724. Rolf (Patreon)

Eleanor's reflexes saved her, as her own blade parried the attack. Martel could not see what was taking place, but he heard the sound of metal clashing and ran forward to join her.

Rounding the corner, he saw the mageknight engaged with an enemy swordsman, who placed his hand on the wall and mumbled something. A symbol glowed underneath his palm, and Martel felt a burst of magic. Blue flames ignited the blade of their opponent.

Preparing a devastating spell, Martel instinctively reached out to sense the heat of his opponent as he always did, helping him land his attack. He felt the warmth of their enemy, and he realised that he did so for the first time since they entered the ruins.

Knowing Eleanor could defend herself, Martel delayed his spell. "Wait!" he called out. "Who are you?" The swordsman stepped back, out of Eleanor's reach, and exclaimed something that Martel did not understand. But he recognised the language; it was Tyrian. "You're the skáld," he continued. "The one who came here last summer."

The Tyrian approached cautiously, close enough to Martel's light that they could see an astonished look on his face. "Yes," he answered in Asterian. "How did you come here? Did you defeat him?"

"We entered through the basement door, and the sigils," Eleanor replied, keeping her blade up.

The skáld's eyes widened. "It is open? We must go!" He launched himself forward, and Eleanor stepped aside while raising her sword for a strike, except the bard ran past her and Martel. Exchanging looks, they followed after him at the same pace.

***

As the pair rushed after the Tyrian, Martel knew this could be another trap. He let Eleanor overtake him, and he saw magic shimmer around her in protection; the same thought had occurred to her, and she kept her blade drawn, despite how awkward it made it to run.

The bard ran too fast for Martel to be certain of their route, but he did get the sense they were retracing their steps back to the entrance. He assumed that the Tyrian would calm down once outside the tunnels. If he truly had been trapped in here for months, Martel did not blame him for his eagerness to leave.

The sound of scraping stone reached them, mingling with that of their own footsteps. Martel could not tell where this new noise came from; everything was winding corridors down here. "No!" the bard exclaimed, still running ahead of them. He moved with such speed, Martel had to use empowering magic to keep up. They turned several more corners, snaking through the dungeon, until the Tyrian came to such an abrupt halt, Eleanor nearly crashed into him. He fell to his knees and made a moaning sound like a wounded animal.

They stared at a dead end. Momentarily confused, in part because of the physical exertion, Martel looked at the nearest wall and saw a cross burned into the stonework. Suspecting the truth, he stepped forward and brought the light from his staff closer to the wall that blocked their progress. On the ground lay the large rock that Eleanor had used to block the door from closing. "How could this happen?" he mumbled.

"He watched you. Now you are trapped," the skáld muttered, still on his knees. Eleanor, meanwhile, sheathed her sword and began running her hands along the walls. "There must be a handle that opens it from this side."

The Tyrian got on his feet. "I have searched for months. You won't find it." He stared at them with resigned eyes. "There is a better place to speak. Come." He pushed past them, and with another look exchanged between them, the two Asterians followed, this time at a slower pace.

***

Once again, they moved through the twisting tunnels, going much further in than Martel and Eleanor had reached before. The Tyrian had drawn his blade again, clearly watchful; the Asterians mirrored him, keeping their weapons and spells ready for a fight.

At length, they rounded yet another corner and entered a small room. Martel noticed that as the only place he had seen so far below, this had a light of its own. On the walls, Archean letters glowed with a soft, blue hue, and he extinguished the light inside his own ruby.

"Welcome to my home. Humble as it is," the Tyrian spoke in bitter-sounding jest. "I am Rolf."

"I am Eleanor Fontaine."

"Martel."

The Tyrian sat down, leaning his back against the wall. "This is where I sleep. I have drawn many runes to fortify the place. We are safe here." He took deep breaths and stared into space.

Martel glanced around. In the faint glow from the wards, he could not make out any Tyrian runes, but he assumed the skáld spoke truthfully, considering he had survived down here this long. "Safe from what? What monster haunts these tunnels?"

"He is of the draugar. The dead that walk."

To be expected. But he had to be more dangerous than the mindless undead they had encountered elsewhere. Martel understood little of what a skáld was capable of, but he had magic and a sword; this had to be a formidable foe to force the Tyrian to retreat. "What kind? What powers does he possess to make you hide in here?"

"His eyes." Rolf looked up at them with his own, as blue as Martel's. "I looked into them, and I felt my will slip away."

That sounded odd. Martel could not recall hearing of such a creature. He had figured it might be another lich; one of the masters of the tower, willingly or not transformed into an undead much like the alchemist in the village. He glanced over at Eleanor. "Any idea what we face?"

"Master Fenrick once spoke of a creature rumoured to have mesmerising powers. An undead of body and mind, but lacking a soul." She swallowed. "A vampire."

Martel felt a shiver down his spine. They had no defensive spellcraft against something like that. Could they defeat an enemy whom they could not even look at? Worse than that, did they have a choice? It seemed they were trapped down here.

As if reminded of their situation, Martel's stomach growled. They had food with them for a day or two, but less water. "What have you eaten all this time?"

Rolf looked up at him. "Rats. Moss."

"Delightful." Martel took out a strip of dried meat and gave it to the bard, who began tearing it apart with his teeth.

"Wait, how did you enter?" Eleanor stared at the bard. "You could not have gotten past the entrance on your own."

Rolf ceased chewing. "There's another way in. A deep shaft that leads directly into the heart of the labyrinth. Which is also the lair of the draugr."

Martel's heartbeat increased. "So there's a way out? We're not trapped?"

"The creature knows this as well. That's why he makes it his dwelling. He does not sleep," the skáld declared, and he rose to his feet. "Every time I've tried to approach, he catches me, and I spend all my magic just to flee. He hides in the shadows and strikes unseen, and I'm powerless to fight him. It's the weakness of the skáld."

"What do you mean?" Eleanor asked.

"My galdr. My song." Rolf looked from one to the other. "Magic lies in my words, but they cannot affect me. I can free others from his gaze, but not myself."

"Well," the mageknight declared with a look at her battlemage companion, "you are not alone any longer."

Martel nodded. But since they had safe harbour for now, there was no need to rush. While he could not tell daylight below ground, it had to be late in the evening at this point. "We should rest. We will need all our strength."

~~

Martel's character sheet (no change).