The Temple of Yellow Skulls (13 page)

The hammerfall of the minotaur’s hooves had ceased. If he listened with Rooga’s ears, Nu Alin could hear the creature’s harsh breathing echo in the chamber beyond. If he extended
his own senses, he could feel the heat of his body. The minotaur was indeed waiting to ambush them, but not where Gerar expected—he lurked farther out in the chamber, ready to bring his weight and horns to bear in a deadly charge. Gerar would have to come out into the open if he wanted to attack, and then he’d be at the minotaur’s mercy.

Nu Alin held his tongue. Gerar’s fate didn’t matter.

They reached the end of the passage. Gerar peered out into the chamber and asked without turning his head, “Are you ready?”

“More than ready,” Nu Alin spat through Rooga’s mouth.

Gerar threw himself out of the passage with another howl, rolling across the chamber floor to come up in a crouch, spear twitching from shadow to shadow. “Rooga!” he barked. “Come now—”

Nu Alin heard the minotaur’s bellow as he emerged from hiding, saw Gerar jerk around to face him, felt the subtle vibrations through the stone floor as the massive beast charged. He heard Gerar screaming for his help. He didn’t answer. He didn’t move—except to throw back Rooga’s head and do what he’d longed to do for weeks.

Force himself out of the gnoll’s body.

The filaments of himself that he had extended through Rooga’s limbs, the sheets that he had wrapped around bones and organs, released their hold and drew back into the gnoll’s torso. Nu Alin felt what remained of Rooga’s mind come screaming back from the void that had been its prison. He plucked at nerves as he pulled free and the screaming rose to a wail. Rooga’s pain and fear had been delicious as first, but after so long trapped in the gnoll’s body, they’d become sour. Nu Alin pushed up.

Rooga’s torso bulged. His ribs creaked. The scream in his mind never reached his throat—Nu Alin already filled it. His jaw cracked. The skin of his muzzle stretched and tore.

And Nu Alin thrust one glistening pseudopod out of Rooga’s mouth into the air.

Perception was different outside of a host. There was a familiar moment of disorientation as he reacquainted himself with seeing in all directions at the same time, then everything came into focus. He looked down at Rooga’s wide-eyed, pain-wracked face at the same time as he examined the walls of the passage. The rough stone surface was just a little too far away for him to reach easily. He gave a last tug deep within Rooga and the gnoll’s spasming body lurched two steps closer. Perfect. Nu Alin stretched out and anchored himself on the wall, then dragged the rest of himself out of Rooga.

The gnoll collapsed like a discarded robe, trembling and whimpering as blood poured from his ruined face. Nu Alin flowed across the wall, up to the ceiling, and out into the chamber. He could already feel the air, the very energy of this world, attacking him. The form with which the Voidharrow and the Elemental Eye had blessed him was meant for a different place. Little bits of his naked substance dried and flaked away as he moved. His liquid self evaporated. He would need to act swiftly or all of his carefully hoarded strength would evaporate with it.

Neither of the combatants below noticed the silvery-crimson crystalline blob that crawled across the ceiling. The sounds of their battle thumped against his skin like fists on a drum. Gerar had survived the minotaur’s charge and now held his enemy off with his spear. The minotaur had drawn a broad-bladed knife, more of a tool than a weapon, but dangerous enough
with his powerful muscles behind it. Gnoll and minotaur circled each other warily.

Distract him, Gerar, Nu Alin thought. That’s what you’re here for.

Clinging to the ceiling, he stretched down toward his new host.

Gerar saw him—the gnoll’s eyes went wide and he froze for an instant. Caught up in the frenzy of battle, the minotaur didn’t hesitate. He lunged at Gerar, knife slashing. Gerar ducked to the side on instinct, but the attack was a feint. The minotaur twisted around and kicked out with one heavy hoof. His blow caught the gnoll’s shoulder and sent him spinning across the chamber. The minotaur straightened, satisfaction on his brutish face, and started toward the injured gnoll.

Nu Alin twisted his dangling body and released his grip on the ceiling.

He fell across the minotaur’s shoulders like a serpent falling from a jungle tree. The minotaur roared in surprise and tried to push him off, but clutching fingers passed right through his attacker’s fluid body and his roar became a muffled moan of panic as Nu Alin spread across his face. Before the minotaur could think to close his mouth, Nu Alin thrust himself inside. Past teeth, over flailing tongue—he slid a portion of his substance into the minotaur’s nose as well, slithering through nostrils to join himself at the back of the mouth and slide down the minotaur’s throat. The staggering beast fell to his knees, fighting for breath, still trying to claw at the ooze that invaded his body. Nu Alin sent fine filaments of himself through the small gaps in the minotaur’s flesh. He flowed like water in his veins and through his muscles. The minotaur would be a fine, strong host. With care, he might last for months. The
minotaur’s struggles weakened as Nu Alin took control of his limbs, his lungs, his heart.

In the black vault of the minotaur’s mind, Nu Alin’s will swept over that of his terrified host. A name came to him: Apech. At another time, he might have toyed with Apech, savoring his fear. Not this time. With a swift, brutal thought, Nu Alin slapped Apech back and sealed him away in his own mind. He drew a hot breath through Apech’s nostrils and opened Apech’s eyes to the sight of Gerar standing over him, spear poised to thrust. The gnoll gave a nervous little bark as his frightened gaze met Nu Alin’s. For a moment, neither moved.

The spear stabbed down. In the same instant, Nu Alin threw Apech to the side. What should have been a blow to the minotaur’s heart instead skittered along the right side of his ribcage. Pain seared his side, but Nu Alin grabbed hold of the spear as he rolled, dragging it out of Gerar’s grasp. He brought Apech back to his hooves and looked at the gnoll, then turned so that Gerar could see the wound. Blood ran freely down Apech’s shagging hide. Not taking his eyes off Gerar, Nu Alin concentrated briefly, shifting his own substance around the wound. Pain faded and blood stopped flowing as silver-crimson liquid crystal filled the gash. Gerar’s eyes nearly bulged right out of their sockets.

Nu Alin flipped the spear around his grip. “My turn,” he said with Apech’s voice.

Before he could move, though, before he could even raise the spear to end Gerar’s foul, stinking life, awareness of the Voidharrow came crashing over him.

He knew what it was immediately, just as he had known when it swept over him as he wandered wounded and dying in the labyrinth. Then, before the Voidharrow had ebbed back,
he’d known that it had been freed from its prison. This time, though, it was more than just free. It was
thriving
. As if, like him, it had been dormant, resting and recovering its strength. Now it was awake. Nu Alin felt its power call to him. It pressed against his consciousness, swelling like a storm surge ready to break over an ocean coast. Then it did break and Nu Alin felt it as a cresting wave, washing over the beach and retreating—but leaving some of itself behind.

How was that possible? Nu Alin turned where he stood until he knew, in what passed for his guts, that he faced the Voidharrow. It was a beacon in his mind, strangely divided but with that same strong presence at its core.

A presence that was already moving away from him.

“No!” Nu Alin screamed. His minotaur’s body turned the word into a hoarse bellow. He dropped the spear and ran at the wall, beating his fists against solid rock. “Don’t go! I am your Herald!”

It was too late. Uncaring and distant, the Voidharrow moved on. Nu Alin’s fists slid against the unrelenting rock. Nothing had changed. The Voidharrow was still there in his mind, pulling on him—he would just have to travel farther before he joined with it.

Nu Alin turned away, willing his crystal form into knuckles broken against the wall. Gerar was gone, wisely fled in the face of something he didn’t understand. Nu Alin briefly considered returning to the gnolls’ den and keeping his promise to slaughter them. The distant touch of the Voidharrow had given him his strength back. Rendering the pack forever silent would take little effort.

But no, he was the Herald and that was more important than anything else. The senses of his minotaur host would guide
him through the labyrinth. He could be free of Thunderspire Mountain within the day, then he would follow the Voidharrow to the edge of the world if he had to.

And if the Voidharrow was truly free, Gerar and the other gnolls would find their end soon enough, anyway.

T
he sight of the massive hole that gaped in the side of the lonely hill left Albanon with an eerie sense of familiarity. Though maybe not so much eerie as deeply disturbing—and not so much familiarity as dread. He and the others might once have climbed out of that pit in triumph, but that didn’t change what waited below. He shivered in spite of the day’s warm sunlight and put his back to the hole.

Shara grabbed his arm and turned him right around again. “Going somewhere?”

“I thought I’d check the horses.”

“They’re picketed with feed and water in reach. They’ll be fine until we’re back.” She punched his shoulder. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

He poked her back with the end of the staff that he carried. “Other than a long drop to a cavern full of undead and possibly a very angry dragon?” he pointed out.

“Shara’s right.” Kri rose from the brink of the hole and stepped back. “I know magic that will let us reach the floor
of the cavern, and from your descriptions, I think the undead were roused through a ritual by the lich who led you here. I suspect that as long as we don’t attempt to interfere with them, they won’t interfere with us.”

“And Vestapalk?” Albanon asked.

Shara’s face hardened. She reached over her shoulder and slapped the hilt of the greatsword that rode across her back.

Albanon clenched his teeth, pushed back the fear in his belly, and reminded himself that he had wanted this. For the first day after they rode out of Fallcrest, he’d been twitchy with a guilty excitement; their hunt to find Vestapalk and whatever remained of the shattered vial of Voidharrow might be deadly serious, but it felt good to be setting out on another adventure. On the second day, guilty excitement had turned to nervous anticipation. By the third day, as they turned off of the King’s Road and plunged into wilderness, he’d started twitching for entirely different reasons. As he’d kept watch beside their campfire the night before, he’d jumped at every flickering shadow and every snap of burning wood.

The first time they’d come here, they hadn’t known what they would find. There was no turning back now. Albanon took a deep breath and let it out, forcing himself to calm down. “So how are we going to get down?” he asked.

Perched on his shoulder, Splendid extended her wings so that they flashed in the sunlight. “If you could only fly—”

“Well, we can’t.” Albanon looked to Kri. “Last time I used a spell to let Shara float down. I could do that again, but it will only support one person. What’s your magic?”

“The next best thing to flying, I think,” said Kri. “Save your spell.” He started rummaging through his pack. Curiosity flickered in Albanon and he leaned over. The pack that Kri
carried was small, but before they’d set out from Fallcrest, he’d produced from it a suit of curiously fine chain, the polished links flashing with a faint golden sheen. Albanon couldn’t help wondering what else the old cleric had in there. As if feeling the eladrin’s eyes on him, Kri scowled and bent over the pack, shielding its interior. Splendid snorted and nipped at Albanon’s long ear.

Albanon yelped and twisted his head to glare at her. The pseudodragon tossed her own head back. “Rude!” she said.

By the time Albanon looked back, Kri had already produced a battered book, a pouch, and several vials. Motioning for Albanon and Shara to stand clear, he opened the pouch and drew out a handful of fine silvery dust. When he began trickling it out on to the ground, Albanon felt as if a hand had closed on his throat. He wheezed loudly and had to look away.

Kri scowled again but didn’t look up from the circle—about three paces across—that he was tracing. Shara glanced at Albanon. “What is that stuff?”

“Residuum,” said Albanon. “Extracted from enchanted objects. It’s worth … well, that handful could probably buy half of Fallcrest. The good half.”

“It’s worth any price to find out what happened to the Voidharrow,” commented Kri. “Now hush and let me work.” The cleric finished the circle and stepped into it. With colored powders from the vials, he drew several large symbols around himself. Some of the symbols Albanon recognized; others he didn’t. He was fairly certain, though, that the symbols were more like those used by wizards than any holy writing he’d ever seen in the hands of priests. His tongue itched with the urge to ask questions, but he held them back. At least until Kri was done with his work.

When the symbols were traced, Kri opened the book with the confidence of long familiarity. Stretching out his free hand, he began a low chant and started to turn in place. Where the shadow of his arm passed, the powdery symbols began to shift and blur. Albanon stared as if he could commit the complex ritual to memory.

With the sixth slow turn, the symbols had blurred so much they were unrecognizable. The colored powders gave a light tint to the whole space within the residuum circle. Kri’s voice rose, his arm coming up as well. The colored circle shimmered in time to his words, then, as they reached a peak, gave a kind of … jump. Albanon blinked. Kri’s voice trailed away. He closed the book.

“Join me,” he said. “Bring my pack.”

Albanon scooped it up and together he and Shara stepped carefully over the border of the circle. The colored powders, along with the residuum, now spread out around Kri in a thin, shimmering disk. He looked at the cleric.