The Early Chronicles of the Oddlot I: 9. Banshee

Dark tendrils of smoke shot up from the shattered gem. At first, it looked like mighty Mordo would resist them, but as we watched in helpless horror, they entered his nose, mouth and ears. Mordo levitated off the ground, eldritch winds bearing him aloft. His eyes turned completely black and his already big body seemed to swell with muscle. Hatred filled his face.

Then, magnificent Mordo fought it all back. His eyes cleared and the hate melted away. He fell back to earth as the dracolich retreated to some corner of the warrior’s psyche. It wouldn’t stay suppressed for long. I knew this as a fellow bearer of the evil soul.

“Oof. What in hells was that?” Mordo asked, panting.

“Why would you do that?” I asked.

“Mordo—”

“Don’t say it! Somethings in the world can’t just be crushed.”

“Mordo not like seeing bard in pain. Mordo break gem, release bard.”

I softened my tone. “I thank you for that. You’re a good friend, Mordo. But I would never have wanted you to put yourself at risk like that.”

“Mordo can handle it.”

“No,” Dalvin said. “I’m not sure you can. You didn’t just release Ander from the gem’s influence, you released the soul of the dracolich.”

“Undead dragon around?” Mordo said, picking his maul off the ground.

“No. Well, I hope to Silvanus it’s not,” Dalvin said. “We’re not close enough to its body. But it needed some vessel to hold it, with the gem gone.”

“It’s in you, Mordo,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

“How Mordo get it out?”

We looked at each other in silence.

Mordo, for the first time since I’d known him, looked disgusted. He’d trampled foes and waded through gore, but this was a profanity too much for him. His goddess, the Raven Queen (if she really existed), hated the undead and demanded their destruction. Now, here was an entire dracolich soul within her chosen champion. Mordo looked a bit panicked, just a flash across his face.

“Raven Queen not like this. Raven Queen might turn back on Mordo.” As he spoke, his eyes darkened.

“Mordo, we’ll figure this out,” I said gently. “Hawken Bramblebraid is working on this whole situation, even as we speak. Surely his research will turn up a solution. What’s important now is that you don’t get upset. If you get emotional, the dracolich can take over.”

“Grixmax,” Mordo said. “Dracolich is called Grixmax.”

None of us were happy to know that piece of information. It meant that that the malevolent undead dragon’s presence has more purchase on Mordo than it had had on me. Mordo’s eyes cleared again.

“Are you sure you can continue?” Tyrael asked, his first words since being stunned by Mordo’s actions.

“Mordo sure. Mordo is Mordo now. Can control. Must save Leffe.” He smacked himself on the chest of his cuirass.

“Very well,” the tiefling Tyrael said, but something in his eyes indicated that he didn’t believe it.

With the crisis passed for the meantime, we released the horses, who’d know enough to wander back to the town of Ellry. We dared not leave them tied up, lest they become defenseless meals for some swamp monster. The horses would have done us no good in the swamp, which offered only the narrowest of pathways through the muck, if it offered any at all.

We’d walked single file for some time. I noticed Tyrael whispering with Dalvin. The tiefling’s words seemed to trouble the gnome. I gave a beckoning nod to Tyrael.

“What troubles you, sorcerer?” I asked, when he drew near.

He took a deep breath before beginning. “Understand that what I say won’t be easy to hear, but I feel I must say it anyway.”

The diplomatic Ander would have offered him reassurances, but all the trauma of the last few days had had soured my outlook. I stared at him, waiting for him to continue.

“It’s just that, well, if we’re really set on stopping this Grixmax’s return, now would be our best time to do so.”

“What do you mean?”

“Mordo shattering the gem gave the dracolich’s soul some place immediate to go. The gem was not living, so the soul would have experienced little if any trauma. That’s why it could manifest itself directly into Mordo.”

“So what?”

“If Grixmax’s living host should die, that would cause trauma sufficient enough for it to flee to a new phylactery, delaying his emergence in the world.”

“You demon-spawned cur! I knew I couldn’t trust a tiefling. You’re saying we should kill my friend?” It was cruel, racist of me, but what he had proposed struck all the notes of outrage within me.

Tyrael looked down and away, hurt by my words. Then he looked me squarely in the eye, face resolute. He said nothing, but his stare down forced me to look away.

“Get away from me,” I growled, though my heart was sinking. “In this group, we don’t leave our companions to die. We damned sure don’t kill them.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sure you’re right and we’ll find a way to free Mordo. But if we can’t, more than just one man’s fate is at stake.” He fell back in line then.

I looked at Mordo ahead of us. Presently, he wasn’t showing any of Grixmax’s influence as he stoically stomped through the swamp. One heavy boot slipped a little and plunged into the stagnant water. He didn’t curse or complain as he worked to pull his foot out, just bent to the business of yanking it free of the muck. As he did so, he exposed a gap in his back plate.

No. I didn’t care what the risk. I’d not betray a friend.

Mordo finished with his foot, satisfied that the leather boot had kept him dry. He started walking forward again, only to stop cold a moment later. He held up his fist, telling us to stop, that danger lay ahead. He ducked down behind a fallen log. With Leffe gone, scouting duties had fallen to me. I scampered and slid silently next to him.

“What bard make of that?” he said, pointing. “Definitely undead, but what is it?”

Under the shade of sickly trees, twisting in a supernatural wind that flowed out its ragged clothes and wild hair was a thing that evoked both my terror and anger. It held a wicked beauty to it, a holdover from the beautiful elven maiden it had once been. I sunk behind the log and steadied myself from the fear I felt.

“Banshee,” I said.

“We should fear its scream,” Tyrael said, having appeared next to me while I’d been fascinated.

“Ander has something for that,” Dalvin said, crouching.

I nodded. “Get a good look at it now. The sight of it froze me, but passed. Get it out of your system now.”

They did so. Dalvin had to gather himself, but Tyrael, like Mordo, was unaffected.

“I think it knows we’re here,” Tyrael said. “It’s Mordo. It can sense the evil within him.”

I peeked over the log. “It’s not attacking, though. Perhaps it senses a kindred spirit.”

“That’s a good thought, Ander,” the tiefling said.

“Gee, thanks. Here’s how this will go. I’ll drop a song of silence on it. If it works, charge in and hit it hard. I know it looks like a beautiful woman, but it isn’t. Not any longer. It would gladly rip the flesh from all of our bodies.”

“How do you know so much about banshees?” Dalvin asked me.

“Mother.” The answer sort of slipped out of me, and it explained nothing. “We ready?”

All nodded. I began the seemingly contradictory process of singing a song of silence. It started much like my lullaby spell, but with subtle shifts and pitches, ending in a decrescendo that I targeted on the banshee.

“Now!”

Mordo exploded from behind the log, new sword gripped in both hands. The banshee saw him at the last minute, and ducked. The blade bit her, but did not kill her. Such was her nature; wounds that would topple a proud warrior merely scratched her.

Tyrael unleashed his magical arsenal. A cube filled the air around the banshee. Inside it, many spinning daggers spun, nipping and biting the banshee, whose silent screams still looked savage. Mordo had to duck out of the spell’s zone.

“Work with the warrior, tiefling!” I shouted. He paid me no mind, concentrating on the spell.

Dalvin moved in, which seemed like a poor choice at first. Then, I realized he was beneath the cube of the spell, the perfect height to hound the banshee’s lower half. Still, I doubted his quarterstaff would do much.

Much to my surprise, the diminutive druid snapped a leaf of sumac in his hand and from it sprang a blade of pure fire. He scorched the banshee with. The silence surrounding such violence cast an eerie light upon the scene. The banshee screamed silently again, but this time found her antagonizer. She kicked Dalvin so hard that the gnome when flying into Mordo. The warrior lost his balance and together, they tumbled into a deeper part of the water.

With my two friends down, I drew my rapier and sprang at the banshee, who was just now extricating herself from the magical spinning blades. I hit her with the flat of the blade, trying to keep her in the zone of silence I’d created. It worked, but she ripped a claw at my face. I stumbled and fell on my backside as I avoided the swipe.

She was on me then. I barely parried her next swipe, seated as I was. I flailed a bit as I did so, and with her other hand she grabbed my sword arm. I screamed silently in pain, my flesh icy with the intrusion of death. My hand when numb and the rapier fell to the muck.

Cradling my arm, I scooted backwards on three limbs, trying to escape the death-filled clutch of the banshee. It was no use, for she could move freely toward me, hovering about the sucking swamp. I grabbed my dead right arm with the left and swung it at her, trying not to lose another limb and to drive her back. She seemed to laugh at the feebleness of my attempt.

Then, from the water that had swallowed them, Mordo exploded above the surface. In the same motion, he hurdled Dalvin at the banshee. I could not believe my eyes. Had Grixmax gained control of the warrior? This would surely be Dalvin’s doom.

I should not have underestimated the gnome. As he sailed at the banshee, he reignited his fiery blade and drove the tip deep into her. The banshee writhed and jerked as Dalvin fell away. Something happened that I could only perceive as an impossible flash of darkness, as if the necrotic energy of the banshee momentarily lashed out. I wasn’t sure I’d actually seen it, as I fumbled to find my rapier with my left hand.

Something must have happened. Mordo stopped in mid charge toward the banshee. His eyes filled with darkness, and he levitated.

I backed away from the battle, reassessing my options. In doing so, I heard Tyrael yelling. He must have been at it for a moment, for I seemed to have come in during the middle of it. He said something about a giant. I scanned around and saw what he meant.

What appeared to be a small giant charged at us. Time slowed as the magnificent being sprang through the swamp, the sucking muck mattered nothing to him. A great shield covered most of his almost eight foot body. In his hand he held an axe above his bald head. His skin held symmetrical patches over it, almost like war paint. Not skin, I corrected myself, not like most people. It was gray and hard, like mountain stone that had wind-eroded over time. Adding to the rocky look was a thickly ridged forehead.

If he was an ally of the banshee, and with Mordo stunned, we were doomed.

Instead, he strode up to the silently screaming undead woman and dropped his axe on her like a practiced headsman.

Amazingly, the banshee did not drop dead, as wicked and filled with necrotic energy as she was.

“Do we help him?” Tyrael shouted to me.

I glanced at him, then at Dalvin.

“He’s a goliath,” the druid informed us. “They’re generally honorable. Generally.”

I shrugged. “The enemy of my enemy, and so-on.”

We three moved into melee distance and, with the help of the goliath, finally hacked the banshee down to true death.

With one enemy down, the goliath apparently sensed the other evil in the area. He snapped the ichor off his sword and strode toward the suspended Mordo, who still hung in midair in the torturous embrace of the dracolich.

“No!” I yelled, but of course the goliath couldn’t hear me. No one could. My companions saw the danger to Mordo. Dalvin wrapped his arms around the trunk-like left leg of the goliath and Tyrael jumped on his back, futilely trying to wrap his arms around a neck thicker than both his legs put together. I lunged in front of the goliath, dropped my rapier, and put up my one good hand in silent plea.

Up close, I could see he wore armor bearing the mark of the god Helm. A holy symbol hung from his neck. A goliath paladin? I glanced at Tyrael struggling on the goliath’s back, the goliath seemingly unconcerned. It made as much sense as a tiefling servant of Tyr.

The goliath pointed his sword at Mordo and spoke. Or tried to. He hadn’t quite figured out that I’d encased the area in silence. I held up my index finger, signaling him to wait a moment, then dispelled the silence blanket.

“Oh. Right. That would be why the banshee’s scream didn’t bother us none,” he said in a voice like mountain thunder. “This one needs a killin’ though. If you’d just step aside…”

“No! Please good goliath. Any servant of Helm is bound to protect the helpless, aye?”

“Aye. Wot’s your point? That one there ain’t helpless. He’s brimmin’ with evil power.”

“Listen, please. I know you must feel a need to smite the evil, but he is our friend only just recently possessed by evil. We still hold hope to retrieve him from the clutches of the dracolich that inhabits him.”

“Possessed, eh? Hrmm.” The goliath pushed past me, but sheathed his sword. He stood in front of the floating Mordo and placed his empty hand on Mordo’s face. He whispered a prayer and suddenly, Mordo fell limply to the ground.

I rushed to the fallen warrior and checked him. His pulse raced but his eye had returned to normal.

“Mordo thank big new friend,” he said, sitting up.

“Yer welcome. Try not to let it happen again.”

“That was bad one,” Mordo said, referring to the possession. “Soul hurts.” He rubbed his chest.

“Now. Wot brings you all to this swamp?” the goliath asked.

“First, do you have a name, friend goliath?” I asked.

“Enolo,” he said. I introduced myself and the others.

“We’re searching for our lost friend, a dwarf named Leffe,” Dalvin said, releasing his leg-hold.

“Bad idea to get lost in a swamp. Why’d he do that? Oh, and could you stop, please?” Enolo said, turning to speak to Tyrael, still clutching at his neck. The tiefling took quick stock of the situation and released himself to the ground.

“Sorry, was gritting my teeth so hard, I didn’t follow the action,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. I don’t think I’d ever seen a tiefling blush before.

“Work the forearm ‘cross the throat next time,” the goliath said. “Might have a better chance at doin’ somethin’.” He turned to me. “You were sayin’?”

“Leffe didn’t get lost here. Some hags took them.”

“Hags?”

“Aye. Well one, but we know she has others. She swooped down on a nightmare and plucked Leffe off of me, as he tried to protect me from them.”

“That’s noble of him,” Enolo said. “Why was the hag tryin’ to take you?”

“I held a gem containing the essence of a dracolich. I assume the hag was drawn to the evil of it.”

“Huh.” Enolo looked at us. “I don’t know about you lot. This one’s floating with evil, he’s so full of it,” he said pointing to Mordo. “You carryin’ ‘round an evil gem don’t seem right. And you’re a tiefling, though I don’t feel any evil comin’ off ya. What’s your deal, Dalvin? You turn into to a were-rabbit under a full moon?”

“No, but I can manage a pretty good weasel.”

“Thing is, I’m sworn to destroy evil. I could feel it pulsin’ from this nasty swamp. Saw you lot fightin’ the banshee, thought the banshee was its source. Now I’m thinkin’ it’s you.”

“No, no!” I said. “Mordo shattered the gem, trying to save me from the dracolich’s influence, but it got into him instead. Now, he goes bad every now and again.”

“I see,” he said, though he didn’t look fully convinced.

“Good paladin,” Dalvin said. “If you wish to smite evil and drive it from this land, join with us as we retrieve Leffe. Surely the hags are the evil you feel.”

“Yeah, most likely. Got my eye on this one, though,” Enolo said, looking at Mordo.

Mordo didn’t bristle at this, but a look rippled across his face. I couldn’t name it, for it seemed so out of place on the warrior. His shoulders slumped a bit. Perhaps he preferred to be dead than an instrument for the undead.

“Where to now?” Tyrael asked.

“Hawken Bramblebraid didn’t specify in his note,” I said. “He gave us this general area, only adding ‘we’d see where to go’.”

“What does that mean?”

“Look!” Dalvin said, pointing to the sky. A dark speck flew across the clouded sky.

“Nightmare,” Mordo said. Though the speck was too far away for us to make out, I didn’t ask how he knew. I had sensed the nightmare before it had attacked before, when I still held the dracolich’s gem.

“Onward! To Leffe!” Dalvin said and started off after the nightmare.

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