Such an attack would do little to harm a revenant. They felt no pain and had no vital organs to pierce. They could not be killed by sundering their hearts or by loss of blood. The magic that animated them cared little for the state of their bodies, as it only wanted one thing-revenge. The revenant opened wide its mouth as if to mock Croy for such a pointless attack.
Croy knew what he was doing, though. He twisted Ghostcutter to the side, hard, and the revenant was jerked off his feet. He dropped in a heap of bronze armor and emaciated flesh. Croy jumped with both feet on its throat and felt the sickening crunch as the revenant’s head parted from its body.
Its bony arms reached up to grab his legs, even still. Croy was ready and leapt away, Ghostcutter already swinging to strike the headless revenant in its chest. The other had been approaching steadily, waiting for an opening in Croy’s defense. Maybe it thought it had found its moment, but this time at least it was wrong.
Morget’s earlier axe blow had already chopped the headless revenant near in half. Croy’s blow finished the job. With a great clatter of bronze on the cobblestones, the headless revenant fell in two pieces, both twitching with rage.
Neither of Croy’s opponents was finished-it took a long time to completely destroy a revenant, and a strong stomach-but he had bought himself enough time to look around and see what else was happening.
Morget was on his knees, his hands clutching desperately at his throat. Malden had managed to use Acidtongue to cut the skull-face’s arms off at the wrists, and the thief was chopping the handless body to pieces with the magic sword. The disembodied hands were still wrapped tight around the barbarian’s windpipe, however. They were already dead-being severed from their body wouldn’t stop them.
Morget’s face was turning purple. His eyes stood out of his head and his red-stained lips were pulled back in a grimace of agony. In an incredible display of fortitude, he managed to grasp one finger of the bony hands and tear it from its joint. He cast it away from him, into the darkness.
Croy jumped in and helped as best he could, pulling the fingers away from Morget’s flesh as the barbarian thrashed and heaved. Morget was getting no air, though, and soon would suffocate if they couldn’t get him free.
“Stand back,” Cythera insisted, coming up behind Croy. “Damn you, get back! I can help him.” Croy did as he was told and let her lay her hands over the bony digits that were choking the life out of Morget. She closed her eyes and spoke some magic words-or perhaps just a prayer. Then she let out a deep gasp and staggered backward. The bony hands fell away from Morget’s throat, completely lifeless now.
Cythera’s own hands writhed with dark tattoos. No flowers this time-only thorn vines and briars.
“They burn,” she said. “So cold…”
The barbarian gasped for breath, but he was already moving. He grabbed the now headless lead revenant by the ankle and swung it around in a great arc. The revenant tried to snatch at Morget, but before he could find purchase the barbarian had cast it over the edge of the pit. It disappeared instantly, and a few seconds later Croy heard a great splash from below. Morget repeated this performance with the two halves of the headless revenant and the severed head of the leader.
And suddenly the five of them were alone again in the dark, all of them wheezing with exhaustion and fear.
“Is that the last of them?” Slag asked. The dwarf had a lantern in either hand, and he waved them around, trying to illuminate the vast open space. The candles inside the lanterns fluttered and sighed, and one of them went out. Slag shrieked and set it down, then rummaged desperately in his pack for flint and steel to get it going again.
Croy wanted to comfort and reassure the dwarf, but he was exhausted and pained by his wound. He could only listen to his heart pound in his chest and try to breathe. Then he saw Cythera staring at her hands and started dragging himself over toward her, to help in any way he could.
Morget staggered over to where Malden stood, still gripping Acidtongue in both hands. Drops of vitriol spattered the cobblestones and made them smoke at Malden’s feet.
Malden looked up at Morget as if he expected the barbarian to strike him down where he stood, for not having saved him.
The barbarian stared back into the thief’s eyes, his huge body pulsing with life. Then he slapped Malden hard on the back.
The blow sent Malden sprawling forward, to almost crash on his face. He caught his footing and whirled around with Acidtongue up and ready.
Morget let out one of his booming laughs, this one hoarse and painful-sounding but no less enormous. “We have fought together,” he told Malden, “and I call you brother! You may now touch me, without causing offense.”
“Maybe later,” Malden said.
Chapter Thirty-six
“Do you hear any more of them?” Morget asked, when they’d all had a chance to catch their breath.
Croy shook his head and went back to tending Cythera’s hands. She clenched and opened them stiffly as if they pained her greatly, letting out a little gasp with each motion. The skin under the tattoos was red and irritated. He blew on them and then rubbed them briskly, surprised to find them still ice cold.
She favored him with a smile. “They’re already warming up again.”
“I hate to see you suffer, even for a moment,” Croy said, and delighted in the way her face lit up. “Tell me- how did you do that? I thought you knew only a few simple magics, but you worked a little miracle there.”
She shrugged her slim shoulders. “It occurred to me that a revenant is, in essence, a walking curse. There is no curse I cannot absorb with my gift.” She laughed, a little. “It was worth the attempt, anyway. I did not expect it would hurt so much, though. I could feel the thing’s hatred when I touched it. It despises all life-wants nothing but to destroy us and all our kind. They would never have stopped if we hadn’t fought them off. That kind of retributive magic is dangerous stuff.”
“Will you be all right?”
She closed her eyes and leaned her head against his chest. “I think so. But Croy, this worries me. The kind of magic I felt there-it’s not natural.”
“There can be nothing natural about the dead coming back to life,” Morget said. “Death is my mother, and I know her ways. I’ve looked into the eyes of many men as they perished, and-”
“Please,” Cythera said, interrupting him. “Let me finish. The magic I touched wasn’t human magic. Not witchcraft, or sorcery.”
Croy frowned. “But isn’t that to be expected? They’re revenants. We all know the old stories about such. It takes no spell to call forth a revenant. When a man-or an elf, presumably-dies as the cause of gross injustice, sometimes his soul refuses to depart this world. It reinvests its mortal form, and though it cannot stop the inevitable decay of the flesh, it can grant some semblance of life, for just long enough to claim vengeance.”
Cythera nodded. “Aye, we know the story. Yet I always thought it was just that. A story. It occurred to me the first time I heard it that if every man who ever died by foul play came back as a revenant, the world would be choked with them by now. No, I don’t think those were simple spirits of justice we faced. Or rather, it was not the circumstances of their death that brought them back. I’m certain that magic had some part in it. But that only raises another question. Who cast the spell?”
“Questions that perhaps will be answered in the fullness of time,” Croy said.
“But perhaps we’ve gained one answer,” Malden pointed out. “We know someone tended the trap we found at the first doorway. Now we know who it was.”
“Are you sure?” Slag asked. “They didn’t seem like the mechanical types, if you ask me.”
“I’m certain,” Malden said. “We knew there was something active down here. Something that wished us ill. Now we’ve found it, and overcome it. We should find no more resistance after this, I think.”
Croy wished he shared the thief’s optimism. “I’m just glad we all survived, and that we’re safe. We can rest now, I think, and-”
He stopped speaking then, because he could have sworn he heard something.
