When her untiring stride had put a few miles behind them, Brey set her companions down beneath the shelter of a fallen tree. At least, it looked like it had once been a tree, but now it was a massive, roughly cylindrical rock, crowned with an eruption of slim and jagged crystals. Mordan was still unconscious, his breathing ragged; Tarrel was stiff and sore from his injuries, but could limp around well enough. He dug around in his sack and pulled out a small clay jug. He uncorked and slowly poured a deep red liquid down Mordan’s throat.
A few seconds went by, and for a moment Tarrel feared that it was too late. Then the Karrn coughed, his face contorting in pain as his chest spasmed over broken ribs. His eyes fluttered open, and he tried to sit up. Brey pushed him down, gently but firmly, and he went to sleep.
Tarrel raised the jug to his lips and took a swig. Through the hole that the spell had blasted in his clothing, Brey saw his charred flesh knit together a little, though it remained inflamed.
“What were those things?” she asked at last. Her voice was low and strained; the events of the last hour had taken their toll even of her undead constitution. Tarrel shook his head in bewilderment.
“I have no more idea than you do,” he replied. “That thing with the corpses was some kind of construct—the biggest I’ve ever seen. It turned the spell from my wand back on me somehow—I didn’t know anything could do that. The thing that attacked it looked like some kind of earth elemental, but its body was made out of the wreckage of that base. It’s as if the whole place just came alive.”
Brey looked over at Mordan’s sleeping form and back at the half-elf.
“Do you have any more of that healing potion?” she asked.
“That’s goodberry wine,” he said, “made by Brelish druids. Trouble is, you have to wait a few hours before you can take another dose. There are a couple of regular healing potions in the luggage, but we’re on our own till we get back to the boat.”
Brey frowned. “How fast do you think you can walk?” she asked.
Tarrel grimaced. “Faster than I could before I took a drink.” he said, “but still not very fast. How long do you reckon it’ll take us to get back to the river?”
Rends Flesh hauled the corpse into a sitting position and chewed around the flesh of the neck. It was not the best part of the body; the meat around the neck-bones was sweet enough, but it was stringy with tendons. But it wasn’t the neck meat he was after.
A few bites and a tug separated the head from the body, and another quick bite under the chin severed the helmet-strap. Discarding the helmet, the ghoul carried the severed head to a rounded rock he had noticed earlier, and raising it high above his head in both hands, brought it crashing down onto the rock with all his strength.
A couple more blows and he could see a break in the skull through the torn flesh and matted hair. Rapidly peeling the scalp away, he got his strong nails into the crack and pulled. With a dull crack, a hand-sized piece of the skull came away, revealing the sweet, sticky brain inside. He sat down beside the rock, set the broken skull in his lap, and began scooping out the brain with his hands.
This had been a good find. There were at least a hundred fresh corpses strewn across the rocky slope, and only a few carcass eaters to chase away. The spiny beasts snarled and threatened as the ghouls approached, dodging the stones thrown by the ghoul pack, but they withdrew after Smells Strong caved in their leader’s head. A few of them still loitered around the edges of the find. Now and then, one would dash in to bite a chunk of flesh off the nearest corpse, running back into the rocks to eat it. Mostly, though, they sat and watched, waiting for the ghouls to eat their fill and move on.
Sucks Marrow had picked up a leg-bone discarded by one of the others, and Rends Flesh followed her to see what she would do with it. The smaller ghoul was weak but smart, and she was healthy and well-fed despite only being allowed to eat what the others discarded. He watched as she picked up a rounded stone the size of her two fists; carrying it in one hand and the bone in the other, she went over to a flat rock. She put the bone down on the rock and then raised the stone over her head, as he had done earlier with the skull. She hit the bone with the stone, over and over again until finally it splintered. With a dexterous twist, she pulled something long and soft from inside.
Before she had a chance to eat her prize, Rends Flesh loped over and snatched it from her hand. He silenced her whine of protest with a back-handed blow to the head and a tooth-baring snarl of dominance; still whining, she slowly backed off as he began to eat. It was some of the sweetest, softest flesh he had ever tasted, and he probed the inside of the bone with a finger to see if there was more. He picked up the rounded stone and hit the bone again, but finding no more of the sweet meat inside, he gave up and wandered back to the corpse he had been eating. He would have to keep watching her, he thought.
Nobody saw the stranger appear—not even Chews Ribs, who was supposed to be on watch. The first anybody knew was when his body came crashing down in the midst of the corpses and feeding ghouls, and lay still.
The stranger did not look like them. His skin was pale, and he had hair on his head like a living one. He wore clothes like they did. The ghouls sniffed in his direction, but could not smell the warmth of life upon him. He stood and waited, a challenge in his fierce eyes.
Smells Strong got to his feet and walked slowly toward the stranger. As the leader of the pack, it was his place to answer the challenge. The other ghouls gathered a little way behind their leader, watching to see what would happen. The stranger began to walk forward as well.
The two stopped when they were a few paces apart. Smells Strong snarled to display the keenness of his teeth, and stretched to show his size and strength. For a moment, the stranger stood still, not responding to the display. Then, keeping his eyes locked on his opponent, he took a deliberate step forward. This was too much. Smells Strong charged with a mighty roar.
As fast he was, the stranger was faster. He stepped aside from the raking claws, striking a blow to the jaw that sent his opponent reeling back, spitting out splintered teeth. Smells Strong shook his head and snarled again, bracing as the stranger leaped forward. A crushing blow smashed his chest, sending him sprawling. As he climbed back to his feet, the others could see broken ribs sticking out through his skin.
Smells Strong stood unsteadily, glaring at the stranger as he circled slowly around him. He picked up a long bone from the ground, and wielded it in both hands like a club, waiting for the stranger’s next move.
When that move came, it was almost too fast to see. Grasping the bone club in one hand, the stranger lifted Smells Strong off his feet. He drove his hand into the ghast’s midsection, ripping it open. Smells Strong stood for a moment and then collapsed, the light fading from his eyes.
The ghouls huddled together, preparing to fight if the stranger attacked them. Instead, he reached down to the ghast’s body, pulled off his head with a single wrench, and threw it to the carcass eaters that were skulking on the edges of the site. One of them picked it up in its wide jaws, and trotted off among the rocks.
Then the stranger looked down at the ghouls.
“I am your leader now,” he said in a dry, rasping voice.
“Well, that wasn’t here before.”
Mordan, Brey, and Tarrel stood and looked down into the chasm. It plunged for hundreds of feet, and a faint glow of molten lava could be seen at the bottom. Sulfurous fumes wafted up from the depths. It was only about forty feet wide, but it extended as far as they eye could see in either direction.
“That’s the Mournland,” said Mordan, “always changing.” Another draught of the goodberry wine had revived him, but he was still pale.
“I could get across,” said Brey, “but I don’t know about you two.” Tarrel dug around in his sack, and brought out a long coil of rope.