The White Fox

by James Bartholomeusz

  The days were shortening now, and a relatively early darkness had fallen upon the valley. Stars glittered across the sky, embellishing its obsidian sheet with silvery lights. However, whilst the fortress and the majority of its inhabitants slept, and the guards kept their weary watch, the other side of the gorge was very much alive.

  The figure looked up, feeling the scent of alchemy on the breeze. It was subtle, possibly just a lamp being lit by a spell inside the fortress, but, of course, dwarves didn’t use alchemy. He turned to a second figure on his right.

  “Yes, I sense it too.” His voice was low and growling and slightly muffled by the black hood.

  “What do you think it was?” The first figure’s voice was higher and delicate. The lizard-like beast he was sitting on gave a slight grunt in its sleep.

  “A weak sorcerer, perhaps?”

  “No dwarf is an alchemist.”

  “Then … ?”

  “An elf. One I know well.”

  The second figure did not inquire. His commander was very secretive. When he had been inducted, he had brought with him a group of other elves from his homeland. Although many theories had arisen amongst the Cult as to his origins, none of those elves had ever been persuaded to disclose their reasons for joining. Past experience had told him it was better not to ask.

  “So do we do it now?”

  The leader did not reply, just gazed out over the valley. His expression was fathomless under the hood.

  “Archbishop?” he prompted.

  “Yes, I think so.” The leader turned around.

  Their army, too large to fit in the tunnels, had moved to fill the entire valley on the other side of the gorge. Ragged tents of cloth and crude wood had been set up like those in Sitzung. Goblins slept inside, whilst the three giants looked like part of the valley themselves, their hulking forms almost indistinguishable from the extrusions of the rock. The snoring was horrendous.

  “Chieftain,” the second said, a little louder than usual.

  A nearby goblin, one of the few not in a tent, raised his head. He had been slumped against his mount—a massive dirty brown wild boar—his helmet pulled over his head to shield it from the moonlight. “Now?” he grunted, raising his head higher.

  “Yes. Awaken the troops.” The cloaked figure turned to the front. The leader reached into the depths of his cloak, pulling something from a breast pocket. A jet-black stone, almost perfectly round, carved with the ornate rose symbol of Nexus. Although it was purely black, where the light shone through it, its shadow gave a red gleam, throwing his face into harsh relief. Under the hood, high cheek bones, pointed ears, and prominent scar were now deeply shadowed. He lifted the stone above his head, muttering a few words under his breath.

  The stone began to shine with a bloodred light, which intensified with every syllable the leader spoke. The last one was shouted, the harsh sound echoing around the valley like a bark.

  There was a pause, then a beam of pure crimson light erupted from the stone, shooting like a meteor diagonally upwards into the sky. At its very tip the storm clouds began to swirl around it like a whirlpool, obscuring the moon and many stars. There was a phantasmal flash, an unearthly wail, and black rent through the sky. There, high above them, hung a disc of the purest darkness, red light radiating from its center like a chained star. The clouds burnt around it, fizzling out as they got too close.

  The second figure glanced around. All their monstrous allies were awake now, gazing in awe at the sky. The shine was reflected in their glass-like eyes, and they were swaying as if in a light breeze. “They feel it too?” he asked his superior, surprised.

  “Strange,” he commented, “I would never have thought so. Perhaps there is some worth in them after all.”

  “You are regretting what we’re about to do?”

  His face split into an evil grin. “Not in the slightest. It will be most satisfying to be rid of them.”

  The second man cackled. “How long do you think it will take them to notice?”

  “Not long, but by that time it will be too late.”

  “I meant the dwarves.”

  “Oh, within the hour. Those sensitive to alchemy will feel it in their sleep.

  There was a moment when they both contemplated the fortress. The few windows there were now shining red and black in the dual skylight.

  “Now what?” the second asked.

  “Now we wait,” replied the elf.

  The scene below them was apocalyptic. The valley was bathed in a sinister crimson light, the moon and stars completely eclipsed by the black clouds. The opposite end of the valley swarmed with their enemies, the irradiance revealing how massive their force really was. Right at the back, the hulking form of the giants hunched, looking like miniature mountains themselves. There was not a part of the rocky ground they could see under the horde of creatures, except for at the front. There, a small clearing in the swarm marked several figures out. They were too far away to see clearly, but everyone present seemed to have accepted the worst-case scenario.

  “But what’s the point?” asked Thorin. “There’s no force that can form a land bridge strong enough for that army, is there?”

  “None that we know of,” Adâ replied.

  Jack looked at Sardâr. He had said nothing since he had been alerted to the danger. Jack wondered why he was holding back.

  Jack scratched his neck again in discomfort, trying to ease the pressure on his upper spine. As soon as everyone had been alerted, Adâ had run him and Lucy down to the armory, where Smith, panicked amidst the chaos of arming an entire fortress at such short notice, had handed over their specially commissioned Dvengr-style armor. It looked beautiful—shining silvery gold, encrusted with rubies on the shoulders, chest, helmet, and forearms. It was made up of a sallet, which left only his face exposed, a cuirass, twin pauldrons and vambraces, tassets and greaves. Along with the chain mail underneath, it was extremely heavy and oppressive in the most uncomfortable places, although better and more accommodating for the ears than the ones they had borrowed.

  Lucy was next to him in a similarly encumbering suit. Despite the situation, he smirked when he remembered how she had protested about looking like an obese astronaut.

  “What are they doing?” Thorin fumed.

  No one answered.

  This seemed to aggravate him even more, because he started pacing up and down behind them.

  Still, no one gave him the slightest bit of attention.

  There was movement on the rock below. All the creatures began moving outwards, away from the front and center where the thirteen Cultists stood. The one at the very front seemed to be holding something up, as if to the watchers on the balcony. A metallic clang sliced through the air, and whatever he was holding sparked red momentarily. Everyone looked up. The black eye had started to pulsate like a beating heart. A red light had compressed into a tiny point in the center, forming a concentrated beam that struck like an arrow into the depths of the gorge. It illuminated the rock walls, the broken and useless chunks of machinery hanging on the edges, but even it could not fathom the very bottom.

  The portal seemed to groan. Its blackness was congealing, extruding something of itself out of the celestial pit. A moment later, it came free. The immense, shadowy rectangular mass sunk slowly downward, tracing the path of the red beam of light. As it sunk, the liquid darkness solidified, its matter shaping, the color lightening to a charred bluish grey. Then, with an almighty crunch, it landed, its ends making a solid rock pathway between the gorge edges.

  Chapter XI

  the ram released

  Jack struggled to understand what he was seeing, then everything, like the bridge, clunked into place. The volcano. The pit. The mysteriously missing bridge. The Cult must have taken it from there in anticipation of just this. But that was too much of a coincidence. There must have been some other way …

  Jack’s thoughts were interrupted by the unmistakable unsheathing of a sword. He turned and was shoc
ked to see Sardâr with his blade out, one edge pressed to the throat of the surviving captain of the search party. Everyone else on the balcony, including Adâ and Hakim, looked dismayed. The one with the sword to his throat, however, did not.

  “Sardâr, what on earth are you doing?” shrieked the king.

  “This is not one of your captains,” he replied, his eyes still locked on his captive. “This dwarf died, along with the rest of his regiment, three weeks ago.”

  Thorin spluttered loudly but was unable to form any words.

  “This creature was sent back to you to pose as the surviving captain and has been a spy in our camp ever since. Has he been aware of the decision to use explosives? The Cult could not have thought to remove and retain that bridge from Mount Fafnir unless they suspected they might have to use it. And, of course, we spoke openly about interworld travel in front of this ‘dwarf’ when he first returned, and he made no surprised reaction at all. So, tell us, what are you exactly?”

  The dwarf smiled, exposing razor-sharp fangs and a forked tongue too large to fit in his mouth. The thing began to contort, its eyes turning inwards in its head. All its limbs stretched straight outwards, and a pair of rubbery, bat-like wings burst out of its spine. Now there was no hint of a dwarf left but instead a five-foot tall, hunched humanoid, its skin greyish-black with talons extending from its fingers and toes.

  It lurched towards the king, but before it had got within a foot of him, there was a thunder-crack noise as Sardâr’s blade, charged with ivory light, swiped cleanly through it. The top half of its body toppled off, severed from the legs, but even as it hit the floor both parts exploded in smoke and disappeared.

  “Doppelganger,” Sardâr muttered, retracting his smoking fist.

  The king, along with everyone else, looked dumbstruck, staring at the place where the demon had just disappeared.

  They were reawakened to the situation by a great wave of primal noise. The mob below had begun to charge across the stone conduit. The few giants there were thundered in their midst, undoubtedly crushing some of their smaller fellows as they rushed towards the fortress. Those on boars—two on each, one riding, one firing flaming arrows upwards at the exposed gangways and windows—reached the front first.

  The guards on the parapet along the wall appeared horrified, and civilian dwarves, watching from the windows and open gangways of the fortress, all seemed to cry out at the same time.

  Thorin had recovered himself and was bellowing orders to the three remaining captains. “Umrád, ready the men for battle. Ásjá, the Forge. Tell them to load and position the firespitters and empty the weapons store. I want every male dwarf able to fight—including the refugees—armored as soon as possible. Veita, make sure all the women and children are barricaded in the West Dining Hall, with a single guard unit protecting them. And, one of you, send an urgent message to the thanes of the surrounding lands: Thorin Salr is under attack, and we require immediate fulfilment of their oaths.”

  The captains hurried off.

  Adâ turned to Jack and Lucy. “Get down to the dining hall. Now!”

  “No,” interjected Sardâr. His face was ashen but set. He lowered his voice. “That hall is fraught with weaknesses. I’ve tried to tell Thengel, but he’s too confident in the handiwork of his ancestors to listen. There are many safer places than—”

  The entire fortress seemed to shudder as the first boulder made impact. It was followed a moment later by several more, threatening to throw them off the balcony. Keeping low, Jack and Sardâr crept over to the side. The horde had almost completely crossed the bridge and were now bunched up about a hundred meters away from the terra-cotta gates. The giants were projecting the scattered debris at the wall of the fortress. Already parts of the stone were cracking and splintering apart. It would not be long before the weight of the broken rock brought the entire front wall down.

  Fireballs arched from the upper ramparts of the fortress, showering the enemy with miniature comets. On top of the fortress, cannon-like objects with their metallic barrels in the shape of dragon heads had been wheeled out and were now spitting flaming rocks down on the horde. Several of them struck true, squashing a group of goblins or knocking a giant back into the gorge, but most missed or fell short. Still, whilst the ammunition lasted the horde could be kept at bay. For the time being at least.

  There was a shout behind them, and Hakim appeared in the doorway, still in his dressing gown. He ducked and shuffled over to them. “I’ve just been helping refugees into the safe chambers. What’s the plan?”

  Before Sardâr could answer, Lucy cried, “Look!”

  Sardâr, Jack, and Hakim spun around. Out of the darkness, from the bridge below, dark smoke was lacing through the air straight towards them. It splayed out over the balcony in front of them, coiling upwards. The darkness began to take shape, forming into a tall, black-cloaked figure.

  He was not hooded. His robes fitted tightly, just like the coiling darkness. His face, Jack could tell, had been handsome, but now it was anything but. His eyes were so far sunken into his head that, under the dark shroud of the sky, a subtle glint was all the evidence that they were there. Pointed ears were just visible under his wild, beast-like mane of hair, and a scar bisected his face from his left eye socket down to the edge of his curled lip. Though his skin was the typical olive dark of Tâbeshic elves, it had long since lost its healthy complexion, and he looked drawn and austerely pale.

  “Well, well,” he said quietly. His voice carried a drawling grandeur that Icarus’s had lacked. “Look what the dragon dragged in.”

  “Zâlem,” Sardâr said with a forcibly controlled voice.

  Jack stared at the figure before him. So this was the elf who had forced Sardâr to flee his own country and become alienated from his people. He was caught off guard by the same almost irrational hate he had felt for Icarus.

  “It’s Archbishop Iago now, actually. And, Hakim, I haven’t seen you in a few years.” He looked the second elf up and down. “The school business isn’t going too well, is it? Adâ, radiant as always.” He smiled lustfully.

  Adâ scowled at him.

  “I see you haven’t changed your ways,” he remarked, regarding Jack, Lucy, and the dwarves with distaste, “mixing with humans and dwarves. You insult our sacred bloodline.”

  “Yet you still choose to serve a non-elf master. Or are the rumors about your Cult’s Emperor inaccurate? You always were good with lies.”

  Iago’s face contorted with anger, and his voice slackened to a growl. “He has promised me kingship of Tâbesh. No more will our kingdom be commanded by pathetic bureaucrats who think of only peace and equality. I will lead our country into a new age. We will retake the world that’s rightfully ours, then take the battle to others. An empire, Sardâr. Like the ones of old.”

  Sardâr considered him for a moment. “At what cost does he make these promises? From what I have heard, the Emperor of Nexus does not grant wishes lightly. Tell me, are you still intact?”

  Iago grinned again, even wider this time. “I’ll show you,” he whispered and clicked his gloved fingers.

  Instantly, a pit of darkness formed next to him in the balcony. Out of it rose a macabre figure—a knight, encased in spiked, silver armor, astride a horse of the same attire. Both the knight’s and steed’s eyes glowed crimson just like the other demons’, but the rider carried its helmeted head under its arm.

  “You fool,” Sardâr said quietly, his gaze fixed on the demon.

  “Abaddon, a seventh-level demon. That is the price you pay to join the Cult of Dionysus—be bound to a demonic familiar. It’s hardly a price, though. Just look what it can do.” Iago clicked his fingers again.

  The knight bent low in the saddle, and the steed charged directly at Lucy. She raised her arms to shield her face …

  Abaddon lurched off Sardâr’s alchemical barrier, backing away slowly. Jack noticed that Iago was pained by the knight’s impact too, as if it had been he who had collided with
it.

  The Cultist clicked his fingers, and the knight disappeared in more black energy. “You’d protect these lowlifes with your sorcery?”

  “Of course. I have a duty to them. I don’t think you’re familiar with that concept, are you?” Despite the situation, Jack couldn’t help feeling a swell of pride.

  “Very well. Protect them from this.” Iago clapped, then raised his arms.

  There was a cracking sound. Jack looked around to see a rend in the balcony behind him, the part with him and Lucy on it sliding away from the rest. He cried out, trying to run back towards it, but it was no use. The segment came clean off, and a fifty-foot drop loomed underneath them.

  Jack suddenly felt a force under his arms. He and Lucy were being hoisted over the gap and back onto the fortress. As soon as they came to rest with Adâ, Hakim, and the dwarves, they turned. Sardâr was drifting away through the air on the floating rock. Jack made to jump back at it, but real arms, this time Adâ’s, held him. He could only watch as the two old enemies faced off against each other, suspended over the bottomless pit.

  The air sliced around the two of them like knives, ruffling Iago’s robes.

  “Let’s give ourselves a bit more room, shall we?” Upon a wave of his arm, loose rocks from below leapt upwards onto the balcony, extending the platform by at least twenty feet.

  Sardâr stepped back to the edge, taking care to note how much room he had. He knew Iago’s strategy, and he had the advantage in this arena. However, if he could catch him at the right moment …

  “I’m going to enjoy this,” his enemy said. “Vengeance is sweet.”

  Sardâr did not reply, merely unsheathed his blade from the scabbard strapped to his back. He had never carried a shield before—using a traditional Tâbeshic blade didn’t support it—but he felt a twinge of longing for one now.

  “Still using a sword? How archaic.” And with a whirl of dark energy from the air before him, Iago drew two vicious-looking, long-shafted lances. With a tug, Iago undid the clasp of his cloak, and it fell backwards to reveal a full suit of silver armor and dark chain mail.