Zellohar

by Chris A. Jackson

  CHAPTER 31

  Strangled curses escaped from between Iveron Darkmist's grinding teeth as the clumsy ogres bearing his litter bumped their burden on another corner. The promise of relief steeled his nerve as the doors to his chambers hove into view; his two most adept priests were awaiting his arrival.

  He landed with a thump upon the table, spears of white-hot pain stabbing him as his inept bearers exhibited typical ogre gentleness. One of the stretcher poles bumped the broken sword, grating the shattered steel against his femur. Dizziness nearly overwhelmed him as he bit back a scream.

  Such trauma would have killed a lesser being, but the dark power of the demon helm sustained his corporeal functions. Even though the helm's magic would not sustain his life indefinitely, he had refused to allow the wound to be tended to in front of his troops. Their morale had already been shaken by the fiasco at the bridge; watching their commander writhe in pain as the healers probed and prodded would have made it worse. So he endured the long bouncing trek to the lower levels, his leg screaming agony every step of the way. Now, finally, he could relax. The touch of the priests' hands told him that soon the pain would end.

  "Lord Darkmist?" The senior of the two spoke as if unsure if his master was still conscious. Iveron's opened his eyes, blinked away sweat, and glared at the worried priests.

  "What is it?" he asked in a bare whisper.

  "There is a difficulty with your armor, My Lord," the priest said, wringing his bloody hands. "The chainmail covers the wound. We cannot see to heal it, and cannot remove the mail without first removing the blade. But withdrawing the blade may cause more damage, more than you can endure."

  "So I may bleed to death before you can apply your magic." Darkmist's lips thinned as he considered the possibility with mild amusement. "Do it, then. Let us see if the Deathless One indeed smiles upon us."

  "You will need restraints. Any movement could—"

  "DO IT!" he snapped. "Your whining is wasting time!"

  A flick of the priest's hand brought the ogres back. The beasts pressed down on Iveron's shoulders and legs, their wrist-thick fingers gripping him as their fetid breath mingled with the stench of his own blood. The rustle of metal instruments and the healer's too-gentle touch hinted at the torture to come.

  Twinges of agony telegraphed up his cracked femur as the priest applied tongs to the broken blade. Iveron tensed.

  Then a sensation like nothing he had ever known, had ever thought to know, raced along his every nerve, thrusting all conscious thought from his mind. As the blade was withdrawn from its warm sheath, its razor edge scraping splinters from his tortured femur, agony spread until it overwhelmed every crevice of his consciousness. His faculties stretched to the brink of madness, every nerve ending in his body screaming for relief.

  "Thank Mortas," one priest mumbled, praising the silence that implied that their patient had slipped into unconsciousness. "Get the mail off!"

  "Watch that bleeder!" the other snapped. "Pinch that off while I probe..."

  "Finished!" the first said when his guttural chanting had closed the gaping hole in their commander's leg. "When he regains consciousness we will—"

  "By the Deathless One!" Terror gripped the hearts of Mortas' priests as they beheld the wide, vacant eyes of their obviously conscious commander.

  Iveron's gaze was fixed on an invisible point above him, as if he followed the retreat of an angel of death who had come to take his soul, but had been frightened away by his fearsome visage. The acute memory of the operation tugged at the corners of his bluish lips. The agony had been so complete, so intense, that it had paralyzed him. He had been unable to cry out, unable to perceive anything but the pain. That Mortas had blessed him with such an experience this side of death stretched his smile into a rictus grin of triumph.

  "Thank you," Iveron said, trying to rise to his elbows. "The pain is quite diminished, just a dull ache left."

  "Please, Lord Darkmist," the closer of the two priests protested. "We have merely healed the major damage. Much still remains. If you move about too much, more damage may occur, for the new flesh is still weak. Also, you have lost a great deal of blood. You should rest for at least a few days..."

  Iveron allowed the well of fatigue to envelop him, heeding the healer's advice but tuning out the chatter. He would allow himself some time to let the healers do their work. After all, his troops were taking care of matters.

  As if in mockery of his confidence, a frantic banging at the door wrenched him back to consciousness. A harried beast entered, then cowered beside the door. A priest rushed over and spoke with the creature in hushed tones, gesturing for it to retreat back out the door. Iveron found their excessive indulgence irritating.

  "What is it?" he snapped, forcing his vision to clear as he propped himself up. He felt a twinge in his leg, but ignored it as the priest edged forward.

  "This beast has a message from the troops sent to the surface," he said.

  "Come forward!" Darkmist ordered, a cold hand clutching at his heart at the prospect of the news. "Speak! Where is the gem? Why has it not been brought to me?"

  "D-da gem is still w-w-wit dem what s-st-stole it," the beast stammered as it inched toward its supreme commander, its dull-witted gaze locked upon the blood-drenched table. "A big bunch o' wolves jumped us when we got to da snow."

  "WHAT? You mean they escaped?" Rage banished his fatigue and seared away his pain. The priests and other attendants backed away as he first sat, then stood, his eyes widening as his fists clenched.

  "It was d-dem w-wolves dat done it!" the creature whined. "Dey tore up a whole bunch o' us, an' dem what had da gem just run off into da woods. We could-na even get out o' da..."

  Darkmist did not even hear the beast's sniveling as it trailed into silence. Sweat beaded on his face with the heat of his anger. He let the rage infuse him, the power of the helm lighting his eyes with crimson fire. The terrified creature scrambled for the exit, but the wash of destructive magic caught the hapless thing full in the back, blasting it against the door. It stuck there, then oozed to the floor, leaving a grey-green stain on the wood.

  "Send out patrols!" the enraged Nekdukarr bellowed. "Kill every wolf you find! And ready the assault forces; the thieves will run to one of the nearby towns. Track them down and recover that gem. Bring those who fail directly to me!"

  Messengers and servants scattered like leaves on the wind before their commander's wrath.

  "You!" A courier cringed as Darkmist's finger stabbed at him. "Send another message to my sisters. Find out why they have not yet answered." Iveron swayed and clutched the table.

  "And, bring me the body of the man who dared to attack me," he said, allowing the priests to ease him back onto the table. "I have use for it." Iveron Darkmist finally succumbed to the demands of his injuries. As his eyelids grew heavy and pulled him into darkness, he gestured carelessly.

  "And have someone clean that up before it starts to stink."

  The nearest servant nodded and ran off to find a shovel, eying the pulsing puddle of goo at the foot of his lord's door.

  Two hundred pairs of clawed feet and hobnailed boots shuffled in the courtyard of Zellohar Keep, their owners looking for excuses to do anything but descend to the valley below. The orc patrol leaders and ogre sub-captains clumped in a tight group within the gatehouse, thinking frantically for reasons to delay the pursuit, and thanking their luck that none of the Dukarr commanders were about. Their hunched shoulders stiffened every time another chorus of howls drifted over the battlements, as they had throughout the entire freezing night.

  Rumors grew by the minute. The wolves were ghosts that rose up from the dead. They could not be harmed by normal weapons; steel blades and spiked clubs passed through their wispy bodies without harm. The commanders were even starting to believe the stories; how else could a pack of wild dogs have beaten trained soldiers? The attack had been too organized for mere animals.

  Finally, in the late afternoon, the hau
nting canine cantata faded into silence. At first the troops just waited, looking at one another and wondering who would descend the trail first. Shame and fear of the inevitable arrival of one of the Dukarr urged the patrol leaders from their shelter. Harsh commands and the incentive of whip and blade spurred the chaotic force into a semblance of order. They would descend the trail in force, just in case the ghost-wolves were playing a trick.

  Nothing but bloodstained snow and well-chewed carcasses of orc, goblin, ogre and wolf greeted them in the vale below. The wolf remains were prodded, but they did not jump up to devour souls, tear at living flesh or otherwise lend credence to the rumors. With their fears fading, the commanders rounded their troops together and set off into the wilderness, now more than a full day behind their quarry.

  Avari's thighs burned with the fatigue of breaking trail, the reflected glare of the sun blinding her eyes and burning her exposed skin. She tried to ignore it all, but each step plunged more deeply into the drifts than the last. With every surge of forward motion, pain shot through her shoulders where the rope straps pressed her chainmail into tender skin. The straps led to her burden: a travois made of pine boughs, laden with the unconscious elf. She sneered at the irony; Shay had prevented her from saving Jundag, and here she was doing his dirty work to save an elf woman about whom they knew nothing. She knew that this was a deed she would have performed willingly only days before, but her black mood fought down the annoying truth and continued to fan the flames of anguish and betrayal that time and physical exertion were trying to quench.

  Their flight from Zellohar had been a frantic, non-stop, slogging sprint to outdistance any pursuers. They stopped briefly to recover their buried packs, atop which lay a small pile of clothing and pouches, as well as the great bow of black wood they had previously seen in Lynthalsea's hands. Since Avari still bore the unconscious elf, DoHeney had taken the lead and walked well into the night, finally stopping at a bolt hole he had hoped they would reach. Avari had collapsed, near exhaustion, barely able to eat before falling into a fitful sleep. Neither of her friends begrudged her the rest; without her to carry the elf, they would never have made their escape.

  DoHeney had kept watch, cannibalizing one pair of snowshoes to fashion the travois of branches. He thanked the Earth Mother that nothing came upon them in the night; they were in no condition to put up much of a fight. Shay spent the night healing the elf woman, and even when sinew and bone were once again whole, she continued her deep sleep. The trauma of her injuries enveloped her like a shroud, and would have to be healed by nature.

  In the morning the elf still slept, but the night's sleep had restored Avari's strength at least enough to argue.

  "I say we sneak back in there while all the troops are out looking for us and end this thing for good!"

  "I'll not endanger the gem, Avari!" Shay said. "And we can't leave Lynthalsea here while we go traipsing off to get killed!"

  "Fine then!" she snapped. "I'll go back and you two can—"

  "Did I mention that me uncle was one o' the king's confidants?" the dwarf interrupted. "Mayhaps he has knowledge o' the gem. We should travel ta Boontredk Warrens ta get his advice, and give the elf some time ta heal up." He waved at Avari before she could interrupt. "And maybe he knows o' the secret entrances ta the keep, or perhaps how ta use the gem against this Darkmist fella."

  The logical and carefully planned strategy shocked the others into silence, especially considering its source. They broke camp and started to the south toward Boontredk Warrens.

  "That's what I get for listening to a dwarf!" Avari grumbled, struggling to reposition the straps. "Now I'm a mule!"

  DoHeney cringed and pointed out the next bend in the path. Avari followed it without a word. Sighing, he slowed his pace to allow Shay to catch up. They spoke softly of their captured treasure as they walked.

  "Irke insisted that there was only one gem," Shay mused. "Could the doors have been opened with only one?"

  "Not a chance. Dwarven rune magic don't work like that. They had all four ta open the doors. But if Darkmist had all four, then what's he done with 'em?"

  "I've been thinking about that," Shay said, tugging the ice from his goatee. "If you were he, knowing that the doors could be locked again, perhaps by the same ambitious underlings who unlocked them, would you keep all the gems together?"

  "So he's sent 'em off fer safe keepin'?" DoHeney grinned.

  Shay smiled and nodded. "I believe so. Now all we have to do is retrieve them before he does."

  "Yeah, simple." The dwarf snorted and they continued their trek in silence.

  They kept moving until well after dark. When exhaustion became unbearable, the companions collapsed in a hollow sheltered by spruce trees. Shay cast his magical warmth onto his friends before they all fell into a death-like slumber. None had the energy to post a watch.

  CHAPTER 32

  The first hint of light seeping though the blankets pried open DoHeney's reluctant eyelids. It was warm under his blanket, and the thought of rising and hiking held no appeal. He shifted, trying to alleviate a kink in his leg, and felt something warm press against his back. He froze, not wanting to wake whomever had moved next to him during the night to share body heat.

  We both probably slept the better for it, he thought, snuggling back and closing his eyes. Jist a few more minutes, he promised himself, and soon started to snore.

  DoHeney woke once again and found that he had rolled over in his sleep, still nestled against his warm companion. The light was brighter; it was time to get up. He pulled his blanket from his face... and found himself staring into a pair of big, yellow eyes. They did not look familiar. In fact, they did not look human, elfin or any mixture of the two. He pulled the blanket down for a better look and was rewarded with a wet tongue licking the tip of his nose.

  "Gaa!" The distraught dwarf jumped up, completely awake, and froze. Wolves surrounded them, their bodies packed so closely that they blotted out the snow under the trees. DoHeney could have walked around the entire camp on a rug of soft fur, though he doubted they would allow him the chance.

  "Shay! Avari!" he called in a whisper, trying to wake his companions without attracting the attention of the canines, some of which growled as if telling him to be quiet. Even the wolf he had spent the night cuddling cast him a warning glance before looking back to the center of the camp...to the elf.

  Ah, that's it. DoHeney nodded to himself, realizing why he and his friends had not been the main course of a feast during the night. I guess she was worth the trouble it took to drag her along after all.

  Shay had told him of their encounter with Lynthalsea and, since he had seen her change form with his own eyes, the dwarf was realizing just how intimately she must be connected to this wolf pack. He called again, this time in a soft, gentle voice.

  "Oh Sha-ay, A-vaa-ri! Wake u-up, but do it veeerrrry sloooowwwly." DoHeney reached out to poke the half-elf on the shoulder. "Oh, Shay!"

  "It can't be morning yet." The reply was muffled by the blanket over the half-elf's face as he turned his back on the dwarf, tossing his arm over the body next to him. Lynthalsea had been lying near when they went to sleep, but she had rolled during the night and now was surrounded by her own honor guard of wolves. Shay had his arm around a huge wolf with a scarred nose which obviously did not care for the priest's familiarity. The growl was soft and low, but carried well in the chill morning air. DoHeney stifled a laugh as he watched the body under the blanket stiffen. The arm drew back, and Shay's head popped out.

  "What the..." At his own loss for words, he simply turned and poked Avari. Soon all three of them were staring at their night watch, amazed that none of them had awakened when the animals had moved in.

  "Lynthalsea," Shay called, but she slept soundly. When he tried to move, growls rose in a chorus. He sat back down.

  "Well, now, I guess we'd better jist stay put and have some breakfast 'til our little elf decides ta wake up," DoHeney said. Avari pulled some dri
ed meat out of her pack and passed it around, then sat and sullenly chewed. She glanced at the wolf beside her and offered it a bite. It sniffed, but seemed disgusted by the strong smoky smell. Shay smiled skeptically.

  "Avari, I do not think that wild wolves are much for coddling or making pets. You had best leave them alone, or I will be healing a bitten finger for you."

  Avari gave him a withering glance and turned her back. Shay sighed and looked to DoHeney. The dwarf just raised his bushy eyebrows and shrugged. DoHeney sat down to whittle, while Shay unwrapped his books and began to study.

  When the sun reached several hands into the sky, there was a soft sigh and a yawn from Lynthalsea's direction. Shay and DoHeney looked over to see her sit up and stretch. The half-elf's eyes widened as the blanket that covered her slipped to reveal a beautiful little...

  "Shay!" DoHeney whispered as he poked the priest in the back. "Stop yer starin' and ask the lady ta call off her guard."

  Shay looked startled, then blushed as he realized that he had indeed been staring. By the time he looked back, she had pulled her blanket tightly around her and was busy hugging, kissing and talking to the wolves, who were crowding around, trying to lick her face. She laughed in delight, the sound like crystal chimes in Shay's ears. He renewed his staring.

  "Uggghh." DoHeney cringed in disgust at the slobbering wolves. "How kin she stand it? Don't she know the diseases the beasties carry?"

  "Ah, I see you have made a friend!" Shay started to answer, but Lynthalsea's attention was on Avari, who was scratching one of the wolves behind the ears. The animal scrinched its eyes in bliss, crooking its neck and grunting. Shay laughed, forgetting his warning about trying to befriend the wolves. Another shoved his nose under Avari's arm, begging for his turn to be scratched.

  Avari turned a triumphant gaze on Shay, actually smiling. Then her face clouded over, the events of the last few days rising in her like a dark tide. She turned her back to the others and hugged the wolf, burying her face in its fur.