Reunion

The morning sun found Dak'gnu where Gerrod had left him the night before. He had difficulty considering sleep with a whole new world on his mind. The sun would rise soon; his very first sunrise. It was as if he was born anew into this strange new world. In dawn's early glow, he gazed out the window on huge trees of woody bark and billions of leaves. The sounds of birds flooded into his sensitive ears, serenading him with the songs of life. The dim, shadowy dark outlines slowly developed into brilliant colors, the likes of which he had never seen before. Bright and vibrant colors. The pale blue of sky where only stone had ever been before, the greens of plants was everywhere. The careless flickering movements in the branches would have spelled death in the cruel Underworld. Here they were everywhere; life abundant and so casual. Here a person would not be afraid to live, to move, to breathe; to be.

  A fresh breath of cool air entered through the open window, and though it was bitter cold, Dak'gnu sucked it in as if it was life itself. On that air, he tasted life and smelled a myriad of wonders. His senses ignited with its beauty. So alien and strange. So wonderful and unexpected. He felt no fear, though he knew not what to expect.

  The first beams of morning sunlight filtered through a thinning spot in the forest canopy. Like a burst of fire that shot straight through him, it burned into his mind. Colors exploded in the sky, as ripples of vivid pink and orange streamed out from that painful center. Such a display, it surpassed even his wildest dreams. But with that beauty came pain. His eyes burned as never before with the brilliance. He could only look on for a few minutes. He waited until the last possible moment before forcing himself to turn away.

  He was used to the eternal conflict between beauty and pain. It came naturally to the world of darkness. But this pain he savored, relished. This pain was the cost of his freedom. Here, with his new friends, he would have the freedom to do what he knew he had to do. He had to right the wrong he had helped cause.

  Finally admitting exhaustion from his nightlong vigil, and surrendering to the power of the golden ball of light, he retreated to the darkest corner of the cottage. The dark elf pulled his heavy black hood up tight over his head. He gained a few hours of precious sleep before the rest of them stirred to life. They had all been drained by the struggles of their escape. They slept well into late morning, longer than they would have liked.

  The sleep had done Amanda well, and Allison was able to complete the healing with her spells. The rest helped them all. It soothed tired muscles, but they knew they couldn't afford to delay too long. The relief and celebration of their near escape was overshadowed by their knowledge of what was to come.

  Rai'dley still had the Orb of the Righteous, and now she also had a terrible army of undead zombies to assist her. Amanda and Allison once again retold the tales of their encounters with the living dead. Shivers ran down their spines at what they would have to deal with.

  "However," Amanda pointed out, "there is one weapon that has proven most powerful against this evil. It is known as the Mace of Disruption. This great weapon was crafted ages long ago by a high priest of the elven order known as Derik. The mace is known as Derik's Mace."

  Everyone, sullen from the horrors Amanda's tales had spoken to them, were very much interested now. They gathered intently to hear her every word.

  "The greatest and most noble paladin was named Sh'Kir. He fought valiantly, yet died in battle defending the Church of Corellon Larethian, god of elves. His defeated body was brought before Derik, the High Priest, in hopes that he could be resurrected from the dead. Only Derik himself might have known what went wrong during the sacred ceremony. Derik's concentration was disturbed, and the attempt failed.

  "With the grief of elves across the lands, Sh'Kir's body was put to rest in a sacred tomb. The small cave was blessed, and holy water was spread all around. Long white candles lined the walls. They bathed the alter that would support their brave hero for an eternity in a soft glow. A fine white linen burial cloth stretched across the marble surface in preparation for the body. As the funeral march made its way up the craggy and pitching slope to the open vault, something terrible and unthinkable happened. Sh'Kir rose up from his deathbed, with an evil red glow in his sunken eyes.

  "Sh'Kir was as a man possessed. He leapt from the slab that the men carried him upon, and laid waste to those who would be his pallbearers before they could recover from the shock. Those near him fled in terror, unless they were paralyzed by that fear. Those incapable of running were slain with the efficiency of none other than the paladin, Sh'Kir.

  "The transformed figure seemed to relish in the kill, and thirsted for death. There was no sense to the madness of his evil. He killed at will, and with his unmatched skill with the sword, there were none who could oppose him. Unchallenged, he ran off into the woods, never to be seen again.

  "Before those he slain could be put to rest, they too became animated zombie corpses. They too wandered off into the woods, presumably to search for their master, Sh'Kir.

  "Derik was wrought with grief and sorrow. Not only had he lost the most valuable paladin of the Order, but also he had lost the favor of Corellon himself for his failings during the important ritual.

  "Cursed and stripped of power and rank, Derik sequestered himself and entered into meditations. After two full months of nothing but constant prayers and chants, Derik was granted a vision one night during a dream. In that dream, he saw himself battling Sh'Kir with a holy weapon that glowed with the power of Corellon. Beams of holy light flooded from the head of the wielded weapon, and destroyed the massive army of zombies where they touched. Derik knew that this weapon alone could defeat Sh'Kir.

  "For the next year, Derik dedicated himself to the commissioning for the Mace of Disruption. He commissioned the finest dwarven weaponsmiths. They are said to have sacrificed their own blood to be mixed in with the steel of the mace. Once crafted, it was a long, exhaustive process for Derik to convince the priests of Corellon to bless the weapon and to enhance it with the spells he requested of them.

  "The priests who cast the spells felt the power of the mace. They met in secret to decide if they could claim the powerful weapon as the property of the Church, but that night, Derik snuck off into the darkness. He carried the Mace into battle. He sought out Sh'Kir. Days and weeks, and then months passed by. No one ever saw Derik or his mace again.

  "Then one day, as if a sign from Corellon himself, a giant eagle darkened the skies above Crystal Meir. From his great claw dropped the Mace of Disruption. It was found and brought to the Order. The Church has kept it for safe keeping ever since. No one has ever seen either Derik or Sh'Kir since, so no one knows what really happened between the two. The High Priests say that Derik had paid his penance to Corellon, and was finally given the peace that he sought."

  After long moments of silence in respect for Derik and to absorb the details of the story, Corinna was the first to speak. "Does the Church still hold the Mace?"

  "I believe that it's in the Church's congeries as we speak, only a day's ride away."

  "If it's such a treasured item to your Church," Ace asked thoughtfully, "would they let us take it to destroy Rai'dley's undead army?"

  Amanda got a curious smile and answered, "I think they will. I've got friends in the higher ranks of the Order. They'll let us use it if I ask."

  "Do you think you could wield it?" Allison questioned.

  "Faith, my dear sister. The Mace of Disruption isn't wielded by men -- it's wielded by faith alone."

  "Then it shall proudly do the work of Corellon in our hands," Allison beamed. "No faith is stronger than ours."

  "So what are we waiting for?" Gerrod asked. "Let's go get that weapon before Rai'dley has time to make things any worse!"

  Amanda turned to Dak'gnu with concern. He had been quietly listening the whole time, still cowering in the darkness of the corner. His whole head was swallowed up by the darkness of his black hood. "Will you join us?" sh
e asked.

  "I have come from my home for one reason alone," the dark figure explained solemnly, "to slay Rai'dley and to stop her evil plans. If this weapon will help us accomplish this mission, then I welcome it."

  "As we welcome your company," Gerrod assured him. Everyone agreed, with the notable exception of Corinna, who tried to busy herself clearing the dishes from the table. She still had her reservations.

  Cold. It was the only thing that LaBairne's body could feel, but that too was chased away by the fire that burned deep within him. Hatred. Hatred burned away whatever chill air hovered about him as he paced in the room that held him.

  No bars reinforced the door. In fact, the entrance to the small cell didn't even hold a door. No barrier kept him locked up here like a caged animal, but he tested it again for himself to make sure. For the hundredth time that day, he charged the open portal as hard as he could. As he neared the archway, he once again heard those haunting words, "Wait here until I return."

  His legs fell out from under him, and he couldn't continue. He crumpled to the floor as his legs melted away beneath him. He pounded the solid stone floor with his armored fist. He could not disobey that command. He knew he would wait until Rai'dley returned. Only when he accepted his imprisonment did the feeling return to his numb legs. He was once again able to stand.

  His hatred flared, and he delighted in the warmth it brought -- the only relief to his painfully cold bones. He wanted to kill. While he preferred his victim be Rai'dley, he knew he would never be able to do that. He was so commanded, and would never be able to disobey her commands. But he wanted to kill. It didn't matter what it was, for the thought of any living creature outraged him with jealousy. He flexed the dried, leathery skin across his bony knuckles to form two powerful fists. He felt strength in those arms his aging body had never felt. It would be so easy to kill.

  He realized that the hatred and the anger he felt was directed at himself, but there was little he could do about that. He was already dead. LaBairne couldn't get the thought out of his head. He was the one that had led his men to that terrible cavern, had taken them on the fool's errand to begin with. He was in charge, and he was responsible for the condition of his men.

  He had awoken from what felt like a very long sleep, helplessly standing at attention in front of the dais in the Temple of Lolth. He stood there before the laughing Rai'dley, and saw all his men around him. Or at least what remained of them.

  Unequaled hatred came across him as he realized what had happened, though at the time he barely understood it. He saw the gray skin stretched across the bones of his army, as it did his own. He saw the glowing red lights where eyes should have been. Even before he knew what it meant, he knew it was his fault. He knew Rai'dley had betrayed him, and it was his fault for trusting that manipulating mage. How could he, a man of honor, have let this happen? Help this happen? Allow himself to be used like that? How? Rage flooded into his mind and soothed all the pain away in a warm bath of self-pity. A single tear trickled down his dry cheek.

  The hatred found its way to his vocal chords. They were dry and taunt. Even though they could no longer form words, his pain expressed itself in woeful laments that crudely resembled a wailing song. His voice cracked up and down in terrible screeching that sounded like two alley cats in a mating fight. The sounds reached out for any who might hear, though without words, no one would ever understand. The song echoed down the hallway that connected the individual cells, and beyond the door to the two drow standing sentry there.

  Even though the two drow couldn't understand the words of LaBairne's screeching wail, it rose up and down their spines to make their skin crawl. They looked at each other, as if daring the other to go first. Finally, unable to stand the torture any longer, both men ran off together as fast as their legs could carry them. They knew they would be killed for leaving their post, but they had to escape that plaintive wail. They had never felt such fear before and prayed that they never would again.

  The song lasted for many long hours. LaBairne found he never tired. He tried to think back, but couldn't recall having slept in the past two days since the transformation. He never tired. Nor did he eat or drink. In fact, he considered as if for the first time, he wasn't even breathing! It was a most strange, unsettling realization, and it only served to anger him further. Everything angered him.

  LaBairne spun about to face the doorway where he sensed someone was standing. As his eyes focused on Rai'dley, he flung himself across the room at her, knowing it would be of no use. Still, Rai'dley was caught by surprise. She backed away from the door before commanding him, "Stop!" The sceptre she held carried the weight of the command, and he was helpless to refuse. His legs locked in place like the rest of his body, a mere foot from the opening of the door.

  "Listen," Rai'dley commanded, composing herself. He tried to shut her words out, but they filled a void within him that hungered to be filled. He hated Rai'dley, but her words brought comfort to him.

  "That is no way to greet some one who has given you so great a gift," Rai'dley chastised him.

  LaBairne was confused. At first he thought she meant sparing his life, but then he understood. She meant his un-life. Rai'dley knew what had happened to him and the others. She had planned this all along. He wanted to strangle her with his bare hands. He could feel her neck between his fingers. He knew she might have some useful information, but even that didn't matter. But now, there was nothing he could do but "Listen."

  "You have been granted the gift of power, and in time you will be grateful for it. There is much power in what you have become, and endlessly more to follow. You have always been a man who has appreciated power. Until now, you've never felt what real power is. Don't worry. I'll soon show you how to use it all to your greatest potential," she said with a grin.

  "People will fear you, unless they have the experience to be stupid. Most will run in terror at your very presence, while others will be unable to move. These fools will become sacrifices to your power. Slay those unwilling or incapable of getting out of your way, and they shall become your allies. You are special, LaBairne. You're not just a mindless zombie like the rest of your army. You are their commander, their lord. Not a lord of men, mind you. You are a lord of zombies!

  "I have taken your pathetic army of humans and given them strength and courage they have never seen. Now, under our guidance, together shall use them to conquer the world." Rai'dley patiently took great pains in outlining all of the terrible powers LaBairne now had.

  And LaBairne listened. He was actually interested, and he exercised these new abilities whenever it was possible. LaBairne began to understand, and he liked it. Rai'dley knew him well. He did enjoy the power, and he was beginning to see the advantages of his new "position." He reached out to his comrades with his mind, and felt their undying loyalty. He was their lord, and they would do what he demanded of them. They would kill. He would conquer. And then he would destroy Rai'dley. "This could be good," he thought. "Very good."

  Chapter 24

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