The Fanged Crown

by Jenna Helland

  “The Ermine has been coming to Chult for years,” Majida told them.

  “So the Ermine and the Practitioner are the same person,” Harp said. “He’s the one running operations in Chult. He must have built the machine in the cavern even before the colony was set up.”

  “I told you that Cardew couldn’t mastermind this,” Boult said smugly.

  “Yes, Boult, let us all bow down before your infinite wisdom,” Harp said irritably.

  “We didn’t know about his flesh machine until recently, not until Liel told us,” Majida explained.

  “You know Liel?” Harp asked in surprise.

  “Did you know she betrayed us?” Boult asked.

  “The elf in the colony was not Liel,” Majida said.

  “What do you mean?” Harp said.

  “She was … doubled,” Majida said slowly, obviously searching for the appropriate word in the Common tongue.

  “Doubled?” Harp asked in confusion.

  “The Liel you spent time with was not Liel,” Majida told Harp.

  “She looked like Liel. She had her memories.”

  “But it was not Liel.”

  “Was it an illusion?” Harp asked doubtfully. Liel had been cold and aloof, but they had talked about things only the two of them knew.

  “No, the body was real, and the memories were true,” Majida said. “But her creation was false, and her actions were plotted by another’s will.”

  “How is that possible?” Verran questioned.

  “A dark ritual. That’s what the flesh machine does,” Majida said. “It takes blood and distills it to make another body, a double of the original. We call them husks.”

  “It seemed so much like Liel,” Harp said, trying to get his head around what Majida was saying.

  “How does the Practitioner direct her actions?” Boult demanded.

  “The husks are childlike in their desire to please and to take instruction. The creator imposes his will on them at the moment of their creation, but it only lasts for a finite period of time. Then the husk’s own will asserts itself, and they are not so easily controlled.”

  “I’ve seen copies of people before,” Verran said. “But they were mute and dumb, like their skin was just a covering and the inside was hollowed out.”

  “Usually that is so,” Majida said. “But your Practitioner is very good at making husks, and he filled it with many things from Liel herself.”

  “How could he do that?” Harp asked.

  “With Liel’s blood and the right magic funneled through the flesh machine, it’s possible,” Majida replied.

  “I’ve heard of that,” Verran told them. “From my father. But I didn’t think it could be done anymore. I thought the magic was lost.”

  “To most of Faerûn, the magic is lost,” Majida agreed. “But the sarrukh, the progenitors of the Scaly Ones, had the knowledge, and the Practitioner focused his will on getting it.”

  “My father said that blood copies are the pinnacle of what necromantic magic can achieve,” Verran said.

  Majida had stopped abruptly and touched the center of her forehead, which Harp took as a sign for him to keep silent. The group held still and listened to the jungle intently, but there were no sounds save the chirp of birds and the drip of water onto the buttress roots.

  “The pinnacle of necromantic magic,” Majida repeated finally, as if she had been musing on the phrase. “I find that to be an inherent contradiction. Necromancy is the lowest and most depraved sort of magic.”

  “I didn’t mean anything,” Verran said, abashed. “It’s just what my father said.”

  “What’s your name, child?” Majida asked. Her voice didn’t waver from kindliness, but her dark eyes flashed under the indigo scarf that covered her hair.

  “Verran,” the boy mumbled. A blush had crept onto his cheeks, and he’d crossed his arms tightly over his chest.

  “Did your father ever tell you what happens to the husks, Verran?” she prodded. Verran shrugged his shoulders slightly but didn’t respond. Harp was annoyed by the boy’s surliness at Majida, who had probably saved their lives by helping them escape.

  “By the time emotions and free-will emerge in the husk, its life-cycle is almost finished. For a fleeting instant, they experience what it means to truly live, and then death reclaims them. Husk-making is cruelty and humiliation beyond reckoning.”

  “How long do the husks last?” Harp took a closer look at Majida. She might look like a provincial shaman, but her manner revealed experience and education that went beyond the boundaries of Chult.

  “It’s different for each husk body, but never more than a few months,” Majida replied as she turned and continued down the leaf-locked path.

  They reached the base of a tree so large that it would have taken half a dozen men to encircle its trunk. From the branches above them, a collection of white-furred monkeys looked down with distaste as Majida led the group up a buttress root wide enough to walk two abreast, and up into the trees that thrived under the dense canopy. They continued along thick woody vines that were braided together to form a hidden walkway through the papery leaves of the trees.

  At the end of the vines, they dropped to the ground in the middle of a thorny thicket growing at the base of a ridge of silver colored rocks. The ridge, which seemed too sheer to climb, was covered in pockets of dark green moss that bulged off the rock. Tiny, gray-furred mammals with long tails and big round eyes scampered up and down the moss.

  “If that’s how we’re getting to the top, Boult has to go first,” Harp said, watching the antics of the cliff dwellers.

  “I’ll go,” Kitto volunteered.

  “No one has to climb,” Zo said, pointing to an opening in the rock hidden behind the undergrowth. Wooden struts supported the entrance, and as they followed the path down into the darkness, Harp saw that runic markings had been etched into the support beams.

  “Where does the tunnel go?” Harp asked.

  “It takes us to the other side of the mountain,” Zo said. “It’s much easier than climbing up and over.”

  The tunnel dipped into the rock and then leveled out. With a low ceiling designed for small travelers, it was only wide enough to walk single file. Crouched in the narrow space with solid rock hanging above his head, Harp decided to avoid caves in the future even if he had to climb a mountain to get where he needed to be. Fortunately, he could already see the light at the end of the tunnel.

  “So why would the Practitioner make a husk of Liel?” Harp asked, his voice muffled in the confined space. “How does she fit into it all?”

  “I don’t know, Harp,” Boult replied testily.

  “So you admit to being an idiot, just like the rest of us,” Harp said.

  “I admit nothing,” Boult said. “But I wonder if the dwarf we saw in the glade was a husk.”

  “What dwarf?” Zo asked, stopping abruptly. Verran, who was walking behind him, bumped into him.

  “We saw the body of a dwarf in a glade near the beach,” Boult told them. “She had red hair, but she was badly decomposed.”

  “Red hair?” Zo asked, looking over his shoulder at Majida. “That doesn’t sound like one of ours.”

  “You’ve seen husk dwarves before?” Boult asked.

  “They sent a husk dwarf into the Domain to spy on us,” Majida said. “Our home has been secret for centuries. It took several days before we realized that he wasn’t who he said.”

  “How did you figure out what he was?” Verran asked.

  “Husks that are made from a spellcaster’s blood are easy to spot because the copy cannot cast spells,” Majida explained. “It’s harder to spot non-casters, like Brill. You have to look for subtler clues.”

  “Majida noticed that Brill liked foods that he didn’t before,” Zo said. “None of us would have noticed, and the husk would have led the Ermine straight to us, had we not cut the husk’s head off before he had the chance.”

  “You killed him?” Kitto asked.<
br />
  “He was a spy,” Zo said.

  “But … It wasn’t his fault,” Kitto protested.

  “He was a spy,” Zo repeated. “A mockery of the natural order.”

  “Did you find the dwarf … Brill?” Harp asked. It was very dark in that part of the tunnel, and Harp felt it was an awkward place to stop and have a conversation. Presumably all sorts of skitter-critters used the short cut through the mountain even if the serpentfolk had not discovered it.

  “No, he was dead. They killed him when they took his blood.”

  “Is that what they did with Liel?” Harp asked bluntly. “Do you think she’s dead?”

  “I don’t think so,” Majida said, shaking her head.

  “But you said …”

  “They usually take the blood and kill the original, yes. But they had other plans for Liel, so they kept her alive.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I was the last one to see her.”

  “When was that?” Harp said in surprise, jerking his head to look at Majida and banging it against the rock ceiling.

  “Three days?” Majida said thoughtfully. “No, it has been four days.”

  “What!” Harp asked, feeling a jolt of hope at the unexpected news. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

  “I’m telling you now, if you’ll listen,” Majida said patiently. “She had escaped from the cavern with the flesh machine. She was weak from the bloodletting. She said that the Ermine, or Practitioner as you call him, had learned the location of the Torque. She wanted to stop him before he reached it.”

  “Did she tell you where she was going?” Harp asked, blinking at the sunlight when they reached the other side of the tunnel.

  “She did. And she told me other things as well.”

  The wail was animalistic, almost innocent in its desperation and confusion, even though it came from a man who was far from blameless. With her back pressed against the wall of the hut, listening to the sounds of the mercenaries being slaughtered outside, Liel found herself contemplating the nature of guilt and justice. It was easier to think about such philosophical questions in a detached manner rather than listen to the incessant pleas for mercy and sickening sword strokes outside the window. Liel wasn’t one to weep, and she had no love for the mercenaries. But even with all the foul acts they had committed in their lives, they didn’t deserve to die like this.

  As if he were a glass statue, Cardew had stood motionless in the middle of the room since the attack started. Liel stared at him, feeling the hatred for him curl inside her belly.

  “Why do you do nothing?” Liel hissed, peering over her shoulder through the open window although she couldn’t see much in the darkness—just the flash of a blade in the moonlight, or the submissive crouch of a man as he fell to his knees in supplication before his death.

  “What would you suggest I do?” Cardew said dully. There was no anger in his voice. No cocky directive or thinly veiled threat either. The arrogant man who had dominated life in the colony for months—and restricted her every movement—was gone. Her husband simply sounded defeated.

  “They’re your men. Why don’t you help them?” Liel knew that what she was saying was ridiculous. Without her spell to protect them, she and Cardew would be killed just like the mercenaries in the camp.

  “They’re not my men. You know that.”

  “No, I don’t,” Liel said angrily. “I don’t know anything.”

  “Liel, this wasn’t supposed to happen.”

  “I don’t believe you,” she hissed as another sobbing cry of pain rose up in the courtyard.

  “Killing the men was never the plan.”

  “What was the plan?” Liel demanded.

  “We were supposed to be gone. With the Torque.”

  “We who? You and me? Or you and them?”

  “All of us.”

  “Your life is a farce, and you are fraud, Hero of the Realm,” Liel scoffed.

  “I saved Ysabel,” Cardew said, his voice shaking.

  “Poor, sweet Ysabel. Take care that she never finds out what you’ve been up to in the jungle. She might not idolize you in the same way.”

  Something slammed up against the thin wall of the hut with a wet smack, jostling Liel away from her position by the window.

  “Is your spell holding?” Cardew asked worriedly.

  “Yes, but it won’t stop them from hurling corpses at us. It’s just your basic keep-the-coward-safe spell.”

  “I’m not a coward,” Cardew shouted, and Liel took pleasure in having made him angry enough to yell. “I stayed married to you, didn’t I?”

  “You bastard. You expect me to thank you for that?”

  “Liel,” Cardew said, his voice softening. “You know that my patron is part of the Branch of Linden. For me to be married to an elf … Well, you can imagine what they thought about that.”

  “Is that supposed to make me feel bad for you?” Liel said incredulously.

  “No, it’s supposed to make you understand how much I love you,” he said, taking her hands in his. “Don’t you remember how it used to be? In Darromar? Weren’t we happy? I still love you, the way I did before.”

  Liel jerked her hands away. “Is everything that comes out of your mouth a lie? Tell me one thing that is true. Just one thing.”

  “I never meant to hurt you.”

  “The Branch of Linden exists to hurt me and all my kind. How can you say that?”

  Outside, the screams of the men were growing less frequent.

  “Listen to me,” Cardew began.

  “No, you listen to me,” Liel said angrily. “You wanted me to make the portal so we could bring the Torque back to Tethyr. Who wants the Torque?”

  Cardew shook his head. “I can’t tell you, Liel. But he’s coming. You can’t let him find you.”

  “How do you know he’s coming?” Liel demanded.

  “As soon as all the men are dead, he will come. You have to be gone. Please, Liel. There’s no reason for me to lie about that.”

  “Where exactly do you want me to go? We’re in the middle of Chult, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

  “You’re clever. I know you’ve been out in the jungle many nights. The guards told me. I don’t know how you’re doing it exactly, but you have to do it. Quickly.”

  Liel wasn’t going to admit it to Cardew, but she couldn’t do the spell and transform the way she had so many times before. It took time to become the ocelot, a cream-colored cat with dark-brown rosettes that she had encountered when she first came to Chult. With its grace and speed, the ocelot quickly became her favored animal form, and she had used it on many nights to steal out of the camp and wander freely through the jungle.

  “Why did you even bring me to Chult?” she demanded. “Why couldn’t you have left me in the Wealdath? I wouldn’t have stopped you from marrying anyone you wanted.”

  Cardew looked pained. “I thought we could make it right again.”

  “I believed that when you asked me to come with you. I really did. Now, I think it was just another lie. It’s obvious your patron, whoever he is, is more powerful than me. From the looks of what he’s doing outside, he could make a portal to see Sseth himself.”

  The camp had grown eerily quiet, and Cardew tugged Liel to her feet and looked out the window. The mysterious assailants had vanished, leaving only the bloody remains of the mercenaries in their wake.

  “If you want to live, Liel, leave,” Cardew said urgently.

  “I hate you.”

  “I know. And I’m sorry. But you must get away as quickly as you can.”

  “Turn your back,” Liel insisted, but Cardew hesitated.

  “If I wanted to cut your throat, husband, I would simply let down the spell and have them do it.”

  Cardew was still facing the wall when Liel slipped through the narrow gap between the floorboards and the wall. There was a hole in the tall fence that Liel used when she was in her cat form. But as an elf, she was too large to fit throu
gh the opening and escape into the jungle, and it would take too long to perform the ritual that let her change. Instead, she crawled under the floorboards of the house to wait. From her hiding place, she could see body parts strewn around the courtyard, and the smell of blood was heavy in the air.

  Almost immediately, her sensitive ears heard someone approaching the colony. A lone figure strode through the half-open gate and crossed directly to the hut. It was a man, but he wore a long brown traveling cloak with a hood obscuring his face. Above her, she heard the front door swing open, and Cardew hurried onto the porch and down the steps into the yard. Liel couldn’t see the men clearly, but she had the impression they clasped hands briefly, and she heard the stranger speak.

  “So that is the colony. I’m not sure it is what Queen Anais had in mind.”

  “I’m sure it’s not,” Cardew said in a strained voice. Liel had been married to him long enough to know that it was fear in his voice. She inched forward on her belly to try and see who made her husband cower.

  “I know where the Torque is,” Cardew told his patron.

  “Considering I gave you a map of the ruins, that is no accomplishment.”

  “You merely gave me a map of the jungle,” Cardew protested. “There’s a network of cities in that one quadrant. I had to search them all.”

  “And is the Torque in your possession?” the man asked icily. “I see nothing but dirt on your hands.”

  “I know where it is, but I can’t get to it,” Cardew said in a shaky voice.

  “I’m very disappointed in you,” the man said regretfully. “You had a vast well of resources.”

  “I tried. But it’s well protected,” Cardew protested.

  “Yes, yes. I’m sure you made many ingenious attempts to secure one small object,” the man sneered. “However, at the moment, there is a more pressing issue. I’ve heard rumors that your wife is still here in the world of the living.”

  “She’s gone now,” Cardew said.

  “Gone? Gone as in rotting-in-the-ground gone? Or gone to tell her father about my operation in Chult?”

  “She’s gone …” Cardew began.

  “In our bargain, you were to kill her when you arrived,” the man reminded Cardew. “Her blood was supposed to stain the jungle floor. Those were your choice of florid words, if I remember correctly.”