T Lain - Return of the Damned

Wrapping the thick fingers of one hand around the religious artifact, Krunk placed his other palm on Regdar’s chest above the weeping wounds. The dwarf closed his eyes and recited a prayer under his breath.

Regdar felt Krunk’s fingers tighten on his skin, then the familiar, healing warmth flowed into his frame. He leaned his head back and rolled his eyes deeper into their sockets. He loved this sensation. It was almost worth getting hurt just to be healed again.

Lost in the warm relief provided by Krunk’s spell, Regdar flinched when something touched his leg. Lifting his head, he looked down to see the dwarf cleric preparing to heal the bruise there.

“You should try to not get hurt so much.” Krunk pushed on the soft, purple tissue on the big fighter’s leg.

Regdar squirmed and gritted his teeth. The euphoria from the previous healing spell was all but gone.

“One of these days,” Krunk continued, “I might not be around to fix you up, and then where will you be?” He pressed his palm again into the fighter’s flesh and mouthed a few short words.

Regdar felt the healing warmth again, though much weaker. He moved his left arm and squeezed his thigh. Both felt better.

“Thanks, Krunk,” he said, standing up from the stump and walking to his pack. “I owe you one.”

The old dwarf stomped to the fire and sat next to Clemf. “Don’t start counting now,” he said. “You never have before, and you’ll never be rich enough to pay your debts anyway.”

They all laughed.

Regdar drew a new shirt over his shoulders. “You’re probably right about that.” Then he, too, sat by the fire.

Tasca and Clemf held long, carved tree branches over the fire. On the end of them, each man had a row of punctured mushrooms roasting above the flames.

Whitman pulled a package wrapped in a handkerchief from his pack and returned to the fire. He lifted the cloth and began tearing off large hunks of bread and handing them around. Tasca pulled his mushrooms from the flames and pointed the stick at Regdar, who used his hunk of bread to pull a bubbling fungus from the branch.

“Thanks,” he said, putting the impromptu sandwich to his lips and blowing on the hot meal.

Whitman did the same. “So,” he said between cooling breaths, “you really think we’ll be able to find this woman?”

Regdar looked up over his mushroom. “I wouldn’t have asked you to come here if I didn’t.”

“How did you lose her in the first place?” asked Tasca.

Whitman elbowed Tasca again.

Regdar raised his hand. “It’s all right, Whitman. Telling you the story is the least I can do.”

The other men looked up, and Regdar began.

“Have any of you ever heard of the City of Fire?”

“The mythical City of Fire?” asked Krunk.

Regdar nodded. “I thought it mythical too until I walked its streets.”

Whitman scratched his beard. “So it really exists?”

“Well, it did.” Regdar sighed. “I and my companions sent it back to the planes.” Regdar stopped for a minute, rubbed his face, and swallowed away the tightness in his throat. “We were fighting a crazed blackguard who wanted a powerful artifact from inside the city. She almost got it, too, but Naull managed to trap her inside a magic bubble.” He looked up into the night sky. “It worked great, except that Naull was trapped inside the sphere as well. To keep the artifact out of the hands of evil, we sent the city back through its planar gate.” He paused. “Naull was still trapped inside.”

Everyone sat silent, not even chewing their food.

Clemf was the first to break the silence. “You watched her go?”

Regdar closed his eyes and nodded.

“And you assumed she was dead,” added Tasca.

Regdar shrugged. “The city went to the Elemental Plane of Fire. Once her spell ended, there was no way she could survive there.”

“And this cleric friend of yours, Jozan,” said Whitman, “he had proof that she’s still alive.”

Regdar nodded. “Proof enough to persuade him. I know what you’re all thinking, but if there’s even a chance that she didn’t die in that fire, then I have to find out for myself.” He looked at them all in turn. “Like I said back in the barrack, this is a volunteer mission. You’re under no obligation to stay.”

There was a moment of silence, cut only by the sound of the crackling flames.

“Well, I don’t know about the rest of you,” said Tasca, “but I was sold when he told me we were going to rescue a kidnapped woman from a band of slavers.” The elf pulled another mushroom off his branch. “I have a terrible weakness for damsels in distress.”

Whitman glared at the elf. “We’re with you, Regdar.”

The others nodded.

Regdar smiled. “I know. I know.”

Krunk was awakened by Tasca when the moon was high overhead.

“Your turn,” said the elf before he climbed into his bedroll.

Krunk rolled to his feet and wiped the sleep from his eyes. The others were fast asleep.

The fire burned low in the pit Whitman had made. Tasca had been smart to keep it small. There was no point in attracting more attention than necessary.

Picking up his mace, Krunk walked around the fire. A small pile of branches rested nearby. Krunk smiled. Despite what Whitman said about him, Tasca was an upstanding fellow.

Krunk sat for a while, poking at the fire with a long stick, throwing another branch on when the flames grew too weak.

The night passed slowly, stars moving imperceptibly across the sky. The dwarf became sleepy again. Shaking his head, Krunk got to his feet and went to collect more wood for the fire.

Before trudging to the riverbank, the cleric hung his mace from his belt. It was mid-summer, and the waters of the River Delnir were low. Spring runoff had deposited plenty of firewood high on the banks, and Krunk quickly made a heaping pile to carry back.

“That should last till morning,” he said as he bent down to pick up the wood.

Something that felt like two huge rocks hit him on the back. His face crashed into the pile of branches, and he was pinned to the ground. The air was driven from his lungs.

Krunk twisted as hard as he could to right and left, but he was stuck. Whatever was on top of him was either larger or stronger than he, or both. He heard a crackle and a pop, like a bone being separated from its joint. A burst of warm, damp air rushed across the back of his neck, setting all the tiny hairs on end.

The dwarf cleric could hear his heart beat in his ears. His thoughts raced. The smell of rotting flesh reached his nose, and a sharp pain ran down his spine. In a flash he understood.

Vampire.

Regdar awoke with a start, his hand instinctively wrapped around his greatsword. He shook his head and sat up. The others were sleeping, and the fire had all but gone out. A smoking pile of dull, red embers was all that remained.

“Krunk,” he said in a loud whisper.

Only the sound of the running river, several paces away, answered back.

“Krunk,” he said again, a little louder this time.

In the low glow of the embers, Regdar could see Whitman sit up straight, clutching his hammer to his chest.

Regdar got to his feet and crossed to the dwarf. Without a word, Whitman reached over and shook Tasca awake, laying his finger across his lips, signaling silence. The elf got the hint and lifted himself from his sleeping roll while retrieving his rapier.

Regdar turned to wake Clemf.

A heavy, wooden club swung through the air, just missing his head. The big fighter stumbled back and let out a shout, surprised by the attack. In front of him, hunched over the sleeping form of Clemf, stood a ghastly black and green monstrosity.

The creature’s body was covered in rippled scales, and the back of its neck sported something like a fish’s fin. Though it looked like a giant lizard with a long, winding tongue, it stood erect like a man. In one hand it held the club that had almost crushed Regdar’s head. In the other it carried a large shield.