The Magehound - Elaine Cunningham [106]
Quon Lee merely shrugged and lifted his machete again.
Suddenly they were clear and standing in an enormous courtyard. The buildings here were nearly intact, and the fountain on the huge pool in the center still bubbled. Andris noted that the scent of the swamp was heavy in the water.
He took a vial of powder and a torch from his bag, first lighting the torch and then using his teeth to pull out the vial's cork. The other fighters followed his lead.
"What now?" whispered Iago.
"We wait," Andris replied simply.
They didn't have long to wait. A sudden clatter of bone and the reek of rotting meat announced the attack. Skeletal and near-skeletal forms rattled out of the buildings that surrounded the courtyard, brandishing priceless elven weapons in their bony fists. Andris noted that none of the undead creatures appeared to be elves. All were human. The bones of some were extremely dry and brittle, while others had obviously not been dead for long. This, then, was the resting place of the adventurers who sought to despoil the city's treasure. But what of the elves?
There was no time to ponder this question. The men tossed their open vials into the pool, followed by the torches. And then they turned and ran for the exit.
They dived back into the thick foliage, rolling as far away as they could and clamping their hands to their ears.
A tremendous roar rolled through the vine-clogged streets like the scream of a dragon taking flight A second blast followed, a cloud of terrible heat and choking black smoke.
After a few minutes, they ventured back into the courtyard. A few charred bones still twitched, but most of the undead had been utterly destroyed by the blast. Wisps of foul steam and black smoke rose from the pool. The crystal buildings still stood, but several of the doors had been blasted inward by the force of the explosion.
Andris caught sight of a faint, greenish glow through one of those doors. He cautiously eased through the opening and found himself in a ruined temple. On the altar was a small globe, perhaps half the size of a man's head, faintly pulsating with light and power. Andris could feel the pull of it, a powerful yearning that felt more like sadness than hunger.
"What the Nine bloody Hells is that thing?" demanded Wolther, raking his straw-colored hair away from his face as he stared at the glowing sphere.
"I don't know for certain," Andris replied hesitantly, "but I think this could be what empowers the undead. Notice how they gather here. This globe is hungry for magic, and the undead creatures gathered around it like bees feeding nectar to a queen."
He carefully lifted the crystal and slipped it into his pack.
The northerner's sky-colored eyes narrowed. "So you're taking that with us?
It'll draw every undead thing within calling range!"
"The return trip will not lack excitement," Andris said dryly. "But it is the only way to complete our task. The Kilmaruu will never be utterly free of undead-what swamp in any land can make that boast?-but those creatures that remain need not forage for magic."
The big northerner folded his arms. "Seems to me you're moving a problem, not solving one."
"Surely Halruaa has one wizard who can negate or contain this force," Andris retorted. "We are here to remove the thing that causes the undead to feed upon magic. Only by doing so can we eliminate the danger to outlying farms and the nearby waters. Only then will you be free to return to your homeland," he added for good measure.
Wolther shrugged. "Best be going, then."
Andris noted that none of the men suggested staying to explore and pillage the elven city. All of them were far too eager to leave Kilmaruu behind.
Very late that night, the weary survivors staggered into the compound where they had trained. Kiva and her wemic captain awaited them. The magehound took Andris's report with great satisfaction, and her amber eyes lit with sudden ardent flame when he handed her the green sphere.
A suspicion stirred in Andris's mind. Somehow he doubted that the magehound's stated mission-destroying