by Isaac Hooke
“Actually, I know someone who can definitely open it,” she said. “For free. We’re headed to them now.”
She thought Timlir gave her a suspicious look, though she couldn’t really tell under the moonlight. “And where might this someone of yours be located?”
“Oh, not far,” she said. “They’re with Vorgon’s army.”
She could almost imagine Timlir’s eyes widening in the dark, but again, she couldn’t really see more than the outline of his face. “Vorgon’s army! Blast, Woman! I’m not going near a Balor!”
“But you’ve been fighting side-by-side with one,” she said.
Timlir glanced at Goldenthall. “So that’s what possesses you.”
The former king said nothing.
“Can’t say I’m all that surprised,” Timlir said. “But that doesn’t really set my mind at ease. In fact, it kind of makes me want to run the hell away from the two of you.”
“Would it help if I mentioned that the man we seek is a Black Sword?” she said. “Vorgon’s top lieutenant, in fact.”
Timlir was quiet for a long moment. “You’re joking, I hope.”
“Not at all,” she said.
“He’ll strike you down the moment he sees you,” Timlir said. “And me, they’ll conscript me into the army. I don’t know what the hell Vorgon will do when it sees him.” He nodded toward Goldenthall. “But I suspect the Balor won’t like having competition around.”
“Actually, I know this Black Sword,” Xaxia said. “At least, I used to.”
Again the dwarf was quiet. Then: “Well, that’s it. I’m out.”
“You’re a good fighter,” she told him. “I’d hate to lose you.” And, if she was truthful with herself, she was growing rather fond of the fellow. But she wasn’t actually going to admit that to him.
“I…” He looked down in the dim light. He sighed. “When we reach this lieutenant of yours, we will go to the Black Realm?”
“We will,” she replied, with more certainty than she felt. In truth, she had no idea what Malem would do when she arrived with the Dark Eye. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to get through to him. Malem might not even let her explain what he needed to do to break free. Goldenthall had promised that Banvil would do what he could to help, but there was no guarantee the Balor would be able to reach him either.
It was all a huge risk.
But she had to try.
If she didn’t, she would regret it for the rest of her life.
“Then I can finally meet my wife,” Timlir said.
“You want to find your wife, you’ve chosen the right companions,” she told him.
The trio continued along the road, and a short time later she called a halt to make camp. They headed into the shelter of a ruined farmhouse, and Timlir took the first watch. Xaxia climbed onto the rooftop to sleep. She curled around her backpack, wanting to awaken if anyone tried to steal the Dark Eye.
She gazed at the stars of the eastern horizon. Vorgon’s army was somewhere in that direction. Finding it wouldn’t be hard.
She just had to follow the trail of death and destruction.
21
Malem waited until the early morning hours after midnight, when the tree elf city of Dothloron was at its darkest and quietest, and then he sat down at the dining table he had in his quarters, and lit a candle.
As he stared into the flickering flame, he felt along the periphery of his mental space, searching for the foreign bundle of energy the collar added to his head.
There it was. Intrusive, very slightly jabbing into his mind, like a nail that had only partially penetrated the sole of his boot, failing to harm the flesh underneath. He wrapped his will around it in an exploratory manner. It gave very slightly, wobbling to and fro, and once again he thought of a loose tooth.
He took a deep breath, mentally preparing himself, and then attempted to reach inside. The moment he did so, the collar loosened of its own accord, ever so slightly, like a woman’s privates giving way in anticipation of the penetration to come. It was almost as if the collar were inviting him inside.
Malem accepted the invitation and entered fully. As he groped around rather clumsily in the darkness of that foreign bundle, the collar abruptly tightened, and he couldn’t breath. He wasn’t sure what he had done, but he withdrew his will immediately, worried he had awakened Wendolin. The tight band promptly opened, and he took in several deep gulps of air.
Maybe that tightening was merely a natural reaction on the part of the collar, and had nothing to do with Wendolin. Maybe she was still fast asleep. He waited several minutes, and when he received no visitors to his quarters, and the collar did not tighten again, he decided he would make his second attempt.
He sent his will inside. The collar loosened slightly, as before. He was very careful this time, searching gently with his mind. There were different spherical membranes he couldn’t identify, but he merely brushed across the surface of these, not trying to penetrate. When his mental touch glanced over those membranes, the collar tightened very subtly, as if warning him not to proceed further, and when he moved on, always the band loosened again.
He encountered a larger membrane. As he sent his will along its periphery, he couldn’t quite gauge the extents of it—the membrane was quite big. The collar tightened menacingly, almost enough to choke him. Malem almost withdrew his mental touch, but since he could still breathe, he decided to continue probing. As he searched the corrugated surface, he sensed something else emanating from that membrane. Were those… yes.
Thoughts.
This membrane at the heart of the energy bundle was a mind; the collar harbored some sort of entity at its core. Which made sense, considering that all the other energy bundles in his head belonged to minds.
Without warning the collar tightened firmly, cutting off his air; this time, he fought it. He wrapped his will around the mind at the core of the energy bundle, and squeezed, crushing with all his strength, but it was no use. Though the collar didn’t attempt to slip away or squirm out from under his grasp like ordinary monsters, it acted like a sheer, solid mass beneath him: it was like trying to crush a steel ball with his fingers. An impossibility.
Stars spangled his vision severely by then, so he released his mental hold. The collar, however, didn’t loosen.
Beginning to panic, he grasped at the collar with his fingers, trying to pry it free, but he couldn’t get a hold: it was embedded too deeply in his flesh.
It wanted to punish him.
Just before he blacked out, the collar released him. He slumped to the floor, rasping for breath. Each inhale and exhale burned his throat.
When he was able to see again, and his breathing had returned close to normal, he pushed himself up.
“Fuck you, too,” he said softly.
He half expected the collar to squeeze him again for that, but nothing happened.
He sighed. He wasn’t certain if it was some independent entity he detected inside the collar, or Wendolin’s mind, remotely linked to him by the device and simply masked so as to appear to be something else. Still, it seemed too cold and emotionless to be her. And that she hadn’t send soldiers to order him to stop, hinted that it acted independently of her. Unless it was somehow linked to her subconscious, which he doubted.
He spent the next half hour or so exploring and fighting with it, but eventually gave up. He could spend the entire night here probing the device, and not make any progress. He simply didn’t have time. Vorgon would burn down the forest tomorrow. If Malem wanted to give Wendolin to the Balor on a silver platter, he needed to act now.
Not being able to remove the collar put a crimp in his plans. Well, not too much of a crimp: he didn’t really need to break free of the collar for his plan to work. It would have been nice, but it was entirely unnecessary. It did mean he would have to seriously injure the queen, however, preferably while she slept. Hopefully he could spirit her out of the forest before she died. Because if she expired before then, ver
y likely Vorgon would kill him. Or worse, his women.
A risky game I play. But it needs to be played. The rewards far outweigh the risks.
At least that’s what he told himself. Whatever it took to keep Vorgon happy.
If he failed to injure her in her sleep, Wendolin would crush the collar around his throat with her mind. And probably kill a few of the women bound to him in retaliation.
Yes, it always came back to the women. No matter what he did, they were at risk. Gravely.
What choice did he have?
There was a small sack on the table before him, next to the candle. He opened the sack and slid out the large silver pearl inside. Wendolin claimed it had the power to harm Vorgon in some way. She expected him to march out and deliver it to the Balor tomorrow when the demon’s black host attacked.
That was out of the question, of course.
Maybe he could ride out of the forest, and simply toss the pearl aside, and tell Vorgon what Wendolin had wanted him to do.
No, Wendolin promised to kill his women if he did that.
The women again. Always the women.
Why did I ever allow myself to grow attached to them? They have become the bane of my existence. Maybe I should just let them die. In fact, perhaps I should kill them myself, and then I won’t have to worry about them anymore.
He smiled sadly, knowing he would never do such a thing. Not even for Vorgon.
Then again, he wasn’t entirely sure about that.
Shaking his head, he slid the pearl back inside the sack. Then he secured the bag to his belt, stood up, and strode purposely to the balcony that overlooked the city below.
He walked onto the balcony and surveyed the tree-towers in front of him. The trees were dimly outlined by the lights that shone from the windows of the towers protruding from them. Gazing toward the byways between the tree-towers below, he found it difficult to see very far, even with his night vision, because the light didn’t penetrate that deeply into the darkness.
He returned his attention to the dimly lit upper boughs, searching. He wished he had his beast sense, which would tell him where griffins might be lurking in the night. Though even with it, while he might detect griffins, he probably wouldn’t detect tree elves.
He glanced at the tree bark above him, and at the tower that grew from it. By his estimation, Wendolin’s quarters resided close to the top of that tower. He scanned the other nearby balconies, on this tree and its neighbors, but didn’t spot any tree elves on patrol.
That didn’t mean they weren’t out there.
He glanced up once more, and studied the distance he had to travel. There were branches he could use to help him further up, but he would have to free climb a good distance before he reached them.
He peered over the balcony’s edge, glancing straight down, and pulled back when he felt the vertigo.
Ah, shit.
Climbing definitely wasn’t his forte. He was beginning to wonder why he thought this was a good plan…
With a sigh, he looked up once more, and gazed at the distant window he sought.
Fuck it.
He pulled himself onto the thin wooden railing and nearly lost his balance. He thrust out his arms, flailing them for a moment until the righted himself. He reached out with his left hand, pressing it against the surface of the tree to hold himself steady, and then he turned toward the trunk. He inched forward until his hips were nearly pressed against the bark.
He worried some elven mage would spot him out there on the balcony and catch him in the act; he kept expecting vines to explode from the bark beneath him and wrap around his body, but none did. Thankfully, it seemed no mages were maintaining a vigil upon his balcony this night. Still, there were probably griffins active somewhere out there. They would be drawn to any noises he might make.
Have to keep it quiet.
With both hands, he felt along the surface until he found two fingerholds above him. He tested those holds, and when they held, he found a similar toehold for the tip of his boot. He swallowed, taking a moment to steel himself for what was to come. Then he pulled himself up.
He reached higher with one arm, searching for the next hold. The toe support abruptly gave beneath him, and while he scrambled to find another, the finger joints of his other hand flared in pain, his left arm shaking from the effort of holding his upper body in place. Thankfully he found another toehold, and finally his fingers found a suitable crevice above him. However, when he tried applying any weight, the small section of bark beneath it broke away.
The toehold beneath him also failed.
His other arm abruptly gave out, and he dropped back onto the railing. He lost his balance, but managed to swing his body toward the balcony, and he leaped down, landing on the tiled surface.
Well, that’s not going to work.
Panting, he held his left arm. The tendons throbbed from the pain of trying to hold up his entire body, and his knuckles felt like they had exploded.
Definitely not going to work.
When he had recovered, he took a moment to consider his options. He realized the plan had been flimsy from the get-go. Of course he couldn’t climb the tree. What the hell had he been thinking? He already knew that from the first time he’d set foot on the trunk. He just didn’t possess the necessary climbing skills. A well-trained assassin such as Xaxia might have been able to do it, but Malem? No.
He tapped his chin in thought.
Maybe he didn’t have to climb.
He glanced at the balcony of Solan’s quarters beside him, and a new plan began to form. He always thought the adjacent balcony was within jumping distance…
Well, he supposed tonight he’d find out if that were the case.
He pulled himself onto the thin railing once more and rested a hand on the trunk beside him to steady himself. When he was balanced, he let go of the trunk and bent his legs, bringing his arms behind him. He studied his target in front of him for a moment, and before he could change his mind, he straightened his legs and pushed off, swinging his arms forward at the same time.
He vaulted across the empty span separating his balcony from Solan’s… and fell short.
He frantically reached up as he slid beneath Solan’s balcony, and his fingers narrowly latched onto the ledge formed between the base of the balcony and the rails. He felt the sharp flare of pain, not just from the impact of his hands upon the hard surface, but from the previous strain he’d placed upon his fingers—the knuckles of his left hand in particular throbbed under the renewed weight. He was barely hanging on.
Panting, and in pain, he forced himself to extend one hand, grabbing onto the closest wooden rail; with his fingers wrapped firmly around it, he pulled himself higher. He hoisted his right leg at the same time and hooked the boot through the gap between two rails. Using his foot for leverage, he hauled himself onto the balcony and over the railing so that he stood before the entrance to Solan’s quarters.
He took a moment to catch his breath.
Apparently not as spry as I used to be.
He knew that wasn’t true—he had fought many battles during the past six months. But different muscle groups were used when one sat upon a steed and repeatedly swung a sword. Plus, he wielded a magic blade now, one far lighter than it had any right to be. Balethorn had made him soft.
He dismissed the thoughts, shaking his head. He knew he was merely trying to delay the inevitable.
The balcony double doors were closed, but unlocked, so he quietly opened them and padded into Solan’s bedchamber. Not quietly enough, apparently:
Solan sat up in bed, startled. “Who’s there?”
So Solan wasn’t keeping the queen company tonight. That was actually good, because Malem could use the half dragon.
Malem stepped from the shadows. Enough for Solan’s night vision to register him. “It’s me.”
“Defiler,” Solan said warily. “What the hell are you doing at this hour?”
“I don’t really have
time to explain,” Malem said. “But I’m going to need you to distract the guards for me.”
Solan regarded him suspiciously in the dim light, then nodded. “Anything in particular you had in mind?”
Malem explained.
Solan listened intently. “That’s all you want?”
“For now,” Malem said.
Solan shrugged. “Easy enough.” The half dragon stood up and strode to the entrance. He waited for Malem to hide behind a nearby tapestry, and then opened the door.
“Guards,” Solan said. “I have a problem.”
The half dragon retreated from the door and the two elven soldiers followed him inside.
From the gap formed by the edge of the tapestry and the wall, Malem watched the guards shut the door behind them.
One of them raised a hand, igniting small globes of light held by two wall brackets nearby. Malem suspected the level of magic required to ignite those globes was minimal, allowing even common elves to use them.
The two guards examined their surroundings intently, as if suspecting some kind of trap. One of them looked directly at Malem, and he ducked, moving deeper into the shadows. He hoped his movements hadn’t registered on the outer portion of the tapestry.
He held his breath, listening, but the footfalls of the guards receded as Solan led them to the balcony. Malem exhaled in relief. He moved back to the edge of the tapestry, and peered past. The backs of the two guards were toward Malem.
“I can’t seem to lock my balcony window,” Solan was saying.
Grinning at the absurdity of the comment, and the even more absurd fact that the guards were actually coming with him, Malem slipped out from behind the tapestry, and padded to the door. He opened it, and was surprised at how well-lit the hallway was outside. But that wasn’t what concerned him at the moment:
There was another elf standing there with his back to the door. Malem had underestimated how many guards would be present.
My quarters only had two!
He quickly shut the door and returned to his hiding place behind the tapestry.
Shit, shit, shit.
