Vaasan hooves tore the ground as two horses raced through the night. For one rider, the moonlight gave enough light to see clearly the path ahead and the great ruined mansion rising in the distance. For the other, the light was helpful but unnecessary, for light and dark were alike to him.
Ahead, somewhere in that ruin, was their friend Melor. With luck, he would still be alive. With greater luck, the priestess Gröttmir, who had taught Kandrill to meld his priestly training with his skills in fighting revenants, would also be found alive and safe. No lights shone through the windows; no noise could be heard from outside. The vines of the forest were trying to reclaim the building, whose stone walls still defied nature.
*****
Melor started to sit up then lay back as the dizziness hit him again. He had a vague impression of having met his friends outside the widow's house, seeing Kandrill and the Caliban beckon him over just before the lights went out. He'd thought at first that they'd attacked him, which made no sense-- they'd been friendly to one another ever since his arrival in this land. He recalled slumping to one side, to see Kandrill level a crossbow at Mac, the barn owl who followed him on his journeys, and for the life of him all he could think was, but Kandrill doesn't own a crossbow...
*****
She sat huddled in her chains, sores still crusted over, wondering what she had done for the Morninglord to abandon her. Again she prayed, and again, she felt nothing. The prayer for the healing of wounds was among the simplest she knew, and in answer to it, God did... nothing. She saw that another had been added to her cell. Wonderful. They are pretending to put in other prisoners now, she thought. It would be the same as all the others. Time and again they had come, in the guise of her friends, her parents, loved ones, mentors, temptations of the flesh, mind, and soul, and always it was a lie. They brought food, or not, by some unfathomable whim, and time itself had lost all meaning. She might have been here for years, or perhaps a week.
Her newest tormentor opened his eyes, groaned (a creditable imitation of suffering, she marveled), and sat up to regard her with curiosity.
*****
Kandrill and the Caliban dismounted quickly, tethering their mounts loosely through the tangled vines of the forest floor, and readied their weapons, a stout longbow somewhat too stiff for its owner to use quite yet, and a crossbow of ludicrous size which somehow did not provoke laughter when aimed in one's direction. With a nod, they booted open the front doors and stepped into the remains of a front hall. Methodically, by turns, they slid open doors, scanning the ruins of cloakrooms, dining rooms, kitchens, and a library that would have driven Via mad with envy had she seen it, but nothing moved, and no creature came to face their missiles.
Reaching stairs, both recalled the darkness of the upper windows and nodded to each other.
"Down."
*****
Gröttmir rolled her eyes as her tormentor tried again.
"My name's Melor. Perhaps we can get to know one another, even trust one another? Look, I'm a prisoner just like you. And my magic is being suppressed just as your obviously is."
"Doppelgangers don't have magical skills, as you well know," she retorted. This was too easy. "You're just like all the others, so you needn't waste your time."
*****
A faint light was flickering under the door at the first landing. Weapons ready, the pair let door creak open with a thin whine. Nothing moved, save for the faint flicker of a guttering candle on the night table beside a large bed. The man in the bed moved not at all, and with the Morninglord's blessing he never would again.
He was shriveled, emptied somehow. His eyes had fallen back into their sockets, as though he'd been dead for years, and yet Kandrill was sure that he'd died within the last day, perhaps the last hour. Searching the room quickly brought to light the golden solar medallion of his mentor Gröttmir, with her trusted mace and her clothes. A diary as well was laid to one side, written in a hand at first elaborate, then shaken, and finally scrawling.
A new love had come to a young wizard, then an inspiration to seek out other worlds and planes of existence. Each success had been rewarded with her delicious charms, and the project was nearing completion. The young wizard was being surely and fatally corrupted, as well. Blasphemy and obscenity had become practicality and mere details to be handled. All was ready. Only the final sacrifice remained, one not of flesh.
"Enough," Kandrill's dark companion muttered. "They're here, and we'll get this tuff for 'em later."
With a nod, the two descended the stairs once again.
*****
"I'm not a doppelganger! I'm a druid! Look, let's try this again. I'm Melor. What's your name?"
She sighed.
"Gröttmir," she muttered, "as if you didn't already know... "
"Hmm. Can I call you Grotty?"
Her mouth fell open.
"I mean, what if I had to get your attention when we were in combat or something? Gröttmir is just so many syllables."
"It's as many syllables as Melor is!" she fumed, noting to herself that it was as many syllables as her proper name was, too.
This was new at any rate, and was certainly the most bizarre strategy they'd tried yet. He continued his overtures, friendly and affable no matter what, as she fended off every attempt, as the two fell finally into a sullen silence. Mincing steps and a cruel, high laugh filtered through the cracks in the door.
*****
Kandrill and his companion stepped into the chamber, somewhere beneath the mansion's basement. A table held a golden bowl, with something inside, at which they did not look closely. Two doors lay before them. The Caliban eyed them, then counted off a rhyme he'd heard a long time ago. Eeny, meeny, miney, moe...
*****
The two prisoners looked up as the door opened, light spilling in around what looked like their friends and associates. The four of them eyed one another with a mix of relief and suspicion. Kandrill knew there was no deception; the doppelgangers built their appearances from the thoughts of their victims, and he'd never pictured his mentor naked, beaten bloody, and in chains. Melor grew sure from their manner and their report of having brought Mac along that his rescuers were in fact themselves. Gröttmir was sure that this was another trick, until the big Caliban raised his axe and struck her chains off several inches from her collar, did the same for Melor, and then ignored the prisoners. There was something definitely wrong about the big hulk, and this was something of a comfort. A doppelganger would never have gotten his face so wrong, she realized with some glimmer of hope. Kandrill handed her the trusty mace she'd brought with her, and the precious golden sundisk of the Morninglord. She kissed it reverently, put it about her neck once more, and followed. The Caliban noticed that the two prisoners had not started in terror when they arrived, as the rest of the shapeshifters had. Either they were uncommonly brave, or they were the folks they'd come to rescue. Oh well, he mused, if they turn on us, there's always the axe...
*****
She lounged before the gate, caressing its stones with her long, delicate fingers. Soon, my darling, soon, she cooed into the darkness. The stolen souls had begun to charge the gate itself, and the sacrifice to come was most ripe. The priestess was losing faith by the minute, and would be ready to give in to despair. She tapped a long nail against the stone wall, then began to pace. Patience was called for, just a little more patience. That was a virtue, to be sure-- and so indulging in it seemed somehow deliciously perverted.
A noise drew her notice. An attempt to escape from the sacrifices? Ridiculous... and yet it wouldn't hurt to check.
*****
The four stepped into the larger room, the one with the table, and the bowl, and the thing in the bowl-- a great staring eye, somewhat larger than a ripe melon. To the right lay the door to the stairs and freedom; to the left, the way to the monster that had put this plan in motion. Each eyed the other, but without speaking, they knew what they would do. They would set aside freedom for one more moment to see that this fiend did not kill another soul.
As they prepared to step toward that door, it opened. An utterly gorgeous young woman stepped through, smiling sweetly, eyes flashing with promises of delights earthly and otherwise. She swept her hand in a welcoming gesture.
"More guests? To what do I owe the honor?"
"Not guests, Davida. Not prisoners. Justice."
"Ah," she frowned a trifle, crinkling her perfect brow with lines of worry that tugged even the Caliban's heart to smooth away with kisses. "So you spoke to him. He always did talk too much."
She reached out to run her fingers over the great eye, and as she did so, Gröttmir lunged forward, mace lifted high. She brought it down on the thing, smashing it with a wet, ugly sound and caving in the side of the bowl. Davida recoiled as Kandrill put an arrow into her shoulder, and as she reached to pull it out, the Caliban's axe cut a hideous wound across her belly.
She stepped back and plucked the arrow from her flesh, great leathery wings unfolding, and cruelty eating its way across her features. Scanning them rapidly, she hunted for and found the stupidity she prized most in men, then beamed at the hulking Caliban.
"Would you be a dear and guard the door until I return? Let nothing through, there's a darling!" she blew him a kiss. Inside his brains, he heard Zenetta's voice shout in protest. Then again, guarding a door didn't seem like such a difficult task. Not for a good friend like Davida... he squared his shoulders, and prepared to take his place as guard.
"Yes, mistress!" he boomed, as Gröttmir turned in shock. Had this all been yet another betrayal after all?
Melor felt the wild surge through him, his mind's eye fixed on Brother Wolf. Dropping to four legs, he leapt forward across the table, spilling it to the ground and tumbling toward the hellish Davida. Kandrill slashed and struck with his swords as Gröttmir tried to repeat her blow on the thing that had brought her to the edge of despair.
The Caliban hesitated. There were two doors. She had said, no, had sweetly asked if he would guard the door. So, which one? On the left, there was a furious quarrel-- everyone seemed awfully upset, but he was sure Davida could handle things. Equally certain it was that if he blocked that door, she couldn't go through it, and he was pretty sure she wanted to. He nodded to himself, pleased that he had solved her puzzle, and stepped toward the right, planting himself before the door to the upper air and the rest of the house. No one would get by.
Davida watched the Caliban walk determinedly in exactly the wrong direction, and bit back a curse. Men, she fumed. You can't live with them, and you can't flay the hide from them and make a pipe organ from their bones before they die. Well, not a very large one...
She retreated through the still open door behind her, streaming blood. The three gave chase, snarling, biting, pummeling and slashing. The chamber was high enough for her wings to be of use, and she grinned terribly to herself. Gröttmir saw her sink down onto her haunches, preparing to launch herself upwards, and brought the mace head down upon Davida's once beautiful skull.
Triumph and wile gave way to blinding pain, as the succubus began to pitch forward. Amazing how slowly the moments passed when there were so few left. There would be punishment, to be sure. Her plan to bring in reinforcements had failed, and with it, all hope of advancement in the ranks was lost. All hope... lost. One eye, hanging loose from its smashed socket saw a stirring in the gate. Hope... lost. Despair. Perhaps her despair would be enough.
She never felt the floor meet her falling body.
*****
The Caliban suddenly found himself standing at a doorway, hearing the sounds of battle a little way ahead of him. His companions were fighting, and he was standing here doing nothing! With a curse, he rushed forward. Kandrill stepped to the toppled body, and drove his blades deep into Davida's neck, twisting. Blood still gushed from her body, and was not pooling. It was running down the length of the room, where the Caliban could see a stone archway. The diary had spoken of opening a gateway, and this looked to be it.
He drew the axe back as he ran, swinging it forward with all his might. Chips flew from the stone, and still the blood flowed toward him. He drew back for a second blow, cracking the stone nearly through, and still it flowed. It would arrive in seconds. Light was growing from the center of the arch. Kandrill looked to see his friend hacking with all his considerable might at this fiendish contraption, and prayed his friend's strength would hold.
One final blow landed as the blood reached the threshold. The archway lit, showing Melor a view of an impossible landscape. Flames belched into a white and screaming sky, and the ground beneath it writhed in agony, a mass of bodies twisting in pain from things that lashed them, trampled them, and laughed at their terror. Then the archway broke, and was dark.
*****
Gear was collected, horses mounted, and a journey made back to the widow's house. It was morning now, and all seemed impossibly simple and normal. The blacksmith removed the rivet from Melor's iron collar, and came to do the same for Gröttmir. A check of the town showed that the townspeople had passed their sentence on the doppelganger who had replaced Father Layton some time ago, for his spindly gray body swung slowly from its noose. The Caliban was nursing a headache, but that was to be expected, after having his head messed with, and smashing all that rock with his axeblade.
The house was given back to nature. Melor brought a single acorn into the main hall, and placed it just so, then called upon the land to grow it straight and strong. In seconds, it was planting roots. In a minute, the walls of the mansion were groaning as the trunk burst through the roof, and vines began to pull down the tangled ruins of Davida's haunt.
Melor flickered down into his gray fox's body, preparing to go. The Caliban began to wheel Grom back toward their road home, temples throbbing. Kandrill and Gröttmir faced each other, pupil and teacher once, and her eyes shone. What they had to say to one another, the Caliban did not hear, though it would eventually come up.
But that is another story...