“This doesn’t feel right at all.”

Odd, Taryn thought as he spoke the words out loud, that they were exactly the same words that had gone through his mind the first time he’d ever come to Do’riba. But this time, he had a terrible sense of foreboding that hadn’t been part of his psychological makeup when he’d been a wet-behind-the-ears eighteen year-old.

“This doesn’t feel right at all,” he repeated, shifting from foot to foot. “I mean, it’s been hours since the last undead attack – and look.” He gestured down at the bandage on his front.

It was clean, without any apparent blood loss at all. Taryn felt healthier and he felt stronger and he felt less like curling up and dying than he’d done during the whole journey here. Why, he wondered, was his ability to mentally fight off Suraklin’s evil magic growing stronger the closer he got, rather than the other way around?

Maybe because you’re more like him than you care to acknowledge.

Oh, I was wondering when you might show up again.

He’s ... probably resting. Regrouping. Preparing for the final battle. Are YOU prepared for the final battle, Taryanderon?

“Wurzag, we have to think this through carefully,” the young mage said to his weary companion. “We’re within maybe thirty minutes of the mausoleum and once we set foot over the threshold, we’re in Suraklin’s domain. There’s no way we can lure him out to fight on neutral ground, he’s bound to that mausoleum until he reclaims proper physical form. Which he isn’t going to do,” he added, hastily. “We have to fight him on his own soil and that’s going to make him as hard as nails.”

They were sitting by the camp fire that Taryn had built, Wurzag being too weary to manage it, and he’d put together a stew from the various bits and pieces that he’d pulled from their provisions pack. It was thin and watery, but the taste was good and it was hot and nutritious. Taryn, who’d grown up with an aunt whose belief had always been that food could heal all ills, became a bit of a nursemaid to Wurzag, ladling him out a bowl of stew and encouraging the half-orc to eat, to rest whilst they had the chance and just for once, to let he, Taryn, do the guarding.

As he had sat, eating his own stew, Taryn had pondered the reasons why it might be that Suraklin had lessened the onslaught of undead attacks. It was unlikely to be because someone else had gotten to the lich first and slain him. Taryn tested a few more theories in his mind and didn’t like the only one he kept coming back to.

“It’s an offer,” he murmured, out loud. “He’s trying to show me that if I simply give in to his will and become one of his own, the pain will stop.”

No chance.

“I thought exactly the same,” Taryn replied, unconsciously replying to his inner monologue aloud. He’d been doing that with greater and greater frequency over the past few hours, even holding long, rambling conversations with himself that had left the half-orc baffled.

If you defeat him, the pain will stop.

It’s a pretty big ‘if’, inner self.

If he kills you, the pain will stop.

Then I’d get a whole new kind of pain to deal with. You know, heading up an undead army, and all THAT entails.

You have a point, but so do I, can you see it yet?

“Yes. It doesn’t matter if I win or lose, the pain will stop.”

Taryn shook his head and returned to eating his stew and marvelled, briefly, at how bizarre it was. They were almost there. The time of reckoning was upon him and he was eating stew. He was some kind of freak, all right.

“AND it needs more salt,” he added, absently.

Well, they didn't call it the land of the dead for nothing. Whoever named the place, no matter how unimaginative, was dead on. Thal had been tracking down Taryn and Wurzag for the past few days. He and his monk, Akan, had been asking everybody they saw if they had seen a half-orc, and a mage with a huge mace. This combination of campanions was more common than one would think. They found at least four such pairs during they're search, and none of them were the ones that Thal and Akan were searching for. The reason that Thal was looking for his old companions is that the destroyed village was getting boring. That and the fact that everybody in the village is either dead, or no longer there... So that would make everybody in the village dead.

Finally, Thal and Akan came upon Dori'ba. In the end, they had followed hordes of undead, thinking that perhaps the lich (or lisssshhhhhhh as Wurzag called it) had sent the undead to kill Taryn and Wurzag. Finally, Akan spotted Taryn and Wurzag.

"I told you we would find them," Thal said.

"We?" Akan replied. "You led the search for days, and we found nothing. I take the lead for five minutes and I find them."

"Whatever. At least we... fine, you found them."

Thal walked up to Taryn and Wurzag, slipping in between them.

"You two do know that there are massive numbers of undead swarming all over the place, looking for you, right?" Thal said cheerfully. "The only reason we know they're looking for you is because they walk around saing 'braiiiinnsssss of a half orc and a mage with a huge mace. BRAIIINNSSSSSS'" Thal immitated a zombie, walking around with his arms in front of him.

"Oh will you cut it out, you dolt," Akan said. "Good to see you two again," he then said to Taryn and Wurzag. "I take it that li- ... I mean undead bugger is still alive then?"

Wurzag chewed tiredly on a mouthful of stew and absorbed Taryn's appraisal of their situation. He had carried the young mage for just over an hour and had run to the end of his strength. "I reckon," he muttered through his exhaustion, "dat der ain't much to fink about. If 'e finks we is gonna give up now, when we're dis close 'e as got anuver fing comin'." The half-orc rubbed a weary hand over his face, "der ain't nuffin' left to fink about; 'e ain't gonna come to us an we ain't givin' up so I say we march on in der an give 'im all we got." He pointed to the mace, "an yooz give 'im dat, pointy end first." Exactly what their odds of survival were in the lair of the lich lord, the half-orc did not care to guess.

The unexpected arrival of Thal and Akan however was a welcome sight. Wurzag managed a lop-sided grin at the half-elf and the monk as they approached, bickering like an old, married couple. "Yez know," he said with a sideways glance to Taryn, "I fink our chances just got a whole load better."

"Gud to see yez fellas!" He put one arm around Thal's shoulders and another around Taryn's, "an yooz is right my friend, we needs to fink about dis an make some sort ov plan type fing. I is all fer just goin' in swingin' but den dat is da way I usually dus fings." He glanced between his two companions and then up at the monk, "so den any suggestions?" Exhausted as he was, Wurzag would only be happy once the undead monster was put down for ever. Over the last three days he had had more than his fill of necromantic creatures and would be glad if he never even saw a funeral again, let alone a walking corpse.

Wurzag finished off the bowl of stew and sat back to stretch his tired muscles. He had no idea how long their temporary respite would last but he intended to make the most of it. "Froat," he called the lupine over, "go up der an keep an eye on dem dead folks an give us a yell if dey start actin' funny again, I ain't too sure dis lisssssssh is gonna give yooz much time to fink about wot yez wanna do. 'E seemed pretty ticked off yez smashed up 'is jar," he shot the half-elf a satisfied grin, "so we shud probbly be leavin' sooner rather than later."

Taryn's face broke out into a huge grin at the sight of Thal and Akan. The word from his father before he and Wurzag had left for Dor'iba had been that the elf and his companion had done much to help the people of the village start to pick up the pieces that had been left by the devastating bandit attack. For that alone, Taryn would be forever grateful.

Therefore, he greeted the two with great enthusiasm and immediately ladled up a couple of extra bowls of the stew, which he handed to them.

In a soft, tired-sounding voice, the young mage explained what had happened to he and Wurzag after they'd left Thal at the village to hunt down the bandits. He explained how they'd found, and subsequently destroyed the lich's soul jar, he explained how the journey here from the farm had been fraught with undead and finished up by explaining that they were in a respite period.

"Within the day, this mission will be over," he said, quietly, looking from Wurzag to Thal and Akan and then back again. "For good or for ill. Sounds unnecessarily dramatic to say it, I know, but there can only be one winner in this final encounter - him or me. And now that I have your undivided attention, there's some stuff I really need to say." He ran a hand through his hair, took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a few moments. After he'd got himself composed, he opened his eyes and looked up at Thal and his companion.

"You two have done more for my family than I can thank you for," he said. "You helped them bury their dead with honour, put them back on the path to right. You can bet your life that if you ever find yourself in the village again, then Aunt Min will treat you like a hero."

He turned his attention to Wurzag.

"And you, my half-orc friend - I would not have made it to this point without your friendship. You have literally carried me through the worst times and you haven't complained once. Well, OK, you have complained, but you've never done it when you thought I was listening."

He looked from one to the other.

"I left my money pouch with my sister," he said, softly. "If...if I don't come out of this showdown alive, I want you to know that I've told her to split its contents between the two of you equally. I promised you both that I would pay you for coming with me, and that will be the case whatever happens. I've also left instructions with her as to what message I would like taken back to the College of Mages."

He took another deep sigh.

"I'm sorry to be so maudlin," he said, ruefully, "but at the risk of getting overly sentimental, I just wanted to thank you both. Before I forgot."

Thal smiled and clapped Taryn on the shoulder. "No need for payment, my friend... But if you feel the need, then feel free to leave me that shiny mace as well," Thal joked. The situation called for some levity, and that was Thal's expertise. Unfortunately, Akan's expertise was the exact opposite.

"I think he may need it for a bit longer, for... well for killing the big bad undead guy who has his soul," Akan said. "He does still have it right? I'm assuming he wasn't keeping it in that jar you destroyed. Otherwise there would be no point in killing him."

"Oh yea sure," Thal responded. "As long as he doesn't mind living with undead constantly attacking him and trying to eat his brains."

Akan fell silent. Thal mentally chalked up another verbal victory over Akan. The current score was 55-23 in Akan's favor. Thal was normally great with words, but Akan was just so... blunt.

"So, where to next?" Thal asked. "I mean, I know we're going to slaughter that undead bugger, but where exactly does he live?"

Thal pictured the Lich's lair as being incredibly dark and dreary, with a whole mess of zombies walking around. If you could call what they did walking. Thal called it zombieing (But that's incredibly hard to spell correctly so I thought that I would only write it once).

Wurzag sat back and glanced dully around at the landscape. The wind sighed mournfully across the blasted plain tugging at the scrubby grass and flattening the desiccated stalks of what might once have been brush. It was a desolate place in every sense of the word, devoid of animal life and apparently leeched of vitality by some malignance in the earth. Tombstones dotted the landscape like broken teeth and the occasional hulk of a crypt squatted cold and gray amidst the stones. It was not a place he intended to spend his final day, nor did he intend for Taryn to meet his demise here. In a week they would be back in Lomedor celebrating their success.

"I fink we 'ave gone a bit beyond gettin' paid don't yooz?" The half-orc said with the quirk of an eyebrow, "I 'ave 'ad enough of dis undead fing an is stoopid zombie fellas, it's personal now an besides," he continued with a faint grin, "I dunt fink ye sister wud be too 'appy if I went back wivout yez."

He assumed that the creature made its lair in one of the looming mausoleums and would be surrounded by all manner of zombies, skeletons and other creatures from beyond the grave. They numbered five, two of which were already near exhaustion and who would not rise again if struck down unlike the lich's deathless minions. He considered the possibility that they themselves could be forced from the arms of death into the service of the monster and the thought made him shudder. "Is der some way we can stop ourselves from workin' for 'im if we, ye know, suffer da worst? Coz I dunt wanna be like one of dem shamblin' fings, I'd raver stay dead."

He scratched his head and frowned. "Dat aside, an da way I see it, me, Froat, Thal and Akan are gonna 'ave to do da busy work bustin' up 'is mates while yooz go an do da whole bashin' fing wiv ye mace. If me n Thal go in first wiv yooz right behind us den Froat an Akan can watch ye back an da sides, weez go in 'ard an fast an try to break frough 'is front line. Yooz can 'elp us out wiv ye majiks an maybe dat fire fing wot ye summoned afore, den once da line is broked yooz run frough an get to da Lisssssssssh fightin'!"

"Remember," he said with a more enthusiastic grin, "da pointy end goes in da bad fella." He folded his arms across his chest, "'ow duz dat sound?"

[oops]

Taryn felt a lump in his throat at the response of his companions. All his life he'd never really had friendships to call his own - he'd deliberately kept it that way. He didn't like the idea of attachments; it was why he was so slippery when it came to relationships with young women. There had been one girl, maybe six months ago, who had come close to breaking down his barriers and convincing him to commit himself, but he had backpedalled so fast you couldn't see him for dust.

Looking from the one to the other, he shook his head mutely and brushed a shaking hand over his eyes. He coughed to clear his throat and regained his composure.

"Suraklin can be found in the central Mausoleum," he affirmed, responding to Thal's question. "It's a surprisingly nice-looking, well kept place considering what horror lurks within." An involuntary shudder passed through his body and he wrapped his arms around his chest as he moved to look through the cemetery. "He's going to be pretty preoccupied with keeping those minions up and about - it takes a lot of effort on his part. But the one thing he isn't going to do is get tired."

Taryn turned to face Thal, Akan and Wurzag and something that could only be described as pride sprang into his spine, straightening his back. "The plan's a good one, Wurzag," he said. "And under normal circumstances, believe you me, I'd gladly slink in behind you. However, Suraklin is waiting for me. I have to go up front and you have to cover me."

He pulled a face.

"Trust me," he said. "The last thing I want to do is waltz in there unarmed and without defensive magic - but the chances are, he's going to have laid down a neutralising field anyway. Only a really strong spell stands any chance of breaking through something like that. I've done my research on this and I know just what a lich is capable of. My magic is likely to have about as much effect as throwing a pebble in the ocean in an effort to change the tide."

He grinned ruefully. "On the other hand, I could be entirely wrong. Not going to find out unless we get there, are we?"

Having so spoken, he slid Suraklin's Bane back into its back holder, squared his shoulders and began to walk with unmitigated purpose towards the centre of the cemetery.

"As for not becoming undead minions," he said, not looking back, "don't worry about that. I'll make a deal with him up front. Weird thing about truly powerful undead, they make deals readily - and they keep their words. I can't vouch for your safety in getting out - but if you die, you stay that way."

Then he did glance over his shoulder.

"It's the least I can offer."

Then Taryn moved forward again with purpose, determination in his stance, towards his destiny.

Thal half-listened to his two companions. The other half of his thinking was focused on how he could use his favorite ability to aid them in their fight. He hoped the lich's magical barrier thing that Taryn talked about didn't affect spells cast on oneself. If it did, then it would not be very helpful. But if it was a purely defensive barrier, then Thal would be able to tip the scales quite far in their favor. Otherwise, he and Wurzag did not stand much of a chance against the lich's army. Thal had no doubt that Taryn could take the lich himself. Liches were known to be physically weak. They relied on minions to defend them, and if this particular lich was as strong as Taryn said, then he would have an army the size of a small city at his disposal. That would not be good news for Thal and Wurzag, even with the help of Akan. There was only so much a weaponless monk could do.

"Okay," Thal began. "Considering we somehow get past his army of zombies who are no doubt surrounding his lair, how do we know that he'll be there? What if he's out somehwere? I mean, a lich has to eat, too, right? What if he isn't there, and we're stuck in the mosuleum when he comes back and he orders his army to attack us? We'll be stuck in a corner with no way out, with an army of brain eating nasties attacking us. If that happens, not to be pessimistic, but we're screwed."

Thal looked from one of his friends to the other. Then a smile broke out across his face. "But hey, at least we'll have fun takin' out as many of those decaying creeps as we can. We could even make a contest out of it. Count how many we take down before they get us, and in the next life we can compare scores."

The half-orc gave Thal a withering glance, "da Lisssssssh fing is an undead, when woz da last time yooz seen an undead fing eat?" It wasn't often that Wurzag got to feel knowledgeable but he enjoyed the opportunities he got. "Anyways," he continued, "I dunt fink dat fella is gonna want to show 'is face outside dat tomb any time soon since we busted up is jar." He looked to Taryn for confirmation, "coz now 'e can be killed like yooz an me I reckon 'e ain't gonna wanna take da chance of some random oomie knockin' 'im off afore 'e gets 'is big chance at roolin da world or woteva it is 'e wants to do."

The green-skin rubbed his chin thoughtfully and pulled his sword from its scabbard. It still bore a few stains from the many zombies that had pursued them over the past few days but its edge was still keen enough to do what needed to be done. "Ok den," he said after a moments hesitation, "we all go in togever but yooz go at the front," he pointed a thick finger at the mage, "we will keep 'em off yer back until yooz can kick 'is 'ead in an den we can all get 'ome in time for a pint."

The fact that in all probability a legion of undead waited between them and their objective mattered not at all; Wurzag had come to the conclusion that this monster was something the world could happily do without, and though he had never been the crusading type could begin to grasp the sort of fanatical fervour that gripped the likes of paladins and knights. There came a time when nothing but extreme and persistent violence would do the job.

And that time was now.

He returned his attention to the half-elf, "I'll take ye up on dat undead bashin' competition, I can't keep count though," the green-skin grinned sheepishly, "never really learned 'ow." He frowned, brow deeply furrowed in thought. "Tell ya what," Wurzag finished brightly, "'ow about, once Taryn 'as busted up da Lissssssssh an all 'is minions is chopped up I go round an point out which ones I did and yooz can count 'em up? Den we will know who won!"

"One fing though," he said after a moments pause, "Froat ain't allowed to play though, cos I reckon 'e cheats." He glanced around conspiratorially, "I dunt trust dat lupine when it gets into killin' fings, 'e just seems to good at it." The half-orc straightened again, "'course, I could 'ave 'im if I weren't so tired."

Taryn continued walking several paces ahead of his companions, their easy banter lifting the anxieties and darkness that had weighed him down for seven years. In what could be less than a couple of hours, his entire fate would be decided - for good or ill.

Dor'iba hadn't changed much in seven years, he idly noted as he walked. In fact, he almost felt as though they were doing something horribly wrong walking through this cemetery in the day time. Surely something like this should happen only at night?

Ah, clichés.

Taryn remembered the moment of idle curiosity he'd had on his first visit to Suraklin's location, the way he'd marvelled at the fact that the door hadn't squeaked on its hinges. And now, here he was bucking tradition yet again by visiting this unpleasant place during the daylight hours.

It wasn't all coincidence. He knew that Suraklin's strength not only went in hand with the phases of the moon, but that it increased as the hour grew later. Taryn's reasoning was therefore very simple. Kill the lich before teatime and get home in time for cake and medals.

Or die horribly in eternal agony.

It would be one or the other and in order not to dishearten his companions or himself, Taryn allowed himself the rare luxury of believing - just for once - that he might actually have what it took to succeed.

Time would very shortly tell.

[End Scene]