Chapter 98 - Plague Priests, Part 12

Elysia heard her echo out Frey's war cry, and turning she saw him struggling with the newcomers. Apparently, she had little time left to act, so she, after directing a prayer to any god that would listen to her. She felt the heat beneath her and the sickening fumes from her cauldron caressed her face as she passed through them; however, her feet hit the priest's face and they both fell to the ground.

The priest's incantation was cut short, though he reacted with surprising speed for one so decrepit, and he sprang to his feet as if on springs.

Elysia swung out with her sword, but the ratfolk leaped back and brought her bone staff down in a lightning-fast arc, which would have crushed Elysia's skull had it not moved to the side of her.

The catgirl scrambled to her feet and began to describe a cautious circle, looking for a gap in the enemy's defense. From behind the cauldron, out of her sight, came sounds of monstrous carnage; she hoped that Frey was decimating the Plague priests. To her surprise, and unlike most lone ratfolk she had fought, the priest attacked with speed and virulence.

Elysia parried another swing of the staff with her sword, surprised at the speed and force with which it was swung, for the force of her impact nearly ripped the sword from her hand. A second blow caught her knuckles, and this time she dropped her weapon. A nasty, oily high-pitched chuckle escaped the ratfolk's lips at the shocked expression on Elysia's face.

"Go dead! Go dead! Stupid thing!" she squealed in common mispronounced.

The staff came down once more, though this time the catgirl managed to move away from it to the side of her, whereupon the weapon impacted on the area of the ground that she had occupied moments before. To prevent the ratfolk from wielding the staff again, Elysia lunged for it, and within a second she found herself wrestling with the ratfolk priest over possession of the weapon. The creature's strength was far greater than Elysia had calculated, and her jaws closed just a millimeter from her face. The sight of stinking saliva dripping from those broken fangs of hers made Elysia shudder, though she continued to fight with a force born of terror.

She then had the advantage of her greater volume. She was taller and much more skilled in close combat than the wasted creature, and she used that advantage to rotate around and tow her away.

When she had it in the right direction, she stopped tugging on the staff to push it. The startled ratfolk staggered back, squealing as his back slammed into the hot metal of the cauldron. Immediately, the catgirl reached down, grabbed his feet and lifted him up, and with a tremendous momentum, she managed to force the ratfolk chieftain into her own concoction.

For a moment, she disappeared from sight below the surface of the boiling potion, but then she burst to the surface; she was gasping for air, the horrible liquid dripping from her jaws. Desperately, she tried to climb over the edge of the cauldron to get out of it, but Elysia caught the staff and smashed it on her head, sending her back under. Then, probing the potion with the staff, she felt the kicking ratfolk move, so she pinned it against the bottom in one swift motion, then leaned on the weapon with all her weight. The ratfolk tried to push from the end of her to shake him off, but Elysia was stronger.

Little by little, the fighting ceased, and at last the cat girl relaxed and breathed easily. Looking down from the platform she stood on, she saw the dark hero slash with his sword, decapitating the last of the priests. The corpses of the others lay at her feet in various states of dismemberment. He looked up at Elysia and seemed almost disappointed to find that she was still alive. The catgirl smiled at him and jerked her thumb up at the top of her.

At that moment, something horrible emerged from the cauldron before her.

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Broodvil felt terrible. He had swallowed so much of the potion that he felt like he was going to explode. He had taken so many blows from that damned female that even he felt pain. And worse still, he had been about to be drowned like a rat; yes, like a rat.

It had seemed to her that an eternity passed while the cruel female unloaded her weight on Caldovil's own staff. At last, she had given him the chance to surface.

A quick glance around him told him that all was lost. His acolytes lay dead on the stone flags, and the fierce-looking armored warrior wielding that massive sword was running toward him. Caldovil had the feeling that he had barely been able to defend himself against the female, and that against the two of them he wouldn't have the slightest chance.

At that moment, the surprised-looking female was recovering and leaning down to pick up the sword, and Caldovil knew that he would have only one chance to act. He flung his arms into the air, gathered all of his power, and called upon the power of the Great Rat God to save him.

For a moment, nothing happened, and Caldovil thought that everything was over. As the sword arced toward him, he kept his eyes open, forcing himself to watch the approach of his own death. But then he felt a faint tingle encircle his body, and he knew that the Great Rat God had answered his prayer.

♦ ♦ ♦

Elysia slashed out with her sword, determined not to make a mistake this time. The disgusting priest would die this time, and she was going to chop him up to make sure he did. The ratfolk screeched what Elysia hoped was a plea for mercy…and then something strange happened.

An unearthly glow surrounded the ratfolk. Elysia tried to stop the sword because she feared an enchantment even more harmful than the previous ones; However, it was too late. As she watched, the sword struck, but something strange happened. Space seemed to fold around the priest, and he shimmered and vanished with a small pop, like a bursting bubble.

Elysia nearly lost her balance as the sword passed through the void that moments before had been occupied by the wererat.

"Damn it," she muttered, and she spat in frustration.

"It makes me furious that this happens," Frey muttered, looking dolefully at the space where the ratfolk had been.

Elysia cursed and began muttering vitriolic invectives of a lady, as if the sheer force of her imprecations could bring the ratfolk back to execute him. She jumped off the platform and kicked the severed head of a priest, just to vent the frustration she felt. She then looked at the dark hero and found, to her surprise, that he was looking at the cauldron with an almost meditative expression.

"Well, cat girl." she said she. "What are we going to do with this?"

Elysia studied the surroundings. The chamber was littered with corpses, the graves broken and opened, and the huge cauldron filled with the nauseating and contagious potion, which she continued to boil. The cages that held the rats had been broken at some point in the fighting, and a few beasts lurked in the shadows. The others had disappeared.

Elysia herself was a mess. Her clothes were covered in blood and pus and the disgusting substances that dying ratmen exuded, and her hair was sticky and filthy.

The dark hero looked no better. He was bleeding from a dozen minor cuts and filth covered his entire body. Instinct told Elysia that they must be cleaned up as soon as possible, and that those bites and cuts must be treated by Niccolev, or they could become infected.

The main problem, however, was the cauldron. If the catgirl's suspicions proved true, she posed a threat to the city equivalent to a ratfolk army, or perhaps worse, because at least an army could be fought against.

Unfortunately, Elysia was even less adept at dark magic than she was at pestilential diseases. It seemed obvious that she had to destroy this potion in a way that would render it harmless, but how?

Throwing it into the river could do more harm than good. If she was just left there, the ratfolks could come back and pick her up whenever she wanted. It was evident that they had their secret entrances to the cemetery, and could come and go as they pleased, and in addition their sorcery allowed them, apparently, to appear and disappear as they pleased. Nor was there any obvious means by which they could set fire to the tomb.

As he considered all these things, he realized that the dark hero had ideas of his own.

While Elysia was thinking, Frey had already started prying the sword under the cauldron to tip it over. The infectious potion spilled across the platform and onto the floor; the festering corpses of the ratmen were submerged in a foul puddle. Finally, the cauldron ended up falling on its side, and then it was upside down.

"What are you doing?" Elysia asked.

"Destroy that pestilential thing!"

Frey raised the greatsword Lævateinn over his head and brought it down on the cauldron. Sparks flew and a chime rang through the chamber as star metal impacted against mage-wrought iron.

Frey's sword pierced the side of the cauldron, and a huge spark flew, followed by a burst of magical energy, as the vessel shattered into a thousand pieces.

It was then that she knew, to destroy an artifact requires another artifact of equal or greater power.

Elysia covered her eyes with her arm as bits of metal flew like shrapnel everywhere; different impacts increased the number of injuries she already had.

The swirling wave of energy swept through the chamber. Sparks flew and the corpses began to burn.

Elysia was surprised to see the dark hero standing there, apparently shocked at the result of what she had done. She then she felt something burn against her chest. She realized that it was the talisman that Niccolev had given her; apparently she had overheated from the effort she was making to shield him from the energy that had been unleashed.

"Let's get out of here!" the catgirl yelled, and the two of them charged toward the entrance through a fiery curtain of magical energy.

♦ ♦ ♦

Elysia watched her old clothes burn. She had scrubbed herself a dozen times with harsh soap, and she still wasn't sure she had completely rid her body of the corruption of the graveyard.

She squeezed the ward pomegranate tightly, hoping it would be effective against the plague. At least she had cooled down. She pushed away the memory of the events of the previous night. The journey back from the cemetery had been painful, as she had had to help the dark hero, who limped when walking, to reach Doctor Niccolev's door.

Frey lumbered into the courtyard. His wounds had been treated with some kind of ointment, and he, too, was wearing one of Niccolev's amulets.

"What did you expect?" she asked sourly. "Dying from a plague is not a dignified death for a hero."

♦ ♦ ♦

Felbroth looked around her. It was dark for him, but somehow she knew he was back in the Underways. The Great Rat God had heard his prayer, and the escape summons had worked. It seemed obvious to Caldovil that his lord had preserved his humblest servant for some specific reason; probably so that he would expose the vile traitor to the deity's cause who had revealed the pontiff's plans to that pair of damned meddlers.

On closer consideration, it seemed likely, even to as humble an intelligence as his, that these two could never have found the carefully concealed burrow if they hadn't had someone's help. She had been carefully chosen, hidden and surrounded by spells that prevented any magical scrutiny; for the best counter-divination measures known to her were employed.

No, those two meddling fools should have been helped; there was no way they had just stumbled upon the burrow by chance.

Felcald swore that she would discover the traitor, even if it took the rest of her life to do so. When she found that treacherous ratman she would make him enjoy a slow and excruciating death.

As he began the long walk back to the ratfolk army, Caldovil realized that he had a clear idea of the sector where he should start investigating. He limped into the ratfolk camp, heedless of the number of warriors who coughed and sneezed as he passed.