Chapter 37. The Pack

o one complained when Orick took charge. He was their warrior; it was his job to think tactically. Currently they did not know what they were up against or how long they might be without the support of Crystal Palm. First he obtained a description of every available entrance into the compound and determined that one of the two needed to be barricaded. Then, gathering the servants, they sent away the young and infirm and asked only for those willing to fight to remain behind. Surprisingly, everyone who was able took up staves and all available weapons in the practice arena were stashed inside the hall.

Orick might have felt more confident of their chances had he a clue what they might be facing. Initially he was afraid of offending their host. Zhou would certainly look askance at their fortifications but Orick decided he would rather face an angry guild leader than the possibility of innocent people being slain or possessed. Something bad was coming; they all sensed it, even before Orick had ordered them to prepare for battle. If Ashekoroth was going to choose a moment to strike, it would be now while the guild was weak.

But the city bell chimed the hours and nothing happened. Brekke labored over the tomes looking for clues that might help them better prepare. At some point Uriel had convinced her to clear the floor of the study and recreate the circle that Zhou had used to contain the demon, reasoning that it might be their only means of protection against a creature that did not bleed or draw breath and seemed to feed off of chaos and fear.

“Water,” Uriel murmured to herself as they worked, “It follows the path of least resistance and prefers to flow where it has flowed before. We should ward anyone who has already had contact with it. Bring Teleri and Mabane into the circle. Brekke, you should stay here, too.”

Uriel was garbed now in a fiery red gown shimmering with tiny flakes of diamond that flashed like stars over a mist of translucent silk. A diadem of flame rested upon her brow and she chanted softly, calling upon the realm of fire to wreathe her with its capricious might. Kantele and Brekke wore steely masks, choosing now to focus upon spells that would disrupt and beguile rather than strike directly. Orick was also arrayed for battle in his black cloisonné engraved Kurzick plate. A mighty gothic sword was slung over his back, loose in its scabbard and ready to leap into his hand at will.

Nandao watched and waited, praying softly. He muttered about his failing luck and paced, pale and forlorn. Orick watched the monk moving restlessly about the compound, his staff at the ready but his heart clearly not in it. He feared failure and the anger of Zhou.

“It may be that we never see our foe this night,” Orick told him, “and Zhou does not seem one to keep a grudge. Do not fret, my friend.”

Nandao nodded, resisting the urge to make his usual bland retort. They listened to the clock tower strike eleven bells. All around the city lanterns glowed and the denizens of the evening hours emerged from their tenements and homes to stroll Kaineng’s sleepless streets. For the most part, however, the city slept, oblivious of the drama unfolding in the compound of one of Cantha’s most revered and respected guilds.

The attack began shortly thereafter with a low tolling howl as of the wind on a stormy sea. The sound caused their skin to crawl and filled them all with dread. It was a primal sound, menacing and potent. It spoke of shipwreck and cold, drowned fishermen and desolate shores. Orick watched in horror as the round gate glowed an unearthly blue and the wards upon it shattered one after another. Kantele and Uriel were with him and a half dozen of the sturdiest servants bearing staves. Nandao chanted quietly, praying for peace and harmony to shower its blessings upon him. Glowing under the pale enchantment, the monk’s fear was evident as he backed away from the gate and awaited Orick’s command.

The gate, though it was forged of wood and steel, shattered like glass in a crack of blinding light that rent the very sky asunder. Orick called them back a moment before another lightning strike blazed in their midst, narrowly missing them but grounding itself on the low sweep of the entryway roof with a clatter of blue tiles. They expected to see Ashekoroth’s stolen form fill the now gaping entrance but instead, a slavering pack of snarling hounds issued through the opening, pale as moonlight and cold as death. Translucent and fierce, they were no mere dogs, but monstrosities wrought from flesh and sea foam, bone and flotsam. Gimlet eyes burned with hatred, focused only upon killing.

Nandao’s enchantment flowed around Orick’s form as the first three beasts slammed into him like a crashing wave. His sword flashed in the dimness, shuddering in his grasp as he swung, casting one aside while a second was sliced open, its rotting guts and black ichors splattering him and hissing icily where it landed. The third locked its monstrous jaws over his greaves and roared ferociously as it attempted to draw him to the ground. A second wave of the beasts flooded past the smoldering gates, bounding easily toward Uriel and Kantele. The deathly creatures snarled in rage as the mesmer stopped their first ravening lunge, buying Uriel precious time to finish her long fiery invocation. Sulfur and brimstone erupted around them, turning the paving stones and garden into a smoldering field of embers. The unearthly dogs howled in pain, bursting into flame and bounding away as the elementalist’s spell tore into them.

Orick rushed after the retreating figures, tearing into one in a flashing blur of deadly steel and severing its hind quarters so that it lay snarling and steaming upon the burning earth. Flame filled the entryway, pouring violently over the writhing mass of retreating hounds and scorching three of them to lifeless cinders.

No sooner had the embers faded and blackened the ground than did a second wave of snarling monstrosities issue through the gate in overwhelming numbers. An eldritch wind shrieked at their backs, driving the beasts forward.

“Retreat!” Orick shouted, buying the others time as he made a mighty shout, defending himself with a vicious wall of flashing steel and the clash of his angelic shield. The beasts collided with his mighty stance and fell away in agony as Orick slowly backed toward the door of the building. Nandao warded him with protective enchantments moments before his stance was eroded by the overwhelming mass of slavering white beasts. Their chill rancid breath made him choke in disgust and despite the blessings of Dwayna, one of the creatures gained a purchase on his lower leg and crushed the armor against his flesh. Its jagged teeth pierced his flesh. Despite his adrenaline laced fury, Orick felt the chill filth of its jaws shudder into his bloodstream, polluting his body with its foulness.

Nandao shouted for him to run. There were too many now and he had not the energy to renew his stance and beat them back. He nearly collapsed under a mighty wave of flailing ghostly hounds, the chill burn of his wound spreading lethargy through his body. Nandao grasped his arm and drew him back, pushing Orick through the doorway ahead of him as he wrapped his tattooed form in powerful enchantments. Kantele helped pull Orick through the doorway as Uriel sent flame over Nandao’s shoulder to drive the horde away. But it was too late.

With a wrenching scream, the monk plummeted to the ground as the shadowy figure of a man stalked forth in the midst of the terrible pack. Wreathed in chaotic magenta energies, Ashekoroth made a single violent gesture and tore the enchantments from Nandao’s flailing figure. The monk made a plaintive plea to his goddess, his voice thin with anguish.

“Nandao!” Uriel screamed into the howling darkness.

Orick looked on in horror, unable to tear his eyes from the sight. Helpless, Nandao clawed at the paving stones with his bloodied hands, his face a rictus of terror and pain. And then he was gone, wrenched out of existence beneath the fury of the vile pack as they closed over him like a surging wave.

Kantele pulled Uriel’s stunned figure aside and slammed the door, barring it with a heavy crossbar.

“Help me push furniture in front of the door,” Kantele commanded, drawing the elementalist from her shocked stupor.

“Oh gods, no,” Uriel sobbed.

Orick tried to rise, but he was nearly paralyzed with cold and could do little more than shiver upon the floor. He was glad that they had spent the day shoring up the house, barring the windows and doors. It would buy them time, at least.

“Pray that Zhou and the guild get here soon,” Kantele murmured, “Come, we must seal this door.”

Orick wished he could help them, but he could only watch as the door shook and trembled upon its hinges. Once invisible runes glowed upon the lintel, burning with power now that something unearthly sought to violate the entrance. The thunderous pounding of scores of ravening hounds rang through the house and caused the smooth wooden floor beneath Orick’s back to tremble.

“Uriel. I need your help with this chest. Orick can’t help us now,” Kantele said calmly but powerfully, breaking through the woman’s desolation and finally receiving the assistance she desperately needed. The two women labored swiftly, piling up couches, tables and chests against the door. Now it was time to retreat to the study to ward those Ashekoroth had first attacked that day.

Gods help them, they had so little time.