by Doug Niles
“There is to be a duel shortly after midnight, in the palace courtyard. Between Lord Marshal Jaymes and the Rose Lord Frankish. Ah, I see, you had not heard.”
“No,” Coryn said, her face betraying her shock. She turned away from him, staring across the room, the darkly elegant study chamber in the regent’s palace. The Kingfisher waited for her to say something, but turning back, she merely glared at him.
“I am sure you agree that it is imperative that such a match occurs without interference from interested parties,” the wizard-knight ventured as politely as possible.
“Yes. Yes, of course,” Coryn agreed, thinking furiously. A duel? How could Jaymes have been so stupid?
“To that end, I was hoping that you and I could second the match, together. We will keep an eye on, uh, matters. Is that acceptable to you?”
She frowned. She needed time—time to consult her auguries, to consider her options, simply to think. “When did you say this duel is to occur?” she asked numbly.
“At one bell. Three hours from now.”
There was little else to say, then, and virtually no time for any preparations. “Very well,” she said. “I will meet you in the courtyard and bear judgment.”
“You’re going to fight Lord Frankish? No! You can’t! You mustn’t! You might be injured, even killed!” Selinda sobbed as she threw herself into Jaymes’s arms, clenching him so tightly that he had to unclasp her arms just to draw a breath.
“Are you so sure I’m going to lose?” he asked with a very slight smile, holding his arms around her, looking down at her tear-filled eyes.
“You don’t know very much about Lord Frankish, do you? He’ll do anything to win—anything! You can’t trust him! He’s killed many men already! Oh, this is all my fault!” She broke away and turned to stomp across the anteroom of her chambers. The duel was an hour or two away. Selinda whirled angrily. “I’ll bet my father put him up to this—I’m certain of it! But I’m not going to allow it! Do you hear me? I won’t allow it!”
“I hear you,” Jaymes said, striding over to her, again pulling her close. Willingly, she melted against his chest. “But this is not something you can, or cannot, allow. I’ve given my word. It’s something that’s going to happen. And”—he pulled back to look into her eyes—“don’t worry. I don’t intend to lose.”
“But—why?” she cried. “Why are you doing this?”
“More or less because Lord Frankish forced me into it,” he conceded abashedly. “It was not my idea. But I believe I can turn this to my—to our—advantage.”
“He’s only doing this because he’s jealous—he knows how much I care for you. He thinks he can commit legal murder this way. He intends to kill you!”
“He won’t. And I told you, this will work out in our favor.”
She shivered, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “How could it possibly work in our favor?”
“That hasn’t been entirely settled yet. I needed to talk to you first, and afterward I will pay a visit to your father. That’s why I came here before going to the combat field. I needed to ask you something.”
“What? What is it? What did you want to ask me?”
He stared into her eyes, placed his strong hands on her trembling shoulders. “In the event of my victory in this fight, I mean to ask, with humility and affection, if you will consent to be my wife. Will you marry me?”
Her eyes grew wide. She gasped for breath. In the next instant she pulled him close, nearly strangling him again.
“Yes!” she cried, her voice a mixture of sobs and laughter. She would always remember what had happened this night, before and after the duel, she thought.
“Yes,” she repeated through the laughter and tears. “Yes, I will!”
CHAPTER NINE
THE KING OF THE UNDERWORLD
Ankhar gradually noticed the warmth, which struck him as unnatural in this dark, sunless place. For timeless miles and uncounted days, the trio had trudged through chilly blackness, cloaks wrapped tight against the penetrating cold. Deep into the world they went, far away from the sun, and still they descended. Ankhar shivered when he slept, longed for the comfort of a campfire. But there was no fuel, no light beyond what their little party carried.
Until, one day—or was it night?—the half-giant felt a sheen of sweat on his forehead and unconsciously loosened his woolen cloak. Curious, he reached out and touched a nearby outcrop of stone and found it warm to the touch. The air felt thick and moist, with a hint of acrid smoke. Within a few moments, they all had removed their outer garb, and suddenly the cavern seemed like such a sweltering place, he began to wonder if he was taking leave of his senses.
“We are very far below the surface,” Hoarst declared, mopping his brow with a soft cloth. “We must be drawing near to the fires in the very belly of the world.” The wizard still carried his glowing blade, but now with its point slanting downward at his side. The once-bright light had faded to a pearly glow. Even so, that faint illumination was enough to show the path before the trio’s increasingly sensitive eyes.
“How long we been on this dark path?” grumbled Ankhar. “I lose track of miles … and of sleeps.”
“The sun has come and gone six times since we entered the cave,” Laka declared. “It is now dawn on the world of the surface.”
Ankhar found himself longing for a look at the world above, even just a glimpse of the bright sun that he had taken for granted throughout his life. He tried to imagine how dwarves and even some goblins could spend so many of their days underground, shielded from that blessed warmth, that refulgent brilliance. He shuddered at the very idea.
Hoarst knelt to sip from one of the pools of clear water that were common in these caves. When he did, the flap of his cloak briefly covered the blade of his sword, yet Ankhar realized that he could see quite well without its illumination. The dark was fading!
The half-giant squinted ahead, noticing a faintly reddish cast to the cavern walls in front of them. It was as though they traveled through a canyon after sunset, and the fading glow of daylight lingered in their surroundings. Like some sunsets, this one glowed a faint orange color, which marked the high walls to either side of them, even casting shadows from the stalactites on the arched ceiling so high over their heads.
As they came around another bend in the still-descending cavern, they saw that the horizon was limned in fire, a strange, hellish light that forced the half-giant to raise his hand in a futile effort to shield his face from its infernal glare and heat.
“We are drawing near now,” Laka said, “for this is another place that was revealed to me in my dream.”
“Good,” Ankhar said. Now that they were actually close to encountering the mysterious, powerful ally Laka had been searching for, he felt more bluster than courage. He thought a growl might be impressive and made a sound that rumbled deep in his chest.
The brightness continued to build as the subterranean canyon twisted through a few more turns, until finally they came to a ledge, where a series of shattered rocky outcrops formed a descending stairway. For the moment they halted, all three of them staring wordlessly at this remarkable place.
The trio stood high above a cavern that was as vast as a deep valley in a large mountain range—except that the rocky faces above them soared upward to merge into an upside-down version of a chasm that twisted and curved through a central, vaulted ceiling. The depths of the upper gorge were lost in shadow, but the rest of this great cavern was outlined in the brilliant fires that surged and crackled everywhere.
Most striking was the river of liquid fire, glowing orange and red, which appeared to emerge from a channel on the opposite wall of the great valley, spilling downward like a garish, mighty waterfall. The spume tumbled hundreds of feet from its lofty origin, burning the whole way, splashing explosively at the base of the wall. There the liquid fire bubbled and churned amidst a great lake of crimson-orange. Dark outcrops of rock jutted like islands above the surface, while cu
rrents eddied and surged along the inhospitable shores.
Other lakes and ponds—some fiery lava, others dark and sludgy as oil, or lightless water—dotted the broad valley floor. Far to the right the wall of the massive cavern was obscured by mist, as water from some unseen source made contact with the scalding rock and sizzled into steam. The cloud seethed and shimmered like a living curtain, and as they watched, it expanded to fill the whole end of the cavern. A few moments later, it dissipated, dissolving into a shower of rain that spattered and hissed on the hot rock, instantaneously evaporating, then thickening into fog, as the process started over again.
A thunderous blast rent the air, shaking the bedrock beneath Ankhar’s boots. To the left a geyser of liquid fire erupted, shooting a spume of burning rock hundreds of feet into the air. Several massive pieces of stone broke free from the walls and ceiling, jarred by the force of the blast. They tumbled and rolled down the slopes, most coming to rest in tangled piles, while a few plopped into the viscous lake of fire to be quickly swallowed up.
“Do we cross this place?” Ankhar asked skeptically. “Did dream show you that?”
“No. We must go down there.” Laka pointed to the vast lake situated in the middle of the cavern. “That is where we will find our ally.”
“Huh! Then let’s go find this ally,” the half-giant grunted, though he was hardly eager to visit the lake of fire.
“Be ready with your spear,” the ancient shaman hissed before turning to Hoarst. “And prepare to use your spells. There will be enemies here, and we must vanquish them or die.”
Ankhar drew his great weapon off his shoulder, taking comfort in the feel of the smooth, familiar haft. He looked around for something to stab, mildly disappointed to discover the absence of any foe. He started down the rocky slope, his long strides easily taking him from shelf to shelf of the natural staircase. With his spear in one hand, he helped Laka over the ledges, some of them set at precipitous intervals. All the while, he kept alert, his eyes scanning the cavern, looking for the enemies his mother had warned of.
The first such enemy abruptly rose into view close to them as they neared the cavern floor—it had crouched among the rocks, indistinguishable from the boulders strewn everywhere, until its sudden movement. The thing reared now, a giant-sized being made of stone, with rippling sinews of rock outlined in two legs, two arms, a torso, and a great crude block of a head. A pair of dark hollows gaped beneath a clifflike brow.
Despite being startled, the half-giant struck at once, thrusting his great spear against the stone fist punching toward his face. The emerald head of his weapon, enchanted with the blessing of the Prince of Lies, shattered the stone fist, and the elemental creature of stone and dirt staggered back. The creature was larger than Ankhar but less nimble, and the half-giant followed his first thrust with a series of fierce stabs, chipping pieces away from the grotesque being. Finally Ankhar thrust his weapon straight into the stony torso, a blow that knocked the beast backward off its perch. Tumbling to deeper bedrock, the elemental shattered into so many crumbs of gravel.
Before Ankhar resumed a more cautious descent, he saw Laka reach down, paw through the shards remaining from the elemental, and select a piece that was small enough to hold easily in her palm. Nodding in satisfaction, she tucked the stone away in one of her many pouches and curtly gestured to the half-giant to continue his pace.
They proceeded downward, alert and careful, toward the cavern floor. They came to a broad ledge, perhaps halfway down from the vantage where they had entered the chamber. Ankhar took a step onto what he thought was a solid shelf of rock, but stumbled as his foot sank into soft, oozing mud. He toppled and lurched forward, maintaining his balance only by plunging his second foot into the mire. In a matter of a breath he had sunk to his knees and felt the warm goo steadily rising up toward his thighs.
“Hsst—beware!” cried Laka, raising her totem. The green light outlined a shape rising from the mire just a few paces beyond Ankhar. This was another elemental, forged from the muddy water much as their first opponent had been crafted from rock. The half-giant stabbed with his spear, but his balance was poor and the blade made only a small gash in one of the elemental’s limbs. The water swiftly flowed back to close the wound, and the magical creature continued to rise from the pond, drawing the liquid from the pool to collect itself into a gigantic foe more than twice the height of the half-giant.
“Drop down—duck!” said Hoarst, and Ankhar instantly squatted. So much earth had been drawn into the creature’s body that the half-giant could fling away mud and hurl himself to the side as the wizard behind him snarled out the words to a spell.
The eruption of magic was soundless and lightless, but the great power of it penetrated to the half-giant’s core. The savage blast of cold passed just over Ankhar’s body, leaving an icy chill skittering across his skin as it swept outward in an expanding cone of lethal frost. The spell struck the mud-giant full across its body, covering it with an instantaneous layer of frost, then freezing the creature hard in its posture of mid-attack. One leg still twitched, but the rest of the body twisted rigidly, awkward and frozen.
“Now—strike it with your spear!” cried the Thorn Knight.
Ankhar stabbed with all of his strength, again holding his weapon with both hands, driving the chiseled emerald head into the frozen water elemental’s midsection. The monster shattered like a statue made from ice, blocks of frozen water tumbling to the ground, slowly melting back into the residual muck of the ground. As with the stone elemental, Laka paused to reach down, collected a piece of the creature’s remains, and placed it safely in one of her pouches before giving Ankhar the signal to continue.
“We must hurry,” Ankhar urged, lifting Laka by one arm and swinging her to the far side of the pit before striding after her. Hoarst, moving quickly, skirted the bowl-shaped depression to join them on the far side. The half-giant glanced back warily, wondering if the pieces of the water-monster would show signs of reassembling into life. But the blocks of ice remained inert, even as they melted into little puddles of muddy water.
Strangely, the ancient shaman seemed gratified by their encounter. “These are the servants of the one we shall enslave,” she said proudly. “And to judge by his retainers, he is mighty, indeed.”
Next to materialize were guardians made of fire, a trio of flaming giants spewing up out of the liquid rock. Waving crazily, uttering roars like the fiery blasts of a furnace, they emerged from the lake of lava to block the travelers’ path. Casting sparks, dripping flames, they surged up the slope toward the mortal intruders. Ankhar pierced one with blows of his enchanted spear, though not before their flames singed both his fists. Laka doused the other pair when she brandished her skull totem and somehow conjured forth a rainstorm that spilled torrents of water over the fiery shapes. They hissed and sizzled and eventually, washed out of existence. Before they completely faded, she gingerly picked up the glowing ember of one fire guardian and hastily dropped it into a chain-mesh pocket.
As they drew near to the edge of the fire lake, the searing heat practically baked their skin. Sweat flowed in rivulets down Ankhar’s face, and he had to blink repeatedly to clear his eyesight. Shielding his eyes, he felt something surprisingly pleasurable—something cool. A breeze wafted over his skin, evaporating his sweat and easing the infernal heat. The only trouble was that the growing breeze came from another attacker.
This attacker was a guardian drawn from the very air. Now it swirled like a tornado, sucking at them with winds so powerful, they were almost forced off the ledge and into the bubbling, churning lake. Rising taller than any of the other elementals, this air guardian screamed like a tortured goblin, wailing all around them, leaning in close.
Ankhar’s strength saved them, for he planted his feet, crouched low, and wrapped a brawny arm around the shoulders of each of his two companions. The gale whipped and pulsed and whirled. Like the other elementals, the creature of air had taken a physical shape, and it app
eared like a tornado with whirling tendrils that reached out, tried to suck and pull the mortals apart from each other, drag them forward into the lethal, bubbling magma.
Hoarst pulled some kind of powder from his pocket, blinking at the dust that flew up and stung his eyes. The wizard gritted his teeth and spat out the words to the spell, finally spreading his hands wide and stepping forward into the very heart of the cyclone’s suction. The air elemental almost lifted him up and away—only Ankhar’s strong hands held him in place—until, at last, Hoarst’s magic sparked into being. The bright flash of light utterly dispelled the enchanted creature, leaving only a series of random gusts swirling across the lava lake, churning up smoke, blowing futilely at the tiny rivulets of fire.
Laka produced a small suede sack, supple and empty and very tightly sewed. She waved it about with both hands, capturing one of the errant gusts and trapping it inside so it puffed out the bag like a balloon. She quickly drew a string around the mouth of the sack, closing it tightly shut, then lashed it to her belt where it bobbed lightly.
“Now we must go over there, to that island,” Laka declared, pointing.
“How?” demanded Ankhar, gazing at the dangerous crimson liquid that seemed to surround the pinnacle of dark rock indicated by his stepmother. “Swim?”
“There seems to be a path,” Hoarst said.
The half-giant blinked, shaking his head skeptically. Nevertheless, he could see the snaking path of black rock, like the ridged back of a stony crocodile, that jutted above the surface of the lava. They might be able to walk across it without coming into direct contact with the liquid rock. And if they soaked their cloaks in water and wrapped them tightly as protection, they might be able to withstand the baking heat.
