Spires at the top leaned out, then angled back toward the mountain at the bottom so the fortress appeared unbalanced, as if it were surging forward, trying to break free of the restraining mountain.
A single door, wide enough to admit an ox cart, broke the smooth stone-the only opening on the ground level. Above that, Regdar counted twenty-four arrow slits cut into the wall, perhaps the height of two men from the ground. And at the very top, a wide balcony jutted out and overlooked the clearing before the fortress.
"Well, well, well," said Regdar. "What do we have here?"
"My money says somebody evil lives here," quipped Tasca.
"It certainly has an unwholesome look about it," agreed Whitman. "Look at all the spiky, jagged bits along the top edges."
"Black stone construction," added Clemf.
"Improbably placed in the middle of a dreary swamp with no safe access," confirmed Tasca.
"Yep," agreed Regdar. "It sounds like something out of a legend."
"Probably well guarded, too," cautioned Whitman.
"Maybe," replied Regdar, "but maybe not. Who do they expect to come prowling around, way out here? Anyone have a suggestion on how to proceed?"
Whitman hefted his hammer onto his shoulder and smiled. "I say let's do what we always do," replied the dwarf. "Kick down the door, kill whatever's inside, and haul away whatever's worth taking. Or in this case, rescue the girl. It's worked so far."
Tasca unsheathed his rapier. "That's the smartest thing you've ever said. We have a plan." He started toward the tower.
"Just one problem," interrupted Whitman.
Tasca stopped and turned around.
"They'll be able to smell you coming," said the dwarf. "Better let me lead."
"Planning on tunneling in?" quipped the elf.
"Only if I can use your pointy nose for a pick." Whitman pushed past and strode down the path.
"Oh, that was clever," replied Tasca. "Did you think that up all on your own, like the plan?"
"That's enough, you two," said Regdar. "Whatever we find in there is likely to be powerful enough to survive on the Elemental Plane of Fire. I can't be sure, but I'd say that's beyond anything I've ever killed." He turned to Whitman. "Do you honestly want to just march right up there, in the light of day, barge in, and hope they didn't see us coming?"
Whitman scratched his beard. "In a nutshell, yes."
Tasca quietly slipped his rapier into its sheath. "Only a dwarf would think up a numbskull idea like that."
Whitman smiled. "But only an elf would follow a numbskull." Then he turned to Regdar. "What do you propose we do?"
"We wait here until nightfall," said the fighter. "Then we go in, covered by darkness."
Clemf spoke up. "What about the guards we killed?"
"What about them?" asked Regdar.
"They're going to be overdue."
Regdar rubbed his chin, thinking. "Well," he said finally, lifting his fingers away from his face. "We kill two birds with one stone." He turned and headed back toward the pool. "We take their armor and sneak in, in disguise, assuming the eels left the bodies where we put them."
Whitman hefted his hammer over his shoulder. "I liked my idea better."
Regdar pulled one of the dead soldiers out of the water by his ankle.
"Nasty business, stealing a dead man's armor," he said, bending down to unfasten the first of many leather straps.
"Hey, look at this." Tasca had already removed most of one man’s armor, exposing the dead soldier's upper body.
Regdar looked over the elf's shoulder as Whitman bent down and examined a large tattoo on the man’s chest.
"These guys don't look like slavers," said the dwarf. "More like cultists."
"What makes you say that?" asked Regdar.
Whitman pointed to the tattoo.
"That's the mark of Hextor," he said, indicating the fist and arrows. "And those-" he pointed to three words inscribed above the image-"are words in Infernal."
"What do they say?"
The dwarf shook his head. "I don't know, can't read Infernal."
Tasca just shrugged.
"This one's got it too," said Clemf, having stripped down another of the dead soldiers.
Regdar returned to the man he'd pulled up. "Let's hope they're not checking tattoos at the door."
"Yeah," said Tasca. "Let's also hope we don't end up as sacrifices to the god of destruction."
"Cultists of Hextor don't sacrifice elves," said Whitman, putting on the first part of his stolen armor.
"Why not?" asked Tasca.
The dwarf smiled. "Waste of a good meal."
Newly outfitted in at least some pieces of black scale mail, Regdar and crew came hesitantly back to the edge of the clearing. Standing so near the tower nearly drove Regdar mad. Here he was, outside, while inside, he felt sure Naull was being tortured or worse. As far as he was concerned, they couldn't get inside fast enough.
"Do you think this is going to work?" asked Tasca.
Regdar shrugged. "Do you have a better idea?"
"Yeah," said Whitman. "We stop all this sneaking around and bust in."
"After you then." Regdar checked the hilt of his sword. "But no busting anything until I say the word. Remember, we want them to think we're on their side for now."
"Right," replied Whitman with a snort.
The dwarf marched toward the tower, and Clemf fell into step beside him. Regdar and Tasca followed close behind. The path they had been following led right up to the front gate. Heavy, wooden doors were held open by movable iron spikes along the entranceway. The pointy, sharpened ends of a portcullis hung above. Below that, a heavy darkness descended, as if light itself were afraid to enter such a place.
"Here we go," whispered Tasca.
Regdar only nodded.
As they crossed the threshold, the man's eyes adjusted to the dim hallway. A handful of sconces holding dimly flickering torches lined the walls, which were made from the same black stone as the outside. The floor was covered in fine stone tiles alternating in dark and light shades, forming a checkerboard pattern.
The room they entered was long and wide, a grand foyer. It reminded Regdar of the duke's reception chamber or the entryway in the Church of Pelor back in New Koratia. It was the same, but different-designed for greeting newly arrived dignitaries but tainted with darkness. It seemed almost to mock itself, as if the whole room were simply a joke, a parody of good corrupted by evil.
There were no guards on duty, no reception party, and Whitman and Clemf continued on toward the wall at the far end of the long room. Regdar followed behind, focused on every detail, his senses aware of the light draft blowing in through the open door behind him and even the slight smell of swamp gas hed all but grown accustomed to over the past few hours.
"I don't like this," he whispered. "Too easy."
Whitman nodded.
Tasca pulled out his bow.
A loud, skull-splitting, clanging sound echoed down the chamber. Regdar yanked his enchanted sword from its sheath and spun around.
Wrapped around a wooden wheel to the right of the chamber, a heavy chain was unwinding, and quickly. The portcullis thundered down to seal the entryway. Tasca took two quick steps toward the open door. Regdar flinched, knowing the elf would never make it through the gate in time.
As if the elf heard Regdar's thoughts, Tasca skidded to a stop. The portcullis hit the ground with a crash. Tiles cracked where the gate's sharp points slammed into them, and chips of stone were thrown in every direction.
"What have you done, elf?" shouted Whitman, his hammer already braced and ready for battle.
Tasca nocked an arrow to his bowstring, his eyes scanning every brick of the hall. "I followed your bumbling ass into a trap."
"Stop it," interrupted Regdar. "The disguises didn't work. Clemf, you're with me. Tasca and Whitman, stay together."