"Indeed you do, Lord Duke," Thallon said as he withdrew a scroll from his belt, keeping his mien one of neutral determination. "For there is war afoot, and since you decline to act, may I suggest you sign this writ transferring command of Beriknor's militia and city guard to me."
"Ha!" the Duke scoffed sharply. "Oh, you may suggest, indeed! And what pray will you do, once you command my entire military strength, Captain?"
"We will assault Zellohar Keep, Lord Duke. For this is the point from which this entire war stems."
"War?" the Duke raged, surging from his throne like a charging scarecrow. "What war, Captain? I see no war! I see only a band of disorganized beasts bold enough to think they could storm the walls of MY city. The threat is ended; the safety of the realm is secure. There is no war. So you can take your writ back to your shiny domed city and run it up your flagpole for all I care! Guards, remove these bothersome ruffians!"
At Thallon's glance Feldspar raised a hand toward each of the advancing guards. Electricity writhed about his fingers with a few quick words. The guards stopped, unwilling to interfere with an obviously potent and evidently intolerant mage.
"Duke Ceryl," Yenjil said quietly, "we are all very weary and a bit short-tempered. I suggest again that you sign the writ and avoid further trouble."
"You dare to threaten me? I'll have you executed!" The Duke's face flushed white, his bony fists shaking at his sides.
"Oh, do not misunderstand us, Lord Duke. There is no threat implied. If you refuse to sign my writ, I will be forced to press formal charges of high treason."
"Treason?" the Duke raged. "What in the name of the Nine Unholy Hells are you yammering about?"
"I am talking about your actions this very day, Duke!" Thallon raged back. Never very good at politics, he had finally lost his temper with the duke’s posturing. "I am talking about your refusal to render aid to imperial forces during a time of war! I am talking about refusing sanctuary to imperial forces in dire need! And most of all, Duke, I am talking about the two hundred twenty seven of MY soldiers who are dead this day due to your standing orders not to render aid and/or sanctuary!"
"As I said before, Captain, there is no war," Ceryl replied as he sank back into his throne, his lip curled in derision. "Your charges are baseless. We are a long way from my uncle's throne out here, Captain, and here, my word is law. Now, you will allow my guards to escort you out of my presence, or you will hang for treason!"
At this Thallon simply smiled, which seemed to startle the belligerent sovereign more than all the captain's previous charges. A new tactic was required here, and at tactics, he excelled.
"Your propensity for metering out your own form of law is exactly why the emperor sent Master Feldspar along on this trip, Duke," Yenjil Thallon lied. "You see, he is in contact with the Royal Retinue even as we speak. They were also witness to the entire day's events, so I once again suggest you sign this writ."
Duke Ceryl's eyes widened at the mention of witnesses, and widened further as Feldspar held up a tiny glowing crystal suspended from his left wrist. A hasty gesture from the duke forestalled the nervous guards. He sat speechless for a long moment, eying his three opponents, weighing his alternatives.
Muttering a curse, he surged to his feet, snatched a quill from a well near the dais and scrawled his signature upon the writ. He pressed his signet ring into the parchment, its weak magic leaving an impression of the imperial seal.
"I thank you, Lord Duke." Thallon swept through a mocking bow, turned on his heel and strode out, his companions hurrying after him. They were nearly out of the palace when Feldspar finally burst into snorts of laughter.
"My boy, you certainly are lucky he knows absolutely nothing about magic!" He slapped Yenjil on the back as he pocketed the glow-crystal he used as a reading light. "Otherwise, I think the three of us would be hanging from the parapets. Yes," the mage repeated, "you certainly are lucky."
"That I am, Feldspar." the commander of both Fengotherond's and Beriknor's city guard agreed. "That I am, indeed."
It was just past midnight in the city of Xerro Kensho, and the streets and tunnels were quiet. Only those pursuing late business, and those pursuing those pursuing late business, still roamed the twisted labyrinths. But in Castle Darkmist there was activity aplenty, although less civilized than the deadly ballet of predator and prey taking place outside the clan's doors.
The floor of the clan temple ran with blood, the blood of twelve of Clan Darkmist's eldest and most valuable nobles. Their lives had been payment for the audacious request the sisters had made of Xakra, Mistress of Chaos. The invocation of Deitic Dominion was rarely bestowed to any mortal. That they intended to use it on a Fargmir made it an unbelievably presumptuous request.
But finally Xakra had been appeased. The Deitic Dominion and Cannoth's soul-name had been granted in exchange for the souls, which now rested in Xakra's grasp, where she would leisurely consume them, thus growing infinitesimally more powerful. A few million more such feasts and she would be able to challenge the Gods of Light themselves.
"It was a success!" Lysethra gasped, staggering with the intensity of the bestowal. Calmarel steadied her as she struggled to regain her balance. "I must rest, Cal."
"Fine," the younger sister agreed. "I have one matter to which I must attend before we leave. It should take no more than an hour. I will meet you back here in that time." She helped her sister to a bench, but had already turned her back and was on her way out when Lysethra answered.
"Very well, Cal," she managed, "do what you will. But see that you are well-rested for our ordeal."
"Don't worry, Seth," Calmarel said. "I intend to do the very thing that will relax me most."
Lysethra's nerves grated like a black diamond scratching crystal; she knew where her sister was going, and thought it irresponsible to delve into personal recreations at such a dire moment. The future of Clan Darkmist was balanced on a razor's edge, and Calmarel was off to play with that wretched pet of hers.
She struggled to her feet and strode out of the temple, bellowing for the servants to clean up the place. Steering her steps vaguely toward her quarters, Lysethra wondered if a certain servant boy was occupied at this late hour.
Avari woke from a nightmare into a reality that made the dream pale by comparison. The huge rock troll that wore Gaulengil at its hip leered over her. He grasped the manacles in one barrel-sized fist, lifting her insignificant weight off of the wall hook. The rough iron bit into her wrists, but she found no energy to cry out, no desire to fight, no hope. Hours under the attentions of Iveron Darkmist had wrung these things from her like blood from a sodden bandage.
The troll dragged her stumbling from the room. She realized that she wore a robe when she tripped on the hem. The caress of the slick material against her skin—all of her skin from neck to toes—made her shudder. The thought of that beast Darkmist pawing her, even after she had passed out from his tortures, turned her stomach. A raw pit of hate smoldered deep within Avari's soul.
Her caustic thoughts were interrupted when her guide finally entered a room quite different from the others she had seen. Coal braziers burned in each corner, giving the whole room an eerie red glow. In the center of the floor was traced an ornate circle of silver, finely crafted metal stands resting at its four cardinal points. But all else paled when her eyes beheld DoHeney and Lynthalsea chained to the wall.
"Ah, lass," DoHeney said in dismay, "'tis as I figgered then! They've got ye as well. I guess there's no hope fer us now."
"DoHeney!" she cried, struggling as her hulking keeper loosened her shackles and fitted her to the ones mounted in the stone. "Thank the Gods you're alive! How is Lynthalsea?"
"Bad enough, I'm fearin'." He jerked his manacles futilely, and Avari noticed the blood streaking his forearms. "She got a mighty nasty crack on the noggin', which means she could wake up any minute, or jist plain stop breathin'. But where's that pointy-eared priest? Why he could—"
"Sssst!" Avari h
issed, nodding toward the troll that was finishing with her bonds. She doubted that it understood them, but she did not want to betray Shay's secrecy by accident.
Finally the lumbering humanoid tromped out of the room. Once more Avari gazed longingly at the sheathed sword bouncing along at its hip. Why had Gaulengil forsaken her? There had to be a reason, but right now she felt obliged to fill in DoHeney.
"Sorry, but I didn't want to give Shay away."
"He's still runnin' free? How'd he keep from gettin' caught too? And come ta think o' it, how'd ye get here so quick?"
"We got here by magic, something the Shadowknives had. Shay's invisible, so he shouldn't get caught." Avari cringed at a sudden thought. "But he may have trouble finding us. This isn't the same room where I was held earlier."
"This is a big keep, lass," DoHeney pointed out. "Him findin' us is about as likely as that slimy Nekdukarr waltzin' in here buck naked and givin' us them gems back."
"He'll find us!" Avari disagreed adamantly, though she worriedly as her vault of private horrors once again hammered at her resolve. "He's got to find us."
CHAPTER 39
Calmarel's open hand struck Jundag's sleeping face with stinging force, wrenching him awake. He lunged, trying to bring his arms up in defense, but his bonds brought him up short. She laughed out loud at the bewildered shock on his features.
"What's the matter," he croaked hoarsely, recovering his stoic composure, "run out of rats to torture to death?"
"Silence!" Calmarel shrieked, striking him again, this time with a clenched fist. "You will learn humility, or you will suffer torments that will make you plead for death."
"I've already been dead," the obstinate tribesman said, spitting blood at her. "I prefer it to your company."
"Your constant whining gives me a headache, Jundag." Calmarel sighed in feigned boredom. "I'm here for a reason, but if you insist on interrupting, I can burn your tongue out instead."
Jundag's smoldering silence was her only answer. He tried to avoid her eyes; he always avoided her eyes, but she moved her face directly in front of his, forcing her gaze into his.
What starkly beautiful blue eyes this man had. Nothing in the entire realm of the dark gods bore that color, no fungus, no animal and no beast. She had heard tales that the very air above the surface world glowed with that color, but Calmarel had never been to the surface. She had never seen the sky, or the sun, or a star; her eyes only saw darkness, the darkness of her world, and the darkness of her faith. Yet there was a cold power in those bright eyes that unnerved and enthralled her at the same time.
"I came to tell you that I'm going on a journey," She informed him, still locking his gaze, "a journey from which I may very well not return."
Jundag's roar of laughter rocked her back on her heels, shattering the intensity of the moment. She folded her arms and stared scathingly at him until the laughter subsided.
"And you expect me care?" he scoffed, glaring at her in pure hatred. "You torment me even beyond death, then expect me to have the slightest concern for you? If I could spit acid, you would be its target, woman! If I could stab you with my eyes, you would be bleeding from your own! And if you kill me, my last breath will be spent in trying to rip out your throat!"
"I believe you have missed your calling, Jundag," Calmarel said, smiling at his words as if they were praise. She leaned over him just beyond the reach of his teeth, her cruel smile intact. "Your implacable will is undoubtedly the envy of even the Gods. What a priest you would have—"
The sudden epiphany struck Calmarel like a thunderbolt, its force leading her to assume it to be of divine origin, a gift from Xakra or Pergamon on the eve of her most arduous trial.
"You could do it, Jundag!" she whispered, drawing a wondering stare from him. "Renounce your world, your friends and your impotent Gods of Light. You are stronger than them! If you truly reject them, the Dark Gods will accept you, and you can repay those weaklings for their deceit and abandonment! I can show you so many ways of—"
"You are crazed!" he blurted in revulsion. "I would sooner be eaten alive by worms!"
"That could be the alternative, Jundag." Calmarel seethed at his refusal of her offer. "And crazed I may be, but this could be the last time we speak, and it is definitely the only time I will make this offer."
Silent hatred hung heavily in the musty air, her only answer.
"Very well," she said, "but before I leave, I have one more message for you, my stubborn tribesman."
With a few words, she exerted Pergamon's will, binding Jundag with the dark god's hand. As he lay immobile, she leaned over and kissed his impassive lips lingeringly. After a moment she straightened, stared into his astonished gaze, smiled and turned to leave. At the door she met her torture master.
"I am going on a journey, Tredgh," she said. "If I do not return by tomorrow evening," she paused, her tongue running over her tingling lips, "kill the prisoner... And make it painless."
"Yes, Mistress." the burly creature said.
"Good. Very good. Now feed him and move him to a holding cell. If all goes well, I will return by tonight."
"Yes, Mistress," he muttered again as she strode off in a swirl of black silks.
Shay's lips moved in a silent tirade of curses at his sour luck; Avari's cell was still empty. After speaking with her, he had searched with all his skills, but had found neither their friends nor the gems. Returning to update her, he found her gone. Since then he had continued his searches, returning frequently to the cell to see if she had been returned. Why Darkmist had moved her he had no idea, but all of his assumptions were equally grim.
Still cursing, he turned from the door and rounded the corner, directly into the path of a huge rock troll. He dodged out of its lumbering path, flattening himself against the wall. A scant second before it passed, a gleam of metal caught his attention; an ornate sword was thrust through the troll's belt. Gaulengil's distinctive hilt missed his nose by a fingerbreadth.
This is the troll that helped capture Avari in the first place! he realized with excitement. Perhaps it will lead me to her.
He followed the creature, hope rekindling in his heart. His pursuit was gratefully short, but his spine shivered when they reached their destination; the alcove where Avari had been captured.
Shay hung back as the troll's apple-sized knuckles rapped on the door. When the portal opened, Shay's fears were redoubled. The sight of Iveron Darkmist’s vile figure within chilled his heart, but the nimbus of scintillating colors that surrounded the Nekdukarr both thrilled him and plunged his soul to the depths of despair. Beyond Darkmist, the four cornerstones sat glittering on a broad desk.
Shay had found the gems, but Darkmist had them all.
His friends were surely either captured or dead.
Over the past few months, Avari's intense friendship, DoHeney's inane wit, and Lynthalsea, his sister, had granted him more joy than he had ever hoped to gain, and now they were all either in hopeless jeopardy, or already lost. And on top of it all, the most heinous fiend of his nightmares was in possession of virtually limitless power.
As Darkmist waved the troll in and the huge door began to swing closed, a new resolve struck Shay—he must stay with Darkmist. He longed to search for his friends, but they and thousands more would surely die if Darkmist were allowed to use the gems.
The portal brushed his shoulder as he slipped into the chamber. Luckily, Iveron Darkmist was already halfway to his desk and didn’t notice the slight pause before the door shut.
Shay moved to an out-of-the-way corner where he could clearly see Darkmist and the gems, then settled down to wait... and watch.
"Move that hairy lump, DoForren, or I'll eat it fer supper!"
Thallon cringed at DoHurley's bellow, but the crack of whips and the braying of the teams were even louder. What the dwarven transports lacked in stealth, they made up for in speed. The great flat-bottomed sledges, each drawn by a team of six huge wooly yaks, moved along at a brisk pace ov
er the snowy landscape. Nearer Beriknor the sledges had travelled on wheels, but now, in the foothills en route to Zellohar, wheels would have hindered their progress. Yenjil had been amazed at the ease with which the dwarves had transformed wagon into sledge by hammering out several well-placed pins and stowing the wheels.
More than two hundred dwarves, and as many of his own troops, were crowded onto the twenty transports, but the yaks trudged on, unhampered by the tons of weight. Even darkness had not slowed them; spelled light stones were hoisted up on poles, and their white light danced across the snow, clearly showing the way.
"How much longer do you think we can go on?" Kaplan shouted as he kicked his horse into a trot beside Gargantua.
"We'll continue as long as the mounts hold out," Thallon answered, eying the disorganized ranks of Beriknor cavalry that had supplemented his own diminished forces.
In addition to conscripting the Beriknor guard, he had requisitioned mounts for all of his troops who were well enough to fight. The entire column travelled on the rock-like snow packed in the sledges' wake. His forces now numbered over one hundred fifty cavalry and six hundred mounted infantry.
"Our new conscripts seem eager enough," Kaplan yelled, nodding toward the lines of Beriknor troops while hitching his drowsy companion up behind him again. Mynnx had come close to falling off twice, but refused to ride one of the sledges.
"More eager than their liege," Thallon said, reining Gar over to make room for his master sergeant. "Many of them had family in this area, farmers who were attacked. Ceryl's refusal to secure the outlying lands had them riled, and they're chomping at the bit for revenge. We'll have to watch that they don't push too hard. How is that mount of yours faring, by the way?"
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