Descent Into Fury

by Sean Hinn

  “Oh, piss off! You piss right off with that. You don’t get to keep throwing your life over a cliff for me to hoist it back up. This noble-Merchant-martyr routine is getting a bit stale.”

  Vincent took a step back.

  Gerald bowed his head. “I’m sorry. That was cruel.”

  “No, you’re right.”

  “Don’t do that. I said I was sorry. Don’t make me feel—”

  “I’m serious. You’re right. It is getting a bit stale. All of this bellyaching is so much horse dung. Here’s where we are, you and me. We’ve got a bloody job to do. We need the elves. This gets it done, or at least gets us a long way down the path. Yeah, there’s a risk. And there’s risk in doing nothing. And you know what else? I don’t wanna see that horse die. Not if I can save it. That’s Phantom, for Lor’s sake. This isn’t about my wish for death.”

  “Now that’s horse dung. Everything you do is to get back to Anie.”

  Had Vincent swung for any other man, he’d have never seen the strike coming. As it was, Gerald was his friend, and so Vincent dropped his shoulder. The wizard turned his head just enough to avoid being knocked flat.

  Gerald took a seat on the ground, his head in his hands. An awkward silence fell. Vincent knew his friend regretted bringing up Anie; no apology was necessary. Nor would Gerald begrudge him the punch. In a few turns, all would be forgotten.

  He has a point, though, Vincent admitted silently. As they often did in such times, his thoughts turned to his late wife.

  What would she do? What would she have me do? This night, to Vincent’s mind, the question did not require much imagination. Had she not told him, in that place between places, just days before?

  Above all, you must love Tahr, my brave, sweet man. For without your love, she will be lost forever.

  Tahr. What is Tahr? Vincent let his mind dance around the question. Is it this ashen land on which I stand? No. Dirt is dirt. Is it its people? Perish the thought. In all his years as The Merchant, Vincent had learned one thing, if anything: perhaps most people were born neither good nor evil, but a single evil act could taint a victim’s soul every bit as quickly and thoroughly as the infection that ravaged the knight’s poor dying horse, and that taint was catching. Kindness was a salve, goodness not so much a cure but a medicine that might keep the world alive long enough that one could be found. And what would be this cure? Would he, Vincent Thomison, he the walking abomination, he the sewn-together embodiment of Gerald’s dark magic, be the one to find it? Surely not. He might succeed in uniting the kingdoms, but it was doubtful. Too much distrust existed among the races. Now, as death bore down on them from the very sky above? Now they would put aside their fears, their prejudices, their differences? At his urging? No. Only the most extraordinary deed could possibly bridge such a divide.

  Upon your deeds, all things rely.

  A hand fell on Vincent’s shoulder. The wizard had stood at some point during Vincent’s reverie.

  “What about Maris?” Gerald asked, his tone gentler than his previous comment.

  Vincent sighed and shook his head. “I tried to love again, Gerald. I did. For one quick breath, I did. I still do. There, I said it. I love her. But you’ll notice she wasn’t waiting at the door when we left.”

  “Maris will come around.”

  She loves you, and you must love her in return.

  A wistful smile crossed Vincent’s mangled lips. “Yes. She probably will. Fool of a girl, she will. And she’ll be cursed with a ghoul for a husband.”

  “Vincent—”

  “Ah, come on, Gerald. She deserves better.” This is how I must love her. Ah, dear Anie. Death has made you wise.

  Gerald looked down.

  “And Tahr deserves better, for that matter.”

  “Tahr? Tahr doesn’t deserve a damned thing. Least of all your death. Mor could do a lot worse than to see you on the throne.”

  “To Fury with the throne.”

  “You keep saying that.”

  “This is bigger than Mor. Mor will be fine. Or it won’t. If it’s to stand a chance, we need the elves.”

  “Fine, but—”

  Vincent turned to face his friend. “Gerald, this is my choice.”

  Gerald took a step back, finally raising a hand to rub his jaw.

  “Did you need to hit me so hard?”

  “I didn’t. You’re just old and feeble.”

  Gerald ignored the goad. “Look, I understand. We have to help him. And you’re right, it could mean something in the end. But this is risky, Vincent. If we do this, I won’t be able to help you if it starts going sideways. It’ll take everything I have just to get the magic going.”

  “I understand.”

  “Uh huh. Understand this, too: if you die, I won’t be able to bring you back. I won’t have anything left after the spell. Not for a day, at least. Maybe longer.”

  “Then don’t let me die, old friend.” Vincent threw an arm around Gerald’s shoulder, turning him back to Barris’ camp.

  “Hmph. I ought to. Just to spite you.”

  “You’d miss me.”

  Gerald did not reply, which was reply enough.

  ~

  Barris listened as Gerald quickly explained. When he finished, the knight turned to Vincent. “Why are you doing this for me?”

  Vincent shrugged. “Got a soft spot for horses.”

  Barris eyed the man. “No doubt. But that is not why.”

  “No,” Vincent said. “Sir Barris, if we get through this, I’m going to need your help.”

  “I imagined this much. But you will know that I have my own burdens to carry, sir. My own duties, which I cannot abandon.”

  “I’m sure you do. I don’t suppose those duties have anything to do with keeping Tahr out of the abyss?”

  Barris thought for a moment, selecting his words carefully. “You are closer to the mark than you know.”

  Phantom kicked weakly. Time was short.

  “We’re on the same side, you and I,” said Vincent. “Let’s just get this done. If it works, we can talk about what happens next.”

  Barris shook his head. “These are dark magics. I… I am unsure.” And he was.

  “Magic is magic, elf,” Gerald said. “But we can debate that later. We’re out of time.”

  Barris turned to Phantom, then back to Gerald, nodding. The knight locked eyes with Vincent.

  “I can make you no promise but this: if it is in my power, and what you ask of me is good and right, I will repay this debt. Ni oash’e en.”

  Vincent nodded. “Not sure what that last part meant, but good enough for me. Get to work, Gerald.”

  XXII: THE MAW

  NIKALUS DRONED ON. NOVA listened politely, if absently.

  “…and then he says, ‘That’s the lesson, why I don’t cry twice.’ Pretty much, at least. I mighta mixed up some words. But that’s smart, huh?”

  “Seems wise enough to me,” the dwarven scout replied. “Not always so easy, though.”

  Nikalus nodded. “Yeah. ’Specially when it still hurts.”

  Nova turned over on her cot to face the young stable hand from Mor. “Does it? Still hurt, I mean?”

  “Nah, not so much anymore.” Nikalus tossed his leg up onto his cot. He knocked on the cast of bark the elven healer Cloudia had shaped for him. “Wish I could leave this stupid tent, though.”

  “Lot happenin’ out there,” Nova warned.

  “Exactly! I heard that Nishali lady this morning. She’s mad.”

  Nova had heard as well. “She lost someone close.”

  “She oughta be sad, then.”

  Nova thought of Dohr and reddened, ashamed that her own king would dishonor Belgorne so. She could find no fault with Nishali’s rage. “Maybe she’s like Barris,” Nova said. “Don’t want to cry twice.”

  “More like she’s gettin’ ready to kill that jerk King Do… oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

  “Sure ye did. And he’s a jerk, no mistake.”
<
br />   Nikalus regarded Nova with intent. She sensed his question before he asked it.

  “Are ya gonna help Nishali?”

  “That ain’t your business, kid.”

  “Aw, come on. You can tell me. Ain’t like I got someone to tell anyways.”

  “Why can’t ye just let me sleep an’ quit chewin’ me ears off? If I were an elf, nobody’d know anymore.”

  Nikalus laughed. “Come on. Tell me.”

  Nova knew the boy would not relent, but she had not yet made up her mind on the matter. She decided there would be no harm in saying as much.

  “Haven’t decided yet.”

  “I think you ougtha,” said Nikalus quickly, his response at the ready. “I think you oughta get a new king.”

  Nova laughed. “Just like that, huh?”

  “Yep.”

  “Like who?”

  Nikalus shrugged. “I dunno. I don’t know many dwarves. You know any good ones?”

  Nova eyed the boy.

  “Aw, Fury. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like—”

  “Stop apologizing all the time. It’s annoying.”

  “Oh. I’m sor… uh.”

  Nova smiled. “Say what ye mean, kid. Pretty words can’t hide an ugly truth.”

  “Huh,” Nikalus said. “That’s smart.”

  “I thought so, too. Me cap used to say it.”

  “Is he dead?”

  Nova recalled the last time she had seen Captain Latimer Flint. The Hammer. She wondered what had become of his niece, the barmaid Kari.

  “Well, is he?”

  “Dead? Hope not. Don’t know for sure.”

  “Well, maybe he can be king.”

  Nova laughed. “He’d be a damned good one, sure as stone. Wouldn’t want the job, though.”

  “Why not? Who wouldn’t wanna be king?”

  Nova sat up, resigning herself to conversation. She reached to a table that sat between the two cots, retrieving the water skin Cloudia had left for them. She took a long pull, frowning. Fury, but I’d kill for some ale.

  “Here’s the truth of it. Anybody who wants to be king would make a poor excuse for one.”

  Nikalus cocked his head. “That makes no sense.”

  “Sure it does. Think on it.”

  Nikalus screwed up his face. Nova remained silent as the boy puzzled it over. A flash of understanding widened his eyes.

  “’Cause they want all that power?”

  Nova nodded. “Yep. That’s the big part of it. But it also means they’re too dumb to know it’s a dung-stinkin’ job.”

  “A dung-stinkin’ job? Come on! You get to be in charge of everything! You get to eat what you want, go where you want, sleep when you want—”

  Nova laughed. “Sure hope we don’t end up with a King Nikalus anytime soon.”

  Nikalus shot her a look.

  “Don’t get cross. Think on it. A king has to figure out how to make the whole world run. At least his part of the world. All day, every day, one trouble after the next. Maybe ye can eat what ye want, but I doubt ye get to sleep much, and ye muck something up, maybe people die. Muck up too much, maybe it’s yer own head ends up in a noose.”

  Nikalus looked up, thinking. “Huh. Maybe that’s what happened to your King Dohr. Maybe he just mucked up too much.”

  Nova shook her head. “Wish I could say that were it. No, Dohr flat out wanted to be king. Shoulda been his brother.”

  “Prince J’arn?”

  “Aye.”

  “I heard he ran off.”

  “And how’d ye come by that?”

  “I ain’t daft. I listen. I know some things. But—”

  “Well, ye heard wrong. J’arn’s no coward.”

  “Well, then why can’t he be king?”

  Nova shrugged. “Don’t know where he is.”

  “So, he did run off.”

  Nova scowled. “Now ye are bein’ daft.”

  “Am not. Everybody knew something bad was happening, didn’t they? Fury, even I knew—”

  “Watch that tongue.”

  Nikalus sighed. “Fine. But I did. And he’s a prince! He shoulda stayed to help.”

  Nova shook her head. “Ye have it wrong. He went to go find help.”

  “From who?”

  Nova felt silly as she said it.

  “The elves.”

  “Hmph. Well, he mucked that one up. Don’t look like the elves like you very much.”

  Nova eyed the boy again. “Ye’re kind of a pain in the arse, ye know that?”

  “Hey! You said I should say what I mean.”

  The scout rolled her eyes. “Aye, s’pose I did.”

  Nikalus leaned back on his cot, arms behind his head. Nova could not help but appreciate how self-assured the boy was; prouder now, certainly, having bested an adult in debate.

  “So, what’re ya gonna do?” Nikalus asked again.

  “Already said. Haven’t made up me mind.”

  “I think you should help Nishali.”

  “Heard ye the first time.”

  Nikalus sat up again. “But think about it! You have to get a new king! Or the elves and dwarves are gonna go to war!”

  Nova sighed. “There’s something else Cap used to say.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Ain’t nothin’ simple. If it sounds that way, clean the…” Nova censored the vulgar expression, “well, open your ears.”

  “My ears aren’t closed.”

  “Aye, they are. Now lemme open ’em for ye. I’m a dwarf, right?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “And ye think I oughta what, kill King Dohr?”

  “He’s a bad king, though.”

  “He is. But he’s our king. King of Belgorne. You think Halsen was a good king?”

  “Fury—I mean, fires, no.”

  “Well, then why didn’t ye kill ’im?”

  “Me? I’m just a kid!”

  “What about your pa, or your ma?”

  Nikalus took a moment to reply. “I ain’t got no ma. No pa, either. Not really. Well, sorta.”

  “All right, then what about the soldiers in Mor? Why didn’t they just kill ’im?”

  “Fur—I mean… fires, I dunno! Maybe they didn’t wanna fight the other soldiers!”

  Nova nodded. “Now your forge is hot. And why didn’t they wanna fight the other soldiers? You think they were cowards?”

  Nikalus frowned. “Some, maybe.”

  “Some, but not all.”

  The boy met Nova’s eyes. “I don’t think you’re a coward.”

  “Good. ’Cause I ain’t.”

  “But… I mean, you’re not really sick anymore, are you?”

  “Not all that much, no.”

  “And you’re not—”

  “Never mind that. Why didn’t they wanna fight the other soldiers?”

  A look of understanding crossed the boy’s face. “They didn’t wanna kill their friends.”

  Nova nodded. “Ain’t nothin’ simple.”

  Nikalus sat quietly, looking at Nova. Looking her over, she decided.

  “You’re smart,” he said eventually. “Maybe you oughta be queen.”

  Nova smiled a quizzical smile, taken aback by the boy’s open admiration. “Well, that’s a kind thing to say, Nikalus. I thank ye. But not even with an axe to me throat.” She tapped the side of her head, winking. “See, too smart for the job.” She glanced towards the flap of the tent. “Hush, now. Somebody’s comin’.”

  ~

  “It is not good, Janna.”

  “Tell me something I do not know.”

  The ranger looked around. No one was near, but the night did little to hide elves from one another. They would not be able to speak long.

  “I should not be telling you anything.”

  The knight stepped closer, her voice lowered.

  “These are not ordinary times, Dell.”

  A long pause hung between the two, heavy as the knight’s frosty breath.