"Do ye hafta take the ring off ta open the door?" DoHeney asked.
"No, ye don’t,”
"Jist gimme a second then."
DoHeney whirled around, to his uncle’s consternation, and withdrew from his pocket a thin, forked tong decorated with ornate designs. He tapped it against the stone, then placed the butt of the instrument against his forehead and slowly swept his head in an arc. Finally he stopped, put the fork away, withdrew a tiny pick and probed an infinitesimal crack, unnoticeable from more than an inch away. Out popped a thin wafer of stone to reveal an oval-shaped depression. Within the depression was a bas relief of the signet on the king’s ring. He heard DoHurley gasp in relief behind him.
“Now git back ta where ye belong!”
DoHeney had quietly repositioned himself just behind the other dwarf guards when DoHurley called out.
"Okay! Everyone inside and out o' this infernal wind!"
Where previously there had been a blank cliff face, now there was a passage that would have admitted ten dwarves across. Beyond was a sweeping arc of shallow steps that led up into the shadows.
The caravan moved forward. When all had passed within, the king gave orders to VerNolen to lead the guests up into the keep. DoHeney and DoHurley waited for the last of the troop to pass out of sight before speaking.
"Would'a been handy if I'd known o' this when we was goin’ after Darkmist," DoHeney said thoughtfully.
DoHurley chuckled with a wry grin. "Right now I'd settle fer knowin' how ta close the thing!"
"Well, I suppose that either the ring or the cover will close the door, but yer guess is as good as mine as to which one."
"Well, it's gotta be the cover, then," the older dwarf reasoned, popping the tiny stone wafer firmly back into the depression. Surely enough, the immense slab began to close.
"How did ye figger that?" DoHeney asked as they moved out of the way.
"Well if ye used the ring, then the keyhole would o' been exposed, and ta hide it someone would o' had ta stay outside. A good dwarf would never give up a secret so easy, and would never leave a friend behind." DoHurley shrugged and smiled. They pulled off their cloaks after the door closed, sealing out the chill wind. They stood quietly for a moment, relieved to be out of the storm.
“So, ye’d’ve left ‘em out there if they’d seen where the door or lock was,” DoHeney said.
“Aye,” DoHurley averred, studiously studying the wall.
“Because no one but the king can know the location.”
DoHurley nodded. DoHeney squinted and cocked his head.
“So, how did ye know about the lock?” he asked suspiciously. “Ye said the secret passes from king ta king, but the king never made it outta Zellohar alive. We only found that ring on his skeleton in the Great Hall.”
“I passed through here once! With the king! And how do ye know he didn’t take me inta his confidence?” sputtered DoHurley. “I was quite trusted by the king, I was.”
DoHeney stared at his uncle. “Ye peeked, didn’t ye?”
DoHurley looked abashed. “Aye.”
DoHeney laughed. “An’ ye scold me about my errant ways!”
Smiling ruefully, the king clapped DoHeney on the shoulder and they started up the stairs into Zellohar.
Calmarel sat comfortably before the altar of Xakra, legs crossed, back straight, hands resting lightly on her thighs. The thin black-silk robe she wore—the traditional garb of those seeking the profane blessings of the Dark Gods—did nothing to ease the chill of the stone floor, but Calmarel didn’t notice. Her mind was at ease, and she waited patiently for the Rite of Ascension to begin.
Before her, the Tome of Ascension rested on a low lectern crafted of polished bone inlaid with gold and silver; beside it was a small pot of incense as yet unlit. Beyond the Tome stood the mediator, her arms outstretched toward the towering statue of the goddess, the black lace of her robes spread like a great spider web. In a circle around her, the council of Xerro Kensho knelt on thin pillows. Though they played no part in the Rite, they attended as a precaution, just in case...
...just in case I fail, Calmarel thought complacently. But I won’t fail. I can’t fail. She smiled briefly as she considered her previous doubts. Although she had boasted confidence, always a disconcerting trepidation crept through the darkest recesses of her mind, even as her perverted father crept through the catacombs of Castle Darkmist. But the little voice that had whispered to her in the night of failure—the inevitably of following in her father’s damned footsteps—had been silenced...silenced by the sound of a baby’s cry.
Her heart throbbed when she considered her child, such a perfect child. A gift in honor of the Dark Gods, she thought. The Dark Gods will adore her, and I, as the mother who brought her to life, will be rewarded. Calmarel had not one doubt that her appeal would be heeded and the blessings of the Dark Gods bestowed; by tonight, she would be mediator.
She glanced at Lysethra and winked, amused by the look of sanctimonious offence that flashed across her sister’s face.
Ah, sister elder, she thought, no matter how much you preach piety, I’m the one blessed by two gods, and about to be received by the rest.
The mediator turned and loomed over Calmarel. Bowing her head, Calmarel reached out and laid her hands atop the Tome of Ascension.
“Let us begin.”
CHAPTER 23
Avari stumbled as the ground shifted beneath her feet, and nearly fell on Hufferrrerrr. She disentangled her legs from his and moved aside, putting her hands on her knees and lowering her head to try to dispel the dizziness and nausea. She felt a hand on her shoulder.
“Are you all right, Avari?” Shay asked quietly. “I should have warned you; transpositioning can leave one feeling disoriented if one is not accustomed to the effects of magic.”
She gulped a deep breath and slowly straightened up. The group was alone in an alley, but from just around the corner, she could hear a high-spirited party of early evening revelers passing by. Behind them, the clatter of dishes and aroma of ale and roasting meat wafted from the back door of a tavern. Her stomach reminded her that she was hungry, despite her sudden nausea.
“Then why isn’t Huffer sick?” she asked petulantly. The leotaur paused in adjusting his packs and grinned at her.
“His body differs from yours,” Shay said.
“And why didn’t I feel sick when we used those amulets of Darkmist’s?”
Shay looked a bit exasperated. “I suppose that was a higher quality spell than I cast. But enough, we must be along.” As he spoke he had been wrapping and pocketing the gem he carried, then the one Lynthalsea handed to him. Now he straightened his robes and strode out of the alley.
Avari recognized the area immediately. In fact, the tavern behind which they had appeared was locally famous for their spicy pork pie. She and Yen had—
The memory awakened the pain, and she turned away. Unfortunately, everywhere she looked Avari saw ghosts of the three months she had spent in the city...with Yen. Most were good memories: warm and sweet and happy. She smiled in spite of herself, and automatically turned a corner toward their destination.
“So Avari,” Brok said, “you seem well-acquainted with Fengotherond. Did you live here?”
"I—" She knew his question was well-meaning, but it stopped her in her tracks. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the others share furtive glances. Lynthalsea pulled Brok’s head down to whisper in his ear.
Avari’s thoughts roiled. How was it that one bad memory—her last memory of Fengotherond—could curdle all the good, like dropping a slice of lemon into a pitcher of cream? Hufferrrerrr increased his pace and walked by her side, lending silent support.
“Shay,” Avari said as they turned onto a street lined with elegant three-story townhouses. “I still feel nauseous. How long does it take for the magic reaction to wear off?”
“Only a few moments, Avari,” he replied. “It should be gone by now.”
“That’s what I was afraid of,”
she muttered. Her unease and the accompanying discomfort had become worse, not better.
They walked to the end of the street and stopped in front of a townhouse with a wide drive along one side. Although it couldn’t be seen from the street, Avari knew that the drive led back to a courtyard in front of a stable. Between the house and the stable was a small garden with the sweetest-smelling roses she had ever—
Stop it, she admonished herself. You know why you left, and it was his fault! So let’s do what we need to do and get out of here.
She let her anger propel her up the steps, and had already banged the knocker by the time the others had hastened up. Before she could regret her haste, the door opened. A butler stood smack in the center of the doorway, apparently well-used to discouraging entrance by the unwelcome. From beyond him, harp music drifted on the air, along with bursts of laughter and conversation.
“Forgive us,” Shay said in his most obsequious tone. He stood one step down from Avari and tried to squeeze past her, but she refused to budge. “We came here to see Captain Thallon, but did not realize that he was entertaining tonight.”
“I see,” said the butler, looking down his nose at them. “So you will understand when I ask you to come back tomorrow—"
“Is that my husband finally?” called an imperious feminine voice. Its owner, a rotund lady wearing a revealing yellow gown designed for someone much younger and slimmer, barreled up behind the butler. When she saw who stood at the door, she scrunched up her face in distaste and asked, “Who are you?”
Avari was about to retort when Shay pinched her hard, and repeated his request.
“Really,” the woman said, looking as if they were a rat her cat had dragged in. She turned accusingly to the butler. “Why haven’t you gotten rid of them? I’m sure Yenjil doesn’t want—“
“Yenjil doesn’t want what?” asked a voice from the hallway behind the butler. Avari’s knees nearly buckled.
The butler bowed aside and Yenjil Thallon stepped into the doorway. He wore a dress uniform that complimented his well-conditioned physique, and a polite smile on his face. Gently but firmly, he turned his guest back toward the celebration inside.
“Lady Cervici, you don’t want to become chilled in the evening air. I’ll attend to this and be right back to—"
He turned toward his visitors and saw Avari. His smile broadened and his eyes gleamed.
“Avari!”
At the sound of Yen saying her name so warmly and with such longing, her stoicism faltered. Only that last, bitter memory kept her from throwing herself into his arms. She clenched her jaw and hardened her mien. The tone of his voice also drew Lady Cervici’s attention. She glanced back, then hurried deeper into the house.
Yen blinked and caught sight of the rest of the party. Disappointment flashed briefly across his face, then he smiled again and spread his arms in welcome.
“Shay! Lynthalsea! And Hufferrrerrr, how are you my old friend! And you are...” Shay introduced Brok, and Yen stepped to the side, waving them in. “How long have you been in Fengotherond? I wish I’d known you were coming, and—"
“Yenji?” called a musical voice from the house, and an absolute vision floated up to Yen’s side, a stunning woman in a pink lace gown with long waves of blond curls cascading over shoulders of perfect pale skin. She looked like a fancy confection, so sweet it made Avari’s teeth ache. She smiled warmly at the group, but Avari noticed that the fingers she wrapped around Yen’s arm resembled the grip of a raptor’s talons.
"Elestia," Yen said, looking uncomfortable, “may I present my old and dear friends: Szcze-kon, Lynthalsea, Brok, Hufferrrerrr...and Avari."
“Well!” exclaimed Elestia. “Any friends of Yenji’s are friends of mine.” She held out a delicate hand, and Shay bowed low to kiss it. Blushing demurely, she presented her hand to the others, then turned toward Avari. “My dearest Avari,” she said slowly, drawing out the name. "I've heard so much about you. Welcome.”
Avari sensed the sneer behind the woman’s smile and responded in kind. She reached out to shake the proffered hand, and perhaps break a few bones, when Shay deliberately bumped her arm and stepped up and in front of her.
"Yenjil, we must speak with you," Shay said in a low urgent tone. "We have a dire need related to”—he glanced out of the corner of his eye at Elestia, who attended to his every word—“our old friend Iveron. You remember Iveron, do you not? Well, suffice to say his family is stirring up a bit of trouble, trouble that makes Iveron’s escapades pale by comparison."
Yen frowned.
“Elestia, would you please go give my regrets to the rest of the guests? I’m afraid I’ll be busy for a while.”
“But Yenji, if it’s just a family spat you’ll be talking about, I can listen and perhaps—“
“No, Elestia,” he said firmly. “This is military business.”
“Ahhh,” she said. “Is that like military correspondence?”
Yen looked at her sharply, but she ignored him and addressed the group.
“Pardon me if I am unable to bid you farewell when you leave, but I must attend to our guests.” She lifted her cheek to Yen, smiled as he awkwardly kissed it, then tossed a triumphant look toward Avari as she turned to leave.
“If you’d please go to my study,” Yen said, “I’ll be there in a moment.”
“Would that be the study downstairs, Yen,” Avari asked loudly, “or the one upstairs next to your bedroom?” She smirked when she saw Elestia’s back stiffen.
“Upstairs,” Yen said, trying to hide a smile.
Yenjil entered the study bearing a tray laden with bottles of wine, glasses, and plates mounded with assorted edibles from the party below. He placed his burden on the desk and started pouring wine and handing out the glasses. Each time he turned round, he stole a glimpse of Avari. She paced before the fireplace, a habit she had when she was agitated, he remembered. Her long legs made short work of the small room. He envisioned those legs as they had been in happier times, wrapped around—
“Thank you,” said Brok, and Yenjil realized that he hadn’t let go of the glass the priest was trying to take from him. He filled the last glass and brought it to Avari, holding it out like a peace offering. She stared at the glass, then at him; the look she gave him wasn’t peaceful.
“Jundag’s alive,” she said. For a moment the non sequitur rendered him speechless. Then he looked at Avari’s eyes, bright with unshed tears, and remembered her tale of their lost friend, and the nights she’d wake sobbing, calling for Jundag.
“Dear gods,” he said softly. She nodded curtly, but he could tell she was deeply pained. He longed to take her in his arms and comfort her as he had on so many nights, but her hard stance rebuffed him more solidly than a stone battlement. “Your dreams...”
“Weren’t dreams,” she said heavily. “They’re real. We’ve seen him.”
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, and his heart ached for her.
“Let me tell you the entire story,” Shay said. Avari started pacing again, and Yen reluctantly retreated to a chair to listen.
Twenty minutes later, Yenjil gulped the last of his wine and reflected on Shay’s story. He hadn’t heard such an incredible tale since his first dinner with Avari more than a year ago, when she’d told him of their pursuit by a Nekdukarr. Confirmation of that assertion had come quickly, he remembered, when they were attacked by a Shadowknife assassin. And he had no reason to suspect the veracity of this account; his guests were far too serious, and he had never known Shay to exaggerate.
Shay wrapped up his narrative by saying, “So, interplanar travel is necessary, and we would like to ask your help in procuring the Starstone from Archmage Belregash. I understand that this may be difficult, but—“
“We’ll steal it if we have to!” Avari declared obstinately.
“I can't believe this!” Yenjil said incredulously. “That’s the second time this week I’ve heard that threat!”
The reactions of his visitors
to this news varied. Shay’s eyes narrowed and he looked wary, Lynthalsea and Hufferrrerrr looked confused, and the large priest, Brok, looked thoughtful. Avari crossed her arms and glared like he was mocking them.
“But...” Yenjil said, quirking his lips in a sly smile, “I think I can help.”
Calmarel recited the ages-old invocation that commenced the Rite of Ascension, her body swaying gently to the cadence of her words. With the last word of the dark prayer, a flame lit the pot of incense before her, and its pungent vapors rose toward her face. She inhaled deeply, feeling the sting in her nose, the burn in her lungs. She welcomed these discomforts—appealing to the Dark Gods did not come without cost—and drew in breath after breath until her throat was raw. Then all pain ceased, and Calmarel felt a strange lightness sweep through her.
Opening her eyes, she stared down at her corporeal body still seated, still swaying. She saw Lysethra, her own eyes closed, her lips moving gently as she prayed; the mediator, her stance rigid, her attention focused on Calmarel’s body, alert to any changes that might signal a failed petition; and Druellae Gorgoneye, hiding her boredom with downcast eyes even as she impatiently tapped her fingers.
An icy presence shivered her spine—an odd sensation when in spirit phase—and she felt a tug on her senses. Turning, she saw a portal, an oval of deepest ebony that radiated the chill of death. The portal, she knew, led to Limbo, the gateway to the Nine Hells. Few mortal spirits returned after entering this portal, but Calmarel passed through without hesitation. The darkness engulfed her as if she were slipping beneath the surface of a cold, dark lake.
Suddenly, Calmarel felt the weight of her body again, the urge to breathe, the myriad sensations that signified life. Gradually, the absolute darkness waned and she found herself in an infinite twilight. She heaved a sigh; her spirit was as solid here as her corporeal body in her own world.
Looking down, she saw that she was nude except for her pendant. This was unexpected, but she admired the logic; most people felt vulnerable unclothed; Calmarel only found it amusing. Around her stretched a barren, dusty plain, empty save for the endless mass of human and inhuman souls plodding mindlessly toward a swift, dark river that flowed from one horizon to the opposite: the River Oblivion, the border between Limbo and the Nine Hells.
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