Inferno 7009

10 TOWER OF THE FORGOTTEN FLAME

In a marble chamber, blue with moonlight, Alharazed and Kitra looked down upon the avenue of flowers. He wore a long black robe and high grey boots; she wore a diaphenous gown of moon-silver.

"Will you remember me when the darkness falls?" asked Kitra.

"Perhaps the curse will take my mind first," said Alharazed. "It's impossible to know."

She turned and walked into the dark room, pulling the dress away from her white shoulders as she walked. "Remember this, at least," she said.

"I'll try," said Alharazed, and followed her.

*

Afterward Greg would find it difficult to explain what had happened. There were a lot of dead knights, he recalled, and bits of dead knights flying everywhere. The sword was pulling him through the air, past a nightmarish swarm of tentacles and wings and the black voidlike eyes of the Blighted God. Alharazed's obsidian sword flashes in his hand, severing seemingly endless appendages, which continually regrew.

"THE DEATHS OF THE ONE BILLION WILL FALL UPON THE DEEP," bellowed the voice of the God.

Greg wasn't listening. He went limp, allowing the sword to tear up the world for him, his limbs flailing beyond his control.

After a long time everything went very quiet. Greg lay on the floor, drenched in green gore and aching in every muscle.

"The Blighted God is dead," said Castopher's voice.

Greg sat up slightly.

"Wow," he said. "Did I do that?"

Castopher smiled. He face was haggard.

"Yes," he said. "Your strength, and the strength of this courageous company, have felled the architect of ultimate evil. And you have returned to your own body."

Greg stared at his body. It actually was the one he was accustomed to, sweat-stained jeans and all.

"Wow," he said. "You know, I don't think I'll ever understand how this stuff works."

"The ways of the Great and Shining One are inscrutable," said Castopher.

Greg got slowly to his feet, dragging the sword behind him, stumbling over mounds of corpses and around the few knights that were still alive.

At the foot of the crumbling throne stood Azarak, fallen upon his knees, Ithuria insensate at his side.

"I don't know what you did," stammered Azarak, "but I would like to pledge you my undying loyalty."

"Sure, I guess," said Greg. "Is Ithuria alive, or what's the deal there?"

Azarak glanced at her. "Alive, but unconscious. Awakening from a state of mind control is shocking at the best of times."

"Hey Ithuria," he said. "You okay?"

She woke up and screamed.

"NECROMANCERS!" she yelled, jabbing a finger at Azarak.

"Don't worry," said Greg, "he's pledged me his undying loyalty and you have hopefully lost your memory. About what has been happening. Right?"

Ithuria furrowed her brow.

"Trust me," said Greg, "it's better for you. Also the Blighted God is dead and I'd really like to find Corvel the Burnt now."

"So would I," she said. "There is a... certain spell... that I think could lead us to him, if we returned to the land of the living."

"I will take us there," intoned Castopher. "But first, should we destroy this practitioner of darkness?"

Azarak flinched. Greg shrugged.

"Now he -is- a bad dude, I agree," said Greg. "On the other hand, I feel like the undying loyalty of a necromancer could be useful so I fell like maybe not killing him just yet. Can you take us back upstairs, Castopher?"

"I will bring us all home to the sunlit realms, great warrior," said Castopher. "ASCENDUM SPIRITUS."

They hovered, and then took off like rockets.

*

Castopher and the battered remnants of his army stared, agape, at the battered remnants of his encampment.

"What could possibly have happened?" he gasped.

Not one of the knights left guarding the camp survived. All were riddled with axe-wounds. Natalia was gone.

"Sofia?" Greg yelled.

Sofia poked her head out of a tent.

"Greg!" she said. "Whoa, you look like you again!"

"I killed a god!" Greg said. "It feels pretty good! What happened?"

"I don't know!" said Sofia. "I was sleeping!"

Castopher sank to his knees.

"The forces of the Light are ruined," he gasped.

"Yeah, looks like it," said Greg. "Well, um, sorry about that, buddy. I've got to do some stuff. Ithuria, what's that spell you were talking about?"

Ithuria glanced down at herself. "Before we do any magic," she said, "I'd like to be clothed again. Long have I dwelt in the sunless realms, naked."

"Agreed," said Dalile.

"Hey Castopher," said Greg, "mind if we borrow some of your dudes' clothes? Since they're all dead and stuff."

Castopher's answer was a choked sob.

"I think that means yes," said Greg.

Shortly thereafter, the two women were dressed in the scraped-together remnants of knights' underclothes. Greg, Sofia, Dalile and Ithuria ventured out into the forest, following a small white spirit that Ithuria had summoned through strange incantations. Greg didn't even bat an eye about it.

"I feel sorta bad about Castopher," said Greg.

"Don't," said Sofia. "He's an asshole."

"Oh okay," said Greg. "Good to know."

For a long time they walked through the darkness of the forest, until they at last reached their destination.

It wasn't quite what Greg had expected.

For one thing it seemed to come out of nowhere. One moment they were walking through the deep trees; the next they had emerged into a clearing, the earth sloping down into a bowl, from which rose a monolithic pillar of stone. A narrow path wound up the sides of the precicipitous mass, and at the pinnacle reached a tower of moss-encrusted stone, the heights of which Greg could not see.

"Whoa," said Greg.

Ithuria halted.

"That's it," she said. "Corvel is in there somewhere. Perhaps a prisoner. We have to help him."

"Yeah," said Greg. He glanced at Dalile, who was holding a sword she'd nicked from a dead knight; she alone looked sturdy and determined. Ithuria and Sofia both looked a bit out of their respective depths.

"Maybe you two should wait here," said Greg. "I have a feeling this could be dangerous."

"I have a feeling everywhere could be dangerous," said Sofia glumly.

"She speaks the truth," said Ithuria. "We'll be safer in your company, great warrior."

"Okay." Greg took a deep breath. "I guess let's climb this tower."

*

It wasn't long before Greg started to wish that he'd done more jogging back in those impossibly distant days when he lived on Earth and didn't have an obsidian sword burdened with the dreams of a dead hero. The climb was extremely steep and extremely long. And the fact that Dalile didn't seem to be breaking a sweat was extremely galling.

He comforted himself by admiring Sofia's ass, inadequately covered by the rags she'd scavenged from dead knights. Odd, he reflected, how such simple pleasures could still move him after all the bizarre shit he'd been through. I guess you never lose respect for a great ass, Greg mused, no matter how weird your life gets. What a great philisopher I must be.

Eons passed. Night began to fall upon the forest, and uncountable stars filled the darkening sky. At long last they reached the pinnacle.

"Whoa," said Sofia. "Ragak?"

It was Ragak, sitting on a stump near the tower door, sharpening his axe with a whetstone. He stared blankly at Sofia.

"Apologies," he grunted. "Many memories lost. Who are you?"

"Sofia," she said. "You... don't remember me?"

"Dude," said Greg, "this is totally crazy. We met ages ago in the wasteland place."

Ragak shook his head. "Lost much in the Big Nowhere," he said. "Death... costly. What is your ambition at the Tower of the Forgotten Flame?"

"Looking for a guy named Corvel the Burnt," said Greg. "What, um, is this place?"

Ragak shook his head.

"Not a place I like to visit," he grunted. "That's why I'm out here. But if you must go in, keep your wits about you. Do not succumb to temptations."

"Uh, sure," said Greg. "I'll do my best."

Sofia shook her head.

"Nuh uh," she said. "I don't like the sound of this at all. I'm gonna wait here with Ragak."

"Probably a good idea," said Greg. "Anyone else?"

"I fear no adventure," said Dalile, tapping her chest.

"I have to find Corvel," said Ithuria longingly.

"Cool," said Greg. "Then let's go in. Just remember not to, uh, succumb to temptations or whatever."

"Of course," said Ithuria.

Greg opened the battered wooden door that guarded the tower entrance, and the three of them stepped inside.

Within was a small carpeted chamber. Within, three archways opened onto three winding staircases.

"Hm," said Greg. "Seems pretty okay so far."

Dalile was tensed, ready to strike. "Choose a stairway, Greg," she said.

"I guess this one," said Greg. He stepped onto the first step. There was a deafending crash and a door slammed shut behind him.

"Shit," he said. "Dalile? Ithuria?"

No reply. He jiggled the door handle. Locked.

"Aw man," said Greg. "Up it is, I guess."

He wound his way up the staircase, past windows with lofty views of the forest below, which stretched out to the horizon like a sea.

The staircase terminated at another innocuous-looking wooden door. He pushed it open and stepped into a small chamber. In the centre of the chamber was a stone statue of a winged man with eight eyes and no mouth.

The eyes flashed with light. Greg staggered.

"Whoooooaaa," he said.

The statue shimmered and morphed, and a shimmering field appeared before it, reflecting Greg's appearance back to him. His tattered jeans were gone. Now he wore deep red breeches and a tunic of the same material, under shining silver armour that felt curiously light. The obsidian sword hung at his hip in a jewelled scabbard.

"That is quite a trick," said Greg. "Colour me impressed."

He crossed the chamber and went into the next room.

It was far more inviting than he'd anticipated: a cozy chamber built around a stone fireplace, in which a welcoming flame burned. Around the fire sat a series of plush couches, and on an oaken table sat four ornate goblets of red wine.

There was a man sitting in one of the couches, wearing a robe that appeared to be made of knit leaves. He jumped to his feet as Greg entered the room.

"Sir Alharazed!" cried the man.

"Uh, hello," said Greg. "Have we met?"

The man bowed deeply. "No, but I saw you at the tourney of Villafaxis. I could never forget how you vanquished the grey knight on his white charger."

"Ah yes," said Greg. "Right. Good times."

The man bowed again. "Forgive me, Sir Alharazed! I never thought I would meet you here. I am Tristane, Knight of the Fallen Council."

"Pleased to meet you," said Greg. "Uh, so do we sit down, or what?"

"Yes, of course." The knight sat back down. "I was told we would be joined by two others soon."

Greg sat on one of the couches. He hadn't realized how much he missed having a comfortable place to sit.

"So, uh," said Greg. "What brings you here?"

Tristane rubbed his hands together nervously. "The same that brings us all here, I suppose," he said. "I seek a boon of the Keeper of the Flame."

"Oh yeah, of course," said Greg. "I was about to say. What, uh, boon are you seeking? If that's not too personal?"

Before Tristane could answer, another door opened, and Greg turned to look at their new visitors.

They were quite striking.

The first was a pale girl with silver hair, clad in a tight black dress that hardly reached her slender thighs. Silver bracelets jangled at her wrists. She was startlingly beautiful, and Greg would hardly have glanced at her companion, had it not been Natalia. Natalia was dressed quite differently. She wore spiked black heels and a scanty black thong; her wrists and elbows were tied behind her back, there was a black gag in her mouth, and small bells were clamped to each of her nipples, jingling as she tottered along behind the other girl.

Tristane rose and bowed. "Miladies," he said, sounding a little uncomfortable.

The black haired woman put her hand on her hip and looked straight at Greg. "Do my eyes decieve me?" she said. "Is this Sir Alharazed?"

"Yup, that's me, haha," said Greg.

"What an honour!"

She crossed the room rapidly and sat beside him, quite close beside him actually. He was very aware of her bare thigh against his leg. "Sir Alharazed," she breathed. "What could possibly bring you to the tower?"

"Just looking for someone," said Greg. "Old friend."

"Of course," she said. "I seek an old friend myself. Please allow me - I am Lady Yraine of the Black Pools."

"Hi," said Greg. "Um - should we maybe untie her or something?"

"Mmhhhg," said Natalia.

Yraine laughed. "Of course not," she said. "The Keeper of the Flames brings out the truest essence of his guests. She is exactly how she is meant to be."

"Oh," said Greg.

"As am I," she murmured, running a finger along her lips.

"Oh," said Greg.

"Lady Yraine," said Tristane eagerly. "It's a pleasure to meet you, milady. I am -"

"So tell me, Sir Alharazed," purred Yraine. "What quest brings you to this tower?"

"Now that," said Greg, "is, um, a secret."

"Oh, come now," she said, tapping his arm with one delicate finger. "We all know the legend of Alharazed, the eternal knight, reincarnated endlessly, seeking reunion with his cursed lover... Surely you seek the Princess Kitra, as you always have?"

"Oh yeah," said Greg, "the legends. Yes. We all know them. Maybe you should tell me what you've heard, though, because that would be very interesting. For me."

"You wish for me to tell you a story?" she whispered in his ear.

Greg jumped.

"Sure," he said.

"Then get comfortable," she murmered. She leaned forward slowly, her breasts nearly spilling out of her dress, picked up one of the goblets of wine, and held it out to him. He took it and drained it in one gulp.

"Whew," he said.

"Mm." She smiled. "Sir Alharazed, the story of your enchanted romance is told even in the far reaches of the Black Pools, where I am one of the Dark Nobility."

"Amazing," said Greg.

"But how could such a story fail to be remembered, even in so distant a kingdom?" she said, stroking his arm slowly. "The tale of a man who battled the Un-Thing to save the girl he loved above all else... only to lose her to the Un-Thing's curse, as it wandered endlessly through the voids beyond time. The tale of a man who vowed to pass beyond time too, so that he could find the Un-Thing and rescue her from the infinite darkness..."

Tristane was leaning on his palms, his eyes aglow. Natalia was shifting awkwardly in the corner. Every time she moved the bells on her breasts jingled slightly.

"And how at last," said Yraine, "the eternal wanderer came upon -"

The fire went out abruptly. Out of the fireplace stepped a shadowy creature, apparently made of ash, whose face dripped ichorous dark.

"The Keeper of the Forgotten Flame awaits you," said the mystical being. "Enter the fireplace."

It crumbled and disappeared.

"That's an odd way of sending a message," said Tristane nervously.

"Will you lead us, Sir Alharazed?" murmured Yraine. "Surely we can trust in your courage!"

"Sure, I guess," said Greg. He walked to the fireplace, shrugged, and stepped into it, ducking his head as he went. As soon as he was within he realized that there was a staircase behind the fire, winding upward.

"A hidden staircase!" said Yraine eagerly. "Let me go first!"

She slid nimbly past him and started up the steps. Greg followed, Tristane behind, and Natalia taking up the rear, hobbling and jingling.

It took Greg only a moment to realize that, given how steep the steps were, he could see up Yraine's extremely short skirt. It took him only a few more moments to realize that she had almost certainly known this and had pushed ahead of him on purpose. He had no idea what to make of the whole affair.

At the top of the steps they emerged into an airy chamber at the very top of the tower, surrounded by railings opening upon the clear night sky. At the centre of the chamber was a statue of a man with tentacles instead of a face. In his hands was a small brazier, and a tiny purple flame burned at its centre.

"Is that the Forgotten Flame?" Greg whispered.

Nobody answered. They stood in a row, silently regarding the stone statue. After a moment Greg realized that there was a voice in his head.

"I am the Keeper of the Flame," said the voice. "All come to me as they truly are, their true forms revealed. Why stand thee in my presence, Alharazed of the Silent Valley?"

"I, uh, was just looking for someone," said Greg. "A guy called Corvel the Burnt. Do you know him?"

There was a momentary silence in his mind, and then the statue spoke again. "You came all the way to the Tower of the Forgotten Flame just to find someone?"

"Yeah," said Greg. "Corvel the Burnt."

"Those who come to my presence do so because they seek the arcane knowledge at the foundation of the universe," said the statue. "Is your friend lost in a distant realm beyond all knowing?"

"No, I think he's in here somewhere."

Another pause.

"Why didn't you just wait outside?" asked the statue.

"Didn't think of it, I guess," said Greg. "So is he here, or what?"

The purple flame swelled slightly.

"Truly incomprehensible are the ways of Sir Alharazed," the statue marveled. "The eternal wanderer comes to me in the company of strange companions... a girl born to serve dark masters, a witch of the Black Pools, a knight of the overgrown fells... and you only want to meet Corvel the Burnt, who would shortly have left this tower anyway?"

"Yeah, I guess so," said Greg.

"I understand thee not at all," said the statue. "But I must grant thy wish, Alharazed of the Silent Valley. When you depart from this place, Corvel the Burnt will depart with thee."

"Thanks," said Greg.

The statue's voice left his mind. The other three stood perfectly still, as though entranced; Greg waited, a little uncomfortably, and then finally Yraine shook her hair and turned to him with a big smile.

"Finished so soon, Sir Alharazed?" she said.

"Yeah," said Greg.

She waved languidly at the other two. "We can't leave until they've finished speaking with the Keeper," she said. "So it seems we have some time to pass, sir."

"Yeah?"

"You know," she said, "I can hear the words the Keeper says to others. It is one of the talents of the witches of the Black Pools. Would you like to know what I hear?"

"Sure, I guess," said Greg.

She walked slowly closer to him, her hips swaying, riding the short dress even further up her thigh. She stopped in front of him, looked up into his eyes, and brushed his chest with her fingertips. "The naked girl, Natalia, has made a terrible mistake," she said. "She entered into a pact with a demon from the Big Nowhere, giving her power over death. But the price of that pact is repaid in slavery, and now she must serve the gruesome saint of the deeps. She has come to beg the Keeper to release her from her debt... but he cannot."

"Jeez," said Greg, "that's pretty harsh."

Yraine looked up into his eyes. "Perhaps," she said. "But we witches of the Black Pools long to be subjugated by powerful masters, and to serve them in everything. I hope only that my master is not a disgusting horror like whatever will come for her..."

Greg was starting to sweat profusely, and her fingertips were sliding slowly down his chest. But before things could go any further there was a loud boom, and a portal of pure fire appeared behind the statue. Through the portal strode a tall figure in flaming black armour, a serrated sword of pure fire at his side. His face, beneath his bloodred helmet, was a black void.

"Whoa!" said Greg. "Who is that?"

The flaming figure stopped and fixed the dark void upon him. "I am Heroslayer Nethro, agent of Droggoth the Pukelord," said the void. "I remember you well, Sir Alharazed. We met in the ruins of Cath, after the Un-Thing cursed your line, and I swore I would end your life."