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.
CHAPTER 37
Early Winter, 3E1602
[The Present]
In the silence that followed Andrak’s death, Elyn and Thork looked at one another across the chamber, a chamber lighted by a low ruddy glow from the forge coals, a chamber filled with shadows, but none of them sinister, coiling, twisting, none of them tittering, mumbling, chanting. And a great smile crossed Thork’s face; Elyn’s too. They were glad, for each had survived. Yet the celebration was fleeting, for reality came crashing down upon both of them: they heard a ghastly, hollow voice calling up from the door below-“Gulgok! Gulgok!”-yet the Slûk tongue was used, and so they did not know what was said.
“Thork, we’ve got to get out of here.” Urgency filled Elyn’s voice as she stepped to one of the shuttered windows, while he slipped the Kammerling into the warhammer loop at his belt. “Andrak’s death screams will have alerted this entire fortress, and we no longer have the protection of the starsilver stone.” Swiftly, she worked loose the fastenings, swinging the wooden window cover aside. Chill wind groaned and swirled inward through the opening, and the darkness raced above; the night sky was now overcast with a solid bank of fleeing clouds. They looked out into the bailey, and saw the ranks of the wayguard still arrayed, the gate still open, the portcullis still raised; and below, at the foot of the tower, the Hèlsteeds stood in harness, the chariot ready, Rutch attendants holding the reins. For although Elyn and Thork knew it not, the Master had not given the order to put the ’Steeds away, to draw the bridge and close the gates and drop the portcullis, and the Spawn remembered times when Andrak had left again, and might do so once more this night as well, though it was perilously close to dawn, and the assembled Foul Folk eyed the scudding sky nervously.
As to the screams: often such sounds emanated from the ebon tower, though never before had such a silvery light shone so, flickering out through all of the arrow loops on the lower floor, as if something bright and deadly had burned there and on the levels above, a piercing light that cause the Rutchen crowd to quail with fear.
“Two possibilities, Prince Thork,” said Elyn, stepping back from the window. “We can pass through the iron door, make our way to the attic, where we left the ropes; then it’s out the western window and rappel down the side of this spire. Or, I can put on Andrak’s cloak and attempt to fool them long enough for us to escape by chariot out through the open gate we see before us.”
“Gulgok!” Again the hollow, dead voice called up.
“Without the amulet, both ways are full of risk,” came Thork’s quick assessment, “the iron door most especially, for those below are nigh onto discovering what has been done, and in moments we will have to make our way through hundreds of Andrak’s minions, and they will be searching for us. And we cannot simply hide, for they will search all, now that Andrak is dead. And, as you have pointed out, should we gain the attic and escape by rope, still we have some seven or eight hundred feet to climb down at night ere reaching the bottom; and there is likely to be a welcoming committee awaiting us. Kruk! Had I only reasoned out the Kammerling’s hiding place earlier-”
“Gulgok! Gulgok!” The ghastly voice was louder, as if the caller had stepped into the tower.
“Can you drive a chariot?” asked Thork.
“By Hèl, Thork, I am a Warrior Maiden trained: I can drive anything! And that chariot is our way to freedom!”
“Then, Warrior Maiden, chariot it is,” grinned Thork.
“Gulgok! Gulgok!” The flat, dead voice sounded even closer, and now they heard footsteps on the spiral stairs.
Putting a finger to his lips, cautioning Elyn to silence, Thork took up his axe and stepped into the shadows to one side of the stairwell coming upward, motioning Elyn with her saber to stand opposite.
And they waited, the wind outside the window moaning softly, the footsteps drawing nearer, Elyn gripping her saber and listening to her own racing heart.
“Gulgok!” A head appeared above the opening, and mounting up came one of the corpse-foe, and Elyn’s heart sank, for lore had it that they could only be slain by-
Shlak! Thork’s axe sheared through the Guul’s neck, and the creature’s head went flying, bouncing from the wall and into the chamber as the decapitated corpse tumbled backward down the stairs, black blood spewing.
“Haste, Princess,” cried Thork, “we must be gone from here. Should more Khōls come, as this one did, then we will not survive, for it is said that they can only be slain by beheading, by dismemberment, by a silver blade, by wood through the heart, or by fire.”
Removing her pack, Elyn stepped to Andrak’s corpse and reached down to take the cloak, while outside, the swirling wind groaned past the stone casement, driving chill currents eddying into the chamber. And as she unfastened the clasp, Andrak’s head collapsed, as if the silveron nugget had burned it hollow, leaving nought but a flaccid empty bag behind. And a hideous stench puffed out into the room. Sickened, gagging, drawing back in revulsion, holding her breath and turning her face to one side, still Elyn loosed the cloak and pulled it free.