The Cleric Quintet: The Chaos Curse

Chapter Sixteen

 
Nightfall
Shayleigh squatted atop the roof of the low structure behind the Edificant Library, eyeing the large, square building with mounting suspicion. She could tell that the fire had been fairly concentrated, as she would expect in a structure made mostly of stone, but it wasn't so much the fire that now worried the elf maiden. Two things struck her as more than a little odd. The first was the simple lack of activity around the library. Winter was on the wane and the trails were open, yet Shayleigh saw no priests milling about the place, stretching their weary limbs in the warming sunshine.
Even more curious, Shayleigh could not understand why all the windows were boarded over, especially after the fire - to her thinking, the library should have been thrown open wide to allow the smoke to filter out and fresh air to blow in. As it was, the Edificant Library was far from an airy place, but with the windows blocked, at least the ones on this side of the structure, the smoky air inside must be nearly overwhelming.
Percival, hopping along the branches of the nearest tree, did not provide much comfort. The squirrel was still obviously agitated - so wild, in fact, that Shayleigh feared he might have contracted some disease. He ran down right near her - she thought for a moment he was going to crash against her arm.
"What is it?" she said softly, trying to calm the squirrel as he hopped a circular dance on the branch.
Percival hopped down to the mausoleum roof, did that spinning dance again, chattering loudly, as if in protest, then leaped high, back to the low branch and sat facing the mausoleum squarely, still chattering.
Shayleigh ran a delicate hand through her golden hair, not beginning to understand what all of this was about.
Percival repeated the action, and this time, the squirrel's dance atop the low structure's roof was one of frenzy. He went flying back to the branch, again sitting facing the mausoleum directly, again sputtering protests.
Shayleigh realized that the squirrel was watching the low building, not watching her or the library.
"In here?" she asked, pointing straight down to the mausoleum roof. "Is something in here?"
Percival did a somersault on the branch, and his shriek sent shivers along the elf s spine.
Shayleigh stood up straight and stared down at the twig-covered slate roof. She knew enough about the customs of the humans to understand that this was a burial house, but that fact alone should not bother a squirrel, even one such as Percival, who seemed to have more understanding than a squirrel should.
"Something is in there, Percival?" she asked again. "Something bad?"
Again the white squirrel went into its frantic dance, chattering wildly.
Shayleigh crept to the front edge of the mausoleum and peeked over. There was one window, dusty and dirty, and the door was closed - but the elf maiden's keen vision showed her how clean the edges of that doorjamb were, showed that the door had been opened recently.
Shayleigh looked all around at the small field and the library's back grounds. With no one in sight, she gripped the edge of the mausoleum and gracefully rolled over, putting her feet near the ground, and hopped down.
Percival was on the roof then, near her and making more noise than the elf wanted to hear.
"Do be quiet!" Shayleigh scolded, her voice a harsh whisper. Percival sat very still and silent, his little nose twitching.
Shayleigh could see nothing moving beyond the dirty window. She fell into a deep trance and forced her eyes into the night vision of elves, where they could view things in the infrared spectrum, seeing heat and not reflected light.
From this perspective, too, the place seemed empty.
Shayleigh took little comfort in that as she let her eyes slip back into the normal spectrum of light and moved for the door. This was a crypt, after all, and any monsters inside might well be undead. Dead creatures were cold; they gave off no body heat.
Shayleigh winced at the creak of the old door as it rolled on its rusty hinges. Dim twilight filtered into the place, barely illuminating it. Shayleigh and her kin in Shilmista lived more under the stars than the sun, though, and she didn't need much light She kept her eyes focused in the normal spectrum and silently entered, leaving Percival, who was chattering again despite her scolding, on the lip of the roof above the open door.
The mausoleum seemed empty, but the hairs on the nape of Shayleigh's neck told her otherwise. She slipped her longbow off her shoulder, as much to have something to prod about with as to have a weapon in hand, and moved in farther. She looked back to the door with nearly every step and noticed Percival perched nervously on the outside sill of the window, staring in with bulging eyes. The sight of the concerned animal almost made her laugh despite her trepidations.
She passed the first of the stone slabs, noticed then that there was more than a little blood - fairly fresh, it seemed - on the floor, along with a tattered burial shroud. The elf maiden shook her head at the continuing riddle. She slipped past the second slab, and looked at the far wall, the wall to the left of the door, lined by marked stones that she knew were grave markers.
Something - something out of place - about the far stone, the stone in the corner near the back wall of the mausoleum, caught her attention.
Shayleigh eyed it curiously for a moment, trying to discern what it was.
It was hanging crooked just a bit. Shayleigh nodded and slid a cautious step closer.
The stone flew off the wall, and the elf maiden leaped back. Out came a fat corpse, a bloated and rotting thing, to fall in a heap at the base of the wall. Shayleigh had barely registered the gruesome scene when another form leaped out of the open crypt, springing with InCredible agility to stand atop the slab nearest the wall, barely a dozen feet from the startled elf.
Dean Thobicus!
Shayleigh recognized him despite the fact that half his skin had somehow melted away, and the remaining pieces were blistered and torn. She recognized the dean, and understood that he had become something terrible, something powerful.
The elf maiden continued to backpedal, thinking to cross the last slab between her and the door, use the final pillar as a block behind her, then turn and bolt. The day was long, but she knew that the light, any light, would be her ally against this one.
Thobicus crouched, animal-like, on the slab; Shayleigh, her muscles tense, expected him to spring at her. He just stared without blinking, without breathing, and she could not figure out the source of that stare. Was it hunger or fear? Was he a malicious monster or a pitiful thing?
She came beside the last slab, felt the pillar behind her shoulder. Her foot slid back and subtly turned.
The elf exploded into motion, darting behind the pillar, but the move had been anticipated and the heavy door swung closed with a tremendous crash.
Shayleigh skidded to a stop, saw Percival doing frantic somersaults on the windowsill. She felt the coldness of the dead man's approach at her back and knew then the truth, the foul demeanor of this undead monster. She spun about and went into a defensive crouch, backpedal-ing as Thobicus slowly stalked in.
"The door will not open," the vampire explained, and Shayleigh didn't doubt the claim. "There is no escape."
Shayleigh's violet eyes darted back and forth, searching the room. But the building was solid, with only a single window (leaded glass, which she could never get through in time) and the single door.
The vampire opened his mouth wide, proudly displaying his fangs. "Now I will have a queen," Thobicus said, "as Rufo has Danica."
The last statement hit Shayleigh hard, both for the proclamation of wretched Kierkan Rufo's return and the fact that he apparently had Danica in his clutches.
She looked to the door, and to Percival in the window, searching, searching, but she could not deny the truth of Thobicus's next statement.
"There is no escape."
By the time they stopped running, the library was barely visible, back along the winding trail and beyond many sheltering trees. Cadderly stood bent at the waist, gasping for breath, and not just for sheer physical exertion. What had happened to his library? his thoughts screamed at him. What had happened to the order that had guided him through all the years of his life?
Pikel, bleeding from several wounds, hopped about the small clearing frantically, several times even rebounding off the boulders lining the place on the south (which did not help his injuries), and sputtering, "Oo oi!" over and over, Ivan just stood solemnly, staring back at the one visible top corner of the library, shaking his shaggy head.
Cadderly couldn't think straight, and Pikel's frenzy wasn't helping him any. On more than one occasion, the young priest's concentration narrowed on the problem at hand, seeking a solution, but then Cadderly would be brushed by Pikel, or loudly interrupted by an emphatic "Oo oi!" v
Cadderly stood straight and eyed the green-bearded dwarf directly, and was about to scold Pikel, when he heard clearly the song of Deneir. It swept him away like he was a twig that had fallen into a swift stream. It didn't ask if he wanted to go along; it just took him in the current, gaining speed, gaining momentum, and all the young priest could do was hold on.
After a few moments, Cadderly found some control of his spiraling thoughts and he willingly steered himself to the middle of the stream, to the strongest notes of the song. He hadn't heard the melody this clearly since Castle Trinity, since he had destroyed his own father, Aballister, by sundering the ground beneath the evil wizard's feet It sounded sweet, so very sweet, and relieved Cadderly of the grief for the library and his fears for the future. He was purely with Deneir now, basking in the most perfect music.
Corridors began to open wide to him, tributaries of the main river. Cadderly thought of the Tome of Universal Harmony, the most holy book of Deneir, the book inscribed with the very words of this song, though they were translated things. In the song, there were only notes, pure, perfect, but these notes corresponded exactly to the written text, the human translation of Deneir's music. Cadderly knew this - Pertelope had known this - but they were the only two. Even Dean TTiobicus, head of the order, had no idea of the way this music played. Thobicus could recite the words of the song, but the notes were far beyond his comprehension.
To Cadderly, it was as simple as turning pages, as following the flow of the river, and he went down one of those offered tributaries now, to the sphere of healing, and pulled spells of mending from the waters.
Minutes later, Pikel was calmed, his bleeding stopped, and Cadderly's few wounds were no more. The young priest turned to Ivan, who, by all appearances, had been hit the hardest in the brief encounter with the vampire, but to Cadderly's surprise, he found the yellow-bearded dwarf standing quietly, seeming unharmed.
Ivan returned Cadderly's dumbfounded stare, not understanding its source. "We got to hide," the dwarf reasoned.
Cadderly shook himself from his stupor; the song faded from his thoughts, but he kept faith that he could recall it if the need arose. "The open is better," the young priest reasoned. "In the light, away from the shadows."
"The light won't last!" Ivan sternly reminded him. The dwarf poked a finger to the west, where even the distant and tall mountains loomed dark now, their rim glistening in the very last rays of the day.
Without a word, or even a grunt, of explanation, Pikel rushed off quickly into the brush. Ivan and Cadderly watched him go, then turned to each other and shrugged.
"We shall find a place to hide the night," Cadderly remarked. "I'll seek the answers we need with Deneir. His blessing will protect..." Cadderly stopped abruptly and looked back to the library, his gray eyes wide with horror. The note of fear sounded again in his thoughts. Perhaps it was Deneir-inspired; perhaps it was just a logical conclusion by Cadderly, a moment when he considered everything in a light more clear. As mysterious as Pikel, the young priest ran back to the west, back toward the library.
"Hey!" Ivan roared as he took up the chase. Pikel came out of the bushes, then, smiling broadly and carrying his dripping waterskin.
"Huh?" he asked, seeing the others running fast back for the library. The dwarf gave a little whistle and rambled off in pursuit.
Cadderly cut to the side, a tight corner around some brambles. Ivan went right through the tangle and rammed the young priest sidelong out the other side.
"What?" the dwarf demanded. "Ye just said we'd be finding a place to hide! I'm not for going back in ..."
Cadderly scrambled to his feet, his legs pumping before he ever got his balance, propelling him away from the grumbling dwarf. Ivan took up the chase again and paced him, and Pikel, taking similar, if painful shortcuts, was soon bobbing along on Cadderly's other side.
"What?" Ivan demanded again, trying to catch hold and stop the stubborn priest. They were at the edge of the library's entry walk then, between the lines of silent and well-groomed trees, in sight of the battered doors, closed again and apparently barricaded from behind.
"What?" Ivan growled wildly.
"She's in there!" Cadderly offered. Taking longer strides, the young priest moved ahead of the dwarves on the flat and open ground.
"Ye can't go in!" Ivan bellowed, not really understanding what Cadderly was talking about. "Night's falling full! Nighfs his tune, the time of vampires!"
"Oo oi!" Pikel heartily agreed.
Cadderly's answer blew away any logic that Ivan could muster against going back into the library, against facing Rufo, whether or not the night had fallen.
"Danica is in there!"
Their legs were shorter, but their love for Danica was no less, and as Cadderly straightened and slowed, trying to figure out how to get through the barrier, trying to discern if the portal had been dangerously warded or trapped, Ivan and Pikel flew past him, heads down, calling out a united "Oooo!"
Rufo had bolstered the doors with both enchantments and heavy furniture and had placed half a dozen zombies behind the barrier, with orders to stand very still and simply hold the doors closed.
He shouldn't have bothered. By the time Ivan and Pikel had played out their momentum, they were facedown in the foyer, with splintered wood and furniture and zombies raining down all about them.
Cadderly came in on the heels of the dwarves, his holy symbol held out strong and chanting the melodies of Deneirian music. He felt his power diminish as soon as he crossed the threshold into the desecrated place, but had enough of his momentum with him, and enough sheer anger and determination, to complete his call to his god.
The six zombies rose stubbornly and advanced on the dwarves and Cadderly. Then they froze in place, expressionless, and a golden light limned them all, head to toe. The edge where that light met either ragged clothing or skin blurred, and the glow intensified.
A moment later, the zombies were piles of dust on the floor.
Back by the entrance, Cadderly slumped against the jamb and nearly swooned, amazed at the effort it had taken him to bring Deneir into this place - amazed yet again that the Edificant Library, his library, his home, had become a place so foreign and uninviting.
She did not scream when Rufo leaned over her, because she did not think that anyone could hear. Neither did she struggle, for her bindings were too tight, her weakness too complete.
"Danica," she heard Rufo say softly, and the sound of her own name disgusted her, coming from that one.
TTie monk fell deeper into herself, tried to fall away from her corporeal body, for she knew what was to come. And for all that Danica had endured in her short life, the loss of her parents, the years of brutal and unforgiving training, the battles on the trail, she did not think she could survive this.
Rufo leaned closer; she smelled the stench of his breath. Instinctively, she opened her eyes and saw his fangs. She struggled hard against the unyielding bonds. She closed her eyes tightly, trying to deny the reality of this hellish scene, trying to will it away.
Danica felt the sting as Kierkan Rufo's fangs punctured her neck.
The vampire groaned in ecstacy, and Danica was filled with disgust. All she wanted was to get away, to flee her own battered body. She thought she would die, and she wanted to die.
To die.
The idea hung in her swirling thoughts, a flicker of salvation, the one route of escape from this horrid monster and the state of undeath that he desired for her.
Danica felt the sickness in her leg, felt the pain through all her beaten body, and she let go her defenses, accepted that sickness and pain, basked in it, called to it To die...
Kierkan Rufo knew true ecstacy for the first time in his life, a greater pleasure than even imbibing the chaos curse, when he felt the pulse of Danica's blood coming to his taste. Danica! This was far better than any vam-piric meal he had tasted thus far. Danica! Rufo had desired her, craved her, since the moment he had first seen her, and now she would be his!
So lost was the vampire in the realization of his own fantasy, that it took Rufo a long moment to understand that the woman's blood was no longer pumping, that any sweetness he extracted from the wound on Danica's neck had to be taken forcefully. He kicked back to a kneeling position, staring down, perplexed, at this woman who would be his queen.
Danica lay perfectly still. Her breast did not rise and fall with the rhythms of breath; the dots of blood on her neck did not increase from the continuing flow of blood. Rufo could see that he had hit her artery perfectly. With other victims, the blood spurted wildly from such wounds.
But not now. Just little red dots. No force; no pulse.
"Danica?" the vampire asked, fighting hard to keep his voice steady. He knew, though. Beyond any rational doubts, the vampire knew, for Danica's face was too serene, too pale. And she was too, too perfectly still.
Rufo had wanted to bring Danica from life into un-death, into his realm to be his queen. She was tied and weak and could not escape, or so he thought
Rufo's body trembled as he realized what had happened, what Danica had done. He fell back farther from her, to the bottom of the huge four-poster bed, brushed an arm across his bloody face, dark eyes wide with horror, and wider still with outrage. Danica had found an escape; Danica had found the one way out of Rufo's designs and desires.
Danica had died.
Pikel's Punch
Of all the things they had ever heard - the cries of wild animals in a mountain night, the screams of the dying on a field in Shil-mista, the roar of a dragon deceived - none of them, not Cadderly or even hardy Ivan and Pikei, had felt their bones so melted as by the unearthly shriek of Kierkan Rufo, of the vampire who had lost his most precious of treasures.
Cadderly, when his wits returned, instinctively believed they should follow that sound, that it would lead to Rufo, and he, in turn, would lead to Danica. The young priest had a difficult time telling his dwarven companions that, though, and had a difficult time in his own mind in rationalizing any decision that would put him closer to the one who had loosed that wail! He looked behind him, out the door, and into the empty night. One step back, he knew, and the song of his god would sound more clearly in his thoughts. One step back ... but Danica was ahead.
"Deneir is not with me," Cadderly whispered, to himself and not the others, "not close."
"Where are we off to?" Ivan prompted impatiently, his gnarly, hairy brow showing droplets of sweat, more from nerves than exhaustion.
"Up," Cadderly answered. "It came from the second floor, the private quarters."
They crossed the foyer and several smaller chambers, past the kitchen where Ivan and Pikel had worked as cooks for many years. They met no enemies, but the library was awakening around them. They knew that, could feel the sensation, a sudden chill in air that was not moving.
"Cadderly." The voice, the lewd, feminine voice, froze the three in their tracks, barely a dozen steps up the winding stair that led to the second floor. Cadderly, at the head of the line, his light tube in hand, turned about slowly, putting the beam over the low heads of Ivan and Pikel to shine directly on the scarred face of Histra.