Forge of the Mindslayers: Blade of the Flame Book 2 (2 page)

Diran opened his eyes and removed his hand from Tresslar’s shoulder. “Better?”

Tresslar’s face no longer looked so drawn, his color had returned to normal, and his legs were once more sure and steady. “Yes, thank you.” Despite his earlier protestation, the artificer sounded relieved.

Diran smiled, nodded, then returned to Ghaji’s side.

“Well, if it isn’t an animal,” Hinto said, “then maybe it’s the thing we’ve come hunting for. The lyke, lihk, however you pronounce it.”

“Lich,” Diran said, “and I seriously doubt it. According to the stories we heard back in Perhata, this particular lich rarely strays from its lair.”

“If you can trust a bunch of tall tales told by drunken sailors,” Tresslar muttered.

They’d first heard tell of the lich in a seedy tavern in the seaside city of Perhata. It was an all-too-familiar story: an undead creature had holed up in cave somewhere in the mountains outside the city, where it used its hoard of fabulous wealth to lure greedy treasure-seekers to their unspeakably horrible dooms. If Ghaji had a copper crown for every time they’d heard a similar story …

Of course, now that he thought of it, most of the time the stories had turned out to be true.

“Are you
sure
it’s not a lich, Diran?”

There was a small tremor to Hinto’s voice, and Ghaji gazed down with concern at the halfling pirate’s brown, sun-weathered face. Ever since his time shipwrecked in the Mire—where Hinto had watched his crewmates captured and devoured one by one—the halfling had been prone to sudden attacks of paralyzing panic. Over the last several months, Diran had been working with Hinto, teaching him meditation techniques that the Purified used to center and calm themselves. Diran’s tutelage had helped somewhat, but Hinto still suffered bouts of panic from time to time.

“Positive,” the priest said. “As Ghaji said, what he saw was likely nothing more than a trick of light and shadow, caused by—”

Diran’s words were cut off by the sound of a shrill scream, but the cry came from behind them, not from the mysterious figure on the mountainside.

Ghaji whirled about, drawing his axe as he turned. With a thought, he activated the mystic weapon and flames wreathed the axe-head. Diran also spun around, a pair of silver daggers in his hands, the blades pulled from two of the many sheathes sewn into the priest’s clothing. Tresslar yanked a two-foot iron rod from beneath his belt and pointed the end—which terminated in a golden dragon’s head—toward the direction of the scream. Ghaji glanced at Hinto and was gratified to see that the halfling had drawn the long knife he used as a sword. Hinto trembled like a leaf caught in a windstorm, but he stood his ground, determined not to let his fear get the best of him.

Before them the canyon wall rose at a sloping angle, the gray stone painted black by the shadow of the mountain opposite. A dozen feet above the ground was a cleft in the rock, and hanging half out of the narrow opening was a small humanoid figure with orange-tinted skin, a flat face, broad nose, pointed ears, and tiny fangs protruding from its lower jaw. The creature’s face
was distorted by pain and terror, and it reached out toward them with long simian-like arms.

“Help me, please! She’s going to kill me!” Its voice was a shrill whine, the words spoken with an odd accent that Ghaji couldn’t place.

“It’s a goblin,” Hinto said. The halfling started forward, obviously intending to go to the creature’s aid, but Diran put a hand on the little pirate’s shoulder to stop him.

“Perhaps,” Diran said. “Perhaps not.” The priest gazed intently at the distressed goblin, an appraising look in his eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Tresslar asked.

“It could be a trap,” Ghaji said.

Tears streamed down the goblin’s face. “Please! I can pay you! There’s treasure in here, tons of it! I’ll share it with you! You can have it all, just don’t let her—” With a sudden motion the goblin disappeared into the cleft, as if something inside had violently yanked him backward. Another shriek echoed through the canyon, this one short-lived, and then there was only silence.

Ghaji and Diran looked at each other, smiled, and spoke at the same time.

“Definitely a trap,” they said.

The sloping surface of the canyon wall provided enough hand and footholds that the four companions were able to climb up to the opening without any trouble. Even Tresslar had no difficulty, thanks to the fresh infusion of strength granted to him by Diran’s healing touch. Ghaji went first, elemental axe deactivated and tucked once more beneath his belt. Diran came second, daggers temporarily returned to their sheathes, then came Tresslar and Hinto.

They didn’t attempt to enter right away. Diran and Ghaji remained to the right of the cleft, while Tresslar and Hinto stayed on the other side. Ghaji then eased toward the opening and activated his elemental axe. Flames flared to life, and he held the burning axe toward the cleft. The light chased away the shadows huddling around the entrance, and Ghaji could see that the opening was wider than it had first appeared from the canyon floor. They wouldn’t have any trouble getting inside, but then the intention had never been to keep them out.

“How do you know it’s a trap?” Tresslar asked as they clung to the rocky surface.

“It’s quite simple,” Diran answered. “A lone goblin could never have escaped from a lich to call out for help. He would’ve been too paralyzed by fear in her presence to speak, let alone move.”

“Doesn’t it strike you as awfully convenient that the goblin just happened to get free while we were in the vicinity?” Ghaji added. “Not to mention all that talk about treasure. He’s just a lure, maybe even an illusion conjured by the lich.”

Ghaji extended his axe into the opening and saw that beyond the cleft was a passageway large enough for two men to walk side by side, if only just. Of the goblin—or anything else for that matter—he saw no sign. He examined the floor of the passageway beyond the entrance and saw no scratch marks in the rock. A goblin fighting for his life would’ve scuffed the floor somehow, perhaps even torn his claws and left behind spots of blood, but the half-orc saw nothing.

“Looks clear,” Ghaji said. “I’m going in.”

“Be careful,” Diran warned, “and don’t go too far inside. Wait for the rest of us to join you.”

Ghaji turned to his friend and gave the priest a withering look. “I’m not stupid, Diran. I’m not about to go dashing off into a monster’s lair on my own.”

“That’s what you said last month,” Diran pointed out, “when we dealt with that nest of ghouls in the sewers of Skairn.”

Ghaji scowled. “That was different. I—”

Diran continued. “What about the time we went after the pack of yeth hounds that was attacking ships off the coast?”

“All right, I’ll admit to that one, but I’d gotten our plan confused—”

“And then there was that wraith on the isle of—”

“Very well!” Ghaji snapped. “I’ll wait!”

Hinto snickered, but the halfling instantly shut up when Ghaji glared at him. Muttering to himself, Ghaji climbed through the cleft and into the passageway beyond. It was a bit of a squeeze for the half-orc, but once he was inside, the tunnel opened up sufficiently to allow him to stand without slouching. The light cast by his fire-axe revealed the gray stone of the passage to be rough and uneven, but the tunnel’s shape was uniform enough for Ghaji to guess it wasn’t a natural formation. This passageway had been carved into the hillside, but who had done it—and how long ago—Ghaji couldn’t say. He took a breath and regretted it as the stench of ancient rot and decay assailed his nostrils. Ghaji had fought evil alongside Diran long enough to recognize the stink of undeath when he smelled it. If this wasn’t a lich’s lair, it was surely home to some creature equally as foul.

The axe-flame illuminated the passageway for a good dozen feet. Beyond that, the tunnel veered to the left, cutting off Ghaji’s view. Anything might be around that bend—and probably was.

He turned to speak over his shoulder, keeping one eye fixed on the passageway before him. “The entrance is clear,” he told his companions then stepped forward to make room for them in the tunnel.

Diran entered first, followed by Tresslar and then Hinto. There wasn’t enough room in the passage for the four of them
to walk shoulder to shoulder, so Ghaji and Diran went first, with Tresslar and Hinto coming after. They moved into the tunnel slowly, all of them armed, senses alert for the slightest sign of danger.

As they neared the bend in the tunnel, Ghaji glanced back at Hinto to see how the little pirate was doing. He was trembling, and his lips moved soundlessly as he mouthed one of the calming meditative prayers Diran had taught him. Not for the first time, Ghaji questioned the wisdom of allowing the halfling to join them on this hunt, but Hinto had insisted, and Diran had finally agreed, saying the journey might help the halfing further progress in mastering his fear. Ghaji’s own fear was that Hinto might get one or more of them killed should he suffer a bout of panic while they were within the lich’s lair. Ghaji trusted Diran with his life, but in this case he hoped the priest knew what he was doing.

As they rounded the bend, a low moan drifted from somewhere ahead of them, and Ghaji recognized the sound of the goblin’s voice. The cry was soft and weak, as if the goblin was near death.

Diran started forward, but before the priest could take more than a single step, Ghaji reached out with his free hand and grabbed hold of his friend’s elbow.

“It’s probably a trap, remember?” the half-orc said.

“I know, but if there’s even a chance that it isn’t, I must go to the goblin’s aid.”

Diran’s face was mask of grim determination, and Ghaji knew there would be no arguing with him. “Very well then. Let’s go.”

Diran took off down the passageway at a run, Ghaji at his side, Hinto and Tresslar following close behind.

The tunnel curved twice more—right then left—before opening up into a crudely hewn stone chamber a dozen feet high and a hundred feet across. Hanging from the ceiling was a colony
of sleeping bats, each one the size of a small rat-hound. Though it was not yet dark outside, already the bats were stirring, shifting their bodies, stretching out wings, yawning mouths wide to expose sharp fangs. The chamber floor was covered with the creatures’ droppings, along with parts of dismembered skeletons, dozens of them—skulls, rib cages, spines, arms, legs, pelvises—most human, some not. The bones protruded from the thick layer of muck created by the bat-droppings. The stench was unbearable, and Ghaji was glad that all they’d had to eat this day was trail rations, for if his stomach had been any fuller, he’d have been forced to empty it now. He wished his elemental axe produced mundane fire instead of magic. If so, the flame might’ve produced enough smoke to leaven the stink—but then, it might have also ignited some of the gases protruding from the muck.

Rising above the horrid muck in the middle of the chamber sat a large rock about three feet high. The goblin crouched on top, obviously unharmed. He fixed them with a baleful amber-eyed gaze and grinned maliciously.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid, but then I suppose I shouldn’t complain, should I? For if it wasn’t for idiots like you, my mistress and I wouldn’t have any fun.”

Diran gave no sign that he was upset at having fallen for the goblin’s ruse. “I give you fair warning, goblin. I’ve come to slay the lich that inhabits this lair. If you get in my way, I’ll kill you, too.” Diran’s tone was matter-of-fact, as if he were discussing something of no more import than the weather, and was all the more chilling for it.

The goblin let out a snuffling laugh. “You could try.” His form blurred, and orange skin and mismatched scraps of leather armor shifted, melded, and reformed until the creature that crouched atop the rock was no longer a goblin but instead a lupine beast with blue-tinged fur, humanoid hands, and a goblinish face.

“He’s a werewolf!” Hinto cried out.

“No,” Diran said. “The priests of my order hunted Khorvaire’s lycanthropes to extinction many years ago. That creature is a barghest—though it’s just as deadly as any lycanthrope and in some ways more so.”

The barghest inclined its head as if acknowledging a compliment. “I can’t tell you how happy I am that there are four of you.” The barghest’s voice had become a rumbling growl. “That means my mistress might give me one of you when she’s done. It’s been so long since I’ve had a juicy soul to feed upon. So very long.” The barghest licked its muzzle with a long black tongue that appeared more serpentine than wolf-like.

“You keep speaking of this mistress of yours,” Diran said, “yet aside from your leather-winged friends hanging from the ceiling, you appear to be alone. Only moments ago you attempted to deceive us by pretending to be in danger. Perhaps the lich and her treasure are also part of your deception, nothing more than stories designed to lure prey to you.”

The barghest laughed, the sound emerging from its lupine throat as a snuffling whine. “You aren’t that fortunate, I’m afraid.”

As if in response to some unseen signal, the entire colony of bats released its grip on the ceiling and took flight. The ebon creatures swirled around the chamber, black wings beating wildly as they darted through the fetid air. The four companions held their weapons at the ready, but none of the creatures made a move to attack them. As the bats continued to fly, they began to lose definition, their features becoming smooth and indistinct, their color darkening even further until they were nothing more than patches of deep shadow whipping about the chamber. Then the shadow-fragments came together and coalesced into a single dark form that hovered in the air next to the still-laughing barghest.