The Jewel of Turmish (15 page)

Tohl quavered and grew sick at the sucking, oozing sound Borran Kiosk’s fist made inside the zombie. He controlled his stomach with effort.

A moment more and Borran Kiosk withdrew his hand. The jewel piece glinted within the obscene recesses of the zombie’s chest.

“What I have given,” Borran Kiosk said, “you will defend.”

The zombie bowed its head. “What you have given, I will defend.”

The undead creature pulled its broken chest back together, then it tore the ragged breeches it wore into strips and used them to bind its chest.

In quick succession, Borran Kiosk implanted the jewel pieces into the other zombies, including the female one. All of them repeated the litany the mohrg spouted, and Brother Tohl knew it had to be part of a binding spell.

Lady, I thought all of Borran Kiosk’s minions weren’t capable of thinking.

As did I, the quiet voice agreed. It’s apparent there were things about Borran Kiosk that we didn’t know, but they are known now.

If this has all happened before, why didn’t you know about it then?

Brother Tohl, there are mysteries even unto the gods.

The declaration was unnerving, made more so because the quiet voice said it with such calm. All of his life, Tohl had believed in the virtuous strength of Eldath. To hear that the Quiet One didn’t know everything was almost sacrilegious.

Lady, what are we to do here?

We will watch, Brother Tohl, and learn. Then I shall decide how we are to act.

Tohl puzzled over the events unfolding before them.

If these things happened hundreds of years ago, said the priest, as they must have, why do we have to know them?

Malar is making a bid to gain more power in the Vilhon Reach. The events of the undersea war waged by the sahuagin and the being called the Taker has unbalanced many

things within the Sea of Fallen Stars. Beliefs change as blame is sought.

Tohl knew that was true. Eldath’s following was gaining ground. Even a number of followers in the depths of the Sea of Fallen Stars had stood to recognize the Quiet One as their chosen goddess.

In the marshlands, Borran Kiosk returned his attention to his first lieutenant. The mohrg said words that Tohl felt certain were never intended for human or living tongues. The wet muck at the zombie’s feet yawned open, sucking down water, mud, and the undead creature. An instant later, the yawning chasm closed as if it had never existed.

Continuing to chant, Borran Kiosk buried the remaining zombies. The earth sucked and shifted, and water gurgled.

Are the jewel pieces still there, then? Tohl watched as Borran Kiosk chanted prayers and spread his hands out across the foaming water.

I don’t know, the quiet voice admitted.

Later, Tohl pointed out, the Alaoreum River was caused to flood. The forces that were unleashed would have changed all of this land.

I know. Still, there must be a reason Borran Kiosk has risen again.

Fear shivered through Brother Tohl anew. Memory of the tombs of Eldath filled his mind.

Borran Kiosk is buried away, said the priest No one has been down to his tomb in hundreds of years.

We locked him away, the quiet voice said. We never destroyed Borran Kiosk. For all that we tried, the Stalker prevented us.

Because Borran Kiosk was Malar’s own. Tohl watched the mohrg start to move his army on through the marshlands. Some say that Borran Kiosk was bent and twisted by the Stalker’s own hand.

Yes.

How can Borran Kiosk be returned? Through Malar’s design.

When?

Tonight, the quiet voice said. While you were sleeping. We have to do something.

Be at peace, Brother Tohl. We are doing something. I followed my own designs to you, to the thing that binds you to Borran Kiosk.

But there is nothing.

You have made the tales of Borran Kiosk your life’s work, Brother Tohl, the quiet voice said. I have made you a watchdog of sorts over the mohrg’s uncertain captivity. Malar found a way to reach through the protection I wove through my priests. Borran Kiosk has been roused, and he is feeding on the life’s blood of children even now.

“No!” Tohl couldn’t hold back the startled cry that burst through his hps. Sour bile burned in his throat.

Borran Kiosk turned in the marshlands, looking back across the marshlands and up the hill that led to the lower regions of the area. The horrible face grimaced as if the ragged nose that clung to the mohrg’s features could scent an unwelcome stench.

“Human,” he snarled. “Find him and kill him.”

Tohl hunkered in the brush. Desperation flooded the priest as he searched for a way out.

It’s all a dream, he told himself. Nothing but a dream. But he knew that wasn’t true.

It’s time to wake, Brother Tohl, the quiet voice told him. Staying here is dangerous for you.

The zombie army spread out then began making their relentless way toward the priest’s hiding place. Brother Tohl held his position a moment, then had to flee as the first of the army pushed through the brush to get at him. He turned, slipping on the mud, then caught himself on his hands and shoved himself forward. Even after he broke cover, there was no clamor or cry that broke out behind him. The pursuit by the undead remained silent, and they made better time than he did over the broken terrain.

Let go of the dream, the quiet voice urged. I’m trying, Lady.

Tohl clawed through brush and pushed himself up a number of times when he stumbled over the knobby tree knees that projected up from the water-soaked ground or the ones that lay covered by the dark water.

You must. It is the only way you will live.

Brother Tohl ran uphill, thinking that the high ground might offer him some kind of advantage. He avoided part of one of the streams that he thought looked deep, and stepped through another just to plunge into the Water up to his waist. He kept falling, submerging for a moment and getting a mouthful of foul water before he pushed his head back up above the surface. He tried to step out of the water but discovered that a submerged tree or rock caught his foot.

Help me, Eldath!

I can’t, the quiet voice replied. This place is beyond my reach, Brother Tohl. Time here is unfolded somehow, the past accessible through you. I can’t extract you from the powers that have drawn you there.

Please!

Frantic, Tohl watched as the zombies came closer. They had trouble with the uphill grade and the mud, but they never stopped coming. The priest closed his eyes and tried to awaken. In the dim recesses of his mind, he heard the excited cries from someone in his sleeping chambers within Eldath’s temple in Alaghôn. He focused on the cries, trying to draw himself back along the sound of the voice.

Let go, the quiet voice said.

I’m trying, Lady! I swear to you that I am trying!

Brother Tohl’s breath came in ragged gasps. Tears wet his cheeks. He was more afraid than he’d ever been in his life. He watched in frozen horror as the shambling zombies descended upon him, thick as a murder of crows.

One of the zombies grabbed Brother Tohl’s arm. The priest felt like a vise had gripped him. He screamed.

“Brother Tohl, you must wake!”

Tohl felt someone shaking him. His breath caught at the back of his throat. Unable to keep his eyes closed any longer, he opened them and stared into the eyes of the

young priest shaking him awake.

“Brother Tohl,” the young priest said. He looked bleary and disconcerted.

Tohl peered around his bedchamber, discovering he was back within Eldath’s temple in Alaghôn. No zombies had followed him.

“Brother Tohl,” the young priest said.

“Yes?” Tohl responded.

“You talked of zombies, of Borran Kiosk.”

Brother Tohl thought of the graveyard at Alaghôn’s heart. He gazed up at the younger priest, recognizing him in the weak candlelight the other must have carried into the room.

“Yes,” said Tohl. “Yes, I did, Effrim.”

The candlelight glinted against Effrim’s golden locks. The younger priest’s pale blue and dark green robe hung over his tall, lanky frame.

“You can release me now, Effrim,” Tohl said.

A dank cold clung to the bedchamber, and in some ways it smelled of the marshlands where Borran Kiosk had been.

“Of course, Brother Tohl.”

Effrim stepped back. He pressed his hands against each other, twining the fingers together in a nervous habit that was familiar to Tohl.

“Send someone to wake Father Albern,” Tohl said as he sat up.

“Father Albern isn’t here.”

Tohl started to object in irritation. Father Albern was seldom anywhere else but the temple.

“Remember?” Effrim asked. “Father Albern left a tenday ago to attend a meeting in Myth Nantar.”

Tohl remembered. “How many priests are here at the temple?” he asked.

“Counting you and myself, five.”

Eldath, it is too few, Tohl told himself.

He hesitated for a moment, thinking maybe the goddess would answer him or offer some direction, but she was gone, as distant from him now as the marshlands in

Morningstar Hollows.

“Brother Tohl?” Effrim gazed at him, waiting.

What would Eldath have me do? Tohl thought.

He chose to believe the goddess was working even now on the problem of Borran Kiosk’s rising. Still, he couldn’t sit idle.

“Gather the other priests, Effrim.”

The younger priest hesitated. “They will wonder why.”

“Tell them we are going to investigate the possibility that Borran Kiosk has broken free of his grave.” Tohl didn’t blame the younger man for gazing at him in slack-jawed surprise. To many of the younger priests, the mohrg was just one of the stories they’d grown up with. “Effrim?”

The younger priest blinked.

“Get moving,” Brother Tohl said, stripping off his own bedclothes and reaching into the small trunk at the foot of his bed for fresh robes. “If Borran Kiosk is free, we may already be too late.”

arn threw himself around as he felt the wolfs jaws tighten on his ankle. Stonefur sought to sever the druid’s hamstring, leaving him crippled. Haarn’s effort to escape helped the wolfs fangs cut deep furrows around his ankle, but it also kept Stonefur from gaining a decent grip. Haarn reversed his hold on the fighting club, holding it instead by its thicker end. He rammed the club’s narrow end down, managing to aim it between Stonefur’s jaws.

The club’s wooden haft clacked against the wolfs teeth. Haarn shoved the club forward, jamming it into Stonefur’s jaws, widening the distance between them.

Stonefur howled in pain and frustration, still struggling to maintain a grip on the druid.

Ignoring the pain in his ankle, Haarn took a fresh hold on the knife in his other hand. He gazed at the wolfs exposed throat, knowing bis opponent wouldn’t have time to move before he was able to slide the blade into his neck. Still, even knowing the wolf would kill him in a moment if the chance presented itself, Haarn hesitated. A druid was trained to kill out of mercy, whether to ease an animal’s suffering or to control overpopulation, and sometimes to eat, though feeding oneself at the unnecessary expense of an animal was frowned upon.

Haarn’s own father had killed for food several

times that he could remember. Since going out on his own, from under his father’s wing and tutelage, Haarn had seldom killed any animal, even those bearing dreadful and grievous wounds. Many druids would have killed an afflicted animal outright, but Haarn had worked to save them. Over the years, he’d challenged and killed more poachers than animals. “Haarn, strike!”

Galvanized by Druz Talimsir’s command, still reticent, Haarn struck with the knife.

An instant before the blade slid home, the wolf shied backward. The knife missed Stonefur’s throat by less than the thickness of a finger.

Off-balance from the lunge, Haarn was ill prepared for the wolfs follow-up attack. He ducked, collapsing toward the muddy ground and wrapping his left arm over his head.

Stonefur’s leap carried him too high. The slavering jaws didn’t close on the druid’s head as intended, but they grazed Haarn’s arm. The trickle of blood along the druid’s limb felt warm and welcome against the freezing rain.

Still in motion, Haarn threw himself to one side, falling over into a roll before the wolf could claw him. Stonefur hurtled overhead but landed on the ground. The wolfs callused pads and claws dug into the stony earth, stopping him short and bringing him back around.

You will die, lifekeeper, Stonefur promised.

The other wolves in his pack howled their approval.

Haarn tested his injured ankle as he got to his feet, wanting to make sure it would stay strong enough to support him.

Kill! the wolf bitch carrying pups snarled. Kill, and let’s eat, Stonefur.

The wolf came again.

Haarn dodged to one side, but his foot slipped on a rain-slick stone and he almost fell. Before he could get clear of the wolfs headlong rush, Stonefur’s fang gashed him again, ripping along his ribs. Fire burned the length of the druid’s wounds. Before Haarn recovered, the wolf returned.

Ragged fur tore across Haarn’s mouth as the wolf slammed his shoulder into the druid’s face. Stonefur’s jaws snapped closed on the juncture of Haarn’s left shoulder and neck, seeking the jugular.

Bowing his back, Haarn fell forward in an effort to dislodge the wolf. He felt the flesh on the top of his shoulder tear. Warm blood cascaded down his body. Desperate, the druid swept the club around, swinging it from his knees.

Stonefur had expected the blow, though, and made sure he wasn’t there when it arrived. Before he could recover from the neck wound and from being off-balance, Haarn looked up just in time to see the wolfs paw streak toward his face. The claws bit into his cheek, tearing down to the bone with ease.

Blood spurted up into Haarn’s left eye, blinding him. He swept his knife up, keeping it along his arm. His hand touched the wolfs fur, but the animal wasn’t there when the blade followed his hand. He knuckled his right hand around the club’s handle then pushed himself erect.

Stonefur galloped in wide circles around the druid and growled, You tire, lifekeeper. Men no match for wolf clan.