“Now let us contest more fairly,” Gord said just then, springing atop the precious pile as he spoke-just in time. The gloam had again launched itself into an attack, physically attempting to grapple its opponent and sink terrible teeth into human flesh. “No, no! Up here, dungpile!”
The gloom of Snuffdark was nearly gone; that was obvious from the growing lambency of the monster’s eyes and the increasing speed of Imprimus’ movements. Gord had to madden the thing sufficiently to give him one brief opportunity, a chance to lay the vampiric lich low. His time was running out all too rapidly.
The gloam snarled, glaring at its foe. The human had uncovered and was holding a long, double-edged sword. It was an ancient weapon, one with a leaf-shaped blade and a strange crossguard showing serpents. Why was it there in the trove? Imprimus could not recall, but the old sword-thing appeared to be nothing more than a useless ornament, for it was fashioned entirely out of crystalline material, probably some form of quartz or topaz… No matter. The oppression of darkness that lay upon the plane would soon be lifted, but before Snuffdark fled, Imprimus intended to deal with this arrogant little man who had so painfully reminded the gloam of its weakened condition just now. This one had defied Imprimus’ demand for Shadowfire, then actually given it to the petty lordling who claimed the realm as his own. Well, soon the human would be another vampiric servant to Imprimus, and then the gloam would take the mighty black opal from Shadowking-this time to a place far beyond any return. First one, then the other. Imprimus meant to drain the vitality from his foe personally, savoring the rush of power gained thus, as well as reveling in the agony that the upstart man would suffer as his life force ebbed away to be replaced by the cold burning of the negative stuff of unlife!
“Now, you! Come down off the little heap you play king of the mountain on, and I will treat with you,” Imprimus said, eyes burning hypnotically into the gray ones of his intended victim. “My generosity will not abide forever…”
Gord shook his head to break the effect of the gaze, the drone of the monster’s beguiling speech. Then he kicked another spray of precious stuff into the gloam’s face. “Ratshit, batface! You come here and-”
The pelting coins and gems did it. New power born of its rage surged through the gloam-lich. “Too late!” Imprimus roared, and as it did so it launched itself through the air, long-fingered hands clawed, huge mouth opened to enable it to ply its great fangs upon the soft body of the vulgar human who had dared to be defiant. The vampire-lich had such great strength now that its leap carried it up and at the small man as if Imprimus were a spear shot by a ballista. Such speed and power were irresistible. The attack was so sudden and overwhelming that the leap took Imprimus to the impact in the span of a heartbeat, and its iron-hard hands grabbed its foe with viselike power.
“Too late!” The words echoed, but only in a dying mind.
“What becomes of one undead when it becomes dead?” Gord asked this question, but there was no reply. Imprimus’ nails tore the young man’s flesh as its hands slid slowly down Gord’s body. Even in death, if death it was, the terrible thing seemed determined to wreak vengeance.
The hilt of the crystalline sword protruded like a strange tongue from Imprimus’ mouth. The point of the sword was buried somewhere deep within the monster’s chest. Gord thrust the shriveling remains away with his foot, then watched in fascination as the once-mighty overlord of gloams withered and crumbled into a foul puddle of ooze. Then this too dried and nothing but a shrinking pile of blackish powder was left.
No, not quite all was gone. The crystalline sword remained, no trace of the foul vampire-lich evident upon its transparent blade. Actually, the sword was even brighter than it had been, more phosphorescent by far. “Of all this treasure,” Gord murmured, peering around him, “I take only this sword and what I sought when I came here. The rest is befouled by the stuff of Imprimus, but you, good blade, are yet clean!” Then, dagger sheathed and crystal sword in hand, the young thief began his search for the necklace of nine black stones.
Despite his fatigue and his wounds, Gord was determined to sift through Imprimus’ treasure hoard, piece by piece if necessary. It stood to reason that the black sapphires would be here; in a land of shadow, gems such as those would be prized above all other sorts, and this was the only treasure trove of any size he knew of in this realm. Not even the Shadowking kept anywhere near as many gems, pieces of jewelry, and other valuable items.
Doing his best to ignore his pain, Gord held the crystal sword in one hand as a light source and meticulously searched the floor, in case the platinum necklace had been among the handfuls of stuff he had flung at Imprimus. It was not to be found among the miscellany scattered around the chamber, so he turned to the remainder of the once-massive pile. Then a thought took shape in his mind.
Of course! If the sapphires in the necklace were as valued here as he supposed them to be, the throat-piece would not be frivolously cast into a pile-it would be in a revered place.
Moving faster than he should have considering his condition, Gord bounded to the sarcophagus where Imprimus had been spending his dormant period. As soon as he thrust the sword inside the coffin, he saw it. The necklace was laid out in a neat circle near the head of the box. as though Imprimus had been using it for a pillow. Even as he thought about the horrible thing that had until recently possessed them, and what else they probably had been through during the last many years, Gord felt a shudder of pleasure and awe as he lifted the necklace and viewed the nine black gems in their settings. Pleasure, awe… but not really recognition, and certainly not recollection. They were his -somehow he knew that-but he did not know how or why.
Gord gently rolled up the necklace and tucked it into a side pocket of the pouch that hung at his belt. Suppressing his emotions, he told himself that there was time later to ponder what to do with his prize; right now he still had to worry about making his way back out of this awful place.
The outer cave was dark. The strange lamp had burned out during his battle with the greater ghouls and the awful gloam-creature. Gord did not care, because the crystal blade illuminated his path. Each step was painful. The attacks of the vampiric lich had hurt him in both body and in soul. Gord felt tired and weak, and he hurt from the wounds inflicted by talons and teeth. It would be long before Gord recovered from the effects of this battle, and he knew it.
With steps that lagged more and more all the time, he traversed the length of the narrow tunnel and crawled eventually out into the cave where Imprimus had fed his ghoul and ghulaz hounds the leavings from his table-the bloodless corpses of those shadowfolk drained by his insatiable need for blood and lust for stolen life energy.
“Smokemane! Hotbreath!” No lion answered the call. Then Gord saw there were lions in the place, but they were dead. Some combat had occurred here during the time he was confronting Imprimus. The evidence showed that ghouls had returned, and gloams as well, for several of them lay torn and mangled among the half-dozen of the big cats who had died in the fighting with Imprimus’ minions. One was the huge old Smokemane, but of the other big lion, or the three missing lionesses there was no trace.
Taking a moment, Gord went to each of the slain cats, touching them tenderly, one by one. “Goodbye, friend and ally. May your journey through the infinite be forever peaceful and serene,” he murmured to each in turn. Then, the crystal sword shedding its pale light to show him the way, Gord left the charnel cave and followed the route that the fleeing ghouls had taken when he and his escort had first entered the place.