by Randy Nargi
“Hold!” Mortam Rowe yelled. He pressed a blade to Valthar’s neck. “Not a single step, Mr. Grannt. Or Valthar’s head becomes somewhat less attached to his neck.”
“Let me go!” Talessa Kreed struggled to free herself from Keave’s grip, but he held her tight and lifted her off the ground. Then he took a step toward the doorway.
“No!” Bander shouted.
But it was too late.
Keave flung Talessa Kreed into the Nave. She screamed as she stumbled a few yards into the chamber, right between the silvery rails. It looked like she was going to fall, but she seemed to catch herself and remained on her feet. As Bander watched in horror, she froze in place like a statue, a mask of terror on her face. Then she just seemed to melt away into nothingness, her final scream echoing as if it had come from very far away.
Rage boiled up inside of Bander. He spun on his heel towards Mortam Rowe who still held the blade to Valthar’s neck. “Let him go!”
“I think not, Mr. Grannt. You see—”
Keave slammed into Bander from behind, shoulder first—from the feel of it.
But this time Bander was ready.
As Keave made contact, Bander dropped the spear, spun to his left, and grabbed Keave’s arm. Using the ape-like man’s momentum against him, Bander flung him away. With a yell of disbelief, Keave bowled into Mortam Rowe and Valthar.
Bander kept moving. He rushed over to Keave and launched a savage kick at his kidney. If it had connected properly, the kick would have killed Keave—or at least taken him out of the fight. But Keave moved like a cat, rolling away into the dark brick passage that led to the Nave.
Mortam Rowe scrambled to his feet and flung a knife wildly at Bander’s midsection. It grazed his side and clattered to the ground, serving more to distract than injure.
But that was probably its intent.
Because, while Bander dodged the knife, Keave charged in from the side, moving fast. His arm shot around in a powerful roundhouse blow that smashed into Bander’s chest just below the shoulder. Bolts of pain shot through Bander’s upper body.
And Keave kept coming. Like a lightning strike.
He jabbed twice at Bander’s chest. One, two. Bander managed to deflect the first punches, but then Keave snapped a backfist strike into Bander’s jaw, knocking his head back in a spray of blood.
Bander’s vision darkened and he stumbled back towards the doorway to the Nave.
Keave was too fast. Too strong.
And then Keave exploded towards him, a grim smile on his face. Coming in for the kill.
Bander feinted right, like he was trying to escape, but once Keave was close enough, Bander smashed an elbow into the side of the man’s head. Nice and hard.
It was like Keave had run into a stone wall. He wobbled and blinked and then Bander hit him again. In exactly the same place. With the same amount of force.
Bang.
Yes! Keave crumpled to the ground, unconscious.
“Keave!” Mortam Rowe screamed. He jerked Valthar to his feet and pressed the blade against his neck.
But Bander had his boot on Keave’s windpipe.
A stalemate.
Valthar struggled, but Mortam Rowe held him tight.
“Let him go,” Bander said.
Mortam Rowe stared at him with dead eyes. “Where’s Belle?”
“Who?”
“My weapon.”
“Let him go and I will tell you. Otherwise, Keave loses his life.”
Mortam Rowe didn’t say a word.
“You know that Keave’s your way out of here,” Bander said. “If he dies, so do you.”
“I’d say the same about you.”
“I’m an old man. I don’t care if I die.”
That wasn’t true, of course, but Mortam Rowe didn’t know it.
“Stop it!” Valthar yelled. “Stop it.”
Both Bander and Mortam Rowe looked at him.
“There’s no treasure,” Valthar said. “It’s obvious now. Sward was leading us on a fool’s errand.”
“I don’t believe you,” Mortam Rowe said.
“You saw what happened to Talessa Kreed, you fool. This is a death trap.”
Bander watched as Mortam Rowe considered what Valthar was saying.
“Release the blade and I will prove it to you,” Valthar said.
“Your time to prove yourself has long passed,” Mortam Rowe spat.
All of a sudden, Bander felt movement beneath his foot as Keave snapped awake. He grabbed Bander’s leg and struggled to free himself.
But Bander wasn’t about to let his foe free.
“Yield!” he yelled.
But Keave slammed his fists against Bander’s leg.
Bander reacted instinctively. He pressed down and and began to crush Keave’s windpipe.
But as he looked down, he saw Keave’s body start to shimmer like a reflection in a pond. A second later his foe was gone—and Bander’s foot stepped through the cold air where Keave’s neck had been a moment before. The ape-like man had teleported away. Just like back at the Temple of Dreams in Irfals when Bander had witnessed Keave teleport away with Mortam Rowe as they fell through the air.
That meant Keave could be anywhere. Bander snapped his head up, ready to fend off an attack. But there was no sign of Keave.
Valthar must have tried to take advantage of the commotion because Bander saw him elbow Mortam Rowe in the gut and try to break out of the man’s grip.
But before Valthar could get more than a step away, Mortam Rowe plunged his blade up to the hilt into Valthar’s back.
Roaring in rage, Bander sprung towards them, but Mortam Rowe was quicker. He flung Valthar at Bander, turned on his heel, and sprinted away into the darkness. Bander caught his friend and eased him to the ground.
“Valthar, hang on.”
“Put me in the Nave,” Valthar croaked. Blood burbled from his mouth. The knife had hit a lung.
Valthar would die.
“The Nave!” Valthar coughed and more blood came out.
Bander didn’t know what to do. There was no way to save his friend, and he didn’t understand what would be gained by trapping themselves inside the Nave.
Valthar’s eyes quickly became glassed over and the veins on his neck began to bulge. He didn’t have much time.
“Please…”
Bander took a deep breath and carefully picked Valthar up in his arms. He glanced out into the darkness where Mortam Rowe had escaped to—but there was no sign of either Mortam Rowe or Keave.
Then Bander turned and took a step through the doorway into the Nave.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Bander didn’t immediately freeze and turn into a statue as Talessa Kreed had. With Valthar in his arms, he took a step and then another step inside the Nave.
Valthar wheezed, struggling to breathe. His eyes were now wild. “Go…” he mouthed.
All the sound in this place was dim and strangely muffled. As if Bander’s ears were clogged.
“How are we not frozen?”
Valthar didn’t answer, but Bander knew it must have something to do with the aona his friend possessed.
Bander kept walking, slowly, step after step, between the rails inlaid into the earthen floor. Something lurched against him. It was Talessa Kreed. She had appeared from nothingness—but she seemed alive. She coughed and sputtered, trying to hold on to him for support.
“Talessa!”
Bander’s vision blurred and the walls of the chamber distorted—as if they were wax tablets left out on a hot sunny day.
He blinked, but was unable to clear his vision. If anything, it was getting worse—like double vision. But he wasn’t seeing two of everything. Not exactly. He was seeing the painted mural on the wall superimposed over a similar vista—only more real. Like he was actually on a rocky beach, with dark hills looming in his peripheral vision.
Bander stumbled and almost lost his footing. When he looked down at the ground, he saw that it had
changed. Instead of the dusty floor of the chamber, he now walked on rocks and pebbles, soaked with water. Clumps of seaweed and bits of shells were everywhere. And a cold breeze brought the stench of salt water mixed with rotting fish.
“Where are we?” Talessa Kreed looked around wildly.
Valthar whispered, “Put me down.”
Bander eased his friend to his feet, and Valthar struggled to stand upright. He shut his eyes and began to mumble.
Bander strained to make out what Valthar was trying to say. It was a single word, repeated over and over.
Then he saw Valthar make a motion with his hands and Bander knew what Valthar was doing.
He was casting a spell.
The wind picked up suddenly, and Bander felt enveloped in icy cold. Then, in front of them, a glowing portal swirled into existence. Jagged bolts of magical energy danced around the spectral doorway which shimmered and faded in and out.
Bander couldn’t believe what he was seeing. From the first day they met, Valthar had professed to being a mage, yet in the thirty years that Bander had known him, Valthar had never cast a single spell.
“Take us through,” Valthar wheezed. His face was ghostly white, except for his lips which were sickly blue. Bander was amazed that his friend was still alive.
“Where does it lead?”
“My father…”
Bander lifted Valthar up and looked over at Talessa Kreed. Her eyes were wide with shock.
“I trust him,” Bander said. “This has to be the way out.”
With that, the three of them stepped through the glowing portal.
Bander lost his balance—briefly—and then stumbled out on to a rich-looking carpet in a well-lit hall. He caught himself and eased Valthar to the ground.
Where were they?
The hall was wide and long and definitely well-appointed; its walls were adorned with tapestries and artwork. A fire burned in a large stone fireplace and the air was warm and dry. Above the mantle hung a large gilt-framed portrait of a stern-looking man with a prominent jaw.
The man bore a striking resemblance to Valthar.
Before Bander could say anything, a scream erupted from behind him. He turned to see a woman dressed in odd-looking clothing staring at them in surprise.
“Help!” she yelled and ran back the way she came.
“Wait!” Bander called.
“Is this a dream?” Talessa Kreed asked.
Bander ignored her question. “Go after her. Get help. Now!”
Talessa Kreed ran off after the oddly dressed woman and Bander checked on Valthar.
He was still struggling to breathe and his whole face was blue.
“Be strong,” Bander said. “Kreed’s bringing help. You did it. We escaped the Nave. Although I have no idea where we are.”
“Home,” Valthar said.
It was the last word he uttered before he died.
THE END
Free Bonus Chapter
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The River’s Bane: A Bander Novella
Chapter One
Autumn 1712
Southeast of Lhawster
AT ONE TIME OR ANOTHER, EVERYONE HAS PLAYED THIS GAME WITH THEMSELVES. I’m not sure if game is the right word. Maybe it is more of a dare. A dare you direct at yourself. You dare yourself to accomplish something. Maybe jump over a pit. Maybe ride a wild horse.
In my case it was a dare involving a fork in the road. A fork that branched into two paths through an alpine forest. These were not equal paths by any means. The southern path was where I was supposed to go. There was no doubt about that. It was a wide caravan route that ran from Lhawster to Prentel, 600 miles or so. The route was generally well maintained, mostly flat or at a gentle grade, with seven or eight outposts along the way, and as safe as the most distant caravan route from Rundlun could be. The caravan route would get me to my destination in just about a month barring any mishaps. And that was important, since in about a month’s time it would begin to get bitterly cold here on the east side of the Horniath Range.
The other path wound down a fairly steep gravel trail to the southeast into a dark thicket of scrubby ura trees. All I knew about this route was what the warden I met in Viandel had told me. Apparently the path followed the river and there was nothing down there but a mining camp and an ore sorting operation with a stamp mill. I asked him if he thought that the southeast route was shorter. He had admitted that he was new in these parts, just up from the Rangelands, so he could only relay what he had heard himself.
“It might be shorter distance-wise,” the warden had said. “But I believe it is more difficult.”
So that was the dare I was considering. Could I take the tougher route and still travel swiftly enough to make it to Prentel before winter?
Now staring at the fork in the road, I could only think of one thing. The southeast path looked more interesting.
THE SOUTHEASTERN TRAIL SWITCHBACKED DOWN INTO A DARK WOODED CANYON. It took me a little less than an hour to reach the bottom. I took my time because I was looking for bears. As I traveled closer to the river, I figured there was a greater chance of running into one.
I had no real education in the natural arts, but I liked to read. Back when I was the Imperial Investigator, I had access to the most extensive library in the world. Although, now in my sixth decade, I struggled to recall all the facts I had read in the natural history books. But one thing stuck in my mind: the animals in this corner of Harion were big. There was plenty of food out here and human settlements were few and far between. Which probably had something to do with it.
I’ve encountered plenty of bear and just about any other creature you might find in the wilderness. A normal bear from the Midlands maybe stood as tall as me. But I was pretty sure that a Horniath bear was bigger. A lot bigger. Maybe twice my size. That would put it at nearly 13 feet tall. Not something I wanted to run into. Besides bear, the top predators in this part of the Empire were wolves, rippers, and cliff lions. The lions and wolves were nocturnal; I didn’t have to worry about them. Rippers were a danger, but I was pretty certain that they would be found in more open terrain. Maybe further east. This area—the forest around the river—was bear territory. Plenty of fish. Plenty of hinkleberries. Lots of caves in the rocks. Perfect.
The air was slightly damp at the bottom of the canyon, and I got my first good look at the river I had been hearing for the past hour. The Calfoss River started way up in the mountains at some lake fifty miles away. It rushed its way through the Horniaths, carving out canyons and gorges and creating towering waterfalls before finally widening out and snaking through the lava fields southeast of here. At some point, the Calfoss dropped into a fissure and never came out. At least as far as the explorers who mapped it knew. But that was a good hundred miles away. Right here the Calfoss was just twenty yards wide and flowing swiftly—demonstrating its power by smashing against boulders the size of cabins and scooping deep cuts out of the black buchstone cliffs.
The trail followed the river due south at this point. There were no signs of bears nor any beast larger than a chipmunk. Which was fine with me. I was content to hike through the shadows, dine on berries, and admire the rock formations which stood like ancient stone sentinels guarding the river. The weather was cool, but not cold. A month before it would have been considerably hotter here. A month from now, there would be snow on the ground. But right now it was perfect.
I hiked for three more hours and then I found the old woman’s dead body.
SHE WAS NAKED. But she wasn’t dead. It seemed that I was a little hasty in my diagnosis. But if she wasn’t dead now, she was going to be soon unless I did something. Her breathing was shallow and her skin was tinged blue. She was cold to the touch. I wrapped the old woman in my cloa
k and carried her over to a spot of sunlight. It was early afternoon and the sun had finally warmed up.
From the looks of her grey hair—plastered to her scalp—and her pallor, she appeared to have fallen into the river and drowned. Or nearly drowned. But that didn’t explain the absence of clothing. Maybe she was swimming? I didn’t have time to ponder the question too long. I had to make a fire and try to warm her up.
I gathered a bunch of fallen ura branches and stacked them into a mound. Some of the branches were dotted with sap, which was good—since that would help the fire. It took longer than I wanted to get the fire going and while it grew, I held the woman close to me, hoping that my body heat might warm her. Once the fire was good and strong, I set her beside it and investigated the area between the trail and the river. It took a while, but I found her clothing, balled up near some bitterbrush on the side of the river. So maybe I was right. Maybe she had been swimming or bathing. Maybe she slipped and fell. Started to drown and then managed to crawl out. It was as good a hypothesis as any. The next question was: why was an old woman out all alone in the middle of nowhere? That was a lot more difficult to answer. I continued to search the area but didn't find anything besides a battered old walking stick. There was no knapsack. No supplies. No horse.
I took the walking stick and went to check on the woman and noticed that the fire had been doing its job. The woman was not nearly as cold to the touch now. And though she was still unconscious, she was moving a little—like someone tossing and turning during a nightmare. I looked up at the sky. In less than three hours it would be dark. I knew that there was no town or village along this route, but I had thought I’d be able to find some high ground and build a lean-to. I was concerned about spending the night so close to the river.
Around me the buchstone cliffs of the gorge rose straight up hundreds of feet. There weren’t a lot of options besides going back or going forward.
