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Authors: Don Bassingthwaite

The Temple of Yellow Skulls (28 page)

BOOK: The Temple of Yellow Skulls
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And from the sound of their howls, that was exactly what they had done. Raid sniffed the air and caught the fetid smell of a marsh. He picked up his pace, silent as a wolf in the dusk. The soldiers followed him, not quite so quiet but with more stealth than their bulky forms might suggest. Just as the ground started to sink toward a reed-filled lowland, the pack came slinking out of the underbrush to join them. The hound that had once been loyal to those first transformed hunters crept up to Raid and nuzzled his shins. Its eyes were red-rimmed and foam flecked its jaws—Raid had a feeling that it might be dying under the influence of his dominating power, but he couldn’t find it in him to care. The beast was a tool, his to use and command.

“Show me,” he told it.

The hound whined and turned back toward the marsh. The other dogs went with it. Raid gestured for Vestapalk’s soldiers to hold their positions, then followed, crouching low for cover among the reeds.

Along the dry edge of the marsh, a party of powerfully built lizardfolk were occupied setting up a camp. A dozen of the reptilian creatures milled around, some building fires, some skinning and butchering a couple of big marsh deer that hung from tall trees. A hunting party, then. Raid’s eyes narrowed as he watched them go about their tasks.

A
dozen
lizardfolk … Vestapalk would reward him. Of course, in a group so large, there would be fighting. Two or three lizardfolk might die before being subdued. Raid smiled to himself. He certainly hoped so.

But there was more. A few of the lizardfolk in particular caught his eye. A tall hunter with a bright red and yellow crest strode among the others, hissing and barking in what Raid thought might be laughter—the other lizardfolk deferred to him. On the other side of the camp, a smaller specimen armed with a blowgun demonstrated his mastery of the weapon in a contest with another, spitting darts at tiny spots of moss on the trunk of a tree. Helping with the butchering, one of the biggest lizardfolk Raid had ever seen—easily as tall as his own transformed height, but half again as broad through the shoulders and with black scales in contrast to the dull green of the others—hacked through thick bones as easily as if they were dry tinder wood.

“One more task, Raid,” Vestapalk had called to him as he was leaving the Temple of Yellow Skulls. “This one needs more than just brutes. Watch for the exceptional individuals among your prey and do not transform them. Capture them. Bring them back to Vestapalk. A horde needs commanders. You are only the first of Vestapalk’s exarchs.”

The tall hunter, Raid decided, and the massive blackscale would go back to Vestapalk. They would make powerful exarchs for the dragon. The darter and as many of the lizardfolk as survived would fill the ranks of the horde. Raid gestured for the pack to stay—they sank to their bellies in the moist dirt—then went back to retrieve the other brutes. His chest was already tight with the thought of the fight to come and the praise Vestapalk would heap on him.

The tree shuddered with every blow that the blackscale lizardman dealt the hanging carcass. High up in the leafy branches, Uldane hugged the trunk and tried not to fall from
his perch. Or vomit from the smell of offal. The stink made his already throbbing head spin—and that made him hug the tree even tighter.

The next person who told him that halflings were a lucky folk was going to get a hard kick in the ankles. If he survived to meet them.

The wounds that Raid, then Tiktag, had inflicted on him were worse than Uldane had expected. He’d escaped the ruins of the Temple of Yellow Skulls with Vestapalk’s roars ringing in his ears. As he’d pushed his way into the woods he’d chosen as his cover, the roars had been replaced with horrible screams. Raid’s, Uldane thought—or at least hoped. The anger in his heart burned nearly as harshly as Tiktag’s poison magic burned in his wounds. He hadn’t paused but had just kept running until his legs faltered beneath him.

That was when he first noticed how the trees seemed to be spinning around him and just how strangely warm it had become. Uldane had stopped by a stream and tried washing his wounds, but it hadn’t done much good. Now he really did regret leaving the potions from Tragent’s pack behind.

He’d staggered on in what he thought was the direction of Fallcrest, only to find himself crossing and recrossing the same stream. Finally he’d given in to whatever message the gods seemed to be sending him and started following the flow of water downstream. If he kept wandering, he reasoned, he might just stumble back to the temple—and that was the last place he wanted to be. All of the streams in the Vale joined up with the Nentir River eventually, though. All he had to do was follow the water and find the river, then make his way up to Fallcrest. And he’d have plenty to drink on the way, which was good considering how thirsty he felt.

In hindsight, maybe he should have tried striking out to the northeast and finding the King’s Road. He could have followed it to Fallcrest and there would have been travelers to help him. Uldane didn’t mind being on his own, but he was fairly certain that he slipped into unconsciousness a couple of times. Once he sat down in daylight and woke to the stars and moon. Another time, he fell and when he sat up, his face and arms were hot with sunburn as well as fever. Companions would at least have moved him into the shade.

He was never traveling without Shara at his side again. Or Albanon. Or even Splendid.

When the stream finally vanished not into the rush of the Nentir River but the still waters of the Witchlight Fens, he’d thought his luck could sink no further. He’d been wrong—he’d barely managed to swarm up the tree he was resting under when the first of the lizardfolk appeared out of the swamp.

The blackscale lizardman hacked another leg off the deer. The tree shivered. Uldane pressed himself to the rough bark and clenched his teeth against a moan. Night was coming. Maybe he could slip down under cover of darkness and get away. There was one advantage to being up in the tree: He had a good view not just of the camp but the meandering edge of the fens to the north and south as well. Not too far away to the south, on the other side of the lizardfolk’s camp, the broken remains of an old imperial watchtower shone under the setting sun.

Uldane knew those ruins. He’d used them as a landmark before. He turned his head—cautiously for fear of setting the world spinning with quick movements—and squinted to the north.

A faint trail weaved in and out of the reeds. A trail that, in a little more than a day’s journey on foot, would lead him directly to the King’s Road. Uldane’s heart jumped in his chest. Maybe halflings were lucky after all!

The sudden baying of wild dogs brought his head back around to the camp and his stomach up into his throat. He swallowed, trying to keep himself from vomiting. Down below, the lizardfolk were all looking around as well. The dogs had howled earlier, but they’d been farther away and hadn’t gathered much attention. Now they were much closer. Very close, Uldane thought.

He saw them before the lizardfolk did, three lean shapes that came tearing out of the tall reeds. Red eyes and foaming jaws flashed in the twilight as the dogs rushed for the heaps of butchered meat beneath Uldane’s tree. The lizardfolk screeched in unison and surged in to stop the frenzied animals. The yelping dogs scrambled around them, claws digging up sprays of dirt. A lizardman who had been playing with a blowgun calmly slipped a dart into his weapon, lifted the tube his mouth, tracked the lead dog for a moment, then blew hard. The dog yelped and snapped at its hindquarters. Moments later, its quick movements had turned sluggish. The darter laughed and called something to the other lizardfolk. Two of them closed in on the poisoned animal as the other dogs continued to race around the camp.

None of them saw what Uldane saw: another shape slipping away from the spot where the dogs had appeared and circling around to the other side of the camp. The halfling blinked. His wounds and fever were finally getting to him, he thought. The shape looked like nothing he’d ever seen before, all long arms and legs with knobby, gnarled joints,
and a head stretched out on one side. And yet there was something strangely familiar about the way it moved. A bad feeling rolled up Uldane’s spine.

The attack came from the west, out of the last blaze of the sun as it slipped below the horizon. Massive hunched silhouettes that seemed to wear red fire like a mantle rose from hiding and descended on the camp with a thundering roar. With all their attention on the frenzied dogs, the first lizardfolk to fall didn’t stand a chance. The shadowy figures were on them in an instant, laying into them with not two, but
four
muscular arms. Three lizardfolk hunters went down quickly, felled by heavy fists, but a fourth put up a struggle. His spear wove back and forth as he sought an opening—the red fire, Uldane realized, was the sun shining through a heavy shell of crystal.

The creature made two grabs for the lizardman. A third closed on the shaft of his spear and jerked it close. Monstrous strength pulled the lizardman off his feet. The creature’s other three arms seized him. The thing threw back its head as far as it was able and bellowed as it tore the struggling lizardman apart.

Uldane couldn’t hold back his nausea any longer. He retched and the thin bile of an empty stomach spattered the tree trunk. There was no one to notice, though, as the lizardfolk reacted to the sudden attack. One of the hunters, a big lizardman with a red and yellow crest, screeched and roared at the others, organizing them. The lizardfolk scattered before their hulking attackers. Darters pulled back, loading their weapons. The two dogs had changed tactics, too, however, and lunged at any lizardman they could. One got its teeth into a scaly arm and dragged the lizardman to the ground. Steel and teeth flashed as hunter and dog wrestled together.

The tall long-limbed shape Uldane had glimpsed in the shadows entered the camp in the wake of the big monsters. At first Uldane barely registered its presence. Though it moved with a frightening grace, it didn’t leap into the fighting. Instead, it paused beside the lizardfolk that had been knocked out and raked claws across their chests. It moved quickly—it had reached the third lizardman by the time the first started screaming. Once again, the focus of the fight shifted as the lizardfolk turned to the tall creature. It hissed and rose slowly. Firelight flashed on its face for the first time.

On too many white teeth and too many red eyes. On flesh and bone stretched out of proportion to one side of its head—and, to the other, on a scarred face that Uldane knew.

“Raid?” he breathed.

The big crested lizardman bellowed a battle cry and threw himself at this new threat. Uldane watched Raid—the monster that had been Raid—smile and duck aside, his knobby limbs making him look like a bizarre spider as he drew his familiar axes.

There was no question that the crested lizardman was overmatched. His barbed spear darted and thrust, but its reach gave him no advantage against Raid’s long arms. He slid back from Raid’s whirling blades and tried to strike under the axes, but Raid was faster. The spear plunged in. Raid twisted. An axe chopped down—and the head of the spear went spinning away. The lizardman’s eyes narrowed. He leaped away toward the water of the swamp, and Raid stalked after him, axes held wide. Raid smiled and Uldane heard the words he rasped even over the howls and roars of the rest of the battle.

“The Voidharrow will take you. You will serve!”

As if in reply, the crested lizardman blew a sharp, sliding whistle between bared teeth.

The swamp water seemed to boil as something big surged out of it. Low to the ground but moving fast, a massive crocodile charged at Raid with jaws snapping. Raid jumped away, his smile faltering. The lizardman moved to the crocodile’s side, a look of triumph on his face.

Then, inexplicably, Raid’s smile returned. He hunched slightly, spread his arms wide, and hissed. The crocodile thrashed suddenly, shaking its big head from side to side. Its eyes blinked shut for a moment.

When they opened again, they shone red like Raid’s. The lizardman stepped away in surprise, but not quickly enough. The crocodile turned and lunged.

Its jaws closed on the lizardman’s leg and powerful muscles wrenched it out from under him. The crested lizardman’s screams merged with the crocodile’s snarling as it whipped him back and forth until screams gave way to a horrible wet pop and the tearing of flesh. Uldane couldn’t watch anymore. He turned his head, looking away to the north and the distant haven of Fallcrest.

The final rays of the sun flashed on the three mounted figures galloping along the swamp edge trail toward the battle. Uldane’s heart leaped. Even in the gathering gloom of twilight, he knew Shara. And that was Albanon beside her, silver hair and blue robes streaming. He didn’t recognize the third rider, an old man in bright chainmail, but it didn’t matter. It didn’t even matter how they’d managed to get here. They were probably only reacting to the sounds of battle, thinking they were interrupting a bandit attack. Either way, he was saved!

In the same instant the thought flashed into his mind, though, his leaping heart froze. Was he saved? Fighting the
dizziness that swept over him, he looked back at the scene in the camp.

BOOK: The Temple of Yellow Skulls
10.55Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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