Knight Eternal (A Novel of Epic Fantasy) (Harbinger of Doom Volume 3) (21 page)

“
We’re through,” said
Frem. “It’s open.”

“
Do we flee or do we
stand?” said Ginalli.

“
We stand,” said Korrgonn,
as he drew his blade. “Wizards, ready your magic.”

The footsteps grew louder. In a moment,
Ezerhauten came into view holding a torch aloft. With him, nearly a
dozen Sithian Knights, several wounded. Behind them loomed Mort Zag
carrying the stone head of a gargoyle in one of his massive
hands.

“
They won’t be following,”
said Ezerhauten. “But we had best find another way out. That was a
gauntlet I would rather not pass again.”

“
Morsmun? Ot?”

“
Both dead, and a dozen
more with them.”

The survivors greeted each other: some
smiled and shook hands with their comrades; others stood alone in
silence.

“
We passed several
passages along the way,” said Ezerhauten. “Which way do we go?
Through this door or back to some side passage?”

Korrgonn studied his ankh for a time.
“Through the door,” he said.

The group made their way
down the wide hall, slowly, carefully, expecting something else
unpleasant to happen. A thin layer of gray dust coated the floor
there, only noticeable for its contrast with the sheen of the
marble floor just passed. As they proceeded, the layer of gray grew
thicker and thicker, their steps kicking it into the air, forming a
irritating haze about them.

Upon another door they came, this one of
marble cladding and gold rungs. A dead end; no farther could they
go until the door was opened.

Before the group could examine the door, a
voice called out from the darkness. “Who are you?” The deep sound
reverberated through the hall, its direction and source unclear and
unseen.

“
Who are you?” said the
voice again, louder.

All eyes looked to Korrgonn. “Find him.”

The men spread out and thrust torches into
every niche and corner of the darkened hall, high and low, but
found no one.

“
Who are you?” said the
voice again, louder still, much louder. It seemed to come from
everywhere and from nowhere. The whole hall shook; chips of stone
fell from the ceiling; gray dust rose about them.

“
We must respond,” said
Ginalli to Korrgonn. “Or they’ll bring the whole cavern down on
us.”

Korrgonn nodded.

“
I am Ginalli, high priest
of Azathoth,” he shouted. “Who are you?”

“
I am the Keeper,” said
the voice. “Why are you here, Ginalli of Azathoth?”

“
We seek the great Orb of
Wisdom.”

“
Of course you do,” said
the Keeper, this time softly, wearily, as if he had heard the same
answer untold times. “And why do you seek the Orb?”

“
So that the glory of his
almighty majesty might be restored to the world.”

There was a pause of some moments before the
Keeper spoke again. “The Orb alone will not accomplish this,
however strong your faith. Have you another token?”

“
We do.”

“
What token is
that?”

Ginalli looked again to Korrgonn who nodded
his permission. “We have the blood of kings.”

There was a long pause.

“
Most that came here
sought treasures. All were disappointed. Some few sought the great
Orb. Fewer still spoke of the blood of kings. From dust they came,
to dust they returned. You may enter, disciples of Azathoth, but be
warned, if your words be not true and you be not blessed of the one
true god, if you be not his holy minions, the fires of Archeron
will take you and deliver your immortal souls into everlasting
torment. Go not forward unless this peril you can face.”

Korrgonn signaled to open the door. It took
the combined strength of Frem and two Sithians to pull the massive
door open. Beyond, the passageway was lit, wall sconces afire, oil
burning, its scent and smoke in the air. The passage continued for
a goodly ways, and then curved out of sight.

“
Form up, men,” said
Ginalli.

“
Wait,” said Sevare. “We
don’t know what this Keeper has in store. We can’t risk you and
Lord Korrgonn in this—you’re too important. Someone needs to scout
ahead.”

“
Wise words,” said
Korrgonn.

“
Who will go?” said
Ginalli. He looked about to the group. Some looked away, others
took great interest in their feet or their fingernails. Mort Zag
stood there grinning.

“
I will go,” said Par
Hablock.

“
That Keeper fellow sounds
dangerous, Hablock,” said Frem. “Maybe you shouldn’t go in there
alone.”

“
I’m an arch-mage of the
6th Circle, fool, not an overstuffed half-wit.” Hablock turned back
toward Korrgonn and Ginalli. “I will go cloaked in every protective
spell known to wizardom. Whatever traps the Keeper has laid will do
me no harm.”

“
Cast your charms, but
take two lugron and two knights,” said Korrgonn.

Ezerhauten rolled his eyes at the mention of
the Sithians, no doubt concerned that two more of the crack troops
that he personally trained would be lost.

Hablock stepped away from the others, and
spoke some strange wizard words and tossed a handful of sparkling
powder over his head. The powder ignited, and cloaked Hablock in an
eerie, translucent, blue light. He waved his hands about and spoke
more words, ancient words, forbidden words of power, and a golden
helm appeared about his head. More gestures and strange
incantations turned his skin and eyes silver.

“
The Shield of Fenrir,”
said Sevare. “The Helm of Hogar, and Steelskin. Rare magics all,
and good choices.”

“
I’m surprised that you
recognize spells of my Tower so easily,” said Hablock.

“
My studies of the art are
more varied than most. I can place the Baneshield on you, if you
wish.”

“
And I can give you the
Cloak of Azathoth and the Lord’s Blessing,” said
Ginalli.

“
I will place The Cloak of
Life on you,” said Par Brackta.

“
I will take them all and
gladly.

Sevare approached Hablock
and put his hands on Hablock’s chest. Sevare’s sorcery was
altogether different than Hablock’s. He spoke his magic in a
bizarre guttural tongue that sounded more reptilian than human. In
moments, it was done, though Hablock appeared no different for
it.

Brackta stepped up and murmured before
Hablock; her words too soft to be heard. “Done,” she said after
only a moment.

“
You men,” Ginalli said,
pointing to two of the lugron and two Sithians, “Stand beside Par
Hablock.” They did. Ginalli spoke his own words of power, sharp and
crisp, followed by a short prayer to Azathoth, holy symbol in hand.
“Done.”

Hablock stepped up to the portal. The lugron
with him shuffled their feet and breathed heavily, nervous from the
course of events. Hablock stepped through the doorway, the knights
and lugron following. They crept slowly, cautiously, down the
passage, weapons bared and battle ready. Just as they moved out of
sight, around the bend in the passage, the massive door began to
close behind them of its own accord. Frem tried to halt it, but
could not. Mort Zag appeared and grabbed the door, but even his
might and Frem’s combined could neither halt, nor even slow its
inexorable progress. They let go at last and the door ground to a
close, its grating sound echoing through the chamber, a sound of
finality, a sound that said, this door will not open again.

“
Last we’ve seen of them,”
said Frem.

Some minutes passed before they heard a
faint crackling sound from beyond the doors. Then movement, as the
door slowly opened with nary a sound. A strong burning odor washed
through the chamber and wisps of smoke trailed in.

“
Not good,” said
Ginalli.

“
Hablock,” yelled Sevare.
No response. “Hablock!”

They waited, but no sign appeared of Hablock
or his men.

“
Keeper,” shouted Ginalli.
“What has happened? Keeper!”

No response.

“
Do we go in or go back?”
said Ezerhauten.

“
There is no going back,”
said Korrgonn. “We must retrieve the Orb or die in the
attempt.”

Everyone froze and stared at Korrgonn.

Korrgonn studied his followers’ faces. They
were fearful and uncertain. His expression softened.

“
Men, without the Orb, we
can’t open the gateway. The Lord is counting on us. We’re the only
ones that can do this. So I must go on, whatever the danger. I will
understand if you can’t stand with me in this. I will meet you back
at the ship, and nothing more will be said of this.”

“
I’m with you,” said
Ginalli.

“
And I,” said Mort
Zag.

“
And I,” said
Brackta.

One by one, the others affirmed their
resolve. Ezerhauten spoke last, but stood with the rest.

“
Look for something to
wedge the door open,” said Ezerhauten. “We may need to make a quick
retreat; we’ve no wish to find it closed fast behind
us.”

“
There is nothing to wedge
it with,” said Sevare. “Bare marble and dust.”

“
Knock the marble from the
walls?” said Ezerhauten.

“
Marble tile won’t hold
that portal if it wants to close,” said Sevare. “It will crush them
to powder. Any weapon wedged in will snap.”

“
Forget it,” said Ginalli.
“Onward, together, without fear. The mantle of Azathoth is upon us;
no harm can come to us.”

“
Tell that to Hablock,”
said Frem.

Ginalli’s assertion notwithstanding, the
wizards cast their wards on themselves and the others. The whole
group passed through the door and proceeded down the hall, the
lugron and Sithians at the fore. Just as they anticipated, as soon
as the last of them were through, the portal began to close. Mort
Zag tried to hold it for a moment, but it pushed him back, sliding
his bare feet across the dusty stone.

“
I knew we should’ve taken
more men,” said Ezerhauten. “Can never have too many
men.”

“
Too many makes the food
run out faster,” said Frem.

“
No problems there,” said
Mort Zag. “Just eat the extra men.”

Frem looked at the red giant in disgust and
disbelief. Mort Zag roared with laughter.

After a ways, the hallway opened into a
large chamber, circular, but with walls of strange slopes and
angles, its ceiling lost in the darkness above. The floor was
mounded with gray dust, two feet deep or more along the walls. An
odd vibration filled the air and it was bitter cold, a cold to
chill a goodly man to the bone.

At the center of the
chamber, six stone steps led up to a circular dais. Atop the dais
sat a sphere, six inches in diameter and black as midnight—the Orb
of Wisdom itself, fabled vessel of power from times ancient and
long forgotten. On the floor beside the dais, a blackened, smoking
heap. Bits of cloth, blackened flesh and bones, and legs all but
turned to ash. This was all that remained of Hablock.

“
Zounds! Hablock!” spat
Sevare. “What did this? Where is that stinking Keeper?” He spun
around, gazing at the bizarre chamber, searching for sign or spoor
of the Keeper. The chamber’s walls crept up and out and in at weird
unnatural angles. You couldn’t even look at the walls for long
without growing dizzy and lightheaded. Not a place meant for men,
not even men such as these.

“
Where are my knights?”
said Ezerhauten through clenched teeth.

“
Not good,” said Ginalli,
gazing down at the remains. “Not good at all.”

“
We should go back,” said
Frem as he began backing up the way they had come. “This place is
death.”

“
The door is closed,” said
Ezerhauten. “There is no going back.”

The Keeper’s voice filled the chamber once
again. “Your wizard was not beloved of Azathoth. He burns now in
the everlasting flames.”

“
Skunk you, you rat turd,”
spat Sevare. “Show yourself.” He spat out a spray of tobacco juice
onto the steps of the dais.

“
What of the others?”
yelled Frem. “What did you do to them?”

“
From dust they came, and
to dust they returned,” said the Keeper.

Sevare looked down at the thick gray dust
that covered the floor. He squatted and sifted his hand through it,
brushed something solid and plucked it from the dust. Charred and
battered, but clearly a finger bone. The wizard threw it down in
disgust. “Dear lord.”

Ginalli grasped Korrgonn’s
arm. “The dust—”

“
Is men,” said Korrgonn.
“Burned to ash.”

“
Hundreds must have died
here.”

Korrgonn squatted down and sifted through a
handful of dust. “Thousands.”

The group looked about and found fragments
of a piece of armor here, a melted or charred weapon there.

“
He burned them,” said
Sevare. “Burned them all to ash.”

“
What do we do?” said
Ginalli.

“
We stop wasting time,”
said Korrgonn. “I will get the Orb; woe to the Keeper if he tries
to stop me.”

“
Wait, my Lord,” said
Ginalli. “The Orb we used in the Temple of Guymaog in the
Vermion—it was enclosed in a sphere of Asgardian glass, suspended
at its center by ancient sorceries, the glass itself protected by
untold charms and incantations. We ever touched naught but the
glass. This Orb is bare.” Ginalli pointed to the Orb atop the dais.
“Without the glass, its touch is death.”