by Troy Campbell
He hated this room. Every time he found himself in here, he was forced into a similar position. Unable to stand up straight for fear of being struck down to a height that would satisfy the appalling creature before him. Fearing for his life and being forced to grovel for forgiveness like a common mortal. �Me, the Cuckoo, groveling!� he thought to himself, virtually boiling with hatred and anger. Brooding, he looked about the room, which was made of stone walls, floored with white sandstone tiles, and sagging timbers that held up a 20-foot ceiling. His eyes moved across wickedly barbed and hooked chains that hung on the wall like brutal tapestries. There were stains on the floor indicating the sandstone had soaked up copious amounts of blood over many days; indeed, areas were still damp.
Stubbornly resisting, the vulture-headed demon was force by the shear strength of will of the creature standing threateningly over him to gaze up with hatred into the thing�s blood-red eyes, while it leaned over a desk, staring intensely back at him.
�You�d better begin paying more attention to what occurs around you, lest you find yourself begging me for more than your pitiful life,� the powerful being lectured him, it�s tone terribly deep and harsh, but undeniably feminine.
Growling through a beak tightened in utter contempt, �Yes, Lord Cathezar. You know I seek only to carry out your will�eyes filling with unquestionable loathing�I would offer you my very existence, if it were not already yours to command.�
�That�s better,� returned the Cathezar, �and you are most correct. You will do as I ask, always. Though you may have disappointed me one too many times with this last failure.�
�No! You must understand!� countered the Vrock desperately.
�There is little to understand, other than you having failed me for the second time, and after I arranged for that rag-tag group to assist you too.�
�It was his fault,� Retorted the vulture demon quickly, �It was that fool Dyson! I warned him about those adventurers. I told him they knew too much. I told him I knew of them; for they are well know in the areas known as the Dale Lands. I said I knew they were not to be underestimated, and that our mission in Ossington was far too important to jeopardize!�
�How long were you a part of that group? How many miles did you walk along side the old fool wizard and his crazed woman, getting to know them, bending them to your will? You should have known them well enough to know what their responses would be.�
�I could do nothing to��
�Silence!� boomed the Cathezar. �I grow weary of your excuses; and regardless, I believe we�re better off with the fool Dyson out of the way.�
The Cuckoo cowered in acquiescence.
Calming somewhat with the satisfaction of having silenced her inferior, the Cathezar rested easily upon her chair behind her desk.
After letting the satisfying silence hang for a few moments she spoke again, though in a casual tone, �The Prince himself contacted me just this day. He commanded me on the threat of my life to perform a task�leaning forward on the desk to stare down at the vrock�Fortunately, the task is simple enough that even an abysmal incompetent such as you can�t help but get it right. I have pressing business elsewhere, and so I am giving you this responsibility as your final opportunity to prove to me you are not a complete encumbrance to us, and as such fit only for death.�
Rising quickly to his taloned feet, �What is it? I�ll do anything! I beg you Mistress! Allow me to�� He stopped short as his Mistress began to bore holes into him with her eyes, as she grew impatient again.
�I wouldn�t have mentioned it at all unless I planned to include you.� Looking at him with disgust, �You really are a fool.�
"After a short pause, she continued slowly, �Our prince has devised some sort of plan, it seems. I know not what this plan is or what he hopes to accomplish with it, suffice to say that it is apparently somewhat urgent. The Prince seeks a powerful being named Ashardalon, an ancient red wyrm of considerable power. I have looked into this a bit myself and have learned that by all accounts Ashardalon was slain long ago by the hand of a mortal, named Dydd. I have informed the Prince of this, but he insists the dragon yet lives.
I have learned that the great wyrm once had a cultic following, which was centered in a structure within Anauroch desert, called Nightfang Spire. The primary member of this cult was a human named Gulthias. Somehow, Gulthias managed to obtain the heart of Ashardalon, which had apparently been harvested from the dragon�s body and stored within the spire. Of course the wyrm�s heart was dead, but it was nevertheless rumored to possess some vestige of potency.
"Through an ignorant act of faith, Gulthias performed a mass ritual that transformed him into a creature of the night, a vampire. All of the lesser followers of Ashardalon were also slain in a mass suicide, only to be reborn as undead. Through undeath, Gulthias hoped to live long enough to see the return of Ashardalon. Unfortunately for him, someone else found him and ran a wooden stake through his heart, slaying him.
"The Prince has assured me that Ashardalon�s heart remains alive, apparently having been mystically revived as a result of the mass suicide that occurred within the spire. Our Prince believes Gulthias may have known information about Ashardalon that will help him locate the dragon. Your task is simply to go to this spire and remove the wooden stake from Gulthias� heart. According to our Prince the revived heart of Ashardalon will then somehow revive the undead cultists from true death. Once he is alive, you are to question the cult leader about Ashardalon. Garner what he knows and return to me with the information. Succeed in this and you may yet be allowed to live.�
Bowing his scavenging visage in submission, the Cuckoo left the presence of his mistress as quickly as he could, while she simply smiled at her own persuasiveness.
* * * * *
Gedeon arose from his reverie as the sun crested the eastern horizon. Opening his eyes, he first saw the old stone menhirs that encircled his encampment. In an instant the serenity of his reverie washed away as the elf was thrown back into the middle of the great Anauroch desert, with its blistering heat and endless waves of white sand. His purpose for being out in such an austere land came rushing back to him and he leaped to his feet, anxious to be on his way.
�Where has that human gone?� the elf questioned aloud, as he noticed the empty bedroll on the opposite side of the circle of stones. Were it not for that magical water skin he carries I would make more progress without him, Gedeon thought to himself grudgingly while he began to pack his things.
The road they had been following during the past three days had lead suddenly down into the depths of a deep defile. In the night, Gedeon had found the road leading down into darkness disturbing, and so had decided to spend the night resting alongside the road, within the slight shelter of the menhir circle.
Once the elf finished packing up his equipment and had rolled his bedroll into his pack, he was ready to start toward his forbidding destination. He looked around again for the human warrior he had been traveling with. Seeing no sign of him, the elf sighed in frustration and began walking away from the menhirs, pushing his way through the sand to approach the edge of the narrow, yet deep canyon. The formation itself was impressive, with sheer sides leading down to a hard stone floor some 1,600 feet below, and narrow enough to keep all light other than that of high noon from touching the floor. Nevertheless, it wasn�t the chasm that held his gaze. He was staring with trepidation upon an abhorrent, stone tower nestled in the deepest end of the defile, but tall enough to rise nearly 300 feet above the canyon�s floor, ending in jagged stone splinters. It looks like a huge, poisonous, stone fang, Gedeon thought cynically to himself, and it�s likely just as deadly. He found himself wondering again why the grugach elders would be so interested in this place that they would send their best scout on a journey through foreign lands, weeks away from his home to find this dark tower; the Nightfang Spire they had called it. They had told him only that a great evil dwelt within and that it was somehow connected to the history of his woodland home, deep within Cormanthor forest. His task was to learn more about the source of the evil residing here, the evil he could feel while simply looking upon the spire.
A slight sound, barely audible even to the wild elf�s keen ears, jolted him out of his contemplation. Spinning around and using his hand to block the brightest light of the glaring sun he peered toward the menhirs, thinking that to have been where the noise came from. He caught a glimpse of a figure in dark clothing moving stealthily away from him and then disappearing behind one of the stones. He questioned in his mind whether it was the missing warrior, but somehow he knew it wasn�t. He began moving quickly toward the circle, watching for further signs of the dark figure all the while. Upon entering the circle, he found footprints in the sand heading straight to where he had seen the figure disappear, except there the footprints stopped. Gedeon could see the last print in the sand, yet there were no more beyond it. It was as if the figure, whatever it was, had simply vanished into the hot air. Disturbed, the scout traced the steps back to where he first found them. There, covered slightly with sand he had likely kicked up while following the tracks was a small piece of paper. He bent down and picked it up, shaking the sand off of it, he found it had words written on one side. Looking past the glare of the sun on the parchment, he made out the following in a tongue common to many of the races around the civilized areas, �Flee, fool, lest the Cuckoo take you.�
�The Cuckoo?� he breathed silently. �I know that name, but what does it have to do with me, here in the middle of this good forsaken wasteland?�
�Ah, you have awoken.� Spoke a harsh voice to Gedeon�s left.
Startled, the elf quickly pushed the paper into one of his small pouches, and then turned to see his traveling companion entering the circle.
�Yes,� Gedeon stammered, �I awoke some time ago. We had best head into that defile as soon as possible, lest we lose more time.�
�Indeed,� returned the warrior, sheathing his blade, �here take a drink before we go, you seem to be befuddled from dehydration�. The human retrieved his magical water skin from his belt and handed it to the elf.
Grateful for the explanation the human had provided for his moment of hesitation, Gedeon took the skin and quickly drank his fill of fresh water. As he handed it back he said, �Yes, now please gather your things and let us get this over with.�
In a few moments, the warrior had collected his own equipment and turned toward the road that would lead him into the defile. Still unsure what to make of the note or how to approach his companion regarding it, the elf decided to remain wary until he could come to a decision on what he should do next.
Together they marched into the defile and into the darkness that would lead them to the spire. The swordsman produced a stone that emanated light enough for them to continue and with it they moved deeper into the canyon. After a few hundred steps they could see a low, dry-mortared building set squat against one side of the spire itself, with a single dark portal leading into it. Taking a deep breath, Gedeon followed his companion inside.
Once inside they could see several humanoid forms lying haphazardly about the floor amid shadows and black, twisted vines. A whiff of charnel stench reached the elf�s nostrils as a peculiar, ubiquitous melody found his ears. In an instant Gedeon realized, as he tried to recoil in terror, the stench was the smell of death seeping out of the rotting bodies strewn around him, but he found he couldn�t move. Somehow that malevolent melody had ensorcelled him, paralyzing his muscles. Wide-eyed, he tried to look to the human for help when he felt something spring from the floor beneath him and begin wrapping itself around his leg, and then it began to creep through his skin and twist beneath it.
�Do something swordsman! Anything!� Gedeon could only think to himself. A moment later however, Gedeon�s mind began to swirl with indescribable panic. Before his eyes, the human transformed. He became several feet taller, broader at the shoulders, his skin began to darken into a blotched purple with patches of small gray feathers appearing on it, while his limbs grew sinewy. Gray-feathered wings began to stretch out of his back, his neck elongated, and his face distorted until it resembled the head of a large scavenging bird.
�Fool of an elf!� the demon screeched. �You�ve lead me straight to my destination and yourself straight into your death!�
Still confused and startled, the elf tried to yell, �No! You wicked thing! I cannot end this way!� But no sound emerged from his paralyzed lips and Gedeon knew he was dead. He knew he would not live to return to his home, to live and die with his people. He watched as the demon fled from the building, leaving him in utter darkness. Alone in the dark, the perverse vine slowly consumed Gedeon from the inside out.
Copyright 2004 by Troy Campbell
