“No,” X'on admitted, “though I have my theories. I won't bore you with them.” Ven mouthed a quiet “thank you” at that. “Suffice to say, were I to be up and mobile, I could lead you to its location, here in the castle. After that, you could lay a hand upon it, speak the truth you now know, and win us our freedom.”
“Wait. Why me? Why don't you try this incredibly stupid idea?”
X'on's face blanked. “You are being incredibly petulant for a creature who just confessed his deepest sin,” he said. Then he grunted. “No. I am sorry, that was beneath me. As to your question. I am only a half-giant. A stepson of Magog, as they would say. My blood is impure, my words but wind to them. No matter the language I speak.”
Ven groaned. Of course it had to be him. X'on had gotten them into this, now he had to be the hero and get them out of it. Maybe. Maybe I can get us out. It was a ridiculous plan, almost sure to fail. But it wasn't like he could think of a better course of action. Besides, if he was going to die, he'd rather do it standing up and fighting for every breath than meeting it cheerfully, beaten to death at the hands of a glamour-wrapped sadist. It wasn't bravery, exactly. But it was something.
“Okay,” he said. “Help me get loose. Reach out, up over your head to your left… yeah, there. That chain is connected to my manacles. I need you to pull it as hard as you can, see if you can dislodge it from the wall. Hey, you think these chains are iron, by any chance?”
“Doubt it,” X'on grunted, straining against the latch.
“I suppose you're right,” Ven said. “That would have just been lucky.” Elves hated iron; cold or hot, it burned through their glamour and into their real skin. Probably why her bitchiness never touched the bottled lightning herself, he mused. Couldn't handle the conductor.
“So how… do we convince… our hostess… to enter… when we… have obviously… not taken… the bait?” X'on grunted between tugs.
Ven glanced down at the shallow trench he had dug while foraging for snacks.
“I have an idea,” he said.
Chapter 9
The Elf did in fact give them what felt like a full day alone. Whatever she assumed they were capable of, she had total confidence in herself. Ven had to give her that much, anyway.
After several hours, X'on laid himself out on his side in a pile of straw furthest from the embers of the torch. For Ven, no sunlight meant no sleep, so he leaned back against his prison wall, closed his eyes, and waited.
After a time, a giant came to collect the emptied serving trays. A few minutes of hushed discussion in the hallway; then the Baroness Val Do'qualist once again entered into the room.
Showtime, Ven thought.
“I do hope a good meal and a day's rest have improved this one's disposition,” she said genially. “Now, let us begin anew. Your name is Ven, correct?”
“Thaaaaas right, pretty lady,” Ven said, the words coming out slow and lazy. He looked up at the Elf through glassy, half-hooded eyes and grinned. “Who does your hair?”
The Elf looked bemused. “And who is your companion, Ven?”
The gargoyle took a long, unsteady breath. “He's my travel servant,” he said.
“Really?” her lips twitched. “That was not the answer I expected. Are you sure you are telling me the truth, Ven?”
“Yep!” Ven replied. “Took the cash I made workin' for you pointy-ears and got me someone to carry ma stuff.” The perpetual manic grin he was putting on was starting to strain his face, but it took his mind off the knots in his stomach.
“Very well, Tanith Ven. Tell me why the pair of you were found traipsing around a mere few hundred meters outside my castle walls?”
“I would loooove too,” Ven said, dripping sugar, “but it's a secret.”
“You are acting… strangely, Tanith Ven.”
“And yoooouuuuu are acting hot.” Could be I am overselling it. Never really got to see someone glamoured. Usually just saw them screaming. Ven swallowed, and kept smiling.
The Elf maintained her composure well, considering their last encounter, which wasn't a great sign. He could read her face, though, and she was growing less amused by the moment. It was now or never.
“I'll tell you. I'll tell. Come 'ere.”
The Elf leaned forward.
“Closer.” The Elf stooped to her knees, her eyes level with Ven's. The slits of her pupils fluttered.
“Liiiiiiiittle bit closer,” Ven whispered. “Don't want the big guys outside to hear.”
She slipped closer, her lips brushing his ear canal. “This one will tell us, Ven,” she breathed. Ven mumbled something, too low to hear. “Say again,” she coaxed.
“I said,” he growled, “this is a diversion.”
At which point X'on smashed into the back of the Elf's head with his manacled forearms.
Ven jumped to his feet, then kicked out, his foot landing squarely in his captor's abdomen. A dull moan escaped, and her body wrapped around the impact, but otherwise, there was no reaction; X'on's blow had rendered her unconscious, or worse. “How'd you know where she was?” Ven asked, wrapping his chains around one of X'on's forearms.
“Took your advice,” he said, adjusting his tattered blindfold with his free hand. “Followed my nose. The smell really is quite distinct, when you're looking for it.” He gave the chain a test pull, then said, “Out the door and an immediate left, at least thirty paces forward, barring a wall.”
Without another word, Ven charged into the breach, ducking past the two giants standing a few feet outside his cell. X'on bowled into them, offering a polite apology over his shoulder as he ran to keep the chain slack.
*
The charge led them from dirt floors to a polished stone hallway, up two flights of stairs, and around uncountable corners. Ven dashed madly around the unforeseen obstacles, the stacks of wealth, furniture and other exquisitely maintained valuables that one would accumulate from having an iron grip on the economy of numerous countries. X'on continued barking orders as they neared some change in direction. Once, when the half-giant insisted that they move forward when the way was blocked by a wall covered in ornate mermaidish seaweed tapestries, Ven had to drag the protesting half-giant along until an egress presented itself and they could continue forward.
Ven noticed as they ran the whole castle was immaculate, cleaned and maintained and organized with obsessive, almost psychotic fervor. That was good; someone this meticulous was sure to have cataloged he and X'on's belongings. With any luck, they would even all be in the same area.
Also lucky for them: the giants they encountered were unaware of the pair's crime against their mistress, and did little to impede their progress. Their slow-witted brains were unable to process the idea that they were aiding and abetting an escape attempt by omission, Ven figured. And if one did attempt to block their path, Ven would cut one direction, then sprint another, using X'on as a dead weight to knock them down. The half-giant was smaller than his cohorts, but Ven’s speed and X’on’s weight meant that together they could topple their opponents flat.
It appeared Ven had been correct on one assumption: there were no other Elves in the castle, or at least the section that Ven was incidentally touring. He wondered (in the small part of his brain that wasn't currently devoted to panicking) when Val Do'qualist had taken possession of this barony. It had to have been recently, or he would have known about her. He wondered who she'd murdered to take a step up the long ladder.
X'on stopped, so suddenly that Ven was yanked off his feet by the chain's recoil. He pulled himself back up with haste; X'on was staring without eyes at a pair of enormous double doors, built of oak and carved with all the creatures of the plains that surrounded the castle.
He put a hand to the door, fingers brushing its surface without pressure. “In here,” X'on said. “It's in here.”
Ven began to tug at the oversized handle closest to him, his talons cutting into the varnished wood, his biceps bulging as he pulled. “Almost there,” he grunted. �
�Do you hear thunder?”
“No,” X'on said, his voice flat. “That would be the giants mobilizing an attack force. Their Lady has recovered. We are very nearly out of time.”
With a surge of terrified effort, Ven managed to pry the door wide enough for them to fit through. What he saw when they entered made him want to cry.
Over the years, someone had amassed quite a library: books, maps, letters, files, and a hodgepodge of leatherbound memoranda lined the walls. Shelves were stacked twenty feet high and several yards deep. Every inch of free space was covered with literature. It was a cornucopia of information, and somewhere within, a needle in a stack of needles, was their salvation.
“We're screwed,” Ven said. The rumble was getting louder.
“No,” X'on murmured. Then, “No. I will not allow her to keep what is mine!” And he lunged into the room, sightless, screaming, waving his hands and cantering about like a beast gone mad. He threw himself at the shelves to Ven's right, tripping over a globe in the middle of the room as he did so, slamming into the books contained there and knocking them to the floor, running along, fondling and discarding the volumes, moving further and further back, dragging Ven bouncing and cursing behind him, until, finally....
“It's here!” He threw triumphant fists in the air, gripping the Book in both hands. A smile beamed across his battered, tenacious face.
“How unfortunate for you,” a voice from the doorway chimed, “that a book, even one of such great size, is such a poor weapon.” Val Do'qualist stood in the doorway, blocking the room's only exit, flanked by five of her largest, most threatening giants. Each of her honor guard held clubbing weapons of heavy, solid metal. The Elf herself was rubbing the back of her neck with idle fingers. “You are going to die now. No more games. Any last words?”
“I couldn't think of a better opening if I tried,” Ven said. X'on dropped the book to the floor, and Ven lept upon it.
“Sons of Magog!” he shouted, hoping like molten hell he was using the right language. “You homeland has been stolen! The Lords and Ladies took them, and made the Grandchildren of Gog their slaves! In the Long, Long ago! Here, these hills are yours! See with your eyes, Sons of Magog! See with your hearts!”
As one being, the giants shifted their stare from Ven to the Elf they surrounded. Her own eyes never left Ven. “Gibberish. Kill him slowly,” she commanded. Or at least, she began too. Only the first few syllables had escaped her throat when, for the second time that day, something large and heavy cracked against her skull. This time, however, it signaled a rain of blows, as all five of her former protectors turned their weapons on Val Do'qualist. It only took a minute before the sounds were that of something hitting meat, not flesh. The smell in the air was a deep, tawny onyx red. Ven tried not to think about that as he used the chains he'd wrapped around X'on's forearm to secure the Book to his own back. X'on put a hand on Ven's shoulder. “Whenever you're ready,” he said.
“We've got to get out of here,” Ven said, his throat dry. “Get to Jernot Mey. I don't see the rest of our gear, she must have cataloged the Book first....” He'd killed before, but he had always tried to keep it clean. He'd never been so brutal. He felt like he was going to be sick. They're still swinging. And the smell….
Then one of the giants, who had just been hammering its master's corpse with a dull, methodical rhythm, reached up and grabbed Ven's arm.
“I'm caught!” Ven cried out. He turned and swung at the giant holding him, raking his talons against the flesh of its massive bicep. He might as well have drug his nails across granite.
Then he realized that the giant was tugging at him. And he noticed the dull ache of X'on's Book pressing against his back.
“I think this giant wants us to follow him,” Ven said.
“How do you know?” X'on asked.
“My arm. It's still attached.”
*
The giant led them past the collection of bone and gristle that had once been a baroness and down the hallway they'd just careened through. Now that he wasn't running for his life, Ven could appreciate the beauty of the place. There were tapestries and paintings everywhere, and scrolls detailing the histories of a hundred different cultures, all from this continent alone. There were silks and scarves of all colors; deep greens and rich violets mostly, but some very crisp browns and a few light blues, as well. And it all smelled natural, too; not a hint of glamour about the place. Whatever the Elf before Val Do'qualist had been—magistrate, baron, something even more—they had taken it upon themselves to live in the very lap of luxury.
It was all Ven could do not to start looting.
He also noticed that the Elf must have gotten a few blows in before she was beaten down; their erstwhile guide was bleeding from the right ear, the viscous purple sludge thick and unctuous against his lobe and neck. It was an injury Ven felt like he'd seen before, and recently. But he couldn't place it.
The giant stopped, standing in front of a silver floor-to-ceiling mirror, pointing, his manner urgent. Ven stared into it, a twisting, distorted reflection gazing back at him. “I don't understand,” he said, looking up at his guide.
“What's going on?” X'on asked.
“Big guy led me to a mirror,” Ven said. “He keeps pointing at it… I don't understand what he wants.” Ven looked up at the giant again. “I know I look like crap,” he said. “That may or may not be your fault, by the way. You're all impossible to tell apart. What do you want me to do?”
The giant raised a beefy hand, ran the pad of his index finger down the surface of the glass. It wobbled, like the surface of a pool of water, and began to glow. It was faint at first, but steadily became more vivid, resolving into a sharp, iridescent lilac. When it became almost too bright to handle, the giant ducked his head and stepped in. He disappeared, leaving Ven staring in dumb confusion at himself once again.
“He, uh. He walked into the mirror,” Ven said.
“Indeed,” said X'on behind him.
“What should we do?” Ven asked.
“I think the most prudent course of action,” X'on replied, “would be to follow him.”
*
Walking through the mirror felt, for less than a second, like being pricked with a thousands of tiny icicles. After he stepped through, Ven opened his eyes, fell to his knees, and vomited.
Everything smelled like raw pork. The grass, jagged and sharp and an eye-aching jade, every blade delineated on the ground. The trees in the distance, a bas-relief parody of real foliage. The milky, cream colored sun, sitting too close in the sky, like a child's drawing. The stench was overpowering, and Ven had to take a moment, breathing through his mouth, to adjust.
“I don't think… I don't think we're where we were anymore.”
“I got that feeling as well,” X'on said. “Any sign of our erstwhile guide?”
Ven scanned the horizon. “Yeah… yeah, I see him. He didn't wait up for us, but he's not too far ahead. How are you holding up?”
“I will do,” X'on said. “Let us walk.”
A brisk trot brought the three together again. They walked most of the day, following the freed giant's lead, under a sun that never moved, through fields that swayed in a breeze that didn't exist. Once, the party crossed a bridge that covered a stream. Ven didn't understand why they couldn't just jump the body of water; it didn't look to be more than half a meter across. He said so.
“I think, because time and space are not necessarily the same here as on our world,” X'on said, “it would be wise to follow in our guide's steps. I believe he has navigated this path before.”
“What do you mean, 'our world'?”
“Well, if what you've told me about our surroundings is accurate, and I have no reason to believe it isn't, and judging by the gate we used to enter… I strongly believe we are in Alfheim.”
“Which is where, exactly?”
“Not home,” X'on replied. “Somewhere else.”
Ven decided not to pursue the subject further.
He could tell he wouldn't like where it was leading. He'd heard rumors that his old bosses had ways of traveling undetected and with preternatural speed to anywhere their kind had a foothold. But no one had offered Ven the secret to such travel, or even acknowledged its existence, so he'd ignored the stories. To his detriment, apparently.
“X'on can I, uh, ask you a question? It may be too personal, you don't have to answer.”
X'on's expression was thin. “With an introduction like that, how could I resist? Ask away.”
Ven swallowed. “Did you ever know your father?”
X'on did not answer immediately. When he finally spoke, he said, “I didn't. 'Father' is not, I think, a term that can be applied in this case.” After a breath, he continued, “I assume you ask in light of our current companion.”
Ven glanced up ahead at the giant who led the way, oblivious to the pair's conversation. “Yeah, I guess,” he said. “I just. I don't know if I've ever seen a giant outside of a barony. Without an Elvish… master.”
“The elves were once much more callow to other races. More so than they are now. Women were fed to the chattel who performed well. Sometimes they were eaten. Sometimes, worse. My mother was one of the latter.” He sighed and straightened himself as they walked. “How about yourself, Ven? Did you have a good relationship with your father?”
Let myself open to that one. “Yeah. I did. Right up until the day he died.” Ven didn't really feel like talking after that.
At last they came to another portal, similar to the one they had entered except that it was floating in the air, sustained by nothing. The giant pointed again, then began to walk away.
“Not coming with us?” Ven called out, but the lumbering behemoth offered no reply. He merely walked, as far as Ven could tell, back in the direction he'd come from. Back towards the castle.
“We've stopped,” X'on said, stating the obvious.
“Yeah, we're at another portal. Listen, X'on, I want to try something, all right?”
“And what is that, my friend?”
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