The Chaos Curse (15 page)

Yet, something, some impulse, had held Banner from answering.

Cadderly eyed the scrambling creature directly, presented his holy symbol, and in commanding tones aid, “Banner! Spirit of Banner. I ask you again and, by the power of Deneir, demand an answer. Who started the fire?”

The undead thing stopped his frantic movements, froze perfectly still and stared at Cadderly, or, more particularly, at Cadderly’s holy symbol.

Banner seemed to wince several times. “By the power of who?” he asked innocently, and then it was Cadderly who winced. What had happened to this place to push his god, so very far, away?

Cadderly lowered his arm, lowered the symbol of Deneir, knowing then that he would gain no useful information.

“Are ye wanting to keep talking to this thing?” Ivan asked.

“No,” Cadderly said simply, and before the word had fully fallen from his lips, Ivan’s axe went into a tremendous overhead arc, slicing down and taking Banner’s left arm from his shoulder.

The undead thing looked curiously at that lost arm, as if wondering how he was supposed to reattach it. “Oh, I’ll have to fix that,” his almost lipless mouth said matter-of-factly.

Even more devastating was Pikel’s attack, the tree-trunk club slamming hard atop Banner’s exposed skull, dropping the undead thing into a crumpled, broken pile of flesh and bones.

Both eyes popped from their sockets and rolled about on long, thin strands. “Now that hurt,” Banner said, and all three companions jumped at the unexpected response. They realized then, to their horror, that the eyeballs were not rolling randomly, but seemed to be inspecting the damage!

“So much to do!” Banner whined.

The three slowly backed away, Pikel last, whimpering a bit and shaking his head in denial. Five feet from the broken monster, they found the courage to turn away, and started off, legs pumping to gain them full speed.

“Oh, Rufo will make me fix it alone!” Banner cried.

Cadderly skidded to a stop; Ivan crashed into him, and Pikel crashed into Ivan.

“Rufo?” Cadderly asked, turning back.

“Rufo?” Ivan echoed.

“Oo oi!” Pikel agreed.

“You remember Rufo, of course,” said a calm and familiar voice from behind them.

Slowly and in unison the three turned back toward the exit of the chapel to see Kierkan Rufo standing at his usual angle, not quite perpendicular to the floor.

Cadderly noticed immediately that the brand he had given Rufo had been marred, clawed away.

“You do not belong in this place!” the young priest roared, finding his courage, reminding himself that this was his home, Deneir’s home.

Rufo’s laughter mocked him.

Cadderly moved inevitably closer, drawing the dwarves in his wake. “What are you?” he demanded, understanding that something was terribly amiss, that something stronger than Kierkan Rufo now faced him.

Rufo smiled widely, opened his mouth in a feral hiss, proudly showing his fangs.

Cadderly nearly swooned, then caught himself. He yanked his holy symbol free of the wide-brimmed hat, and plopped the hat awkwardly on his head in the same movement “By the name of Deneir, I banish-“ he began.

“Not here!” Rufo roared back, his eyes flashing like red dots of fire. “Not here.”

“Uh-oh,” muttered Pikel.

“He’s not a vampire, is he?” Ivan asked, and, like everything Ivan seemed to ask in here, it was obvious what answer he wanted-needed-to hear.

“If you could only understand the meaning of that word,” Rufo answered. “Vampire? I am Tuanta Quiro Miancay, the Most Fatal Horror! I am the embodiment of the mixture, and in here, I rule!”

Cadderly’s mind whirled along the terrible possibilities. He knew that name, Tuanta Quiro Miancay. He, above anyone else, understood the power of the chaos curse, for he had been the one to defeat it, the one who had put it in the bowl, immersed in holy water.

But he had not destroyed it; Rufo was proof of that. The chaos curse had returned, in a new and apparently more deadly form. Cadderly felt a warmth along his leg, emanating from his pocket. It took him only a moment to remember that he had a pin in there, an amulet that Druzil had placed on Rufo in Shilmista. The amulet was tuned to the imp, so that its possessor and Druzil could be easily joined telepathically. It was warm now, and Cadderly feared what that might mean.

“Your god is gone from this place, Cadderly,” Rufo chided, and Cadderly could not deny the truth of that statement “Your order is no more, and so many have come over willingly to my side.”

Cadderly wanted to argue that, wanted to not believe it. He knew of the cancer that had crept into the order of Deneir, and of Oghma, even before this newest incarnation of the chaos curse. He thought of his last encounter with Dean Thobicus. Even as he had left the Edificant Library in the early winter, Cadderly knew that he would have to return and battle the ways that had become so ingrained on this place, ways contrary to the brother gods.

Now there was Rufo, and the fall of the library seemed to make perfect sense.

The pause now, the proverbial calm before the storm, could not last long, not with two volatile and scared dwarves at Cadderly’s side. Ivan shattered that calm, roared and charged forward, and hit Rufo full force with a sidelong swipe of his great axe.

The vampire lurched and flew half a dozen feet to the side, but came up straight and seemed unhurt-indeed, was even laughing!

Pikel lowered both his head and his club and charged, but Rufo casually slapped him aside, launching him end over end to crash right through two wooden pews.

Ivan charged again, and Rufo spun to the side, snapped his hand out in the air. Some force emanated from that hand, some mighty energy that slammed Ivan and sent him flying off as wildly as if he had run into the edge of a tornado. The dwarf grunted, his breath blasted from his lungs, and flew off. He hit the edge of an arch with a sharp, sickening retort, rocketed head over heels to the floor, and skidded and bounced along, leaving a trail of blood behind him.

Cadderly feared that the blow had killed Ivan. He wanted to rush to his friend’s side, to call upon Deneir’s healing gifts and take away Ivan’s pain. Not yet, he realized. He could not go to Ivan yet. He kept his holy symbol high in the air, presented with all his faith, as he steadily approached the vampire. He was chanting, praying, demanding that Deneir hear his call and come back to this place.

Rufo winced, and seemed pained by the presented symbol, but did not back down.

“You do not belong here,” Cadderly said through gritted teeth, and the symbol, flaring with a silvery flame, was barely a foot from die vampire’s snarling visage.

Rufo reached out and clenched his hand over the eye above candle, closed his fist upon it. There came a hiss, and wafts of smoke rose, and Rufo was obviously pained. But the vampire held on stubbornly, proving that this was his place and not Deneir’s, that Cadderly’s holy magic was no good, not in here.

Gradually straightening, the vampire widened a smile, his free hand, in a clawing position, rising up to his ear, ready to strike, ready to lash out for stunned Cadderly’s throat.

Pikel hit the vampire from the side, and, though his club did no real damage, the jolt saved Cadderly, pushing him and Rufo far apart.

Rufo and Pikel engaged in a wrestling and slugging match, but the vampire was too strong, and Pikel was soon hurled away. Rufo turned immediately on Cadderly, the prized prey of this group, who had staggered back many feet.

A tremendous, inhuman leap brought Rufo flying up to block Cadderly’s way. Perched atop a pew, the vampire raised his arms wide and leaned forward, meaning to fall over Cadderly.

Up came Cadderly’s holy symbol, and this time, the quick-thinking young priest enhanced the presentation. He pulled out his light tube, popped off the end cap, and put the beam right behind the forward-thrusting symbol.

Rufo recoiled, struck and pained by the sudden glare. He spun away, his robes flying defensively as a dark barrier against the burning beam, and wailed an ungodly, unearthly wail that resounded off every wall in the library, that fell upon the ears and tugged at the heartstrings of the many minions the evil vampire had fashioned.

The building itself seemed to rise in answer to that call, responding wails and moans coming into the chapel from every direction.

Rufo melted away, transforming suddenly into a bat, and fluttered about the wide hall. Another bat came in hard through the open door, and then something bigger than a bat, but with batlike wings.

Cadderly recognized Druzil, and the imp’s presence answered many questions indeed.

They heard the shuffling of stiff-legged zombies in the hall outside; they heard those of the dark rising to Rufo’s side.

They had to get out-Cadderly knew they had to flee this place. Pikel, obviously thinking along the same lines, staggered to the young priest’s side and together they turned for Ivan, neither of them knowing how they were supposed to carry the battered dwarf out of there.

But Ivan wasn’t down. Somehow, he was standing and seemed to have shaken off the terrific hit.

The three joined and ran for the door, Rufo’s laughter echoing in their ears every step. They cascaded down the hall and plowed into a jumble of zombies congregating in the foyer.

Ivan and Pikel cut through the throng like the prow of a ship through water, scattering bodies and limbs in every direction. Ivan’s axe cleaved monsters in half or took limbs with every tremendous swipe, and the dwarf lowered his head and gored like a charging elk, ripping wide holes in zombie chests. Pikel flanked his brother, knocking zombies aside with his club, and Cadderly came right behind them, ready to strike, and yet, with the dwarves so efficient, the young priest had nothing to strike at!

For all their progress, though, Rufo was right behind, and a horrible, scarred vampire-Histra!-was beside him, along with that wretched imp.

Bolts of energy launched from Druzil’s fingertips, scorching Cadderly’s back. Rufo’s mocking laughter and Histra’s hungry hissing licked at the young priest’s sensibilities.

“Where will you run?” Rufo cried.

Ivan’s axe cut a zombie in half at the waist and the way to the open door (open to the twilight) was clear before them.

The doors swung closed with a bang that sounded like a nail in Cadderly’s coffin.

“Where will you run?” Rufo cried again, and another barrage of Druzil’s energy stung the running priest so badly that he nearly tumbled.

Cadderly thought to run past those doors, knowing that Rufo had closed them, that the vampire had placed a spell on them that would keep them closed.

Ivan and Pikel were never that subtle, or that quick-thinking, especially on those few occasions when they were truly terrified. They cried out together, lowered their heads together, and hit the doors together, and no enchantment Rufo or anyone else could have placed on the doors would have held the portal against that charge.

The two dwarves rolled outside amidst flying splinters. Cadderly, running full out behind them, tried to jump clear of the tangle, but hooked his foot on Pikel’s chin and went flying headlong to the ground.

Even that evasive, if unintentional, maneuver did not save the young priest from yet another of Druzil’s volley’s. Pain raced along Cadderly’s razed spine. Ivan and Pikel each hooked him under one arm and ran along, dragging him with them. Ivan kept the presence of mind to scoop up the young priest’s dropped light tube and holy symbol.

The slow zombies ambled out in pursuit, but the vampires did not, for the night had not fallen in full. Twenty paces down the path, Cadderly and the dwarves were running free.

But for how long? all three wondered. The, sun was out of sight; the library was lost.

Even more curious, Shayleigh could not understand why all the windows were boarded over, especially after the fire-to her thinking, the library should have been thrown open wide to allow the smoke to filter out and fresh air to blow in. As it was, the Edificant Library was far from an airy place, but with the windows blocked, at least the ones on this side of the structure, the smoky air inside must be nearly overwhelming.

Percival, hopping along the branches of the nearest tree, did not provide much comfort. The squirrel was still obviously agitated-so wild, in fact, that Shayleigh feared he might have contracted some disease. He ran down right near her-she thought for a moment he was going to crash against her arm.

“What is it?” she said softly, trying to calm the squirrel as he hopped a circular dance on the branch.

Percival hopped down to the mausoleum roof, did that spinning dance again, chattering loudly, as if in protest, then leaped high, back to the low branch and sat facing the mausoleum squarely, still chattering.

Shayleigh ran a delicate hand through her golden hair, not beginning to understand what all of this was about.

Percival repeated the action, and this time, the squirrel’s dance atop the low structure’s roof was one of frenzy. He went flying back to the branch, again sitting facing the mausoleum directly, again sputtering protests.

Shayleigh realized that the squirrel was watching the low building, not watching her or the library.

“In here?” she asked, pointing straight down to the mausoleum roof. “Is something in here?”

Percival did a somersault on the branch, and his shriek sent shivers along the elf s spine.

Shayleigh stood up straight and stared down at the twig-covered slate roof. She knew enough about the customs of the humans to understand that this was a burial house, but that fact alone should not bother a squirrel, even one such as Percival, who seemed to have more understanding than a squirrel should.

“Something is in there, Percival?” she asked again. “Something bad?”

Again the white squirrel went into its frantic dance, chattering wildly.

Shayleigh crept to the front edge of the mausoleum and peeked over. There was one window, dusty and dirty, and the door was closed-but the elf maiden’s keen vision showed her how clean the edges of that doorjamb were, showed that the door had been opened recently.

Shayleigh looked all around at the small field and the library’s back grounds. With no one in sight, she gripped the edge of the mausoleum and gracefully rolled over, putting her feet near the ground, and hopped down.

Percival was on the roof then, near her and making more noise than the elf wanted to hear.

“Do be quiet!” Shayleigh scolded, her voice a harsh whisper. Percival sat very still and silent, his little nose twitching.

Shayleigh could see nothing moving beyond the dirty window. She fell into a deep trance and forced her eyes into the night vision of elves, where they could view things in the infrared spectrum, seeing heat and not reflected light.

From this perspective, too, the place seemed empty.

Shayleigh took little comfort in that as she let her eyes slip back into the normal spectrum of light and moved for the door. This was a crypt, after all, and any monsters inside might well be undead. Dead creatures were cold; they gave off no body heat.

Shayleigh winced at the creak of the old door as it rolled on its rusty hinges. Dim twilight filtered into the place, barely illuminating it. Shayleigh and her kin in Shilmista lived more under the stars than the sun, though, and she didn’t need much light. She kept her eyes focused in the normal spectrum and silently entered, leaving Percival, who was chattering again despite her scolding, on the lip of the roof above the open door.

The mausoleum seemed empty, but the hairs on the nape of Shayleigh’s neck told her otherwise. She slipped her longbow off her shoulder, as much to have something to prod about with as to have a weapon in hand, and moved in farther. She looked back to the door with nearly every step and noticed Percival perched nervously on the outside sill of the window, staring in with bulging eyes. The sight of the concerned animal almost made her laugh despite her trepidations.

She passed the first of the stone slabs, noticed then that there was more than a little blood-fairly fresh, it seemed-on the floor, along with a tattered burial shroud. The elf maiden shook her head at the continuing riddle. She slipped past the second slab, and looked at the far wall, the wall to the left of the door, lined by marked stones that she knew were grave markers.

Something-something out of place-about the far stone, the stone in the corner near the back wall of the mausoleum, caught her attention.

Shayleigh eyed it curiously for a moment, trying to discern what it was.

It was hanging crooked just a bit. Shayleigh nodded and slid a cautious step closer.

The stone flew off the wall, and the elf maiden leaped back. Out came a fat corpse, a bloated and rotting thing, to fall in a heap at the base of the wall. Shayleigh had barely registered the gruesome scene when another form leaped out of the open crypt, springing with incredible agility to stand atop the slab nearest the wall, barely a dozen feet from the startled elf.

Dean Thobicus!

Shayleigh recognized him despite the fact that half his skin had somehow melted away, and the remaining pieces were blistered and torn. She recognized the dean, and understood that he had become something terrible, something powerful.

The elf maiden continued to backpedal, thinking to cross the last slab between her and the door, use the final pillar as a block behind her, then turn and bolt. The day was long, but she knew that the light, any light, would be her ally against this one.

Thobicus crouched, animal-like, on the slab; Shayleigh, her muscles tense, expected him to spring at her. He just stared without blinking, without breathing, and she could not figure out the source of that stare. Was it hunger or fear? Was he a malicious monster or a pitiful thing?

She came beside the last slab, felt the pillar behind her shoulder. Her foot slid back and subtly turned.

The elf exploded into motion, darting behind the pillar, but the move had been anticipated and the heavy door swung closed with a tremendous crash.

Shayleigh skidded to a stop, saw Percival doing frantic somersaults on the windowsill. She felt the coldness of the dead man’s approach at her back and knew then the truth, the foul demeanor of this undead monster. She spun about and went into a defensive crouch, backpedaling as Thobicus slowly stalked in.

“The door will not open,” the vampire explained, and Shayleigh didn’t doubt the claim. “There is no escape.”

Shayleigh’s violet eyes darted back and forth, searching the room. But the building was solid, with only a single window (leaded glass, which she could never get through in time) and the single door.

The vampire opened his mouth wide, proudly displaying his fangs. “Now I will have a queen,” Thobicus said, “as Rufo has Danica.”

The last statement hit Shayleigh hard, both for the proclamation of wretched Kierkan Rufo’s return and the fact that he apparently had Danica in his clutches.

She looked to the door, and to Percival in the window, searching, searching, but she could not deny the truth of Thobicus’s next statement.

“There is no escape.”

By the time they stopped running, the library was barely visible, back along the winding trail and beyond many sheltering trees. Cadderly stood bent at the waist, gasping for breath, and not just for sheer physical exertion. What had happened to his library? his thoughts screamed at him. What had happened to the order that had guided him through all the years of his life?

Pikel, bleeding from several wounds, hopped about the small clearing frantically, several times even rebounding off the boulders lining the place on the south (which did not help his injuries), and sputtering, “Oo oi!” over and over, Ivan just stood solemnly, staring back at the one visible top corner of the library, shaking his shaggy head.

Cadderly couldn’t think straight, and Pikel’s frenzy wasn’t helping him any. On more than one occasion, the young priest’s concentration narrowed on the problem at hand, seeking a solution, but then Cadderly would be brushed by Pikel, or loudly interrupted by an emphatic “Oo oi!”

Cadderly stood straight and eyed the green-bearded dwarf directly, and was about to scold Pikel, when he heard clearly the song of Deneir. It swept him away like he was a twig that had fallen into a swift stream. It didn’t ask if he wanted to go along; it just took him in the current, gaining speed, gaining momentum, and all the young priest could do was hold on.

After a few moments, Cadderly found some control of his spiraling thoughts and he willingly steered himself to the middle of the stream, to the strongest notes of the song. He hadn’t heard the melody this clearly since Castle Trinity, since he had destroyed his own father, Aballister, by sundering the ground beneath the evil wizard’s feet. It sounded sweet, so very sweet, and relieved Cadderly of the grief for the library and his fears for the future. He was purely with Deneir now, basking in the most perfect music.

Corridors began to open wide to him, tributaries of the main river. Cadderly thought of the Tome of Universal Harmony, the most holy book of Deneir, the book inscribed with the very words of this song, though they were translated things. In the song, there were only notes, pure, perfect, but these notes corresponded exactly to the written text, the human translation of Deneir’s music. Cadderly knew this-Pertelope had known this-but they were the only two. Even Dean Thobicus, head of the order, had no idea of the way this music played. Thobicus could recite the words of the song, but the notes were far beyond his comprehension.

To Cadderly, it was as simple as turning pages, as following the flow of the river, and he went down one of those offered tributaries now, to the sphere of healing, and pulled spells of mending from the waters.

Minutes later, Pikel was calmed, his bleeding stopped, and Cadderly’s few wounds were no more. The young priest turned to Ivan, who, by all appearances, had been hit the hardest in the brief encounter with the vampire, but to Cadderly’s surprise, he found the yellow-bearded dwarf standing quietly, seeming unharmed.

Ivan returned Cadderly’s dumbfounded stare, not understanding its source. “We got to hide,” the dwarf reasoned.

Cadderly shook himself from his stupor; the song faded from his thoughts, but he kept faith that he could recall it if the need arose. “The open is better,” the young priest reasoned. “In the light, away from the shadows.”

“The light won’t last!” Ivan sternly reminded him. The dwarf poked a finger to the west, where even the distant and tall mountains loomed dark now, their rim glistening in the very last rays of the day.

Without a word, or even a grunt, of explanation, Pikel rushed off quickly into the brush. Ivan and Cadderly watched him go, then turned to each other and shrugged.

“We shall find a place to hide the night,” Cadderly remarked. “I’ll seek the answers we need with Deneir. His blessing will protect…” Cadderly stopped abruptly and looked back to the library, his gray eyes wide with horror. The note of fear sounded again in his thoughts. Perhaps it was Deneir-inspired; perhaps it was just a logical conclusion by Cadderly, a moment when he considered everything in a light more clear. As mysterious as Pikel, the young priest ran back to the west, back toward the library.

“Hey!” Ivan roared as he took up the chase. Pikel came out of the bushes, then, smiling broadly and carrying his dripping waterskin.

“Huh?” he asked, seeing the others running fast back for the library. The dwarf gave a little whistle and rambled off in pursuit.

Cadderly cut to the side, a tight corner around some brambles. Ivan went right through the tangle and rammed the young priest sidelong out the other side.

“What?” the dwarf demanded. “Ye just said we’d be finding a place to hide! I’m not for going back in…”

Cadderly scrambled to his feet, his legs pumping before he ever got his balance, propelling him away from the grumbling dwarf. Ivan took up the chase again and paced him, and Pikel, taking similar, if painful shortcuts, was soon bobbing along on Cadderly’s other side.

“What?” Ivan demanded again, trying to catch hold and stop the stubborn priest. They were at the edge of the library’s entry walk then, between the lines of silent and well-groomed trees, in sight of the battered doors, closed again and apparently barricaded from behind.

“What?” Ivan growled wildly.

“She’s in there!” Cadderly offered. Taking longer strides, the young priest moved ahead of the dwarves on the flat and open ground.

“Ye can’t go in!” Ivan bellowed, not really understanding what Cadderly was talking about. “Night’s falling full! Night’s his tune, the time of vampires!”