Skarm padded along the narrow, cramped passageway as it spiraled downward. He came to another opening no wider than the first, and he was forced to squeeze through again, gritting wolfish teeth against the pain. The serum from his running blisters helped him slide through the opening, but it still hurt like blazes.
He stood inside a chamber lit by the flickering blue light of mystic gems set into the smooth stone walls at regular intervals. The light was dim, but it was enough for the barghest to see by, and surely it was more than enough for his mistress, whom he suspected had no need for illumination to see in darkness. This chamber was smaller than either of the other two, but then those were just for show. This was where Nathifa actually lived-if such a word could be applied to a lich. There were plush chairs upholstered with fine silk, a highly polished cherry wood table, several mahogany bookcases filled with leather-bound volumes, and a large canopy bed stuffed with soft down and covered in satin sheets. Skarm wondered why she had the latter, for as far as he knew, his mistress had no need of rest. There were other ornate and elegant objects displayed in Nathifa's living chamber-masterful paintings and tapestries, detailed sculptures, and trunks filled with gold and jewels, but all of this finery, beautiful as it was, displayed the taint of age and rot. The leather covering Nathifa's books was cracked, the pages yellowed at the edges. The colors of the paintings had grown dull, and the sculptures had lost definition. The cherry wood table was warped, as was the bookcase, and the upholstery of the chairs and the sheets on the bed showed signs of fraying. One object alone seemed to have escaped the corruption that affected all the rest. Sitting atop the table, mounted on an obsidian pedestal so it would be at eye level, was Nathifa's most prized possession: an obsidian skull.
The lich sat at the table now, elbows on the wood, chin resting on fists, as she stared into the smooth hollow sockets of the skull. The intertwining strands of shadow that served as her robe undulated like black kelp stirred by the motion of a slow current. Skarm knew they did this whenever his mistress was lost in thought.
Skarm forsook his natural form and assumed his goblin aspect. While he could also become a true wolf when he wished, the goblin was his favorite persona. Not only could he more effectively communicate while wearing this body, it was also much easier to stir up mischief. Though it had been his barghest form that had been burned, his goblin body was marked by the same injuries. Because it was physically weaker than either of his others forms, Skarm now experienced the pain of his burns far more intensely. He took in a hissing breath; he might have screamed but he didn't wish to disturb Nathifa. He stood there for a moment, gritting his teeth as he struggled to adjust to the pain. Only when he thought he had it under some measure of control did he allow himself to speak.
"I am glad to see that you are unharmed, my mistress."
Nathifa didn't take her gaze from the ebon skull as she answered. "It's not for lack of trying on that priest's part, I assure you. He's stronger than I would have given him credit for. Stronger, perhaps, than even he knows…"
Her voice trailed off, her manner dreamy and distracted. If he didn't keep her talking, she might well drift away into her own thoughts, not emerging for hours, perhaps even days, for she was undead and did not experience time the same way mortals did.
"Did they find the false phylactery?" the barghest asked.
"Hmmm? Oh, yes, they did."
Nathifa often said the skull, which she called Espial, spoke to her. Skarm had never heard the obsidian sculpture do so clearly, but he believed it, for sometimes he thought he detected a faint whispering coming from the thing, a sibilant voice muttering darkly in a language he didn't recognize. Like now.
"Did it take them long to find it?" Skarm asked, a hint of eagerness in his voice.
Nathifa finally turned away from the ebon skull to fix Skarm with an irritated glance. "I didn't remain behind to observe them as they searched. Suffice it to say that your deception fulfilled its purpose."
Skarm smiled but then grimaced as his burnt lips cracked and began bleeding. "I thought the cuirass was a nice touch. I hope they weren't too rough with it. We can make use of it again after we… I mean I repair the main entrance."
"There is no need. Our false lair has done its work." Nathifa turned away from Skarm to look once more into Espial's empty sockets. At least they were empty to Skarm. Who knew what Nathifa saw in their black depths?
"But that would make you vulnerable, my mistress!" the barghest objected. "A false phylactery is the perfect way to ensure that your true phylactery is safe!"
What Skarm didn't add was that if they didn't repair the main entrance, they wouldn't have any more visitors, and if they didn't have any visitors, he would be deprived of sustenance. Barghests survived by devouring both the flesh and souls of the living. No entrance, no foolish treasure-seekers. No treasure-seekers, no food for Skarm.
"Your concern for me is touching," the lich said, her voice dripping sarcasm, "though I wager your true concern is your perpetually empty belly. You forget the reason I built the false chambers in the first place."
"Of course I haven't. You built them-" Though I did most of the work, Skarm added mentally-"in order to draw adventurers to you because the skull told you to do so."
Nathifa reached out and gently stroked the smooth surface of Espial's skull with dead-white fingers. "Do you remember why Espial so advised?"
Skarm could feel the chamber growing colder: a sure sign that Nathifa was beginning to become irritated with him. "Because one day a certain man would come, a man bearing a golden dragon's head." Skarm's eyes widened in realization. "The old man! He carried such an object!"
Nathifa continued stroking Espial's gleaming black surface. "Indeed."
Skarm frowned and winced as the blisters on his brow burst. He wiped away the serum that threatened to drip into his eyes. "But if the man was here and he had the dragonhead, why didn't you take it from him?"
The temperature took a sudden sharp drop, and Skarm could see his breath mist in the air.
"The old man had companions. I… wished to take their measure before I acted."
Skarm understood. Nathifa hadn't expected one of those companions to be a priest and such a powerful one at that. She hadn't taken the dragonhead because she couldn't. It seemed that Espial didn't know-or at least didn't tell Nathifa-everything. Skarm would've smiled if he hadn't feared it would anger Nathifa further.
"What do we do now?" he asked.
"We don't do anything. Espial says the old man and his friends are bound for Perhata. You will go there and keep watch on them for me, learn what you can about them, and if the opportunity presents itself for you to take the Amahau-the dragonhead-do it and bring it directly to me."
Skarm didn't relish the prospect of trekking to Perhata-especially in his current condition. "I would be most happy to do as you bid, Mistress, but the old man and the others have already seen me. I fear they will recognize me if I attempt to spy on them."
"They saw you because they were distracted by the orc watching from the western mountainside. I sent you out to lure them in before they could head off to investigate who was tracking them." She glanced at the barghest. "And might I add that your performance was clumsy at best."