For the Killing of Kings

by Howard Andrew Jones

  She was astonished at how casual he was about it. While she stowed it in her pack, he threw the hook.

  His cast was true, and lodged solidly over the fifteen-foot wall with a minimal clank as it caught. With the chill night breeze ruffling his hair and clothes, he was up the rope in no time, and disappeared over the battlement. She hurried after him ably enough, though less quickly. The dimmed lantern tied to her belt banged against her thigh. She was oddly grateful for all the terrible exercises Asrahn had inflicted upon them over the years. As a first ranker, nothing had bedeviled her more than the climbing wall. She felt another pang of loss for the old Master of Squires as she reached the merlon and clambered after her companion.

  Soon she was hurrying at a crouch along the wall’s walkway, a lane between the battlement and the stable roof. The air was full with the smell of rotten hay and fouler alien odors, intermittently freshened with gusts from without. She could perceive no sounds other than the minimal reverberations of their footfalls on the creaky wooden walkway. Dark buildings dotted the inside space off her left hand, and the main tower loomed alone over all, gray against the black. Ahead, much smaller twin turrets flanking the fort’s gate were just visible over the archer’s shoulders and head.

  Kyrkenall paused beside the barbican with arrow nocked. She crouched with him near the steep stone stair, which was barred with reinforced stone debris at the ground end. She searched in vain for the fell creature, then spotted it unexpectedly emerging from under the walkway beneath their feet; a bluish bulk, its conical head pointed unmistakably in their direction. Had it silently stalked them along their whole course?

  The exotic being regarded them hungrily but with absolute silence. Elenai could perceive no eyes along its smooth surface, and there was no indication of the toothed mouth she thought she had seen earlier through inner sight. The thing’s long reptilian body suddenly lit with running lines of bright energy, like molten iron pouring into a bladesmith’s mold. It was eerily beautiful. In the darkness, she only partially sensed its shape and wasn’t able to count its legs, but it looked larger than she’d believed. There appeared to be some kind of fringe around its head. Its lights went on and off intermittently, though she could perceive no pattern.

  “Kind of pretty, really,” Kyrkenall whispered, then launched the arrow, readying a second the moment the first soared out. When Kyrkenall’s arrow embedded itself just behind the frilled area at the base of its skull, the flashes of light along its back converged at the point of impact.

  Beside her, Kyrkenall stiffened in the act of loosing his next arrow. He collapsed upon the battlement, then let out a string of colorful curses.

  She sank beside him as he blinked, his mouth contorting in pain. “What happened?” she asked frantically. She searched in vain for sign of injury—a stone or arrow sent by some unseen assailant. She found nothing, though through the inner world his energies flared around a point at the back of his head.

  The creature whipped around and clawed vigorously at the debris barrier on the stairs below. Its jaws opened vertically, and impossibly wide; previously unseen fleshy antennae waved at the end of its snout. It still seemed to have no eyes. Most disconcerting of all, Kyrkenall’s arrow was sinking slowly into its now-iridescent surface, as it would if dropped into the mud. Defying all of her understanding, the creature was somehow absorbing the shaft.

  Kyrkenall cursed again while propping himself up, and gingerly touched the back of his head. He considered the monster as it ceased its scuffling to point its maw at them and clacked its jaws open and shut. Something dripping from the sharp teeth sizzled as it struck the ground.

  Kyrkenall spoke with quiet effort. “When I hit the damned thing, I felt it. Fully, I’d guess. Otherwise I’d be tempted to fire a volley right down its nasty gullet.”

  The beast paced back and forth beneath them, its long tail dragging. Elenai was able to count what looked like eight stubby legs on one side and seven on the other. It was hard to keep track, especially since the limbs shifted so quickly and, like the rest of the body, were randomly illuminated with bright lines of light. Sporadic sizzling sounds continued and an acrid odor drifted up.

  “How did it just absorb the arrow?” Elenai asked. She didn’t actually expect an answer.

  “No idea. It looks like if we touch it in any way, we’re the ones who get hurt. That doesn’t leave us with a lot of options.”

  They’d have to get it away from the tower. “Do you think it would follow you if you shot arrows right in front of it? And led it away?”

  “We can find out. You planning to run down and open the door while I’m doing that?”

  “Exactly.”

  He grinned at her. “That’s downright reckless. I like it. How long do you need me to keep it away?”

  “I’ve no idea,” she had to confess. “I’ve never tried to magically unlock a door before.”

  He clapped her shoulder. “Most of life is just making it up as you go. What are you going to do if you’re trapped outside the tower while the thing is coming for you?”

  “Run.”

  He let out a short bark of a laugh, then ran his hand over his face and stepped around in a tight circle, frowning. He came to rest after a deep sigh. “All right. I’ll give you plenty of notice if it starts to head back. You ready?”

  “When you are.”

  He handed her the lantern she’d set down, then stepped west upon the battlement, raised his hands, and waved his arms. “Hey, you ugly spit-dripper! Look at me!”

  It stopped its pacing; then, as he shouted and stamped, it followed after him under the walkway. When Kyrkenall reached the stable roofs he began hopping in the air and shouting even more loudly.

  She waited until the monster was on the other side of the compound beneath Kyrkenall. Just to be a little safer, she connected again with the hearthstone, thinking it might alert her if the creature drew close.

  She carefully and quietly picked her way over the barrier, then sprinted for the tower door. In only a few heartbeats the tower spread menacingly overhead; night seemed to have lengthened it. She twisted the lantern back on and opened its shutters, yellowing the white stones around the weathered wooden door. She focused on the tarnished metal lock, feeling every hair on her neck rise as she exposed her back. Little noises she’d paid no heed to, like the wind against the roof shingles of the barracks behind, or the flutter of the flag above, were like claws across her heart.

  Elenai wasn’t a locksmith, nor had she spent much time contemplating how they worked, although she gathered there was some kind of mechanism that allowed a bolt to be extended from the door and into the wall. And that’s exactly what her energy probes found, for a touch of the magic enabled her to detect that a particularly solid substance extended from the door to a housing inside.

  Could she shift the mechanism that moved the bolt, somehow shape energy to fit the keyhole and twist it? Might she instead alter the consistency of the lock? Normally such a task would be beyond all but the most accomplished of mages. But then most mages didn’t have access to a hearthstone. How long would it take? How long could Kyrkenall keep the creature at bay?

  She shook herself and sent threads of will into the lock bar. Rudimentary magical theory taught that it was always simpler to alter rather than to create or even destroy. Her first thought was to try to rust the lock, but she wasn’t sure how to go about that. Instead, she decided to manipulate its shape. Something so powerful should have been far beyond her, but with the hearthstone’s aid she brought enormous forces to bear, shifting the metal that composed the bar into the spaces around the mechanisms until little was left but a slender core.

  She paused, gathering a metaphorical breath, then whirled at a noise to her rear and saw Kyrkenall sprinting toward her, his black recurved bow in hand. Panting quietly, glancing over his shoulder, he arrived and asked in a whisper: “Are we in yet?”

  She wiped sweat from her brow. The image of the inner world overlaid across
the outer, so he seemed both himself and a hazy mix of golden threads pulsating with energies that likewise burned in his ring and upon his weapons. “I’ve weakened it,” she said.

  “Good. We’d better get inside.”

  “Where’s the thing?”

  “I fired some arrows at the far wall, and it dashed off to investigate. I don’t think we have much time to waste, though.”

  “I’ll give it a try, then.”

  “Let me.” Kyrkenall set his hand to the handle and pulled. She saw him strain slightly, and then there was a clanking noise, as of metal on metal, and the door swung open in his hand.

  The sensory threads about her vibrated madly and, without intention, her vision narrowed. All she saw was the door and Kyrkenall’s action and dozens upon dozens of strands stretching off to a dark future. Only one was golden, and she laid her hand to it.…

  … Was that her voice screaming for him to get down? Without thinking, she was tackling him.

  A storm of events crashed at the same moment. Something hard slammed into the front of Elenai’s shoulder. She heard the footfalls of a large thing racing out of the night to their rear, and the air whirred as it only did when arrows pass close. There was the distinctive sound of shafts striking flesh behind her. Then Elenai slammed into the dirt with Kyrkenall, driving her breath away.

  At some point she’d relinquished the hearthstone. She hadn’t remembered doing that consciously, but the magical overlay was gone. Elenai looked down at Kyrkenall, found his dark eyes fixed upon her. In the bright light of the lantern she’d dropped, Elenai noted it was just possible to see the outline of Kyrkenall’s pupils against the black sclera. He smelled of his horse, and his sweat, and road dust, and he was so very splendid.

  Then he rolled, grabbed her wrist, and yanked her to her feet.

  The lantern had fallen but somehow landed upright, uncracked, and it shone on the weird sparkling horror only six feet off, and the jagged teeth within its clacking jaws. The feelers were waving at the end of its snout. It had been pincushioned with a dozen bright red darts, illuminated by the gathered bright points in its skin as they were drawn inside the porous, glistening hide.

  “Go!” Kyrkenall roared.

  She snatched up the lantern and threw herself through the tower entryway. She was moving too fast to avoid collision with a sturdy metal shelf set a few paces back. As the construction wobbled it pulled the slim chain linking it to the door itself. Kyrkenall cursed, for the tightening chain slammed the door against him as he was halfway through.

  Elenai whirled, the wildly shaking light in her hand passing over dozens of holes set into the odd shelf unit at head and chest level. Kyrkenall slid through.

  And then the door was smashed open by the terrible scaly head of the eyeless horror. This time the chain attached to the shelf was simply ripped away, and the creature lunged in to snap at Kyrkenall, who kicked it squarely in the jaw. She lashed out with all the pain and fear she’d felt the first time she encountered the creature. She’d never tried such an attack without focus on a talisman, but she didn’t have the time to feel for it and she didn’t think she needed it. Not after experiencing it so intently herself.

  As her thread touched the monster, that imagined pain struck her, too, and she staggered backward into the chamber. The creature, though, writhed in agony with her, and Kyrkenall crawled to safety.

  Reeling, Elenai sank to cold stone, in too much pain to worry about what she couldn’t see behind her. Agony washed not just through her limbs, but her gut as well, so that she doubled up on the floor, eyes squeezed tight. She felt as though she’d swallowed fire.

  Vaguely she was aware of Kyrkenall calling to her, squeezing her shoulder.

  And then suddenly the sensation ebbed, and she was able to sit up. Kyrkenall smiled at her, then stepped back to peer out the door. “Hey, look at this!”

  It was about all she could do just then to stare at the tower’s stone floor. “What is it?”

  “The thing’s dying!”

  Surely she hadn’t done that much damage to it.

  “I bet those darts were poisoned,” he said with a laugh. “Hah! The hastigs who rigged that dart-throwing thing to go off when the door opened couldn’t imagine they’d be saving our asses by killing their own monster! Take that, Denaven!”

  Maybe that’s why she felt such excruciating discomfort inside her, over and above the blast of her magical attack. She’d magically touched the thing while it died of poison. Finally she sat up completely, and a cheerful Kyrkenall was looking down at her.

  “You’re sure it’s dead?” she asked.

  “Either that or it has a weird sleep cycle. Hey, how did you know to pull me out of the way? You couldn’t see the trap, could you?”

  She shook her head. “I’m not sure how I did it,” she said, and her ignorance embarrassed her. “I guess I saw ahead a little.”

  “Well, you saved us both. Nicely done. You going to live?”

  “It feels like it.” She took his offered hand and climbed unsteadily to her feet. She stepped around and looked over the dart launcher, now fallen through the threshold of the door. The creature lay absolutely still, the light lines fading along its skin. The terrible jaws had shut forever, and the stubby legs ceased their shifting. Sending such a unique creature to its end made her feel somehow shabby.

  Kyrkenall was talking calmly beside her. “You note that the darts were designed to launch at head level. Do you know why?”

  Elenai shook her head.

  “To take out Altenerai. Those darts couldn’t drive through Altenerai armor. But a lot of us don’t bother with helmets or the first few hooks of our robe unless we’re riding into battle.”

  She thought back to the impact she’d felt against her shoulder, thankful for the protective fabric. If not for her borrowed khalat a dart might have poisoned her as well. “Do you think the tower has more traps?”

  “Almost surely. You ready to find them?”

  “I suppose I have to be.”

  “That’s the right answer.”

  She followed him in as he lifted the lantern and played it over the room. To their left, an open timber staircase wound up along the inner wall. To their right, and beyond the dart launcher, a dark and dusty room took up the remainder of the tower’s lower floor.

  The room itself was fairly spare. There was a cold hearth, a stone floor with an ancient rug, and a cupboard with a serving shelf waiting with dusty mugs. A door stood in the far wall. But drawing the eye more than anything else was a huge upright hunk of irregular crystal near the fireplace. Chairs were pushed to the periphery near a dried-out old table. Elenai, opening herself once more to the inner world, was nearly overwhelmed by the energies she perceived within the weird rock.

  She felt pulled to it as if dragged on puppet strings.

  “Watch out for that thing,” Kyrkenall warned.

  “It has hearthstone magics,” she said without looking at him.

  “Then it’s probably a trap.”

  “Maybe this is what everyone was guarding,” she said.

  The object was so dense she couldn’t see individual threads the way she did when she looked at any ordinary living objects. Just like a hearthstone. It was brighter but somehow different than her hearthstone. And it was vastly larger.

  “You think they were hiding this instead of Irion? You said Cargen was thinking about the sword when he pictured this tower.”

  “He said he wasn’t,” Elenai reminded him. “Maybe it’s inside.”

  “It’s like an overgrown hearthstone, isn’t it? Can you hide things inside of a hearthstone?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine.”

  “Well, let’s steer clear of it for now. It’s a big tower. Maybe the sword’s hidden somewhere else.”

  Unfortunately, it wasn’t. They searched the empty quarters and storage rooms above, abandoned save for some old mattressless bunks. They even went up to the tower’s height, where Elenai got her
first non-magical look at the chasm. She took in the endless sky, complete with swirling stars above and below, for long moments. According to Kyrkenall, no explorer had ever arrived at the tip of this mountainous peninsula from outside the realm, nor had anyone ever returned from a downward climb into the bottomless shift. Though horrible miscreations had crawled out of or flown up from that void in times past, now the area was a testament to emptiness. Much like the tower.

  In the end, Kyrkenall reluctantly returned to contemplate the giant hearthstone, and she joined him.

  He shook his head. “I don’t understand why it’s here. The way the queen collects hearthstones, she’d want it in Darassus, wouldn’t she? Unless there’s something wrong with it.”

  “They certainly went to an awful lot of trouble to protect it.”

  “All of this seems like too much trouble. If you were going to hide Irion, you could keep it under your bed, couldn’t you? I mean if you were Denaven or the queen. Surely you wouldn’t have to haul it way out here and dispatch guards who might occasionally let things slip about their secret duty.”

  “I’m going to take a closer look at it.”

  He frowned. “Be very, very careful.”

  With hand to the hearthstone in her satchel, Elenai walked forward, her power rooted to it as she sent sensory threads toward the huge crystalline column. Strange, that it was less potent than the smaller stone for all its bright glamour.

  As she slowly stepped ever closer she realized there was an interplay of energies between the stones, small to large. It seemed as though they might blend. Her mother had once tried to explain why melody worked, saying that some notes called more strongly to others, so that the tune wanted to keep moving until that tension resolved. She sensed that tension from the hearthstone, and she felt it easing as she walked near.

  Kyrkenall’s voice was a grating interruption. “Do you have to get so close?”

  “I think I should bring them together.”