Jundag

by Chris A. Jackson

  "I said PLAY, QueRonia!" he bellowed, shocking the dwarf woman into action.

  "That's it!" he thundered as the music began soft, then became louder as QueRonia’s lips warmed up. He swung Irielnea around in a clumsy jig, half carrying her. "Dance, everyone!"

  A few others were standing now, some staring, some smiling, but they were at least moving. One of the horses tethered over in the corner snorted and pawed at the noise.

  "You're s...scaring the horses," Irielnea admonished, fully awake now and shivering once again.

  "Good!" he shouted with a grin. "They can use the exercise, too! It'll get their blood pumpin'. Help ward off the chill!"

  By ones and twos and threes, dwarves and humans came out of their blankets. The crowd moved toward the walls, clearing a wide swath for dancing. A cheer rang out as a flask of oil was used to light a mound of coal. DoHurley called for meat and ale, and the cooks rushed to hang a side of beef over the sputtering coals and tap a cask.

  The king smiled at his kinsmen's response to his lunacy. No dwarf ever had to be invited twice to a party. His heart swelled when he saw Irielnea, now pink-cheeked, smiling and clapping at the dancers. Her smile broadened when he grabbed her hands and pulled her into the dance area. The others made room as he swung the elf around, and they were laughing and out of breath by the time they stopped. The heat in the chamber seemed to have risen at least ten degrees in the last few minutes. If he could only keep everyone eating and drinking and moving, maybe they could survive the storm of darkness that raged over their heads. Maybe...

  DoHeney savored the peace. The lake waters were placid, and the ship hissed through the water under the steady magical wind. UrMae had read her rune stones to point the way, so all they needed were lookouts to make sure they didn’t run into any rocks or small islands. So far, everything was quiet...too quiet, perhaps.

  "What are those lights?" Prael’s voice startled DoHeney out of his reverie. The wizard had come up beside him and was pointing toward the cavern ceiling far above.

  "Oh, just cave faeries," DoHeney said as he tilted his head back. "Li'l critters that live in the lichen that grows on rock. Some make light. Durin’ matin’ season, you’ll see ‘em crawlin’ all over the place, bunched up in huge piles o’ wigglin’ bugs in love. Look kinda like stars in the sky."

  "Really?" Prael said. "I expected it to be lifeless down here."

  "Oh, nay, lad!" DoHeney protested, shaking his head. "There's more livin' down here'n you can throw a rock at. Fishes in the water, crawlin' things on land, all manner o' fungus and molds, some right tasty. Why, take them spark'ly lights in the distance; them's probably lightbugs in a matin' swarm."

  Prael squinted. "A mating swarm? But they’re not moving."

  DoHeney looked more closely, recognizing a pattern outlined by the glittering lights. It looked like a huge hourglass, which was nothing like any lightbug swam he’d ever seen—

  "By the Delver! It's the city!” He whirled around to where the troops rested and slept on the deck.

  “Battle stations!” he whispered harshly. It was so quiet, he dare not call out lest he alert the enemy. A few dwarves looked up but apparently didn’t hear him, as no one moved. Frustrated, he tried a little louder. “All hands, battle stations! And be quiet about it!"

  This time they understood and scrambled to prepare. Dwarves scurried to ready their weapons, loading their crossbows and limbering up their arms. A dozen cranked back the mechanism for firing the catapult they had lugged, disassembled, all the way from Zellohar, and reassembled in the bow of the center hull. Prael and Marris worked together to increase the breeze and set the sails optimally. There were creaks and groans and an occasional whispered curse, but all in all, they kept relatively quiet, as commanded.

  DoHeney kept an eye on the glittering lights of the city as they sped silently over the water. Then he caught a glow of light out of the corner of his eye, and looked behind him. The wizards and priests had cast light spells to ready their supplies. The lights shone brightly in the dark cavern, and DoHeney cursed, forgetting to lower his voice.

  "Put out them lights, ye numbskulls!" he raged. “Ye may as well raise a banner sayin’ ‘Here we come!’”

  The lights flickered out, but too late. They were too close to the city to have been unobserved. Whatever advantage of surprise they might have had, they had just lost.

  "Lookouts!" he called softly. "Keep a sharp eye!"

  "All clear on the— Wait!" a voice called. "They’re puttin' out boats. Small ones, with oars. Twenty or thirty o’ 'em."

  "Great!" DoHeney groused before turning to bellow at his crew. "Get ready! We got company comin'!"

  He looked over his troops. The dwarves looked fierce, but some peered anxiously over the side at the dark water. The Refuge wizards and priests squinted into the dark, trying to distinguish the oncoming enemy. DoHeney shook his head; his plan of attack had required stealth and surprise, both of which they had just lost.

  "I hope we're ready fer this," he said quietly, grabbing his crossbow and checking his quiver. "Now the fun starts..."

  CHAPTER 32

  Jundag hauled Calmarel through the citadel corridors, and she followed without question. Halfway down a quiet side passage he found a door that led into a storage room half full of building materials and tools left over after the completion of the citadel. Calmarel didn’t resist when he pulled her inside and closed the door. A hacking cough erupted from deep within his chest, and he had to let go of her arm and brace himself against the sill. After a moment it subsided, but when he wiped his mouth, bloody phlegm stained his tunic. Looking around, he saw that Calmarel had crumpled to the floor and sat unmoving. Jundag stared at her for a moment, puzzled, then felt the baby wriggle and mew; she was hungry.

  “Calmarel, you must feed the baby,” he said as he held out the child. Calmarel didn’t move, even when he knelt in front of her, again holding out the baby.

  I could leave her here and hide with my child, he thought, until he realized the futility of that plan. Where would he go? With the portals destroyed, there was no way home, and even if he could escape, his world was being destroyed with every hour that the Void essence flowed. Also, his cough was getting worse; without healing, he soon would be unable to breathe.

  He had only one option, and hoped that it wouldn’t get him killed. He slapped Calmarel across the face with an open hand.

  “Calmarel!” he snapped. “What is wrong with you? You must feed the baby and heal me, then we must figure out how to keep away from Lysethra. We have not the time for you to—”

  Calmarel’s head snapped up, her eyes blazing with anger.

  “What’s wrong?” she screeched. “I’ve displeased and disregarded my gods, fled from my sister, brought shame to my clan, and been stripped of my powers! All because of you, Jundag! For believing that I could keep some of your strength for myself by birthing your child. And now we're trapped here! That’s what’s wrong! I am my father’s true heir: a failure.”

  Jundag maintained his stern mien, though her admissions stunned him. Without her powers, she could not heal him. And without her powers, how could they prevail over Lysethra? But at least she is thinking again and not acting as if already dead, he thought. First things first. He held baby out to her.

  “You are still a mother, and your daughter requires food. Feed her. Then we will decide what is necessary to survive.”

  “You don’t understand,” she said bitterly, though she took the baby and began to feed her. As she watched the child suckle, her features softened, reassuring Jundag that, despite her earlier actions, she would not harm her child, but fight to the death to protect her. In that, and only that, they shared purpose. He waited.

  Calmarel wiped the smudge of milk off of the baby’s mouth and gave her to Jundag, who began patting the child firmly on the back. A resounding belch brought a smile to his lips, and he looked up to see her watching him.

  Before either of them could speak, a chi
ll breeze blew through the closed door, and a shadow formed where no shadow should be. Calmarel looked in panic down to her chest; her spider pendant was dark. “No powers, no warning!” she hissed as she leapt to her feet, hefting her writhing flail. Jundag quickly placed the baby into a corner behind some crates, then started to circle the shadow, crouching low, his fists clenched for an attack.

  The shadow extended toward her, and a scroll case appeared, seeming to hover in the dark air. Calmarel stared for a second, caught off guard. This was a shadow servant; she had often used them herself to deliver messages. She lowered her flail when she recognized Lysethra's personal seal on the scroll case. Cautiously, she reached out and grasped it. In that instant, the shadow dissolved and was no more.

  “What message is so important that Lysethra would devote the time and energy to summon a shadow servant?” she mused.

  “Perhaps the case is trapped,” suggested Jundag.

  Calmarel considered the possibility, then shook her head. “That’s not Lysethra’s style.” Praying she wasn’t underestimating her sister, she broke the seal and quickly twisted open the scroll case, holding her breath in anticipation. Nothing exploded or rushed out at her, so, taking a deep breath, she unrolled the parchment and read.

  Congratulations, Sister Younger!

  This may be the last time I can address you so informally. The mediator requested that I inform you that you have successfully completed your task. You are to ascend to mediator! She regrets that this happy news did not come from her own lips, but her citadel-imposed duties leave her little free time, and you were not in your quarters when she visited.

  Her message was thus: “Tell Calmarel that the Queen of Webs recognizes her daughter as a gift to the Dark Gods, and would never have allowed her to be harmed. Her task was not a test of faith, but of confidence in her commitment. Xakra has bid me—as Mediator of Xerro Kensho—to request that she immediately consecrate her daughter, then complete the Rite of Ascension and assume her new duties as mediator.”

  I trust that you understand the meaning behind this message. I am at quite a loss, except in understanding that your belief that the Dark Gods had blessed your daughter—our heir—was truly perceptive. I have arranged for the consecration ceremony; there are many strong, loyal guards here in the citadel with nothing better to do than bequeath their souls in honor of your daughter. It is time she had a name, no?

  I await you in the temple, and together we will present Almighty Xakra with a sacrifice worthy of Her greatness and your child’s future glory.

  With all my pride, Lysethra

  Calmarel read and reread the message several times, her grin spreading wider with each repetition. Vindication! The tension that had wracked her body since her seemingly disastrous meeting with the Dark Gods dissolved, replaced by a burgeoning excitement. She had known all along that her daughter was exceptional. How like the Queen of Webs to weave such a convoluted task to test her faculties for leadership. For that, she now realized, was the purpose of her rite of ascension. A mediator was a leader, and as such was required to make difficult decisions, trusting their inner instinct and resolve. Her faith and devotion had already been established by a lifetime of service to the Dark Gods.

  Then why, whispered the voice in her head, did your father fail when given the same task? And why did Xakra not contact you directly?

  Calmarel shook her head impatiently. Her task and her father’s could not be compared; who knew what the Dark Gods intended for him? And as for contact, well, she was without her powers, so of course Xakra would use the mediator as an intermediary. She barked a short laugh when she considered her fears; how could she have thought that even Lysethra might have turned against her?

  “Jundag,” she said abruptly. He gazed at her with his vivid blue eyes. “Exactly what did Lysethra say about my child? Did she threaten her?”

  Jundag’s brow wrinkled and he slowly shook his head. “She did not need to state her intentions. It was in her eyes.”

  Calmarel’s blood chilled. She had taken the word of a slave that her sister plotted against her. Never would Lysethra harm the heir of Clan Darkmist. She glanced to her daughter, then back to Jundag. Her eyes traced the scars he had suffered at her hands, then lingered on the golden collar around his throat. How often had he declared his hatred for her, preferring death to her company? He had tried to escape! Her face grew hot with rage.

  “How low have I stooped,” she said through clenched teeth, “to have believed a slave over my own sister? You’re only using our child as a shield to keep secret your true intentions. You intend to steal her away. That I will never allow! You may be her father, but she is my child, birthed from my womb. Bring her to me!”

  “Calmarel, no!” he pleaded. But the imperative of the golden collar was too great, and he reluctantly brought her the child.

  Calmarel’s breaths came quickly as she gave thanks for the power of the collar; it was mage-made and attuned to her voice—she wanted no one countermanding her commands—so her lack of powers did not affect it. She quickly planned her next deeds. She would meet with Lysethra and sacrifice the guards to consecrate her daughter. Then, she would sacrifice Jundag in honor of the Dark Gods. This time—this last time—she would not revivify him, for his soul would be in Xakra’s cruel hands.

  She glanced toward Jundag. He had eyes only for his daughter, who was cradled in her mother’s arm. A sharp pain twinged in Calmarel’s chest, but she forced it away. Feeling too much for this slave was the root of all her problems. Sacrificing him would solve everything.

  Of course, she thought practically as she glanced once more at her sister’s message before tucking it into her robe, it never hurts to be wary. She expertly swung her flail as she ordered Jundag to follow, and started the long walk to the temple.

  Avari jumped off Phlegothax’s back as soon as the dragon landed on the balcony. A flicker of movement in the room beyond caught her eye, but even as she turned, two arrows whished by her head from behind. The two guards fell before they could even clear their swords from their sheaths. Looking back, she saw Lynthalsea and Hufferrrerrr, both with newly nocked arrows, scanning the area. Hufferrrerrr ran into the room, sniffing wildly, then signaled that all was clear. Wind buffeted her as Phlegothax flapped his tremendous wings and soared away to join the drakoll.

  “Avari!” Shay called to her as he pointed to the ground near the rail. “Get the diamond, and let us see where our gems are.”

  She retrieved the gem, cringing as she picked it up, slick with dragon spit. She wiped it on her pant leg, then joined Shay and they took a quick sighting.

  “There!” She pointed down and to their left, where the gems glowed most brightly.

  "That is the nearest,” Shay said. “We will pursue it, and hope that the two are together."

  “How long will that take?” asked Voncellia in an irritated tone. “Our first objective should be the disruption of the Void essence flow.”

  Avari looked overhead at the expansive black sky formed by The Void. At the tips of the spires, the black essence swirled as it was drawn into the core of the fortress. She pictured again the storm of black essence in her world, and shuddered. But she had other concerns.

  “I’ll look for Jundag,” she said as she tightened her belt, “while the rest of you figure out how to find the gems and destroy this place. We can meet back here.”

  “Oh, no you won’t,” protested Yen, while Hufferrrerrr blocked the door and growled. Even Shay held up a hand to halt her exit.

  “Avari,” he said, “we discussed this; if we find the gems, we find Jundag. We must stay together for protection.” He pointed down to the fortress base where guards could be seen already battling with the drakoll. “As for the Void essence...”

  “We’ll deal with that,” said Feldspar brusquely. “The safety of the realm is our concern. Now that the hard part’s done—getting here and through the shield—I’m sure Voncellia and I will think of some way to disrupt the
flow of Void essence.” Voncellia looked grim, but rolled her shoulders like a fighter readying for a bout, and held her hands loosely by her sides, as if positioning herself to grab whatever she needed from her pockets.

  Shay sighed. “Once we have all the gems, we can use them to augment our powers and disrupt the vortex.”

  Yen held up a hand to forestall Feldspar’s ready protest. “We stay together, find the gems, and use them—or not—to disrupt the vortex. But for now, my concern is getting us—all of us—to our goal in one piece. Hufferrrerrr, you’ll be best as our forward scout. Wizards, we’ll keep you protected in the middle. Brok, you guard Feldspar, and Lynthalsea, you guard Voncellia. Avari,” he said as he turned toward her, “would you prefer to guard Shay, or take the rear?”

  Avari frowned at Hufferrrerrr; she would prefer to lead, but she understood Yen’s strategy, and appreciated his asking her opinion, and not just ordering her into place. “I’ll take the rear.”

  “Good!” Yen said with a quick smile. “We are vastly out-numbered, so stay alert.” Then he slowly opened the door into the corridor, and Hufferrrerrr stuck his head out, sniffing.

  “Wait!” said Shay. “Hufferrrerrr, come back.” The half-elf waited until the door was closed, then smiled. “I can help here. Avari and Lynthalsea, do you remember the temple in a swamp—”

  “We were invisible!” Lynthalsea finished. “That would certainly help us get around in here.”

  A sudden memory of her return to Zellohar Keep dampened Avari’s enthusiasm for the plan. “The last time I was invisible turned out badly.”

  “Well,” Shay said as he pulled items from a pouch, “I can guarantee you won’t run into Iveron Darkmist this time, but as for another Darkmist...”

  Avari grinned evilly as she hefted Gaulengil and pantomimed a thrust. “The next Darkmist I run into, I’ll run through.”