The Jewel of Turmish

by Odom, Mel

  Borran Klosk seemed surprised, and if he’d had a face, Haarn felt certain that would have shown as well.

  “You would run?” the mohrg asked in disbelief.

  “Yes,” Haarn replied without hesitation. “Sometimes, Borran Klosk, the few must be sacrificed so that the many may survive. That is nature.”

  “And have you no feelings for this poor child, boy?” Borran Klosk demanded.

  “I will mourn her,” Haarn said. He glanced at the druid maid as he spoke, offering his words to her. “And I will remember her to Silvanus.”

  “I understand,” the girl said, struggling to get the declaration out through the skeletal hands that held her.

  She straightened herself as best she could, but tears gleamed in her frightened eyes. The way Borran Klosk gripped her, she was helpless.

  It was almost too much for Haarn to bear. Still, he’d slit the throats of fawns that had ended up bereft of mothers in the dead of winter because there was no way to keep them alive, and he’d eaten their meat so they wouldn’t go to waste and so the balance that Silvanus stood for would be maintained. Nature was hard and demanded such sacrifices so that only the fittest could survive. Those laws didn’t go by the emotions of civilized men. Grief was still mixed in there, but above all was the balance.

  “Malar’s fangs, boy,” Borran Klosk roared in inarticulate rage, “I don’t understand. I don’t understand at all how you could turn your back on her. By Malar, I despise you damned druids and your stupid ways!”

  He snapped the girl’s neck and let her fall, lifeless, to his feet.

  “Now,” the monster continued, “give me that damned jewel or I promise you I’ll make your death much harder than the kindness I showed her!”

  Steeling himself against the pained confusion that filled him at the sight of the girl’s death, Haarn turned and fled as fast as he could toward the alley.

  The shadows in the alley were off, all angles and lines that wouldn’t have been found in nature, and as a result, he didn’t see the spider web broaching the narrow throat of the alley until he was almost into it. He stopped just short of it, avoiding the sticky strands by perhaps another layer of skin.

  Then he noticed the way the web quivered, the silken gossamer reflecting the orange flames of the ships and buildings burning in the harbor district.

  Haarn looked up, knowing what he would see.

  The giant spider, opal eyes blazing without pity as it slid down a single strand, dropped toward him, closing on him before he could run.

  Broadfoot had arrived seconds before, so silent on his great padded paws that no one knew he was there. Druz had slid from the bear’s broad back and crept as close to Haarn as she’d been able to. She’d seen the spider web a moment before Borran Klosk had murdered the young girl.

  Broadfoot raced from the shadows, snarling and roaring, raising himself to walk on his hind legs, wobbling from side to side in a manner that would have been comical if the whole situation wasn’t so filled with the threat of death.

  Throwing herself the last few feet as Haarn stopped short of the spider web, Druz caught the druid around the waist with one arm and pulled him away. They hit the ground hard.

  She was up before he was. Shaking off the effects of the harsh landing, she gripped her long sword and faced the spider, aware that her move might have saved Haarn from the arachnid but it had left them both open to attack from Borran Klosk.

  The spider approached on all eight legs, standing taller than Druz. Her mandibles moved and dripped green ichor.

  Broadfoot slammed into the skeletons, scattering them. The bear’s undead foes jumped to their feet and fought again, protecting their master. Their bony fists sounded like mallets as they struck the bear, but Broadfoot gave as good as he got, smashing the skeletons and breaking pieces off of them with each swipe.

  Haarn struggled to his feet while Druz slapped away the leg the spider-woman stretched toward them.

  “Get up,” Druz said to Haarn. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

  The spider-woman laughed, using both her front legs now to test Druz’s defenses.

  “You shouldn’t have come,” Haarn said.

  “What was I going to do?” Druz asked.

  She freed a dagger from her boot, blocking every attempt the spider made to reach her, but she couldn’t maintain her position. The spider-woman kept forcing her back, and there was only the wall behind her.

  Across the street, Borran Klosk turned and spoke a word to Broadfoot. The bear had broken free of the skeletons, leaving at least two of them in broken shambles behind him. Before Broadfoot reached Borran Klosk, the mohrg flicked out a hand. Violet fire sparked from the skeletal hand touching the bear’s broad head. Borran Klosk dodged away as Broadfoot became an inanimate lump that looked like a taxidermist’s project. Without a sound, the bear smacked onto the cobblestones and lay there limp.

  Carrion stench, the odor of dead things, filled the street, and Druz knew it came from the bear’s body. Borran Klosk had slain the mighty ursine with just a touch. The cold realization of what she faced daunted her. She backed away from the spider-woman, but nausea welled up in her guts.

  “Catch her,” Borran Klosk commanded. “I want her alive.”

  Unable to compose herself against the carrion stench coming from the bear, Druz was no match at all against the spider-woman. Before Druz could move, the giant spider had her trapped in two strong, hairy legs. She tried to break free, but the nausea kept welling up in her and doubling her over. She tried to tell Haarn to run, but she couldn’t even get that out.

  Calculating and cold, Borran Klosk crossed the street.

  We lost, Druz thought as her stomach tried to empty. She gazed at Haarn, who stood with his back against the wall. He held the jewel they’d come for in one hand. His scimitar was in the other. She knew he wouldn’t give it up.

  Borran Klosk stopped ten feet away. His thick purple tongue darted out from between his jaws, the length of it coiling in restless abandon in his hollowed-out stomach.

  “If you give me the jewel,” he suggested, “I might let you live.”

  Haarn shook his head. He stepped forward and threw his scimitar.

  The blade whipped end over end, flying straight at Borran Klosk. The mohrg flicked out a hand and knocked the scimitar aside. The weapon clanged against the cobblestones.

  Haarn steadied himself with his free hand on the stone wall behind him.

  “I don’t suppose you’d give me the jewel if I told you I’d spare the life of the woman?” Borran Klosk said.

  Druz wanted to tell Haarn not to agree. The mohrg was lying; he had to be. She didn’t dare hope that he would let her go. The single possibility that remained was that Ettrian would arrive with help in time to save them, but the street remained empty at both ends and the spider web blocked the nearest alley.

  “No,” Haarn said in a flat voice.

  Druz chose not to hold the answer against the druid. She might have answered the same way had their positions been reversed. Borran Klosk wanted the jewel, and maybe Haarn could destroy it. Maybe that was why the mohrg was hesitating.

  “Then you can die,” Borran Klosk said, gesturing and speaking words Druz didn’t understand.

  The mohrg opened his hand and a fireball formed there. He threw it at the druid and it swelled, growing larger and larger as it flew. It was almost as big as Haarn when it reached him.

  Druz couldn’t believe the druid made no move to flee. Maybe the carrion stench had made him sick as well, too sick to move with any real speed—or to move at all. It looked like the fireball drove him back against the stone wall.

  It exploded, detonating in a sulfurous haze that threw heated air over Druz. At least the sudden blast of hot wind cleared the carrion stench from the street for a moment.

  When the smoke dissipated, there was nothing left of Haarn Brightoak. He was gone. Only the red jewel, gleaming and unmarked on the cobblestones in front of the wall, remained.


  Druz stared at the ground where Haarn had been, not believing he was gone. She had seen him fight slavers and Stonefur, zombies and skeletons, and he’d survived. How could he not survive this? She felt cold and empty inside, and it wasn’t just from the sickness that still twisted through her.

  Excitement flared through Borran Klosk as he crossed the short distance to the fifth and final piece of Taraketh’s Hive. He’d already assembled the other four jewels, but the magical device wouldn’t work unless all of them were together.

  He knelt and picked the jewel up then fitted it into place with the other four. He started the incantation, watching as the jewels glowed in an alternating pattern and dimmed as Taraketh’s Hive fed on its five pieces.

  He glanced up at the woman who remained in Allis’s spidery grasp and said, “You’re going to live, by the way.” She looked like she didn’t believe him, and he found that amusing. “I want someone to inform the Emerald Enclave that their doom is coming.”

  She swore an oath that surprised him.

  “It isn’t often that I pass up the chance to slay a woman,” he said, “especially one as pretty as yourself, but I want the Emerald Enclave to know they and all of the Vilhon Reach are going to lose more than this city. I am going to take the life from this place, and—Malar willing—move on from here.”

  “They stopped you last time, Borran Klosk,” the woman said, “and they’ll stop you this time. This time they’ll destroy you. There will be no mercy from Eldath or any other.”

  Borran Klosk ignored her. Instead, he watched the jeweled pieces cycle faster, blazing with color.

  “With this device, Taraketh imported bees, which are the most important creature in the ecology of any land. Without bees, nothing gets pollinated. Without pollination, nothing grows. Without growth, everything dies.”

  His purple tongue flicked out toward her face to make sure he had her undivided attention.

  The woman turned away in fear and disgust.

  Appreciating both emotions, the mohrg pulled his tongue back and continued.

  “I learned about my enemies. I found their weakness. If I found a way to destroy all the bees in these lands, the lands would die, and the people living here would be forced to move or die as well. So I tracked down Taraketh’s Hive, and I found out how to call forth vangdumonders.”

  Her lack of comprehension showed on her face.

  “Vangdumonders are parasitic creatures from another plane,” Borran Klosk said. “They prey on bees and other pollinators, but they do not spread pollen themselves. Once I introduce the vangdumonders into this ecology, they will kill the bees and replace them, but they won’t be taking care of the pollination. Everything—everything—will be unable to reproduce. There will be no fruit, no vegetables. In short order, no plant life at all.”

  “That can’t happen,” the woman argued, struggling against Allis’s spider’s legs.

  “It can,” Borran Klosk crowed in triumph, “and it will. You get to be the first to watch as I bring the vangdumonders into this world. Be sure to tell those damned druids what you see here.”

  The woman made another effort to free herself, but it was useless against Allis’s greater strength.

  Borran Klosk returned his attention to the incantation, mouthing the words he’d learned all those years before.

  The lights flaring inside the jewel sped faster and faster, but instead of producing the first of the vangdumonders, they continued to gather speed. A humming noise flared to life, driving pain deep into Borran Klosk’s bones.

  Something was wrong. He could feel it. The connections that were supposed to be made weren’t being made. It came to him in a rush. The damned druid had used magic to seal the fifth piece of the jewel.

  Borran Klosk cursed. The druid’s spell would have in no way withstood the powers he could bring to bear. Desperate, the mohrg tried to put a halt to the process his incantation had started, but it was too late.

  Once initiated, the spell had to run its course, and it would fail. It would—

  The explosion knocked Borran Klosk from his feet, driving him backward and blowing him end over end. His senses reeled, and he almost blacked out. Staggered, he forced himself up, peering through the smoky haze at the five pieces of Taraketh’s Hive. The five jewels lay scattered across the cobblestone street, all of them inert and dark. He couldn’t reach them with his mind.

  A tingle made its way up his arm. He glanced down and saw that Malar’s Glove lay in tiny coral pieces across the street from where he and the five jewels lay. The glove had somehow protected him from the full power of the spell’s misfire.

  Joy washed through Borran Klosk, then he saw the druid—the damned druid that he thought he’d already killed—step from the soot-blasted wall where the fireball had exploded.

  Haarn ended the spell that had kept him safe from harm inside the solid stone wall and went into motion at once, flicking a pair of throwing knives at the giant spider’s head. The blades whirled through the air and embedded in the werespider, one of them sinking through an opal eye.

  The spider screamed in a woman’s voice and drew back. Druz took advantage of the spider’s painful distraction and freed herself. Before the werespider could react, Druz hacked off two of the legs on her left side, causing it to fall. While the spider scuttled, trying to get back to its remaining feet, Druz stepped in and hacked off its head.

  Haarn was in motion, diving for the scimitar and dodging Borran Klosk’s tongue as the spider’s head bounced across the cobblestones and became a woman’s head. The head wore a shocked expression.

  As fast as he’d moved, even after healing himself while he was inside the stone wall, Haarn couldn’t completely avoid Borran Klosk’s barbed tongue. It ripped along his left shoulder, tearing and searing into the flesh. The druid came up in a roll, putting the pain out of his mind, focusing on the mohrg.

  Borran Klosk succeeded in pushing himself to his feet, and the purple tongue darted out like a rapier, striking over and over again.

  Haarn was hard-pressed to keep the tongue from piercing his throat or stabbing into his face. The blows he blocked brought fiery pain to his arms as he struggled to compensate against the undead thing’s incredible strength. He had to keep the fight going; he couldn’t allow Borran Klosk one moment’s respite for the mohrg to use his magic.

  Every time he swung his scimitar to block one of the mohrg’s attacks, Haarn took a step forward, chasing his opponent back against the building on the other side of the street. The druid’s advance was relentless, his swordplay the best it had ever been. He fought with memory of all those who had been ripped from their mortal coils that night, for those who had stood against Borran Klosk all those years before, and for the girl who had died only moments before.

  And he fought for the preservation of all that Silvanus had entrusted him with. If Borran Klosk escaped, Haarn had no doubt the mohrg would take Taraketh’s Hive and summon the vangdumonders. Borran Klosk had been right about that: if the bees died in a place, so did that place. A creature that any civilized person would take for granted was the basic ingredient of the chain of life Silvanus had taught his followers to so revere.

  “Stand away, boy,” Borran Klosk said, even though his tongue never once stopped flicking. The barbed end tore into Haarn’s left thigh. “I’ve no wish to fight you. You can live.”

  “And you can die,” Haarn growled, swinging the scimitar again.

  His arms felt like lead and his breath came hard, burning the back of his throat and deep into his lungs.

  Pressing his advantage, Haarn took two quick steps forward, slamming blow after blow at the mohrg, almost reaching him. Druz remained back, unable to get any closer. Haarn had to move so fast and so broadly there was no room for her to join the battle.

  Blood dripped from Haarn’s wounded shoulder, running down the length of his arm in crimson threads that made their way down to his hands and dripped on the cobblestones. His foot hit a patch o
f his own blood and he slipped. It wasn’t much of a slip, but it was enough for Borran Klosk to try to seize the advantage.

  Quick as a darting hummingbird, lethal as a striking viper, the mohrg’s tongue leaped for Haarn’s face. The druid knew he had no defense. He couldn’t get the scimitar up at an angle to deflect the tongue, and he couldn’t dodge, and sticking an arm in front of his face would only add one more layer of flesh and bone for the tongue to go through before it pierced his head.

  Instead, Haarn lifted the scimitar and held it edge-out, concentrating on the tongue, making himself one with his weapon, keeping the balance between fear and hope as Silvanus’s teachings instructed.

  The tongue slammed into the scimitar, then split into halves. The horrendous wound spilled no blood, but Borran Klosk shrilled in surprised pain. Grabbing the retreating tongue with one hand, Haarn let the dreadful appendage pull him toward his opponent. Borran Klosk didn’t see him coming until it was too late.

  Putting his weight into the blow, Haarn drew the scimitar from under his wounded arm in a backhanded slash that caught Borran Klosk beneath the chin. The scimitar sliced through the long, purple tongue and it flopped to the ground like a dying snake. The heavy blade caught halfway through the mohrg’s spine at the base of the skull.

  No mercy in him, Haarn gripped the back edge of the scimitar blade, stepped forward, and twisted the sword as hard as he could.

  Borran Klosk’s head snapped free of the spine and sailed through the air. It bounced against the wall behind him then came to a rest at Haarn’s feet.

  Striding forward, Haarn shoved the rest of Borran Klosk’s body down. He knelt beside the skull, looking into the lighted eye hollows, knowing that the evil entity that was the mohrg still dwelt somewhere inside. Using his scimitar as a prying instrument, Haarn pulled one of the big cobblestones from the street. He lifted it in both hands then smashed it into Borran Klosk’s skull.

  “Noooooo—”

  The scream died midway through.

  Bony splinters were all that remained of the skull.