Jundag

by Chris A. Jackson

  "Bah, get up, me friends, get up," he scoffed, waving them to their feet as he descended the steps to shake their hands warmly. It had been several seasons since he had last seen Avari, and he thought she looked a bit thinner, though her handshake was as strong as usual.

  "Yer messenger said ye had a need ta see me. I hope yer not offended by the little gatherin' I put together ta welcome ye."

  "Not at all, Your Majesty," Shay smiled with a bow. "Though we might wish for happier circumstances. We are here to ask your aid."

  "And ye shall have it!" DoHurley bellowed, sending the crowd into cheers of supportive pandemonium once again. But before the noise waned, Shay raised a forbidding hand that brought the cheering up short.

  "Hold your enthusiasm, good dwarves," Shay implored in an ominous tone, "for you know not yet to what you offer your aid. In fact, good King of Zellohar, we request guides to accompany us on a journey that can only be described as beyond perilous."

  Knowing Shay’s penchant for dramatics, DoHurley now looked more closely at the others. Avari had dark circles under her eyes, Lynthalsea looked worried, and even DoHeney’s face seemed pinched. Glancing beyond them, he saw their odd entourage: a lion/man creature, a woodling, and several wizard-looking folk.

  Uh oh, the king thought, though he maintained his grin. What am I gettin’ meself into here?

  "And where might ye be goin' that requires such caution and dwarven guidance, Master Shay?" DoHurley asked as he ascended the dais steps and plopped himself down on his throne. But as Shay's mouth opened to answer, Avari stepped ahead of him and awkwardly knelt on the first step of the dais.

  "I’m not good with words, DoHur—excuse me, Your Majesty,” she said. “But honor and friendship required that I start this journey, and my fellow Liberators have been kind enough to join me. But we four weren’t the only liberators of Zellohar. There was another..."

  "Ye mean the tribesman," DoHurley said as he nodded in remembrance of their tale.

  "Yes," Avari replied. She swallowed hard, trying, it seemed, to keep her emotions in check. "Jundagarro from the Northern Lowlands. He was with us when our first entered Zellohar, while it was still in the hands of the Nekdukarr Iveron Darkmist."

  Hissed curses swept through the dwarven assembly at the name, but Avari persisted.

  "We saw...or thought we saw...him die. He saved our lives by attacking Iveron Darkmist, though gravely wounded already. If not for his bravery, the rest of us would certainly have been killed or captured, and the cornerstones lost forever." Whispers threatened to overwhelm her soft voice until she stood and continued. "But we’ve discovered that Jundag’s alive!"

  "Impossible," DoHurley murmured, though he couldn’t dispute the resolve of the four standing at the foot of the dais.

  "Jundag has been tortured for more than a year by worshipers of the Dark Gods, and I’ve pledged to spend my last breath trying to free him."

  The crowd erupted behind her. A few calls of support rang out as some dwarves pledged themselves to her cause, but even more disclaimed her story, crying out that an assault on the nations of the Dark Gods would plunge the dwarves into an unsolicited and unwelcome war.

  “How quickly they forget,” murmured the king. DoHurley scratched his beard mightily as he tried to think beyond the din, assessing his options. Squinting his one eye, he looked again at the Liberators, noting their serious miens, the determination in their eyes. Why, even DoHeney's jaw was firm with resolve, not a hint of mischief glinting in his eye. It was obvious; they would proceed with or without his aid. DoHurley made his decision.

  "SILENCE!" he roared. He stared at the Liberators one by one. Avari looked as if she was holding her breath.

  "Ye can have guides fer yer journey. But..." he said quickly to head off the rumbling complaints that threatened to rise again—he could see MurFindle and his ilk opening their mouths—“they’ll have ta be volunteers, and they’ll not be allowed any closer than within sight o’ any city o' the Dark Gods. Ye’ll be on yer own once ye get there."

  Some grumbling continued, but less vehemently.

  "Such support was all we hoped for, good King," Shay said, bowing low.

  "Thank you!" Avari exclaimed, clutching Gaulengil to her breast.

  Delver help 'em, the king thought, wi' whatever they’re gettin’ inta now.

  "AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH! By Xakra’s Web, make it stop, Seth! Make it stop!"

  "Shouldn’t you be calling to Pergamon?" Lysethra joked. The deadly look her sister shot her sobered her, and she wiped the hair back from Calmarel’s damp forehead. "You're close now, just a few more minutes. Breathe deeply and try to relax. Wait for the next contraction before you push again."

  "Wait? Like Hades I'll wait!" her sister raged. Calmarel's temper had been ill seven hours ago when her water broke and the first contraction began; time and pain hadn’t improved it. "Just get a pair of pincers and pull the damned thing out!"

  "Calmarel! Relax! Breathe!"

  Lysethra's words were backed with Xakra's power. Calmarel’s breathing steadied, her limbs stopped trembling and her pinched face eased. She nodded to her sister in thanks.

  "I swear, Seth," she puffed between breaths, "this is the last...time I'm going through this. I'll never trust another...male as long as I live. That damnable man...put too large a child inside me...and now...the blasted thing won't come out! I’ll pay him back for this pain!"

  Lysethra smiled crookedly. Her sister's ranting had become more vehement and less lucid as the hours dragged by, and Lysethra had found that the only thing to do was humor her. She thought it interesting, though, that one who reveled in inflicting pain was so weak when she was on the receiving end.

  Calmarel’s breaths started coming faster again, and her eyes glazed over. This looks like a big one, thought her sister.

  "Okay, Cal, you’ve got to push again," Lysethra coached. "This could be it. I can see the top of its head. Now push!"

  "AAAAA... AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!"

  "That's it Cal! Once more! PUSH!!"

  "AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

  "Excellent, Cal! The child is out!" Lysethra announced proudly, holding the squalling babe up for the new mother to see. "Our heir is healthy and angry. She's giving orders already, do you hear? Ha, what a voice!"

  Lysethra clipped and tied the chord and handed the babe over to one of the priests for cleaning. Closing her eyes and extending her hands over Calmarel, she called on Xakra to heal any damage caused by the birthing. Finally, she took the cleaned and swaddled baby from the priest and laid it in her sister’s arms.

  "At least she’s finally calmed. I don’t know how long I could stand that—Xakra's Web!" Lysethra exclaimed as her heart caught in her throat. The baby had opened her eyes; they were bright blue. It was the color, Lysethra imagined, of the sky on the surface world. She didn’t know, of course, as she had never seen it, but she had heard stories. How odd! The thick mop of jet-black hair was typically Darkmist, as was the narrow face. But Darkmists had black eyes; as black as their little souls, as their granddame used to say.

  “What’s wrong?” Calmarel cried as she turned the baby to peer into its face. For a long moment she stared at it, wordless. Behind them, Lynthalsea heard the priests mutter things like “bad omen” and “flawed”. A curious dread overwhelmed her; what would it do to her newfound favor with the mediator, should it transpire that Calmarel’s baby was defective? Not to mention Cal’s chances of ascending as a mediator. She started nervously when Calmarel suddenly exclaimed.

  "It’s a sign from Xakra!" The younger Darkmist thrust her baby out toward her sister and the priests. “A sign that our quest to conquer the surface world will be a success!” The words tumbled out quickly, as if the inspiration was so great she couldn’t contain it. “I’ve been chosen to build a new city on the surface world, and Xakra has blessed my child with eyes as unique and distinct as she herself will be. My heir... our heir”—Calmarel looked deep into Lythsethra’s eyes—“will be the gr
eatest Darkmist to ever live! She’ll inherit an entire world, above and below! Our clan will rule like none before it!"

  “I have seen,” ventured one of the priests hesitantly, “children with eyes of pale blue or grey. Nothing this dramatic, but—"

  “Are you suggesting,” Calmarel said slowly, dangerously, “that my child is anything other than perfect? Obviously, as I am favored by two of the Dark Gods, my child can have no comparison to the get of others of lesser significance.”

  “Yes, Matriarch, but—"

  “And if I hear a hint otherwise, I’ll be getting back into shape by whipping the perpetrator out of shape! Is that understood?”

  Lysethra smiled at the confrontation and gently pushed Calmarel back into her pillow.

  “No need to suspect treachery, Cal. The babe simply has a unique trait. Not everything is a gift from the gods.”

  The priests quietly melted away to clean up. Calmarel shifted the baby in her arms and lifted it to her breast, where it began to suckle eagerly.

  “Where is the wet nurse, Cal?” Lysethra asked. “Surely you’re not going to care for the child yourself. You have more important things to do, like help me at the Citadel.”

  Calmarel raised her eyes to her sister; they seemed to glow with a satisfied light that was foreign to Lysethra.

  “Not yet, Seth. I want to get to know her first.”

  “Fine...I suppose.” Lysethra was at a loss for words. Calmarel was the last person she had ever thought would become maternal. She shrugged; it likely was a phase she’d get over as soon as the child’s diaper needed changing.

  “Well, I need to get back to the citadel. Make sure you rest and regain your strength so you can join me.”

  Slowly, Lysethra left the room. The baby was obviously healthy, and Clan Darkmist now had an heir. That was the important thing, even if the heir wasn’t her own child, as it would have been if she was sole matriarch. She wondered vaguely about the father again—would Cal tell him that he had a daughter?—then dismissed the thought and forced her mind back to her duties at the citadel. Time was running short.

  Yenjil looked helplessly around the ballroom, desperately bored. As this was the emperor’s birthday celebration, there would be no chance to slip out early tonight. Across the room he spied Feldspar looking downright surly in his red satin robes, and made his way through the crowd.

  “If you wore those on the battlefield,” he whispered as he leaned toward the wizard, “you’d make a terrific target.”

  Feldspar scowled at him, grabbed a crystal goblet of wine from a passing servant and downed half its contents.

  “Why do people celebrate birthdays?” the older man asked. “They only get more painful as you age.”

  “Birthday cake,” Yenjil replied promptly. “And presents.”

  “Like the emperor needs anything,” Feldspar complained.

  “You seem to be in a particularly foul mood tonight,” Yen observed, prompting another scowl. “Is there a problem?”

  Feldspar gulped the rest of his drink and grabbed another.

  “Politics.”

  “Ah!” said Yenjil. “The bane of my life.”

  “Well, politics may cost Master Braelen his life!” Feldspar hissed furiously. “And I don’t know what to do about it!”

  Yenjil finally got the story out of his friend, even if he didn’t understand it all: The Void, scrying mirrors, castles in the sky, dragons, and something about a star and a stone.

  “So,” Feldspar concluded, “we’ve decided to steal it. Although I shouldn’t have told you that, since you’re captain of the guard. You may have to arrest me soon.”

  Yenjil was startled. “What are you stealing?”

  “The Starstone!” the wizard hissed impatiently. “Haven’t you been listening? It’s the only way to get to The Void without taking months, and Belregash refuses to loan it to us, even though he has no use for it at all, and the realm could be at risk.”

  Yenjil racked his brain for a way to keep from having to arrest his friend on the spot. “Can’t you consult with the emperor?” he asked, though he already knew the answer to that question; Feldspar’s manner had not endeared him to the emperor.

  “Oh, Yenjil!” Elestia’s velvet voice interrupted as she glided to his side and wrapped her arm around his. Tilting her head coquettishly, she regarded Feldspar as if she potentially found him interesting, but was not yet sure if he was worth her time.

  “Elestia, this is Master Feldspar of the emperor’s Royal Retinue. Feldspar has turned the tide on many a battle for me using his repertoire of magic.”

  “Ah, yes, of course I know your name,” she said as she offered her hand. “You work for that handsome Master Belregash.”

  Feldspar, in the process of bowing low over her hand, would have stumbled had Yen not reached out to steady him.

  “Oh!” Elestia exclaimed. “Are you quite all right?”

  An inspiration struck him, and Yenjil lowered his voice, leaning close to her pretty ear. This just might work, he thought.

  “Master Feldspar is on the edge of exhaustion,” he said in a conspiratorial whisper, nudging Feldspar to keep him quiet. “In the process of trying to save the life of a valued colleague, he and the Royal Retinue have discovered a plot that could endanger the realm. But they’ve run into a roadblock. You see, Master Belregash has an artifact that he feels is too valuable to loan to them, although it could make the difference between life and death! Remember when you wanted to borrow that stunning necklace from Lady Wren, but she wouldn’t let you touch it, much less wear it? That’s rather what Belregash’s attitude is.”

  Elestia looked horrified; Yenjil watched as her cheeks flared pink. Elestia was not one to thwart when she wanted something.

  “Well, that’s just not right!” she declared. “Master Belregash is so handsome, I thought he was a kind young man, as well.”

  “Actually, milady,” Feldspar whispered as he winked at Yenjil, “Master Belregash is at least fifty or sixty years older than I am. It’s amazing what a little magic can do.”

  Elestia scrunched her face in disgust and gave a pretty little shudder. “Well, if Master Belregash goes to such lengths to disguise his true looks, perhaps he has other secrets that he’d rather not uncover. Who is he to deny the Royal Retinue access to magic that might save the realm?” She looked highly insulted.

  “You’re right!” said Yenjil. “But Feldspar would never be so crass as to go over Belregash’s head to complain, so...”

  “Perhaps someone just needs to put a little bug in the right ear!” Elestia said with a prim smile. Blowing Yenjil a kiss, she flounced away. Feldspar watched her go, utterly confused.

  “What just happened?” he asked.

  “I believe Elestia has adopted your cause,” Yenjil answered. “She loves an intrigue, especially when she’s in the middle. Don’t go stealing anything yet. I’d hate to have to arrest you.”

  Feldspar looked after her with a considered look on his face.

  “Interesting woman,” he remarked. “What’s the story?”

  Yenjil cleared his throat and looked uncomfortable. “Elestia is one of the empress’ ladies-in-waiting, and I...uh...apparently caught her eye. So the empress suggested that perhaps I should think of taking a wife, and...”

  Feldspar looked horrified. “You have to marry her?”

  “No, no!” Yenjil protested. “Not have to, but...well, Elestia is a nice woman, beautiful, intelligent. A great hostess.”

  “But...” Feldspar encouraged.

  “But she’s not Avari,” Yenjil sighed. “I once asked Elestia to go for a ride, and she laughed at me. Ladies apparently don’t actually sit on horses, they ride in carriages behind them.”

  “So I imagine sparring is right out of the question.”

  Yenjil barked a laugh without humor. "Unless it's verbal."

  “So...Avari is out of the picture?”

  Yenjil’s heart twisted in his chest. “She hasn’t a
nswered any of my letters. I don’t know...”

  “Avari had a real fire for life,” said Feldspar. “I miss that.”

  So do I, Yenjil thought wistfully. So do I.

  CHAPTER 17

  Calmarel leaned over the baby as it lay on her bed, staring into those limitless blue eyes. Did babies usually open their eyes this soon? She had no idea.

  “But then, you’re not just any baby, are you?” she cooed. “You’re a Darkmist, and you are destined for power, little one. You won’t have to beg the Dark Gods for favor. The Dark Gods will fight each other to win your favor.” Her conscience chided her for this irreverence, but she paid it no mind.

  “Now, if Lysethra was here, she’d scold me for that, but...she’s not here!” Surprisingly, that thought pleased Calmarel. Though she and her sister had always been each other’s closest allies, she felt that her sister elder didn’t truly appreciate what this child meant for the future of Clan Darkmist. For example, the way she expected Calmarel to just toss the baby off to a wet nurse, let someone else raise her precious heir. Although that was usual—and, indeed, how they themselves had been raised—this child deserved a higher standard. This child would make the name Darkmist legend. This child was a product of both the surface and underworlds, with the best traits of each; she would wield power beyond belief.

  “Yes!” Calmarel said as she shook her head so her hair tickled the baby, causing her to grab with those tiny, perfect fists. “You’ll have the intelligence and wiles of your mother, and the strength of your father. And his eyes...” Calmarel lost herself in those blue eyes for a moment, then shook off her daze and started sorting through the assortment of coverlets.

  “Your father...” she murmured as she tossed one after another after another aside. Finally, she held up a small blanket of lustrous ebony, spun out of the finest silk gathered from the spiders raised by the acolytes of Xakra’s temple. Wrapping it around the baby, she held her up and smiled. “Now you’re dressed to meet your father!”