Prologue: Part 7

“I have been shot wildly and my arc is now near complete.”

***

“Everyone to the stairs!  I fixed it! The portcullises are going up!”  She screamed while lifting the sconce back into position.  Her efforts had revealed the large iron bracket to be a heavy lever.

The clanking and grinding of gears, pulleys and chains filled the chamber as the stairs rotated back into position and the portcullises began to rise.  Sammy was the closest downed comrade to Billy and she ran up the stairs to him as Val struggled to his feet at the top of the staircase,still dazed from his efforts to help Rocco survive.  She felt Sammy’s arm for a pulse as Val sluggishly made his way towards her as soon as the gate rose high enough for him to get under.

“Sam’s alive but not well.  Do what you can for him Val.”  She stood up and headed back down the stairs.

“Where are you--?”

“I think Ar-Raguel is dead,” she answered without looking at Val. She couldn’t bear to see the young wizard’s expression.  Of them all he was the most sensitive.  He heard and felt and saw things they couldn’t.  The world touched him and pressed upon him in ways she would never understand. 

“Well then I should go--”

“There’s still too much fighting, Val.” She paused at the end of the stairway and turned to him just before turning the corner.  His expression had gone from pale and languid to positively vampiric.  His eyes were wide and welled.  His open mouth, though silent, revealed more than sadness; it spoke of a desolate helplessness.  “Get Sammy upstairs, Val.  We’ll be right there.”

He nodded and she ran to Ar-Raguel.

“Sister,” the broken elfkin coughed at her.  He lay, legless, in a pool of blood impossibly large.  He turned to look up at her, one side of his face now covered in his own blood so completely it could easily have been mistaken for war paint.  His skin that wasn’t blood-stained was alabaster.  Pale for even a full-blooded elf, let alone an elfkin.

“Brother, my sweet, sweet brother…”  The sight of him was frightful even to someone who had braved dark, Drow dungeons.  “Hold on for, just one more moment.”

His eyes opened and closed randomly, awkwardly; he offered a weak but sincere smile.

She turned her attention to the beast that stood between Rocco and Dudley.  The dwarf was, much to her surprise and relief, lifting himself ever so slowly off the ground.

He is one well-engineered engineer.

Her heart infinitesimally uplifted, but uplifted nonetheless, she reached into one of the many hidden pockets in her leather jacket and took out a small flask containing a clear liquid.  In place of the stopper she stuffed a piece of cloth into the vessel.  Her Grandmaster had called it naftha; most in her guild called it liquid fire.  With the beast an immobile target she’d have no better opportunity to use it.  She hurled the flask and added a violent snap of her wrist at the end of her throw sending it spinning end over end, over Rocco’s sword - which ignited the cloth - and then sinking quickly, shattering as it smashed against the beast’s beak and bursting into a wave of flame that engulfed the monster’s head in an instant. 

Rocco stumbled backwards - shocked, surprised, delighted, confused - and looked in her direction.  He dripped relief and sweat exhaustion and for the first time in several minutes dared to let his guard down.   Almost in tears, he mouthed, “Thank you,” which was followed by an enormous sigh as he nodded his head towards her in gratitude before straightening up and running to Dudley’s side.   The monster wailed and swung wildly in every direction, snapping its beak and spitting flames. Its senses were being taken by the fire but it was still far too dangerous in its recklessness for Rocco to consider trying to finish off.  

“Get Dudley, quick!  Come here!”  She shouted at Rocco.

“You throw like a girl.”  Ar-Raguel said from the ground.

“What?” She asked as she kneeled next to him and wiped away some of the blood and sweat from his face with a cloth she had pulled from another of her many pockets.  The monster’s screams were weakening, if only because its throat was scorched – she could see from the corner of her eye it was still struggling as violently as ever despite its head and shoulders being aflame.

“That’s a joke somewhere, I think.”  He replied.  “Or maybe an insult.  Maybe it’s not funny at all.”

“I don’t understand, Ar.”

“It’s OK.  I hear things from somewhere else now.  Maybe the gods.  We are but a game to them, you know?”

She bit her lip as tears streamed down her face.  Rocco limped up behind carrying Dudley over his good shoulder and the blazing sword held tenderly in his right arm.  It cast an unnecessarily bright light on an unbearably grim scene.

“Oh no.”  Rocco had his first real look at Ar-Raguel since the battle had begun. 

“I’ve always appreciated your candor, Rocco,” an impuissant Ar-Raguel replied. “But I’m afraid, oh yes.”

“Isn’t there something Val--”

They were startled by a sound, like a knife cutting through hide when preparing it for tanning, but much, much louder, followed by gags and muted screams.

“It’s free.  Holy.  Fucking.  Shit.  It’s free.”  Billy said, eyes wide, watching the beast free itself, tearing off half its foot and leaving a large piece of flesh and fur still stuck to the chamber’s floor and Ar-Raguel’s sword.  It lumbered towards them limping on a bleeding stump. Some combination of its senses still functioned well enough to let it know where they stood.

“Give me your bow and run!”  Ar-Raguel screamed, somehow lifting himself up with his arms and leaning back against the wall.  “Do it now, Sister!  Now!”

She felt him casting a spell.  What little immortal blood there was still running through his veins was loathe to give up the ghost just yet.  He was trying to force her hand, to forestall any argument.  Normally she could resist such simple charms, but, in his death, in his truth, in her fear, she succumbed and without thinking further about it handed him her bow and quiver, turned, and ran towards the stairs calling back to Rocco to follow her.

Rocco stared at his dying friend for a second longer.  

Ar-Raguel spoke softly.  “If ever anyone calls you a fool my friend it is they who are too foolish to realize when someone is simply frank to a fault, impossibly impulsive, earnest and ever trustworthy.”  He said to Rocco as he notched an arrow.  “I have been shot wildly and my arc is now near complete.”

Ar-Raguel waved Rocco to the stairs.  The wounded warrior succumbed to Ar-Raguel’s final spell and followed Billy up to the mausoleum as the burned and blinded beast bore down on their brother.

The next thing Billy remembered they were all, but for Ar-Raguel, gathered up in the mausoleum in the niche where they had found the secret passage originally.  The door hiding the chamber below had been pivoted back in place. She and Rocco were leaning against it.  Val tended to Sammy and Dudley in the center of the niche.  The effects of Ar-Raguel’s spell had faded.  He had succeeded in stopping them from saving him and in doing so helped save them all.

Damn him.  We could have dragged him out and … and … and what?  What sort of twisted priest would even consider calling back a soul to such a body? Rocco could barely carry Dudley out of there in time – and Dudley has his legs. 

Val wasn’t wearing his pants. Instead, he had wrapped a towel or a blanket around his waist.  She wanted to ask him why but she was still too overwhelmed and exhausted to do much more than sit against the wall.

“There were some balms and ointments in Ar-Raguel’s bag.”  Val said to her as she came back to her senses.  There was no mistaking a certain apologetic tone to his voice.  “He must have left it up here before he followed Rocco down the stairs.” 

She turned her head and pressed her ear against the wall.  She heard nothing coming from the chamber below but whether that was because there was nothing left to hear or the door was too thick she could not know.  Did not want to know.  The marble was cold against her cheek and made her realize she was covered in sweat.  And blood.  Her hands were covered in grease and guts.  Val was still staring at her, seeking forgiveness it seemed.

“May I see it?”  She asked reaching out for the bag. 

Val was all too happy to pass it on to her.  “Yes, here, use some of the menthol cream for Rocco’s breathing.  His rib is cracked and cutting into his lung.  That cream is powerful.  He’ll begin to heal right quick.”

“Thank you, Val.”  Billy took the bag from Rocco’s big brother and found the small tin of cream Val had just described.  Rocco was barely conscious, eyes closed, his breathing terribly labored.  She wasn’t sure how much of the conversation he had heard.

“Love?  I’m going to rub some of this on your lip, your moustache, ok?”

He turned towards her, lifted his lids with enormous effort and managed to grunt, “Mm-hmm.”

She rubbed the ointment under his nose and quickly she could hear an improvement in his breathing.  It was deeper and less restrained.  She listened for a few more breaths, each improving, and then turned her attention to the bag.

Rope and spikes, some chalk and caltrops.  A bit of bread and salted meat.  A quill and some vellum.  And of course a variety of tins and vials, each carefully wrapped in cloth to protect against breaking, each full of some salve or potion, cream or ointment he’d made to help heal himself and his comrades.

“This bag and a few things back at the Keep.  That’s all we have left of him.”

Val looked up from tending to the broken boys.  “I have some of his blood.”

“What?”

“In a vial.  He gave it to me.  Elves’ blood is hard to come by and half-elf’ll do in a pinch.  He was good like that.”

“Oh.” She replied with unexpected neutrality. 

Val, she remembered, was not exactly socially adept in the best circumstances.  The poor, foolish genius honestly had no idea what to say.

Rocco broke the awkward silence.

“What the hell were they,” his voice hoarse, his exhales almost louder than his words.  “What the hell were those things down there – those things that ate Ar-Raguel?  What were they brother?”

“Those were owlbears.”

“What … the fuck … is an owlbear?”  Rocco replied slowly.  His voice grew stronger and angrier with each word.”

Val answered Rocco in a similar apologetic tone to that he had just used with Billy, “It is a horrible hybrid, an evil sorcerer’s mad idea to combine the fierce hunting skills and intelligence of the owl with the immense strength and power of a grizzly bear.  They are cursed, aware they are an abomination and that any living thing that meets it will likely try to kill it.”  Val was almost sobbing as he spoke.  “And so they fight to the death.  Always.”

“You wizards weren’t satisfied with the Pegasus?  The Manticore?  The Griffin?  The Hippogriff?  You went and made a fucking Owlbear?”

“I didn’t do it!  They were almost entirely wiped out in the Southlands during the King’s time.  And the Duke of the Southlands still offers a bounty on them.  But here in the Northlands, they were often prized for their pelts and some … some were … domesticated?  Even trained as guards.  There have always been stories of them still lurking near far flung villages and seldom used mountain passes.  And now with the wars … eldritch beasts roam as they please.” 

“I honestly though they were myth.”  Billy said.

“You’ve heard of them?”  Rocco asked, surprised.

“Aye.”  It was Dudley, lying on his belly but alert now.  “That was no myth that just eviscerated me and dined on our dear friend Ar-Raguel.  But it’s been a century since I’ve seen one with my own eyes so I understand Billy’s surprise.”

“I knew a halfling family – whole family – all had matching coats cut from one hide.”  Sammy was awake with them now too.  He was sipping some sort of concoction Val had made for him from items in Ar-Raguel’s bag.

“You all knew what we were fighting down there?”

“Well, I didn’t know at the time, but yeah, they’re legends, Rocco.  Well, not legends, because they’re real, so…”

“I think you mean ‘legendary’, Billy.”

“Yes, Val, thank you.  Have you never flipped through any of the folios of fiends at the Keep’s archivist and scrivener, Rocco?”

“Or one my codex of creatures malign and benign?”  Val added.

“Oh hell, Rocco, I have...”  Sammy reached into his knapsack, “A Manual of Monsters of the Northlands, right here.”  The halfling tossed a thick book into Rocco’s lap.

“I guess I have some reading to do,” Rocco muttered angrily as he leaned back against the wall, still obviously exhausted.  “And no smart-ass remarks about my reading Sammy.”

“No.”  Sammy sipped again from the broth that was bringing him ‘round.  “You’re a warrior without rival and sharper than most who live by the sword.  You stood toe-to toe against a demon in the dark and gave blood and bones to protect ours.”

“We’re all sharper than most.  What happened in there?  Why didn’t we see the stairwell was false?”  Billie asked.  “We’re better than that!”  She slammed Ar-Raguel’s bag down in frustration.

“We all three missed it, but at least you fixed it, Billy.  You saved us.  Whatever went wrong, it could have been far worse.”  Sammy surprised her with his sincerity. 

“Kind words for two people in a row?”  Rocco said, clearing his throat.  “We should bump your head on walls more often little man.”

“You all could have left me for dead.”

“Like we did Ar-Raguel,” Billy sighed.

 “No.”  Val stated firmly and a bit too loudly.  “We didn’t fail Ar-Raguel.  We were not careless.”  Val spoke with an unusual tone of authority.  “The whole chamber was cursed,” he growled as he stood up and walked towards a corner in the niche where the secret door met with one of the mausoleum’s true walls.    “I started to get suspicious when I saw an emblem of a red-eyed face, maybe a demon, or an iron mask, or both, on the leading edge of this secret door.  I called out to you about it Rocco.”

“Yeah.  Something about red eyes. I remember that now. I was a little out of it at the time.”

“We all were.  Except maybe me.  But I’m not entirely sure of that cuz, well, I hear voices all the time so my sense of normal and cursed is … well … it’s … confusing … ya’ know. Ar-Raguel was cursed too.  He told me he could perceive the world differently when a feather--”

“Brother!”  Rocco interrupted surprising everyone a bit.  “We will mourn and remember Ar-Raguel most certainly,” Rocco said more quietly as he re-positioned his massive, broken bulk against the wall he was leaning on, moaning and sighing in between his words.  “But you were just saying something about the curse on this chamber?”

“Right.  Well, after Billy got the portcullis to open and I dragged Sammy up the stairs--”

“You dragged me up the stairs?”  Sammy interrupted.  “I’m not exactly heavy.” 

“I was bleeding out of my nose and ears! I nearly caused myself a brain aneurism trying to keep Rocco alive.  I wasn’t at my best, Sam.”

“So some of these bumps and bruises might not even be from the brutalization the beasty gave me?”

“I admit I probably shouldn’t have dragged you by your legs.”

“My legs?!”

Billy watched as they stared at each other in silence and was genuinely unsure of who was playing who.  Sammy liked to consider himself the cunning con artist and even his words of thanks a moment earlier might have been a ploy but he appeared to have everyone else’s trust despite being a brilliant bull-shitter.

They’ve all known him a good bit longer than me and even Rocco seemed surprised by his sincerity. 

Val’s naiveté, though real, was, she suspected, sometimes intentionally overplayed.

He’s too damn smart to be so damn innocent.

“Hmph. Give me some more of this broth and I’ll consider forgiving you.”

“The curse!”  Rocco shouted.  “My Gods man, what the hell did you see?”

Sammy and Val both turned towards Rocco looking surprised and hurt.  Billy was certain at least one of them was feigning surprise but not sure which.

Maybe both?

“Fine.  Yes, the symbol.”  Val began anew.  “I saw one on the door’s leading edge and then a matching one on the wall right where, if the door was shut, the symbol on the edge of the door would face the one on the wall.”  He was mimicking the swing of the doors with his hands while he stood in the corner where the symbols were now once again hidden and joined face to face.  “When we opened the door, we separated them and that set off a curse on all who entered:  The curse masked the obvious to us.  I couldn’t sense the evil magic at play in the room; Billy, Dudley, Sammy, you couldn’t find the clearly booby-trapped stairs and Rocco couldn’t resist running off blindly into the darkness even though that was obviously a terrible idea.”  Val paused.  “But to be honest, Rocco, the curse didn’t really have much of a challenge with you.”

“Fair enough.”  Rocco conceded.

“The mural,” Val continued, “before it fell and released the Owlbears … I think there was another version of this red-eyed mask painted on it … I think.”

“Whose unholy symbol is this?”  Asked Dudley who was now in a sitting position.  Various ointments and bandages seemed to have contained the wound on his back as well as the pain.

“I’m not sure.  It’s not a common image, but the elements are.  If I had to guess, one of the demons of Dis has a cult here.  Which one, I am not sure but this cult – or its leaders - they are powerful.  The keeping of Owlbears, the engineering of the traps, the power of the curse…”

“And by the size of that chamber and the halls leading off of it, this is no small cult.” Dudley added.  “There is much more to explore beyond that hall of horrors.  Much darkness to shed some judicious light upon.”  Dudley’s voice began to rise and Billy marveled at his resilience.  Healing potions and ointments aside, this man was bleeding to death not ten minutes ago.  And now he spoke of returning and avenging his friend.

“I’ve always wanted an Owlbear fur coat myself,” Sammy added.

Billy surprised herself when she said, “And Ar-Raguel’s sword.  It was a Mithril blade.  A gift from his sister, he told me.  It should not fall into the hands of some demon’s slaves.  It is a blessed blade and should not be left to lie in such a cursed place.” 

“Well then, it’s decided,” Rocco said.  Billy saw that he was smiling for the first time since he had joked with Sammy about throwing the torch and surprising them all.

Was that even ten minutes ago? When I was teasing him and calling him an oaf? So much - so much lost. So fast.

“We head back to the Keep.”  Rocco said.  “We patch ourselves up.  We get ourselves a little backup and we rid these hills of this evil temple.  And when we find the motherfucker who set us up we’re gonna’ bleed him out like he did our brother Ar-Raguel.”

who is dis guy?