Stardeep (29 page)

The sorcerer swiveled to flash Raidon his eager expression. The monk said, “I missed that, Adrik—you have eyes for this sort of delving, it seems.”

The sorcerer smiled at the compliment, at the same time raising a finger as if to make a further point. The monk turned and followed Kiril before the man could expound upon mold, moisture, their musty relationship, or some related topic likely to interest the monk not in the least. He appreciated Adrik’s boundless enthusiasm for diverse topics—truly, he did—but in their present circumstance, he preferred to avoid such distractions.

Even as Raidon allowed introspection to sap his focus, he noticed the narrow tunnel through which they’d progressed was gradually widening. Far ahead, blue-green illumination seeped into the tunnel, staining its white walls with alien color.

“Kiril,” Raidon said, “pause a moment. What does that glow ahead presage?”

The elf shook her head. She muttered, “How would I know what lies ahead? The only way to know is to move forward and look. One way or another, these tunnels lead into Stardeep’s heart. Don’t ask stupid questions, Telflammer.”-

Raidon cocked his head, wondering if she baited him purposefully. Now that they both knew his mother was native to Sildeyuir, referring to his Shou origin seemed a slap in the face. Or perhaps it was her implication that he had asked a frivolous question. Or perhaps he was merely losing his focus…

He pushed the irritation from his thoughts with an old mantra: Have no limitation as limitation. His thoughts couldn’t be swayed by her words or attitude—only he could channel his mind—others’ words imparted information only. They couldn’t change the tracks of his knowledge or attitudes unless he allowed them to do so. He was free unto himself, not bound to limitations others tried to place upon him.

It was becoming clear, however, that Kiril Duskmourn would try even the serenity of Xiang Temple master.

The intensity of the light grew as they approached, and the tunnel fell away to reveal a wider space. One side of the tunnel fell away to become a ledge skirting the edge of a deeper cavern filled with strange growths.

Puff balls, fungal draperies, fronds, and toadstools grew in thick profusion within the wide depression, all glowing with varying shades of bioluminescence. Sprouting up through a layer of turgid black ooze were small, yellow protrusions, as

wide and thick as fingers. A few toadstool caps grew so tall they towered above the level of the catwalk to brush the ceiling and spread flattened, mushroomlike canopies overhead. A smell like baking bread, citrus, and rotting flesh wrinkled Raidon’s nose. A bluish glow hazed the air.

“Breathe carefully,” advised Adrik, who placed a Ibid of his robe over his mouth. His muffled voice came again. “Spores.”

Kiril grunted, “I wouldn’t have guessed such a garden could survive in these darks. I wonder on what sort of rot this plot grows.” The crystal dragonet belled unhelpfully.

She shrugged and walked onto the tunnel catwalk. Some hundreds of paces ahead, the ledge plunged into a smaller tunnel.

Raidon and Adrik followed her. Halfway across, the monk glimpsed a shape moving through the fungalscape. Turning his head, he saw some sort of… humanoid. It was a bulky, hunch-backed humanoid composed of mushroomy flesh partly covered in a bony black carapace. Its head was a puffball suffused with wavering filaments. The creature used daggetlike obsidian claws to slash its way through the fungal garden. Luckily, it was moving away from them. Raidon estimated its size equal to a giant.

The monk monitored the lumbering fungus hulk as they made their way along the ledge. Just as they reached the edge of the cavern, he saw the creature pause, then swivel its bulk. Before its polyp-sprouting face fully turned to regard the ttavelers, they ducked out of the wide cavern into the narrow confines of anothet tunnel.

Raidon doubted the creature could fit into the tunnel if it decided to follow. While the monk was confident of his prowess, he wondered if the techniques he favored against living foes might be useless on beasts composed of animate fungus. Could it even feel pain? Still, flying elbows ctushed vegetable flesh as readily as animal.

Like before, the tunnel walls they traversed were smooth and white, except for the stain of fungus running in a widening stripe along the right wall. The blue, luminescent haze remained as thick as ever in the tunnel. Also…

“Adrik, bring your light closer, will you?” asked Raidon.

The sorcerer stepped over to Raidon with his lighted coin. Embedded in the wall were shells, bones, and teeth. More notable was a complete human figure, fully embedded in the wall and composed of the same white stone.

“What does this mean?” asked Raidon.

The sorcerer shook his head. “Magic, a massive concentration, once burned through here, but it is impossible to say how long ago.”

“Did the elves do it when they created Stardeep? Or Sildeyuir?” asked Raidon.

Kiril, who’d paused at Raidon’s first words, snorted. “This was here before Sildeyuir or the Traitor’s dungeon were called out of the emptiness. Imagine the wizards’ chagrin when they discovered the ‘emptiness’ was not so empty as everyone assumed. Races older than elves roam the worlds, and not all ancient events are recorded in history books.”

Adrik brushed his right hand along the forehead of the encased figure.

The air cracked as a fossilized arm suddenly burst from the wall and snatched the sorcerer’s wrist. Adrik screamed in concert with a wet grinding sound. The squeezing hand mashed the sorcerer’s wrist like a piece of rotten fruit.

More loud cracks, and jagged lines appeared and lengthened on both walls. Pale limbs thrashed within widening fissures.

Raidon snatched the collapsing sorcerer and threw him over his shoulder. The hand gripping the sorcerer’s wrist didn’t relinquish its grasp but… there was little left for it to hold. Adrik was a familiar weight across the monk’s back. Time to

push concern from his mind and act in the moment.

“Go!” yelled Raidon as he dashed past Kiril. The swordswoman broke into a run, and Raidon led her down the empty but rapidly filling tunnel. The forms breaking free of the passage walls were—what? Undead? Undead whose flesh had so long rested beneath the earth that rotting skin, organs, and bone had become hard as stone. Or undead whose life was drained by some unspeakable ritual.

Within the featureless faces, Raidon perceived hunger, raw and unstoppable, multiplying with each new corpse that kicked its way out of the confining walls.

Adrik’s heartbeat was thready, uncertain, but at least it petsisted. It wouldn’t for very long, though, if Raidon couldn’t apply a tourniquet to the man’s bleeding wrist.

The tunnel emptied to another cavern, smaller than the last one and roughly circular. Within this space the blue haze was thicker than ever. Broad black mushrooms sporting red pustules clustered at the room’s hub. Looming among the ceiling-high toadstools was another ambulatory fungus hulk, like the shambling form Raidon had glimpsed in the previous cavern, but possibly bigger. Or perhaps it was the same one?

Limestone attackers flooded in from all sides, eroded and broken, possessed of an inarticulate fury. A wave of seven burst into the mushroom ring, intent on the towering creature within. The fungus hulk, its posture already hunched, lashed out a massive limb, batting all but two of the creatures across the chamber in arcing trajectories. The other two simply shattered.

“The hulk fights the undead!” exclaimed Raidon. An undead burst from the floor beneath him. He evaded a pale claw, bately maintaining the bleeding Adrik across his back. “Let’s join it!”

Not waiting for confirmation from Kiril, Raidon plunged in amongst the woody stems, moving until he stood within

ten paces of the native creature. The fungus hulk, possessing no eyes, nonetheless seemed to measure him in its regard. A heartbeat later Kiril joined them, her chest heaving as she fought for air after their mad dash.

The fungus hulk seemed to nod, a movement that involved most of its body, then it turned to stave off another wave of attackers.

Raidon let down Adrik, who moaned. “Hold on, friend,” he told the sorcerer. Three more groups of stone-hard undead shuffled toward the mushroom cluster, plus five or six more lone shufflers. If he could snatch even an instant to care for his friend—

The monk dodged outside a white fist’s trajectory. As the blow flashed past his head, he grasped it. Using the creature’s own force, and assisting by twisting his hips, he swept the undead from its feet and into one of its advancing companions. The arm broke off the one he used as an improvised ballista, and the second toppled and fell.

Two more charged him, one straight on, the other advancing toward Raidon’s right flank. The monk ran toward the closer one. Before it could wrap him in its rigid arms, he ran up its slablike front and poised on its head. His balance on the precarious perch was better than he’d imagined. The creature stumbled to a halt, confused. It batted at its own head, but Raidon evaded its grasp with well-timed hops. The other undead, intent on reaching him, careened full speed into the one upon which he stood.

The collision propelled Raidon into the air with double the force of a simple jump. He tucked his feet, accelerating himself into a midair spin. He drew his daito as he dived into a rolling landing, simultaneously sweeping the daito into the neck of another undead.

His blade, for all its provenance, became lodged in the fell thing’s throat. Despite knowing better, he wasted

a heartbeat vainly tugging at his grandfather’s sword. He couldn’t wrench it free! As he struggled, he was blindsided by an unseen slam.

Raidon staggeted back, blinking stats from his eyes, his hand stinging where the daito’s hilt had been torn away. A warm trickle began somewhere on his scalp. He was lucky the thing hadn’t gotten a gtip on him. If it had…

He looked for Adrik. Three undead obscured the sorcerer, battling Kiril, who’d apparently moved to guard the fallen man.

She’d drawn her sword! Argent flames raced along its length, threatening to mesmerize the monk. She sheared through one’s arm, another’s head, and cut the last in half. But five more jogged forward to take their place.

The fungus hulk remained standing, its head rising high above the scuffle. Its atms wotked continually, battering, batting, and crushing the endless rush of undead. Heaps of broken stone were building all around it, piece by piece, and billows of powdery dust swirled in the blue haze. Wounds accumulated across its carapace, oozing bluish fluid.

The fungus hulk, Kiril, and the monk formed a rough triangle. Back to back, they were stemming the onslaught.

But for how long?

His skills had rarely been matched in his temple. But for all his expettise, his talent was bettet used against foes whose flesh was living, or at least supple. Of the many lessons he’d learned at Xiang, one was fundamental. In a fight, a defender either treated himself as the center and moved his foes around him, or he treated his foes as the centei and moved around them. Raidon was a master of the former fighting style. Unfortunately, it was a style unsuited to fighting animated fossilized corpses.

He fell back, kicking, chopping, and evading until he stood only a few paces from Kiril. He yelled, “These creatures

attack us without end! Are they truly undead, or is the earth itself forming and spewing them forth, mockeries of life meant to deprive us of ours?”

The ferocious but strangely vacant gaze of the swordswoman, as she methodically destroyed every monstrosity that strayed into her reach, gained some measure of animation. She muttered, “If they’re being created as quickly as we can destroy them…”

“Then we are doomed if we make a stand here,” finished Raidon, sidestepping the bull rush of a towering stone humanoid.

Kiril gritted her teeth and said, “Hear that, bastard? This fight is concluded already—you’re just too dim-witted to recognize it.” Raidon realized she spoke to her blade. “Ease up on me, and I can get us out of here. Should I die here, you’ll be without a wielder. You’ll have no vessel for your damned piety. We’re close to Stardeep. Have you considered this uprising might be a ploy of the Traitor…”

She suddenly pirouetted in a full blazing circle, smashing half a dozen advancing figures to rubble. She continued, “… though these… undead or stoneborn… do not have the feel of something left behind by aberrations. They are something different. I doubt they are tethered to the Traitor’s will.”

“But they are no less a threat. We must flee someplace safer, somewhere we can tend Adrik. And, I tire,” confessed Raidon. He didn’t have a magic blade to feed him limitless strength, or to mend his bones and stitch his flesh when he miscalculated. The blood flowing from his scalp threatened to obscure vision in his left eye. Several cuts on his arms and chest threatened to spill blood, but were restrained from gushing only through his strict control and focus on his body. If one more stone fist penetrated his guard and smashed him, he might fall.

The animate stone with Raidon’s daito embedded in its

neck trundled into Kiril, arms wide, undeterred by the length of steel. It knocked her back two paces. Her eyes lost their moment of coherence. She yelled in an oddly resonant voice, “Pretenders at life, feel the Cerulean Fire!” She lopped the arm, upper chest, and head from her attacker as if it were formed of clay, not stone.

The daito clattered free and Raidon retrieved it with an easy motion. He sheathed it immediately. He couldn’t risk using it again, and more importantly, he did not want to view any damage upon the weapon from his brash attack.

Abruptly, a colossal hand reached down and plucked Adrik from the ground. Raidon yelled, but the fungus hulk turned and thundered clear of the mushroom grove. It tan toward an opening in a far wall, bowling over several stony attackers who failed to clear its path.

“Kiril, we must follow—that thing has Adrik!” The monk backed quickly towatd the retreating fungus hulk. Had they been fooled by the hulk? Did it think the fallen sorcerer was food?

The swordswoman, with an obvious effort of will, also fell into a retreat. She called, “Follow it—the creature forges a path for us, knowingly or not!” Above her, the circling dragonet pealed an ongoing commentary on the battle raging below it.