"If he is indeed alive, then yes, it might." Prael contemplated the steaming crimson brew in his cup. "But the casters would need a focal point—his likeness, or perhaps something dear to him. We could try using Avari and her sword. Of course, we would need a scrying mirror, which—"
Just then, Hufferrrerrr, Tinarre, Brok, and Lynthalsea sat up straight, lifting their heads, some tilting at a curious angle.
"Shhh!" Lynthalsea hissed as she held up her hand. She turned to Brok. "Do you hear it?"
The priest nodded, as did Tinarre. The leotaur rose, growling softly.
"A scream..." Lynthalsea whispered with a horrified look.
"People! People!" Borgland waved his handkerchief wildly to catch their attention, then pointed toward Avari.
Avari's breathing was shallow and rapid, her hand clutching and releasing Gaulengil's hilt. Her eyes darted back and forth beneath their lids.
"She's dreaming!" Kendrall exclaimed as he brought his hands to his cheeks. "Oh, the poor girl, we should wake her and relieve her of this torment!"
"Wait!" Tinarre advised as Hufferrrerrr reached out to touch Avari’s shoulder. The woodling stepped to her side and bent down to the hearth, cocking his head toward Gaulengil's emerald tip. "Yes! That is it! That is the source of the cry!"
Lynthalsea moved closer to listen and look, then nodded.
"The scream is definitely coming from the sword," she agreed, "but I don't see anything in the gem."
"Wake her," Shay instructed as he also moved closer.
"I'd be a mite careful, Huffer," DoHeney warned. "Ye know how she comes out o' sleep all riled up. Likely she'll take yer head off with that perty blade afore she even knows it."
"Indeed, I most assuredly am being aware of her violent awakenings, Master DoHeney," the leotaur said with a toothy smile, "but Gaulengil will not be allowing her to harm me, as it would not be allowing her to harm you." DoHeney wasn’t convinced—he had little confidence in the weapon distinguishing friend from foe—and he moved back a step. He noted that Shay also retreated.
Hufferrrerrr placed a hand on Avari’s shoulder and called her name softly. The reaction was everything DoHeney expected. Avari slapped the leotaur’s hand away even before her eyes opened, and swung Gaulengil up in an arc. Whether due to her own lightening reflexes or the sword’s, the blade stopped before slashing into Hufferrrerrr. The leotaur had stood without flinching; smiling, he now patted her arm.
That cat, thought DoHeney with a healthy dose of admiration, has bigger—
"Oh gods!" Avari cried out. "I saw him again! Oh gods, please..."
"Avari!" Lynthalsea knelt before the distraught woman, clasping her free hand in one of her own, and brushing the disheveled hair off of Avari’s forehead with the other. "We heard the cries from the sword while you were dreaming. If you could place the tip near the fire again, we might—"
"What?" Avari gasped, staring at the sword in her hand like it was a viper ready to strike. "You heard it?"
"Some say they heard it," Shay said, drawing peeved expressions from Hufferrrerrr, Tinarre, and his sister. Brok merely smiled. "Perhaps if you put the blade closer to the flames, the rest of us might hear and see. Please, Avari."
Avari’s pale lips trembled, and a fine sweat broke out upon her brow. DoHeney suppressed a shudder; he had seen Avari in the midst of battle, fighting for her life, even facing a dragon, but he had never seen such an expression of sheer terror on her face. The sword quivered in her tremulous grip as she slowly moved it toward the flames. Her eyes flooded with tears and she clenched them tight. Gritting her teeth and firming her shoulders, she mumbled a quiet prayer and thrust Gaulengil into the fire.
*AAAVVVAAARRRIII!!* the gem wailed. Avari averted her face even as everyone else surged forward. DoHeney shoved his way in, nearly kneeling in the fire. Within the flame-wreathed emerald was a vision of Jundag, eyes shut tight, arms outstretched, tendons taut as cables in his neck. He screamed again. *AAAVVVAAARRRIII!!*
"Everyone take a close look at the figure in the gem!" Shay commanded. "Concentrate on it! Commit it to memory! This is our friend, Jundag, as assuredly as I stand before you. We may not be able to prolong this vision, so be sure you—"
"Look!" Revria screeched, jabbing a finger at the gem.
"What'n the name o' the Delver?" DoHeney hissed as the vision shifted. Now, before Jundag's face was an outstretched hand—a woman's hand. Clenched in her fist was a thorned chain from which hung a bloated spider pendant.
"She’s going to—" Brok began, but there was a flash of light, and the gem went dim and silent.
The crackle of the fire was the sole sound in the sitting room. All assembled fixed their eyes on the sword's gem, but the vision did not return. One by one, they began to look at Avari; there was no doubting her claim any longer. DoHeney watched as she collapsed into the chair. Her anguished expression and wracking sobs tore at his heart. But he knew she’d come round. And when she did, they would go and rescue their friend.
"Is that better, my pet?" Calmarel taunted, returning her spider pendant to her breast and the iron rod to the brazier. She scrutinized his healing wounds. Despite the respite, he still hung limply from the manacles, his finely muscled body streaked with sweat and blood.
"I made quite a killing from your performance tonight, especially from that fool Gorgoneye. However,” she punctuated her words with a slap to his face, “you cost me several loyal servants. Tredgh, especially. Do you know how hard it is to train someone like that? It takes years."
She huffed in annoyance, then glanced back at him. Her eyes narrowed, and she reached down to pick up her lash without taking her eyes off of him.
“But you know what really angers me, Jundag? You actually intended to escape! You know I’ll never let that happen. I own you, Jundag. A fact you simply refuse to accept. I own your body, I own your mind, and I own your soul." She punctuated each statement with a lash of her whip.
"Later..." he whispered through clenched teeth.
"Oh, spare me the dramatics!" she snapped, hurling the lash against the wall and stepping close to him. He kept his eyes tightly shut, but she knew he could feel her breath on his cheek, the swell of her belly against his. She would not be ignored.
"There will be no later! There will be no escape!" She ran a finger down his cheek. "After all I’ve done for you: making you a champion in the arena, using my powers to keep you strong, even carrying your child..."
Still, his expression remained unchanged, his eyes closed. She turned away in frustration. Why did he not understand?
CHAPTER 13
Hmmm, interesting...," Feldspar murmured, setting down an enormous tome and searching among the piles of parchments, books and maps that buried the table at which he sat. "Now where was that reference chart..."
He snatched a yellowed scroll from beneath a thick sheaf of unbound parchment, searched the orderly rows of coordinates and their accompanying notations. Finally! He located the reference he sought, scooped up a quill and scribbled down the pertinent information. He then leaned back, his old bones creaking from hours of sitting immobile.
"I wonder what time it is?" he croaked miserably, rubbing his exhausted eyes and trying to work the kinks out of his neck.
"It is now nearly half an hour past mid morning, Master Feldspar." The spirit startled Feldspar as she coalesced before him, her wispy form half above and half below the table. "Is there anything you require?"
"No, no, nothing at all," he blurted, uncomfortable with the spirit's eager subservience, not because he disliked being waited upon hand and foot—oh no, he could get entirely used to that—but because he had known the woman. Minnarea had been a mage once, one of those who delighted in delving into ancient texts and ferreting out forgotten references, even more than actually performing the magic itself. In fact, her passion had been the cause of her demise; self-neglect while pursuing her research. Though now translucent, her gaunt frame, hollowed cheeks and skeletal fingers looked just
as they had on the day she died. For a while her spirit had haunted the library, and rather than simply exorcise her, the emperor had had a high priest bind her to the library as a caretaker and librarian. The situation actually worked out splendidly; the spirit got to remain in her beloved library for eternity, and the live patrons had someone to help them with their research.
"Unless..." he blurted before she could fade out. "Are these all the references regarding the Plane of Discord?"
"Yes, Master Feldspar," Minnarea said with a smile, then recited. "There are two spheres of existence referred to as 'The Plane of Discord' in the literature. The first is the plane in which Xakra the Tangler makes her lair; the name references her love of chaos. The second is The Void, which earned the ‘Discord’ appellation in reference to the discordant affect its essence has on matter in all of the other spheres of existence. Both planes are considered to be part of the Nine Hells.” She smiled again. “You have all reference materials on those two planes here”—she glanced at the messy table in evident disgust—“somewhere."
"Excellent," he said. "One more thing..."
"Any service you wish, Master Feldspar." The spirit's low bow pushed her ethereal face through the table top.
"Would you have the library messenger fetch me tea and a bite to eat?"
"Oh, no, Master Feldspar," chided the spirit. "There is no food or drink allowed in the library. One careless spill could ruin an irreplaceable scroll or book or—"
"I understand, Minnarea," Feldspar said as he waved off a lecture. "I promise I'll eat out in the hall."
"Very well, sir." The spirit bowed, then faded from view.
Feldspar rubbed his tired eyes again, sighed, and reviewed his notes. It seemed that all his hours of research had produced little more than fatigue and a clutter of disoriented figures and unrelated personal accounts. Braelen had visited both planes at some point during his lengthy career, but his experiences in them seemed brief and uneventful. On Xakra’s plane he had gathered information from a resident, then returned home, spending only a couple of days total. His visit to The Void had been even briefer, only long enough to collect a few samples; understandable, considering the essence of the Seventh Hell and its affect on life.
"Wait a moment!" Feldspar plunged into his references, searching for one particular scroll. "I know it's here somewhere, blast it!" But five full minutes of searching drew a blank.
"Librarian!" he barked in frustration. "Where’s the scroll listing all of Braelen's samples and what he was using them for? I had it here a second ago, I know it."
"Actually," Minnarea said, poking her head up through the table, "it has been over six hours since you last looked at it. Here." Her ethereal hand floated up beside the table bearing a carefully rolled parchment. "It fell on the floor while you were searching for the destination coordinates."
"Thank you, Minnarea," he sighed, taking the parchment, "I don't know how I'd do this without you."
"You'd probably end up the same as me," she quipped, "searching and searching until you collapsed from thirst and hunger. I suppose I should tell you your food is here, though it would be nice to have company." She winked at him.
"Uh...thanks again," Feldspar mumbled, ducking his head over the list of samples. His stomach growled insistently and he vowed to eat soon; he’d never really like Minnarea, and the thought of an eternity with her was not attractive. Give him a battlefield over a stuffy library any day. Running his finger down the list, he started to develop an idea. The only problem was, he’d have to consult with Braelen to confirm his suspicions. He hoped his ancient friend was up to a brief conversation.
The darkness of Xerro Kensho enveloped Lysethra like the arms of a lover, and she paused just beyond the portal for a moment to inhale deeply the familiar scents of home. The citadel was a glorious achievement, but it was too bright and too cold, and a poor substitute for the city of her birth. She had been so busy in the citadel, this was her first trip back, and she had much to discuss with her sister.
"Seth!"
At the sound of her name, Lysethra turned and saw Calmarel lashing her way through the crowds of bearers and slaves moving in and out of the portal.
"By Xakra's web, it's good to see you!" Calmarel said as they hugged awkwardly around the younger sister’s belly. “But you look dreadful!”
Lysethra laughed shortly. She had noticed in her mirror this morning how haggard she looked—they barely had a moment to themselves in preparing the citadel—but she didn’t need Calmarel to point it out.
“And you, sister younger,” she answered in a deceptively sweet voice, “look like a huge bloated spider.”
Calmarel seemed not to notice the implied insult.
“Don’t I now?” she said as she grinned and cupped her robes tight around her belly. “The very personification of Xakra!”
Lysethra winced at the blasphemy and looked closely at her sister. Joking was not Calmarel's usual manner. A thought occurred to her, and she scowled at her sister with disapproval.
"You shouldn't have come down here. It's much too far to walk in your condition!"
"So who walked?" Calmarel laughed, guiding her through the mass of workers and supplies to an ornate litter. Two hulking bearers—one human, one half-ogre—stood chained to the conveyance, awaiting Calmarel's return. "We can both ride. It'll give us a chance to talk, since you can’t stay long."
Lysethra helped her sister onto the sumptuously appointed conveyance, then settled in herself.
“Take us home, Jundag,” Calmarel commanded.
Lysethra started, then peered more closely at the human bearer chained to the front of the litter.
“You still have that tribesman?” she asked. “I thought you'd finally tired of that one. It’s been more than a year. Your pets don’t usually last a month.”
Her sister’s fascination with this man had bothered her, but she had believed that Calmarel had finally abandoned him when she started traveling to seek a mate nearly a year ago. At least, she thought as the litter rose smoothly, she’s found a use for him.
“I supposed you’ve finally broken him,” she said.
"Oh, no!" Calmarel chuckled. "He's about as tame as a rogue dragon. I'm getting get him in shape for the next tournament day. You won't believe how much I won on him last time. First he beat that arrogant Gorgoneye champion that Druellae thinks is the Dark Gods' gift to warfare, then he made it all the way to the lower caverns in an escape attempt I orchestrated. I nearly broke the Gorgoneye coffers!"
"You let him escape?" Lysethra asked incredulously. She eyed the tribesman's brawny physique as he easily bore the front of the litter. "I hope to Xakra’s web you didn't let him kill anyone important!"
Calmarel waved off her sister's concern with a smirk. "Aside from Tredgh and a couple servants, they were all Gorgoneye soldiers. That pompous Grimlord hand-picked twenty of his best, and my pet killed twelve and evaded the others. I won a bonus of a thousand gold for each one he killed."
"You play dangerous games, Calmarel," Lysethra warned as she watched the muscles ripple in Jundag’s back, his upper arms nearly as thick as her waist. "If a noble had been killed..."
"Don't worry, Seth! The collar keeps him in line. Besides, half the winnings are yours. And I know you didn't come halfway across creation to preach restraint to me. I want to hear all about the citadel."
"You're absolutely right, Cal" she said, dismissing the matter. “But we can talk about the citadel later. First, I want to hear about you and our heir.” She patted her sister's swollen abdomen, then leaned back and assessed her appearance. Although Calmarel sat somewhat uncomfortably, she looked healthy and hale. "You're absolutely huge! Are you sure you mated with a man and not an ogre? How do you feel?"
For the first time Calmarel’s gay demeanor cracked.
"Oh, just marvelous!" she said sarcastically. "I mean, apart from the nausea, eating everything in sight, the aching back and swollen feet and the stretch marks, it really is
fantastic! You should try it; there's nothing like carrying around twenty extra pounds and having it push on your bladder and kick you in the stomach all day and night." She shifted her position restlessly. "One day, Seth, I'm going to figure out an invocation that will transfer this whole messy child-bearing thing over to the men!"
Now this, thought Lysethra, is more like the old Calmarel. She grinned at her sister.
"Now that is an idea! Just make sure you have perfected male pregnancy before I decide to have children."
The sisters' laughter filled the hallways as the heavy sedan chair made its ponderous way up the innumerable flights of stairs to Castle Darkmist.
CHAPTER 14
Shay hesitated, his hand on the latch to his private workshop. Behind him, the rest of the company waited expectantly. No one ever came into his private workshop, and he wished he hadn’t made the offer. But this was where the scrying mirror that he had taken from Iveron Darkmist’s study was, and he dare not risk moving it; clumsy hands had nearly dropped the priceless mirror getting it here, and he wouldn’t tempt fate twice.
Thrusting open the door, he entered and strode to the corner where the draped mirror stood. He heard “oohs” and “aahs” behind him and turned barely in time to stop Borgland from picking up one of the metal gem stands from his desk. The rest of the mages spread out like children in a toy shop, exclaiming over this or that.
"Please!” Shay’s entreaty came out a bit louder than he intended, but it had its desired affect. Everyone stopped and looked at him.
“Please, the mirror is over here.” He took a deep breath as they reluctantly made their way to the corner. DoHeney sidled up to him and chuckled, whispering “An’ I thought you was daft, the way ye drooled over Darkmist’s stuff. Now I can see it’s just a wizardy trait.”
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