Which witch is which

Previously: Freelance historian Esmiralda and her companions--Merrick, a member of the Ministry of Human Preservation (MOHP), Broo-Fang Tane, an Optimist Monk, and Seymuhr, a brutish but somewhat dim-witted warrior called the Skullsquasher, have fought their way into the lair of the mountain witch to uproot her evil, once and for all...

The air turned bitterly cold as we approached the red flickering light. My feet protested each time I took a step forward, as if my lower bones rebelled against the chill that leapt up like frozen daggers from the ground. I saw varying degrees of effort on my companions' faces as the light intensified. Only Baram looked immune--perhaps the forest sage was in tune with the land no matter what the overlying conditions were; the stale heat of summer, the fresh winds of spring and autumn, the icy grip of winter. Whatever the reason, she walked steadily behind us, urging us silently toward our goal.

Which we saw when we rounded a final bend.

The rock opened before us. Jagged walls reached toward the sky and were lost in the blackness. Below, the red light pulsated, not created by some form of flame or forge or even magic, but seeping from rents in the stone that looked like open wounds. The stench was horrendous; it pushed back against us, baked into our nostrils but the sudden heat. I gagged.

The floor was littered with crawling, twitching things that had once been human. Their scattered remains convulsed is a grisly dance that was terrible to behold, as if their death had not brought them any peace but instead increased their torment. They writhed and shrieked and wailed as they wiggled toward us, groping toward our ankles with rotting fingers.

Merrick dragged the bottom of his staff in front of us, as if he could create a line in the filth-blackened stone. He mumbled something and the gem at the stop of his staff began to glow. Broo Fang Tane pulled his chained weapon from his belt and swung it in a circle, a low battle cry forming at the base of his throat.

I moved behind Seymuhr and stared at the bizarre spectacle that awaited us.

Abilene herself--so I assumed--lounged on a slab of rock that was elevated from the cavern floor on a heap of ancient bone. I didn't know what I had expected--some form of vile, age shrunken wraith with burning eyes and sagging flesh, perhaps--but her appearance surprised me. She was short, plump, with red hair and freckled cheeks that looked more youthful than my own. A black cloth covered her ample bosom and another was tied around her wide hips. Still her bright green eyes and full lips oozed a sort of feminine promise. I could see how Harfigorn could have fallen under her spell and why his crew would have blindly followed them both.

"Hello," she said in a voice that was surprisingly mild and pleasant.

"Hi." Seymuhr answered. Then shook his head slightly, as if to clear it, when Merrick elbowed him.

"I must admit, I didn't think you'd go through with it," Abilene said. "A testament to the power of love, or some such thing."

"Wouldn't...?" Merrick was clearly as puzzled as I was. He looked at me, confusion in his gaze, then scratched his scalp.

Abilene's laugh was melodic. She bent over, her hands between her thighs, as her green eyes lit with mischief. Even I felt my gaze drawn toward the shadows of her cleavage, the promise of her somehow still vibrant womanhood. "Oh, come now," she slid a slender tongue over her perfect teeth--not hanged and chipped as I had expected, at all. "Come forward. Your task is done. Admirably done. Your reward awaits."

Seymuhr took half a step. An exclamation burst from my throat. Merrick clutched at his shoulder.

Abilene's voice was suddenly cold as iron. "Not. You, irf." She lifted her gaze above his head and crooked a finger. "Come forth, woman."

"Irf?" I glanced at Seymuhr. Irf? He had the old blood in his veins? Then I saw Baram steel herself and step forward, pushing a stunned Merrick aside. She gave me a mournful gaze as she walked toward Abilene's perch. My stomach went sour and my throat went dry. "No."

She didn't answer, but Abilene laughed again. "'Fraid so, dear. Did you think you could survive long enough to find me if I didn't want you to? I rule this place. All that happens is within my will -- and my will alone."

Baram walked stiffly toward the divan, shoulders set and head held high, as if she had to force herself not to look over her shoulder at us. She headed not directly to Abilene, but a recess in the cave wall to her right. In the darkness beyond the throne I could barely make out what looked like bars.

"No matter," Merrick called. "You only speed your doom. We are here to stop you."

"You are here," Abilene corrected in a frosty voice, "to advance my dominion over this land. Your companions are here to witness it and carry that image and the knowledge of how powerless they are to their graves. It is boon I will grant you, so your death may be a relief."

"That's very kind of you," Seymuhr said.

I glared at him, shocked. Was he in the grip of some type of charm?  

"What?" He sounded defensive. "She didn't have to do that."

I opened and closed my mouth several times as I tried to find something to say to that. Then several things happened at once. Baram, hidden within the recess behind Abilene's throne, shrieked in horror and rage. Broo Fang Tane let out a high-pitched war cry and I saw a smooth stone fly from his sling and strike the witch on the forehead. She snarled and wiped away the blood that blossomed there--and a small sheet of perfect skin came off with it, revealing yellow bone. The jewel atop Merrick's staff was blazing and it sounded like he was singing. Rasping sounds filled the cavern behind us and Seymuhr turned that way, a mace in each hand and a grim smile on his face.

Just like that, the battle was joined. I stood in the middle, unsure of where to direct my attention or which foe to fight.

The witch's armpit

Previously: Freelance historian Esmiralda and her companions--Merrick, a member of the Ministry of Human Preservation (MOHP), Broo-Fang Tane, an Optimist Monk, and Seymuhr, a brutish but somewhat dim-witted warrior called the Skullsquasher, have fought their way into the lair of the mountain witch to uproot her evil, once and for all...


Inside, the wind stopped and the air pressed against us, dank and still. The smell of death was nearly tangible. I pulled my scarf over my nose.

"It wasn't me," Seymuhr said.

"This time," I allowed.

Broo-Fang Tane crept up the cavern and peered around a bend. What he hoped to see, I could not know. It was darker than pitch inside the cave, a blackness that had no beginning or end.

Behind us, Abilene's army of collected souls swayed, hissed and moaned, but did not follow us. Merrick was looking that way, too.

"What if they press in behind us?"

"I don't think they will," he answered me. He sounded grim. "I believe they have, for now, served their purpose. They will prohibit our retreat. We can only go forward now."

"We could fight our way out," Seymuhr said. "They are slow, clumsy and weak. And there aren't as many, now. I saw to that."

"We did," Merrick agreed. "My suspicion is the witch's black power controls those wretches. If we are successful in destroying her, that hold will be broken and those poor creatures will gain their eternal rest."

"And if we're not?"

He looked at me. "Then it won't matter."

I shuddered. Had those unliving things once held the same thoughts as we did? Had they come here seeking to end Abilene's evil? What a bitter irony, then, to be forced into her service.

"If it comes to that..."

"Don't worry," Seymuhr said with a mischievous grin. "I'll free you from the witch's embrace, no matter how many times I have to kill you."

"How gracious of you."

"I would expect the same of you."

I nodded with a thin smile. If Seymuhr fell to the witch, I would most likely run as fast and as far as I could, or invoke my Traveling Stone to escape. With power such as his at her command, what chance would we have? Nope. Escape, find a shoreline, steal a boat and set sail.

We foundered along, feeling our way through the darkness. I could see nothing, not even the shapes of my companions. We bumped into each other, struck walls and knocked our heads on low hanging rocks that felt like daggers that scraped our skulls. Now and again I heard the sound of one of Semuhr's maces striking the soft stone. Later he told me that he held one just above his forehead and used the other as a sort of beggar's cane to protect himself from roof and wall.

Merrick bit back a yelp of pain and muttered a string of profanities so long and foul I thought my ears would curl up and hide inside my head to escape the sound of it.

"Balliessen's bleeding bitch," he muttered at the end of it. I heard him rubbing his forehead faster than a carpenter trying to smooth a piece of pine without first removing the bark. "This armpit of a cavern is itself defeating us!"

I nearly hissed at him to be silent, but then realized our attempts to move quietly through the cavern should have been abandoned long before. We were probably making more noise than a carriage careening down a staircase--horses and all. We would have had a better chance of surprising the dark witch if we had crawled through the stagnant pools at our feet.

We decided to move closer together, our left hand on the shoulder of the person in front of us. Seymuhr took the lead, then Tane, then me and Merrick. Even so, our progress was slow and painful. I had already taken so many blows to the head that I felt dazed. The emptiness around me played tricks on my mind; I was certain I was falling forward, or sideways or backward. Were it not for Tane's steady, but improbably slender, shoulder to hold on to, I surely would have flopped around in the darkness like a beached pike gasping for air.

Then I noticed two things: there was no pursuit, no sound of a shuffling mob behind us. And the darkness was fading. Gradually, I could make out Seymuhr's squat, wide form, mace held high. Tane looked at me, a hopeful expression on his face. The walls took shape, gnarled and twisted and bumpy as a pox-ridden bull, framed in an eerie, flickering redness that beckoned from beyond a curve.

We were close. At last.

Cry of the night bird

Previously: Freelance historian Esmiralda and her companions--Merrick, a member of the Ministry of Human Preservation (MOHP), Broo-Fang Tane, an Optimist Monk, and Seymuhr, a brutish but somewhat dim-witted warrior called the Skullsquasher, have received a final clue in their search for the undead witch Abilene, who once served the ancient pirate Harfigorn. They follow the Trail of the Dead to uproot her evil, once and for all, and are now planning their assault on the witch's lair. Their stealthy approach is foiled and they find themselves best from all sides...

Merrick held his staff level with his shoulders, stretched out like a horizontal battering ram. His cry of fear and rage and desperation echoed through the valley. His staff tore off the heads of the disgusting creatures in his way or split through the rotting skulls like they were made of oatmeal. I slipped on the residue of those horrid, once dead creatures, my stomach contorting like a trapped hare. All around, I saw reaching arms, gnarled fingers and snarling faces under blank, dripping eyes. The smell of death was so thick and foul I could taste the dirt and rot. I hacked, gagged, slipped and hacked again.

A bony hand grabbed me from behind and I shrieked, but then the night was pierced by the shrill cry of the night bird and the thing was lifted away and tossed among its shuffling counterparts. I paused only long enough to glimpse the sleek shape of the gigantic bird, its talons dripping with gore, as it soared overhead and then dove back into the melee.

We made slow progress, but soon the wall of the mountain was ahead of us. The black opening beckoned, a chill rift in the ancient stone. Wind that I could not otherwise feel howled about its opening--it had to be wind, didn't it? What else would it be? I fought back that panic. Steady yourself, woman, I chided myself. You'll be better protected once you're in the cavern, with your stout friends near you and less space for these creatures to grab you. Only a few more feet...

Broo Fang Tane was already there. His eyes were wide, gloved fists coated with mottled flesh and spikes of bone. His tunic was torn and he arms scraped, but he seemed otherwise unharmed. A smaller shape shuffled forth--it might have been a child, or a woman of Irfish blood--and reached for him with long, sharp fingernails, but Tane's heel burst its skull and sent it tumbling.

Seymurh was nearby. The flung bodies told that tale. They were hurled from his maces like mangled fruit from a catapult, propelled from the force of maces wielded by his prodigious strength. He was singing, I think. That, or he had something stuck in his throat. It was difficult to tell. He grinned as he parted the wall of the undying with a mighty swipe that sent broken bodies sprawling. He wasn't breathing hard and his mail appeared intact. Sweat ran from his bald head. He looked like a child at play.

We huddled at the entrance, our backs pressed together. Seymuhr and Merrick faced what was left of the horde. Tane and were positioned on either side. My lungs were on fire and my arms ached. I didn't think I could hold my knife or sword upright.

"That thinned their ranks a bit," Merrick said between gasps. "It appears there is a limit to them."

"And to me," I responded. "I...don't know how much longer I can hold on."

"You may not have to," Merrick said. "See? They hesitate. They hold back."

Indeed, the remaining creatures swayed in place, but did not advance to force us into the cavern. It was as if some wall we could not see held them where they were. They reached out, their ruined voices emitted tortured sounds, but they came no closer.

Seymuhr flicked the last remnants of torn flesh from his maces. "Perhaps the dead can still learn."

"Let's hope," I panted. "There may be hope for you yet." He chuckled at that and I marveled at my sudden ability to joke in the face of gruesome death.

We inched toward the opening in the mountain and still the creatures did not advance. I wondered, then, if we had misinterpreted their actions. Did they know fear? Perhaps the horrors that lay in the darkness beyond took root even in their wasted, rotten brains? What hope did we have, then, if the black power of the mountain witch was such that it tainted the souls of...the soulless?

Suddenly, my own feet felt like lead. I didn't want to move, either. My companions crept into the cold darkness and I reluctantly followed. The wind howled anew, but again I felt no breeze.

The slow, dark journey

Previously: Freelance historian Esmiralda and her companions--Merrick, a member of the Ministry of Human Preservation (MOHP), Broo-Fang Tane, an Optimist Monk, and Seymuhr, a brutish but somewhat dim-witted warrior called the Skullsquasher, have received a final clue in their search for the undead witch Abilene, who once served the ancient pirate Harfigorn. They follow the Trail of the Dead to uproot her evil, once and for all, and are now planning their assault on the witch's lair...

Suddenly, we were alone. Broo-Fang Tane had melted into the shadows nearly as quickly as we had decided on our course of action. I could still see Seymuhr's squat, lumbering form as he crept down into the gloom. He had a mace in either hand, although they had been darkened with dirt to conceal them. I wondered, briefly, if that precaution was necessary: did the undead things lurking below us care about such things? Would they pounce on shiny objects like bored kittens? I doubted it. Soon, he was lost to view, as well.

Merrick tapped my shoulder and gave me a grim smile and a shrug. I bowed with a sweep of my hand in a universal "after you" gesture. We both clipped from our hiding place at the same time, however, me with a short knife clutched under a fold in my shirt and he with both hands on his staff. He held it at the ready, not like a walking stick. The sounds gurgling from ravaged throats surrounded us and my eyes stung with the stench of rotting bodies. I had thought my time with Seymuhr had killed any sense of smell, but apparently it had not. I lifted my shirt up over my nose, but that thin barrier didn't help.

We felt a sudden gust as a huge shape glided over our heads. We both looked up and I nearly shouted in surprise. A huge bird soared gracefully above us, circling the valley as if on the hunt. Baram, I suspected, under the grip of her woodland magic. We were fortunate to find such an ally.

We made our way through the shifting shadows, contorting our bodies to stay out of reach of the grasping dead and careful not to stumble into their path. Abilene had her grotesque sentries placed well. We had to take frequent stops and make an occasional backtrack as we made our way to the dark opening at the base of the valley. Sweat soaked through my shirt, my throat was dry and a maddening itch had started just above my left eye, but I was too scared to scratch it. I felt that every step would be our undoing, every extra movement would give us away. I felt the weight of my traveling stone resting between my breasts, a cool stone that offered escape should things go badly. We moved so slowly I feared the dawn would come and reveal us. My knees ached from the effort of our slow, careful journey.

Down near the base we heard a soft thump and a muffled curse, followed by the rattle of loose rock. Merrick and I froze. My breath caught in my throat. I could feel my heart jumping like an ensnared rabbit. Around us the dead things halted and stayed in place for a few long seconds, swaying like reeds. I looked wildly at Merrick, who grimaced at me in return. Where were Seymuhr and Tane? How close were they? We were achingly far from the bottom of the hill, surrounded by the decaying creatures that Abilene's vile magic and brought back to sad form of life. A desperate glance confirmed my fears: we where in the center of the bowl. We would have to fight our way out, whether we went forward, back, east or west.

A growl close to my ear made me yelp and ended our stealthy attack. As one, the shambling things lurched in our direction. I grabbed the knife in my left hand and pulled my sword.

"Bones of Barnok! We are discovered!" I shouted. Merrick cursed and, with a glance over his shoulder beckoned me to follow him. He held his staff horizontally in front of him as he charged, howling with fury and fear. I jumped into his wake. The sounds of battle filled the air: Seymuhr, laying waste with his heavy maces, Tane's bizarre, high-pitched staccato cries and, overhead, the sharp piercing scream of the nightbird.

I could find no voice. I lowered my head and ran in Merrick's shadow.

A plan of battle

Previously: Freelance historian Esmiralda and her companions--Merrick, a member of the Ministry of Human Preservation (MOHP), Broo-Fang Tane, an Optimist Monk, and Seymuhr, a brutish but somewhat dim-witted warrior called the Skullsquasher, have received a final clue in their search for the undead witch Abilene, who once served the ancient pirate Harfigorn. They follow the Trail of the Dead to uproot her evil, once and for all, and are now planning their assault on the witch's lair...

Night fell, and I found the darkness even more terrifying. The sky was enshrouded by a thick blanket of clouds that made the valley below as black as a put. We could still hear the dead shuffling in their tireless pattern and hear the terrible, mournful sounds that gurgled forth from their ruined throats. I strained to see and thought my eyes would pop out of my skull.

"I still say we should leave, go to the nearest city and come back with an army," I hissed. "Our task seems no easier now--just the opposite."

We had stayed hidden throughout the day while Broo Fang Tane and Baram scouted for the best possible avenue of attack and that fact alone was enough to worry me. While we sought this place out, we were continually beset by the rotting dead. Now that we were so close, they ignored us? I suspected a trap, and gave voice to my fears, but my concerns were ignored by my companions.  

"She knows we're here," I reminded them.

"Think of her as an 'it,'" Merrick answered. "De-humanize the thing you fear."

"It knows we're here," I repeated. "And that did not help, at all."

"Stay close to me," Seymurh said. His voice always sounded like he spoke through an extended belch and his whisper was like the slight scrape of stick on stone. "I will keep you safe."

"I suspect I will only slow you down." At least, that's what I hoped. Our only hope at fighting our way through a battalion of biting, grasping dead things was Seymuhr. If he went down, we would be quickly overrun and torn apart. I fingered the Traveling Stone through my shirt. It was a small smooth stone the shape of an oyster that had been worn through decades, if not centuries, of use. The potent charm imbued in it would conjure a being that would transport you anywhere in Korrin, when you rubbed the stone and spoke the word. It had been given to me several years ago by a priest in exchange for a good deed. He had warned me that all magic has its limits, all tricks had their ends and advised me to use it sparingly, lest it not be functional when I truly needed it. My companions did not know I possessed it. We had been through many struggles during our short time together, but I was not ye ready to share all my secrets.

"We will go together, and watch out for each other," Merrick said, a reassuring hand on my shoulder.

I nodded.

We had decided on a three-pronged attack. Tane would slink down near the side of the mountain to the west, where he said he had discovered a very narrow and tricky crevice--perhaps the remnants of an ancient creek that had long gone dry. Seymuhr would go down the eastern slope as quietly as his short, bulky body would allow. Merrick and I would pick our way down the center of the valley, using whatever cover we could to avoid detection and destruction. Baram had simply said she would meet us near the opening and left it at that. If any of us was discovered or attacked on the way to the cave, Seymuhr would unleash his maces on the unliving enemy.

It was as good a plan as we could devise. Still my heart rattled and my chest felt tight. I gripped my knife and looked at each of my companions in turn.

"This evil has stained the land too long," Merrick reminded us. "Let us put an end to it."

The nature of peril

Previously: Freelance historian Esmiralda and her companions--Merrick, a member of the Ministry of Human Preservation (MOHP), Broo-Fang Tane, an Optimist Monk, and Seymuhr, a brutish but somewhat dim-witted warrior called the Skullsquasher, have received a final clue in their search for the undead witch Abilene, who once served the ancient pirate Harfigorn. They follow the Trail of the Dead to uproot her evil, once and for all, and are now near her lair...

I stared, willing the sight below us to change. It did not. Thousands of the creatures shuffled in bizarre, erratic pattern, like drunken guards on an unsteady bridge. The opening in the mountain looked woefully far away.

"It's an army," I breathed. Merrick grunted.

"I feel a song coming on," Seymuhr said. His raspy voice held the hint of a smile.

My jaw dropped as I looked up to him. "A song!?"

He shrugged. "It's not a very happy song." He twirled one of his maces. "I'll go first."

"You'll do nothing of the sort!" Merrick hissed. He grabbed at Seymuhr's leg to stop the fool from charging headlong into the vast army of the dead. "Even you cannot possibly fight your way that far, through so many foes. I don't care how slow they may be. We must wait."

"I do not think they...will...pause to...relieve...themselves if tha...t...is what you..............hope," Tane said.

"It is not," Merrick said. "We must use stealth. If we cannot fight our way to our destination, we must use the terrain to conceal ourselves. And the darkness."

"What dark...n..."

"The darkness that comes after the sun sets," Merrick snapped, impatiently. "We wait for nightfall. Perhaps these creatures will move slower, or be less aware of their surroundings should the mad witch be resting."

Baram nodded. "There is some wisdom there. Perhaps the night will make our task easier."

"We don't know if this witch even rests," I put in. "She's stayed alive--we can assume--for a thousand years. She is clearly beyond the needs of mere mortals. Perhaps she is continually energized by the black magic that she devoted her life to."

Merrick nodded. "Obviously she knows we are coming. How else could we explain the attacks in the forest? Still, I believe our best path to victory begins in the dead of night."

That was a poor choice of words, I didn't say. We crawled back from the lip of the valley and discussed our plan. Something was gnawing at me, some vague unsettled feeling, but I could not articulate it. I didn't know if it originated in the nature of our peril, how hopeless our task appeared to be, or something more serious. I neglected to give voice to my uncertain fear because I didn't want to earn the scorn or derision of Seymuhr. Instead, I tried to absorb some of his confidence.

We decided to seek a better route into the cave and dispatched Broo Fang Tane and Baram to find one. They could move more quickly and quietly than any of us, and we no doubt be even more effective when not encumbered by the rest of our group. Tane slipped off to the east while Baram went west--one moment she was there, giving me a nod of reassurance, and the next she was gone, swallowed by the forest she called home. I searched the trees for a glimpse of her, but could find none.

Merrick made no note of her abrupt departure. Seymuhr napped noisily nearby. I settled in to wait until darkfall.

Valley of Undeath

Previously: Freelance historian Esmiralda and her companions--Merrick, a member of the Ministry of Human Preservation (MOHP), Broo-Fang Tane, an Optimist Monk, and Seymuhr, a brutish but somewhat dim-witted warrior called the Skullsquasher, have received a final clue in their search for the undead witch Abilene, who once served the ancient pirate Harfigorn. They follow the Trail of the Dead to uproot her evil, once and for all, and are now near her lair...

We moved quickly, then, with Broo Fang Tane leading the way. Quiet as a wraith and nimble as a hare, he seemingly danced through the forest as if knew every hidden root, tangled thicket or jutting branch. Baram kept pace easily, while Merrick and I labored. My face was awash with sweat, the wind chill on my clammy skin as I helped the larger man along. His breath came in ragged gasps and his face was alarmingly red. Behind us, Seymurh moved casually, swinging his maces to dispatch the random undead thing that lurched out at us.

The land tilted up and I saw a break in the trees ahead. The mountain loomed, its face as gray as the sky. Clouds shrouded its peak, as was usually the case, but these were dark, darker than nearly any cloud I had seen before and they appeared to be creeping down the slope. Whether it was a trick of the light or because I could not keep my gaze on it long enough to gauge for certain--or risk losing my balance in the tangled undergrowth--I do not know. I could not pause long enough to get a good look and I feared that if I fell to the ground, I would fall asleep within moments. I was exhausted.

"Mira," Merrick gasped. "Go ahead without me. I'll catch up. They'll need your eyes--and your mind--soon enough. You may save them from charging forward into a grisly fate."

"Your mind is more keen than mine," I replied. "You have the knowledge needed to end this evil. Don't you?"

"I admit, I haven't thought it out. Usually, we just go places and Seymuhr hits them until they stop."

"Oh." I looked over my shoulder and Seymuhr grinned at me, holding up a mace that was foul with shattered bone and scraps of mottled skin. "Well, perhaps that will be enough this time, too." I glanced again at the impenetrable dark cloud and had my doubts.

Ahead, Tane had reached the crest of the hill. He dropped to the forest floor, where a line of shrubs hid him from view. He motioned for the rest of us to follow suit. Baram sidled up next to him and leaned against a tree and, after a moment, became very difficult to see. I scrubbed my eyes and looked in her direction once more. If I hadn't watched her stand against the trunk, I would not have know she was there. Some type of sorcery? Merrick and I crawled up to the edge and looked down as Seymuhr did the same.

"Bones of Barnok," I breathed.

For the valley below was filled with shambling, uneven mounds. Things that had once been living creatures now stumbling erratically to and fro. At first I thought it was a random sequence but I soon saw it wasn't so. They were following--or trying to follow--some sort of pattern, shuffling to the east then making a halting turn and shuffling back to their starting point, more or less. Other limped down from a dark hole near the base of the peak, carrying rocks that they dropped without paying any attention to where they landed. The creatures were patrolling, working.

"Hits them until they stop, eh?" I whispered.

"Indeed." Merrick had regained his breath and his color returned to normal. "I don't think that's going to work this time."