Dragondoom

CHAPTER 36

Early Winter, 3E1602

[The Present]

Dimly lighted by the cressets without, Elyn and Thork found themselves facing a great dark main hall filled with clotted shadows, strangely churning-confusing mind and vision. To their right they could see the murky beginnings of a cramped stairwell wrenching up and inward. To the left, the wall fetched up in the darkness against an angled corner. To the fore, all that Elyn could see were vague shifting ebon shapes, and she could hear a scrabbling. “Long-tables and benches, Princess,” whispered Thork, conscious of her inability to see through deep gloom. “Scraps of food rotting upon the boards. Rats scuttling.”

Without, they could hear the tramp of feet, and the light grew brighter.

“Whither, Thork?” hissed Elyn. “They come, and I cannot see as can thee.”

“To the fore, Lady,” answered Thork, “for I would not be trapped upon those narrow stairs. Better we seek safety in this great hall than chance it upon the steps.”

Swiftly, Thork stepped through the viscid shadows and among the tables, suddenly coming to an opening along the right-hand wall through which reddish light shone. And Thork could not fathom why he had not seen its glow before. But ere they could investigate, Spawn entered the door behind, and Elyn and Thork shrank back into the shadows.

Troops of Rutcha and Drōkha tramped inward from the bailey, their torchlight casting leaping shadows, luminance sputtering across the darkness to shove at the twisting murk, as if a struggle for dominance took place, some pools of blackness not yielding at all to the guttering light. And inward came Andrak’s wayguard, standing down from their duty. And with them came the Guula: corpse-white with flat dead-looking ebon eyes; like wounds, red mouths slashed across pallid faces, and their pale hands had long grasping fingers; Man height, but no Man ever was this creature of Neddra. Without a glance at the two intruders, warders turned leftward into the angled corner and disappeared down a stairwell that neither Thork nor Elyn had seen till this moment.

“Ai oi, Thork,” whispered Elyn, “they pass through a door that was not there before.”

“Nay, Lady,” Thork gritted, “the door was always there, yet we could not see it. These accursed shadows: they twist the eyes. . Look you, my Lady, by the light of the burning brands, see: there be a strange coiling to this murk, and clots of shadows that form churning walls of darkness, and even my eyes see not past those writhings.”

Elyn’s gaze swept across the dark chamber, blackness curling in the torchlight. “The Wolfmage warned us that Andrak, too, was versed in the art of concealment; no doubt this is his hand at work.”

Thork grunted but said nought as Foul Folk continued to tramp inward and down, though occasionally a Rutch or two, laughing vilely, would pause a moment in sport to swing scimitars at scattering rats, blades futilely thunking into wooden tabletops, cleaving no victims, skewering none. Finally, the last of the wayguard disappeared down the dark stairwell, and when all had passed beyond seeing, once more the hall fell into seething gloom.

“Princess”-Thork’s voice was low-“if the rest of the castle be as this, then I would as soon wait until daylight ere continuing our quest, for you are nigh sightless in this murk, and at risk.”

Thork held up a hand to forestall protest. “List, what would you say were the boot on the other foot? Would you have me walk about blindfolded? Nay, Lady, for not only would that be foolhardy, it would go ill for us should we need to engage the foe in combat. And just as you would not care to lose my axe in that event, I care not to lose your sword should it be needed.” Thork paused a moment, then spoke on: “Too, I deem that it will take your eyes as well as mine to find that which we seek.”

“I agree, Warrior,” responded Elyn. “Though vague shapes loom before me, they are as black on black; in these environs I am the same as blind. Yet were we to carry torches or lanterns so that I could see clearly, then I misdoubt that e’en this silveron stone I bear would conceal the blare of our bobbing brands from hostile eyes, and they would wonder at who bore the light, and wondering, would at last know to look at us instead of around our edges.

“But there is this to consider as well: to search in the daytime will be to search not only when the Kammerling is likely to be more exposed, but also when we are more exposed as well, exposed to Andrak’s eyes, and he knows how to see us.”

“Aye, Lady,” responded Thork, “yet heed: The only time that we have seen Andrak is at nighttime. Mayhap he suffers the Ban, and will not be about in the daylight.”

“Perhaps none will be about in the daylight, Thork”-Elyn continued the line of reasoning-“for the Foul Folk cannot abide its touch. They will hole up somewhere in chambers below when the Sun is in the sky.”

“Aye then, Princess, are we agreed?” At Elyn’s nod Thork gestured at the dimly lit passage at hand. “Our plan was to get in, get the Hammer, get out: the first step is accomplished; the next two are yet to be done. If the remainder of Andrak’s holt be as is this twisted hall of darkness, then let us seek a place of safe hiding to await the dawn.”

Axe and saber in hand, they stepped into the opening whence came the reddish glow and paced down the length of a short passage; suddenly, ere coming to the end, they could hear the clatter of pots and pans and crockery, a noise that seemed to have always been there but was somehow unperceived till now. They emerged into a smoke-filled, shadow-wrapped kitchen flickering with the rudden light of cooking fires, distorted silhouettes writhing upon the walls. And rushing thither and yon were Men! Swarthy, dark Men, and some yellow-hued, from Hyree or Kistan or mayhap the mountain villages within Xian. Cooks and scullery Men. Butchers hacking away at gobbets of an unknown dark meat. Serving thralls. Kitchen drudges. And Elyn and Thork glanced at one another, and a silent understanding passed between them: now they knew who would ward the castle during the daylight hours: Men!

Drawing Thork behind, by a circuitous route Elyn led the way across the chamber and toward an exit catercorner, stepping ’round tables and slipping along walls, avoiding the scurrying workers, none of them apprehending that aught was amiss. But just as the pair started through the distant portal, a tray-bearing thrall, hastening in the opposite direction, nearly crashed into them; yet at the very last instant he stopped in seeming confusion, nearly tripping over his own feet, the two intruders shrinking against the wall and passing within touching distance. And as they sidled past, the thrall’s confused eyes darted furtively this way and that, as if trying to catch hold of an elusive sight. Seeing nought, he wiped his brow in puzzlement, and rushed on into the kitchen.

Elyn and Thork found themselves on the threshold of another dining hall, noisy and filled with Men eating. Overhead, a great chain-hung bronze oil lamp burned, its light struggling against the darkness churning within this chamber as well.

“Why two dining halls, Thork?” whispered Elyn. “One before and one behind.”

Thork shrugged his shoulders, then inclined his head, silently indicating that they should press onward.

And as they crossed this room, the shadows oozed and writhed, first revealing and then concealing the dimensions of the hall, as well as the shapes within. Yet as they went, the two could see that it was a large chamber, filled with tables and benches and warriors at mess; and in the north-east corner a spiral stairwell twisted upward, while along the center of the eastern wall gaped another black opening.

Through this latter portal they slipped, and came into another dark chamber. And Elyn could see nought but gloom, though just below the threshold of hearing it seemed that she could detect mutterings: obscene whisperings. And she drew back in revulsion, her feet hesitating to carry her into this vile place. Yet Thork drew her inward; and reluctantly, without sight, she followed his lead.

“It is a gathering hall of some sort,” he growled, “empty.”›

Suddenly he stopped, then led her sideways, as if stepping around some barrier. “Symbols inlaid upon the floor, Princess.”

Again Thork stopped, and Elyn stood in the murmuring murk, unheard mutterings, chantings, filling her with loathing, unable to see aught but a vague squat ebon shape in the blackness before her. “An altar, Princess”-Thork’s voice was grim-“stained, etched with runes, carven channels to runnel sacrificial blood into a stone basin. Behind the altar is a dais, and a great throne sits against the wall-” Thork’s words jerked to a halt, and his grip tightened upon Elyn’s hand, and after a pause he whispered, “There is a great silver warhammer hanging upon the wall above the throne.”

Leading Elyn around the altar, “Three steps rising to the throne,” he said quietly, his voice nearly swallowed by the silently gibbering blackness, and she followed him up onto the dais. “I’ll climb,” he breathed, releasing her hand.

Elyn stood in the blackness, listening, hearing Thork’s axe tnk against stone as he set it to the floor, leaning the helve against the arm of the throne, listening to the press of his foot as he stepped upon the seat before them. She could see dark moving upon dark, and hear the creak of his leather boots as he mounted up on one arm of the chair. “Thork, hold!” she whispered urgently. “I cannot believe that Adon’s Hammer would be left unguarded. ’Ware, for this could be a trap.”

Long she waited, the muttering shadows whispering obscenely. At last Thork’s words came down to her: “You are right, my Lady: it is a trap. And this hammer be not silveron, for it has not the feel nor the heft of that metal. I have placed it back upon the pegs, one of which I deem would have sprung a snare or caused an alarm to sound were I to have let it pivot upward when free of the maul’s weight.”

Thork climbed back down. “It is not the Rage Hammer, Princess, but instead a snare with a glamour set upon it to deceive the unwary. The true Kammerling be elsewhere.”

“Oh, Thork, mayhap Adon’s Hammer is not here at all,” whispered Elyn, dismay in her voice. “Perhaps all that is here is a hammer under a glamour, and those who say that the Kammerling lies in this castle have been fooled by this deception.”

“Nay, Lady,” growled Thork. “Andrak has no cause to have a false Kammerling on display within this holt unless it be a ruse to protect the true hammer lying elsewhere in his keep.”

“True or false, we must carry on. Yet let us do so when I can see,” hissed Elyn, frustrated by her lack of sight. “Let us get to a place where we can hide, and take our rest, and resume the search at first light on the morrow.”

And so they withdrew from the evil sanctum and went back through the dining hall and kitchen and into the great hall beyond, keeping to the walls and threading among the whispering shadows. Back to the stairwell leading up from the great hall they went, and upward, where they found quarters for the dayguard; and therein were water barrels, and the twain replenished their supply.

And ebon shadows and veering twists and unexpected edges and silent mutterings filled the ways they traversed, confusing the eyes and mazing the mind. Yet now Thork led, for Elyn was easily turned about, at times insisting that they had come this way before. But with Dwarven surety, Thork’s feet were not fooled, and steadily he pressed upward through the ebon shadows, seeking a sanctuary where they could rest.

Up another set of stairs they went, and still one more flight, and everywhere the way was glutted with darkness mouthing obscenities. And now and again, even Thork had to pause, had to feel his way, for Châkka eyes, as marvelous as they are, still cannot see in total darkness, and in many places where they trod there was a complete absence of light. Yet onward they forged, looking ever for a place of safety, a place of rest.

At last the two came up into a storage attic within the great black building, cold and dark. And there they sat down in the mad, tittering gloom, in a distant corner, taking crue and water ere attempting to sleep.

And Elyn’s dreams were filled with darkness and fright, whispering shadows clutching at her, giggling obscenely, muttering abominable blasphemies in her ear, trapping her in wrappings of wicked murk. And she could not escape.

Elyn came awake with a start, reaching for the saber lying at her side. Soft footsteps approached, and a dark form moved toward her. To one side, pale day shone weakly through a small round window below the peak of the attic roof, the wan light struggling with the writhing darkness within. Elyn lay quietly, feigning sleep, yet the hilt of the saber was in her grip, and she was fully ready to attack. But as the figure stepped quietly into the light, Elyn clapped her free hand over her mouth, stifling laughter: it was Thork, bearing a chamber pot.

Having taken care of their immediate needs, Elyn and Thork sat below the round window and ate crue and sipped water and stared into the whispering blackness, wondering at its foulness.

“There is this about it, Prince Thork,” said Elyn. “Even had we not this silveron amulet to hide us from hostile eyes, Andrak’s own ensorcellment of the light and shadows would work to protect us as well. For though it serves to obscure the detail of the keep within, so too would it provide us with concealment.”

“Aye, Princess,” responded Thork after a pause, “there is that. But were this twisting darkness not here, our task would be eased considerably. For as it stands, we will have to search every square foot of this strongholt, else we could pass within touching distance of the Rage Hammer and never see it.”

Elyn took another bite of crue and chewed thoughtfully. “Now that we are here, Thork, and have seen somewhat the layout of Andrak’s castle, at least from the outside, what we need is a plan.

“I propose the following: First, let us keep to the inside of this building and spy through the windows until we garner what watches are stood and when Andrak stirs about, for I would not have him come upon us unawares. Second, we should avoid the bailey if at all possible, for Andrak’s eyes might espy us from afar should we step into the open. Third, we should try to deduce where the Kammerling lies, given that it is somewhere within this holt. Fourth, we must think upon just how we are to escape once we have Adon’s Hammer, for the way we entered is not likely to be open to us: we must get out of these walls and down from this spire; the portcullis and gate are apt to be shut, and the bridge will most likely be drawn, not spanning the gulf. Lastly, our supplies run low, hence, we must search for sustenance to see us out of these mountains, for they are barren of wildlife and we are like to starve; it will not do for us to make off with the Kammerling only to have it lie lost in the wilderness, guarded by our two skeletons; nay, we must survive to bear it to Black Kalgalath’s lair and deal him a deathblow.”

“Ever the tactical thinker, Princess,” responded Thork. “I could have laid it out no better. We will hew to this plan of yours and see what comes.

“But first, let us rummage among the things stored within this attic, for it may hold that which we can use. . other than chamber pots.”

Quietly, they passed down the length of the attic, searching among the stored goods. Worn carpets and broken furniture and bolts of mouldy cloth they found hidden among the whispering shadows. They came upon empty chests and vacant crates, along with those filled with crockery and clothing. Too, there were rats’ nests and spiderwebs, but these denizens scuttled away as cartons and crates were moved, disturbing their crannies. Often Elyn discovered that she was sifting through goods that she had examined before, for the shadows continued to bewilder her mind and turn her about. But though his vision was often fooled, Thork’s unerring Dwarven footsteps were never lost, and when he noted Elyn’s plight, he guided her as well. Yet in the end, they found nothing of immediate use.

“Kruk! I was hoping that we would find rope,” growled Thork. “If we had enough rope, some to add to that which we already bear, we could use it to rappel down from this spire to the valley below.”

“But Thork,” exclaimed Elyn, “it must be seven or eight hundred feet to the valley floor. Besides, I know not how to rappel.”

“More like a thousand feet, Princess. And as to rappelling, it is a mere matter to teach you,” replied Thork. “And I think that we only have to drop some two hundred feet or so ere we come to where the slopes can be climbed down.”

“Ah, but Thork,” responded Elyn, “if your estimate be right, then we rappel two hundred feet or so, and that leaves some seven hundred feet to climb down: not a swift task. And should it come to that, and they somehow discover our route, say, by finding a dangling rope, then we are like to be greeted by a welcoming committee when we at last come to the valley floor.

“Even so, given no easier choice, rope it shall be; we can search for it as we look for the other: provisions, Adon’s Hammer.”

Slowly, cautiously, they worked their way downward through the building, Thork retracing his steps through the veerings of the night before, Elyn following, coming at last to the great room on the main floor. And the wan light of day struggled with shadow, pressing it back here and there. And even though the writhing murk yet confused Elyn, still it was daylight and she could see: dimly in places where the dark clotted thickly, clear where the light prevailed. Yet, there were places where the blackness was complete, and she saw not at all, and neither did Thork.

Stepping to the door, warily they peered outside. The Sun was on high, and Humans warded the walls. In the bailey, swarthy Men occasionally passed to and fro, and the two could hear the hammering of iron on anvil.

“Let us look for a storeroom,” Elyn said quietly, “and take what provisions we need: food, rope, whatever else. Then we will set watch, and cipher out the castle routine: when the guards change; when, if ever, the portcullis is raised, the gate opened; and where Andrak keeps himself, if not that black tower.”

“Princess, this doorway be not the place to spy out the practices of this keep,” responded Thork. “There be window slits high up that we can peer through to note these things. Aye, let us find provisions, then set watch, but from a safer place than this.”

They found a storeroom off the kitchen. Cured meat hung from overhead beams, yet it was dark, and unknown, and Elyn was revulsed by its smell and shape, and so they took none. Dried lentil beans filled sacks, and oats, and some type of bulbous legume. In one corner Thork found a large supply of field rations, a box of crue among these. Hefting the small crate upon his shoulder, he declared, “This is all that I would take, my Lady, though, by my beard, the beans would make a welcome change.”

Elyn filled a meager cloth bag with the beans and tied its top, and then the two warriors slipped out of the storeroom and through the kitchen and up the stairs to the attic.

On the second floor in the southeast corner of the building they found a musty storage room stacked with furniture; yet it was a room with a window slit overlooking the bailey. From the window they could observe the southern walls of the keep, the main gate, and the black tower abutted against the fortress walls.

And so they watched the rest of that day and part of the night and all the next day and night as well, slipping down from their attic hideaway to observe the strongholt’s routine.

They discovered that Men warded the walls from false dawn till after dusk, and Rutchen warders patrolled the nighttide through. Too, on both evenings just after darkness fell, a Hèlsteed-drawn chariot was brought to the black tower and tethered, yet Andrak had not driven it again since that first night. But while the chariot sat outside the ebon turret, the portcullis was raised, the gate was opened, and the drawbridge was winched outward to span the gap, and the watch atop the walls was doubled.

“This is when we must escape with the Kammerling, Thork,” hissed Elyn when she saw the pattern. “We must trust to the amulet and walk out past the warders, for then the way is open.”

“Mayhap, Lady,” answered Thork. “Yet remember, yesternight when first we saw Andrak, the portcullis was down until he returned in his chariot. And so, if this pattern holds true, should we try to escape while he is away, we will either have to find a way past those bars, or slip through when they are opened for him, or wait until the following night.”

Elyn said nought, but nodded her agreement, and they continued to spy out through the window slit.

After a long while: “Thork, I ween that Adon’s Hammer is most likely to be in the ebon tower,” declared Elyn. “Yet I also ween that the tower holds Andrak’s quarters, and I would rather explore that place when he is not about. Let us wait until he rides that chariot out ere we look within for the Kammerling. In that case, should we be successful, even though Andrak will be away and the portcullis will be down and locked, we will not need to contend with that barway, for we can merely use what rope we have and go over the wall. But in the meantime, given that he remains within his tower, let us begin searching out the rest of the keep, for it is possible that the Kammerling lies within quarters other than those of the black turret, though I doubt it.”

And so, on the third day they began to explore the keep, looking for the hiding place of the Kammerling, though both agreed that the most likely place for the hammer to be was indeed the tower.

The castle was a nightmare of confusion; it was just as the Wolfmage had said of Andrak: “. . he too knows that art of concealment, and weaves his. . magic. . to remain hidden.” And Elyn was bewildered by the twists and turns and strange edges in the veering stone hallways, and disoriented by the coiling, whispering shadows, and at times she swore that they were lost, that they had come this way before; but Thork’s sense of direction, of location, was not fooled, and he led them through the mind-twisting labyrinth.

One to hide, and one to guide, thought Elyn, and she knew that she would be hopelessly lost without Thork and his remarkable Dwarven ability.

And though they looked most carefully through all the rooms on all three floors-chart rooms, wardrooms, living quarters, storerooms, and the like-no trace of the Kammerling did they find.

And often they interrupted their search to stand quietly in the coiling shadows as swart Men or dark Spawn or corpse-white Guula strode past.

They found doorways that led to veering, shadowed, muttering passages within the fortress walls, hallways that seemed to bend unnaturally, turning upon themselves-though there was not room within the bulwarks to do so-twisting corridors made of dark stone and warded with iron doors every ten paces or so, doors that could be slammed and barred ’gainst hostile forces, though all the metal portals stood open, save one: “My feet tell me that this be a door into the dark tower, Princess,” said Thork, his voice hushed. Stealthily, the Dwarf pressed upon the panel, to no avail. “Barred on the inside, I deem.”

“Let us away from here, Thork,” breathed Elyn, “for it is day, and Andrak is not gone, and dwells inside.”

And so they pressed onward through the coiling murk within the angled passages inside the dark battlements, searching for but not finding a starsilver hammer.

They discovered an interior doorway that led into a stable and smithy bordering upon the bailey, and inside the stalls were horses; yet when Elyn pointed out that the mounts gave them another means of escape, could they but get past the gate and bridge, Thork refused, declaring that he would never ride on the back of a horse-a pony, yes, but never a horse-and about it he would say no more.

At the back wall of the stables they found a tunnel leading inward, down into the stone of the spire, where underground, illuminated by torches, past three pairs of closed unguarded wooden doors, they came into the Hèlsteed stables. And the creatures exuded a foetid miasma, a foul stench that made both Elyn’s and Thork’s gorge rise, and they were like to vomit from the smell of it. Yet they endured long enough to search out the place, to no avail.

Too, they passed down the twisting stairs from the great hall, past more sets of shut wooden doors, and found themselves in the Rutchen quarters, delved from stone, safe from sunlight. Rutcha and Drōkha dwelled within, as well as the Corpse Folk, the Guula, so named by Elyn. . though Thork called all three by their Châkka names: Ukhs, Hrōks, and Khōls. And these environs, too, had a foul stench, and it was all the two could do to stay long enough to gauge that the Kammerling was not within.

And they discovered a passage that led from the quarters of the Spawn to the Hèlsteed stables, a passage that they had missed in the murk when they had been in those foul mews earlier.

And elsewhere they found rope, in plentiful supply, and took that which was needed to rappel down from the spire, and stored it in their attic hideaway.

And through it all, the shadows silently muttered and whispered and tittered insanely, and both Elyn and Thork felt as if they were slipping toward the edge of madness from it. They did not rest well and nerves became frayed and tempers short, yet they realized the effect this twisting murk was having upon them and they did their best to compensate.

Thus passed four more days.

It was beyond midnight on the seventh night of their arrival at Andrak’s holt that Elyn was awakened from a restless sleep by Thork.

“Princess, make haste,” urged the Dwarf. “Just now Andrak’s chariot clattered out through the gate and across the bridge. Swift, let us search the tower; if we are successful, we will leave this accursed place tonight, Rage Hammer in hand.”

Elyn scrambled to her knees and sorted through her goods, shoving crue into her kit as well as the small bag of beans. It was their plan to bear their packs and all their weapons into the tower, for should they quickly locate the Kammerling, they would immediately leave over the wall by rope and across the bridge ere Andrak returned, or by rappelling down the spire in the event the bridge was haled back onto this side, the long rope even now coiled and set at the window at the far west end of the attic. Thork, too, assembled his belongings, preparing to go. Their waterskins were full, for each evening they refilled them from one of the water barrels in the shadows of the Men’s quarters, anticipating that they would need to leave in haste. Elyn strapped on her saber and set her sling to her belt. Fastening her bow and quiver to her pack, she stood and shouldered the gear.

“Ready, Thork,” she said, determination in her voice.

Latching a final buckle, Thork shouldered his own pack, the cloth-covered Dragonhide shield affixed thereupon. “Let us be gone from this madness,” he growled, his eyes sweeping across the twisting muttering darkness, and he turned and stepped toward the stairwell, Elyn following.

By the warped route wrenching through the fortress walls, they came to the closed steel door leading into Andrak’s tower. Yet it was still barred on the opposite side, and they could not get through.

“The bailey, Thork,” whispered Elyn. “It is our only way.”

Grimly, Thork nodded. “Aye, the bailey.”

The black tower loomed upward in the night, its ebon sides seeming to suck at the torchlight sputtering across the courtyard, its sloped roof consuming the feeble starlight dimly gleaming down through rents in the gathering clouds. The Hèlsteed chariot was gone and the portcullis was down, closed, and would remain so until Andrak’s return, and a cold swirling wind stirred across the cobbles and spiralled along the walls, wreathing about the tower and up. Two Rutch warders squatted at the foot of the steps leading up to the door, casting knucklebones by the guttering torchlight and cursing one another in Slûk, the slobbering, drooling speech of their kind.

Quietly, Elyn drew her saber; Thork’s axe was already in his hands. “If they detect us,” breathed Elyn, “I’ll take the one on the left.” Thork nodded, and sliding through the shadows at the base of the walls, toward the stairs they went, once again trusting to the power of the silveron nugget.

The quarrelling Rutcha showed no sign of awareness as the two slipped past and glided up the steps, the soft-moaning chill wind eddying about them.

At the top, a short landing led to a door made of planks of a strange black wood. Dark iron bands bound the portal, held in place by metal studs. An iron ring depended from a shaft jutting from the mouth of a grinning casting of a gargoyle’s head, the black metal face leering lasciviously.

Thork examined the loop and stem carefully, then cautiously turned the ring and pulled. With a quiet snick the door came free and could now be swung inward. Yet they paused a moment, readying themselves, for they did not know what might await them within the ebon turret, what might be warding the Kammerling. Even so, saber in hand, her eye on the unheeding Rutcha below, Elyn motioned for Thork to enter. The Dwarf shifted his axe to one hand and eased the dark portal open just wide enough to slip through, and he disappeared inside, closely followed by the Princess. And then Thork softly closed the door behind. Absorbed by their game, the Rutcha did not note that aught was amiss and continued their squabbling over the turn of the dice.

The Lady and the Dwarf stood with their backs to the door, axe and saber ready, expecting attack from within, yet nought came charging at them. They found themselves inside a shadow-wrapped chamber, the twisting darkness tittering insanely, below the threshold of hearing. Silent chanting plucked at their senses, and an unheard obscene muttering filled them with loathing. And into this noiseless gyring, giggling black murk stepped warrior and warrior, eyes alert, Elyn’s seeing only wavering ebon shapes.

Thork led through the shifting whispering darkness, Elyn following behind, her hand touching his shoulder for guidance. Now and again Elyn could see, for fluttering torchlight from the bailey shone in through arrow slits spaced regularly along the perimeter, the feeble light occasionally penetrating the coiling dark, the circulating wind outside moaning softly past the slits, slits with solid wooden shutters on the inside that now stood open. Working their way through the writhing shadows, they determined that this first chamber consisted of an open circular floor; it was a gathering hall of some sort, perhaps sixty feet in diameter; the space was without furniture, empty, but etched into the floor were arcane designs that Thork scrupulously avoided, steering Elyn safely past them as well. All about, the walls of the tower reared upward into the muttering blackness, and an open stairwell of stone steps clung to the side and spiralled up into the deranged gloom.

Up these steps went the two, and came into another chamber filled with twisting murk. And a heavy wooden trapdoor, horizontally hinged so that it could close off the stairwell, stood open against the wall. Again, window slits with open shutters allowed some wavering torchlight into the writhing darkness, and Elyn could perceive that they appeared to be in an alchemical laboratory, for alembics and vials and other vessels sat upon tables, and jars filled with arcane substances and labelled with a writhing script lined shelves above. Each of the tables had drawers, and now and again a chest was placed against the walls.

“You search in the darkness, Thork,” said Elyn, sheathing her saber, “I’ll look in the light.”

They pulled drawer after drawer, seeking the Kammerling, but within they found minerals and dried plants, dead animals mummified, and substances that they could not name. Books filled with the same writhing script were unearthed, and so too were rough gemstones, precious and semiprecious. Leaves and liquids and metals there were, as well as various ores and powders and unseen things sealed in small metal tins. Tools were found and glass burners filled with a clear fluid that Thork named zhar, an incendiary liquid that burned with incredible intensity. And they opened the chests to find more ores and minerals, more plants and desiccated animals, Human bones as well as those of Rutcha, and some that could not be named. And they measured to see if any of the chests held false bottoms in which the Kammerling could be hidden, to no avail.

Long they searched and thoroughly, for an hour or more, and in this room they found the opposite side of the metal door that led into the fortress walls, barred. . but no Kammerling did they find.

And all about them the darkness seethed with unheard rituals.

Across the chamber from where they entered, another open staircase pitched upward, and they climbed these steps to come into a smithy. Hot coals were in the forge, ruddy light struggling with the shadows, pressing back the blackness. Here, too, another stairwell trapdoor stood open against the wall, but the window slits were sealed tight, yet whether against the wind or daylight, they could not say.

And the two searched this chamber for the Kammerling, as well. There were anvils and quenching tubs, one stained with a dark redness, and Elyn shuddered to see such. A myriad of tools there were: hammers and tongs and chisels, wedges, great pliers and shears, instruments for bending sheet metal at sharp angles as well as round bars of various diameters for hammering iron and other metals into curves. Ingot molds there were, and large crucibles. Too, there were small tools, some tiny, for fine work, for shaping jewelry, and minute crucibles as well.

Strangely, to one side squatted a throne facing one of the tables, a great large blood-red chair with dark twisted arms ending in upturned clutching claws, the seat placed as if to watch work at the bench. Yet on the table were broken pliers, and bent tongs, an old rusted forge hammer with cracked helve and broken peen, blunted chisels, and other such. Thork noted it curiously, then, shaking his head in puzzlement, renewed his search.

And Elyn and Thork looked into every drawer and bin, and another hour or so disappeared into the night and still no Kammerling did they find. . … and the silent mad tittering darkness seemed to scoff at their efforts.

Again, stairs mounted upward on the opposite side of the room, and Thork and Elyn climbed through the curling murk and past an open trapdoor to the next floor, where they found a window-sealed, taper-lit chamber-dark struggling with light-that seemed to be a library of sorts, for it was filled with shelves laden with writings: great tomes and thin pamphlets there were, and scrolls tied with ribbons of various colors, thick books and papyrus sheets, rune stones and clay tablets. And some of the books seemed to be covered with the skins of animals: scaled, short-furred, leather, and some that Thork with loathing declared were Human or Dwarf or Elven skin, he knew not which. At one place along the wall, ensconced among the twisting coils of darkness were a desk and chair, and a slant-top sketching table and tall stool, and a bronze oil lamp for illumination; and the pen-and-ink drawing pinned to the table was a study of some hideous creature, flayed.

And once more they found no Kammerling; and the shadows writhed obscenely and shouted silent oaths as time fled irretrievably into the past.

At the head of the next flight was a door, locked, not a trapdoor this time, but one that stood upright; and it was carved with strange symbols, for the most part unknown to either Elyn or Thork, though some could be recognized to represent stars, and the Sun partially eclipsed by the Moon, and one of the great hairy stars-harbingers of doom-its long tail streaming out behind.

Thork carefully examined the lock, and then began to probe at its mechanism with a hooked metal spike slipped out from a pocket in his belt. Long he labored, yet at last the latch clicked.

Easing the door open, they peered into the final chamber within the tower, a room at the very peak of the ebon turret. Portions of the chamber were lit by luminescent globes dangling from chains, from which the gyring shadows seemed to shrink, to withdraw; yet elsewhere ebon pools and blots of darkness clotted, blocking all vision, including Thork’s. Elyn’s soul recoiled at the thought of entering this sinister room, yet to find the Kammerling she had little choice. “Let’s go,” she murmured to Thork, and stepped across the threshold.

Now the silent twisting blackness seemed to be shouting curses at them, and laughing madly and mouthing unheard threats, and screaming a noiseless alarm through the night; and its dark coils reached outward and clutched at them, as if trying to smother, to strangle the two, to bind them and hold them as would a spider’s web. Yet inward pressed Elyn and Thork, and they found that they were within Andrak’s living quarters.

They discovered a bed and chairs and tables, and a desk against the wall. And carefully, they searched them all, working their way slowly around the room. There were astrolabes, and strange circular devices engraved with stars and moons and suns, and they all rotated on separate but finely geared tracks. And there were more books with strange sinister writing. There were crystals of all types, some hung on chains, and stone tiles carven with runes, and arcane cards marked with pictures of pentacles and cups, wands and swords, and other such, some with drawings of creatures and towers and skeletons and fools, warriors and Kings and Ladies, and succubi and incubi and daemons. And on one table they found twelve bleached skulls, ranging in size from very large to small. “Aie!” wailed Thork, pointing at the largest skull in the collection. “This is most wicked, for surely that be the head of an Utrun, a Stone Giant. Andrak has slain an Earthmaster. And look! There also be the skull of a Waeran as well. Foul. Foul. . ”

Elyn’s eyes scanned the remaining skulls. “And these others?’

‘Ůkh, Khōl, Man, Ogru,” answered Thork, “these I recognize. And I deem these two to be Châk and Elf, but as to the remainder, I cannot say.”

Repelled, Thork turned away and began searching the drawers of a bureau, unable to bear the sight of what he perceived to be a foulness done to Utrun and Waeran; even the sight of the Châk cranium did not bring such loathing against Andrak as did the largest and the smallest of the twelve skulls. Yet Elyn lingered a moment, staring in revulsion at the horrid collection.

And the silent shrieking shadows gibbered noiselessly.

Suddenly Elyn found that she was listening, intently, not to the soundless tittering screaming shadows but to something outside the tower. “Hearken, Thork!” she sissed, and he ceased his rummaging. In the quiet that followed they both heard the faint cries of the warders atop the walls. . or within the courtyard. . and the harsh clatter of gears. “Andrak! He returns! Let us fly from here!”

Swiftly they strode from the chamber, Thork pausing to twist a knob that would latch the lock, closing the door behind with a click.

And outside, cloven hooves hammered up the road twisting ’round the dark companion spire.

Down the staircase along the wall they ran, down and through the clutching murk and across the library, past the books and tomes and scrolls and pamphlets and to the next open stairwell, Thork leading, Elyn following.

And a chariot boomed inward across the drawbridge.

Down into the smithy fled the twain, past the tables, past the forge, past the anvils, past the red throne and to the steps opposite. Down these they started, yet suddenly Thork stopped. “I have it!” he cried, and dashed back up the stone stair.

And through the gate hammered the Hèlsteeds, the iron-rimmed wheels slamming across the cobbles of the bailey.

“Wait, Thork,” cried Elyn, “you step beyond the protection of the amulet.” But the Dwarf was gone, not heeding her words; or mayhap her warning was lost in the labyrinth of shadows, the murk smothering the sound. Bewildered, Elyn ran after-the Wolfmage’s voice echoing in her mind: “. . one will die without the other. . ”-and she came back into the smithy; yet without Thork to guide her through the darkness she became disoriented and lost in the shadows-“. . without the other. . ” But suddenly she stepped to the edge of the gloom and dimly, by the rudden light of the glowing forge coals, she could see Thork across the room. He was at the table where lay the broken tools, and he reached out and took hold of the old rusted forge hammer with the cracked helve and the broken peen, and laughed, for what the eyes saw was not what the hands felt: the glamour cast upon the maul made it appear rusted, damaged, old, broken, yet his hands knew that this was the Rage Hammer, smooth, unbroken, with a marvelous balance and the touch and heft of starsilver. And Thork turned to go, and Elyn started to call out to him, yet suddenly, neither could move.

For Andrak had stepped into the room.

And he hissed arcane words. Words that burned into the mind and paralyzed. And his eyes glared into those of Thork. And pinned him in place as would a serpent’s gaze ensnare a rabbit.

Elyn wanted to scream, Run, Thork, run! but she found she could not, for though she was not the direct target of Andrak’s spell, still the very reflection of his power within the chamber rendered her virtually immobile: she could but barely move. Seeking aid, slowly, agonizingly, her left hand went to her throat, and clutched the silveron nugget. But even the touch of that puissant token did not break Andrak’s hold on her.

The Mage pushed back his hood, and Elyn did not know whether she looked upon a Man or an Elf. Dusky were his features, and narrow, his nose hooked, as a vulture. His slanted eyes seemed all black, and no pupil could be discerned. Casting aside the Hèlsteed whip that he bore in his left, he stalked toward Thork, one long grasping hand outstretched, claw-like, and an ebon substance coated his sharpened talons. And Elyn knew that it portended death to be scratched by the Mage’s black claws.

“So,” hissed Andrak, “it was you I sensed coming to steal that which I hold. Fool! Yet I give you this, Dubh: you have gotten farther than any other would-be hero who has sought after the accursed Kammerling: nine have tried, you are the tenth; all have failed; the last two, storm-slain by my hand.”

And suddenly Elyn knew that Andrak believed that Thork was alone; the Mage did not know that she stood in the shadows. And she knew that if she were but free, she could cut down the Magus with her saber. . yet she did not know whether she could reach him ere he slew Thork. What was wanted was a weapon in hand that could strike from afar: The Hèlsteed whip! Where did it skitter when he cast it down? She could not see it in the shadows. What else?. .-My sling! Fighting the stunning paralysis, with great effort, inch by struggling inch, Elyn managed to move her arm, to get her fingers to her waist, to slip her sling from her belt, to take it in throwing hand. But she knew that there was no way that she would have the control to untie the small bullet bag from her girt and undo the drawstring and withdraw a lead ball and load it. Yet even could she do all that, still she had not the wherewithal to sling a shot at the Mage, for she was like unto one who had been benumbed, nigh immobile. And so she stood there, left hand at her throat gripping the token of power, right hand at her waist holding her sling at her side.

And all the while Elyn had struggled to gain hold of her sling, Andrak’s voice had hissed through the shadows: “You are the tenth fool to come calling since that arrogant, preening Drake, Black Kalgalath, first bore the hammer unto me. Ten fools in twelve hundred years-three this year alone. Yet you are the only one to reach this spire, to breach my walls, to gain the tower, to step into this room, a trespassing for which you will pay a price beyond your worst nightmares.”

And beads of sweat stood out upon Thork’s brow as he struggled to move, yet not a muscle twitched, for he was the direct target of Andrak’s sorcery, and it was too powerful.

“Dubh,” sneered Andrak, “little did you know that my sentinel shadows shrieked warning the moment you intruded into my sanctum, my room atop this tower; but even so, still you somehow managed to escape being bound by my warding murk. Though I do not detect it, you must have some token of power about you, else you would even now be clutched in coils of blackness within my quarters. Heed! I would have that token so that in the future I may know how to ward against it, or one like it. Where is it hidden, Dubh? Where?. .

“Pah! You cannot answer, and it is of no importance, for I will find it when I have slain you.”

The dark Mage stepped the last step unto the transfixed Dwarf, Andrak’s voice once again a malevolent whisper. And there in the coils of twisting murk his hissing words fell like drops of death from a viper’s mouth: “Know this, Dubh, the manner of your death: When I touch you, you will break out in great dark pustules, and you will bloat, and turn black, and split open as would a days-old dead beast in a relentless Sun, and puss will spill from you as a malodorous flowing stream. Yet you will not be dead-though you will wish it were so-but alive instead, watching your own body swell and split and gush. Long will you scream in unremitting agony, to no avail, for you will indeed die in the end, not swiftly, mind you, but gradually, and in wracking pain in the days to come, amid the stench and spoil and corruption of your own body, a corruption that I will visit upon you. And slowly you will decay, a living rot, your shrieks becoming whines, becoming moans, becoming whispers, becoming a wordless bubbling as your lips decompose, as your lungs become a liquid putrescence, as your eyes dissolve, as your body becomes a cankerous liquescent running. In the end you will be nought but slime and bone. And when it is done, I will add another Dubh skull to my collection.”

With these words hissing in his ears, Thork managed to do what none had e’er done before; what effort it cost him cannot be measured-veins stood out upon his forehead, his face turned dark, his muscles strained, sweat runnelled down into his eyes. Yet even though the Mage’s will was bent upon him, Thork managed to move-slowly, jerkily-raising up his arm, attempting to bring the Kammerling into play.

Andrak’s eyes widened in startlement at this inconceivable motion, and then he focused all of his energy upon this fool before him and reached out with his black talons.

And at the very instant Andrak turned the whole of his sorcerous power upon Thork, suddenly Elyn was free. And she broke the thong on the silveron nugget and set it into the sling and whipped her arm ’round and out, loosing the silver bullet.

Like an argent streak, the starsilver amulet sissed across the room with deadly accuracy to strike Andrak in the temple, the token crashing through the side of his skull and into his brain.

And it burst into argent werefire!

Andrak grabbed his head and screamed hoarsely, his shrieks of agony echoing throughout the tower. Blinding silver light burst forth from his skull and through his fingers, as if a savage inferno, a raging fulgence, furiously burned within. And Andrak’s howls shrilled upward, and he clutched his head and spun and whirled and jerked spastically, jittering in a horrid dance of death, the argent luminance blasting outward, driving the whining shadows back, a thin wailing wringing forth from the churning blackness as if in pain, silver light from the spectral flames piercing the darkness through, destroying the twisting, gibbering, coiling murk, burning it, argent wildfire racing through the shrieking shadows, leaving nought behind.

And Andrak thrashed and jerked and screamed, his feet drumming the floor in a tattoo of doom. While all about, the shadows blazed, silver burning black, and shrieked a thin shrilling death cry.

And of a sudden, still clutching his skull, the Mage fell to his knees, his screams weakening, fading to a keening wail, to a whine, to a whisper.

And the spectral light went out.

And Andrak fell dead.

And Thork was freed from the Wizard’s spell.

And now Elyn remembered the exact words of the Wolfmage: “. . if you are the one, then it is written that this nugget will protect you in horror’s domain; yet there will come a time when you will sling it from you. . but that is as it should be, for the token, too, has a destiny to fulfill; it is so ordained.” And indeed the token of power had fulfilled its destiny: Andrak was slain. The tittering twisting shadows within the tower were destroyed.

And Thork and Elyn were alive, and Thork held the true Kammerling.

But they were trapped within a black fortress teeming with enemy, their silveron amulet gone.