Tim Waggoner: Forge of the Mindslayers

Even so, that didn't stop Hinto from rushing into the chamber before Ghaji could tell his companions that it was safe to enter.

"Look at all this!" Hinto raised the everbright lantern higher to better illuminate the room's contents. The halfling's eyes gleamed in the greenish lantern light as he gazed upon the items. Before becoming trapped in the Mire, Hinto had been a sailor. Life was harsh in the northern waters of the Principalities, and those who plied the Lhazaar Sea did what was necessary to survive. No sailor-even one as prone to panic as Hinto-would be foolish enough to pass up an opportunity for salvage.

The halfling started toward a pile of clothes, but before he could reach it, Diran took hold of his arm and stopped him.

"Be careful," the priest said. "Just because these items once belonged to mortal men doesn't make them safe. If this chamber is where the lich keeps her phylactery, then it's likely that she's set traps to protect it. We must proceed with caution."

Hinto nodded, a chastened look on his face.

"What precisely should we look for?" Tresslar asked. "I assume the lich wasn't considerate enough to label her phylactery for us."

"Heh. No. You're right about that. Often an object that was important to a lich in life serves as the phylactery, but it could be anything," Diran said. "Something as simple as a locked chest or as ornate as a piece of sculpture. We won't know for certain until we find it, but whatever object is used, it is always cold to the touch."

"Then let's get to it," Ghaji said, nose wrinkling as he caught a whiff of the muck clinging to his boots. "I want to destroy the phylactery and get out of here before my sense of smell is completely gone."

With that, the four companions began carefully searching through the collection of items in the lich's hidden chamber. There was no treasure, though they did find purses containing various types and amounts of currency.

"I think we should take some of this money, Diran," Hinto said. "We're always short on funds since you refuse to charge for your services."

"Sorry, my friend," the priest said. "While I appreciate your Lhazaarite frugality, the money is tainted by the lich's evil, thus we must leave it."

With a regretful sigh, Hinto nodded.

While they looked for the phylactery, Tresslar also kept an eye out for magic items whose power he could absorb with his dragonwand, but the artificer found none. Either the lich's victims hadn't possessed such items or she'd done something else with them besides storing them here.

It was Ghaji who finally found the phylactery. The only armor he wore was a battered breastplate that he'd had since his days as a soldier. Despite Diran's warning to Hinto about the items in the chamber being tainted, when he came across a cuirass that looked to be his size-one that was better-made than his breastplate and relatively unscathed-he couldn't help picking it up to admire it. That's when he noticed three things: the front and back plates of the cuirass had been welded together, the openings for the wearer's head, arms, and trunk had been sealed with plugs of wax, and most telling of all, the metal was cold to the touch.

Ghaji carried the cuirass to Diran, and when the priest saw it, he couldn't help smiling.

"It seems our lich has a sense of humor. She stored her life force-her heart and soul-inside a human torso, albeit a metal one. Would you do the honors, Ghaji?"

The half-orc put the cuirass on the floor, placing it on its side so one of the welded seams was on top. Then he raised his axe and with a single blow split the front and back plates apart. Wisps of what looked like ebon smoke curled forth from inside the cuirass, filling the chamber with a foul smell like rotten eggs before finally dissipating

Diran said, "The lich is no more. Let us depart this place, seal the outer entrance, and…" He glanced down at his muck-covered boots.

"And find something to wipe this off," Ghaji finished for him. Diran grinned. "Indeed."

Chagai watched as Ghaji and his three companions exited the cleft in the hillside. They'd been gone for some time, and the orc mercenary had been starting to wonder if they were ever going to return. From what he'd overheard before they'd gone in, a lich laired within the hillside. He didn't know if it was true. He rarely came to this part of the foothills, for the hunting was poor here. But after seeing the goblin appear from the cleft then be pulled back inside-not to mention witnessing the fiery exit of some wolf-like creature that dashed away trailing flame behind it-Chagai had no trouble believing the hillside was home to a lich. He did, however, have a great deal of trouble understanding why anyone, even a half-blood like Ghaji, would willingly enter a lich's lair. He puzzled over the idea while he waited to see if the four would exit alive.

Though it was now full night, Chagai still crouched behind the outcropping. The moons shone bright this evening, and while he doubted the humans would spot him even if he stood up and waved his arms about, he knew Ghaji and the halfling both had better night-vision. Thus, Chagai kept still and watched as Ghaji and his companions moved well away from the cleft. The older human pointed a weapon of some sort at the opening in the hillside, and a bolt of lightning surged forth to strike the cleft. The air filled with the sizzle of released power and the stink of scorched rock, and the opening exploded in a shower of rock shards and dust. When the air cleared, Chagai could see that the cleft had been sealed. Whatever lay inside the hillside-lich or something else-it seemed Ghaji and his friends wanted it to remain there.

After that, the four began heading off in the direction they'd originally come from. Chagai guessed that they were bound for Perhata, if only because there was nowhere else for them to go. Chagai was torn about what he should do next. He knew what he wanted to do: follow Ghaji and the others into Perhata and wait for the right opportunity for him to become reacquainted with his old friend. He had been out hunting earlier that afternoon when Ghaji and the others had come near a place where Chagai often caught mountain goats. They hadn't detected him. He was a full-blooded orc warrior, after all, and he was only seen when he wished to be. Still, they'd been close enough for him to catch and recognize Ghaji's scent, and he had abandoned one hunt for another, careful to remain hidden as he followed their trail.

He hadn't been out hunting goats for himself… at least, not only for himself. His employer had sent him out to bring back dinner, and while he was confident that Cathmore would understand why he'd allowed himself to become distracted, the man's patience only extended so far. If Chagai followed Ghaji and his friends back to Perhata, it would be a day or more before he returned to Mount Luster, and Cathmore wouldn't tolerate that long a delay.

"Go back to the city, Ghaji," whispered Chagai, "and celebrate your victory with your friends. You and I will meet again soon enough."

Chagai moved away from his hiding place and began heading in the direction of Mount Luster, hoping he'd come across a goat or two along the way.

Much later that night, Skarm padded back to the entrance to his mistress's lair. His lupine body had healed much since the half-orc had set him afire, but he was still covered with suppurating blisters, and his fur-what there was of it-was scorched and blackened. The pain was excruciating, and the barghest whined softly with every step he took.

He wasn't surprised to discover that the hillside entrance had been destroyed, nor was he dismayed. His mistress had long ago prepared for such an eventuality. Skarm climbed up the hillside, picking his way through the rubble that covered the main entrance, moving past it, going higher and higher until he was close to the summit. The ground sloped more sharply here, and it took an effort for Skarm to maintain his footing, injured as he was. He reached a rocky ledge and climbed onto it, then stretched out a clawed hand and pressed the blistered palm against a section of stone in front of him that was slightly darker than what surrounded it. The dark spot subsided with an audible click, and a small doorway opened inward, just large enough for a lupine creature-or perhaps a small goblin-to squeeze through. Skarm wriggled through the entrance, hissing in pain as his injured sides scraped stone, massive blisters popping, clear serum trickling down his burnt skin. Once he was all the way inside, the door closed behind him.