The Empress of Beasts, page 8
part #13 of The Wandering Inn Series
“Retreat! We’re fighting the wrong type of monster! Retreat!”
Bevussa shouted at her team and Vuliel Drae’s. Larr loosed an arrow and watched it bounce off one of the skeletal monster’s heads. Anith raised his spellbook and pointed.
“[Repulsion Barrier]! Go, go!”
The wall of force threw back the Ceiling Crawlers for a moment. All the adventurers turned and ran. Toren bounded after them, feeling distinctly miffed. What kind of undead were these? And why did she sense a lot more ahead of them?
She got her answer as the adventurers streamed back towards the entrance and came face to face with another Silver-rank team. Nailren and the Pride of Kelia. The Gnoll adventurers, most armed with bows, were retreating as well. The Gnoll howled at Bevussa.
“We’re under attack! There are Crypt Lords! And something else! All adventurer teams, pull back! They’ve smashed one wall!”
“Where’s Keldrass? We need his team!”
Bevussa shouted. Nailren drew breath as his team began loosing arrows—Toren peered past them. Those were Crypt Lords! The same ones in his kitchen! She slapped her skull, vexed. Of all the—
And then all the adventurers heard it. Three loud, desperate blasts. They looked up. Bevussa shouted.
“That’s the retreat! Shield Spiders?”
“Or just too many undead! Come on!”
“Not without Keldrass! Wings, we have to find—oh, Ancestors. What is that?”
Toren turned. And then he heard it. Faint whispers growing louder. Voices. A chorus of the damned.
“Doombringer. Bring us doom…”
“Lord Tyrion! The Goblins are—”
“Redfang.”
“Who are you? You’re not a Gnoll. You’re—”
“It’s cold.”
Dozens of voices. The adventurers froze. Toren stared at the writhing mass of hands and bodies, pulling the entire assembly towards him. The flesh-pit writhed, calling out to the living. Dasha paled. Pekona stumbled backwards, eyes wide. Toren wondered how it had gotten out of the inn. It better not have smashed any tables!
“Greater undead. Back to the entrance. Wings of Pallass, throw your alchemical weapons! Issa! Wand of Lightning! Now!”
Bevussa reached for her belt. She grabbed a potion, threw it, and ducked backwards. Toren stared as the other adventurers took cover. What was—
The whumph sent the skeleton flying. She landed on her head, which was fine, and got up. There was a flash—lightning blasted past the adventurers, catching a Ceiling Crawler as it leapt. The Wings of Pallass were using their magical items with abandon. Bevussa yanked an acid potion from her belt.
“Acid potions, on that thing! Withdraw! We’re making a stand at the entrance! Zassil, fly back and find the other teams! Rally on me! On me!”
Anith was chanting, throwing magical arrows of light. Vuliel Drae held their ground as Larr shot zombies and Ghouls through their heads. Pekona leapt forwards, slashing at a Crypt Lord and dodging backwards as it spat black blood and swung at her. Toren wondered if this was somehow her fault.
Probably. She looked around, seeing more of the battle, flashes of light from behind them. The adventurers were putting on a really good fight. The undead, for all that several Crypt Lords were leading them, weren’t actually that much of a threat to this many teams. Toren didn’t see a reason to panic.
The fact that the many dead bodies of the flesh-pit were screaming at the living, calling out to them, didn’t really strike Toren as an issue. The Gnolls crying out to the Pride of Kelia, the Human faces beseeching Pekona, the Drakes screaming at their comrades in the Wings of Pallass—Toren scratched her head. Now where could she do the most good? Or—maybe she could slip away? That angry bird-adventurer got on her nerves.
Toren was just deciding to quietly leg it when she spotted something lurching forwards next to the flesh pit. She froze in place. And she looked back across the battleground at the lurching form. No. At her.
It was Erin. No—the zombie. Toren felt a hand creeping up towards her mask. She seized it, staring at the hand. No! Not now! But it was her! The zombie-Erin had gotten loose, and it was advancing on the adventurers! But it was moving past the flesh-pit, and the desperate undead abomination, looking for something to replenish the bodies melting under the acid and combined firepower of the magical adventurers, suddenly seized zombie-Erin with dozens of hands.
No! He was suddenly wrestling with Toren, trying to remove the mask. She grabbed the hand reaching for the mask with her own. He was trying to take over! Not now! She stared at zombie-Erin, flailing vacantly at Bevussa. It was just a zombie! It wasn’t even the real Erin!
But it was real to him. And Toren felt her feet carrying her forwards. She looked around. The adventurers were stumbling back. But Insill, darting forwards to hamstring the undead, had been caught by one of the hands of the flesh pit. He was screaming, sinking into the abomination as hands tried to drag him into the center of the fleshy mass. Dasha was running towards him with Pekona, but a Crypt Lord barred their way.
Insill. The funny Drake. Toren froze. She looked at him. And then at zombie-Erin, absently waving an arm and groaning. And Toren, both Torens, realized something. They looked ahead. And then at their hands. Slowly, the hand grasping Toren’s mask let go. And it reached instead to the right. Nailren jerked and turned.
“What are you—”
Toren’s hand slapped him on the face and snagged the buckler on his side. The skeleton raised the shield. He and she ran forwards, past the adventurers who shouted at her to come back. For him to stop. But neither Toren listened. For the first time, they began working together.
There were zombies in the way, Ghouls leaping forwards. Toren barreled into them, shield raised. [Daring Charge]! He smashed a zombie aside, ducked as the undead turned their wrath on him. A Ghoul leapt, jaw gaping. Toren blurred out of the way and his sword ran it through the stomach.
[Mirage Cut]. Toren tore the blade loose and ran past the Ghoul as Larr’s arrow caught it in the chest, keeping it from rising. He saw a wall of zombies and hesitated.
Attack? No! [Hi-Jump]. Toren leapt into the air and kicked off a wall. She saw a Crypt Lord turn and swing at her. She slashed down, cutting across the undead’s body, but it kept swinging. Toren flung herself sideways.
[Perfect Dodge]—she braced on the ground and lunged. Her sword slashed through the Crypt Lord’s leg. [Sharpened Edge]. It fell, and Toren stopped. The kick to the Crypt Lord’s face came from both of them.
Closer. Insill was sinking into the flesh-pit, screaming in pain as the bodies inside clawed and bit at him. Toren leapt forwards. He brought his buckler down. [Shield Bash]. Toren heard a satisfying crunch, and one of the arms snaring Insill fell away, broken. Toren sawed at the other. Insill, one of his arms free, cut at the other arms, sobbing.
“Thank you, thank you—”
“Insill! This way!”
Dasha was shouting. She and the other warriors with weapons had opened a hole for them to retreat. Insill leapt forwards.
“Come on! Miss Warrior! The Flamewardens are here! Miss Warrior?”
He turned. Toren was still hacking at the flesh pit. He turned.
“Miss Warrior—”
The masked face turned. She looked at Insill, and then shoved him. He stumbled backwards. Pekona darted forwards, hauling him away.
“No! Wait! She’s—”
Insill shouted, but Toren was surrounded by the undead. Bevussa caught her breath. The undead were being cut down on all sides, but the flesh-monstrosity was coming straight at the adventurers. And it was trying to pull them in like Insill.
“We can burn it down!”
Keldrass rasped. He was spitting smoke, his armor still littered with bones from the Ceiling Crawler ambush. He pointed.
“Flamewardens, prepare to breathe! One, two—”
“No! She’s still in the line of fire! Hold it! Keldrass, there’s an adventurer there!”
Bevussa yanked at Keldrass. The Drake stopped.
“What?”
“What’s she doing?”
Another Gold-rank team Captain, Bessr, lowered his wand and shouted incredulously. Bevussa didn’t know. The masked adventurer had gotten the Drake [Rogue] to safety, but she was still hacking at the flesh-pit. Trying to pull…Bevussa’s eyes narrowed.
“Is she trying to rescue a zombie?”
“What?”
Keldrass stared. Bevussa hesitated. The masked warrior was trying to save the zombie, heedless of the hands trying to pull her into the undead mass. Bevussa cursed.
“Archers! Protect that adventurer! Keldrass, wait! Take out the undead on the flanks! Pull back! Don’t let her get sucked in!”
Toren heard none of it. Nor did he see the arrows that flew, covering him. All he could see was Erin. He began hacking at the mass of moving bodies, heedless of the hands trying to drag him in. He could see the Erin-zombie—Toren grabbed at her, dropping his shield and pulled as he slashed wildly. She came away rotten flesh tearing, light fading from her undead eyes. Toren staggered back. Erin? Erin? He lowered her to the ground. Staring at her.
“Flamewardens! Breathe!”
Fire blasted past him. Toren didn’t see it, didn’t see the other adventurers throwing the jars of acid that seemed so familiar, or the monstrosity of corpses burning, melting. He heard a voice as he held Erin. The zombie was weakly trying to bite his arm.
Right. She was just a zombie. But she was his zombie. She represented…Toren stared at it. It was no good. She was fading. Too damaged by the flesh-pit and the battle.
Damn it. Damn it all. He was going to have to get a new one.
“A second time! Inhale—now!”
This time the fire drowned out the voices of the dead. Toren heard a crackling sound, explosions of fat catching fire. He felt the heat and then hands gently pulling him back. He stayed where he was, cradling the dead Erin in his arms. He’d worked so hard on the clothes. And the hair! It was so hard to find a zombie with the right color hair! Not to mention the same species!
The adventurers slowly regrouped, counting injuries. Not losses, thankfully. The undead assault had been quick, but not deadly. Keldrass’ team was mainly to thank for that. The furious Oldbloods had burnt half the undead themselves, and Bevussa’s holding of the line had ensured the undead hadn’t even overrun them. Even so, they were all shaken.
“Dead gods. What kind of undead was that?”
Bevussa pointed at the remains of the monstrous flesh-pit that had been made of hundreds of bodies. She could still hear the voices, calling out to her. She shuddered; some of the greener adventurers were throwing up. The other veteran Captains looked at each other.
“I think it was a Wailing Pit. You get them in mass graves. I don’t know. I didn’t think they could move.”
“Dead gods, I didn’t know undead could speak—”
“How did so many corpses get in one place?”
“Maybe they fell into the dungeon after the battle with the Goblins. Could be anything, but dead gods, I thought I recognized someone…”
“No recognizing anyone now. Almost all ash. Still—anyone got more acid jars? Let’s melt the rest.”
“What I want to know is why that crazed adventureress stuck around. She got Insill out, but why…?”
And then everyone was staring at the masked warrior. Some of the other teams pointed, recognizing her. Keldrass and Bevussa stared at the enigmatic warrior. Keldrass cleared his throat. Bevussa closed her eyes.
“Oh. Oh, that’s why…”
It was a simple picture, really. A tableau. There was the masked adventurer, nameless, a shadow in the dungeon. And she was cradling someone. A zombie. Yes. A zombie, but one she had risked her life to preserve. And sometimes you forgot that zombies had been people.
Erin. Well, sort of. Toren held the motionless zombie in her arms and bowed her head over the corpse. It was going to be such a pain to find another one. He didn’t notice the adventurers watching him.
“Well, now I feel like a complete Lizardperson.”
Bevussa whispered to her team. She shook her head, ashamed of her suspicion. Keldrass looked at the masked adventurer, a pained look on his face. Slowly, he took off his helmet. After a moment, the rest of his team followed suit.
“You hate to see it. Think she lost her friend in the dungeon or in one of the battles?”
Issa leaned on Zassil, tears in her eyes. The other Drakes looked at each other.
“Fellow adventurer, maybe? A duo?”
“Could be one of the monster attacks.”
“Argh. And no wonder she’s not leaving. But it’s not healthy to stay—”
“You can’t talk sense to her. She nearly drew a sword when Captain Slenderscale tried to get her to leave. It’s the shock.”
Bevussa reddened under her feathers as Keldrass looked at her reproachfully.
“I didn’t know. I thought—”
The Drake paused. And then he slowly walked over to the masked woman. He bent down. Slowly, his voice rasping after breathing so much fire, he coughed and addressed her.
“Miss? Miss. Let’s bury your friend. You can’t do anything more for her. You found her—you did it.”
The masked woman looked up, almost surprised. She let go of the body. Keldrass caught her, patting her awkwardly on the shoulder.
“I’m sorry. We’ve all experienced it. Was she—were you old comrades?”
He waited. Toren stared at him and then the zombie. Keldrass shook his head.
“You don’t have to say anything. But we can’t leave the body. Burial might be—once a zombie—we could cremate her. With respect. An adventurer’s burial.”
Toren had no idea what they were talking about. But she obligingly let them burn the body. All the adventurers made a big deal about it, solemnly standing around and saying a few words. For some reason they expected her to collect the ashes. They even gave her a bag for it. And the bird-woman kept patting her on the back.
“I know it’s hard. But you can’t throw away your life. You understand? Just—come with us for a bit.”
Toren kept shaking her head. She was prepared to run, but Bevussa didn’t seem intent on taking her mask anymore. Toren saw some of the other adventurers whispering and looking at her.
“We can’t force her. You know how unstable—”
“—be worse to let her as she is. Staying down here?”
“The Minotaur did it. Look, let’s get a [Healer]’s opinion on this. One used to dealing with adventurers? She’s survived this long—I knew a team that tried to force it. Turned ugly.”
“I’m really sorry. Again. But if there’s any way…”
Bevussa sighed as Toren backed up. The Garuda shook her head and looked at Keldrass. He grimaced, but tilted his head towards the ropes. Some adventurer teams were already ascending. Bevussa gave it one last try.
“At least let’s say we owe you a drink. Any…anytime you want, we’ll buy you a drink. Hell, we’ll buy you ten! You want to come above, you can find us in Liscor’s Guild, alright? Just send a [Message] and someone will get word to us. We’ll take you to the best inn we know. Alright?”
She waited. And at last, the masked woman slowly nodded. Bevussa smiled. She held out a claw.
“Then—friends? I’ll look for you again when we return. You’ll be there. Promise?”
The masked adventurer wavered. But she came forwards. And after staring at Bevussa’s claw, she took it.
Slowly, the skeleton shook the Garuda’s hand. And Toren—both Toren’s—felt a flash of…warmth. No. Not warmth; they were dead after all and there was no biology to react. But a memory of it. Bevussa smiled and Toren traced a smile on her mask.
He watched them preparing to leave. In the end, Vuliel Drae and the Wings of Pallass and the Flamewardens were last. They’d stayed to try and convince Toren, but now they were going. And in the end…the skeleton wavered.
She would miss them. And he had never understood why. But today, they’d been…fun. They’d killed the stupid Crypt Lords that kept stealing his undead, and the flesh-pit. So, maybe she was right. Maybe…Toren looked at the adventurers and decided they weren’t so bad.
“Dead gods, but I do need a drink. And I’ll buy a round for everyone. My treat.”
Bevussa was talking to the others, glancing back at Toren now and then. She wished she could join Bevussa. But outside was…Toren turned away, sighing inwardly. Bevussa sighed too, watching her leave. She shook her head. Each adventurer made their choice. She only hoped she’d see that brave soul again. By her side, Zassil looked up at his Captain.
“What is the best inn in Liscor, Keldrass? Or bar? Wishdrinks? I know you’re not thinking of the Tailless Thief, Bevussa—”
“Hey! I like that inn.”
Bevussa rolled her eyes at Keldrass as he protested mildly.
“Because you’re a Drake, Keldrass. That [Innkeeper] treats you like royalty and anyone who’s not a Drake like dirt. Please, there’s only one inn I’m thinking of—”
“Oh come on. She doesn’t even have a good selection of alcohols.”
Keldrass protested. Bevussa snorted and turned to him.
“It’s The Wandering Inn for sure. Sure, it’s not the best cooking, but Miss Solstice’s got all those new foods. Sure, the variety’s less than what you can get at some other inns, but there’s the plays and the magic door and the fact that there’s always something interesting going on…”
She turned back to the tunnel. But the masked woman was gone. She’d vanished while Bevussa had been speaking. Damn. Bevussa had been hoping to lure her with the promise of a hot meal, but the masked woman was truly…the Garuda shook her head as she turned sadly back to Keldrass.
“Gah. I hate to see it. We have to do something for her. Carefully. Let’s get that drink, Keldrass, figure something out.”
“You can’t save them all, Bevussa.”
Keldrass patted her on the wing-arm. Together they left the dungeon. The adventurers left, abandoning the horrors of below for recuperation.
