes didn’t move from Vestapalk. “He is magnificent!”

Tiktag raced back to throw himself before Vestapalk’s claws. “Master, they are fools. I told them not to disturb us. Do you want the meat? I will have them fetch it. I will send the hunters out for more—”

“No.” The dragon rose onto all four legs and paced back and forth in the cave. “No. Vestapalk has been here long enough. The Eye showed him where he must be next. The Voidharrow is within Vestapalk, but his power is not complete.”

“Voidharrow, master?” Tiktag rolled the strange word on his tongue.

Vestapalk glared at him, then suddenly spat at Tiktag’s feet. The kobold jumped back, staring at a blob of liquid red crystal as it bubbled and seethed on the rock.

“The source of change, wyrmpriest. The source of Vestapalk’s new power. But Vestapalk needs more than just the Voidharrow. He must seek out the One Who Gathers.” His gaze turned distant and Tiktag knew that his master was speaking as much to himself as he was to his servant. “A month lying wounded? Is Vestapalk too late? Has the Gatherer waited and gone? No. The Eye sees all. This follows the will of the Eye. The Gatherer will be there.”

“Where, master?” Tiktag asked, raising himself up again. “Where will this Gatherer be?”

Vestapalk looked at him and blinked, then focused as if seeing him for the first time. “Away from here,” he said. “Come, Tiktag. Prepare.” He turned toward the cave entrance and the chasm beyond.

The tribe started to shift and murmur as the dragon came closer—and most of the murmuring was fear and dismay that their new master should already want to leave them. Tiktag felt a burst of alarm, not so much for the tribe he had stolen and used but for Vestapalk. “Away? Fly? Master, you can’t. You’ve just woken. You need to rest and eat. The meat—”

Vestapalk cut him off again. “Meat is not what Vestapalk needs. The Voidharrow sustains him, but he must also sustain the Voidharrow.”

He loomed over the tribe. A few hunters finally rose to their feet. A hatchling cried out and was slapped into silence by its clutch-guardian. Sistree stared up at the dragon with wide eyes.

“You will serve,” said Vestapalk. His mouth opened and Tiktag watched the silver-red stuff drip like venom from the dragon’s mighty jaws as he drew breath.…

I
don’t like this,” murmured Gerar.

Nu Alin prodded his host to reply. “The pack of Gerar is strong,” Rooga whined. “There is nothing to fear.” His host eased a paw over the top of the low wall that they—and half of the pack of gnolls, silent for once—crouched behind, and pointed a gnarled finger across the broken plaza before them. “See the treasure chest.”

“There are still three minotaurs,” Gerar growled. “There was only supposed to be one.”

One or three, soon I will be rid of this stinking body, Nu Alin thought—and Rooga snarled in reaction. Gerar looked at him with narrow eyes. Rooga ducked his head in submission. Nu Alin could feel his host’s surprise at the sound that had come out of his own throat. That brought a brief flush of pleasure. He was almost strong enough to control his host directly again. He fed off the fear of those whose bodies he stole, and the prospect of the looming battle had stirred more than a little fear in Rooga, even with Nu Alin’s will bolstering him.

The unexpected presence of additional minotaurs had agitated all of the gnolls. Across the plaza, their intended prey crouched around a small fire. Two watched chunks of meat smoke in the flames while the other watched the shadows, bull-head turning back and forth, a massive axe in his hands. Two minotaurs would have been acceptable. Three was perfect. One of the minotaurs crouching over the fire was a brute, a head taller than either of the other two. Nu Alin had already selected him as his new host.

If Gerar didn’t back down. Nu Alin exerted his control over Rooga a little more directly than he had before. “Look at that chest,” he said through the gnoll’s mouth. “Imagine what’s inside.”

Rooga’s alarm grew, feeding Nu Alin’s strength. He thrust Rooga back. His time was at hand. If Gerar noticed that Rooga’s voice was suddenly rougher and more stilted than normal—Nu Alin could force his host’s body to respond, but the nuances of voice were more difficult—he didn’t show it. The chest in question, a rough box slung by straps from long poles for easy carrying, didn’t actually look like much. Nu Alin could imagine it empty as easily as he could full, or filled with rocks instead of treasure. What he imagined inside it wasn’t important, though. He watched Gerar’s eyes drift from the minotaurs to the chest, before returning to the minotaurs.

“There are three of them,” he said again.

Behind them, ordered to keep their heads down and thus unable to see what lay ahead, gnolls shifted impatiently. If they were heard, the element of surprise would be lost. Nu Alin thrust Rooga’s muzzle even closer to Gerar’s ear. “The rest of the pack waits for our attack. They’ll unleash the hyenas from the other side. The minotaurs will be caught between us.”

There was no response from Gerar. Nu Alin bared his teeth and added, “If we turn back now, the pack will believe you’re a coward.”

Gerar jerked his head around and glared into Nu Alin’s eyes.

Rooga wanted to roll over and bare his throat to the pack leader. Nu Alin held his body still and glared back, daring Gerar to deny what he said.

Gerar’s muzzle twisted into a silent snarl. His breath blew into Nu Alin’s face in short, sharp bursts—then he turned and gestured for the other gnolls. Faces looked toward him. Hands tightened on weapons. Muscles tensed. Gerar glared disdainfully at Rooga, then turned back to study the minotaurs. Below the level of the wall, he lifted his spear and held it steady, waiting for the perfect moment to signal the charge. The gnolls pressed close.

“Yeenoghu!”
bellowed Gerar, thrusting his spear high. He vaulted the wall and the gnolls followed in a cackling, screaming rage.

Nu Alin jerked Rooga’s body, sending him stumbling after them. The gnoll was gibbering—Nu Alin’s strength wasn’t enough to control both body and voice, not yet—but his terror was lost in the chaos.

The minotaur on guard spun around instantly, any warning he might have shouted lost in the screams of the gnolls. Warnings were hardly necessary. The two minotaurs by the fire were on their feet as well and grabbing for weapons that were just out of reach.

They didn’t have time. The shadows on the far side of the broken plaza exploded as the remaining gnolls burst from hiding, along with the pack’s hyenas.

The largest minotaur dove back to the fire and seized the rough skewers of cooking meat. Roaring with rage, he hurled
them like spears. The weight of the meat dragged the flying skewers down but the force of the throw was still powerful. The hyena leading the charge went down with hot metal sizzling in its chest.

Nu Alin knew that he was going to enjoy that body.

At his full strength, Nu Alin wouldn’t have hesitated to push Rooga up to the minotaur and make the leap from body to body. Still weak, he would need to take the big creature by surprise. He needed a distraction.

Most of the gnolls who charged with Gerar focused their attention on the minotaur who had stood guard. He’d retreated to a fragment of old wall, something to put his back against, and was keeping the gnolls at bay with sweeping swings of his axe. Nu Alin lurched Rooga to Gerar’s side and yelled in his ear. “We have to go after the big one!”

He turned Gerar and pointed. The largest minotaur was at the center of a storm of hyenas, but acquitted himself well. Huge fists hurled the animals away. A few came charging back into the fight, only to be met by a swift dip and toss from the minotaur’s horns—impractical natural weapons, but effective.

Nu Alin felt Gerar stiffen at the sight, however. “We don’t
have
to fight him.”

Fury seized Nu Alin. “He’s going to run,” he rasped with Rooga’s voice.

“The hyenas will bring him down.”

“There aren’t many of them left,” Nu Alin said tightly. He grabbed Gerar’s arm and dragged him out of the melee. “Fight him! Take his horns. Make a helmet of his skull so all of Thunderspire fears Gerar.”

Gerar hesitated, weighing the merits of such a trophy—and while he hesitated, the big minotaur shook off the last of the
hyenas, looked around, saw the trouble his companions were in, and decided to save himself. He took off across the plaza like a juggernaut. Nu Alin bit off a curse and made Gerar’s decision for him. Rooga’s terror gave him a burst of strength. Nu Alin shoved the gnoll in the direction the minotaur had fled. “Go!”

Caught off balance, Gerar moved. Nu Alin stayed with him, forcing him along. When the few gnolls that weren’t caught up in the frenzy of fighting the two smaller minotaurs looked up, he waved them back. “This will be your kill, Gerar,” he barked as he drove the leader of the pack along. “Yours and yours alone. You can take this cow!”

Gerar looked a little bolder at that, and when the minotaur glanced back, he roused himself to a blood-curdling howl. Behind them, the other gnolls echoed the cry. The big minotaur’s eyes narrowed and he put on a burst of speed, breaking out of the plaza and diving into a passage leading to another part of the ruins. Gerar slowed as they approached the same passage and held back Nu Alin as if hunting the minotaur had been his idea all along.

“He’ll try to ambush us,” the gnoll growled. “He’s probably just around the corner of the passage waiting for us to come out.”

“Let me guard your back,” Nu Alin told him. The passage wasn’t long—maybe ten paces. He could see where it widened into another chamber. They moved in silently on the tough pads of gnoll feet. Nu Alin’s control over Rooga had solidified just as it was time to leave his body. He felt frustrated at that.