At that, Chert and Gord set up a vehement protest. They demanded no more than one day be spent on scholarly business, and the next for adventure. Curley consented to get along without the sketching, reasoning that he could construct a drawing from memory, and resolved to head for the dale first thing in the morning. That compromise was agreed to, and they settled down to sleep.
But their rest on this night was uneasy. Nightmares and restlessness plagued all three, and a lethargic feeling persisted in each of them as they proceeded down the slope of the plateau, until the warmth of late morning seemed to burn the feeling away.
Each of them discovered these facts about the others as they went about the work that the druid directed. Conversations they had between drawing, pacing, and measurement with rope or hand revealed their mutual experiences of the previous night. It was evident, the druid concluded with a tone of deep concern in his voice, that the cairn was not a deserted ruin, but it contained something malign, and this was what had caused their unease.
Instead of camping near the depression that night, Curley had the group move to a place farther away, and assured Gord and Chert that this would lessen the evil effects of the guardian of the cairn. After another sparse meal, he sat them down and went into a lecture.
“I spoke only vaguely of a guardian,” the druid began, “for I half expected there to be none. Actually, you two had more confidence that this site existed than I did…. I suppose I feared to hope too strongly so as to avoid too great a disappointment if the tale proved to be fictitious. So, if only a part of me thought we would even locate the ringstones, then the existence of a relic and the thing said to protect it could receive still less credence in my mind.”
The druid-ranger paused for a moment to reflect, slowly stroking his chin in meditation. “The mention of a prize within the cairn was made to tempt you two to come along,” he confessed. “You are friends, and I wanted your company. But, what I thought might be only an illusory lure now seems most probable indeed. Unfortunately for all of us, that also indicates that the balance of the story I heard is likely factual as well.”
Before his companions could toss out questions and accusations about what they had just been told, Greenleaf launched into the rest of his tale quickly.
“According to the survivor’s account,” he said, “the fleeing men were much worn from climbing up the western side of this range, and when they accidentally found this place, they rested for a time and allowed their nearly dead steeds to graze and recover as well. Of course, they explored the stone circles and the sealed cairn in the middle, but found no means of easy access to the barrow’s interior. However, being robbers by nature, such a place was irresistible to them. They all voted to remain and find or force entrance one way or another, despite whatever bad occurrences they might encounter.
“The group was haunted by horrible night visions, and on the very first morning afterward one of their number went insane and threw himself off the edge of the slope into the dell, breaking his neck in the fall. That incident was passed off as merely a breakdown of nerves from flight and exhaustion. The next night another of these brigands awoke to find a companion staring at him with glowing, red eyes. The leering fellow attacked madly, and in the following struggle both attacker and attacked were killed. In a mere two days, three of the group had died, but the desire of the rest to find what was buried beneath the great stone slabs of the cairn prevailed over their fear-greed has that sort of power over foolish and evil beings.
“An entrance to the place was discovered the next day, and a number of the brigands were able to move the block concealing it and go in. What they found was not to their taste, however. After their torches gave them the barest glimpse of some sort of fabulous treasure, the flames of their brands were suddenly extinguished, and a terrible fear came over them. They stampeded back along the route they had taken, in a wild and confused rush through the lightless, narrow stone maze.
“Their retreat was even more panicked because of the blood-curdling screams and terrible rending and cracking sounds that echoed past them from behind. Those near the front of the on-rushing group realized that their comrades were being slain and crushed one by one, with incredible brutality and swiftness, by something that was overtaking them even as they wildly sought escape.”
Gord stirred uneasily but did not interrupt Curley’s horrendous tale.
“One of the band was a wicked cleric, a priest of some cursed and malign being or other entity unknown now. That one managed to employ his power to create a bright sphere of glowing light, and its radiance showed what doomed them-a demon of most awful aspect! Somehow, a cataboligne was bound within the cairn. This monstrous guardian, mad with centuries of confinement, was wreaking a hideous vengeance upon the intruders. The cleric attempted to turn the demon, or possibly to treat with it. It was this effort that enabled the front-runners to escape and seal the tomb on the demon and the rest of their fellows-including the hapless priest.”
“And then what?” demanded Chert, unaware that the tale was over.
“Well, at least one lived happily ever after in Urnst,” Curley replied dryly in an attempt to break the tension he felt.
But Gord was not in a humorous mood at all. “We are going where this… demon, named Catabo-something, waits with the shattered skeletons of who knows how many brigands-and some priest of evil’s gnawed remains, too? Are you mad?” Gord said, his voice rising in pitch and volume on the last three words.
Greenleaf responded with calm indignation. “What lurks within the cairn is a cataboligne, which, for your information, is a sort of demon, not the true name of one.”
“So what’s in a name? A demon of any sort smells foul to me! If we are to find treasure, let’s look elsewhere,” said the young thief with a shudder. Gord was now quite set on not going any further with this whole business, and his tone and expression relayed this opinion clearly.
“Aw, come on, Gord,” urged the big barbarian. “A demon is just a bigger, nastier… ogre… or something like that. We’ve got our blades, and Curley here can use his spells and stuff. We can’t come all this way and then turn tail and leave a fortune behind because it’s guarded by some old catabowly demon now, can we?”
The druid interjected his own counter also. “Before you run off, Gord, my lad, ask yourself this: How many fleeing bandits and outlaw brigands are you equal to?”
“I’ll take on a dozen of that sort of scum anytime!” Chert said with steel in his voice.
“Then consider that,” said Greenleaf in an encouraging tone, “and consider this as well: I have more powers than some little cleric serving a malign master-not to mention my skill with weapons.”
The exchange continued for a while in this vein. Gradually, as Gord’s initial shock subsided, he became convinced that he should remain with his comrades. The words of Curley and Chert did help, but in large measure Gord persuaded himself to stay. After all, these were his boon companions with whom he had agreed to adventure. And he would not desert them now, cataboligne demon or no. Tomorrow they would enter the cairn, with weapons and spells ready to counter the evil of its demonic guardian.
Chapter 29
When Gord woke suddenly, the first thing he saw in the pale light of the pre-dawn sky was an enormous bear biting the arm and shoulder of the druid. Without hesitation, Gord sprang to his feet, sword in hand, shouting for the sleeping barbarian to awaken and help defend their companion. The great ursine jaws released their hold on Greenleaf, the head swung toward the source of the sudden commotion, and a horrible growl rumbled forth from deep within the bear’s body.
“Stop! Stand still!” shouted the druid at his companions.
Both young men froze, obedient but perplexed. Gord remained poised to lunge, and Chert stood with axe in hand, about to charge.
The druid spoke a few soft, growling sounds, and the monstrous cave bear relaxed again. As the druid continued to communicate in this fashion, the animal sat on its ponderous haunches, lolled its tongue, and stretched forth its head. Greenleaf scratched and pounded the place between its ears, and the bear made odd, whining groans of pleasure at this rough petting. Gord looked at Chert quizzically and saw the barbarian break into a knowing grin as he witnessed the interplay between the animal and the druid. The young thief turned his gaze back to Curley, wearing a frown of confusion.
“This bear is Yurgh. Or, at least, that’s as close as human speech can come to pronouncing his name,” the druid said as he continued to administer his scratching and patting, much to the evident delight of the furry creature he spoke about. “It seems that he alone resides in this territory, dwelling in a cave not too far distant.
“During my watch last night,” the druid continued, “I summoned any animals within the area to come to our assistance, but only Yurgh here responded. We are friends now, he and I, and he will aid us in what lies before us. I enlist his service with great regret, for I fear that the cataboligne will treat Yurgh roughly, and the death of such a wonderful creature as this will mark my spirit sorely. I have told him of the adversary, however, and the great old fellow agrees to fight the demon willingly, hating all things such as it represents.”
“You call and speak with bears?” Gord was having trouble grasping what the druid had done.
Chert had no such difficulty, having been around nature priests for all of his life. “Sure thing, Gord,” the barbarian said before Greenleaf could reply. “I’ve seen this pretty often, and it’s no big deal. If I wasn’t still asleep when you started shouting, I’d have known better than to worry about Curley and a bear chumming it up.”
More than a little miffed at Chert’s casual passing off of his efforts, Greenleaf ceased his petting of Yurgh to point out that the huge ursine was a formidable foe and an ally to the death. “Can you bring such help for us?” the druid demanded of the young barbarian. “Even a warrior such as you would find his hug somewhat uncomfortable-no big deal, indeed!” finished the druid with a harrumph, and he resumed his scratching of the now-restless bear.
“Sorry, Curley,” Chert said hastily. “You know I didn’t mean that it was nothing-only that calling bears and stuff is a power all you druids have.”
Gord freely admitted that he, for one, was duly impressed, and Greenleaf was thereby mollified. That settled, the three adventurers and their grizzled pet of monstrous proportion headed for the depression. It was a matter of an hour or so before they came within sight of the bowl containing the circled stones, clambered down the narrow path to its bottom, and advanced to the piled slabs resting at the very center of the inner ring of megaliths.
“Here is what bars the entrance to the barrow,” Greenleaf said, pointing to a large rectangle of rock in front of him. The stone showed marks of tools that had been wielded upon its surface, and it was somewhat askew, wedged in place with other stones obviously added as if by afterthought.
“How do we move it?” asked the muscular barbarian. “I’d say it weighs a couple of tons.”
“The thing pivots, according to the story,” said the druid as he surveyed the slab. “Let’s get the detritus out of the way and give it a try. Yurgh, here, can use his strength to help us pull it open.”
It took a bit of work for the three men to clear away the shards of stone, which had been broken away from the ancient ruins by time and weather and gathered up by the frightened bandits years ago in their efforts to wedge fast the portal. Other stones too, boulders of some size, had been heaped at the base of the slab. The great bear watched the men’s labor with seeming fascination, content to bask in the bright warmth of the morning sun as the two-legged little creatures cleared the rubble.
“Damn that fat lazy bastard of a bear,” Chert muttered as he tugged and pulled away a chunk of splintered megalith from its obstructing position. “Couldn’t you have ordered him to help us, Curley?”
“Yurgh can do a lot, but his claws aren’t fingers, nor his forelegs arms,” the druid said, supervising the last bit of work. “Besides, he enjoys watching and resting,” he added with a grin and a wink in the general direction of the monstrous animal. Then he spoke seriously. “Don’t forget, he has agreed willingly to fight against the guardian, putting his life in jeopardy for no reward other than the encounter itself!”
“Wonderful,” Gord interjected with sarcasm. “But let’s cut the crap about what that bear should or will do and get on to the opening of this blasted barrow! We’ll be here at midnight if you two don’t stop jawing at each other and lend me a hand!”
Gord was attempting to pull the huge slab of stone open by himself, and his efforts were having no effect. Curley murmured something for a few seconds, and then Yurgh seemed to understand what was needed, for the cave bear ambled up, brushed the young thief aside with a casual swipe, and inserted the claws of his great forepaws into the crack between slab and cairn wall.
The animal pried and scratched at the projecting lip of the portal, making strained growling sounds as he worked with obvious great effort. After watching this for a few minutes, Gord became concerned for the continued good health of their new ally, and he was about to request that he be called off by the druid who commanded him.
Then Yurgh suddenly spraddled his hindquarters, dug his rear claws into the earth, and tore at the slab with even more vigor. The fur of the mighty creature rippled, showing where muscles bunched and moved beneath the thick hair and hide. The stone closure came slowly forward several inches, then stopped again.
As Yurgh sat back with a satisfied grunt, the three men hurried around his body to examine what the bear had accomplished. They could see a crack of a finger’s breadth between the portal and the lithic post. Curley theorized that the heavy slab had been forced shut when the brigands fled the barrow, and in their haste to slam it on what was inside, they had probably jammed it on something that had forced it somewhat askew and prevented it from closing properly. Whatever that was now also prevented the slab from coming open. Greenleaf peered for a time into the crack, his hands cupped along the sides of his face to shut out as much sunlight as possible.
“I can detect nothing in the antechamber beyond,” he told the expectant pair beside him. “Let’s see if we can use our brute force to unstick this door.” He put his fingers through the crack and got a grip on the inner edge of the slab. Gord and Chert did likewise, and Yurgh put one of his monstrous paws to work on the crevice as well, reaching between human legs in order to find a place where his claws could add strength to the attempt.
For several agonizing seconds, even the combined pull failed to move the portal. Then the slab pivoted outward suddenly, with a shriek of stone on metal. The pivot pin that had been holding the stuck door snapped with a loud ping, giving way under the pressure. Chert, who had been tugging mightily, lost his footing abruptly now that the force of his pull was meeting no resistance. His stumbling fall carried his companions back and asprawl also, at the same instant that Yurgh jerked back from the opening with speed hard to believe for a creature so massive. As all four of them watched from their prone positions several feet away, the now-free slab teetered for a split second. Then inertia had its way, and the great stone fell away from the opening and crashed to the ground.
“We are committed now,” the druid said heavily as he eyed the array of arcane sigils graven into the inner face of the stone door. Traces of pigment could still be seen in some of the incised marks, presumably chiseled by some ancient binder of demons.