Jundag

by Chris A. Jackson

  "Not stone, Master Borgland" she said, exerting just enough pressure with her grip to make his eyes bulge, "but sometimes, I admit I don't know my own strength." The mage retreated with a polite—albeit pained—smile.

  "But the life of a warrior is so dangerous," said an elderly woman. "Certainly not the type of life a lady would willingly choose."

  "I'm not a warrior anymore, Miss..."

  "Marris," the woman said with an ingratiating smile. "Just Marris, please."

  "Marris," Avari finished. "But no more dangerous than your own profession. Why would a nice lady such as yourself become a mage?"

  "Hummph," Marris scoffed and gave Avari with a sour look.

  "Marris had a...er...problem...with a certain scroll," Lynthalsea explained gently. "She used to be several years younger and male."

  "I lost credibility," Marris said forlornly, "and thought that here, with the help of others, I might be able to puzzle out this curse and dispel it."

  "I don't understand," Avari said as she squinted at Marris, trying to see the man beneath her matronly features. "If your powers are just as...well, powerful, then what difference does it make what you look like?"

  "Aside from drawing strange stares when I notice a comely chambermaid, not a great deal of difference, I suppose," Marris agreed reluctantly. "Though I still miss being a man. Women are so physically weak and pitiful when it comes...to..."

  Marris’s voice trailed off she regarded Avari’s annoyed stance and incredulous stare.

  “Well,” Marris shriveled, “I guess not all women are weak." Murmuring too softly to be heard, she moved away.

  Avari moved back against the wall, thankful to be alone for a moment. Refuge certainly had attracted some interesting guests. She glanced around the room and noted the three other mages Lynthalsea had invited. Prael was a quiet, older gentleman swathed entirely in red. Revria seemed surprisingly young to be an accomplished mage, until Avari learned that her physical age fluctuated from girl to old woman and back again each day, the result of an anti-aging spell gone awry. Last was a dour, balding, middle-aged man with nervous eyes and shaky hands named Voytek—at least, that was his name at present. Lynthalsea had explained that a magical attack long ago resulted in frequent personality shifts, but never the same persona twice. Fortunately none of his identities were particularly violent or troublesome, and all retained his substantial skills as a mage.

  One newcomer towered over most everyone else in the room, including herself. Avari estimated his height at nearly six and a half feet. He was broad shouldered yet slim, and curiously liquid in his movements. With his back to her, all she could see was flowing white robes trimmed in gold and a thick mop of hair the color of spun copper. She leaned toward Lynthalsea, who had just brought her a glass of apple wine.

  "Who is—?"

  "Why is he here?" Voytek whispered harshly. "You said you needed the help of mages, Lynthalsea. So why did you invite a priest? Do you expect someone to need his attentions, or is it just because you and he—"

  "Brok is proficient in methods of acquiring information, Master Voytek," Lynthalsea said politely, though Avari thought she detected a hint of annoyance in the elf’s voice, "which is precisely why we are here tonight."

  "Oh, I know you like him, Lynthalsea!" Voytek accused, wringing his hands with discomfort, "so I won't bring up anything personal, but he is so...well, you know! He's—"

  "Less than half a step behind you, Master Voytek."

  The deep voice brought both the nervous wizard and Avari around with a start; Avari’s nerves were already on edge, and the large man's approach had been completely silent. But Brok’s appearance startled her even more. His skin was covered with short, silky hair of the same hue as the hair on his head. His nose was broad and square, its tip black and glistening. His face was narrow and somewhat elongated, imparting the impression of a particular breed of guard dog she had seen in Fengotherond. Prominent canine teeth overlapped his lower lip as he smiled and patted the distraught wizard on the shoulder, apparently enjoying the discomfort his touch caused before the wizard scurried away.

  "Excuse me for intruding," he apologized, "but I had to meet you, Miss Avari. I must say, in all of Lyn's stories of your prowess in battle, she failed to mention your beauty."

  "I, uh..." Avari took the proffered hand, managing not to cringe as she grasped the strangely foreshortened digits. Brok's fingers were one knuckle shorter than a man's, with rough black pads at the tips and narrow, claw-like nails. But his grip was firm and his manner sincerely friendly. "Thank you."

  "My name is Brok, as I'm sure Lyn has informed you," he said with a broad smile and a wink to Lynthalsea. Though his teeth still showed, the smile seemed genuine, and Avari returned it. This close, she detected the scent of rose petals and spice that seemed to waft from the folds of his robes when he moved. "I am a follower of the Goddess Thotris, Mistress of Beauty, which explains my residence at Refuge."

  "Don’t be so modest," Lynthalsea chided, stepping smoothly to Brok's side and encircling his massive forearm with her slender one. "He is Refuge's most prominent priest, and among the most favored of his deity. Unfortunately, the elders of his church—"

  "Let us just say that my half-jackalek heritage was too much for them to tolerate." He shrugged.

  "I see," Avari said, though she found herself disagreeing with the church officials. And Lynthalsea obviously finds him attractive, she thought. A sudden twinge pierced her heart as she considered the special relationship these two apparently had, but she shook it off as Brok spoke again.

  "If I may be so bold," he said quietly, "before we start here, might I examine the weapon of which Lyn spoke?"

  "Gaulengil," Avari said as she instinctively touched the hilt of the blade by her side.

  "Lyn says it is highly enchanted and responds only to you." He held up a hand in an assuring gesture at Avari’s wary gaze. "I assume Master Shay has already petitioned Tem to determine if there are curses or hexes or the like, but the grace of Thotris may provide a different perspective."

  “Shay never asked to examine it,” she said, casting a glare to where Shay spoke with some mages. Lynthalsea laid a hand on her arm, and Avari forced herself to relax.

  "I'm willing to try anything," she admitted. She drew Gaulengil from its scabbard and held it across her palms toward Brok, but cautioned him not to touch it.

  "Not to worry," he assured her before passing his holy symbol, the golden hand mirror of Thotris, along its length while chanting quietly.

  "Well, well," he said when finished, tucking the golden medallion away and rubbing his jaw earnestly. "This weapon is quite magical indeed, Miss Avari. If I had not already known that it possessed a personality, the strength of it would have startled me. However, I detect no malice whatsoever. It is quite pure of heart, if you understand that concept."

  "Gaulengil has saved my life many times," Avari said simply. “I trust it completely.”

  "Mmmm, yes. The bond between an enchanted weapon and its wielder strengthens over time, and the edges of the distinct personalities can become blurry."

  Avari felt the stares of the rest of the guests in the room like a prickle on the back of her neck. It annoyed her at first, but she had to admit that a six-foot tall woman holding a five-foot long enchanted sword with a green-glowing gem in the blade would attract attention most anywhere, and these were mages, profoundly drawn to magic. Besides, they were here to help her. When she thought of it that way, she relaxed.

  Brok glanced sidelong at the hearth. "Lyn tells me that you experienced this vision while the blade was close to a fire." At Avari's nod he continued. "Flame can serve as a medium for communication. Generally some type of catalyst is required, but if there is a strong psychic bond between two people...”

  Brok’s knowing look made Avari blush and avert her eyes. But truth be told, she and Jundag had become quick friends and companions during their short time together, and may have become much more if... She look
ed up as he continued.

  “It may prove fruitless, but perhaps you will take a seat by the hearth and prop Gaulengil near the flames while we all discuss this. It could yield great insight for little effort."

  "I do not see any harm in it," Shay agreed as he suddenly appeared at Avari's side. Gently taking her elbow, he guided her to a cushioned chair beside the fire. Avari considered balking, as it seemed that Shay was trying to steer her away from Brok. But her fatigue had returned, and with all the spiritual and magical skills in attendance, she felt sure that she would now get some answers to her questions. She even looked more kindly toward Shay; she had been rather demanding earlier.

  The rest pulled chairs close so they could hear, and Avari recited her tale once again. Gaulengil rested against her leg, its tip extending toward the fire, and she found herself caressing the smooth metal of the hilt; for some reason, it comforted her. And as the light outside the windows faded to black, she patiently answered question after question to satisfy the insatiable curiosities of her audience, and the hours slipped by like the waters of a quick-flowing stream.

  Jundag moved like a dark and deadly wraith through the shadowed tunnels of lower Xerro Kensho. He had darkened his pale skin with dirt and soot; his weapons were stained by the blood of those he’d slain to get this far. He’d avoided encounters as much as possible in his quest for ever deeper caverns, but moved fast and killed silently when contact was unavoidable. His victims had supplied him with a finely wrought sword and a spiked hand axe, as well as cloaks and fire-making tools. His goal: the subterranean passages that twisted through the deep earth beneath Xerro Kensho.

  The tunnels devolved from well-kept passages into rougher and less-traveled tunnels as he descended. The twisting, branching byways eventually vexed even his superb sense of direction, but the only direction he truly cared about at this point was down. Down meant away from the accursed city of the Dark Gods, away from slavery and, most critically, away from Calmarel. Even if he were killed down here, death under the claws and fangs of a dark-dwelling carnivore was infinitely preferable to uncounted deaths at Calmarel's hands.

  The faint trickling of water highlighted his desperate thirst, but also gave him a point of reference. He felt his way along the tunnel wall, cherishing the feel of a cool, moist air on his face. At first he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him, but he soon perceived the faint glow of phosphorescent lichens on the craggy tunnel ceiling. The lichens extended down the walls, evidence of a nearby water source. He picked up his pace; not only did he need water, but an underground river would lead away from the city faster than any tunnel.

  He felt the walls recede, their comforting closeness giving way to a larger cavern. He stopped and listened, but heard no echo of the water's trickle reflected back; over a year in the earth's bowels had taught him that artificial tunnels echoed, while natural caverns did not. Good; this was not a man-made reservoir.

  He inched forward, feeling with his toes to avoid falling into a crevasse. Now a light mist chilled the air, wetting his skin. Substantial water flowed here. He carefully counted his steps and oriented himself to the tunnel for a quick retreat; predators often lurked by watering holes.

  A few more careful steps and chill water bathed his feet. He sheathed his weapons and knelt gingerly, creeping forward on hands and knees. After a quick drink, he would follow it downstream. He bent to drink, quietly sucking in the cool water that instantly sated his parched lips and soothed his throat.

  "Enough, Calmarel!" snapped a voice out of the darkness. "You’ve proved you point."

  Crimson light flooded the cavern, but Jundag was up and dashing for the exit even before his eyes focused. A figure blocked his way; he stabbed it with his sword, abandoned the blade and dashed on, on toward the exit, on toward safety. It was only a few steps, but it may as well have been a mile.

  "JUNDAG, STOP!!"

  Jundag’s legs immediately halted, frozen in his tracks by the magical control of the golden collar. But it was Calmarel's voice that froze Jundag's blood in his veins.

  No, no, no, he chanted silently, as if it could break the spell.

  He strained his muscles to their utmost, but could not move. Amused chuckles and cynical laughter rang out in response to the hoarse cry of anguish that tore his throat as he beheld the cavern's exit only five strides away. He clenched his eyes shut, cursing his own vain hope that had led him to be so easily deceived. It had all been a trick, a ploy by Calmarel to torment him in a new and unexploited manner.

  "Stop that sniveling!" she snapped as she strode up to him, punctuating the command with a resounding slap across his face. "Now stand here and be still while I collect my winnings."

  He flung open his eyes at the blow, fixing her with a stare that may truly have frightened her, had she been looking. He envisioned Calmarel's demise a thousand ways. As she had tortured and tormented him, so he would see done to her. As he had suffered, so she would suffer. But not now, his rational mind cautioned. Later I will have my due... Later... Later...

  "Truly impressive, Calmarel," said a voice behind him. "I never would have thought it could be so tenacious."

  "Which is exactly why I took your challenge, Bregzill," Calmarel chuckled over the sound of coins jingling from hand to hand. "And he could have made it farther, perhaps even escaped entirely, if the tunnels weren't blocked to funnel him here. I'd wager he would have eventually made it back to the surface."

  "Bah! Nonsense!" a second voice scoffed.

  "Ridiculous!" spat a third voice. The speaker stepped in front of Jundag. He wore the armor and the weapons of a warrior, but had a slight build that suggested little real physical strength. He raked an assessing gaze over Jundag’s body, noting the girth of his arms and chest, eyeing the scars left by a year under Calmarel’s lash. "This...thing could never survive in our world. Why, it can't even see in the dark!"

  "Nevertheless," Calmarel argued, "the bet is open for challenge.” She jingled the bag with her substantial winnings. “All I won today says my pet could eventually reach the surface if released unimpeded, armed and provisioned as he is now."

  The man cocked his head as if considering. He opened his mouth to speak, one corner turned upward in a heartless smile. But then he met Jundag’s icy gaze, and the smile vanished.

  "No bet," He said, shifting uncomfortably before breaking eye contact. He turned to Calmarel stiffly. "I will wager no more on this one, Calmarel Darkmist. There clearly is more to this slave than meets the eye."

  "Your nerve flees you, Grimlord Gorgoneye," Calmarel teased, "without your elder sister here to fill out your shadow."

  "Druellae's absence has nothing to do with it!" he spat, whirling and stalking away, followed by the other spectators. "Were I you, I'd dispose of that pet, Calmarel. This slave is an unsafe plaything. It will go ill for you if you keep it too long."

  "More ill like this and I'll be filthy rich," she called out before turning back to Jundag.

  “Your performance today was spectacular, both in and out of the arena. However...” she locked her eyes onto his and brought her face close, “you did try to escape. Mmmm mmmm, very poor choice, my pet. Now drop your weapons, follow me back to the castle, and don't run away again."

  She turned and started walking toward the tunnel. Purposefully, Jundag fell in step immediately behind her, nearly stepping on the hem of her robes. Leaning close, he whispered.

  "Later..."

  Calmarel whirled, her eyes wide with alarm before narrowing in anger

  "What did you say?" she asked slowly, dangerously.

  "Nothing, Calmarel." Jundag stared ahead stonily, his eyes frozen in placid subservience, until she grumbled and turned her back. Then he glared daggers into her back.

  Later, he thought relentlessly. Later...

  CHAPTER 12

  DoHeney sat quietly in the shadow of the hearth, watching and listening as Avari’s dilemma was discussed among the mages and priests. Avari herself now dozed in her chai
r, the firelight bathing her in a golden glow, her face peaceful in sleep. Hufferrrerrr and Tinarre sat nearby, answering questions as necessary. DoHeney heard Hufferrrerrr growl softly when his mistress’ sanity was questioned, but DoHeney chuckled and leaned over to him.

  “Don’t worry, lad. Avari’s not gone mad. At least, no madder’n anyone else in this room.”

  The leotaur seemed to take scant comfort from the reassurance, casting a concerned glance at the peculiar personalities present. But DoHeney’s mind was tranquil for the first time in weeks; focusing on Avari’s problem allowed him to forget his own recent agitations.

  O’ course, doin’ somethin’ about it’s gonna be the clincher, he thought. The dwarf left off his musing and attended the discussion once again.

  "Nothing I've heard either refutes or corroborates her story," said the wizard who was Voytek, but now insisted he was Kendrall. "She’s either telling the truth or is stark raving mad. That would be a shame; she's such a strong, innocent girl." The wizard’s personality had shifted from nervous paranoia to gushing love and good will.

  "Why doesn’t Brok just cure her of any madness, then see if the visions stop?" Revria said, currently looking like a ten-year-old girl, snuggled happily in oversized robes. Throughout the evening she had become younger and younger. At midnight she had reached the age of five, then begun growing older again.

  "The problem," Brok explained gently to the girl, "is that I cannot cure an affliction for which I do not know the source. If the crux of madness is unknown, an invocation is useless."

  "What a silly rule!" Revria said with a pout.

  "I already examined Avari," pronounced Shay, “and found no disturbance in her mind, so we might assume the dreams and vision represent a truth, that Jundag is alive somewhere.” DoHeney focused on the half-elf for a moment. He had warmed to the subject and was less confrontational now, but still was acting strangely. He occasionally glanced around the room as if looking for something, then settling back with a satisfied look on his face. DoHeney wondered if Avari's mind was not the wrong one to be examining, but decided to let it go. “Prael, you mentioned that a collective scrying centered on Avari and Gaulengil might enable us to view Jundag and his surroundings."