| Salem approached the door and knocked loudly three times. The rest of the group stood back, anticipating the worst. The door slowly opened, but no one was present before them; instead, they saw nothing but darkness. Keilich hobbled to the vacant doorway. "Hello?" he called out. "Is anyone in here? We are but simple travelers." No answer was heard. "Maybe we should just go in," Isengrim suggested. "Not like that, you won't," Clara suggested. "Arm yourselves or prepare spells, friends. I will not trust a vacant, dark dwelling with no weapon in hand." Clara led the group through the door; her sword was drawn and held with both hands in front of her. Salem held a few daggers, one in each hand, while his mother, his father, and Keilich all approached, ready to protect them with their clerical magic. Clara had a little trouble seeing her way through the dark corridors that were carved out of the massive stone. They seemed to climb higher and higher in a sort of spiral, probably due to the "trunk" of the rock structure. As Clara reached the top, she noticed that light was directly ahead; in fact, it appeared to be some sort of throne room. It was decorated with pillars, vases, and decorated urns. In the middle of the back of the room was a lavish throne of bronze. Behind that was a strange pedestal, with something that no one present could identify. "Looks like we've reached a king's quarters," Erma suggested. "I wonder where he could be?" "What is that on that pedestal?" Clara asked, pointing to it. Keilich looked ahead, squinting badly. Finally, his eyes widened. "Goodness, girl!" he cried. "You've found the hilt of the sword! Quickly, gather it up and let's get out of this chamber." Clara, with her sword still drawn, nervously approached the pedistal, leaving her bag with Salem. She walked silently toward the hilt and gently lifted the crystal and gold handle from its resting place. But as she turned to run, she became frozen by a loud female verse that echoed in the chamber. "Do you dare to disturb my possessions?" it boomed. "Many have been killed by me for less!" Clara looked around nervously. "Who are you?!" she shouted, turning around continuously to find the woman. "Look behind you," the voice said. Clara turned around and saw, to the right of the throne, another cat woman, a simple white cat, probably 10 years older than she. The woman was hardly dressed in much more than a great deal of jewelry; bracelets, anklets, rings, and necklaces decorated her attractive body, and she wielded a great jeweled sword with both hands. "Don't come any closer," Clara warned, readying herself for a fight. "This hilt is taken by me in the name of the great god S'Allumer, the Bringer of Light. He chose me for this quest." "That is not for you, wretch!" the white cat cried. "It is for me and the sanctity of my vast desert empire. I am Hritle, the keeper of the crystal hilt, and I will find the orb and the jewels that complete its construction." "The orb?" Clara said, grinning. "You want it? Come and take it and the hilt from me yourself!" "You will never leave this place with your life!" Hritle shoulted. "Now, die!" Hritle rushed toward Clara, and the two quickly engauged each other in a swordfight to the death. Neither could strike the other at all; either Clara was too fast for Hritle, or the other way around. Keilich, Isengrim, Erma, and Salem all watched in horror as Clara dueled Hritle; the two women lept about, desperately trying to draw first blood. I can't strike! Clara thought, as she swung and blocked. She knows all my maneuvers. "You will never hit me!" Hritle exclaimed, a bit of laughter in her voice. "I know all about your fighting. You will never wound me; if anything at all, I will kill you first!" Suddenly, Clara was hit with a great burst of insight. "Would you like to make a wager?" she asked her foe, looking at her left foot, which was completely bare. She then knelt on the floor, holding her sword a few inches above her foot, smiling deviously. "Wait," Hritle said, shuddering. "Don't you even dare--" This is going to be painful, Clara thought, raising her sword. "You are done for," she said, still grinning, and then plunged her sword into her foot, running it all the way through. Clara screamed out in agony, but opened her eyes long enough to see Hritle's left foot suddenly redden, then burst open, with her blood spilling onto the floor. Hritle screamed in pain, falling to her knees. Her friends all gaped at once. Clara struggled to her feet, as Hritle tried to stand up, or at least crawl toward her. "You are mad!" she screamed at Clara. Clara limped backward. "Perhaps," she said, "but you are dead. Say goodbye to your treasures!" She put her sword up to her throat and lifted her chin. "No!" everyone else screamed at once. Hritle made a last desperate attempt to stop Clara, but it was too late. With one quick motion, Clara swept the blade of her sword across her neck, slicing open her throat. Hritle uttered a strangled curse as Clara's blood spilled down her chest and arms, causing her to fall to the floor on her side. Hritle's neck suddenly burst open, her blood staining the floor. Each girl gurgled out in agony before falling lifeless to the ground. Next page >> |