The first thing around the corner had too many faces.
Kaylor saw it before anyone else could decide whether the fluttering belonged to wings, cloth, or something crawling through the stone.
It floated into the corridor as lightly as a moth.
Human-sized.
Purple light burned where eyes should have been.
Its body looked assembled from skulls.
Not decorated with them.
Made from them.
Human skulls crowded together in a twisted central mass, jaws hanging open at different angles, some fused sideways into others, others half-buried beneath bone. From that impossible knot spread broad mothlike wings whose outer edges hardened into long bony spurs.
The thing floated toward them.
Fendor raised the Oathbow.
“Absolutely not.”
The creature looked at Kaylor.
Every skull turned with it.
That was worse.
Isamu’s bow snapped before the thing reached them.
He had been waiting for something to appear.
The first arrow passed wide.
Two more struck.
Frost crawled over joined bone.
The creature barely seemed to notice.
Then all of its purple eyes fixed upon Kaylor.
Something entered his mind.
Not words.
Questions.
That was the strange part.
The thing did not try to frighten him. Fear would have been familiar. Kaylor had faced fear made supernatural so many times that his soul recognized the shape before the spell finished forming.
This was different.
It pushed uncertainty through him.
Every choice he had made.
Every oath abandoned.
Every death.
Every person he had failed.
For one instant, the corridor disappeared beneath layers of doubt.
What if you were wrong?
Kaylor clenched Final Word.
The thought was not his.
That was enough.
He forced it away.
The psychic pressure cracked like thin ice.
The skull-creature jerked closer.
Its wings snapped forward.
Bone spurs slashed across Kaylor’s armor.
One caught beneath a plate and tore flesh.
Cold followed the wound.
Not temperature.
Necrosis.
Death trying to widen what the bone had opened.
The creature hooked one spur toward him as if intending to drag the dragonborn into its mass of skulls.
Kaylor tore himself free.
“Undead.”
Fendor looked at the collection of flying skulls.
“You needed confirmation?”
Another flutter sounded behind them.
Hexen turned.
A second creature entered from the opposite passage.
“Two directions,” Nethnarel said.
“Excellent.”
The second horror’s skulls turned toward Hexen.
He was still wearing the shape of an Air Elemental, his body a restless column of wind pressed awkwardly into the narrow Oslan corridor.
Purple eyes brightened.
Hexen felt the psychic attack strike.
Pain crossed thought.
Then came the more dangerous part.
Torment attempted to lock every part of him in place.
A living body might have obeyed.
Air did not.
The paralysis reached for muscles that no longer existed.
Hexen’s elemental form twisted in the corridor.
The creature seemed almost confused.
Then it attacked physically.
Bone-edged wings carved through the air elemental.
Part of Hexen simply dispersed around the strike, but necrotic force traveled through even his borrowed form.
Kaylor heard him hiss.
“Still there?”
The elemental whirled.
“I’m there.”
“Good.”
Kaylor turned back to the first creature.
Final Word came from behind his shoulder in a brutal two-handed stroke.
The first hit shattered three skulls at once.
The creature screamed through every remaining mouth.
Kaylor struck again.
Then divine wrath entered the blade.
Radiance exploded through the undead mass.
It was almost unfair.
Almost.
The creature had found the exact man in the corridor least inclined to apologize for that.
Sacred energy tore through bone, purple fire and dead flesh.
The skull-thing came apart.
Fragments struck the walls.
One wing hit the floor still fluttering.
Then stopped.
Fendor looked at the remains.
“Radiant.”
Kaylor turned toward the others.
“Yes.”
“Good to know.”
Another creature rounded the corner and immediately replaced the dead one.
Fendor stared.
“How many?”
Fluttering answered him.
More than two.
More than three.
The underground passages were filling with them.
Hexen returned to himself long enough to heal, then looked down both cramped corridors as the sound of beating wings multiplied.
The creatures were coming from every direction the heroes had left open.
“Move together.”
“There is nowhere to move,” Fendor said.
That was true.
The narrow passages that had been irritating during exploration became dangerous once airborne enemies filled them. There was barely enough room for Kaylor to swing Final Word without clipping stone. Fendor’s bow was useful only when someone’s head was not directly in front of him. Hexen had no room for his favorite large transformations.
And more skull-creatures were coming.
Hexen raised the Staff of the Woodlands.
Fendor saw the motion.
“What are you doing?”
“Solving it.”
“That answer has recently become dangerous.”
Hexen cast Sunburst.
Daylight detonated beneath the mountain.
There was no gradual brightness.
One instant the corridor was lit by their magic and old Oslan darkness.
The next it contained the sun.
Radiance filled the passages in every direction.
Kaylor shut his eyes.
Fendor ducked and turned away.
Isamu twisted his face behind one arm.
Nethnarel’s wings flared against the brilliance.
The spell did not politely distinguish between the heroes and the dead creatures packed around them. Heat and light washed through everyone, painful even for those who endured it.
The undead had a worse experience.
They shrieked.
The sound came from dozens of skull mouths at once.
Radiance burned through them.
Several fluttered blindly into the walls.
Others convulsed in midair.
One dropped and struck the floor hard enough to scatter teeth.
Fendor lowered his arm.
“You could have warned us.”
“I did.”
“You said ‘solving it.’”
“That was the warning.”
Fendor opened his mouth.
Then another skull-creature entered the corridor.
“Later.”
The creature’s purple eyes fixed on him.
Fendor felt the attack before he understood he had become its target.
Thought inverted.
Pain came from inside his own skull.
He had fought enchantments before.
Dominations.
Fear.
Illusions.
The strange mental violence of things born in places where thought itself behaved differently.
He resisted.
Or tried.
The creature reached deeper.
Fendor forced his will against it.
Failed.
He tried again.
Still failed.
A third surge of determination rose inside him.
The psychic thing simply swallowed it.
Fendor stopped moving.
His sword remained half-raised.
His eyes stayed open.
He could see everything.
He could do nothing.
The fluttering creature came closer.
Kaylor saw it.
“Fendor!”
No response.
One bony wing-spur hooked into Fendor.
Then the other.
The creature began tearing.
Because Fendor could not defend himself, every strike found something vulnerable.
Armor opened.
Flesh followed.
The first impact would have staggered him if his body had remembered how to fall.
The second nearly killed him where he stood.
Blood ran down his armor.
The creature pressed closer.
All its skulls opened their mouths.
Fendor remained trapped inside himself.
He felt everything.
Nethnarel turned.
“No.”
The skull-creature above Fendor was already wounded from Hexen’s Sunburst.
Another approached from the opposite direction.
She raised her wand.
Magic Missiles erupted.
Not one target.
Two.
Bolts split through the corridor in bright streaks, curving around Kaylor and Isamu before hammering into both undead horrors.
There was no dodging Magic Missile.
No armor.
No wings fast enough.
Arcane force slammed into skull after skull.
One creature faltered.
The one holding Fendor did not let go.
Isamu moved.
Hunter’s Mark shifted.
The flame whip cracked through the corridor.
The first strike hit.
The second wrapped across a wing and ripped downward.
Bone broke.
The skull-creature dropped.
Isamu followed it.
Fist.
Elbow.
Another strike.
The monster collapsed under the assault.
He moved immediately toward the next.
The passages had become a killing tunnel.
Kaylor cast Holy Weapon.
Final Word changed.
The sword had already been dangerous.
Now light ran the entire length of the blade, bright enough that the steel seemed forged from sunrise.
Kaylor stepped into the next fluttering horror.
His first stroke carved through bone.
Radiant power followed.
The creature recoiled.
The second strike almost cut it in half.
Another moved toward him from behind.
Nethnarel fired again.
Fendor still had not moved.
The skull-creature attached to him tightened its grip.
One of its mouths lowered toward his face.
Something changed.
Fendor felt it.
The psychic torment was no longer merely holding him still.
The thing was trying to pull something out.
Not breath.
Not blood.
Him.
Fendor had died before.
That was the problem.
He knew enough to recognize the direction.
The creature’s many mouths opened, and his soul seemed to move toward them.
His body finally collapsed.
Fendor hit the floor.
The skull-creature descended with him.
Kaylor saw the elf fall.
“Fendor!”
No answer.
The creature hunched over the body.
Purple light brightened inside its skulls.
Fendor drifted.
Not away.
Almost.
There was a strange distance between knowing one had a body and remembering how to remain inside it.
He heard the battle dimly.
Steel.
Magic.
Isamu’s whip.
Kaylor shouting.
Then something else pressed against him.
A will.
Hungry.
The fluttering horror tried to drag his soul farther.
Fendor refused.
There was no bow in this place.
No sword.
No clever arrow.
Only the stubborn certainty that he had not finished being irritating.
Apparently that was enough.
He held.
Barely.
Kaylor tried to reach him.
Another creature blocked the corridor.
Final Word rose.
The Holy Weapon struck.
Radiant light passed through joined skulls.
The thing burst apart.
Kaylor shoved through bone fragments.
Nethnarel saw what was happening to Fendor before he did.
The skull-creature over the elf had almost folded around him. Its wings formed a grotesque cocoon while the mouths at its center hovered inches above Fendor’s face.
She reached for the simplest thing.
The wand came up.
Magic Missiles struck.
Again.
Again.
Again.
The creature jerked but remained.
“Hexen!”
He had already seen.
Moonlight appeared.
In a buried city.
Beneath fifteen thousand feet of mountain.
A column of silver radiance descended through stone that should have stopped it and settled over the skull-creature.
Moonbeam.
The effect on undead flesh was immediate.
Bone blackened.
Purple eyes flared white.
The creature tore itself away from Fendor.
Then the moonlight followed.
Hexen held the spell steady.
The horror withered inside it.
Its skulls cracked one after another.
One wing dropped.
The second collapsed.
The creature hit the stone beside Fendor and did not move again.
Everyone listened.
Flutter.
Nothing.
Another second.
Nothing.
Isamu turned toward the passage behind them.
No movement.
Nethnarel stared toward the other corridor.
Empty.
Hexen kept Moonbeam active several breaths longer.
Then let it fade.
“The last one,” he said.
Kaylor was already kneeling beside Fendor.
The elf was not breathing properly.
There was blood everywhere.
Worse, for a moment Kaylor could sense something wrong that had nothing to do with wounds.
Fendor was still there.
But only barely.
Kaylor put both hands against his head and chest.
Divine energy moved.
Not softly.
Fifty measures of hard-earned life poured from the dragonborn into his friend.
Fendor gasped.
His eyes opened.
The first thing he saw was Kaylor leaning over him.
Fendor blinked.
“No.”
Kaylor frowned.
“What?”
“Not the face I wanted to wake up to.”
Kaylor almost laughed.
Instead he gave him more healing.
Fendor coughed.
“That means I’m alive.”
“Unfortunately.”
“Good.”
Hexen came to the other side.
Nature magic joined Kaylor’s divine power, knitting wounds the paladin had not closed.
More life returned.
Fendor inhaled deeply.
His hand found the Vorpal Longsword where it had fallen beside him.
Only then did he seem satisfied.
Nethnarel stood over the corpse of the thing that had nearly eaten his soul.
“You died?”
“Almost.”
“You made a death save.”
Fendor looked at her.
“That sounds like a technicality.”
“It isn't.”
He sat up slowly.
The corridor tilted.
Then settled.
Kaylor helped him against the wall.
“You were paralyzed.”
“I noticed.”
“It was eating your soul.”
“I noticed that too.”
Isamu crouched near one of the dead skull-creatures.
He prodded a mothlike wing with the end of his whip.
“Ugly.”
Fendor looked over.
“Insightful.”
Isamu shrugged.
“Accurate.”
Kaylor spent the remainder of his healing strength on himself. The skull-creatures had cut him repeatedly, and the earlier fights had not been kind.
Hexen looked around.
“No more fluttering.”
Fendor leaned his head against the wall.
“Good.”
Nobody moved for a while.
The sudden quiet felt unnatural.
They had become accustomed to Oslan announcing danger through sounds—the scrape of buried things, skittering insects, rushing water, moving stone, now fluttering wings.
Silence should have been reassuring.
Instead it made everyone wait for the next noise.
Nethnarel looked down the corridor.
“We still need to keep moving.”
Fendor stared at her.
“I was almost spiritually consumed by a flying pile of skulls.”
“Yes.”
“I would like that entered into consideration.”
“It is.”
“And your conclusion is move?”
“Yes.”
Fendor sighed.
“Fine.”
Kaylor rose.
Their purpose had become clearer the farther beneath Oslan they traveled.
Somewhere in this underground complex, magic remained active after thousands of years. Not merely old spells. Systems. Machines. Wards. Binding forces.
Enough power to keep Zidara chained to the mountain.
The dracolich had guarded Oslan for Mystra longer than any living kingdom had existed.
Kaylor had promised nothing simple.
He had only offered the possibility of freedom.
Nethnarel wanted something else.
The deeper truth.
If Oslan had once reached beyond the limits modern magic accepted as absolute, then the answer was here somewhere.
Not in the ruins above.
Below.
Where Mystra’s restrictions still had teeth.
Where ancient machines continued operating.
Where undead guardians still protected corridors whose builders had vanished.
Fendor stood.
Carefully.
“If we free the dracolich and he immediately tries to kill us, I am going to be difficult about it.”
Kaylor picked up Final Word.
“You’re always difficult.”
“Yes. But I will be specifically difficult.”
Hexen smiled.
Isamu moved toward the corridor.
Fendor pointed.
“No.”
Isamu stopped.
Everyone stared.
“What?”
“You stay where I can see you for at least five minutes.”
“Why?”
“I nearly died.”
“That wasn't my fault.”
“I am instituting rules emotionally.”
Isamu considered.
“Five?”
“Five.”
“All right.”
They moved.
The skulls remained behind.
Purple light faded from dead eyes one by one.
At the end of the passage, Fendor looked back once.
Nothing followed.
That almost bothered him more.
They passed the Oslan-inscribed column again—the one Isamu had improved with his own contribution—and reached another branching corridor.
Left led nowhere useful.
Right continued.
A locked door waited ahead.
Fendor stopped beside it.
“Of course.”
Nethnarel stepped forward.
The street-born instincts she had carried long before becoming one of the most powerful sorcerers in the realm had proven surprisingly valuable in Oslan.
She inspected the frame.
No obvious keyhole.
No normal mechanism.
Then she found a small concealed lever built into the surrounding stone.
Fendor looked over her shoulder.
“Trap?”
“Maybe.”
“That is not reassuring.”
Nethnarel examined it more carefully.
The lever appeared to release the locking mechanism.
Nothing more.
Probably.
She stepped back.
Kaylor stepped farther back.
Fendor followed him.
Nethnarel looked around.
“Cowards.”
“Experienced,” Fendor said.
She used the mechanism.
The door opened.
Nothing exploded.
Fendor nodded.
“Excellent work.”
Nethnarel looked inside.
Darkness.
Then something scraped behind them.
Metal against stone.
Everyone turned.
Sparks appeared around the distant corner.
Not fluttering.
Something much heavier.
The scraping grew louder.
A shape forced itself into the narrow corridor.
Long.
Metallic.
Too large for the passage and coming anyway.
Its body dragged along both walls, shedding sparks.
Another sound answered from inside the room they had just opened.
The same awful metallic scream.
Kaylor looked from one direction to the other.
Fendor drew the Vorpal Longsword.
“Wonderful.”
Nethnarel’s Crown of Stars ignited around her.
Isamu shifted Hunter’s Mark.
Hexen stepped forward.
From the darkness came a mechanical shriek so loud that the stone itself seemed to vibrate.
Kaylor felt the sound pass through his armor.
Through his chest.
Through his bones.
The magic buried inside it struck his nervous system like a hammer.
His muscles locked.
Final Word nearly fell from his hand.
He could still see.
Still hear.
Still think.
He could not move.
Fendor looked at him.
“Kaylor?”
The dragonborn’s jaw barely worked.
“Too… loud.”
The metallic creature emerged.
Its body was constructed rather than born—steel-like plates fitted around something moving beneath them, claws and jaws scraping against the narrow Oslan corridor.
Hexen changed immediately.
Fire replaced flesh.
The Fire Elemental filled the passage.
The creature reached him.
Hexen reached back.
Flame touched ancient metal.
For the first time since they entered the room, something went right.
The creature began to melt.
Nethnarel smiled.
“Oh.”
Fendor saw it.
“What?”
“They don't like fire.”
The first star of her crown rotated overhead.
Her Rings of Fire glowed.
Kaylor remained frozen against the wall while another metallic scream built inside the creature.
Fendor raised his sword.
“Then burn them.”
And Oslan screamed back.