The Shamans’ Temple

 

Conner held the tip of Skye’s wing and tugged, stretching it wide across the dungeon chamber. “Will you please stop squirming?” he asked.

The dragon responded by tugging his wing free of Conner’s grip. “I will when you explain to me what you are doing.”

“I would have thought that was obvious, but I forgot—I’m conversing with a dragon!”

Skye puffed thin trails of sulfuric steam from his nostrils. “Well, as usual, you have an atrocious way of communicating. How would you like it if I tried pulling your arms off? Why don’t you start by asking me nicely for what you want rather than trying to manipulate me into it?”

Down the long hall, Pauli and Kriston had apparently determined it was safer to remain at a distance while Conner worked out this problem with his bond. They would offer no support in this argument.

Conner backed away to get clear of the cloud of dragon steam, then folded his arms tight, giving Skye a seething look. Why did he always seem to end up on the losing side of every argument they had? He knew Skye’s irritability was rubbing off on him. The fact his bond was correct didn’t help. He wasn’t just using Skye to protect the queen; he was using him to further his goal to see the Necromancer. He had not been forthright with Skye in what he was doing—or why. But he had good reason.

Conner would have preferred making Skye a part of the team. Bringing Skye in on their scheme to break into the Shamans’ temple, however, would require spending precious time explaining human concepts the dragon was incapable of grasping. But that was not Conner’s greatest concern. The instant Skye thought a different course was more suitable, the beast would abandon what they’d agreed to—and not think to inform Conner of his decision.

Grimmley continued to insist that Conner find a way to work with Skye as one. Maybe it was time to put the idea to a definitive test. And if that meant mopping up the mess of working with a headstrong, irritable dragon, then so be it. From this moment forward, Conner was going to make a concerted effort to get along with the beast. Maybe I can begin by not thinking of him as a beast, Conner grudgingly admitted to himself.

“Skye, I appreciate what you have done in helping us with our plan.” Conner hesitated at his use of plan. It was not the word he would have preferred to describe the crazy scheme he and Kriston had concocted. In truth, he didn’t have much confidence it would work, but he had simply run out of time. “This morning, I overheard several ordermen discussing plans to move Asheborne to a more secure site for powerful Anarchic prisoners. They’ll be making the transfer at first light.” Conner breathed deep to steady his nerves. “That leaves us this afternoon to finalize our preparations for the visit. And I am determined to talk to her no matter what.”

Conner stepped closer and patted Skye’s neck. “The details you have given us from scouting the temple have been incredibly valuable. But surely you can understand that measurements in wingspans and tail widths are of no real value if we can’t convert them into something the three of us can use to construct a map of the compound.”

Skye wriggled upward until the horns on his head bumped the ceiling, his glowing blue eyes mere slits. He stretched his wing out wide so Conner could get a decent measurement of its length. “Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Conner sensed his bond’s appeasement, which helped considerably as he and his two human associates worked through what remained of Hemera’s light finalizing the preparations for the break-in. But even that did not help Conner’s waning confidence in their scheme. It was several hours after dark before the four left to put their plan into action.

 

 

The female Shaman shuffled to a stop, then compelled the body she’d been summoned into to turn and her eyes to scan the stone wall that extended into the dead of night. In the distance, near the edge of nearby streetlamps, shadows shifted like billowing night fog. But she discerned no imminent danger to her mission, so she lurched forward into the light emanating from lanterns hung above each side of the massive iron gate. “Seer Dilora Heldinger from the Charmwell region,” she slurred to the two inattentive guards at the gate.

“You’re a long way from home, Seer,” the woman guard remarked, squinting at the apparition that had appeared like a phantom before them. With some work, she pushed away from the wall she had been propped against.

The second guard was less concerned. “Welcome back, Seer Heldinger. It has been a while since last you were here.” The Shaman stepped forward, and he noted how the warm glow of the lantern flames reflected off her milky skin. “And you’re not looking so well.”

Calling forth memories, Dilora bobbed her head at the second guard. “Kearn, if I remember correctly. Yes, my master at Charmwell could not cure me of a sickness I acquired a fortnight ago.” She approached with an uneven gait. “I am here in hopes one of the grandmasters can alleviate me of this illness.”

The two guards shared a quick glance, then took a measured step back at the thought that a sickness could produce such manifestations. “I believe Grandmaster Markus is on the second level,” Kearn offered. “I understand he is working late into the night preparing for the transfer of a prisoner in the morning. If anyone can assist you, I am sure it is he.” The guard gestured vigorously at the seer to proceed inside.

Dilora grunted her thanks to the guards and stutter-stepped through the iron portal. She shuffled forward, directing the body to the center of the Shamans’ temple grounds. The stiff limp she had developed over the past day caused the body to list to the right, so she was forced to pause occasionally and compensate. After considerable effort, she came to the base of the main temple structure, again calling up memories of Dilora’s time here. One particular memory drew her thoughts, so she willed her gaze to the left, where the grounds were void of guards. Good enough, she thought with a jerk of the head. She ambled forward again, circumventing the large central structure, making her way toward a thick metal door riveted to the side of a small building.

 

 

Not far away from the Shamans’ temple entrance, three young lads pressed their backs against the only section of the outer wall that offered sufficient shadow from the street lanterns beyond.

“I still think we should have brought a grappling hook,” Pauli whispered as he patted the stone wall, his eyes focused on the top far above.

“We’ve been over that, Pauli,” Kriston grumbled back. “Throwing a metal hook against this hard stone would attract attention. We stick to the plan as we discussed.”

Conner, sandwiched between his two companions, squinted toward the lantern lights in the distance, where a robed figure limped toward the temple entrance. Only after the cloaked form disappeared through the iron gate did he follow Pauli’s upward gaze. He sensed his bond soaring far overhead, lost among the blanket of brilliant stars. Skye had refused to stay behind in the dungeon, so Conner had assigned him sentry duty. He would send Conner an emotional warning if he noticed any changes in the patterns of activity within the temple grounds. The dragon’s worry was feeding Conner’s own wariness at what they were about to do, but they had come this far; he was not about to turn back now.

“Then let’s see if all our planning paid off,” Pauli said. Pressing his chest to the wall, his feet spread slightly, he placed his hands behind his back, palms up. Pauli winked at Conner. “I hope you can keep your balance better than that night you tried to sneak a look at Pattria.”

Conner frowned at Pauli for dredging up such an unpleasant memory. The night Conner’s parents had told him of his betrothal to Pattria, Conner had asked Pauli to help him steal a look at his future wife through a window. While standing on Pauli’s shoulders, Conner had fallen and broken his wrist.

Conner stepped on Pauli’s palms and scampered up his friend’s back. His heart raced, but he was not sure whether it was from fear of getting caught or the thrill of finally having an opportunity—no matter how slim—to learn how he might break free from the mental boulder he was being crushed beneath.

Signaling he was ready, Kriston began his ascent, a coiled rope draped across his shoulder. Just as the ex-thief was about to crawl onto Conner’s shoulders, he stopped. “This brings back fond memories,” he whispered in Conner’s ear.

“Fond?” Conner nearly gasped. He wanted to say more, but chose to wait for a time when Kriston was not dangling off his back. “Get up there!” he commanded.

“Okay. But you can’t tell me you don’t miss those nights thieving in Cravenrock.”

With Kriston on his shoulders, Conner gripped the boy’s ankles and hoisted them over his head. This was where their plan relied on a bit of luck. He waited for Kriston to signal that he had reached the wall’s lip.

Instead, Kriston whispered down, “I’m still not there.”

The tower of boys wobbled like a thin stalk of wheat in a brisk wind.

Conner peered down. “Okay, Pauli, time to show us that Warrior you’ve got pent up inside.”

Pauli placed his palms beneath Conner’s boots and, straightening his arms, pushed Conner farther up the wall. Conner fought to keep his own arms straight, his shoulders shaking as he pushed Kriston higher. He was relieved when his page vanished over the wall.

By the time Conner dropped from Pauli’s shoulders, Kriston had tossed down one end of his rope. With Pauli gripping the dangling line, Kriston descended into the temple grounds. A few moments later, Pauli felt a tug, signaling the other end had been secured around a nearby tree.

Pauli grabbed the rope and climbed.

Conner pressed his palms to Pauli’s underside and tried to offer whatever assistance he could muster. “I do believe you’ve put on a stone since I left home,” he grunted.

Moving sluggishly, Pauli snorted and whispered down, “That’s ’cause I’m not spending half my energy keeping you out of trouble.”

When Pauli was on top, Conner joined him. Conner looped the rope around his arm several times, but hesitated before giving the signal that he was ready for Pauli to start his descent into the grounds. “Thanks, Pauli.”

In the ambient glow of the streetlamps below, Conner caught Pauli’s questioning look.

“You’re risking a lot for me. I don’t know what I would do—”

“You’re not going to get all sappy on me, are you?” Pauli interrupted.

Conner’s jaw went slack.

Pauli punched Conner in the gut. “Because I’m getting ready to climb off the top of this wall with only you keeping me from dropping like a rock.”

Conner gripped the rope tight and leaned back to counter his best friend’s weight.

Pauli threw Conner a mischievous grin, the type he reserved for when the two were mere moments away from trouble. “Let’s go have a chat with your Necromancer.”

Once Pauli was safely in the yard, Conner dropped his end of the rope to Kriston below. Dangling from the lip, Conner pushed out lightly and dropped. Pauli caught him as easily as he would a sack of grain.

Before Conner climbed out of his arms, Pauli gave him a quick wink. “Here I am, coming to your rescue again.”

Conner ignored Pauli and jumped from his grip, tossed the rope behind a bush, and cleared away their footprints while Kriston scanned the dark area.

Pauli exhaled long and slow, his back sliding down the stone wall. “A Necromancer,” he whispered, staring at nothing specific.

Conner leaned in. “What?”

Pauli stared back. “We’re about to talk to a Necromancer.”

Kriston reached over and rapped his knuckles on Pauli’s thick skull. “That’s what we’ve been talking about for nearly two days, Pauli. What did you think we were doing?”

Pauli blinked up at Kriston. “I know. But until this moment I thought this was all another one of those elaborate gags you two like to play on me. All your stories about Assassins and Barbarians were difficult enough to swallow. And I wouldn’t have believed dragons existed if I hadn’t seen Conner’s with my own eyes. But people who can animate the dead ...” Pauli shook his head. “I thought it was all a big joke.”

Conner shared a worried glance with Kriston, then squatted next to his friend. “Pauli, we need you here right now. You can chew on that thought once we’re back on the other side of this wall.”

It took a moment, but Pauli’s eyes narrowed and his lips thinned with a determination that would make anyone in his path move out of his way. “You’re right. Let’s do this.”

 

 

“Seer Heldinger?” The sentry glanced up the stairwell behind Dilora, taking a guarded stance when he realized the Shaman had come down the cellar entrance alone. “You aren’t supposed to be down here. You need to leave.”

“Is that you, Sidera?” Dilora stepped forward from the dark stairs, eagerly nodding beneath her hood. “Yes, I thought that was you. I remember you from when I was here as an apprentice. On occasion, you and I would have lunch on the veranda overlooking the gardens to the south.” She was encouraged as the guard relaxed. Dilora drew forth memories of how the guard had seemed attracted to her, so she took a more alluring stance before him. But her body must have appeared as twisted and gnarled as it felt. The sentry’s expression shifted from affable to wary. Maybe talking would have a more desired effect. “I am to be part of the entourage that will be escorting the Necromancer to the prison in Hemera’s first light. Grandmaster Markus has sent me to check on the prisoner and to make sure everything is sorted for the transfer.” She was making a number of guesses regarding Asheborne’s transfer, but she needed the sentry to believe she was part of their entourage. Given how secretive Shamans were, it was a near certainty that the guard knew little more than to stand guard at this spot until morning.

Sidera kept his uneasy stance. “But I have been instructed not to allow anyone near the Necromancer.”

Dilora sighed. “Then it seems we are at impasse. It would be truly unfortunate if something were to happen to the prisoner under your watch, especially so close to her transfer.”

Sidera shuddered at Dilora’s suggestion.

Feigning a sudden idea, Dilora wiggled a finger at the low ceiling. “Why don’t you come with me? You can help me check the condition of the cell and make sure everything is in proper order for the transfer. Two would be much safer than one.”

The guard hesitated, then relaxed. “Well, she is bound and gagged, so there is little she can do to put up a fight. I guess there’s no harm in checking her condition one more time before dawn.”

“That is good news.” Dilora shifted closer. “I am certain Grandmaster Markus will be proud of your labors in this matter.”

“Let’s get this over with. I, for one, will be of a much better mind when this nasty creature is far gone from here.” He waved up the dark hall for the Shaman to lead the way.

“I could not agree more, friend.” When she stepped past the guard, Dilora sensed her opportunity and spun to strike with the speed of a coiled snake. She slammed her palm over the guard’s mouth while her other hand moved to the back of his head. The Shaman held the guard in a vise-like grip, her forefinger and thumb closing about his nostrils.

But the guard had been well-trained for his job. As Dilora’s body moved closer to maintain her leverage, he unsheathed a long knife he had at the ready. With a satisfying grunt, he plunged the sharp point deep into the Shaman’s chest.

Dilora felt no pain, and responded by pressing down harder. The guard’s narrow eyes widened when she did not fall away. She chuckled at his comical expression of fear.

The guard yanked the knife out and drove it in again, this time piercing the Shaman’s heart.

Still, she held tight.

Realizing his blade had no effect, he began to struggle against her grip. He tried to scream, but it came out as a muffled howl. His greater size and muscular build were ineffective against her inhuman strength. He fell back against the wall, attempting to find some kind of leverage.

The guard’s flailing was beginning to annoy Dilora. It was hard to find enjoyment in his death knowing someone might overhear the clamor of armor on stone. She could not risk exposing herself, not this close. She snarled and pressed her palms together, slowly rotating the guard’s skull.

The guard began slapping his open palm against anything he could make contact with. His fingers clawed down her hand, peeling away ashy skin to reveal sinew, cartilage, and bone.

Finally, Dilora heard the satisfying pop of bones along the sentry’s jaw, then at the base of his skull. The sentry’s body quivered one last time.

The Shaman stepped back to admire her handiwork, then dragged the body down a dark side chamber. Stepping back into the hall, she pushed the skin of her hand back into place.

The struggle with the guard had taken too much energy. Dilora’s corpse was failing the spirit that had been summoned into it. Rigor mortis made it hard to move, though the summoner’s strength spells would hold long enough to finish the work. She needed to hurry. Still, it was hard not to revel in such delicious opportunities. With a gratifying twitch along the side of her clawed face, she shuffled down the hall.

At the far end of the hall, she came to a small cell with a facing made of thick metal. Inside sat a woman in black Necromantic robes, gagged, her wrists shackled to the floor by a long chain glowing with elementals.

Dilora sneered at the black-robed woman who peered questioningly up at her. “Meera Asheborne. My master, Breanen Sagamore, sends her fondest regards,” she rasped at the muzzled and bound figure in the cell. “And her deepest regrets.”

Meera’s eyes narrowed at the clear meaning of Breanen’s message.

Dilora wrapped her fingers tight around the cell door’s bars and pulled. The door lock groaned and popped as the thick metal buckled under the inhuman strain of muscle and cartilage. At last, the latch gave way, clanging to the floor. The door swung wide. Dilora could not resist a chuckle as she stepped into the cell.

 

 

“You sure that’s the building we’re looking for?” Pauli squinted at the small structure ahead of them, its outline lit up by Erebus floating high in the east. Gaia’s moon had been low while the three clambered over the temple’s wall. But now, it filled the temple grounds with soft light. “It looks more like my ma’s kitchen pantry than a prison.”

Kriston rolled his eyes. “The most treasured items are found in the smallest places, Pauli.”

Pauli puffed up his face in confusion.

Conner placed a hand on Kriston’s shoulder to soothe his impatient page. The lad was still annoyed that Conner had not discerned where the Necromancer was being kept. At least they weren’t at the end of some blind alley.

Conner gestured at the building. “You see that metal door on the side, Pauli? Can you think of any reason why those living at a guarded temple would need such a barrier just to stop people from stealing food? And given the building’s size, it’s not much of a stretch that room leads to an underground cellar—a cellar capable of holding very valuable items.”

Pauli blinked.

“Like prisoners,” Kriston filled in. Not waiting around to see if Pauli understood, the boy sprinted across a narrow alley toward the building.

On Kriston’s signal, Conner skirted the shadowed side of a wall with Pauli on his heels while Kriston worked on the metal door’s lock. Finally, Pauli grinned with delight and prodded Conner with an elbow. “Oh, you think she’s in here?”

A few minutes later, Kriston pulled up short and raised his palm back toward Conner.

“What is it now?” Conner whispered. The three crouched at the bottom of a stairwell that opened into a long hall.

“It’s a little too quiet for my liking,” Kriston replied. “I would have expected at least one guard down here.”

“Sounds more like a blessing to me,” Pauli offered near Conner’s ear. “Or maybe this isn’t the right place after all.”

But Conner’s time in the Cravenrock Thieves Guild had taught him to rely on Kriston’s uncanny senses in such matters. If Kriston’s intuition sensed danger, they should be concerned.

With few choices available, Kriston pressed on, but stopped when he came to what appeared to be a chamber to one side. It was too dark to tell more. “Should we investigate?” he whispered to Conner behind him.

“I suggest we investigate any lit sections first. I can’t imagine they’d put a prisoner somewhere that dark.”

Kriston had not taken more than three steps when he lifted his hand.

“What now?” Conner asked.

“I thought I heard something—like metal striking the floor.”

Conner cranked his ear forward, leaning over Kriston’s crouched body. A moment later, he caught the sound of a muffled struggle ahead. Quick as a wink, Kriston dashed on up the hall. Conner and Pauli had no option but to follow at a run. At the end of the hall on their left was a small cell. In the meager torchlight, a gray-cloaked Shaman stood with her hands around Meera Asheborne’s neck, choking the life from her. Conner was stunned, trying to make sense out of what he beheld. Before he reacted, Pauli let out a bellow like when they’d played warrior as children. A great force slammed into Conner’s back, sending him spinning into the cell door. By the time he staggered back to his feet, Pauli was in the cell, behind the Shaman, his arms wrapped tight around her chest.

Pauli roared as he squeezed, lifting the scrawny Shaman into the air and breaking her hold on Meera.

The Necromancer fell back onto her bench, coughing and gasping for breath.

Conner found his legs and he ran to stand in front of Meera Asheborne. She was gagged, and her wrists were bound and chained to a ring bolted to the stone floor. A black otter-looking animal appeared over her shoulder.

“I’ve got the Shaman, Conner,” Pauli proclaimed triumphantly.

“Pauli—” Kriston started.

“Can’t you see I’m a bit busy?” Pauli began dragging the Shaman away from Meera.

“Pauli, I don’t think you understand. That—”

“I’ve got her! I’ll hold her back while you and Conner—”

Before Pauli finished, the Shaman raised her arms, forcing Pauli’s locked fingers apart. Pauli’s eyes bulged as he gripped harder. “What the ...” Muscles constricting beneath his shirt, he groaned with the sudden exertion he needed to keep his arms locked around the Shaman.

The Shaman was unconcerned by Pauli’s efforts. She snapped her arms up high, breaking Pauli’s grip, then drove her elbow back, connecting with Pauli’s temple with a resounding crack.

Pauli tumbled backward, slamming into the iron bars at the side of the cell.

The Shaman never glanced back. She stepped forward again, sweeping Conner to the side with her arm and grabbing Meera by the front of her robes.

“I’ll help Pauli keep that thing busy,” Kriston shouted at Conner. “You need to figure out how to get the prisoner out of here!” While the Shaman throttled Meera, Kriston scampered up the Shaman’s back. Twisting, he straddled her shoulders, then yanked her hood down over her eyes.

The Shaman released Meera, her arms flailing in an attempt to snatch the boy riding on her shoulders.

Pauli rubbed at his temple, trying to stand. “What are you doing?”

“I was trying to tell you—this thing isn’t human!” Kriston shouted, holding the hood down over the Shaman’s face as she spun. He waited until the Shaman made another revolution before adding with a grin, “Undead need sight. Take that away and they get all discombobulated.”

“Undead? You mean a zombie?” Pauli asked.

Conner recalled an incantation Grimmley had tried to teach him once, one that sent ghosts back to the Mental plane. Making several gestures with his hands, Conner incanted, “Ourera psychi entharprosopo.” But just as it had at Grimmley’s gazebo, the incantation failed.

“Will you stop playing around?” Kriston shouted at Conner as the Shaman spun around the cell like a spinning top, crashing into the bars. “There is only one person in this room capable of sending this atrocity back.” He turned to Pauli. “Grab her legs and let’s see if we can topple her!”

Meera stared up at him, shackled and gagged. She had an inquisitive look in her eyes, as if she was wondering what he planned to do. Well, he was wondering too! Conner removed the gag from her mouth.

Still, Meera goggled at him with that same questioning expression.

“Get rid of it!” Conner waved his arm at the apparition.

“To cast an incantation, I need these shackles off. They are preventing me from accessing elementals.” She held her wrists up, her expression one of urgency.

Conner faltered as something dreadful had occurred to him. If Meera was going to survive this night, he might have to break her free. He had come here to talk to her, not help her escape. He heard Kriston cry out. Looking over his shoulder, he watched the undead toss the boy across the cell like a rag doll.

Pauli bellowed in rage. Jamming his thick shoulder into the Shaman’s midsection, he lifted her and spun her around.

“Your friends are brave, but they cannot stop this creature. They’ll only get themselves killed.”

Conner placed his palms against the metal rings around Meera’s wrists and closed his eyes, trying to shut out the shouts and groans coming from behind as Kriston leaped back into the fight. Immediately, Conner sensed the elementals. The weave was only slightly more complicated than the one Meera had used on him in Dragongarde’s antechamber. Drawing on Air and Fire, he felt along their threads and pushed them together. The threads evanesced. And beneath those was another weave—one of Water and Earth. He called Water and Earth to him, but before he could destroy the weave, the undead struck him from behind. He reeled and stumbled forward as intense pain flashed like lightning down his spine. Pauli and Kriston lay in a motionless heap in the middle of the cell, a mass of arms and legs.

The undead stepped into view, grabbing Meera around the neck with one hand while she snatched Conner’s neck with the other. The creature’s clutch was incredible as Conner fought to break free. His feet lifted from the stone floor. The undead’s hold intensified as the blood rushing in his ears drowned out the choking gurgles coming from Meera next to him.

Conner forced himself to concentrate, ignoring the fear screaming at him, the throbbing down his back, the rattle of Meera’s chains pulled taut by the Shaman’s inhuman grip, the groans from Pauli and Kriston. He closed his eyes, and the world receded. Gently, he called on Water and Earth again. Releasing his grip on the undead’s arm, he reached out and touched Meera’s shackles.

The metal rings popped free, Meera’s body snapped up, and the Shaman staggered forward.

The undead flung Conner to the side and grabbed Meera with both hands. “You will not escape,” the Shaman sneered.

Meera pressed her back to the wall and kicked out, shoving the Shaman away. Flicking her hands forward, Meera croaked, “Ourera energi kinoprosopo.” A blinding flash blasted the undead across the cell.

Conner too was thrown back. He sensed Skye’s intense emotional signal high above. People were coming! He watched in awe as Meera drew deep on Fire and Earth. Conner, you fool. You let her free. Now you’re going to die.

The undead Shaman crawled to her feet. “You know Breanen will not stop as long as you remain a prisoner of the Harmonics. She will not allow you to divulge Necromantic secrets.”

Meera thrust her hand out. “Ourera psychi apostelpsychi.” The creature slumped forward, never to rise again.

Conner heard the sounds of shouting and boots running down the long, dark hall. He fell back against the cell door, the cool metal bars offering stability that his quivering legs no longer provided.

Meera gazed up at Conner. Her features softened, her black, furry bond trembling at her neck. From the flickering light, Conner caught the despair in her eyes. He understood what the undead had meant—that she would not be the last undead sent to kill Meera Asheborne.

Slowly, Meera slid down on her bench, silently rubbing the raw sores on her wrists, her eyes on the broken shackles splayed on the stone floor.