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Authors: Don Bassingthwaite

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BOOK: The Temple of Yellow Skulls
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“Oh,” said a bright voice at his elbow. “You’re talking about the treasure of the Temple of Yellow Skulls, right?”

The three men reacted as one, heads jerking around, hands going to weapons. A wicked dagger flashed in Tragent’s fingers. Lightning snapped and cracked in Dohr’s palm. There was no room for Raid to draw an axe, but he kept a thin stiletto sheathed on his forearm for just such an occasion. The blade hissed like a serpent as Raid struck blind, guided only by reflex.

The stiletto should have sliced the interloper’s throat. Instead it skimmed above the head of the halfling who had slipped into the seat beside Raid, prompting him to duck and yelp in dismay. “Watch it! You could hurt somebody doing that!”

His voice was familiar. Raid blinked, fighting back the haze that came with rushing blood, and actually looked at the halfling. His eyes narrowed as Dohr growled, “This is a private conversation, friend.”

“Oh, sorry.” The halfling turned to look at the tavern patrons who had paused to watch the spectacle. “Hey, mind your mugs, you goblin kissers! We’re trying to get a little privacy here!”

Dohr looked ready to roar. The lightning in his palm sent
flickering tendrils up his arm, illuminating his snarling face. Raid held up a hand.

“Easy,” he said. He put away his stiletto and studied the visitor to their table. “Uldane, isn’t it?”

The halfling looked pleased at being remembered. “I was coming this way and thought I’d stop by to see if you found the help you were looking for.”

Across the table, Tragent slowly lowered his dagger and nudged Dohr. The half-orc closed his fist, snuffing the lightning. Raid nodded approval, but kept his eyes on Uldane. “Where are your friends?” he asked.

A flicker of discontent passed across Uldane’s face. “Around,” he said. “Gone their own ways.” His expression brightened. “But what about the Temple of Yellow Skulls? Is that what you needed help for? Are you really going to look for the treasure? They say a lot of people have tried but they haven’t found anything.”

From the corner of his eye, Raid caught Dohr and Tragent exchanging a glance. He clenched his teeth. He’d have to crush their doubt before it grew. “A lot of people aren’t me,” he said boldly. “How do you know about the temple and the treasure?”

Uldane shrugged. “I’ve been around. I’ve heard stories. They say the ruins lie to the west of Fallcrest—”

Raid twitched a finger for silence as the serving wench came up to the table with three fresh mugs of ale. He watched her set down the mugs—she didn’t once glance at Uldane. As she straightened and turned away, he said. “There’s a fourth person at the table.”

The wench looked down as if noticing the halfling for the first time. “You want another ale?”

“No, he’ll have mine.” Raid slid his mug to the halfling,
then jerked his head, ordering her away. The wench rolled her eyes and went. Slowly. Too slowly for a server in a busy taphouse. Just slowly enough for someone trying to listen in to what she had no business hearing.

She would bear watching. Raid turned back to his companions to find Dohr glaring at Uldane as the halfling struggled with a mug nearly as big as his face. Tragent leaned across the table. “I’ve heard of this Uldane,” he growled quietly to Raid. “He’s supposed to be good. Very good.”

“And?” Raid asked, keeping his expression neutral. He could guess how Tragent’s thoughts were running. Uldane offered their little company stealth and a rogue’s light touch. His appearance presented an opportunity for Raid—and a threat to Tragent and Dohr.

“And it doesn’t matter how good he is,” said the swordsman. “We don’t want to split our half of the treasure three ways instead of two.” At his side, Dohr grunted agreement.

“I’d rather think of it,” Raid said bluntly, “as a better chance of having any treasure to split at all. What do you say to that?”

Tragent’s face tightened briefly, then eased into a calculating expression as the benefit of having Uldane around sank in. It didn’t take long. He shared a glance with Dohr, then said, “We still want our five hundred gold each. We’re not sharing that.”

“Fair enough.” Raid turned back to the halfling and raised his voice once more. “Uldane, what I said to you and your friends still holds. Tragent and Dohr here have pledged to join me. You already know more than you should. If you want to learn more …”

Uldane set his mug down with a thump and a belch. “I’m in.”

Even Raid blinked in surprise. “Do you want to hear the terms?”

“Whatever they agreed to is good enough for me.” Uldane grinned. “I want to get out of Fallcrest for a few days.”

“Then we leave tomorrow,” said Raid with a matching smile. He gestured for the others to lean close. They did. “What Uldane says is right. Rumors of the golden skulls, be they magical or not, have lured generations of treasure seekers to the ruins of the temple. Those that have returned have come back empty-handed. But we won’t.” He tapped the side of his head. “I know the secret to finding the skulls.”

“Which you’re not going to tell us,” said Tragent. Raid nodded and the swordsman grunted. “Of course. Answer this, then: How did you come by this knowledge?”

Raid brushed the gray hair at his temples. “Like Uldane, I’ve been around,” he said. “I’ve probably seen more of this world than all three of you put together.”

“Tragent and I have seen a lot,” Dohr said. “Enough to know when someone is ducking a question.” Dark eyes fixed on Raid. “We may have pledged ourselves to you, Raid, but don’t try to play us. Where does this secret of yours come from—and more importantly, can we trust it?”

A familiar tightness clenched Raid’s belly. He tried to push it back. “Can you trust it? I put myself at the same risk as you. Where does it come from—?” The tightness came again, turned into a choking knot rising up his throat.

The memories came with it. Raid shifted his eyes, looking beyond Dohr. “Far away from the Nentir Vale,” he said, “there is a place where all kinds of evil things make their home. What ends in the Temple of Yellow Skulls began in a temple of another sort. Half a dozen of us went in—confident, strong, experienced. I was the only one to return.”

The others went still as he continued. “We fought our way through the place, taking on trolls and giants and the spirits of elemental primordials. But something was stalking us, too, and it struck in the moments when we thought we were safe. One by one, my companions died until there were only two of us left: me and a holy warrior of Bahamut, Calamis. And eventually I realized that even though she appeared to be at my side, Calamis was gone, too. When she turned on me, I was ready for her.”

“We fought”—Raid mimed the crash of his axes against a bright sword raised to fend them off—“and I bested her. Or rather, I bested the creature that had taken her form. A rakshasa had picked up our trail through the temple. It had been picking my companions off one at a time. Calamis was its final victim. Even wounded, it still thought it could taunt me. A rakshasa’s spirit can only be permanently destroyed by a blessed weapon driven into the heart. What it didn’t know was that Calamis knew how to defeat its kind. She’d blessed a dagger herself and given it me.”

He drew a ragged breath. “I am not proud of what I did next. The rakshasa was in my power and I was angry. The creature tried to buy its freedom with ancient secrets. I had no interest in bargaining, but it pleaded and spilled its secrets anyway. It was a long time before my fury and grief were spent and I finally used Calamis’s dagger on her killer.”

Raid looked back at the spellbound trio who sat listening to him. “I’m no paragon of virtue to let a treasure slip between my fingers,” he said. “The only paragons I’ve ever known died in that evil temple. But I’m no fool, either. I’ve spent years researching what the rakshasa told me. As far as I can tell, what it babbled to me was the truth. The skulls wait for the
one strong enough and smart enough to claim them. I intend to be that one.” He smiled. “With your help.”

Dohr and Tragent glanced at each other, then Tragent nodded. “That’s a fair answer. You’re risking yourself by going. We’ll stand by you.”

It was the answer he’d expected. Raid turned to Uldane. “And you?”

The halfling looked thoughtful as he sipped his ale. “If the rakshasa surprised you and took out your companions one at a time, how did your warrior friend know to give you a blessed dagger before she died?”

Raid felt his pulse throb in the vein above his right eye. He kept his face and voice neutral, though. “We didn’t know it was a rakshasa stalking us, but we suspected. She made one for herself, too, but the creature took her before she could use it.

“Pfft,”
said Uldane. “That was careless of her.”

He took another swallow of ale.

Raid waited a moment longer before he asked tightly, “Does that answer your question?”

“What? Oh, sorry, I was just thinking out loud.” Uldane looked up and smiled. “In fact, here’s to the venture.” He raised his mug. “Here’s to us and the Yellow—”

Raid hissed like a cracking whip and Uldane caught himself. “Sorry. Just to us, then!”

“Here, here!” said Dohr, rapping his mug against Uldane’s. Tragent raised his as well. Raid put a smile on his face and spread empty hands.

“It looks like I’ll need another after all,” he said. He looked for the serving wench. “Ho!” he roared. “Another round here—and make it four mugs this time!”

The moon had set by the time they left the Lucky Gnome, companions before they’d even started their adventure. Tragent and Dohr went staggering off for wherever they laid their heads. Raid turned in the direction of the inn where he’d taken a room, then paused.

Uldane stood in the road outside the taphouse, looking uncertain. “The argument you had with your friends is causing you trouble?” Raid asked.

“I didn’t say we had an argument,” said Uldane. “And I’m fine. I’m just deciding if I want to go home yet or not.”

The halfling was wobbling slightly on his feet. Raid held back a smile. “Go home,” he said. “Or at least go somewhere to sleep. I want to be on the road by noon and I assume you’ll need some time to gather your gear.”

“I travel light.” Uldane slapped the dagger sheath at his belt, did a double take at finding it empty, then made a show of producing the missing weapon apparently from one ear. He juggled it from hand to hand before bowing with a flourish. Raid clapped his hands slowly.

“Go home,” he said again, and turned away.

Uldane called after him. “I’m sorry you lost your companions.”

Raid stiffened and stopped. Maybe Uldane took that as some sort of invitation because he added, “I know what that’s like. Three of my friends were killed by a dragon. Shara and I were the only survivors. Until it was dead, revenge was all she could think about.”

“Thank you.” Raid forced his body to relax, then looked back over his shoulder. “I don’t want to talk about it, though. It happened a long time ago.”

“If you ever do—”

“Good night, Uldane.” He started walking again, listening carefully in case Uldane decided to follow him after all. There was nothing, and when he looked back, he could see Uldane’s short figure weaving away in the other direction. Raid turned and walked a little further, making his way with a confident, unwavering stride. He hadn’t consumed nearly as much ale as Dohr or Tragent or even Uldane. He smiled to himself. Maybe Borojon’s daughter had turned him down, but now he had a team that was better than her and her rusty sword. She could beg to join his party of adventurers and he would delight in saying “No.”

No, Hakken!

Memories of another woman’s pleading came to him. Raid shivered at their touch. He’d held them back while he’d told Uldane, Tragent, and Dohr the story they’d needed to hear. A story so carefully prepared he sometimes believed it himself.

Raid’s axes swung together and shattered the sword raised to fend them off. Calamis flung up a metal-cased arm to ward off the spray of fragments. Raid swung again before she could recover. One axe creased the shining silvery metal of her breastplate. The other bit deep into her arm, driving scraps of leather and broken rings of mail deep into flesh before the edge scraped against bone. Calamis gasped and fell back, looking up at him with pleading eyes. “No, Hakken! Remember who you are! Remember who I am!”

BOOK: The Temple of Yellow Skulls
13.22Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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