Jundag

by Chris A. Jackson

  "And I believe that I can help gain Jundag...and us...some time," Shay said. He pulled his traveling cloak from his shoulders and draped it on the ground. Upon it he placed the gems at the four cardinal points, equidistant from one another. As he placed the last gem, the brilliant diamond, he held it for a long moment, then sighed heavily and stepped back.

  Working quickly but carefully, he sprinkled diamond dust in a line in front of the double doors, as well as the hidden exit through which they would travel, then in a pentagram that encompassed the cloak at its center. Chanting quietly, he traced arcane figures in the air before each door. All the while, the gems glowed steadily, until Shay recited his final words and clapped his hands, and the gems flared with such an intense light that all had to look away. When the dazzle had finally faded from Jundag’s eyes, he saw that Shay yet stood by the pentagram, his head lowered in fatigue. When the half-elf looked up, he was pale and panting slightly, but he smiled.

  "Jundag," he explained, "I have inscribed a ward on each door. They are tied to the position of the gems. As long as the gems remain in place, the wards will remain on the doors." He walked to the double doors and indicated the line of diamond dust. "Do not disturb the dust of the pentagram or these lines. If you want to go through one of the doors, you must first say the password."

  "And what is that?" asked Jundag.

  "Love,” said Shay with a quirky smile. “It seemed a word that no worshiper of the Dark Gods would use accidentally."

  Jundag nodded solemnly. "You are correct."

  Shay heaved a deep sigh, then looked Jundag in the eye. “When the time is right, use the cloak to bring the cornerstones together. Do not touch the gems! If you touch more than one gem at a time, you will be destroyed, but the gems will remain. They cannot fall into the hands of the worshipers of the dark gods.” He held out his hand. “Good luck...and thank you.”

  Jundag shook Shay's hand. Yen also extended his hand, and the others shook his hand or patted his back as they passed by. Then Avari stood before him. The others turned and walked behind the altar toward the hidden door, leaving them alone.

  "If the gods are gracious," he said as he took her hand, “we will meet again one day, beyond this world of pain and sadness."

  "I'd like that," she said tearfully as she caressed his cheek. "I could have loved you, Jundag." She raised her arms and gently placed the chain with the ivory medallion around his neck, then leaned close and kissed him tenderly.

  “And I, you,” he replied. Jundag felt as if his heart would break, but he managed a smile as Avari touched his cheek once more.

  "Die well, Jundagarro," she said, and she was gone.

  CHAPTER 35

  When I get hold of you, Lysethra Darkmist, you’ll wish you had been sacrificed as a child,” Mediator Koyrull promised under her breath. “At least your death would have been quick!"

  She smashed her black-iron mace once more against the temple doors. The force of the blow jarred her so strongly her teeth rattled, but the strong stone doors remained, showing only chips where the weapon of power had impacted, rendering her mood even fouler than it already was. Her personal guard hung back; they had not managed to budge the door with their mundane strength, and were avoiding her wrath. She spun toward them in her rage, then spied Draemer racing around the corner with a small phalanx of clan monarchs, guards, and priests.

  “It’s about time!” she snapped, then narrowed her eyes. “Why are there so few?”

  “Mediator,” said Druellae Gorgoneye as she stepped forward, “due to the delay it would take us to reach you and the importance of preventing the intruders from entering the citadel, I took the liberty of assigning patrols so no time would be lost in securing this sector. I hope you are not displeased.” She bowed low, though Koyrull saw her peek up apprehensively. Druellae may be a two-faced opportunist, but the mediator grudgingly admitted that her actions were appropriate and welcome. She looked over the rest of the group.

  “Keff and Que-xeralla,”—she thrust her long-nailed finger as if she were stabbing a foe—“take your guards and go to the doors leading to the adjoining sectors; make sure nothing enters. Yevondell, patrol the corridors by my chambers. If you see any intruders, kill them! I can get information from them later. Druellae, you stay with me.” Koyrull ignored the triumphant smirk on the matriarch’s lips and whirled toward Draemer.

  “Where is that mage?”

  Draemer opened his mouth to speak, a worried look on his face, before turning gratefully toward the weary-looking mage in dusty robes who bustled around the corner.

  "Your servant, Mistress Mediator," the wizard greeted her, bowing low. "What is your wish?"

  "Open these doors," she said between clenched teeth. "Now! Matriarch Lysethra Darkmist is within. Somehow, she holds the door shut. Though my sacred powers greatly exceed hers, I cannot open then!"

  "You believe them to be magically held, Mistress?" he asked.

  "Obviously!" she seethed, stepping aside and shoving him forward. "Just open it and get out of my way!"

  "Yes, Mistress Mediator," he said, cringing away from her.

  Chanting and gesturing, he cast his spell—the doors flared red for a moment—then stepped out of the way. He smiled as he bowed and motioned toward the doors.

  "They are unlocked, Mistress Mediator."

  Koyrull shoved him aside and stood before the doors, holding her mace and a black-diamond amulet warily before her. She nodded, and two of her guards pulled open the doors. She glanced swiftly about the temple, noting with irritation the pile of sacrificed guards by the altar. In the open space before her stood a bedraggled man, a golden collar around his neck.

  "Lysethra!" Koyrull called out, not bothering to hide her irritation. She strode forward, eager to get this over with so she could concentrate on sector defenses. "What goes on here? One slave―"

  Koyrull’s mace, enchanted with runes of death and pain, a weapon more powerful than any other in Xerro Kensho, vaporized in a wisp of smoke. It took the mediator a second further to realize that her hand was gone as well, vanished into cinders. Instinctively, she thrust forward her amulet, and gasped as her arm disappeared up to her elbow. There were no flames, no flickers of magic, just a barrier of searing energy that destroyed all that touched it. Koyrull tried to stop, but it was too late; her momentum carrier her forward. It all happened so fast, she did not even have time to scream.

  Druellae Gorgoneye stared in horror at the mediator’s boots. They lay askew at the edge of the doorway, the polished leather gleaming, save for the portion closest to the temple, which smoldered by the small pile of ash that had been the mediator. Druellae tasted bile in her throat, but she swallowed hard and maintained her composure, though her mind was in turmoil. She turned to the guards, but they were looking to her for guidance. Once more she looked to the boots.

  The silence of their shock was harshly broken by a discordant sound. From within the temple, deep laughter rose and fell. For a moment, Druellae thought that Xakra had descended to their plane to wreak havoc on them all, until she looked closer. The slave stood there laughing, laughing as if in response to a deadly jest.

  Phlegothax banked, tucked his wings, and dove toward a balcony where a cluster of guards took aim with their bows. Inhaling deeply, he felt the heat swell in his throat, and prepared to loose his fiery breath. From the corner of his eye, a white flash caught his attention, then a searing pain tore through his side. He roared, inadvertently quenching the inferno that was just emerging from his mouth. Only a spatter of flames hit the marksmen, but it was enough to force them to flee. A group of drakoll swept down onto the balcony to pursue them.

  The dragon glanced down to see a ragged streak of charred flesh along his side. He recognized the pain; the covetous wizard who had ridden on his withers had once attacked him with such a spear of lightening. Well, this, too, would heal. Phlegothax turned his great head in the direction from which the magical attack had come. A group of wizards hid ther
e, disguised as an illusion of pillars. He huffed in amusement, and pretended he could not see through their pitiful camouflage. These foes did not seem to understand how to battle with dragons. Of course, no dragons lived deep underground where these ones normally dwelled. Only the distantly related rock drakes delved to such depths, but they were stupid animals, with not a thought in their heads beyond feeding and mating.

  He flew high and circled the Black City beyond sight of the wizards. Several drakoll flew alongside, and after a few words, they departed to recruit more. Once a dozen of his smaller brethren had gathered, Phlegothax drew a deep breath and dove, his path curling around the spire. He burst into sight of the falsely pillared balcony at close range, and let loose his fire. The pillars transformed into screaming men and women who tried to beat the flames from their robes or conjure cooling water to ease their burns. They did not see the diving drakoll in time to cast defensive spells, and many died on the spot. Some of the wizards, in their panic, fell from the high balcony, becoming twirling pinwheels of multicolored robes and flames. Phlegothax dove after them and snapped them up, their bones crunching between his dire teeth, followed by a tangy squirt of blood before he swallowed. The tidbits went far to ease the discomfort caused by the wounds they had given him.

  He huffed with laughter, and banked in a swirl of wings to attack once more.

  Calmarel panted in exhaustion and sagged against the cold stone wall, letting her eyes droop shut. Jundag’s pleading face floated in her mind’s eye, and she swore she could still hear his voice: “Kill me.” So many times had she gleefully killed him, and now, when he asked for death—begged for death—she denied him.

  “I could not touch the blade,” she muttered, knowing that Xakra would have sensed her presence. And in the temple, she was within Xakra’s reach, subject to her powers. Never could she give the Dark Goddess a chance to curse her as her father had been: an everlasting agony of putrefaction without death.

  Calmarel looked around. She had no idea how long ago she had fled the temple, but it seemed like forever. She heard voices and pushed herself upright, straightening her robes and lifting her head high in a semblance of confidence that she did not feel. A troop of guards passed, glancing at her with fearful recognition before quickly lowering their eyes. Once they had passed, she continued the way they had come and encountered an ornately decorated door. It looked familiar, and after a moment it came to her; beyond was the reception hall that led to the mediator’s chambers.

  She glanced furtively toward both ends of the corridor, but no one was in sight. Lysethra had said that the mediator would be away from the sector for days, so this might be a good place to rest and plan her next move. She grasped the handle, opened the door and slipped inside, then shut it behind her. It was quiet and dark. No braziers were lit and she had no means of lighting them, so she allowed her eyes to become accustomed to the faint light that filtered in from the larger rooms beyond.

  This was a small waiting area, furnished with stone benches and chairs. She eased herself onto a seat and shifted the bundled baby onto her lap, then leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes for a moment’s rest.

  "Slow down!" Shay hissed.

  "You speed up!" Avari shot back. She had joined Hufferrrerrr in the van, following closely as he tracked Calmarel. The sound of Shay’s harsh breathing assured her that their companions kept the quick pace. The half-elf had been irritable since they left the temple; while all the others were silent, he muttered quietly and sometimes complained aloud, as he did now, but Avari understood. It must have been hard to leave the cornerstones, accustomed as he was to using them. Perhaps she’d feel the same if she were forced to leave Gaulengil; she shuddered at the thought. But she was proud of Shay—she had her friend back. And Jundag... She shook her head; she couldn’t afford to think about Jundag right now.

  Hufferrrerrr had led them unerringly through the dark corridors, and now they raced up a long flight of stairs.

  "You are going too fast!" Shay said again, his voice farther away this time. Avari felt a twinge of worry, but disregarded it. The corridors had been blessedly empty of any troops, probably because they were all fighting the dragon and drakoll.

  I never thought I’d be grateful for a dragon, she thought as she topped the stairs side-by-side with Hufferrrerrr and spun around the corner. Uh oh.

  That thought was all she had time for as she watched a heavy mace swing toward her chest. The guard wielding the weapon had been tucked around the corner, and his eyes shone with a triumphant gleam. He was short but well-muscled, and he had had plenty of time to gain momentum for his swing, obviously hearing their incautious ascent. Avari started to raise Gaulengil, knowing she had no time to sidestep the blow. Then something shoved her aside. She heard the mace strike, and an answering howl of pain.

  “Huffer!” she screamed as she rebounded off the far wall of the stair and skewered the stunned guard in the throat. Her foot met with her fallen friend, and she fell over Hufferrrerrr and rolled, just as more guards rushed forward. As she came up to her knees, one attacked her with a short spear, stabbing it directly at her chest. She threw herself backward, hit the wall, and used it as leverage to push herself toward her attacker. Knocking the spear aside with the hilt of her sword, she slashed and felt the tip of her blade skitter along his armor. A second guard aimed at her head with his sword, then fell back, an arrow in his eye.

  She used the opportunity to stand and leap over Hufferrrerrr into the fray, parrying thrust after thrust from spears and swords. Two more arrows flew past her, but they struck armor, their targets undaunted. A rush of harsh syllables reached her ears and she grinned—their back-up was nigh—then realized that the voice was not familiar. Her body suddenly felt as if she'd been dipped in ice water, and she stumbled, numb with the cold.

  Two swords thrust at her, and she only managed to turn one aside. The other barely pierced her mail, but felt as if it had bitten deep into her chilled flesh. She parried another thrust as she fell backward, trying to ignore the freezing sensation that slowed her reflexes. In this state, her opponents would overrun her before she could regain her feet.

  Avari heard the nonsensical words of another spell being cast, but this time she recognized Voncellia's voice. The armored warriors about to beset her were flung back, screaming and flailing. Yenjil appeared beside her and held out his hand, helping her to her feet. In the lull, they stood and stared at the grisly result of Voncellia's spell.

  Their opponents’ weapons and armor had clumped together as if drawn by a powerful magnet. Even as they watched, an inexorable force pulled the metal toward some unknown center, crumpling it without regard to the tender flesh inside. Blood spurt from the gaps in the crushed armor and helms. The sounds turned even Avari’s battle-hardened stomach.

  "Holy Eloss," Yenjil muttered.

  A whisper of sound caught Avari’s ear, and she glanced up from the horrible spectacle. A woman in dark robes stood beyond the doomed warriors, untouched by Voncellia’s spell. Avari and Yenjil both stepped forward, swords raised, before being blasted by frigid air that chilled them to the bone and dropped them to their knees in icy agony.

  Lynthalsea fired an arrow at the woman, but the projectile disintegrated into frozen splinters before it struck. Shay’s voice murmured close by her ear, and Avari felt his hand on her shoulder. Warmth spread from this point of contact, and she shrugged, working movement back into her arm. As the spiritual heat thawed out her legs, she braced her foot and prepared to charge, but Feldspar's shouted chant stopped her in her tracks.

  "APPARAE FERROUS MAXIMUS!"

  The bloody mass of crumpled armor, weapons and pulped flesh that had been a dozen enemy warriors suddenly lunged up. It contorted itself into a humanoid shape, and took a hesitant, shambling step toward the dark sorceress. The woman backed away, flinging a nugget of crystal and an incantation at the horrific golem, but the spray of icy shards that would have cut a living man to ribbons had no eff
ect on the bloody metal mass.

  It took another step forward, blood and meat squirting from its joints, and lashed out with a huge arm composed of two corpses twisted together. The mass of crumpled metal and flesh struck the sorceress, flung her so violently against the wall that she actually stuck there for a moment before sliding to the floor, leaving behind a streak of thick blood. The golem collapsed.

  It took Avari half a heartbeat to realize that the battle was over, before she remembered how it began.

  “Huffer!” she cried as she scrambled to her friend's side. He lay askew on the floor, his torso twisted at an impossible angle. She reached to cradle his head, but Brok blocked her.

  "Do not touch him! His back is broken."

  “Dear Eloss!” she breathed. “He blocked the blow to save me! Help him, please!”

  Avari felt strong hands on her shoulders pull her gently away. She tried to resist, but the pressure was unrelenting. She glanced and saw Yen behind her. Avari tried to shake off his hold, but felt a gentle hand on her arm.

  “Avari!” Lynthalsea said quietly. “Let Shay and Brok care for Hufferrrerrr.”

  Avari relented and sat back, her shoulders slumping in weary defeat. She felt so helpless. From the corner of her eye she saw Feldspar and Voncellia standing guard. Yen and Lynthalsea watched down the corridor in the other direction, their weapons ready. Avari knew she should help keep watch, but could not force her limbs to obey her, and she remained on the floor. Anxiously, she watched as the priests tended to her friend.

  Hufferrrerrr lay utterly still save for his hands, which clenched impotently by his sides. He was conscious but silent, his mouth gaping horribly, his yellow eyes wide with panic. He wasn’t breathing.