The City Under the Mountain

by D. W. Hawkins

  She’s unconcerned with me. Dormael glanced to Khora, who was turning in all directions, defending herself from flying pebbles, reaching flame, and menacing shadows. She’s done little against me except toss me around. How is she suppressing my magic?

  There was obviously no Greater Circle around them, or Khora’s own magic would be neutralized, and D’Jenn would be blocked from penetrating the boundary. Khora may have drugged him, but Dormael couldn’t remember if Khora had also drank from the waterskin, nor did he feel otherwise affected by the presence of a drug. Dormael wasn’t aware of a substance that would suppress a wizard’s magic without a number of other side effects. Most of them were derived from strong narcotics.

  What’s her bloody secret?

  Dormael’s eyes went to the ropes binding his wrists. His hands felt cool, but he’d thought it the effect of decreased blood flow. The bindings themselves weren’t magical, or he’d have felt them interacting with his power. Dormael was surprised to see trickles of blood leaking onto his palms.

  Sparing a quick glance to make sure Khora was still occupied with D’Jenn and Bethany, Dormael looked for the dagger he’d dropped during his tumble. It was lying in the dirt nearby, forgotten in the chaos of the fight. Grunting against the pain in his head, Dormael got to his feet and stumbled in the blade’s direction.

  Khora spotted him and lashed out with a trickle of magic, but a flash of light between them heralded D’Jenn’s defensive spell redirecting her attack. Dormael fell on the dagger and fumbled it into his clumsy hands, scrambling back to his feet. Khora’s song whistled through the ether in Dormael’s direction, and a heavy thump on his shoulder sent him tumbling across the clearing. It had been a glancing blow, probably meant to stumble him without killing, and he took the force with a roll over his back. Somehow, he managed to keep his hold on the dagger.

  Dormael scooted behind the trunk of a tree, sweat running down his face. He could hear the chaos of the fight just behind him—screaming magic and yells of anger from Khora. Shadows twisted through the twilight of the canopy, and the noise of the fight echoed through the trees. Dormael could hear his own breath rushing in his ears.

  He shoved the dagger between his knees and sawed at the ropes around his wrists, having to reset the angle of the blade a few times. Dormael whispered frantic little curses as he worked, willing the ropes to come loose. With quick, deliberate motions, Dormael finally cut the ropes free.

  Beneath the bindings was an odd little piece of jewelry. It was set with a dark, milky stone, and the surrounding metal was polished silver. Instead of a band or chain, the piece had a setting similar to a brooch. In place of a single pin, however, this one had twisted, curving needles coming from the setting around the gem, with sharp little points poking out from all sides.

  The gem was sandwiched between Dormael’s wrists, the needles pricked into his skin. Dormael pulled his wrists apart with a grimace, letting the bloody piece of jewelry drop to the ground between his knees. As the jewel fell to the dirt, he felt his Kai stabilize.

  “All the gods in the Void!” Dormael stared at the thing. “A bloody Leech!”

  He felt a moment of revulsion, surprise, and relief all rolled into a twisted ball. Leeches had been outlawed in the Sevenlands for as long as anyone could remember. Warlocks had worked for generations to eradicate them wherever they were found. Leeches worked on a basic magic principle, and were constructed to siphon a wizard’s magic whenever it was used, trapping him or her in a deadly conduit of power. By linking the Leech to any given task, the wizard’s power would be committed to the Leech’s spell. If the Leech was linked to something impossible, like lifting a mountain or conjuring a river’s worth of water, it would drag the wizard into the Death Sleep in short order, turning their own magic against them. The more any Leeched wizard tried to use their magic, the closer they came to dying.

  How close did I come? The problem with Leeches was that they killed any wizard to whom they were attached, if they were left to work long enough to get the job done. The constant siphoning dragged the host toward death with slow inevitability, even if the wizard didn’t actively try to use their magic.

  I can’t believe she did that to me. It was no wonder Khora hadn’t been worried about him. Given enough time, he would have died no matter what she did, and trying to employ his magic would only have quickened the process.

  Revulsion and relief turned to anger in Dormael’s chest. He rose to a crouch, gripping the dagger tight in his hand. The sounds of warring magic were still raging in the clearing, and Dormael took a deep breath before peeking around the edge of the tree.

  Khora stood in the center of the campsite, fending off a wave of flying motes of fire. She caught eyes with Dormael and flicked a gesture in his direction. Dormael ducked behind the tree just as an invisible fist knocked a chunk of wood from the trunk where his head had been, filling the air with splinters and noise. Once Dormael was out of sight, Khora went back to fighting with D’Jenn.

  She still thinks I’m Leeched. She thinks she has me.

  Dormael grabbed the sliced remnants of the rope, wrapping the longest piece around one of his wrists. He left some of the loop free and laid it over his other wrist, but it was a sad imitation of what his bonds had looked like before. Dormael could only hope that if he moved fast enough, she would spare only a glance for his hands and assume he was still subdued.

  Laying his back against the tree, Dormael readied himself. He listened to the sounds of the fight and tested the depths of his magic, relieved to find the siphoning sickness gone from his mind. He waited until the fight reached a peak in the action, then spun around the tree and rushed straight at Khora with the dagger gripped in his hand.

  He found her locked in a struggle with D’Jenn, holding back several balls of flame that were pushing toward her face. Khora’s magic sang through the air around her, fending off other attacks that Dormael hadn’t the time to notice. A fierce exchange of power was happening, and Khora appeared to be taxing her ability to its limit.

  She locked eyes with Dormael as he rushed forward, as she attempted to split her consciousness to confront him with another spell. Dormael could hear D’Jenn’s and Bethany’s songs quicken with urgency as he rushed toward her, probably trying to keep her attention divided. Khora grimaced, raised a hand in Dormael’s direction, and gathered her power for another strike.

  When Dormael pulled his own magic from the ether, Khora’s eyes widened in surprise. There was panic in their depths. In the seconds it took for Dormael’s spell to coalesce, he saw the decision to run flash through her expression.

  With a scream of anger, Dormael Splintered Khora’s magic.

  Her power unraveled with a violent crackle of energy, making the trees around the campsite vibrate. D’Jenn’s spells rushed forward, the resistance to them disappearing with Khora’s power. Khora threw herself to the side, but she wasn’t fast enough. The balls of flame smacked into her chest and ignited her clothing. A wave of force slammed into her knees from behind, sending her tumbling to the ground with startling ferocity. She screamed as the fire crawled over her body, refusing to extinguish even as she rolled over the ground.

  Dormael backed away, keeping his power ready to attack. He watched his former friend writhe in agony. He tried to summon the anger he’d felt at being Leeched, at being subjected to something wizards should never do to one another, but the sight of her screaming was enough to banish any satisfaction he felt. The sickness threatening his belly this time had nothing to do with the Leech he’d left in the dirt.

  D’Jenn’s form appeared nearby, standing just to Dormael’s left. Dormael caught eyes with his cousin’s apparition and gave him a nod, noticing the painful grimace on his face. Perhaps D’Jenn felt as Dormael did—that while killing Khora was necessary, watching her suffer was distasteful.

  Dormael reached out with his magic, being careful not to pull too hard, and siphoned the heat from the flames eating at Khora’s body. The fire dim
inished, leaving Khora to smolder and moan. Dormael covered his nose as the smell of burnt hair and roasting meat assaulted his senses.

  He approached Khora with care, listening for hints that she would summon her magic and attack. She stayed in a heap on the ground, uttering pitiful moans under her breath. Such pain was probably blinding—not that Dormael had ever been burned alive—and would kill any chance the woman had at concentration. For how fearsome and strong she had been only moments before, she now looked like a wounded beast in its death throes.

  Dormael grimaced as he looked her over. One of her eyes was melted shut, the lid drooping over the orb beneath like a melted length of candle wax. The other eye burned into him, bloodshot with pain. She reached a single, deformed claw toward him, fingers brushing at the leather covering his chest. The only sounds she made were whimpering cries.

  “I’m sorry about this.” Dormael shook his head. “I…I’m sorry.”

  He shoved the dagger into Khora’s heart, looking hard into her single, bloodshot eye. Her last breaths seemed relieved to him, but that could have been his own wishes coloring the expression on her face. Dormael waited until her body went limp and closed her good eye with a tentative hand.

  “It doesn’t feel good, does it?” D’Jenn said from behind him.

  Dormael rose and faced his cousin. “No. I’m not sure how I feel.”

  “Bethany’s ecstatic you’re alive.” An irritated expression crossed D’Jenn’s face. “She won’t stop talking about it.”

  Dormael smiled despite the grim scene surrounding him. “Tell her to save a thousand hugs for me.” His eyes went back to Khora’s body, banishing the smile from his face. “I’m going to need them after today.”

  “How did she catch you?” D’Jenn ran a critical eye over Dormael’s body. “You look like you were dragged through all Six Hells and back again. Where are your boots?”

  “Over there.” Dormael gestured toward the fire. “She got me this morning when I came back to the river. I was trying to decide what to do, and there she was.”

  “She got the drop on you?”

  Dormael grimaced, remembering the vision of the Silver Lady. “She had help.”

  “She has a partner?” D’Jenn’s eyes shot around the clearing.

  “That’s not what I meant,” Dormael said. “I’ll fill you in when we see each other.”

  “Are you alright, coz? We’ve all been worried for you. Well, everyone else has. I was pretty confident that you’re too irritating to die.”

  Dormael smiled. He’d forgotten how much he missed bantering with his friends. “Did Bethany do what I think she did? Did she move the whole damned river? Is that what happened?”

  D’Jenn snorted. “Don’t look so happy about it. She nearly killed you. Could’ve killed herself, too.”

  “Is she listening right now?”

  “She is.” D’Jenn smirked and his eyes went distant. “She’d reply, but Shawna and Allen are asking a thousand questions, and she doesn’t yet have the concentration to ignore them.”

  “Tell her…” Dormael paused. “Just tell her I love her, and I’ll see you all soon.”

  “Want me to tell Shawna the same thing?” D’Jenn’s eyes had a mischievous gleam. Dormael ignored the question.

  “Khora Leeched me, D’Jenn,” Dormael said. “It’s lying in the grass over there. I’ve never seen one before, didn’t think they were easy to come by.”

  D’Jenn’s face betrayed his surprise. “A Leech? You think Victus knew about it?”

  “If you had asked me the same question yesterday, I’d have told you there were none in the entire Sevenlands,” Dormael said. “I’d have been wrong. I don’t have the energy to speculate right now.”

  “Nor I.” D’Jenn breathed a heavy sigh.

  Dormael gave his cousin a meaningful look. “Thanks for the help. Without you and Bethany, I’d be dead right now.”

  “More Bethany than me,” D’Jenn said. “I used her power to get this done. Khora was right—if it hadn’t been for Bethany, I wouldn’t have been able to do anything but stand by and watch.”

  “Right. Well, I need to get moving before any Garthorin show up.”

  “It’s going to be dark soon,” D’Jenn said. “Might ought to find a place to hole up for the night. If Khora had any Wards up, they died with her.”

  “How close are you?”

  “At least a day’s travel to the northwest.” D’Jenn looked to the darkening sky. “All that talk of us being on our way was a bluff. Do you feel strong enough to change forms? Can you make it back tonight?”

  “I’m not ready for that yet. I’ll sleep out here tonight. Maybe tomorrow I’ll be strong enough to fly.”

  “Alright.” D’Jenn walked around the campsite, taking in the destruction. “She’s got saddlebags, but no horse.”

  “If she’s got any food, I’m going to eat every bit of it.” Dormael walked to Khora’s saddlebags. “Maybe the Garthorin killed her horse.”

  “Maybe.” D’Jenn finished his circuit of the camp and walked back to Dormael. “I’ll put a beacon out for you, something you can hear with your Kai from a distance. Now that Khora is gone, I think it’s safe.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I’m exhausted, Dormael. I’ve got to break off this spell. Are you going to be alright out here?”

  “For the moment.” Dormael gave his cousin a thankful smile. “Again, thanks for coming after me. Tell the others I’ll see them soon.”

  “Will do,” D’Jenn said. “Stay alive, cousin, at least until tomorrow.”

  “Until tomorrow,” Dormael said. D’Jenn closed his eyes, but Dormael called out to him before his apparition could disappear.

  “D’Jenn!”

  D’Jenn paused, opening his eyes again.

  “I’m sorry about before.” Dormael looked to Khora’s burnt remains. “About throwing Mataez’s death in your face, I mean.”

  “You shouldn’t have.” D’Jenn shrugged. “We all make mistakes, coz. I’ve made plenty. You’re forgiven. See you soon?”

  “Sooner than you want.”

  D’Jenn smiled. “It’s always sooner than I want.”

  With that, D’Jenn’s form faded, leaving Dormael alone in the destroyed campsite. In the remaining hours of daylight, he gathered what gear he could from Khora’s belongings. She had several portions of trail rations, and Dormael filled his stomach with as much as he could stand. After drinking half of the waterskin, he felt like a fat, sloshing bag of liquid with legs—a satisfied bag of liquid.

  He took the Leech and wrapped it a piece of cloth, being careful not to prick his fingers with the needles. He buried it deep in one of Khora’s saddlebags, disgusted at having to touch the thing at all. When he was done, he was faced with cleaning up Khora’s body.

  Dormael burned her with magic, since he was bereft of the time or energy to build a pyre. He was surprised to find that while he was angry Khora had Leeched him, he held no ill will toward her spirit. Part of him even mourned the fact she was gone. They hadn’t been close friends, nor had they ever been lovers, but Dormael had liked Khora. She had told him about growing up in Shera, and had always been ready with a story about something wild she had seen in her travels. As the flames consumed her body, Dormael hummed a tune to her spirit.

  “Safe journey, Khora. Maybe we’ll see each other on the far side of the Void.”

  It only took a short while for her body to finish burning, but the guilt stayed with Dormael long after the flames had died.

  Shadows and Lies

  “If you have need of us, Highness, all you have to do is cry out.”

  Nalia stared at the summit of the low hill, focusing on the banner waving in the breeze. The standard was hard to make out in the twilight of sunset, though it appeared to be a twisting rune sewn over a blue field. The banner was long with double tails, like a ship’s pennant. The spear to which it was attached stood beside a large, rounded tent, with two Mala’kii warriors gua
rding the entrance. They were big men, with muscular arms bare to the shoulders, their jurinkais held point-down in front of them.

  “Thank you, Lieutenant Hardin.” Nalia kept her eyes on the hill. “If the gods smile on us today, there will be no need.”

  “I don’t trust these Mala’kii, Highness,” Yurian said from her other side. “They’ve been following us since we lost sight of the warcamp. It wouldn’t take long for us to get surrounded out here, if we’re not already.”

  “I agree with Captain Yurian,” Hardin said. “We have fifty men between us. There could be hundreds out there, and we’d never know until they were upon us.”

  “Which is why we have a reserve company in signal range.” Nalia sighed. “We’ve been over this. I have the Maihdrim’s assurance of safe passage. These are delicate proceedings, and until we have reason to suspect dishonor, we must move forward in good faith.”

  “Do these savages have any concept of honor, Highness?” Hardin scowled at the warriors in front of the tent. “Forgive me for saying so, but I doubt they know more than the rule of strength. I will follow your Highness’s lead, of course, but I will have my men ready to cut our way to you if need be.”

  “You’ll never get there ahead of her Sworn Men, Lieutenant,” Yurian said, “but I agree with you about the rest of it. We stand ready, Highness.”

  “Thank you both.” Nalia smoothed her dress. “Let’s not waste any more time.”

  Nalia stepped forward, keeping her back straight. Yurian and Jaylenia accompanied her, with Hardin standing by the base of the hill with the remainder of Nalia’s detachment. She had to hold the hem of her dress as she stomped up the side of the hill, battling through the long grass.

  At least the shoes are sensible. Nalia would have opted for a pair of trousers like those worn by Galanian officers, but the thought of her legs being outlined for every man within sight was out of the question. She had tried to picture herself in a dignified costume involving breeches, but nothing she had dreamed up would convey the majesty she needed to embody. Nalia hadn’t broached the idea to Jaylenia, for fear of the ladies having a laugh at her expense.