by Mel Odom
“That’s it,” Hallekk encouraged. “Keep a-goin’. Ye got it now.”
The little librarian kept climbing, losing himself in the mass of billowed sails. He felt the increased sway of the ship rocking his body lazily. Before he could stop himself, he glanced down. The deck tilted nearly sixty feet below him, and suddenly—with the black ocean spread all around One-Eyed Peggie—that height seemed greater than any other he’d known.
Wick froze. His stomach turned flip-flops, like a hare trying in vain to escape a hunter’s trap.
Hallekk looked up at him. “Keep climbing, little man.”
Carefully, fearing the slightest move might tear him free of his precarious perch, Wick shook his head.
“Halfer,” the Embyr called down.
Wick pulled himself against the rigging tightly and squeezed his eyes shut. He willed himself to reach up again. But he couldn’t. He was too afraid.
“Lady,” Hallekk called from below. “He’s seized up, scared. He’s never been in a ship’s riggin’ before. It ain’t his fault he can’t make it.”
“You try my patience, halfer,” the Embyr said.
“I apologize,” Wick mumbled. He closed his eyes again, but the vision of the ship’s deck dancing below him wouldn’t leave his mind.
“Lady,” Hallekk called up again, “if’n ye will allow it, I’ll climb up there with the little man. I can help get him a-goin’ again.”
“Do it.”
The rigging suddenly jerked in Wick’s grip, causing him to tighten up even more. He slitted his eyes and saw Hallekk scrambling up through the rigging as if the feat were nothing. In seconds, the big dwarven pirate clung nonchalantly to the rigging beside Wick.
“I can’t let go,” the little librarian said.
“Sure ye can,” Hallekk said with a good-natured grin. “I’m here. I ain’t a-gonna let nothin’ happen to ye. Climbing this here riggin’, why there ain’t nothin’ to it.”
“I can’t move my hands, Hallekk.” Wick couldn’t believe the pirate didn’t understand him.
“Listen, little man,” Hallekk said gruffly, “maybe ye’re a librarian an’ ye know a whole slew of words more than I do, but I know men an’ I know the sea. An’ I’m a-tellin’ ye now ye can do this thing.”
“I can’t,” Wick insisted.
Hallekk leaned in close to him, whispering into his ear. “If’n ye can’t, little man, we’re all dead. Now ye relax, an’ ye listen to me because I’m good at what I do. I ain’t never lost a man outta this riggin’ that I come up to get.”
Wick squeezed his eyes shut and tried to will away the vertigo that gripped him. He nodded and swallowed hard. “I don’t know if I can convince her to leave us alone.”
“I know.” Hallekk clapped him on the shoulder. “But ye’ve kept us alive this far. I’ve got some faith in ye, I do. Now ye put some faith in ol’ Hallekk.”
“Okay.” Wick breathed out with difficulty, then forced his head upward before opening his eyes. The Embyr remained standing above him. He reached up with a shaking hand.
“‘At’s the boy,” Hallekk congratulated. “Just keep climbin’.”
Slowly and with great fear, Wick made the rest of the climb to the crow’s-nest. The whirling fireballs generated enough heat to make him sweat and feel uncomfortable in his clothing. He clambered into the crow’s-nest, hoping that he would feel more secure. But with the way the ship pitched on the ocean that wasn’t possible. He studied the Embyr.
Her build was elven, thin and petite. Her pointed ears showed against the sides of her head through holes cut into the hooded garment she wore that covered everything but her face like another skin. The garment hugged her body, making her look even more slender and totally smooth. Upon closer inspection, Wick was surprised to see that the garment appeared to be crafted from lizard skin. The scales were so darkly red they were almost black. Flames curled around her head like a mane caught by the wind. Her gloves and boots were the same dark red as the body garment. The fiery wings were at least twenty feet across and had an abbreviated skeleton structure buried in the flames.
Her face was pale white, resembling snow on a mountaintop, but her lips were blood red. Deeply set eyes burned like obscenely glowing coals under blond eyebrows. Occasional sparks drifted up from those eyes and faded away into the night. She regarded him with glacial intensity despite the flickering fires showing within.
“Tell me of this elven king,” she ordered.
Wick gathered his wits and tried to figure out where to begin. He was a Third Level Librarian at the Vault of All Known Knowledge. He might not be a pirate, or even a sailor, but he was better than a potato-peeler and dishwasher. Wisdom, Grandmagister Ludaan had always said, was strength in all things that only grew stronger with time.
Hallekk clambered into the the crow’s-nest with the little librarian and hunkered down so the Embyr wouldn’t perceive him as a threat. The big dwarf whispered, “Ye’re not alone, little man. Come what will of this, ye won’t face it by yerself. Ye got me word on that. Ol’ Hallekk will never let a man with some spunk in him die by himself.”
“Thank you,” Wick whispered, feeling pride and uncertainty all at once. If he were wrong about the Embyr, Hallekk would probably have had a better chance of surviving by staying below. The little librarian looked at the Embyr and began in his best voice.
7
A Dark Tale
Long and long ago,” Wick began, “when the world was still young and ripe and full of promise, and the blight that became known as Lord Kharrion was unknown, there lived an elven king named Amalryn deep within the bountiful forest called Silverleaves Glen.”
The Embyr stood resolutely, but the little librarian knew from her body posture that his words claimed all her attention.
“King Amalryn was a warrior,” Wick continued. “He fought the goblinkin that lived within Silverleaves Glen as his father and his father’s father before him. It was during his reign that the Dhirtpur goblins were finally driven from the forest. But Amalryn was a man of peace as well. Once the war had been won, he sheathed his mighty blade and turned his attention to building Cloud Heights into the most majestic elven city that had ever been.”
“And this city was made of amber?” The Embyr’s voice softened.
“Yes,” Wick replied. “Each building, each home, was made from the purest amber that could be mined by the Krupperdell dwarves, who lived along the Wandering Mere and were renowned for their mining skills. The Cloud Heights elves traded herbs and spices that could only be taken from the tops of trees, as well as the best sculptures and paintings their artisans could create. As you know, dwarves like things that are bright and shiny and unique.”
Hallekk grunted in agreement.
“Some of the elven goods,” Wick said, “were traded to humans. Wizards in those days always needed specially crafted things for the holding of spells or wards, even occasional thoughts. Or so I am told. In return, the Krupperdell dwarves got mining contracts from the humans that other dwarves might have gotten. It was a very profitable arrangement for all concerned.”
“The city was very beautiful,” the Embyr whispered. Lights flared in her eyes that looked like burning coals.
“Yes,” Wick agreed. “The houses shone the color of spun honey, and even carried a glow about them for a few moments after sunset.”
“The city was destroyed.” The words turned harsh, and pain creased the Embyr’s smooth face.
“Yes, in time.” Wick hurried on, not wanting to leave the Embyr thinking dark thoughts of destruction. “But before then, King Amalryn ruled and his people knew nothing but peace and prosperity. The city was built and gleamed like crusted jewels in the sun. Elven children played among the leafy boughs.”
“There were rope ladders strung between the buildings and trees,” the Embyr said quietly. “Tell me of King Amalryn. What was he like?”
“King Amalryn was a handsome elven man,” Wick said. “He had thick red hair—”
“Like yours?” the Embyr asked.
Wick felt embarrassed, and the feeling was most irritating intruding as it did while he was scared for his very life. “The king’s hair was striking. Some said that it looked like hammered fire. He wore a small beard—”
“That just covered his chin,” the Embyr interrupted. “And his eyes were the cool dark green of perfect emeralds.” Excitement flared within the Embyr and her features softened. A small smile touched her lips.
As Wick watched the Embyr’s transformation, he realized it was hard to keep in mind that she was singularly the most deadly person—thing, he forcibly reminded himself—that he had ever encountered. But for the moment he could see the child that still lurked within. “The king, it is said, had an easy way about him, a willingness to laugh and share his life that the other kings before him had not. The historians say that he was king by blood, but ruler by the will of his people.”
The Embyr focused on Wick again. “Tell me of the queen. Was she pretty?”
“She was very pretty,” Wick assured her. “Her hair was blond, so pale that it only remained a whisker short of white. Her features were likewise fair and as pure as milk, for the Rainbow Falls elves preferred the shady expanse of the Carthig Forests, and the moonlit nights to time spent out under the sun.” The love between King Amalryn and Queen N’riya was the subject of several books and long poems.
“How did they meet?” The fireballs pulsed occasionally in their mad flight over the Embyr’s head.
“The elven clans shared the Belling River,” Wick answered. “Though they were more than a hundred miles apart, the roots of the trees that housed the Cloud Heights elves fed from the same waters that the Rainbow Falls elves used first. The two elven clans were aware of each other, but seldom did more than a little trading. Each remained fiercely independent of the other. The arboreal elves couldn’t understand why the Rainbow Falls elves chose to live on the ground like men and dwarves, and the Rainbow Falls elves begrudged the Cloud Heights elves their arrogance of the choice of living in the trees.”
“But they never fought,” the Embyr said.
“Not each other,” Wick agreed. “But there were others. Besides the Belling River, they also shared a common enemy. When the goblinkin left Silverleaves Glen, driven out by the swords and spears of King Amalryn’s fierce warriors, some of those creatures invaded the lush valleys of Rainbow Falls, thinking to rout the elven clan and take up residence there. Lady N’riya was the oldest of her father’s children. As such, she’d insisted upon becoming trained as a warrior. Most elven women are trained to fight, but not as warriors on a battlefield. Lady N’riya, however, wore armor and rode at her father’s side.”
Sparks blazed from the Embyr’s eyes. “Her father had trouble saying no to her.”
“Exactly. Princess N’riya’s stubbornness was legend among the Rainbow Falls clan. However, the goblinkin had a plan. They worked hard and created rock falls along the narrowest part of the Belling River, at a juncture where it plunged through the foothills of the Hunkered Mountains. Within hours, the river was dammed. The river began to rise, swelling up onto its banks, and less than a week later—as the goblinkin had known it would—the rainy season hit.”
Pain crossed the Embyr’s beautiful face. She shook her head. “Please hurry with the story. I’m afraid I will forget.”
Wick studied the Embyr and saw the flickering knowledge that had dawned in the burning eyes. She does remember part of it. A chill skittered down the little librarian’s spine despite the heat the Embyr gave off because he knew there was so much more he would have to tell her. “As the Belling River swelled during the rainy season, it flooded the upriver lands of the Rainbow Falls elves, spilling over onto the banks and creating great swamplands where their homes had once been. And further downriver, a great drought like no one had ever before seen threatened the Cloud Heights elves.”
The creak of One-Eyed Peggie’s rigging sounded mournful. Hallekk sat on his haunches in the crow’s-nest, totally immersed in Wick’s story and seemingly no longer aware that they sat looking death in the eye.
“Incredibly,” Wick went on, “Silverleaves Glen began to wither. Leaves fell from the trees and littered the ground. For a time, there was talk that Kireek, the elven goddess, had turned away from the Cloud Heights clan. But King Amalryn raised his army and marched upriver. In the meantime, news of the goblins’ success reached still more goblins who were all too willing to fight the elves.”
“Goblins have always been jealous of the elves,” the Embyr said. “They envy the beauty of the elves.”
“By this time, Lord Kharrion had begun his war against the world. He’d gathered magic items from far and wide, and built army after army. Still, not all of the goblins believed in him, but they were aware of the foulness that became known as the Goblin Lord. So they gathered there in the Hunkered Mountains to war against the Cloud Heights elves and the Rainbow Falls elves. And that is where King Amalryn met the Princess N’riya. The battle for the Belling River in the Hunkered Mountains lasted for months. The goblinkin had dug into the mountains, using caves and tunnels that were already there, and they’d dug still others, knowing the elves would come to them.”
The Embyr’s eyes blazed again, sending sparks streaking. “But the goblinkin didn’t defeat the elves.”
“No. The elves loved their lands, and during the prolonged battle, King Amalryn came to love the Princess N’riya, and she’ came to love him.” Wick paused. “Their love for each other was the strength their people needed to win that battle. At the end of it, the goblinkin were driven from the Hunkered Mountains and the Belling River was freed once more.”
“Then the king and princess were married.”
“From all accounts,” Wick said, feeling sorrow at what lay ahead in the story, “they were the happiest family anyone had ever seen. Not only did the king and queen’s love for each other and their children unite their clan lands, but it drew other elven clan lands under their banner. For thirty years, the king and queen guided the Western Empire, and they watched the growing threat of the goblinkin under Lord Kharrion in the southeastern lands.”
“They feared Lord Kharrion,” the Embyr said in a small voice.
“And Lord Kharrion feared the king and queen. As the Goblin Lord advanced his armies across the world, destroying everything in their path, King Amalryn and Queen N’riya sent forces and gold to help those cities in need. People who no longer had homes to live in found new homes in the Western Empire. The army there grew, and the king and queen were able to send more warriors out to combat Lord Kharrion’s goblinkin troops. Then the day came that the Goblin Lord could no longer ignore the growing Western Empire.”
One-Eyed Peggie rode the sea roughly, twisting and turning slightly. Glancing down, Wick saw that Captain Farok had taken the great wheel himself. The ship’s crew clustered in knots, talking among themselves as they gazed fearfully up into the rigging.
“Lord Kharrion struck without warning,” the little librarian went on. “Before King Amalryn and Queen N’riya would have thought it possible, a bloodthirsty goblin horde materialized within Cloud Heights, and it was led by Lord Kharrion himself. For thirteen days, the Battle for Cloud Heights raged. The warriors of the Western Empire fought valiantly, but their forces had been spread too widely as they sought to salvage what they could of the ransacked cities. They couldn’t be recalled in time. At the end of those thirteen days, Lord Kharrion entered the amber keep of Cloud Heights as its new master.”
The Embyr shuddered and hugged herself tightly. She drew her fiery wings in close around her slender body.
A pang of regret passed through Wick. For the first time, he thought the Embyr looked small, a pale flicker bravely lit against all the darkness of night around her.
“What of the king and queen?” the Embyr asked in the thinnest of whispers.
“Lord Kharrion,” Wick said softly, “wished to make examples of them. The Goblin Lo
rd bound the king and queen and made them watch as his warriors executed their three sons.”
“Please,” the Embyr said hoarsely. Liquid fire trailed down her inhumanly beautiful face.
Hesitation stilled Wick’s tongue for a moment. “I can stop, lady, if you wish.” And if I do, will you still want to burn us all? He could hardly breathe.
“No,” she said, “you can’t stop. I must hear it. All of it. I can almost remember.”
But you don’t want to, do you? Wick wished there was some other way, but he knew there wasn’t. “After King Amalryn’s and Queen N’riya’s sons were dead, the Goblin Lord turned his malicious attentions to the nine princesses. For a month, the Goblin Lord prepared his spells, then he summoned the king and queen and their daughters from the dark caves in the riverbanks of the Belling River where they’d been kept as prisoners. None of the family had seen each other during that month, and each of them had feared for the others.”
The fog pulled in toward One-Eyed Peggie again, no longer held at bay by the Embyr’s blazing heat.
Wick steeled himself against the memory of the pictures he’d seen rendered in the texts he’d read. “King Amalryn and Queen N’riya were bound by iron spikes and their chains to the floor of the great amber palace. They could not touch each other. Nor could they touch their daughters. Then the nine princesses were secured to the floor in a like manner in a circle around Lord Kharrion. The oldest of the daughters was twenty-five. The youngest was named Jessalyn. She was eight.”
“Jessalyn,” the Embyr repeated in a hoarse half-whisper. “Jessalyn.” She gazed at Wick with her burning eyes.”I had forgotten. I had forgotten so much.”
“I know,” Wick said, and was surprised at how thick his own voice was. It cracked, betraying him for a moment when he started again, and he felt hot tears cooling on his cheeks as the wind passed around him. He didn’t want to go on, but he knew he had no choice. “Using those evil spells and cantrips he’d learned, Lord Kharrion stripped the princesses’ humanity from them, and he stripped their memories of who they were and what had happened to them. Despite the pain and agony of the changes that wracked them, the princesses lived.”
