Laronius shot off down the hallway so fast he lost one of the fingers on his concrete right hand. He was so furious he hardly even noticed. He hated feeling like a fool, and that wizard brat had managed to humiliate him twice in mere seconds. And just at the moment he had been feeling so clever.

Of course he had never expected Shon to accept his offer to open the sanctuary, but he didn’t need to. Gravine had revealed that out of the twenty-seven enchantments and protections keeping him out of the sanctuary, there were only three left. One of those could only be broken if someone from inside the protection first declared aggression or an intention to fight back. Laronius thought it quite clever to maneuver Shon into a position where he would either have to give in, or declare his intent to resist.

He hadn’t counted on the insolent little upstart responding with a counteroffer. Especially not one so irresistible as a chance to claim the Sword of Wheat for himself. Had his desires really been so obvious that the wizard had figured it out himself? Or had his own thoughts betrayed him after guarding them for so long? Either way he was disgusted with himself for letting himself be bested by such an amateur.

But if taunting Laronius with his most secret desire was the injury that wounded his pride, it was the mental image that followed that served as the insult that finally set off his temper.

Of course Laronius knew exactly what symbol Shon was trying to show him. Obviously he knew it far better than the wizard himself did. After all, he had seen it in a hundred different places in the fortress. He had passed by them thousands of times as he obsessively explored the fortress each night, and the caverns below each day. He had used charcoal to make tracings of every carving in the wood or etched designs in the stone that predated Vdekshi’s stay in the fortress. He memorized every possible clue. If there was a design that appeared more than once, he would practice drawing it until he could recreate it by memory with his eyes closed.

He had even used his supernatural vampiric eyes to study the tiles and stones that bore the image Shon had so crudely show him. He had stared at every single one of them, straining his eyes to see even a trace of magical energy that might provide him with clues. There had been nothing. No magic, no clever mechanism to open a door, trigger a trap, or reveal a secret.

But somehow, maddeningly, that was clearly no longer the case. Laronius had been so focused on leading the attack on the sanctuary that he hadn’t noticed the shift in the fortress. To anyone else, the changes might not even be noticeable, even to Vdekshi. Shackles had fallen from the walls where he had secured them, and now sat already rusting and crumbling on the floor. Doors with locks he had added himself now swung wide open. Tapestries he had altered ever so subtly to amuse himself with a crude joke were now restored to their original patterns. It was as if the fortress itself was waking up and quietly shrugging off the changes of the last three quarters of a century.

And as further evidence that it was waking up, those tiles, stones, and wood carvings with the scythe symbol were certainly no longer mundane. He could practically feel them humming with magic, though it was no magic that he was familiar with. Something about it made him nervous to even touch it.

When he passed by a fireplace with the symbol carved on the mantle, he picked up a nearby poker and stabbed it into the spot where the wheat joined the blade and handle of the scythe. There was a jolt in his hand that held the iron poker, but he was unharmed. A moment later, the mantle slid upwards while the stones in the fireplace rearranged in a fluid motion, revealing a narrow entry to a hidden staircase leading to a tunnel of some kind.

As the horde of undead caught up to Laronius in the hallway, he frowned. To make their way through the narrow tunnel, his forces would have to move in single file. That would be no problem for the half dozen specters and phantoms that could pass through each other at will, but the lurching, simple-minded zombies that made up the bulk of his horde were already slow enough when spread out in a wide area. And the elite team of skeleton warriors he brought along were skilled fighters, but resisted moving in any way other than the complex battle positions they were drilled to fall into on command when they were still alive.

What was worse, as the entire horde finished reaching him, he realized that the more powerful the servants, such as the phantoms and specters, the less willing they were to approach anything with the symbol of the wheat and scythe on it. He couldn’t very well lead an undead army down the tunnels when the only ones actually useful to him wouldn’t come within a stone’s throw of the entrance.

He would have to go alone and unprepared unless he could find someone with enough brains to reason their way past the unsettling magic. In that regard, his options were extremely limited. Mutt could probably do it in theory, but he was far too much of a coward to make that choice, and he’d be ueless to Laronius anyway. Treshigan was plenty useful and certainly smart enough, though he would never tell her that. But he had no idea where she had gotten to in all the chaos, and he didn’t have time to both look for her and come up with a plan to manipulate her into helping him.

He needed some backup that he could count on to think and act and improvise in an unpredictable scenario, but also not waste any time questioning his commands. He needed someone with a mind of their own, without having a will of their own. He begrudgingly admitted to himself that maybe there was something to be said for the old days when Vdekshi’s forces were made up of a mix of undead servants and a few prisoners and slaves that were still alive.

That last thought made Laronius smile as he realized he had the perfect candidate to assist him with this task. He had planned on holding on to this opportunity for as long as possible, but the more he thought about the situation, the more he realized just how perfect it was.

Laronius commanded his horde to guard the entrance, then flew off like a catapult to the room where Vdekshi kept all his most important experiments and most sophisticated lab equipment. The sudden jolt made him lose another concrete finger, but he didn’t even care. He couldn’t wait to get started.

***

As Seth and Tarun took a turn at yet another intersection of seemingly identical stone hallways, Tarun felt another swell of gratitude for two things. First, he was grateful for the magical light provided by Seth’s lantern so they didn’t have try to navigate by flickering candlelight, or worse, no light at all. Second, he was grateful that Seth was the one in the front, and that he seemed to somehow know which way they were going, because Tarun felt completely lost.

“Why would anyone need so many crisscrossing tunnels underneath the stronghold?” Tarun asked stopped running for a moment to catch their breath. Tarun felt invigorated by the pace, but Seth’s face was red and wet with sweat from the exertion. The brief respite was clearly necessary.

“One of the main responsibilities of the clan patriarch was to wield the Sword of Wheat to protect the clan from threats,” Seth said between deep breaths. “But not every patriarch wanted to carry the Sword of Wheat on them at all times. These tunnels were built to ensure the patriarch should never be cut off from being able to get to the sword if caught unawares. Secret entrances to these tunnels were placed in many locations throughout the stronghold itself and the surrounding grounds. In the center of the tunnels is the patriarch’s private chamber where the Sword of Wheat would be kept when not worn. It should be the most secure area of the entire fortress during an attack.”

“How close are we to reaching this chamber?” Tarun asked. “It seems like we’ve been running for a while now.”

Seth silently considered the question for a moment, then closed his eyes and inhaled a long, deep breath. “It feels like we’re very close,” he said while opening his eyes. “I think the door to the chamber is just ahead.”

“Good,” said Tarun. “So we find the chamber, recover the Sword of Wheat, then fight our way to Shon and make it back to the chamber where we can take refuge for the night and figure out a plan for tomorrow?”

“Maybe,” said Seth with a shrug, getting ready to continue on again. “That sounds pretty reasonable. Honestly I’m just kind of taking this one step at a time and figuring it out as we go. I don’t really have much of a plan.”

“Well that makes two of us,” Tarun replied. “I guess we’ll just try and survive for now and see how far we get.”

Just then, they arrived at a stone door with thick steel hinges. In the center of the door was the image of the scythe bound by wheat. “Be ready with your axe, Tarun,” said Seth. “I believe it should be safe on the other side of this door, but there’s no way to know what’s on the other side.”

“I’m ready,” said Tarun.”

Seth brought his shillelagh to the symbol on the door and pushed. For a moment it seemed to glide open effortlessly, but then it stopped with the sound of wood scraping against stone. Something was blocking their way.

Just then, Tarun and Seth both heard Shon cry out in terror in their minds. “They’ve broken through!” Shon cried. “I don’t know how but the horde must have found another way in! Hurry!”

Seth was trying to force the door open, but it would hardly budge. “Out of the way, Seth!” Tarun said as he moved Seth to the side and stepped to the front to shove the door. “We have to hurry up and get out of here so we can go find Shon before it’s too late!” He gave a hard shove at the door, and it began to open. The screaming in their minds grew so loud they could practically hear it.

“We’re coming Shon, just hold on!” Tarun shouted as he gave one more mighty shove and the door finally opened enough for them to get through. There was some kind of cloth curtain hanging in front of him, making it hard for Tarun to see, so he started swinging his axe to get it out of the way. His axe struck wood and he swung again, this time chopping off a large chunk of whatever had been blocking their way.

Tarun took another step forward and emerged from behind a large four-post bed. He pulled at the violet cloth that his axe was now stuck in, there was a loud rip, and with a sink in his stomach, Tarun realized he could no longer hear Shon’s screams in his head.

Seth stepped in behind him and they looked around at their surroundings. It was definitely a private chamber, but Tarun had expected it to look abandoned and dusty. But this room was lit with numerous candles, the surfaces were clean, and there was a faint aroma of something sweet in the air. Also, there was an enormous minotaur lying sprawled out like a rug in the middle of the floor.

“Tarun, is that you?” asked Shon as he emerged from a hiding place under a nearby desk. He was holding an ornate silver staff with a large green crystal housed inside, and he looked simultaneously relieved and hysterical at the same time. “What are you doing crashing in here like that?!”

“Shon?” Tarun looked at his friend in disbelief. “How did you get in here? I thought you were holed up in Vdekshi’s sanctuary!”

“This IS Mendoji’s sanctuary!” Shon replied. “Why else do you think there’s a huge minotaur on the floor?”

“I guess it would make sense for him to use the patriarch’s chamber as his sanctuary,” said Seth, speaking in a quieter tone than both of them. “With so many protections already in place it probably made sense for him to just add a few more of his own.”

“But how could he have gotten in to make it is sanctuary in the first place?” Tarun asked. “I thought it was impossible for anyone but your clan’s patriarch to get in here.”

“During any kind of attack, yes,” said Seth. “And the patriarch is the only one who can open this secret back door from the passageway. But when there’s no threat to anyone, that front door is just a normal door with a normal lock.” Seth turned to Shon. “Nice to see you Shon! Do you need some healing? You’re not looking too good.”

Tarun then noticed that Shon’s face was exceptionally pale and sweaty, and his body was starting to shake uncontrollably. Seth and Tarun hurried over to him and took him by the shoulders. Tarun held him up while Seth brought his lantern up high and lightly touched Shon’s forehead with the top of his shillelagh. “Almetesi.” As Seth said the word of power, the light in the lantern grew brighter, and Shon’s eyes began to focus again.

Hearing the word reminded Tarun of when Seth had used the same word of power to heal the poisoned scar on his arm. Although it was only a few days ago, it seemed like so much longer. The rage he had felt from the effects of the dragon poison seemed increasingly distant.

“Wow,” Shon said, shaking his head. “Thanks Seth. I’m not sure what happened, but I was so confused a second ago. I don’t understand because I didn’t get hit on the head or anything but my mind was so…” Shon trailed off as his eyes widened. “Seth! You’re here! And you can heal! Hurry, I need you to use that word on Mendoji so I can wake him up!”

The three of them turned to look again at the minotaur on the ground. To their surprise, they saw Krall standing over Mendoji’s unconscious body.

Instead of the dragon hunting armor that Shon and Tarun had seen him wear while alive, the Krall standing before them was wearing nothing but a white sheet wrapped around his waist like a loin cloth. The orc’s dark green skin was now pale and splotchy green that had the appearance of lichen on a pile or rocks. His eyes were hazy and white rather than the deep brown they knew, and his expression was blank and emotionless rather than wise and inviting.

It was all wrong, and yet there was no denying that it was Krall. Reanimated and undead, but still Krall.

Seth raised his shillelagh in surprise and started to shout “Shurr-” but Tarun grabbed his arm to stop him from banishing his old mentor and friend. “No don’t, Seth!” Tarun shouted. Then more quietly he added, “Please.”

Seth looked ahead at the clearly undead orc in front of him, wondering what he should do. Krall silently brought a hand up, palm forward, as if trying to communicate something. Then that hand whipped out to Seth’s and before any of them could react to what was happening, Krall had wrenched the lantern out of Seth’s hand.

Krall then silently took a step backwards and Laronius walked out from behind the slightly torn and chopped bed that concealed the back entrance. At first Laronius came out clapping, but stopped when he noticed the dust falling off of his right hand. Instead he placed his hands behind his back and pretended not to notice.

“Well done, Krall,” Laronius said in a sing-song voice. “After all, we poor, vulnerable undead don’t really stand a chance with that unfair lantern around. I think this fight will be far more evenly matched without any cheap ‘Shurrahs’ thrown around, don’t you?”

Krall said nothing, but continued to stare straight ahead with a stony expression.

“You’ll have to forgive poor, Krall-y Wally,” said Laronius with mock concern. “He just hasn’t been the same since he bound his soul in service to me. Still, using his pathetic orc soul as my personal plaything has provided endless hours of entertainment.”

“How dare you,” Tarun fumed and started to step forward.

“Ah, ah, ah!” Laronius said, wagging a finger until he noticed the tip crack and fall off. “Not a step closer. One flick of my wrist, and your old friend here spends an eternity having his soul ripped apart by imps and hellhounds. One of the drawbacks of bargaining away your eternal soul to a necromancer, but that’s the price you pay when you’re desperate to hang on to existence a little longer.”

“You’re lying,” said Tarun. “I was there when Krall died. “He was brave and at peace. There was nothing desperate about him.”

“Maybe you’re right,” said Laronius, rolling his eyes. “Maybe I am lying. But are you willing to take that risk? I can offer you a trade instead. Shon here should know the terms by now. Give me the crystal, the staff, and Vdekshi, and I give you Krall. What do you say?”

“Why do you need Mendoji?” Shon asked, holding out the silver staff with the green gem at the top. “Why can’t you just take the staff and the crystal and be satisfied?”

A grotesque sneer of pure malice crossed Laronius’ face. “I will be dead before I allow that smelly oaf to be healed. He deserves to die miserable.” He turned to the expressionless orc. “I’m sure Krall would agree with me if he were in a more talkative mood.”

“I can’t make that deal,” said Shon. “It’s not about what Mendoji deserves. I made a promise to him that I would protect his body if he would trust me enough to go to sleep. I won’t betray that trust.”

Laronius made a gagging face. “Oh fine! As if I actually care that much.” He waved a hand at the hairy body at his feet. “Alright, you give me the staff and the crystal, and you can keep Vdekshi. Will you agree to that?”

“Alright,” Shon replied. “Deal.”

“Excellent,” said Laronius. “Krall, go fetch!”

Krall stepped forward silently and menacingly. As he stepped towards Shon, the wizard started to flinch away, but something Krall frowned. The frown surprised Shon. It was the first sign of emotion that Krall had shown that night, but it was an odd time to show emotion. Was this undead version of Krall actually sad that Shon had drawn away from him? Or maybe he didn’t like being told to fetch?

Then something clicked in Shon’s memory. He recalled when Solimar had pretended to treat Krall like a dog to diffuse the situation with the woodcutters. Krall had played along and given them the same sad, dumb expression he was giving Shon now.

Shon handed the staff over to Krall.

Krall brought the staff to Laronius, who grasped it tightly in his right hand. Green energy began to crackle and course up and down the staff and into Laronius. “Finally!!” Laronius cried with triumph. “Gravine, this prison is crumbling around you and you need a willing host for your soul. This is why you’ve been preparing me as your protege all these years. Now is the time to make good on your promise and grant me the power I bargained my soul for!”

The green light flooded out from the cracks in the crystal. “Very well,” came the booming, nauseating voice of Gravine. “Let our souls merge into one and together take vengeance on this world.”

Laronius looked down at the spearlike tip at the bottom of the silver staff, looked at the prone body of the minotaur, and then looked up at Shon. “You know, you’re a brat, but at least you’re a gullible brat,” Laronius mocked. “Just because I’m not going to take him doesn’t mean I was ever going to let him live.” With that, he thrust the silver staff downwards with all his strength.

Then everyone looked down at Mendoji. The sharp spike at the bottom of the staff was suspended an inch above the minotaur’s head, but would go no further. Faster than anyone had been able to see, Krall had shot out his left arm and caught the shaft of the staff just below Laronius’ hand.

Laronius looked down, confused. “What are you doing?” he demanded. “You’re only supposed to follow my orders, and I did not order you to do this!”

The orc opened his mouth, and though his face still looked mindless, to everyone’s surprise,  the deep, gravely voice of Krall emerged. “Hey Tarun. Do you remember the first advice I ever gave you the night that woodcutter was trying to cheat at arm wrestling?”

“You told me not to try to beat him right away,” said Tarun. “You told me to keep my arm straight, be ready whenever he starts, and not to expect everyone to play fair just because I do.”

Krall smiled. “So what do I do now?”

“Oh! Put his hand down on the table!” Shon shouted.

Krall’s smile widened into a toothy grin. “Good memory kid.”

The next moment, Krall shifted his stance to maximize his leverage, reached his other arm over to grab the top half of the staff, and yanked hard. There was the sound of grinding stone and a crack as Krall pulled the staff away so hard that Laronius’ concrete hand broke off, still clutching the staff. He tossed it over to Shon to get it out of reach from anyone else.

In one more fluid motion, Krall had picked up Seth’s lantern from behind Laronius, and tossed it back to its owner. Laronius lunged to try and stop the lantern, but Krall once again reached out an arm and grabbed Laronius by the back of the neck, then used his own momentum to smash him face-first into the wall behind them.

“You have NO IDEA how long I’ve wanted to do that!” Krall hollered. “Since the first time I had to look at that arrogant little grin of yours, I’ve dreamed of this. That alone was almost worth coming back from the dead for.”

Laronius lay on the ground, furious. His concrete flesh was cracked and crumbling, his demonic flesh was scraped and bruised. “How?!” he screamed. “We had a binding deal! One mission where you follow my orders, then you turn to dirt! What is this?”

“I don’t know if anybody told you,” said Krall, “but earlier tonight, all deals were somehow dropped and nullified. I just figured I’d have a better shot at getting in your way when it mattered if I just kept going along for long enough. Looks like it worked.”

Suddenly, there was an explosion behind Krall, and Shon shouted in pain. They all turned to see Shon clutching the right side of his face. The top of his head was burned and there was blood coming from under the hand that was holding his face. Jagged pieces of green crystal were sticking out of his forearm.

The green crystal was no longer in the staff. Its shattered remains were now scattered among the room. Sickly green vapor swirled around the room and the voice of Gravine seemed to boom from every direction. “Fools! The strain on my prison tonight was more than it could bear. I am once again free!”