The ship Stalwart drove through the rough seas with grim determination, sending up sheets of white foam as she crested each sullen gray wave before descending into the next trough. The wind was fresh from the northeast, and tattered clouds of gray and white scudded across the pale winter sky as Devrik stood alone at the prow, his dark gaze fixed on the horizon, beyond which lay their goal.
He knew the others were not entirely sold on this venture, and that it was primarily his will that drove them forward in such a rush. But time was not on their side, he felt it in his gut… besides, he knew his friends well. If he’d indulged the group’s usual habit of arguing endlessly around what needed to be done, they’d have come to this same place eventually – they always knew what had to be done, even if they sometimes dithered on how to do it. But the hours lost could be critical ones this time, and his cousin Nina might not have the luxury of those hours.
Nor the Princess Relina, of course. But it was the fate of the cousin he’d never met that occupied most of Devrik’s thoughts and drove him into danger. Family was of supreme importance, and he had few enough to risk losing any. His other cousin, Wirdon, stood on the aft poop deck with the captain and the steersman, his own grim visage a constant spur to the seamen despite their fears of the destination. His tension was so palpable, as he brooded on his twin sister’s danger, that Devrik could almost feel it across the length of the vessel…
Beneath Ser Wirdon’s feet, in the captain’s stateroom, the rest of the Hand of Fortune were gathered around the ward table, discussing their options. No one was thrilled about daring the legendary dangers of Barasina Island and the even more legendary evil of the Ur-Tel’naru, especially with no real time to prepare. But Devrik’s argument that a swift strike gave them the element of surprise, combined with King Balen’s pleas and the fear in Baron Gevdan’s usually stoic eyes, combined to sway them, and here they were.
“I don’t mind facing evil, dark Telnori,” Toran groaned, “but why must we travel through this storm to do it?” His usually swarthy features were pale, with just a hint of green at the edges, and he clutched a brass chamber pot in his lap. He hadn’t had to use it yet, but…
“Storm?” scoffed Korwin, getting up to move to the sideboard and the decanter of port there, his rolling gait seemingly oblivious to the pitch and yaw of the ship. “The storm is long passed, my Khundari friend. This sea is merely a bit fresh.”
He poured out some of the dark liquid into a cup and brought it to his companion. “Here, drink this, I promise it will help settle your stomach. Just sips, mind you, don’t gulp it!”
Toran looked dubious, but if anyone in the group knew about the sea – the horrible, horrible sea – it would be the Oceanian water mage. He took a tentative sip, and when he didn’t immediately heave it back up he took another. His stomach did seem to settle a bit…
Mariala looked in sympathy at her friend and patted his hand. She was very grateful that she rarely suffered from sea sickness, although there had been that one time aboard the Fortune’s Favor in that gale… best not to think on that just now, perhaps.
“I’m afraid there’s little choice, Toran,” she said with a sigh. “One of the reasons the Ur-Tel’naru were imprisoned on Barasina in the first place was that there are no Nitaran Gates there. And thanks to the wards the Immortals themselves placed around it, none ever will manifest there.”
“So, what do we really know about these so-called Dark Telnori?” Erol asked, tearing off a hunk of bread from the salted loaf on the table. His stomach was just fine. He fed a morsel to Grover, who was perched on his shoulder.
“Well, I know a few ballads,” Vox offered. “Mainly about the Ur-Tel’naru of Shaista-var, beneath the Greatstone Mountains, but there might be something there we could use…”
At the others’ urging he pulled out his lute and sang the songs… an entertaining hour for the others, and it did seem to distract Toran from his queasiness, but ultimately not of much obvious use.
“So, they seemed to be obsessed with spiders,” Vulk summarized as Vox re-cased his lute, “liked to sacrifice others in dark rituals to extend their own lives, and committed every atrocity imaginable on innocent peasants and unlucky heroes. And, of course, feared and shunned the sunlight… although that last one seemed more metaphorical than factual.”
“Whatever the truth of the past was,” Haplo offered, “perhaps 15 or so centuries of isolation and introspection has mellowed the survivors?”
As the others considered this dubious proposition a faint cry came suddenly from the lookout in the crows nest.
“Land ho!”
♦ ♦ ♦
The longboat scrapped against the shale of the narrow beach, and two of the terrified crewmen who had “volunteered” to row the group ashore leapt out. Chill water lapped at their knees as they pulled the boat far enough onto the strand for the Hand to disembark with relatively dry feet. As soon as Toran’s boots gratefully hit the sand, however, the two men were shoving the boat back out and pulling themselves aboard in unseemly haste. Pulling hard, with fearful looks to where the the wreck of the princess’ ship rose from the waves, the seamen headed back to the Stalwart.
“I trust your cousin will be able to hold them here until we signal for pick-up,” Vulk said to Devrik, as he watched the men row away. “And wouldn’t it have made more sense for them to await us here on the beach… or at least just off shore… in case we need to make a fast escape?”
“More sense, yes,” Devrik growled, already striding across the beach toward the wreck. “But Wirdon felt we’d pushed the men as far as we could, getting them this far. And that’s why he stayed aboard the Stalwart, to stiffen their spines and make sure they’re still nearby when Mariala calls for them.”
And that had been a struggle itself, getting Wirdon to stay behind. He’d naturally been hot to lead the charge to rescue his sister (and the princess, of course), but had eventually given way in the face of Devrik’s arguments… the main one being that the crew knew and respected him, making him best suited to keep them in place off this haunted island.
Examining the sea-battered wreckage the group quickly determined that it was indeed the remains of the Sea Sprite, Princess Relina’s vessel. A single chest was half-buried in the sand, and once Toran had worked his magic to open its lock it revealed the high-quality clothes of a noblewoman. Korwin attempted to determine if they were, in fact, the princess’ clothes, but his psychometric gift seemed cold and he learned nothing.
In the meantime some of the others scoured the beach, reading the signs left by the survivors. It was obvious that several people had spent some time attempting to salvage supplies from the shattered vessel, and that a party of perhaps a dozen had eventually made their way off the beach and up a bluff to the west.
Atop the bluff the Hand found signs of a temporary camp, including the cold remains of a large bonfire. Set close by the edge of the 20 meter cliff overlooking the sea, it had obviously been built as a distress beacon as well as a source of warmth against the winter chill. But there were also clear signs of a struggle…
“No blood, which is at least promising,” Erol mused as he studied the marks in the sandy soil. “But I have no idea what they were fighting… I’ve never seen tracks like these before.”
“Nor have I,” Devrik agreed. “But whatever attacked, they were large and… clawed? And these marks here… I’d say large nets were used. And our people were dragged off to the south…”
“Um, yes…” Vulk said abruptly, a distant look in his eyes. “Probably by enormous spiders… ridden like horses, by men with lances, or long spears…” The others stared at him in surprise.
“Like those!” Vulk pointed to the south, where three immense spiders were just cresting the nearest inland hill, Cherdon circling in the air above them. Perhaps five meters across, they had glistening black bodies with bilious green underbellies and their jointed, spiked, claw-tipped legs rose high over the heads of their riders. These were clearly men, but men with dark blue skin and shining white hair. Clad in gleaming black plate and chain, trimmed with silver, each bore a tall weapon – a cross between a spear and a proper lance the fighters decided.
“Perhaps they’re the traditional welcoming committee,” Korwin suggested as it became obvious the group had been spotted. “Maybe we could try talking this time, before we kill everyone?”
“I’m all for talking,” Vulk agreed, raising his Herald’s Baton high and stepping forward. Korwin followed a few paces behind. The three riders had spurred their mounts and were approaching quickly.
In fact, “barreling down on them” might be a better way to put it, Toran thought… he loosed the battle axe across his back. At the same time Vox nocked an arrow to his longbow, and Erol drew his own weapon. Devrik, Mariala and Haplo began concentrating on combat spells…
“They really don’t look like they want to talk,” Vox suggested, although he kept his bow lowered. At that moment the lead rider reached down to something on the side of his odd saddle, coming up with a wicked-looking javelin. Even as Vulk called out the greeting of Kasira’s Peace the rider hurled the javelin straight at him.
Vulk dodged left and Korwin went right, and the weapon flew between them, thudding into the ground with a weird electric hiss. Green tendrils of energy momentarily snaked out from it, narrowly missing the heroes. With a look somewhere between annoyance and resignation, Vulk again raised his Baton, but this time he used it to Curse the lead rider.
Mariala unleashed her Fire Nerves spell but, despite being a near-perfect casting, it appeared to have little effect on either riders or mounts. The sheet of ice Korwin cast across their path was more effective… the lead spider slid and scrabbled for purchase, then turned to flee. Its rider struggled to control it while hurling another javelin at the water mage, which Korwin easily dodged.
Devrik let loose a Fireball and the other two spiders and their riders were engulfed in flames. One rider managed to leap from his burning mount relatively unscathed, but the other took Vox’s arrow to the head… his body burned merrily along with his spider’s. The stench was horrible and almost overwhelming, an acrid smell like burning hair combined with the nauseatingly appetizing aroma of roasting human flesh.
Haplo sent one of his sleeping darts at the dismounted rider, but was unable to hit any of the the relatively small patches of flesh not covered by armor. Toran had better luck with his own shot, as his cross-bow bolt took the warrior in the throat. The man fell to the ground, clutching at the bolt, twitched twice, and expired.
Erol loosed an arrow from his bow that managed to knock the remaining rider from his seat just as he regained control of his mount, turning back to face the group. As the rider lay stunned on the ground Mariala reached out with Dü Latal’s Communion to try and sooth and control the remaining spider. It seemed to work, as the creature calmed and stood where it was, shifting on its stilt-like legs restlessly…
Unfortunately, this calm didn’t last once she tried to suggest an action to the creature, and it reared up, preparing to attack. Toran and Vox hacked it down before it could follow through, however.
“A nice try,” Toran consoled his friend as he cleaned his axe. Mariala shrugged and gave him a wry grin.”The usual didn’t seem to be working,” she sighed, “so I thought I’d go with something new.”
Erol and Devrik bound the fallen Ur-Tel’naru and dragged him upwind of the burning spider corpses for questioning. It quickly became clear that the sentry didn’t understand Yashparic, and the language he spoke, while it hovered on the edge of comprehensibility, was not the Espar they’d expected. But once Vulk performed the Ritual of Tongues, the words of the their captive quickly began to make sense…
“…ghra na’ormvesh vhile mayfly vermin, infesting our prison/home –”
“Why did you attack us?” Vulk demanded, interrupting the prisoner’s tirade. The man looked momentarily surprised, then understanding lit his dark features.
“Ah, a lapdog of one of the Great Betrayers… you use the meager power they allow you to speak Reshki, the true tongue. Little good will it do you, mayfly. I will tell you nothing!”
And after several minutes of back and forth, with Vulk occasionally translating for his companions the various threats, predictions of their grisly deaths, and how their paltry life-force would feed the Ur-Tel’naru, it was obvious their captive would not, in fact, be telling them anything useful.
“This is a waste of time,” Devrik said at last. “We’re wasting valuable minutes –”
“He did let slip that his people took the survivors of the wreck,” Vulk interrupted, his own frustration obvious. “Maybe we can trip him up agai–”
“Devrik is right, we’re wasting precious time,” Mariala said suddenly. Then, to the utter shock of her companions, she drew her dagger and slit the captive’s throat. Vulk leapt aside to avoid the sudden arterial spray, venting a string of curses.
“I’m sorry,” Mariala said calmly, sounding not the least bit repentant. She wiped her blade on the dead man’s tunic before re-sheathing it. “We all knew it would have to be done, eventually – we could hardly risk leaving him alive behind us, nor could we safely take him with us. My own Truthsense told me that he was absolutely adamant in his refusal to help us, and given what he did say about sacrificing us “mayflies” to extend his own people’s lives, I judged we had best waste no more time here.”
Vulk was furious, and prepared to argue the point at some length, but Devrik interceded before he could get fairly started.
“We can debate this later, my friend,” he said, pulling the cantor away and giving Mariala a quelling shake of the head. “For now I think time really is of the essence. Let’s back-track on the trail of these disgusting spider-mounts and see if we can’t find our missing folk, yes?”
While Devrik calmed Vulk, Erol and Vox began looking for tracks, and Korwin and Toran quickly searched the bodies of the two non-flambed corpses. They found little of interest in the way of loot, with the exception of a rod made of some dark wood that the lead rider had carried. Capped with a large white crystal, its only decoration was a carved collar just below the head set with four smaller gems of red, blue, green and white.
Korwin once again attempted to use his psychometry on the rod, but ended up with nothing except a splitting headache and the faintest idea that it might be a key of some sort. That was enough for Toran, who tucked it into his belt while the water mage rubbed his temples, looking like he might puke…
♦ ♦ ♦
The trail led them inland, up the slope to the crest of the hills overlooking the island’s northern shore. Covered in moderately dense woodland, the path of the original capturing party was not hard to follow. The bare trees and rough ground were covered in a light dusting of snow as they climbed in elevation, eventually leveling out to a large upland plateau and a crude path.
Two hours of travel eased Korwin’s throbbing head somewhat, and brought the Hand to a relatively open space in the woods. A frozen pond lay at the western foot of a small bluff, atop which was a stone platform, carved in intricate, mystical designs that glowed faintly with arcane energy in the weak winter sunlight. The structure was guarded by two motionless Ur-Tel’naru sentries, who seemed unfazed by the biting wind.
Cherdon overflew the area a few times, allowing Vulk to accurately describe the lay of the land to his companions. Warm enough while they hiked, everyone was now beginning to feel the winter bite, puffing and blowing on gloved hands and pulling cloaks tight about them as they worked out a plan of attack. Only Korwin seemed completely comfortable, wrapped in his magical Robe of Kesadarin… really more of a hooded cloak, Mariala mused irritably as she shivered next to the smug bastard.
In fairly short order the Hand worked out their plan…
Toran used his Amulet of Deception to give himself the appearance of the dead spider-rider they’d questioned, and took Mariala as his “prisoner,” straight up the stairs on the gently sloped east side of the bluff. The others divided into two groups which stealthily gathered to the north and south under cover of the winter woods.
As their supposed brother-in-arms approached, the two sentries finally broke their statue-like rigidity, calling out to him in what sounded like puzzlement… but not suspicion, Vulk realized, his understanding of their tongue making him the only one of the Hand to now comprehend what they said.
As they approached the two sentries Toran repeated the rote phrase Vulk had taught him, to the effect that he’d found this “mayfly” female wandering in the woods. The deception lasted just long enough for them to get within striking distance. Even as suspicion flared on the mens’ faces Toran swung his battle-axe at the one on the left, and Mariala’s Khundari dagger slashed at the one on the right.
Both Ur-Tel’naru warriors had lightning reflexes – Toran’s target leapt back just enough to avoid being gutted, although the blow rent his mail and a spray of blood arced away from the axe blade; Mariala’s target blocked her blow with his plate vambrace, and quickly to drew his own sword.
At the instant of their attack Vox and Jeb let fly from their longbows, but both shafts veered suddenly away, as if a strong gust of wind had struck them. Both archers were chagrined, but only Vox had a suspicion that it was more than an errant gust that had waylaid their shafts. A second volley proved just as ineffective, and then Vox was certain some arcane mischief was afoot.
On the stone platform Toran had moved to put himself between both warriors and Mariala, knowing that with surprise gone she stood little chance against the longer reach of their wickedly curved black swords. As he parried the Ur-Tel’naru attacks, watching for any opening, Devrik rushed forward to join the fray.
But before he could reach his friends there was a sudden shriek from the sky and Cherdon stooped on one of the sentries, his talons ripping the flesh from the man’s face, and one eye as well. At the same instant a flash of silver-brown fur streaked up the leg and torso of the other warrior, and Grover sank his fangs into the man’s unprotected throat.
Apparently hitting an artery, the ferret savaged his prey and the sentry fell to the ground, clutching futilely at the now blood-soaked and slippery animal as his life drained away. With a single, merciful swing of his axe Toran put the other guard, shrieking and clutching at his face and ruined eye, out of his misery.
The others soon joined Toran, Mariala and Devrik on the stone platform, and while the Khundari examined the area for signs as to its purpose the others airily explained to the amazed Haplo and Vox that no, this was not the first time that Grover had taken out a grown fighter. Although it was Cherdon’s debut kill as a member of the Hand’s Animal Auxiliary.
Toran soon drew everyone’s attention to a circular carving in the center of the stone symbol to the left of the main one. It had four smaller circles placed within it, three on the edge and one in the center. Each of these had large, smooth crystals set within, the three outer ones an opalescent white, the center one a translucent gray.
“If that rod we took of the dead Ur-Tel’naru captain is a key, as Korwin suspects, this may be the lock it opens.” Toran pulled the device from his belt and examined it more closely.
“Both it and the circle radiate a very faint magical aura,” Mariala said after a minute of concentration. “They do seem… related.”
Toran twisted the collar on the rod and was unsurprised to find that it moved. He aligned the red gemstone with the silver arrowhead embedded just below the head. With a click the large faceted crystal atop the rod began to glow with a deep crimson light. Looking at the others for a group consensus, he reached down and touched the glowing crystal to one of the white stones.
The stone he touched immediately began to glow red, as did the next one he touched. Absently waving off Korwin’s various suggestions, the Dwarf twisted the collar again, turning the faceted crystal blue. He touched it to the remaining white stone, which turned blue… as did the two red ones to either side!
With all three stones along the edge now blue the center stone also began to glow with its own blue light. Toran touched the rod to the center stone and, with a grating sound of stone-on-stone, the central part of the platform irised open, revealing stone steps leading down into darkness.
“Huh. Well, that was surprisingly simple,” he said, tucking the rod back into his belt. “Of course I have an instinct for these sorts of things. Shall we?” He gestured at the waiting opening.
Vulk performed the Ritual of Kasira’s Light, giving the group the ability to see in darkness and removing the need for possible tell-tale torches or other light sources. The Hand descended into the now not-so-dark darkness, leaving only Cherdon behind to keep an eye on the area.
As they filed down, no one, not even the sharp-eyed bird, noticed the sudden dark, sinuous movement that was briefly visible beneath the ice of the frozen pond…
♦ ♦ ♦
The stairs wound down for over 30 meters by Toran’s estimate before debouching into a sort of courtyard – one overgrown with lush, green vegetation! A gray light, like that of a bright overcast day, filled the area, obscuring whatever ceiling there was and giving the illusion of being out-of-doors. The air was warm and actually a bit humid.
Directly ahead was a large statue, at least twice life-size, of a beautiful and yet somehow cruel-looking woman. Its blue-painted skin and silver-painted hair marked her as one of the Ur-Tel’naru… or perhaps some deity they worshipped? The gown the figure wore seemed a thing of gossamer – spider silk carved in stone. Its outstretched hand held…
“Is that a human heart?” Mariala asked plaintively.
To either side of the statue stood doors of age-darkened oak, bound in black iron wrought in a spiderweb motif. Both proved to be unlocked, and it was a coin-toss as to which way they should go, there being no indications anyone could find to suggest one path over another.
In the end the Hand passed through the door on the left, after Mariala’s casting of Deanna’s Perception suggested that an air of malevolent hostility pervaded the entire area, and she could provide no particular sense of where it was coming from.
The corridors they traversed, dimly illuminated by the reddish light of ancient glowstones, were of a style not even Toran was familiar with. He and Korwin agreed that they had something of the flavor of First Millennium Telnori stonework about them… but with subtle and somehow unsettling differences. The scattered bones that littered the floors in many places did little to lift anyones mood, especially once they were able to identify at least some of them as humanoid…
The architecture also seemed engineered to be purposefully meandering and confusing, often leading to apparent dead ends where even Toran could find no secret doors or hidden purpose. They neither saw nor heard any signs of life as they progressed through what was obviously a labyrinth.
Eventually they came to a chamber larger than any they’d yet encountered, in the center of which was a square pit almost two meters across. It’s carved rim, raised a few centimeters from the floor seemed almost designed to trip the unwary into its unknown depths. A stone dropped in fell for six seconds before the faint ‘plunk’ of water echoed back up the shaft.
A flight of oddly angled steps to the north led to another apparent dead end, but to the south a corridor led into another large room, this one obviously a spa or bathing chamber. Intricate friezes in black marble lined the ceiling and mosaics of black, blue and silver glass could be seen through the gently steaming water on the floor of the pool. All of the artwork depicted scenes of extreme sexual debauchery, some of which even Vulk had never imagined.
While Vox and Vulk lingered (to make absolutely sure there were no clues secreted about the room), most of the Hand retreated quickly back to the pit room. Toran, drawn to the odd angles of the northern portion of the room, eventually found what he’d been certain had to be there – a secret door. The opening mechanism was not complex, and in a moment he had it open.
The room revealed was 10 meters long and three wide, stretching off to the left. An innocent pattern of stylized waves covered the floor, beneath perhaps 30 centimeters of clear water. But before he had time to notice any more than that, all the water in the room suddenly rushed to the center and rose up into a swirling pillar of raging foam.
“Oh crap, I think it’s a–” was all he had time for before a tendril of solid water lashed out and slammed into his chest, sending him hurtling backward as everything went black…
Mariala barely dodged Toran’s flying body, and instinctively cast a spell of Resistance on herself, preparing for another fight. Another damn water elemental?! She really needed to get Korwin to recharge that Amulet of Water Elemental Control…
Vulk, returning finally from the spa/orgy chamber, was just in time to see his Khundari friend slapped across room by the water elemental, and he lunged forward, eyes wide as he realized Toran was headed straight for the open pit. Vulk was much too far away to be of any help but, by the blessing of Kasira, Devrik wasn’t.
Grabbing the flying Dwarf, Devrik was jerked off his own feet by the momentum, but he was able to stop either of them from going over into the darkness. A lucky save, he thought, but if they had to fight with that Void-cursed pit behind them… he was relieved to see glowing strands of force weave themselves across the opening as Vulk waved his hands and muttered an incantation under his breath.
As the raging water elemental surged out of the chamber that had, apparently, imprisoned it and the Hand took up battle stances, Devrik focused his primal fire energies. Before the creature could make another attack the multicolored sheets of Arkel’s Fiery Ribbons poured from his hands and blasted into it.
With an explosive shriek unlike anything the Hand had ever heard the elemental vanished in a cloud of steam that quickly expanded to fill the room and pour out into the corridors beyond. Fortunately most of the scalding moisture was blown back into the elemental’s chamber, and no one was more than lightly poached. The steam quickly evaporated away, leaving Vulk free to tend to Toran’s injuries, and Vox’s hair a frizzy mess.
It only took a few minutes and a little of Vulk’s innate healing ability to bring the Khundari ninja back to consciousness and dissipate his incipient concussion. While this was going on Korwin explored the elemental’s sweltering prison, but found nothing of interest, to his intense disappointment.
In short order Toran was back on his feet and ready to continue. “Although, one of you lot can open the next hidden door,” he rumbled as they returned to the maze of corridors.
It was just twenty minutes later that the Hand finally encountered one of the Ur-Tel’naru who presumably inhabited this dismal dungeon. Erol opened yet another door, albeit an ordinary looking one, to reveal what looked like an ancient shrine. A raised dais, etched with glowing green sigils of power, held an enormous golden skull at least two meters tall. Kneeling before the self-evidently evil alter was a male Ur-Tel’naru, so deep in prayer or meditation that he failed to immediately realize his sanctum had been invaded.
“Where is the Princess?” barked Toran, stepping in after Erol and drawing his battle axe. The man’s eyes flew open, revealing solid red orbs without visible pupil. He was on his feet and reaching for a dagger at his belt faster than seemed possible, a snarl replacing the very fleeting look of surprise on his face.
But Erol’s extratemporal talent had kicked in as soon as he’d entered the room, and he moved even faster – he threw a tangle net at the Dark Telnori, ensnaring his weapon hand, then stabbed forward with his trident. His foe twisted away, but entangled in the net he couldn’t quite avoid the blades, and they ripped a deep double gouge in his left shoulder.
Toran leaped in then, swinging his battle-axe, which the man tried to block with his ensnared hand, but again the netting stymied him and he staggered back with a deep slash across his abdomen. Clutching at the gushing wound, his blood spattering the floor, the Ur-Tel’naru never even saw Devrik’s killing blow…
In the aftermath, many of the Hand wanted to properly loot the place, but Devrik gently conveyed to them his growing sense of urgency in such a way that, suddenly, no one felt the need to linger. Only Mariala resisted an immediate departure, insisting on checking out the small vestry/office to the north of the shrine.
While she did, Korwin and Toran searched the body of the dead priest or mage or whatever the man had been, but found nothing interesting beyond a few gems in a pouch and another rod-key, identical to the one they already had.
Mariala soon emerged from the other room, stuffing various papers and scrolls into her pack. At Devrik’s look she shrugged. “In the past some of the most valuable things we’ve gained came from captured documents like these. And given that no one has had any contact with these people for more that 15 centuries, who knows what we might learn?”
Devrik shrugged in return and took the lead as the group once more set out through the maze-like corridors. Another hour of cautious skulking uncovered twinned rooms filled with water, beneath which appeared to be the skeletal remains of two very large giants, what looked like a tack room and barracks for spider-riders, and a multiplicity of fascinating hallways.
“I swear, we’ve entered the domain of Hallolth, the Goddess of Narrow Enclosed Spaces,” Vox muttered as they followed another twisting corridor out of the tack room.
But this corridor led to a wider space and two immense double doors, which promised something more interesting than they’d yet encountered… maybe a throne room, or great hall? Someplace with the actual residents, perhaps?
“I’m not sure about this,” Toran commented as Devrik and Erol approached the large doors. “Look at these.” He pointed at four wide shafts that led upward through the ceiling opposite the great doors. Far above, the wan light of the winter afternoon could be seen.
“Given the proximity to that tack room, with all the strange saddles and bridles and whatever, and these shafts… I think this is how the spider-riders come and go. Which means that room is probably –”
But Devrik and Erol had already pulled open one of the heavy oak doors, revealing an immense hall, shrouded in a darkness. A few large glowstones radiated a sullen red light that only served to deepen the shadows. And moving in those shadows was a shifting mass of gigantic spider shapes! Scores of multifaceted eyes turned towards the open door, and a hissing, scrabbling sound began as they began to move toward the light.
With muscles bulging, Devrik slammed the door shut as quickly as possible, and dropped the iron bar back into place across it. “We’re going that way,” he rumbled, point to the corridor to their right. “Now!”
After traversing a very narrow corridor for several minutes, it seemed the Hand had finally found a populated area of the structure. Peering around the corner from where their narrow hallway opened into a wider and better lit passage, a spider-rider could be seen atop his foul mount (this one black with a sickening blue belly). Spider and man sat in a large raised alcove that commanded the corridor in both directions.
A hurried, whispered discussion resulted in Haplo casting Avkirin’s Field to generate an area of white noise to cover the group’s movement, while Toran cast Mimic Sound, throwing the illusionary sound of something moving around the curve of the corridor to the left. As hoped, this drew off the spider-rider from his post, and as he vanished around the corner the Hand made a dash to the right and down another wide side corridor.
Down this short corridor and up a flight of shallow steps, the group found themselves before pair of double doors, one of which was slightly ajar. The faint sounds of what seemed to be a rhythmic chant or incantation could be faintly heard…
Erol, activating his cloak of invisibility, squeezed into the chamber beyond the doors… and found eight Ur-Tel’naru gathered along a balcony overlooking a larger chamber to the right. Two armed and armored guards stood to either side of the doors, and Erol moved as quietly as possible as he maneuvered to see what these blue-skinned devils found so enthralling.
Peering over the shoulders and between the well-dressed noblemen and women, he was able to see a room with numerous arcane circles etched into the stone floor, the largest one in the center. All glowed faintly with a violet light that almost hurt to look upon, while the central circle flared as bright as a bonfire. Across the room a matching balcony held more Ur-Tel’naru spectators.
In the ritual chamber itself, several blue-skinned figures dressed in highly ornate (and no doubt heavily symbolic) costumes stood around the larger power circle, in the center of which stood a human male. Naked, the man seemed bewitched somehow, making no move to escape or protect himself as the woman with the disturbing spider headdress reached out to grab his hair, pulling his head back and exposing his neck.
The woman’s chanting, which was what they’d heard through the doorway, grew in pitch and volume, and with a final shouted word she drew a sinuously curved dagger across the man’s throat in one fluid motion. As his life’s blood poured out it seemed to vanish in a violet haze before it could spatter on the floor, rising up again as misty tendrils of energy.
The tendrils appeared to want to seek out the Ur-Tel’naru nearby, but the male in the ornate robes across from the murderous woman moved his hands in esoteric patterns and the mists sank into the arcane sigil at their feet, which seemed to grow brighter.
The woman, whom Erol could only think of as some sort of High Priestess, turned to say something to the watchers on the nearer balcony, as did her male counterpart to the other balcony. Then he saw that she looked quite elderly, something he’d not yet seen in any of the long-lived Telnori race he was now a part of, much less this evil offshoot. He realized she must be very old indeed…
Making his way out of the balcony room again, Erol quickly told the others what he’d seen, his sotto voce recounting muffled by Haplo’s continuing white noise. Devrik, frustrated that Erol had spotted neither his cousin nor the princess, momentarily wavered – should they continue searching for the captives, or attack this gathering now? If their current ritual was over, the blue-skinned bastards might soon disperse, making the group much more likely to be discovered. On the other hand, they were outnumbered here slightly more than two-to-one.
Devrik smiled at the thought and made his decision. “This is clearly the heart of whatever foul magic they seek to perform – best to wipe out the leadership first and deal with anything else after. We attack now!”
Mariala cast Wallflower on Vulk, making the cantor essentially unnoticeable as long as he made no sudden or overt moves, and he then summoned his holy armor for protection. He followed the again-invisible Erol back into the balcony chamber, where the noble spectators were now milling about and speaking to one another in low voices.
Vulk’s mastery of their tongue had faded somewhat, but he retained, and would always retain, enough to partially follow what was being said… it seemed that they restrained a very powerful excitement, believing that some sort of apotheosis was almost at hand… something about their true immortality with the sacrifice of “the unborn princess.”
Frowning, Vulk slipped over the iron railing of the balcony and dropped into the ritual chamber below, just as Mariala blasted the nobles above with the Syncope of Shala. Six of the Dark Telnori collapsed instantly into a deep, deep sleep. Only the two guards and two of the ladies remained on their feet – Erol and Devrik made quick work of the warriors, while Haplo’s Karmic Missiles lived up to their name, taking out one of the noblewomen with a crippling blow to the groin. Vox’s arrow took the last Ur-Tel’naru female right between the eyes just as she was drawing a wicked looking dagger.
As the rest of the Hand either took aim from the balcony they now controlled or leapt down into the ritual chamber itself, Vulk made his way to the curved wall that divided the main ritual area from the back of the chamber. The wings of stone had blocked the view from the balcony, and he now saw that they were two separate walls, connected by a lattice of wrought iron bars, done in the ubiquitous spiderweb motif, which created a prison cell. And in that cell were Princess Relina and Lady Nina.
Vulk startled the women when he spoke, breaking the Wallflower spell (for them, if no one else). Their eyes widened in shock as they perceived him, then expressions of hope lit their pale, haggard faces.
“Who are you?” whispered Nina Askalan, leaning forward urgently.
“A friend of your cousin Devrik, and an agent of your father’s – both your fathers,” he replied, including the princess in his answer. “We’re called the Hand of Fortune, but that’s not–”
“Oh, I’ve heard of you,” Princess Relina whispered excitedly. “Remember, Nina? I was telling you about that group that destroyed that litch in Shalla last year?”
“Er, yes, your Highness, that’s us,” Vulk interrupted. “But lets concentrate on getting you both out of here.” He turned his gaze to the elaborate and very sturdy-looking lock on the bars, but was momentarily distracted by a call from Erol.
The Hand had been decimating the remaining Ur-Tel’naru in the room, with Korwin’s Ice Needles and Toran’s Stavin’s Arrow downing several opponents, while Erol’s Balls of Asakora bedazzled most of the nobles in the other balcony. But not all of them, and it was this Erol needed Vulk to deal with.
Stepping away from the women’s cage, the cantor gestured toward the balcony and muttered a few words. Strands of glowing white energy flew forth from each of his fingers, and as he moved his hands back and forth they formed a web of sticky tendrils all through the chamber. The already mesmerized noblemen and women were ensnared, as were all but two of their unaffected fellows.Those two leaped down into the ritual chamber, weapons drawn, and with his Wallflower protection now thoroughly gone, Vulk drew his broadsword and prepared to fight.
Meanwhile, Mariala’s attempt at Fire Nerves was again a technical success – but, again, seemed to have little actual effect on the Ur-Tel’naru, seeming to do little more than momentarily slowing them. But this proved enough. As the elderly High Priestess shook off the effect and began an ominous sounding chant while waving around some sort of wand or scepter, she suddenly stopped dead, with a longbow shaft protruding from her open mouth. It’s iron tip was covered in blood and gray matter, and her eyes rolled up into her head as she collapsed to the floor. Vox waved cheerily from the balcony.
“Kash-i’nar!” screamed the mage, whom Erol had engaged as soon as Vulk had webbed up the balcony. The man seemed shocked at the woman’s sudden demise, and the distraction was all the former gladiator needed. He speared the mans foot to the floor, holding him in place for the killing blow from his gladius.
Devrik shot an Orb of Voral at the remaining ceremonial warrior, incinerating the man instantly, then turned to succor the wounded Vulk, who was bleeding but still managing to hold off his two Ur-Tel’naru opponents. In a short, sharp fight, Devrik managed to dispatch both men. Even as the last of them fell, however, the spider-rider from the hallway burst suddenly into the chamber.
While Devrik, Erol and Vox worked to remove this last immediate threat, Toran and Haplo had made their way to the imprisoned women. Using his magic Key of Opening, Toran had the Princess and her lady-in-waiting out in a trice, and the two men escorted them away from the fight.
“Is that my cousin Devrik?” Nina asked in some wonder as the man in question shot multicolored ribbons of fiery death out of his hands, immolating the giant spider even as it scored his flesh with a claw.
“Yes, yes,” Haplo assured her. “And he’ll join us as soon as they’ve finished the last of these blue devils. But he wouldn’t thank us if we let you get hurt now–”
“Oh pish,” the redhead said, stooping to pick up a scimitar from a fallen warrior. “We should go and help him!”
Fortunately a shot to the thorax from Vox and simultaneous blows from Erol and Devrik brought down the spider and its rider before the headstrong young woman could enter the fray.
Dervik, still unaware of the presence of the women, yells to Korwin, still up in the balcony and merrily sliding the throats of the sleeping nobles and looting their corpses “Damnit! No looting until we find Lady Nina and Princess Relina! Get down here, now!”
“We are here, Ser Devrik,” the princess said with a smile, stepping around the wall that had screened them. Nina suppressed a giggle and waved at her cousin, who looked momentarily flummoxed – and then greatly relieved, a wide grin splitting his usually grim face.
“But I’m afraid there will be little time for looting just now,” Relina continued. “I must insist that we find my husband and the remaining crewmen of the Sea Sprite.”
While she explained what she knew of the layout of the complex to Devrik and Mariala, Erol and Korwin quickly and efficiently stripped the non-burning corpses of valuables and interesting weapons. Vox and Jeb spent the time reluctantly using their bows to dispatch the remaining Ur-Tel’naru still webbed up and/or asleep in the other balcony chamber. Reluctant not out of any squeamishness, but because they knew they’d never be able to recover the arrows so used. But war is Void-cursed, and what can you do?
After burning the body of the sacrificed sailor on a pyre of his killers, at the princess’ insistence, with prayers hastily, if fervently, led by Vulk, the party headed back into the maze. Between them the two rescued women had a fair idea of how to find the chamber where they had been held before being brought to the ritual chamber. In the twenty minutes if took to reach the prison they came across no more of the Ur-Tel’naru.
When Mariala commented on their luck, hoping it would hold, Lady Nina laughed. “I tried to keep an accurate count of all the enemies I saw… I can’t be entirely certain, of course, but I never counted more than 30. And I don’t think this is actually where they live – lived – but rather a ceremonial center of some sort. So, including the ones you killed on the surface, there can’t be more than two or three still alive here.”
“Perhaps,” Devrik said cautiously. “But that doesn’t mean others won’t arrive from wherever they do live, at any moment. And two or three men, on their own ground, can still hurt us. So let’s not get complacent, eh?”
That sobered everyone. Devrik worried that he might have offended his new cousin, but she seemed to take it in stride – and indeed began to pay greater attention to their surroundings, looking for possible ambushes. He smiled inwardly as they pushed on.
The chamber where the remaining survivors of the Sea Sprite were kept was unlocked and unguarded, to the surprise of all. The surprise was quickly dispelled once they entered the room, however. A pillar of carved black stone rose up in the center of the chamber, and atop it a ball of crystal pulsed with violet light.
The Captain of the Royal Guard, Prince-Consort Marik Masadin, stood as still as stone, staring blindly into the eerie glow. Five other men with him, by their garb crewman of the doomed ship, formed a rough circle. Their chests rose and fell and their eyes even blinked, if less frequently than normal, but no amount of calling could rouse them.
“It seems very like your Balls of Wonder, Erol,” Mariala said. “Although if they’ve been like this for several days, there must be some sustaining element involved as well.”
“Fascinating,” Korwin sighed. “But how do we free them?”
“Maybe it is like Erol’s spell,” Vulk offered. “Maybe if we shake them, “attack” them, it will snap them out of it.” He strode forward and grabbed the nearest sailor by the shoulder, pulling him around. But almost instantly his own eyes glazed over. As the sailor turned back to the orb, Vulk stood rigidly behind him, equally entranced.
“Oh, great,” growled Vox. “We’re never getting out of here!”
“Maybe we should try the rod-key,” Toran suggested, pointing at the circle of stones set in the wall to the left of the door. It was identical to the one that had opened the portal into the underground complex. He pulled the rod from his belt and repeated the sequence he’d used earlier. As all the key lights shone blue the violet orb suddenly flared much brighter.
Everyone in the chamber felt a sudden pressure in their heads, and a wave of dizziness… Korwin seemed to throw it off with ease, and Mariala, Haplo and Erol experienced only a brief headache. But Toran, Vox and Devrik suddenly turned their faces toward the pulsing crystal at the center of the room and slowly shuffled forward to stand as close to it as they could.
“What happened?” cried the princess. She and Lady Nina had remained in the corridor just outside the prison, peering in through the doorway. They both looked on in consternation as some of their would-be rescuers suddenly became prisoners themselves.
“Hmm, this is going to be tricker than we expected,” Mariala replied distractedly. “Your Highness, did either you or Lady Nina feel anything when the light flared moment ago? A pressure in your mind, anything like that?”
Both women denied any such sensation.
“OK, so only those within the chamber are at risk,” Mariala mused. “We’re going to have to try other combinations, obviously, and with only four of us left… well, six counting the princess and Lady Nina… we’ve got just so many changes to get it right.”
“Yes,” Erol agreed. “And since this effect is so similar to my own, why don’t I try it next?”
“Alright,” Mariala agreed, secretly pleased. She had planned to go last in any case, so that she could learn as much as possible from the other’s mistakes. She handed Erol the rod-key, which Toran had dropped when his mind was seized, and stepped out into the hallway with the others.
Fortunately, there would be no need to go through the rest of the group, as Erol chose to set the stones to red, and after a little careful experimentation succeeded. The orb flared again, but then went dark, and in a few seconds all the men in the room began to wake up.
Relina and her husband enjoyed a restrained, but obviously deeply felt, reunion. The princess also seemed truly happy at the survival of her remaining crewmen. They, in turn, were clearly in awe of their monarch’s daughter, and on the three hour trek back to the coast they were more than happy to describe to the Hand how she had defied their captors from the beginning, even revealing her royal status in the hope it might spare her men. Vulk chose not to mention the whole “unborn princess will make us immortal” thing just then.
As soon as the party was back on the surface Mariala used her entangled parchment to notify Ser Wirdon that they’d been successful, his sister and future monarch were safe, and that he should send both the Stalwart’s longboats to pick them up…