so. a proper new part, this one, as it does not revolve entirely around a) bars or the complaining bards therein. and there's even a picture of Kizrin - bear in mind this was done over a year ago, though, and is hence not too great. until i fix my scanner, this is the best i can offer...
sorry about the length, too, i know this series tends to go on a bit. as does Anomen here. but still - Stuff Happens in this one. brace yourselves
Kaleidoscopes 22: Charades
You've a knighthood in 'I'm not listening'.
- The Beautiful South
It is amazing, the path my life has taken of late - amazing, and ridiculous. Trainee knight to murderer to hired thug, all in the space of two months, caught in a fall as swift as it was uncontrollable. Two steps back, and I have given my life to the Order. Two steps back, and I am standing waiting on the wire. Two steps, two months, two paths.
More than two paths, if I am honest with myself. My recent days have been crammed full with supposedly crucial moments, and I could easily go mad plotting a spider web of possibilities. But, two months past saw the most important moment of them all - before I left the Order, before I killed my father, before I met Valygar and Kizrin. Moira's death.
If it were at all possible, if there existed some spell or scroll to help me, I'd wish nothing else than to travel back to that point, and tell myself of the future. I have had more than sufficient time to plan my words. Temper your anger, cure your arrogance - and above all, beware the revenger's wheel of fire. Revenge does not cure a man's misery, only proliferates it.
I do not know if the man I was would listen. But let us pretend he would, since my life would prove far the better for it. At the very least, I would not be traipsing through some dank Athkatlan crypt on a cold winter's night. Bah! Helm knows why Korgan was so eager to start now, when the quest might easily have kept till the morrow. Oh well...after years spent among trainees, I ought to be familiar with over-enthusiasm, on my own part as much as others. Still, there is enthusiasm and there is madness, and I believe the dwarf walks a fine line between. He stands at the front of the party now, of course, guiding the way into the dark - and Valygar follows close behind, though of course still pretending to be our leader. Kizrin, cowardly to the last, is standing as close to Valygar as she can without him actually noticing. Not that I blame her, in such surroundings as these.
Of course, according to Valygar, we should all be enjoying this. He talks as though this were some family outing, to the theatre or the coast. Personally, as day-trips go, I would rate this one fairly poorly - and I confess I do not see its purpose. I am no longer filled with bile, merely indifference, and have no need of his convoluted attempts at therapy. I told him this, for all the good it did me. He was, of course, unconvinced. Indifference, eh? Is that why you attacked Kizrin? Is that why you stamp and scowl your way across the city?
Ridiculous. He would know me better than I know myself, would he?
No...this jaunt will be my first with this ill-starred group, and my last. I have already made my decision. As soon as we finish our quest and receive our reward, I will be leaving all this behind - Valygar, Kizrin, Korgan, and every whore and peasant in the whole of Athkatla.
Listen to me; I speak of "quests" and "rewards" where I should speak of jobs and salaries. We have been bought by the dwarf, and all the vagaries of our language cannot disguise the truth. I resent that, I resent him, and I resent Valygar for ever agreeing to this ludicrous scheme. I joined the Order precisely to escape this ignoble world of merchants and mercenaries, and now I wake to find the wheel has dragged me full circle. Perhaps I should find it amusing, but I do not. Justice is only poetic to the idle spectator.
I am not a complete hypocrite. I know a knight works for money as surely as a merchant does - but the difference lies in the purpose, if not the act itself. For a knight, every venture is sanctioned by his god, every successful quest brings honour to his Order, and every action is a tribute to all that his faith stands for. I once fought chaos and corruption, not for money but for belief. Now I am barely fit to speak Helm's name, much less serve him, but that does not mean I wish to sell my soul for a few gold coins. Korgan, striding through this maze of tunnels, is a living embodiment of that choice.
And if I live my life for money, I am no better than my father. He crushed friend and foe alike on his personal crusade and ripped his own family apart in pursuit of his precious profit. This same profit paid for my upbringing, and that only compounds my hatred. When I was young, part of me hoped to compensate for my father's transgressions by surrendering my own life to a higher purpose - but in the end I failed, of course. Perhaps he was right all along, to laugh at my complaints of foul-play. Don't cry for fools, boy, he used to say. There is no betrayal, only business.
Well, your son has no love for business, father. Even walking through the Promenade market was a trial; a place full of bad memories, much like Athkatla itself. Ah, but I have said as much before, on four score different occasions. I keep telling myself I will leave this city, but I doubt I ever will.
Enough of this; I must concentrate. All my many meaningful reflections would prove even more futile if a vampire were to leap out and start slicing at me. Our passage into this crypt has so far been as mundane as our surroundings, but I have no wish to take chances - I have not undertaken a task like this since leaving the Order, and I find myself wondering if I am still the man I was back then. Still, at least danger may prove a useful distraction. Not that Valygar was right, of course. That presumptuous fool - what does he know of me?
I look up, in a token effort to remain alert, and I see our noble band has come to a halt, a few metres down the corridor. What is it now? Does Valygar wish to set up a picnic, perhaps? Or did Kizrin trip over her own bootlaces?
As I approach, however, it seems to be neither. Instead, they are crowded around a crumbling archway, staring into the room ahead. A misnomer, though - staring over their shoulders I see that it is less a room and more a cavern, dominated by a huge oval structure at the centre of the room. Rock formations, I think...until I notice it moving.
In the dim light of the tunnel, the shape resolves itself into a immense shell, stretching high beyond the rocky walls and into the dark. And gods, the noise...like the mass unravelling of thread, or the turning of thousands of pages. Whispering, rustling, hissing. As for the husk itself, it is simply incredible. A tower of hand spun silk, except that the surface is in almost constant motion, shifting and rippling under a wave of tiny swells and bulges.
Ahead of us lies a ledge, no more than ten feet wide, that I initially think is made of stone. However, on closer inspection it proves to be a hard white substance, consisting of countless minute strands wrapped tight around each another and sealed under clear resin. This same strange material shakes and shudders above us, on the surface of the nest. The cave is scored by several similar pathways, some wide, some narrow, but all apparently sturdy. There is no breeze underground, and a sour, pungent scent clings to the stale air.
I am no stranger to the extraordinary, but my head still spins to see this. This entire chamber is in slow but perpetual motion. It grows and changes before our eyes, a living monolith built on threads of silk.
"Spiders," mutters Valygar - just in case we have all suddenly gone deaf and blind, perhaps.
At the edge of this ledge is nothing. Darkness, emptiness - call it what you will. I do not know how deep these caverns run, and I have no intention of finding out, but Korgan must feel otherwise. He carefully tests the resin with his weight, then takes a pebble from his pocket, and rolls it over the ledge. Nothing, of course. And a truly foolish gesture, if my knowledge of arachnids is correct. Valygar knows this too, and darts forward to grab Korgan's arm. "What are you doing?" he hisses. "Start throwing rocks around, and..."
But it is already too late. I remember the textbooks in the Order libraries. A spider does not hear things in the way a human, elf, or other humanoid would; rather, they sense vibrations, often at frequencies we cannot even discern. That is how they sense their prey before they can even see them, how they manage to ambush and bring down creatures twice their size. And if we could hear that pebble, rolling along the resin and into the dark...
The hissing grows louder, joined by the clicking of legs. Around us, dim red lights pierce the shadows, either side of the archway's shaft of light.
Three sets of lights dart through the dark like lightning, and the chittering rises. Spiders, I think - until they cross the entrance, and I see their limbs, long and sharper than the finest paladin's blade. Sword spiders. And the green-backed ones, that hold back just behind, I remember from my lessons as a trainee. Their touch is death, the tutors told us. Fall to them, and only the strongest prayer will save you. They were somewhat lacking in advice for those with no prayers left.
Korgan is already wading in, the fool, yelling out some unintelligible battle cry as he disappears among clacking limbs and teeth - but I hold fast, hammer raised, as red tipped arrows whistle past my head. Valygar is playing it safe, I see. A green-back falls under his assault, but two sword spiders still approach, oblivious to the barrage of missiles. I cannot see Kizrin anywhere.
This is ridiculous. A mercenary and his tribe of has-beens, fighting below the earth. We are out of our depth.
Valygar's onslaught ceases as he reloads, and I move forward, towards the leftmost spider - but there is something flying over my head, not an arrow, but….something else? Somewhere, glass shatters - but the noise is swallowed by a roar of rushing air, and my vision lost in a blaze of white. Something knocks me over...no, not a something...more a searing wave of heat. Helm - it feels like I've caught fire!...lie still, lie still and this will pass...
It does, of course. Lying on the floor with my ears ringing, I decide that, cheap and shoddy as it may be, I am thankful for this armour. After an assault like that, I almost regret selling my father's shield.
In seconds, my vision clears, and I open my eyes to find myself staring up at Valygar. Helm's beard...what was that? "You alright?" he asks, towering above me.
"Fabulous," I mutter, and sit up. The metal plate covering my chest is still warm to the touch.
Korgan lies ten feet in front of me, surrounded by smoking bundles of limbs and spider insides. "Ach! Are ye tryin' t'kill me or somethin'?!"
"Sorry," Kizrin says to the dwarf, appearing to my left with a small bottle in her hands. "I didn't realise quite how potent these were."
Of course; the explosive potions. I might have known she would not even get that right. Gods, she could have killed us all! I might easily have been thrown off this ledge, and as for Korgan, he appears to be sitting in the middle of a crater. Fortunately the resin was thick and durable enough to weather the explosion, but I doubt she even considered that.
My eyes are struggling to adjust to the dark again, but I do not miss the glance she throws in my direction, as if to make a point. Trying to prove yourself, Kizrin? Don't waste your time, I almost say - but these are words best kept for another time.
The dwarf stands, rubbing ash from his arms. "Eh, I'll live. Warn me next time ye decide t'try that one, though. Manylimbs took the brunt o' th' blast - but I don' much fancy goin' through tha'gain!"
Kizrin smiles vaguely and walks away - pointedly not apologising to me, I notice.
This nest, though...surely it has not been here since the tombs were first built? I expect visitors are rare down here, and it is conceivable that the city authorities know nothing of this danger. I am about to suggest a thorough investigation - until I realise just how stupid that would be, when such a task would challenge a dozen trained men. Force of habit, I suppose. I am used to travelling with legions. I am used to - no, never mind what I am used to, it is no longer relevant.
Besides, the others are already moving away. They traipse down a wide stairwell to the south, under Korgan's instruction, and I drag myself to my feet. Behind me, the giant nest still chitters; rustling, evolving.
At the base of the stairs, the others are standing still and staring into the room ahead, and as I reach the last step, I see and hear the reason why. It is as if the walls themselves are howling and rattling, the sounds overlapping each other from every direction and changing with every moment. Rising, falling, ebbing and flowing, but still incessant. The effect is as disturbing as it is disorientating, and we fall into an uneasy silence.
Up ahead, the floor is covered with an enormous and elaborate mosaic, a montage of minute crystal shards that stretches from one wall to the next. "What is that?" Valygar eventually asks, obviously thinking aloud again. It is one of his more irritating traits. Still, I cannot answer him, for at this angle it is hard to see what the jumbled mass of colours should be. I find it impossible to focus anyway, in this room filled with the sounds of distant dead.
"Eh...a gian' archway, mebbee?" Korgan mutters, squinting. "I don' see why it matters." He hoists his axe, and moves to enter the room, but Kizrin holds out her arm.
"No, wait. Try to see it the other way up - it's a face. A picture of the tomb's occupant, perhaps?"
"Or a warning." Valygar is examining a nearby pillar, and grimacing. "Look, there's something carved here. Maybe it's a message, but I don't understand the script."
Korgan snorts. "Eh, yeh both paranoid! Worryin' over a few scratchings...ferget it, we need to move!"
In front of me, Kizrin glances around her, from floor to wall to ceiling. "Paranoid, perhaps...but what's making those sounds?"
The dwarf does not reply. A blessing, since I do not wish to know the answer.
Abandoning the pillar, Valygar turns back toward us. "Well, we can only move forward - but tread carefully." For once I agree - the howls continue elsewhere, but this room itself is quieter than the grave, and it sets my teeth on edge.
"Tread caref'lly? Bah!" grunts Korgan, as he strides toward the centre of the room. "No Bloodaxe e'er crept an' crawled like a thief!"
A look of horror crosses Kizrin's face, as she stares at the coloured mosaic tiles. "Korgan, wait!"
But Korgan does not stop. He advances unchallenged, axe held aloft - and as he reaches the nearest edge of the mosaic, treading on the tinted squares, something clicks softly. A trap? Kizrin is no thief...but perhaps her past exploits in the north have trained her eyes to see more than what is there?
Instinctively, I shift posture and brace myself - though I do not know what for. Magic? An explosion? Crude spikes and spears?
Or the creaking of old hinges, as nine hidden doors roll open to reveal...nothing.
Valygar cautiously wanders further into the room, peering into the hollow chambers that line the walls on either side. "Well, that was an anti-climax."
"Eh, well, mebbee someone already go' here and sprung the trap. Me old comrades, no doub', come to thieve that book fer themselves." Korgan shrugs. "Either way, it does'nae matter now, does it?"
Perhaps not. Certainly, I am glad to avoid whatever fate met our predecessors, but how do we escape this room? The chambers are all the same - small, dark, and leading nowhere. Walking across the mosaic, I notice more tiles clicking underfoot, with equally little effect as the first. Meanwhile, at the far end of the room, Valygar and Kizrin are staring at part of the western wall, one of the few areas still left intact. Valygar is pointing at something, tracing a hand across the bricks...then he pushes one, and a low rumble echoes across the hall as the stonework opens up.
The tunnel beyond is lined with torch holders - but they are unlit, and I can see barely five feet ahead. "We ought to take some light with us," I say to Valygar, but he is already pulling at one of the burning torches on the wall, and to little effect. If his considerable strength cannot move one then they are clearly fixed tight. There was a time, of course, when there would have been no need for torches; when I could have dispelled the shadows with faith alone, and driven back any undead hidden within. These lost skills are the practical implications of my fall, but what of the others?
"Eh, dinnae worry," Korgan offers, almost cheerfully. "Accordin' to Pimilico, it'll nae be far from here."
Pimilico may well have been right. But wandering through a crypt in the dark, surrounded by traps, howls growing louder around us? Suicide. Still, we have little choice. Valygar nods wordlessly, and we move into the tunnels - the dwarf leading the way, then Valygar, then myself. Kizrin holds back till the last moment, a figure framed by light in the doorway. "Scared of the dark, are we?" I mutter, but her only reply is a glare, lost as we walk further into the darkness.
The shrieks and rattling sound louder than ever. Logically, I know this is because of the loss of sight, but at this precise moment logic holds little comfort for me. As we march on in silence, the stone tiles beneath my feet give way to something uneven and yielding, and a familiar scent fills the air; I fear the smell of dead flesh is all too well-known to me. Nevertheless, I remain silent. Perhaps Korgan's friends have done us a service in slaying these undead - and equally, perhaps there are more lurking nearby. It would not do to draw too much attention. Somewhere to my left, where none of our party walk, I almost think I can hear rustles and footsteps, but it must be my imagination. If there were anything waiting there we would surely have been attacked by now, wandering blind in these ancient tunnels.
Soon we turn a corner, to be faced with light streaming from a room ahead, but still nothing attacks us, and there are no traps or hidden terrors waiting in these corridors. Valygar must be disappointed, coming so far and only meeting a few spiders. Staring ahead, Korgan laughs softly, and gestures towards the light. "See? Thassit up ahead. Tol' ye we'd make it there!" He shuffles ahead and into the tomb, as we follow behind.
The room itself is little short of a marvel. I had no idea that such lavish tombs still existed. A Calimshite carpet lines the entrance, worn down by time but still recognisably expensive, and every inch of surrounding walls is covered with colourful designs and intricate carvings. Once inside, the light is not as bright as it first seemed from without, and it is hard to make out the distant corners of the room - but my attention has already been drawn away by the giant tomb standing in the centre of the floor. We have seen several sarcophagi on our journey through these crypts, each one imposing and impressive - but they were nothing compared to this. It almost resembles a four-poster bed, the marble coffin itself positioned between two painted and tiled stone slabs. Each tile bears a different symbol, created from minute gems of many different colours, and the thick pillars supporting the blocks are glided with gold and silver. I wonder who its occupant was, to warrant such an extravagant resting place?
Not that it's done the man any good. Evidently we are not the first visitors here, for though the tomb itself is as opulent as ever, the chests and jars near the door have been long since ransacked. I suspect our host has seen little peace in the years since his demise.
"Well, we're here. Now, Korgan…where's this book?" mutters Valygar, nudging at empty granite boxes and bare stone shelves.
But Korgan does not answer. He simply stands in the centre of the room, as if waiting for something.
Something, I realise, is terribly wrong with all of this.
Valygar, for all his ranger instincts, is still oblivious. He still pokes around this magnificent shell of a room, talking half to himself. "After what you told us earlier, I expected this place to be better protected. I expected a fight...but it was all so easy."
"Of course it was." The voice rings out from the darkness, female and dripping in blood and honey.
Valygar draws his katana in an instant, and I lift my hammer from my back, swinging it over my shoulder and into battle stance - though, in my confusion, I cannot be sure which direction the voice came from. Kizrin has all but frozen, lips moving silently as she stares at pitch-black emptiness.
Korgan, unsurprisingly, does nothing. To my ears, the distant howls begin to sound like laughter.
And now figures are emerging from the shadows, tall and powerful, hemming us in from every direction. Some are male, some are female, and some are too decayed to tell either way...but all are marked by razor sharp claws, and red eyes burning in pale faces. Once complete, the circle parts, and a final figure prowls into our arena; female, feline, and glorious.
A woman who walks like a cat, but on only two legs. Is that even possible?
She stares at us, lips curled into a smile. "At last, you're here. You know, it's rude to be so late - I expected you here hours ago. I was beginning to wonder whether the dwarf had reneged on our deal."
Deal? It makes sense now, I suppose. I ought to have guessed sooner. But why?
"Deal?!" Valygar's words are taut with rage, unlike this woman's voice of liquid gold. He turns on Korgan. "What's she talking about?"
But Korgan only sneers wordlessly and walks away to join the circle, as the figures around us press closer. This, then, is to be our punishment for trusting so easily. As much as I might wish to, I cannot blame Valygar for this, not when we all walked in so blind.
The woman smirks. "Shocked? Why, how sweet. Put not your trust in mercenaries, Valygar. Weren't you expecting this?"
There is no betrayal, only business. For once, I should have listened.
Valygar glances from circle to woman, woman to circle. "But who are you? And why...why this trickery?"
"Who am I? Ah, of course, you wouldn't know. But the blade does - don't you, Kizrin?"
"Bodhi," Kizrin whispers, white as the undead around us.
"So, you do remember. I admit, I was beginning to wonder." She smiles widely, sharpened teeth bright against dusky ashen skin.
Vampire's teeth, and vampire's skin. I have heard tales of these creatures. Something like that should not be so beautiful...should she?
She raises her left hand, and the two vampires either side of her launch into separate discordant chants, blue and white energy coursing down their arms. Valygar rushes forward, katana drawn, but the nearest male knocks him to the ground with scarcely a gesture. I, meanwhile, start for Korgan, even with my eyes still drawn to Bodhi - but then something hits me, like a rock pressing down on my chest, and I find the air around me has turned to deep-sea water. Every movement is a struggle - but everyone else seems to be moving so quickly. How do I attack like this?
Valygar catches my eye, and mouths something, too quickly for me to discern - but then he is caught by a second blast of magic, from the hands of the second mage. His body freezes in place, caught halfway into an attack stance. In an instant, he is surrounded by half a dozen hissing vampires, yet none of them attack. I am in a similar situation, being guarded by creatures whose first impulse should be murder. Helm's beard, what is this about?
And now the scene is frozen, save for two figures. Bodhi flows rather than walks across the room, melting past me, and I try to stop her, touch her, but I am drowning in the thickened air. Instead, I can only watch my arm move in graceful slow motion, pushing through the tide, as Kizrin's hollow footsteps echo on the stone tiles. Over my shoulder, I can see her stumbling backwards, scanning the gloom for an escape, but the circle is tight. She tries to turn and run, but Bodhi surges forward in an instant and grabs her upper arm. Carefully, slowly, she drags one claw across Kizrin's face. The creatures around me tense and howl at the scent of blood, fighting against their instincts - but Kizrin herself still stares, still at nothing.
Bodhi is still smiling, talons jabbing into her quarry's shoulders, twisting, turning - but Kizrin can do nothing, not faced with such magnificence. "So nice to see you again. And such a shame my brother couldn't be here; you both got on so well." She sighs, and leans in close - so close the two figures become one in the dim torchlight. "I do hope you'll prove more worthy of my hospitality this time."
To my right Valygar still struggles, but his muscles only tense and ripple uselessly - whatever spell the vampires cast has left him paralysed. His eyes still move though, and even from here his anger is obvious. Obviously he cannot turn round, so only glares at Korgan, silently demanding a reason - ever rationalising. Does he still not understand? You are not a fool to be so trusting, Valygar, but you are a fool to be so shocked by betrayal.
I admit, Korgan's duplicity was unexpected - but "unexpected" does not mean "surprising". The reason is clear enough. We are all easily bought.
Korgan, of course, knows the reason too, but offers no reply save for a silent shrug. This deal is over, and the aftermath is irrelevant. He stands, an absurd figure; an insect flanked by giants.
Somewhere behind me, clutching Kizrin like a precious treasure, Bodhi laughs like a banshee.