by Sam Ferguson
No answer.
The satyr chief put his hands to his mouth and shouted at the top of his lungs. “Rajeh!” Still no answer. He walked down a gently sloping hill until he came to a large depression in the ground. The earth here was black, as if burned by a dragon.
But what dragon would do such a thing?
Was he in the wastes near Demaverung? If so, how had he gotten there?
Njar’s heart caught in his chest as he thought about a particularly gruesome option. Perhaps he had stumbled into Hammenfein. Perhaps Mother Terramyr had not approved of his quest for justice after all, and he had been sent to face the hell fires of the Old Gods. There was no way for him to know. He walked toward the large depression in the ground and carefully descended into it. The further down he went, the cooler the air became. He was more than a little happy to have escaped the terribly hot air above, and was able to fully breathe easily once he reached the bottom of the fifty foot deep hole in the ground. He looked around and marveled at the size of the depression. It spanned several hundred feet before him, and at least half that to either side of him.
He decided to cross the depression, choosing to use the cooler air to help regain his second wind before climbing out the other side and continuing his trek out of wherever he had mistakenly teleported himself to. He walked along, marveling that there was no ash in the bottom of the depression. To be sure, bits of ash and dead embers were beginning to float down into it now, but there were no piles or lines of ash as there had been on the higher ground.
Perhaps this depression had been a lake.
That would make sense with a stream nearby.
Njar walked along the bottom of the depression, his hooves sinking in the dry dirt beneath and kicking up a bit of dust. Then, as he reached the center of the dry lake bed, his hoof struck something hard. Njar frowned and glanced around himself. He couldn’t see any structures nearby, but the thing under him felt as solid as metal. He bent down and cleared the dirt away with his hands. As he moved the pale, brown dirt to the sides, he started to see something cylindrical emerge. He hurriedly brushed it off and revealed a golden rod.
The fog left his mind and he now knew exactly where he was. This was no golden rod. It was his staff. The same staff that Dremathor had taken and hidden at the bottom of the Pools of Fate. Njar grasped the staff and yanked it free of the dry lake bed, his mouth agape and his eyes filling with tears. If this was his staff, then he was standing in the Pools of Fate. The vast wasteland above was Viverandon.
“NO!” Njar shouted as he sprinted back the way he had come. He clambered out of the dry lake bed, ignoring the heat and allowing it to sear his lungs as he ran back toward his devastated home. As he pictured Viverandon in his mind, he realized that the piles of ashes coincided with where houses had once been.
“NO!” Njar cried as he fell to his knees. “This has to be some sort of trick! This is an illusion, that is all.”
“There is no illusion,” a sly, wicked voice called from behind him.
Njar wheeled around, staff ready for battle. There stood a man, his face hidden by a large hood. “Dremathor! How could you still be alive?”
“Misdirection is one of the first strategies of battle,” the voice cackled. A pair of bony, white hands reached up to pull the hood back.
Njar narrowed his golden eyes on the man before him and attempted to use his staff to summon a great blast of lightning. No sooner had the spell materialized, than it backfired and struck Njar full in the chest, launching him several yards backward to thump onto the scorched ground.
“Did you honestly think Dremathor worked alone to achieve this?” the man said as he floated toward Njar. “No, my meddling friend, I say he did not!”
“I know you,” Njar said. “Your true name is Gondok’hr.”
Gondok’hr laughed and nodded. “Quite right, Njar Somoricliar, quite right.”
Njar struggled to get up, but found his body lacked the strength.
“Let me show you something,” Gondok’hr said.
A rush of air whisked by as Njar was flung away from his spot. A mere two seconds later, he landed on the ground next to a large tree. Njar saw the gray, dead bark on the massive tree and knew at once that Nonac had fallen.
“I wanted to thank you for letting us into your home,” Gondok’hr said. “It would not have been possible without your help.”
“Why?” Njar asked breathlessly.
“Why?” Gondok’hr repeated with a wicked grin. “Because you are in the way.”
“I did not betray Nonac!” Njar shouted. “You infected me. I had no knowledge of my condition.”
Gondok’hr shrugged. “It makes no difference. You were a useful pawn in any case.” The warlock held his arms out wide and smiled. “Njar Somoricliar, the last satyr chief! How quickly do the mighty fall!”
Njar pressed himself upward, using his willpower as much, if not more than his physical strength. “Dremathor is dead!” he shouted as his right hand reached down and pulled his scimitar. “And I shall reunite you with him.”
“Valiant, but I think not,” Gondok’hr said. He raised a hand and gathered a dark ball of energy in front of him.
Njar struggled to step forward, but then a voice entered into his mind.
Hold still.
The satyr froze, confused by the command. Who was left alive that could speak with him by mind? None of the satyrs could communicate like that except for him, and he could only speak in that way with one other entity.
Forgive me, I could not see.
A mighty root emerged from the ground, flexible and moist from hiding so deeply in the earth. Gondok’hr wailed in frustration and launched his spell, but the root was faster. It shot out and whacked Njar across the chest. A blinding light erupted around him, and Njar realized that Nonac had used its power one last time, except instead of transporting all of Viverandon to a new location, it was only sending Njar. The satyr chief whispered his thanks just as the ball of dark energy slammed into the root, shattering Nonac’s last limb, and finally slaying the great giant.
Njar landed hard on the ground at his destination, but managed to stay conscious just enough to look around. He found himself in a lush bed of ferns and tall, soft grasses. Flowers nearby attracted a few large bees, and birds sang overhead. Wherever he was, he was safe, for now. His eyes closed as he swore he would exact justice on Gondok’hr. Fatigue overtook him and he lost consciousness.
*****
Erik and Lady Arkyn remained below deck as strange wailing sounds came from beyond the door. Something scratched along the hull of the ship and then snarled loudly.
“Shouldn’t I go up and help?” Erik asked.
“No,” Lady Arkyn said. “The monsters here are not real, at least, they don’t have bodies you can kill.”
“If they were illusions, I would know,” Erik said. “I am the Champion of Truth, and Marlin taught me how to do away with such magic.”
“You are powerful, there is no disputing that fact,” Lady Arkyn said. “But the world is vast and wide. I think the more you leave the Middle Kingdom, the more you will find that you are not all that powerful after all.”
“You’re saying I can’t dispel these illusions?” Erik asked.
Arkyn nodded. “There is always something more powerful than you somewhere. Natchy Moors happens to be one place where I think you would find your skills and powers wanting.”
“Then I can shift into dragon form and fly us all out of here. I could hold the vessel with…”
Lady Arkyn was already shaking her head. “The things out there will prey upon your mind, and play tricks upon you. Flying over it makes no difference. The evil will come for you whether in the water or above it.”
“Manifestation of Hammenfein in the mortal realm,” Erik repeated as he resigned himself to sit below deck helplessly. He then pointed to the door. “What makes Rafe so different?” Erik asked.
Lady Arkyn shrugged. “Some say that if you have no fears
, then you can sail through the Natchy Moors, others say you need a special charm. Either way, Rafe is the only man I know of who has done it and returned to tell the tale. Many others have tried, but they have all perished. If we were to go above deck, you would see countless wrecked ships in the few moments before you went insane and the monsters took hold of your mind.”
“If they are so powerful, then what prevents them from coming down here and getting at us anyway?” Erik pressed.
“Rafe said he lined this room with mithril. It keeps the monsters out.”
“Wait, behind the wooden walls of this cabin is a sheet of mithril lining the entire hull?” Erik asked.
Lady Arkyn shook her head. “Not the entire hull, just this room. If we pass through the door leading up to the deck, or through the other door leading to the sleeping quarters, we would be vulnerable to the magic that taints these parts.
“I have seen mithril used like that before,” Erik said. “In Valtuu Temple, they used a similar technique to protect Nagar’s Secret, the book that held the spells Nagar and Tu’luh used to enslave the minds and hearts of living and dead creatures.”
Lady Arkyn shivered as a talon or claw of some sort scraped along the outer hull. “Yes, mithril protects against various types of evil, but it has to be sealed to be most effective. That’s why Rafe locked the door to the cabin from the outside.”
Erik nodded. Something bumped into the bottom of the ship, knocking the vessel up and to the side. “For not having corporeal bodies, these things sure do pack a punch.”
“It’s best not to dwell on it,” Lady Arkyn said. “Try to relax.”
“Sure, I’ll just relax inside a metal box that is hidden within a ship that happens to be under attack by sea monsters at the moment. That should be easy enough.” It was meant to break the tension, but neither of them laughed.
Something hard scraped along the bottom of the ship. Erik tried breathing slowly to calm his nerves, but that did little, if anything at all to relieve the tension. He nearly jumped when something slammed into the side of the ship.
“Relax, Rafe knows what he’s doing.”
Erik nodded and tried to think of something to take his mind off of the situation. “Do you think Njar is all right?” he asked.
Lady Arkyn sighed. “I’m not sure. I know enough of Dremathor to understand that if he did somehow come back from the dead, and decided to go back into his old habits, he would be very destructive. Njar is no novice, and his warriors are among the best there are, but I am not sure if their magic would be enough.”
“Can’t be much more difficult than fighting Alkantar,” Erik said quickly. “You and I got through that all right.”
Tha-BUMP!
The ship tilted to the side and Erik hit his head on the wall behind him. He grunted and rubbed his head, then returned to the topic of conversation. “He could find us again, after he takes care of Dremathor.”
Lady Arkyn cocked her head at him then. “Do you have no feelings for him?” she asked suddenly. “I mean, he is your father.”
“He didn’t raise me,” Erik said quickly.
“You know as well as I do that he didn’t abandon you either,” Lady Arkyn put in. “Njar and Dimwater hatched the plan to get you away from Dremathor as a baby. With all his faults, he didn’t abandon you and leave you at the orphanage.”
Erik clapped his hands and leaned forward as the vessel was rocked to the side again. “True enough, but if he had kept me, he would have raised me to become a shadowfiend like him. Then where would we be? I would have been the first shadowfiend-sahale, and who knows what would have happened.” As he said the words, he couldn’t help but hear Alkantar and the demon from the monastery laughing at him. Perhaps he had been meant to be the Dark Sahale after all?
Something slammed into the side of the vessel, shaking it violently, but not cracking the hull.
Lady Arkyn smiled and nodded.
Erik caught the smile and realized what she was doing. “Ah, clever,” he said. “That almost took my mind off of where we were.”
“So, above you were talking about the Four Horsemen, do you have anything new to tell me?” Lady Arkyn asked, changing the subject.
Erik shook his head. “Not yet. I’m working on it, but no great discoveries.”
“I had not expected Alkantar to talk of them,” Lady Arkyn said. “I agree with you. It does seem to be a common theme that follows you in your life.”
“Are you changing your philosophy?” Erik asked.
Lady Arkyn shook her head. “No, the present moment is what matters most, but it is an intriguing puzzle to work on. After all, before you were taken from Dremathor, your fate was to become something… well, something terrible.”
Erik nodded. He had already learned this from Lady Dimwater. “And now?” he asked as something thumped across the deck above. He looked up. “Should I worry about that?” he asked.
Lady Arkyn shook her head. “It is no more real than the things hitting the side of the ship,” she promised. “Now, as to your question about your current fate, I don’t know. It’s hard to see what might lie ahead of you. Does one escape destiny only to have something else written into the void, or are you free to make your own way in the world? Who is to say?”
“Do you believe in destiny?” Erik asked.
“No, but talking philosophy helps keep my mind off of the noises outside,” she answered honestly.
“Well, at least I’m not the only one unnerved by it.” Erik leaned back against the wall and sighed. “I don’t know, about fate I mean. I used to think I was destined for something great. After the war against Tu’luh ended, I knew that I had done something wonderful, but I couldn’t take all the credit for it. In reality I did no more than many others who fought with us.”
“You know that isn’t true,” Lady Arkyn put in.
“Sure it is,” Erik replied. “I have some talents and powers that others don’t, perhaps, but everyone gave all they had. Marlin, Tillamon, Faengoril, Tatev, Salarion, Master Orres, Gorin, Peren, they all fought with everything they had. Most of them could even say they gave more than I did, since all of them died except for Peren.”
“Their sacrifices are great, but they don’t diminish yours,” Arkyn replied evenly. “We could not have won without you.”
“Perhaps,” Erik said. “I meant what I told Captain Deringer back in Gontin. Without Eldrik’s help against Tu’luh, I don’t know that I would have won that final battle.”
“So because you didn’t do it alone, you feel as though your accomplishments are less deserving of honor?”
Erik shook his head. “No, that isn’t it. I just mean that while I used to think I was destined for greatness, I guess I imagined it differently. It didn’t feel the way this feels. That may be hard to explain, but I guess I always thought I was something more.”
“Something more than a sahale who can race among the clouds and save an entire kingdom?” Lady Arkyn scoffed. “That’s a bit of a tall order, Erik.”
Erik smirked and nodded. “Yeah, I suppose so.” He sat and thought for a moment in silence.
“Lepkin is Dragon-born,” Lady Arkyn said after a few seconds. “He has done many great things, but I bet if you were to ask him what he thought of you, he would say you are greater than he is.”
That was hard to imagine. Master Lepkin was a living legend. Sure, Erik sometimes received similar treatment compared with how people reacted to Lepkin’s presence, but it was hard to imagine Master Lepkin as something less than him. “No,” he said as he continued to think on it. “I’m not greater. We just have different roles. He is every bit as vital to the success of the Middle Kingdom as I could ever have been, maybe more so.”
Lady Arkyn smiled wide. “In any case, I am sure he would be proud to see that it isn’t going to your head.”
Something heavy slammed into the side of the ship and threw them both to the floor.
“Are you all right?” Erik asked.
“I think so,” Lady Arkyn said as she put a hand up to her head. Erik saw a small cut on her forehead that was trickling blood.
“You’re cut,” he said as he reached out to steady her.
“I’m all right, but something is wrong,” she said as she pushed him away. They both looked up and saw that the wood of the cabin wall was broken inward above where she had been sitting. Glistening mithril was visible, dented inward. Worse than that, a tear in the metal was leaking water.
“What in Icadion’s name could do that?” Erik asked.
Lady Arkyn shook her head. “I don’t know, but I think we are in trouble.”
CHAPTER 14
Erik heard Rafe shouting from the deck. He ran to the door and pulled on it, but it was locked from the outside. The mithril lining in the door was going to be nearly impossible to penetrate, but on the other hand, if he changed into his dragon form, there would not be enough room in the cabin to hold him. The young warrior pulled his sword and ignited the magical white flames. With any luck, he could slip the blade into the gap and pry the door open. Telarian steel would be tested against the lock on the outside of the door.
He took three steps back and then charged the door. The burning blade crashed into the door, splintering the wooden casing and then clanged and jerked to the side as it struck the mithril lining in the center. Despite how thin the layer of mithril was, it turned Erik’s sword aside, but Erik was undeterred. He used the momentum to drive his sword into the socket that secured the sliding door and then he pushed against the handle, using the weapon as a burning pry-bar. The flames ate away at the wood, making Erik’s job somewhat easier and allowing him more area to maneuver his sword in. The resistance against his efforts was great, but he contracted every muscle in his body and pushed. His stomach tightened as he leaned into the sword and drove with his legs and chest, pushing with all of his strength. The sword stopped moving for a moment, and appeared to be stuck, but then it moved forward, slowly at first, a millimeter at a time as Erik strained against the sword. The door creaked and groaned, and then there was a metallic shattering and the door flew open.
