"That was beautiful, Amanda. Just beautiful!" Corinna said, fighting back a stream of tears that fought to run down either cheek. She watched with utter delight as the last of the processional filed out the back of the cathedral, ending the fantastic display that was the sunrise service. Corinna felt more energized and exalted than she had in a long time. The holy ceremony had as great an effect on her as it had any of the elves assembled in that church. Corinna's spirit had always been more closely aligned with that of the elves than the humans of her own race. The inspiration she felt from this ceremony for Corellon Larethian, god of all elves, just proved it.
"You've the heart of an elf, Corinna," Amanda said with a smile. "Now come, we'll see the High Priest's Council. They are in attendance until the noon rituals."
Amanda and Allison led Corinna through the twists and turns of the labyrinthine church complex. They passed from the wider, public corridors and into the narrower passages into the deeper bowels of the church. The level of decorative detail did not diminish as they passed out of the public eye. The entire monastery flourished with graceful sweeping arches and delicately carved pillars. But even here, in this sacred temple to a powerful god, the effects of the earthquakes were severely felt. Many of the tall towers and columns were now supported by braces and scaffolding. Crumbling rockwork rained through cracks cut deep into walls a hundred years thick. It seemed nothing was immune from the terrible powers of nature itself. But they all knew these earthquakes were anything but natural.
The chamber of the High Priest's Council was a decadent room, lavishly furnished with giant tapestries hung on the wall. Chandeliers of a hundred candles floated on the ceiling. But even Corinna noticed the cracks in the walls behind those magnificent tapestries. The Council, all proud and serious men alike, carried on their business as if they were unaffected by the catastrophes around them.
When the group of three women entered, the men of the Council stood to greet them. "Amanda, Allison! How good to have you back!" the most senior of the elves met them from the head of the wide oak table. "We weren't expecting you. We didn't even know you had returned to Crystal Meir."
"We arrived just last night. We roomed in the Crystal Dragon," Amanda said, kissing the man ceremoniously on both cheeks.
"You should have come up. We would have found some place for you here. As you can see, we as everywhere else, are bearing our burden. There are so many people in need. . . we're trying our best to help them."
"We're with friends," Amanda explained, and motioned to Corinna. "This is our good friend Corinna of Oswegonia. Together with our other companions, we've been on a great quest." Amanda began her tale.
The head of the High Priest's Council invited them to sit. Amanda took a place at the great oak table, where she looked surprisingly comfortable. Allison explained to Corinna, as they took their seats against the wall behind her, that Amanda was indeed a member of the High Priest's Council. Allison always had a chair prepared for her behind her illustrious sister, and another was made available for Corinna. They sat in the opulence of that meeting room while Amanda pled their case.
Amanda told her tale, uninterrupted by her patient fellow Council members. She spoke eloquently, with the style and grace of a lady. Her story was filled with just enough drama to keep the men of the Council amazed and attentive, but the lengthy tale flowed smoothly and quickly, expressing the points most important. She eventually told of their flight from the drow city, and how they were aided by the drow elf Dak'gnu. She told of Rai'dley's plans, and the creation of the terrible undead army. She concluded with the reason they had returned to Crystal Meir, in search of the ancient weapon: Derik's Mace.
The Council pondered shortly to meditate on all that had happened to their friends. They led a prayer of thankfulness to their god for the safe return of their gifted members, but there was never any consideration whether to give them the weapon or not. A runner was dispatched to retrieve the artifact from the archives of the church, while the Council offered more assistance. They understood the import of their mission, and agreed that this Orb of the Righteous must be responsible for the cataclysms.
They explained how Crystal Meir has received a number of angry threats from all the capital cities of the Lands. It seemed no one anywhere was spared from the wrath of the gods. Crystal Meir, being the center of all the religions, was held responsible for whatever had happened in the gods' views. As leaders of their people, the Council certainly felt every bit the pain and agony inflicted upon the world. Only now, they considered, it may not be their fault at all. With the first sign of something that they might be able to do about it, they were more than eager to put forth whatever may be needed to end this trial.
The messenger returned eventually, with an entourage that escorted the great weapon of honor. It was sealed in a case of intricately carved mahogany that sported a fresh coating of fine oil to ward off the dust that had surely gathered on it over the years. The head of the High Priest's Council accepted the wooden box and set it on the grand oak table. All of those in attendance gathered around in reverent awe when the case was opened, and the mystical weapon was pulled out.
Derik's Mace gleamed in the constant light of the candle chandeliers. No dust would penetrate the clerical seals of protection that were placed on the box decades ago, and the weapon shone in all the glory it possessed in those ages gone by. It was created of shining black steel, with bright silver studs that screamed for the taste of undead. Faint runes etched in blue covered the face of the weapon, and the weapon was glorious to behold.
Ceremoniously, Amanda rose from her seat at the High Priest's Council, and approached the head of the table. The man, dressed in the robes and vestments of his honorable position, presented the weapon to her. The intelligent weapon felt Amanda's devotion, her love of her god, the god it was created to serve, and glowed brightly in her grip. It flashed with a brilliant light, waves of Corellon's power, and there was no question that the weapon was in the right hands.
Awe-struck, Corinna and Allison joined Amanda at her side. They left that meeting hall with not only the fabled Derik's Mace, but also the allegiance of a hundred priests of Corellon Larethian, willing to advance on the wicked undead army of Rai'dley. Armed with their weapons and their holy symbols, they vowed to form a unified force that would obliterate the forces of evil.
When the women returned to their room at the inn, they found the men waiting for them in their room next door. They excitedly relayed what had happened at the Council meeting, and in similar grand fashion, Amanda produced the wonderful weapon.
With a huff, Ace took the heavy mace for examination. He swung it around a couple of times, feeling its weight as he did his axe. He swung the weapon clumsily, not used to the delicacies needed for handling the likes of this type of weapon. His movements were timed for the slashing of a blade, not the sound thud of a blunted weapon. Not impressed, he handed it back to its owner unceremoniously as a reject. "Not much to it, if you ask me. Needs more heft and longer spikes. I could fix it up for you, if you'd like," he offered with a nasty smile.
Amanda took the mace back protectively, even though she knew he was kidding. Ace never could appreciate the grace of the weapon. "Now if we only had any idea where to take our own army of priests against Rai'dley. Who knows where they'll show up."
Gerrod got a wicked grin, and he shared knowing looks with the dwarf and dark elf. Now it was their turn to tell of their interesting morning. Gerrod told the women of the murders, which horrified the sisters, and of their ensuing investigation. He told of the back alley and the old warehouse, and ended by producing the thick straw from the helmet of the King's Guard. The logic flowed for the women as it had them, and they knew where they had to begin their search.
Rai'dley noticed Algernon's absence, but had little time or inclination to fret over him. The prospects of recreating these dragons in her own undead image thrilled her as few other challeng
es had. Here was her chance to prove that she was capable of god-like powers, reforming life into new creations. It would be just as she had, so very long ago, when I created the dragon races from the lizardmen we captured. "It's a new generation," she told herself, "and time for a new generation of dragon."
Once transformed into undead creatures, the dragons would be better than before, even more terrifying and deadly. Their undead forms would be immune to all sorts of attack, and they would be the diamond-head of her attack. But more, they would be liches like her. The great and powerful dragons' wills were far too strong to be squashed into the likes of a zombie. Besides, most of their strengths would be wasted in such a feeble form. But as a lich, they would be magnificent.
It cost each dragon a hefty amount in the form of their most valued and prized gems, but even this paled in comparison of the "gift" Rai'dley promised to give them. Each of the six gladly paid their dues to become a part of this club. Strange and obnoxious brews were carefully concocted for each of them, and a complicated series of magical spells were applied in an exactly pre-ordained order. No guarantees were made, and none needed, as the powerful beasts ingested the disgusting potions.
Pain wracked and heaved through the dragons, sending them into spasms on the ground. They thrashed about, threatening to level the castle and flatten the lich-mage who observed the proceedings. Within minutes, all six dragons laid dead. "What have I done?" Rai'dley questioned, but she trusted in her magic, and knew that patience was in order. It had taken her a minor miracle from a goddess and three hundred years to come back. An hour or two didn't seem so very long.
It took a while to gather the priests together, but by late that afternoon, they had all those promised, plus many more from other good-aligned religions. They explained that there was once a large complex maze of twisting caverns and tunnels under the city of Crystal Meir. During the Great Elven Wars, it was these tunnels that "The Committee," or the original descendants of the drow, had hid. The allied forces of good at that time, with representatives of all the races, had driven the army of evil beasts into these caverns, and far into the bowels of the earth. They had then sealed up all of the entrances and had summarily forgotten about the tunnels, and "The Committee."
The priests gathered around the old warehouse, and filed into the opening, led by Dak'gnu and the members of Wefpub. They found, as reported, a very large and confusing maze of tunnels. It took Dak'gnu's expert abilities and familiarities with underground tunnels to find their way through. But occasionally, they would find a dusty boot print or some other sign of recent passage, and knew they were on the right track.
Surprisingly, the tunnels didn't just head down as was believed, but often had an uphill grade to them, heading up into the bowels of the great Bellows Mountain. Most of these tunnels had been carved by molten lava back in the early days when Carrona was still being formed. The entire Crystal Lake was the bowl of the ancient volcano that had risen up out of the sea to form the island continent.
It seemed, or so it was pointed out by one of the priests learned in ancient history, that it was the Orb of the Righteous itself that had been thrust down by the gods into Thear's oceans that had created Carrona to begin with. Of course all of this was ancient lore, but if this same Orb was responsible for the creation of Carrona, it could certainly be responsible for its destruction.
It seemed they were often reminded of this fact, as they felt the now all-too-familiar shaking of the earth, and the precarious falling of dirt, dust, and occasional pieces of the tunnel ceiling. Given the age of this labyrinth, a cave-in was not unlikely, Dak'gnu reminded them.
They came to a particular fork in the tunnels, where a wide path led up a steep grade and through a large cavern, and the other direction wound its way down, deep into the darkness. Dak'gnu sat and pondered the options for a long time. "You okay?" Gerrod asked, worried by his friend's uncomfortable expression. "Do you know which way to go?"
"Home is that way," Dak'gnu offered with a nod of his head toward the deep tunnel. "It calls to me, even from here." His eyes were locked down that path as if he could see the shimmering purple lights of Mezzo'Dakmania from there. "We go this way," he said, pulling himself away from what he knew could never be. He headed up the steep incline, around the winding cavern.
Dak'gnu stopped again after entering another large cavern. Gerrod could tell this was a huge room. "Now what?" he asked. Dak'gnu stepped sideways to offer Gerrod the same view he had. "Oh, I see," Gerrod said, understanding the drow's hesitation.
"What is it?" Ace asked.
"There's a very large chasm up ahead. It must be two hundred foot wide, and the gods know how deep."
"Well how do you reckon we could cross the likes of something like that?"
"The good news is that there's an arch of stone that's spanning the gap."
"Why that's good. We can just march right across it then."
"The bad news is: the arch is only a foot wide."
"Now that is bad," Ace admitted.
"Not so very bad," Corinna interjected. "I can get everyone across." Everyone stepped aside to let the adept mage through. Ace tended to drift back farther than necessary, just in case.
With a magical gesture and a phrase or two of the arcane language of magic, a shimmering archway appeared on their side of the bridge. In a few moments, and a repeat of the gesticulations, an identical portal appeared on the other side of the bridge. "Voila!" Corinna announced proudly, "a magical bridge."
"Thanks but no thanks, Corinna," Ace said, shivering at the thought. "I'd rather not, if it's okay with you."
"Now Ace," she consoled him, "there's no other way to get across. It's perfectly safe. You trust me, don't you?"
"Of course I trust ya', Corinna. You know I do," he spat on the ground. "It's the magic I don't trust."
"So how do you plan on getting across?" Dak'gnu asked, amazed by the dwarf's stubbornness.
"There's a stone bridge right there. Don't see nothing wrong with that," he argued.
"But Ace, it's too narrow," Gerrod insisted.
"I trust in the stone," he said with a certainty that allowed no questioning.
"All right, you stubborn old fool," Corinna huffed. "We're going across, with or without you."
Knowing there was nothing else they could say that would convince their friend, the rest of Wefpub led the army of priests through the magical portal while the spell was still in effect. As soon as they entered on one side of the oppressing chasm, they arrived on the other. "See, Ace? Nothing to it!" they encouraged him from the other side.
Ace crossed his arms in front of him defiantly, as the rest of the troops passed by him. They didn't snicker or make any derisive remarks, despite the dwarf's obviously foolish convictions.
As the last of the priests filed through the magical portal, Ace removed a long coil of rope and tossed one end through. It appeared just a few feet on the other side of the bridge, impossibly far for the short length he had let out. He then ordered Corinna to "drop that blasted doorway," and she did so.
On the other end of the rope, Gerrod pulled the slack tight, and the coil of rope reached across the chasm. Ace tied his end around his heavy girth, tight under his armpits, just to be sure. With the fleet-footedness of a mountain goat, Ace stepped out onto the stone archway, carefully balancing himself like a tightrope walker. Fortunately for the rotund dwarf, he had a lot more than that to work with. With Gerrod constantly taking in the slack, Ace was across the obstacle in no time, beaming in pride. The priests cheered the man's nerve.
"See? Told ya' it weren't no problem," he huffed, taking back his coil of rope.
Within minutes, the troops of priests were back on the path, winding ever upward into the belly of Bellows Mountain. The men, still of good morale, enjoyed the break from their long march.
Chapter 27
A Festering Wound