Lich Read online

  “You went inside?" Den gasped, eyes wide. "Alone? Already?"

  "Every band of adventurers needs a thief," Pinch gloated, flashing a quick grin at Den.

  "I hate to say this, but Pinch is the best there is," added Hank. "He truly is an artist at his craft."

  "Ok, let's try our plan. Everyone just act normal and let's just walk right in," the rogue suggested while pulling the dagger at his hip part way out and letting it fall back into place. Den noticed the others making similar moves, clearing their weapons of any obstacles which might impede their draw.

  Den cleared his own dagger and wand. Then, he went about straightening his pouches and checking his pockets. He found nothing amiss, but as an afterthought, he moved the pouch which held the Anti-Magic Dust from his pack to his belt. As he handled the pouch, he longed for his old master's guidance.

  As the small band cleared the woods and moved slowly toward the tower, the young mage felt those old doubts clouding his mind. He remembered the bar fight where he had first met these men, how he hadn’t been able to use his magic, and how the spells seemed to slip from his grasp when he tried to use them.

  No, the young mage thought. I will prove my worth.

  As they passed through the entrance, Den looked at the door, which now stood wide open. The door itself had runes carved all over it and the cast bronze lock held the semblance of a screaming skull.

  "This place is evil," Hank said with a strange look on his face.

  "How could you tell?” replied Pinch, sarcastically gesturing at the door. "Of course, it's evil. A necromancer lives here."

  Den could see Hank pointing toward his sword. "It told me," the knight said in a shaky voice. His eyes looked disturbed.

  “Alright, then," offered Pinch, darting a glance at the mage to see if he caught Hank’s inference. "Keep your minds on what we are about. There may be traps, or worse.”

  The hall was dimly lit with sputtering torches. Pools of darkness, punctuated by these dancing areas of light, made navigation possible not easily done. The torches looked real but were obviously magical in nature.

  The stone walls radiated cold and the air seemed wet and stale. The rogue led the band, his eyes everywhere. His hands moved in slow, deliberate circles in front of him as if looking for wires or some such thing. He stopped occasionally to check a crack in the wall or a small rodent hole for anything amiss. As they moved further into the tower, the scent of putrefying meat lingered in the air. The smell was fetid, but in a way sweet. Den found himself taking several whiffs, as if to test the odor, before he began concentrating on breathing through his mouth.

  Ahead, there came a slow, rhythmic shuffling sound, and the vile scent increased. The soft singing sound signaled that his companions were each drawing their weapons. A low, blue glow issued from the sword held by the cavalier. It gave the feeling of warmth and enough light for the group to see by.

  From around a bend in the corridor ahead of them, a shambling horror appeared. Its flesh hung from its exposed bones and swung with each of the undead's jerky motions. Den strained to see, but as fast as the thing came into view, Hank flew into action. He pushed Pinch aside and rushed toward the creature.

  The zombie raised its hands and quickened its pace as it saw the intruder coming forward. It looked like a male peasant whose skin was pulled taut and had turned to leather. What would appear to be clothing was stained and torn beyond recognition. The monster's jaw worked as if to say something, but only a low groan could escape its stiffened mouth.

  Hank deflected the outstretched hands upward with his shield and sliced horizontally with his sword, cutting the zombie in half. The two parts dropped to the floor with a wet smack, but the creature didn't seem to notice. Crawling forward, it clawed at the cavalier’s legs. Gore flew in a wide arc as the fighter's sword swung vertically this time, slicing through the closest of the groping arms. Scree took a cramped position next to Hank and the two cut and bashed the undead into a scattering of flat pieces. Although the creature was now dispatched, some parts of its limbs twitched as if still animated.

  Heavy breathing was the only sound in the passage as Pinch approached Hank.

  "What was that about?” he asked with an irritated look on his thin face.

  Hank looked down sheepishly and replied, "It made me."

  "It is going to get you killed," the thief added. "Can't you control it?" he asked, worry replacing the anger in his eyes.

  "I don't think so, but it happened so fast."

  "What do you mean by IT?" Den inquired innocently.

  They all turned to face him. “IT is the sword carried by Hank here, and it is a story better left for later," replied Pinch. "We'll be all right if Hank stays alert and tries to keep that thing under control."

  Silently, the adventurers turned and began moving once again, falling back in order. Pinch hurries forward to scout ahead. At the end of the hallway he stopped.

  The hallway opened into a large room. Standing in the shadows of the doorway, the thief gestured for the others to halt. They waited patiently as he studied the room from his vantage point. They were all filled with anticipation when he came back to them and whispered what he saw.

  “There's a room ahead,” Pinch reported. "It is a circular room with two statues, one to the left and the other to the right. The statues are made in the likeness of knights.”

  "Crap!" muttered the Dwarf. "Why can't we ever go on an adventure without statues?"

  Den looked confused. "What's the matter with statues?" he asked quietly.

  "Probably alive," answered Scree.

  "We don't know that," Pinch replied sharply. "Not every sculpture tries to kill us."

  "Ones in dungeons do," Scree muttered.

  "This isn't a dungeon, now, is it?"

  "What about the barrow mound?" asked the Dwarf.

  “It's not a barrow mound, either.”

  "We fought a statue in the evil temple of that gnoll demigod thingie,” Hank added, nodding at Scree. "That's what got Zag squished."

  "Poor guy shoulda zigged."

  "Are we gonna do this or what?" demanded Pinch, somewhat louder than the situation warranted.

  He was answered by silent looks of determination.

  "Good," he whispered. “Everyone be ready just in case Scree’s right. The other wall has tapestries hung on them. There are stairs directly across the room leading upward. Let's go."

  The small band crept into the room. The warrior's armor, squeaking and clanking, seemed magnified by the tension. All eyes were on the statues. Both were meticulously carved from white marble. It was the work of a true master. The one on the left was armed with a trident and a net, while the other had sword and shield. Each wore the strange, but fantastic, armor of a long forgotten time.

  As the group neared the center of the room, the statues sensed the presence of life and slowly became animated. As they moved toward the adventurers, their living marble joints made the sound of stones grating together.

  "I knew it!" shrieked Scree as he hefted his hammer from his broad weapons belt. "Use heavy, blunt, weapons. Swords won't damage them much."

  As the last word left his mouth, Hank rushed to the left. His sword snaked out and cleft off the net-barring hand of his opposing stone guardian.

  The dwarf's jaw dropped, but he quickly regained his composure and raced to the right to engage the other. As the two parried each other's blows, Scree soon found his speed was bringing him some much-needed openings. His mithril hammer clunked heavily into the living stone, but left only a slight mar in its tough surface.

  That was the problem with battling living statues. They were incredibly slow, but exceedingly durable. You could beat on them all day, but they would survive. Eventually, you would wear out, and that would spell your fate.

  A small piece of debris blew off the statue's face as three small balls of energy flew by the dwarf. The small cloud of dust masked a slow, but powerful, blow from the animated creature's shield th
at took the dwarf in the shoulder. Scree inhaled sharply in pain as his hammer slipped to the ground.

  "Do something!" Pinch screamed, pulling his short sword and loosing a dagger at the same time. The missile found its mark but skittered off, leaving no damage to be seen.

  Den racked his brains trying to think of something useful to do. Thinking of no spell that would be of any assistance, he pulled his dagger and ran forward into battle.

  Scree stood his ground, ramming his shield into his much larger opponent, bludgeoning as best he could, but his strength was sapped from the crushing pain of his injury.

  The dexterity and speed of the thief found many openings, both with his sword and the strange dagger that seemed to just reappear in his hand after each throw. His attacks were mostly in vain as they did little to hinder the beast.

  Den poked at the creature's stone hide to little effect, also, but it was all he could think of to help his injured comrade. After a few thrusts, the wizard overextended his attack and became off-balanced. The statue’s blade bit down against his thigh and froze in position.

  Den was knocked to the ground and he scooted back a few feet, but the statue stood motionless. The grating noise stopped issuing from the creature. It was not animated anymore. Shocked, the mage looked to where the stone sword had struck and he could see a small trail of sparkling white powder. Heart racing, he frantically reached for the pouch containing the Anti-Magic Dust. Den gasped as some stray particles poured over his fingers to extend the trail left by the severed bag.

  Scree turned to assist Hank just as the knight sliced through the head of his assailant. The statue toppled to the floor, its remaining parts still as they thundered against the paving stones.

  Den crawled about, picking up as much of the stray powder from the floor as possible and replacing it in his ruined pouch. He gathered all that was possible, but a good amount remained in a thin layer on the paving stones and in the cracks between. The sparkly material seemed to mock him, flashing in the dim light. Den tried a simple cantrip to mend the bag with a quick gesture and quiet word, “Shovack." Nothing happened. He sat on the cold floor puzzled. "Shovack," he tried again, repeating the gesture. The result was the same. The bag remained sliced. The young mage sat puzzled. It should have worked, he thought. Then, looking at his hand, a smile came to his lips.

  His fingers sparkled, reflecting the light in the chamber. He had picked up the dust with his hands. The magical powder was canceling the magic of the cantrip.

  Dull, white sand revealed the powder that had cancelled the magic of his spell. Looking back, he could see that some of the Anti-Magic Dust had likewise converted to sand after contacting the enchanted statue.

  Den poured the remaining Anti-Magic Dust into another pouch and rubbed his hands together to brush off the magic-canceling powder. As a precaution, he poured some water over his hands to be certain they were free of the dust.

  Scree was swilling a thick, reddish liquid from a glass vial. His hammer lay where it fell, but he was experimentally swinging his arm to test his shoulder. "I don't know what he did, but our mage here stopped that statue cold," he said, gesturing with the vial at the motionless stone knight. The healing liquid in the container sloshed slowly in its container.

  The others were gathered around the dwarf, looking relieved at their comrade’s returned health. Pinch examining a piece of the marble and smiled, "You could say he stopped it stone cold.”

  The others grinned, but left the comment alone.

  "Our wizard really proved himself this time," Pinch said proudly dropping the marble and dusting off his hands.

  Den smiled, feeling relieved that the company was showing confidence in his abilities, but inwardly he still felt inept. He hadn't stopped the statue. The magical dust had. He had only launched balls of energy that had resulted in his companion taking a nearly disastrous blow.

  "We have to keep moving," urged the thief. "The necromancer may sense our presence."

  "Is it me, or is this place bigger than it looked from the outside?" asked the dwarf while combing the dust out of his beard with his fingers.

  “It's extra-dimensional," answered Den. "My master lived in a tiny cottage, but the space inside was huge. When we walked through the door, we actually walked into another dimensional world.”

  Scree eyed the young mage levelly and simply nodded.

  The band resumed their marching order and began a slow ascent of the steps. Den could see the two warriors patiently waiting as Pinch examined each step, his practiced eye looking for even the tiniest sign of a trap.

  The climb seemed to be taking too long. Another of the undead may be creeping their way at this very moment. In order to settle his nerves, the young mage began mentally ordering his thoughts. If he had his spells at the ready, he could act faster in an emergency, he rationalized.

  The group finally assembled on a small landing at which three hallways intersected. All the passages were dark and gloomy. The air stank of putrid flesh and mold.

  "Which passage should we try?” asked the thief in a hushed voice.

  Den swelled with pride. Pinch was actually looking directly at him, asking for his advice. His mind raced as his anxiety climbed. "Which corridor, indeed,” he mumbled. We are fighting for the cause of right, so maybe the one to the right. But what if I am wrong? I have to think fast. The others are depending on me.

  “Right,” he finally announced.

  A low moan from the hallway to the left caught the group's attention. All heads swiveled as one as a group of zombies shuffled into view.

  The undead were in poor shape. Their clothing, or what served as such, was stained and greasy-looking from years of decomposition, their faces, had become twisted masks of rigor mortis. Bone showed in several places as the creature's skulls peaked through the jerky-like skin.

  Immediately, Hank's sword flew from its scabbard as he sprinted toward the menagerie. The blade glowed almost with a life of its own as it streaked towards one of the undead. The zombie was formerly a she, wearing a simple farmer’s dress which was so stained and faded it no longer had a discernible color. Her head dropped to the floor as the blade found its mark.

  Another of the evil creatures swung a crude club at the cavalier's midsection, but the blow was avoided as Hank whirled to absorb the impact with his shield.

  Den's mind worked at what he could do to help. Feeling more confident, he quickly settled on a plan. He uttered some words in the mysterious language of magic, and with a gesture that slid the sleeves of his robes up to his elbows, large webs shot from his fingers, filling the passageway where the last two zombies were closing in on the heroic cavalier.

  Just as Hank's sword was about to bite into the club-wielding undead, his swing came to an abrupt halt. The sticky web locked him in place. The reanimated corpses feebly struggled against the clinging strands, moaning in frustration.

  Scree, who was dashing toward the fight, collided into the web, tangling the snared victims deeper in the mess. The cavalier found himself stuck, laying on his back directly below the gaping jaws of the creature with the club.

  The armored knight tried desperately to push his shield between his face and the undead. Cold radiated from the zombie as its decaying jaws worked in a chewing motion. Maggots squirmed inside its open mouth.

  "What should we do?" asked Pinch in a rush. "Maybe we can burn them out?"

  "No!" Den said with a restraining hand on the thief. "That would burn all within the web. Kill the zombies while they are trapped."

  Pinch flicked a wrist and a knife appeared. He worked his way to the nearest zombie and poked it in the head, severing its connection to its magically-enabled life, but as he withdrew the blade, it came in contact with a single strand and was stuck fast.

  The thief shot a disgusted look at the mage, and another knife appeared in his other hand. He quickly drove it to the hilt in the remaining undead.

  At this point, Hank was screaming and struggling to get awa
y. Den walked through the web, which had no effect on him. When he grasped the cavalier, he was able to pull him free with ease, the web simply slipping off the armored man like it had never been attached. Hank rushed away from the rotting things and fell to the floor, pulling his knees up and hiding behind his shield.

  The young wizard went next to the dwarf and freed him in the same manner. Scree just stood and stared at the webs still binding the now still undead.

  When Den turned back to Hank, he saw the thief consoling the metal-sheathed warrior. The young mage could see tears in the cavalier's eyes, streaks trailing down his grit-stained face.

  "We need to keep moving," the dwarf urged, striding over to the two. Pinch looked up with a pained expression on his face.

  "Hank needs a moment," he said in a hushed tone, his hand resting on his friend's shoulder.

  Scree remained before them, hands on hips. "We don't have a moment.”

  "He's right," Hank sullenly agreed, wiping his eyes with the back of a leather-gloved hand.

  "Earlier, I believe our wizard was right," Pinch said, regaining his feet. "Since we now have only the two open hallways in front of us, I think it is our destiny."

  "I agree," Hank said, somewhat unsteadily.

  The small band resumed their marching order, Pinch taking the lead, his eyes darting to each crack, searching for the smallest possibility of a trap. After just a short distance, the thief raised his hand for the group to halt. He leaned close to the wall, deftly pulling a small, leather package from his belt. Removing a thin tool, he inserted it into a slight crack which none of the others could detect. Something made a clicking sound and a tiny dart sped past the rogue's hand, sticking in the opposing wall.

  Pinch carefully extracted the projectile, sniffing it. He then dropped it in a small vial and, after corking it, dropped that into a pouch at his side.

  The others stood silently, watching the master thief at work.

  Pinch returned to the wall which the dart had originated from and pushed a small, indistinguishable panel in. The wall, at once, slid to the right, exposing a room.