T Lain - Treachery's Wake

The interior curve of the ceiling was inlayed with multicolored stones, shorn flat and laid into an amazing mosaic of images. At the four cardinal directions were shield-sized orange spheres with tendrils of yellow and red radiating from them. These suns were laid into an obsidian background and almost glowed in contrast to the midnight hues of the burnished, ebony stone.

Set in the center of the picture was the image of an enormous dragon. The outline of the dragon’s scales was done with emeralds and lapis, and the whole of the thing was covered in gold leaf. In its talons, the creature clutched a silver mace topped with yet another orange-red sun.

Spaced evenly around the image of the dragon were several smaller figures, knights in full plate armor holding aloft long swords in homage to the beast. On each of the knights’ breastplates was an inlay of the same solar motif repeated elsewhere.

Malthooz was lying flat on his back on the floor of the temple, staring up at the image above him. He shook his head. He remembered something striking him. He reached up and rubbed his skull. There were no lumps or bruises as far as he could tell.

He sat up, pushing himself into a sitting position with his elbows. The makeshift club lay at his side along with the symbol of Pelor. He didn’t remember taking the talisman into the ship with him. What became of the ship, and why had he been there in the first place? That seemed so long ago. He remembered traveling with Krusk and some others. Perhaps the journey had been nothing but a dream. On the other hand, he didn’t recognize this place at all, so maybe this was the dream.

Despite his confusion over where he was and how he got there, Malthooz felt clear-headed and alert. He considered for a moment that he might be dead, but discarded the notion. This place did not look like the paradise of wilderness and plenty the shamans promised.

Without thinking, he grabbed the wooden symbol. His whole body convulsed as his fingers wrapped around the trinket. A surge of energy ran from the symbol through his hand and along his arm. His head snapped back as the wave traveled up his spine. Malthooz shut his eyes against a flood of tears, but they could not be halted.

A moment later the energy stopped, and the symbol of Pelor clattered to the ground. A flood of emotions and memories hit Malthooz all at once. Feelings long pent up suddenly rushed forth: wounds of humiliation at the hands of his childhood peers; having to watching his village suffer failed crops and the raids of bandits; the pain he’d felt when Krusk moved on, and his anger at himself for not being brave enough to leave himself. All of those feelings came and passed.

Malthooz stared at the wooden symbol. The words of the acolyte of Pelor echoed in his mind. “You lack faith in yourself.” Then more of the things he had been told came back. Some were things he had tried to forget: that a deity’s call was not one of choice and that it was useless to resist. Malthooz had resisted from the start, and continued to fight it. He ran from his village, having convinced himself that he wanted only to find Krusk, thinking that if he could convince Krusk to return, everything would be all right and his heart would be at peace. He was beginning to understand how wrong he was.

Mialee reacted reflexively. Her hand shot toward the claw as the familiar words of a spell came to her lips. Three bolts of light and energy flew from her outstretched fingers and raced at the appendage, slamming into its armored side. The yellow glow of the missiles dissipated against the claw, sending arcs of electricity racing along its rough surface, but doing it no visible damage.

She cursed under her breath as the tendrils of magic faded into the surface of the armor. Realizing that she had only a few seconds before the rest of the creature came bursting into the hold, she grabbed Malthooz by the collar and pulled his body down the hall with all her strength. Mialee was thankful that the passage of many years and feet had worn the floor to a smooth polish. Nevertheless, strength was not one of the elf’s primary virtues, and the strain of dragging the half-orc’s bulk taxed her muscles to the limit of her endurance.

Krusk was already moving forward by the time Mialee loosed her ineffective magic. He was upon the beast before she pulled Malthooz safely from the claw’s reach. Heat burned in his chest and a hum filled his ears. The rage of battle infused him and he welcomed the feeling, hungering for the rush that a good fight brought. His axe felt like an extension of his arm as he moved in on the monster.

A second claw reached into the hallway, grabbing the jagged edge of the hole and wrenching away more timber. A pair of legs came through the hole, followed by another. Soon the entire bulk of a giant crab filled the narrow passageway. Its mouth was a dark complex of tiny mandibles and jaw plates that popped and clicked as they opened and closed. It must have been lurking in the shallow water, Krusk thought as he swung his axe at a leg that speared toward his throat. Krusk could guess why there were no bodies in the wreck.

“You’ll not take this meal so easily as the corpse of a dead, bloated sailor,” Krusk howled as he brought his axe back around on the crab.

He was deep in the throes of his rage and cared little for the fact that the monster couldn’t understand him. His weapon smashed into one of the crab’s armored claws with a crunch, shattering the plating near the tip, sending small bits of shell flying back into the barbarian’s face.

The monster moved toward Krusk, responding to the immediate threat. It lashed out at the barbarian with both claws, the wound from Krusk’s axe barely slowing it. Krusk knew little of sea creatures but he suspected that the beast could not feel pain.

The crab snapped at Krusk as he tried to land a second strike. The inner surface of its claws looked like a rough landscape of calcified matter. They didn’t look sharp but the barbarian knew that what they lacked in edge, they made up for in sheer strength. He was more than aware that either of them could easily sever his arm once it locked on. To be caught by both was unthinkable. Krusk bided his time, looking for the opportunity to hit, knowing that the monster would neither rest nor be frightened away.

Mialee dropped Malthooz a few yards from the crab’s back. She tossed her short bow aside, realizing the futility of using the weapon against the creature’s tough exoskeleton. She thought her staff would be equally useless, except perhaps as a distraction to the crab so she abandoned it as well and prepared to cast another spell.

Against such a mindless beast, magical charms and enchantments would be of no use. Her magic missiles already demonstrated their futility. She realized that Krusk was their best hope of surviving the attack and she set about to bolster the half-orc’s offensive power. If the barbarian was going to stand a chance against the monster’s multiple weapons, he was going to need more than just his axe and a little luck.

She concentrated on Krusk’s movements, watching his every move and getting herself in tune with his every step and shift. Grabbing a piece of licorice root from a pouch at her side, she shifted part of her awareness to the twig. Her mouth worked the words of the spell, her delivery becoming louder and more sure as the magic took effect. Speaking the final word, Mialee shifted her attention back to Krusk and sent forth a conjuration of energy.

Krusk felt the potency of the magic coursing through his veins. Even in his enraged state, the warmth of the magic infused his movements and brought an extra quickness to his attacks. He redoubled his efforts. One of the creature’s legs let go with a snap as Krusk’s axe severed it near the joint. The remaining stub twitched and jerked, rendered all but useless with the loss of its pointed tip. Krusk concentrated his attacks on the smaller appendages between warding off the lunging claws.