"So much the easier!" Ghendal said with a laugh. "Glyx!"
The ice troll lumbered into the chamber.
"Take the Heart of the Glacier and set up the ambush. I will see that the thieves find their way to you. But remember, the gems must not be harmed. And do not touch more than one at a time." Ghendal rankled as he thought of the warning; Darkmist had not trusted him with the reason behind the orders.
Glyx grunted, placed the stone into a rough burlap sack tied to his belt and turned to leave, as Ghendal returned to his scrying ice to watch the would-be thieves approach.
Yenjil Thallon's boots clicked through the marble halls of the imperial palace, his knuckles white on his sword hilt, and his jaw set so tightly that his teeth throbbed. This was the fifth time this week that he had walked these corridors, his fifth excruciating audience with the emperor and his advisors.
And undoubtedly the fifth time I will have to apologize for my temper to those politically minded buffoons, he raged, turning the last corner and confronting the royal guards. He straightened his surcoat and brushed invisible dust from its embroidered sleeves as he was ushered into the royal audience chamber.
"Your Majesty," Yenjil said as he dropped to one knee before the dais. "Your humble servant."
"Ah, yes, Captain," the ruler of the Northern Realms said with a hint of sarcasm. "Although the term 'humble' might strain Our imagination, considering your recent behavior."
"Rest assured, Majesty," Thallon pledged, keeping an even tone, "my outbursts toward the Emperor's esteemed military advisorship were only due to my great concern for the safety of the realms; a safety that, in my opinion, is at great risk."
The not-too-discrete noises of derision from the four ministers of military affairs standing beside the dais fanned Yenjil's temper. They were military scholars, experts on military history, conflict, weaponry and tactics. They were very learned and very intelligent, but none had ever stood on the field of battle. Thallon had no more respect for them than he had for a stick of ill-made furniture.
"That risk," the emperor began, "has been the point of much discussion, Captain. We do not see how a single assassin, albeit a Shadowknife, could be any kind of a threat to this realm."
Yenjil opened his mouth to speak, but was forestalled by the emperor's raised finger.
"Your argument that this was no ordinary assassin has been taken into account, and the culprit and his possessions have been duly scrutinized. The number and power of magical items on his person lends credence to your theory that he was in the service of a wizard, but We find this tale of a Nekdukarr told to you by a group of... adventure seekers, to be dubious. In fact, it may concern you that a member of that group, one Szcze-kon of the temple of Tem, was described to Us by Lord High Priest Berryl of that temple as 'recently excommunicated, deranged and possibly possessed by some unknown and dangerous power’."
"Your Majesty, I—"
"Had no idea such was the case. Yes, We know. It is not something that needs to be advertised, but nonetheless it is true.
"Unfortunately, We have not received a communication, caravan or ship from Beriknor for more than a tenday, and the last news did mention raids on outlying farms. The court wizards are currently trying to contact Our nephew, Duke Ceryl, of that noble house, but there seems to be some difficulty."
"Your Majesty need not be concerned," Minister Bombisti, the most ingratiating of the retinue said in a placating tone. "Such communications are oft fraught with problems, and a short break in normal trade is to be expected occasionally. Duke Ceryl has undoubtedly taken control of the situation."
"Majesty!" Yenjil gaped at the minister in wonder. "There are no caravans and ships because they've been cut off!"
"Absurd, Your Majesty." Bombisti sneered down at Thallon. "Even if this mythical Nekdukarr did have an army, how could he impede ship traffic?"
"Your Majesty,” Yenjil said, rubbing his weary eyes, “there are dozens of ways to sink ships that don't require a navy. Why, a single ogre with an axe and magically endowed gills could empty even this city's harbor in a few hours. And Avari spoke of a dragon. If the beast is loosed on Beriknor there will be nothing left but ashes by the time we react. "
Silence reigned in the audience chamber for several breaths. It was amazing, considering that they were military scholars, but they looked honestly stunned at his explanation of how easily the ships could have been sunk. That's the problem, Yenjil thought. They only know history, never considering anything new.
"We have reached a decision," the emperor announced, startling his ministers. "The Shadowknife assassin alone gives Us little evidence to cause concern. However, coupled with the communications and trade breakdown with Beriknor, and Captain Thallon's explanation of how such could occur, We have decided there is enough to warrant an investigation."
"Very good, Majesty," Thallon snapped, a grin flashing to his face. "The First Lancers will ride in the morning!"
"Just hold a moment, Captain," the emperor commanded, emphasizing Thallon's title. "We have decided that only one company of the First Lancers can be spared from Fengotherond, as well as two companies each from First Infantry and Archers."
"Infantry? But Majesty, the time—"
"Let it take time, Thallon! We will not risk Our entire complement of local cavalry just because you are in a hurry! And you will take Minister Cercy as an advisor; as well as one of Our wizards so that We may receive adequate communiqués. This will not turn into your own private crusade, Captain. It is a matter of the Realms. Now, is everyone clear on this?"
"Yes, Your Majesty," they all chimed in unison.
"Good! You may all go. This bickering has Us fatigued."
"If I may, Your Majesty," Yenjil interceded with a deep bow, "I would beg one more favor."
"You try Our patience, Thallon. What is it?"
"I would very much like to request which of Your Majesty's most competent mages is to accompany me."
"Oh, but of course!" the sovereign fumed. "And We suppose you would request Archmage Belregash."
"No, Your Excellency." Yenjil smiled. "I would request Master Feldspar as a traveling companion." The laughter from the ministers pleased Thallon as much as the emperor's surprise.
"Feldspar?" he said, silencing his ministers with an upraised palm. "Why would you want that cantankerous old fool?"
"Combat experience, Your Majesty," Thallon answered, deadly serious. "He is the only one of the royal retinue who has stood upon the field of battle." Silence reigned for a heartbeat as the emperor's jaw clenched fitfully.
"Very well, Captain," the sovereign agreed finally. "But see that everyone who accompanies you is well accounted for. We will not have you risking Our resources unnecessarily."
The supreme ruler of the Northern Realms waved his underlings out of the room, and for the first time in a week, Yenjil Thallon was grinning. Even if he was forced to drag along infantry and that puffing old fart Cercy, he was determined to break all known marching records in reaching Beriknor.
Five days! Calmarel cursed to herself. It’s like interrogating a blasted statue!
She struggled to maintain an air of calm while she paced in front of the rack to which Jundag was wired, but her attempt failed. Even worse: Jundag knew it. She had done her worst, and he had defied her. He probably would have mustered the energy to smile if he was not preoccupied with not screaming. The wires that secured him were not tied around his arms and legs, but rather around the tendons in his arms, back, neck, thighs and ankles. Every twitch, every breath, brought new pangs of agony.
His victory had not been easy, but Calmarel's furious pacing exposed her aggravation. She was out of time, patience and ideas. In all her years, she had never achieved less than total capitulation from a prisoner, but sneers and curses were all she was able to wrest from this one. She longed to simply eviscerate him and laugh at the surprised look on his face as he died in agony. If she were not so pressed for time, she would do exactly that, but rec
alling his soul once again from beyond would require more time and energy than she could devote. But there was one more thing that she might try...
"You are very... very... stubborn... Jundag," Calmarel said, punctuating each word with plucks on the restraining wires. He stiffened but did not cry out. "I am intrigued. You see, most would have long since expired from my ministrations. Your stamina makes my enjoyment so much more enduring."
Calmarel paused, smiling up from beneath his chin. She traced a single fingernail down his sweat-drenched chest, broadening her smile at the tremors the delicate caress elicited.
"If only I had the time... Unfortunately," she quipped, whirling away, "I have matters that require some of my other talents." She retrieved some items from a table and returned. "But before I go, I thought I’d show you several of your personal affects that we managed to rescue from Zellohar."
Calmarel held out an assortment of items. Jundag looked stoically over her shoulder, but she persisted
"This is interesting," she said, picking out an obsidian arrowhead, "though of absolutely no practical use." She dropped it and ground it to splinters under her heel.
His face remained expressionless.
"And this... thing." She held up a delicate feather token as if it stank. "Why would anyone keep such a filthy collection of dead animal parts is totally beyond my comprehension."
She saw a faint tightening of the muscles around his eyes as she plucked apart the mosaic of rare plumage and blew the pieces into his face.
"And finally, there is this." She dangled an ivory medallion before him, a blossom of tiny carved feathers. He tried to avert his eyes, but they were drawn to it like blue steel to a magnet. "Is it precious to you?" she asked, fondling the delicate piece.
He remained expressionless, but he was straining.
"Perhaps it was given to you by someone?" She smiled and brought the medallion close to her face. Finally, he stared at her in horror, his pretense of indifference forgotten.
"Was she someone you loved, or just some slut with skill between the sheets?" She smiled, running her tongue over the pristine ivory feathers, enjoying his tortured response.
At last! she rejoiced in silence. Victory!
Tendons and wires alike snapped with discordant twangs as Jundag's arm shot forward with the speed of a striking snake. His broken, bleeding fingers clamped around Calmarel's slim throat before she could utter a word to restrain him. His grip tightened, and her bulging eyes drew a smile from his bleeding lips. There was only a hint of the former strength in his grip, but her feeble blows to his wrist and face felt like spatters of gentle rain in his victorious rage. He screamed his triumph to the gods and squeezed with all his remaining might.
Half a second before her larynx would have crumbled in his grasp, a scimitar slashed between them. Jundag stared in shock as his severed arm fell beside the gasping woman. A half-orc servant struck him hard across the face, tearing out two more wires, then stepped back and raised his sword for the final blow.
"No!" Calmarel croaked, gasping for breath as she struggled to her feet. "Stop that bleeding! Now!"
Jundag slumped as the half-orc tied a strap around the stump of his arm, the trauma and blood loss finally taking their toll.
"That was very foolish, Jundag," Calmarel cautioned, her voice still hoarse. "I will have to reattach this later, but you won't be needing it for now." She kicked his severed limb aside.
"This, however, interests me." She snatched his head upright as he started to pass out, holding the ivory token before his dimming vision. "Yes, it interests me greatly, Jundag, and I think I'm going to keep it. I will wear it around my neck as a remembrance of this tender moment."
Jundag strained through the haze of trauma to free his other arm, but he no longer had the strength to feel the pain any more, much less break his bonds.
"Have him healed, Tredgh," Calmarel ordered as she turned to leave. "I want him healthy and whole in three days!"
Her hard footfalls were the last thing Jundag heard before blackness descended. His final thought was remorse that the darkness would not be permanent.
CHAPTER 18
Iveron Darkmist's head snapped up from a tome of dwarvish rune-lore, unsure of what had disturbed his study. Another knock shook his door, confirming his suspicion.
"Enter!" he called, closing the ancient tome. Kurrekk ducked into the room, barely able to fit through the door.
"E'scuse, Lord Darkmist," the huge humanoid rumbled, ducking his demon-clad brow in subservience. "We gots problems wit some of the new troops, sir."
"Problems?" This was something new; troops who brought their problems to Kurrekk often ended up in the rendering pots. "What problems can you not solve yourself, Kurrekk?"
"That Grem, sir. He says he only does what you says, not what I says. He says that his troops is his, not yours. He wants to keep 'em together, or he takes 'em all and goes." The troll’s huge three fingered hands flexed as if strangling something.
"Grem..." Iveron jogged his memory. There had been so many new troops, even some large bands of the long-limbed jackaleks, valuable additions to his army. "Ah, I remember; the half-ogre. Yes, he is rather full of himself, isn't he?"
"He's full of somethin', milord," the troll said, arching his commander's brow with the attempted wit. "Can I eat 'im?"
"Not quite yet, Kurrekk," Iveron said, unsure if the last was a joke or not. "In fact, I have the perfect inducement to bring him into line." He moved to a broad cabinet and opened it. Within hung many artifacts of power pillaged from the dwarven stronghold. Some remained untouched, but others he had corrupted for his own use. He retrieved a broad-bladed axe that he had enspelled with a particularly potent combination of curses and beguilements for just such an occasion.
"Give this to Grem and tell him that if he follows orders, your orders relayed from me, he can keep it and command his own troops... as one of my new field captains."
Kurrekk's mouth curled into a snarl of ragged teeth at the order, but he calmed as Iveron handed the fell blade over. The troll grinned as soon as his fingers encircled the weapon's haft.
"Sure, sir. I'll give it to him."
Darkmist knew he'd chosen the right inducement for the unruly warlord, Grem; if the blade's magic could quell Kurrekk's ire, it would easily seduce the half-ogre.
Lynthalsea sniffed the frozen grass, searching for the elusive scent of the Dukarr. The only trail she could find was days old, and her task was hindered by the bitter cold. She pressed her face into another clump of moss at the base of the five-hundred foot wall of ice, snuffing and sniffing. Thankfully, Hufferrrerrr and the horses had been left about a half-mile back.
"Here it is again!" The elf stood and brushed the dirt from her knees. "The scent is strong; the entrance has got to be here."
"But where?" Shay rapped his hammer against the ice once again. "DoHeney, where is the gem pointing now?"
"Aye, that's the weird part, lad," the dwarf said, scratching his head. "It's pointin' down, like this here glacier's run over it."
"The glacier could be deeper than the level of the valley floor," Shay explained, "but there must be an entrance."
"Maybe it's up there." Avari's craned her neck back to stare up at the cliff. "But there would have to be a trail."
"He could o' jist flew up there, or he could be hidin' the trail with magic," DoHeney said, squinting up at the white cliff.
"Great," Avari grunted as they continued their search. Finally DoHeney whooped in triumph, waving the others over to where he climbed among piles of icy rubble.
"I should o' knowed better," he said, climbing up the jumble. "What better way ta hide it than ta disguise it natural-like."
They picked their way up, and spied the camouflaged track, the twisting steps hidden by high blocks.
"Those are big steps," Avari said; they were knee-high.
"The higher the steps, the fewer to cut," DoHeney said from several steps ahead. "Dukarr must be lazy as wel
l as slimy."
The others chuckled at the joke, knowing full well that large steps could also mean large inhabitants. Shay drew a length of rope from his pack and began the familiar task of linking them together. That done, they ascended, each with one hand to steady their passage and another grasping a weapon.
"Actually, Skkreel, we fear for our brother's sanity," Lysethra explained as she paced to calm her temper. "You can understand how nearly a century trapped inside a dwarf-cursed mountain would try even the strongest psyche. Discovering the traps he placed on a package he intended for our beloved mediator, you can see that our worries have been confirmed."
"Of course, Mistress Darkmist." The pompous little fellow bowed with a flourish.
Lysethra longed to throttle the smile off his pretentious lips, but she knew she needed him. There were few clanless mages of his skill, and he knew it.
"I will require a place of quiet. A small room perhaps," Skkreel retrieved a scroll from his robe and presented it to her. "And there are some items I will require. Just a few trifles."
"Of course, Skkreel, anything you need." Lysethra's jaw clenched in fury as she perused the lengthy list.
"Seth!” Calmarel burst into the room with an uncharacteristic grin and bounce in her step. Her outfit of sparse leathers was stained with sweat and blood from her days of toil, but her mood was positively effervescent. "Sorry I'm late, but my project was more demanding than I thought. This must be Master Skkreel. Well met indeed! It is a relief for us to have such a competent wizard at our disposal."
Skkreel studied Calmarel while he mumbled gracious, appreciative nonsense.
"I've been watching Iveron through this," Calmarel explained, indicating a crystal in an ornate stand. She tapped it, and scenes flickered to life within. "It's not very sophisticated, but it has certain advantages. As you can see, he's got a roomful of magical paraphernalia. If you could decipher any of this, we would be most grateful."
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