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THE REAL ADVENTURES OF JONNY QUEST

Synopsis: The heroes descend into the villain's lair, and approach the final confrontation.

"THE INNER LIGHT" chapter 10

by Eric R. Umali

"Tartaros"

It was like riding into a cloud. The mist hung low and heavy, and obscured almost everything around in the dim, cloudy illumination.

Jonathor and Jessamyn trotted the horses slowly as they reached the bottom of the cliff. In the distance, through the mist, they could make out the shape of a huge black castle. It was hewn from the jagged rocks of a tall spire of stone, which stuck out from the ground as if the earth had been stuck with a huge thorn.

They guided Bandit and Iris to a rickety dock which stuck out into a wide river of gray water, which smoked and steamed, but gave off no heat. "The Styx?" asked Jonathor.

"Probably," Jessamyn replied. She turned to see a dark figure coming towards them through the mist. "So, this must be Charon**." An arrow whistled through the air straight at her. Jonathor's hand lashed out, catching the arrow in flight, the razor-sharp head an inch from Jessamyn's heart.

"It seems he wants more than a coin for our passage!" shouted Jonathor, and they split apart, he drawing his bow, she her crossbow, in a smooth, fluid movements. Both nocked arrows to their weapons and fired them at the shape. More projectiles flew at them.

"Come on!" shouted Jonathor, and they rode deeper into the mist.

The barge that had been coming towards them slid up onto the shore as two scores of armored soldiers jumped off and began searching for the heroes. They tied the barge to a lightning-struck black tree on the edge of the river.

All of a sudden, a gust of wind kicked up, carrying the mist away from the soldiers, leaving them exposed. These were the undead troops of the wizard's army, the reanimated corpses of men, given a mockery of life without thought or fear. In the midst of them was a single human, with red stripes on his helmet, directing the zombies. Lorenzo.

Jessamyn and Iris burst from the mist at full gallop, crossing right in front of the stunned soldiers. Without slowing, she swung her broadsword, cutting one of the soldiers in half, then disappeared again. They turned and moved to follow her into the obscuring gray cloud. Then, it seemed, the mist itself attacked them.

The first arrow struck a soldier dead in the chest. It made a bright flash as it shot straight through the zombie's metal breastplate, sending the body flying until it struck the burned out hulk of a tree.

Two crossbow bolts flew, both flashing with magic fire, both sending their targets into the air. Lorenzo and his soldiers rushed around, searching for cover from the barrage.

From their vantage point, further up the rocky path they had taken before, Jessamyn and Jonathor crouched and fired at will, hidden by the mist. Jonathor nocked an arrow and drew back the bow, lining the steel tip up with another soldier. His eyes narrowed, and he concentrated. The arrow began to glow. Using a little known, but simple spell, he imbued the arrow with a portion of his powerful life force. Letting the arrow fly, it traveled twice as fast as normal and struck with the force of a boulder moving at the same speed. The soldier was hit square in the chest and was carried twenty yards before falling to earth. From beside him, Jessamyn was doing the same with the long bolts flying from her crossbow.

Before long, only Lorenzo still stood. Jessamyn called a wind which cleared the area. Lorenzo looked around him at the scattered, broken corpses of his undead soldiers, some torn completely in two by the assault. He screamed in rage and raised his sword. A beam of crimson light emanating from the black castle struck him, and he grew to double his size, screaming for their blood and rushing towards the path.

Jonathor reached down for the arrows he had placed on the ground before him. He found only one. Turning to Jessamyn, he saw her shake her head and walk closer. Jonathor raised his bow and drew it, whispering the spell. He drove the bloodcurdling cry of the ogre Lorenzo from his hearing and concentrated. Jessamyn's arms reached around his own, as if to guide his motions. He felt her breath on his ear as she said the same spell. The arrow glowed bright gold, and flew straight and true.

Lorenzo recoiled, half from the impact, half from surprise. He sailed into the air, the golden projectile blazing in his chest, driven straight through his trunk, immolating him in golden fire. He landed with a splash in the river, where a great waterspout marked his end.

Jonathor lowered the bow, and turned to Jessamyn. She nodded. They returned to Bandit and Iris and descended to the riverbank again. Carefully boarding the barge, they pushed away from the shore and headed towards the black castle.

**********

Inside the black castle, the wizard Surd sat upon his marble throne, seething. Rage rushed into the cavernous throne room and knelt to the wizard's right.

"My lord, the heroes have... bested... the guardsmen. Lorenzo was given as much strength as we could, but he, too was defeated. Lorenzo is dead."

The wizard gave a low laugh. "'Bested,' you say, dark elf? The guardsmen were _crushed_!!" He brought his armored fist down, and the sound echoed in the great hall.

A second later, Zin burst through the doors, shutting them behind him. "My lord," he cried, "the heroes are scaling the mountain path! We have thrown scores of reinforcements at them, but to no avail!"

Surd's voice was chillingly even and calm. "Prepare yourselves to greet them, my minions. Let them come."

**********

Jonathor looked up the path. The narrow, rocky strip carved into the mountain was choked with soldiers. "Any guesses as to how many there are?"

Jessamyn jokingly pointed her finger at them. "One... two... three... fifty?" She sighed. They had already spent the better part of the morning fighting through Surd's foot soldiers, and they were sick of them.

"Ready for more?"

She hefted her broadsword briefly, then drove it into the ground before her. "Enough of this," she said angrily, and knelt to the ground. Her gauntlets began to glow a bright gold. The mountain path began to shake. Jonathor crouched to steady himself.

A second later, the mountain finished their job. Jagged pieces of rock burst from the ground of the path, forcing soldiers off the side of the mountain. The stones came from below and from the side of the mountain itself, until not a single one of the soldiers still remained. The rocks receded.

Jessamyn sagged slightly as she got to her feet. Cursing, Jonathor helped her up.

"Damn it, Jessamyn, you must reserve your strength."

"You're welcome."

"Fine then, thank you."

They cautiously resumed walking up the path, ready for the next wave of resistance, but it never came. After a few minutes, they found themselves at the base of the castle. It had been carved right out of the summit of the mountain, and had kept the sharp, steep angles of the natural rock. From a distance it was an imposing sight. Here, it was truly frightening.

Jonathor and Jessamyn stood before the gate, which dwarfed them.

"Should we knock?" Jonathor asked.

Jessamyn shrugged. "Well, seeing how they seem to have run out of soldiers to throw at us, I suppose we can take our time and be polite." With some effort, she raised the huge iron door knocker and slammed it against the latch, making a loud, dull clang.

The doors shuddered, then swung open. They were so wide that the heroes had to step back several times to avoid being swept to the side.

Nothing awaited them inside but darkness as far as they could see. The darkness was then illuminated by a row of widely-spaced torches that ignited themselves, lining the walls of a great hallway.

"There's not quite enough light, is there?" Jonathor said. Still peering inside, he held out his hand. Without looking, Jessamyn took it. Their clasped hands began to glow slightly.

They stepped into the darkness.

The gates swung shut behind them.

TO BE CONTINUED...

NEXT: "DUELS"

**One last Greek myth reference-- Charon: For any soul to reach the land of the dead, he or she had to cross the great River Styx. Charon was the ferryman. Proper burial practice included placing a coin in the person's mouth, insuring they had the fare to pay Charon. Without it, they would not be able to cross over and would spend eternity haunting people, usually those who did not bury them properly.