by Sam Ferguson
Njar shook his head. “No, that isn’t possible, he would have to be able to tamper with the Pools of Fate. Even he is not that strong.”
Kyra frowned. “What if he is?”
Lepkin stepped forward and pulled his sword. “If it were me, that’s what I would do. He already nearly killed you once, Kyra.” Lepkin glanced down to Njar’s leg. “And, by the looks of it, he fared well against you also.”
Njar sighed and nodded. “Very well. Stay behind me. We’ll go in after it.”
The group moved into the cave, Njar leading, Lepkin in the middle, and Kyra bringing up the rear. She had tried to be second, but Lepkin wouldn’t let her. He insisted on standing in front of her. They wound their way down through the cave until they rounded a curve and lost the light of the sun.
Njar summoned a great orb of white light that hovered in the air above them. They continued walking through the cave. There were scratch marks along the walls, but no signs of life anywhere. It wasn’t until they came to an eerie staircase that any of them heard the rhythmic breathing coming from further in the cave.
They descended the stairs slowly, watching for the beast. The tunnel around them changed from being a simple shaft in the ground to a grand cavern meticulously carved from stone. The floor was cracked and the place had seen better days, but even now it was impressive to look upon.
As they reached the bottom of the stairs, they again pressed forward, but they fanned out instead of walking in a single line. They passed over strange bones, noting spiders and centipedes that crawled away from the orb of light as they passed.
Suddenly a roar was heard. Kyra saw the beast, but not until after it stood on its hind legs and let loose with a strange spell that sent a shockwave through the air. Njar tried to fend it off, but wasn’t fast enough. He was launched through the air and tumbled across the stone floor, screaming in pain.
The garunda charged like black lightning, zig-zagging as it ran so as to avoid Kyra’s spells.
Lepkin stepped close to Kyra, his sword at the ready. The black, gigantic cat-like creature leapt the final fifteen feet between them as if it were a short hop. Lepkin pushed Kyra aside and then somersaulted forward, ducking and rolling under the great beast. He then shot up to his feet and reached for his mini-crossbow. He fired the weapon and the bolt struck the beast in the chest.
The garunda appeared to smile as it stalked toward him, unfazed by the crossbow attack.
Kyra launched a fireball, but the garunda turned and knocked the spell away with a psionic blast that redirected the fireball toward Lepkin. The young swordsman was forced to dodge out to the side.
The garunda then turned and shrieked in a scream so loud and so shrill that Kyra backed away, covering her ears with her hands. She barely saw Njar push himself up to his feet and rain magical hail upon the garunda, for her head was pounding furiously and she reflexively closed her eyes. Only when the garunda stopped screaming, could she open her eyes once more and try to focus.
The beast was now facing Njar, hunkering down as if preparing to leap toward him.
Kyra saw Lepkin charge in from behind. The young man shouted loudly, distracting the garunda from Njar.
“Now!” Lepkin yelled.
Everyone attacked simultaneously. Njar fashioned a spear of ice and hurled it toward the beast with magical precision. Meanwhile, Kyra lifted the garunda with a cyclone that she formed directly under the monster. The garunda spun up into the air and the magical ice-spear corrected its trajectory and flew up to pierce its flank just as Lepkin ran in below it and shoved his sword deep into the garunda’s chest. Njar sent two smaller ice-spears toward the garunda, one catching it in the neck and the other going straight into its skull. The garunda then fell to the ground dead.
Lepkin smote off its head, just to be sure it was dead, and then Kyra quickly filled three vials with the beast’s blood, careful not to spill any of the green liquid on herself. When they had what they needed, Njar burned the body.
“You’re hurt,” Kyra said as she noticed that Njar’s wound had reopened. Blood was oozing down his leg.
“It isn’t as bad as last time, he said quickly. “Come, we need to get out of here.”
“Let’s get back to the grove,” Kyra said. “We can drop Lepkin off at the rock nest on the way back, then you can get back to Viverandon.”
Njar nodded.
Lepkin put Njar’s left arm over his shoulders and helped the satyr hobble his way out of the cave. Exiting the shaft took considerably longer, given that they had to stop every few paces for Njar to catch his breath. Yet, even as his legs grew weaker, Njar refused to rest until they were out of the cave. Only then did he use any magic to help reclose the wound. His healing spells took several minutes to complete, but once they were done, the blood had stopped trickling out and Njar seemed to be in better spirits.
“I’m afraid I won’t be any good for the fight with the shade,” Njar said.
Kyra nodded. “That’s all right. I think we have what we need.”
Lepkin shook his head. “We don’t have any dwarven armor or weapons yet,” he said.
Njar looked at him curiously. “What do you need those for?”
Lepkin replied, “In the accounts we read about defeating shades, the dwarven items help protect against the shade’s magic.”
Njar nodded. “Do either of you know where to get something like that?”
Lepkin nodded. “I know of a place,” he said.
“All right, then it’s settled. We’ll go tonight and get the rest of what we need, then tomorrow night we will attack the shade.”
Njar shook his head. “No, you can’t go after the shade, not without me. He’ll overpower you. He is too strong.”
Kyra grinned slyly. “No, I have a plan.”
Lepkin returned her smile and his eyes twinkled. “Setting a trap for the shade?”
Kyra nodded. “Precisely.”
Chapter 15
Leatherback huddled down low to the grass. Kathair checked the forest around them while Kyra petted Leatherback’s snout reassuringly.
“I’ll be back soon,” Kyra promised.
Leatherback purred and tried to settle in even lower into the ground. The tall pines would conceal him, exactly as Kathair had promised, but there were no aspens nearby. Kyra placed her staff next to the dragon, and then hurried to catch up with Kathair.
“I don’t see anyone around,” he said with a dutiful nod. “Leatherback should be safe here.”
Kyra offered a half smile and then glanced back over her shoulder. “He would have told us if anyone was around before we landed,” she informed Kathair. She looked up at the night sky. “We need to hurry so we can make it back before dawn. We can’t risk being seen.”
Kathair nodded. “Let’s go.”
Neither of them spoke again until they reached the gates of Buktah. Kyra watched the walls seemingly grow in the darkness as the two of them came nearer. The towers loomed over them, with guards inside each one. The orange light of the torches reflected off their armor and cast shadows over their faces. The gatehouse was simple, but formidable. With the light shining from a set of large braziers on either side of the road leading in, and sconces along the walls flanking the gates themselves, Kyra noticed that large spikes protruded out from the center of each iron gate.
“How do we get in at night?” Kyra asked.
“Like I said,” Kathair began, “I know the guards.”
Kathair took her up toward the gate and stopped in place when one of the guards from the wall commanded them to identify themselves.
“I am Kathair Lepkin,” Kathair said.
Before Kyra could even open her mouth, a guard approached quickly from the gatehouse and held his arms out wide.
“I didn’t think I would see you back so soon!” the guard said. The large man turned and waved to the archers above. “It’s all right, he’s one of the good guys,” he called out.
“He must not know about your habit
of breaking into other people’s offices and stealing things,” Kyra whispered out the corner of her mouth.
Kathair didn’t miss a beat. “Anything to help a damsel in distress,” he said cockily.
“Damsel?” Kyra echoed.
Kathair was already moving away and shaking hands with the guard.
“What are you doing walking around outside in the dark?” the guard asked.
“I came to see you, Berklin,” Kathair replied. “Can we come in for a bit?”
“Uh-huh, sure you did. I remember the last time you were here. Running another errand for the dragon slayers are you?”
Kathair nodded. “Something like that. I need to see Al.”
“Ah,” Berklin said with a grin. “Well I am sure he is still awake and working hard as usual.”
The guard nodded and motioned for Kyra to come with them as he turned and led them to the gate. He knocked twice, banging the bottom of his fist on the solid iron gate.
Rattling chains filled the air with their song and then the doors began to swing inward toward the town. Teams of oxen, attached to long, thick chains that creaked and groaned at the strain of the heavy doors pulled the portal open.
“Why do the doors open inward?” Kyra asked. “Shouldn’t they open outward to offer more protection against battering rams?”
Berklin laughed and thumbed at Kyra. “See, if only the powers that make the decisions had as much sense as your lady friend, Kathair, then we would be in fine shape.”
Kyra smiled at the compliment and then followed Kathair through the portal.
She could smell the ox dung as they passed through, but the odor quickly gave way to the smells of dust and roasting meat.
They walked for several minutes down an old, dusty road dimly lit by candles housed in glass cases atop wooden poles just a bit taller than Kathair. They soon turned down a path that was narrower than the main road and was flanked by short, brown wooden buildings. The doors were simple and there were usually one or two windows facing the street, but occasionally there were buildings without windows. All of the buildings were scrunched up against each other, some taller and some shorter, but none with an inch of space between them. Most had candles that could be seen through the windows, but some were entirely dark inside.
A short, fat woman came out into the street from one of the buildings on the right. She shot Kyra a sour look and then tossed a dead rat into the street. Kyra paused momentarily as a couple of stray cats seemed to materialize from the shadows and rushed in to fight over the prize.
“Disgusting,” Kyra said as they continued walking.
“Afraid of rats?” Kathair teased.
Kyra shook her head. “No, I simply find them revolting.”
They came to a road of cobblestones that crossed the dirt path they were on. Kathair pointed to the left and then motioned for Kyra to keep up.
Kyra saw several signs. Some were ornate with fresh paint or elaborate engravings. Each sign was cut in a different shape and hung above the front door of an inn. There was the Rosewood, the Midnight Traveler, The Spotted Owl Inn, and then there was one plain sign that simply had the word “Inn” etched lightly into its side. All but the last one had their doors cast wide open. Kyra could hear the many different songs emanating from the buildings and out to mix in the street. A bard played a lyre in the Midnight Traveler. A small band of fiddlers created a lively tune in the Rosewood, and someone was singing and playing a piano in the Spotted Owl Inn. Kyra smiled then. A flood of memories came to her mind. The music brought memories of dancing with her mother at the mid-summer festival each year for as long back as she could remember. She closed her eyes and, for a moment, could see herself dancing with her mother again.
Her mother’s hair spun out behind her in a wide flare. The two of them laughed and held each other’s hands as they began to spin faster and faster, their feet struggling to keep pace with the fiddlers. Then they fell to the side, crashing into a soft pile of hay and laughed aloud.
Kyra opened her eyes and the memory was gone.
She reached up to wipe a tear and then blushed when she noticed that Kathair was watching her.
“You all right?” he asked.
She nodded.
“Thinking of your mother?”
Kyra smiled. “She loved to dance,” she explained.
Kathair stopped and held out his hand. Kyra looked at it and arched a brow.
“Come, I’m not much of a dancer, but I can show you something fun,” Kathair said.
Kyra was about to protest, but Kathair reached forward and took her hands in his. “Hold on,” he said as he stepped in close. “I used to do this back in Tualdern, it drove the elders mad because it always disrupted the dances the others were doing.”
“What do I do?” Kyra asked.
“Lean back, and try to keep up,” Kathair said.
Kyra found her heart racing with joy and heavy with sorrow all at the same time as Kathair smiled and then let out a laugh as he leaned back to his arms’ full length. The two began to spin. It was the same as when she used to do this with her mother once they had tired of dancing, but it was also different. Kathair’s hands were warm and strong, holding Kyra locked in the spin, whereas Kyra’s mother had always had soft hands. After only a moment, Kyra was laughing as well and the two spun and spun until their feet tripped upon themselves and they tumbled down to the ground.
It was not the soft landing that Kyra had always been used to, but it didn’t seem to matter. Kathair had done something that Kyra could not do for herself. He chased the grief away from the memory, and gave Kyra the chance to enjoy thinking about her mother without feeling overwhelmed with loss.
She turned her head and looked at him, his chest and stomach heaving as he laughed wildly, lying upon his back in the middle of the road. He struggled to sit up and put a hand to the side of his head.
“It’s been a long time since I have done that!” Kathair exclaimed. “I don’t remember the ground being so hard before.”
Kyra nodded as she rose to her feet. Everything around her was still spinning slightly, but she closed her eyes and counted to ten, and then focused on a single spot in front of her. The only thing was, when she opened her eyes to focus on something, she found her gaze locked with Kathair’s blue eyes. For the first time, she noticed how deeply blue they were. She was beginning to realize that there was much more to this young man than a sword. She smiled and turned away almost at the same moment that he averted his eyes.
“Come on,” Kathair said. “We should keep moving so we get back on time.”
The two walked to the inn with the plain sign and then Kathair motioned for her to follow him through a small alleyway to the back. The two of them had to turn sideways as the space between the inn and the building next door was very narrow. As they came around the back of the inn Kathair pointed to a blacksmith shop that was joined to the back of the inn. “That’s where we’re going.”
Kyra could see the orange and yellow glow from the forge. Smoke rose up high over the chimney, somehow darker than the night sky itself. “Your friend is here?” she asked. “And you are sure he will have a dwarven charm I can use?”
Kathair smiled. “I think you are going to enjoy this,” he said with a wink. He reached back and seized her hand, pulling her behind him as he walked into an open area where the coal for the furnace was piled higher than either of them were tall. Kyra could feel the heat coming from the open door of the shop, but what surprised her was that she could smell the heat. The only other time she had ever smelled heat was when Leatherback used his fire breath. In such a confined space, the odor made the air inside the forge heavy and somewhat difficult to breathe, but it had an alluring quality to it as well. She followed Kathair, allowing him to pull her by her hand until they found someone standing near a work table.
“What are you doing out of bed at this hour?” the blacksmith asked as he turned around.
Kyra eyed the blacksmith with won
der. There before her stood not a human, but a dwarf! He was only a little over three feet tall, with a red beard that swept the tops of his boots as he walked. His long, red hair was pulled into a single plait in the back. He wore a black apron and held his massive hammer in his left hand.
“You’re a dwarf,” Kyra said without thinking. She turned to look at Kathair’s beaming smile and told him, “Your friend’s a dwarf!”
“I might have guessed a girl was involved,” the dwarf said as he shook his head. “Kathair, you can’t just use your connection with me to impress all of your lady friends.”
Kyra looked back to the blacksmith. “All of his lady friends?” she echoed.
The blacksmith nodded and turned to set his hammer down on the work table with a thunk! “Oh yeah, once or twice a week he brings a new little lass around to impress them.”
“Stop it, Al,” Kathair said sternly. “You know that isn’t true.”
“Aye, but she doesn’t,” the dwarf said with a wink at Kyra.
Kyra then noticed the dwarf’s eyes land upon her hand, which was still gripped inside Kathair’s. The dwarf then winked again and wiped his hands on his apron. The young sorceress pulled her hand away and moved it up to brush her hair back.
“Al, allow me to introduce Kyra Dimwater,” Kathair said as he held a hand out to indicate toward her.
“Enchanted,” the dwarf said with a bow. He then stepped in close and stuck out his meaty hand. “My friends call me Al,” the dwarf said. “I am the finest blacksmith in Buktah, and probably the entire Middle Kingdom.”
“Humble too,” Kathair put in.
Al shrugged. “There might be someone better than me inside Roegudok Hall, but in terms of blacksmiths that live above ground, I’m the best there is.”
“That doesn’t sound like a dwarf name,” Kyra noted as she shook Al’s hand.
“Well, that’s the thing about tall folk. In the three hundred years since I have been above ground, I haven’t found a single person who can say my name correctly. I guess your tongues don’t work well enough to pronounce it. So, I shortened it.”
