Kaerion would have pressed his sudden advantage, but he stumbled as an explosive wave of frost-chilled air enveloped the room. At the same time, needles of hot fire stabbed into his brain. He tried to close himself off to the agony, to find a center of focus in the maelstrom of pain, but he was unsuccessful. The fetid presence of Acererak pressed in on him. He could feel the corruption that was the ancient wizard’s spirit surrounding him—a miasma of pollution and evil that sucked the air from his lungs. He knew that Bredeth’s hasty actions had somehow summoned the creature back from beyond the grave.
Kaerion forced open eyes that he did not remember closing, trying to blink away the pain-wrought tears that threatened to blind him. He scanned the immediate area for his opponent, wondering why the monk hadn’t finished him off when he had the chance. He found the man standing completely still, gazing up above Kaerion’s right shoulder. Carefully, lest it prove some trick, Kaerion looked in the same direction.
Bands of ice pressed round his heart at what he saw.
Behind him, floating idly in the air, a bleached white skull, a terrifying intelligence alight in its ruby eyes, gazed upon the scene of battle. The skull’s eyes pulsed with an unearthly glow, and Kaerion saw the wicked delight shining in their depths. This perception was heightened by the row of diamonds inset into the creature’s jaw, forming an array of teeth that were exposed in such a way as to resemble a cruel smile.
From the waves of pure evil that flowed from this thing, Kaerion knew that the skull must be the focal point for Acererak’s spirit It continued to survey the battle that still raged around it. As if searching for something, Kaerion thought, but what?
Dimly, Kaerion saw Majandra, Gerwyth, and Landra battling a hulking figure that lashed out with large, misshapen fists. Kaerion cried out as he saw, in the light of the party’s torches, that they battled nothing less than a golem. Its disfigured mass made each of them look like a small child in comparison. Gerwyth ducked underneath a powerful swing and sliced the creature’s chest twice with his gleaming short swords, while the light of Majandra’s spells slammed into its puckered flesh. Landra aimed a devastating blow at the monster’s neck that might have had an effect if the golem hadn’t knocked the blade aside as if it were a gnat and launched the veteran against the wall.
He had to do something, but trapped between the awful presence of the skull and the coiled power of the monk, Kaerion felt a moment of indecisiveness. If he attacked the skull, surely the monk would strike at his back. Yet, he couldn’t allow the demi-lich to perpetrate whatever foul plan it had in mind. And where in the Nine Hells was Bredeth? Kaerion hadn’t seen the nobleman since he had ignored the party’s warnings and touched the skull. Wherever he was, Kaerion thought angrily, he’d better appear soon. His companions couldn’t stand against that golem too much longer without some aid.
Just then, he felt a warning tingle flash down his back. Turning slightly, he saw that the skull had fixed its gaze upon Phathas, who was currently unleashing spell after spell, with surprising speed, at the blond-haired sorceress who had attacked them in Rel Mord.
“Phathas, look out!” Kaerion shouted, and had to duck as the monk sprang back into action.
Without turning his back upon his arcane adversary, Phathas looked in the fighter’s direction. The mage held one hand forward, summoning blue-tinged energy that streaked toward the sorceress, while he raised his staff in the air with his other hand and shouted a single word. A bubble of white force cocooned around the ancient mage. Kaerion winced as he saw a ray of pure darkness shoot out from the ruby eye of Acererak’s skull. The two opposing forces met with an explosion that rocked the room. Looking past his opponent, Kaerion watched in horror as the mage’s shield collapsed under the assault. To his relief, however, the mage emerged unscathed.
“The skull, Kaerion!” Phathas shouted. “You must destroy the skull! It’s the key to Acererak’s power!”
Kaerion nodded in understanding. He feinted high with his sword and then reversed the attack, stabbing at the monk’s thigh. Quicker than a tiger, the man jumped back, offering Kaerion an opening.
Time slowed as the fighter placed both hands upon the hilt of his sword and, turning hard along his center, using the movement of his hips to add force to the blow, brought his blade down along the side of Acererak’s skull.
The blade shattered, exploding into a host of small metal needles that shot across the room.
Kaerion fell back, weaponless except for the familiar weight of Galadorn, which he could not draw. The monk moved forward, a cruel smile upon his face. “Let’s see how good you are without your little weapons,” he challenged.
Out of the corner of his eye, Kaerion saw Phathas raise his staff, ready to come to his aid. The mage stumbled forward, however, a look of surprise and pain upon his face, before he fell to the ground with a sword lodged in his back. Kaerion cried out as he saw Bredeth, a look of horror drawn across his noble features, bend down and pick up the sword that he had just plunged into the back of his own companion. Bloodied sword now raised in the air, the nobleman screamed once and brought his other hand to his head.
“Get out of my mind!” he shouted fiercely.
Kaerion couldn’t see any more as he thrust his shield up to block two kicks that would have surely connected with his head. Concentrating, mostly unsuccessfully, on avoiding the blows that rained down upon him, it wasn’t until he heard another scream, this time coming from Majandra, that he spared a glance from his opponent.
And stopped dead in his tracks.
The bard stood transfixed by a black beam, a look of agony upon her face. Within moments, her body began to dissolve. Kaerion shouted once and then sprang into action, hoping to get past his red-robed opponent. A palm strike to his neck blasted all feeling from his body. Kaerion’s limbs would no longer obey him. He was forced to watch in horror as the black beam consumed Majandra.
In moments, there was nothing left of her at all.
“No!” Kaerion screamed, a wave of despair washing over him. It had happened again. He had failed, and people who he cared about had died. The rest of his friends were dying even now, and he couldn’t do anything about it.
Some protector, a voice in his head whispered. Anger, fear, and grief threatened to overwhelm him, but the voice offered release. You know where there is safety, it said in a honeyed tone. You know where you can find peace.
Images flashed through his head: A dark hole, covered in shadow—the slime-covered wall of a dungeon. Darkness called out to him, wanted to wrap him in its arms. He could feel the pain easing as it drew near. He wanted to go to it—to lose himself in its endless embrace.
Yes, the voice said. Here there is freedom from your burdens. You can forget your pain.
Another image appeared suddenly, this one of a red-haired woman whose nose had the tiniest dusting of freckles. She smiled.
And Kaerion knew with sudden clarity that there were things he didn’t want to forget. Ever. Majandra had taught him how to live again. In the shelter of her arms, he had relearned the power of forgiveness and trust. And he saw now that pain and grief could be gifts, their presence a reminder of exactly how precious are the things that we have lost.
No. He didn’t want to forget his pain at all.
Shaking his head, Kaerion ignored the voice. It’s dulcet tones transforming into shrieks of fury at his actions. He tried to pull back from the hole and the darkness that flowed out of it like burnt molasses, but he couldn’t The comforting embrace became bands of iron that closed about his arms and chest.