Then Kentril noticed that the area ahead of them seemed slightly brighter than Zayl's dagger should have been able to make it. He touched the necromancer on the arm, indicating that he should cover the enchanted blade.
Despite the momentary loss of the weapon's light, the passage ahead remained illuminated.
Sword at the ready, the captain proceeded, Zayl and Gorst ready to back him up at the slightest sign of danger. With each step, the glow ahead increased a bit. It never truly grew bright, and even what illumination there was had a dark quality to it, but Kentril could definitely see better the nearer he drew.
And suddenly the party entered a wide, rounded chamber in the midst of which, atop a reworked stalagmite, gleamed the source of the illumination… the Key to Shadow.
Those who had risked themselves to bring it down here had carefully chipped away at the cavern growth, creating a stone hand of sorts in the very center of whose craggy palm the mighty black crystal pulsated quietly.
Seeing no sign of danger, Kentril moved to investigate better Lord Khan's creation. Dagger thrust forward, Zayl stepped up next to him, also eager to see the magical gemstone.
A face of utter horror suddenly greeted both men from a stalactite just beyond the crystal.
Both mercenaries swore loudly, and even Zayl muttered something under his breath. They stared in disquiet at the figure carved into the growth. A man of limestone and other minerals, he hung as if violently tied to the very stalactite from which he had been sculpted. Arms and legs had been pulled back as far as they could humanly go, seemingly bound together from behind. The expression of agony and dismay had been shaped so exquisitely that Kentril expected the trapped figure to finish his silent cry at any moment. The artisan had managed to touch both the macabre and the human at the same time, making the sculpture even more arresting.
"What is that thing?"
"Some sort of guardian, perhaps. Like the gargoyles and archangels we have seen."
"Why didn't he raise the alarm when we entered?"
The necromancer shrugged.
Kentril stepped up to the horrific sculpture. With great care, he stretched forth his sword and tapped the figure on the chest.
Nothing happened. The eyes shut in pain did not open to condemn him; the mouth did not move to bite the foolish interloper's head off. The statue remained just that, a statue.
Feeling a little foolish, the captain turned back to the others. "Well, if Gregus Mazi isn't around here, we'd better—"
A chill ran up his spine, and he saw both of his companions' gazes suddenly widen—and focus not on Kentril, but rather behind him.
Captain Dumon spun around.
The eyes—the eyes that had stayed closed even after hissomewhat arrogant inspection—now did indeed glare madly at him.
The already open mouth let loose with a terrible, haunting cry.
All three men covered their ears as the harsh, painful sound overwhelmed all else. Over and over, the sentinel cried, the mad scream echoing throughout the chamber and well beyond.
For more than a minute, the horrific sound continued. Then, finally, the cry gradually lessened, enough so that at last the party could lower their hands.
And that was when they could finally hear the flapping of oncoming wings.
A flock of batlike forms darted into the chamber, shrieking wildly as they attacked. In the uncertain illumination, Kentril saw small, gray, demonic shapes no more than knee—high and looking vaguely like reptilian men. Talons akin to those of predatory birds slashed at the trio whenever one of the creatures passed overhead, and toothy maws sought bites of their flesh.
"Alae Nefastus!" shouted the necromancer. "Winged Fiends! Lesser demons but dangerous in quantity!"
And in quantity they had come. Kentril quickly ran one through the torso, watching with grim satisfaction as it fell twitching to the floor. Unfortunately, in its place came six new and very eager ones. Nearby, Gorst battered two with the flat of his ax, only to have another dig deep into his shoulder. The giant shouted in surprise and pain, even his muscular hide no match for the demon's razor—sharp nails.
They filled the chamber, their savage cries almost as terrible as the warning by the sentinel. The captain managed to slay two more yet still felt as if he accomplished nothing. Nevertheless, he continued fighting, the only other recourse not at all attractive.
One of the fiends dove past him, seeking instead Zayl. Opening his vast cloak, the necromancer trapped the small demon within.
A brief, muffled squeal escaped the creature… then a pile of brown ash dropped near the spellcaster's boot. Zayl released the cloak and focused on the other attackers.
"They must serve Gregus Mazi!" Kentril called. "That thing that screamed was meant to alert him!"
Zayl did not answer. Instead, the necromancer now shouted incomprehensible words at another group of fluttering terrors. At the same time, he drew a circle in their direction with the tip of the dagger.
The winged imps he had targeted, five in all, suddenly turned away and, to Kentril's surprise, began attacking their fellows. Two unsuspecting fiends perished under shredding talons before others began to assault in great numbers the traitors in their midst. In moments, the five ensorcelled demons had fallen, but not before taking two more with them.
An imp raked the captain across the cheek, splattering Kentril with his own blood. The wound stung so greatly it made his eyes water, yet he managed to catch the offending demon as it flew away, impaling it.
Unfortunately, even another death seemed not to deter the massive flock.
"There're too many!" grunted Gorst.
"Captain Dumon! If you and Gorst can fend them off me for a moment or two longer, I may be able to rid ourselves of this trouble!"
Seeing no other option, Kentril battled his way back to the necromancer, Gorst doing the same from the other side.
As the pair shielded Zayl, the cloaked mage again spoke in the unknown language. With the dagger he draw another glowing image, this one resembling to the mercenary officer an exploding star.
A haze suddenly filled the chamber, a noxious—smelling but otherwise seemingly harmless fog that rapidly spread to every corner, every crack, leaving no place untouched.
Yet if the haze did nothing to the trio save to irritate their nostrils and obscure their vision some, its effect on thewinged demons proved anything but harmless. One by one, then by greater and greater numbers, the taloned fiends suddenly lost control. They collided with one another, crashed into the walls, even simply dropped to the floor of the chamber.
Once on the ground, the savage imps shook as if in the throes of madness. Gradually, their hisses and squawks became more feeble. Finally, they began to still, first a few, then more and more.
Soon all lay dead.
"Zerata!" called the necromancer.
The haze instantly faded away, leaving no trace.
Zayl suddenly staggered forward and would have dropped if not for Gorst's quick reflexes. The spellcaster leaned against the giant for a few seconds, then seemed to recover.
"Forgive me. The last took much out of me, for I had to say and control it perfectly, otherwise the effect would have been different."
"What do you mean?" Kentril asked.
"We would be lying there with the imps."
Gorst kicked at a few bodies, making certain that none pretended, then took a peek down the passage from which they had come. "Don't hear anything more."
"There were quite a few attacking us." Zayl joined the other mercenary near the passage. "It is quite possible that we destroyed the entire flock."
The giant nodded, then asked, "So where's their master?"
That had been a question on Kentril's mind as well. Were these creatures all that Gregus Mazi had been able to send after them? Why had he not attacked with some spell while the three had been distracted? Even the most basic tactician understood the value of such a maneuver.