Jundag

by Chris A. Jackson

  But locking myself in my workshop, he thought guiltily, is the reason I am so out of touch with everything outside my door. Shay tugged on his goatee in frustration, then snapped his fingers with a sudden decision, and backtracked toward his living quarters.

  ”DoHeney!” he said triumphantly to no one at all. “That is most definitely what I need!” He burst into his room like a whirlwind and snatched up his cloak. In a swirl of crimson, he was out the door and down the stairs, striding across the courtyard to the stables.

  “Seeing DoHeney always puts me in better spirits!”

  CHAPTER 3

  Easy, Amoria."

  The earthy thud-thud of the stout mare's hooves eased from a canter to a trot with Shay's gentle coaxing. He stood in the stirrups, massaging his tender backside as his mount cooled down. The few miles from Refuge and the circuit of the vale was just a mild workout for the horse, but Shay's thighs were numb from lack of exercise. He patted Amoria’s muscular neck soundly. Her warm sweat dampened his hand, and her coat let off little wisps of steam in the cool late-spring air of the high country. When he raised his hand to brush the hair back from his face, he smelled the pleasant, earthy mixture of animal and leather. Funny, the things he had learned to enjoy during his time with Avari.

  Avari, in fact, had given him Amoria six months earlier, a wonderful gift that Shay did not have a chance to use often enough, as was evidenced by his now-aching buttocks. The horse tossed her head and snorted her pleasure at the exercise and the caress, then started to prance, as if to say, “Let's not stop, we just started!" Shay laughed and tightened the reins.

  "Come on now! Easy, girl."

  Shay slowed Amoria from a trot to a walk as he guided her toward a cleft in the cliff-face that was the concealed entrance to Zellohar Keep. Shay took his time and whistled an old tune to alert the unseen guard to his presence. Dwarves did not react kindly to surprises and, since this duty was a very boring one, the guard could likely be catching up on sleep lost during a late-night game of bone-toss. Besides, all the dwarves that Shay knew, save one, viewed unwarranted haste as reckless and wasteful, and looked with suspicion on those guilty of such conduct. Heavens forbid that Shay do anything to besmirch his good name at Zellohar!

  "Ho there, path keeper!" Shay called loudly. He dismounted slowly, keeping his hands in the open. "Szcze-kon, Master of the keep Refuge, paying a visit to Zellohar!"

  "Aye, Master Shay, and come on ahead!" a sturdy voice bellowed from the recesses of the small crevasse. "'Tis FenGurrly here."

  The dwarf stepped into the light and unloaded his massive crossbow, "'Tis good ta be seein' ye again, sir."

  "Likewise, my good dwarf," Shay assured the stout fellow. He handed over Amoria's lead, which the path keeper quickly hitched to a jutting boulder back in the cleft where she would await her master's return.

  "I have come to visit with DoHeney," Shay said as he ducked into the cramped confines of the path's entrance. "I trust that he is about, and not off on one of his treks."

  "I'm thinkin' he's in the keep, Master Shay," the guard said with a tug at his beard and a snort. "But knowin' that'n, he very well could be off pokin' his nose inta somethin' which it don't belong, if ye understand me thinkin'."

  Shay chuckled and waved a farewell as he began the long ascent up to Zellohar. Before long, the muscles in the front of his thighs began to ache with the strain of the climb. Although the path had been cunningly wrought and was smooth and clean, it was still steep. The half-elf stopped for a moment to lean against the cliff face that towered to his left over the path.

  "I guess this is what happens when one locks one's self in one's rooms for weeks at a time studying," he observed as he looked out over the valley and the surrounding mountains. The snow on the mountain peaks glinted in the sunlight, silver against the azure sky. The air was cool and clean, and did more to restore him than a cup of blackbrew would have. Shay rubbed his legs, heaved a deep breath, and continued his ascent. The path seemed to grow longer each time he visited, but it would never be as long as it had been on that winter day over a year ago when he and his friends had fled down it in terror, with an army of orcs, waglocks and gods knew what else at their heels.

  Many thousands of dwarf feet had trod this path since the freeing of Zellohar, and very few feet other than dwarven ones, for although Zellohar was now a bustling and busy center of commerce for dwarves, they still kept the location of their home a secret from other races. Shay honored their secret, and tactfully refused to reveal the exact location of Zellohar to any of his overly curious guests.

  Ironic though, thought Shay, that when the trouble did come, it came from inside the keep itself, not up this path.

  "Ho there, visitor!" a voice boomed from the parapet above the reconstructed gatehouse, interrupting Shay's thoughts. "Hold there fer jist a bit!"

  Shay froze in his tracks, knowing full well that the four ballistae mounted above the main gate were trained on his chest. This was the standard welcome to Zellohar Keep; there was nothing to do but grin and bear it.

  "State yer name and yer business!" the voice continued, and Shay's sensitive ears recognized the characteristic brogue.

  "The name is still Szcze-kon, DelFeeney," Shay bellowed jovially to the gnarled old gatekeeper. "I had hopes you might recognize me after a year of passing through your gate!"

  "I might o' been able ta, Master Shay," DelFeeney growled as he stepped from behind a merlon, "but I keep mistakin' yer pointy ears fer the horns o' a devil!"

  A resounding roar of laughter erupted from the parapets, not the least of it from DelFeeney himself. The old dwarf tilted back his iron helm to reveal rosy cheeks and a prodigious sunburned nose. He squinted down at the visitor.

  "Aye, come ahead, Master Shay," he said. "Ye'll always be welcome in Zellohar."

  "I might have already entered," countered Shay slyly, "if I had not mistaken that warty beak beneath your helm for the nose of a troll! Why, I thought the keep had been overrun since my last visit!"

  The laughter redoubled, this time at DelFeeney's expense. Shay laughed himself and waved as he strode through the refurbished gatehouse. The ruined iron gates had been replaced within a month of the dwarves retaking the keep. The superb craftsmanship of the dwarves was evident in the gleaming black metal of the new gates, buffed to a lustrous gloss and worked with runes that undoubtedly contained some sort of protective power. Dwarves didn’t normally deal in magic, but they were well-acquainted with rune-lore, and could coax from earthen elements—stone, metal and gems—the innate magic of the earth itself, as Shay well knew. Beyond the gates he entered the short arched tunnel to the courtyard. Here, he noticed a newly installed portcullis hanging in the shadows overhead. There were actually two separate gratings, one at each end of the tunnel. He tilted his head back and peered into the shadows overhead at the arrow slits and stone spouts that would gush boiling oil down upon any less-than-welcome visitor.

  "DROP THE PORTCULLIS!!" roared someone from overhead. The crack of a mallet sounded, and a split second later, the great barrier plummeted down. Shay instinctively dove and rolled.

  What in the name of all the gods is going on? he thought wildly. His heart pounding with adrenalin, he rolled into the corner of the gatehouse, knowing all the while that no shadows here were deep enough to hide him from archers overhead. Desperately, he dug in his pocket for ingredients for a defensive spell. Why would the dwarves want to harm me?

  Shay sprang to his feet and glanced up. The tons of metal, he noted, had fallen only a foot. Huge safety spikes were set in grooved tracks along the walls for just such a mishap. But this was no mishap.

  The half-elf's ears flushed cherry red as he dusted off his cloaks and glared up at the howling laughter on the parapets. DelFeeney was laughing so hard he was doubled over, pointing and squinting through tear-streaked eyes, trying to negotiate the steps down to the courtyard without falling. Shay realized suddenly that, whether they admitted it or not, most dwarves were m
ore like DoHeney than he had thought. He wagged a finger at the old dwarf, and accepted a hearty slap on the back in good grace. It was, after all, only a joke—at least until the captain of the guard showed his face.

  "What in the name o' The Delver's greedy guts is goin' on here?" The bellow came from an old, pudgy dwarf bolting out of the guardhouse door. "I gave no order ta drop the portcullis! And what’re ye doin' away from yer posts? That's disobeyin' orders, ye know. Why, I could have the lot o' ye flogged!"

  "Oh, we was jist havin' a bit o' fun with Master Shay here, Elder MurFindle," DelFeeney explained as he fought to tame his smirk and regain his composure. "Ain't no harm done. Them spikes needed ta be tested fer strength anyway. Looks like they're gonna be jist fine, though."

  "My title is Captain!" the elder raged. "Ye'll use it and git back ta yer posts this instant, or I'll have the lot o' ye up on charges ta the King!"

  "Glaerr fraghnnen," Shay heard mumbled behind him as the small crowd of dwarven guards dispersed.

  Shay bit his lip to keep from snickering at the curse; although the rough equivalent to "stick-in-the-mud" or "fun-spoiler", its literal translation was "boot-full of feces." It was one of the first phrases of the dwarven language that he had picked up from DoHeney, who had said it in the midst of a dwarven construction crew. Shay had demanded a translation before tending to his friend's resulting broken nose. His smile at the amusing memory elicited a snort from the captain.

  "And what business do ye have here this time, wizard?" MurFindle asked skeptically, not bothering to keep the burr of dislike from his voice.

  "No business, as such," Shay said with a short bow, "and nothing that would concern your worthy attention, good Captain MurFindle. I simply seek to chat with my friend, DoHeney."

  "Aye, I thought as much," the elder dwarf scoffed. "Ye may as well go ahead then." He waved Shay on toward the courtyard's inner doors and turned to go himself. Half-elven ears are keen, however, and they served their owner well. "I suppose wizards and thieves belong together."

  Shay stiffened, the words stabbing between his slim shoulders like an icicle. There were few people that Shay actually disliked, but MurFindle had just made his list. Naming him a wizard was no insult, despite its intent, but calling DoHeney a thief was beyond tolerance. DoHeney was a hero to his clan for his crucial part in freeing Zellohar from the foul Nekdukarr, Iveron Darkmist. In fact, it was because of DoHeney’s penchant for snooping around, and his knowledge of Zellohar Keep, that they had detected Darkmist’s impending invasion in the first place. But the elders of the abandoned Boontredk Warrens had lost a great deal of power in the move back to their ancient keep, and were not about to shower DoHeney, Shay or any of the others with kisses for aiding their demotion. Yet while Shay had held his temper in the past, today he refused to let the insult pass.

  With a flare of anger, he whirled toward MurFindle. Words arcane flowed from his mouth in a torrent, harsh and biting as his hands contorted and a small bit of goose down dissolved into shimmering dust between his fingers. The dwarf screeched in a very undwarf-like manner as he was suddenly lifted from the ground by an unseen force. He screeched again when he saw Shay striding toward him, slipping his hammer from his belt as he approached, a stern look of reproach on his face.

  "Now, MurFindle, I cannot really take offense at being called a wizard, since that is what I am," Shay fumed as he nudged the levitating dwarf with the haft of his weapon. What he really wanted to do was bat the dwarf so hard that he flew beyond the edge of the parapets, but he restrained himself. "But to name my friend, DoHeney, one of the Liberators of Zellohar, a thief," he boomed, "is one thing I just cannot abide!"

  “If he warn’t a thief, then what was he doing skulking around Zellohar in the first place?” MurFindle retorted, apparently under the mistaken impression that the dwarven guards under his command might come to help him.

  But the other dwarves all knew it was King DoHurley's wish that all the Liberators of Zellohar be addressed and treated with respect befitting their deed. Instead of coming to his rescue, their stares stabbed MurFindle like a row of pikes.

  "Where were you, MurFindle,” Shay continued in a loud voice, “during the battle for Zellohar? Back in Boontredk Warrens, hiding amongst the children! These dwarves,” he swept his arm to encompass the courtyard and all within, “all marched and fought, and many died. What gives you the right to insult any of those who put themselves at risk? Nothing!” the half-elf scoffed, nudging the dwarf again. “Nothing!”

  Shay whirled and strode toward the keep’s entrance.

  Well, so much for my good name in Zellohar, Shay thought with rue, cursing his overreaction. Not that he expected trouble; MurFindle might complain to the king, but Shay and King DoHurley were friends, and there was no love lost between DoHurley and the previous elders of Boontredk Warrens.

  But, he thought with a quick smile as he let the levitation spell drift from his mind, I do feel a bit better...

  His smile broadened for an instant as MurFindle shrieked and landed with a resounding thump.

  Zellohar Keep enveloped Shay in its refurbished splendor, painting his features with awe at the astounding renovations that the dwarves had wrought since the ancient keep's liberation. An ant's nest would have seen less activity in the past year, the thousands of new residents toiling uncounted hours to scrub, chip and polish away the last traces of the century of mistreatment by Iveron Darkmist's vile army. The result was even more awe-inspiring than Shay's first visit. His first impression of the keep had been great size, lost grandeur, a pitiful remnant of a great society. Now Zellohar was truly a wonder to behold, the pristine gloss of the floor and the delicate intricacy of the sculptures urging a smile from his troubled lips.

  Realizing he was gawking like an idiot, he adopted a more dignified expression. He nodded greetings to the earnest faces of dwarven tradesmen, merchants and scurrying youngsters, his heart swelling with pride at the thought that he had aided their return to their ancestral home. He passed the yawning entrance to the lower levels. At first sight of its formidable black doors open, he and his friends had quailed, and soon uncounted beasts had flooded from the portal, beasts after their blood and their lives. Now the passage was open once and for all, never to be locked with the cornerstones again, and busy with foot traffic.

  "Master Shay!" a booming feminine voice bellowed from down the hall. "Why din’t ye send a message that ye'd be payin' us a visit, now? Why, I should bend ye o'er me knee and give ye a right good walin' fer that!"

  UrMae, a stout dwarven matron who years ago had taken in and raised an orphaned young dwarf named DoHeney, strode toward Shay like a juggernaut. After the fall of Zellohar, she had taken a good number of orphaned children under her formidable wing, and Shay was her most recent and reluctant acquisition. She was actually a very lovable sort, nearly as wide as tall, with glinting grey eyes, rosy cheeks framed by silver braids of both hair and her carefully groomed mutton-chops, and a grip that could bend a horseshoe. For UrMae was not just, nor even remotely, another pretty face. She was DoHeney's legendary Gran-mammy, and one of Zellohar's foremost priestesses.

  "Ye look thin!" she observed as usual, staggering him with a clap to the shoulder and pinching his middle; he would have a bruise there tomorrow. "Ain't that mam o' yourn been feedin' ye? How can she stand ta see ye so gaunt and wasted?"

  "I am not thin, UrMae," Shay assured her for the hundredth time. "I am part elven, my slender frame is—"

  "Bah! I won't hear none o' it!" she cut in, fixing him with a motherly glare that would have put fear in the heart of a Fargmir. "Yer thin, I say, and that's that!"

  "All right, UrMae," he conceded, "I am thin. But actually I am glad we met. I have come to—"

  "Ye come ta see that lazy gran-son o' mine, and ye din't want ta be searchin' half the keep fer his worthless hide."

  She smiled thinly, and something in her expression told him that, although she loved DoHeney deeply, he had done something to raise her
ire. But ties of blood are strong ones, and dwarven families are not easily sundered.

  "'Tis a good thing I spied ye, indeed," she continued, guiding Shay away from the portal to the lower levels, "fer he's in the one place ye'd ne'r think o' lookin'."

  "You mean he is in his—"

  "Aye, he's in his chambers. And ye'd ne'r guess in a thousand years what he's been doin' in there fer the last fortnight."

  "He is not—

  "Nay! I knew ye'd ne'r guess it," she interrupted again, a habit that caused Shay no end of anguish, especially since she always seemed to guess his exact thoughts. "Ye'd jist as well see fer yerself, I suppose. Go on ahead now, an' I'll fetch somethin' ta fatten ye up a bit while yer visitin'."

  She turned to go with a wave, but Shay heard her voice well after her stolid figure disappeared in the crowd of stout shapes.

  "Can't have one so skinny as that walkin' around this keep! Why, he'd likely blow away in a wisp o' breeze and float under a locked door, or slip betwixt the cracks in the stonework. Maybe DruEllen's got a roast on the spit..."

  Shay shook his head and continued down the great main hall, then took the last branching corridor to the left before the great feasting hall where they had found the dragon bones. He glimpsed the new decor through the open portal, admiring how the polished bone had been fashioned into both throne and dais. He made his turn and let his mind wander to his friend. DoHeney was rarely, if ever, to be found in his chambers. Surely nothing was bothering the irrepressible scoundrel.

  CHAPTER 4

  THUD—THUD.

  What in the name of Tem the Balancer is DoHeney doing in there? Shay thought as he approached his friend's door.