by TJ Reynolds
Karsen stopped and held out a hand. When he spoke, Kai could feel the grating cold of his ever-present anger. “And there it is. The shivvered dungeon, though some call it the Dead Dungeon now.” He grinned cruelly. “Not because it isn’t alive, but because anything that goes inside is as good as dead. Not even crickets return to see the sun again.”
Kai wanted nothing more than to return to Jakodi, to beg the old man to heal his wounds, see who in town would trade for a night’s meal, and to hell with the blasted mole skin.
But his wounded pride snarled in his chest like a feral dog and something else prodded him on. How many times had he wanted to peek inside this dungeon? It had fired his imagination ever since he’d first heard mention of it in town. Kai had long daydreamed of searching the dungeon for treasure.
The hostile eyes surrounding him judged him, daring him to justify their months of derisions and bullying. Roarke sneered and Dunny frowned, while Karsen stared at him patiently. It occurred to Kai that this was exactly why the man had led him here—not to see Kai enter the cave, but to see him fail to do so.
Ignoring his better judgement, Kai cleared his throat and said aloud, “Well, if I’m to go in, then let me at least borrow your axe. You broke my weapon, and I would be twice foolish to enter without one.”
“No.” Karsen shook his head. “This is my father’s and given on loan.”
They all looked at Roarke, whose feathers visibly ruffled. The big man raised his hands palms up and shrugged. It wasn’t as effective as he’d hoped.
Dunny croaked out, as polite as he could, “Maybe Kai can borrow your sword, just for a moment?” When Roarke blustered at the absurdity of it, prepared to make any argument to keep the sword in its sheath at his hip, Dunny pressed him in a most clever way. “It is the finest weapon we have with us. Might even be the finest in town!” he gushed. “It would only be fair to lend him the blade.”
The compliments pricked Roarke’s ego and pride like darts from a bow. He drew the sword with as much pomp and ceremony as he could manage, nearly nicking Karsen’s ear as he did so. “You’re right, Dunny, it is a fine sword. We can all take a good gander at its glory once more. But I’ll be holding onto it. If anything goes wrong, Kai, I’ll come in after you.”
Kai sighed. He’d figured they’d refuse to accommodate him, but it was worth asking. It’s not like I can use a blade to fight against the dungeon itself, he thought. And maybe there aren’t any creatures inside. Still, perhaps a stick might do in a pinch.
He looked around to find one for this purpose when Dunny stepped forward. “Here. Use my dagger. Isn’t much, but I bought it myself. So, if it goes missing, at least I won’t be thumped for it,” the boy said and produced a crude, hand-length dagger.
“Don’t be a fool,” Karsen croaked. The older of the brothers tried to interfere physically, but Dunny gave him a surprisingly stern look. “Fine, the blade’s yours, Dunny, but don’t say I didn’t warn ya.”
Kai took the dagger, and felt a rush of gratitude well up inside. This is the friend I’d been hoping for all along. He has the wrong family and just a few years too young, but who am I to be choosy?
He didn’t know what to say, so he patted the boy on the shoulder and nodded gravely. Then, turning back to the dungeon, he gripped the dagger in his hand and felt just a little bit braver.
A fell breeze blew back his hair, and goosebumps ran the length of his arms and down his legs. Kai stopped, the darkness of the cave making him pause, but when his eyes adjusted, he realized a subtle glow suffused the place, as if the dense ether in the air had become visible. Part of him had hoped that the need for a torch might suffice as a fair enough excuse to back out after a few more steps.
Kai stopped and turned to look back to the group waiting for him. He coughed nervously, but before suggesting that he’d proven his point, Karsen barked, “Head on to the very back. They say the shivvered core lies at the cave’s bottom. Don't worry,” he sneered, “you’ll find it.”
At the bottom? I can manage that, Kai encouraged himself, and pressed on.
The first room was cut roughly from the mountain like a natural cave. Pillars of stone fell from the ceiling and a single path ran to the back of the cave where its ceiling tapered down to frame the foreboding shape of a solitary door. Slightly taller than it was wide, the opening gaped cold and black, bidding Kai enter.
Kai stepped through into a second chamber and marveled at the series of etchings carved along the walls, the stonework that of a precise hand. The walls were smooth as a sheet of Winford’s breakfast cake. A dancing filigree of climbing vines decorated the corners, and despite Kai’s fear, he admired the craftmanship and artistry of the dungeon.
The air was stale and a penetrating silence filled the space. A few piles of debris littered the corners, and black soot streaked the walls. There was a fire here, Kai realized. Someone had burnt out this chamber and everything that had once been inside. A wisp of sadness mingled with his fear, and he walked slowly into a third room through a short connecting hallway. He wondered about the dragon that must have once called this place home.
Suddenly, the importance of proving himself to two men who would continue to despise him, no matter what he did, became distant and unimportant. It was replaced with a burning need to know his fate was greater than hunting squirrels and begging bread. This is what I’ve been after! Why didn’t I come sooner?
He walked through the room, distantly noting an overturned wooden table, the wood wormy and rotting away. Chips of shattered pottery and broken stone were all else that remained within. Familiar black streaks marred one side of the room, but it appeared the blaze had left the table mostly unharmed. Only a few blisters curled its faded yellowed lacquer.
At the back of this third chamber, Kai spied a spiral of stone stairs descending into the depths. For a moment, he was seized by an ancient memory or some fragment of the distant past, and it felt like he’d walked here before. Thoughts of Kevir and the hundred dragons of legend flittered across his mind’s eye as he took the first step down into the dungeon.
Kai felt as brazen as any ancient hero until the heel of his boot slipped on the skeleton of a long-dead mouse, its powdered bones resting precariously on the edge of a step. His feet shot out from beneath him, and he fell hard on his backside, slipping down a few of the stairs. “Twice-shivved cow!” Kai’s frustrated shout echoed in the stairwell, and he winced, the snarl of his curse profane in this magical place.
Dunny’s voice called out from the distant entrance, “You okay, Kai?”
Kai stood and brushed himself off. Years of dust covered his pants like a coat of paint. He thought of calling back to the others, telling them he was fine, but the echoing curse had been bad enough.
No, I’ll just keep going, touch the blasted core, then leave, Kai repeated, until he once again felt courageous enough to forge onward.
The stairs curled around several more times, taking him deeper into the dungeon, until he came to a landing where a pale-blue light spilled up onto the bottom of the stairs. Kai couldn’t guess what magic created the pale light, but he wanted more than anything to know.
The dungeon split three ways at the foot of the stairs, but the right and left-hand passages had collapsed, the elegant stone archways above them scorched black. Whatever fires had raged here had done more than a little damage.
Straight ahead, the tunnel remained intact, continuing ever downward in a gentle slope. This path was lit with a brighter shade of blue, and Kai squinted as he trod forward.
Down the corridor, a stone slab stood ajar, blocking the way. A crack a few inches wide allowed a beam of ethereal light through. Kai had no clue what an Earth Core looked like, but everything pointed to him heading in the right direction.
He pushed at the stone and marveled as it turned easily on an unseen hinge.
Then he saw it.
Kai’s breath hitched, his eyes going wide as he beheld the still-gleaming shards of the once-p
owerful entity just a few dozen feet away. Ether crowded the air, making it nearly opaque. He crept into the room, lowering the outstretched dagger, aware of how useless the weapon would be in the face of such power.
At the end of the final room, cut from the bedrock of the mountain, fingers of stone curled up from the floor. The formation twisted into a point, on top of which rested a rocky chalice or a blossom made of stone.
Within, rested the Earth Core.
Its remains glowed a vibrant blue, as if ether itself had crystalized. Every fiber in Kai’s soul raged against the devastation before his eyes. The most beautiful gem he could imagine, not much bigger than his fist but more majestic than the endless sea, had been smashed into countless fragments. No doubt the work of a mace or hammer, but all Kai could think of was how evil had been the hand that destroyed it.
Kai stepped closer, and as he did so, a susurration, like the whisper of buried souls, drew him forward. Without conscious willing, his hand lifted and settled upon the broken core. He ran his fingers along the slivers of the broken gemstone. Dunny’s dagger clattered to the ground, no longer important, as Kai stared into the gem.
Then the fine edge of one fragment split his finger open, and a few drops of his blood dripped onto the stone. He flitched at the slight pain, but before he could withdraw his hand, a wave of blue light pulsed through the chamber and an endless tide of magic tore at his soul.
Kai screamed, dust within the chamber swirling abound him as his hand clenched the broken heart of a mountain.
Every muscle in his body howled with the joy and terror of the absolute power that gripped him. As the pain gathered to a torturous crescendo, the current of magic shifted. Suddenly, it felt as if the shards sucked his blood, his life force, his very soul from his body. All he could do was stand rigid and stare into the frigid blue of what had once been an Earth Core.
An eternity later, Kai was released and he slumped to the ground, his thoughts sliding down into sleep’s forgiving embrace.
4
One Last Dance
Rhona
The usual array of odors met Rhona’s senses as she walked alongside her friend—oil, polished steel, and dry stone as they strode by the armory, the rasping whine of a long sword being passed over a grinder within—the skin and fur and manure of the stables, the cloying odor of horse sweat.
Finally, they came to the practice grounds.
This place, Rhona realized with a pang of remorse, was what she’d miss the most.
She breathed in deep, relishing its rustic perfume of leather, steel, blood, sweat, and the morning dew evaporating off of the gravel-strewn ground. It smelled like training. It smelled like much of her youth and of learning to trust herself and those she served with.
“Ready for a beating, then? I’m sorry, Rhona, but I won’t hold back this time.”
“Save your tongue. You won’t get another chance, so make sure you try to keep up, Hammel. I’d hate to see you off without having scored a single point,” Rhona said, pulling a practice sword from the barrel and giving it a whirl before facing off with her oldest friend in this part of the world.
Hammel was an inconspicuous-looking man. Average height, a handsome face if it weren’t for the scars and messy hair, and a slight gut made him look like nothing special at all. Depending on how he dressed, the man could pass for a soldier or a beggar.
Yet as he smiled at her casually, sword held lightly in his hand, Rhona knew him for what he was: one of the nastiest fighters she’d ever crossed blades with.
He chuckled, making his features soft and amiable. “Why would I want that though? To muss up a fine head of hair like yours? No way. By the way, have I told you about Meren, the lass I met while stealing bread?”
“Aye! You were halfway out the window when you saw her staring out at you. Her hair was the color of stoked coals and her eyes as green as the Pinua Forest. Everyone in the king’s army has heard you boasting, Hammel,” she said, and the few members of their squad who’d followed to watch the contest laughed in acknowledgement.
“So, you’ve been listening to me! That’s good. But did I ever tell you that when she blushed, her teats lit up the same rosy red as your cheeks, Rhona?”
She couldn’t help her reaction.
Even after years of crude companionship, after having learned the subtle art of cren-talking from a master like Hammel, Rhona blushed furiously. Her free hand moved to hold her burning cheek, no doubt, as her friend had anticipated.
His sword was a blur, his blue eyes wild with delight.
Rhona parried the attack just barely, but he moved in and landed his shoulder square in her chest. The blow was followed by a sharp intake of breath by the onlookers, and she tumbled back off her feet. Only by years of practice, did she manage to backroll away from her attacker. Knowing Hammel, she brought her sword up to block.
Their blades rang out in protest.
He hammered down on her crouched form, taking full advantage of the weakened position she’d been forced to adopt. Rhona had only one move to make to regain equal footing. As he committed to another overhead attack, Rhona parried instead of blocking, giving Hammel’s sword a nudge to the side and speeding it along.
Wise as he was, the man simply retreated a few steps, knowing his balance had been compromised.
Giving him the scorn of her eyebrow, Rhona composed herself and prepared for another clash. “Old tricks, Hammel? I’d have thought you might try to beat me without cheating this time. Would be a first.”
He laughed, his gap-toothed smile still handsome and boyish in her reckoning. “No such thing as cheating when it comes to a brawl. Remember that, little sister.”
His cheek twitched, one of the few tells the man still hadn’t trained away. Side-stepping his slashing assault, Rhona darted forward and swept her own blade down, grazing the top of his thigh. “One point! Better focus, big brother,” she teased, and then retreated as Hammel launched a volley of aggressive attacks.
Finally, his efforts paid off.
Skilled though she was, the man was uncanny-fast on his feet. After she’d parried a stab, he stomped toward her once more, forcing her to strike out defensively. Hammel rolled beneath her sword and brought the blunted edge of his own practice sword across the back of her leg.
“Point!” he cried out, his face flushed with pride.
Rhona conceded the brief victory. Even with issued plate-mail greaves, Hammel would’ve taken the function of one of her legs, his blade having kissed the tendons behind her knee.
He danced on the balls of his feet a few moments, and she could see his mind working, seeking to find some other way to throw her off.
Rhona could try the same, toss insults at the man, but they wouldn’t work. Call the man ugly, and he’d thank you. Call him smelly, and he’d pass gas despite the company. Mock the length of his manhood and he’d remind you how your mother or sister or both had thought it more than sufficient. Hammel was immune to insults.
But there was one thing that might do the trick. Rhona’d held onto it for years now, and there would be no better timing.
The two crossed blades again, both seeking a weakness in the other’s defenses. This was how most of their bouts ended. Very few of their attacks landed successfully. They’d learned so much together and studied each other’s quirks too long to make for an effective match.
Skills would change the course of a bout, but those were not allowed when sparring. Too many fool soldiers had died or killed a squad mate by activating a skill at the wrong time. So, Rhona adopted Hammel’s technique.
She’d use her tongue to win the day.
Gritting her teeth to parry and counter, Rhona called out to the man. “I’m sorry, Hammel. I really am.”
“Sorry for what? Haven’t finished me yet, girl,” he responded, his eyes intent on the fight.
She grinned, savoring the moment. “It was a sour-minded thing to do. Just figured I should finally say I’m sorry.”
&nb
sp; “Piss off! Your wit won’t save you from a drubbing.” Hammel surged toward her, his sword moving at blinding speed.
“Not my wit! Just a bit of honesty,” she grunted as she absorbed his wrath, murmurs of approval floating in from those standing around them. “It was horse piss and a sprig of Wolfsbane, Hammel, and all in all, a rotten thing to do to any man.”
Hammel grunted, determined to earn another hit on her. He turned and spat, “Not gonna work! Might as well admit defeat now and walk off with your tail between your legs.”
Timing was key in every aspect of combat. Letting the hounds out of the gate too early in this situation wouldn’t lend her any degree of surprise. So, she waited until his cheek twitched again, and his body prepared for another lightning assault.
“I should’ve told Holly, at least! To think she informed half the garrison that your pecker failed to rise to the occasion and all cause I poisoned your mead! What a tragedy!”
A flicker of doubt passed through Hammel’s bright gaze, and his attack faltered. It took less than half a second for him to correct his footing and began to fall away into a retreat, but to Rhona, it was more than sufficient.
She smacked his blade to one side, using all the force she could muster, serving to throw his footing off further. Then she darted in and landed the pommel of her practice sword into his sternum. Hammel grunted and brought his forearm up to block his unprotected chest.
Rhona swept her blade across the arm and then found an opening below to stab through his weakened guard.
Feeling triumphant, Rhona gave his belly a poke and then lowered her blade. “Three points, Hammel. I win.”
The man stammered, his face slack with disbelief. “You shivving poisoned me? Who does that, Rhona? How can any Yugos-fearing soldier sabotage a comrade’s manhood like that? It’s downright evil!”
Hammel’s words were muddled, his accent thickening with rage. A few claps came from their small audience as well as plenty of laughter.
“It was a fair exchange. My tits had finally come in, three years too late, I believe you’d said. Mentioned it casually in front of the whole company as we were heading off to celebrate Harvest. So yeah, I spoke with an Apothecary and gave you just enough poison to ensure that you lived but your pecker wouldn’t work for the night.”
