Reunion

The gate of Rai'dley's castle looked out over the valley floor. Tall craggy mountains burst up on either side, where phenomenal volcanic forces had them centuries ago when Carrona was first created. These large tectonic plates shifted uneasily now, rising and falling with the restless heaving of the forces of nature. It was as if the lands themselves were waiting to see how the promised battle would turn out. Some of the beasts gathered there looked about nervously, but the throng of undead creatures stood their ground, unaffected by such natural things as fear. This gave the stupid beasts courage, and they held their ground, waiting for their magnificent leader to appear to them and lead them into fantastic battles. What a day this was to be.

  The army gathered there was truly impressive, if not just because of its numbers. Hundreds of nature-twisted beasts had answered the call of the Orb of the Righteous, and formed impatient camps the width of the valley. They all seemed anxious to simply catch a glimpse of Rai'dley; "The Orb Holder" -- their Messiah. Some had traveled for days, others for weeks, in an unholy pilgrimage to the artifact of their origin. None of them knew why they were so compelled, all many generations away from the Ancestors; the original beasts created by the power of the Orb. They only knew their animal wants, desires, and need to serve the one who promised to reunite them in a terrible army to crush the good races of Carrona.

  The elite army of undead zombies that was Rai'dley's Army waited mindlessly patient, unaware of anything as complicated as the passing of time. They had no will, no desire, but to follow the orders fed to them through LaBairne, their Zombie Lord. They had collected near the gate and stood at rigid attention, unwavering, untiring. They tended to spook the beasts some, and were given a wide berth. Some beasts had seen, and all had heard, of those fortunate ones chosen from the throng to be assimilated into this walking death. They anxiously peered around each other as much for glimpses of these atrocities as they did Rai'dley. Truly what a glorious day!

  Many in the army of beasts strained their necks and their eyes skyward, thrilled by the aerial display of the flight of undead dragons. They could feel the foreboding evil of their very vile presence, and if not for their unreasonable compulsion to wait for their Messiah, they would have fled in stark terror back to the holes they had come from. Many were still paralyzed by their fear, and unable to take their eyes off the death that floated listlessly above them. The awesomeness of the entirety of the situation was too much for others, and they didn't know whether they wanted to run toward or away from the great castle that rose out of the mountains before them.

  Inside the great fortress, Rai'dley was not so prepared. For the first time since Algernon had left, she missed the faithful dragon. He had proven an invaluable hand servant, always ready to give her what ever she needed, even before she herself realized her need. Without his constant attention, she had to prepare all by herself, and actually look for things she had always hap-hazardly thrown about.

  It was the first time in weeks that she attempted to recreate her unnatural visage of the youthful elfin mage. She knew that her real looks, of the centuries old decomposing elf, would make a more imposing figure for her loyal army to admire, but she also knew that this was an important day. It was THE most important day if she ever had one. Perhaps as some layover from her former feminine days, she felt the need to "look her best."

  She donned a new, splendorous robe, woven of fine silk fabric in the deepest of purples. Of course being the wonderful color it was, the robe couldn't have come from anywhere but the drow city of Mezzo'Dakmania. She mounted a delicate crown of gold and diamonds on her head. She had intended to save this moment until she could be officially coroneted the proper "Queen of Carrona," but at the last minute and overcome by the excitement, she found she couldn't resist.

  She had the Orb of the Righteous installed on her bone chariot, and had a special stand for her sceptre of undead control mounted at her other side. She looked longingly at the spot between the rails where Algernon had always awaited her. The young black dragon always looked so sharp in that spot, eager to pull the gruesome chariot and fly it upon the black skies of night. He had provided her with so much company on their flights between the castle and Oswegonia. Now, a pair of nightmares took up the rails, awaiting her bidding. They too were faithful mounts, and truly fearsome to behold, but somehow it just wasn't the same.

  Rai'dley looked in the mirror and examined her handiwork. The last of her supply of the magical elixir of preservation had been consumed a long time ago, and without the needed spirit energy to create more, she had to rely on her own magical talents to recreate the illusory face. Looking at the beautiful, young, charismatic face of the young elf in the mirror almost made her want to gag. She found the purity of that beauty repulsive and was almost tempted to remove the false mask of magic. But then she began to think about the symbolism of what this day really meant to her: the opportunity to finally complete what she and her mentors had started so very long ago.

  Rai'dley had actually looked almost this beautiful once. She was younger and less mature, the blossom of her womanhood just coming to its peak when she was blasted by that terrible fireball centuries ago. She remembered her lover of the time; so caring, so gentle, yet so clever and devious she couldn't resist his twisted charms. "What was his name?" she asked herself with alarming fear. She remembered the warmth of his touch, the tenderness of his kiss, but couldn't even begin to remember the man's name.

  Horror overcame her; true, honest dread. The heart and soul of any mage was their memory, and the thought that something that was once so precious to her had slipped into the etherealness of her mind frightened her. There were other holes there too, she realized as her mind scanned over what should have been two lengthy lifetimes worth of memories. She had lived so long, done so much, known so many people in two different worlds, but now all of that was slipping away from her. It seemed so long ago, and even though some of it really was, it had always felt so close to her. The sudden void where her identity used to be shocked her. When she had accepted her existence as a being of undead, a lich, she had unknowingly begun the process of tossing aside everything that she had ever been. Now, only this new being occupied her. Rai'dley was no longer an elf or a mage, or anything else she had ever cared about before. Rai'dley was a lich.

  Her fears finally yielded to acceptance once more. She had a new understanding of who she was, who she could be, and it energized her evil spirit. The red pinpoints of light flared, momentarily out-shining the false pretty blue eyes in the mirror. She looked around at what she had, what she had accomplished, and where she was going. She caressed the Orb as if it was her lover, and ran her fingers teasingly down the length of the blue steel of the sceptre. With what was left of her tongue, she deliciously licked the blood-red gemstone at the top of her tool. She knew this was what she loved, who she was -- power. She dashed to the window and looked out over the throng gathered below and her dracolich children still circling lazily above. She felt their devotion and it warmed her in a way no lover's touch ever could. She was "The Queen of Death."

  They thought the twisting cavern complex would never end. Once more they lost track of time in the underground tunnels, but it had seemed like millennia. The only difference was, Gerrod mused, was this time they were climbing up, not down.

  Strangely there was nothing about this bend in the corridor that made it seem any different than any other they had traveled around. But this one was different. Dak'gnu stopped short as soon as he rounded the bend. There in front of him, the trail ended at a wooden door.

  Gerrod found it equally anti-climatic that this wasn't some massive, impenetrable iron fortress door. He envisioned some cast steel creation with the visages of a million demons cast into its surface, all black as pitch. The door in his mind would radiate evil and foreboding the likes of which would send chills down the spines of all those who would gaze upon it. The door would be bound shut by an unfathomable number o
f magical bindings, such as to impress Corinna by their mastery. Its mere discovery would be so discouraging that they would consider turning around and giving up any hope of defeating the mighty forces the fortification withheld.

  This was not that door. The door that stood before them was a quiet, unassuming door. It was startling in its ordinary appearance, and perhaps this was what made it even more frightening. The members of Wefpub, and the army of faithful clerics behind them knew that those within weren't afraid of company. In fact, this door almost welcomed them in, like a fly into a spider's web. It was too easy, too simple, and this was what frightened them most.

  Well, almost frightened them all. With an indignant huff at the sudden silence of the group, Ace pushed his way past Gerrod and Dak'gnu. He hesitated little as he began to check the door for any traps or hidden devices. Even Ace wasn't foolish.

  After thoroughly examining every square inch in and about the area, Ace laid a careful hand on the wrought iron doorknob. With the skilled practice of a true artisan, he gently gave the knob a slight twist, and was rewarded by its easy turning. Always pressing his good fortune, Ace held his breath and gave the slight, wooden door a gentle shove.

  Once again he was pleasantly surprised as the door fluently swung open. Not a squeak or a rusty squawk was heard from the oiled hinges. It appeared they were inside Rai'dley's castle.

  The truth was, the designers of the castle, the drow of centuries ago, before they were driven underground after losing the Great Elven War, were never finished with the construction of the massive doors planned. Their own lack of forethought didn't allow them to consider an attack from the complex subterranean caves. This truly was the back door.

  From now on, the advancing troops moved in their stealth mode, making every effort to preserve their surprise advantage. They enhanced their effect with magical spheres of silence, protecting the well-armored clerical clan. The walls of this sub-basement showed the great weight of the structure above in the cracks that ripped down their lengths. Dust and pebbles continued to spew from them in the uneasy shifting of the masses.

  The basement proved simple in design, especially after navigating through the labyrinth below. They found the stairs, and made their assent. They knew that the action awaited them above. The castle proved disturbingly quiet and cold. Like an abandoned ruin, only the sound of the wind whistling through the open windows and destroyed doors greeted them. Rooms were as empty as the hallways, allowing every shuffling footstep to echo nervously. It was an unsettling quiet that set the anxious clerics on edge. Wefpub and Dak'gnu were of course used to this, but that only seemed to make it worse. Unpleasant memories fought to distract them from the tasks at hand.

  Besides quiet, the castle was cold. Unnaturally cold. Its undead inhabitants required no heat, and the large, unfinished castle hadn't ever been warmed by the soft glow of a fireplace. The freezing winter wind blew freely through the unprotected windows, shutters ripped asunder and creaking eerily in the wind. But even these breezes couldn't justify the numbing chill that sliced its way into the souls of the men. Here they found the foreboding, the callous bleakness that spoke of unspeakable inhumanity. The cold was evil itself. It wasn't the powerful, angry, wrathful evil, but the passionless, unaffected coldness of death.

  They searched every room they encountered, taking just enough time to peek within the room. A large army of undead zombies was not an easy thing to hide; it couldn't be tucked neatly under a bed, but it would wait silently, patiently, not doing anything that might give away its location. With luck, it wouldn't be doing anything at all.

  The castle, though clearly unfinished and lacking the lavish furnishings truly associated with the splendor of such a structure, was ambitious in its size. There were hundreds of rooms branching off a carefully planned network of corridors. Some held supplies, locked away from those who would plunder the riches there, while other rooms had doors rent from the hinges. Piles of waste gathered in corners, where filthy beasts had heaped it. Other rooms held wells, all containing putrid, stagnant pools of water. Smells didn't travel well in the cold crispness of the still air, but they seemed to be offending the hunters at every turn. There wasn't anything about the castle that made it welcoming.

  They ascended another set of stairs, after examining all that the second level had to offer, and realized they were finally above ground once more. Streams of bright sun poured into the open windows, but any heat seemed to have been carefully sifted out. They could feel they had risen several thousand feet above the level of Crystal Meir, and seemed to have come out on the far side of Bellows Mountain, facing away from their cherished city on the lake. The light had a white purity that gave it a harsher, stark, blinding effect. The castle had even robbed them any comfort from the light of the sun.

  The broad staircase that they followed up to the main level spread out ten feet wide. At the top of that stair, Dak'gnu suddenly dropped down, lying on the stone steps. He used his silent hand language to indicate that they had found something. Something big. He decided that it might be prudent to retreat back into the relative security of the level below to plot their strategy. He signaled the retreat and explained what he saw.

  "It looks like they're all outside! The main front gate is right at the top of the stairs. The doors are wide open, and beyond that all I could see was a huge army of gold helmets," he explained.

  "That's the King's Guard," Amanda explained to the leaders of the clerics who were listening in.

  "The door of the castle will give us a good bottle neck to work from, to keep from being surrounded," Ace pointed out.

  "Yes, but it also means that the undead outside are free to run out into the wild, should we attempt to turn them. They will flee from the sights of our holy symbols and be lost into the forests beyond," Allison considered.

  "And I don't expect there's any way we could circle around them and corral them into an ambush," Gerrod suggested.

  "We don't know the territory well enough, or any other way out of this castle. I think that a fast drive into the heart of them is the best way to go. If we can split the zombies from their leader, we can spend the next six months hunting them down and removing them from the lands if need be," the leader of the clerics offered.

  "Speaking of which," Corinna asked, "where might Rai'dley be? She's the one we're going to have to really look out for."

  "She's also likely to have the Orb with her as well. Let's not forget, getting the Orb back is our main objective," the battle-ready dwarf reminded them. "Ain't nothing more dangerous than powerful magics wandering about where they got no right to be."

  Plans were made and tactics agreed upon. They wanted more than anything to prevent being surprised by an attack on their rear while they were fighting outside. If they got sandwiched in, they'd have to fight on two fronts, and they would soon be crushed by the weight of their numbers. To guard their rear, the members of Wefpub would finish searching the rest of the castle to make sure they were alone. They knew that all the areas below were clear, so they would continue working their way up.

  The clerics would advance on the forces outside the castle gates, and try to spread out as much as possible for greater effectiveness. It was up to the individual commanders of the units assigned whether they would use their turning powers on the undead or not. If they thought they could do it without "making too much of a mess of things," they would. Otherwise, they would try to reserve this for defensive use only. Once they had them in a crush, they would combine their efforts in a final drive to eliminate this unholy nuisance.

  It took little to rally these eager men of god to the cause. They had felt the oppressing effects of this evil plight for far too long, and the faith in their gods had suffered exhaustively at the hand of this bane. That was the final insult, and now for the first time there was something they could do about it. Upon command, they stormed the stairs like an inferno. They exploded out the g
ates and lit into who and whatever they met.

  The first ranks of the undead army were run right over. They weren't expecting any attack from their rear, and not having any defensive orders available to them at the time, they simply stood there. They had rallied for conquest themselves, and having to defend themselves was the least of their commands.

  LaBairne sat comfortably in his saddle. He had been given a tremendous steed to carry him into the battle, and from here he could see over the throng of his army. His glorious army. Once again they filled him with a glowing sense of pride. He too had come to accept his fate and his new position as leader of an undead army. He felt the power at his control and he welcomed that feeling. With the final approach of their ensuing conquest, he was in his element. He had always felt stifled as a military leader in the pitifully peaceful King's Guard of Oswegonia. "An army is for conquering," he told himself. "And today, we conquer!"

  The zombie lord had positioned himself in the midst of his troops, feeding on the energy they infused him with. He looked out the eyes of all those gathered around, and saw the world from a hundred different views. In the past few days he had feasted well on piles of carcasses, ravaging their fetid meat to the bone. He had drained the energy from a hundred different creatures and rejoiced in their glorious undeath as they were forced into their unholy state. He found it an ecstatic feeling, sucking the very life force out of a proud beast. It coursed through his veins and warmed his eternally chilled bones. It never failed to send him into euphoric spasms of pleasures that exhausted him but invigorated him to no end. He smiled evilly to himself at the mere thought of the feeling of his power. "God, this is great!"

  LaBairne, lost in his lustful daydreams, didn't even feel the first attacks. They came in swift and unexpected. He scrambled to change his focus into the eyes of those on the edge of the trouble, but by the time he could concentrate on it, those zombies had been destroyed, and his efforts blinked out before him.

  With a mere thought, he ordered his men into action, turning them to face the attack that came impossibly from the castle itself. Thoughts that somehow Rai'dley had betrayed him again confused his efforts, fogged mental commands that needed to be clear and precise. Zombies faltered in their attempts to carry out commands that weren't exact and specific. They fumbled over each other instead of reacting as one precisely controlled group. Their clumsiness resulted in their piercing each other on the tips of their own blades and bashing each other with the force of their shields. In a chain reaction of chaos, clumps of zombies fell in tangled heaps as they turned to meet their effective attackers.

  With unemotional logic; cold, calculating reasoning, LaBairne gathered his concentration and began to form up his ranks. The initial onslaught had truly caught him by surprise, but with his senses about him once more, the powerful commander pulled in the reins and bolstered his troops. That surprise had cost him much, but he was determined to stay the tide of this bleeding wound.

  Wefpub swept through the castle like a storm. They knew they moved carelessly, opening themselves up for ambush, but they also knew they had a lot of work to do. It was hard to tell how much larger the superstructure of the castle was, and they had to search it thoroughly enough to at least not miss any more of the King's Guard.

  They almost hoped that Rai'dley would be outside with her army, but a part of them knew that it wasn't likely. Rai'dley had proven a deceptive, cunning opponent. She wasn't the kind to lead a powerful army into battle herself, but would be willing to have commanders do that for her. Their only hope lay in her ego. Assembling such an army in such a bold way, spoke of a person vain in their accomplishments. How could she resist at least watching and sharing in their success?

  The members of Wefpub knew, too, that if Rai'dley had already made her appearance to her army, they would have been on their way by now. The undead army was waiting for something. They could only imagine it was Rai'dley.

  The castle had no lacking for rooms. To either side of the wide, spacious hallways, rooms of all sizes and shapes branched off. In order to cover more territory, the six party members spread out, each trying their own doors.

  They fashioned large battering rams to plow through locked doors, not wasting time with gentle lock picks. The large ram absorbed a couple of traps, darts piercing its shaft, and suffered the effects of many magical sealing wards. As they made their way up more flights of stairs, and found the successive levels smaller, their confidence grew. They proudly measured their advancement to more secured areas of the castle by the amount of damage their battering rams took while forcing open more and more sealed portals.

  There was no time to inspect the things they saw. None of these things moved or looked like zombies, so they passed despite their splendor or intrigue. Even Ace kept his objectives clearly in mind.

  The hordes of beasts gathered around the valley in front of Rai'dley's castle noticed the clamor of battle, and couldn't help but sense that something not favorable was happening there. Some curiously stretched to see what it was, perhaps thinking all the ruckus was Rai'dley's final appearance, but most found this disturbance the final excuse they needed to run. They weren't keen on a battle yet, and they found their best interest in their senses, and made for the other end of the valley and to the protective forests below.

  A few of the beasts recognized the commotion as being trouble, and blood-hungry, they picked up their crude weapons and advanced to see what they could do. They were eager for the battles, and this was as good a place to start as any. Together they pushed in on the crowds of undead zombies, giving them little option but to be pressed into the battle on the other side of them.

  The zombies didn't pay the beasts much attention. They didn't mind their crowding push, unless the beasts interfered with the powerful swings of their weapons. Even then, they saw fit to simply smash the skulls or break the limbs they connected with. They had orders to fight in this direction, and they hadn't the will to surrender or slow to any force. Their unholy transformation eliminated morale as being a problem. They fought tirelessly, single-mindedly, and only moved from their position as their zombie lord skillfully guided them. Together they formed an impenetrable wall of death. Weapons moved in concert, slicing and stabbing at the air if they couldn't strike at anything else.

  LaBairne relished the battle. The blood of the clerics flowed freely, though he knew his own numbers were diminishing. The large gathering of semi-loyal beasts was to be the shock troops, doing the majority of the killing in a large swarm of fodder out before his zombies. He planned on using his more precious undead soldiers to do the clean-up details of war, scouring the swath of destruction for any who remained alive. But now they took on the brunt of the attack, against those he feared most.

  LaBairne saw the advancing columns of beasts, and cleverly worked the zombies to the sides, allowing the press of eager creatures to force their way through to the center of the mass. The lines of evil fiends cut their way through to the front line of action. If they wanted to get into the battle, LaBairne was just as willing to let them absorb the crushing maces and slicing blades of the advancing clerics. Through timely commands, the zombies were ordered to draw back, and the beasts were suddenly left to fend for themselves against the walls of good clerics.

  The dragons above continued their lazy circles, not concerning themselves much with the events below them. In their centuries of life, they had seen many battles. They knew the weight of their army greatly over-powered the clerics of Crystal Meir. They knew that victory was only a matter of patient time, and that, now, they had plenty of. Instead, they entertained themselves with the leisurely job of slaying those who went AWOL. They made sweeping dives along the floor of the valley, easily catching and devouring any and all monsters that chose escape over battle. They joyously ensured the number of desertions were few.

  The clerics swiftly worked their way out from the castle. Their first charge gained them
free access across the bridge that spanned the deep crevice of a moat. With their backs against the large stone wall that acted as a berm around that moat of air, they continued to carve a path around the evil. They sliced and clubbed their way to encircle the fetid, rotting corpses before them.

  Whenever the zombies struck one cleric down, two more of the faithful men filled in for him. This was a true ecumenical effort. It didn't matter to these holy men what church or god their brethren represented. They were a united army of good fighting the ultimate evil that had invaded their lands. There was no place to argue philosophical differences, nuances of intonations of religious prayers, or even who was the greatest of the gods. This was a place for the slaying of evil, and all those gathered there spoke of one mind that day.

  The members of Wefpub continued their climb to the top of the orderly castle. They quickly eliminated level after level of the abandoned structure, becoming surer with the passing of every staircase that the entire army was waiting patiently outside for their great leader.

  The levels started to get smaller, the farther up they traveled. The last floor consisted of a single hallway with a dozen rooms branching off. They located a narrow, twisting stairway of worn wooden steps, and they knew they had reached the tallest tower of the complex. They still hadn't come across Rai'dley, but Corinna had the terrible feeling, as the hair rose on the back of her neck, that they were about to.

 

  Chapter 29

  An End In Tears