Arn, Red, Finnegan and Anya slipped into the tavern from the rain, looking at the sparse crowd. The barkeep cast a glance at them and resumed cleaning mugs, as the quartet sauntered towards a table in the corner, where a scruffy, old man sat, halfway leaning on a staff, halfway perched on the stool.

"I take it you're Ziro, the wizard?"

Arn looked down at the rather sorry-looking character at the table, wondering if they would be better off with a sober wizard instead.

"I am. Excuse me while I do away with the illusion..." The old wreck suddenly sat tall, years of age and stains of spilled beverages fading like stars at dawn. "Sorry about that; I find it convenient to look like a drunken sob when I have meetings in taverns. Less conspicuous, as I'm sure you understand. People are disinclined to take lightly on spellcasting in drinking establishments."

Red and Anya sat down, pulling up a small pouch of coin. "We understand you've done a fair bit of mercenary work. Would you be interested in a job with us?"

Ziro smiled. "Maybe. What's the purpose?"

Finnegan glowered, fists clenched in anger. "We're going for Zimbel, the Necromancer. He's got a stronghold about a week's march from here."

"You four mean to take me along on a suicide mission to kill the most insidious evil magician on the continent? For what?"

Arn sighed. "Finnegan's parents were killed by his undead shock troops, Red seeks revenge for his wife and children, and Anya and myself are in it to help Finnegan and Red."

"So basically, you have no definite plans, aside from killing the old sod? Sounds fair - but I'll want access to his library, then. In addition to the cash fee."

Arn nodded. "You have a deal. Ten gold pieces now, for immediate expenses, and two for every day of the journey, plus a fifty gold piece minimum fee, to be paid upon the return of the party."

Ziro grinned and stuck out his hand. "Deal."

Red slowly picked the best feathers from the goose, adding them to his little box of equipment. Ziro raised a curious brow.

"You're an archer?"

"Yep. Hunter, actually."

"This may sound like a silly question, but seeing as we're going up against a necromancer and his undead army, what good will arrows do?"

Red grinned, pulling out an arrow from a second quiver. The arrow had what looked like an iron apple at the tip, rather than the standard arrowhead. "I had these specially made and enchanted to fly straight. These will break dried bones as well as any hammer."

"Ah, ingenious. But we should get moving. The stronghold's six days off yet, and we also have to cross the Shirtic River."

Red nodded and discarded the rest of the feathers among the unfortunate bird's bones before joining up with the others, stomping along the path.

"So, Anya, what's your real motivation to come along?"

Ziro smiled faintly at the young assassin, who looked perpetually more infuriated as they got closer to their goal. She glared at him.

"I came because Finnegan's a very good friend of mine. And because I absolutely hate necromancers."

"Why would you hate necromancers?"

"Very simple. I'm an assassin. I kill people for money. Necromancers have cost me at least five bounties, when the people I had taken down were up and running again within the week. It's just business."

Arn frowned. "You never told us this, Anya."

"Well, nobody asked, did they?"

Ziro grinned. "Well, personally, I don't see much good in the walking dead. I mean, they stink, they're pretty much brainless, and they don't hold good conversations."

Next morning, they stood by the bridge spanning the Shirtic River. Or rather, the pitiful remnants of the bridge. What had once been a perfectly functional bridge was now reduced to a pair of ropes, one above the other, and a few planks at random intervals. Arn sighed and fished out a length of rope, tying one end of it around himself, and the other to a tree before beginning to make his way across, oblivious to any protests. Finnegan grimaced.

"Typical arrogant fighter. Never checks all options, but just rushes in."

Ziro arched an eyebrow. "Really? And what suggestion might you have?"

"Well, for once, I'd check upstream and downstream for narrower crossing points."

"There are none. Trust me."

"Uh, okay. Then I'd see if it were possible to cross down at the river."

"No way. The fish there - and that's stretching the term 'fish', would eat you alive in minutes. And there's nothing to hold on to, either."

Finnegan snorted. "So, what would you suggest then, oh high and mighty wizard-for-hire?"

Ziro smirked. "Glad you asked."

Ziro concentrated for a few seconds, and his eyes started glowing a faint blue, then the four of them hovered above the ground for a moment and slid across the river, waiting patiently for Arn to finish his acrobatic feat.

Arn grimaced. "I don't trust magic, anyway."

There was a brief silence as the bridge's foundation on the other side slipped loose, and the ropes dangled limply over the chasm's edge.

"Perhaps you should."

They set up camp half a day's march from the stronghold, the scent of roast boar slowly spreading; Red had managed to kill a wild boar with two piglets earlier. As they sat there, a tiny, huddled, cloaked figure stepped out of the forest.

"Care to spare a bit of your meal for an old crone?"

Finnegan looked up and nudged Anya in the ribs. "Certainly; it is only good fortune to be gained from aiding the less fortunate."

Anya snorted and cut out a goodly chunk from the big boar, handing it over.

"Bless your heart, child." A pair of pale, almost skeletal old hands gripped the bit of meat, and it disappeared under the hood, the chewing audible. After a few moments, the hands came back into vision, and the figure belched loudly. "In gratitude, I will read your fates... Collectively or individually, whichever you choose."

The figure pulled back its hood, revealing a face mostly resembling an ancient pine, wrinkled and dry. The five debated briefly. Arn nodded and approached.

"Collectively. We want to know if we get to kill Zimbel."

The crone nodded, and stared into the fire. "Very well... I see that you reach the castle, not sure whether you still can trust one another. One of you will be separated from the others by deception, one will disappear through an unseen mechanism, one will vanish by magic, one will be defeated by illusion, and the last will fall to the many. But beware, there is one among you who should not be trusted; one whose motives are not as they seem..."

The silence lingered as the old crone turned into smoke and drifted away. Ziro scratched his chin. "I don't care who can or can't be trusted. If I don't get my dues afterwards, I'll be upset. And upset wizards are unhealthy."

Anya nodded. "Besides, no mortal can vanish like that... she probably was some sort of ghost controlled by Zimbel, anyway."

Around midday the next day, they stood before the gate, looking warily at one another. Clearing his throat loudly, Finnegan checked the door's locks, laughing out loud as he fiddled with the mechanism, pushing the doors open.

"This is hardly a lock! I could open it with a fingertip!"

Inside the entrance hall, the dust lay thick, only a few sets of footprints visible here and there, none of which were made by humans. Or at least, living humans.

"Whoever does Zimbel's cleaning must be doing a sloppy job." Arn sighed, looking closer at the floor by the wall. "And good thing for us, too - there was something standing here recently. Possibly a table of some sort. By the looks of these prints... something moved the table into another room."

"What an odd thing to do..."

"Not if Zimbel knew we were coming for him. He might have decided to barricade himself behind an army of the undead."

They strode inwards, entering the next room. It was an entrance hall of some sort, with four doors leading out, including the one they arrived through. Finnegan grimaced.

"So, which way do we go?"

Ziro looked at the floor. At the footprints that went into the door on the left. "I say we check out the door on the left. Who goes?"

They looked blankly at him.

"Oh, do come on. I'll go, but I won't go alone."

Finnegan sighed, pushing the door open and peering inside. "Looks like some sort of laboratory."

Ziro pushed past him. "Laboratory? Let me see!"

As Ziro stomped in, reaching for the books, the door slammed shut. After a few seconds, the others could hear his voice, panicky. "Oh, bugger... The walls seem to be coming closer... I... think I fell for a trap mechanism."

A few brief screams later, and a horrible crushing noise followed by a slow trickle of blood seeping out under the door, Red slowly took of his hat, tracing the sign of Eternal Peace on the door. Arn followed suit before pushing open the opposing door.

"Well, we better get moving. If there are any creatures alive and roaming, we better not stay in one place."

Slithering down the little corridor Finnegan finally smiled, having examined both the door at the other end and all the walls. "There's no trap here, at least."

He opened the door... and vanished , gripped by what appeared to be a dozen skeletal hands and dragged in.

Anya grimaced. "I think we take door number three... He fell to the many."

Red nodded and opened the last door, stepping into a grand throne room. It looked as though it had been abandoned recently. Here were more doors to pass through, and they spotted a small rag of fine velvet stuck in one of the doorways, apparently torn off during a hasty retreat. Anya rushed to the door.

"That's where he is, I know it!"

She yanked open the door, and met a mirror. Before she had any time to speak, her reflection reached out and pulled her in, the door slamming shut behind her. Red and Arn blinked in disbelief when a thick, red tongue appeared, tracing the door's outline.

"I'd say that was the magic trap, wouldn't you?"

"Yep."

They slowly turned to one another, as the sound of marching, skeletal feet could be heard.

"Here comes the shock troops, I fear."

The great doors behind the throne swung open, and an immense number of skeletons appeared, all armed with clubs and shields, rushing forward with uncanny speed. Red sent arrows flying at the undead horde, but it didn't slow them down any. Eventually, Arn was surrounded, the skeletons seemingly not noticing that his mace was swinging through them. Red stared blankly as his arrows could be seen piled up by the walls, and Arn disappeared in the mist. There was a dull thump. All the skeletons disappeared except one... which dragged Arn's unconscious body away through the doorway. Red swore loudly.

"He got defeated by illusions! Then it's just deception left for me."

Red started picking up his arrows, preparing to go after the skeleton, when he heard a strange clicking sound. Turning toward it, he saw a carpet move down through the throne room towards him... A carpet? No... not a carpet... Cockroaches. Big ones, too, and millions of them! As they swarmed over him, Red felt his consciousness and sanity both struggle to hold on, not certain which would go first...

Arn, Anya, Finnegan and Red slowly awoke to the chirping of a bird, looking at one another across the tiny cell they were stuck in, chained to the walls. Red looked down, noting that they were all stripped and clad merely in loincloths.

"Well, we're almost naked, we're stuck in a prison cell in what seems to be a tower, judging by the sound... and we're all alive, except the wizard. Does anyone know how we got here?"

The three others shook their heads, as the door slid open, and a skeletal warden stepped up to each of them, inspecting the locks and poking at their midsections. Then, they heard a voice outside.

"Excellent. All of them in good condition; they will make excellent mindless slaves."

They saw a tall, imposing figure in a hooded black robe clasped shut with silver brooches, and dark purple sigils stitched onto the fabric.

"When I first met you, I knew you'd be the perfect candidates... That was why I got you here in the first place."

Red gasped. "Met us? Do we even know you?"

The figure pulled the hood back and grinned. "Well, you did pay me to help you get here. I'm almost sorry I had to trick you, but... well, it's a hobby of mine, I guess."

"Ziro!"

"Yes. Or rather, Zimbel, as I'm best known. What, did you really think I could be as deceptive, insidious and powerful as I am just by sitting on my throne all day? Tsk; I truly must keep an active eye on things, lest something could sneak up on me."

As Zimbel strode out, laughing, the four looked in terror at each other, knowing that their lives were nearly over... and that it would only be the beginning...

I'd like to make a comment about this article.

This page has been visited Hit Counter times.

<a href='/phpAdsNew-rc3/adclick.php?n=a7d13184' target='_blank'><img src='/phpAdsNew-rc3/adview.php?what=zone:1&amp;n=a7d13184' border='0' alt=''></a>

Betrayal

Copyright © 2002 By Warpmind de InzanE